SERMON I. RELIGION INTIMATELY CONNECTED WITH ORDINARY LIFE.

MAN is a being of a compound nature; he conſiſts of a ſoul and a body. By the former he is allied to God and angels; by the latter to earth and earthly things. In conſequence of this, he is capable of two different ſorts of enjoyments, ſubjected to two diſtinct claſſes of deſires, and lives at once in two diſſimilar ſtates. From the body ariſe appetites for worldly things, and pleaſure in them; from the ſoul, deſires of things ſpi⯑ritual and eternal, and a reliſh for them. We live an animal or a natural life, and we live at the ſame time a rational or ſpiritual life. Thus [2] by the very conſtitution of our nature, our attention is drawn different ways, our views are directed to contrary objects, and we are engaged in diſſimilar employments. By con⯑cern about the one, we may become negligent of the other.

THE things of this world are the objects of ſenſe; they are continually ſoliciting our no⯑tice; they force themſelves into our view; they affect us ſtrongly. By theſe means they are very apt to render us regardleſs of ſpiritual and eternal things, which can be perceived only by faith, which make but a weak impreſſion on the thoughtleſs, which cannot influence our conduct, except we ſet ourſelves voluntarily and deſignedly to meditate upon them. While we are intent on our occupations for the ſup⯑port of the animal life, we may very readily fall into neglect with reſpect to that occupa⯑tion which belongs to us as reaſonable and im⯑mortal creatures. We ſhould guard againſt this with a care proportioned to the danger of our becoming guilty of it.

THE ſcripture perpetually inculcates upon us, that the eternal happineſs of our ſouls, and the practice of holineſs by which it is ſecured, ought to be our principal concern, and to en⯑gage us more earneſtly than any of the poſſeſ⯑ſions [3] and enjoyments which can profit us only in the preſent life, or any of thoſe worldly employments which are ſubſervient to the attainment of them. The leaſt reflection is ſufficient to convince us of the propriety and the importance of this conduct. To thoſe who at all think ſeriouſly, the difficulty lies only in preſerving a commanding impreſſion of the neceſſity of this conduct, and putting it in practice, amidſt the buſy ſcenes and the diffi⯑pations of common life. Theſe frequently obliterate the conviction, and efface the ſenti⯑ments, which are produced by the moſt affect⯑ing repreſentations of the ſuperior value of ſpiritual and eternal things, exhibited in an hour of retirement and devotion.

IT is of great moment, therefore, to acquire a ſtriking ſenſe of the manner in which a con⯑cern for the ſalvation of our ſouls, and appli⯑cation to the duties of religion, may be inter⯑mingled with our whole worldly employment, and exerted in the various circumſtances of or⯑dinary life. For diſcourſing on this ſubject, we may naturally take occaſion from the words now read; I will walk, ſays David, before the Lord in the land of the living. To walk before the Lord ^*, and, To walk with the [4] Lord ^*, are beautiful expreſſions uſed in ſcrip⯑ture, on purpoſe to convey this very view of religion: and the former of them conveys it the more explicitly in this place, by the pſalmiſt's having added, in the land of the living. By theſe laſt words he no doubt de⯑ſigned to expreſs the conſtancy of that obe⯑dience to God, which he promiſed in return for the mercies acknowledged in this pſalm; he meant to intimate that he would perſiſt in it to the end of his life: but they likewiſe na⯑turally imply, that he would incorporate his religion with his whole ordinary life, and make it to run through all the occupations in which he might ever be employed in common with other men, and to blend itſelf with all the tranſactions relative to the preſent world, in which he might be at any time engaged. It is certain that the ſcriptures always ſuppoſe religion to be connected with common life, and deſigned for influencing us in all the affairs of it: they never repreſent it as a thing which may be laid aſide when we come into the world, or for which we have no occaſion while we are buſied in the labour of our ſtations.

[5]TO conſider religion in this important point of view, as what ought to mix with all our ſecular employments, and give a tincture and complection to all thoſe actions which have the moſt intimate relation to the preſent ani⯑mal life, is what I now propoſe.

BY ſetting religion in this light, I do not mean to affirm, that it contains no duties diſ⯑tinct from the right conduct of our ordinary buſineſs, or that there are no exerciſes belong⯑ing to it, which are abſtracted from common life. There are times and ſeaſons appropriated to particular religious duties, into which no concern about our ordinary buſineſs ſhould be allowed to intrude. There are aſſemblies called together for partaking in the ſacraments, for public worſhip, and for hearing the word, where we muſt be intent on theſe exerciſes alone, and whence we muſt exclude all worldly thoughts and cares. There are exerciſes of devotion which muſt be performed in the ſe⯑creſy and ſtillneſs of retirement; prayer, the reading of the ſcriptures, meditation on the principles of religion and the obligations of our ſeveral duties, ſelf-examination, confeſſion of our ſins, and reſolutions of amendment. We are not truly religious, if we allow concern for our temporal intereſts and diligence in our worldly buſineſs to lead us into the neglect [6] of theſe. They have not an immediate rela⯑tion to the employments of our ſtations, but they are conſiſtent with them: they ſuſpend them for a little, but they can be performed without any inconvenient interruption of them. Theſe duties of religion enter not directly into common life, nor are intimately incorporated with its functions; they are rather in appear⯑ance abſtracted from them: but they are in reality ſubſervient to the right diſcharge of them. They form impreſſions which may influence us in life; they revive ſentiments which, without them, the hurry of buſineſs would diſſipate; they invigorate principles of conduct which the avocations of the world would enfeeble, but which the good man muſt act upon every day. Without attendance on theſe duties of religion, we could have no good ſentiments or principles to carry into the world with us: but we attend upon them to no purpoſe, if we carry not into the world with us, if we maintain not amidſt all the buſtle of the world, the good ſentiments and principles which they are fitted to infuſe. The church and the cloſet are the places where theſe duties are performed; but the world is the place where we muſt diſplay the effects which they produce, and exert the temper of holineſs which they cheriſh. The ſpiritual life muſt be recruited by the exerciſes of re⯑tirement [7] and retreat: but when it is recruited by theſe, as the nouriſhment adap [...]ed to it, it is in the world that it muſt ſhew its vigour: its functions muſt mix themſelves with all thoſe of the animal life; our employment for eternity muſt be interwoven with all our occu⯑pations for time.

IN the ſequel I ſhall, firſt, point out the importance of this view of religion; and, ſe⯑condly, explain it.

FIRST, I ſhall point out the importance of conſidering religion as connected with all the parts of our ordinary life.

THERE is no miſtake about the nature of religion more dangerous than an opinion that it is inconſiſtent, or even unconnected, with the ordinary buſineſs of life: this opinion will produce different effects on differ⯑ent perſons; but all the effects which it can produce, will be pernicious.

IF it be entertained, it will infallibly lead the generality to neglect religion altogether. Preſent things are ſo conſtantly in our view, the wants and the demands of the natural life are felt ſo ſtrongly, that moſt men will be ingroſſed by them, if they apprehend that, [8] without neglecting them, they cannot ſecure future and unſeen things. Did all men per⯑ceive clearly, that they may walk with God while they are mixing in the ſocieties and employments of men, and that they may moſt effectually promote their eternal happineſs while they are occupied in the buſineſs of their temporal vocations, many would endeavour to work out their ſalvation ^*, who ſcarcely think of it, becauſe they imagine it unconnected with their ordinary buſineſs, or incompatible with their worldly purſuits.

SOME however have ſo deep a ſenſe of the importance of their eternal intereſts, and ſo ſtrong a ſolicitude to ſecure them, that an opinion of their inconſiſtence with the buſineſs and purſuits of life will drive them into the oppoſite extreme. Under the influence of this miſtake many have ſecluded themſelves from the world, withdrawn from all the occupations of life, and given up themſelves to idleneſs, contemplation, and ſolitary devotion. The life of ſuch perſons may be harmleſs, but it is uſeleſs: it may be freer from vice than the lives of others, but it is leſs virtuous; they have not been expoſed to the ſame temptations with others; their innocence has in many caſes [9] ariſen only from their want of opportunity for committing ſin, not from ſtrength of mind, or the vigour of virtuous principles. Were a life of monkiſh indolence neceſſary or con⯑ducive to the improvement and ſalvation of our ſouls, God would not have placed us in a world where we have ſo many wants that cannot be ſatisfied without diligent application to a variety of occupations. An active and buſy life is perfectly conſiſtent with all that God requires of us, for pleaſing him or for obtaining eternal happineſs. Holineſs pre⯑ſerved uncorrupted, and exerciſed vigorouſly, in active life, is much worthier than the in⯑offenſive blameleſſneſs of the mere recluſe. You ſhould yield your active ſervice unto God. You cannot pleaſe him more effectually, than by following your ſeveral vocations, by en⯑gaging in the ordinary employments of life, by purſuing them with induſtry, and being converſant about them in a right manner. You do not ſerve God, you do not labour for eternity, you do not take care of your ſouls, only when you are meditating, or reading, or hearing, or praying, or partaking of the Lord's ſupper; but alſo as effectually, though theſe pur⯑poſes be not perhaps ſo directly in your thoughts when you are going about your worldly buſineſs in a virtuous manner, when you are honeſtly and conſcientiouſly doing the work of your ſtations. [10] You may live to God, and yet live in the world. To renounce the world and fly to ſo⯑litude, is to renounce the ſtation which God has allotted us, and abandon the opportunities of doing good and becoming good, which he has given us.

MEN may entertain the miſtake of which we are ſpeaking, without running into either of the extremes now mentioned. They may regard religion as ſomething wholly abſtracted from life, and yet may engage in the ordinary buſineſs of life, without neglecting religion altogether. In this caſe they will take up with a falſe ſpecies of religion: they will be concerned, perhaps anxiouſly concerned, for their ſalvation, but they will purſue it in an improper manner. They imagine that the ſtate of their ſouls depends only on ſome for⯑mal tranſactions with God, on ſome ſolitary and ſecret exertions of the will and the affec⯑tions in dedicating themſelves to him, and accepting of Jeſus Chriſt; and that it is no wiſe affected by the manner in which they carry on their ordinary buſineſs. They think that they may be religious, though they be immoral; that they may provide for eternity, though they neglect the duties of time; that they may be in a ſtate of grace, though they be bad huſbands, bad wives, unnatural parents, [11] undutiful children, unfaithful ſervants, unkind and quarrelſome neighbours, or diſhoneſt dealers. They regard the graces of the ſpirit as totally diſtinct from the moral virtues; the conduct which God approves, as perfectly different from that behaviour which is uſeful to mankind. They make an unnatural divorce between reli⯑gion and morality. In the place of true holi⯑neſs they ſubſtitute an abſurd and unprofitable ſuperſtition. Alas, my brethren, they deceive themſelves! If they act according to this idea, their religion will have no greater influ⯑ence upon their conduct, than if they made no pretences to religion; and therefore it will have no more influence upon their eternal ſal⯑vation. Genuine religion is wholly practical: grace is but the principle of virtue and good works. Your religion can be of no value, I ſhould rather ſay, you have no real religion, if it do not enter into life with you, if it do not pervade and animate all your actions.

A VERY great part of that conduct by which your eternal happineſs may be promoted, conſiſts in tranſacting your ordinary buſineſs in a proper and virtuous manner. There is ſcarcely an action of your lives ſo inſignificant as not either to promote or to obſtruct your ſalvation. The moſt trivial and common actions may be performed right, or they [12] may be performed wrong. We ſhould all, therefore, maintain an uninterrupted care to perform all the actions of our lives aright. If we maintain this care, we ſhall forward our everlaſting happineſs, by the very ſame actions by which we obtain or enjoy preſent things. Many of the common actions of life are far from being trivial or unimportant in a religious and moral view. It is by living in ſociety, and employing ourſelves in the ordinary buſi⯑neſs of it, that we can find opportunity for many of our moſt important duties, for many of the principal functions of the ſpiritual and chriſtian life: and by ſeizing theſe opportu⯑nities, and uſing them properly, we ſhall moſt effectually provide for eternity. It is from the ordinary occurrences of life, that we find oc⯑caſion for the principal exertions of thoſe vir⯑tues which regard either ourſelves, our neigh⯑bour, or our God: and theſe virtues compre⯑hend the whole of our duty, and conſtitute that holineſs which is the neceſſary preparation for heaven.

THE obſervations which have been hitherto made, abundantly ſhew the importance of that view of religion which I am endeavouring to give you; they likewiſe explain it in ſome meaſure: for the more particular explication of it, which was the ſecond thing propoſed, let [13] us briefly point out, how the three great branches of our duty now mentioned, inter⯑weave themſelves with the ordinary actions and employments of life.

1. THERE are many duties which we owe properly to ourſelves, for practiſing which we find the opportunity in the courſe of ordinary life.

As long as we dwell in theſe earthly taber⯑nacles, ſome foreſight and diligence about the neceſſaries and conveniences of the preſent life, is unavoidable. God doth not forbid it: he hath not made it inconſiſtent with the purſuit of future happineſs. None would wiſh to ſtarve or to be naked: God doth not require you to court theſe hardſhips. You may be diligent; you ought to be diligent in your callings: God not only allows, but commands you to be dili⯑gent; not ſlothful in buſineſs ^*, is a precept of divine authority; there are many ſimilar pre⯑cepts: God promiſes his bleſſing to diligence, and gives frequent encouragement to it. That man ſins, and obſtructs his own progreſs to heaven, who is idle in his ſtation. Religion renders induſtry a duty towards ourſelves, en⯑forced by the authority of God: by reflecting [14] on this obligation to it, and allowing it to have ſome influence upon us, we ſhall convert every exertion of induſtry in our trade or pro⯑feſſion into an act of obedience to God: and if, while we are prompted to induſtry by the in⯑ſtincts and proſpects of the animal life, com⯑mon to all men, we be alſo impelled to it by a regard to the commandment of God, this additional motive cannot fail to quicken our induſtry, to increaſe it, and to render it more ſucceſsful.

GOD requires that the immediate objects of your induſtry ſhould not engroſs your whole hearts; that you ſhould not imagine the attain⯑ment of them ſufficient to make you happy; that amidſt your labour for them you ſhould maintain a ſenſe that there are things of in⯑finitely greater conſequence, to be either ob⯑tained or loſt. Religion requires you to carry theſe ſentiments through life with you: they will not enfeeble your induſtry, they will only reſtrain it from forced and unnatural ex⯑ertions; they will be no hindrance to its regu⯑lar and healthful motions, they will only pre⯑vent its running into diſtorted and convulſive agitations; they will not deſtroy that eagerneſs which gives ſpirit and perſerverance to your endeavours, they will only extinguiſh that anxiety, ſolicitude, and carefulneſs, which, [15] while they make you neglect eternal things, often render you at the ſame time incapable of purſuing preſent things in the moſt effectual manner, and create immediate vexation of ſpirit, for which no ſucceſs can make amends. In a word, ſuch ſentiments carried through life, and acted upon, will only ſanctify your in⯑duſtry, and render it conducive to your future happineſs, while it continues as ſubſervient as ever, or even becomes more ſubſervient to your preſent intereſt.

WE are ſo formed as to be capable of enjoy⯑ment in thoſe earthly things which we poſſeſs. God doth not contradict our conſtitution by his laws; he doth not require us to become inſen⯑ſible even to the loweſt pleaſures. All men eat and drink: they are among the moſt com⯑mon actions of your lives; yet religion is con⯑cerned in them. If, in eating and drinking▪ you are luxurious, intemperate, or debauched, you ſwallow down poiſon to your immortal ſouls: but if you eat and drink temperately and in moderation, without overvaluing or re⯑pining for the pleaſures which you have not, or abuſing thoſe which you have, avoiding ſenſuality and exceſs; if you eat and drink in that degree which promotes the health and ſtrength of the body, which renders it fitter for the ſervice of the ſoul, which is decent, [16] and becomes a reaſonable creature, made for much higher enjoyments; then you ſerve God every time you eat and drink; you nouriſh your ſouls unto eternal life, by the very ſame actions by which you daily nouriſh your bodies.

IT is a duty which we owe to ourſelves, to preſerve ſobriety of mind, compoſure of ſpirit, a freedom from all violent paſſions, humility, and ſelf-government. It is in the ordinary employments of life that we find both temptations to violate this temper, and occa⯑ſions for exerciſing it: it is only by maintain⯑ing it amidſt all the occurrences of common life, and all the calls, and viciſſitudes, and tumults of buſineſs, that we can obey thoſe divine precepts which enjoin it. You are engaged in the purſuit of ſome conſiderable advantage: you have now an opportunity of curbing the violence of your deſires, of keep⯑ing them from poſſeſſing your whole ſould: this is incumbent on you, and by this you ſhall prepare yourſelves for that happy ſtate which excludes every ungoverned paſſion. In the courſe of your occupations you meet with unexpected incidents, ſudden turns, per⯑plexities, and intricacies: you are called to avoid being diſcompoſed by them; this will be a preparation for the ſuperior regions of per⯑fect [17] ſerenity and peace, at the ſame time that it prevents preſent uneaſineſs, and even fits you for the moſt proper management of your world⯑ly buſineſs.

IN this world, objects frequently occur which tend to draw us off from the path of life. They meet us in the ſcenes of buſineſs, and in the hours of relaxation and amuſement, in company, in ſolitude, in every ſituation. Continual circumſpection and watchfulneſs againſt their drawing us into the ways of death, by ſeducing us into ſin, is a duty which we owe to our own ſouls: and it is a duty which we muſt put in practice every day, and every hour, in every place, and in every condition. We muſt carry this temper through life with us, we muſt preſerve and exerciſe it in all the various circumſtances in which at any time we ſtand, elſe we cannot perſiſt ſtedfaſtly in the narrow way that leads to heaven.

2. IN like manner, in the ordinary buſineſs of our lives we ſhall find the moſt frequent and the beſt opportunities of performing our ſeveral duties to our fellow-men. Religion re⯑quires us to embrace theſe opportunities: and by embracing them, and performing the duties ſuitable to them, we ſhall ſerve God, and [18] pleaſe him, and contribute to the ſalvation of our own ſouls.

YOU ſpend the day in merchandize, in la⯑bour, in the buſineſs of your calling whatever it is: you muſt carry your religion along with you; you muſt exerciſe it all the time you are thus employed. You may do your work either honeſtly and uprightly, or the contrary. If you deceive thoſe with whom you have deal⯑ings, or defraud them, or injure them, you injure your own ſouls much more, you move a ſtep forward to deſtruction. But if in every part of your buſineſs without exception, you act juſtly and equitably, and deal with inte⯑grity and faithfulneſs; you walk before the Lord, while you ſeem to be only buſy in your worldly calling; you advance in your journey towards heaven, while you ſeem to be only going round in the circle of employments which belong to this mortal ſtate. The ſhop, the exchange, the occupations of active life, form the only theatre on which the virtues of juſtice, fidelity, and honeſty can be practiſed; and without conſtantly practiſing theſe, you can have no religion. Theſe virtues tend to ſecure the confidence of men, and to promote your worldly proſperity; and by the uniform practice of them, you likewiſe lay up for yourſelves treaſures in heaven, where neither [19] moth nor ruſt doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through, nor ſteal ^*.

IN the train of life, in the intercourſe of ſociety and buſineſs, ſome perſon does you un⯑deſigned harm, or an intended injury. This is the time when you have it in your power to exerciſe, and by exerciſing to improve, pa⯑tience, meekneſs, forbearance, forgiveneſs, kindneſs. It is only by exerciſing them in ſuch circumſtances, by making them to run through all the actions to which ſuch circum⯑ſtances give occaſion, that you can ſhew your⯑ſelves to be the children of the Higheſt ^†, and heirs of the kingdom of life. If, on the occa⯑ſions mentioned, you, on the contrary, indulge bitterneſs, anger, wrath, malice, revenge; if you give way to the expreſſions of theſe diſ⯑poſitions in the communications of company, or the connexions of buſineſs; you ſhow your⯑ſelves alienated from the gentle ſpirit of true religion, and you render yourſelves fit for the ſociety of thoſe fallen angels in whom male⯑volent paſſions reign.

YOU go into company, you enter into con⯑verſation: the characters and the conduct of others become the topics. This is the ſituation [20] in which you are called to make candid and favourable conſtructions, to vindicate aſperſed innocence, to clear up miſconſtructed virtues, to agologize for exaggerated failings, to ſpeak the truth in love ^*. You have opportunity for theſe duties every day: it is in the relaxations of ſociety, in the turns of common converſa⯑tion, that you find the opportunity; and they are eſſential and important duties of religion. If inſtead of performing them, you, in your gayeſt meetings, and moſt unreſerved talk, defame, ſlander, revile, or backbite, you need make no pretenſions to true religion in your cloſets or at church. If any man among you, ſays the apoſtle James, ſeem to be religious, and bridleth not his tongue, but deceiveth his own heart, this man's religion is vain ^†. He that bridleth not his tongue from offences ſo hei⯑nous as theſe, doth the office of Satan, and by the employment of thoſe which he reckons his diſengaged hours, and for which he thinks that little account will be required of him, entitleth himſelf to a portion with Satan.

IN the courſe of your employments, by the events which caſt up in the train of your or⯑dinary buſineſs, you have opportunities of re⯑turning good to your benefactors, of doing [21] ſervices to thoſe who have done you evil, of ſupplying the wants of the poor, by employ⯑ing them, or by other means which are in your way, of ſupporting the friendleſs, of producing concealed merit, or of doing ſome other good office to thoſe with whom you meet. Different employments afford different means of doing the ſame good offices to others, or opportunities of doing different good offices; but every employment affords ſome means, and ſome opportunities. It is a great part of the duty which God requires of you, to embrace and improve theſe opportunities: this is to do good, to be rich in good works, ready to diſtri⯑bute, willing to communicate; by this you lay up in ſtore for yourſelves a good foundation againſt the time to come, that you may lay hold on eter⯑nal life ^*.

I CANNOT mention particularly all the ways in which true holineſs will enter into ſocial life, and exert itſelf towards others, in all the varied ſcenes and complicated ſituations which turn up in the courſe of ordinary buſi⯑neſs. In addition to the inſtances already given, I ſhall only obſerve in general, that every act of proper behaviour which we ſhow as parents, as children, as maſters, as ſer⯑vants, [22] as we belong to a particular occupa⯑tion or profeſſion, as we are placed in a parti⯑cular relation, is a real act of holineſs, pleaſ⯑ing to God, and conducive to our eternal hap⯑pineſs. On the other hand, every inſtance of improper behaviour in any of theſe relations or ſituations, diſpleaſes God, and retards our progreſs to heaven. When we contemplate religion as thus concerned in our whole be⯑haviour towards others, as either obſerved or violated in all our ſocial actions, how ex⯑tenſive does it appear to be? how uninter⯑rupted are our opportunities for it? how con⯑ſtant ſhould be our attention to it? how often do we neglect or tranſgreſs its obligations, when we imagine our actions perfectly indif⯑ferent, and removed wholly out of the pro⯑vince of religion?

3. WE muſt likewiſe carry piety along with us through the whole courſe of our lives; we muſt exerciſe godlineſs in all our occupations: elſe we have no true religion, nor can be fit for the enjoyment of God. This is an important part of our ſubject, the illuſ⯑tration of which we cannot now enter upon.

SERMON II. RELIGION INTIMATELY CONNECTED WITH ORDINARY LIFE.

RELIGION conſidered in its juſt extent, contains two ſorts of duties, the duties of piety, and thoſe which regard the actions of the natural and ſocial life. Both are eſſential to it. But men ſhow a ſtrong propenſity to conſider the former as unconnected with life, and the latter as unconnected with religion, and by a miſconception of both ſorts equally, though in different reſpects, to diſunite religion from the occupations of common life. It pro⯑ceeds from a partial view of both theſe; and it tends to render our practice of both defective.

MEN confine their idea of piety to the acts of immediate worſhip; they conſider it not as what ſhould, as what can enter into common [24] life; they think that they ſerve God, only when they are worſhipping him, and diſen⯑gaged from their worldly employments. Con⯑ceiving religion in ſo falſe and contracted a light, they neceſſarily regard the actions of the natural and ſocial life, as without the verge of religion, as not requiring or admitting any regulation or direction from its influence.

IN conſequence of theſe partial and imper⯑fect conceptions, ſome have withdrawn from the buſineſs of life, that they might give up themſelves wholly to devotion, or have be⯑come negligent in their lawful calling, as inter⯑rupting their application to religion; and many more, intent on their worldly employments and intereſts, and regarding all acts of devotion as encroaching upon theſe, neglect them to⯑tally, or croud them into as little time as poſ⯑ſible: God is not in all their thoughts ^*.

PERSONS of a ſerious turn, and ſenſible of the importance of piety, will apply to what they conſider as belonging to it. But if they imagine acts of immediate worſhip to be all that belongs to it, their application will be of little value. They will be punctual in per⯑forming theſe: but they will think that when they have performed theſe, they have done all [25] that piety requires, and are abundantly reli⯑gious; and too often they imagine that, if they ſpend ſome hours of the day in devotion, they may do, through the reſt of it, whatever they pleaſe, whatever their vicious paſſions prompt them to; at leaſt they are not ſuffi⯑ciently careful to avoid doing ſo. Thus their religion becomes a mere round of external ſer⯑vices, attended perhaps with tranſient and un⯑meaning emotions of ſoul, but not a prepara⯑tion for the right conduct of life; and they bear in themſelves that character of corruption, which the apoſtle aſſigns to the men of the laſt days, having a form of godlineſs, but denying the power thereof 2 Tim. iii. 5.

WHETHER men have a regard to religion, or have not, if the actions of the natural and ſocial life be conſidered as without the pro⯑vince of religion, the neceſſary conſequence will be, that men ſhall think themſelves at li⯑berty to perform them, not according to the rules of religion. Whenever we look upon the ordinary actions of common life as indif⯑ferent, whenever we forget that there is either virtue or vice in almoſt every one of them, we are in great danger of indulging vice and contracting guilt in the performance of them. Whenever we allow ourſelves to imagine that [26] theſe actions have no influence on our ſalvation, we ſhall be ready to do them in ſuch a man⯑ner as muſt obſtruct our ſalvation.

OF the three claſſes of duties which are in⯑cumbent upon us, thoſe which regard our⯑ſelves, and thoſe which regard other men, are too often conſidered as little connected with religion, and are, for that reaſon, reckoned ſuch as may be in ſome meaſure neglected without great danger to our ſalvation. I have therefore ſhown that our habitual behaviour, both towards ourſelves and towards others, in the various ſituations of common life, neceſſa⯑rily implies good or evil, and promotes or ob⯑ſtructs our everlaſting happineſs. The other claſs of duties, thoſe which regard God, and are comprehended under the name of piety, are, on the contrary, often conſidered as un⯑connected with the ordinary buſineſs of life. In oppoſition to this miſtake, I now proceed to ſhow, That we muſt carry piety along with us through the whole courſe of our lives, that we muſt exerciſe godlineſs in all our occupa⯑tions; elſe we can have no true religion, nor be fit for the enjoyment of God in heaven.

WE may acquire ſome lively impreſſions of God, in retirement, or in the ordinances of worſhip; but if theſe impreſſions do not re⯑main [27] with us and actuate us, when we enter into the world, and all the time we are con⯑verſant in the world, they are of no moment. Religious affections may be nouriſhed in the retreats of devotion, as a child is fed within doors: but it is in the open air, and by the buſtle of exerciſe, that the child acquires and ſhows health, vigour, and agility; and it is in the field of the world, and by being intro⯑duced into its ſeveral occupations, that the re⯑ligious affections obtain and diſplay ſtrength, firmneſs, and energy. It is in the world they are put to the trial, it is there we find oppor⯑tunities for exerting them, and it is by being exerted there that they are improved into a commanding temper of piety.

THERE is no ſituation in life, which gives not ſcope for ſome exerciſe of godlineſs, and which requires it not, if we would not be wanting to our duty. Piety or a regard to God, is a vital ſpirit which may run through, and ought to run through, all the virtues which reſpect either ourſelves or others, to animate, to model, and direct them. It is not excluded from any place or condition which admits any virtue whatever; it cannot be diſ⯑penſed with from any ſuch place or condition, but that virtue loſes much of its luſtre, and is even in danger of periſhing.

[28]LOVE to God is an affection which does not ſpend itſelf in ſilent admiration, or warm feelings: it is fit to enter into life, and to act in life. We are commanded to KEEP our⯑ſelves in the love of God ^*: it is a temper which may poſſeſs us as conſtantly, and influence us as regularly, as affection to a parent or a friend. It ſhould influence us through life, in the whole of our behaviour, in a manner ſimilar to that in which affection to a parent or a friend, operates on ſuch parts of our behaviour as have a reſpect to them. Love to God does not diſplay itſelf ſo much, or aſcertain its ſin⯑cerity and ardour ſo unexceptionably, by any emotions inwardly felt, or by any raptures of devotion, as by its effects upon our actions; by making us delight to obey and pleaſe God in every part of our behaviour; by making us willing to relinquiſh what we moſt fondly de⯑ſire, or to incur what we moſt vehemently dread, rather than offend him in committing any ſin, or neglecting any duty; by alluring us to the imitation of all thoſe moral attri⯑butes which render God the object of our love; and by cheriſhing benevolence, and drawing out beneficence to all men, who are the chil⯑dren of our Father in heaven. Love to God will find opportunities for ſome of theſe exer⯑ciſes [29] of it, in all our worldly buſineſs, in all the actions and events of common life: and if any man neglect theſe exerciſes of it, whenever he finds opportunity for them, how dwelleth the love of God in him ^*? His heart is void of it, though livelineſs of imagination or a conſti⯑tutional warmth of affection may lead him to preſume that his love to God is ardent.

REVERENCE of God is not more analogous to the love of God, in itſelf, than in its ef⯑fects upon our ordinary conduct. It is not exerciſed only when we ſet ourſelves to con⯑template and celebrate his greatneſs: we may be, and we ought to be, in the fear of the Lord all the day long ^†. If we have any reverence of God, it will ſhow itſelf every hour in our moſt common behaviour; in the ſhade of ſolitude, amidſt the temptations of ſociety, the cares of buſineſs, and the relaxation of amuſements, in every ſituation, it will make us to ſtand in awe, and not ſin ^‡; it will prompt us to act in a manner worthy of the preſence, the majeſty, and the perfections of God.

GRATITUDE is due to God for the bleſſings which we receive from him. The events of ordinary life furniſh us with conſtant ſubjects [30] of gratitude. You eat your daily food; you find yourſelves in health; you receive the price of your labour; you obtain ſomething which you deſired; you proſper in your way: your duty in all theſe ſituations, the apoſtle Paul points out, In every thing give thanks; be grateful, for this is the will of God in Chriſt Jeſus, concerning you ^*. The exerciſe of grati⯑tude is not confined to profeſſed acknowledg⯑ments of the mercies which we have received, in praiſe and thankſgiving, in private or pub⯑lic devotion. The world alſo is a field for the exerciſe of gratitude. It is exerciſed when⯑ever it implants in the heart a new motive to abſtinence from ſin and hatred of it, whenever it warms the ſoul with additional alacrity in doing good, and makes us take greater pleaſure in it. Theſe exerciſes of gratitude ſhould be diffuſed through life, as much as the bleſſings are, which demand our gratitude; they ſhould influence us as often as we are engaged in any action which can imply either good or evil: and what one action of our lives does not im⯑ply them?

COMMON life is the acknowledged ſphere of reſignation to the will of God. Piety exerting itſelf in reſignation, is the proper root, and [31] the only firm ſupport of many of thoſe duties to ourſelves, the operation of which through the occurrences of common life, either has been already delineated, or may eaſily be traced; compoſure, for inſtance, amidſt the tumults and fluctuations of the world, tranquillity in the uncertainty of its proſpects, contentment and ſelf-enjoyment under its diſappointments, fortitude in the view of its dangers. If theſe virtues are nipt off from piety, they become puny, and wither, and die. They muſt be practiſed through life; but they cannot be practiſed except the exertions of a pious tem⯑per be twiſted, as it were, with all the acts of them, to give them ſtrength. All the events of life, are uncertain; we are often in adver⯑ſity, our favourite deſigns are diſappointed, our deareſt comforts are taken from us, we be⯑come intereſted about trifles, and they fail us: we cannot perform the duties which we owe to ourſelves in theſe ſeaſons, without deriving aid from piety. Theſe are the ſeaſons which de⯑mand the practice of reſignation, ſubmiſſion, and truſt in God: theſe are the ſeaſons in which we muſt put forth all our ſtrength to retain and exerciſe theſe pious principles, elſe we ſhall fall into the ſins of peeviſhneſs, diſ⯑content, repining, murmuring, anxiety, and ſolicitude.

[32]PIETY requires ſubjection to the authority of God, as well as ſubmiſſion to his providence. A ſenſe of his authority will produce a conſtant diſpoſition to obey his laws. But his laws are nothing elſe but rules for the particulars of our behaviour in all the various circumſtances of human life: there is not a ſituation in which we can be placed, that is without the verge of their direction; there is not a ſituation in which our conduct will not be affected by our having a regard to God's ſupreme authority, or by our failing in that regard.

GOD is not an unconcerned ſpectator of the behaviour of reaſonable beings; he trieth their hearts, he weigheth all their actions, he approveth, or he diſapproveth them. A ſenſe of this, a prevailing reſpect to his judgment, a contempt of the opinions of all the world when oppoſed to it, is an important part of piety, and a part of it for exerciſing which the ſtate of this world gives continual opportunity. In this world, we ſee vice practiſed, and hear it juſtified; we find virtue neglected, and even turned into ridicule: the immediate pleaſures and advantages of ſin diſguiſe its horrors; the the preſent uneaſineſſes and inconveniencies to which virtue ſometimes expoſes men, eclipſe its beauty; corrupt faſhion ſeems to alter the mea⯑ſures of right and wrong behaviour; the promiſ⯑cuous [33] diſtribution of outward things renders us inattentive to the oppoſite natures and the oppoſite conſequences of righteouſneſs and ini⯑quity. Such ſituations frequently occur in the train of ordinary life; and they give oppor⯑tunity for exerting a ſupreme regard to the unerring judgment of God, who can ſee through every diſguiſe, who cannot be impoſed upon by the moſt plauſible pretences, whoſe judg⯑ment is always according to truth ^*. This regard is exerted when, in the whole tenour of our lives, we maintain an abhorrence of all evil, and the love of all goodneſs, and perſiſt inva⯑riably in avoiding the one and purſuing the other, uninfluenced by the falſe opinions of men, or the irregular appearances of the world, and valuing only the approbation of God.

PIETY leads us to the imitation of God: but all that is enjoined us under the idea of imi⯑tating God, conſiſts in the right performance of the ſeveral actions of common life, particu⯑larly of the ſocial life. It conſiſts in our loving our enemies, doing good to them that hate us, bleſſing them that curſe us, praying for them which deſpitefully uſe us and perſecute us, giving to every man that oſketh of us, and lending, cauſing no man to deſpair ^†. It conſiſts in putting away all bitterneſs, and wrath, and anger, and [34] clamour, and evil-ſpeaking, with all malice, and being kind one to another, tender-hearted, for⯑giving one another, and walking in love ^§. It conſiſts in purifying ourſelves ^†,” and being holy in all manner of converſation ^‡. It is only in the courſe of our ordinary conduct, and amidſt the temptations which occur in ſociety, that we can have ſcope for theſe exertions of a god⯑like diſpoſition.

IN a word, all the affections which belong to a temper of piety, unite their force to reſtrain us from doing evil, and to excite us to do good, in all the varied ſituations of common life. Every pious affection ſhows itſelf by ſuitable expreſſions in the offices of devotion; but no pious affection is completed by theſe immediate expreſſions of it: there are likewiſe active exertions of piety, which run through the whole of our ordinary behaviour. Every regard to God, in a manner peculiar to itſelf, inclines or urges us to all the duties of life, that is, to the right performance of all, even our moſt common actions.

DEVOUT perſons have often recommended it as highly beneficial, to mix acts of immediate worſhip, ſilent ejaculations of adoration, thankſ⯑giving, [35] prayer, conſeſſion, or repentance, with our ordinary employments; and have juſtly remarked that, unobſerved by m [...]n, and with⯑out any interruption of theſe employments, we may find time and opportunity for them in the buſieſt ſcenes of life, and even in the midſt of our innocent amuſements. This is a proper and very advantageous practice; and yet ſhow I unto you a more excellent way ^*: piety may be, and ought to be, ſtill more inti⯑mately mixt and incorporated with our ordinary employments; they ought all to be conſtantly carried on under the reſtraints which religion impoſes, and by the principles which it inſpires. To carry them on in this manner, will be to come up to the full import of the deſcriptions of a life of virtue uniformly purſued under religious impreſſions, which the ſcripture gives, when it ſpeaks of good men as ſetting the Lord always before them ^‡, acknowledging him in all their ways ^†, walking before the Lord, or walking with God.

THE goſpel having brought us acquainted with the Son of God, requires faith in him. Faith in Chriſt may be conſidered, either as a firm belief of what he has taught us, or as a dependence on his atonement and mediation [36] for our acceptance with God, notwithſtanding the demerit of our ſins and the imperfection of our holineſs. Conſidered in both lights, faith is a principle fit to run through our whole lives, and to mix with all the moſt ordinary actions of them.

ALL the truths which Chriſt hath taught us in the goſpel, are motives to the practice of holineſs; they are conſtantly propoſed in ſcrip⯑ture, as incitements both to holineſs in general, and to the ſeveral particular virtues. The faith which the goſpel requires, is not a more aſſent to theſe truths: it implies ſuch a lively impreſſion, and ſuch a permanent ſenſe of them, as may form our whole temper to holineſs, and influence all our actions. A temper of holineſs conſiſts in the ſtrength of good affect⯑ions, and in purity from vicious paſſions: good affections are excited when their objects are brought into our view, and placed in a ſtrik⯑ing light; they are ſtrengthened when their objects are brought often into view, and atten⯑tively conſidered: the truths of religion ſet theſe objects of good affections in the moſt ſtriking lights, and a firm belief of the truths of religion keeps theſe objects conſtantly in our view, and fixes our attention upon them; and thus renders the good affections habitually prevalent in our hearts. It is this ſame belief [37] likewiſe that preſents to our minds all thoſe conſiderations which tend to counteract vicious paſſions, and to purify us gradually from them. Every action proceeds from ſome motive, with⯑out which neither would the action be done, nor that affection which is its immediate prin⯑ciple be ſupported: every good action proceeds from ſome religious motive, from ſome truth urging us to the practice of it; it is faith that ſuggeſts this motive, and it muſt ſuggeſt it in the moment in which the action is to be done. True faith keeps all the principles of religion, which can in any way influence our conduct, which can either reſtrain us from doing evil or prompt us to do good, in a continual rea⯑dineſs to occur to us, whenever we have occa⯑ſion for them. We have occaſion for them in every ſituation in which we have occaſion to act. Faith therefore muſt attend us, and ſug⯑geſt the principles of religion as motives to action, in every place, and in every one of our various occupations. It muſt run through our whole conduct, beſtowing vigour and ſta⯑bility on all our virtues, purifying our hearts ^*, working by love ^†, producing good works ^‡. It alone can furniſh the weapons with which we may combat all the alluring proſpects which ſin ſets before us, and all the difficulties and [38] dangers to which virtue may expoſe us; and of theſe weapons we have need every moment; this, ſays John, is the victory that overcometh the world, even our faith ^*: to overcome the world, our faith muſt operate as often as we are converſant with the world. It is when faith thus exerts itſelf in reſtraining us from ſin, in cheriſhing good affections, in exciting us to the ſeveral duties of life, that we may be ſaid to walk by faith ^†. The apoſtle Paul exhibits his own faith in this very attitude, when he ſays, The life which I now live in the fleſh, I live by the faith of the Son of God ^‡.

FAITH conſidered as a dependence upon Chriſt, ſeems not to mingle ſo congenially with the ordinary actions of life: yet it is truly fit to mingle with them in a very great degree. Whenever we reflect that we have committed any ſin, and feel remorſe for it, (and, in the preſent frail ſtate of man, how often muſt this happen to every ſenſible heart?) it is faith exerting itſelf in dependence upon Chriſt, that mitigates our ſorrow, and reſtores our chearfulneſs. Whenever we are conſcious of a good action, when the conſciouſneſs of it gives us good hope ^‖, it is by truſt in Jeſus Chriſt that this hope is ſupported, and pre⯑ſerved [39] from ſinking beneath the ſenſe of our imperfection and guilt. It is dependence upon Chriſt, that encourages us to amend what we know to be wrong in ourſelves, and in our former conduct; for it is dependence upon him, that makes us to feel that it ſhall not be in vain: and while we are imperfect creatures, a great part of right conduct muſt conſiſt in en⯑deavours to do the ſeveral actions of life better than we have done them in former inſtances. In general, hopes and fears of futurity not only ariſe in the hours of reflection, but often influence us in the actions of life; and in a Chriſtian, hope and fear can never be wholly ſeparated from exerciſes of faith towards Jeſus, who delivereth us from the wrath to come ^*, and through whom eternal life is the gift of God to us ^†.

THE goſpel reveals to us the Holy Spirit alſo, and requires us to exerciſe dependence on the aſſiſtance which he is ſent on purpoſe to impart. To be convinced that this dependence ſhould run through our whole lives, and mingle with all our actions, and to underſtand how it may do ſo, we need only recollect the end for which the aſſiſtance of the Spirit is given. It is given for our ſanctification; it is given to be a principle of purity, and virtue, and activity [40] in well-doing. Through the whole courſe of our life, and in all its occupations, we have opportunities of avoiding evil and of doing good; and whenever we exert ourſelves in either, it ſhould be with dependence on the aids of the Divine Spirit. We ſhould have an habitual truſt in theſe, ſimilar to that habitual ſenſe which good men entertain of the de⯑pendence of their nature and all their powers upon God. If we have ſuch truſt, it will lead us, not only to recogniſe, at ſtated times, the Holy Spirit as the author of our virtues, and to pray to God for his aids; but alſo to look up to him in the very moment of action, and, by the conſciouſneſs of the preſence and ſupport of ſo powerful an aſſiſtant, to invigo⯑rate ourſelves in every hour of languor, and to encourage ourſelves in every moment of temp⯑tation and difficulty, that we may, without wearineſs or intermiſſion, put forth all the ſtrength which he imparts to us, in reſiſting all the attacks of ſin, and practiſing every vir⯑tue, as we find the opportunity. It is this habitual and active improvement of the divine aids, that the apoſtle recommends to the Ga⯑latians; This I ſay then, Walk in the Spirit ^*: the expreſſion implies, that we ſhould have the whole tenour of our ordinary behaviour regulated by the influence of the Spirit of God.

[41]THUS I have endeavoured to repreſent re⯑ligion to you, in its connexion with ordinary life. I have ſhown the importance of this view of it; and I have explained it, by point⯑ing out the opportunities which ordinary life affords for the practice of religion, and by tracing the influence of religion on our beha⯑viour in theſe ſeveral opportunities. Religion conſiſts not in our withdrawing from the oc⯑cupations of the preſent world, but in our being converſant in them after a virtuous man⯑ner. The apoſtle Paul, in deſcribing that goodneſs which the goſpel was revealed on pur⯑poſe to enforce, reduces it to the three heads of virtue which we have now illuſtrated, that we live ſoberly, righteouſly, and godly, and he adds, in this preſent world ^*: the addition is not vain, it ſuggeſts the very idea which I have made it my buſineſs to unfold; it inti⯑mates that we have no religion, no Chriſtianity, if we do not carry it into the world with us, and exerciſe it in all the circumſtances of life. The apoſtle James gives us the ſame view of religion, though in a different manner of ex⯑preſſion; Pure religion and undefiled before God even the Father, is this, To viſit the fatherleſs and the widow in their affliction, and to keep himſelf unſpotted from the world ^†: the world [42] contains temptations to vice, and it pre⯑ſents opportunities of doing good in all the ways of virtuous exertion; both occur at all times and in all conditions; and pure religion conſiſts in guarding againſt the former, and embracing and improving the latter, when⯑ever they occur. When our Saviour was moſt ſolicitous for the happineſs of his diſciples; when he had the moſt immediate view of the dangers to which they were expoſed in a world that hated them, as it had before hated him ^*, when he declared that they were not of the world ^†; even then he ſaid to his Father, I pray not that thou ſhouldſt take them out of the world, but that thou ſhouldſt keep them from the evil ^‡. It was by being ſent forth into the world, and acting in it, that they could be uſeful, and that they could become happy.

THE example of our Saviour, as well as the intimations of ſcripture, ſets religion in this point of view. Through all the early part of his life, he laboured in Joſeph's vo⯑cation, as a carpenter: he left it not till the ſeaſon came when he was called to enter on another vocation, inconſiſtent with it, and which required all his time. Even after that, he ſtill lived in the world, mixed in ſociety, [43] converſed with men, was in all points tempted like as we are ^*; and in this ſituation continued to be without ſin ^†, exhibited an example of every virtue in perfection, and by that exam⯑ple ſhewed mankind, in what manner reli⯑gion ſhould exert itſelf in the ſeveral occur⯑rences of common life. It is for the ſame purpoſe, that the lives and actions of good men are recorded in ſcripture; it is to let us ſee, how they exerciſed their religion in the ſcenes of action and in ſecular employment: and the wiſdom of God, by delivering a great part of the ſcripture in the form of hiſtory, has provided for recording ſo great a number and variety of examples, that in them we may obſerve the operation of religion in al⯑moſt every poſſible condition and juncture of human life. If you be not religious and vir⯑tuous in active life, in whatever ſtation you fill, in whatever occupation you follow, it is your own fault, not the fault of your ſitua⯑tion: religion and virtue may be incorporated: with the buſineſs of every lawful calling; theſe have actually been incorporated together in the practice of many of your fellow-men. The ſpirit of true religion, and the ſpirit of worldly buſineſs, are not repugnant, like a drop of water and a drop of oil, which repel [44] each other, and refuſe to mingle; they may be rendered like two drops of mercury, which run together and form one drop. The im⯑provement and happineſs of our ſouls is moſt effectually promoted when all our worldly oc⯑cupations are rendered ſubſervient to it: our preſent intereſts will likewiſe be beſt ſecured when all our endeavours after them are regu⯑lated by religion and virtue.

WHEN the boundaries between religion and ordinary life are miſplaced, both muſt be un⯑duly contracted. They are not like two ter⯑ritories ſeparated by a preciſe limit, but like territories which, beſides the parts that lie in this manner diſtinct, have many fields in common, or connected by mutual ſervitudes, ſo that they can be cultivated and improved only by united efforts. It is ſometimes ſaid, that God has reſerved the Lord's day for him⯑ſelf and his ſervice, and that he has given us the other ſix days of the week for ourſelves. This manner of ſpeaking is inaccurate, and has too much a tendency to diſguiſe the connexion between religion and common life. The Lord's day, God has in ſome ſenſe reſerved peculiarly to himſelf; on it we ought to abſtain from our worldly occupations: but its exerciſes are not unrelated to theſe occupations, they are de⯑ſigned to prepare us for the right and virtu⯑ous [45] management of them, and ſhould be per⯑formed with this view. The other ſix days, God has allowed us for our worldly occupa⯑tions; but not excluſively of ſerving him: for in theſe very occupations we ought to ſerve God every hour of all the ſix days. We do ſerve him in them, whenever we carry them on in a virtuous manner. By thus carrying them on, we promote our ſalvation, though we ſhould not at all times explicitly intend to promote it by them. But it will render our worldly occupations the more ſubſervient to our ſalvation, for it will contribute to our practiſing them aright, that throughout the whole courſe of them we preſerve a ſolicitude for our ſalvation, and frequently exert actual deſires of promoting it by means of the labours of our ſtation. Thus ſhall we be poſſeſſed of an habitual good intention; thus ſhall we ap⯑ply a good intention to our moſt indifferent actions, and direct them all to laudable and worthy ends.

SOME have apologized for the multiplica⯑tion of ceremonies in religion, by aſſerting that this multiplies the opportunities of ſerv⯑ing God, and the means of promoting our ſalvation. The apology is frivolous: the ob⯑ſervance of ceremonies is neither ſerving God nor a means of our ſalvation, except the cere⯑monies [46] be of divine appointment; and if they were, yet ſtill the multiplication of ceremo⯑nies, would multiply our dangers of neglect⯑ing his will and falling into ſin, would in⯑creaſe the difficulty of religion, would render many things neceſſary which might have been ſafely omitted if God had not required them by poſitive precepts, and would thus prove a ſnare to our ſouls. But the ordinary actions of life muſt neceſſarily be done: and by ſetting our⯑ſelves to do them all with a regard to God, and with a view to the improvement and ſal⯑vation of our ſouls, we ſhall, without incur⯑ring any new danger or inconvenience, mul⯑tiply the means of our ſalvation, increaſe the number of our virtues, and avoid many vices: we ſhall render our whole exiſtence one con⯑tinued act of goodneſs, religion, and obedi⯑ence; and we ſhall be, in all the ſituations and occurrences of life, pleaſing to him whom we are made to pleaſe, and in pleaſing whom our happineſs conſiſts.

TO conclude, we are at preſent in a ſtate of diſcipline for eternity: every event, every circumſtance of this ſtate gives us opportunity for the practice of ſome virtue; and it is by acting virtuouſly in every circumſtance of this ſtate, that we can be improved in holineſs, and become fit for heaven. Our commoneſt ac⯑tions [47] are thoſe in which we think religion leaſt concerned, and on which we are apt to beſtow the leaſt attention: but of our com⯑moneſt actions we ought rather to take the greateſt care; for they are moſt frequently re⯑peated; they will therefore form the ſtrongeſt habits; they will moſt promote our improve⯑ment and our happineſs, if they be conſtantly performed right; but they will moſt obſtruct it, if we indulge ourſelves in a cuſtom of per⯑forming them wrong.

SERMON III. JUSTICE THE DECORUM OF THE CHARACTER OF JUDGES. PREACHED AT THE ASSIZES.

THE duties which are incumbent upon us, may be very properly divided into two claſſes; ſuch as are incumbent upon all men, and ſuch as are incumbent upon parti⯑cular ranks of men.

IN ſome inſtances, the duties of the latter kind are totally diſtinct from thoſe of the for⯑mer kind. Peculiar circumſtances in the ſitu⯑ation of certain claſſes of men, give them opportunities for the exerciſe of particular vir⯑tues, and the practice of particular duties, for which there is no ſcope in other ſituations. Thus the duties of ſubmiſſion are incumbent only upon ſubjects, not at all upon the ſu⯑preme [50] magiſtrates: and on the other hand, all the virtues which regard the exerciſe of civil authority, are peculiar to the rulers of nations; private perſons have no opportunity of practiſ⯑ing them.

BUT in moſt caſes, the duties of the man, and the duties of the man of a certain cha⯑racter, are in ſome meaſure coincident. Our duties are always correſpondent to our ſitua⯑tions: but the ſituations of all men agree in many of the moſt important particulars, and therefore give all men opportunities for the practice of many of the moſt important duties. All the great inſtances of piety, charity, juſtice, and temperance, are indiſpenſibly incumbent on every one that is born of a woman, on the magiſtrate and the ſubject, on the miniſter and the people, on the high and the low, on the rich and the poor, on the old and the young. But ſtill the ſituation of every claſs contains ſome peculiar circumſtances, which render ſe⯑veral duties of univerſal obligation peculiarly incumbent on perſons of that claſs, either lay⯑ing them under ſpecial obligations to them, or requiring particular exerciſes of them. Such duties may juſtly be conſidered as peculiar du⯑ties of that ſtation which in this manner de⯑mands them. It were eaſy to multiply ex⯑amples: the text affords one. All men ſhould [51] be juſt; the obligation of juſtice is abſolutely indiſpenſible; the violation of it expoſes a man to deteſtation and inſamy: yet even this virtue, whoſe obligation is to all men ſo ſa⯑cred and inviolable, is declared to be peculiarly the duty of rulers: God had ſaid to Moſes, Judges and officers ſhalt thou make thee in all thy gates which the Lord thy God giveth thee throughout thy tribes; he had declared what ſhould be their buſineſs, They ſhall judge the people with juſt judgment: then addreſſing each of them, as if they had been already appointed to the office, he cautions them againſt the common perverſion of juſtice, Thou ſhalt not wreſt judg⯑ment, thou ſhalt not reſpect perſons, neither take a gift; and to intimate the great importance of juſtice in their public character, he repeats the charge to practiſe it, in the text, That which is altogether juſt ſhall thou follow. In the original, the manner of expreſſion is em⯑phatical, thou ſhalt practiſe ſtrict juſtice, thou ſhalt practice juſtice diligently, thou ſhalt practice juſtice conſtantly. The ſcripture con⯑tains many ſimilar injunctions.

THE general duties of men are, for obvious reaſons, the moſt frequent ſubjects of diſcourſes from the pulpit. But the practice of thoſe duties which are peculiarly incumbent on par⯑ticular claſſes of men, is often of as great im⯑portance [52] to their own character and to the in⯑tereſts of ſociety, and as neceſſary for their ob⯑taining the approbation of God, as the practice of their general duties; and failures in what belongs to our diſtinguiſhing rank and pro⯑feſſion, are as great blemiſhes, are attended with as pernicious conſequences, and will be as ſeverely puniſhed by God, as any other vices. They likewiſe are, on this account, very proper ſubjects of diſcourſe, eſpecially when ſuitable occaſions invite us to the conſideration of them. In this latter caſe, the addreſs is more confined than in the former: but the very ſame prin⯑ciples which render it, at all times, fit to in⯑culcate the general doctrines and duties of Chriſtianity, even on thoſe whoſe abilities and advantages enable them to acquire the know⯑ledge of them for themſelves, render it like⯑wiſe not improper for us, at ſome times, to remind part of the audience, of what they al⯑ready know to be ſpecially incumbent upon them. The preſent occaſion, then, will give a propriety to our endeavouring to ſhew, That ſtrict and inflexible juſtice is peculiarly the virtue of all judges, magiſtrates, and rulers, and to point out the reaſons why this virtue conſtitutes the immediate decorum of their character.

[53]IN order to accompliſh this deſign, it will be ſufficient to obſerve, That juſtice is imme⯑diately connected with the end of their office; That they have opportunities for peculiar ex⯑ertions of juſtice; and, That they lye under peculiar obligations to it.

FIRST, JUSTICE is immediately connected with the end of that office which magiſtrates, judges, and rulers bear.

EVERY ſtation, even the loweſt, requires ſome peculiar duties from thoſe who occupy it; for every ſtation contains ſome circumſtances peculiar to itſelf, and is deſigned to anſwer ſome uſeful purpoſe, which cannot be anſwer⯑ed without obſerving certain congruous rules. The mechanic muſt perform ſome things, not required from other men, in order to render his occupation as uſeful to ſociety as it ought to be. By failing to perform theſe things, he becomes faulty in his own trade. To be faulty in one's own trade, is, in the ſenſe of every man, to be doubly faulty: but in the meaner profeſſions, it does not engage our at⯑tention much, becauſe their ends are not of di⯑ſtinguiſhed importance.

THE higher employments, as well as the lower, are directly calculated for certain ends, [54] to promote which certain virtues are peculiarly requiſite. To fail in the exerciſe of theſe vir⯑tues defeats the very end of the office, and is inconſiſtent with its functions. The higher offices in ſociety are inſtituted for momentous ends; the defeating of theſe ends produces great and extenſive miſchiefs; and therefore the vices which defeat them, are, in men who hold theſe offices, regarded with ſingular ab⯑horrence. The dignity of the office, and the importance of its end, mix with our ſenti⯑ments, excite a ſenſe of abſolute impropriety and indecency in the vices directly ſubverſive of it, and make us conſider the oppoſite vir⯑tues in a peculiar point of view, with a parti⯑cular modification of our approbation, as con⯑ſtituting the decorum of character in men of that profeſſion. Every profeſſion of public importance in ſociety, has a correſpondent de⯑corum of character belonging to it; and this decorum always conſiſts in the poſſeſſion of thoſe virtues which are moſt eſſentially neceſ⯑ſary for the right exerciſe of that profeſſion. By other virtues, men adorn their calling: but the virtues which form its proper decorum, they muſt cultivate in order to avoid diſ⯑gracing it.

OF all the virtues, juſtice is the moſt inti⯑mately neceſſary for performing the functions, [55] and anſwering the end of the judge's office.—All virtue properly belongs to him: it becomes the man who is exalted above others by his rank, authority, or power, to be more excellent than his neighbour ^*; and univerſal virtue is the true excellence of man. Every vice is baſe, and introduces ſome degree of meanneſs into the character: but every ſort of meanneſs is unſuitable to thoſe per⯑ſons whoſe rank inſpires reſpect, whoſe autho⯑rity is the object of veneration, and cannot be ſupported without properly affecting the opi⯑nions and ſentiments of thoſe who are ſubject to it.—Many particular virtues are, in different reſpects, peculiarly neceſſary to the ſupport of the authority of rulers, and to the right per⯑formance of the duties of their ſtation; and the oppoſite vices obſtruct this end, and are, for that reaſon, unſeemly in the ruler.—Tem⯑perance, ſelf-government, ſedate recollection of ſoul, correctneſs and dignity of conduct, be⯑come rulers; levity, diſſipation, gaity, or gid⯑dineſs of demeanour, love of pleaſure, and every ſenſual exceſs, miſbecome them: thoſe virtues are ſuitable, and theſe vices perfectly unſuitable, to the elevation of their rank, to the gravity of their character, to the ſolemnity of their office, to the intention and application of mind [56] which it requires. The littleneſs of theſe vices, joined with the idea of men who repre⯑ſent the public, and ought to ſuſtain its honour, forms an incongruous mixture, which is ne⯑ceſſarily ungraceful, and cannot fail to give diſguſt to the ſpectator.—In like manner, piety is a becoming ingredient in the character, and an indiſpenſible duty of the ſtation of thoſe to whom any part of the government is com⯑mitted; and every kind and degree of impiety is unfit and unbecoming in them. They are the guardians of the peace and order of ſociety, and conſequently ought to be the guardians and and friends of religion, without which that peace and order cannot be preſerved. Their rank will give force to an example of piety ex⯑hibited by them, and by rendering the practice of it more general among their inferiors, they will multiply thoſe bleſſings which religion confers upon ſociety. Religion will be the moſt powerful principle of that impartial and ſteady juſtice which ſociety has a right to ex⯑pect from its judges: an inward temper of fervent piety will ſet God continually before them, in the very light in which the Pſalmiſt repreſents him, ſtanding in the congregation of the mighty, judging among the Gods, ſaying to them, Judge not unjuſtly, accept not the perſons of the wicked; defend the poor and fatherleſs, [57] do juſtice to the afflicted and needy, deliver the poor and needy, rid them out of the hand of the wicked ^*.—Thus again, avarice is very incon⯑gruous to the character of a judge; its meanneſs debaſes and degrades him: but its incongruity ariſes principally from its being very ſtrongly repugnant to the end of his office, and very directly inconſiſtent with that juſtice which is his immediate duty: its demands, allowed to min⯑gle with the functions of his office, could not fail to ſophiſticate them all; for a gift blindeth the wiſe, and perverteth the words of the right⯑eous ^†. A freedom from the ſordid degrees of avarice is neceſſary to preſerve a judge from being always ſuſpected of corruption, from actually becoming corrupt whenever a bribe is in his power, and from appearing infamous on that account. A ſoul having covetouſneſs ^‡, full of generoſity, ſuperior to all the allure⯑ments of riches, is neceſſary for giving his character the proper elevation, for ſecuring him againſt all danger of corruption, and for eſta⯑bliſhing a general confidence in his integrity.—But ſtill even theſe virtues are more indirectly ſubſervient to the end of the judge's office, than juſtice is. Other virtues promote that end by the intervention of ſomething elſe, to which they contribute; juſtice promotes it immedi⯑ately, [58] without the intervention of any thing elſe. The exerciſe of juſtice itſelf, is the proximate means of anſwering the purpoſes of government and judgment: one of the princi⯑pal ways in which other virtues promote theſe purpoſes, is, by ſupporting or contributing to the ſteady and vigorous exerciſe of incorrupt⯑ible juſtice. Injuſtice, directly and of itſelf, defeats theſe purpoſes, and is in every inſtance abſolutely inconſiſtent with them: other vices obſtruct them, ſometimes very ſtrongly, but always more remotely and indirectly, often by preparing the way to injuſtice.

IN a word, magiſtrates and judges are ſet over men for this very end, to do judgment and juſtiee; as their office is of divine appoint⯑ment, they are charged to purſue this end, by God himſelf; every deviation from juſtice, is perfectly reverſing the end of their appoint⯑ment: juſtice is therefore their peculiar vir⯑tue, the immediate decorum of their charac⯑ter.

SECONDLY, Rulers and judges have, from their office, opportunity for many exertions of juſtice, wholly peculiar to themſelves. On this account alſo, juſtice may be conſidered as in a ſpecial manner the virtue of their charac⯑ter and ſtation.

[59]EVERY private perſon has opportunity for many exertions of the virtue of juſtice. All the parts of our intercourſe with others, give us opportunities for abſtaining from hurting them, for rendering every man his due in re⯑ſpect of property, reputation, and honour, for performing promiſes, for executing faithfully what has been committed to our truſt. The uniform practice of theſe ſeveral offices of juſtice, entitles private perſons to the cha⯑racter of juſt and honeſt men: a failure in any one of them, would in ſome meaſure forfeit that character.

RULERS have, in common with other men, opportunities for all theſe duties; for their connexions with mankind, by means of outward things, are the ſame with thoſe of other men. But the moſt blameleſs practice of theſe duties, is not ſufficient to conſtitute a ruler, a juſt and righteous man. Many other exerciſes of juſtice are as indiſpenſibly incum⯑bent upon him, as any of theſe is upon other men. To him it belongs, to procure juſtice for thoſe who cannot procure it to themſelves, to execute juſtice between man and man, and between individuals and ſociety. The poor man, who cannot himſelf reſiſt the oppreſſion of the great, the peaceable man, who is har⯑raſſed by the encroachments of the man of [60] violence, the orphan, whoſe rights are in⯑vaded by him that hath no bowels, claim the protection of the judge, and can obtain redreſs only by bringing their cauſe under his cogni⯑zance. Differences ariſing from the ignorance or the ſelf-partiality of perſons well diſpoſed, can be determined only by the ſuperior know⯑ledge and unbiaſſed juſtice of the judge. When individuals are injured, or the public diſturbed, by crimes, it is to the integrity of the judge that they muſt look up for help. It belongs to his office, to determine equally in every caſe, to vindicate violated rights, to fruſtrate unrighteous demands, to puniſh de⯑ſtructive crimes. How extenſive, then, is the ſphere of public juſtice, which is peculiar to the ruler and the judge? In every inſtance of public juſtice, he muſt make conſcience of doing what is right; elſe he forfeits the cha⯑racter of a juſt and honeſt man, in the very ſame way as another perſon would forfeit it by being convicted of a tranſgreſſion of private juſtice. He muſt be ſuperior to all influence from the favour or diſpleaſure of men, and from every motive of intereſt: in his public character, he muſt refuſe to feel, what it is amiable to feel and to comply with in private life, the ſuggeſtions of natural affection, the attractions of blood, the tenderneſs of friend⯑ſhip, the impulſe of gratitude, the emotions [61] of compaſſion: he muſt not allow either ad⯑miration of a perſon's general worth, or indig⯑nation againſt his habitual baſeneſs, ſentiments which in ordinary life it is glorious to cheriſh, to mingle with his decrees: the moment he is ſeated on his tribunal, he muſt know no man after the fleſh ^*, he muſt obſtinately abſtain from conſidering any man in any other light, but that preciſe light in which he appears in the preſent cauſe. Ye ſhall do NO unrighteouſ⯑neſs in judgment; thou ſhall not reſpect the per⯑ſon of the FOOR, nor honour the perſon of the MIGHTY: but in righteouſneſs ſhalt thou judge thy neighbour ^†. May not that be juſtly conſi⯑dered as a peculiar virtue of the ruler, for the exerciſe of which he has ſo many peculiar oc⯑caſions?

THIRDLY, Juſtice may be conſidered as in a peculiar manner belonging to rulers, judges, and magiſtrates, becauſe they are under pecu⯑liar obligations to it.

IT will be found on examination that our all-wiſe Creator has, in forming human nature, enforced every virtue by ſanctions whoſe ſtrength is preciſely in proportion to the degree in which that virtue is neceſſary to human life and ſo⯑ciety. [62] Juſtice is abſolutely neceſſary to the ſafety of human life, and to the very exiſtence of ſociety; the univerſal violation of it would multiply poſitive pains and ſufferings upon mankind, and prevent the poſſibility of their union. Accordingly the practice of juſtice is ſecured by the moſt powerful motives. It is one of thoſe virtues which conſcience makes us feel to be of ſacred and inviolable obligation: the tranſgreſſion of it by others, excites our abhorrence and deteſtation; the conſciouſneſs of a trangreſſion of it by ourſelves, produces remorſe and ſelf-condemnation; in both caſes our ſentiments are attended with a ſenſe of me⯑rited diſgrace and puniſhment.—Different ex⯑erciſes of the ſame virtue are, in conſequence of this conſtitution of our nature, [...]elt to be more or leſs ſtrictly obligatory in proportion to the degree of their neceſſity in human life. All men are indiſpenſably bound to every act of juſtice that comes within their ſphere. But ſome exerciſes of juſtice are more neceſſary than others, and therefore of ſtricter obligation. Not to perceive the ſuperiority of their obliga⯑tion, not to condemn tranſgreſſions of them more ſeverely, not to abhor them more vio⯑lently, not to aſcribe to them more atrocious guilt and higher demerit, would demonſtrate a perverſion of our ſentiments, a depravation of our conſcience.—The ſame virtues, and [63] the ſame exerciſes of them, are more eſſential to the ſupport of ſociety, in ſome characters than in others: and it is a conſequence of the ſtructure of our nature already pointed out, that on the former they are felt, by every un⯑corrupted heart, to be proportionably more ſacredly obligatory.

