TRUST!—Truſt we have a good Conſcience!—Surely, you will ſay, if there is any Thing in this Life which a Man may depend upon, and to the Knowledge of which he is capable of arriving upon the moſt indiſputable Evidence, it muſt be this very Thing,—Whether he has a good Conſcience, or no.

If a Man thinks at all, he cannot well be a Stranger to the true State of this Account;—He muſt be privy to his own Thoughts and Deſires;—He muſt [2] remember his paſt Purſuits, and know certainly the true Springs and Motives, which, in general, have govern'd the Actions of his Life.

In other Matters we may be deceiv'd by falſe Appearances; and, as the Wiſe Man complains, Hardly do we gueſs aright at the Things that are upon the Earth, and with Labour do we find the Things that are before us:—But here the Mind has all the Evidence and Facts within herſelf:—Is conſcious of the Web ſhe has wove:—Knows its Texture and Fineneſs, and the exact Share which every Paſſion has had in working upon the ſeveral Deſigns, which Virtue or Vice has plann'd before her.

Now,—as Conſcience is nothing elſe but the Knowledge which the Mind has within itſelf of this; and the Judg⯑ment, either of Approbation or Cenſure, which it unavoidably makes upon the ſucceſſive Actions of our Lives,—'tis plain, you will ſay, from the very [3] Terms of the Propoſition, Whenever this inward Teſtimony goes againſt a Man, and he ſtands ſelf-accuſed,—that he muſt neceſſarily be a guilty Man. And, on the contrary, When the Report is favourable on his Side, and his Heart condemns him not,—that it is not a Matter of Truſt, as the Apoſtle intimates, but a Matter of Certainty and Fact, that the Conſci⯑ence is good, and that the Man muſt be good alſo.

At firſt Sight, this may ſeem to be a true State of the Caſe; and I make no Doubt but the Knowledge of Right and Wrong is ſo truly impreſs'd upon the Mind of Man; that, did no ſuch Thing ever happen, as that the Conſcience of a Man, by long Habits of Sin, might (as the Scripture aſſures us, it may) in⯑ſenſibly become hard; and, like ſome tenderer Parts of his Body, by much Streſs, and continual hard Uſage, loſe, by Degrees, that nice Senſe and Perception with which God and Nature endowed it.—Did this never happen:—Or [4] was it certain that Self-Love could ne⯑ver hang the leaſt Bias upon the Judg⯑ment:—Or that the Little Intereſts below could riſe up and perplex the Fa⯑culties of our upper Regions, and en⯑compaſs him about with Clouds and thick Darkneſs:—Could no ſuch Thing as Favour and Affection enter this ſacred Court:—Did WIT diſ⯑dain to take a Bribe in it, or was a⯑ſhamed to ſhew its Face as an Advocate for an unwarrantable Enjoyment:—Or, laſtly, were we aſſured that INTE⯑REST ſtood always unconcern'd whilſt the Cauſe was hearing,—and that PAS⯑SION never got into the Judgment Seat, and pronounced Sentence in the Stead of Reaſon, which is ſuppoſed al⯑ways to preſide and determine upon the Caſe:—Was this truly ſo, as the Ob⯑jection muſt ſuppoſe, no Doubt, then, the Religious and Moral State of a Man would be exactly what He himſelf e⯑ſteemed it; and the Guilt or Innocence of every Man's Life could be known, in general, by no better Meaſure, than [5] the Degrees of his own Approbation or Cenſure.

I own, in one Caſe, whenever a Man's Conſcience does accuſe him (as it ſeldom errs on that Side) that he is Guilty; and, unleſs in melancholy and hypochondriac Caſes, we may ſafely pronounce upon, that there is always ſufficient Grounds for the Accuſation.

But, the Converſe of the Propoſition will not hold true,—namely, That wherever there is Guilt, the Conſcience muſt accuſe; and, if it does not, that a Man is therefore Innocent.—This is not Fact:—So that the common Conſola⯑tion which ſome good Chriſtian or other is hourly adminiſtring to himſelf,—That he thanks God, his Mind does not miſ⯑give him; and that, conſequently, he has a good Conſcience, becauſe he has a quiet one.—As current as the Inference is, and as infallible as the Rule appears at firſt Sight, yet, when you look nearer to it, and try the Truth of this Rule [6] upon plain Facts, you find it liable to ſo much Error, from a falſe Application of it:—The Principle on which it goes ſo often perverted:—The whole Force of it loſt, and ſometimes ſo vilely caſt away, that it is painful to produce the common Examples from human Life, which confirm this Account.

A Man ſhall be vicious and utterly debauched in his Principles; exception⯑able in his Conduct to the World; ſhall live ſhameleſs,—in the open Commiſ⯑ſion of a Sin which no Reaſon or Pre⯑tence can juſtify;—a Sin, by which, contrary to all the Workings of Hu⯑manity within, he ſhall ruin for ever the deluded Partner of his Guilt;—rob her of her beſt Dowry;—and not only cover her own Head with Diſho⯑nour, but involve a whole virtuous Family in Shame and Sorrow for her Sake. Surely,—you'll think, Con⯑ſcience muſt lead ſuch a Man a trouble⯑ſome Life:—He can have no Reſt Night or Day from its Reproaches.

[7] Alas! Conſcience had ſomething elſe to do all this Time than break in upon him: As Elijah reproached the God Baal, this Domeſtic God, was either talking, or purſuing, or was in a Jour⯑ney, or, peradventure, he ſlept and could not be awoke. Perhaps he was gone out in Company, with HONOUR, to fight a Duel;—to pay off ſome Debt at Play;—or dirty Annuity the Bargain of his Luſt.—Perhaps, Conſci⯑ence all this Time was engaged at home, talking aloud againſt petty Larceny, and executing Vengeance upon ſuch pu⯑ny Crimes as his Fortune and Rank, in Life, ſecured him againſt all Temptation of committing:—So that he lives as merrily,—ſleeps as ſoundly in his Bed;—and, at the laſt, meets Death with as much Unconcernedneſs,—perhaps, much more ſo than a much better Man.