THESE principles, which have a plain foundation in the conſtitution of human na⯑ture, are ſufficient for evincing that magiſ⯑trates and judges are under peculiar obligations to juſtice. All injuſtice is deſtructive to ſo⯑ciety; but it is far more deſtructive when it is practiſed by rulers, than if it were practiſed only by private perſons. Juſtice in all men is beneficial to ſociety, but in judges it is more beneficial.

EVERY act of injuſtice brings poſitive hurt on the perſon who is affected by it; but an un⯑juſt judgment hurts with the cutting aggrava⯑tions of its being done under form of law, and of its impeaching the perſon whom it in⯑jures, as if he had been injurious. Private perſons are connected only with a few, and therefore only a few can be hurt by their in⯑juſtice; but the injuſtice of a judge is of more extenſive conſequence, it hurts all who are ſubject to his juriſdiction. Private injuſtice [64] may be checked or redreſſed by the righteouſ⯑neſs of the judge; but if the judge be un⯑righteous, by whom ſhall his injuſtice be re⯑ſtrained? The danger is ſo great and ſo obvi⯑ous that in every ſtate ſuperior tribunals are appointed for correcting and curbing the in⯑juſtice of the inferior. But if the ſupreme tri⯑bunal be corrupted, the evil is without a re⯑medy: then the oppreſſed complain in vain, they ſigh in ſecret, and are afraid to ſeek re⯑dreſs; then the injured man who had the boldneſs to ſeek redreſs for his violated rights, has the mortification to find the violation rati⯑fied, and doubled by his efforts to avoid it; then he who endeavoured to defend himſelf from a ſlight wrong, ſees his endeavours plunge him into ruin; then the wicked lifts up his horn on high ^*, he ravages at his will, the land and all its inhabitants thereof are diſſolved ^†, the foundations of the earth are out of courſe ^‡. Even to ſeek redreſs againſt the iniquity of a ſubordinate judge, is often grievous; the weak may be cruſhed, the poor may be beggared by the injuſtice of the meaneſt magiſtrate; they are unable to proſecute their cauſe, though it be unqueſtionably good; they muſt ſit down ruined, that they may avoid deeper ruin. The very ſuſpicion of injuſtice in judges, is of per⯑nicious [65] conſequence: it deprives men of that ſenſe of ſecurity, which is neceſſary to the comfort of life, and is one of happieſt effects of a free conſtitution of government; it fills them with habitual apprehenſion that their moſt perfect rights may be invaded; it makes them dread to vindicate them when they are invaded; it dejects and torments their ſouls with all thoſe terrors which are incident to the ſubjects of deſpotiſm; it impreſſes them with the gloomy idea that all things are precarious. Say every feeling heart, are not the uncertain⯑ties, the anxieties, the perplexities of this ſituation real and grievous ſufferings?

JUSTICE is of the greateſt advantage, as well as of the utmoſt neceſſity, to ſociety. The univerſal practice of it is one of the lead⯑ing features in the fiction of the golden age; the happineſs of that period, the poets place principa [...]ly in this, that crimes and injuries were unknown. The imperfection and de⯑pravity of makind render it impoſſible that that fiction ſhould be realized. Incorruptible juſ⯑tice in all the rulers of a nation, puts ſociety in the ſtate which approaches neareſt to it. In that ſtate, injuries may be done, but they meet with quick and certain redreſs; crimes may be committed, but they paſs not with impunity, though they ſhould be committed [66] by the greateſt: every perſon feels that all his rights are ſafe, that if they be attacked by the wickedneſs of individuals, they will be pro⯑tected by the integrity of the judge; the ſenſe of this ſecurity keeps every heart at eaſe, marks every face with ſerenity, and fills every life with comfort.—If then the neceſſity and the eſſential utility of a virtue, be the mea⯑ſure of the ſtrictneſs of its obligation, what obligation can be ſtricter than the obligation of rulers to be juſt?

JUSTICE is incumbent on private perſons only by virtue of its own obligation; yet on them it is indiſpenſibly incumbent: it is in⯑cumbent on judges by the ſame obligation; but on them it is incumbent alſo by other ob⯑ligations. It is incumbent by the obligation of fidelity: the execution of juſtice is a truſt committed to them. It is, in effect, the po⯑ſitive charge of ſociety to every judge, [...]ay, it is the expreſs charge of God himſelf to every judge when divine providence raiſes him to his office, Ta [...]e heed what ye do; for ye judge not for man, but for the Lord, who is with you in the judgment: wherefore now let the fear of the Lord be upon you, take heed and do it; for there is▪ no iniquity with the Lord, nor reſpect of perſons, nor taking of gifts ^*. Thus ſhall ye do [67] in the fear of the Lord, faithfully, and with a perfect heart ^*. By the acceptance of their office, they tacitly, but very ſolemnly, pledge their faith to God and to ſociety, that they will hear the cauſes between their brethren, and judge righteouſly between every man and his bro⯑ther ^†. Should they reſpect perſons in judg⯑ment ^‡, or pervert equity ^‖, they would be guilty of falſehood and treachery, as well as of injuſtice.

THE actual ſentiments of mankind own the concluſion, that juſtice is of peculiar obliga⯑tion upon judges, and confirm the reaſoning by which we have evinced it. Juſtice un⯑corrupted, and even unſuſpected, is deemed ſo eſſential to the character of a judge, that a perſon who diſregarded any of its private of⯑fices, would, by the univerſal voice of man⯑kind, be pronounced for that reaſon unfit to ſuſtain the character of a judge. In a judge, every ſpecies of fraud and injuſtice would be [...]eclared more unſuitable, more atrocious, more inexcuſable, than in another. Were his pri⯑vate juſtice perfectly unblamable, habitual unrighteouſneſs in his judicial capacity would blaſt his reputation; a ſingle inſtance of wilful unrighteouſneſs would indelibly fix ſome ſtain [68] upon his name. The terrors of his power, or reſpect for his rank and office, may move men to condemn in ſilence, and to behave with great external deference, and may hinder him from diſcovering how low he ſtands in the eſtimation of the worthy: but they cannot ſuppreſs the ſentiments of the honeſt heart: even reſpect for the office changes its nature, and, inſtead of communicating itſelf to the perſon who holds it, inflames our indignation againſt him for abuſing and diſgracing it. Former ages have afforded inſtances of judges notoriouſly arbitrary and unjuſt: they were abhorred by their contemporaries; and the im⯑partiality of hiſtory has ſtigmatized them, I may ſay, with deeper infamy than the vileſt criminal that ever they condemned. There have been periods when ſuch judges have been ſought for, ſupported, and encouraged, by the tyranny of governors, or by the factious mad⯑neſs of the people: but theſe periods are and ever will be branded as the moſt diſgraceful and infamous periods in the hiſtory of human ſociety.

IF now, my brethren, it has been proved, that juſtice is the immediate and proximate in⯑ſtrument of accompliſhing the very end of the office of rulers, magiſtrates, and judges, that they alone have opportunity for many impor⯑tant [69] exerciſes of juſtice,—and that they lie un⯑der peculiar obligations to it,—may we not fairly conclude, that juſtice is peculiarly their virtue, the immediate, the proper, the moſt indiſ [...]enſible decorum of their character? If this maxim be juſt, the conſequence is obvi⯑ous and undeniable, that all magiſtrates and judges ought to adhere to juſtice with perfect inflexibility, and to practice it with the ut⯑moſt diligence, and the moſt ſerupulous ex⯑actneſs. This conſequence demands not the attention only of a few. It fixes the duty, not only of perpetual judges, nor only of temporary magiſtrates, but alſo of all who are of juries in public trials, or arbitrators in pri⯑vate differences. Every man may be, moſt men actually actually are, ſometimes in a ſituation where juſtice is, in the peculiar man⯑ner that has been deſcribed, incumbent on them: whenever they are, they render them⯑ſelves baſe, if they allow their juſtice to be biaſſed.

SERMON IV. THE FIRST PROMISE OF THE REDEEMER.

THE prophecy contained in theſe words, is the firſt opening of Chriſtianity, the firſt intimation of the Meſſiah, the firſt pro⯑miſe of redemption to fallen mankind. It is on this account remarkable. It is remarkable alſo in reſpect of its occaſion, and of the man⯑ner in which it was pronounced.

GOD created our firſt parents in perfect in⯑nocence, and deſigned them for immortality. The ſame goodneſs which determined him to create them, and to give them ſo noble a na⯑ture, diſpoſed him likewiſe to make ample [72] proviſion for their ſupport and their comfort. He placed them in the garden of Eden, which his own hand had adorned, and in which he had planted every tree pleaſant to the ſight and good for food ^*. He gave them liberty to feaſt on all the variety of fruits which it con⯑tained: and, for trial of their obedience, for⯑bad the fruit of only one tree in the midſt of the garden, but forbad them that, with this expreſs threatening, In the day that thou eateſt thereof, thou ſhalt ſurely die ^†. Unthankful for the abundance which God had allowed them, regardleſs of his prohibition, unawed by his threatening, firſt Eve ſolicited by the ſer⯑pent, and next Adam ſeduced by his wife, did eat the one forbidden kind of fruit.

THAT it was the devil, who tempted Eve, is acknowledged by all. It is the general opi⯑nion, either that he entered into one of the ſerpents of the field, actuated its body, gave it ſpeech, and made it his inſtrument in the temptation; or elſe that he aſſumed the form of one of them, and appeared in its likeneſs. Had either of theſe been the caſe, Eve could ſcarcely have failed to be ſurpriſed and terri⯑fied: the ſerpents of the field were familiar to her: when ſhe heard one of them ſpeaking, [73] and ſpeaking rationally, ſhe would have im⯑mediately run away, and knowing him to be only one of the brutes, ſhe would not have eaſily allowed herſelf to be by him perſuaded out of her obedience to God.

SOME are therefore of opinion, that the de⯑vil did not, on this occaſion, either employ any of the brute ſerpents, or appear in the form of any of them. That he did, ſeems in⯑deed to be implied in the words with which the hiſtory is introduced, Now the ſerpent was more ſubtle than any beaſt of the field ^*. But it ſeeems to be implied in them only as they ſtand in our tranſlation: the original may with equal propriety be rendered, Now there was a ſerpent more ſubtle than any beaſt, or than all the beaſts of the field ^†: not one of the beaſts [74] of the field, but a being far more intelligent than any of them, than of them all together, a being of an higher order, the devil. In the account of the creation which Moſes had be⯑fore given, he had no occaſion to mention the devil: but being now to relate a tranſaction in which the devil was the firſt mover, he very properly introduces it with an intimation, that there is ſuch a being as the devil. But why does he call the devil a ſerpent, if he neither aſſumed the form of one, nor uſed one as his inſtrument? He might very properly call him a ſerpent, without any regard to his form, on account of his ſubtlety. It is common to expreſs a rational being by the name of ſome animal to whoſe qualities his diſpoſition bears a reſemblance; there are inſtances of it in parts of ſcripture not the moſt figurative ^*; the ſer⯑pent has been conſidered in all ages as an em⯑blem of malice and of cunning; the ſcripture inſinuates this very reaſon for giving the name to the devil; he is that old ſerpent called the devil and Satan, which DECEIVETH the whole world ^†. He might be called a ſerpent, like⯑wiſe, on account of his own angelic form. All the names of intellectual things and ſpi⯑ritual beings are figurative, being taken from thoſe material and ſenſible things which bear [75] an analogy to them. Seraphs were ſuppoſed to reſemble the winged fiery ſerpent in their form, and had their name from them, on ac⯑count of this reſemblance: the fiery ſerpents which the Lord ſent among the people of Iſrael in the wilderneſs, are called ſerpents ſeraphim ^*; and the ſerpent of braſs made by Moſes on that occaſion, is called ſimply a ſeraph ^†. The devil probably appeared to Eve in the form of a ſeraph, ſhe took him for an angel of light, converſed with him as ſuch, and therefore liſtened to him without ſurprize, without ſuſpicion, and was eaſily perſuaded by him. It was this ſerpent, metaphorically ſo called, that tempted Eve: it is this one individual ſerpent, the devil, not the whole ſerpentine kind, nor any particular ſpecies of it, that is ſpoken of through the whole of this hiſtory. This ſuppoſition agrees perfectly with the whole tenour of the hiſtory, and cl [...]ars it from many difficulties in which the other ſuppoſitions have involved it.

SOON after our firſt parents had ſinned, they heard the voice of Jehovah ^‡. They had often heard it; and always hitherto it had been pleaſant to them. But now it was ter⯑rible; they endeavoured to hide themſelves. [76] God found them out, and extorted a confeſ⯑ſion from them, that they had diſobeyed their maker. Firſt Adam owned that he had eaten, but accuſed the woman of having given him the fruit. Next Eve confeſſed that ſhe had eaten, but laid the blame upon the ſerpent: the ſerpent, that ſerpent, probably pointing to him, or caſting her eye upon him, beguiled me, and I did eat ^*. This ſerpent, the temp⯑ter, was preſent: either detained by the power of God; or of choice, exulting in his ſuc⯑ceſs, eager to overhear the doom of the de⯑luded pair, to enjoy his victory, and to triumph over them.

BEHOLD now God appearing in the Sche⯑chinah! the two apoſtate parents of the hu⯑man race, and the Seraph who had tempted them to apoſtacy, ſtand before him. He ſits in judgment, and paſſes a ſeparate ſentence upon each. He paſſes ſentence firſt upon the Tempter ^†. This was fit in order to check his exultation: it made him feel that, in re⯑ducing them to miſery, he had reduced him⯑ſelf to greater miſery. If we conſider the ſen⯑tence as paſſed on the brute ſerpents, it is trif [...]ing and liable to endleſs difficulties: but if we conſider it as reſpecting only the devil, [77] it has great propriety and dignity, and every part of it is expreſſed with very ſtriking beauty. He appeared now, as he had appeared while tempting Eve, in the ſeraphic form; and all the expreſſions uſed in the judgment pro⯑nounced againſt him, have a double reference to that ſeraphic form, and to the ſerpentine form which it reſembles. And the Lord God ſaid unto the ſerpent; not unto the ſerpents of the field, but unto the ſerpent who now ſtood before him, the ſame individual being who is ſpoken of through the whole hiſtory: to him ſolely, the whole ſentence is directed, without the moſt diſtant intimation that any part of it regarded the ſerpents of the field. Becauſe thou haſt done this; Thou; not a brute ſerpent; a brute ſerpent neither did, nor could have done it; but the one ſeraphic ſerpent the devil; he it was who had beguiled Eve. Therefore, ſays God, Thou, the ſame indivi⯑dual ſerpent, the devil, art curſed above all cattle, and above every beaſt of the field: thou art devoted to a puniſhment which, far ſu⯑perior as thine original nature was to theirs, ſhall render thee more vile, abject, and miſe⯑rable, than the meaneſt of the brutes, more an object of God's diſpleaſure, and of the hatred of all good beings, than any other creature is. Upon thy belly ſhalt thou go: this is not meant againſt the brute ſerpents; it is not true of [78] all of them, for flying ſerpents, it is ſaid, con⯑tinued to exiſt after this; of the other ſerpents it would have been impertinent, for to them going on their bellies was eſſential from the creation. It was directed only to the ſeducer; and, if it be explained according to the uſage of ſcripture ſtile, it will appear in reſpect of him to have great truth and propriety. It was directed to him in his ſeraphic form, which reſembled the ſerpentine; the manner of expreſſion is cho⯑ſen with a view to that reſemblance, and inti⯑mates his puniſhment in alluſion to it; it inti⯑mates that he was now as much degraded as if his ſeraphic form were converted into that of a groveling ſerpent, as if from flying on high, he were reduced to creep upon his belly. This figurative expreſſion, at leaſt one per⯑fectly ſimilar to it, is uſed elſewhere in ſcrip⯑ture, and had become proverbial, to ſignify a reduction to the loweſt affliction and humi⯑liation: it is very deep affliction which the Pſalmiſt intends to deſcribe, when he ſays, Our ſoul is bowed down to the duſt, our belly cleaveth unto the earth ^*; it is what in the pre⯑ceding verſes he had called, affliction, oppreſ⯑ſion, being killed all day long, counted as ſheep for the ſlaughter, caſt off by God ^†. Its ſimple meaning in this curſe is, Thou ſhalt be de⯑graded [79] from all thine original dignity and ce⯑leſtial glory, thou ſhalt loſe all the preroga⯑tives of thy nature, thou ſhalt be caſt down to ſhame, and infamy, and reduced to an abject and vile condition. And duſt ſhalt thou eat all the days of thy life: the meaning is not, Thou ſhalt feed wholly upon duſt, but, Thou ſhalt lick up duſt together with thy food: ſtill the alluſion to ſerpents, whom the devil's ſeraphic form reſembled, is beautifully kept up. But it is not a ſentence pronounced againſt brute ſerpents; it was true before of them, that they licked up duſt along with their food; and this is not peculiar to them, it is common to them with all animals that feed from off the ground. Here too the terms are metaphorical and proverbial; but they are not unuſual in ſcripture; they convey an idea ſimilar to what is expreſſed in the preceding clauſe, they con⯑tain an amplification of that idea; they ſignify a ſtate of bondage, captivity, impriſonment, and the loweſt depreſſion. It is ſuch a ſtate that Micah means, when he prophecies that the nations ſhall lick the duſt like a ſerpent ^*; it is a ſtate in which they ſhould be con [...]ounded ^†, and move out of their holes like worms out of the earth ^‡. There is a ſimilar expreſſion in one of the Pſalms, I have eaten aſhes like br [...]ad ^‖; [80] which from the title of the Pſalm, from the occaſion to which it is referred, and from many plain deſcriptions of bondage and diſtreſs through the whole of it ^*, has undeniably the ſame ſig⯑nification. David prophecying of the Meſ⯑ſiah, ſays His enemies ſhall lick the duſt ^†; and and Iſaiah foretells that, in the completion of the Meſſiah's kingdom, duſt ſhall be in the ſer⯑pent's meat ^‡. Both probably had this original curſe directly in their eye, and, to intimate that they had purpoſely retained the metapho⯑rical terms of it, which imply this plain ſen⯑timent, That the devil was to be thenceforth in a ſtate of the moſt abject depreſſion, and the moſt wretched captivity, groaning under preſent anguiſh and overwhelmed with dreadful expectations. In terms therefore metaphorical indeed, but the preciſe import of which may [81] be aſcertained by the ſcripture language in other paſſages, the T [...]mpter is ſentenc [...]d to a ſtate of miſerable degradation and bondage; to the very ſtate which Peter deſcribes in plainer terms, in terms extremely unlike to thoſe uſed in this ſentence, but ſurpriſingly ſynonymous with them, God ſpared not the angels that ſinned, but caſt them down to [...]ell, and delivered them into chains of darkneſs, to be reſerved unto judg⯑ment ^*.

So far the ſentence was abſolute; it ex⯑preſſed ſimply the condition to which the Tempter was inſtantly degraded. The re⯑maining part of it is expreſſive of the condition of the devil in relation to mankind. In ex⯑preſſing it God introduced a promiſe comfort⯑able [82] to man: this was great kindneſs to our firſt parents; by this their fears were alleviated, and a beam of conſolation was darted into their guilty hearts, before themſelves were ſentenced to ſorrow, labour, and mortality. It is con⯑tained in the text; And I will put enmity be⯑tween thee and the woman, and between thy ſeed and her ſeed: it ſhall bruiſe thy head, and thou ſhalt bruiſe his heel.

WHEN this promiſe was firſt delivered, it was, no doubt, only like a light that ſhineth in a dark place ^*: it was juſt ſufficient to relieve the thickneſs of the gloom, to l [...]t in a twinkling ray of hope, to give an indefinite conception of ſome comfortable and happy event, a conception analogous to the indiſtinct view of bodies in a glimmering light. Our [...]i [...]ſt parents would naturally conclude from this promiſe, That the devil's malicious deſigns againſt them, were to be in a great meaſure defeated; but they had not a full conception either of the extent and conſequences of his deſigns, or of the na⯑ture and manner of the promiſed deliverance from them. The promiſe was, however, ad⯑mirably adapted to the circumſtances of his temptation, and to the apprehenſions which they could not fail to entertain. He hoped, [83] perhaps, by deceiving the woman, to bring on them immediate death, and extinguiſh the whole ſpecies at once, and they would readily fear this: but God promiſes that the woman ſhall have ſeed. The devil had deceived her under the ſpecious pretence of friendſhip, and expected to have gained her wholly and firmly to [...]ſpouſe his cauſe and intereſts: but war is proclaimed between him and his ſeed, and the woman and her ſeed. He had intended the utter ruin of mankind, and rejoiced in the thought that he had accompliſhed it: but it is declared that he had accompliſhed his own deſtruction, and that, though he ſhould have ſome ſucceſs in the com⯑bat, its iſſue ſhould be much more fatal to himſelf than to his adverſary. The import of this promiſe has been illuſtrated by poſterior propheſies, and ſtill more by the event, ſo that it is made to ſhine to us like the day-ſtar. With regard both to the ſucceeding propheſies, and the deſcriptions of the event, ſome are expreſſed in terms ſimilar to thoſe uſed here, on purpoſe to ſhow that they belong to the ſame ſubject; and others are expreſſed in very different terms, either in proper words or in diſſimilar meta⯑phors, that by comparing them all together, we may the better apprehend the preciſe mean⯑ing of all the terms, and underſtand the whole ſubject more perfectly. Examined by this light, the text will be found not only to con⯑tain [84] a promiſe of the Redeemer, which is com⯑monly obſerved in it, but alſo, which is not ſo commonly obſerved, to repreſent in brief, but with great exactneſs, the whole religious and moral ſtate of this world; from the fall of man to the conſummation of all things.

IN what remains of this diſcourſe, I ſhall illuſtrate the ſeveral particulars of this pro⯑miſe; and then make ſome reflections on it.

FIRST, It is here intimated that the wo⯑man ſhould have ſeed; and it is intimated in ſuch a manner as to imply an accurate predic⯑tion of the miraculous birth of the Redeemer.

OUR firſt parents probably apprehended, and the Tempter hoped, that God would con⯑demn them to immediate death. While they were trembling under this apprehenſion, they hear God declare that the woman ſhall have ſeed: this was comfortable to them; it im⯑plied that their lives were to be prolonged. At the time, they would perhaps conceive theſe words to mean only any deſcendant from them. That Eve expected the perſon thus promiſed, in Cain her eldeſt ſon, is by ſome thought to be intimated by what ſhe ſaid at his birth, which they render, I have gotten a man, the [85] Lord ^*. It was even merciful in God to give them only an obſcure and general intimation of the great Deliverer: had they known that he was not to appear till after ſo many ages, it might have ſunk them in dejection.

BUT however obſcure their conception of him may have been, this intimation is very preciſe; it is an exact deſcription of a wonder⯑ful event, of the extraordinary and miraculous conception of the Saviour of mankind. The poſterity is always reckoned after the man; this expreſſion, the ſeed of the woman, is with⯑out a parallel in ſcripture; the moſt learned Jews hold it to be wholly unaccountable. But their minds are, as the apoſtle affirms ^†, blinded, and there is a vail upon their hearts, in the read⯑ing of the old teſtament; elſe, ſingular as the expreſſion is, it needed not appear inexplicable to them: for they have in their own ſcrip⯑tures, a prediction expreſſed indeed in different words, but which in ſenſe perfectly coincides with it, and explains it. Behold, ſays Iſaiah ^‡, a virgin ſhall conceive, and bear a ſon. That perſon who was born of a virgin is with the ſtricteſt propriety called the ſeed of the woman; he is, what no other ever was or ſhall be, the ſeed of the woman only, not of the man. [86] The expreſſion would indeed be improper and inexplicable, if there were not ſuch an event correſponding to it; and if there be ſuch an event, this ſingular expreſſion was doubtleſs choſen on purpoſe to mark its peculiarity.

IT is in the goſpel that we find that won⯑derful event. Jeſus of Nazar [...]th was born of the virgin Mary, having been conceived of the Holy Ghoſt. Matthew mentions this ^*. Luke gives a particular account of it ^†. Paul takes notice of it in terms which point out Jeſus as the perſon deſigned in this firſt proph [...]y: When the fulneſs of the time was come, God ſent forth his ſon made of a woman ^‡. He had no father but God: God himſelf, by his own immediate operation, as the pſal [...]iſt had fore⯑told, prepared a body for him ^‖. This e [...]ent, abſolutely ſingular, without a parallel, was, in terms which exactly ſuit it, foretold ſour thouſand years before it happened, in the very infancy of the world, to the firſt human pair.

SECONDLY, It is foretold in this predic⯑tion, that there ſhould be a perpetual oppoſi⯑tion between this perſon and the devil. Satan was already the declared enemy of mankind; [87] and one born of a woman is, by the appoint⯑ment of God himſelf, to enter the liſts with him, and war againſt him. I will put enmity, ſays God, between thee and the woman, and between thy ſeed and her ſeed. Satan probably hoped that the matter was abſolutely deter⯑mined, and our firſt parents [...]inally and irre⯑trievably ruined, by the overthrow which he had already given them; and they feared that it was ſo: it muſt have yielded them ſome com⯑fort, even to know that there was ſtill room for a conteſt.

THESE words are addreſſed to the ſame ſerpent who had been ſpoken of all along. Being thus addreſſed to o [...]e, they cannot re⯑fer to all the brute ſ [...]rpents. They r [...]fer not to any of them; there is no greater antipathy between mankind and them, than between mankind and all other frightful and deſtructive animals: and it is, not mankind, but Chriſt Jeſus, that is here principally intended. The devil who had deceived Eve, the prince of the apoſtate ſpirits, is the ſerpent here meant. By his ſeed, we muſt underſtand ſuch progeny as an angel can have. His ſeed d [...]notes prima⯑rily the [...]vil ſpirits who were partakers in his apoſtaſy, or his followers in d [...]fection from God. It includes alſo wicked men: they are corrupted by his temptation, they are [88] formed by his influence, and they bear his image; and on this account they are in ſcrip⯑ture called the children of the devil, and as ſuch oppoſed to good men, who are named the chil⯑dren of God ^*. Theſe are the parties on one ſide of this conteſt.

THE parties on the other ſide are the wo⯑man and her ſeed. It is Jeſus Chriſt who is meant by the ſeed of the woman; the manner of expreſſion points to him: he is the princi⯑pal in this oppoſition to the devil. The wo⯑man herſelf is alſo mentioned: Eve could ne⯑ver certainly think without deteſtation of the devil, who had ſo maliciouſly deceived her. But by the woman is not meant Eve alone; Chriſt was not the ſeed of Eve excluſive of Adam; his virgin mother was equally de⯑ſcended from them both. The woman is not mentioned here, becauſe ſhe was to bear any peculiar enmity to Satan; her enmity is com⯑mon to all of her poſterity who reſemble her in deteſting the devil and his works: but ſhe is mentioned, becauſe it was ſhe that had been deceived by Satan, and, perhaps chiefly, to give occaſion for predicting him who was pe⯑culiarly the ſeed of the woman: accordingly in the following clauſes, the mention of the wo⯑man [89] is entirely dropt, and only her ſeed ſpoken of. Good men are indeed, under Chriſt, engaged in this conteſt; but their being engaged in it, is not directly intimated by the expreſſions here uſed; it is only re⯑motely and by a metonymy implied, as they may be conſidered, according to the repreſen⯑tations of ſcripture in other places, as members of Chriſt, and fighting in his ſtrength.

IT is here foretold then, that there would be a perpetual and irreconcileable oppoſition between the devil, evil ſpirits, and wicked men on the one hand, and Chriſt on the other hand. From the moment of the fall, it has been ſo, in every ſenſe in which the predic⯑tion can be underſtood.

IN the ſtricteſt ſenſe, it intimates a perſonal conteſt between theſe parties; and in this ſenſe it was literally fulfilled. Devils and wicked men have from the beginning exerted themſelves in propagating idolatry and vice, and overwhelming the world with miſery. That the Son of God was perſonally engaged, even before his incarnation, in counteracting their deſigns, there are many hints in ſcrip⯑ture; his goings forth have been from of old, from the days of the age; and he continued to give them until the time that ſhe who was a⯑bearing [90] had borne ^*. But after ſhe had borne, after the Son of God had become the ſeed of the woman, there was a perſonal conteſt in the propereſt ſenſe. The devil himſelf tempted Chriſt in the wilderneſs; and by his inſtru⯑ments he laboured inceſſantly to defeat his views, to raiſe prejudices againſt his perſon, his doctrine, his actions, and his miracles. Herod endeavoured to murder him in his in⯑fancy. The Jews perſecuted him all his days, and at laſt crucified him. In ſo doing, they ſhowed that they were, as our Saviour on this very account calls them, ſerpents ^†, a genera⯑tion of vipers ^‡, of their father the devil ^‖: they did his works, and they were inſtigated by him. By the ſame inſtigation Judas betrayed Chriſt to death; Satan had entered into him ^§, and moved him to it. On the other hand, Jeſus Chriſt reſiſted the devil, and, during the whole of his life in the fleſh, oppoſed his deſigns and intereſts, caſting out unclean ſpirits, healing thoſe diſeaſes which ſin had brought into the world, combating the vices of wicked men, and, till his hour was come, eluding and de⯑feating their malicious attempts againſt him⯑ſelf. Since his exaltation he is inviſible, but he is repreſented in ſcripture as the head of the [91] church, conſtantly employing his power for promoting true religion, virtue, and happi⯑neſs: and the devil is repreſented as the ruler of the kingdom of darkneſs, and, along with wicked men, intent upon, and active in op⯑poſing him and promoting the contrary views.

BUT the words of the prediction need not be reſtricted to ſuch a perſonal conduct. The devil is here ſpoken of as the h [...]ad of the apo⯑ſtaſy, who had become a rebel againſt God, ſet up a kingdom in direct oppoſition to God's kingdom, a kingdom of wickedneſs, and la⯑boured to ſpread ſin and miſery; and his off⯑ſpring are conſidered as acting under him in carrying on his plan: when theſe perſons are therefore in this way mentioned, the cauſe in which they are engaged may, by a very common figure, be underſtood. Chriſt is here predicted preciſely as the Head of man's recovery: from the moment of the fall, he was, by divine appointment, the governor of God's kingdom here below, the kingdom of righteouſneſs and felicity: and therefore, though he alone be mentioned, both they who are the ſubjects of his kingdom, and the cauſe which is its great object, may, by the ſame figure, be intended. By this very figure, all good is aſcribed to God, and all evil to the devil: this implies the ſame idea which we ſuppoſe in the text; [92] and this is the common language of ſcripture. Theſe two kingdoms, the kingdom of Satan, and the kingdom of God of which Chriſt is the immediate governour, are contrary and irreconcileable in every point, in their na⯑tures, in their views, and in the principles which their reſpective votaries act upon. It is here predicted, That neither of the two ſhould abſolutely prevail in the preſent world, that there ſhould be a perpetual ſtruggle be⯑tween them. The prediction has been pre⯑ciſely accompliſhed. It is an exact deſcription of the preſent mixed ſtate of things, in which good and evil, virtue and vice, happineſs and miſery, though in different proportions, yet ſtill are blended together, and counteract each other.

IT has been accompliſhed in the character and condition of every individual of the hu⯑man race. Every human character is imper⯑fect and mixed. Since the fall there has not been a ſingle mere man either uniformly good or uniformly bad. The worſt men are not wholly deſtitute of all good qualities, and the beſt are not altogether free from vice. In ſome men, very great virtues have been united with very great vices. In the wicked ſin is predo⯑minant, and goodneſs in the righteous; and ſome waver ſo irreſolutely between the two, [93] or ſeem to poſſeſs them in ſuch equal degrees, that it is hard to ſay to which claſs they be⯑long. In every man, there is a law in the members, warring againſt the law of the mind ^*; in every man, the fleſh luſteth againſt the ſpirit, and the ſpirit againſt the fleſh, and theſe are con⯑trary the one to the other ^†. Conſcience and good affections oppoſe corrupt appetites and paſſions, and are oppoſed by them; they in⯑ſtigate us by turns. The condition of every man is mixed. Pleaſure and pain, joy and ſorrow, proſperity and adverſity are mingled in his cup. The ſufferings of ſome, and the en⯑joyments of others are great and many: but none ever paſſed his life either in pure happi⯑neſs, or in unallayed miſery.

IT has been accompliſhed likewiſe in the general ſtate of the world. In all ages and nations there has been a mixture of good and bad men, united in the ſame ſocieties, in the ſame families, but purſuing oppoſite plans of conduct; to both there has often been one event, and all things have come alike to all ^‡. In ſome parts of the world, idolatry and cor⯑ruption have prevailed; in others, true reli⯑gion has been eſtabliſhed, and has produced conſiderable effects. The vices and the preju⯑dices [94] of men oppoſe the prevalence of truth and goodneſs; and theſe in their turn check vice and error. The wicked hate the righte⯑ous, lay ſnares for their virtue, and ſtudy to afflict them; the righteous is clean contrary to their doings, he was made to reprove their thoughts ^*. In every period of ſociety, theſe things have taken place; in the moſt unculti⯑vated nations, there have appeared virtues, rough but bold and active; the civilization of mankind, while it refines their virtues, too often likewiſe multiplies their vices, and in⯑troduces new ſpecies of corruption. In the early ages, the piety of the patriarchs formed a contraſt to the depravity of the generations in which they lived, and maintained a ſtruggle with it. The old world was corrupt before God ^†: Noah alone was a preacher of righteouſ⯑neſs ^‡, and condemned the world ^‖. In Sodom, juſt Lot was vexed with the filthy converſation of the wicked ^§; and he ſeemed to them as one that mocked ^**. In the heathen world, a few diſapproved, and in ſome inſtances oppoſed the general corruption; but they were baffled by its power. The Iſraelites enjoyed a true re⯑ligion: but idolatry overſpread the reſt of the world; and upon themſelves, that true reli⯑gion had not univerſal or conſtant influence. [95] Good men were raiſed up to reprove their de⯑fections: but they were diſregarded and perſe⯑cuted by thoſe who would not be reclaimed. Even the full erection of the kingdom of the Redeemer, in the goſpel diſpenſation, has not annihilated this promiſcuous ſtate of things. Hell and earth, devils and wicked men, both Jews and heathens united their efforts to pre⯑vent the reception of the goſpel, and to perſe⯑ [...]ute all who preached or profeſſed it; and ſince it was eſtabliſhed, the cunning of the enemy, and the ignorance and ill deſigns of men have conſpired to [...]ully its beauty, to en⯑ervate its power, and to defeat its ſucceſs, by adulterating and corrupting it, by traducing and maltreating its genuine adherents, and by promoting in [...]idelity and irreligion. But by the favour of divine Provid [...]n [...], by the invi⯑ſible, but efficacious exerciſe of that power which is committed to Jeſus Chriſt, and by the undaunted fortitude and the indefatigable labours of the apoſtles and other good men, the goſpel met with an extenſive reception, gave a check to falſe religion and evil practices, and has ſince then been always in ſome degree retained, has been at times re⯑formed from corruptions, has had ſome good influence on the general ſtate of the world, and has rendered many truly virtuous and holy. Chriſtianity is wholly calculated for [96] oppoſing vice and promoting purity and good⯑neſs; and as long as there is wickedneſs in the world, it will prompt men to reſiſt this holy religion: every one that doth evil, hateth the light, neither cometh to the light, leſt his deeds ſhould be reproved ^*. Righteouſneſs and unrighteouſneſs, Chriſt and Belial are as contrary and irreconcileable as light and darkneſs ^†; and, like theſe, they divide this world between them.

SUCH is and always has been the actual ſtate of this lower world: that this would be its ſtate, was predicted in the very beginning of the world. The ſcripture always ſuppoſes this to be the ſtate of the world, and often expreſſes it in terms which correſpond to thoſe of this prediction, and point it out as the ful⯑fillment of it. To the eye of ſenſe, men are the only actors in the ſeene; but the ſcripture conſtantly repreſents it as carried on likewiſe by inviſible actors. The ſcripture conſiders this world in the preciſe light of its being God's world, and governed by him; and both the predictions of the old teſtament, and the hiſtory of the new, repreſent the government of it as committed to the Lord Jeſus Chriſt, and the virtues of good men as ſupported by [97] him. The ſcripture repreſents the devil as oppoſing the laws and the intereſts of the king⯑dom of God and of Chriſt, as ſeducing wicked men and making them his willing inſtruments in promoting his deſigns, as corrupting the church by ſowing tares ^*, as tempting and afflicting good men. It therefore calls him the enemy ^†, the adverſary, and deſcribes him as a roaring lion, walking about, ſeeking whom he may devour ^‡: and good men, while endea⯑vouring to avoid vice and adhere to truth and goodneſs, it repreſents as reſiſting the devil ^‖, ſtanding againſt his wiles, and wreſtling not only againſt fleſh and blood, but againſt principalities, againſt powers, againſt the rulers of the darkneſs of this world, againſt ſpiritual wickedneſs in high places ^§.

Two other particulars are here foretold, That the iſſue of this conteſt ſhall be fatal to the devil and his cauſe, and That he ſhall not⯑withſtanding have ſome ſucceſſes in the courſe of it. Theſe particulars ſhall be conſidered afterwards. In the mean time, brethren, ſince the preſent life of good men is ſuch a warfare, take unto you the whole armour of God, that ye [98] may be able to ſtand in the evil day, and having done all, to ſtand ^*. Be ſtrong in the Lord, and in the power of his might ^†.

SERMON V. THE FIRST PROMISE OF THE REDEEMER.

FOR underſtanding the meaning of this prediction, and perceiving its accompliſh⯑ment, it is neceſſary to know, to whom the ſentence of which it is a part, was addreſſed, and againſt whom it was pronounced. The pre⯑ceding diſcourſe was, therefore, introduced by ſhowing, That it regards, not the brute ſerpents, neither the whole kind, nor any par⯑ticular ſpecies of them, but ſolely the devil, who had tempted Eve, and who is called the ſerpent on account of his malicious cunning, and probably too on account of his own ſera⯑phic form. It is thought to have reſembled the ſerpentine; and, if it did, it gave a natural [100] occaſion both for the name by which the devil is here mentioned, and for the metaphorical ex⯑preſſions employed in the ſentence pronounced againſt him.

THE firſt part of that ſentence intimates the condition to which the devil was immediately condemned, and, in metaphorical but expreſſive terms, deſcribes it as abject, vile, and miſerable. The ſecond part of it declares what would then [...]forth be the condition of the devil in re⯑lation to mankind; and it contains a prophetical delineation, general, but very preciſe, of the religious and moral ſtate of this lower world, from the fall of man to the conſummation of all things. It is delivered in theſe words, And I will put enmity between thee and the woman, and between thy ſeed and her ſeed: it ſhall bruiſe thy head, and thou ſhalt bruiſe his heel. The particulars of this prediction are four; I pro⯑poſed to explain them in their order.

FIRST, It is here intimated that our firſt parents, inſtead of being ſubjected to immediate death, ſhould have poſterity: the expreſſion the ſeed of the woman runs through all the clauſes of the text; and it is an expreſſion which naturally implies the miraculous con⯑ception of the great Deliverer, which points to, and had an exact completion in Jeſus [101] Chriſt, who being born of the virgin Mary, was the ſeed of the woman only, not of the man.

SECONDLY, It is here declared that there would be a perpetual oppoſition between the promiſed Deliverer of mankind, and the devil, who had ſeduced them into apoſtaſy: I will put enmity, ſays God, between thee and the woman, and between thy ſeed and her ſeed. Theſe words may ſignify a perſonal conteſt be⯑tween that Deliverer on the one hand, and evil ſpirits and wicked men on the other: and ſuch a conteſt there was, eſpecially after that Deliverer had become the ſeed of the woman, in the days of Chriſt's fleſh. The words may likewiſe ſignify a ſtruggle between the two op⯑poſite cauſes, the cauſe of virtue and happineſs, of which Chriſt is by God's appointment the head, and the cauſe of wickedneſs and miſery, which is patroniſed by the devil, and eſpouſed by vicious men. Conſidered in this light, they contain an accurate deſcription of the mixt ſtate of things, which has actually taken place in this lower world, ever ſince the fall. Virtues and vices, good and bad qualities, are united in the character, and pleaſures and pains, en⯑joyments and ſufferings, are blended in the condition of every individual of the human ſpecies. In every age, in every nation, in [102] every ſociety, good and bad men live promiſ⯑cuouſly together, ſharing in the ſame bleſſings, involved in the ſame calamities, but actuated by oppoſite principles, and engaged in contrary courſes. I formerly explained theſe two parts of the prediction.

THIRDLY, We are here aſſured that the iſſue of this conteſt ſhall be fatal to the devil and his cauſe.

THIS part of the prediction is expreſſed in terms which might agree to the brute ſerpents; It, the ſeed of the woman, ſhall bruiſe thy head. But it refers not to them: to have foretold that men ſhould now and then kill a ſerpent by cruſhing its head, would have been trivial and unworthy of the occaſion. It has a much more important meaning. The terms are only borrowed from brute ſerpents, to be metapho⯑rically applied to the ſeraph who had beguiled Eve. The metaphor is perſpicuous and ſtrong. It is in the head of the ſerpent that its poiſon lies; and the cruſhing of its head immediately and moſt certainly kills it. The figurative ex⯑preſſion here uſed has, therefore, this plain meaning; That the deſcendant of the woman, now promiſed, ſhall obtain a complete victory over the devil, deprive him of his power to hurt, aboliſh his dominion and influence, and finally puniſh and deſtroy him.

[103]HE had ſucceeded in deceiving the woman; ſhe now appeared weak and wretched in his eyes: but this very woman, it is foretold, ſhall be his deſtruction; from her a perſon is to ſpring, who ſhall reduce him to greater weakneſs and deeper wretchedneſs. He had hoped to become abſo⯑lute lord of this lower world: but, as it was declared in the preceding clauſe, that his uſurped dominion over it would be always incomplete, it is here foretold that this dominion ſhall be at laſt totally overthrown. Our firſt parents could not but underſtand his deſigns againſt them, ſo far as to perceive that he had ſeduced them into ſin, and that he had intended to ſubject them to death, and to deprive them of the happineſs for which they were made. When, therefore, his deſtruction, by means of the woman's ſeed, was predicted, they muſt have ſeen that the prediction implied an aſ⯑ſurance, that his malicious contrivances againſt mankind would be defeated, their ſin forgiven, and themſelves delivered from death and re⯑ſtored to happineſs. It led them to expect a redeemer in human nature, who would recover them from that ſtate into which, through the temptation of the devil, they had fallen.

THIS part of the prediction has not re⯑ceived its full accompliſhment: it regards the final iſſue of the conteſt proclaimed in the [104] preceding clauſe, and which was to continue through the whole of the preſent ſtate: till that conteſt, therefore, be concluded, till the preſent ſtate of things come to an end, the ac⯑compliſhment of this promiſe muſt remain in⯑complete. But it has been already fulfilled in ſome part; it is fulfilled in every advantage which Chriſt obtains over the devil, and in every advantage which the cauſe of virtue gains over the cauſe of vice: ſo far it is illuſtrated by the event. At the ſame time, in other paſſages of ſcripture, we have many deſcriptions of the iſſue of that conteſt, and of the manner in which it ſhall be brought about, which render this firſt intimation of it much clearer to us, than it could be to our firſt parents. Some of theſe deſcriptions are expreſſed in ſo plain an al⯑luſion to the text, as to direct us to regard the ſubject of them as intended by it, and fulfill⯑ing it; and others are expreſſed in terms fit for throwing light on thoſe which are employed here, and rendering their meaning eaſily intel⯑ligible.

GOD promiſes that in the perſonal con⯑teſt, which had been juſt now foretold be⯑tween Chriſt on the one ſide, and devils and wicked men on the other ſide, Chriſt ſhould have the advantage, and at laſt ob⯑tain a complete victory.—Already he hath [105] had great advantage. In every aſſault which the devil made upon him perſonally, in his ſtate of incarnation, Chriſt was conqueror. When the devil tempted him, he baffled all his temptations. He caſt multitudes of devils out of thoſe who were poſſeſſed by them; and gave his diſciples alſo power to caſt them out in his name; thus depriving evil ſpirits of their dominion over mankind, and rendering them ſubſervient to the glory of his miracles. In reference to this kind of miracles he ſays, I beheld Satan as lightning fall from heaven ^*. The terms in which he expreſſes the powers granted to his deſciples, are remarkably ana⯑logous to thoſe of the text, and point out theſe miracles as fulfilments of it, Behold I give unto you power to tread on ſerpents and ſcorpions, and over all the power of the enemy; and nothing ſhall by any means hurt you ^†. Theſe miracles are repreſented alſo as a binding of Satan ^‡. When Chriſt appeared, demoniacs ſeem to have been very common; if at that period they had been more common than before, it would have been taken notice of with ſurprize: ſince that time it is certain that they have been much leſs frequent; this is an inſtance in which Chriſt has given a ſignal check to the power of Satan. In ſpight of all oppoſition, Chriſt finiſhed the [106] work given him to do on earth; he adhered to truth and goodneſs to the end: and when he died a martyr to them, he triumphed over the devil and all his agents, by riſing again from the dead, and aſcending into heaven. His aſcenſion, the ſcripture aſſures us, was the celebration of his triumph, his acceſſion to the kingdom here foretold. It aſſures us that, when he aſcended up on high, he led captivity captive ^*; that having by his croſs ſpoiled prin⯑cipalities and powers, he made a ſhew of them openly triumphing over them it ^†; and that he is ſet at God's right hand in the heavenly places, far above all principality, and power, and might, and dominion, and every name that is named, not only in this world, but alſo in that which is to come ^‡.—But it is at the end of the world, that Chriſt's victory will be complete. The preceding verſe deſcribed the devil's preſent ſlate; this clauſe foretells his final puniſhment, even that judgment to which Peter and Jude inform us that the fallen angels are reſerved ^‖. It will be ſuch as comes up to the full import of bruiſing the ſerpent's head. At the end of the world, Chriſt will appear in the glorious character of the uni⯑verſal judge, and will condemn the devils to perdition. He will caſt them, ſays John, into [107] the lake of fire and brimſtone, where they ſhall be tormented day and night, for ever and ever ^*. Then too the judge will condemn all wicked men, who have ſuffered themſelves to be cor⯑rupted by the devil, and have co-operated with him in his cauſe, to the ſame puniſhment with him; he will ſend them away into the everlaſt⯑ing fire which was prepared for the devil and his angels ^†, where they ſhall be puniſhed with everlaſting deſtruction from the preſence of the Lord, and from the glory of his power ^‡.

GOD here foretells likewiſe, That the cauſe of Chriſt, the cauſe of truth and righteouſneſs, ſhall all along gain ſome advantages over the oppoſite cauſe of Satan, the cauſe of idolatry and vice, and ſhall finally triumph over it.—In conformity to this prediction, idolatry and ignorance of God have never pr [...]vailed ſo uni⯑verſally, but that ſome ſaint rays of religious knowledge have now and then ſhone forth in one part of the world or another. When they were too weak to lead men off from the prac⯑tices of falſe religion, they notwithſtanding often expoſed its abſurdity, and ſubjected it to juſt contempt. Some of the Pagans con⯑demned the worſhip with which they com⯑plied; others acted a better part than was con⯑ſiſtent [108] with the religion which they profeſſed. The idolatry of the ancient world was the worſhip of evil ſpirits and wicked men; the things which the Gentiles ſacrificed, they ſacri⯑ficed to devils, and not to God ^*: the religion of Chriſt baniſhed this idolatry; wherever it was embraced, it turned men to God from idols, to ſerve the living and true God ^†. This was, to lay waſte the kingdom of the devil, and withdraw his ſubjects from their allegiance to him: the ſcripture repreſents it in this very light; it repreſents thoſe gentiles who were converted by the goſpel, as turned from the power of Satan unto God ^‡. It is probably the eſtabliſhment of Chriſtianity on the ruins of Pagan idolatry, which John foreſaw in pro⯑phetic viſion, and which he deſcribes in meta⯑phors like to thoſe employed in the text; There was war in heaven; Michael and his angels fought againſt the dragon; and the dragon fought and his angels, and prevailed not; neither was their place found any more in heaven. And the great dragon was caſt out, that old ſerpent, called the Devil and Satan, which deceiveth the whole world; he was caſt out into the earth, and his angels were caſt out with him. And I heard a loud voice ſaying in heaven, Now is come ſalvation and ſtrength, and the kingdom [109] of our God, and the power of his Chriſt: for the accuſer of our brethren is caſt down, which accuſed them before God day and night: and they overcame him by the blood of the Lamb, and by the word of their teſtimony ^*. Even in the Chriſtian church, indeed, Satan has intro⯑duced idolatry: agreeably to the prediction of the apoſtle Paul, the man of ſin has been re⯑vealed, the ſon of perdition, whoſe coming is after the working of Satan, with all power, and ſigns, and lying wonders, and with all deceivableneſs of unrighteouſneſs ^†. But the ſame apoſtle fore⯑tells, that this wicked one, the Lord ſhall con⯑ſume with the ſpirit of his mouth, and ſhall deſtroy with the brightneſs of his coming ^‡. As yet the prediction is not accompliſhed fully: but the accompliſhment is far advanced; a re⯑formation from Popery has ſpread over many nations; where the form of Popery is ſtill re⯑tained, a great part of its power is loſt. In due time the apoſtle's oracle ſhall be completely verified by the total abolition of idolatry from the Chriſtian church: the period foreſeen by John ſhall come, when it ſhall be proclaim⯑ed, Babylon the great is fallen, is fallen; and ſhe ſhall be utterly burnt with fire, for ſtrong is the Lord God who judgeth her ^‖.

[110]CHRIST'S victory over the devil, implies alſo the prevalence of virtue over vice. This cannot generally take place in the preſent ſtate; it had been already foretold that the preſent ſtate would be always mixt. Yet in many particular inſtances virtue has prevailed. In all ages there have been many good men; and in every good man, virtue is predominant. Integrity has often triumphed over all the cun⯑ning and all the contrivances of wickedneſs. It is the very deſign of the coming and the religion of Chriſt, to promote virtue and diſcourage vice; ye know that he was manifeſted to take away our ſins ^†. Sin is the work of the devil; he it was who introduced ſin into the world; and for this purpoſe the Son of God was manifeſted, that he might deſtroy the works of the devil ^‡. By his religion, multitudes have been re⯑covered out of the ſnare of the devil, who were taken captive by him at his will ^*. There ſeem to be intimations in the ſcripture, that the re⯑ligion of Chriſt ſhall, in ſome future periods, exert its power more perfectly and more uni⯑verſally, and produce far more conſpicuous effects. In the courſe of Chriſt's reign, an angel is repreſented by the prophetical evan⯑geliſt, as coming down from heaven, having the key of the bottomleſs pit, and a great chain in [111] his hand, and laying hold of the dragon, that old ſerpent, which is the devil and Satan, and binding him a thouſand years, and caſting him into the bottomleſs pit, and ſhutting him up, and ſetting a ſeal upon him, that he ſhould deceive the nations no more, till the thouſand years ſhould be fulfilled ^†. This doubtleſs implies ſome great reſtraint which ſhall at ſome time hereafter, even within the compaſs of the preſent world, be laid upon the power and machinations of the devil.—But we are certain that, at the end of this world, all God's elect ſhall be gathered to⯑gether ^‡, the living changed ^‖, and the dead raiſed, perfect and immortal. Then ſhall they be delivered from all the conſequences of the fall, from ſin, and guilt, and the grave, and ſhall reign in life by Jeſus Chriſt ^*. Then ſhall be brought to paſs the ſaying that is written, death is ſwallowed up in victory ^††. Then death and hell ſhall be caſt into the lake of fire ^‡‡, to be there conſumed. Then there ſhall be new heavens and a new earth, wherein dwelleth righteouſneſs ^‖‖. There ſhall be no more death, neither ſorrow, nor crying, neither ſhall there be any more pain ^§. And there ſhall be no more curſe, but the ſervants of God and of the Lamb ſhall reign for ever and ever ^**. By this ex⯑tirpation [112] of ſin, and death, and miſery, the devil's contrivances againſt mankind ſhall be finally defeated. We are aſſured that the early prediction ſhall be thus fulfilled, for it is written, That Chriſt muſt reign till he hath put all enemies under his feet ^*.

FOURTHLY, It is foretold in the text, that, though the ſeed of the woman ſhould finally deſtroy the ſerpent and his ſeed, yet they would have ſome leſſer ſucceſſes againſt him and his cauſe, in the courſe of the com⯑bat.

THIS is foretold in terms which might be applicable to the brute ſerpent; thou ſhalt bruiſe or bite his heel. Jacob ſays with a ſimilar alluſion, Dan ſhall be a ſerpent by the way, an adder in the path, that biteth the horſes heels ^†. This is a manner of attack natural to the ſerpent, its make ſcarcely per⯑mits its riſing higher; and it will very rea⯑dily bite the heel of him who is cruſhing its head with his foot. The ſentiment is obvious enough, though the terms be figurative. The heel is not a vital part; a wound in it, how⯑ever painful it may be, is not neceſſarily mortal; ſome ſmaller hurt is therefore inti⯑mated. [113] It is intimated that, in deſtroying the power of the devil, the ſeed of the woman ſhould receive a wound, but not a fatal wound, not one inconſiſtent with a full victory at laſt.

THIS part of the prophecy has had its ac⯑compliſhment, with reſpect both to Chriſt himſelf, and to his cauſe.

CHRIST himſelf was far from eſcaping all hurt in the combat: but the hurt which he received, was ſuch as may be juſtly repre⯑ſented by the bruiſing of his heel; it anſwered not the malicious intention of the devil; it proved not fatal; on the contrary it was the great means of defeating the contrivances of the devil. The ſufferings of Chriſt's incar⯑nate ſtate were manifold and grievous; and he died a painful and ignominious death. It was by the things which he ſuffered, that he was made perfect, and became the author of eternal ſalvation unto all them that obey him ^*. Even when they nailed him to the croſs, they wounded only his mortal part: the divine and ſpiritual part remained unhurt, and he roſe from the dead to eternal life, and glory, and dominion. In his death, his enemies thought [114] that they had vanquiſhed him; but it was by his death that he completed his victory over them. It was through death, that he deſtroyed him that had the power of death, that is, the devil ^*. His death was the ſacrifice for our ſins, and obtained the remiſſion of them: it was the ranſom of our forfeited lives, it re⯑verſed the forfeiture by purchaſing our reſur⯑rection from the dead; it was the price of our ſalvation, and bought for us, not immortality on earth, but an immortality of happineſs in heaven. It was becauſe he became obedient unto death, even the death of the croſs, that God hath highly exalted him, and given him ^† all that authority and power by which he will, at laſt, totally aboliſh the dominion of Satan, and condemn him, and all his angels, and all his adherents, to everlaſting deſtruction.

THAT Chriſt ſhould ſuffer in obtaining our deliverance from the malice of the devil, is expreſsly affirmed in the text, and muſt have been underſtood, by our firſt parents, to be implied in it. That his ſufferings contributed to our deliverance, that they were an atone⯑ment for the ſins of the world, is not neceſſa⯑rily implied in this prediction, nor could our firſt parents learn merely from the expreſſions [115] here employed: but even they were perhaps taught to perceive that this alſo was implied in the prediction. It is probable that animal ſacrifices were inſtituted at this very time ^*: and if they were, the inſtitution of them would throw light on what is here ſaid, illuſtrate the nature of the Redeemer's ſufferings here fore⯑told, unfold the manner of the redemption of the world, and ſhow that it ſhould be accompliſhed by the ſeed of the woman ſuffering and dying to make atonement for us. While God, in words, promiſed a ſuffering Redeemer, he at the ſame time inſtituted ſacrifice as a type of [116] him, to explain the promiſe, to keep alive the expectation of him, to promote reliance on him through all the ages which divine wiſ⯑dom had decreed ſhould paſs before Chriſt was actually offered up, to be, in every repetition of it, a ſtanding prophecy of the future re⯑demption, that to this, men, in all ſucceed⯑ing generations, might have recourſe by faith, for the remiſſion of their ſins. Agreeable to this, is the account which the apoſtle gives of Abel's ſacrifice, the firſt that is recorded in ſcripture; he offered it by faith ^*, by faith in this promiſe of a Redeemer, with expectation of, and dependence upon him whom his ſa⯑crifice ſhadowed forth.

AGAINST the cauſe of Chriſt likewiſe, the devil often has, and through the whole courſe of the preſent ſtate ſhall continue to have, con⯑ſiderable ſucceſs; yet only ſuch ſucceſs as may be repreſented by the bruiſing of the heel. In the idolatry of the heathen world, the devil reigned for many ages; in it, he and his an⯑gels were worſhipped and ſerved as gods; till the coming of Chriſt, he ſeemed to carry all before him. Many and groſs corruptions have been introduced into the Chriſtian religion, have ſpread wide, and continued long uncor⯑rected: [117] the ſon of perdition hath oppoſed and exalted himſelf above all that is called God or that is worſhipped; ſo that he, as God, ſitteth in the temple of God, ſhewing himſelf that he is God ^*, and he ſhall continue to ſit for ſome time longer. In all ages of the world iniquity hath abounded; the wicked have at times been very many, and the righteous very few; in the pureſt ſocieties and the pureſt periods, multitudes of bad men have been intermixed with the good; the vicious are often proſper⯑ous, and the virtuous depreſſed. The beſt of men are imperfect; in particular inſtances, ſin triumphs over all their grace; the moſt cauti⯑ous ſome times give place to the devil ^†, and he gets an advantage of them ^‡. Wicked ſpirits and wicked men often fill the righteous with ſorrows, and expoſe them to ſufferings; the devil caſts them into priſon and into tribula⯑lation ^‖. Satan's firſt contrivance againſt mankind, was ſo far ſucceſsful, that in Adam all die ^§. But all theſe ſucceſſes of Satan in the prevalence of vice and miſery, are ſlight and temporary; they ſhall not only be reverſed at the laſt, they are always oppoſed, and of⯑ten checked in the preſent ſtate. Pagan ido⯑latry was often expoſed, and often reproved, [118] and has already been baniſhed from many na⯑tions by the light of the goſpel, and ſhall be baniſhed from many more. Chriſtianity, even when it is corrupted, retaineth force enough to give ſome check to evil works; when the corruption of it is moſt general, ſtill ſome eſcape being infected; and after an in⯑terval, it ſhines forth again in purity and in power. The good oppoſe the devices of the wicked, make them aſhamed of them, and prevent ſome part of the miſchief which they would otherwiſe produce. Virtue is ſome⯑times honoured and rewarded even in the pre⯑ſent life. In all good men, grace, though ſometimes baffled, prevails againſt corrupt luſts, and gradually mortifies them more and more; they repent of their ſins; obtain the forgiveneſs of them, and become more cir⯑cumſpect and blameleſs in virtuous practice. When Satan is permitted to afflict them, it is only that they may be tried ^*; when he has great wrath againſt them, it is becauſe he knoweth that he hath but a ſhort time ^†; their ſorrows are ſucceeded by ſolid and permanent joys, and contribute to them; the God of peace thus bruiſes Satan under their feet ^‡. They die not for ever; Chriſt will raiſe them up at the laſt day, to a new and glorious life.

[119]SUCH is the firſt promiſe of a Redeemer to the fallen world, delivered in the ſentence which God paſſed on the devil, by whoſe temptation it had fallen. It is, in the man⯑ner of the eaſtern nations and of the early ages, expreſſed in figurative terms borrowed from the ſerpent, for which the tempter's ſe⯑raphic form gave a natural occaſion. But the figurative terms uſed in it, imply very clearly,—an intimation of the miraculous conception of the Redeemer—a declaration that there ſhould be a ſtated and permanent oppoſition between him and the devil, and that in conſe⯑quence of this the preſent world ſhould be a mixt and chequered ſtate—an aſſurance that the Redeemer ſhall at laſt obtain a complete victory over the devil, defeat his contrivances againſt mankind, and make virtue and happi⯑neſs to triumph for evermore—and a predic⯑tion that, in effecting this, he ſhould under⯑go ſufferings and death for us, and be expoſed to ſome leſſer hurts in reſpect of his followers and his cauſe. What theſe particulars import, and how they have been accompliſhed, I have endeavoured to explain.

THE reflexions on this ſubject, with which I propoſed to conclude my diſcourſe, ſhall be very ſhort.

[120]1. THE whole of this ſubject ſhows the greatneſs of God's grace and kindneſs to men. Every part of the curſe pronounced on the tempter, ſpoke comfort to our firſt parents. God gave them this comfort, that they might not deſpond. He prevented their fear of in⯑ſtant death; he aſſured them, not only that they ſhould live to have poſterity, but that among them there ſhould be one great perſon, the Redeemer of his race, and that, through him, mankind ſhould at laſt triumph, and their ſeducer be utterly deſtroyed. God ſuf⯑fered not himſelf to be an object of mere ter⯑ror to ſinful man for a ſingle day: in the very hour of the provocation he allowed not mankind to conſider themſelves as rejected by him. He gave them hope, that they might have a ſtrong motive to return to him by re⯑pentance, and to ſtudy to regain his favour. To us, Chriſtians, he has given ſtronger hope, by a fuller revelation of our redemption already accompliſhed: in this hope let us re⯑joice, and let our alacrity in endeavouring to pleaſe God, be in proportion to the brightneſs of our hope.

2. WHAT has been ſaid, may confirm our faith in Chriſt, and his goſpel. The pro⯑phecy which we have conſidered, is an inti⯑mation of the moſt marvellous events: and [121] they have come to paſs. They are the re⯑verſe of what the devil, with all his know⯑ledge, looked for; and of what, with all his cunning, he intended by his machinations: yet they were exactly foretold in the very be⯑ginning of the world. Who could have fore⯑ſeen them at that time, but God? They are his appointment. Jeſus Chriſt is the deliverer here predicted; to him every character of the deliverer belongs: he was born of a virgin; he is in direct and irreconcileable oppoſition to the devil and his cauſe; he hath already greatly broken the power of Satan, and hath revealed to us in what manner he will totally deſtroy it; and he hath ſuffered and died in accom⯑pliſhing this great deſign. On him we may ſafely depend, as the promiſed ſeed, the re⯑ſtorer of the loſt world, the conqueror over Satan, ſin, and death.

3. WHAT has been ſaid, tends to give us a juſt conception of the ſtate of things in this preſent world. It is obviouſly a mixt and im⯑perfect ſtate, and it has many appearances of irregularity and confuſion. In it no character is wholly conſiſtent or of a piece. In it vir⯑tuous and vicious men are intermingled, and connected together by many ties. In it nei⯑ther is virtue uniformly rewarded, nor vice uniformly puniſhed; in innumerable inſtances [122] good and evil are promiſcuouſly diſtributed to the righteous and the wicked; and in many inſtances the wicked flouriſh and proſper, while the righteous are unſucceſsful and af⯑flicted. Theſe appearances of diſorder have been remarked in all ages; they have been urged by ſome as objections againſt the juſtice of divine Providence, and they have ſometimes perplexed the moſt modeſt and ſerious enquirers into the ways of God. But this very ſtate of things, the text informs us, is the appoint⯑ment of God himſelf; in the very beginning of the world, he declared that he had ap⯑pointed it. Being his appointment, it is un⯑alterable; in vain we fret and murmur at it; his ſovereign will demands our ſubmiſſion. Being his appointment, it muſt be wiſe, and juſt, and gracious; the text ſhows it to be eminently ſuch. It was when the parents of the human race had merited inſtant death, by which the ſpecies muſt have been totally extir⯑pated, that God appointed this ſtate of things: it was a gracious mitigation of their doom; it ſhould be received by us as a favour and indul⯑gence. It was when our all ſeemed to be ir⯑retrievably loſt, that God appointed this ſtate: it is a ſubject of gratitude and joy, rather than of regret and murmuring; abſolute deſtruction muſt have been the portion of mankind, if God had not mercifully allowed them a new [123] ſtruggle againſt their ſeducer. The allowance is greatly merciful; by it God gives every in⯑dividual a new trial, and a trial with the un⯑ſpeakable advantage of its being under the con⯑duct of the great Deliverer, for immortal hap⯑pineſs and glory. The ſeeming diſorders of the world are but the means of our trial; if we behave aright, they ſhall contribute to our triumph. Great as they may be, they ſhall not be perpetual; evil ſhall be overthrown, good ſhall prevail; this is not our final ſtate: it ſhall be ſucceeded by an everlaſting ſtate, in which virtue and felicity ſhall reign pure and unmixt.

4. BUT let us ever remember that this happy ſtate ſhall be obtained only by thoſe who belong to the ſeed of the woman, and that an oppoſite ſtate of everlaſting deſtruction awaits the ſerpent and all his ſeed. All men belong either to the one or to the other. This is the great diſtinction of mankind. Let us examine carefully, to which claſs we belong. Are we yet engaged in the apoſtaſy from God? The devil is the head of that apoſtaſy. Are we yet impenitent in ſin? Sin is the work of the devil; and they who do his work, are his ſeed, and ſhall be deſtroyed with him. Fly from this miſery; abandon ſin without delay. Take Chriſt Jeſus for your leader; embrace [124] him as your Saviour; practice his religion. Then ſhall you belong to the promiſed ſeed; then ſhall you be engaged in the cauſe of God; and then ſhall you be happy; you ſhall ſhare with your Redeemer in his triumph; you ſhall live with him, and reign with him for ever.

SERMON VI. THE PROMISE OF THE REDEEMER TO ABRAHAM.

THOUGH Jeſus Chriſt appeared in the fleſh, only in the latter times, yet his appearance for the redemption of fallen man⯑kind, was the gracious purpoſe of God before the world began ^*: and from the very moment of the fall it was the principal object of divine Providence with regard to mankind, the de⯑ſign to which all the diſpenſations of his pro⯑vidence were ſubordinate. Ever ſince that period, this great ſcheme of divine love has been ſteadily kept in the eye of God: to un⯑fold it gradually, a ſeries of propheſies was ex⯑tended from the fall, through all ſucceeding [126] ages, till the time of Malachi the lateſt of the prophets.

To compare the character, the office, and the actions of Jeſus Chriſt, as repreſented in the hiſtory of the New Teſtament, with the prophecies concerning him in the Old, muſt be an employment highly agreeable to every inquiſitive perſon who has a juſt ſenſe of the importance of the goſpel diſpenſation. It is likewiſe of great utility; the clearneſs and full⯑neſs of the hiſtory removes the obſcurity of the prophecies, and the authority of the pro⯑phecies confirms our faith in the hiſtory.

THE prophecies concerning the Meſſiah form a connected ſeries. In the occaſions and circumſtances of delivering them, or in the manner of expreſſing them, they have ſuch a reference to one another, as ſhows that they are intended of the ſame perſon. Every poſte⯑rior prophecy bears a relation to thoſe which preceded; in ſome particulars it alludes to them, it pre-ſuppoſes them, and muſt be ex⯑plained by them; and in other particulars it gives a new opening into the ſubject; it ren⯑ders clear and determinate what in former pre⯑dictions was obſcure and indefinite, or it diſ⯑covers ſomething concerning the redemption of the world or the character of the Redeemer, of [127] which no intimation had been given before. The truth of theſe obſervations will appear in explaining the prophecy which the text contains; and for underſtanding that prophecy it will be uſeful to keep theſe obſervations in mind.

IT is a remarkable prophecy of the Saviour of the world, the promiſe which God made to Abraham, In thy ſeed ſhall all the nations of the earth be bleſſed. In this diſcourſe, I ſhall explain this prophecy, and ſhow that it was accompliſhed in Jeſus of Nazareth.

IT gives intimation of three things:

Firſt, THAT the Redeemer of the world ſhould be the ſeed of Abraham;

Secondly, THAT his undertaking ſhould be highly beneficial to men, and render them bleſſed;

Thirdly, THAT the bleſſings reſulting from his undertaking, ſhould not be confined to one nation, but extended to, all the nations of the earth.

Firſt, In this prophecy God foretells, that the Redeemer of the world ſhould be the ſeed of Abraham.

[128]IMMEDIATELY after the fall, God pro⯑miſed the Redeemer under the title of the SEED of the woman ^*, here he calls him the SEED of Abraham. The ſimilitude of expreſſion was intended to ſhow, that both predictions relate to the ſame perſon, that the author of bleſſed⯑neſs, now promiſed to Abraham, is the ſame with the head of man's recovery, announced to our firſt parents. In the firſt promiſe, the expreſſion the ſeed of the woman intimates the ſingular manner in which the Redeemer ſhould be conceived and born: the expreſſion here uſed gives no ſuch intimation; it leaves this character of the Redeemer on the ſame footing on which that promiſe had put it; but in the caſe of Abraham there was ſomething peculiar; Iſaac, from whom the Redeemer was to ſpring, was born miraculouſly of Sarah after ſhe was in the ordinary courſe of nature incapable of having a child. This circumſtance bore ſome analogy to the manner of expreſſion in that promiſe, it was ſufficient to keep alive the ex⯑pectation of an extraordinary birth.

BUT the principal information intended to be given by calling the Redeemer the ſeed of Abra⯑ham, was information of the family from which he ſhould ſpring, information that he ſhould be a deſcendant of Abraham.

[129]THE expreſſion uſed in the firſt promiſe, the ſeed of the woman, intimated that he ſhould be a Saviour in human nature. No more par⯑ticular deſcription of him was either neceſſary or proper at that time, when only the com⯑mon parents of the human race had yet a being. But in courſe of time, mankind were multi⯑plied into many families. In which of th [...]ſe might they look for their Redeemer? For their direction in this point, more particular revela⯑tions became neceſſary. After the flood, each of the three ſons of Noah was to be the progenitor of many nations. In foretelling the ſtate of their poſterity, by inſpiration, Noah ſays, God ſhall enlarge Japheth, and, or but he ſhall dwell in the tents of Shem ^*. By many, the latter clauſe is referred not to Japheth, but to God, and is underſtood as an intimation that the promiſed Redeemer ſhould be of the poſterity of Shem; an intimation which, in the form of expreſſion, bears a great analogy to the evangeliſt's deſcription of that Redeemer, The Word was made fleſh, and dwelt, the ori⯑ginal imports, tabernacled or pitched his tent, among us ^†.

BUT Shem had many ſons, and from each of them deſcended many nations. It ſoon [130] became neceſſary to point out, from which of theſe the Saviour ſhould ſpring. For this pur⯑poſe God called Abraham from his own country into the land of Canaan: he promiſed this land as a temporal inheritance to his poſterity; and at the ſame time informed him, that the Re⯑deemer ſhould ſpring from him, In thee ſhall all the families of the earth be bleſſed ^*. Abraham underſtood not this to mean, that himſelf was the appointed Saviour, but only that this Saviour ſhould be one of his poſterity; accordingly it is recorded to his honour, that, while he had yet no child, he believed God ^†. When Iſaac was promiſed, intimation was alſo given, that he was the ſon of Abraham, with whom God would eſtabliſh his covenant ^‡: after his birth, the intimation was repeated, In Iſaac ſhall thy SEED be called ^‖: and when Abraham had approved his faith, by obeying God's command to offer Iſaac, the grand promiſe was explicitly renewed, and ratified by the oath of God, in the words of my text, In thy ſeed ſhall all the nations of the earth be bleſſed.

THESE predictions not only determine the Redeemer to be one from among the poſterity of Abraham, but alſo intimate that he ſhould [131] be of his poſterity by Iſaac: and to Iſaac him⯑ſelf the promiſe was afterwards repeated in the very ſame words which are employed in the text ^†. Abraham not only had before now Iſhmael by Hagar, but alſo was afterwards to have ſeveral children by Keturah: but mankind are directed to look for their Redeemer, only among the poſterity of Iſaac. To render the direction ſtill more determinate, after Iſaac had two ſons, from whom diſtinct nations were to ſpring, God ſaid to Jacob the younger of them, In thee, and in thy ſeed ſhall all the families of earth be bleſſed ^*: as, in the purſuance of the ſame intention, Jacob was made, in his dying words, to reſtrict the origin of the Redeemer to the tribe of Judah, and the ſpirit of revela⯑tion in after times ſtill farther reſtricted it to the family of David, and likewiſe unfolded by degrees many particulars relating to the place, and other circumſtances of his birth.

To aſcertain and limit, in this manner, the expectation of the Redeemer from time to time, was every way worthy of the divine wiſdom.—It was neceſſary for preſerving the expectation of this great perſon in the world. In the family of Abraham alone, the expectation was preſerved: the reſt of mankind, degenerating [132] baſely from true religion, very ſoon forgot the the primeval revelation, and loſt all expectation of the Saviour. In the other branches even of the family of Abraham and of Iſaac, the pro⯑miſe made to them was quickly forgotten; it was remembered only in the line of Jacob, from which it had been intimated that he was to ſpring, and to which predictions of him were frequently repeated.

THE determination of the Redeemer's origin was alſo of great importance both for ſetting aſide the pretenſions of impoſtors, and for giving evidence to the true Redeemer when he ſhould ariſe. In vain would any perſon of other na⯑tions have claimed this character: the Redeemer muſt be of the poſterity of Abraham by Iſaac and by Jacob. By this ſingle mark, Mahomet is convicted as a cheat: but in Jeſus, whom we embrace as our Redeemer, this is accompliſhed. To theſe Patriarchs, the evangeliſts trace up his genealogy by both his parents; and to the promiſe and oath made to Abraham, the New Teſtament frequently refers. In courſe of time, multitudes of circumſtances relating to him, were foretold; and as the predictions of him became more complex, in the very ſame proportion, the application of them became the ſimpler and the more infallible. They were rendered ſo circumſtantial before prophecy [133] ceaſed, that they could not poſſibly all agree to any perſon except him who was intended in them: but various, minute, and circumſtan⯑tial as they were, they all agreed with the moſt punctual exactneſs, to Jeſus of Nazareth; and thus demonſtrated, That he was the great Deliverer promiſed from the beginning of the world, and, through all ſucceſſive ages, invariably kept in the eye of Providence, and gradually revealed to men

SECONDLY, It is foretold in the text, that the undertaking of the perſon here promiſed, ſhould be highly beneficial to mankind.

IN him, God ſays that men ſhall be bleſſed. The original may mean, ſhall bleſs themſelves: in this ſenſe the Jews underſtand it, and ex⯑plain the import of the promiſe to be, That they who wanted to expreſs the beſt wiſhes to another, would pray, May it be to thee as to Abraham. To confirm this ſenſe of the ex⯑preſſion, it is obſerved, that Iſaac, in bleſſing Jacob, ſays, God Almighty give thee the bleſſing of Abraham, to thee, and to thy ſeed with thee ^*; and that Jacob having ſaid to the ſons of Joſeph, In thee ſhall Iſrael bleſs, explains it to this very ſenſe, by adding, ſaying God make [134] thee as Ephraim, and as Manaſſeh ^*. But in this latter paſſage, the manner of expreſſion is not preciſely the ſame as in the text; and the form of benediction recorded in the former paſ⯑ſage, rather took its occaſion from the promiſe made to Abraham, than expreſſed the full ſenſe of it; it pre-ſuppoſes that bleſſings were promiſed to him, and its import depends on what theſe bleſſings were. The text is a part of that promiſe; and its ſimpleſt meaning is, That by the Redeemer who was to ſpring from Abraham, the nations ſhould be rendered happy.

THE expreſſion is general, it determines not the kind or degree of happineſs which the Redeemer would confer upon mankind; yet Abraham could not be at a loſs to diſcern this. The promiſe made to our firſt parents was in this reſpect more explicit; the effect of the Redeemer's enterprize was expreſſed more de⯑finitely; it was intimated that he would bruiſe the ſerpent's head: and this, from the circum⯑ſtances in which that promiſe was given, could not but be underſtood by them to imply, that he would obtain a complete victory over the devil, defeat his deſigns againſt mankind, re⯑cover them from the ſin and guilt into which [135] he had ſeduced them, and reſtore them to that life and happineſs from which they had fallen by his ſuggeſtion: and in this ſenſe they would explain it to their poſterity. Abraham was ac⯑quainted with this firſt promiſe; he could not but recollect it on this occaſion; and by its more preciſe terms he would define and limit the general expreſſion of bleſſedneſs, uſed in the new promiſe made to himſelf. He would un⯑derſtand, not merely that from this promiſed ſeed the nations ſhould receive great benefits, but alſo that he ſhould be the author of all thoſe particular benefits which are implied in bruiſing the ſerpent's head. It would readily be under⯑ſtood in the ſame ſenſe in after ages; by po⯑ſterior predictions, the nature of theſe benefits was more diſtinctly unfolded: but it is in the New Teſtament, in the hiſtory of the great Deliverer now actually come, that we may learn the full import of the bleſſedneſs pro⯑miſed through him; and with a plain and de⯑ſigned reference to this very promiſe, the be⯑nefits derived to us from Jeſus Chriſt, are often mentioned in the New Teſtament.

OF him before he was born, Zacharias pro⯑pheſied, when he was filled with the Holy Ghoſt, as the great perſon of whom God ſpake by the mouth of his holy prophets which have been ſince the world began, and particularly as [136] the perſon appointed to perform the mercy pro⯑miſed to our fathers, and to remember his holy covenant, the oath which he ſware to our father Abraham: and in his prophecy deſcribed the bleſſings to be conferred by him, as conſiſting in our being ſaved from our enemies, and from the hand of all that hate us, in his granting unto us, that we being delivered out of the hands of our enemies, might ſerve him without fear, in holineſs and righteouſneſs before him, all the days of our lives; in his giving knowledge of ſal⯑vation to his people, by the r [...]miſſion of the [...] ſins, through the tender mercy of our God; whereby the day-ſpring from on high hath viſited us, to give light to them that ſit in darkneſs and in the ſhadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace ^*. The apoſtle Peter having reminded the Jews, that they were the children of the prophets, and of the covenant which God made with our fathers, ſaying unto Abraham, And in thy ſeed ſhall all the kindreds of the earth be bleſſed, thus deſcribes the fulfilment of the pro⯑miſe, in manifeſt alluſion to the terms of it, Unto you firſt, God having raiſed up his Son Jeſus, ſent him to BLESS you, in turning away every one of you from his iniquities ^†. The apoſtle Paul calls the Chriſtian ſalvation the bleſſing of Abraham, and under this name de⯑ſcribes [137] it as including Chriſt's redeeming us from the curſe of the law, and our receiving the pro⯑miſe of the Spirit through faith, the adoption of ſons, and the inheritance ^*. To Abraham God promiſed, that in his [...]d the nations ſhould be bleſſed; and the apoſtle teſtifies that in Chriſt God hath bleſſed us with all ſpiritual bleſſings in heavenly places ^†.

THE promiſe gave room to expect bleſſings great and manifold: but all the bleſſings which men could beforehand conceive to be included in it, or even in the more particular prophecies that followed, the apoſtle juſtly obſerves, are far exceeded by the bleſſings which, the goſp [...]l aſſures us, are actually purchaſed for us by Jeſus Chriſt: Eye, ſays he, h [...]th not ſeen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him; but God hath revealed them to us by his Spirit ^‡. All the means of neceſſary knowledge and of holineſs, divine il⯑lumination, ſtrength and aſſiſtance, the for⯑giveneſs of ſins, the favour of God, the reſur⯑rection from the dead, and the everlaſting hap⯑pineſs of heaven; theſe are the bleſſings which Chriſt confers: and they are bleſſings the greateſt in themſelves, and the moſt ſuitable [138] to ignorant, weak, corrupt, guilty, and mortal creatures. Of him who confers them, it might be foretold with the greateſt reaſon, that in him men ſhould be bleſſed.

IN the firſt promiſe it had been intimated that, in conquering Satan, the Redeemer ſhould be a ſufferer; it had been ſaid, Thou ſhalt bruiſe his heel. In the text it is only ſaid that in him, that is, by means of him, the bleſſing ſhould come: but in what particular way he ſhould procure it, the words give no intima⯑tion. They were connected, however, with a very remarkable event. God had commanded Abraham, Take now thy ſon, thine only ſon Iſaac, whom thou loveſt, and get thee into the land of Moriah, and offer him there for a burnt offering ^*. Abraham had ſet out, and, on the third day of his journey, was juſt preparing to obey the hard command, when the angel of the Lord ſtopped his uplifted hand, preſerved his ſon, and provided another ſacrifice. In appro⯑bation and reward of this inſtance of faith and obedience, the promiſe in the text was given, and confirmed by an oath. It is commonly allowed, that that whole tranſaction was in⯑tended to give Abraham information of the death and ſacrifice of the Redeemer, and was underſtood by him to typify and prefigure [139] theſe: there is reaſon for allowing it. But whether in that tranſaction Abraham perceived the ſacrifice of Chriſt, or not; whether they who lived before Chriſt's appearance, appre⯑hended its meaning ſo far as to learn from it, that he was to die a ſacrifice, or not; yet we who live after the event, can by its light per⯑ceive and do know that the whole tranſaction was a type of the ſufferings and ſacrifice of Chriſt. To us it is a proof, that this method of redemption was foreſeen and foreordained by God. Between Abraham, at God's command, offering Iſaac, the ſon whom he loved, in ſa⯑crifice, and God giving his only begotten and well-beloved ſon to be a ſacrifice for our ſins; between God's requiring Iſaac, the very heir of the promiſe, the firſt born of the covenant, to be offered, and his requiring Jeſus Chriſt, the great ſubject of that promiſe, the head of the covenant, to be made a propitiation for the ſins of the world; the ſimilitude and correſpond⯑ence is ſo perfect as to leave no room for our doubting that the one was intended to be pro⯑phetical of the other. The conformity be⯑tween the types under the Old Teſtament, and the events of the New, happened not by chance; but was purpoſely contrived to ſhew us Chriſ⯑tians, that the grand deſign of man's redemp⯑tion which we ſee now accompliſhed, was ever in the view of God, was always carrying on, [140] and ran through all the diſpenſations of re⯑vealed religion. Abraham with-held not Iſaac, his ſon, his only ſon; and God ſpared not his own Son, but delivered him up for us all ^*. The ſufferings to which he delivered him up, and by which he made the atonement ^†, were clear⯑ly foretold in the courſe of the prophecies: and in the New Teſtament we have the hiſtory of the ſufferings which Jeſus underwent, and deſcriptions of the efficacy of his ſacrifice, ex⯑actly agreeable to the prophecies.

THIRDLY, It is foretold in the text, that the bleſſings in this manner purchaſed by the Redeemer, ſhould extend to all nations.

IN the firſt promiſe this was not expreſſed; it was not neceſſary; the firſt parents of the whole human race were alike connected with all the kindreds of their poſterity. But now, when one nation was pointed out, from which the Redeemer was to ſpring, there was great need to give intimation that he was not in⯑tended for the benefit of that nation only, but of all nations. This was the more neceſ⯑ſary becauſe, along with the promiſe given to to Abraham, Iſaac, and Jacob, that the Re⯑deemer was to ſpring from them, there was [141] conſtantly a promiſe alſo given them, of a temporal inheritance, of the land of Canaan ^*, which was peculiar to their poſterity, and in which other nations had no intereſt. This might have led them to interpret the promiſe of the Saviour, as likewiſe peculiar to them⯑ſelves. Their eſtabliſhment in the land of Ca⯑naan was made ſubſervient to the great de⯑ſign of the redemption of the world, by pre⯑ſerving among them the knowledge of the one true God, and by giving ſcope to a long ſeries of prophecies concerning that diſpenſation of his grace. Finding themſelves in this manner ſe⯑lected by God, and privileged above other nations, they would the more readily con⯑clude, that the Redeemer was deſigned for them alone. For preventing the miſtake, this early intimation that he was to be the Saviour of all nations, was highly proper: by many ſucceeding prophecies the ſame information was inculcated upon them. All this did not prevent their falling into the miſtake; but it rendered it inexcuſable.

BEFORE the Saviour came, they had per⯑ſuaded themſelves, in oppoſition to the infor⯑mation of all the prophets, that he was to be the temporal deliverer only of their nation. Had [142] Jeſus Chriſt been an impoſtor, he would have accommodated his pretenſions to their concep⯑tions; indeed he muſt have been under the ſame prejudice; it could never have entered into his thoughts to form a deſign totally repugnant to the notions which ſo univerſally and ſo deeply poſſeſſed all his countrymen. He ſhewed himſelf to be no impoſtor, he ſhewed himſelf to be the promiſed Redeemer, by the very pre⯑tenſions which he made. To the contracted notions of the Jews, they were diametrically oppoſite; but they agreed exactly to the de⯑clarations of the prophets, and fulfilled them. He appeared, not as the deliverer of the Jews, but as the Saviour of the world: the angels proclaimed his birth to be good tidings of great joy, which ſhould be unto all people ^*: in his life-time, he gave many intimations that he was intended for all nations: and after his re⯑ſurrection, he expreſly commanded his diſciples to go into all the world, teach all nations, and preach the goſpel to every creature ^†. They did ſo: their own minds were purified from the prejudices of their nation; they ſaw that the gentiles as well as the Jews had acceſs to ſalvation and bleſſedneſs by faith in Jeſus Chriſt; they perceived of a truth, that God is no reſpecter of perſons, but in EVERY NATION he [143] that feareth him and worketh righteouſneſs, is accepted with him ^*; they proclaimed that there is no difference between the Jew and the Greek, for the ſame Lord over all is rich unto all that call upon him ^†. The narrow-minded Jews found fault. But the apoſtles withſtood them, confuted them from the prophets, and oftener than once confuted them from this very pro⯑miſe made to Abraham, which, they informed them, was not to Abraham or to his ſeed through the law, but through the righteouſneſs of faith ^‡. Know ye therefore, ſays Paul, that they which are of faith, the ſame are the children of Abra⯑ham: And the ſcripture foreſ [...]eing that God would juſtify the heathen through faith, preached before the goſpel unto Abraham, ſaying, In thee ſhall all nations be bleſſed: So then they which be of faith, are bleſſed with faithful Abraham ^‖. The bleſſing of Abraham hath come on the Gen⯑tiles through Jeſus Chriſt ^§. The cov [...]nant which was confirmed before of God in Chriſt, the law, which was four hundred and thirty years after, cannot diſannul, that it ſhould make the promiſe of none effect ^**. If ye be Chriſt's, then are ye Abraham's ſeed, and heirs according to the pro⯑miſe ^††.

[144]IT was obſerved before, that the text may be rendered, In thy ſeed ſhall all the nations of the earth bleſs themſelves. But rendered in this manner, it implies a far more important ſenſe than that which the Jews would give it; it foretells, that the nations ſhould acknowledge that in this ſeed alone they can be happy; it foretells the actual reception of the Redeemer by all nations. This alſo is verified in Jeſus Chriſt. In him the nations bleſſed themſelves, much more than the Jews, who claimed the Meſſiah as altogether their own. Only a few of the Jews in compariſon believed on him: while the bulk of them rejected him, multi⯑tudes of the gentiles received his goſpel. While the Jews, the natural and immediate heirs of promiſe, the deſcendants of his own anceſtors, are outcaſts from his kingdom, it is eſtabliſhed in many nations in all the quarters of the world. Already the prophecy is ſo far ac⯑compliſhed, as to give us ground of aſ⯑ſurance that in due time it will have its full completion, by all the kingdoms of this world becoming the kingdoms of our Lord and of his Chriſt ^†. This day is this prophecy, brethren, fulfilled in ourſelves. We are by nature gentiles, aliens from the commonwealth of Iſrael, and ſtrangers from the covenants of pro⯑miſe: [145] But now, in Chriſt Jeſus, we who ſome⯑time were aſar off, are brought nigh, and are made fellow-citizens with the ſaints, and of the houſehold of God, fellow-heirs, and partakers of his promiſe in Chriſt by the goſpel ^*. This very day, we ſit here aſſembled, acknowledg⯑ing the Redeemer as already come, preached unto the gentiles, believed on in the world ^†. And if our acknowledgment be ſincere, if we heartily accept the redemption which he hath wrought, and comply with the religion which he hath taught us, in him we ſhall be bleſſed for evermore, being ſet down with Abra⯑ham, and Iſaac, and Jacob, in the kingdom of heaven ^‡.

THUS, my brethren, I have ſhewn you the meaning of this propheſy, and its accompliſh⯑ment. And now what are we to learn from the whole?

1. SHALL we not be inexcuſable, if we re⯑ceive not the Saviour who is ſo carefully point⯑ed out to us? Every propheſy in the Old Teſta⯑ment, accompliſhed under the New, is a proof of the divinity of both; it ſhews that they have the ſame author, and that he is the God who is perfect in knowledge, in whoſe eyes [146] the future is even as the preſent. In Jeſus, this very early prophecy was exactly fulfilled. Abraham had no child when this promiſe wa [...] firſt made to him, nor was there, in the ordi⯑nary courſe of nature, a poſſibility of his hav⯑ing one: yet he believed God: Againſt hope he believed in hope; and being not weak in [...]aith, he conſidered not his own body now dead, neither the deadneſs of Sarah's womb: he ſtaggered not at the promiſe of God, through unbelief, but was ſtrong in faith, giving glory to God, and being fully perſuaded, that what he had pro⯑miſed, he was able alſo to perform ^*. He be⯑lieved in circumſtances, if poſſible, ſtill more difficult: when he was tried, he offered up Iſaac; and he that had received the promiſes of⯑fered up his only begotten ſon, of whom it was ſaid, That in Iſaac ſhall thy ſeed by called; ac⯑counting that God was able to raiſe him up, even from the dead, from whence alſo he re⯑ceived him in a figure ^†. When WE are com⯑manded to believe in Jeſus Chriſt, how much leſs is required of us, than Abraham performed? To us, the Redeemer is not promiſed, but ſhewn already come; to us, he is not darkly intimated, but clearly manifeſted; he was pre⯑ciſely marked by the prophets of all ages; he was pointed out by the finger of the Baptiſt; [147] he approved himſelf the true Saviour, by ful⯑filling in himſelf, all that had been before written concerning him, God alſo bearing him witneſs both with ſigns a [...]nd wonders, and with diuers miracles ^*. [...] of evidence leaves no excuſe for unbelief. Be not ye, bre⯑thren, faithleſs, but believing ^†, walking in the ſteps of the faith of our father Abraham ^‡.

2. How great is our danger, if we reject a Saviour whoſe undertaking is ſo important in the eye of God? The ſalvation of man⯑kind by Jeſus Chriſt, is ſo important that it has been the object of God's attention, com⯑placence, and delight, through all the ages of the world. All his revelations to mankind, the ſeparation of the Iſraelites, and the whole plan of their religion, point to this as their great end. The information of it, which the text contains, was given to Abraham, as a ſuitable reward for the higheſt inſtance of his obedience. All this ſets its importance in the ſtrongeſt light; it repreſents it as, what our Saviour calls it, the counſel of God, the final reſult of the deliberations of perfect wiſdom. The Jews rejected this counſel of God againſt themſelves ^‖. It was a moſt atrocious crime: it was to baffle all the contrivances of divine [148] wiſdom and love for their good. The reſto⯑ration of mankind from ignorance, corruption, guilt, death, and miſery, to knowledge, pu⯑rity, favour, immortality, and happineſs, is the object of the Redeemer's undertaking. It muſt be the ultimate end of all the diſpenſa⯑tions of Providence relative to mankind. It is the grandeſt deſign in which they can be in⯑tereſted. How ſhall we eſcape if we neglect ſo great ſalvation ^*? Of what puniſhment ſhall we not juſtly be thought worthy? Knowing the terrors of the Lord ^†, let us be perſuaded to ſeek the favour of God, through Jeſus Chriſt, in whom he is well-pleaſed ^‡.

3. WITH what gratitude and joy ſhould we embrace the Saviour who is revealed to us, accept the ſalvation which he has purchaſed, and perform the terms on which he offers it! Abraham laughed ^‖, when Iſaac was promiſed to him. He rejoiced, ſays our Saviour, to ſee my day; and he ſaw it and was glad ^§. How much more ſhould we be glad? Abraham ſaw the day of Chriſt but faintly, and at a diſtance; we ſee it already riſen, and ſit under the full light of it. The bleſſings of God's covenant were only hinted to him; but to us they are fully diſplayed. If he rejoiced becauſe to [149] him the promiſe was made, ought not we much more to rejoice when to us the promiſe is performed? We are not the children of Abraham according to the fleſh: yet we are made, by the kindneſs of God, the children of the promiſe. To us it hath been ſaid, Rejoice ye gentiles, with his people ^*; among us are preached the unſearchable riches of Chriſt ^†. Let us be thankful for this grace, let us cheer⯑fully improve it, let us perform with alacrity whatever is neceſſary for our obtaining ever⯑laſting happineſs through Jeſus Chriſt.

SERMON VII. CONSTANCY IN RELIGION ENFORCED BY THE COMMON SUFFERINGS OF HUMAN LIFE.

FROM obſerving that, in the preſent ſtate, calamities befall good and bad men indiſ⯑criminately, the irreligious have concluded, that God takes no concern about the behaviour of men, and that is is therefore vain to ſerve him ^*: and from obſerving that a ſtrict adhe⯑rence to virtue is, in ſome caſes, the direct cauſe of ſuffering or loſs, they have affected to conclude farther, that it is even folly to be virtuous. The great reward which God has promiſed to good men in the future life, is doubtleſs ſufficient to render it our higheſt [152] wiſdom to adhere to virtue, whatever ſuffer⯑ings it may bring upon us in the preſent life. But earthly things take ſo faſt an hold of the minds of men, that ſufferings for religion muſt always have ſome tendency to prevent their looking forward to the heavenly reward, with faith firm enough to ſuſtain their forti⯑tude, and ſecure their ſtedſaſtneſs. On this ac⯑count the ſcripture often calls ſuch ſufferings, by way of eminence, temptations.

IT is in the time of perſecution chiefly, that men are expoſed to temptations of this kind: but they are not totally exempt from them at any time. There will always be particular ſituations in which religion obſtructs mens worldly intereſt; in which we may forfeit ſome immediate advantage, or incur ſomething troubleſome or diſagreeable, by inflexible and uncomplying virtue: and there will be many more ſituations, in which we may be appre⯑henſive of theſe conſequences. Though we be under no temptation to renounce our reli⯑gion altogether, we may be very ſtrongly tempted to what is inconſiſtent with ſome of its particular laws. Dread of incurring the ridicule of the world, the diſpleaſure of friends, the reſentment of the powerful, the loſs of a favourable opportunity for gain, are often pleaded by men in every age, as ex⯑cuſes [153] for acknowledged deviations from the ſtrict line of integrity and innocence. Never therefore can it be unſeaſonable to exhort Chriſtians to conſtancy in virtuous practice, notwithſtanding the ſufferings, loſſes, and inconveniences in which it may involve them, or to urge upon them for this purpoſe, the ſame arguments which the ſacred writers pro⯑poſed, for the confirmation of the firſt Chriſ⯑tians enduring perſecution for the ſake of the goſpel.

IN this earthly ſtate, all men without ex⯑ception are ſubjected to ſuffering and affliction. Far from conſidering this as unfavourable to the cauſe of virtue or religion, the ſacred wri⯑ters deduce from this very topic, an argument for reſolution, patience, and conſtancy under the peculiar ſufferings to which religion and virtue ſometimes expoſe good men. To ſup⯑port the Chriſtians of that age under perſecu⯑tion for righteouſneſs ſake, they remind them, that all mankind, as well as they, are obnoxi⯑ous to many ſufferings. We know that the whole creation groaneth and travaileth in pain together until now ^*, ſays the apoſtle, in for⯑t [...]ying the Romans againſt the ſufferings of this preſent time ^†. The Corinthians alſo were in [154] danger of ſuffering for religion. They dreaded that their refuſing all communion with the Pa⯑gans in their idolatrous feaſts, might provoke their reſentment and raiſe a perſecution: per⯑haps they had experienced this in ſome degree. The goſpel notwithſtanding required them to perſiſt in their refuſal: compliance with any appendage of Pagan worſhip, would have been an apoſtaſy from the faith of Chriſt, and from the ſervice of the one living God. The apoſ⯑tle exhorts them to inflexible reſolution, let him that thinketh he ſtandeth, take heed leſt he fall; and enforceth the exhortation by this argu⯑ment, there hath no temptation taken you, but ſuch as is common to man. The ſufferings which you have incurred by your ſtedfaſtneſs, and all the ſufferings which by it you can in⯑cur, are only ſuch as are ordinary in the life of man: therefore you ought to meet them with fortitude, to bear them with patience, and not allow yourſelves to be moved by them to deviate from the purity of the goſpel in a point ſo eſſential. The force of the argument cannot but be felt, as ſoon as it is propoſed. Yet its impreſſion may be ſtrengthened by its being deliberately unfolded, by our conſider⯑ing attentively in what particular ways the common troubles of human life urge us to ſubmit chearfully to thoſe troubles which the good man may ſometimes incur by doing his [155] duty. They urge us to this conduct, by the example of ſuffering which they exhibit,—by leading us to conclude that, if we had not been expoſed to ſufferings for virtue, other af⯑ [...]ctions would have been allotted to us,—by convincing us that by deviating from virtue we can obtain no ſecurity againſt falling into the like ſufferings,—and by ſtamping vanity upon all preſent outward things.

FIRST, The afflictions and ſorrows which are common, and even univerſal in human life, excite us to conſtancy under ſufferings for religion and a good conſcience, by the very example of ſuffering which they exhibit. Think not for a ſingle moment of deſerting religion, of tranſgr [...]ſ [...]ng any one of its laws, on account of the inconve [...]i [...]s to which it may expoſe you; for theſe inconveniences, whatever they be, are only ſuch as men, in this mortal ſtate, very commonly endure.

IF the generality paſſed through life with⯑out ſeeing any evil days, you might have ſome excuſe for thinking it hard that you alone ſhould be ſubjected to affliction, eſpecially that you ſhould be ſubjected to it by a ſtrict adhe⯑rence to your duty. But every one that is born of a woman, is of few days, and [...]ull of [156] trouble ^*; on every man ſorrows are multi⯑plied by one cauſe or another: you cannot ex⯑pect an exemption from the neceſſary condition of your ſpecies; when you too find trouble and ſorrow ^†, why ſhould you repine? Its being oc⯑caſioned by your ſtedfaſtneſs in your duty, ren⯑ders your condition no worſe than that of many, who have fallen into as great trouble by other means. If the fulfilling of the obligations of religion expoſes you to ſuffering, you ought not to venture on tranſgreſſing them in order to avoid it, till you have firſt ſurveyed all the mi⯑ſeries of thoſe who ſuffer, but not for religion; till you have traced the diſaſters of all ages down from Adam to the preſent hour; and till you be able to ſay, that what you muſt en⯑dure in retaining your integrity ^‡, is bitterer than ever fell to the lot of man. But truly, religion never expoſed its moſt determined champions, even in the bloodieſt perſecutions, to greater loſſes or ſeverer pains, than many have been forced to encounter in the common courſe of providence, or have brought upon themſelves by their imprudence or their crimes. Religion has expoſed men to the ſpoiling of their goods ^§, to ſuffer the loſs of all things for Chriſt Jeſus ^**: ſuppoſe it ſhould require you, in ad⯑hering [157] to virtue, to relinquiſh all your poſſeſ⯑ſions: yet would it reduce you to a worſe condition than that man whom you ſee con⯑tentedly earning a ſcanty livelihood by his daily labour, or than that other whom you find al⯑ways chearful, though he be begging his bread. Look to them, and be aſhamed to commit the ſmalleſt ſin through dread of po⯑verty. Religion has expoſed men to bonds and impriſonment ^*: they are grievous: but have not many ſuffered them, and ſuffered them with patience, for other cauſes than firmneſs in religion? Religion has expoſed men to death: but is death an uncommon event? Is it not ſtrictly univerſal and inevitable? Do you not ſee men dying around you every day? If God brings you into ſuch circumſtances, that you muſt either deſert your duty or lay down your life, can you heſitate in fixing your choice? There are a thouſand other ways in which you may loſe your life: in ſome way, you muſt loſe it ſoon; but in no other way, can it be ſo honourable, ſo glorious, to loſe it. If it be in the very prime of your days that you are called to ſacrifice your life to the fulfilment of your duty; yet ſtill you ſhall be but one of many hundreds who are cut off in the prime of their days; and when it [158] is certain that you muſt die once, can it [...]e of very great importance, whether you die to⯑day, or to-morrow, or not many days hence? The dread of death, ſtrong as it naturally is in men, cannot always prevent their expoſing themſelves to the danger of it, in the proſecu⯑tion of their worldly intereſts, nay in the very train of their amuſements: ſhall we, notwith⯑ſtanding, allow it to prevent our expoſing our⯑ſelves to that danger, in ſecuring our eternal intereſts by conſtancy in avoiding evil and do⯑ing good? The dread of a violent death has not always power enough to reſtrain the wicked from the crimes againſt which it is de⯑nounced: and ſhall it be able to pervert us from our virtue? Shall they encounter tribu⯑lations in the way of deſtruction, which we refuſe to meet in the way of ſalvation? Fro⯑ward and ſtrange is the way of man ^*: he is wiſe and bold to do evil; but to do good he hath no knowledge ^†, no reſolution. The fury of wicked men has ſometimes prepared cruel tortues for the martyrs of God: but tor⯑tures as cruel have often been inflicted on the atrocious criminal, the deteſted rival, or even the unhappy captive: and the pains of natural death in ſome of its forms, are both greater and more laſting than any artificial torments, [159] What ſufferings can execuſe your being deterred from your duty or frightened into ſin? The greateſt that you can incur, are only ſuch as multitudes have ſuſtained when religion was not at all concerned.

BUT all the inconveniences which men or⯑dinarily meet with in adhering to their duty, are far leſs than many of the moſt common evils of life: they are among the very ſlighteſt diſtreſſes incident to man: they are ſuch as thouſands and ten thouſands ſuffer day after day, almoſt without a murmur. The ſneer of the ungodly, the ſcoff of the prophane, the frown of the unprincipled or the misjudging, the forfeiture of a ſmall immediate profit, the loſs of an opportunity of becoming a little richer or a little greater, the ſacrifice of a trifling proportion of what we have, the pain of denying ourſelves ſome ſenſual pleaſure which a brute might reliſh as much as we; Theſe are the troubles, for expoſing us to which we often complain of religion and of virtue as enemies to our preſent intereſt and en⯑joyment, and for avoiding which we too often venture to do what our hearts condemn! What are theſe amidſt the multitudes of calamities under which human creatures groan? How many endure them, and endure them willingly, for purpoſes infinitely l [...]ſs conſiderable than [160] the preſervation of a good conſcience? For the ſake of theſe, to entertain a thought of ven⯑turing on the leaſt deviation from virtue, would demonſtrate a want of all regard to it, would betray leſs ſpirit than the meaneſt of mankind exert almoſt every day. Theſe are hardſhips very common to man; they are ſo very common and ſo very trivial, that they ſcarcely deſerve to be called temptations; they are acknowledged by all, when religion is not in the queſtion, to be extremely ſlight.

IN a word, Religion can never expoſe men to greater ſufferings, it generally expoſes men to much more tolerable ſufferings than ſuch as are common to man. Whatever you may ſuf⯑fer by patient continuance in well-doing ^*, you cannot be ſingular in your ſuffering. The preſent ſtate is ſo much a ſtate of ſorrow and affliction to all, that to have the ſpirit of martyrdom for religion, is little more than to have the ſpirit of a man, the reſolution neceſſary for bearing the ordinary viciſſitudes and troubles of hu⯑man life. We act not the part of men, if we ſhew any anxiety to ſhun whatever diſtreſſes cannot be ſhunned except by our forfeiting our innocence.

[161]SECONDLY, Becauſe ſorrows and ſufferings are univerſal in this life, and every individual of the human ſpecies has a ſhare of them, we reaſonably conclude, that, if we were exempt from thoſe which at any time we incur by doing our duty, other afflictions would have been allotted to us, perhaps equally, perhaps more ſevere. Let no man, therefore, be moved by theſe afflictions ^*; accept them as your lot without repining; endure them without being ſhaken in mind ^†, or falling from your own ſtedfaſtneſs ^‡.

MAN is born unto trouble ^‖; it is the ap⯑pointed inheritance of his nature; for any man to elude the appointment, is as impoſſible as to reverſe the eſtabliſhed law of matter by which the ſparks fly upward ^‖. The God who made us, hath meaſured out to every man his portion of affliction. If it ſhall fall to your lot, to ſuffer affliction for the ſake of virtue, be aſſured that without this, or ſome other equivalent affliction, your meaſure could not have been full. Whatever loſs you incur, whatever hardſhip you undergo, by perſevering in what is right, it is only in the place of ſome other loſs or hardſhip, which elſe you muſt have incurred by different means. By encountering it, you render your condition no [162] more than it would have been at any rate. Per⯑haps you reckon it an aggravation of your trouble, that it is occaſioned by your virtue: when the excellence of virtue ſhould ſecure its leading us to quietneſs, peace, joy, honour, and good report, is there not a peculiar hardſhip in being, for the very ſake of it, plunged into the contrary evils? can we but be diſappoint⯑ed? can we but regret that the natural conſe⯑quences of actions ſhould be ſo much per⯑verted? The regret is only the ſuggeſtion of a heart prone to repining, and cold in its at⯑tachment to virtue. The diſappointment is only the failure of a groundleſs expectation: we are forewarned that all that will live godly in Chriſt Jeſus, ſhall ſometimes ſuffer perſecu⯑tion ^*. The hardſhip is only in imagination: ſufferings occaſioned by your doing your duty, cannot be more galling than the ſame or equal ſufferings proceeding from other cauſes. They are on many accounts lighter and more eligible.

THE God of mercy doth not afflict willingly, nor grieve the children of men ^†. He mingles their cup with ſorrow, only becauſe it is ne⯑ceſſary for their diſcipline and improvement in this ſtate of probation. He chaſteneth us only for our profit, that we might be partakers of his [163] holineſs ^*: and he never chaſteneth any who ſerve him with ſincerity, farther than is needful for anſwering this end. Now afflictions incurred by conſtancy in virtue, promote our improvement more directly and more powerfully, than thoſe which are incurred by any other means. The latter, though we bear them in the beſt man⯑ner, curb only ſome of our carnal or worldly luſts, improve only ſome particular virtuous principles, the principles of reſignation, ſub⯑miſſion, patience, and truſt in God: but the former improve all the virtuous principles at once, add ſtrength to the whole temper of goodneſs, and confirm us in univerſal holi⯑neſs; by their natural operation, they yield the peaceable fruit of righteouſneſs unto them which are exerciſed thereby ^†; they are the very trial of our faith, much more precious than of gold that periſheth, though it be tried with fire ^‡. To have anſwered the ſame good purpoſes to our ſouls, to have raiſed us to an equal degree of improvement, ſufferings from other cauſes muſt have been ſeverer. No affliction, there⯑fore, which you can undergo in the cauſe of virtue, can be the ſubjeect of juſt complaint; it is the ſubject of gratitude and joy: it ſaves you from a heavier affliction: without the one or the other, ſome trial neceſſary for your [164] ſanctification had been wanting; and the want of it might have proved the ruin of your ſouls.

AT the ſame time, afflictions incurred by ſtedfaſt adherence to virtue, are more honour⯑able than any others; they are relieved by more powerful ſupports and ſweeter conſolations; and they will be followed by a greater reward.—In bearing afflictions abſolutely and by every means inevitable, there is little praiſe: but to chuſe rather to ſuffer affliction with the people of God ^‡, than to purchaſe immunity from it by any vicious compliance or blameable neglect, is the higheſt praiſe. To ſuffer for evil-doing, is ignominious; reſolution in enduring it, is often only hardineſs and effrontery in ſin; at the beſt it cannot atone for the ignominy of the crime: What glory is it, if when ye be buf⯑feted for your faults, ye take it patiently ^* ? But this is glory, if a man for conſcience towards God endure grief, ſuffering wrong fully ^†. Poverty incurred by the ſtrictneſs of integrity, has nothing abject; reproach provoked by a de⯑termined ſteadineſs or an unfaſhionable delicacy of virtue, is true renown; bonds and impriſon⯑ments inflicted for unbending perſeverance in what is right, are genuine liberty; death itſelf for the ſake of God and of Chriſt, is a crown [165] of life. Let none of you ſuffer as a murderer, or as a thief, or as an evil-doer; yet if any man ſuffer as a Chriſtian, let him not be aſhamed, but let him glorify God on this behalf ^‡. If you be called to ſuffer ſhame, or loſs, or inconvenience, for the name of Jeſus, rejoice that ye are counted worthy ^‖.—The wicked may be forced to ſuffer what it is beyond their ſtrength to bear; their ſufferings are imbittered by the cutting ſenſe of guilt; their ſufferings are ſent by God in his anger, for their puniſhment; and who knoweth the power of his anger ^†? But in diſ⯑charging your duty with fidelity and ſteadineſs, God will not ſuffer you to be temp [...]ed above that ye are able, but will with the temptation alſo make a way to eſcape, that ye may be able to to bear it ^*. If ye be reproached, or ſtript of your goods, or ſubjected to any pain, for the name of Chriſt, happy are ye, for the Spirit of glory, and of God, reſteth upon you ^§. Therefore, ſays the apoſtle, I take pleaſure in infirmities, in reproaches, in neceſſities, in perſecutions, in diſtreſſes for Chriſt's ſake: for when I am weak, then am I ſtrong ^‡. In ſuch ſufferings, though our outward man periſh, yet the inward man is renewed day by day ^‖. The ſincerity and the vigour of our virtue are aſcertained; we enjoy the applauſes of [166] an aſſured conſcience; every reflection on our conduct ſtrengthens our aſſurance and renew [...] our joy; we ſhare in the triumphs of the martyrs; we glory in confidence of the ſpecial favour of God, who can, in the very midſt of our ſorrows, fill us with peace and joy which paſſeth all underſtanding ^†. In other afflictions, the utmoſt we can do, is to be patient; it is only in tribulations for the ſake of righteouſneſs that we can glory ^§, and in all ſuch we have reaſon to be exceeding joyful ^*.—Mitigated during their continuance by the conſolations of God ^‡, they ſhall be recompenſed in the [...] with eminence of happineſs. If when you do well, and ſuffer for it, whether your ſuffering be of a heavier or lighter ſort, ye take it pa⯑tiently, this is acceptable to God ^‖, whoſe it is to recompenſe. To embrace ſuch ſufferings, rather than act a vicious part in any inſtance, ſhews incorruptible rectitude of ſoul, and con⯑firms it. It is ſuch affliction, that, though light and but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory ^**. My brethren, count it all joy when ye [...]all into divers temptations, knowing that the trying of your faith worketh patience; and let your patience under them have perfect work, that ye [167] may be perfect and entire, wanting nothing ^†. Bleſſed is the man that endureth temptation, for when he is tried, he ſhall receive the crown of life, which the Lord hath promiſed to them that love him ^‡. Bleſſed are ye when men ſhall revile you, and perſecute you, and ſhall ſay all manner of evil againſt you falſely for my ſake: inſtead of ſhrinking, rejoice and be exceeding glad, for great is your reward in heaven ^‖.

IN ſhort, Suffering is the lot of all men: if you had eſcaped the ſufferings which you may at times endure for religion, you might have expected other ſufferings in their room: To have contributed as much to your improvement, theſe muſt have been greater; but you would have had weaker ſupports, ſlenderer conſola⯑tions, and a leſs reward. Grudge not therefore, but rejoice, if ſufferings for well-doing ſhall fall to your ſhare, inſtead of common afflic⯑tions; encounter them with alacrity; refuſe to deviate from your duty in any point, though by the ſmalleſt deviation you could be certain to avoid them.

BUT this is not the caſe: for, thirdly, the univerſality of ſufferings and afflictions in [...] preſent ſtate, is ſufficient to convince us that [168] if we be prevailed upon to deviate from virtue, by the ſufferings to which it may ſometimes expoſe us, yet we cannot by the deviation eſcape affliction, or obtain ſecurity againſt falling into the like ſufferings by other means. The queſtion is not, Whether you ſhall deſert your duty and be exempt from trouble, or adhere to your duty and incur trouble? This is the groſs miſrepreſentation of your own deluſive fancy: no ſuch choice can be permitted you. The queſtion is, Whether you ſhall hold faſt your righteouſneſs ^*, and patiently endure whatever trouble it may occaſion, or let go your righte⯑ouſneſs and yet be forced to endure trouble? In this ſtate of the queſtion, can your election be attended with any difficulty? But this is the real ſtate. Who ever paſſed through life with⯑out meeting a time of trouble? What age, what ſtation, what profeſſion, what character, what conduct, could ever prove a ſecurity againſt it? It is the ſad birthright of fallen man. How ſhould you alone hope to eſcape it, and to eſcape it too by declining from your duty, by renouncing your virtue?

THAT God, whoſe appointment the lot of human creatures is, hath in his wiſdom or⯑dained, that the ſame diſtreſſes ſhould be [169] brought on different men, by different cauſes. Some are born to indigence; ſome are reduced to it by unavoidable calamities; ſome purchaſe it by folly or their vices; ſome incur it by the ſtedfaſtneſs of their virtue. One is brought prematurely to the grave by the pining decay of a weakly conſtitution; another by the violence of an acute diſtemper: one is cut off in his full ſtrength by ſome f [...]tal accident; another falls a victim to the poiſon of his vices, or the deme [...]it of his crimes; and another en⯑counters death in the midſt of his days for the ſake of God and a good conſcience. There is ſ [...]arcely a circumſtance in the ſtate of man, which may not prove the ſource of almoſt any of the pains and diſtreſſes to which he is ob⯑noxious. What trouble can religion bring upon you, that may not likewiſe proceed from many other cauſes? When through dread of it, you have violated your virtue and wounded your ſouls with guilt, how ſoon may ſome of theſe other cauſes plunge you into that very trouble? Suppoſe it were one of the moſt grie⯑vous troubles incident to man; nevertheleſs it is folly to commit any ſin or forbear any duty in order to avoid it, unleſs you could promiſe to defeat all the other cauſes which may after⯑wards produce it. The very hour after you have made ſhipwreck of faith and a good conſcience ^*, [170] the irreſiſtible ſtroke of divine Providence, or that very act of vice by which you hoped to avert it, may hurl it down upon your heads in all its fury. You have an opportunity, for inſtance, of preſerving your poſſeſſions or of increaſing them, by diſhoneſty or falſhood or ſin: you ſeize the opportunity: but the thief, the oppreſſor, the fire, the elements, any one of a thouſand common misfortunes, perhaps the very detection of your baſeneſs, may very ſoon rob you of all that you expected to ſe⯑cure, pluck the wages of unrighteouſneſs ^* out of your hands, and leave you nothing but the pollution which you have contracted in graſp⯑ing at them. There is ſome perſon from whoſe favour you expect much, or whoſe diſ⯑pleaſure you reckon very detrimental to your intereſt; you do ſomething wrong to gratify him: but in a few days, from the mere mu⯑tability of caprice, from a miſconſtruction which you have no means of preventing or correcting, nay, it may be, deſpiſing you for the meanneſs of your compliance with his hu⯑mour or his vices, that perſon may withdraw his deceitful favour, become your enemy, and abandon you without pity to the agonizing re⯑flection, that you have ſold your innocence for nought. When Judas, ſtung with remorſe, [171] came to the chief prieſts and elders, ſaying, I have ſinned in that I have betrayed the innocent blood, without any compaſſion for his anguiſh, without ſo much as thanking him for having fulfilled their darling wiſh, they anſwered him, what is that to us? ſee thou to that. And he caſt down the whole price of his perfidy, and departed, and went and hanged himſelf ^†. In⯑ſtances of ſuch diſappointments of the apoſtate's hopes, might eaſily be multiplied; they are numerous both in the hiſtory of the dead, and in the experience of the living; they are alarming warnings to every one of us, that apoſtaſy from our duty can be no refuge from the troubles which we fear in performing it.

THAT apoſtaſy from any point of duty will increaſe our trouble, is much more likely than that it can bring us immunity from trouble. The ſoldier who through fear of death flees from his poſt in battle, is forced to ſubmit with ignominy to the very death which he might have met with honour in the field. If virtue itſelf, which is beloved by the God who orders all events, and is the object of his ſpe⯑cial favour and protection, cannot ſecure men from tribulation in this land of ſorrow, is ſe⯑curity to be expected from vice, which is odi⯑ous [172] to him, which forfeits his favour, takes us out of his protection, and provokes his wrath? The whole tendency of virtue is na⯑turally to peace and proſperity; it is only by its imperfection in the human character, and by the prevalence of vice counteracting its ope⯑ration, that ever it becomes the occaſion of pain or ſuffering. But ſin is the natural pa⯑rent of pain and ſuffering; it alone brought them into the world; it alone perpetuates them in the world. Evil purſueth ſinners ^*; their portion is grief upon grief, and diſtreſs upon diſ⯑treſs, till death carry them into the place where there ſhall be wailing and gnaſhing of teeth ^†. They who through fear of ſuffering or loſs deſert from the ſervice of God, to the ſervice of ſin, can ſcarcely fail to pierce them⯑ſelves through with many ſorrows ^‡. Miſerable are they, if they eſcape heavy ſorrows. After having thus fallen away, the ſtrongeſt means are neceſſary for renewing them again unto re⯑pentance ^‖: they muſt be bound in fetters, and be holden in cords of affliction, in order to ſhew them their work, and their tranſgreſſions that they have exceeded, and to open their ear to diſ⯑cipline, that they may return from iniquity ^§. It is a part of God's promiſe of the Meſſiah, if [173] his children forſake my law, then will I viſit their tranſgreſſion with the rod, and their ini⯑quity with ſtripes ^§. To eſcape being viſited by calamities equal at leaſt to thoſe which you evaded by your defection, would ſhew you to be given up by God, vnto your own hearts luſt ^*, to be reprobated from the heritage of thoſe that fear his name ^†, to be of them who draw back unto perdition ^‖. The greateſt of the evils to which virtue can expoſe you, it is certain that you cannot evade by any defection from it. If you could effectually evade all other troubles, yet from death, the utmoſt that man can do, no deſertion of your duty can poſſibly redeem you. It is appointed unto men once to die ^**: There is no man that hath power over the ſpirit to retain the ſpirit in the day of death; there is no diſcharge in that war; neither ſhall wickedneſs deliver thoſe that are given to it ^‡. Death is the moſt formidable temptation of the kind; and in great wiſdom and great goodneſs God has provided, that againſt yielding to it, the argument is ſtrongeſt: death, the apoſtate from integrity muſt not⯑withſtanding meet; though a ſinner do evil an hundred times, and his days be prolonged, yet ſurely I know that his days are as a ſhadow; and cannot be prolonged for ever ^‡.

[174]BUT if the very calamity for avoiding which you have caſt away your virtue, ſhall notwithſtanding come upon you, or if a greater calamity ſhall overwhelm you, will you then find any comfort in reflecting, that you once warded it off for a little, by forſak⯑ing the ways of God, and forfeiting his favour? or when the hour is come, and it will ſoon come, in which death muſt remove you from this world, will you be able to rejoice in the conſciouſneſs that, a few days or months before, you renounced your virtue rather than quit the world? Will you then be entitled to the ſame ſelf-approbation, the ſame joy in the Holy Ghoſt, the ſame bright hope of eternal life, which would have ſupported and invigorated you if you had encountered it for the ſake of righteouſneſs? Will it not, on the contrary, be aggravated by remorſe, dejection, and ter⯑ror? Will it be poſſible, in the day of trou⯑ble or of death, to reflect without inſupportable regret and anguiſh, that you might have con⯑tinued unblemiſhed, that you might have re⯑tained the worth of the ſaint, that you might have purchaſed the glory of the martyr, and yet have been in no worſe ſituation than that to which you are now reduced, after having loſt your innocence, your honour, and your hope? The greateſt alleviation of which the ſufferings incident to mortality are ſuſceptible, [175] is their being occaſioned by inflexibility in what is right. In every reſpect it is better, if the will of God be ſo, that ye ſuffer for well⯑doing, than for evil-doing ^*. If ye obtain this lot, if ye ſuffer for righteouſneſs ſake, happy are ye, and highly privileged above all your bre⯑thren in adverſity: be not afraid of their terror, neither be troubled, but ſanctify the Lord God in your hearts ^†.

THUS, becauſe this world is full of trou⯑bles, we cannot avoid them by forſaking the path of virtue; there are many cauſes which may precipitate us into the ſame or greater troubles; greater we ſhall need for our reco⯑very, and muſt undergo if we be not aban⯑doned to final apoſtaſy, but undergo with far more grievous vexation of ſpirit. The object of your deliberation, in the hour of danger for conſcience ſake, is not, whether it be wiſer to avoid troubles, or to endure them? It is ſim⯑ply, which is preferable, virtue or vice, a good conſcience ſweetening calamities, or an evil conſcience embittering them, a bleſſed hope taking away the ſting of death, or deſpair filling it with venom? He is a fool who will forfeit heaven, without ſo much as bettering his earthly ſtate: we are guilty of this folly, [176] if we commit any ſin in order to avoid any temporal calamity or inconvenience, if our heart be turned back from God, or our ſteps de⯑cline from his way, though he ſhould even break us in the place of dragons, and cover us with the ſhadow of death ^*.

FOURTHLY, The troubles and calamities which are common to man, excite us reſo⯑lutely to encounter ſuch as we meet with in the performance of our duty, by ſtamping va⯑nity on all outward and temporal things.

THOUGH health, riches, honours, power, or ſenſual pleaſures were in their nature capa⯑ble of yielding full enjoyment to man, they could not yield it to him in the preſent ſtate, becauſe it abounds with troubles, any one of which will blaſt them and render them inſipid. Whatever ſatisfaction mortal man may derive from them, it cannot be pure, it muſt be mixt with much alloy. Should wealth and digniti [...]s, in the greateſt profuſion, drop into his boſom, the ſtroke of diſeaſe will deprive them of all their power to gratify him: all his days he eateth in darkneſs and much ſorrow ^†. Should his health be ſound, he may languiſh in poverty or pine with hunger; all his efforts [177] for proſperity may prove abortive; he may attain proſperity, and find it a torment to his ſoul; and from the height of proſperity a moment may tumble him down into deep adverſity. Seeing there be many things that increaſe va⯑nity, what is man the better all the days of his vain life which he ſpendeth as a ſhadow ^†? Every external joy is incomplete, for it is al⯑ways impaired by ſome concomitant circum⯑ſtance of uneaſineſs: it is tranſitory and preca⯑rious, for it is quickly obliterated by ſome ſucceeding ſorrow; it can laſt only till death, and then it ceaſeth for ever. Every one of the manifold troubles of human life is a voice from God, proclaiming to mankind, that nothing earthly can be the happineſs of man. His happineſs muſt be what is unaſſailable by calamity, and unextinguiſhable by death. It is only in religion, therefore, that he can find his happineſs. In every ſituation he can ad⯑here to religion, if he will; and if he adhere to it, nothing can deprive him of it. We cannot obtain whatever we may wiſh for; but we can dutifully welcome whatever God ſends upon us. We cannot ward off every trouble; but we can take care not to multiply or ag⯑gravate our troubles by our own wickedneſs. We cannot avoid death; but we can prepare [178] ourſelves to die like Chriſtians. We cannot prevent diſagreeable and painful conſequences ariſing from ſome of our actions; but we can prevent our actions from being other than they ought to be. By the divine aſſiſtance, of which the goſpel aſſures us, virtue is always in our own power: through the vanity of the world, all things earthly and temporal are in the power of innumerable accidents. To ſa⯑crifice our virtue for preſent eaſe or ſecurity, to act viciouſly for fear of temporal loſs or incon⯑venience, to depart from our duty in order to avoid the trouble which, in a particular in⯑ſtance, it threatens to bring upon us, were to exchange ſubſtantial happineſs for an unſatisfy⯑ing trifle, a permanent poſſeſſion for a preca⯑rious and tranſient phantom; it were to prefer what will be quickly buried in the duſt, to what will enter into heaven, and flouriſh through the ages of eternity; it were, in fly⯑ing from a ſlight and momentary hurt, to ruſh into everlaſting deſtruction. If by committing ſin, if by ſwerving from ſteady virtue, you could be certain to extricate yourſelves from the fear of ſuffering, yet the choice would be diſadvantageous, pernicious, and ruinous.

IN every light, therefore, it is a powerful argument for conſtancy in religion, that it can expoſe us to no loſs, hardſhip, or affliction, [179] but ſuch as is common to man. In all theſe ways, the univerſality of ſorrow and ſuffering in the preſent ſtate, may excite us to meet with fortitude, and to bear with patience, whatever we ſhall incu [...] by a firm and conſci⯑entious adherence to our duty. It can be only ſuch as multitudes endure in the ordinary courſe of human life: to ſhun it by throwing away your virtue, would be an unmanly weakneſs. It is allotted you in the place of ſome other affliction, which, to have been as effectual for your ſanctification, muſt have been ſeverer; you ſhould rejoice in it, inſtead of entertaining a thought of averting it by ſin. If you ſhould ſin, you cannot expect to avert it for ever; there are many cauſes which may ſtill ſubject you to it; and whenever they do, it will be dreadfully embittered by the remembrance of your having once commited ſin on purpoſe to elude it. But though you could effectually avert trouble by forſaking virtue, it were folly to forſake it; it were to barter your true hap⯑pineſs for mere vanity. Wherefore let every man take heed leſt he fall ^*, for in ſtanding faſt no tribulation can come upon you but ſuch as is common in the world. If it be the will of God, that you muſt through much tribulation enter into the kingdom of God ^†, it is likewiſe [180] through much tribulation that the wicked ſhall enter into the kingdom of Satan. Which is the better part, judge ye.

MANY are the arguments which enforce conſtancy in holineſs in ſpight of all the con⯑ſequences that can poſſibly attend it. The ar⯑gument on which I have now inſiſted, is alone ſufficient to determine thoſe who will conſider. If any thing ſeem neceſſary for adding to its force, allow me only to remind you of what bears a cloſe relation to it, That the beſt men in all ages, far from being exempt from troubles, have endured many and grievous troubles, and often endured them for conſcience ſake. In ſuffering, you are but partakers with all man⯑kind: in ſuffering for virtue and religion, you ſhall be but partakers with all the ſaints. As the whole creation groaneth under the vanity to which it is ſubjected, ſo ourſelves alſo, ſays the apoſtle, which have the firſt-fruits of the Spirit, even we ourſelves groan within ourſelves ^*. Con⯑ſider the days of old, the years of ancient times ^†. Take, my brethren, the apoſtles, take the pro⯑phets, who have ſpoken in the name of the Lord, for an example of ſuffering affliction, and of pa⯑tience ^‡. Ye have heard of the patience of Job ^‖: ye have heard of the innumerable company of [181] martyrs; they were tortured, not accepting deliver⯑ance; they had trial of cruel mockings and ſcourg⯑ings, of bonds and impriſonment; they were ſtoned; they were ſawn aſunder; they were ſlain with the ſword; they wandered about, being deſtitute, afflicted, tormented, of whom the world was not worthy ^*. But none of theſe things moved them, neither counted they their life dear unto themſelves, ſo that they might finiſh their courſe with joy ^†. The worſt that can befall you in adhering ſteadfaſtly to your duty, will not ex⯑ceed what far better men have ſuffered. All that has befallen you, comes infinitely ſhort of it. Ye have not yet reſiſted unto blood, ſtriv⯑ing againſt ſin ^‡. No: all that you can plead in excuſe of your paſt inconſtancy in virtue, is loſs ſo trivial, inconvenience ſo ſlight, uneaſineſs ſo inſignificant, that it deſerves not to be named with the leaſt of their ſufferings. It is ſhame⯑ful to complain of it; it is diſgraceful, for the ſake of it, to have made one ſtep awry from the ways of God. Should you be put to a much ſeverer trial, ſhould you even be tried with the fiery trial, think it not ſtrange, as though ſome ſtrange thing happened unto you ^‖. It hath happened unto ten thouſands of the ſaints. Let their ſufferings and their intrepid perſeverance baniſh your fears, confirm your reſolution, [182] and encourage your ſteadfaſtneſs. It is through faith and patience, that they now inherit the promiſes ^*: Be ye alſo patient, and ſtabliſh your hearts ^†; be ye followers of them, and ye ſhall obtain the ſame inheritance.—You have even a greater example than that of the ſaints. Chriſt himſelf alſo ſuffered for us, leaving us an ex⯑ample, that ye ſhould follow his ſteps ^‡. Though he was the Son of God, though he was per⯑fectly holy, his ſufferings, while he dwelt in this mortal ſtate, ſurpaſſed all that ever befell a ſon of man, ſurpaſſed what any ſon of man could bear. They were appointed by God for accompliſhing the moſt ſtupendous purpoſe, the redemption of the world; but they were immediately occaſioned by his inflexible ad⯑herence to truth and righteouſneſs. Can you expect to meet with no hardſhip, no inconve⯑nience in purſuing the ſame conduct? Or will you grudge to meet it? The diſciple is not above his maſter, nor the ſervant above his lord. Fear not therefore ^‖: but rejoice in as much as ye are partakers of Chriſt's ſufferings. For if ye are partakers of the ſufferings, ſo ſhall ye be alſo of the conſolation. If the ſufferings of Chriſt even abound in us, our conſolation alſo ſhall abound by Chriſt. When his glory ſhall be revealed, we ſhall be glad alſo with exceeding joy ^§. It is a [183] faithful ſaying. For if we be dead with him, we ſhall alſo live with him: if we ſuffer, we ſhall alſo reign with him: but if we deny him, he alſo will deny us ^*. I conclude with the apoſtle's addreſs, Wherefore, ſeeing we alſo are compaſſed about with ſo great a cloud of witneſſes, let us run with patience the race that is ſet before us, looking unto Jeſus the au⯑thor and finiſher of our faith, who for the joy that was ſet before him, endured the croſs, de⯑ſpiſing the ſhame. Conſider him that endured ſuch contradiction of ſinners againſt himſelf, leſt ye be wearied and faint in your minds ^†.

Now the God of all grace, who hath called us unto his eternal glory by Chriſt Jeſus, after that ye have ſuffered a while, make you perfect, ſtabliſh, ſtrengthen, ſettle you: To him be glory and dominion for ever and ever. 1 Pet. v. 10, 11..

Amen

SERMON VIII. THE OLD AGE OF THE RIGHTEOUS, HONOURABLE.

THIS is a juſt aphoriſm, and beautifully expreſſed. Old age is, in a figurative and poetical manner, deſcribed by one of its concomitants, and by one which does not di⯑rectly imply any of its infirmities, but rather is in its very appearance venerable, the hoary head, the grey hairs. As hairs are an orna⯑ment to the head, the wiſe man, by an elegant alluſion to them, calls old age a crown of glory, encircling the head, adorning it, and chal⯑lenging reſpect. Grey hairs indicate the de⯑cay of nature; but they are notwithſtanding an honourable crown, if the man who wears them, be found in the way of righteouſneſs. The plain meaning of the maxim is, That the old [186] age of good men is truly venerable, and entitles them to eſteem and honour.

IN the preſent diſcourſe, I ſhall briefly il⯑luſtrate this maxim; and then deduce ſome practical reflections from it.

FIRST, I ſhall illuſtrate the maxim which Solomon delivers in the text, That good men, who have been allowed a long life, and have ſpent it in piety and virtue, are honourable in their old age, deſerve, and even command eſteem.

NATURE itſelf intimates that reverence is due to old age, and has always, both in the rudeſt and in the moſt civilized nations, led men very gene⯑rally to give it reverence. When the young failed in reſpect to the old, or treated them with con⯑tempt, it has ever been conſidered as a certain mark of great degeneracy of manners. The wiſe men of all countries have acknowleged that years give one kind of ſuperiority, and have inculcated reverence correſpondent to it. To enforce the ſubjection of the younger to the elder, has been a part of the policy of all well regulated ſtates; and in ſome ſtates, this ſubjection has been carried very far, and inſiſted upon in its utmoſt extent, as indiſpenſably ne⯑ceſſary for the order and proſperity of ſociety. [187] In the republic of Iſrael, God made it the ſub⯑ject of an expreſs law; Thou ſhalt riſe up before the hoary head, and honour the face of the old man, and fear thy God; I am the Lord ^*. Elihu followed the dictates of nature and of decency, when he waited till Job and his three friends had ſpoken, becauſe they were elder than he ^†; and he ſpoke the language of both, when he ſaid, I am young, and ye are very old, wherefore I was afraid and durſt not ſhow you mine opinion: I ſaid, Days ſhould ſpeak, and multitude of years ſhould teach wiſdom ^‡.

OLD age, thus venerable on its own ac⯑count, cannot fail to become much more ve⯑nerable when it is found in the way of righteouſ⯑neſs. The righteous is more excellent than his neighbour ^‖. True goodneſs in the greateſt orna⯑ment of human nature; it is the propereſt ob⯑ject of approbation, and the juſteſt foundation for eſteem; it entitles every perſon who poſ⯑ſeſſes it, to love and honour. It muſt there⯑fore be a great ornament to old age, and render it truly reſpectable and venerable. When the reverence due to a character of true goodneſs, is added to the reverence due to old age, very high veneration muſt be the reſult.

[188]BUT for the more particular illuſtration of Solomon's maxim, for the fuller proof that the old age of the virtuous is honourable, let us conſider their old age—in relation to the life which has preceded it,—in its own nature,—and in reſpect of the proſpects which it opens.

1. THE old age of the virtuous is honour⯑able on account of the life which has preceded it. It is the termination of a wiſe, a well⯑ſpent, and a uſeful life. Such a life was ho⯑nourable, and it reflects great glory on the per⯑ſon who has accompliſhed it.

IN a religious and virtuous old man, we be⯑hold one who has long been expoſed to the temptations of the world, and has overcome them. His virtues have been often put to the trial, and they have ſtood the trial. Every period of human life has its peculiar difficulties; the man who entered early on a religious and virtuous courſe, and went forward in it uni⯑formly to old age, has ſurmounted all theſe difficulties. In a long life there never fail to be viciſſitudes of proſperity and adverſity, of joy and ſorrow; it is honourable, through all theſe viciſſitudes, to have remained ſtedfaſt in the love and practice of goodneſs. Sincere good⯑neſs is always approved by God, who knows the heart: but goodneſs muſt be tried, before [189] its ſincerity can be fully aſcertained in the eyes of men. We juſtly behold with pleaſure, the promiſing beginnings of goodneſs in the young; but the moſt promiſing beginnings ſometimes fail, the blo [...]om is blaſted, the fruit comes not to maturity: on this account, we can ſcarcely avoid mixing ſome degree of diffidence and re⯑ſerve with our approbation of the virtues of the young. But the virtuous old man has fully approved himſelf to men, as well as to God; by many proofs he has rendered it unqueſtion⯑able, that his goodneſs is true and genuine: we may proclaim his virtues with perfect con⯑fidence. Like a veteran, he has long encoun⯑tered all the dangers of the Chriſtian warfare; in many conflicts his reſolution has been diſplay⯑ed, his ſteadineſs manifeſted, and his invio⯑lable attachment to God and goodneſs juſtified. His integrity is proved by the multitude of his triumphs; and they are triumphs full of the trueſt glory.

BY trials, a man's virtue not only ſhows it⯑ſelf genuine, but alſo becomes confirmed, vi⯑gorous, and eminent. It is by exerciſe that every virtue is improved. The ſame temptations which endanger our virtues by their aſſaults, ſtrengthen them when they are reſiſted. A long life contains many trials; and by every trial in which a man conquers, he is made bet⯑ter. [190] If we devote ourſelves to the practice of goodneſs in our earlieſt years, and then [...]eforth perſiſt conſtantly in it, we muſt make great progreſs before we reach old age. A virtuous old perſon is a perſon of improved and exalted goodneſs. All that honour and glory which belongs to goodneſs, he claims in its higheſt degree.

AGAIN, A virtuous old age is the termina⯑tion of a life which has been filled up with worthy and uſeful actions. When a man [...]as begun early to do good, and lived to old ag [...] doing good, his ſervices to God and to man⯑kind muſt be numerous. He has had many opportunities of virtuous practice; if he has carefully improved them, to what honour is he not intitled? Every day a good man lives, he has greater glory than he had the day b [...] ⯑fore; for he has done greater good. A long life of piety and virtue has contained a great multitude of good actions; each of theſe ac⯑tions ſends forth a ray of glory, which is r [...] ⯑flected back upon him who did it; and when all the ſcattered rays are collected, and, as it were, twiſted into a crown to encircle his hoary head, how glorious is that crown? With what luſtre muſt it ſhine? How rich and how various an effulgence muſt it diffuſe around him? The ſparkling of the diamond is [191] dimneſs in compariſon. The veneration due to virtuous old age, is the aggregate of all our approbations of the many virtuous and uſeful actions with which the pr [...]cedent life abound⯑ed; and this veneration is heightened and ſweetened by the emotions of love and gratitude for the advantages which mankind have derived from ſo long a ſ [...]ries of good offices.

2. THE old age of the virtuous is honour⯑able in itſelf, as well as in its relation to their paſt life.

THIS appears in ſome meaſure from what has been already ſaid. The character which a pious and virtuous old perſon exhibits to our view, is that of goodneſs, genuine, improved, and uſeful; of all characters the moſt reſpect⯑able. This character was acquired by the conduct of the whole life, and therefore na⯑turally turns our eye backward to its cour [...]e: but when we conſider it as already formed, as now poſſeſſed in its maturity, and actuating the aged perſon in all his motions, it is, in itſelf, and without regard to the life which preceded it, a glorious ornament. In the earlier pe⯑riods of life, the tenour of a man's virtue is ſometimes interrupted, and its brightneſs tar⯑niſhed, by the impetuoſity of the paſſions, and the faults into which they precipitate him. Age [192] calms the mind, frees it from turbulent and unruly paſſions, compoſes it into a holy ſe⯑renity, and makes all the virtues of the heart to ſhine forth, like the ſun in the cleareſt day, unobſcured by the clouds of vice.

BUT not to enlarge on this, In old age, virtue is naturally accompanied by wiſdom and prudence, derived from long experience; and by its union with theſe, its luſtre is aug⯑mented. Much experience is the crown of old men, and the fear of God is their glory ^*. Ex⯑perience is the moſt powerful teacher; in youth men muſt be in a great meaſure deſtitute of its lights; and in conſequence of this, in ſome caſes they muſt be ignorant, and in other caſes they muſt misjudge: it is when they are ad⯑vanced in life, that their knowledge becomes extenſive, their ſentiments juſt, and their maxims ſolid. In early life, the violence of the paſſions often hurries men on raſhly to ac⯑tion, without allowing them either leiſure or inclination to liſten to the voice of reaſon and the ſuggeſtions of prudence. It is when years have rendered the paſſions leſs headſtrong, and the judgment more mature, that reaſon is heard, and wiſdom acquired. In all the ſa⯑vage nations the old men have, from a fixt [193] opinion of their wiſdom, the greateſt weight in all public counſels. The experience of age qualifies men for inſtructing, for adviſing, for directing. When men are deſtitute of piety and virtue, their experience is often only ſkill⯑fulneſs in vice; all their wiſdom is but cun⯑ning, and their maxims but the rules of de⯑ceit; at the beſt, their prudence is confined to the things of this world. By communicat⯑ing their ſentiments to the younger, if they do not corrupt them, they will inſtruct them only in what regards their temporal intereſts, and the conduct of civil life. But when a man has grown old in goodneſs, his maxims even for the preſent life are corrected, and his prudence ſanctified, by religion: and his prudence is not confined to earthly things, his experience is great in religious matters like⯑wiſe; he has ſpiritual wiſdom, and is fit to lead others forward in the paths of righteouſ⯑neſs. He knows the various frailties of hu⯑man nature, for he has long experienced them; and he can preſcribe the propereſt remedies for removing or alleviating them. He has had opportunity of obſerving the ſeveral wiles of Satan, and deceits of ſin; and is acquainted with the beſt defences againſt them. He has long ſtudied the ways of God towards man; he underſtands the language of the various diſ⯑penſations of Providence; and he can teach [194] others how to improve them. He has learned the true value of things, and found the vanity of the world; and can check thoſe gay idea [...] and ſanguine hopes of youth, which, when they are indulged without any check, over⯑whelm men with bitter diſappointment. It is honourable for a man to be knowing in a uſeful buſineſs: the virtuous old man has the honour of being knowing in that buſineſs which is the moſt important to every man. We reſpect thoſe who are able to direct and counſel us: the aged ſaint is able to direct and counſel us in our chief concern, the improvement of our immortal ſouls: the reſpect which we owe him, is proportioned to the moment of this object.

IN old age, the ſtrength neceſſarily decays, the body becomes weak and feeble, infirmities are multiplied. It is only the moſt worthleſs, or the moſt thoughtleſs, that can on this ac⯑count deſpiſe an aged perſon. From all of other characters, the infirmities of age will command the tendereſt ſympathy; and this ſympathy, far from extinguiſhing reſpect, will mix with it, ſoften its feelings, and make it to ſhew its power by the moſt attentive care to avoid whatever could give uneaſineſs to the aged perſon, and by the moſt aſſiduous en⯑deavours to mitigate his diſtreſſes and promote his comfort. When the infirmities of age are [195] haſtened or increaſed by a life of debauchery and vice, they do render a perſon deſpicable: but the bodies of good men are worn out in the practice of virtue, in the ſervice of God and mankind, and the improvement of their own ſouls. Their infirmities themſelves are therefore honourable; they are like the wounds which the ſoldier has received in fighting bravely for his country, and in which he glories. They lead us only to regret the [...]railty of nature, which permits not the world longer to enjoy a deſerving man. When amidſt the infirmities of age, a perſon affects the levities, or betrays a remaining attachment to the impurities of youth, it is at once ridi⯑culous and ſhocking; all reſpect vaniſhes; we can ſcarcely help giving full ſcope to indigna⯑tion and contempt: but his corruption, not his decrepitude, is the object of theſe ſenti⯑ments; the contrary ſentiments are thoſe which virtue inſpi [...]es. Under the infirmi⯑ti [...]s of old age, no wonder that the vici⯑ous ſink: but they give the virtuous an op⯑portunity of ſhewing the triumphs of religion and goodneſs, in a new and ſtriking light: a perſon ſupporting theſe infirmities with pa⯑tience, amidſt them all preſerving compoſure, ſerenity, and chearfulneſs,—is he more vene⯑rable, or more amiable? He does honour to the power of religion; and he is honoured by his [196] poſſeſſing religion in ſuch power, and exerting it with ſuch ſplendour.

THE old age of good men is honourable in reſpect of the proſpects which attend it. Theſe are the principal cauſes of that firmneſs and chearfulneſs under their infirmities, which, we have juſt now ſeen, procures them reverence; and theſe reflect honour upon them in other ways.

OLD age is the termination of this mortal life; but to good men it is the immediate pre⯑lude to immortality. A perſon who early began to follow holineſs ^*, and has perſiſted in it to an advanced age, is ripe for the glory and happineſs of heaven.

IT is of this man that Eliphaz beautifully obſerves, Thou ſhalt come to thy grave in a full age, like as a ſhock of corn cometh in, in his ſeaſon ^†. Like the corn of a fertile field, he has grown up gradually, pleaſant in the ſight of God and man, and reached full maturity; and now he is ready, not to be cut down and caſt into the fire like tares, but to be gathered in, removed beyond the reach of all the ſtorms and tempeſts of this world, and placed in everlaſting ſecurity and peace.

[197]HIS hoary head is a natural emblem, and the direct fore-runner of that everlaſting crown which he is ready to receive.

Now is his ſalvation near ^* His proſpects are inſtantly to take place; and they are the moſt magnificent and glorious proſpects, and built upon the ſureſt foundation. They are aſcertained by his paſt life and his preſent tem⯑per: he has the pleaſant conſciouſneſs of a well-ſpent life; he has the comfortable ſenſe of his being at peace with God through Jeſus Chriſt ^†; he has the chearing view of being immediately delivered from every trouble, and every ſorrow; he has the elevating hope of a great reward. He knows that his diſſolution approaches faſt; he perceives it without diſquiet or regret; he perceives it with joy; he looks forward to the day of his death, as the birth⯑day of his eternal life. When the apoſtle Paul was now an old man, and ſaw death ready to ſeize him even before the natural period, and in one of its moſt formidable ſhapes, he declared to Timothy the tranſporting pro⯑ſpects which lay before him; I am now ready to be offered, and the time of my departure is at hand; I have fought a good fight, I have finiſh⯑ed my courſe, I have kept the faith; henceforth [198] there is laid up for me a crown of righteouſneſs, which the Lord, the righteous judge, will give me at that day ^‡. Every good man has a right to indulge the ſame proſpects; and not to me only, continues the apoſtle, but unto all them alſo that love his appearing. Can there be truer dignity than what is derived from ſuch ſentiments and views? They ennoble the ſoul. Theſe are thy triumphs, O religion! Thou enableſt thy votaries to deſpiſe what others court; to deſire what others [...]ead; to rejoice in what overwhelms others with ſorrow and dejection: thou raiſeſt them above mortality; thou introduceſt them into everlaſting happi⯑neſs and glory. The man who has grown old in goodneſs, is truly great: he can ſmile on death, he can ſcorn the king of terrors; he is juſt about to be advanced to a kingdom, and inveſted with a crown; he is quickly going to his God and his Saviour, to be ſet down with them upon their throne. Can you con⯑ceive a more venerable object than a perſon juſt ready to enter into heaven? With what reſpect, with what awe, with what admiration, would you gaze on one of the inhabitants of heaven, if he ſhould reviſit this earth, and preſent himſelf to your view? In a religious and virtuous old perſon, you behold a man [199] who, after a few breaths and pulſes more, will be one of them; who already ſtands in the very gate of heaven, who is on the point of joining the innumerable company of angels, the general aſſembly and church of the firſt born, God the judge of all, the ſpirits of juſt men made perfect, and Jeſus the mediator of the new cove⯑nant. This is real honour: it is he who is thus honoured by God, that may be pro⯑nounced venerable.

THUS I have endeavoured to illuſtrate So⯑lomon's aſſertion, that the old age of the righ⯑teous is honourable. Let us now attend to ſome of the practical reflections which natu⯑rally ariſe from the ſubject of our diſcourſe.

IN general, it gives us a ſtriking view of the excellence of religion, of the importance of true goodneſs, fit to recommend it to our love, and to engage us in the practice of it. It doubles the honours of age, it renders even its infirmities reſpectable, it gives joy amidſt all its diſtreſſes. This is an illuſtrious diſplay of the power of goodneſs, a full proof that it is in its nature excellent and honourable. Let us all value and purſue it, as the higheſt dig⯑nity and felicity of our ſouls. It is the guide and the guard of youth, the defence and the ſupport of old age, the ornament of all the [200] periods of life. It alone can preſerve us in⯑nocent and blameleſs in our younger and gayer days, render us uſeful in our maturity, and give us comfort and hearts-eaſe, when nothing elſe can give them, in our decline: it alone can regulate our temper and our conduct in the preſent life; and it alone can prepare us for happineſs in the next, and by the chearing, the celeſtial hope of unchangeable felicity be⯑yond the grave, reconcile us to all the viciſſi⯑tudes of time.

IN particular, the maxim which has been illuſtrated, may be diſtinctly improved—by the young—and by the old.

IT inſtructs the young in the duty which they owe to their elders. Their years give them a ſuperiority, their experience gives them prudence, and, if they have exerciſed themſelves unto godlineſs ^*, the length of their exerciſe has rendered them proficients in holi⯑neſs: theſe are all natural motives to reſpect, eſteem, and honour. The young ſometimes allow themſelves to deſpiſe the aged for the infirmities of their bodies, and the decays of their activity and ſtrength. This ſhows al⯑ways giddineſs and inconſideration; often it [201] proceeds from depravity of heart, and is at⯑tended with degeneracy of manners. It is to diſregard the order of nature, which gives pre-eminence to age; it is to find fault with age for wanting what the conſtitution of things cannot permit it to have: the glory of young men is their ſtrength; but the beauty of old men is the grey head ^†. As years come on, the vigour of youth departs, but it is ſucceeded by accompliſhments more reſpectable; what time takes from men's bodies, it generally adds to their minds; in proportion as the de⯑cay of their ſtrength unqualifies them for exe⯑cuting, their experience and prudence ſit them for contriving and adviſing. The young ſometimes conceitedly prefer their own igno⯑rance to the underſtanding of the ancients; they contemn their counſels becauſe they are unſuitable to their own taſte; they are head⯑ſtrong, impetuous, impatient of control, and caſt off that deference to the judgment of their elders, which would check the violence of their paſſions, and reſtrain the impulſes of their preſumption. This their way is their [...]lly ^‡: experience generally leads them to adopt the very maxims which they once re⯑jected with ſcorn, and convinces them that they would have avoided many errors, miſcar⯑riages, [202] and ſufferings, if they had been pleaſed to learn theſe maxims from the experience of others. It is the law of nature, it is the will of God, that the younger ſhould honour and regard the elder. It is the very condition of our being that human creatures ſhould be placed under their elders: children are taught by nature to ſubmit to the inſtruction, and rely on the advice of their parents and teachers; and in the ſucceeding periods of life, it is by obſerving thoſe who go before us, and learn⯑ing from them, that we become gradually more perfect in the ſeveral functions of life, often without our reflecting that this is the means by which it happens. God thus trains us up in reſpect to our elders, and forms us inſenſibly to that reverence which is due to old age, eſpecially when it is found adorned with piety and virtue: and he requires us to pay it this reverence. Ye younger, ſubmit yourſelves unto the elder ^*, is the injunction of an inſpired apoſtle. Eſpecially reverence ſuch of your elders as are peculiarly related to you: children obey your parents in all things; for this is well-pleaſing unto the Lord ^‡: honour thy fa⯑ther and mother, that it may be well with thee, and thou mayeſt live long on the earth ^†.

[203]THE ſubject of this diſcourſe ſuggeſts to the young, inſtructions likewiſe of a more ex⯑tenſive nature: it urges them to begin early a religious and holy life. It is only when the life has been ſpent in goodneſs, that true ho⯑nour is reflected on the h [...]ary head. Age is venerable in itſelf; but f [...]lly is ſufficient to render it deſpicable; and wickedneſs is the greateſt folly; and renders it even deteſtable. Honour is due to the aged; but by their crimes, they may f [...]it their claim to ho⯑nour. Would you eſtabliſh your claim to honour when you ſhall arrive at old age? be good betimes: begin early, and perſiſt ſ [...]eadily. When the life has b [...]en ſpent in virtue, that virtue will ſhine mature and perfect in old age: but old age is not the ſeaſon for begin⯑ning to be virtuous: when the evil days are already come, and the years in which thou haſt no pleaſure; when the ſun, and the light, and the moon are already darkened, and the clouds return after the rain; when the keepers of the houſe tremble, and the ſtrong men bow down themſelves, and the grinders ceaſe becauſe they are few, and thoſe that look out of the windows be darkened, and the doors are ſhul in the ſtre [...]ts, and the ſound of the grinding is low, and thou riſeſt up at the voice of the bird, and all the daughters of muſic are brought low, and fears are in the way, and the graſhopper is a burden, [204] and deſire has failed, and the mourners already go about the ſtreets; then it is too late, by far too late to begin to be virtuous, for then ſhall the duſt return to the earth as it was, and the ſpirit ſhall return unto God who gave it ^*. It is beautiful to behold the fields in harveſt co⯑vered with corn ripe for the ſickle: but it cannot be beheld, except the corn has been ſown in the ſpring. Youth is the ſpring of life: remember thy creator in the days of thy youth. Then, if you live to be old, your grey hairs ſhall be a crown of glory: and then, it ſhall be of little moment to you, whether you live to be old, or not; for at whatever age you die, your virtues ſhall be ripe, and your ſouls meet for the inheritance of the ſaints in light ^‡. Though the righteous be prevented with death, yet ſhall he be in reſt; for honour⯑able age is not that which ſtandeth in length of time, nor that is meaſured by number of years; but wiſdom is the grey hair unto men, and an unſpotted life is old age: he being made perfect in a ſhort time, fulfilled a long time ^‖.

IN the ſubject of this diſcourſe, the old are particularly intereſted.

ARE any of you, ye aged, yet ſtrangers to the way of righteouſneſs? Your hoary head is [205] your diſgrace. The wicked, though they live long, yet ſhall they be nothing regarded, and their laſt age ſhall be without honour ^*. When a man has lived in ſin and grown old in it, he inherits the iniquities of his youth, and the iniquities of all the ſucceſſive ſtages of his life: they have been multiplied as his days; the guilt of them all remains accumulated on his hoary head, the ignominy of them all over⯑ſpreads his wrinkled face. By long practice, his vicious habits have become inveterate, they cl [...]ave to him and deform him like a leproſy, they are inwrought into all the faculties of his ſoul: they have vitiated them ſo entirely, that often, when he can no longer commit his for⯑mer ſins, he ruminates upon them with plea⯑ſure, relates them, and recommends them; and by thus corrupting the young, merits their contempt and execration, and infallibly incurs the indignation and abhorrence of every perſon who has a regard either to virtue or to decency. He has no rational ſentiments, no comfortable reflections, no chearful hopes, to relieve the infirmities, to allay the pains, to ſoften the ſorrows of his decline. Having lived depraved and deſpicable, his ſoul as de⯑generate as his body is decrepid, his ſoul as ready for deſtruction as his body for corruption [206] in the duſt, he dies; either ruſhing into mi⯑ſery unthinking as the ſheep are laid in the grave ^*, or meeting it with horror, deſpair, and anguiſh. Horrible is the end of the un⯑righteous generation ^† ! When they caſt up the accounts of their ſins, they ſhall come with fear, and their own iniquities ſhall convince them to their face ^‡. At every age, vice is the greateſt folly; for at every age men may be hurried in a moment to ſuffer the puniſhment of vice: but in old age, vice is perfect mad⯑neſs, for the hoary ſinner muſt quickly be ſummoned to his doom. How dreadfully dangerous is your ſtate? You have all the ſins of a long life to repent of, you have all the habits of a long life to eradicate, and you have no time remaining for it. Your ſun is already ſetting; and you have not yet begun the work of the day; how ſhall you be able to finiſh it? repent immediately; and pray God, if perhaps thy wickedneſs may be forgiven thee ^‖, and thou become a brand pluckt out of the fire ^§.

BUT are you, on the other hand, ye aged, in the way of righteouſneſs? Rejoice, becauſe your age is honourable. It is clearer than the noon-day; you ſhine forth, you are as the morn⯑ing, [207] you are ſecure becauſe there is hope, and may take your reſt in ſafety ^*. But remember that your period of life, as well as the periods which you have already paſſed, has its pecu⯑liar duties and its peculiar temptations. There⯑fore the apoſtle exhorts, that the aged men be ſober, vigilant, grave, temperate, ſound in [...]aith, in charity, in patience: the aged women likewiſe, that they be in behaviour as becometh holineſs, not falſe accuſers, not given to much wine, teachers of good things ^‖. Be careful to practiſe all the duties, and to reſiſt all the temptations of your condition: thus you ſhall ſtill bring forth fruit in old age ^§. Employ your prudence in enlightening the inexperience of youth, in checking its violence and pre⯑venting its wanderings: at the ſame time, make great allowance for the gaiety, the igno⯑rance, the [...]agerneſs, which are inſeparable from youth. You will inſinuate your docu⯑ments moſt effectually, when you invite the young to liſten to them, by the chearfulneſs of your hearts, by the ſweetneſs of your man⯑ners, and by the candour of your ſentiments. Under your growing infirmities, uphold your⯑ſelves by the appr [...]bation of your conſciences, by firm confidence in the mercy and munifi⯑cence of God through Jeſus Chriſt, by the [208] hope of immortality juſt at hand. Supported by theſe, you may bear your pains with pati⯑ence, and meet your decays with reſignation. Sully not the honours of your age by peeviſh⯑neſs, diſcontent, or ill humour; manifeſt the energy of religion by the compoſure, the meekneſs, and the wiſdom of your demeanour. Draw off your affections more than ever from this world, which you are now ſo very ſoon to leave. Be not ſo buſy as heretofore in the purſuit of thoſe earthly things which now can profit you for ſo very ſhort a moment. Em⯑ploy more time than ever in retirement and devotion. Examine your paſt life over and over; renew your repentance for all your ſins; if there be in your ſouls any remaining ſtain derived from the cares or the pleaſures of the world, labour to waſh it out; if there be any paſſion yet irregular, mortify it more completely; if any virtue be ſtill weak, ſet yourſelves to ſtrengthen it; if your former vices have left any evil conſequences, repair them as much as poſſible; if in any duty you have been defective, endeavour to ſupply what was wanting. Let your thoughts be ſixt on the heavenly ſtate, from which you are now ſe⯑parated by ſo thin a veil; render it familiar to yourſelves by frequent meditation; accuſtom yourſelves to its employments, by giving full [209] ſcope to all the pious and all the benevolent affections; from the perfect exerciſe of which a great part of the happineſs of heaven will ariſe.

SERMON IX. THE DIVERSITY OF MEN's NATURAL TEMPERS.

THE ſpirit of a man, is an expreſſion which has different ſignifications in ſcrip⯑ture, and particularly in the book of Proverbs. It ſometimes ſignifies the powers of the underſtand⯑ing; as when Solomon ſays, The ſpirit of a man is the candle of the Lord ^*. It ſometimes denotes the paſſion of anger: he that ruleth his ſpirit, and he that is [...]low to anger, are uſed as ſyno⯑mymous terms ^†; and, he that is haſty of ſpirit, is oppoſed to him that is ſlow to wrath ^‡. The ſpirit ſometimes means a temper, diſpoſition, or turn of mind, in general: thus we read of an haughty ſpirit ^‖, and of an humble ſpirit ^§. [212] This is, perhaps, the meaning of the expreſ⯑ſion in my text: by him that hath no rule over his own ſpirit, may be meant, the perſon who hath no government of his paſſions; and of this perſon it is affirmed, that he is like a city that is broken down and without walls; he lie [...] open to every vice to which exorbitant paſſion can expoſe him, and may therefore be com⯑pared to a city, the fortifications of which have been eraſed, and into which every enemy may enter at pleaſure. But the expreſſion may, without any impropriety, be taken in a ſenſ [...] ſomewhat more reſtrained, for a man's parti⯑cular temper or predominant turn of mind; and Solomon may be underſtood to aſſert, that he who hath no command over his natural tem⯑per or peculiar bias, is in danger of running into every ſin.

IT is in this light that I propoſe to conſid [...]r the text. I deſign to treat of the government of what we call a man's natural temper. It is a duty of great moment; it is an important part of the duty which we owe to ourſ [...]lv [...]s; but it is a duty on which we beſtow too little atten⯑tion. The generality of men ſeem never to think, that it is either poſſible or requiſite to lay any reſtraint upon themſelves in this parti⯑cular, but give full indulgence to their pecu⯑liar temper, and think it a ſufficient excuſe for [213] whatever this leads them to do amiſs, that it is their temper, and they cannot help it. Even good men do not reflect ſufficiently on the obligation of this duty, nor ſet themſelves, with ſteadineſs enough, to rectify their natural tempers. This renders it the more neceſſary to diſcourſe profeſſedly on this ſubject. In diſ⯑courſing on it, I ſhall,

FIRST, Explain the origin and the nature of the variety of tempers among mankind;

SECONDLY, Evin [...]e the neceſſity of our go⯑verning, each his peculiar temper, by pointing out the ill conſequences of neglecting it; and,

THIRDLY, Enquire what is implied in the government of a man's natural temper.

THE preſent diſcourſe ſhall be employed in explaining the origin and the nature of the variety of tempers among mankind.

THAT God who is the creator of the world, delights in variety throughout all his works. The ſame God is the Father of our ſpirits ^*; and he has formed them alſo with conſiderable variety. It is a compoſed variety that takes place in the creation of God; it is conſiſtent [214] with genuine ſimplicity and uniformity. All matter has the ſame effential properties; yet the forms into which God has moulded it, and the purpoſes to which he has applied the ſeve⯑ral parts of it, are infinitely different. In like manner, the ſouls of all men are indued with the ſame faculties; but from the degrees in which they poſſeſs theſe faculties, and from the proportions in which they are combined, there reſults an endl [...]ſs diverſity of characters in the human ſpecies. Among the diverſiti [...]s of character of which men are ſuſceptible, there [...]s ſcarcely any more remarkable or more intereſt⯑ing, than that which belongs to the natural temper. This diverſity may be increaſed by a difference in the education and culture which men receive, and in the habits which they contract; but it is not produced by theſe: it is founded in the original conſtitution; for it appears in children from their very bi [...]th, and it contin [...]es to diſtinguiſh perſons who have received the ſame culture, and acquired the ſame habits. Both the temperament of the body and the turn of the mind contribute to form the peculiar bent: the latter requires principally to be regarded; for it influences the temper moſt directly; the former affects it only indirectly, by firſt affecting the turn of the mind: beſides, it is only ſo far as the na⯑tural temper is founded in the turn of the [215] mind, that it is capable of being governed. It ariſes both from the peculiar make of the un⯑derſtanding, and from the conſtruction of the paſſions and active powers; but in moſt in⯑ſtances, the latter is its chief and moſt imme⯑diate cauſe, and that, either by the predomi⯑nance of one paſſion in the conſtitution, or by the general tone of all the paſſions.

BEFORE we enter on a more particular in⯑veſtigation of theſe cauſes, it will be proper to premiſe one obſervation. Under this head, we conſider the ſeveral tempers ſimply in them⯑ſelves, and not either thoſe exc [...]ſſes of them which are vicious, or that regulation of them which is virtuous. Yet it will be unavoidable often to ſpeak of them by names which imply approbation or diſapprobation, eſpecially the latter. The reaſon is that, as all tempers are moſt obvious in their exceſſes, and as ſome are very apt to run into exceſs, we have in many inſtances no name for the temper itſelf as di⯑ſtinguiſhed from the abuſe of it. We muſt be on our guard againſt deception from this im⯑perfection of language, and endeavour, as much as poſſible, to conceive every temper that ſhall be mentioned, as in itſelf indifferent, however readily it may on the one hand degenerate into vice, or however eaſily it may on the other hand be improved into virtue.

[216]No man is altogether deſtitute of any paſ⯑ſion or affection belonging to human nature: but no man has all his paſſions balanced againſt one another with perfect exactneſs; and no two men have them all proportioned to one another preciſely in the ſame degree. Here is a fruitful ſource of varieties of temper. What⯑ever paſſion is predominant, gives a correſpon⯑dent caſt to the whole ſoul, and produces a ſuit⯑able complexion.

SOME of our paſſions and affections are moſt directly ſubſervient to our own private in⯑tereſt; and ſome of them have other men for their objects: when thoſe of the former ſort prevail, the temper will be ſelfiſh and con⯑tracted; when thoſe of the latter claſs are pre⯑dominant, the temper will be open and ſocial. Many diſtinct affections belong to each of theſe claſſes; and every affection belonging to either of them, produces a turn of temper congruous to itſelf.

WE daily meet with characters, both good and bad, which are founded in, and derive their peculiar complexion from an original and natural turn to thoſe affections, whether ſenti⯑ments or deſires, which are properly ſelfiſh. Some, for inſtance, are prone to pride; it aſ⯑ſumes very different forms according to the [217] cauſes by which it is produced, and the ex⯑preſſions to which it moſt directly tends; and every form of it gives riſe to a correſpondent particularity of temper: hence the ſtately, the haughty, the arrogant, the inſolent, the con⯑ceited, the vain, the dignified turn of mind, and many others, which language cannot mark with preciſion, but which the diſc [...]rning eye readily diſtinguiſhes when they occur in the commerce of the world. Tempers as various, take their riſe from an oppoſite propenſity of ſoul to humility. A love of honours, power, preheminence, diſtinction, forms the temper of ſome; indifference about all theſe, is a ſtriking feature in other characters. A high reliſh and a great fondneſs for what is pleaſant, forms the baſis of ſome characters; and inſen⯑ſibility to the impreſſions of pleaſure, that of others. Some men are naturally turned to the love of riches, others to the neglect of them.

WHEN the malevolent paſſions have a ten⯑dency to predominate in the ſoul, they occaſion all thoſe diverſities of temper, to which we ap⯑ply the epithets, ſour, ſullen, moroſe, ſevere, captious, peeviſh, paſſionate, ill-humoured, and the like.

ON the contrary, the prevalence of the be⯑nevolent and kind affections of the heart, pro⯑duces [218] a great variety of tempers, ſome of which we term the ſweet, the gentle, the mild, the ſoft, the courteous, the tender, the ſympa⯑thiſing, the affectionate, the generous.

EVERY affection aſſumes different forms, according to the different ſituations in which its object is placed; it exerts itſelf in deſire or averſion, in hope or fear, in joy or ſorrow: but every man has not, by his conſtitution, an equal propenſity to all theſe exertions of affec⯑tion. Some are prone to deſire; this renders them naturally keen, eager, or enterpriſing, and apt to become anxious and ſolicitous: others are more turned to averſion, and in conſe⯑quence of this are naturally cautious, wary, circumſpect, and liable to care, fretfulneſs, and diſguſt. Hope is predominant in ſome men, and fear in others: the former produces a tem⯑per of elation, confidence, and greater enter⯑priſe than would have ariſen from the preva⯑lence of deſire alone: the latter produces a temper, cowardly, timid, dejected, ſuſpicious, or foreboding. There is not perhaps any af⯑fection in the operation of which the oppoſite tempers now mentioned, may be ſeen more ſtrongly contraſted, than the love of money: in one perſon, this principle ſhows itſelf by puſhing for great advantages, embarking in extenſive undertakings, and running every riſk [219] for the ſake of becoming very rich; he is ac⯑tuated properly by the deſire of wealth ſup⯑ported by forward hopes: the ſame attachment to money, makes another man cautious in all his ſchemes, ſparing in every ſort of expence▪ apt to forf [...]it great poſſible gain rather than expoſe himſelf to the hazard of any loſs; this is the miſer, his conduct proceeds either from averſion to, and dread of poverty, or from de⯑ſire of wealth, continually checked and con⯑verted into timorous anxiety, by the predo⯑minance of [...]ear. Some men have a natural propenſity to run into joy; this occaſions chearfulneſs and gai [...]ty of temper, in all its forms: other men are moſt apt to be touched with ſorrow; and they are conſtitutionally penſive, or gloomy, or melancholy. This difference accounts, in ſome degree, for a diver⯑ſity of character which we may often obſerve: there are perſons who have borne obſ [...]urity, po⯑verty, and even affliction, with great com⯑poſure and equanimity, but have been exceſ⯑ſively elated and diſſipated by proſperity; their natural chearfulneſs relieved the former, but being encouraged by the latter, ran into an extreme: on the other hand, there are perſons who can bear proſperity with great moderation, but are perfectly ſunk by adverſity; their na⯑tural propenſity is to ſorrow; when it is irri⯑tated by diſtreſs, it overwhelms them: when [220] it is counteracted by the joys of a proſperous lot, it is reſtrained from every exceſs.

THUS all the affections and paſſions, ac⯑cording as one or another of them is predo⯑minant, tinge the whole ſoul with their own peculiar hue.

WE may obſerve farther, that very great diverſities of temper may proceed from the ſame paſſion, only by its being predominant in different manners. The paſſionate temper, and the peeviſh, are extremely different; yet they both proceed from the predominance of the very ſame principle, ſudden anger. Deliberate anger produces in thoſe who have a propenſity to it, many diſtinctions of temper unlike to both theſe. Whatever be the varieties of which any paſſion is ſuſceptible in reſpect of its cauſes, its objects, its feeling, or its tendencies, the temper founded in that paſſion will be ſuſcep⯑tible of all the ſame varieties.

IT may be remarked likewiſe, that ſome tempers proceed from the weakneſs of a parti⯑cular diſpoſition, more properly than from a predominance of the contrary. Courage, ſo far as it is conſtitutional, proceeds merely from the abſence of fear. Impudence is not the prevalence of any poſitive affection, but only [221] the want of ſhame. A reſerved temper, at leaſt in many inſtances, belongs to this head; the perſon is not actuated by thoſe principles which lead others to a free communication of their ſentiments and deſigns. That a diſtinc⯑tion of temper ſhould ariſe from a defect in one mental principle, cannot be ſurpriſing: ſome vices are altogether negative, they conſiſt not in any bad affection, they indicate only the want of a good one; ſome virtues, in like manner, are not poſitive exertions of laudable affections, but ariſe from the reſtraint and pro⯑per government of ſuch paſſions as tend to vice. The human ſoul is a complicated ma⯑chine; its ſtate and character are not determined by any one part of it, but reſult from the balancings, the relations, and the harmonious adjuſtment of all the parts. A want or a re⯑lative weakneſs in any one of the numerous parts of a clock, affects the ſoundneſs of the whole machine.

THIS principle ſuggeſts another obſerva⯑tion. The ſeveral paſſions and affections are, in different men, combined in an infinite va⯑riety of ways; and every particular combina⯑tion of them produces a diſtinct temper. Per⯑haps every temper, when it is analyſed with the utmoſt accuracy, will be found, not to ariſe from the prevalence of a ſingle affection, [222] but to derive its form in ſome degree from the union of ſeveral. Thus in a compounded co⯑lour, different ingredients are mixed, and may be obſerved on attention; though one be ſo much predominant as to give it its common denomination. Thus fainter traces of ſeveral diſpoſitions, are often diſcernible in a counte⯑nance, which yet receives its principal expreſ⯑ſion and general form from one affection. But in ſome tempers, the union of different prin⯑ciples is more obvious, and their influence more equal, than in others. To produce a temper turned to ridicule, both a prevalence of the malevolent paſſions, and a propenſity to chearfulneſs, muſt concur; without the latter, the temper would lead to mere invective and bitter railing. The united prevalence of joy and benevolent affection, forms a peculiarity of temper, different from what would reſult from the prevalence of either of theſe alone: if there be any of your acquaintance marked with this amiable peculiarity, you will know it by finding their mirth conſtantly intended to promote your pleaſure, and by a winning readineſs and alacrity accompanying all their good offices. In a modeſt temper, humility and a ſenſe of propriety meet in almoſt equal meaſures. Affability is a temper which can⯑not be formed but by the union of many ſenti⯑ments and affections which will be eaſily diſ⯑covered [223] by attention to its appearances and ex⯑ertions. Some affections are apter to mingle together into one temper, than others: but no affections are ſo oppoſite as not ſometimes to be conjoined, to mitigate the contrarieties of each other, and then to be blended into one turn of ſoul. Hence ariſe thoſe heterogeneous and abſurd biaſſes which we now and then meet with, and wonder at as ſingularities.

IN all theſe ways, the predominance of ſome paſſions and affections, or of others, is a ſource of many varieties of temper; of more indeed than language has diſtinct names for expreſſing, though we can diſcern each of them, when we meet with it in life.

BUT it is not only by the prevalence of ſome of them in compariſon with the reſt, that the paſſions produce diverſities of temper among mankind: the general tone alſo of all the paſſions occaſions a ſuitable peculiarity. A muſical inſtrument acquires different tones by having all its ſtrings wound up to different keys. The paſſions of different perſons are as it were wound up to a variety of keys, and thence their ſouls de [...]ive diſtinct tones of tem⯑per. In ſome men, all the paſſions are high and ſtrong, briſk and lively. Had theſe men no one paſſion more dominant than the reſt, [224] this general vivacity of the paſſions would produce a peculiarity of temper congruous to itſelf. It is the cauſe of thoſe diſtinctions of temper which can be characterized by ſenſibi⯑lity, ardour, activity, vehemence, violence, impetuoſity. In other men, all the paſſions are weak and languid. This renders the tem⯑per, in a degree proportioned to their dullneſs, inſenſible, inſipid, ſluggiſh, indolent, cool, or compoſed.

IN order to perceive in its full extent the influence of the general tone of the paſſions on the formation of the temper, we muſt obſerve that it may be combined with any predomi⯑nant paſſion. Whatever peculiarity of temper a perſon derives from the prevalence of one paſſion, a high tone of all the paſſions will render more ſtriking and more ſtrongly marked, than it would have otherwiſe been. It is in men of warm paſſions, that the natu⯑ral temper ſhows itſelf with the greateſt force, and moſt preciſely diſcriminated from all other turns of mind. When the paſſions are feeble, the temper of the ſoul, whatever be the paſſion of which it holds, may be compared to thoſe faces, which having little characteriſtical or diſtinctive, the painter finds difficulty in tak⯑ing off. The tone of the paſſions admits many gradations; it is the immediate cauſe of as [225] many particularities of temper: every grada⯑tion of which it is ſuſceptible, may be united with any one predominant paſſion; and every different conjunction will occaſion a new caſt of mind. Tempers ariſing from the predomi⯑nance of the ſame paſſion, are, in many in⯑ſtances, ſo much diverſified by the tone of the paſſions, as to be diſtinguiſhed, even in com⯑mon language, by peculiar names. The joy⯑ous temper is diſtinct from the chearful; the affectionate from the gentle; the prevailing paſſion is the ſame, but its tone is different.

THOUGH the paſſions be the moſt imme⯑diate cauſes of the varieties of temper, and though on that account they required our firſt and principal notice in explaining theſe varieties, yet it muſt be obſerved, not only that the underſtanding has ſome influence on every pe⯑culiarity of temper, but alſo that ſome peculi⯑arities of it cannot be at all explained without taking into the account, the turn and degree of the underſtanding; nay, that ſome peculiari⯑ties of temper are occaſioned almoſt wholly by the form of the intellectual powers. Some men have a propenſity to obſerve accurately, without any formed deſign, whatever comes in their way; this propenſity lays the founda⯑tion of an attentive turn: the habit of obſerv⯑ing things confirms that turn: a heedleſs tem⯑per [226] ariſes from the want of this propenſity. Some men can eaſily remove their attention from one object, and immediately employ it with as great cloſeneſs on another; ſome can⯑not readily diſengage their thoughts from what has once engroſſed them: the influence of theſe oppoſite caſts of underſtanding, on the temper, is very conſpicuous: in the man who can obſerve all the proprieties of quickly varying ſituations, in the man who can adapt himſelf ſucceſſively to diſſimilar companies, or in the man who can apply without diſtraction and with equal ardor to a multiplicity of oc⯑cupations, you ſee the operation of the for⯑mer; and you will as clearly perceive the ope⯑ration of the latter in the contrary characters, which frequently occur in great variety, Some men have reaſoning minds; whatever object is before them, they place it in every attitude, they view it in every light, they in⯑veſtigate all its conſequences: this turn of un⯑derſtanding lays the foundation of a conſiderate, provident temper; the contrary turn, of a thoughtleſs, raſh, improvident temper. There is a credulous, and there is a ſceptical temper; they are founded in oppoſite turns of under⯑ſtanding: but theſe oppoſite turns generally imply the ſame intellectual weakneſs, an in⯑capacity of perceiving the force of evidence quickly and preciſely: this incapacity leads [227] one man to admit all the evidence that is pro⯑poſed to him, by hindering him from per⯑ceiving its defects; and it leads another to re⯑ject all the evidence that is offered, by render⯑ing him inſenſible of its ſtrength. On this account, what we often remark as ſurpriſing and unaccountable, that credulity and incre⯑dulity are found in the ſame characters, both in very high degrees, that the greateſt ſcep⯑tics and infidels on ſome ſubjects, ſhow the weakeſt eaſineſs of faith on others, is natural, and even unavoidable. A ſound diſcernment of the real force of evidence would prevent both extremes. When the underſtanding is clear and deciſive, it lays the foundation of a firm and determined temper: an inability to form a clear opinion, produces [...]ickleneſs and inconſiſtence.

FOR explaining the variety of tempers, it will be proper to make another obſervation. The ſame temper may, in different men, pro⯑ceed from different cauſes. It was formerly obſerved that ſome men are compoſed in ad⯑verſity, but elated by proſperity, and others moderate in proſperity, but dejected by adver⯑ſity, and that the difference may often be ac⯑counted for, from the predominance of chear⯑fulneſs in the former, and of ſorrow in the latter: when it proceeds from this cauſe, the [228] elation of the former ſhows itſelf in giddineſs and levity, and the dejection of the latter, in melancholy. But the difference proceeds in many inſtances from another cauſe: when pride is predominant in the conſtitution, ad⯑verſity may be no more than it requires to check, to moderate, and to reſtrain it within proper bounds; proſperity inflames it, and gives it ſcope in inſolence and arrogance: on the contrary, when there is a ſtrong propen⯑ſity to humility, it may need proſperity to counteract it; adverſity ſinks it into depreſſion, meanneſs, or puſillanimity. In ſome inſtances both cauſes operate, and impreſs on the cha⯑racter traces ſuitable to each. Eagerneſs of temper may ariſe from a great predominance of one paſſion, or it may ariſe from a high tone of all the paſſions. A grave temper we ſhould at firſt ſight be apt to impute, in every inſtance, to the want of a propenſity to joy; yet it is often found without any predominance of ſorrow: in ſome caſes it proceeds from a moderate tone of all the paſſions, in others from a thoughtful, conſiderate turn of mind; there are caſes in which it has cauſes different from all theſe. One cauſe of a reſerved tem⯑per was mentioned already, the want of thoſe diſpoſitions which lead men to communicate their ſentiments: but it may proceed from very different principles, from modeſty, for [229] inſtance, or from ſuſpiciouſneſs, or from ſul⯑lenneſs, or from pride. The ſource of [...]ic⯑kleneſs and inconſtancy is ſometimes weak⯑neſs of judgment; ſometimes timidity; and ſometimes the keenneſs of all the paſ⯑ſions, hurrying a man continually into new pur [...]uits according as they happen to be ex⯑cited in their turns. A temper of raſhneſs and precipitation may proceed from an impro⯑vident judgment, from the abſence of fear and caution, or from the violence of any paſſion. But ſtill, though tempers thus proceeding from different cauſes, are often ſo ſimilar as to come under the ſame common denomina⯑tion, yet they are not preciſ [...]ly the ſame. They are confounded by the generality, but a judicious eye can diſtinguiſh them. They are like thoſe faces which have a ſtrong reſem⯑blance in their general caſt, but differ conſi⯑derably in their particular features. There is a peculiarity in each, congruous to its own cauſe. To diſcern this peculiarity, and to perceive the cauſe from which it is derived, is abſolutely neceſſary for our forming a right judgment concerning a perſon's temper. When the cauſes of ſimilar tempers are very analo⯑gous, the diſtinction of theſe tempers may be very delicate, and will require great acuteneſs to perceive it. But it is often obvious enough; ſimilar tempers ſometimes ariſe from [230] very unlike cauſes, nay from ſuch as are op⯑poſite; when they do, the dulleſt can diſcri⯑minate them: a temper of firmneſs ariſes from a clear perception of the reaſons of a cer⯑tain conduct; obſtinacy may ariſe from an in⯑capacity of perceiving theſe reaſons; both im⯑ply conſtancy; but none will be at a loſs to diſcern the difference between them. Gene⯑rally, however, the principles which produce ſimilar tempers, have ſome analogy, ſome fit⯑neſs to coaleſce. When they have, ſome de⯑gree of them all often appears in the temper, though a greater degree of one of them gives it the predominant tinge.

As ſimilar tempers may proceed from diſſi⯑milar cauſes, ſo even oppoſite tempers may proceed from the ſame cauſe. Under a former head, we have already found an example of this; we have found the ſceptical temper, and the credulous, ultimately reſolved into the ſame imbecility of underſtanding, an inability of clearly diſcerning the real force of evidence. This inability likewiſe gives riſe to an obſti⯑nate temper in ſome, to a wavering temper in others: one is immoveable in all his deſigns, becauſe he is incapable of diſcerning the ſtrength of thoſe reaſons which ſhould per⯑ſuade him to alter them; another is [...]ickle in them all, becauſe he cannot ſee the weakneſs [231] of the reaſons which are produced againſt them.

SUCH are the general cauſes of the diver⯑ſity of t [...]mp [...]rs among mankind. They a [...]e capable of numberleſs combinations; and every combination of them produces a diſtinct temper. As no two plants are exactly alike, as no two human faces are abſolutely undiſtin⯑guiſhable, ſo no two tempers are p [...]rfectly the ſame. Every man has his own ſpirit, his pe⯑culiar temper, by which he differs from every other man. To enumerate all the peculiarities of temper is impoſſible. What has been ſaid, will be ſufficient to prepare us, both for per⯑ceiving the neceſſity, and for underſtanding the manner, of governing our own temper. It may likewiſe ſuggeſt uſeful reflections to us: I ſhall conclude this diſcourſe by mentioning a few of them.

1. EACH of us ſhould ſtudy to know his own particular temper. Know thyſelf, was one of the moſt approved precepts of ancient wiſdom. Know ye not your own ſelves ^*? is the expoſtulation of a Chriſtian apoſtle. The knowledge of our natural temper is one im⯑portant part of the knowledge of ourſelves. [232] Our temper has an extenſive influence on our conduct, the government of it is of great moment; but for governing it, a previons knowledge of it is abſolutely neceſſary. Our temper affects our judgments, as well as our conduct; to the gloomy, there is nothing in nature chearful; to the gay, religion ſeems to require no reſtraint, or ſelf-denial; every thing appears provoking to the peeviſh; every peculiarity of temper, if it be ungoverned, is a jaundiced eye, which tinges all things with its own colour, and will make us dupes to ſome prejudice of its own complexion. Ye know not what manner of ſpirit ye are of ^*, was a ſevere rebuke which our Saviour gave the ſons of Zebedee, on one occaſion: if we be ignorant of our real temper, we fall under the rebuke. Every perſon with whom we converſe, quickly diſcovers our temper, and can make his advantage of it: it is ſhameful that ourſelves alone ſhould not diſcover it; we can make the greateſt advantage by the diſco⯑very. Many are ſo totally ignorant of them⯑ſelves, that you ſhall find perſons, every day, diſclaiming in the moſt explicit terms, that very temper which all the world knows to be, in a palpable exceſs, their own. The paſſionate man praiſes his own weakneſs; the implaca⯑ble [233] thanks God, that he is not given to re⯑ſentment; the contentious applauds his own love of peace; the giddy admires his own ſe⯑dateneſs; the obſtinate declares himſelf the readieſt of all men to receive conviction; the proud, the aſſuming, the over-bearing magni⯑fies his condeſcenſion, his lowlineſs, and his affability. I am perſuaded, the mention of theſe inſtances has called up to your thoughts, living characters of your acquaintance. But it may be that ſome of yourſelves have been thought of by others, as [...]it examples of this ſelf-ignorance. Labour each of you to know your peculiar bias: it is by careful attention to the workings of your hearts and the actions of your lives, that you can learn it; you will find it mingling with them all, and giving them a correſpondent caſt and manner. Re⯑mark its tendency; this is what you ſhould ſet yourſelves to regulate or counteract: ob⯑ſerve what are the ill effects which it is apteſt to produce; theſe are what you muſt endea⯑vour to prevent. Inveſtigate its cauſe; en⯑quire what is the particular principle or diſpo⯑ſition, from the predominance of which it pro⯑ceeds. To examine the ſeveral ſources of the diverſity of tempers, is entertaining; it is uſeful alſo, as it prepares us for diſcovering the ſource of our own temper; but it is this diſcovery that is immediately improving, it is [234] the application of the general examination to this purpoſe, that is of chief importance. The knowledge of the real cauſe of our peculiar temper is neceſſary for the government of it. In every caſe the prevention or the cure of a diſeaſe can be effected only by removing its cauſe.

2. A PROPER ſenſe of the endleſs variety of tempers in the human ſpecies, would lead us to make greater allowance for the ſentiments and conduct of others, than we often do. To ourſelves we often arrogate indulgence, on ac⯑count of our peculiar temper, much greater than can be reaſonable: to others, we generally give no indulgence on account of the peculia⯑rity of tempers. Did we conſider, how dif⯑ficult it is to govern the natural temper, did we reflect how imperfectly we often govern our own, and how often it betrays us into what is faulty; and were we at the ſame time diſpoſed to judge and to act equitably with re⯑ſpect to others; we could not fail to make great allowances even for the real faults into which their temper leads them. Great as they may be in the ſight of God, our judgment of them ſhould be mild, and our conduct in con⯑ſequence of them, indulgent and forbearing; we may find in ourſelves, ſometimes an excuſe for them, always an extenuation of them. But [235] we, on the contrary, often form an unfavour⯑able opinion of others, entertain hatred of them, or treat them ill, merely for ſuch differences in their natural temper as are really free from vice. The grave and the melancholy are apt to reckon the moſt innocent chearfulneſs and mirth profane and ungodly. The gay and chearful too readily charge the ſerious with grimace and hypocriſy. The man of openneſs ſhuns him who is naturally reſerved, as art⯑ful, cunning, and deſigning. Examples might eaſily be multiplied. Have we not candour enough to recollect, what is ſo extremely ob⯑vious, that the tempers of others are very dif⯑ferent from ours? Would you find fault with others, becauſe the features of their faces are not the ſame with thoſe of your own? The tempers of men are as various as their faces; they can no more eradicate the peculiarity of their tempers, than deſtroy the diſtinction of their looks. They cannot but do the very ſame action in different manners. By atten⯑tion to this one principle, how many dif⯑ferences, animoſities, diſlikes, miſconſtructions, and ill offices would be prevented among men? how much would the virtues of forbearance, candour, and mutual love, be promoted?

3. THE amazing diverſity of tempers in the human ſpecies, is a ſtriking inſtance of the [236] contrivance and wiſdom of the God who made us. Variety combined with uniformity, may be conſidered as the very characteriſtic of de⯑ſign: a perfect combination of them is an in⯑dication of perfect wiſdom. Of ſuch combi⯑nation, obvious through the whole creation, the endleſs variety of natural tempers, in crea⯑tures who have all the ſame eſſential powers, and produced by ſo delicate variations of theſe powers, is an illuſtrious example. It pro⯑claims that God our father is wiſe; it proves that the creator of mankind is wonderful in counſel, and excellent in working ^*. Let us ad⯑mire, let us adore his wiſdom manifeſted in the conſtitution of our own nature, and in this particular part of it; our thoughts, our feel⯑ings, our motions, may every moment put us in mind to adore it; let us celebrate the wiſ⯑dom of our maker, with praiſes ſuitable to it, ſaying with David, I will praiſe thee, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made: marvellous are thy works, and that my ſoul knoweth right well ^†.

SERMON X. THE NECESSITY OF GOVERNING THE NATURAL TEMPER.

IN the laſt diſcourſe, I explained the origin and the nature of the variety of tempers which is found among mankind. In this diſ⯑courſe, I propoſe to evince the neceſſity of our governing, each his own peculiar temper.

Is it, then, needful to evince the neceſſity of a man's governing his own temper? Every man acknowledges that all others ought to govern their tempers, and complains of them when they do not. By this, every man ac⯑knowledges that the government of the temper is a duty of indiſpenſible obligation. Yet there is very great need to enforce it; for every man almoſt pleads a privilege to neglect it in his [238] own particular caſe. As long as men do this, it never will be practiſed. It is not our own⯑ing a duty to be incumbent upon others, but our perceiving it to be incumbent upon our⯑ſelves, that will lead us to the performance of it. That we may perceive, how much it is the duty of every one of us, to govern his own temper, let us attend to the ill effects of neglecting to govern it. They are pointed out by an expreſſive figure in the text: He that hath no rule over his own ſpirit, is like a city that is broken down and without walls; he has no ſecurity againſt abandoning himſelf to every vice. This is an alarming motive to the government of the temper. If the neglect of it has any tendency to vice, it muſt have a very ſtrong tendency. The influence of our particular temper runs through our whole life▪ and mixes with every action of it; the conſe⯑quences of an ungoverned temper muſt there⯑fore be very extenſive; the whole of our con⯑duct muſt be vitiated. This obſervation ſets the importance of governing the temper in a very ſtriking light; if it be at all a duty, it is a momentous duty. For evincing that it is a duty, it will be ſufficient to ſhow, that the neglect of it leads to vice; and in ſhowing this with the fulleſt evidence, there will be little difficulty.

[239]EVERY natural temper is innocent in itſelf; it may likewiſe be made conducive to virtue: but every temper is, at the ſame time, apt to degenerate into ſome vice. To make the tem⯑per ſubſervient to virtue, or even to preſerve it innocent, attention, and care in reſtraining and [...]odelling it, are abſolutely neceſſary; juſt as the ſoil requires culture in order to its pro⯑ducing a crop of uſeful grain: but as the ground, whenever it is not cultivated, runs into wildneſs, and nouriſhes uſeleſs or noxious weeds; ſo, that our natural temper may lead [...]s into the vices ſuited to it, and occaſion us all the miſery involved in them, nothing is neceſſary but to leave it to itſelf, to neglect to rule it. Our becoming abandoned to theſe [...]ices at leaſt, is the neceſſary conſequence of the neglect. The ſtricteſt government of the temp [...]r, which our imperfection permits, can⯑not prevent our being [...]duced by theſe vices in ſome inſtances: where there is no government at all, the man muſt be enſlaved by them.

THERE is not a ſingle vice to which ſome turn of temper does not directly tend; and therefore there is not a ſingle vice into which one man or another will not be led, by neg⯑lecting to govern his natural temper. This [...], in a very great meaſure, the cauſe of all the variety of vicious characters which di [...] ⯑grace [240] the human ſpecies. Some have been led by particular cauſes, into courſes of vice, from which their natural temper was abhor⯑rent; but the greateſt part addict themſelves to the vices which moſt fall in with it. There is ſome vice which eaſily falls in with every turn of temper, and unavoidably ariſes from the indulgence of it.

NEED I point out minutely, the vices to which the indulgence of a contracted and ſelfiſh temper naturally leads? Will it not be readily acknowledged by all, that vice is the certain conſequence of the indulgence? It will be only difficult for the generality to form a con⯑ception of a contracted temper ſo carefully cor⯑rected as not to include vice in the very idea of it. Selfiſhneſs is a term which we never uſe in a favourable ſenſe; a certain proof that a propenſity to it is very apt to become vicious. The ſelfiſh affections are various; they turn to different objects: but it requires the ſtricteſt government to pr [...]vent a temper founded on the prevalence of any of them, from degenerat⯑ing into the correſpondent vice, ambition, or vanity, or avarice, or ſenſuality and the love of pleaſure. Theſe are all the names of vices, and of vices which, when they riſe to a great height, and are indulged without controul, render the characters deteſtable, in which they [241] are the leading principles. We regard prid [...] with a ſomewhat leſs unfavourable eye, than any of the ſelfiſh de [...]ires; we allow that there are ſpecies of it which are innocent, or even virtuous; but ſome epithet muſt be applied to mark them: it is an affection ſo apt to become vicious, and ſo frequently found in a faulty form, that pride without an epithet always denotes a vice. To its exceſſes, names are ap⯑propriated, expreſſive of the greateſt baſeneſs. A man naturally turned to pride, without go⯑verning his temper, becomes haughty, or ar⯑rogant, or inſolent. One ſuperciliouſly d [...]ſpiſes thoſe with whom he lives; the ſtatelineſs of his carriage proclaims how much he r [...]ckons them below him; he diſdains to take notice of them. Another is perpetually claiming ex⯑travagant reſpect; he is not ſatisfied with his own opinion of his ſuperiority; he demands that you ſhould own it; he anxiouſly diſplays it; he makes a ſhow of his riches before the poor man, and of his pomp before the mean; if you refuſe him homage, if you yield it in any degree of moderation, you a [...]nt him, and he becomes your enemy. One affects affa⯑bility and lowlineſs, but he forces you to fe [...]l that he thinks he is condeſcending very far in treating you as his equal. Another is over⯑bearing, he reckons you much his inferior, he thinks you dependent upon him, perhaps he [242] ſtudies to render you dependent, at any rate he treats you as if you were, he mortifies you with all the petulance of inſult. Such cha⯑racters are deteſtable; and they ariſe infallibly from ungoverned pride. Even humility, of all the private affections the moſt approveable, if it predominated in the temper, and were put under no regulation, would ſink into a feeble, a mean, and an abject ſpirit, which is blame⯑able in itſelf, and chills every great and worthy effort of the ſoul.

IT is ſtill leſs neceſſary to enter into a long detail of the deteſtable vices which ſpring from a temper founded in a propenſity to any of the malevolent paſſions. It will univerſally be confeſſed that ſuch tempers, if not very car⯑fully corrected, muſt produce characters de⯑ſervedly odious. They lead to vices which ſpread miſery through ſociety, and which over⯑whelm the perſon himſelf with greater miſery than he brings upon thoſe around him. Ha⯑bitual peeviſhneſs, producing fretfulneſs on every the ſlighteſt occaſion, putting one out of humour with every perſon and every thing, creating inceſſant uneaſineſs to thoſe who are connected with him, eating out the enjoyment of life, is the natural effect of a temper founded on a propenſity to anger, though accompanied with the weakeſt tone of paſſion. The ſame [243] propenſity joined to a higher tone of paſſion, leads to vices of a ſtill more pernicious tendency, to licentious reproaches, extravagant menaces, vehemence, rage, and fury; it haraſſes infe⯑riors and dependents, it provokes and alien⯑ates the deareſt friends, it ſtains converſation with rudeneſs and brutality, in a moment it precipitates into injuries which can never be repaired, a [...]d into crimes which [...]ntail bitter repentance on the whole ſucceeding part of life. But when the propenſity is, not to ſhort fits of paſſion frequently recurring, but to perma⯑nent and deliberate anger, the indulgence o [...] i [...] produces the blackeſt vices: it renders the whole behaviour captious and perverſe, it in⯑fects every action with harſhneſs and bitterneſs, it ſettles into malice, it grows up into envy, it exerts itſelf in revenge, it breaks forth into rancour, it degenerates into cruelty, it employs power in creating miſery and ſpreading deſo⯑lation, it takes occaſion even from religion for perſecution and bloody maſſacre.

BUT alas, even thoſe beſt of tempers in which the kind affections prevail, will be pro⯑ductive of very deſtructive vices, if they are not governed with care. Every day we meet with perſons who have become vicious by in⯑dulging a temper of this kind. One man is [...]ociable; he indulges his love of company, [244] and he becomes diſſipated, and neglects every material duty of life; he falls into ill com⯑pany, and he is corrupted. Another is ſoft in his nature, and cannot bear to diſoblige; he falls in with vicious men, to oblige them he grants whatever they are pleaſed to aſk, he conſents to what he knows to be wrong, he ſinneth with them. Good nature, it is even commonly obſerved, expoſes a perſon to dan⯑gerous temptations. A ſympathizing temper often degenerates into weakneſſes greatly blame⯑able: generoſity of temper readily ſhoots up into prodigality and ruinous extravagance: and the warm and affectionate heart needs to be held in with a ſteady rein, elſe it will ruſh for⯑ward into unlawful teſtimonies of kindneſs, and unrighteous acts of friendſhip.

IN whatever way our temper moſt diſpoſes the ſeveral paſſions and affections to exert them⯑ſelves, it will, without regulation, prove the ſource of peculiar vices. When the propen⯑ſity to deſire renders the temper ke [...]n and eager, if we lay it under no reſtraint, if we be not at pains both to direct it to proper objects, and to moderate the degree of it, it muſt engage us in trifling and vicious purſuits; in reſpect of the object of our purſuit, whether pleaſure, profit, or power, it muſt render us craving and inſatiable, ever unſatisfied with what we [245] have obtained, wiſhing and plotting for more; and in reſpect of the means of proſecution, it muſt render us impetuous and violent, re⯑gardleſs of the bounds of right, impatient of every delay and oppoſition; we ſhall fret and rage at the diſappointment of wiſhes which ought never to have been formed, and the inefficacy of means which ought never to have been employed. Is the oppoſite pro⯑penſity to averſion indulged? Every thing wears a gloomy aſpect, and is viewed on its darkeſt ſide: we act as if we were reſolved ne⯑ver to be pleaſed; we ſearch for occaſions of diſguſt, regret, and uneaſineſs, and we find them in every object; every gentle affection is baniſhed from the breaſt; diſcontent, fretful⯑neſs, and ill humour become habitual. A temper of confidence eaſily degenerates into pre⯑ſumption; it engages a man in impracticable enterpriſes, and makes him ſure of ſucceſs in them; it makes him look on impoſſibilities as merely difficulties; he hopes, and he ſtrains every nerve to overcome them, he attempts even the moſt unlawful means; he is plunged into diſappointment when he leaſt thinks of it, hurried into all the vices which diſappoint⯑ment produces in the ſanguine, and over⯑whelmed with anguiſh proportioned to the ele⯑vation of his former hopes. Another gives full ſcope to the timidity of his natural diſpo⯑ſition; [246] he dares not attempt any thing that is worthy, the ſlighteſt danger can terrify him into the baſeſt conduct; he falls into all the ſins and into all the miſeries which belong to the cowardly, the ſuſpicious, the jealous, the cunning, the deſponding. The ſorrowful caſt of mind, become exceſſive, renders even a man's virtues forbidding, and diſpoſes him to vices which can only torment him. A chearful temper is amiable: but when it is ungoverned, it is the ſource of many vicious characters; the man who abandons himſelf to diſſolute mirth and jollity, without regard to the propriety of ſub⯑jects or of ſituations; the perſon who trifles in unceaſing levity, incapable of ſerious thought or of a moment's ſedate behaviour; the inſig⯑nificant, fluttering in a continual round of gay amuſements, at leiſure for none of the duties of life; the wretch who runs from pleaſure to pleaſure, and gives himſelf up to falſe and riotous joys; all theſe characters and many more, ſpring in a great meaſure from chear⯑fulneſs of temper indulged without controul.

WHEN the general tone of the paſſions is high, it expoſes a man to all the vices in their turn, which can ariſe from the exceſs of any paſſion, and moſt to thoſe which ariſe from the ſtrength of his ruling paſſion. When it gives too great ſenſibility to the temper, it renders a [247] man prone to all the weakneſſes which natu⯑rally ſpring from love or hatred, from joy or ſorrow, from any of the emotions of the ſoul, immoderately indulged, according to the dif⯑ferent ways in which his ſenſibility happens ſucceſſively to be touched. When it produces violence and impetuoſity, it needs but an oc⯑caſion to hurry a perſon into all the crimes which anger, malice, revenge, extravagant de⯑ſire, preſumptuous hope, or any the moſt reſt⯑leſs paſſion in human nature, can ſuggeſt. If the man who has a keen and ardent temper, turn not to virtue, he muſt be bold and un⯑controulable in all his vices: but to virtue he cannot be ſuppoſed to turn, if he have no rule over his own ſpirit; for virtue is always founded in ſelf-government. When, on the contrary, the paſſions are low and languid, and render a man unfeeling, ſluggiſh, and inactive, if he be at no pains to counteract this diſpoſition, is it poſſible that he can avoid the ſins of omiſ⯑ſion, the vices of neglect? Of the meltings of compaſſion, of the efforts of benevolence, of the labours of love ^*, of the fervours of devo⯑tion, of the actings of zeal for God and good⯑neſs, of all the alacrity and vigorous energies of virtue, he is incapable, until he raiſe him⯑ſelf above the natural inſipidity of his temper. [248] If he may be harmleſs, he cannot be uſeful. Slothfulneſs caſteth into a deep ſleep ^*; the ſlothful hideth his hand in his boſom, it grieveth him to bring it again to his mouth ^†; his hands refuſe to labour ^‡; his way is an hedge of thorns ^‖.

IT will not be neceſſary for our purpoſe, to examine what are the vices congenial to every one of the varieties of temper, which were for⯑merly pointed out as ariſing from the ſeveral mental powers, either ſeparately or differently combined together. From the inſtances al⯑ready produced, it is ſufficiently plain, that every turn of temper leads naturally to ſome vice or another. To theſe inſtances let us how⯑ever ſubjoin a very few more. Courage may very readily degenerate into fierceneſs; reſerve into ſullenneſs; and openneſs of temper into ſuch unwarineſs as betrays the ſecrets or the intereſts of the deareſt friend. A prudent turn of mind is eaſily corrupted into cunning; and the ſmalleſt propenſity to thoughtleſſneſs may terminate in the moſt deſtructive raſhneſs and precipitation. Credulity lays a man open to many means of ſeduction; and a tendency to doubt may grow up into ſuch ſcepticiſm as ſhall enervate every principle of virtue, and annihilate every motive to the practice of it. A [249] firm and ſteady temper is manly; but if it be ungoverned and undirected, it may produce obſtinacy, rendering a man inflexible in his worſt actions and deſigns, irreclaimable in all his vices. The oppoſite temper can ſcarcely, by any pains, be kept from producing ſome de⯑gree of fickleneſs and inconſtancy, which is it⯑ſelf a blemiſh; and if no pains be taken to fix it, it will render a perſon contemptible and little, incapable of that perſevering goodneſs, which alone can be either uſeful to men or acceptable to God.

THE ſame temper, it may be farther ob⯑ſerved, will lead a man, with equal readineſs, into oppoſite vices in oppoſite ſituations. There is an example very common, and very com⯑monly taken notice of. The ſame littleneſs of mind renders a man inſolent in proſperity, and abject in adverſity. A man of this turn obtains a fortune, and becomes rude to his ſu⯑periors, contemptuous to his equals, and op⯑preſſive to his inferiors; he runs into all ex⯑travagance, he diſſipates his fortune, and he is mean and ſhameleſs in his poverty. Shimei caſting ſtones at David and his ſervants, going after him, and curſing as he went, calling him a bloody man, and a man of Belial ^*; and [250] Shimei, a few days after, on a reverſe of Da⯑vid's fortune, the firſt of all the houſe of Joſeph to go down to meet him, falling down before him, and deprecating puniſhment ^†; is the very ſame character.

THAT vice, be it what it will, to which our particular temper directly leads us, is an enemy already advanced to the gates of the heart; and if it finds the heart like a city without walls, it enters at its pleaſure, we can make no reſiſtance. If we have no rule over our own ſpirit, if we do not carefully go⯑vern our natural temper, we cannot avoid in⯑dulging that vice. But the indulgence of any one vice, is inconſiſtent with true goodneſs of character; it forfeits our future happineſs; it excludes us from the favour of God. For whoſoever ſhall keep the whole law, and yet of⯑fend in one point, he is guilty of all ^*. If, there⯑fore, our becoming a prey to this one vice, were the only effect of our neglecting to go⯑vern our natural temper, it might be ſufficient to deter us from the neglect.

BUT this is very far from being the whole effect of our neglecting to govern our natural temper: the man who ruleth not his ſpirit, [251] does not merely become enſlaved to one vice; in conſequence of this, he is open to every vice, and certainly ſhall be led into very many vices. Every ruling ſin will require from the man who lives in the indulgence of it, the commiſſion of many others, for its ſupport, for its gratification, or for diſguiſing and con⯑cealing it: and if that ſin has by its ſuitable⯑neſs to an ungoverned natural temper, ob⯑tained dominion over us, it will not be in our power to abſtain from any of theſe others, whenever they become neceſſary for theſe pur⯑poſes. This might be illuſtrated and confirmed by a long detail; but it is not needful to pro⯑duce many inſtances; it lies open to the ob⯑ſervation of every man, in the daily courſe of the world. Few vices at their firſt approach ſmile ſo ſweetly, or ſo much put on the look of innocence, as the love of pleaſure: but let a man, by giving a looſe to his natural tem⯑per, be once abandoned to the love of pleaſure, and the vices are innumerable by which he muſt neceſſarily be contaminated; it quickly brings on a diſreliſh of every enjoyment and of every ſentiment ſuperior to the gratifications of ſenſuality and the ſuggeſtions of appetite; no office of kindneſs, no exertion in doing good muſt be expected from the ſenſualiſt; the labour of performing it would break in upon the indolence and deſtroy the gaiety of the [252] preſent hour; his pleaſures are expenſive, in ſupporting them he diſſipates all the wealth that is his own, he covets that of other men as the means of continuing his riots, he be⯑comes the ſlave of avarice, he goes beyond the loweſt miſer in rapacity, extortion, rapine, and diſhoneſt arts; gratitude to a benefactor, fidelity to a friend, the claims of innocence, the ſacred rights of marriage, often ſtand be⯑tween him and the indulgence on which his ſoul is ſet; they muſt all be overleaped, all the ſtratagems of ſeduction, all the methods of perfidy, muſt be practiſed; the tyrant of his heart demands it. This very tyrant got poſ⯑ſeſſion of David's heart for a little while, and it led him firſt meanly to attempt impoſing a ſpurious offspring on his valiant, faithful, and zealous ſervant, and afterwards baſely to lay a ſnare for his life, and expoſe him to certain deſtruction in bravely ſerving him; if it could produce deeds ſo foul in a ſhort period of uſur⯑pation, what a ſeries of crimes will it not produce when it is quietly ſettled on the throne for life? Vanity is, perhaps, in itſelf one of the moſt harmleſs of the vicious paſ⯑ſions, it is reckoned the object rather of ridi⯑cule, than of indignation; but let it predomi⯑nate in the temper, and be indulged without reſerve, it will lead to vices well deſerving of our moſt ſerious indignation; it will prompt [253] a man to falſhood and lies in order to raiſe ad⯑miration of his abilities or his exploits; it will hurry him on to an expence of oſtentation which his fortune cannot bear, to meanneſs and injuſtice for ſupporting it, and to every wile, however unlawful, for hiding the po⯑verty which it has produced; it will make him betray a truſt, ſacrifice the rights of others, or venture on the baſeſt actions, when by ſo doing he can diſplay his importance to the great, or catch the applauſes of the multi⯑tude; it will ſeduce him to deny the moſt momentous truths, to laugh at the moſt ſa⯑cred obligations, to propagate the moſt perni⯑cious maxims, that he may appear ſuperior to the vulgar. Generoſity is an amiable temper: but the man who has allowed the generoſity of his nature to lead him into profuſion, will ſoon become guilty of all the vices which ſeem neceſſary for retrieving his diſtreſſed cir⯑cumſtances, and will find his heart embittered againſt mankind, by the ingratitude of thoſe on whom he injudiciouſly laviſhed his favours. When ſuch faults of temper as theſe can be⯑get ſo many and ſo heinous vices, it is ſurely needleſs to trace out the innumerable progeny of thoſe turns of temper which tend ſtill more ſtrongly to multiply crimes: every page, for inſtance, of the hiſtory of mankind is full of the enormities of all different kinds, which [254] have ſprung from the love of power degene⯑rated into boundleſs ambition; and the experi⯑ence of all ages has verified the apoſtle's aſſer⯑tion, that the love of money is the root of all evil ^*.

BUT it deſerves to be particularly remarked, that as ſoon as the miſgovernment of natural temper has ſubjected a man to one predominant or ruling vice, he is no longer proof againſt even ſuch vices as are in themſelves moſt oppo⯑ſite to that very temper. To a perſon who is under the dominion of any one vice, mere temper is not a ſecurity againſt any crime. Every one's obſervation will ſupply him with inſtances of perſons who, being engaged in one vicious courſe, have by it been led into ſins moſt contrary to their nature, and at the thought of which they would have ſhuddered, if their darling ſin had not demanded them, and produced inſenſibility to their baſeneſs; with inſtances of the ſoft and gentle being brought to act with cruelty, and even to venture upon murder; of the benevolent and kind-hearted labouring to bring ruin upon thoſe who hap⯑pened to ſtand in the way of ſome unlawful project; of the generous, in the proſecution of ſome bad deſign, ſtooping to the moſt ſor⯑did [255] actions; of the candid and open betrayed into ſchemes of artifice, diſſimulation, and falſhood; of the timid ruſhing forward into the moſt dangerous crimes. Hence a reflection which is often made, and is ſo obvious as to occur to the leaſt diſcerning, of a perſon who has become addicted to any vice, that it has changed his very nature.

THUS the man who abandons himſelf to that one vice which ariſes from the corruption of his natural temper, is from that moment in danger of every ſin. Every predominant vice requires as great a number of other vices to be ſubſervient to it in the courſe of a wicked life, as the miniſters whom any tyrant can ſtand in need of, to be the inſtruments of his cruelty, rapacity, and luſts. In conſequence of indulging that vice which ſuits his particu⯑lar temper, the ſinner becomes polluted with many acts of almoſt all ſins, and depraved by confirmed habits of very many ſins. By be⯑ing like a city without walls, deſtitute of de⯑fence againſt any ſin, he becomes like a city broken down, reduced to ruins, deſolated, un⯑inhabited, and uninhabitable; and, as the prophet foretold of ancient Babylon, wild beaſts of the deſert lie there, and their houſes are full of doleful creatures, and owls dwell there, and ſatyrs dance there, and the wild beaſts of [256] the iſlands cry in their deſolate houſes, and dra⯑gons in their pleaſant palaces ^*: every thing re⯑gular, fair, and worthy is deſtroyed out of his heart, he is filled with all iniquity.

AFTER the detail which has been given of the conſequences of our neglecting to govern our natural temper, can it be neceſſary to uſe many words for diſſuading us from the neg⯑lect? Can any of you think of pleading your temper as an excuſe for any vice? Do you not ſee that becauſe your temper leans to that par⯑ticular vice, you ought for that very reaſon to guard againſt it with the greater anxiety and care? On that ſide your danger is moſt im⯑minent, and therefore to that ſide your quickeſt and your moſt conſtant vigilance ſhould be di⯑rected. Can you imagine that God requires you not to employ all the care that is neceſſary for governing your natural temper? To ima⯑gine it, were to ſuppoſe that he gives every man allowance to live in the practice of ſome one ſin; for every peculiarity of temper in⯑dulged without controul, it has been clearly ſhewn, terminates naturally and inevitably, in a correſpondent vice. Nay, to imagine it, were to ſuppoſe that God has granted unlimited permiſſion to commit all ſins in ſome particu⯑lar [257] ſituations: for there is no ſin, which the predominant vice ſpringing from the indul⯑gence of a man's natural temper, may not at times demand. Such imaginations are abſurd and impious; and therefore it muſt be true, that God requires each of us to rule his own ſpirit, to reſtrain and regulate the prevailing bias of his nature. The work is difficult, very difficult: but ſince it is a neceſſary and im⯑portant work, its difficulty ought only to aug⯑ment our care and diligence in performing it. Its difficulty will be no excuſe for our neglect⯑ing it; it only renders it a very ſubſtantial part of our probation and moral diſcipline. In ſpite of our greateſt care and our moſt aſſiduous application, the natural temper will, I fear, ſtart forth now and then into vice; the mer⯑ciful God, who knoweth our frame, and re⯑membereth that we are duſt ^†, will doubtleſs reckon this among the infirmities of our na⯑ture, to which he extends his paternal pity; but it will be only with reſpect to thoſe who ſincerely exert themſelves in oppoſing and ſub⯑duing it: thoſe who beſtow no pains upon it, he will hold to be without excuſe, and to them he will impute all the corruption and all the crimes which ariſe from the miſgovern⯑ment of their temper. In this as in every [258] other caſe, God's mercy is great to the failings of the upright, but he ſhoweth no mercy to any wicked tranſgreſſors. Can you think without horror, of the baſeneſs of thoſe mul⯑tiplied vices with which the habitual miſgo⯑vernment of your natural temper muſt in time overſpread your ſouls? Can you think without terror of the accumulated guilt of all theſe vices, and of the puniſhment to which they muſt expoſe you? Poſſeſſed and actuated by theſe emotions, be rouſed to every exertion for removing the faulty propenſity of your nature. It is like a ſubtle poiſon pervading all the powers of your ſouls, mixing itſelf with all your ſentiments and actions, and infecting them; it envenoms the foundation, and viti⯑ates all the iſſues of life. While you neglect to govern your natural temper, all your en⯑deavours to avoid or to mortify the vices which ſpring from it, will be but like lopping off a few twigs, which the vigour of the root will enable quickly to grow again, perhaps ſtronger and more luxuriant than before: it is only by ſetting yourſelves at once to govern it, to rec⯑tify all its perverſities, that you can lay the axe to the root of the tree, and effectually kill all the branches. Thus ſhall we in the eaſieſt and moſt effectual manner, by the grace of God, render our hearts pure, our conduct blame⯑leſs, conſiſtent, and uniform, and ourſelves [259] acceptable to him, and fit for the future ſtate of perfection and happineſs. How we ought to govern our temper, ſo as to anſwer this im⯑portant purpoſe, ſhall be explained in the next diſcourſe.

SERMON XI. THE MANNER OF GOVERNING THE NATURAL TEMPER.

THAT men's natural tempers are by a multitude of cauſes rendered infinitely various; and that every man's governing his own temper is abſolutely neceſſary in order to prevent his being by it precipitated, not only into the vices which ſuit it moſt, but alſo, by means of them, into almoſt every vice, and conſequently is his indiſpenſible duty, has been already ſhewn, in two diſ⯑courſes. It remains on this ſubject, and ſhall be the buſineſs of this diſcourſe, to ſhew, how this duty ought to be performed; to explain, what is implied in the government of the na⯑tural temper, or in a man's having rule over his own ſpirit.

[262]IT implies not, that a man deſtroy his pe⯑culiar temper. It is the buſineſs of govern⯑ment, not to exterminate the ſubjects, but to direct, to animate, and to reſtrain them pro⯑perly. To extirpate one's natural temper, is impoſſible. It is a diſtinguiſhing character, impreſſed on every ſoul by the hand of the Almighty, which the power of man can no more eraſe, than it can eſ [...]ace the diſtinctive characters of the ſeveral kinds of plants and animals, and reduce them all to one kind.

IF it were poſſible for a man to deſtroy his peculiar temper, it would not be neceſſary, it would be even pernicious. It is for the beſt purpoſes, that the all-wiſe God hath diſtri⯑buted among mankind ſo great a diverſity of tempers: could we deſtroy that diverſity, all theſe purpoſes would be defeated. The beau⯑tiful variety which at preſent prevails among the human ſpecies, would diſappear; an in⯑ſipid ſameneſs of character would ſucceed. Men would no longer be diſpoſed to different purſuits and manners of acting, nor fitted for uniting cloſely in ſociety: all would act in the ſame manner, each would be fit only for ſoli⯑tude or for independence; all the delights and all the benefits of ſocial connexion and ſocial commerce would be at an end.

[263]AMONG all the varieties of temper which men poſſeſs, there is not one inconſiſtent with virtue, there is not one which duty requires us to endeavour to extirpate. We are apt to con⯑ſider ſome turns of natural temper as in them⯑ſelves virtuous or vicious. The reaſon is, that the affections from whoſe predominance ſome tempers reſult, are naturally friendly to virtue, and lead to it when they are cheriſhed; and thoſe in the predominance of which other tempers conſiſt, tend moſt directly to vice, and lead to it whenever they are indulged. The former tempers, ſuch for inſtance as hold of the benevolent affections, are in themſelves deſirable and amiable; the latter, ſuch for example as proceed from anger, or from any of the ſelfiſh principles, are diſagreeable, ren⯑der the practice of ſome virtues difficult, and put men in great danger of becoming vicious. Our proneneſs to run into the miſtake is the greater, becauſe the names given to tempers of the one kind often imply their improve⯑ment into virtue, and the names given to thoſe of the other kind expreſs that turpitude which belongs to them only when they have degenerated into vice. But as the former, conſidered only as natural biaſſes, have no real virtue, ſo the latter, conſidered in the ſame light, are not really vicious. It is an unhap⯑pineſs to be marked with them, but it is not [264] ſinful in itſelf. They are very liable to abuſe; and the abuſe of them is ſinful: but the beſt natural temper may likewiſe be abuſed; and the abuſe of it too is ſinful.

BUT though it be neither poſſible nor ne⯑ceſſary to extirpate the natural temper, it is both poſſible and neceſſary to govern it. We every day meet with perſons who, from good breed⯑ing, or from prudence, can diſguiſe their tem⯑per and keep it from ſhewing itſelf, not on one occaſion, but on many occaſions and through a long courſe of time; could not, then, better principles enable them to correct it? We ac⯑tually ſee ſome perſons who have corrected very bad natural tempers, to a great degree: their cloſeſt and moſt intimate friends perceive little ſtarts of them on particular emergences; but the general tenor of their behaviour retains no veſtige of their conſtitutional fault of tem⯑per; moſt of their acquaintance can ſcarcely believe that ever they were ſubject to it. A phyſiognomiſt pretended to diſcover by his art, that the great Athenian philoſopher Socrates was addicted to vices ſo oppoſite to his whole conduct and character, that all who knew him were diſpoſed to ridicule the pretenſions of the phyſiognomiſt as abſurd: but, to their aſtoniſhment, Socrates declared, that he was, by his conſtitutional biaſs, prone to all the vices [265] which had been imputed to him, and that it was only by philoſophy that he had got the better of them. Would it not be ſhameful, if many Chriſtians could not make a ſimilar declaration? By the power of Chriſtian prin⯑ciples, the government of the natural temper may certainly be carried to a great height of perfection. Let us conſider what it implies, and carefully ſet ourſelves to practiſe it. The government of our peculiar temper may be com⯑prehended in three particulars,—that we reſtrain it from breaking out into ſin,—that we render it ſubſervient to the practice of virtue,—and that we incorporate it with all our virtues.

1. THE firſt object of a man's care, in ruling his own ſpirit, is to reſtrain his natural bias, ſo that it may not become vicious, or lead him into ſin. The leaſt that can be incumbent on us, is to keep it within ſuch bounds that it may continue innocent: but even this will be very difficult. The natural temper may be compared to a conſtitutional proneneſs to any bodily diſtemper, which it is poſſible to pre⯑vent from actually breaking out into that diſ⯑temper, or at leaſt from breaking out into other than ſhort and moderate fits of it, con⯑ſiſtent with an habitual ſtate of health: but this can be obtained only by conſtant attention to the conſtitution, by unintermitted care to [266] obſerve a regimen fit to counteract it; if it be in the leaſt degree neglected the diſtemper will break out with violence, and become mortal. In like manner, to prevent our natural temper from bringing us under the dominion of thoſe fins which are ſuitable to it, will require the moſt intenſe and unwearied diligence in oppoſing every irregular tendency, and reſtraining every blameable exertion of that temper, in avoiding every action which can confirm it, and every object and opinion which can increaſe its faulty bias, and in purſuing ſuch a conduct, cheriſhing ſuch opinions, and dwelling upon ſuch ob⯑jects, as are fit to wear off that bias. Dili⯑gence in all this, is neceſſary for our avoiding every vice, but it is peculiarly neceſſary for our avoiding that ruling vice to which our conſtitution makes us to lean moſt ſtrongly.

EVERY paſſion and affection is weak and pli [...]ble in the moment of its birth. Had we al⯑ways recollection enough to obſerve, and reſo⯑lution enough to check its firſt tendency to ir⯑regularity, our victory over it would be eaſy. But if we let ſlip this favourable moment, it will ſoon be able to carry us wherever it pleaſes. When thou fitteſt to eat, ſays Solomon, put a knife to thy throat, if thou be a man given to appetite ^*. By the careful obſervation of this [267] rule, by oppoſing the firſt riſing of the ſen⯑ſual appetite, the man who is moſt ſtrong⯑ly turned to pleaſure, would become capable of abſtaining from every exceſs, and from every forbidden ſpecies of enjoyment. If we could mark the inſtant in which the deſire of riches or of honours begins to render us uneaſy in the want of them, and to ſuggeſt improper methods of purſuing them; the in⯑ſtant in which pride begins to ſwell the heart, malevolence to imbitter the ſpirit, ſociability to throw off the reſtraints of virtue, deſire to grow up into rapacity or carefulneſs, and hope into preſumption, laughter to become mad ^*, ſorrow to degenerate into dejection, or fear into deſpondence; the inſtant in which reſerve verges towards ſullenneſs, in which modeſty makes us think of omitting what our ſoul ap⯑proves, in which we feel an inclination to re⯑ſiſt evidence by which we are convinced, or to ſtrive to believe what we cannot perceive to be proved, or to perſiſt in a courſe which we ſee good reaſon to alter: if we could ſeize and improve that inſtant, we ſhould effectually pre⯑vent our natural turn of temper from betraying us into ſin. Even they who are far from go⯑verning it as they ought, may be convinced of this from their own experience: the moſt haſty ſpirits, for example, may perhaps recollect [268] ſome rare occaſions on which they have watched the beginnings of their anger, prevented its boiling in their hearts, and recovered their compoſure as ſoon it was diſturbed; the ſame care conſtantly employed, would enable them to conquer it, and preſerve them from all the outrages into which it has hurried them at other times. Conſtantly to obſerve and cor⯑rect the firſt tendency of the predominant paſ⯑ſion to evil, would be to kill the ſeeds of all its congenial vices, it would be to pluck out the right eye, and to cut off the right hand ^*.

WHEN this is neglected, when the ruling paſſion is allowed to become in any degree ir⯑regular, it works within the ſoul, it fixes the imagination on the attractions of its object, and from the contemplation of it draws nouriſh⯑ment and acquires ſtrength. Then it ſtruggles for exertion. To prevent its exertion will re⯑quire more reſolute and vigorous efforts than would have been ſufficient to check it before it was ſo far indulged. But their difficulty is not greater than the neceſſity of employing them is urgent. If ſelfiſhneſs has already prompted thee to deviſe an unrighteous plan for gratifying it, and to wiſh for an opportunity of executing it; if thine heart has already de⯑clined [269] to the ways of a ſtrange woman ^*, and thou haſt luſted after her beauty in thine heart ^†; if wrath has already raged like a tempeſt in a breaſt, and torn thee with the deſire of hurting the perſon who had provoked it; if the gaiety of thy heart has already riſen into levity ready to overleap the bounds of decency or to ſport with ſacred things; if thy prevailing paſſion, whatever it be, has already met with inward indulgence, recollect thyſelf immediately, thou haſt no time to loſe, thou art on the brink of the precipice, in one moment thou muſt either retreat, or tumble down. Even after the pre⯑vailing paſſion has been heedleſsly ſuffered to operate ſo far, it may ſometimes be checked and ſubdued by a bold and reſolute effort ſeaſonably exerted.

IF we can even rein in our ruling paſſion be⯑fore it has broken out into overt acts of vice, it will be of great importance for our obtaining the command of it. Every outward action ſtrength⯑ens the inward principle from which it pro⯑ceeds; if we indulge ourſelves in vicious ac⯑tions dictated by our ruling paſſion, each of them will give it new vigour, and, aided by our natural proclivity to it, they will quickly render it habitually vicious, and almoſt irre⯑ſiſtible. [270] Is thy heart prone to pride? High looks, lofty eyes, haughty words, ſtately car⯑riage, inſulting actions, will render thee con⯑tinually more prone to it. Is thy natural pro⯑penſity to anger? Haſty words, bitter taunts, outrageous violence will increaſe the propen⯑ſity. But abſtinence from all ſuch evil actions as fall in with your natural temper, will be the beginning of your victory over it; deprived of the nouriſhment which it would have drawn from them, it will gradually be weakened; your abſtinence will become continually eaſier; and by perſiſting in it, your temper will loſe all its tendency to vice.

OUR ſeveral paſſions and affections are ex⯑cited by the preſence or by the lively, concep⯑tion of their objects; they are enflamed by our entertaining flattering opinions of their objects. The frequent preſence of theſe objects, the dwelling upon theſe opinions, cannot fail to ſtrengthen our ſeveral paſſions, and, wherever the ſtrength of a paſſion is faulty, to render it irregular and vicious. The greater our pro⯑penſity to any paſſion, the more quickly will it become irregular. If therefore we would re⯑ſtrain our predominant paſſion, we muſt be at the greateſt pains to avoid the objects, the opi⯑nions, the imaginations, which are favourable to its growth. Haſt thou a propenſity to ex⯑ceſs? [271] Look not thou upon the wine when it is red, when it giveth his colour to the cup, when it moveth itſelf aright ^*. Is thy conſtitutional bias to impurity and luſt? Look not on a wo⯑man till thou haſt luſted after her ^†. Doſt thou feel in thyſelf any tendency to a narrow and contracted ſpirit? Let not thy heart ſuggeſt to thee that wealth is precious, let not thy fancy magnify the advantages of riches; wilt thou ſet thine eyes on that which is not? for riches cer⯑tainly make themſelves wings, they flee away as an eagle towards heaven ^‡. Wouldſt thou re⯑ſtrain thy ruling paſſion? Learn firſt to go⯑vern thy ſenſes and thine imagination.

IN order to reſtrain our ruling paſſion, it will often be neceſſary, ſtudiouſly to turn our attention to ſuch objects, and to accuſtom our⯑ſelves to ſuch actions, as are moſt contradictory to it. Art thou conſtitutionally gloomy? Turn thy thoughrs to the ſmiling ſcenes of nature, the chearing views of providence, and the gladdening proſpects of religion. Art thou too much inclined to gaiety and giddineſs? Force thyſelf to frequent contemplation of every thing that is awful in religion, and to the frequent performance of ſerious exerciſes. Art thou apt to become too fond of pleaſure? [272] Deny thyſelf even ſuch gratifications as are lawful. Art thou naturally indolent? Pre⯑ſcribe to thyſelf vigorous and continued exer⯑tion in ſome laudable employment. When a twig has long been bent one way, it cannot be made ſtraight, without being for ſome time bent the contrary way.

THE vices to which the natural temper gives us a propenſity, are thoſe which we ſhall find the greateſt difficulty in conquering; and which, after many defeats, will moſt fre⯑quently revolt. The laſt vices which a good man is able to ſubdue, are his conſtitutional vices; he cannot mortify them perfectly in this mortal ſtate: after all his pains, they now and then prevail againſt him; they are his frailties, from the incurſions of which he can never be altogether ſecure. When Peter was a young Chriſtian, he betrayed the timidity of his tem⯑per by denying his Lord: after he had made great proficience in the Chriſtian life, he with⯑drew from the gentile converts, and ſeparated himſelf, fearing them which were of the circum⯑ciſion ^*. He had often, in the interval, diſ⯑played a noble courage: but the contrary diſ⯑poſition had a foundation in his temper, and was ready to break out on particular occaſions. [273] Good men fall into other ſins, only before a violent temptation, or by being very much off their guard: but the beſt men, by the leaſt failure in circumſpection, or on a very weak temptation, ſometimes fall into particular acts of thoſe ſins which ſuit their natural temper; the temptation to them is ever preſent, it lurks within, it is in the heart itſelf. We ſhould not for this reaſon give indulgence to ſuch ſins, or ſuffer ourſelves to think favourably of them: whenever we fall into them, we ſhould repent deeply: that we may not have occaſion often to repent of them, we ſhould direct our ſtricteſt attention to them, and employ our moſt ſtrenuous endeavours againſt them, and thus, if human infirmity permits not our avoid⯑ing them wholly, render our commiſſion of them leſs frequent every day. A propenſity to them is the weak part of the fortreſs; it needs a double guard. To preſerve us from theſe vices, is one of the chief purpoſes for which the grace of God is given; a victory over them, is one of the greateſt triumphs of divine grace in the heart of man: grace to conquer them ſhould be one of the greateſt ſub⯑jects of our prayers; and we ſhould improve the grace of God to this purpoſe, with the ut⯑moſt diligence. The generality neglect to go⯑vern their natural temper, even ſo far as to reſtrain it from becoming vicious, or productive [274] of vicious actions: but the government of the temper, the ruling of a man's own ſpirit, im⯑plies much more than this.

2. IT implies, that every man render his temper ſubſervient to the practice of virtue and holineſs. As every natural temper, even the moſt amiable, may degenerate into vice, ſo on the contrary, every temper, even that which becomes moſt diſagreeable by the ſmalleſt cor⯑ruption of it, may be made to contribute to the virtue of the heart. To make our natural temper to contribute to this, is an important part of our duty in governing it: it is the bu⯑ſineſs of government, not only to reſtrain the ſubjects from crimes, but alſo to encourage them in right practice, and to direct and regulate their ſeveral occupations.

EVERY natural temper properly managed and improved, may give us an advantage, ei⯑ther for the practice of ſome particular vir⯑tue, or for the general ſecurity of our virtue.—Some turns of temper are naturally and ſtrongly allied to virtue. It is ſcarcely neceſſary to obſerve, becauſe it is ſo plain, that all the tempers which are founded in a predominance of the kind affections, are directly favourable to the love of mankind, to all the important virtues of benevolence and charity, and render the practice of every ſocial duty eaſy and plea⯑ſant; [275] or that they introduce a habit of ſoul congruous to the love of God, as well as to that inward ſerenity which characterizes every grace, and renders it doubly amiable.

OTHER turns of temper are, as it were, neutral between virtue and vice: in perceiving how theſe may be rendered ſerviceable to vir⯑tue, there is little difficulty. The keen and eager temper, in which deſire is the chief in⯑gredient, when directed to holineſs as its ob⯑ject, will render a man ſpirited in the practice of it, and ſuſceptible of a ſtrong impulſe from its joys and rewards. The contrary temper, in which averſion prevails, tends to cheriſh a deep abhorrence of ſin, which is one of the ſtrongeſt and moſt permanent ſecurities againſt the indulgence of it. Both theſe tempers may become equally conducive to holineſs, by prompting us, the one to avoid evil, the other to do good. The temper of confidence which hope produces, will encourage the heart to aſpire after the moſt excellent attainments, and to attempt the moſt arduous improvements in virtue. It ſeems to have been eminently the temper of the apoſtle Paul; in the ſchool of Gamaliel, it led him to profit in the Jews religion above many his equals in his own na⯑tion ^*; in the Chriſtian church, it made him [276] to ſtrive that he might not be a whit behind the very chiefeſt apoſtles, but in labours more abundant ^*; his diſcourſe to the elders of Ephe⯑ſus ^† bears many ſtrong marks of it; in all his writings and in all his actions we may read his ambition to reach forth unto thoſe things which are before ^‡. The oppoſite temper, like⯑wiſe, of caution and timidity has ſo many pe⯑culiar advantages, is ſo friendly to circum⯑ſpection and watchfulneſs, and conſequently to that holineſs which, without theſe, cannot be ſteadily and blameleſsly practiſed in this ſtate of trial and difficulty, that the wiſe man ſays, Happy is the man that feareth alway ^‖. When a chearful heart is united to a virtuous cha⯑racter, it favours the improvement of it, it is its ornament, it gives a grace to all its exer⯑tions, it renders it amiable and attractive. Neither is the contrary temper without its own advantages; when it is duly regulated, it pro⯑duces a ſeriouſneſs in religion, which is ve⯑nerable and commanding, and proves a pre⯑ſervative againſt many ſins. A high tone of the paſſions, a ſenſibility, ardour, or activity of ſpirit, prepares the ſoul for entering into the raptures of devotion, for feeling the fer⯑vours of godly zeal, for ſhewing eminent ala⯑crity in every duty. This temper led John [277] to ſin, on one occaſion, by wiſhing for fire from heaven to conſume the Samaritans ^*, and on another occaſion, by intriguing for one of the chief places in the kingdom of Chriſt ^†: but it likewiſe cheriſhed that holy vehemence in religion, which entitled him to be ſirnamed, A ſon of thunder ^‡; and it gave his benevo⯑lence that conſtant warmth, that benign ar⯑dour which is conſpicuous in all his writings. A temper oppoſite to this, may be improved into a ſettled compoſure and calm equability in the love and practice of holineſs. A reſolute ſpirit will render it the eaſier to be ſteadfaſt in in our adherence to goodneſs. A pliable and variable temper is, to a certain degree, requiſite for our being ready to correct what we have done amiſs. But it is unneceſſary to enter far⯑ther into particulars on this head.

IT is more needful to obſerve, becauſe it is not ſo obvious, that even thoſe turns of temper which are moſt nearly allied to vice, and which are with the greateſt difficulty kept from running into it, may notwithſtanding be rendered ſubſervient to virtue. Pride, for in⯑ſtance, may be improved into true dignity of character, into a noble and habitual diſdain of every thought and action that is mean or [278] baſe. An ambitious temper needs only to be fixed upon its propereſt objects, in order to animate us in the indefatigable purſuit of that genuine honour which reſults from the appro⯑bation of God and from the glories of heaven, and which will be beſtowed only on the righteous, and in proportion to their righteouſ⯑neſs. A temper which, by being neglected, would become blameably ſelfiſh and contracted, will, by being governed, become eminently conducive to prudence, and an incitement to diligence in that courſe of holineſs which is our real wiſdom and our beſt intereſt. Even that temper in which the malevolent affec⯑tions tend to preponderate, the ſour, the mo⯑roſe, the iraſcible, may be rendered ſubſervient to our virtue and improvement: if it be curbed ſo ſtrongly as not to lead us to hurt others, or to wiſh for their hurt, it will exert itſelf in a keen indignation againſt vice, in a rigorous purity of heart, in a blameleſs ſeverity of manners; and it will make us inacceſſible to many temptations which have great power over ſoft, and gentle, and ſocial minds.

THUS every temper may be rendered pro⯑ductive of ſome advantages for the practice of virtue; and it is our duty to conſider what are the advantages which our particular temper gives us, and to improve them with care.

[279]3. WE ought not only to render our pecu⯑liar temper ſubſervient to virtue, but alſo to incorporate it with all our virtues.

WHETHER a man's character be good or bad, his natural temper will run through it, if it be not violently hindered, and will tinge it with a correſpondent complexion. Both the particular vices to which different ſinners addict themſelves, and the particular manners in which they practiſe the ſame vices, are in a great meaſure determined by their different tempers. The grace of God does not extin⯑guiſh the diverſity of tempers; it only purifies and rectifies each of them. There is a great variety in the make of human bodies, even ſuch as have nothing faulty or diſproportioned; one is formed for ſtrength, another for agility; the beauty of one conſiſts in dignity, that of another in elegance: there are ſtill greater varieties in men's inward characters, even when all of them are virtuous. In diſpoſitions and manners no-wiſe blameable, there may be great diſſimilitude. Characters equally good are yet never the very ſame. No virtue is wholly wanting in any good character: but one virtue or another predominates according to the original propenſity of the ſoul, and directs and ſhapes the exertion of all the reſt; and according to the ſame propenſity, any one virtue is exer⯑ciſed and practiſed in a different manner and [280] ſtile by different men. Survey the good cha⯑racters with which you are acquainted; you will find them diſtinguiſhed in both theſe re⯑ſpects; no two of them are perfectly alike. All the good men whoſe lives the ſcripture has recorded, diſplay different forms of holineſs derived from their diſſimilar tempers. Job is characterized by patience; Moſes by meekneſs; David is high-ſpirited, his devotion is fervent, his virtues are all heroic; Solomon has a ſofter ſoul, turned for exerciſing virtue in the mild arts of peace; John and Paul are both warm, fervent, and affectionate, but the warmth of the former is ſweet and gentle, that of the latter bold and enterprizing. To the influ⯑ence of the natural temper informing and faſhioning the whole character and conduct, are owing all the varieties of characters truly virtuous: without that influence they could differ only in the degree of their goodneſs; in all other reſpects they would be preciſely ſimilar.

As every man thus derives from nature a diſtinct perſonal character, he ought to adhere to it, and to preſerve its peculiar decorum. He can preſerve it only by maintaining his own natural temper ſo far as it is innocent, and acting always in conformity to it. We ought to comply with and follow our own [281] particular and proper nature in the caſt of our whole behaviour; to violate it, will always be of bad conſequence. Equability, conſiſt [...]nce, and uniformity in the whole tenor of our lives is of very great importance; but it can⯑not be obtained, if we endeavour to put on the nature of another man, and to throw off our own. In whatever inſtances we attempt it, our behaviour cannot be natural or grace⯑ful; that will always become every man moſt, which is moſt his own. Every depar⯑ture from a man's own perſonal character is an affectation which will be either ridiculous or diſguſting. It is like the painting of the face, it diſguiſes the genuine complexion of the ſoul. It is like altering the natural caſt of the body by running into diſtorted attitudes and motions. It is as if, in ancient games, the brawny wreſtler had engaged only in the courſe, and the man who was fitted for the race had endeavoured to ſignalize himſelf by feats of ſtrength. A man naturally ſedate and grave, attempting gaiety and frolic, be⯑comes an aukward buſſoon; and a man natu⯑rally chearful, putting on gravity and ſeve⯑verity, becomes no leſs aukwardly moroſe; each of them conſidered at one time, forms a perfect contraſt to himſelf as he appears at another time. The man of a mild, gentle, timorous, flexible ſpirit, by chooſing a walk [282] in life which ſuits him, will be truly amia⯑ble; but ſhould he ſet up for a bold reformer, or intrude into a buſtling ſphere, or ruſh for⯑ward into dangerous enterpriſes, he would quickly loſe himſelf, and betray his weakneſs. In a word, as every violation of a man's pecu⯑liar temper is, in its own way, diſagreeable, ungraceful, and pernicious, it is an important part of the government of the temper, to per⯑form all our duties, and to cultivate and ex⯑erciſe all our virtues in congruity to it, and thus to maintain the decency of our perſonal and diſtinctive character.

To conclude this ſubject; if we would rule our own ſpirit, if we would govern our natural temper, let us reſtrain it from degenerating into vice, or leading us into ſin: let us take every advantage which it can give us for the improvement of our hearts, and the practice of our duty: by preſerving it and adhering to it ſo far as it is not vicious, let us render our whole character natural and uniform, and all our conduct graceful and conſiſtent. The means of governing our peculiar temper are the ſame with the means of performing every other duty, reſolution, congruous exerciſes, watchfulneſs, and prayer. But all theſe means we muſt in this caſe employ with peculiar care and diligence, becauſe it is a matter of peculiar difficulty to controul and regulate our predo⯑minant [283] diſpoſition. Its importance is, how⯑ever, in proportion to its difficulty. If we can effectually accompliſh this, it will render it the eaſier to ſubdue all our other irregular paſſions. They act in ſubordination to it, and derive a great part of their ſtrength from it; and to ſubdue it, is like cutting off the gene⯑ral, who was the ſpirit of the battle, and on whoſe fall the army breaks and takes to flight. By cheriſhing our natural temper when re⯑fined from all perverſity, we ſhall facilitate the practice of virtue, we ſhall render our vir⯑tues truly our own, conſiſtent, becoming, and graceful; we ſhall obtain that inward tran⯑quillity, ſatisfaction, and ſelf-enjoyment which attends a natural ſtate and behaviour; and when we are removed from this world, we ſhall find in our Father's houſe manſions ^* pe⯑culiarly adapted to our character, and ſhall be fit to fill our proper place in the heavenly ſo⯑ciety, to the beauty, perfection, harmony, and happineſs of which a variety of characters, ſtations, and employments doubtleſs will con⯑tribute.

SERMON XII. VIRTUOUS SOLICITUDE.

A SOLICITUDE to perform our duty, an anxious concern to practiſe holineſs at all times, and to make a conſtant progreſs in it, is an eſſential ingredient in a virtuous temper, a neceſſary qualification of our obedience, and a powerful means of our becoming active and ſteadfaſt in it. This ſolicitude is expreſſed ſtrongly, though in very few words, in the text. The nature of the pſalm gives great advantage for a lively and forcible expreſſion of it. It is a pious meditation of David, in which he gives utterance to the ſeveral work⯑ings of his heart in a variety of ſituations, and particularly to his ſentiments and emotions re⯑ſpecting the law of God. In compariſon with the glowing pictures of character and manners, [286] to which ſuch a meditation gives ſcope, gene⯑ral maxims delivered in a ſpeculative diſcourſe, are cold and unaffecting. It introduces us at once into the receſſes of the pſalmiſt's heart, it diſplays all the movements of his ſoul, it ena⯑bles us to perceive and makes us to feel, how he thought and acted on every occaſion. By this means it, as it were, embodies a virtuous temper, and while it gives us the cleareſt con⯑ception of the nature of holineſs, at the ſame time ſtrikingly inculcates the love and practice of it. Nothing could, for inſtance, convey to us a diſtincter or a livelier ſenſe of earneſt ſolicitude to practiſe and improve in holineſs, than the warm wiſh which David expreſſes in my text; O that my ways were directed to keep thy ſtatutes! This ſhort exclamation diſcovers his inmoſt temper; it ſhows a ſoul burning with love to goodneſs, bent on the practice of it, panting after improvement in it, and riſing in fervent prayer to God for his aſſiſtance: and it expreſſes this temper with ſo great a force, that we can ſcarcely read his wiſh, without feeling our hearts diſpoſed to join in it. I propoſe to illuſtrate this temper, by pointing out the ſeveral particulars which are implied in it.

1. THE pſalmiſt's temper implies a lively ſenſe of the ſupreme importance of holineſs. A [287] ſenſe of this is the only proper foundation of ſolicitude to practiſe holineſs; and it is plainly expreſſed in the context. In it the pſalmiſt aſſerts the happineſs of virtue; bleſſed are the undefiled in the way, who walk in the way of the Lord: bleſſed are they that keep his teſtimo⯑nies, and that ſeek him with the whole heart ^*. He reflects that it is required by that God who has ſupreme authority over us; thou haſt com⯑manded us to keep thy precepts diligently ^†. Theſe views of holineſs impreſſed him with ſuch a ſenſe of its importance, as naturally dictated this earneſt wiſh, that his ways were directed to keep God's ſtatutes. And when he had formed this wiſh, he hugged it in his very heart; he exulted in the proſpect of the inward peace, ſelf-complacence, and joy, which the accompliſhment of it would give him; and by this proſpect he cheriſhed his wiſh and in⯑creaſed its ardour; then ſhall I not be aſhamed, when I have reſpect unto all thy commandments: I will praiſe thee with uprightneſs of heart, when I ſhall have learned thy righteous judgments ^‡.

IN whatever light we conſider holineſs, we may well be ſenſible of its importance. When we conſider it merely in relation to the ſenti⯑ments of our own hearts, it is of ſuch un⯑ſpeakable [288] conſequence, that, if we be deſtitute of it, if we be conſcious of our having lived in the violation of its laws, we cannot approve ourſelves, but muſt be aſhamed and deſpiſe ourſelves, in every moment of ſerious reflec⯑tion. Holineſs is of indiſpenſible obligation, for it is the law of the God who made us, the Sovereign of heaven and earth. It is the health of the ſoul, the balm of adverſity, the orna⯑ment of proſperity, the greateſt good of man, the happineſs both of the preſent life and of the future. The wiſe man eſtimates matters juſtly when he declares that to fear God, and keep his commandments, is the whole duty of man ^*.

BUT many of us ſeem to form a very dif⯑ferent judgment. If we ever think of the im⯑portance of keeping God's law, we think of it very ſeldom and very ſlightly: the thought ſinks not ſo deep as to touch the heart; it cer⯑tainly continues not ſo long nor recurs ſo often as to make a laſting impreſſion on the heart. Far from regarding holineſs as our chief, and, in compariſon, our only concern, we ſeem to think it leſs our concern than any thing be⯑ſides. A moment of guilty pleaſure, a few pence, the gratification of any appetite or paſ⯑ſion, ſeems to be, in our opinion, of greater [289] moment than doing the will of God; for it is preferred to it every day. No wond [...]r then that we are ſo indifferent, whether we do right or wrong, whether we improve or corrupt ourſelves. Without a deep and permanent ſenſe of the importance of virtue, as our dig⯑nity, our duty, and our intereſt, we cannot be ſolicitous to cultivate and practiſe it.

2. THE temper which the pſalmiſt ex⯑preſſes in the text, implies a ſettled love of goodneſs and hatred of iniquity. This is the natural conſequence of the former part of this temper. A juſt ſenſe of the importance of ho⯑lineſs cannot fail to attach our hearts to it; and it will not ſuffer us to be cold or lukewarm in our attachment. Thy word, ſays our pſal⯑miſt, is very pure, therefore thy ſervant loveth it. I hate vain thoughts, but thy law do I love. My ſoul hath kept thy teſtimonies, and I love them exceedingly ^*.

THE worſt of men cannot help approving virtue and diſapproving vice: but the approba⯑tion and diſapprobation of the wicked are only cool perceptions of the underſtanding. In the good man, theſe perceptions are improved into warm ſentiments of the heart, are made to [290] grow up into lively affections of love and ha⯑tred. A ſtrong conception of the beauty of holineſs, of the excellent nature and the happy conſequences of virtue enamours his ſoul, and makes him to feel all that David felt when he ſaid, O how love I thy law! it is my me⯑ditation all the day. How ſweet are thy words unto my taſte! yea, ſweeter than honey to my mouth. Through thy precepts I get underſtand⯑ing: therefore I hate every falſe way. There⯑fore I love thy commandments above gold, yea, above fine gold. Therefore I eſteem all thy pre⯑cepts concerning all things to be right; and I hate every falſe way ^*. Hatred of ſin is inſeparable from the love of holineſs; it is its counterpart, it is a different exertion of the very ſame affection. The more warmly we are affected by the excellence of virtue, the ſtronger ſenſe we muſt have of the baſeneſs of vice, the greater muſt be our abhorrence of it, the keener our indignation againſt it. A ſtrong affection to any object alway implies averſion to its contrary. If virtue be the darling of the heart, vice muſt be its deteſtation.

THESE principles rooted and cheriſhed in the ſoul, will neceſſarily promote virtuous ſo⯑licitude. Actuated by them, we cannot but [291] regret deeply every failure in our duty, every ſtain and depravity of our temper; we muſt long for deliverance from every remain of the body of ſin; we muſt be intent upon holineſs, and fired with a noble ardour in the practice of it.

3. THIS leads us on to obſerve, that the temper expreſſed in the text, includes a vigo⯑rous, conſtant, and prevailing deſire to keep God's ſtatutes. This is indeed the leading feature in that temper, it is the moſt obvious language of David's wiſh. It will naturally ſpring from a ſenſe of the importance of holi⯑neſs, and from love to it on account of its im⯑portance: and it is only when it ſprings from theſe that it can have either vigour or ſtability. When a wiſh that we were holy, ſprings up ſuddenly, as is too often the caſe, only from an occaſional fit of ſeriouſneſs, from accidental experience of ſome of the inconveniences of our vices, from the preſent depreſſion of adverſity, or from a momentary dread of the wrath of God, as from a ſeed dropt by chance in an improper or unprepared ſoil; no wonder that it is weak and puny, and quickly withers; for it has no ſound and healthy root. It muſt grow out of a warm love to goodneſs, elſe it cannot thrive. That it may thrive, and yield its proper fruits, it muſt be both ſtrong and conſtant.

[292]RARE and tranſient wiſhes for holineſs, however ardent, will be of ſmall avail. There are few of us, perhaps, who do not ſometimes wiſh, and wiſh earneſtly too, that we were better than we are. It is only the ſinner who is abandoned in his way, that never forms this wiſh. It now and then ſtarts up in the thoughtleſs ſons of pleaſure, in the midſt of their diſſipation; though it ſtays not long enough to preſerve them from going again into the houſe of a ſtrange woman ^*, or from ſeeking for mixt wine ^†, on the next oc⯑caſion. It ſometimes ſteals into the heart of the buſy worldling, though the cares of life baniſh it before it can excite him to labour ſtrenuouſly for the meat which endureth unto everlaſting life ^‡. Sinners of every claſs can⯑not help ſometimes wiſhing, their own ſouls know it, ſor deliverance from the power of ſin. Nay, all who have not proceeded far and perſiſted long in ſin, are at times w [...]ung with anguiſh, and in the bitterneſs of their ſouls groan heavily for reformation. But all their wiſhes and their groans are uſeleſs, becauſe they are not permanent and habitual.

ON the other hand, our deſires of virtue and improvement will not be ſufficient, though [293] they be conſtant, if they are not likewiſe ſtrong. A man may feel pretty conſtantly a faint deſire of doing good; but becauſe it is faint, it is therefore ineffectual. We ſome⯑times feel ſuch a deſire, even while we are committing ſin. At the very time when op⯑portunity invites, when temptation ſolicits, when appetite or paſſion prompts to an act of ſin, we yet do not run into it with full com⯑placence; there are deſires and wiſhes on the other ſide; they ſtruggle againſt the commiſſion of the ſin: but they are vanquiſhed by the ſuperior ſtrength of ſinſul inclination: yet they do not yield in ſilence; they complain, as it were, of the violence which they ſuffer; they make us to feel great reluctance againſt the ſin, even while they yield. When the act of ſin is over, the virtuous deſires revive: we are pierced with grief; we wiſh that we had not done it; we wiſh and pray that we may be more reſolute hereafter. But corrupt inclination ſoon begins again to riſe; it ſtrug⯑gles againſt the nobler wiſh for virtue: theſe oppoſite deſires poſſeſs the heart by turns; they ſometimes even occupy it together, and diſtract it. But on a new trial, the vicious deſire puts forth all its ſtrength: the virtuous wiſh is over⯑whelmed; in every trial it fails, for it has not vigour enough to actuate us uniformly, in oppoſition to vicious principles.

[294]DAVID'S concern to practiſe and improve in holineſs, was at once vigorous, and ſteady. He explicitly declares both its vehemence and its conſtancy; Behold, I have longed after thy precepts. My ſoul breaketh for the longing that it hath unto thy judgments at all times. I opened my mouth, and panted: for I longed for thy commandments ^*. Our deſires of virtue ſhould have ſo great life as to be able conſtantly to ſupport themſelves againſt all oppoſition, and to exert themſelves in ſpight of every difficulty. Bleſſed are they which do hunger and thirſt after righteouſneſs ^†: the appetites of hunger and thirſt will be ſatisfied with nothing but meat and drink, and they crave always till they g [...]t them; juſt ſo, our deſire to keep God's law, ought to be ſuch as will be ſatisfied with no⯑thing leſs than actually keeping it, and ſuch as will make our endeavours reſtleſs and inde⯑fatigable till we be conſcious that we have kept it.

4. THE temper of ſolicitude to keep God's ſtatutes, which David expreſſes in the text, implies a firm reſolution to keep them. That he was reſolved, he t [...]lls us explicitly when he ſays almoſt immediately after, I will keep thy ſtatutes ^‡. I have choſen the way of truth. I [295] will keep thy precepts with my whole heart ^*. Throughout the pſalm, he repeatedly declares his reſolution, in a great variety of terms. The deſire of being virtuous, naturally pro⯑duces a reſolution to practiſe virtue; and by this reſolution the deſire is, in its turn, con⯑firmed.

WE do not ſincerely deſire a thing, at moſt our deſire of it is very weak, if we at the ſame time reſolve not to do any thing for ob⯑taining it. A ſtrong deſire of what in any meaſure depends upon our own endeavours, quickly converts itſelf into a reſolution to pur⯑ſue it: the deſire is the reſolution in its be⯑ginning; the reſolution is the deſire riſen to maturity. When even tranſient wiſhes that they were better men, are accidentally excited in the wicked, they always produce, at leaſt for a moment, ſome deſign of becoming better men. The deſign proves abortive, becauſe the wiſhes were only tranſient. But were we earneſtly and habitually deſirous of becoming holy, we would be likewiſe ſincerely and con⯑ſtantly determined to practiſe holineſs. With⯑out a reſolution to do all we can to keep God's ſtatutes, an ardent deſire to keep them would be an abſolute abſurdity.

[296]As ſoon as the reſolution is formed, it ſup⯑ports and ſtrengthens the deſire. It preſents the object of the deſire in a new form fit to draw out that deſire with redoubled force; it ſets it before us as what we have reſolved that we will by any means obtain. I have ſaid that I would keep thy words. I have ſworn, and I will perform it, that I will keep thy righte⯑ous judgments ^*. The pſalmiſt's prayer in the text, expreſſes a ſoul already reſolved to practiſe virtue, and in conſequence of this con⯑cerned and ſolicitous to execute the reſolution. His reſolution was hearty and permanent; and therefore his ſolicitude was vehement and laſt⯑ing. But too often our reſolutions are neither vigorous nor habitual; and our ſolicitude muſt partake in their infirmity and languor. When a favourable opportunity of committing ſome darling ſin occurs, when a ſtrong temptation to it preſents itſelf, we diſcover that we have never made a determined choice of the ways of virtue, that we have been but half reſolved to walk in them, that reſolution has never taken faſt hold of us. For if our reſolution be at all remembered in the hour of difficulty, we find it feeble and impotent; it ſuffers it⯑ſelf to be explained away; we perſuade our⯑ſelves that it was not neceſſary to have formed [297] it with ſo great rigour and ſeverity, and that in this inſtance we may venture to counteract it. Enervated by theſe ſuggeſtions of corrupt paſſion, our good reſolutions yield; they vaniſh; and with them vaniſhes every deſire to do our duty. This deſire is again awakened; our reſolutions are renewed; and renewed ſtill again: but ſtill again they fail, and are for⯑gotten in the day of trial. Such fluctuation makes it plain that our reſolution was not firm. It ſprang not from a ſtable love of goodneſs, nor from a predominant deſire to practiſe it: and for that reaſon it begets no ſolicitude to carry it into execution. A hearty reſolution would be an unalterable choice of God's teſti⯑monies as our employment and our heritage for ever ^*.

5. THE pſalmiſt's temper which we are deſcribing, implies a prevailing bias of the whole ſoul towards virtuous practice. He de⯑clares explicitly that this was included in his temper; I have inclined mine heart to perform thy ſtatutes alway, even unto the end ^†. It is not enough that the will be fixt in a determi⯑nation to practiſe holineſs; the whole heart likewiſe, all the affections and ſprings of action, muſt acquire a continual bent and tendency [298] towards the practice of it. Till they have ac⯑quired this bent, our deſire of practiſing holi⯑neſs cannot ſettle into an uninterrupted ſoli⯑citude, but muſt often fail of producing its effect. The inclination of the heart to virtue ariſes partly from the reduction of vicious paſ⯑ſions, and partly from the vigour of good af⯑fections.

WHILE vicious paſſions retain ſo great a ſtrength as to render us often violently prone to ſin, they will often likewiſe make us to look upon our duty with averſion or regret; they will extinguiſh for a time the deſire of performing it, even though we be determined to perform it; and in the place of that deſire, they will inſpire wiſhes that we could in this inſtance diſpenſe with obedience to the law of God. Few of us, I fear, have made ſo great a progreſs in virtue, as not ſometimes to feel corrupt inclination ſtruggling in this manner againſt our beſt principles and reſolutions. We are, perhaps, determined not to indulge it: but it is ſo ſtrong that it almoſt overcomes us; it is by a ſort of force that principle and reſo⯑lution reſtrain us, unwilling and reluctant, from proceeding to the full indulgence of it. It is well if they reſtrain us by any means. God knows that in many caſes they cannot. But their needing to reſtrain us by force, by [299] ſo violent an exertion of their power, is a proof of the imperfection of our holineſs. Our heart is not yet enough formed to virtue, elſe [...]inful paſſion could not reſiſt ſo ſtoutly. In⯑deed, in this frail and feeble ſtate, irregular appetites and paſſions cannot be totally extir⯑pated; ſolicited by the preſence or the con⯑ception of their object, they will ſometimes riſe and labour for indulgence. But in the perſon who is reſolved and ſolicitous to ad⯑here to virtue, and habitually actuated by this reſolution and ſolicitude, irregular inclinations will be ſo often ch [...]ck [...]d, and ſo much accuſ⯑tomed to ſubmit, that whenever the virtuous principle begins to exert itſelf, they will, after a few languid efforts, yield without great re⯑luctance; in like manner as the moſt m [...]ttle⯑ſome horſe, by being [...]nured to the bit, readily obeys the gentleſt motion of the ſkilful ri⯑der.

AT the ſame time, all virtuous affections, being nouriſhed by the determined choice and love of the heart, and ſtrengthened by habitual practice conſequent there upon, will be rendered ſenſible, as it were, of their title to indul⯑gence, will riſe with conſidence, will be in a conſtant preparation and forwardneſs to exert themſelves, and will exert themſelves with alertneſs and vigour whenever they have op⯑portunity. [300] Thus ardent deſire of virtue, che⯑riſhed by love to it, and ſupported by a ſteady reſolution to practiſe it, will gradually pro⯑duce a propenſity to virtue, wear off the con⯑trary bias of depraved nature, and impreſs a predominant bent and tendency to run into the practice of every duty: and by this bent and tendency, the deſire of virtue and improve⯑ment will be ſtrengthened and ſecured of its accompliſhment; for it will be rendered natu⯑ral and congruous to the reigning temper of the ſoul.

6. FINALLY, the temper which the pſal⯑miſt here expreſſes, implies fervent deſire o [...] God's aſſiſtance in the practice of holineſs. He addreſſes his wiſh in a prayer to God; and in many paſſages of the pſalm, with declarations of his ſolicitude to do his duty, he joins pe⯑titions for aid from God in doing it. I will keep thy ſtatutes: O forſake me not utterly. Teach me, O Lord, the way of thy ſtatutes, and I ſhall keep it unto the end. Make me to go in the path of thy commandments, for therein do I delight. Incline my heart unto thy teſtimonies, and not to covetouſneſs. Behold, I have longed after thy precepts: quicken me in thy righteouſneſs. Conſider how I love thy precepts: quicken me, O Lord, according to thy loving-kindneſs. Let [301] thine hand help me, for I have choſen thy pre⯑cepts ^*.

THE weakneſs and the corruption of our nature render the aſſiſtance of God abſolutely neceſſary for our practiſing holineſs. A ſenſe of neceſſity is ſufficient to produce ardent de⯑ſires of that aſſiſtance, and earneſt wiſhes for it, in every perſon who regards and is attached to holineſs as his main concern. Had we in⯑deed no hope of obtaining it, our wiſhes muſt be weak and tranſient: deſire vaniſhes when we know it to be impoſſible that it ſhould be fulfilled; it ſoon becomes languid when its accompliſhment appears to be totally uncertain. But deſire is ſupported and invigorated by the proſpect of its being ſatisfied. Of aſſiſtance from the benignity of God, in practiſing that holineſs which is his delight, nature itſelf in⯑fuſes ſome degree of hope, and revelation gives us full aſſurances. If then we be not con⯑ſtantly concerned to obtain it, we cannot be ſenſi⯑ble of the infinite importance of holineſs, we can have no love to it, we can have neither deſire nor reſolution to adhere to it, we cannot have the ſmalleſt inclina [...]ion of heart to the practice of it. This temper would impel us with an ir⯑reſiſtible force to aſk the aids of divine grace; it would not ſuffer us at any time to aſk them [302] without a real deſire of them in our hearts; it would not ſuffer us to aſk them with only weak deſires. It would not ſuffer us to conti⯑nue long without exerting deſires of them; it would render our concern to be aſſiſted and ſtrengthened by God, conſtant and habitual. We ſtand in need of his aſſiſtance for doing every action of our lives in a right manner; let us not at the time of any action be void of the deſire of his aſſiſtance. In particular, whenever we find either a temptation or an in⯑clination to any ſin, whenever we meet with any difficulty in perceiving or adhering to our duty, l [...]t us then recollect ourſelves, and cheriſh and put forth deſire of aid from hea⯑ven. Let us diligently uſe all means of reli⯑gious worſhip and meditation, which God hath appointed for the communication of his grace to men: and whenever we uſe them, let it not be with indifference, let it be with fervent deſires of obtaining by them the influence [...] of divine grace. The grace of God alone [...] keep alive our ſolicitude to do his will, and preſerve it in continual vigour; and, as the tree naturally draws in the ſap which conduceth to its life and growth, that ſolicitude will foſter earneſt and habitual d [...]ſires of his grace to enable us to do his will.

[303]THUS, the pſalmiſt's prayer in the text is a fervent expreſſion of his ſolicitude to prac⯑tiſe and improve in holineſs. It diſplays a ſoul poſſeſſed with a deep ſenſe of the ſupreme importance of holineſs, with a prevailing love to it, with ſtrong and conſtant deſires of it; reſolved firmly to adhere to it, habitually prone and well-diſpoſed to its ſeveral duties, and earneſt to obtain all that aſſiſtance from God, which is neceſſary for holding up our go⯑ings in his ways ^*. Theſe are the ſentiments and diſpoſitions which, by their union, form that concern and ſolicitude to become holy, which ought to actuate us uniformly, which is an eſſential ingredient in a virtuous temper, and which will be one of the moſt powerful incitements to the cultivation of it. In every perſon who is not wholly deſtitute of holineſs, ſome degree of this ſolicitude muſt take place. No man can practiſe holineſs, whoſe heart is not ſet upon it as his buſineſs. The beſt of us are defective in virtuous ſolicitude; and therefore our holineſs is ſo incomplete. A juſt and permanent concern to be better, would quickly carry us forward to the perfection of goodneſs.

THAT you may underſtand this holy ſoli⯑citude ſtill more clearly, that you may judge [304] the more certainly whether you are actuated by it, that you may have the ſtronger ſenſe of its moment and utility, I ſhall conclude this diſcourſe with pointing out, what ſort of con⯑duct and behaviour will naturally reſult from the inward temper which we have deſcribed. Is it not plain, that the man whoſe ſoul is full of love to virtue, and reſolved, anxious, and inclined to practiſe it and excel in it, as long as he acts under the influence of this temper, will be indefatigable in ſtudying his duty, and careful, diligent, inflexible in doing what he knows to be his duty? Does not ardour in every art, prompt the artiſt to become perfect both in the knowledge of its principles, and in performing according to its rules? And can it be otherwiſe in the art of life?

IN every ſituation, that man's concern, who glows with virtuous ardour, will be, not what is agreeable to his humour and inclina⯑tion, and what will procure him pleaſure or advantage, but ſolely what is right and good. Intent on diſcovering this, he will, like Da⯑vid, meditate on God's precepts, and hide God's word in his heart, that he may not ſin againſt him; his teſtimonies alſo will be his delight, and his only counſellors ^*. Except we know our [305] duty, it is impoſſible that we practiſe it. If we willingly remain ignorant of it, we are in⯑different about it.

WHEN deſire, love, reſolution, and incli⯑nation are all fixt upon holineſs, the united force of theſe cannot fail to render a man dili⯑gent in practiſing it. He will abſtain from every ſin; for that holineſs on which his heart is ſet, includes univerſal purity. We commit ſin, only becauſe we are not enough ſolicitous to avoid it. They who ſeek opportunities of ſinning, who deſignedly meet temptations, or who yield without a ſtruggle on their firſt aſ⯑ſault, ſhow that they are wholly deſtitute of virtuous ſolicitude, nay under the power of a contrary temper, prone to ſin, in love with it, confirmed in iniquity. Temptations will often force themſelves upon us: if in this caſe we yield to them eaſily, or deliberate about yielding to them, or admit in our hearts any extenuations of the ſin, or faulter in our reſiſt⯑ance to it, this manifeſtly proceeds from ſome coldneſs in our love of virtue, ſome weakneſs in our reſolution to purſue it, ſome faintneſs in our deſire of practiſing it, ſome remaining indiſpoſition of our hearts to virtue. The man who is intent on virtue, will be watchful againſt every deviation from it. The infirmity of his nature will not allow him to avoid every [306] act of ſin: but his inward temper will make him reſtleſs till he recover himſelf by repentance, and fortify his ſoul more ſtrongly againſt a relapſe. A ſudden temptation may now and then ſurpriſe him off his guard: but for the moſt part, the averſion of his determined heart againſt ſin, will be rouſed quickly enough to defend him even from a ſudden aſſault. Cor⯑rupt appetite and paſſion, like a reduced enemy deriving unnatural ſtrength from a fit of deſpair, may at times exert ſuch force as to gain an advantage over him: but they will never be able to bring him into laſting ſubjec⯑tion; fixt on the attainment of holineſs, he will war conſtantly againſt all its enemies, till he ſubdue them, though it ſhould be by ſlow degrees, and by means of the ſevereſt ſtrug⯑gles. He will practiſe and cultivate every vir⯑tue: for every virtue belongs to that holy temper which engages his moſt earneſt ſolici⯑tude. Omiſſions of his duty, neglects of the virtuous exertions for which he has opportu⯑nity, will be the rare blemiſhes of his con⯑duct, not its general tenor or complexion. The temper of his ſoul will produce activity in well doing, will render him reſolute, patient, and undaunted in ſurmounting all the difficul⯑ties of religion, will prompt him to put forth all his ſtrength, that he may be ever pure, blameleſs, and eminently good. In propor⯑tion [307] as our ſolicitude for virtue renders it our prevailing temper, every duty will become pleaſant to us, by falling in with the predo⯑minant bent of our hearts; and we ſhall per⯑form it with alacrity and chearfulneſs: its very difficulties will only occaſion an agree⯑able exertion of vigour: even the pains which it brings upon us, will be amply compenſated by the gratification which the performance of it yields to our prevailing temper: and we ſhall conſtantly delight ourſelves in God's com⯑mandments, which we have loved ^*.

O that our ways were directed thus to keep God's ſtatutes!

Amen.

SERMON XIII. REGARD TO POSITIVE INSTITUTIONS, ESSENTIAL TO GOODNESS OF CHA⯑RACTER.

IN theſe words, which contain the character given by the evangeliſt, of the parents of John the Baptiſt, the moral precepts of the law are by many thoughts to be meant by or⯑dinances, and the poſitive and ritual precepts, by commandmets: and in reſpect of both, Za⯑charias and Elizabeth are pronounced righteous before God, and blameleſs in the ſight of men. In this light, the words intimate. That a re⯑gard to ritual duties really inſtituted by God, as well as to moral virtue, is neceſſary to a worthy and blameleſs character. But though the expreſſions ſhould not be conſidered as in⯑tended [310] to mark this diſtinction, it being cer⯑tain that they are often uſed promiſcuouſly in ſcripture, yet the text will naturally enough ſuggeſt the ſame intimation; for none who attends to the nature of the Moſaical diſpen⯑ſation, abounding with ceremonies appointed by the immediate authority of God, can ima⯑gine that a Jew and a Jewiſh prieſt would have been reſpected as bearing a blameleſs cha⯑racter, without the punctual obſervance of all the ritual duties of his religion.

THAT moral duties are the weightier matters of the law ^*, and of higher and more indiſpen⯑ſible obligation than any poſitive and external duty, none but the ſuperſtitious will deny. It is ſo plain and ſo certain a truth, that even the ſuperſtitious generally rather act in contra⯑diction to it, than explicitly deny it. But on this obvious and important truth, error may be grafted. By this principle, ſome who pro⯑feſs to believe the goſpel, think themſelves authoriſed to pronounce, that a regard to ex⯑ternal worſhip and ritual duties, is not at all eſſential to a good and worthy character; and to beſtow the higheſt applauſe on perſons whoſe benevolence and moral integrity they reckon unexceptionable, without any abatement for their totally neglecting all the poſitive appoint⯑ments [311] of Chriſtianity. Nay a punctual ob⯑ſervance of theſe, they would perhaps conſider as taking ſomething from the character, as implying weakneſs and ſuperſtition, if not hy⯑pocriſy. This judgment is pronounced by ſuch perſons as think themſelves at liberty to neg⯑lect poſitive duties, provided they adhere to moral virtue. The principles of conduct which we adopt for ourſelves, always influence our ſentiments of others.

IN conſequence of the influence of oppoſite principles of conduct, the generality of Chriſ⯑tians form a very different judgment. I ſpeak not of the ſuperſtitious, who deſpiſe morality, and fooliſhly reſt in outward rites as the whole of religion: it is natural for them to reckon a ſcrupulous obſervance of rites, a compenſa⯑tion for moral goodneſs in other men, as well as in themſelves. But even they whom all except the impious will acquit from the charge of ſuperſtition; they who, both in principle and in practice, acknowledge the great ſupe⯑riority of moral to poſitive duties, but yet eſteem theſe latter alſo of high obligation; nay all who have a genuine and deep ſenſe of re⯑ligion, not only judge a regard to its poſitive inſtitutions abſolutely neceſſary to complete a worthy character; but even paſs a ſeverer cen⯑ſure on a total diſregard to theſe, or a very [312] great neglect of them, than on ſome tranſgreſſions of moral obligation, and reckon it a more certain ſign of an unprincipled and graceleſs character.

THIS judgment ſeems, at firſt ſight, to be inconſiſtent with the acknowledged preference due to moral duties: the unbelieving and un⯑godly aſcribe it, without heſitation, to ſuper⯑ſtition: and as it is adopted by ſerious Chriſ⯑tians in general, and even ſupported by the declarations of ſcripture and the ſpirit of re⯑vealed religion, they conſidently urge it as a proof, That revealed religion and poſitive precepts neceſſarily foſter ſuperſtition, and lead men to undervalue morality. It will be uſe⯑ful, therefore, to account for this judgment without reſolving it into ſuperſtition; to ſhew that it is juſt and well founded, and perfectly conſiſtent with the ſuperiority of moral virtue, to all poſitive duties; to evince that notwith⯑ſtanding this ſuperiority, a great neglect of the latter, is really baſer and more blameable than ſome defects in the former. It will tend to invali⯑date a plauſible objection againſt the genius, and conſequently the divinity of Chriſtianity, and to correct ſentiments which many Chriſtians have, eſpecially in this age, heedleſsly borrowed from infidelity. With a view to theſe important purpoſes, I ſhall, in the preſent diſcourſe, en⯑dea [...]our to prove, That a total diſregard to the [313] poſitive and external duties of religion, or a very great neglect of them, is juſtly reckoned more blameable, and a ſtronger evidence of an unprincipled character, than even ſome tranſ⯑greſſions of moral obligation: and afterwards I ſhall apply the ſubject to the direction of our practice.

I BEGIN with obſerving that poſitive inſti⯑tutions in general, as diſtinguiſhed from parti⯑cular rites, have really the nature of moral commandments. No one particular mode of external worſhip is of moral obligation; but to worſhip God externally is a duty of moral obligation, ſuitable to our compound frame and our embodied ſtate, and ſo obviouſly diſ⯑cernible by the light of nature, that it has been acknowledged by the univerſal practice of mankind in every age and every nation. But the man who totally and conſtantly neglects poſitive duties, does not at all worſhip God externally; and conſequently tranſgreſſes a moral obligation, and is juſtly c [...]nſurable as, in that reſpect, immoral and vicious.

BESIDES, even particular poſitive precepts, as ſoon as they are given by God, have ſome⯑thing moral in their nature. Suppoſe the [...]ites which are enjoined by them, perfectly indif⯑ferent before they were enjoined; yet from [314] that moment they ceaſe to be indifferent. The divine authority is interpoſed for the obſervance of them. To neglect them, is no longer to forbear an indifferent action, or to do a thing in one way rather than in another, which has naturally no greater propriety: it is very dif⯑ferent; it is to diſobey God, it is to deſpiſe his authority, it is to reſiſt his will. Can any man believe a God, and not acknowledge that diſobedience to him and contempt of his au⯑thority is immoral, and far from the leaſt heinous ſpecies of immorality? To condemn the perſon, therefore, who neglects the external worſhip of God and the poſitive inſtitutions of his will, and to condemn him for this neglect more ſeverely than for ſome other vices, is not weakneſs, is not ſuperſtition, is not to give rites the preference to moral virtue: it is only to proportion our ſentiments to the compara⯑tive moment of different moral virtues; it is only to pronounce that obedience to the great Lawgiver of the univerſe is a very ſacred and important virtue; it is only to judge conſiſt⯑ently with the belief of a God.

To render this ſtill plainer, it may be ob⯑ſerved, that poſitive duties are expreſſions of af⯑fections and diſpoſitions morally good. The heart is the ſeat both of virtue and of vice: but every virtue and every vice ſeated in the [315] heart, neceſſarily exerts itſelf in correſpondent outward actions. We perceive only theſe ac⯑tions; from them we infer the virtue or vice of the heart; and we beſtow upon the cha⯑racter a degree of approbation or of diſappro⯑bation ſuited to the virtue or the vice which we have found reaſon to infer. Our exact ob⯑ſervance of poſitive rites owned by us to be of divine appointment, ſhews in general a temper of ſubjection and obedience to God; the neg⯑lect of ſuch rites ſhews the want or the weak⯑neſs of this temper. Every particular religious rite is fit alſo for expreſſing ſome particular good affection; thankſgiving is an exertion of gratitude, prayer of dependence, interceſſion of benevolence: and if the good affection be vigorous in the heart, it will break forth into ſuch exertion. The neglect therefore of all external worſhip and poſitive duties, indicates the want, and great remiſſneſs in them pro⯑claims the weakneſs, of all the good affections which would have been exerciſed in perform⯑ing them; and the man who indulges himſelf in that remiſſneſs or neglect, we with reaſon conſider as void of theſe affections. They are among the moſt amiable affections in human nature; they ſtand in oppoſition to the moſt deteſtable vices: on the perſon, therefore, who, either by his neglect of the poſitive inſtitutions and external duties of religion, or by any [316] other means, ſhews himſelf to be deſtitute of theſe affections, not to paſs a heavy cenſure, would demonſtrate a great perverſion of judg⯑ment. For to be deſtitute of theſe affections, is a deeper depravity than that which is fixed upon the character by ſome immediate tranſ⯑greſſions of moral laws. When we cenſure it more ſeverely than ſuch tranſgreſſions, we only look beyond the outward action which indi⯑cates it, and which is neither good nor evil, conſidered merely in itſelf; we abſtract from ſuch circumſtances of the action as are not eſ⯑ſential, we conſider it ſimply as a ſign of in⯑ward moral temper; and we eſtimate the cha⯑racter according to that inward temper, which alone can be of importance in determining it.

FARTHER, all poſitive inſtitutions of di⯑vine appointment, are means of cultivating moral virtue. Be the rites themſelves what they will, their being enjoined by God, ren⯑ders them proper trials of our obedience to him, and renders our obſervance of them the means of cheriſhing a ſenſe of his authority, and of improving a principle of ſubjection to it. A principle of ſubjection to the authority of God, is one of the firmeſt ſupports of all goodneſs and virtue: and poſitive inſtitutions are the moſt direct means of cultivating it; for the obſervance of them proceeds ſolely from [317] the principle of obedience; but in every moral virtue, other principles are conjoined with this. All the rites appointed by God, are likewiſe direct and very powerful means of improving many particular virtuous affections, all the affections which are naturally exerciſed in performing them. Neglect of the means demonſtrates, in every caſe, indifference about the end. Diſregard to external worſhip and poſitive inſtitutions, ſhews the want of all con⯑cern for moral improvement. But uncon⯑cernedneſs for moral improvement is not the defect of a ſingle virtue, is not a ſingle vice; it is a corruption and degeneracy of the whole ſoul, and therefore muſt appear highly de⯑teſtable to every perſon of ſound and unbiaſſed judgment, much more highly deteſtable than ſome tranſgreſſions of a ſingle moral law.

AGAIN, when men indulge themſelves in the neglect of poſitive duties, their acts of neg⯑lect are more frequent, more conſtant, and bear a greater proportion to their acts of per⯑formance, than the acts of immediate immo⯑rality which, even in very vicious perſons, fall under the notice of obſervers. But it is un⯑queſtionably juſt to paſs a ſeverer cenſure on a long and uninterrupted multitude of tranſ⯑greſſions, though each of them, taken by it⯑ſelf, be not very [...]einous, than on a few acts [318] of vice, each of which ſingly is greater than any one of the others. This conſideration actually has great influence on the judgment now under examination: for on the one hand, it is only the total or the very great neglect of poſitive inſtitutions, that men pronounce inconſiſtent with all principle and goodneſs; ſmaller degrees of neglect we treat with greater indulgence, than almoſt any immediate tranſ⯑greſſion of moral law: and on the other hand, when a man lives in the frequent or the con⯑tinual practice of any direct immorality, we conſider him as abandoned to that vice, and never fail to blame his conduct more highly than we blame any neglect of poſitive inſti⯑tutions.

IT muſt be added, that the neglect of po⯑ſitive duties is more obvious to ſpectators, than many tranſgreſſions of moral obligation. Theſe latter are ſometimes indefinite and ambiguous; the actions from which we infer a tranſgreſſion, are in ſome degree equivocal, and capable of different conſtructions: but the neglect of a poſitive inſtitution, is an act abſolutely deter⯑minate, which can neither be palliated nor ex⯑plained away. Men therefore paſs their cen⯑ſure upon it without heſitation: and the aſ⯑ſurance and readineſs with which they paſs it⯑gives their judgment greater firmneſs and force, [319] and more appearance of ſeverity, than the judg⯑ments have, which they pronounce with he⯑ſitation, concerning tranſgreſſions of moral obligation, more indeterminate or equivocal.

FINALLY, with reſpect to almoſt every tranſgreſſion of moral obligation, there is ſome natural paſſion, which directly and univerſally proves a temptation to it. We of courſe think of this temptation along with the tranſgreſſion; and a ſenſe of its ſtrength, and of the difficulty of reſiſting it, mitigates our cenſure. Any vicious paſſion may, accidentally and in a par⯑ticular inſtance, oppoſe the obſervance of a po⯑ſitive inſtitution: but there is no one natural paſſion which ſtands directly and in all caſes in oppoſition to the performance of poſitive duties. Conſequently there is no univerſal temptation to the total or habitual neglect of them, in the view of mankind, when they paſs their cenſure on the perſon who indulges himſelf in that neglect: and therefore they paſs it without mitigation or abatement.

THESE conſiderations duly weighed will be ſufficient to vindicate the ſevere judgment paſſed by the bulk of Chriſtians, concerning the character of thoſe perſons who habitually or totally diſregard the poſitive inſtitutions of religion. This judgment is perfectly conſiſtent [320] with a ſenſe of the ſuperior excellence of mo⯑ral virtue: it by no means implies that mere rites and ceremonies are in any caſe ſo eſſential as moral goodneſs: it only conſiders a diſ⯑regard to rites ordained by God, as a proof of moral defect or depravity, and condemns it more ſeverely than ſmaller defects or depraviti [...]s evidenced by actions of a different kind. This judgment proceeds not from ſuperſtition; it is founded in nature, it is confirmed by the cleareſt principles of ſound reaſon. It is not they who reckon a regard to poſitive inſtitu⯑tions eſſential to a good and unblemiſhed cha⯑racter, that judge weakly, but they who reckon that regard of no importance. Vain are their pretenſions to enlargement of ſentiment and elevation above prejudice: their minds are ſo contracted that they can admit only a partial idea of the nature of poſitive duties; they con⯑ſider but the mere matter of them; they com⯑prehend not their moral principles, their ſub⯑lime end, or their important ſignification. Suffer not yourſelves, Chriſtians, to adopt or to give any countenance to a judgment which cannot be ſupported without ſuppoſing, either that the ritual inſtitutions of your religion are not of divine original, or that the precepts of your God are not of ſacred obligation. Your religion does bind you to hold the contrary judgment; and in doing ſo, it perfectly coin⯑cides [321] with reaſon: it foſters not ſuperſtition; it prohibits irreligion: it ſets not morality aſide; but it completes it, and makes a proviſion for its ſupport, abſolutely neceſſary in our preſent embodied ſtate. The high regard which Chriſ⯑tianity demands to external worſhip, can be no preſumption that it is an impoſture: on the contrary, its entire coincidence with reaſon in demanding this regard, conſiſtently with the acknowledged ſuperiority of moral virtue, and even in ſubſervience to it, is a mark of its de⯑ſcent from that God who endued men with reaſon.

THE obſervations which we have made in this diſcourſe, tend no leſs to direct our prac⯑tice, than to regulate our judgment, with re⯑ſpect to the moral and the poſitive precepts of religion. They ſerve to reſtrain us from both the extremes to which mankind have always ſhewn a propenſity.

THEY warn us, on the one hand, againſt indulging ourſelves in the neglect of the poſi⯑tive appointments of Chriſtianity, under a pre⯑tence of adhering ſolely to morality. They demonſtrate this neglect, ſo incompatible with the whole tenor of the goſpel, to be, on ſup⯑poſition of the truth of the goſpel, no leſs in⯑compatible with reaſon, and a heinous viola⯑tion [322] of morality itſelf. Moral duties are far more excellent than poſitive: whenever, in a particular ſituation, we cannot perform both, unqueſtionably we ought to prefer the former; but whenever there is no ſuch inconſiſtence, it is equally unqueſtionable that the obligation of the latter is ſacred and indiſpenſible. Such inconſiſtence is very rare: how ſeldom does our ſituation enable us honeſtly to ſay, that we could not have attended upon external wor⯑ſhip without neglecting ſome moral duty? How ſeldom is the ſuperiority of virtue to ex⯑ternal rites at all applicable to our ſituation, or capable of being pleaded as an excuſe for our omitting theſe? The omiſſion generally pro⯑ceeds from very diſſimilar cauſes; from inſen⯑ſibility to the authority of God's laws, from weakneſs of the religious affections, from in⯑difference about ſpiritual improvement, indif⯑ference about improvement in that very mo⯑rality, for which we pretend ſo ardent a zeal. No doubt there may be juſt reaſons for omit⯑ting a poſitive duty at a particular time. But what then? Will this excuſe our omitting it when there is no juſt reaſon? There may be reaſons alſo for omitting a particular exerciſe of moral virtue: peculiar circumſtances may make that ceaſe to be our duty at one time, which is our duty at other times. Will it therefore follow that moral virtue may be neg⯑lected [323] when no ſuch peculiar circumſtances exiſt? In the former caſe it is, as really as in the latter, a point of conſcience whether the reaſons which actually move us to the omiſſion, are juſt and valid. For the frequent omiſſion of poſitive duties, much more for the habitual and conſtant neglect of them, there cannot poſ⯑ſibly be any juſt or valid reaſon: it is abſolutely inexcuſable; it is inconſiſtent with the belief of the goſpel.

BUT let us be likewiſe careful to guard againſt the oppoſite extreme. While we ſhun irreligion, let us with equal caution avoid ſuperſtition. Though a regard to poſitive duties be neceſſary for completing a worthy character, yet a regard to them alone will con⯑tribute very little to worthineſs of character. To perform them without a religious temper, is baſe hypocriſy; to perform them without moral improvement, is unprofitable ſuperſti⯑tion; to reckon the performance of them a compenſation for the neglect of any virtue, an atonement for any vice, is deſtructive imprety. All the principles from which we have been reaſoning, imply the ſuperiority of moral vir⯑tue; it is from the indiſpenſible obligation and the excellence of this, that we have de⯑duced all our proofs of the ſacred obligation of poſitive inſtitutions. As they who diſregard [324] theſe, neglect the neceſſary means and the na⯑tural expreſſions of religion, ſo they who reſt in them, deſpiſe its principle and its ſubſtance. While we are not negligent in obſerving any inſtitution of our religion, let us be diligent in practiſing every virtue.

RELIGION is of a complex nature. It in⯑cludes things of different kinds; it includes articles of faith, and rules of practice; it in⯑cludes precepts of a moral, and precepts of a poſitive kind: all theſe are eſſential to it, and each of them has its proper place and dig⯑nity. We ought not to ſeparate them; we ought not unduly to exalt one, and depreſs the reſt. The Phariſees, in our Saviour's time, undervalued and neglected moral duties, and hoped to expiate the neglect by a very ſcru⯑pulous compliance not only with poſitive pre⯑cepts of divine appointment, but alſo with ſuperſtitions of their own invention. For this our Saviour often reproved them with great ſeverity. The contrary extreme he had ſcarce⯑ly an opportunity of reproving profeſſedly; none of the Jews imagined it lawful to neg⯑lect the ritual of their religion; it is among Chriſtians that this inconſiſtent abſurdity has been introduced by the contagion of infidelity. Yet in reproving the Phariſees, he has ſuf⯑ficiently put us on our guard againſt this ex⯑treme. [325] While he declares the ſuperior excel⯑lence of moral virtue, and inculcates the careful practice of it, as indiſpenſible, he is far from vilifying poſitive duties of God's ap⯑pointment, he incul [...]ates the obſervance of them alſo, as truly neceſſary. He diſtinguiſhes the reſpective obligations of theſe two claſſes with the utmoſt accuracy: Wo unto you, Scribes and Phariſees, hypocrites; for ye pay tithes of mint, and aniſe, and cummin, and rue, and all manner of herbs, and have omitted the weightier matters of the law, judgment, mercy, and faith, and the love of God: THESE ought you to have DONE, and not to leave the other undone ^*. Neither part of the injunction is unneceſſary in the Chriſtian world; neither part of it can be diſregarded without hazard to our ſouls. If we walk not both in all the commandments, and in all the ordinances of the Lord, if we per⯑form not both moral and poſitive duties in their proper places, we cannot ſuſtain a character of complete and conſiſtent worth, we can nei⯑ther be rightecus before God, nor blameleſs in the eyes of ſuch men as judge ſoundly and impartially.

SERMON XIV. REDEEMING THE TIME. PREACHED IN THE BEGINNING OF THE YEAR.

IT is the prerogative of man's reaſonable nature, to be capable of looking backward to the paſt, and forward to the future. It is this capacity that qualifies us for forming ſome judgment of the future, and for directing our conduct in it, by the experience which we have acquired in time paſt. Our acting this part is abſolutely neceſſary for the prudent ma⯑nagement of our worldly buſineſs. It is equally neceſſary in religion; and, as ſubſervient to re⯑ligious prudence, it is incomparably more im⯑portant, becauſe religion is our principal con⯑cern.

To reflect on the paſt part of our lives, ex⯑tending our thoughts at the ſame time to the [328] future part of them; and from that reflection, to collect maxims for the regulation of our fu⯑ture conduct, is a very powerful means of re⯑ligious improvement. It is to redeem the time, that we may walk circumſpectly, not as ſools, but as wiſe. It is an exerciſe which we ought to perform frequently, but which we are very apt to neglect. For preventing the neglect, we ſhould take advantage of the ſeveral di⯑ſtinctions of time, and at the end of each of them recollect our demeanour through the courſe of it, for our direction in the next. It is an excellent advice to this purpoſe, which an ancient philoſopher gave to his ſcholars; At the end of every day, to recollect all the actions of it, that if they had done any thing amiſs, they might amend it next day, and that if they had done any thing well, they might enjoy the comfort of it. When a heathen re⯑commended this to be practiſed every day, may not they bluſh to call themſelves Chriſtians, who practiſe it ſcarcely any day? Such daily recollection, uniformly perſiſted in, could not fail to produce the happieſt effects. A little time only could indeed, by the generality, be beſtowed upon it every day: but, if it were practiſed every day, a very little time would ſoon become ſufficient for it. Even in this caſe however, it would not be ſuperfluous, at the end of larger periods of our time, particularly [329] of the years which divide our lives, to ſurvey at greater leiſure the manner in which we have employed them; to conſider more deliberately how we may render the occurrences of them ſubſervient to our improvement; and to re⯑ſolve more explicitly that we will render them ſubſervient to it. But the more negligent we have been in daily recollection, the more ne⯑ceſſary it is that we ſhould deliberately reflect upon our conduct at ſtated times.

ONE year is juſt expired; only a few days of another year are yet elapſed. If we have begun this year with the practice now men⯑tioned, it is well. If we have not, it is not yet too late: we are yet alive, though even in theſe few days many of our fellow-men, and ſome it may be of our neighbours, have been ſnatched away by death. Let us ſeize the opportunity while we have it: how ſoon it may be loſt, God only knows. While we yet live, let us look back upon our paſt con⯑duct, that we may learn to redeem the time. Thus the apoſtle exhorted the Epheſians; and thus he exhorteth every one of us. The Epheſians had but lately heard the goſpel preached, having, for the greateſt part of their lives, been heathens, dead in treſpaſſes and ſins, wherein they walked, according to the courſe of [330] this world ^*: the apoſtle conſiders all that part of their lives as loſt, and directs them to re⯑deem it, to buy it back. Though we were born Chriſtians, we alſo have loſt a great part of our paſt time, having a name that we lived, we have been dead ^†: let us too buy back our time.

THERE is a ſenſe, in which every man would gladly buy back his paſt time. When old age has come upon us, when feebleneſs has run through our frame, when diſeaſe racks us, who would not willingly recover the ſeaſon of youth, health, and vigour? The ſenſualiſt, when pleaſure begins to loſe its reliſh, or when he can no longer find opportunity and means of gratification, wiſhes that he could recall the opportunities and the enjoyments which he once had, and taſte his ſenſuality anew. The worldling would rejoice, if he could recall his former opportunities of making gain. The ſor⯑rowful and the unſucceſsful periods of life, we would readily abandon: but all the hours which have been chearful, proſperous, or ſuc⯑ceſsful, we would be deſirous of redeeming, and living over again. In ſuch ways to re⯑deem the time, would be only to have it in our power again to miſ-ſpend it, or at beſt to em⯑ploy [331] it for mere worldly purpoſes. To redeem it in ſuch ways, is impoſſible: time once paſt is irrecoverable; the very lateſt moments of the laſt year, and of yeſterday, are already as much beyond our reach, as the years and days which were before the flood. The only way in which we can redeem the time, is to employ the future better than we have employed the paſt; it is, from the experience of the paſt, to learn to act more wiſely for the time to come, correcting the faults which we have formerly committed, purſuing the improvements which we have hitherto neglected, and uſing the opportunities which we have often careleſsly let ſlip.

FOR our thus redeeming the time, it is ne⯑ceſſary to look back to the paſt, with a reſo⯑lution to apply it to the direction of the fu⯑ture. That we therefore may thus redeem the time, let us in the beginning of this year, review our paſt time, and particularly our paſt year, on purpoſe to learn how we may make a better uſe of our time, in the preſent year, and in all our future years. That we may review it with the greater diſtinctneſs, and with the greater advantage, let us conſider our paſt time:

FIRST, In reſpect of itſelf;

[332]SECONDLY, In reſpect of the events which it brought along with it; and

THIDLY, In reſpect of the manner in which we have employed it.

FIRST, Let us conſider our paſt time in reſpect of itſelf.

TIME conſidered ſimply in itſelf, is a truſt committed to us by God; and it is a moſt important truſt, and committed to us for the moſt important of all purpoſes, for providing for eternity, for avoiding the miſery of hell, and for obtaining the everlaſting joys of hea⯑ven. Our time is ſhort; it is likewiſe ſo un⯑certain that we know not but it may expire in a ſingle hour: its ſhortneſs and uncertainty render it a truſt the more important; for ſtill it is the only ſeaſon allowed us for ſecuring our everlaſting intereſts. Being ſo important, time ought not to be waſted. Whenever the care of our ſouls is neglected, time is waſted, about whatever elſe it has been employed. Pleaſure is alluring; innocent pleaſure we are not required to refuſe: riches are convenient; by honeſt means we are allowed to purſue them: honour and power are deſirable; we are not forbidden to aſpire after them with mo⯑deration. But in the purſuit neither of plea⯑ſure, [333] nor of riches, nor of power and honour, ought our whole time to be employed: it ought to be employed chiefly in ſeeking after the delights, the treaſures, the dignities, the glories of immortality.

TO which of theſe purſuits has your paſt time, to which of them has your laſt year been devoted? Examine this queſtion ſeriouſly: it is a very ſerious inquiry; and it is each of you, for himſelf, that can determine it.—Does conſcience teſtify, that your paſt time, that your laſt year, has been devoted to the care of your ſouls, has been employed for their ſalva⯑tion, has contributed to their improvement in goodneſs? Happy may you, with reaſon, be in the pleaſing conſciouſneſs: you have no need to redeem the time: you have ſpent it well. Continue to do ſo; ſpend this year as you did the laſt; ſpend it as much better as you can. If you do not, you will [...]nceforth loſe your time, and forf [...]it all the advantage which you have gained. The whole of this life is the day allotted us for our preparation for eternity; as long as the day laſts, w [...] muſt work the works of him that ſent us ^*. Then when the night cometh, we ſhall fall aſleep in Chriſt ^†; we ſhall [...]eſt from our labours, our [334] works ſhall follow us ^*, and ſpring up into everlaſting bleſſedneſs.—But does any of you, after careful ſelf-examination, find that your laſt year has not promoted your ſalvation, that it has been ſpent in ſin, that it is gone without bringing you to repentance? Which of you have reaſon to form this melancholy judgment concerning yourſelves, it is impoſ⯑ſible for me to ſay: but in ſo numerous an aſ⯑ſembly, there muſt be many who have reaſon to form it, and who deceive themſelves if they form it not. You have loſt your precious time; redeem it without delay. Begin im⯑mediately to work out your ſalvation ^†, employ this year in working it out with diligence. To loſe any longer time, would be deſperate folly: the night cometh, wherein no man can work ^‡; you know not how ſoon it cometh: the day of human life is not, like the natural day, of a known and equable duration; there are clouds which unexpectedly overcaſt the ſunſhine of life, and often bring on night and darkneſs at noon. Give glory, therefore, to the Lord your God before he cauſe darkneſs, and before your ſeet ſtumble upon the dark mountains▪ and while ye look for light, he turn it into the ſhadow of death, and make it groſs darkneſs ^‖.

[335]SECONLDY, Let us conſider our paſt time, in reſpect of the events which it brought along with it. Time brings along with it opportu⯑nities; and it brings along wiah it temptations. To theſe two, all poſſible [...]vents may be reduced, in relation to their influence on our behaviour [...]nd our ſtate.

1. EVERY portion of time brings valuable opportunities along with it; your laſt year brought you many opportunities. Every hour gives an opportunity for the practice of ſome Chriſtian duty, for ſome act of ſelf-govern⯑ment, for ſome exerciſe of piety, or for ſome work of beneficence. How many ſuch oppor⯑tunities has the laſt year preſented to every one of us? Recollect them carefully; ponder them attentively. Every one of our opportu⯑nities has been either improved, or neglected. The only portions of our time, which we have no need to redeem, are thoſe whoſe opportu⯑nities we have improved. The remembrance of them will elevate our hearts with ſpiritual joy and with triumphant hope. May they be many, of which we can have this glad remem⯑brance! It will give us the ſincereſt, the pureſt, the moſt ſolid happineſs of which a mortal man is capable. Let our bleſſed ex⯑perience of it in any paſt inſtance, encourage us to ſeize and to improve our future oppor⯑tunities [336] with ſtill greater alacrity and aſſiduity, that our joy may grow, that our joy may be full. Then ſhall we employ all the coming days of our lives continually better and better, ever abounding in the work of the Lord ^*. Herein ſhall our Father be glorified ^†; and hereby great ſhall be our reward in heaven ^‡.—But alas, who among us can ſurvey his paſt life, who among us can ſurvey a ſingle year, nay a ſingle day of it, and ſay with truth, that we have laid hold of all the opportunities of doing our duty, of improving ourſelves in holineſs, of fitting ourſelves for heaven, which it put into our hands? Many, very many of thoſe ta⯑lents which our Lord has delivered to us, each of us has neglected to employ to advantage; we have laid them up in a napkin ^‖; we have hid them in the earth ^§; we have ſuffered them to remain uſeleſs, we have even loſt them. Of all this we muſt give an account to our Lord at his return: for all this let us now call our⯑ſelves to an account, that judging ourſelves, we may not be judged by him ^**. The beſt of us have let many an opportunity ſlip: re⯑deem the opportunity; ſo the text may be tranſ⯑lated, and ſo it is underſtood by ſeveral inter⯑preters. Reflect, what are the opportunities which you have loſt, by what means you were [337] led to loſe them, and in what manner you might have improved them: guard againſt ſimilar neglects for the future; look out here⯑after for every opportunity of well-doing, that you may ſeize it the moment it occurs. Though you ſhould not be ſo negligent of your oppor⯑tunities as to prevent your ſalvation, yet every degree of negligence will leſſen your reward: the ſervant who had gained only five pounds, was ſet over only five cities; but he who had gained ten pounds, was raiſed to authority over ten cities ^*. Some of us, I fear, like the thoughtleſs ſpendthrift who diſſipates his whole fortune, have let ſlip all their paſt opportunities of doing good and becoming happy. Such have been ſlothful and wicked ſervants. Flee from ruin: inſtantly begin to redeem the opportu⯑nity; reflect that for all your preſent and for all your future opportunities you will be brought into judgment: be careful to employ them ſo that you may be able to ſtand in the judgment ^†: the more numerous the opportu⯑nities are which you have already loſt, the greater in proportion ſhould be your future diligence.

WE have all had many opportunities; but our opportunities have been different. No two [338] of us have been in preciſely the ſame ſituation; and every ſituation affords its peculiar oppor⯑tunities. Each of you, recollect your own ſituation, and the opportunities which it gave you. I cannot enumerate the ſituations or the opportunities of you all. But for your aſſiſt⯑ance, I ſhall mention ſome of the moſt general and comprehenſive varieties of ſituation; and while I mention them, each of you aſk your own conſcience, how you have improved ſuch of them as have belonged to you.—You have enjoyed health, and you ſtill enjoy it. It is the opportunity for induſtry both in your tem⯑poral and in your ſpiritual concerns. Have you employed your health in induſtry for both? Whenever you have health, be careful to employ it in this manner.—Or, you have been broken with ſickneſs and groaned under diſeaſe. It may happen again: ſome time or other it will happen to every one of us. Sick⯑neſs brings the opportunity for learning pa⯑tience, and for exerciſing meekneſs and reſig⯑nation. Have you exerciſed theſe in your diſtreſs? Whenever you are in diſtreſs, neg⯑lect not to exerciſe them.—You have been buſy in the occupations of active life. Theſe pre⯑ſent opportunities for the practice of juſtice, honeſty, truth, fidelity, equity. Have you, or have you not, practiſed theſe virtues? Prac⯑tiſe them whenever you are buſy in your call⯑ings. [339] —Or, it may be, you have retired from buſineſs, or had intervals of leiſure. Theſe gave you opportunity for entering into your⯑ſelves, for conſidering your ways, for ſtrength⯑ening virtuous principles, for deepening reli⯑gious impreſſions in your hearts. Did you improve them for theſe purpoſes? You will often hereafter enjoy leiſure and retirement. Improve it always for theſe purpoſes.—You have lived from year to year in affluence, or you have been proſperous laſt year, and found your wealth increaſed. This was the ſeaſon for thankfulneſs to God, and for an increaſe of your beneficence and charity to the needy. Perſiſt in this conduct, if you have begun it: make up for your paſt neglects, by additional thankfulneſs to the giver, and enlarged bene⯑ficence to men, in every future ſeaſon of plenty and ſucceſs.—Or, your lot has been ſcantineſs and ſtraits; your fortune has been diminiſhed; your riches have fled. This is the ſituation which gives ſcope for contentment, ſubmiſ⯑ſion, and truſt in him whoſe unerring wiſdom orders all the viciſſitudes of things. You ought to have improved it, and to continue to improve it for cheriſhing theſe graces.—Laſt year has, perhaps, found and left you living chearfully with your friends and family, re⯑joicing in the welfare of the huſband or the wife of your affections, and in the improve⯑ments [340] of your darling children. This year the ſame happineſs may continue. It is one of the ſweeteſt joys of human life. It calls for the fervours of thankſgiving, the ardours of ſocial love, and the chearfulleſt alertneſs in practiſing all our duties.—But laſt year has wounded the hearts of ſome of you with pun⯑g [...]nt ſorrow for the unkindneſs of relations, the cruelty of acquaintance, the death of the re⯑vered parent, the ſupporting huſband, the ſoothing wife, the pleaſant child, or the be⯑loved friend. Theſe are the ſcenes of the ten⯑dereſt ſorrow. But they are likewiſe the op⯑portunities for learning patience, reſignation, fortitude, the vanity of this world, and the value of the next.

2. TIME brings along with it, not only op⯑portunities for virtuous practice and improve⯑ment, but alſo temptations to vice and dege⯑n [...]racy. Every year and every day of our lives expoſes us to temptations: and to reflect on the temptations to which we have hitherto been expoſed, will both enable us to form a juſt judgment concerning the paſt, and ſerve for our direction in the future. Our tempta⯑tions have been either reſiſted or complied with: from conſidering deliberately, whether we have reſiſted them or complied with them, we may derive great advantage. Have we re⯑ſiſted [341] them? Have we avoided the vices into which they would have led us? Have we per⯑ſiſted in practiſing the duties which they ſoli⯑cited us to neglect? So far we have been conquerors; and may rejoice in our victory: we have improved the time; let us continue to improve it. It will be ſhameful to fall at length before the enemy whom we have often vanquiſhed, and to fall before him after, by frequent victories, he has been weakened, and we have been ſtrengthened. Yet even our for⯑mer victories may contribute to our falling: they may render us confident, preſumptuous, and negligent. Guard againſt this abuſe of your ſucceſs. Let the difficulty which you experienced in reſiſting former temptations, pre⯑ſerve you vigilant, and ever mindful of the neceſſity of caution and exertion. Whatever were the means which contributed to your ſuc⯑ceſs in paſt inſtances, employ the ſame means in every future hour of trial.—But of the temp⯑tations which have aſſaulted us, how many have prevailed againſt us! What have theſe been? Into what ſins have they betrayed us? By what means did they ſeduce us? The exa⯑mination of theſe particulars will be unplea⯑ſant: it will force upon us an humiliating ſenſe of our own weakneſs; it will fill us with re⯑morſe for our guilt. But without ſubmitting to it, we muſt continue to be vanquiſhed in [342] every trial, to degenerate more and more, and become the ſlaves of ſin. Thoſe periods of time in which we have corrupted ourſelves by yielding to temptations, we have very great need to redeem. We can redeem them, only by reſiſting theſe temptations when they again attack us, and by reſiſting every temptation for the future, more ſtrenuouſly than we have reſiſted any in time paſt. To this, the recol⯑lection and the permanent ſenſe of our former defeats will be ſubſervient, by rendering us diffident of ourſelves, circumſpect, dependent on the grace of God, inſtant in prayer ^* for his aſſiſtance, careful to fly from temptations, ſuſ⯑picious of the arts by which we have been for⯑merly beguiled, jealous of the inadvertencies by which we have given ſin an advantage againſt us.

EVERY place is full of temptations, every ſeaſon abounds with them. Every man, ac⯑cording to his peculiar circumſtances, has his own temptations, againſt which he is chiefly concerned to defend himſelf: his ſituation either puts him in danger of committing ſome particular ſins, or expoſes him to ſome parti⯑cular mode of ſeduction. By reflecting on the variety of our paſt conditions, each of us may [343] bring to his remembrance the temptations to which he in particular has been expoſed. Youth and high health contain temptations to levity, to diſſipation, to unlawful pleaſure, to thought⯑leſſneſs about death and eternity. Sickneſs puts us in danger of peeviſhneſs, murmuring, and impatience. A buſy life is apt to render men worldly-minded, intent upon earthly things, regardleſs of God and religion. A life of idleneſs, or even of leiſure, leads men into exceſſive or unlawful amuſement, and into all the vices which ſpring from the want of good employment. A ſtate of proſperity and aſ⯑fluence contains temptations to pride, inſolence, preſumption, luxury, inſenſibility to the mi⯑ſeries of mankind. Poverty leads to diſcon⯑tent, anxiety, complaints againſt Providence, abjectneſs of ſpirit, or diſhoneſty. The temp⯑tations belonging to the ſeveral ſituations in which you have hitherto been placed, each of you for himſelf ſhould recollect; that, if you have reſiſted them, you may know how to re⯑ſiſt them ſtill, and thus improve your future time; that if you have yielded to them, you may henceforth redeem the time, by no longer yielding to them.

THIRDLY, We may conſider our paſt time in reſpect of the manner in which we have employed it. It was impoſſible to exclude this [344] view of it altogether, under the former head; for events are what give occaſion for particular inſtances of behaviour, and our behaviour has always a congruity to the ſituations in which we are placed: but it will throw new light on the ſubject, and give farther direction for our redeeming the time, to ſurvey the paſt part of it, as either well-employed, or ill-employed, or trifled away.

1. OUR paſt time and our laſt year may have been well-employed. Let each of us examine himſelf, what part of it he has employed well. The buſineſs of this life is to make preparation for the next. Whatever time we have ſpent in the practice of any virtue, has been well ſpent; it has been ſpent for the great purpoſe of our being. While we are practiſing any virtue, we are going directly forward towards heaven: the way of righteouſneſs, and the way everlaſting is the ſame. The hours which we have em⯑ployed in ſincere devotion, in praying to God, in praiſing him, in adoring the perfections of his nature, in humbling ourſelves before him, confeſſing our ſins, exerciſing repentance and exciting ourſelves to amendment under a ſenſe of his immediate and awful preſence; the hours in which our hearts have been truly en⯑gaged in theſe duties, in ſecret, in our fami⯑lies, or in the public aſſemblies of Chriſtians; [345] the hours in which we have been indulging the ſilent workings of love, reverence, reſig⯑nation towards God, or cheriſhing theſe pious affections by meditation and retirement from the world: all theſe hours have been well-em⯑ployed; they have been employed in ſtrength⯑ening and in exerciſing the firſt and nobleſt of the virtues, the great principles of all right conduct, thoſe principles which alone can pre⯑ſerve us ſtedfaſt in good practice. The hours which we employed in ſerious conſideration of the great truths of our holy religion, of our ſtate and our obligations, of the vanity of earthly things, of the frailty of life, of our latter end, of the important concerns of eter⯑nity: theſe have been well-employed; they have contributed to excite us to our principal buſineſs. The hours which you have ſpent in controlling any of your appetites and paſſions: the hour in which you reſiſted the allurements of pleaſure; the hour in which you ſtopped your ears againſt the licentious jeſt or the cor⯑rupt communication ^*, in which you ſtruggled againſt the thought of impurity and laboured to baniſh it; the hour in which you refuſed to look upon the wine when it was red, when it gave its colour in the cup, when it moved itſelf aright ^†; the hour in which you curbed [346] a riſing inclination to exceſs, recollected your⯑ſelves, and made your eſcape from the com⯑pany which was running into riot: the hour in which you repreſſed the motions of anger, the effuſions of peeviſhneſs, the ſuggeſtions of envy, the impulſes of malice or revenge: all theſe hours have been well-employed, employed in purifying your hearts from diſpoſitions which would render you unfit for heaven, and trea⯑ſure up miſery and anguiſh for you. The hours which you have ſpent in the exerciſe of ſocial love, in doing good offices, in relieving the indigent, in aſſiſting the helpleſs, in pa⯑tronizing the friendleſs, in comforting the ſor⯑rowful, in ſoftening the injurious, in diſ⯑charging the duties of your ſeveral relations; theſe have been well-ſpent, they have been uſeful to men, and they will be beneficial to your own ſouls. I will add, that the hours which you have ſpent in your lawful calling, whatever it be, the hours in which you have carried on your ordinary buſineſs diligently, honeſtly, and conſcientiouſly, have been well⯑ſpent, and have promoted your eternal ſalva⯑tion.—That part of your time which has been employed in ſuch ways as theſe, ſtands in little need of being redeemed; it has not been loſt. Be ſolicitous to employ your remaining time no worſe. Be even ſolicitous to employ it better: in our beſt-ſpent hours, in the duties [347] to which we have applied ourſelves with the greateſt vigour, many imperfections have ad⯑hered to us: labour to wear off your imper⯑fections by degrees. Many, however, as our imperfections have been, it were happy for us that we could reflect on all our paſt time as employed in the ways which have been men⯑tioned. But alas, this is not the caſe.

2. OUR paſt time may have been, a great part of it has been ill-employed. All the time that we have ſpent in ſin, has been miſ-ſpent in diſhonouring God, in corrupting our own hearts, in labouring for miſery. We have need to redeem it. If we would redeem it, we muſt ſearch out the ſins which we have committed, and ſet them in order before our eyes, in all their baſeneſs and all their guilt, that by the view of them we may excite our⯑ſelves to avoid every ſin hereafter. If we will not, we muſt continue to repeat the ſame ſins, to run into other ſins, and to abuſe to our own deſtruction all the years which God is pleaſed to give us for obtaining ſalvation ^*. Have you ſpent any part of your time without a ſenſe of God? or have you ſpent it in direct out⯑rages againſt his majeſty, in ſwearing, in pro⯑faning his name, in murmuring againſt the [348] diſpenſations of his providence? Have you waſted his ſabbaths in liſtleſs idleneſs, or in attention to your worldly buſineſs? Have you ſuf⯑fered them to ſlip away, one after another, without any meditation on religious truth or moral obligation, without doing any thing to encreaſe your knowledge of the principles of the goſpel, or to confirm your attachment to its duties? Have you ſpent any of your days in proſecuting an unjuſt deſign, in catching at diſhoneſt gain, in oppreſſing the weak, in im⯑poſing on the ignorant, in treading upon the poor ^*, in executing the dictates of malice or of reſentment? Have you proſtituted any of your hours to the purpoſes of drunkenneſs, de⯑bauchery, or unlawful pleaſure? Every hour that you have ſpent in the practice of any vice, is in the very worſt ſenſe loſt. It is not only ſpent without advantage; it has been highly pernicious. It has produced effects on your temper and your ſtate, which it will require great labour to retrieve, but which will ruin your ſouls, if they be not retrieved. It is only by ſincere and hearty repentance, by amending your ways and your doings ^†, by cea [...]ing to do evil and learning to do well ^‡, by a firm reſo⯑lution, and ſtrenuous and continued care to abſtain from every vice, and to practiſe every [349] virtue for the future, that you can redeem the time which you have ſquandered in ſinful courſes, that you can efface the traces of de⯑pravity with which it has marked your ſouls, that you can repair the havock which it has made in your ſpiritual condition. Make no tarrying to turn to the Lord, and put not off from day to day ^*. It cannot bear delay. Your days are few. Many of them, already paſt, have been ſo miſ-employed as to lay up in ſtore labour and ſorrow for your ſucceeding days. How many of them, even your own moſt careful recollection can but imperfectly inform you. The more days you have thus miſ-ſpent, the more ſins you have to unlearn, the deeper corruption you have to eradicate; and the leſs time remains for accom⯑pliſhing the arduous taſk. Loſe no part of that little time. Short-lived creatures as we are, we cannot afford to employ a ſingle hour in ſinful courſes.

3. A GREAT part of our paſt time has been trifled away. It too needs to be redeemed. If it has not been abuſed to bad purpoſes, yet it has not been uſed to any good purpoſe. Whatever part of our time has contributed nothing to the improvement of our ſouls, [350] though it has not been employed in corrupt⯑ing them; whatever part has not promoted our ſalvation, though it has not directly coun⯑teracted it, has been trifled away. A very great part of our time is neceſſarily ſpent in ſuch a manner as can have no influence on our preparation for eternity. So far as this is neceſſary, it is not blameable: it is but one in⯑ſtance of the imperfection of our nature. In⯑fancy and childhood is the age of trifling: rea⯑ſon is dormant; the ſenſe of good and evil is but beginning to ſhew itſelf; the faculties are too imperfectly opened for a juſt concep⯑tion of things ſpiritual and eternal. Through all the periods of life, a conſiderable propor⯑tion of our time muſt be ſpent in ſleep, in ex⯑erciſe, relaxation, and amuſement, needful for the health and vigour of the body, as well as for the ſoundneſs and alacrity of the mind. How great a part of your paſt time has thus elapſed? If in theſe things you have not ex⯑ceeded the bounds of moderation, it has paſſed innocently: but ſtill it has been no-wiſe ſub⯑ſervient to the important purpoſes of eternity. Since, then, ſo great a part of our time has ſlipped away, and muſt continue to ſlip away, without promoting theſe purpoſes, can we be too diligent in making the beſt uſe of thoſe parts of it which are capable of promoting them? But which of us can ſay, that we have [351] ſpent no more time than was neceſſary, in theſe ways, or that we have waſted none of it in liſtleſs indolence, counting the tedious hours, and wiſhing that they would paſs more ſwiftly? What is the whole life of many, but one un⯑interrupted ſeries of thoughtleſſneſs, levity, and diſſipation? Does this become creatures who, amidſt all the avocations of this ſhort life, muſt make preparation for eternity? Re⯑deem the time which you have thus ſauntered away, by henceforth ſpending no more of your time unprofitably, than is abſolutely un⯑avoidable. The huſbandman or the artificer reckons only upon his working-days for mak⯑ing proviſion for his family. The induſtrious merchant looks upon the hours as loſt, that are diverted from his trade. Let your time be employed as conſtantly as poſſible, in ſome profitable buſineſs, that you may avoid the folly and the temptations of idleneſs. Never indulge yourſelves in relaxation and amuſe⯑ment, when you have a call to any uſeful office. Render your very relaxations, as far as their nature can permit, indirectly ſubſer⯑vient to your ſalvation, by taking care that they be always ſuch as render you fitter for thoſe employments which directly promote it.

I HAVE now endeavoured to aſſiſt and direct you in reviewing your paſt time, ſo that you [352] may redeem it; that you may more than ever employ it for its proper end; that you may improve the opportunities which you have formerly neglected, and improve thoſe better which you have improved well already; that you may reſiſt the temptations to which you have formerly yielded, and continue to reſiſt thoſe which you have hitherto reſiſted; that you may perſiſt in employing your time well, in thoſe inſtances in which you have been ac⯑cuſtomed to employ it well; and that, by your future circumſpection and diligence, you may in ſome meaſure retrieve thoſe parts of it which you have either miſ-ſpent or trifled away. To redeem the time, is of great im⯑portance, and of real neceſſity to us all. The beſt are capable of great improvement, and are bound to make a conſtant progreſs to the very end of their lives. But if there be any of you who have yet done nothing for eternity, with⯑out ſpeedily redeeming the time, you muſt be ruined for ever: now it is high time to awake out of ſleep; the night is far ſpent, the day is at hand ^*: awake thou that ſleepeſt, and ariſe from the dead ^†. Ye aged men and aged wo⯑men, inſtantly redeem the time: your remain⯑ing opportunity muſt be very ſhort: not a mo⯑ment of it ought ye to loſe. Ye healthful, [353] ye ſtrong, ye vigorous, you alſo ſhould re⯑deem the time: defer it not: what is even your ſtrength that you ſhould hope? Is your ſtrength the ſtrength of ſtones? or is your fleſh of braſs ^‡? your ſtrength is not for ever; your vigour will ſoon decay; your health will quickly be turned into diſeaſe; you will be called into the eternal world, and you muſt obey the call whether you be or be not pre⯑pared for it. Even you, ye young, are not exempt from obligation to redeem the time; the youngeſt of you have already loſt ſome time: the ſooner you begin to redeem it, the eaſier will be your work, and the more profi⯑tably and happily will all the reſt of your days be ſpent: if you begin not to redeem it now, even you may have no opportunity of redeeming it; young, blooming, gay, ſprightly as you are, even you ſhall go down to the chambers of death ^*, even you are haſtening to the grave where there is no work nor device ^†.

SERMON XV. THE TRUTH OF CHRISTIANITY CON⯑FIRMED BY THE MANNER IN WHICH ITS EVIDENCES WERE PROPOSED ^*.

IN the preceding part of this chapter, we are informed that ſome Phariſ [...]s brought a woman caught in adultery to Jeſus, aſking his judgment in the caſe, and prepared to take advantage againſt him, whatever his determi⯑nation ſhould be. But he diſconcerted their ma⯑lice by his wiſdom, and afterwards affirmed the [356] excellence of his own character and office, ſay⯑ing, I am the light of the world ^*. The Pha⯑riſees cenſured this as vain-glorious boaſting, characteriſtical of an impoſtor; Thou beareſt record of thyſelf, thy record is not true ^†. He anſwers in the text, Though I bear record of myſelf, yet my record is true. The anſwer is not applicable only to that one occaſion: it naturally implies this general ſentiment; that Chriſt Jeſus propoſed and urged the evidences of his miſſion in a manner which, far from leſſening their weight, makes an addition to it.

THERE is ſcarcely any teſt of truth, leſs am⯑biguous than this, That it becomes more unde⯑niable, the more ſeverely it is examined, and the more various the lights in which it is viewed. Chriſtianity has many features per⯑ceivable at firſt ſight, which intimate its di⯑vine original: but every new atttitude in which it can be placed, diſcovers additional marks of its divinity. The ſtrength of its ſeveral evidences conſidered in themſelves, has been often and fully diſplayed. The manner in which theſe evidences were at firſt propoſed, has not been ſo commonly attended to. That that manner contains many ſeparate preſump⯑tions of the truth of Chriſtianity, it ſhall be the buſineſs of this diſcourſe to evince.

[357]IN proſecution of this deſign, it will be neceſſary to examine diſtinctly, firſt, the man⯑ner in which Chriſt and his apoſtles propoſed the evidences of the goſpel originally; and ſe⯑condly, the manner in which they propoſed them in conſequence of oppoſition.

Firſt, LET us attend to the manner in which Chriſt and his apoſtles propoſed the evi⯑dences of the goſpel originally, that is, in ad⯑dreſſing thoſe who had not yet ſhewn preju⯑dices, or raiſed objections againſt the goſpel.

IN this ſituation, they ſimply exhibited the evidences of their miſſion, without either il⯑luſtrating their ſtrength by reaſoning, or ſtudi⯑ouſly preventing objections againſt them. They publiſhed doctrines really excellent; but they did not affect on every occaſion, either to aſ⯑ſert that they are excellent, or to affirm that their excellence proves their divinity. They wrought miracles actually attended with all the circumſtances which could contribute to their credibility, and to their force; but they were not at pains to ſhow by arguments, in what manner, or how much, the ſeveral circum⯑ſtances contributed to the one purpoſe or to the other. In many inſtances, they diſcovered their knowledge of the hearts of men, and they predicted future events; but they left [358] men to conclude of themſelves from theſe in⯑ſtances, that they had a divine miſſion; they ſcarcely ever drew the inference. They proved Jeſus to be the Meſſiah, from ancient prophe⯑cies: but they proved it in the ſimpleſt man⯑ner; ſometimes by only appealing to the Old Teſtament in general; often by barely quoting a particular paſſage; always without juſtifying the application by ſubtile reaſoning. That this was uniformly their manner, in propoſing the evidences of their miſſion originally, or to thoſe who did not directly ſhow a ſpirit of op⯑poſition, might be proved by a large detail of inſtances from the New Teſtament; but that would be tedious, and in this auditory it is not neceſſary.

BUT does not this repreſentation of their manner give countenance to an objection which has been urged againſt Chriſtianity, that it was not, in its firſt publication, founded upon argument? It does not give countenance, ſo much as in appearance, to this objection in the moſt important ſenſe of it: it implies not in the remoteſt manner that Chriſtianity is not founded on, or, to ſpeak more properly, ſupported by, juſt and rational evidence; for the obſervations which we have made, relate not at all to the matter of the evidence, but merely to the manner of propoſing it. But [359] does it not give a colour for affirming at leaſt, that the evidence of the goſpel was propoſed in an improper and imperfect manner? If it give a colour for this objection, it gives no more. This manner is no real preſumption againſt the truth of Chriſtianity; on the con⯑trary, it is a ſtrong preſumption for it.

IT is no preſumption againſt the truth of Chriſtianity: for that manner was neither im⯑proper nor imperfect; it was ſufficient for producing belief, in the circumſtances in which it was uſed. If the goſpel, in its firſt publication, was not ſupported by argument, it was notwithſtanding ſupported by evidence. Evidence is different from reaſoning: evidence perceived is the immediate cauſe of belief; reaſoning is but one means of bringing men to perceive the evidence; and it is a means which is far from being neceſſary in every caſe. The ſtrongeſt conviction poſſible is produced by ſimple intuition. The evidence of natural and moral truths, and in general of all matters of fact, requires not a proceſs of reaſoning, in order to its being perceived: a fact is exhibited, and from it a concluſion concerning another fact is directly inferred: the natural conſtitution of the mind determines us to make the inference, and to adopt it, without any compariſon of ideas. The evi⯑dences [360] of the goſpel are facts, miracles for in⯑ſtance, the perception of which leads the mind naturally to infer the truth of the goſpel. The facts are perceived without reaſoning; and when they are perceived, the concluſion is like⯑wiſe deduced without reaſoning. Natural evi⯑dence is, by the original formation of the ſoul, adapted to the underſtanding; there are prin⯑ciples of belief eſſential to man, on which it lays hold, and by means of which it pro⯑duces immediate conviction in the unperverted. Chriſt exhibited evidence in a way fit for ope⯑rating on the natural principles of belief; he made men to perceive the facts from which the truth of his miſſion directly followed: this was enough; it is the very method by which men are daily convinced in ſimilar caſes.

EVIDENCE of every kind admits reaſon⯑ing: the evidence of our religion is capable of copious illuſtrations and defences by argu⯑ment. But it is in no caſe neceſſary in order to conviction, that a perſon attend to all the reaſonings of which the ſubject is ſuſceptible. If he perceive the evidence without them, it would be altogether ſuperfluous. It deſerves to be remarked alſo, that the evidences of the goſpel do not appear in the very ſame light to us, in which they appeared to thoſe to whom they were originally propoſed. Our ſituation [361] differs from theirs in many circumſtances; and it is from theſe circumſtances that moſt of the reaſonings ariſe, which have been introduced into the defence of Chriſtianity. For our con⯑viction, reaſoning may be neceſſary: but it by no means follows, that it was neceſſary for convincing them; their ſituation gave not the ſame occaſion for it. To them the evidence was directly exhibited; if it was real and na⯑tural evidence, it would produce belief in them.

THEIR conviction would likewiſe be en⯑tirely rational. We are apt to regard nicety in canvaſſing evidence, and ſcrupuloſity in ad⯑mitting it, with too favourable an eye. What renders aſſent irrational, is its being yielded to improper evidence, not its being yielded readi⯑ly to ſuch as is proper. Aſſent is always ra⯑tional, when it is yielded to real and juſt evi⯑dence: the more readily it is yielded, it is the more rational. To be impoſed upon by in⯑ſufficient evidence, ſhows a defect of underſtand⯑ing: not to perceive natural evidence quickly, without a multitude of arguments and illuſtra⯑tions, ſhews an equal defect. The ſtomach is ſound when it digeſts eaſily by its own force: the eye is good when it perceives objects clearly without artificial aſſiſtances: true vigour of underſtanding is entirely ſimilar. To thoſe who [362] gave no ſigns of their being diſtempered with incredulity, the evidences of Chriſtianity were ſimply exhibited: this is no preſumption againſt Chriſtianity; it was ſufficient for producing firm and rational belief in ſuch.

THIS manner is in ſeveral ways a very ſtrong preſumption for Chriſtianity.

FAR from implying that no real evidence was given, it neceſſarily implies that the evi⯑dence was ſtrong. The ſtrongeſt evidence in every kind operates moſt quickly on the un⯑derſtanding: if evidence be weak or doubtful, its force cannot be at all perceived without the aid of reaſoning and illuſtration. It is certain that the evidence of the goſpel was at firſt merely exhibited; it is equally certain that many were in fact convinced by the firſt pro⯑poſal of it; it is therefore undeniable that its evidence was not only real, but alſo ſtrong. Men are very credulous, they often believe without juſt evidenee: we confeſs it. But it is only when the want of evidence is concealed by ſpecious reaſoning, or by ſome other arti⯑fice. This was not the caſe in the original publication of the goſpel. If there had been any defect in its evidence, the defect muſt have been perceived, for no means at all were uſed to hide it. If the evidence had not been [363] ſtrong, it could not poſſibly have produced be⯑lief, for it was barely ſhown. Very certain truths have been rejected, becauſe the proof of them was not ſufficiently urged: but there never was a falſehood ſucceſsfully inculcated by a naked and artleſs exhibition of pretended evidence.

AGAIN, This manner was the fitteſt poſ⯑ſible for convincing the unprejudiced. The more ſimply evidence can be propoſed, con⯑ſiſtently with clearneſs, the better it anſwers its end. Whenever reaſoning is not neceſſary, it burdens the evidence, and perplexes the un⯑derſtanding. This is in a peculiar manner true of matters of fact, which we are naturally formed for inferring immediately, at a ſingle ſtep; and it holds eſpecially when the bulk of mankind are addreſſed. Propoſe to an ordi⯑nary man evidence really ſuited to the nature of the ſubject; he aſſents without heſitation: enter upon the diſcuſſions which ing [...]nuity has introduced into every ſubject; he underſtands you not. Every man is m [...]de capable of b [...]ing convinced by real evidence; but many can⯑not comprehend the ſubt [...]ties of diſputation. Chriſtianity was intended for the uſe of th [...] generality, not for the entertainment of the curious. If its evidence was real, ſimply to preſent it would moſt effectually produce be⯑lief [364] in an ordinary man: if it was not fit for producing belief when thus propoſed, it was not adapted to the bulk of mankind. God has ſuited its evidence to their powers; Chriſt has propoſed it in the manner fitteſt for convincing them: by this it is declared, not obſcurely, that the goſpel is the offspring of the ſame wiſ⯑dom which fixed the human conſtitution.

THIS manner is likewiſe moſt ſuitable to the character of a divine teacher. It ſets Jeſus in direct oppoſition to impoſtors. They mag⯑nify ſlender evidence: they can produce no better, and therefore they labour to perſuade men by every art, that what they have pro⯑duced is conſiderable. It becomes a teacher truly ſent from God, to give, on the con⯑trary, evidence of his miſſion, fit in its own nature for producing belief; and, conſcious of its inherent ſtrength, to propoſe it without ſhow. In Mahomet we find the former man⯑ner, in Chriſt the latter, in perfection: that looks very like impoſture; this bears the un⯑equivocal features of truth. When a man aſ⯑ſerts at every turn, that his arguments are ſtrong, it is at leaſt ſuſpicious: one who has no deſign to bias the judgment, propoſes his reaſons, and leaves them to make their ſtrength to be felt. Simplicity of manner is always an [365] indication of truth; and Jeſus poſſeſſed it in the higheſt degree.

THIS ſhows likewiſe that he was conſcions of his title to the character which he claimed. A perſon who knows that he intends to de⯑ceive, is naturally ſuſpicious. But Jeſus diſ⯑covers no anxiety to foreſee and prevent dif⯑ficulties; and his apoſtles relate things as they knew them to be, without any appearance of concern about the conſequences. This is that honeſt confidence which flows naturally from integrity, which a deceiver never can put on: it proves them to be what they ſaid they were.

SIMPLICITY of manner is moreover an indication of genuine dignity. Mahomet af⯑fected dignity; but it was of a falſe kind, and it was totally miſplaced. He haughtily diſ⯑dained to give evidence of his miſſion: to have given it, was abſolutely incumbent on him. At the ſame time he made an oſtentation of evidence: it was in avoiding this, that true greatneſs would have appeared: this betrayed a littleneſs of mind; it ſhowed his dignity to be affected at other times, only to hide the want of evidence. Jeſus aſſumed a high character: but his manner ſhowed that it belonged to him; it was a plain expreſſion of it: he ſuſtained it with natural eaſe, and unaffected majeſty: he [366] gave evidence very readily; he diſdained only to diſplay it with parade and oſtentation: Truly this was the Son of God ^*!

THUS the manner in which the evidences of the goſpel were originally propoſed, contains many preſumptions of its truth. They are ſo ſtrong that, if you ſuppoſe it falſe, it muſt appear unaccountable that ever that manner ſhould have been adopted, and impoſſible that ever it could have ſucceeded.

BUT proper as this manner was, it did not ſecure Chriſtianity from oppoſition. Vice and prejudice ſuggeſted many objections againſt its evidences; they were propoſed to Chriſt and his apoſtles; and they induced them to depart from their ordinary manner of ſimply exhibit⯑ing evidence, and to adopt a different manner, the examination of which was the ſecond part of our deſign.

IN what manner, then, did Chriſt ſupport his claim, when he addreſſed thoſe who formed objections, or liſtened to them? He aſſerted his miſſion, and avowed his character, in the moſt peremptory and explicit terms. In con⯑futing mens cavils, in illuſtrating what had [367] occaſioned them, in correcting their miſtakes, in inſtilling juſter principles, he often gave a more ample exhibition of excellent doctrine: he aſſerted likewiſe that the goſpel is excel⯑lent; and he urged its excellence as a proof of its divinity. He reminded thoſe who oppoſed him, of the miracles which he had wrought; he affirmed expreſsly and frequently, that they were wrought on purpoſe to prove his miſſion, and eſtabliſh his doctrine. It was denied that his miracles had force enough to prove that he came from God; they were even aſcribed to magic: he demonſtrated the abſurdity of the charge, and vindicated their force by clear and ſolid argument. He moreover ſhowed in ſeveral in⯑ſtances, that his miracles were direct evidences of the principal doctrines of his religion, as being actual, experienced exertions of the very powers which theſe doctrines aſcribed to him, or of the moſt ſimilar powers that could be rendered objects of ſenſe. He often appealed in expreſs terms to particular ancient predic⯑tions, and ſhowed that they were fulfilled in himſelf. The Jews had formed a very inade⯑quate idea of the Meſſiah, and were hindered from perceiving that Jeſus was he, by their overlooking ſome whole predictions, and ſome capital circumſtances in other predictions, con⯑cerning him: our Saviour pointed out theſe, and reaſoned from them, in order to perfect [368] their idea of the Meſſiah, and remove their prejudices againſt himſelf. They obſerved in Jeſus ſome characters inconſiſtent with the conception of the Meſſiah, which they thought they had derived from the prophets: he ſhowed, that theſe characters were truly conſiſtent with the prophetical deſcriptions of the Meſſiah, nay often that they were plainly included in them. They miſſed in him ſome characters which they aſcribed to the Meſſiah: he proved, ſometimes that he himſelf really had th [...]ſe characters, and at other times that their ex⯑pectation of finding them in the Meſſiah, pro⯑ceeded only from their ignorance of the true meaning of the prophecies. The oppoſition which was made to him, led him not only to illuſtrate and urge the evidences of his miſſion ſeparately, but alſo to collect them together, and diſplay their united force. Time will not allow me, either to produce examples of theſe ſeveral particulars, or to ſhow how cloſely and with how great propriety the apoſtles imi⯑tated their maſter in all of them. We pro⯑ceed therefore to enquire, what advantages Chriſtianity has derived from this alteration in the manner of propoſing its evidences.

BY means of this alteration, the truth of Chriſtianity is rendered more immediately evi⯑dent, and the defence of it eaſier and ſhorter; [369] for by it conſiderable difficulties are avoided, and plauſible objections prevented. By claim⯑ing a divine miſſion ſo frequently and ſo ex⯑plicitly, Chriſt rendered it indiſputable that he intended his whole doctrine to ſtand on the authority of a divine revelation. This has a very great and extenſive influence on the man⯑ner of examining the truth of Chriſtianity: it makes it plain, that very many of the moſt ſpe⯑cious arguments of in [...]idels are really nothing at all to the purpoſe; that no objection againſt any particular doctrines of Chriſtianity is of weight in the queſtion, except it ſhow that they cannot poſſibly be true; that therefore the only queſtion is, whether Chriſt had in fact a divine miſſion, and that this can be le⯑gitimately determined in no other way but by a cloſe examination of the poſitive evidence produced. If this evidence is not directly con⯑futed, his authority is alone ſufficient for proving that any doctrine which in its nature may be true, is true; it demands our unreſerved aſ⯑ſent to whatever he really taught. By his ex⯑preſs declarations of the intention of his mi⯑racles, he has rendered their connexion with his doctrine obvious; no man can honeſtly overlook it, or repreſent them as mere un⯑meaning acts of [...]kill or power. The fre⯑quency of his appeals to prophecy, removes all manner of difficulty in determining, whether he [370] claimed the high character of the Meſſiah, or only that of an ordinary prophet. Every dif⯑ficulty in revelation is magnified by infidels, into an objection againſt it: Chriſtianity ſtands clear of many difficulties by the manner of its publication; to a certain degree it is what in⯑fidels would wiſh: is this no indication of its truth? It is the moſt conſiderable, becauſe it could be accompliſhed, without forfeiting other great advantages, by no poſſible means except the delicate and ſingular conjunction of contrary manners, which Jeſus introduced.

As the manner in which he ſupported his miſſion on occaſion of oppoſition, prevents ſome objections, ſo it removes others. It gives us his own account of the nature and force of the evidences which he produced, and his own anſwers to ſeveral objections againſt them. Infidels have never confuted theſe; they have ſcarcely attempted it. Is this recon⯑cileable to candour? Is it not an acknowledg⯑ment of weakneſs? They ought to have begun with this; by neglecting it, they have left a ſtrong enemy behind, in poſſeſſion of a for⯑treſs which they found impregnable; and in conſequence of this, all their advances are in⯑ſecure, and their ſucceſſes are but apparent. The reaſonings of Jeſus ſtand unanſwered; in them Chriſtians may reſt with the fulleſt aſſur⯑ance; [371] and in them they find, not only mo⯑dels for defences of their religion, but alſo principles directly applicable to the confutation of many of the objections which have been more lately raiſed againſt it.

THE manner which Chriſt adopted when he met with oppoſition, gives a new proof of the ſtrength of the evidence which he pro⯑duced. In convincing many when it was ſim⯑ply exhibited, its ſtrength was exerted, and it was diſplayed by the exertion. But prejudice or indiſpoſition of mind often hinders the ſtrongeſt evidence from convincing all. In this caſe, the ſtrength of the evidence can be ſhown only by reaſoning; and by reaſoning it may be ſhown that it ought to have convinced all. The evidence which Chriſt offered was examined; and by the examination, its ſtrength was juſtified. That muſt be truth, which has evidence capable of a full vindica⯑tion by ſolid argument.

THREE are many who cannot be convinced by the mere exhibition of evidence. The diſ⯑tempered need medicine as well as food. Some are either inattentive, or prejudiced, or prone to doubt, or ſo fond of reaſoning as to demand it in every caſe. Theſe can be convinced only by an argumentative diſplay of evidence. [372] Chriſt often met with ſuch▪ he adapted his manner to them; he uſed the natural means of bringing them to believe. He did all that could be done for the conviction even of the moſt incredulous. Is not credit due to the teacher who never declined uſing any proper means of conviction? Is it no evidence of truth, that the goſpel was capable of being ſupported by every kind of means?

BUT is there nothing in all this contrary to that ſimplicity which was remarked in his original manner, as a ſtrong indication of his divine character and miſſion? Are there not aſſertions of his miſſion and dignity, appeals to the evidences which he had produced, pro⯑feſſed diſplays of them, and threatenings againſt thoſe who reſiſted them? But all theſe without exception were occaſioned by oppoſi⯑tion: this gives a full account of them. In this ſituation, they had entire propriety; they were even no more than juſtly varied expreſ⯑ſions of the very characters which ſhone forth in his original manner.

To hear and anſwer objections readily, when men raiſed them; to vindicate the evi⯑dences of his miſſion by reaſoning, when their force was called in queſtion, was even neceſ⯑ſary for ſhowing, that he was ſincere in claim⯑ing [373] a miſſion, and ſecure of his title to it▪ When a man's right is called in queſtion, not to aſſert it, is to relinquiſh it.

OSTENTATION is inconſiſtent with true dignity: but to illuſtrate evidence after it has been miſunderſtood; to enforce it by reaſon⯑ing, on thoſe who have not felt its force; to claim whatever is at the ſame time proved to be due; is not oſtentation: it is truly the natural eaſe and condeſcenſion, which is ſo eſſential to genuine dignity, that pride finds it neceſſary to put it on. The contrary conduct would have plainly betrayed ſupercilious haughti⯑neſs.

IT may be added, that the nature of all Chriſt's reaſonings is expreſſive both of con⯑ſcious truth and of real greatneſs. His rea⯑ſonings are calculated, always for convincing, never for making a ſhow of ingenuity: they contain nothing either mean, or weak, or ar⯑tificial: they are all conciſe, direct, clear, and cogent. Impoſtors affect to diſdain anſwering objections, or, inſtead of ſolving them by ar⯑gument, they elude them by mere confident aſſertions, by artifice, or by declamation▪ in juſtifying the evidences of his miſſion, no leſs than in originally preſenting them, Chriſt is a perfect contraſt to impoſtors. He has not [374] a ſingle lineament which is not the reverſe of theirs: is it poſſible that he ſhould nevertheleſs be one of them?

THUS, by Chriſt's vindication of his miſ⯑ſion the features of divinity obſervable in his original manner, are only thrown into a new attitude. In the moſt oppoſite ſituations, he preſerved the character uniform and conſiſtent▪ he only varied the expreſſions of it, as the caſe required. Cunning will enable a man who only affects a character, to eſcape detection in one ſituation in which he has carefully prac⯑tiſed his part: but if a man ſuſtain it with equal propriety in ſudden reverſes of condition, it muſt be his real and natural character.

UPON the whole, the manner in which Chriſt bare record to himſelf, both originally, and in conſequence of oppoſition, is in many ways a ſtrong proof that his record was true. The manner proper to either of theſe ſituations, taken alone, has ſome defects, and it has ſome advantages; he has uſed the one manner, ſo as to correct the imperfections of the other; and he has united the oppoſite advantages of both. His whole manner, whether we con⯑ſider it in relation to the conviction of men▪ or in relation to the character of a divine teacher, is abſolutely perfect: there is nothing [375] wanting, nothing ſuperfluo [...]s, nothing miſ⯑placed. It has an excellence which has not yet been mentioned. It is an application of evidence, which ſhows the greateſt ſtrength of underſtanding, and the higheſt powers of reaſon. To judge unerringly, when evidence ſhould be only exhibited, and when it is proper to enforce it; to preſent none that is not ſolid; to place every argument, by one happy turn, in a ſtriking point of view; to preſerve all this propriety throughout an addreſs to man⯑kind, continued for years; this is a pitch of ex⯑cellence which uninſpired perſons attain, only when natural vigour of mind, and ſuperior genius and penetration, are united with the beſt means of intellectual improvement. Neither Chriſt nor his apoſtles had an opportunity of attaining it by natural means: they muſt have owed it, therefore, to ſupernatural cauſes; they muſt have been, as they affirmed them⯑ſelves to be, perſons commiſſioned and in⯑ſpired by God.

ALL theſe ſtrong preſumptions of truth and divinity tend directly to confirm our faith in the goſpel. Faith will always ope⯑rate on the heart and life, in proportion to its ſtrength. Attention to the multitudes of cir⯑cumſtances, of the moſt various kinds, which [...]cur in proclaiming that our religion is of [376] God, will enable us, unaffected by trivial ob⯑jections, to reſt in it with full aſſurance. Faith thus invigorated and enlivened, will not remain inactive; it will inſtigate all who are poſſeſſed of it, to the hearty obedience of the goſpel. If ſuch faith prevail in our hearts, my reverend fathers and brethren, it will moreover diffuſe life and ſpirit through all our miniſtrations.

THE manner in which we have ſeen that the goſpel was publiſhed at firſt, may like⯑wiſe ſuggeſt to us many rules of great import⯑ance, both in our public and in our private ad⯑dreſſes to mankind; particularly in relation to the beſt manner of communicating and incul⯑cating religious truths: but I will leave theſe to be collected by your own reflections, rather than encroach upon your patience. Suffer me only to hint with the utmoſt brevity, that this example will direct us, to propoſe to our hearers, not abſtruſe notions or refined ſpecu⯑lations, but plain truth; to exhibit it to their view, not in a dry analyſis or laboured and artificial diſtribution, but in ſtriking maxims, warm ſentiments, and natural arrangement; to ſupport it by ſolid evidence and convincing argument, not by abſtract reaſonings or intri⯑cate deductions, much leſs by forced inter⯑pretations, dubious poſitions, or plauſible ſo⯑phiſms; [377] to avoid altogether queſtions which are frivolous, unedifying, or interminable, and never without neceſſity to enter even on ſuch points of nice diſcuſſion as ſeem to be of ſome importance and of poſſible ſolution; to expreſs our inſtructions in the language of ſcripture and of common ſenſe, not in the learned phra⯑ſeology of either the ancient or the modern ſchools of ſcience; to vary both the matter and the manner of our addreſſes, according to the capacities and ſituations of thoſe for whom they are deſigned, and always ſo as to reach their underſtandings by the neareſt and [...]aſieſt road, and to touch their hearts with the greateſt force; in one word, ſtudiouſly to aim, never at diſplaying or even gratifying ourſelves, but conſtantly and in all reſpects at profiting others, by bringing them to a firm faith of the ſimple principles of the goſpel, by exciting them to a lively perception of them, and by perſuading them to comply with their genuine intention in all goodneſs, and righteouſneſs, and truth ^*.

SERMON XVI. THE ADVANTAGES OF THE VIRTUOUS FOR THE ENJOYMENT OF EXTERNAL GOOD.

OF the different courſes by which man⯑kind purſue happineſs, it muſt be ac⯑knowledged fair to give that the preference, which confers the greateſt happineſs when all circumſtances are ſuppoſed equal. If it can be proved that the righteous are happier than the wicked in the ſame ſituation, it will fol⯑low undeniably that virtue is much more fa⯑vourable than vice to our intereſt in the pre⯑ſ [...]nt world; and that, without taking the re⯑wards of eternity into the account, virtue ought to be the choice of every prudent man. But even this is not all that can be ſaid with truth in behalf of virtue: my text puts the caſe much ſtronger; A little that a righteous [380] man hath, is better than the riches of many wicked: a ſmall portion of the good things of the world, gives the virtuous man more real enjoyment, not than the ſame portion, but more than affluence, than riches, nay than the riches of many joined together, can yield to the vicious.

WERE we fully convinced of this, it muſt recommend virtue very ſtrongly, for it would urge us to the practice of it from a regard to our preſent happineſs. In order to convince us of this ſalatury truth, I ſhall illuſtrate and confirm the pſalmiſt's maxim, by ſhewing,

FIRST, That a good man has greater en⯑joyment from a little, than the wicked can have from the largeſt fortune; and

SECONDLY, That he has more durable en⯑joyment.

FIRST, A good man has greater enjoy⯑ment, purer and more ſolid ſatisfaction, from a little, than the wicked can have from the largeſt fortune.

IT will ſcarcely be denied by any perſon who at all reflects, either that outward poſſeſ⯑ſions can make us happy only ſo far as we [381] enjoy them, or that the foundation of enjoy⯑ment muſt be laid in ourſelves. That health of body and freedom from acute pain or ſevere diſtemper, are abſolutely neceſſary for our de⯑riving pleaſure from the greateſt abundance of external things, is acknowledged by all. Why is not the neceſſity of a ſound and healthful temper of mind as univerſally acknowledged? How fooliſhly do men eſtimate the requiſites to happineſs! The body is only the inſtru⯑ment, by means of which the ſoul receives pleaſure from outward things: the health of that is confeſſed to be neceſſary for our enjoy⯑ing them; with what conſiſtence can it be de⯑nied that the health of this is at leaſt as neceſ⯑ſary? It cannot be denied without contradict⯑ing the plaineſt experience. Who is there that cannot recollect the time, when grief for the death of a beloved friend, regret for the loſs of ſomething valuable, anxiety for what he longed to poſſeſs, or dread of an impending danger, rendered thoſe things, not inſipid only, but diſagreeable and loathſome, which, in a different ſtate of mind, would have given him the higheſt pleaſure? Needs there a clearer evidence, that the immediate and principal foundation of enjoyment lies in the inward temper? If the temper of mind fits us for en⯑joyment, a little will give us great ſatisfaction: but if our temper be irregular and unhealthy, [382] it will ſpoil our reliſh for every object, and render us incapable of extracting any real ſatiſ⯑faction from the greateſt affluence.

VICE produces a temper which is very un⯑favourable to our enjoyment. It deſtroys the conſtitution, and breaks the vigour of the ſoul. It ſubjects it to the moſt uneaſy feelings and the moſt painful paſſions. The whole head is ſick, and the whole heart faint; from the ſole of the foot even unto the head, there is no ſound⯑neſs in it, but wounds, and bruiſes, and pu⯑trifying ſores ^*. To a ſoul in this manner exulcerated and diſeaſed, what enjoyment can [...]riſe from the greateſt wealth? The perturba⯑tions with which vice fills the ſoul, are more incompatible with enjoyment, than any diſ⯑temper which can afflict the body. The burn⯑ing fever does not render us more incapable of taſting pleaſure, than inſatiable deſires and boiſterous paſſions. Agitated by them, the ſoul boileth, it toſſeth, it cannot reſt. The agonies of the ſtone do not more corrode the body, than careful anxiety, fretting peeviſh⯑neſs, pining diſcontent, waſting envy, fell re⯑venge, gnawing remorſe, and their kindred agonies, the genuine progeny of vice, corrode the mind. The tortures which they inflict, [383] force us to nauſeate the beſt things in life. As the ravenous wolf devours the harmleſs lamb, and converts it into its own ſubſtance, they ſwallow up all the ſenſations of the ſoul, and by the mixture even of ſuch as are moſt pleaſant, become the more excruciating. Ob⯑jects which might afford the ſweeteſt gratifi⯑cation, they render bitterer than gall. When a man's mind is in the power of every vicious paſſion, all things provoke or deject him, and by heightening his inward miſery, increaſe his incapacity of enjoyment. Is our neighbour fortunate? His proſperity is only fewel thrown into the fire which rages in our ſouls. Is he unfortunate? His calamities give us joy; but it is a poiſoned joy which ſwells our hearts into greater naughtineſs and malignity. Does the world cenſure us? Conſcience is rouſed; it ratifies the cenſure; it ſtings with redoubled force; we are exaſperated into fury; we are raiſed into madneſs. Does the world commend us? Our heart tells us that we deſerve it not; it can give us no ſincere pleaſure; the feeling of our demerit is ſtrengthened by being contraſted with the opinion of the world; we deſpiſe ourſelves and abhor ourſelves the more. A vicious temper finds occaſion of diſquiet and diſguſt in every ſituation. It deprives a man of that internal ſerenity and peace which is the ſole foundation of happineſs. What are the [384] riches of many wicked, what are all the king⯑doms of the earth able to avail the man who is wretched in himſelf? The fierceſt ſhocks of thunder, winds, and rains cannot produce more dreadful convulſions in the frame of na⯑ture, than thoſe into which tumultuous, ex⯑orbitant, and jarring paſſions throw the ſoul: they ravage all its enjoyments. Vice lets in upon the ſoul an inundation of torments, which overwhelms it, as the flood of old overwhelmed the earth, when God opened the windows of heaven, and broke up the fountains of the great deep, when the waters prevailed, and increaſed greatly upon the earth, and killed all fleſh that moved upon the earth, and deſtroyed every liv⯑ing ſubſtance that was upon the face of the ground ^*. All is chaos and diſorder; all is uproar and diſſatisfaction.

ON the other hand, virtue eſtabliſhes a tem⯑per in the ſoul, which fits us for taking plea⯑ſure in whatever we poſſeſs. It diſpells the black clouds which overcaſt the vicious heart, and intercept the comfort which might ariſe from outward things: they are ſcattered by its brightneſs; they fly away before it as the ſhadows of the night before the riſing ſun; they leave the ſoul open and clear like the ſereneſt [385] heavens. Like the ſovereign voice of God, whoſe offspring it is, virtue calms thoſe in⯑ward ſtorms which would diſturb our peace; it commands the boiſterous winds which tear the wicked breaſt, to ceaſe; it quells the com⯑motion which ſin had raiſed, and made to overflow the wicked like a wide breaking in of waters, and to deſol [...]te all their pleaſures. As righteous Noah found refuge in the ark from all the ſpouting cataracts of heaven, and all the guſhing fountains of the deep, ſo the good man, in the ſ [...]rentiy which his virtue has eſtabliſhed, finds ſecurity againſt the inunda⯑tion of pains by which the enjoyments of the ſinner are ſwept away. By directing all our paſſions to their proper objects, and by mode⯑rating their impetuoſity, virtue ſtrikes at the root of every corrupt luſt, and every pertur⯑bation fatal to our enjoyment. So far as it prevails, it cures the ſoul of diſſatisfaction and diſeaſe. No importunate appetite, no vexa⯑tious paſſion, no ſickening remorſe, no ſhud⯑dering dread, no terrifying forebodings of fu⯑ture miſery wound the peace of the righteous, or render his poſſeſſions unſatisfying. Virtue cheriſhes the moſt pleaſant affections, content⯑ment, love, chearfulneſs, joy, hope; and by their influence it ſweetens the ordinary com⯑forts of human life, and keeps the ſoul in a proper habit for turning all things to the beſt [386] advantage. It produces a natural and regular motion of all our powers. Above all, it pro⯑motes the active operation of kind and devout affections, which give a ſoundneſs and vigour to the mind, more favourable than the greateſt flow of bodily health, to an exquiſite reliſh of life and its moſt common bleſſings. A tem⯑per ſo delightful as that which virtue eſta⯑bliſhes, has power enough to overcome the bitterneſs of ſorrow: much abler muſt it be to improve all our ſources of enjoyment, and heighten all the pleaſures which naturally iſſue from them. The temper of the good man fits him for enjoying all the happineſs of others, and for taſting ſatisfaction from the compaſſion with which he regards their pains. If the world approves him, he has its approbation without abatement; it is confirmed by his own conſciouſneſs of worth: and the joy which attends this conſciouſneſs, cannot be extin⯑guiſhed by the cenſure of the ignorant and the malicious; in exerting itſelf to riſe above that cenſure, it is often brightened and rendered the more exhilarating. A virtuous temper lays the mind open to every ſatisfaction that comes in its way, prepares it for embracing and en⯑joying it; and it renders the man ſo well diſ⯑poſed, ſo happy in himſelf, that almoſt every object throws ſome ſatisfaction in his way.

[387]THUS the temper of the mind is the very foundation of enjoyment: vice ſpoils this tem⯑per; virtue alone can preſerve it ſound. In the ſame outward circumſtances, therefore, it is plain that the enjoyment of the good man will be far ſuperior. But very little reflection is neceſſary to convince us that from the ſame principles it follows undeniably, that even in the moſt unequal circumſtances, even when the wicked are ſuppoſed to [...]ave the greateſt [...]uence, and the righteous to poſſeſs but a little, the latter have much g [...]t [...] en [...]ment than the form [...]r.

WE are very a [...]t to confound thoſe external things which are only the materials of enjoy⯑ment, with enjoyment itſelf. They are how⯑ever totally diſtinct. Every day's experience proves that a man may have many external things in his poſſeſſion, from which he derives no real enjoyment. Every perſon is forced to make this obſervation on ſome occaſions. In the preſent argument, it is of great importance to attend to the diſtinction. Riches are [...] ⯑able only ſo far as they yield enjoym [...]nt. They can therefore be of little value to the wicked man, whoſe temper renders him ſo incapable of enjoying them. His ſoul is diſeaſed: though he had alone the riches of many wealthy men, they could give him little ſincere delight. They [388] may purchaſe objects the fitteſt for gratifying the ſenſes: but by theſe, his ſenſes are not gratified. They may procure for him all the elegances of life: but his inward habit ſophiſti⯑cates the pleaſure which they ought to give him. How different is the condition of the good man? He may poſſeſs very little; but his inward temper ſecures to him the full en⯑joyment of whatever he poſſeſſeth. A very little is ſufficient for the neceſſaries of life; and if he have only the neceſſaries of life, he can derive from them, more ſolid pleaſure, even of ſenſe, than the wicked derive from all their riches. In reality there is not ſo great a difference as there ſeems to be, between the homely pleaſure of the pooreſt cottager and the ſplendid luxury of the greateſt monarch. There is generally more chearfulneſs and contentment in the cottage than in the palace. This is, at the very loweſt, a demonſtration that the poor have more real ſatisfaction and enjoyment, than the rich can eaſily believe to be compatible with their ſituation. Nevertheleſs a few ob⯑vious remarks may enable the rich to form a conception of it. It is confeſſed that by con⯑tinual uſe, the moſt ſumptuous enjoyments loſe their reliſh: they become common and familiar; they are in time deſpiſed by thoſe who had at firſt the quickeſt taſte of them. Cuſtom brings down the enjoyment of the [389] prince almoſt to a level with that of the pea⯑ſant. The rich find their accuſtomed plea⯑ſures ſo inſipid, that they are continually ſearch⯑ing for new delights: but the poor remain contented with the ſame ſimple fare, and, with⯑out a wiſh for variety, repeat it day after day with undiminiſhed reliſh; an evidence, that the ſimpleſt things give the moſt real and laſt⯑ing pleaſure. It is felt by the luxurious them⯑ſelves. Amidſt all the variations of enter⯑tainment which they introduce, they never ba⯑niſh from their tables bread and water, the neceſſaries of life, the conſtant viands of the poor. In theſe plain productions of nature, they find ſolider ſatisfaction than in all the refined inventions of the epicure. When at ſome times, whetted with hunger, and unable to procure their ordinary delicacies, they have been obliged to take up with homely fare, it gave them a higher gratification than they found at other times in all their dainties. By acknowledging that it did, they unintentionally give their ſuffrage for the reality of the poor man's enjoyment. You will ſay, It was ow⯑ing only to the accidental keenneſs of their ap⯑petite. Granted. But this confirms our ar⯑gument. They commonly prevent their ap⯑petites; and by doing ſo, they neceſſarily pre⯑vent their pleaſure, which ariſes chiefly from ſatisfying appetite. The poor man has al⯑ways [390] this advantage: he runs not before his appetites; he eats and drinks, only to ſatisfy them; and from their being ſatisfied he de⯑rives that enjoyment every day, which is ſo unuſual to the luxurious. His ſenſes being neither palled nor vitiated, he uſes the c [...]arſeſt food with more exquiſite reliſh, than the pa [...] ⯑pered, debauch [...]d palate of the voluptuous can admit. But if the ſ [...]nſ [...]al pleaſures of the poor and the rich be in themſelves ſo nearly upon a level, the poor man who, by being virtuous, poſſeſſes inward tranquillity, muſt have great advantage for enjoyment, above a rich man who is wicked and ſelf-tormented. The plea⯑ſure of the former is pure; all the pleaſures of the latter are wofully ſophiſticated. Better is a dry morſel, and quietneſs of ſpirit therewith, than a houſe full of ſacrifices with the inward trouble ^* which vice produces. If the righteous man have only the neceſſaries of life, they are better than all the treaſures of the wicked. But there are very few who have not more than the neceſſaries of life. A little will procure a ſhare of conveniencies and its comforts, ſufficient to ſatisfy the moderate and well-regulated ap⯑petites of the virtuous man. Enough for this, is as much as his heart deſires. It is truly as much as the wealthieſt can have. Whatever [391] a man poſſeſſes, more than he can uſe to ſome good purpoſe, is nothing to him, contributes nothing to his happineſs, yields him no recom⯑pence for the trouble which it coſts him to take care of it. This is ſo unqueſtionably true, that the general voice of mankind pro⯑nounces the middle ſtate of life happi [...]r than the higheſt.

INSATIABLE deſires, in common with every irregular and faulty paſſion, obſtruct our en⯑joyment of outward things by ſpoiling the in⯑ward temper: they likewiſe obſtruct in it a way peculiar to themſelves. It is not the leſs true for being trite, That our natural wants are few and eaſily ſupplied, but that no abun⯑dance can ſupply the extravagance and mul⯑titude of artificial wants which ariſe in the ungoverned mind. He that loveth ſilver, ſhall not be ſatisfied with ſilver, let him have ever ſo much, nor he that loveth abundance, with increaſe ^*, be it ever ſo great. In the fulneſs of his ſufficiency he ſhall be in ſtraits ^†. It holds not of riches only, but of every ex⯑ternal object of deſire. Now the lawleſs ima⯑gination of the vicious man, by painting the objects of deſire in falſe colours, makes them to appear much more valuable than they are: [392] his deſire gathers ſtrength proportioned to their fancied value: and the conſtant habit of indulging it raiſes it to a degree of vehemence far exceeding even his own opinion of the value of its objects. No enjoyment of theſe objects can ſatisfy its craving, or quench its ardour. It is the fire that ſaith not, It is enough ^*. Exorbitant deſire is a dropſy of the ſoul: it parches it with a thirſt which, far from being allayed, is inflamed by every draught; it cannot poſſibly be ſatisfied; the more ſtudiouſly it is indulged, the more im⯑portunately it cries, Give, give. Incapable of gratification from its own objects, it like⯑wiſe renders a man unfit for deriving gratifi⯑cation from other objects. The man who is [...]agerly engroſſed by one darling purſuit, finds every pleaſure that is foreign to it, taſteleſs at leaſt, if not diſguſting. As in deformed bo⯑dies, the diſtorted member, itſelf a deformity and incumbrance, exhauſts the nouriſhment of the other members, rendering the whole a puny ſkeleton; ſo overgrown appetites and paſ⯑ſions, themſelves inſatiable, deprive all our other powers of their enjoyment, and rob the ſoul of its vigour, its ſatisfaction, and its hap⯑pineſs. All the riches which a wicked man can poſſeſs, all the materials of enjoyment which [393] they can enable him to accumulate, inſtead of filling his exorbitant deſires, render them more exorbitant, increaſe the diſtortion of his ſoul, and put ſatisfaction the farther beyond his reach. The greater the abundance which he poſſeſſes, the more frequent the gratifications which his ſituation affords to his deſires, the more incapable he is of real enjoyment. A pitiable, wretched ſtate! But a ſtate into which the want of ſelf-government neceſſarily plunges men! You may every day obſerve it realized in the reſtleſſneſs of the rich and the voluptuous, perpetually running from place to place, and from entertainment to entertain⯑ment; weary of the preſent; impatient for the future; but ſick of it alſo, the moment they have begun to taſte it. Far different is the ſtate of the virtuous man. It is the very pro⯑vince of virtue to reduce all our deſires with⯑in their natural limits. It moderates their ſtrength, leſſens their number, fixes their juſt balance: none conſumes the food of the reſt; and therefore a very little ſatisfies them all. As in a healthful body the nouriſhment diſtributed regularly to all the members, renders the whole well-proportioned, vigorous, and agile; ſo in the virtuous ſoul, the proper gratification be⯑ing allowed to every natural paſſion, it contri⯑butes its part to enjoyment and happineſs.

[394]ALL the kinds of vice obſtruct enjoyment in the ways that have been mentioned: every vice diſtempers the ſoul, and ſpoils its conſti⯑tution; many vices conſiſt wholly in the ex⯑orbitance of deſire, and every vice contributes to the exorbitance of our deſires by deſtroying their juſt proportion: but there are particular vices which produce likewiſe other effects no leſs fatal to real enjoyment. You readily think of avarice: it forbids the application of riches to any of the neceſſary ends of life; it proſcribes every poſſible uſe of wealth; the more a covetous man has, the more anxious his trouble in preſerving it, the more excru⯑ciating his dread of loſing it, the more parch⯑ing and unquenchable his thirſt for greater riches. But wonder not, when you hear in⯑temperance mentioned along with it. Intem⯑perance! it is the very organ of ſenſual plea⯑ſure; pleaſure is its direct aim and end; if any of the vices can improve our enjoyment of outward things, it muſt be intemperance. Yet it truly gives a leſs ſhare even of the pleaſures of ſenſe, than ſobriety and temper⯑ance. The habit of exceſs deadens the ſenſe, renders it ſo callous and unfeeling, that the pleaſure of indulging it is reduced to little more than a ceſſation of the uneaſineſs of im⯑portunate deſire. But the moderation which temperance preſcribes, preſerves the ſenſes [395] quick and tender, and ſuſceptible of all the pleaſures which objects are fit to give.

FROM theſe obſervatio [...]s it app [...]ars, that a little can yield to the virtuous more genuine pleaſure even of ſenſ [...], than the greateſt riches can yield to the wicked. But the virtuous have ſtill great [...]r advantages. From affluence, the wicked derive only ſ [...]nſual pl [...]aſure: from a competence, from a very little, the good man derives far nobl [...]r joys. S [...]nſual plea⯑ſure is of the moſt abject kind. Alone it can⯑not r [...]nder life ſo much as tolerable. D [...]ſpi⯑cable is the life which is filled up with a ſuc⯑ceſſion of eating, drinking, ſleeping. Con⯑temptible is the man who ſpends all his days in the moſt refined luxury, in the moſt artfully varied pleaſures, but never p [...]rforms a g [...]nerous, friendly, human [...], or charitable deed. A ſingle m [...]ment of ſerious reflection would pierce his heart with a pung [...]nt feeling of his own meanneſs and inſignificanc [...]. The total abſence of reflection cannot pr [...]vent his feeling very often that h [...] is unſati [...]d and wretch [...]d, or his groaning inwardly und [...]r the preſſure of languor and ſati [...]ty. He cannot be conſtantly employed in grati [...]ying his ſenſes: no agreeable reflection, no chearing ſ [...]lf-ap⯑probation can irradiate his intervals of enjoy⯑ment: they are painfully waſted in over⯑whelming [396] ſurfeit, liſtleſs yawning, or fretful impatience for a new engagement. The hu⯑man ſoul has faculties which demand ſublimer objects. It may become ſo degenerate as never to aſpire to them: but the loweſt degeneracy cannot extinguiſh a diſtreſſing ſenſation of ina⯑nity and diſſatisfaction in the want of them. While the wicked are in many ways rendered incapable of a full reliſh of the very enjoyment which they profeſſedly purſue, they pine un⯑der a tormenting ſenſe of the want of higher enjoyments, which the corruption of their ſouls ſmothers every thought of purſuing. But virtue teaches the true uſe of the worldly mam⯑mon. From earthly pelf, it enables the good man to extract the ſublimeſt joy. Be⯑ſides purer pleaſures of ſenſe than any of which the wicked are ſuſceptible, he enjoys delights with which theſe are not worthy to be compared, the exquiſite delights of benevo⯑lence and of piety.

A GOOD man ſheweth ſavour and lendeth; he is gracious and full of compaſſion ^*. He em⯑ploys his ſubſtance in beneficence. He obtains from it all the joys which attend the exerciſe of friendſhip, generoſity, charity, and all the joys which ſpring from reflection on a god-like [397] temper; joys which reſemble the happineſs of heaven, the raptures of angels, the bleſſedneſs of God. It is more bleſſed to give than to re⯑ceive ^†, ſaid he who could fairly eſtimate every ſentiment of the human heart. Its dignity, its beauty, and its bleſſedneſs, Job atteſts from his own experience. When the ear heard me, then it bleſſed me; and when the eye ſaw me, it gave witneſs to me; becauſe I delivered the poor that cried, and the fatherleſs, and him that had none to help him. The bleſſing of him that was ready to per [...]ſh, came upon me; and I cauſed the widow's heart to ſing for joy. I put on righteouſneſs, and it cloathed me; my judg⯑ment was as a robe and a diadem. I was eyes to the blind, and feet was I to the lame; I was a father to the poor. My root was ſpread out by the waters, and the dew lay all night upon my branch. My glory was freſh in me, and my bow was renewed in my hand. Unto me men gave ear, and waited, and kept ſilence at my counſel: after my words they ſpake not again, and my ſpeech dropped upon them: and they waited for me, as for the rain; and they opened their mouth wide, as for the latter rain. I choſe out their way, and ſat chief and dwelt as a king in the army, as one that comforteth the mourners ^*. This good man was overwhelmed [398] with poverty and diſeaſe; all the means of be⯑neficence were taken from him; he was abuſed by thoſe whom he had fed; his glory was turned into contempt: he felt the reverſe with all the ſenſibility of honeſt indignation; but now they that are younger than I have me in deriſion, whoſe fathers I would have diſdain [...]d to have ſet with the dogs of my flock. And now I am their ſong, yea, I am their by-w [...]d: they ab [...]or me, they flee from me, and ſpare [...]t to ſpit in my face ^*. But even in this depth of complicated diſtreſs, he was not deſtitute of comfort; the remembrance of his b [...]n [...]f [...]cen [...] upheld him, and inſpired a chearing con [...] ⯑dence: if I have with-held the poor from their deſire, or have cauſed the eyes of the widow to fail; or have eaten my morſel alone, and the fatherleſs hath not eaten thereof; (for from my youth he was brought up with me, as with a father;) if I have ſeen any periſh for want of cloathing, or any poor without covering; if his [...]oins have not bleſſed me, and if he were not warmed with the fleece of my ſheep; if I have lift up my hand againſt the fatherleſs, when I ſaw my help in the gate; then let mine arm fall from my ſhoulder-blade, and mine arm be broken from the bone ^†. If you have a dear brother or a beloved ſon, is not this the character which [399] you would wiſh him to ſuſtain? In poſſeſſing it, would you not reckon him excellent and happy? Compared with the man who employs his ſub⯑ſtance in ſuch offices of beneficence, how piti⯑ful, how wretched does he appear who ex⯑pends it in the moſt ſplendid gratifications of ſenſe? Wealth in the hands of benevolence, gives pleaſure to thouſands; and all the plea⯑ſure which they all receive, is returned, greatly refined and exalted, into the ſoul that gave it. A little furniſhes not the means of doing all the liberal things which the liberal de⯑viſeth ^‡; but he willingly does all the good he can: and if there be firſt a willing mind, few are ſo deſtitute as not to be able to confer ſome happineſs; and what a man confers is not only accepted by God, but alſo approved and inwardly enjoyed by himſelf, according to what he hath, not according to that he hath not ^*. The widow's two mites beſtowed by fervent charity, is more than all the gifts which the rich grudgingly or oſt [...]ntatiouſly give of their abundance ^†.

THE good man conſiders all that he has, however little it be, as beſtowed on him by God. The conſideration gives a flavour to his pleaſures, of which the wicked can form no [400] conception. Whatever he poſſeſſes, he reckons it not little: it is a divine gift; it derives va⯑lue from the hand that gave it; it is a mark of the notice of the Moſt High. But the wicked never think from whom their abun⯑dance comes: amidſt their revellings they diſ⯑honour the God by whoſe bounty their tables are ſupplied. Regardleſs of his operation in enriching them, they taſte only the ſhell of their worldly goods, they do not penetrate to the kernel. They taſte none of the exalted pleaſures which ſpring from divine love, from fervent gratitude, from chearful truſt in an unerring and gracious Providence, from glad⯑dening conſciouſneſs of its continual protection. Theſe pleaſures, the pooreſt good man derives from his ſcanty pittance; in every one of his comforts, he enjoys God. He ſhares in Da⯑vid's raptures; I will love thee, O Lord, my ſtrength. The Lord is my rock, and my for⯑treſs; my God, my ſtrength in whom I will truſt; the horn of my ſalvation, and my high tower ^*. Thou, Lord, haſt made me glad through thy work; I will triumph in the works of thy hands ^†. My ſoul ſhall be ſatisfied as with marrow and fatneſs; my mouth ſhall praiſe thee with joyful lips; in the ſhadow of thy wings will I rejoice ^‡. The Lord is the portion of mine [401] inheritance, and of my cup, thou maintaineſt my lot ^‖. Surely goodneſs and mercy ſhall follow me all the days of my life ^§.

THUS, by examining the oppoſite effects of vice and virtue on the temper of the mind, which is the neceſſary foundation even of ſen⯑ſual enjoyment; and in particular, on the go⯑vernment of our appetites and paſſions, in ſa⯑tisfying which that enjoyment conſiſts; and by pointing out the ſublime and elevated plea⯑ſures which goodneſs reaps from the right uſe of worldly things; it has been evinced that a little wealth gives the virtuous man purer and greater enjoyment than treaſures can yield to the wicked. That it gives him likewiſe more durable enjoyment, ſhall be proved hereafter. Without virtue, what is life? A dreary waſte, a barren deſert. What is all that the world can beſtow, but vanity, pain, and bitterneſs? But to the virtuous, poverty is wealth. Where virtue is not, diſſatisfaction and wretch⯑edneſs prevail. Where virtue dwells, there is ſincere pleaſure and true enjoyment. Behold the blaſting, poiſonous influence of vice: let your regard to intereſt, to preſent intereſt, urge you to abandon it. Behold the power of virtue to improve, to refine every gratification: let ſelf-love determine you to practiſe it.

SERMON XVII. THE ADVANTAGES OF THE VIRTUOUS FOR THE ENJOYMENT OF EXTERNAL GOOD.

THAT it is better, becauſe it gives greater, purer, and more ſolid enjoyment, has been already evinced. That it is likewiſe bet⯑ter, becauſe it gives more durable enjoyment, ſhall be next evinced.

THE practice of virtue preſerves and im⯑proves the capacity of enjoyment; the practice of wickedneſs impairs it. As every vice tends to unfit us for the true enjoyment of outward things, the greater and the more numerous our vices are, our enjoyment muſt be the leſs. They may become ſo many and ſo great as to render the ampleſt poſſeſſions perfectly inſipid. In wicked men, vicious habits never fail to [404] make a rapid progreſs. As bodily diſtemper, from ſmall beginnings, increaſes till it prove mortal, as one diſeaſe neglected is the cauſe of many others; ſo the vices of the depraved heart daily acquire new ſtrength by indul⯑gence; they propagate many more; they in⯑fect the temper and diſorder the conſtitution with a growing multitude of tormenting paſ⯑ſions; they root guilt, remorſe, and terror deeper in the ſoul. When the government of the paſſions is neglected, when the authority of conſcience is ſlighted, when a ſacred regard to the will of God is caſt away, every tempta⯑tion will precipitate a man into new ſins, and every new ſin will be the ſource of many griefs. However weak, however few his ſin⯑ful habits be at firſt, however little they diſ⯑turb his enjoyment, they will increaſe, and in the end deſtroy it. Whatever good quali⯑ties he once poſſeſſed, they will be gradually choaked by his ſpreading vices; they will wither and decay; his capacity of enjoyment will be blaſted in the ſame proportion. The man who never thinks of rectifying the de⯑pravities of his temper, but goes on to indulge them without controul, muſt at laſt become abandoned, and inſuſceptible of genuine ſatiſ⯑faction. The enjoyment of the good man is in every reſpect the reverſe. Like his practice, it is as the ſhining light, that ſhineth more and [405] more unto the perfect day ^*. His virtue does not merely ſecure the continuance of that reliſh which he has for true pleaſure; it improves his reliſh in proportion as itſelf is, by careful practice, ſtrengthened and refined. All the enemies of his enj [...]yment will be ſubdued by degrees; all inordinate paſſions will be morti⯑fied, all corrupt diſpoſitions extirpated, all ex⯑ceſſive deſires curbed; all the fountains of in⯑ward pain will be dried up; his peace of mind will be eſtabliſhed; all his good princi⯑ples will be improved. By daily progreſs in holineſs, he will be more and more poſſeſſed of that heavenly ſerenity of ſoul, which, by giving him the full enjoyment of himſelf, pre⯑pares him for deriving high and ſolid ſatisfac⯑tion from every agreeable circumſtance in his worldly condition.

THE health of the body, as well as the temper of the mind, is requiſite for our find⯑ing pleaſure in outward things. There are many vices which render our enjoyment tran⯑ſitory by breaking the health of the body. Envy, ſays Solomon, is the rottenneſs of the bones ^†. Envy, diſcontent, peeviſhneſs, ma⯑lice, pride, emaciate and wear out the body. Rage and fury inflame all its humours. Sloth [406] and indolence make them to ſtagnate in lan⯑guor and infirmity. Intemperance fills every member with torturing diſeaſe. Enjoyment haſtens to a ſpeedy period. The oppoſite vir⯑tues are friendly to health. A ſound heart is the life of the fleſh ^†: and it is only inward rectitude that can beſtow it. By determined temperance, by perſevering ſelf-government, by the ſerene tranquillity of conſcious virtue, the diſorders incident to very delicate conſtitu⯑tions have often been prevented from giving any conſiderable interruption to the enjoyment of a very long life.

IT is not only by preſerving the capacity of enjoyment that virtue prolongs our ſatisfac⯑tion; it is not only by impairing this capacity that vice haſtens its extinction: virtue likewiſe gives a greater probability than vice, for the continuance of thoſe outward things which are the materials and means of enjoyment. It muſt be confeſſed that worldly goods are of a fleeting and precarious nature: riches are not for ever, nor doth the crown endure to every generation ^*. Proſperity, like a meteor, often vaniſhes in an inſtant; there is no infallible method of preſerving it in continual ſplendour. But what ſecurity there can be for its continu⯑ance [407] virtue gives; and of all things, vice tends moſt directly to extinguiſh it.

THE drunkard and the glutton ſhall come to po⯑verty ^*.▪ Intemperance, luxury, and the other ſenſual vices conſume the ſubſtance, like the locuſts which eat every herb which groweth out of the field: a fire devoureth before them, and behind them a flame burneth ^†. How much they can conſume, would be incredible, if ex⯑perience had not often ſhewn that the ampleſt fortune is quickly exhauſted in ſupporting them. At the ſame time, a courſe of unlaw⯑ful pleaſure en [...]eebles the ſoul, enervates the body, ſinks both into ſloth and [...]ffeminacy, and renders a man incapable of either ſuſtain⯑ing or repairing his broken fortune. So ſhall thy poverty come ſwift as one that travalleth, and thy want irreſiſtible as an armed man ^‡. By voluptuouſneſs the building decayeth, and through id [...]neſs of the hands the houſe▪ dr [...]ppeth through ^‖. The pampered ſon of pleaſure no longer finds the means of ſupplying his mul⯑tiplied ne [...]ſſiti [...]s; he tumbles down into pe⯑nury: he falls friendleſs and contemptible, unaſſiſted, unpitied by all, and often moſt by thoſe who have ſhared in his riots, or become rich by his ſpoils. The temperate has no ex⯑penſive [408] luſts to make proviſion for. He waſtes not the means of enjoyment. If he has but a little, he bids fair to poſſeſs it long. His moderation preſerves his mind vigorous, and his body hardy: he is capable of exertion, by which he may improve his condition, and ren⯑der his little more.

AGAIN, integrity, honeſty, equity gain a man the confidence of the world; and ſecure to him many advantages for proſperity, which naturally ariſe from that confidence. All good men rejoice in his proſperity: none but the very worſt will endeavour to prevent or to blaſt his ſucceſs. He fears no proſecution for invaded rights, no demand of expenſive repa⯑ration for wrongs that he has done. If, in contradiction to the direct tendency of invari⯑able juſtice, poverty ſhould happen to come upon him, he is ſecure from inſult, he has the ſympathy of all, and the friendſhip of the good, and he ſhall be delivered from want in the evil day. So true in every ſenſe is Solo⯑mon's maxim, he that walketh uprightly, walk⯑eth ſurely. But he that perceiveth his ways, ſhall be known ^*. His real character cannot remain for ever undiſcovered. Every diſho⯑neſt word and action requires new falſhood [409] and diſhoneſty to conceal it. The longer he goes on, the more numerous are the villainies which he muſt find the means of diſguiſing, and the greater is the difficulty of finding theſe means. Every moment he is ſurrounded by manifold hazards of detection; and detec⯑tion is neceſſarily fatal to his intereſt. He has forfeited the confidence of every heart; he lives the object of general diſtruſt; in all his actions artifice is ſuſpected; the injured demand their own; the chaſtiſement of public juſtice marks him with infamy; perhaps he becomes a helpleſs, deſpiſed beggar; or if he becomes not a beggar, he is notwithſtanding abject, ab⯑horred, excluded from all the opportunities of creditable enjoyment. He that haſteth to be rich, conſidereth not that by his haſte poverty ſhall come upon him ^*. The robbery of the wicked ſhall deſtroy them, becauſe they refuſe to do judgment ^‡.

BUT are there not ſome vices which tend directly to preſerve the materials of enjoyment, and ſome virtues which tend directly to diſſi⯑pate them? Does not avarice, for example, labour to ſecure and increaſe riches? It does▪ But what is the uſe of riches to the miſer? Of what enjoyment does he render them the [410] means▪ In his poſſeſſion, they are only un⯑employed, unprofitable traſh. They anſwer no other end but to miniſter occaſions of anxi⯑ety and fretfulneſs. Do not generoſity, hoſ⯑pitality, charity, beneficence, exhauſt a man's ſubſtance and expoſe him to penury? This is the tendency of prodigality: but prodigality is only an aukward mimickry of theſe amiable virtues. Their moſt liberal exertions are re⯑gulated by prudence. A good man ſheweth favour and lendeth, but he will guide his affairs with diſcretion ^*. He that thus giveth unto the poor ſhall not lack ^†. There is that ſcatter⯑eth, and yet increaſeth; and there is that with⯑holdeth more than is meet, but cometh to poverty. The liberal ſoul ſhall be made fat; and he that watereth, ſhall be watered alſo himſelf ^‡. He diſperſes part of his ſubſtance; but it is to purchaſe an ample recompence of inward joy. By doing all that his ability permits, he ſe⯑cures to himſelf the good will and the good offices of mankind: numbers are indiſſolubly engaged to him by gratitude; and many more by admiration of the benevolence of his heart. He ſhall not fail to receive the means of com⯑fort from others, if he have them not of his own. He is the good man for whom, the apoſtle ſuppoſes that peradventure ſome would even dare to die ^‖.

[411]THUS, from the obvious, eſſential tenden⯑cies of virtue and vice, we may conclude that the righteous has a much higher probability for the durable enjoyment of his poſſeſſions, however ſmall, than the wicked has for the continuance of his wealth.—But the proba⯑bility is greatly ſtrengthened when we take into the account, the providence of God who ruleth over all. Our own conduct is far from being the only cauſe of our good or ill ſucceſs. Many things over which we have no power, nec [...]ſſarily affect our worldly ſituation. Theſe are all in the hand of God. He is the righteous Lord, who loveth righteouſneſs ^* and abhorreth all iniquity: and he will over-rule them ſo as to pull down the wicked, except when his proſperity promotes the general good; and to eſtabliſh the righteous, except when his proſperity is inconſiſtent with his own greater happineſs. Signal examples have oc⯑curred in every age, of God's ſpecial provi⯑dence aſſiſting the natural tendencies of things, rendering the miſerable conſequences of vice more certain and more dreadful, and the ad⯑vantages of virtue greater, than the ordinary courſe of things gave reaſon for expecting. The world has often ſeen the weakneſs of the righteous, aided by the plain energy of omni⯑potence, [412] ba [...]le the power of man, and ſur⯑mount the greateſt difficulties. It has ſeen the ſimplicity of the righteous, guided by the divine wiſdom, elude all the cunning of his enemies, and eſcape from the moſt immi⯑nent dangers. It has ſeen the good man juſt ſinking into an abyſs of adverſity, when lo! he has been ſuddenly upheld by the moſt unlikely means. It has ſeen the humble and the modeſt, ſought for in the moſt ſequeſtered receſſes of obſcurity, that he might be exalted to honour and ſet with the princes of his people ^*. It has ſeen the trea⯑ſures of the munificent encreaſe, as if they had been repleniſhed by a miracle. It has ſeen the good man raiſed to the ſummit of proſpe⯑rity, by thoſe very circumſtances which ſeemed naturally fit for overwhelming him with ruin. The young lions do lack, and ſuffer hunger; but they that ſeek the Lord ſhall not want any good ^†. On the other hand, we have ſome⯑times ſeen the rapacious extortioner, and the griping miſer, reduced to a bit of bread. We have often ſeen the aſpiring employ in vain all the profligate arts which ambition dictated. We have ſeen the wicked ſeated ſecurely, as we thought, on the pinnacle of proſperity; and in an inſtant, an hand which our eye [413] could not perceive, has tumbled him down. He teemed with flattering ſchemes for adding thouſands to his fortune; the moment was come for carrying them into execution; when, behold, the Lord blaſts them with the breath of his mouth, and ſcatters them as duſt is ſcattered by the wind. His cloſeſt frauds are detected; his moſt intricate plots are defeated; he is ſnared in the work of his own hands ^* ▪ and taken in his own craftineſs ^†. Terrors take hold of him as waters, a tempeſt ſtealeth him away in the night; the eaſt wind carrieth him away, and he departeth; and a ſtorm hurleth him out of his place ^‡. Though he heap up ſilver as the duſt, and prepare raiment as the day; he may prepare it, but the juſt ſhall put it on, and the innocent ſhall divide the ſilver ^‖. The power⯑ful influence of divine providence, on the con⯑dition both of the righteous and the wicked, is beautifully deſcribed in many paſſages of ſcripture, particularly in the pſalm from which my text is taken. This influence, eſpecially when added to the natural tendencies of virtue and vice, renders it in the higheſt degree pro⯑bable, that the righteous ſhall have more du⯑rable poſſeſſion of the means of enjoyment, than the wicked.

[414]BUT ſuppoſe them both deprived of them. How different are their conditions?—The wicked man never had a reliſh for any other pleaſures, than ſuch as his wealth could pur⯑chaſe: his wealth is gone; and all theſe plea⯑ſures have fled along with it. Winter has overtaken him; his ſummer friends deſert him; the pinching cold has killed their love; they laugh at his calamity. His pampered appetites require immenſe ſupplies; but he can give them none: they turn their rage againſt him⯑ſelf, and torture him. In the moſt flouriſh⯑ing ſtate he was often reſtleſs and unſatisfied; he pined away during the intervals of his pleaſures: but now he has a perpetual interval; nothing remains that can divert his miſery for an hour. The whole world is become a parched wilderneſs; it contains not a ſingle ſpring of comfort. Whence can he look for comfort? From the preſent? It is all horror and deſolation. From the future? There he eſpies more dreadful miſery awaiting him. From the paſt? That is the fatal cauſe of all that he feels, and of all that he fears. His diſſatisfaction admits no intermiſſion or relief, except he fly to the ſalutary medicine of bitter repentance, till death remove him from it, into more inſufferable miſery.

BUT ſuppoſe the righteous man reduced to the extremeſt poverty. God ſometimes per⯑mits [415] it for wiſe ends. Yet his condition is far from being wretched. God will raiſe up friends to him; they who love his virtue, will rejoice to ſupply his wants. His deſires are ſo moderate, that what would be indigence to the wicked, is to him a competence. The neceſ⯑ſaries of life will be ſufficient to render his condition more eligible than the affluence of the wicked. The ſame temper which prepares him for deriving the higheſt enjoyment from earthly things, when he has them, ſupports and com⯑forts him in the want of them, and in a great meaſure ſupplies their place. To whatever other pains the good man may be ſubject, he is exempt from the racking pain of guilt: to this pain, the wicked man is conſtantly o [...]noxious, and he cannot be at all times free from every other. The good man may be deſtitute of other pleaſures; but of the ſupreme pleaſure of a good conſcience, no ſituation can deprive him: of this, the wicked man is incapable, and it is not poſſible that he ſhould enjoy all other pleaſures; for they are incompatible in their nature, and the depravity of his ſoul renders them unſatisfying ſhadows and illu⯑ſions. To the good man, a mean opinion of this world, and reſignation to the providence of God, render the want of earthly things eaſily ſupportable. The conſciouſneſs that he re⯑ceived his bleſſings with gratitude, and that he [416] employed them in virtuous offices, ſuſtains him in adverſity, chears him in the midſt of tribulations, aſſures him that all things work together for good ^* to him. In the deepeſt penury, the good man does not ſo properly loſe, as vary his pleaſures: when one ſource of enjoyment is dried up, he draws it from another fountain; when the deſart denies a ſpring of water, he finds it guſhing from the rock. If he ſhould even die by famine, he dies in the Lord, and is bleſſed; his works fol⯑low him ^†: every act of beneficence or compaſ⯑ſion which his ſmall poſſeſſions ever put it in his power to perform, ſhall be remembered by his Saviour at the day of judgment; a cup of cold water given on a worthy motive, ſhall in no wiſe loſe its reward ^‡; it ſhall be recom⯑penſed with everlaſting joys. Judge ye then, whether the poor of this world may not be truly rich. If they be but virtuous, they have the moſt precious treaſures: ſelf-enjoyment is their lot, heaven is their inheritance, God is their portion.

IN reſpect of the duration therefore, as well as the greatneſs, of his enjoyment, a little that a righteous man hath, is better than the riches of many wicked.

[417]BUT againſt all that has been ſaid, a ſtrong objection ſeems to ariſe from experience: the wicked, it may be urged, have actually a greater, and the righteous a leſs d [...]gr [...] of en⯑joyment than we have all along aſſerted. We admit the fact; if the wicked were ſo totally deſtitute of enjoyment as we have repreſented them to be, their life would be inſupportable: but we maintain, that, when this fact is exa⯑mined, inſtead of weakening our argument, it will confirm it. We have hitherto ſuppoſed the character to be purely virtuous, or purely vicious, that by viewing virtue and [...] ſepa⯑rately, we might the better diſcover the ge⯑nuine tendency of both: but every human character is mixed, compoſed of ſome virtues and ſome vices; and the actual enjoyment of every human creature is affected by each of the ingredients which enter into the compoſition.

ON the one hand, That good men have not in fact all the enjoyment which virtue natu⯑rally tends to produce, is owing wholly to vice, and to the infirmities which vice has brought upon their ſouls. From vice ſtill lurking in their hearts, it proceeds that the b [...]ſt men are ſometimes p [...]yed upon by thoſe painful paſſions which eat out the ſweetneſs of the moſt proſperous condition. From vice imperfectly ſubdued, it proceeds that their de⯑ſires [418] are at times immoderate, and plunge them into diſſatisfaction amidſt real abundance. From the conſciouſneſs of vice which they have com⯑mitted, and of which they are not certain that they have yet obtained forgiveneſs, it proceeds that their enjoyment is ſometimes overcaſt by remorſe, and doubt, and fear. If they taſte not all the joys of beneficence, it muſt be aſcribed to the imperfection of their kind af⯑fections, or to vicious paſſions which counter⯑act their exerciſe, preventing their doing all the good that they have it in their power to do. If they do not conſtantly delight them⯑ſelves in the God of their mercies, it is becauſe the weakneſs of their piety or the influence of ſenſible things hinders them from preſerving a continual ſenſe of him as the giver of all good. If they waſte their means of enjoyment by frivolous expence or injudicious ſhow, or even profuſe liberality, it is owing to ſome weak⯑neſs or imprudence which, though compatible with a character virtuous upon the whole, is not totally innocent. If they ſink under the loſs of their poſſeſſions, the cauſe will be found in ſome remaining undue attachment to the comforts of eaſy circumſtances, or to ſuppoſed rank in life, which completer virtue would teach them to deſpiſe, and to ſacrifice without a ſigh to the will of God. In every caſe, the [...]njoyment of the virtuous falls ſhort of what [419] we have deſcribed, only becauſe their virtues are imperfect, and not altogether refined from the alloy of vice. Being occaſioned by this, its falling ſhort is ſo far from being an objec⯑tion againſt the tendency of virtue to ſecure to us the full enjoyment of outward things, that it turns out to be a new and irrefragable demonſtration of the malignant nature of vice. Its influence is ſo ſubtle and ſo pernicious, that a ſmall mixture of it ſophiſticates the joys of the moſt exalted virtue.

ON the other hand, To what is it owing, that the wicked have any enjoyment in all that they poſſeſs? Not to their wickedneſs: its real tendency is preciſely ſuch as has been de⯑ſcribed: but to this, that the very worſt of men have ſome good qualities, ſome imperfect degrees of virtue. By preſerving ſome meaſure of health and ſoundneſs in their ſouls, theſe give them ſome capacity of enjoyment. Theſe ſet ſome bounds to their appetites and paſſions, and prevent their deſires from becoming abſo⯑lutely inſatiable. From reflection upon theſe, they derive ſome kind of ſelf-approbation and hearts-eaſe. Their partial goodneſs dilutes the poiſon of their many vices; it produces both mitigation and intermiſſion of their wretched⯑neſs; but it cannot prevent their being often inwardly tormented when the world perceives [420] it not; it cannot prevent their pleaſures from being ſecretly tainted with the bitterneſs of corrupt affections and remorſe. That they are capable of reliſhing even the pleaſures of ſenſe, they owe to their virtues; that their pleaſures are any-wiſe impaired, they owe wholly to their vices. Their virtues, ſlender as they are, gain them admiſſion likewiſe to nobler plea⯑ſures. Very few are ſo depraved, as to exer⯑ciſe no compaſſion, humanity, or benevolence. Many who cannot be reckoned truly virtuous, perform acts of generoſity or mercy, from which they derive great ſatisfaction. They cloath their very luxury and profuſion with the garb of ſocial virtue, and in this diſguiſe re⯑gard them with complacence. Kind affections are ſo highly beatifi [...], that, even when they are much debaſed, they diffuſe ſerenity upon the ſoul. But their being debaſed renders it impoſſible that the pleaſure communicated by them to the wicked, who exerciſe them but in⯑ſtinctively and caſually, can ever riſe to an equality with the pure and conſtant joy of which the uniform exertion of them, from principle, from conſcience, from love of good⯑neſs, is productive to the ſincerely virtuous. In the wicked, theſe amiable affections, being imperfectly formed, and mixed with other diſ⯑poſitions odious and diſguſting in their nature, his character is heterogeneous and monſtrous, [421] unfit for yielding him, upon reflection, that full ſatisfaction and delight, by which the con⯑ſciouſneſs of conſiſtent and growing virtue at⯑tunes the good man's ſoul to every pleaſing ſentiment. Whatever enjoyment, then, the wicked actually have, it proves not that vice can ever become conducive to enjoyment; it proves only the power of virtue to be ſo great, that the loweſt degree, the incompleteſt kind of it, can in ſome meaſure counteract the ten⯑dency of vice to plunge the corrupt and the guilty into perfect miſery.

THUS, in every light in which it can be viewed, the Pſamiſt's maxim, A little that a righteous man hath, is better than the riches of many wicked, however paradoxical it may ſeem at firſt hearing, approves itſelf as a prin⯑ciple of moſt unqueſtionable certainty. A little gives the good man purer pleaſures of ſenſe, fuller ſatisfaction, and ſublimer joys, than the depravity of the wicked permits them to derive from the ampleſt poſſeſſions. The good man's reliſh for enjoyment improves continually; the ſinner's is ſpeedily impaired: the conduct of the former is conducive to the preſervation of his poſſeſſions; the conduct of the latter in many ways endangers the loſs of them: in behalf of the former, the divine Providence is engaged▪ but the face of the Lord [422] is againſt ^* the latter; when riches are once loſt, the recollection of them can give the wicked no pleaſure, it wounds his ſoul with unavailing regret and anguiſh; but if the good man's poſſeſſions ſhould forſake him, reflection on the uſe to which he put them, comforts him in the day of famine, and enlivens his hope of incorruptible treaſures in heaven. Every abatement to which the good man's enjoyment is liable in this mixed ſtate, is to be placed to the account of vice: and whatever degree of enjoyment, the world can convey to the wicked, is to be aſcribed to their imperfect virtues.

IF theſe things be ſo, need we be ſurprized that ſo few are really happy? Is it not rather ſurprizing that ſo many find life tolerable? The generality miſtake the place of happineſs. They ſeek it only in external goods; theſe they purſue with inextinguiſhable ardour and indefatigable diligence; but they neglect that inward temper of virtue, which alone can give them the power of beſtowing any happineſs. If they labour to amaſs the materials of enjoy⯑ment, yet by their vicious practice, they la⯑bour ſtill more aſſiduouſly to render themſelves incapable of drawing ſincere enjoyment from [423] theſe materials. When they feel themſelves unſatisfied with what they have, they think not that it ought to be imputed to any other cauſe, but that they have no more. They fret themſelves for the want of what they ima⯑gine would fulfil their wiſhes and ſecure their ſatisfaction; and to the vanity which is inſe⯑parable from ſublunary things, they fooliſhly ſuperadd that vexation of ſpirit which they have it in their own power to avoid. They ſet themſelves to acquire what may ſupply the de⯑ficience in their lot; but when they have ac⯑quired it, they find the ſame deficience ſtill re⯑maining in their enjoyment. They ſtudy in vain to gratify their deſires by ſatiating them; they never attempt to render them ſuſceptible of gratification, by governing them. When inward uneaſineſs deſtroys their reliſh, they have recourſe only to palliatives which, by giving a momentary relief, increaſe the uneaſi⯑neſs, or to provocatives which, by irritating the ſenſe, wear out its feeling: they never think of removing the cauſe, of curing the vice from which their uneaſineſs ultimately pro⯑ceeds. The generality look for happineſs from without; therefore they muſt miſs it: it can be found only within; it depends on the tem⯑per of the heart. The man muſt fail of being nouriſhed, who ſeeks his nouriſhment, not in bread, but in a ſtone, or in a ſerpent.

[424]AGAIN, Need we be concerned that out⯑ward things are diſtributed ſo promiſcuouſly, or ſo unequally? It is by no means a neceſ⯑ſary conſequence, that enjoyment and uneaſi⯑neſs, happineſs and miſery, are likewiſe diſtri⯑buted promiſcuouſly or unequally. It is cer⯑tain that theſe are far from being in exact pro⯑portion to men's worldly conditions. A man's life conſiſteth not in the abundance of the things which he poſſeſſeth ^*. It may be out of your power to become rich or great; the order of nature which God has ordained, puts it out of the power of the generality: but his ordination is not, on that account, unrighteous or ſevere. It is ſufficient for juſtifying his appointment, it ought to reconcile each of you to his own condition, that God has placed real enjoyment within the reach of every man. It is in the power of every man, by the aſſiſtance of God's g [...]ace, to cultivate a virtuous and holy tem⯑per: and this is infinitely more important to his enjoyment, than the gaudieſt diſtinctions of external ſtate. Without this, nothing ex⯑ternal can make him happy; with this, a very little may. The man who is poſſeſſed of this, can never have reaſon to envy the moſt pro⯑ſperous among the wicked.

[425]IN [...]ine, Would we be truly happy? Let us be virtuous. It is not more our duty, than it is our intereſt. Conſcience cannot re⯑quire it with greater earneſtneſs, than ſelf-love enforces it. Self-love directed by juſt views of our preſent happineſs, though it ſhould look no farther, would urge us to fulfil the obliga⯑tions of virtue and religion, at leaſt in all or⯑dinary ſituations. Inward worth not only gives the ſublimeſt pleaſures peculiar to itſelf, but eſtabliſhes a temper which prepares us for the completeſt enjoyment of all other things. By vice the beſt things are converted into poiſon; but things very diſagreeable in themſelves are rendered pleaſant by religion. It enables the poor to find ſatisfaction in the ſmalleſt pittance. What pleaſures, then, what inexhauſtible joys, would it not enable the rich and the great to collect from their plentiful poſſeſſions? By neg⯑lecting to excell in goodneſs, how cruelly do they rob their own ſouls? Be wiſe now therefore, O ye princes of earth; be inſtructed, ye meaneſt of the people: hear this, all ye people; give ear, all ye inhabitants of the world; both low and high, rich and poor together ^*: To all of you the path of happineſs is the very ſame; Bleſſed is every one that feareth the Lord, that walketh in his ways; for thou ſhalt [...]at the labour of thy hands; happy [426] ſhalt thou be, and it ſhall be well with thee ^*. Seek ye firſt the kingdom of God, and his righte⯑ouſneſs: and all that is agreeable, all that is truly good, in the things of this world, ſhall be added unto you ^†.

SERMON XVIII. THE POWER OF VIRTUOUS RESOLUTIONS.

SOLEMN reſolutions and vows have al⯑ways been conſidered as powerful means of enabling men to abſtain from vice and to practiſe virtue. Philoſophers, as well as di⯑vines, have acknowledged their influence, and recommended it to their diſciples, to form them with care. Falſe religions, as well as the true religion, enjoin them, in order to de⯑termine their votaries to ſteadineſs in thoſe practices which they inculcate upon them.

IN common life, experience ſhews that an explicit, determined reſolution has often very great power. In religion, experience ſeems rather to proclaim that the beſt reſolutions are generally weak and ineffectual: the one hour [428] men reſolve to practiſe holineſs; and the next hour they forſake it, as if they had never in⯑tended to practiſe it. We cannot, however, fairly conclude from this inconſtancy, that it is of no avail to form virtuous reſolutions. In whatever degree the frailty of human nature and the temptations of the world may render them in fact abortive; it is evident from their natural tendency, that they are among the beſt means of reformation from ſin, a [...]d of confirmation and improvement in holineſs. The text will naturally lead us to unfold their tendency, and to evince their power. I have ſworn, ſays David, and I will perform it, that I will keep thy righteous judgments. He had already agreed to keep them; he had ſtrengthened his reſolution by interpoſing an oath, a ſolemn vow: he would not have formed it with ſo great care and ſolemnity if he had not been convinced that it would con⯑tribute much to regulate his conduct; and the manner of his reflecting upon it ſhows a deep ſenſe of the obligation which it laid him under to fulfil. In this diſcourſe, I ſhall ex⯑amine the nature of that influence which vir⯑tuous reſolutions have in fixing our temper and regulating our practice; and afterwards deduce ſome practical improvement from the ſubject.

WHAT then is the nature of that influence and power which may juſtly be aſcribed to virtuous [429] reſolutions? Miſtake concerning it, is one of the principal cauſes of the inefficacy of ſuch re⯑ſolutions. We expect from them, effects which they cannot poſſibly produce; and therefore miſs the fruits which might be reaped from the due improvement of them. A reſolution, even the firmeſt and the ſtrongeſt, cannot directly or immediately extirpate vice and implant holineſs. It is an internal act of goodneſs; the repetition of it will form a cor⯑reſpondent habit; but the only habit corre⯑ſpondent to it, is the habit of reſolving well. Virtuous reſolutions, frequently renewed with ſincerity, will accuſtom us to renew them with leſs reluctance, with greater eaſe and readineſs. But they cannot, by their imme⯑diate operation, without other means, cleanſe the heart in an inſtant f [...]om vicious habits and ſin⯑ful inclinations, or rear a virtuous temper. A reſolution, however ſol [...]mn, is only a deter⯑mination of the will. But God has not put our diſpoſitions and our habits ſo abſolutely in our power, that we can form or deſtroy them by merely willing it. To become pure and virtuous is a far more arduous taſk. God has appointed it to be our exerciſe▪ our work, our labour throughout this ſtate of trial. He has ordained that it ſhould not be accompliſhed without conſtant exertion, diligence, and care. His grace could doubtleſs transform the ſoul, [430] in a moment, from wickedneſs to perfect purity: but he has adapted the eſtabliſhed me⯑thods of his grace to the principles of the hu⯑man conſtitution; enabling even thoſe to whom it is moſt liberally communicated, to mortify their depraved affections and to acquire the virtues of the Chriſtian temper, only by ſlow advances and imperceptible ſteps, in con⯑ſequence of continual circumſpection, unre⯑mitted activity in well-doing, and frequent and fervent prayer. As in the natural world, the plant is raiſed to maturity only by a regu⯑lar proceſs of vegetation, in conſequence of ſkilful culture and the nouriſhing dews of heaven; ſo in the ſpiritual world, the ſeeds of virtue can be ripened into a ſolid temper only by a continued courſe of virtuous practice, animated by the power of divine grace. It is by exciting us to ſuch practice, by prompting us to a ſeries of good actions, that reſolutions contribute to our improvement: and becauſe they excite and prompt us in many ways, they are powerful inſtruments of our improve⯑ment.

1. A RESOLUTION of virtue lays us un⯑der an obligation to be virtuous. In the lan⯑guage of ſcripture, it binds the ſoul with a bond ^*. A reſolution to do any thing, though [431] formed with perfect ſecreſy, produces an obli⯑gation to do it, without fulfilling which we cannot thoroughly approve ourſelves. If we have raſhly reſolved to do what it is not fit to do, we are diſſatisfied with our imprudence in reſolving: if what we reſolved upon was pro⯑per and worthy, to depart from it forces us to deſpiſe ourſelves for our fickleneſs and incon⯑ſtancy; and pierces us with a mortifying conſciouſneſs, that our weakneſs renders us contemptible in the eyes of the world. If you know a perſon whoſe character in common life is, that he ſeldom underſtands his own mind, that he alters his intention almoſt every hour, that he never keeps one purpoſe ſo long as to have time to execute it, that he re⯑ſolves and promiſes, but quickly changes ſides; that he cannot be depended upon in any buſi⯑neſs of moment; you know likewiſe that it is far from an eſtimable character, that it is univerſally deſpicable, that it is incompatible with every degree of a manly ſpirit. To carry this wavering and unſteadineſs into religion, is far more cenſurable. The importance of reli⯑gion and the baſeneſs of living in the violation of its laws, prevent the breach of religious re⯑ſolution from being regarded as a contemptible imbecility; they render it a deteſtable crime. To depart from evil, and do good ^*, is the [432] proper buſineſs of man. To reſolve upon it, is our higheſt wiſdom; it is neceſſary to our preſent peace and to our future happineſs. In proportion to its importance, is the baſeneſs and the ig [...]ominy of inconſtancy in purſuing this courſe after we have reſolved upon it. Having decreed the only path of life, having determined to walk in it, can any levity be ſo degrading, can any irreſolution be ſo diſ⯑graceful, as to be allured by trifling pleaſures or advantages, or prevailed upon by momen⯑tary pains, to deſert this path, and to perſiſt in wandering from it, though we meet diſqui [...]t and diſappointment at every ſtep, and know that without a ſpeedy return, the end muſt be everlaſting death? After vows of ſuch high importance, of ſo intereſting tendency, it is a ſnare, it is full of danger to make enquiry ^*, once to admit the thought of retracting them. Can you know yourſelves guilty of it, with⯑out confuſion and ſelf-abhorrence? Can you be guilty of it, and not feel yourſelves juſtly abominable in the ſight of God? When thou voweſt a vow unto God, defer not to pay it, [...]or he hath no pleaſure in fools ^†. By thus laying us under an obligation, the violation of which muſt produce a mortifying ſenſe of baſeneſs and demerit, virtuous reſolutions cannot fail to promote ſteady perſeverance in virtue.

[433]A VIRTUOUS reſolution impels us to vir⯑tue, by rendering it an object and aim to us. Let a purſuit be no wiſe intereſting in itſelf, yet when we have determined to engage in it, we are no longer indifferent: this very deter⯑mination is ſufficient to impreſs it upon us as an end which we muſt now attain. Religion is ſupremely intereſting to every human crea⯑ture, though he ſhould never reſolve to prac⯑tiſe it. But giddineſs or the avocations of worldly care hinder many from thinking of it as their concern, as a buſineſs with which they ought to charge themſelves. Inattention to our concern in the practice of religion, is the moſt general cauſe of the neglect of it. Againſt that inattention, the moſt direct and efficacious antidote is a ſerious, deliberate, firm reſolution that religion ſhall be the buſi⯑neſs of our lives. This ſets it in our eye, as what muſt be practiſed, as what muſt not be on any account neglected, as the center in which all our thoughts, and views, and exer⯑tions muſt ultimately terminate: this gives the whole ſoul a prevailing and habitual bias to it, and prediſpoſes us to reſiſt every temp⯑tation to vice, and to embrace every opportu⯑nity for virtue. Of theſe native conſequences of a fixt determination, David gives many bright delineations from his own experience. I have ſworn that I will keep thy righteous judg⯑ments: [434] therefore I will perform it: my ſoul is continually in my hand, yet do I not forget thy law; the wicked have laid a ſnare for me, yet I erred not from thy precepts: thy teſtimonies have I taken as an heritage for ever: I have inclined mine heart to perform thy ſtatutes al⯑way, even unto the end ^‖. I have choſen the way of truth: What was the effect? Thy judg⯑ments have I laid before me, as the model of my whole conduct; I have ſtuck unto thy teſ⯑timonies; I will run the way of thy command⯑ments ^†. Such are the genuine ſentiments and workings of a ſoul under the power of a ſtrong purpoſe of univerſal holineſs. It is natural for thoſe who have never reſolved on virtuous practice, to waver between good and evil. But a firm reſolution fixes the will in the choice of good; and as long as it is thus fixt, how can our actions, which are the immediate effects of the exertion of the will, be evil? Till the reſolution is decayed or forgotten, we cannot give full conſent to any vice: it will be not only a conſtant monitor of our obliga⯑tion to adhere ſteadfaſtly to virtue, but likewiſe a conſtant incitement to fulfil the obligation, and a counterpoiſe to the power of ſin. Temp⯑tations ſolicit in the ſame manner as formerly; depraved appetites and paſſions crave their [435] wonted indulgence: but they find a ſtrong re⯑ſiſtance to their impulſe; they find the will determined on the contrary courſe; they find the ſoul bent to perſeverance in it: before they can prevail, they muſt conquer this re⯑ſiſtance; and before they can conquer it, reſo⯑lution muſt have loſt its force. The man who remains deeply impreſſed with his reſolution to obey all God's laws, whenever he feels himſelf in danger of a tranſgreſſion, readily checks himſelf by recollecting, that it is in⯑conſiſtent with the conduct which he has re⯑ſolved to purſue. To every effort of irregular inclination, he can oppoſe the firm determina⯑tion of the will; to every temptation to ſin, he is prepared to anſwer, I am reſolved againſt it. Can it fail to be a great advantage, to have the heart thus ſteadily turned to virtue, and ſet upon the practice of it? I [...] reſolutions regarding common life, the advantage is uni⯑verſally acknowledged and experienced. We ſcruple not to diſſuade a man from many things which he deſigns; but when we know that he is abſolutely determined on any point, we confeſs it to be in vain to endeavour to diſ⯑ſuade him. And why ſhould not reſolutions in religion have equal influence? Only be⯑cauſe we are not careful to render them equally firm.

[436]FROM the habitual bent to virtue, as its object and its aim, which an explicit reſolu⯑tion of purſuing it impreſſes on the ſoul, there ariſes another great advantage. If it were poſ⯑ſible that a man ſhould employ himſelf in vir⯑tuous actions without any previous reſolution of being virtuous, yet theſe actions could im⯑prove only the particular virtue of which they were immediate exertions. Acts of abſtinence would improve the habit of temperance, but could add no ſtrength to the habits of juſtice, benevolence, and piety: acts of juſtice or of charity would promote a juſt or charitable ſpirit, but could contribute nothing towards forming the other parts of a holy temper. His progreſs would reſemble the imperfect opera⯑tions of human art, in which only one mem⯑ber of the work is ſhaped or poliſhed at once, the other members remaining, in the mean time, rude and without form: while he were intent▪ on improving one of the virtues of a good character, he could make no improve⯑ment in any of the other virtues. But when a firm reſolution has devoted us to the practice of univerſal holineſs, it gives the ſoul a fixt bias and permanent propenſity to every part of holineſs: we apply ourſelves to every duty which there is an opportunity of performing, as a branch of the general plan which we have determined to execute; and in conſequence of [437] this, by performing it, we carry forward that whole plan. Every good action undertaken in accompliſhment of a reſolution of univerſal holineſs, whatever be the particular nature of that action, ſtrengthens the reſolution, con⯑firms the general bias reſulting from it, and by doing ſo, renders us better diſpoſed, not only to the virtue from which it directly pro⯑ceeds, but to all the virtues which come within the compaſs of our reſolution. We advance in the improvement of our hearts, in a manner ſimilar to the perfect operation of God, who in every one of his works forms the rudiments of all the parts at once, and by one proceſs extending its influence to them all, rears them together to perfection: firmly re⯑ſolved to do whatever we know to be our duty, we acquire the beginnings of all the vir⯑tues at once; by every good action of our lives, we raiſe them all to a greater degree of vigour; we are ſecure againſt the danger of reſting ſa⯑tisfied with partial goodneſs.

THUS, a reſolution of holineſs ſincerely formed and carefully preſerved, has great power to render us holy, by fixing holineſs as an end which we muſt purſue, by preſenting it to our view as our proper buſineſs, by pre⯑diſpoſing the mind alike to all the parts of it, [438] and by rendering the exertions of every virtue the means of cultivating univerſal goodneſs.

3. A VIRTUOUS reſolution contributes to our practiſing virtue, by rendering the practice of it agreeable to us. This is the natural conſequence of that habitual bias which reſo⯑lution impreſſes on the ſoul. Many things, no-wiſe painful in themſelves, become diſa⯑greeable to us merely becauſe we undertake them with reluctance, becauſe they run coun⯑ter to our preſent bent and inclination. The very ſame things will be accompliſhed with eaſe, and even proſecuted with pleaſure at an⯑other time, when they are undertaken of choice, and coincide with inclination. A re⯑ſolution renders that our choice which is ne⯑ceſſary for fulfilling it, removes our back⯑wardneſs to engage in it, prevents the uneaſi⯑neſs which this backwardneſs would occaſion in performing it, and makes it to fall in with the prevailing propenſity of the ſoul. In common life a thouſand things appear im⯑practicable when we firſt think of them, which nevertheleſs we execute with facility as ſoon as a firm reſolution has ſet our hearts upon them. A determined mind can ſupport the hardeſt labour and ſurmount the greateſt difficulties with alacrity and ſatisfaction. Ir⯑regular inclinations and corrupt affections ren⯑der [439] us averſe to the reſtraints which religion impoſes on them: we engage in it with re⯑luctance; and therefore every ſtep is difficult and unpleaſant. A hearty reſolution, if it cannot deſtroy our reluctance, provides a coun⯑terbalance to it: it determines our fixt choice to holineſs; it makes us habitually ſolicitous to become holy; it renders us intent on prac⯑tiſing it: we enter into it wi [...]h ſpirit; we ex⯑ert ourſelves with vigour; and we feel plea⯑ſure in the exertion. When a temptation oc⯑curs, it excites the vicious paſſion to which it is addreſſed; this paſſion produces an averſion to the virtue which oppoſes it: but the gene⯑ral determination to all virtue, which reſolu⯑tion has impreſſed, combats this averſion, re⯑conciles us to the reſtraint of inclination, ren⯑ders it an eaſy yoke ^*, to which we ſubmit with chearfulneſs, and which we perſiſt in bearing with alacrity and joy. David had re⯑ſolved, I will keep thy ſtatutes ^†. What was the effect? With my whole heart have I ſought thee. I have rejoiced in the way of thy teſtimo⯑nies, as much as in all riches. I will delight myſelf in thy ſtatu [...]es: I will not forget thy word ^‡. He had ſaid, I am thy ſervant ^§. The conſequence was, therefore I love thy com⯑mandments above gold, yea above fine gold. [440] Therefore I eſteem all thy precepts concerning all things to be right, and I hate every falſe way ^‖. What we hate, we ſhall willingly employ care to ſhun; what we love, we ſhall joyfully take pains to obtain.

4. A VIRTUOUS reſolution has great in⯑fluence on our improvement, by putting us on the diligent uſe of all the means neceſſary for fulfilling the reſolution. We ſhould reckon it labour loſt, to b [...]ſtow a thought on the means of acquiring what we have no intention to purſue. It may be very valuable: but w [...] have never propoſed it to ourſelves as an [...]nd; to what purpoſe then enquire, how it may be attained? But as ſoon as we have determined on the end, our thought is naturally turned to the proper means of promoting it. The end is ſo intimately connected with the means ſubſervient to it, that, while that continues in our view, no effort is ſtrong enough to pre⯑vent all attention to theſe: it renders us eagerly inquiſitive about them; it ſuggeſts them to our notice; it forces us to dwell upon them; it makes us forward to apply them; and preſerves us active and indefatigable in the application of them. Such being the acknowledged tendency of a fixt reſolution, [441] the reſolution of virtue cannot fail to direct our ſolicitous concern to the means of becom⯑ing virtuous: wherewith ſhall a young man cleanſe his way ^*? is the queſtion which it impelled David to propoſe with earneſtneſs; and it will lead every man who has formed it with equal ſincerity, often to propoſe the ſame queſtion to himſelf with the like earneſt⯑neſs, and to enforce his attention to it with the greateſt care. The means of holineſs, it is not difficult to diſcover; they are clearly revealed to us: careful ſtudy of the divine law, fervent prayer for the divine aſſiſtance, circumſpect vigilance againſt evil, unwearied diligence in every good action which opportu⯑nity permits; theſe are the direct and immediate inſtruments of virtuous improvement. That a virtuous reſolution inſtigates to the uſe of theſe, almoſt every man may be convinced from his own experience; for there is ſcarcely any man who has never formed one good reſo⯑lution. Recollect then: for ſome little time after you had formed it, did you not feel ſome diſpoſition to attend to what you ought to do in order to fulfil it, to implore the grace of God for your aſſiſtance in keeping it, to be upon your guard againſt what tempted you to the violation of it, to exert yourſelves in ſome virtuous actions for which your ſituation gave an opportunity? Perhaps the diſpoſition was [442] of ſhort continuance; with the generality it is, alas, of very ſhort continuance: but if it laſted only for a day, it is ſufficient for aſcer⯑taining the natural tendency and the proper influence of virtuous reſolution. But if this be its genuine tendency, what reaſon can be aſſigned, why you are not always in this good diſpoſition, but that you ſuffer your reſolutions to wear off and loſe their power? Did you, by frequently renewing them, preſerve them in undecayed vigour, they would operate con⯑tinually in the ſame manner, and with equal efficacy. It is plain from the experience of the ſaints. David never recollects his holy purpoſes, or thinks of the ſubject of them, but they prompt him to uſe ſome of the means of holineſs. Thou haſt commanded us to keep thy precepts diligently: O that my ways were di⯑rected to keep thy ſtatutes ^* ! I will keep thy ſtatutes: O forſake me not utterly. O let me not wander from thy commandments. Thy word have I hid in mine heart, that I might not ſin againſt thee ^†.—I have ſaid, that I would keep thy words. I entreated thy favour with my whole heart: be merciful unto me according to thy word. I thought on my ways, and turned my feet unto thy teſtimonies. I made haſte and de⯑layed not to keep thy commandments ^‡—Depart [443] from me, ye evil-doers; for I will keep the commandments of my God ^*.—I ſaid, I will take heed to my ways, that I ſin not with my tongue: that I might guard againſt temptation, I was dumb with ſilence, I held my peace ^†.

V. FINALLY, Virtuous reſolution inſti⯑gates us to virtue, by ſuggeſting the motives to it, keeping them in our view, and fixing our attention on them. When a man is once determined, he not only repreſents to himſelf in the ſtrongeſt light, all the reaſons which moved him to determine, but is at pains to ſearch out reaſons for adhering to his reſolu⯑tion, which never occurred to him when he was forming it. He will not be diverted from the execution of it, by much ſtronger arguments than would have been ſufficient to prevent his entering into it. He is ingenious in finding topics to juſtify it; he is anxious to confute every objection againſt his perſiſting in it; and, if the reſolution happen to be impro⯑per, he will often ſatisfy himſelf with the pooreſt ſophiſms and the ſillieſt evaſions, rather than abandon it. What effect is then ſo great as not to be juſtly expected from a ſettled re⯑ſolution to practiſe holineſs? While it re⯑mains in force, it will lead us to meditate often [444] upon all the motives to holineſs; it will keep them perpetually in our view. But they can⯑not be perpetually in our view, without excit⯑ing us to perpetual diligence in holineſs. They are ſo weighty and of ſuch eternal conſequence, that nothing but inattention to them can pre⯑vent their governing the world. They are derived from every topic which can intereſt us: they are addreſſed to every principle which can actuate us. Duty, honour, utility; en⯑joyment in life, and comfort in the hour of death; preſent peace, and eternal happineſs; conſcience, gratitude, hope, and fear; all con⯑ſpire in urging us to holineſs. Before their combined force all the moſt ſpecious pleas of vice muſt vaniſh. In this one pſalm, in what profuſion are they ſuggeſted? in what ſtriking lights are they placed? with what force, and with what efficacy does David inculcate them upon himſelf? I remind you only of a few examples: Bleſſed are the undefiled in the way, who walk in the law of the Lord. They alſo do no iniquity. Then ſhall I not be aſhamed, when I have reſpect unto all thy com⯑mandments. The law of thy mouth is better un [...]o me, than thouſands of gold and ſilver. All thy commandments are faithful. Unleſs thy law had been my delights, I ſhould then have periſhed in mine affliction. I will never forget thy pre⯑cepts, for with them thou haſt quickened me. [445] They are ever with me. Thy teſtimonies are wonderful; therefore doth my ſoul keep them. Thy teſtimonies that thou haſt commanded, are righteous, and very faithful. Thy word is very pure; therefore thy ſervant loveth it. Thy righteouſneſs is an everlaſting righteouſneſs, and thy law is the truth. Thy commandments are my delights. Thou haſt founded them for ever. Great peace have they which love thy law; and nothing ſhall offend them. Lord, I hoped for thy ſalvation, and done thy commandments ^*. By rendering ſuch views of virtue familiar, by keeping them continually preſent to the mind, a reſolution, if it be but vigorous and ſteady, muſt urge us to virtue, with a force almoſt irreſiſtible.

THUS I have endeavoured to deſcribe the power of virtuous reſolutions, and to point out the ſources from which it is derived: by producing an obligation which we muſt fulfil in order to avoid the humiliating ſenſe of in⯑conſiſtency of character: by fixing holineſs as an end which we muſt purſue, and impreſſing an habitual bias to it: by conquering our re⯑luctance to the practice of it, and rendering it agreeable: by prompting us to the diligent uſe of all means of improvement in it: and [446] by forcing all the ſtrongeſt incitements to it, continually into our thoughts: they turn the heart to holineſs, collect all the ſtrength of the ſoul in this one deſign, and inſtigate, ſupport, aſſiſt, and invigorate all its efforts to accom⯑pliſh it. The practical improvement of this ſubject is obvious.

1. SINCE virtuous reſolutions are ſuch power⯑ful inſtruments of virtuous practice and improve⯑ment, we ought to form them with the greateſt ſincerity, firmneſs, and care. The neglect of this is one of the principal cauſes of the corrup⯑tion of the world. Men go on in wickedneſs becauſe have they never reſolved to abandon it: they are at no pains to be virtuous becauſe they have never ſeriouſly thought of it. For a man's living in ſin, it is not neceſſary that he make a formal choice of it: it is enough that he has not reſolved againſt it; the ſtrength of temptation and the power of corrupt paſſions will precipitate him into it. But for our prac⯑tiſing holineſs, for our perſiſting in it, not⯑withſtanding all its difficulties, notwithſtand⯑ing the depreſſions of infirmity, the im⯑pulſe of corruption, and the allurements of temptation, it is indiſpenſibly neceſſary that we devote ourſelves to it, and engage ourſelves in it, by a fixed choice and reſolution. This is the point from which ſteady virtue always [447] takes its riſe. In thoſe who are recovered to virtue after ſome time ſpent in open vice, the reſolution to change their courſe muſt be very deliberate, formal, and explicit. But even when men have, by the bleſſing of God on a religious education, been earlieſt and moſt im⯑perceptibly initiated into virtue, their virtue is owing to a real choice of it, inſtilled from the firſt, and habitually preſerved and acted upon. If our beſt reſolutions cannot ſecure perfect pu⯑rity and immoveable conſtancy, ſhall we con⯑clude that reſolution has no power? The con⯑cluſion would contradict the plaineſt experi⯑ence of human life. We ſhould conclude only, that our religious reſolutions are too feeble, that the difficulties of religion, and the weakneſs and corrupt propenſities of man, require their being formed with the greateſt ſeriouſneſs, and raiſed to the greateſt vi⯑gour, and maintained in unexhauſted force. If our goodneſs be defective, if our ſins be many, notwithſtanding all our pains to enter into, and to inculcate upon ourſelves reſolutions of univerſal holineſs, we muſt have been void of goodneſs, and profligate in ſin, if we had never made one reſolution to the contrary. It were folly not to avail ourſelves of the great ad⯑vantages which reſolution gives for uniform and ſteadfaſt virtue. If it be undertaken early, it will prevent a great deal of corruption, and [448] labour, and remorſe, and miſery; it will ſpread the happieſt influence over all the periods of life. When we are capable of chuſing our occupation for this world, it is high time that we make the more important choice of our occupation for the other world. If we are deſigned for eternity, and if without virtue it is impoſſible to be happy in eternity, we can⯑not too ſpeedily, or with too great deliberation and ſeriouſneſs, devote ourſelves to the purſuit of all that is true, and venerable, and juſt, and pure, and lovely ^*. This is the plan and mo⯑del of life, which every man ought to pre⯑ſcribe to himſelf, which he ſhould be deter⯑mined to obſerve and execute, alone and in company, in proſperity and adverſity, in every poſſible ſituation. Chriſtianity demands it from all its profeſſors. It requires it to be done in a manner the fitteſt for adding to its efficacy. It has inſtituted two ſacraments for the pur⯑poſe. It has enforced the frequent obſervance of one of them, by making it the ſubject of Chriſt's dying precept. It has provided, that as many as have not caſt off all regard to the voice of their expiring Saviour, ſhall form and often renew the firm reſolution of univerſal ho⯑lineſs, with the utmoſt deliberation and ſo⯑lemnity; with their ſouls for a conſiderable time kept intenſely bent upon it; with a bright [449] diſplay, full in their view, of every motive to the exact fulfilment of it; with their faith and honour, for the execution, plighted to their fellow-chriſtians; in a ſtriking act of im⯑mediate worſhip, which gives it all the autho⯑rity and energy of a religious vow, and is an appointed, and therefore, a powerful means, of drawing down abundant ſhowers of celeſtial grace, to nouriſh and invigorate it, and to raiſe from it the precious fruits of righteouſneſs.

2. HAVING ſincerely reſolved to practiſe univerſal holineſs, let us diligently and faith⯑fully fulfil the reſolution. From the power of reſolution this may reaſonably be expected. We daily find men unalterably conſtant in re⯑ſolutions of ſmall importance. We find them inflexibly obſtinate in evil purpoſes. Strange that we ſhould be irreſolute only in that in which it is of ſupreme importance to be reſo⯑lute and unmoveable! that in religion alone we ſuffer the force of reſolution to be ſubdued by every foe! By allowing it to languiſh with⯑out producing its effect, by neglecting to act upon it, by fainting in the accompliſhment of it, we fruſtrate one of the moſt powerful in⯑ſtruments which religion contains for the re⯑formation of our lives and the improvement of our hearts; and we render ourſelves in a great meaſure incapable of being profited by any of [450] the reſt. Excellent as it is, it is but a means of holineſs; it derives all its value from its ſubſervience to this end; it is labour loſt if it fail of promoting it. It is only for the ſake of the execution, that the formation of holy purpoſes is enjoined. God will not accept of purpoſes inſtead of practice; he will not be ſatisfied with inefficient promiſes. His voice is, Vow and pay unto the Lord your God ^*. True holineſs is a ſtable and permanent tem⯑per, a continued and perſevering practice. If y [...] continue in my word, then are ye my diſciples indeed ^†. But if any man draw back, my ſoul ſhall have no pleaſure in him ^‡. Look to your⯑ſelves, therefore, that ye loſe not thoſe things which ye have wrought, but that ye receive a full reward ^‖.

3. FROM what hath been ſaid, we may learn to judge, whether or not our virtuous reſolutions be properly formed, and properly maintained. You ſee what effects they ought to produce. They promote not our ſanctifi⯑cation by an inſtantaneous charm: from every lapſe, you have not reaſon to ſuſpect either their ſincerity or their permanence. If they fortify your ſenſe of obligation; if they keep you habitually attached to holineſs as the one [451] thing needful ^*; if they ſtrenuouſly reſiſt the corrupt propenſities of the ſoul; if they prompt you to uſe the means of improvement with uniform diligence; if they render you forward to recollect and to dwell upon the motives to virtue; they have not been formed in vain. Theſe are the energies by which they gradually and ſlowly mould the heart to holineſs. Con⯑tinue to cheriſh them, and by the ſame ener⯑gies they will at laſt render you complete. But whenever they ceaſe to produce theſe ef⯑fects, they ceaſe to act, they ceaſe to be re⯑membered. You muſt form anew; you muſt urge them upon your ſouls with greater vi⯑gour; you muſt excite yourſelves with greater earneſtneſs, to yield to their influence, and to fulfil them. Be not weary in well-doing ^†. Hold that faſt which thou haſt, that no man take thy crown ^‡.

SERMON XIX. THE HOUSE OF MOURNING MORE IM⯑PROVING THAN THE HOUSE OF FEASTING.

ALL the varieties that can occur in hu⯑man life, fall under two general heads, proſperity and adverſity. Some ſpend the greateſt part of their time in one of theſe ſtates, and ſome in the other; but every man has experience of both. Both may be im⯑proved ſo as to promote the great end of life, our education for eternity; for each inculcates peculiar leſſons, and puts us upon congruous exerciſes, which tend to form our hearts to virtue, and to produce ſuch habits as may pre⯑pare us for the enjoyment of pure and perfect happineſs. But adverſity has been always found the more ſucceſsful teacher of the two. Its diſcipline is indeed ſevere: deſirous of pre⯑ſent [454] eaſe, we naturally fly from it; and when it overtakes us, we uſe every endeavour to eſcape from its graſp as ſoon as poſſible. Its inſtruc⯑tions are, however, ſo important, that the perſon who eſtimates them juſtly, will reckon its future ſalutary effects ſufficient motives to patience and reſignation under the preſent evil.

IF nevertheleſs a method could be diſco⯑vered, by which we might obtain the benefits of adverſity without being ſubjected to its pains; a method by which the proſperous, without relinquiſhing their proſperity, might learn to ſteer their courſe through life, with that ſedateneſs which reſults from afflictions well improved; who would be ſo inconſiderate, ſo indifferent to his own greateſt good, as not eagerly to embrace it? Who would not rejoice in the opportunity of becoming wiſe and vir⯑tuous at ſo cheap a rat [...]? Yet this very op⯑portunity is every day pr [...]ſ [...]ted to men, and every day neglected by them. Obſervation of the afflictions of others, has the ſame tendency with experience of our own. So much is our nature formed for ſocial connections, that the condition of others becomes in ſome degree our own, and fills our hearts either with [...]ym⯑pathetic joy, or with compaſſionate grief. The happieſt of mankind may, as often as they pleaſe, contemplate the calamities of their [455] neighbours; and from the well directed con⯑templation of them derive almoſt the ſame ad⯑vantages as from bearing calamity themſelves. But the very cauſes which render us unwilling to be ourſelves afflicted, often prevent our fixing our attention on the afflictions of other men: they depreſs our ſpirits, they excite un⯑eaſy feelings, they occaſion preſent diſſatiſ⯑faction. The ſorrow indeed, which they pro⯑duce, is not pure or unallayed; by the wiſe and gracious conſtitution of human nature, there is an attraction in diſtreſs, which en⯑gaging our benevolence, draws us towards thoſe who labour under it, even when we can only commiſerate, but have it not in our power to bring them relief: yet ſcenes of gaiety have often force enough to divert us from hearkening to this propenſity; their faſ⯑cination overcomes the attraction of diſtreſs: they elevate our hearts, they dilate them with chearful ſenſations, they introduce a train of pleaſant emotions, they give preſent ſatisfac⯑tion; and therefore we think it more eligible to witneſs them, to aſſociate with ſuch as revel in them, than to converſe with the children of ſorrow, and to fix a ſteady eye upon the calamities of human life. When theſe compel us to behold them, when their ſtriking cir⯑cumſtances, or our own relation to the perſons whom they have befallen, irreſiſtibly arreſt [456] our notice, we too often view them but in⯑ſtinctively; we gaze upon them, and ſhed a tear; but we indulge none of thoſe uſeful re⯑flections which would have a permanent in⯑fluence upon our temper and our conduct. If ſuch reflections happen to ariſe ſpontaneouſly, we quickly baniſh them as intruders; we ſhrink back from the ſeriouſneſs which they would introduce, and ſeek relief in mirth and diſſipation. This is to prefer the ſatisfaction of the preſent moment, to the laſting improve⯑ment of the heart. It may be more agreeable to view the glitter of proſperity, and to partake in the laughter and levity of the proſperous; but it is incomparably more uſeful to enter into the ſorrows of the afflicted, to ponder the evils of life, and to purſue the thoughts which a ſe⯑rious view of them inſpires. This is the judgement which the wiſe man pronounces in my text; It is better to go to the houſe of mourn⯑ing, than to go to the houſe of feaſting: for that he means, conſidering the diſtreſſes of others, not enduring our own, is evident from what he adds, For that is the end of all men, and the living will lay it to his heart. He has par⯑ticularly in his eye the laſt evil incident to man; he points at the benefit that the living may derive from meditation on the inſtances of mortality which ſurround them, and in which affection often gives them a melancholy in⯑tereſt; [457] but we need not ſuppoſe that he ex⯑cludes the benefit which wiſe ſpectators may receive from conſidering other evils, in which likewiſe they are concerned only by ſympathy with the ſufferers.

SOLOMON was deeply ſkilled in human life, he was acquainted with all the circumſtances by which it is diverſified, he underſtood the nature and the tendency of all the events which fill it up; and he had learned to mea⯑ſure the uſefulneſs of things, not by their fit⯑neſs to gratify inclination, or to give imme⯑diate pleaſure, but by their efficacy in forming the heart, and promoting ſpiritual improve⯑ment. On this principle it is, that his wiſ⯑dom, guided by God's unerring Spirit, declares, That to go to the houſe of mourning, to be willingly and familiarly converſant with ſcenes of ſorrow and ſuffering, is better than to go to the houſe of feaſting, to be engroſſed by objects of feſtivity, jollity, pomp, or ſplendour. To the gayer part of mankind, to thoſe in every ſtation who give a looſe to levity and thought⯑leſſneſs, this maxim will doubtleſs ſeem a pa⯑radox; but it is a truth of the moſt unqueſ⯑tionable certainty, and the moſt capital im⯑portance. It is better, becauſe it is more uſe⯑ful; and it is more uſeful, becauſe it is likely to have a more beneficial influence on our [458] temper and our conduct; becauſe it is more conducive to our religious and moral culture, and our real happineſs. That in this deciſive point of view, the houſe of mourning is prefer⯑able to the houſe of feaſting, I undertake to evince, by a compariſon of both, in reſpect of the general temper and diſpoſition which they form, in reſpect of the ſentiments which they ſuggeſt, and in reſpect of the affections which they draw out into exerciſe, and render habi⯑tual.

FIRST, As to the general temper which they form: to go to the houſe of feaſting, tends to produce levity and diſſipation; but to go to the houſe of mourning, fixes the ſoul in a temper of ſedateneſs, ſeriouſneſs, and compoſure.

A VERY little recollection will convince you, that a run of good ſucceſs, a train of gay avocations, or a courſe of amuſements, ſeldom fail to render men, in ſome degree, light and volatile, thoughtleſs and unreflecting. They leave neither inclination nor capacity for the labours which attend a cloſe application to any ſubject. They benumb the underſtand⯑ing, enervate the affections, relax all the powers of the ſoul, and throw it into an in⯑ſignificant flutter. The jollity which ſcenes of feſtivity excite, is of a diſſolving, debili⯑tating [459] nature. It is a ſwelling, rather than an elevation of heart. It is a fever, not a briſk and healthful circulation. It is apter to divert us from virtuous offices altogether, than to render us chearful and active in performing them. Intoxicated with it, we are too giddy to be able to ponder the moment of our actions; too much off our guard to elude the deceitful⯑neſs of ſin, and the inſinuations of temptation; too inconſiderate for embracing opportunities of doing good; and too effeminate for exert⯑ing ourſelves in order to improve them. I ſaid of laughter, it is mad; and of mirth, what doth it ^*? It yields no manly enjoyment, and it unfits us for virtue and religion. The im⯑provident, unthinking temper which it foſters, is one of the principal cauſes of thoſe vices which have over-run the world. It is only in the ſedate and recollected ſoul, that virtue can flouriſh and grow up to vigour and matu⯑rity.

THIS is the very character which attention to diſtreſs is directly calculated to form. Diſ⯑treſs is indeed a gloomy object. When the unprincipled or the ungoverned mind firſt en⯑ters into the contemplation of it, it may be ſunk into melancholy, raiſed into violent agi⯑tations [460] of grief, or broken into peeviſhneſs and diſcontent, very unfriendly to virtue, as oppoſite to its benign exertions, as even the profuſeſt mirth and levity can be to the ſo⯑lemnity of its duties. But if the ſoul be at all prepared▪ for meeting the ſhocks of ſor⯑row, familiarity with the ſufferings of the af⯑flicted will produce no more than a moderate concern, a neceſſary degree of ſeriouſneſs. It will not lift up the paſſions into tempeſtuous billows; it will only collect them into ſobriety of mind. A proper ſenſe of the calamities in⯑cident to man ſwallows up all trivial emotions, and occupies the whole ſoul with one import⯑ant feeling. It becomes recollected in itſelf; it acquires an attentive frame; it is well diſ⯑poſed to caution, circumſpection, and conſi⯑deration. It is this happy temper that attunes the heart to virtue. The man in whom it prevails, is always ſolicitous to act aright, and always capable of acting aright. He is fit for ſelf-government, ſteadineſs, and conſiſt⯑ency of conduct. He has a defence againſt every temptation to ſin; for he is enough maſ⯑ter of himſelf to perceive its tendency, and to detect its inſignificance. He can calmly ex⯑amine the value of every object, and canvas the claim of every vice. In vain does fancy throw a falſe colouring over it; he is proof againſt the deceit; his reaſon is awake to diſ⯑cern [461] the artificial varniſh, and his conſcience is active to raiſe a deteſtation of its natural de⯑formity. He is prepared for deſpiſing all thoſe ſlight allurements which ſeduce the thoughtleſs from the diligent practice of holi⯑neſs, and from perſevering efforts to reach the perfection of their nature.

SUCH is the general temper to which we ſhall be formed by going to the houſe of mourn⯑ing: and when we conſider this temper as fun⯑damental to religion, as eſſential to purity, blameleſſneſs, conſtancy, and uniformity of character; this alone is ſufficient to conſtrain us, however much inclination may oppoſe the conceſſion, in our judgment, in our conſci⯑ence to acknowledge that it is far better to viſit the comfortleſs abodes of poverty and pain, of diſeaſe and death, forbidding as they ſeem to be; than to frequent places of the gayeſt entertainment, the loudeſt mirth, or the moſt inviting and agreeable amuſements. The heart, the delight, of the wiſe is the houſe of mourn⯑ing; and that only of fools in the houſe of mirth ^*.

SECONDLY, To go to the houſe of mourning, is better than to go to the houſe of feaſting, in [462] reſpect of the ſentiments which it ſuggeſts. The latter diverts us from meditation on any ſubjects of a ſerious or important nature; the former forces into our view the moſt important, the moſt deeply intereſting ſubjects.

GAIETY does not penetrate the heart ſo deeply as concern; but it in ſome ſenſe en⯑groſſes it more entirely. It in a great meaſure [...]ulls the thinking powers aſleep, ſuſpends the exerciſe of thought, and unhinges the train of our ideas. It breaks the bands by which our preſent perceptions draw others into our view. It annihilates the gale which carries us forward, in a regular direction from ſentiment to ſenti⯑ment. The mind is like a ſhip becalmed, incapable of motion; or it is the ſport of light and unſteady breezes ſhifting every moment from point to point; it can make no progreſs, it can only roll in its preſent place; it cannot advance in any courſe of regular meditation. Gay ideas can introduce none but gay ideas. Their agreeable titillation indiſpoſes us for every thought except what regards the enjoy⯑ment of the preſent, or the anticipation of a future amuſement. All thoſe religious princi⯑ples which can either reſtrain from vice or in⯑ſtigate to virtue, ſtudiouſly avoid the circles of levity and diſſipation: if they ſhould happen to enter into them, they would be received [463] with coldneſs, or turned out as impertinent intruders.

BUT all that we meet with in the houſe of mourning, naturally ſuggeſts many of the moſt important ideas; and the ſadneſs of heart which it inſpires prepares us for feeling all their force. The contemplation of diſtreſs not only inclines us to attention, but calls up the moſt uſeful objects on which we can be⯑ſtow our attention. It almoſt conſtrains us to recollect and to ponder ſome of thoſe awful truths, and awakening conſiderations, which are the ſtrongeſt motives to the right diſ⯑charge of every duty. When we enter by ſympathy, into the ſorrows of others, though the heart embraces the painful ſenſation which they have produced, and enjoys a ſweet ſatiſ⯑faction in it, yet it avoids clinging too cloſely to it. It runs ſpontaneouſly into ſuch views as may relieve or vary its uneaſineſs without extinguiſhing the ſoft emotion in which it is involved. Both our preſent diſpoſition and the objects which engage our notice, lead us naturally into ſuch tracks of thinking as are analogous and congruous to ſeriouſneſs, and concern. It is only from ſuch that we can find relief. Should gay ideas be accidentally forced upon us, inſtead of mitigating our ſor⯑row, they would imbitter it; their continu⯑ance [464] would render it inſupportable; we ſhould run eage [...]ly into graver reflections as the only means of alleviating it. Sorrow creates a ſort of appetite for pain; it cauſes us to reject chear⯑fulneſs with loathing and diſguſt. It delights in being indulged; it is more effectually ſoothed by the ſerious thoughts to which we are prompted by itſelf; and for this reaſon it determines us to dwell upon them. There is not a ſingle ſpecies of diſtreſs in which we can obſerve our fellow-men, our neighbours or our friends, that does not naturally lead us to uſe⯑ful meditations. I can give but a very few ex⯑amples.

WHEN you caſt your eyes upon the poor, when you viſit the haunts of indigence,—and how can you avoid it, if you do not abdu⯑ [...]ately refuſe to look upon them?—for they abound in every ſtreet, they meet you at every corner;—you muſt be totally loſt to ſenſibi⯑lity of heart, if ſome profitable thoughts, con⯑cerning their condition, concerning your own, concerning the ways of God, do not riſe in your minds. Who has made ſo great a dif⯑ference between that tattered beggar and t [...]y⯑ſelf? Canſt thou juſtly claim as great a ſu⯑periority in worth, as in proſperity? Why then art thou thus diſtinguiſhed? The rules by which God diſpenſes penury and abun⯑dance, [465] pain and pleaſure, ſeem to be unequal; their principles are wholly undiſcoverable by the weakneſs of our powers: but if he be wiſe and good, thus irregularly diſtributed, they cannot be for recompence; they muſt be only for trial. Our concern muſt be, only to im⯑prove them, not to enjoy them: if we ac⯑quieſce in enjoying them, we loſe them; it is their very nature to periſh with the uſing ^*. Many in their life time have received their good things; and are afterwards tormented; while they who received evil things, are com⯑forted ^†. We are not the proprietors; we are but the ſtewards of the good things which we poſſeſs. To fix our wordly condition be⯑longs to Providence; to behave well, what⯑ever our condition be, and by behaving well to ſecure a ſtate of everlaſting bleſſedneſs, is all that can belong to us. If any of you neg⯑lect this, ye ſhall ſee many whoſe poverty you deſpiſed or pitied, in the kingdom of hea⯑ven, and you yourſelves thruſt out ^‡.

WHEN it is by having been tumbled down from eaſe and affluence, that your neighbour or your friend is languiſhing in poverty, the reverſe which he has ſuffered, enforces and multiplies our ſerious reflections. We feel⯑ingly [466] perceive the vanity, the uncertainty, the worthleſſneſs of all temporal things. Is it for a ſmall pittance of theſe, that ſo many ſacri⯑fice their innocence, pollute their hearts, and wound their conſciences? Can it be but the extremity of folly, to tranſgreſs any duty for the ſake of what may vaniſh in a moment? Can it really be difficult to acquire that diſen⯑gagement from them, which will prepare us for devoting ourſelves heartily to religion? Shall pride or preſumption riſe in our proſpe⯑rity, and idly boaſt, my mountain ſtandeth ſtrong, I ſhall never be moved ^*? If God but hide his face, we are troubled ^*: How awful is his providence? It putteth up, and caſteth down, whomſoever it pleaſeth: nothing re⯑mains for us but to adore it with reverence, and to receive its appointments with ſubmiſ⯑ſion or with gratitude.

YOU often ſee the bed of ſickneſs; you ob⯑ſerve, not a ſtranger, but the neighbour whom you eſteem, the friend whom you love, lan⯑guiſhing upon it. Is it poſſible at that time to reſtrain your thoughts from the moſt ſo⯑lemn themes? How precarious is human life? How many diſorders are incident to this mor⯑tal body, the leaſt of which can render every [467] enjoyment inſipid, and life itſelf a burden? How little is it worth our while to plod, and ſweat, and drudge for what can profit us only in the preſent world? Impoſſible that this fleeting, chequered ſcene can be the whole of man's exiſtence! Hath God made all men in vain ^*? Hath he not formed them for a ſtate of purer and more durable felicity? Is it not a debaſing of the dignity of our reaſonable powers, to uſe them only as the inſtruments of purſuing unſatisfying, unſtable, tranſitory trifles? For extinguiſhing the heat of a fever, for allaying the anguiſh of the ſtone, for ſlackening the pace of a conſumption, how impotent are all the titles, and treaſures, and dignities of earth? The intereſts of the eter⯑nal world muſt be the only object; the virtu⯑ous, the holy exerciſes which are ſubſervient to them, muſt be the only proper ſphere, of an immortal ſpirit exiled into a body which is liable to ſo manifold infirmities and diſtreſſes. It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God ^†! Far beyond the poſſibility of being numbered, are the ways in which God can execute his diſpleaſure on thoſe who incur it by their diſobedience. Who knoweth the power of his anger ^‡? If the ſlight diſorders of our preſent ſtate can render us incapable of ſatisfac⯑tion, [468] if they can turn exiſtence into a curſe during their continuance; if even the imagi⯑nary evils which a diſordered fancy preſents to view, if the unſubſtantial ſpectres which riſe in a moment of delirium, can pierce the heart with real anguiſh, and overwhelm it with in⯑ſupportable terrors; what muſt that tribulation and anguiſh ^* be, which ſhall hereafter come upon every ſoul of man that doth evil ^*, from enduring that puniſhment which, for the vin⯑dication of his authority and laws, the Al⯑mighty will, in the completion of his moral government, inflict on the obſtinately and in⯑corrigibly wicked? What creature can bear it? What heart recoils not with horror from the thought of it? Will we venture on any ac⯑tion that can expoſe us to it? Warned by ſo many afflictions, diſtreſſes, and calamities, which render this world a land of ſorrow, though God has cauſed them to come only for correction, or for mercy ^†; will we not fly from that diſtreſs and anguiſh, which he will ſend in indignation, for the perdition of the irreclaimable, a ſingle moment of which can outweigh a combination of all temporal evils? Convinced by what we ſee around us, of how much miſery human nature is ſuſceptible, can we want motives to labour for admiſſion into [469] that happy ſtate, into which no diſeaſe, no pain, no diſappointment of deſire can ever en⯑ter, in which there ſhall be no more death, nei⯑ther ſorrow, nor crying ^‡.

WE every day obſerve inſtances of mortality without emotion, without one grave reflection: their frequency has made us callous to all im⯑preſſion from them. But when it is a revered parent, a darling child, or a beloved friend, that has breathed out his laſt, the moſt un⯑thinking finds it no longer in his power to re⯑main inſenſible. Earthly things ſhrink into nothing: every ſublunary enjoyment ſeems to be annihilated: the whole world is become a dreary waſte. Thoughts force themſelves upon the giddi [...]ſt, which, if they were but ſuffered to be permanent, could not fail to break every undue attachment to the objects of ſenſe, and to [...]ix our whole hearts on things ſpiritual and eternal.

BY being witneſſes of diſtreſs, thinking per⯑ſons muſt be put upon reflections of this kind: and when their tendency is ſo ſalutary, will we not, in contempt of preſent gratification, confeſs that it is better to go to the houſe of mourning than to go to the houſe of feaſting?

[470]THIRDLY, It is likewiſe better, in re⯑ſpect of the affections which it cheriſhes. To go to the houſe of feaſting gives exerciſe to almoſt no good affections: but to go to the houſe of mourning draws forth into exerciſe, and by exerciſing improves, thoſe affections which conſtitute the ſum of virtue. Sorrow is better than laughter, for by the ſadneſs of the countenance the heart is made better ^*.

IT is only by being exerted, that good af⯑fections can become habitual. What gives no ſcope to their exertion, can contribute nothing to form them into a ſettled temper. A ſuc⯑ceſſion of gaieties and amuſements can ſtrengthen ſcarcely any diſpoſition in our nature, but levity and the love of trifles; for it gives exerciſe to no other. If it appears to be the c [...]ment of ſociety, and the bond of good-will and friend⯑ſhip, the appearance, alas, is generally de⯑ceitful: under this fair pretence, it often foſ⯑ters only pride, vanity, and oſtentation on the one hand, and flattery, falſe profeſſions, and mean compliances on the other hand. The diſſipated, jovial companion ſeldom excels either in the ſenſibility, or in the activity of benevolence.

[471]BUT a feeling attention to the diſtreſſes of human life, incident to ourſelves, and lying heavy on ſome of thoſe who are connected with us, naturally cheriſhes many of the moſt important virtues. A ſuffering friend ſome⯑times exhibits an attractive example of pati⯑ence, magnanimity, and reſignation, ſeeking unto God, and unto God committing his cauſe ^*. His conduct expreſſes in the moſt ſtriking manner, the pious ſentiments of Job, ſhall we receive good at the hand of God, and ſhall we not receive evil ^† ? Though he ſlay me, yet will I truſt in him: he alſo ſhall be my ſalvation ^‡. Amidſt the heavieſt afflictions belonging to this mortal ſtate, he retains fervent piety to the God who ſeverely, yet mercifully, cor⯑rects him. Unengroſſed by all that he en⯑dures, he continues intereſted in the concerns of his friends, warm in his love to them, and his ſolicitude for their welfare; like to the Saviour of mankind, who throughout the agonies of his paſſion, preſerved an ardent zeal, and expreſſed earneſt deſires, for the good of the human race. Such behaviour under the mighty hand of God commands the venera⯑tion of the heart, and urges us to collect the whole vigour of our ſouls that we may be⯑come capable of imitating it.

[472]IF, on the other hand, we ſee one of our fellow-creatures fainting under his diſtreſſes, unable to ſuſtain them with Chriſtian forti⯑tude, we may improve his miſbehaviour for our own inſtruction. It is not difficult to diſ⯑cover the cauſes of his weakneſs. We behold exemplified in him, the ill conſequences of the neglect of ſelf-government; the painful effects of immoderate attachment to worldly pleaſures or poſſeſſions; the miſery which ſprings from the want of faith and confidence in God; or the enfeebling, dejecting influence of conſcious guilt. And by the alarming exemplification, we are loudly warned, before adverſity ſhall over⯑take ourſelves, to alter our conduct, to reform our temper, to root out from our hearts what⯑ever can increaſe its bitterneſs.

BUT whatever be the behaviour of thoſe whoſe afflictions we contemplate, the very contemplation of the afflictions themſelves has a powerful tendency to improve us in benevo⯑lence, piety, reſignation, patience. Diſtreſs ſets any of our fellow⯑creatures in a very inte⯑reſting point of view. It demands for him a peculiar degree of love and tenderneſs: to him that is afflicted pity ſhould be ſhewed from his friend ^*: with a voice of perſuaſion irreſiſti⯑ble [473] to the ſenſibility of every heart that is not totally depraved, his affliction crieth, have pity upon me, have pity upon me, O ye my friends, for the hand of God hath touched me ^†. While the diſtreſs of others grieves us, it at⯑taches us to them by a ſtrong affection. It forces upon our recollection every circumſtance in their former ſituations, or in their charac⯑ters, that can confirm or enliven our affection. We forget, or find out excuſes for thoſe faults in their behaviour which once provoked our anger or our indignation. Our whole ſouls are melted into complacence and benevolence. By being often in this manner awakened, and exerted in the ſofteſt feelings, the kind affec⯑tions are prepared for riſing and actuating us on leſs moving occaſions. The heart is trained to love, fitted for being touched by every agreeable quality and every endearing relation, and diſpoſed to flow out in beneficence, in deeds of charity, and in acts of generoſity, as often as opportunities occur. Diſtreſs puts it in our power to improve our kind affections, not only by indulging their inward workings, but alſo by putting them forth into act. We can often aſſiſt thoſe who labour under it; we can often extenuate or relieve their ſufferings by our advice or by our timely ſuccour; we [474] can always give them that conſolation which reſults from the ſenſe of our ſympathizing with their pains. By accuſtoming ourſelves thus to give them eaſe, we ſhall advance in that brotherly love which of is ſo great im⯑portance in the Chriſtian temper, that our Saviour has made it the diſtinctive characteriſtic of his genuine diſciples.

CONSIDERATION of the diſtreſſes which are common in human life, and which many around us labour under, is no leſs fit for ex⯑citing and improving pious affections to that God who maketh ſore, and bindeth up; who woundeth, and his hands make whole ^*. It is proſperity indeed, that contains the ſtrongeſt reaſons for piety. The enjoyments of life render our love and thankfulneſs moſt juſtly due to him who giveth us richly all things to enjoy ^†; they demand our fulleſt ſatisfaction in the appointments of his providence, and our moſt chearful obedience to the dictates of his will. But experience teſtifies, that we are apteſt to be undutiful when we are moſt ind [...]bted. When we are full, we deny God, and ſay, who is the Lord ^‡? They who are not in trouble as other men, whoſe eyes ſtand out with fatneſs, who have more than heart [475] could wiſh, ſpeak loſtily, they ſet their mouth againſt the heavens, pride compaſſeth them about as a chain ^†. Their houſes are ſafe from fear, neither is the rod of God upon them; they take the timbrel and harp, and rejoice at the ſound of the organ; they ſpend their days in wealth: therefore they ſay unto God, depart from us, for we deſire not the knowledge of thy ways? what is the Almighty, that we ſhould ſerve him ^‡? When proſperity is ſo intoxicating, if we en⯑joy it unimpaired, can we eſcape its baneful influence, without ſetting ourſelves to ponder the adverſities under which others groan? If we ſaw nothing around us but the glitter of proſperity, we could ſcarcely fail to loſe all ſenſe of God. It is when they fix their eyes on the calamities of which the world is ſo full, which many of their neighbours feel, and to which they alſo are obnoxious; that the pro⯑ſperous are awakened to ſobriety of mind, re⯑called to themſelves, and to the acknowledge⯑ment of a God, in whoſe hand is the breath of all mankind ^*, who taketh away, and none can hinder him, nor ſay unto him, what doſt thou ^‖. It is this view of things that, from an inſtru⯑ment of corrupting their hearts, converts their eaſe and affluence into an efficacious means of [476] elevating and enlarging them to run the way of God's commandments ^§, and to delight them⯑ſelves in him. It is this view of things, that rouſes them to a ſenſe of the ſovereign autho⯑rity of his laws, and of the infinite import⯑ance of his love; and impels them to ſeek his favour above all things, by keeping his pre⯑cepts with their whole hearts. It is this view of things, that leads thoſe whoſe mountain ſtandeth ſtrongeſt ^*, to perceive the neceſſity of reſignation to the Governor of the world, of ſubmiſſion to his uncontroulable dominion, of truſt and confidence in the unſearchable wiſ⯑dom of his providence. Religion is the only aſylum of the afflicted; and therefore famili⯑arity with affliction cannot fail to inſtigate every man of prudence to ſecure its protection in the day of trouble, by having recourſe to it while the candle of the Lord yet ſhines upon him. You would think your ſituation diſmal, if you found yourſelves, your families, and your friends, in a dreary wilderneſs, without a morſel of bread, without a drop of water, without a guide, without defence or refuge from the wild beaſts that howled on every ſide. You would be inconſolable, if you ſhould awake, with all who are deareſt to you, in a leaky veſſel, without a pilot, in a tempeſtuous, [477] unknown, boundleſs ocean, the ſport of wind and waves. In the moment of ſafety, you would tremble in the conſciouſneſs that there is not ſecurity for another moment. To the man who is a ſtranger to religion, who lives without God, who has no regard to him nor intereſt in him, this world is a drearier wil⯑derneſs, and a more tempeſtuous ocean. Amidſt numberleſs calamities, which he ſees every moment raging all around him, and which he has neither power nor prudence to avert from himſelf, he has no director, no guardian, no hope, no conſolation. That man alone is bleſſed, who can ſay unto God, Nevertheleſs I am continually with thee: thou haſt holden me by my right hand: thou ſhalt guide me with thy counſel, and afterward re⯑ceive me to glory ^†.

CONSIDERATION of adverſity tends alſo to form our hearts to reſolution, fortitude, and patience. Proſperity enervates the ſoul; con⯑tinued gaiety and diſſipation render it too deli⯑cate to bear the ſlighteſt ſhock. Experience of adverſity moſt effectually produces hardineſs, and ſtrength of mind: periods of commotion and diſtreſs ſeldom fail to abound with heroic ſpirits. To be often converſant with the ob⯑jects [478] of diſtreſs will contribute to it not a lit⯑tle; it will prepare us for bearing our own troubles, and it will ſhew us the neceſſity of ſtrengthening ourſelves to bear them. To be⯑fall us unexpectedly, doubles the ſeverity of every affliction. By being ſeriouſly contem⯑plated beforehand, it is rendered familiar to us, its aſpect becomes leſs formidable, we have time to excite our courage, and to collect all the vigour of our ſouls for encountering it. If we frequently turn our eyes to the dark ſide of human life, we cannot avoid diſcerning that the lot of every man is inevitably checquered with ſorrow. By the irreverſible ſentence of God, the whole creation is ſubjected to vanity ^†. To every thing there is a ſeaſon, and a time to every purpoſe under heaven; a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance ^‡. It is in vain to expect exemption from calamity. All that we can do, is to re⯑concile ourſelves to it as much as poſſible, to prepare ourſelves for bearing it whenever it ſhall come, and on the foundation of pious re⯑ſignation, to build up fortitude, that we may not repine at the chaſtening of the Lord, nor faint when we are rebuked of him ^‖. That it would be inexcuſeable to faint, attention to [479] the calamities of others is ſufficient to convince us: we may ſee ſome ſubjected to heavier ca⯑lamities than we endure, or have reaſon to apprehend.

So different, ſo contrary are the tendencies of the houſe of feaſting and the houſe of mourning. The former diſſolves the ſoul in levity, diſ⯑pels all profitable thoughts, and gives no ſcope to the exerciſe of any good affection: the latter compoſes the mind into ſeriouſneſs and recol⯑lection, ſuggeſts the moſt important and in⯑ſtructive truths, and draws out and improves the nobleſt virtues. Our duty, therefore, is clear with reſpect to both.

SINCE the gaieties and the enjoyments of life tend rather to corrupt than to improve the heart, we ought to be very moderate in the indulgence of them. If at any time it appear difficult to fix the preciſe point where modera⯑tion ends, it is much ſafer to abſtain unneceſ⯑ſarily, than to incur a poſſibility of exceeding. To make mirth, and jollity, and pleaſure, and amuſement, the buſineſs of our lives; for the ſake of them, to neglect the call of any duty; to beſtow on them the hour which we have an inviting opportunity of employing to worthier purpoſes; is indiſputably to exceed. The moſt innocent of the kind ſhould be indulged but [480] rarely, and for a ſhort time, as neceſſary re⯑laxations. Deſpicable is the life that is waſted in thoughtleſs diſſipation and feſtivity. It is remarked to the diſhonour of the rich man mentioned in the goſpel, that he [...]ared ſump⯑tuouſly every day ^*. She that liveth in plea⯑ſure, is dead while ſhe liveth ^‡. Life is given us for infinitely more important purpoſes. To be intoxicated with the love of pleaſure; to be unhappy in the want of gay entertainments; by the uſe of them to contract a diſreliſh for the buſineſs of life and the occupations of re⯑ligion; to run into ſuch of them as are in the leaſt degree unlawful in their nature; is alike below the dignity, and contrary to the duty of creatures who are reaſonable and immortal. But from thoſe who are conſtantly at eaſe, it will require the moſt careful circumſpection always to avoid it. It will require ſuch a jealous vigilance over themſelves, as Job ex⯑erciſed over his ſons: when the days of their feaſting were gone about, he ſent and ſanctified them, and offered burnt-offerings according to the number of them all; for Job ſaid, it may be that my ſons have ſinned, and curſed God in the [...] hearts ^†. In ſeaſons of the higheſt feſtivity, let us beware of abandoning ourſelves to levity: let a ſenſe of God, mixing with our relaxa⯑tions, preſerve them moderate and innocent.

[481]LET our enjoyment of our own proſperity be accompanied by a tender ſenſibility to the ſufferings of others. We are not required to dwell in the houſe of mourning: but in many ways we are called upon to pay it frequent viſits. For this very end, compaſſion is made one of the ſtrongeſt movements of the human heart. In compaſſionating diſtreſs, we taſte a ſolemn, ſerious pleaſure, deeper and more laſt⯑ing than all the joys of mirth. We are con⯑ſcious of a more ſatisfying complacence in the tear of ſympathy, than in the loudeſt roar of laughter. We enjoy the delightful reflec⯑tion, that we do ſome good to thoſe who ſtand moſt in need of it. To be unpitied in diſtreſs, to be neglected by neighbours, to be forſaken by former friends, ſtrikes a dagger into the wounded heart. It was with anguiſh of ſoul that Job exclaimed, my brethren have dealt de⯑ceitfully as a brook, and as the ſtream of brooks they paſs away; which are blackiſh by reaſon of the ice, and wherein the ſnow is hid; what time they wax warm, they vaniſh; when it is hot, they are conſumed out of their place ^*. When he is parched with the ſultry heat of trouble, they refuſe him a drop of comfort. Will we decline a fellow-feeling with cala⯑mity, when we know that ourſelves are alſo in [482] the body ^†, and ſubject to the like calamities? The being involved in a common danger, is generally a bond of the ſtricteſt union. If credit be due to hiſtory, the fierceſt animals have ſometimes laid aſide their fierceneſs, and ab⯑ſtained from their prey, when along with it they were ſurprized into a ſituation of immi⯑nent diſtreſs. Shall a ſudden panic tame the ſavage brute, and ſhall reflection be unable to inſpire man with humanity to man? We are all brethren, expoſed to the ſame perils. The ſame ſoothing pity, the ſame kind attention, which this hour would pour balm into our neighbour's wounds, we ourſelves may need the next. Let not the fulneſs of our own preſent precarious enjoyment harden our hearts againſt the cry of poverty or the groan of ſickneſs. When we have light in our own dwellings, let us endeavour to diſpel the darkneſs in which others ſit. The greater the peace and eaſe which prevails at home, the more we are at leiſure to regard the diſquiets which walk around us. The more abundantly we have received, the more abundantly we ought to impart. But as improving as the houſe of mourning is, it is poſſible to viſit it without advantage. By enuring us to the ſight of pain, it may only wear off our ſenſibility: by [483] tempting us to mix our murmurings with the complaints of the afflicted, it may corrupt us into diſcontent; it may teach us to repine againſt God's appointment of ſo imperfect hap⯑pineſs to the inhabitants of earth. It has its own ſnares, againſt which, as well as the con⯑trary ſnares, we muſt be upon our guard. We muſt take pains to learn its leſſons; we muſt labour to acquire ſobriety of mind; we muſt encourage ſerious reflections, and inculcate them upon ourſelves; we muſt exerciſe our⯑ſelves in diligent application to the practice of virtue; and we muſt pray to God for his aſ⯑ſiſtance in forming us to a right ſenſe of the world, and in directing us to purſue it ſo as to prepare us for a better world.

Now unto him that is able to make all things to work together for your good, be glory and honour for evermore.

Amen.