Another is ſordid, unmerciful;—A ſtrait-hearted, ſelfiſh Wretch, inca⯑pable either of private Friendſhips, or [8] public Spirit.—Take Notice how he paſſes by the Widow and Orphan in their Diſtreſs; and ſees all the Miſeries incident to human Life without a Sigh or a Prayer.—Shall not Conſcience riſe up and ſting him on ſuch Occaſions? No.—Thank God, there is no Occaſion. ‘'I pay every Man his own,—I have no Fornication to anſwer to my Conſci⯑ence, no faithleſs Vows or Promiſes to make up, I have debauch'd no Man's Wife or Child.—Thank God I am not as other Men, Adulterers, Unjuſt, or even as this Libertine who ſtands before me.'’

A Third is crafty and deſigning in his Nature.—View his whole Life,—'Tis nothing elſe but a cunning Con⯑texture of dark Arts and unequitable Subterfuges baſely to defeat the true Intent of all Laws, plain Dealing and the ſafe Enjoyment of our ſeveral Pro⯑perties.—You will ſee ſuch a one, working out a Frame of little Deſigns upon the Ignorance and Perplexities of the poor and needy Man.—Shall raiſe [9] a Fortune upon the Inexperience of a Youth,—or the unſuſpecting Temper of his Friend, who would have truſted him with his Life. When old Age comes on, and Repentance calls him to look back upon this black Account, and ſtate it over again with his Con⯑ſcience.—Conſcience looks into the Statutes at Large,—finds perhaps no expreſs Law broken by what he has done;—perceives no Penalty or For⯑feiture incurr'd;—ſees no Scourge wa⯑ving over his Head,—or Priſon open⯑ing its Gate upon him.—What is there to affright his Conſcience?—Conſcience has got ſafely entrench'd behind the Let⯑ter of the Law, ſits there invulnerable, fortified with Caſes and Reports ſo ſtrongly on all Sides,—that 'tis not Preaching can diſpoſſeſs it of its Hold.

Another ſhall want even this Re⯑fuge,—ſhall break thro' all this Cere⯑mony of ſlow Chicane; ſcorns the doubt⯑ful Workings of ſecret Plots and cau⯑tious Trains to bring about his Pur⯑poſe.—See [10] the bare-fac'd Villain how he cheats, lyes, perjures, robs, murders,—Horrid! But indeed much better was not to be expected in this Caſe.—The poor Man was in the dark!—His Prieſt had got the keeping of his Conſcience,—and all he had let him know of it was, That he muſt believe in the Pope;—Go to Maſs;—Croſs himſelf;—tell his Beads;—be a good Catholic; and that this in all Conſcience was enough to carry him to Heaven. What?—If he perjures?—Why,—He had a mental Reſervation in it. But if he is ſo wicked and abandoned a Wretch as you repreſent him,—If he robs, or murders, will not Conſcience on every ſuch Act, receive a Wound it⯑ſelf?—Ay,—But the Man has carried it to Confeſſion, the Wound digeſts there, and will do well enough,—and in a ſhort Time be quite healed up by Abſolution.

O Popery! What haſt thou to an⯑ſwer for?—when not content with the [11] too many natural and fatal Ways thro' which the Heart is every Day thus treacherous to itſelf above all Things—Thou haſt wilfully ſet open this wide Gate of Deceit before the Face of this unwary Traveller,—too apt, God knows, to go aſtray of himſelf,—and confidently ſpeak Peace to his Soul, when there is no Peace.

Of this the common Inſtances, which I have drawn out of Life, are too noto⯑rious to require much Evidence. If any Man doubts the Reality of them, or thinks it impoſſible for Man to be ſuch a Bubble to himſelf,—I muſt re⯑fer him a Moment to his Reflections, and ſhall then venture to truſt the Appeal with his own Heart. Let him conſider in how different a Degree of Deteſtati⯑on, Numbers of wicked Actions ſtand there, tho' equally bad and vicious in their own Natures—He will ſoon find that ſuch of them as ſtrong Inclination or Cuſtom have prompted him to com⯑mit, are generally dreſs'd out and pain⯑ted [12] with all the falſe Beauties which a ſoft and flattering Hand can give them; and that the others, to which he feels no Propenſity, appear, at once, naked and deformed, ſurrounded with all the true Circumſtances of Folly and Diſho⯑nour.

When David ſurprized Saul ſleeping in the Cave, and cut off the Skirt of his Robe,—we read, his Heart ſmote him for what he had done.—But, in the Matter of Uriah, where a faithful and gallant Servant, whom he ought to have lov'd and honour'd, fell to make Way for his Luſt; where Conſcience had ſo much greater Reaſon to take the A⯑larm,—his Heart ſmote him not.—A whole Year had almoſt paſſed from the firſt Commiſſion of that Crime—to the Time Nathan was ſent to reprove him; and we read not once of the leaſt Sor⯑row or Compunction of Heart, which he teſtified during all that Time, for what he had done.

[13] Thus Conſcience, this once able Mo⯑nitor,—placed on high as a Judge with⯑in us—and intended, by our Maker, as a juſt and equitable one too,—by an un⯑happy Train of Cauſes and Impediments,—takes often ſuch imperfect Cognizance of what paſſes,—does its Office ſo negli⯑gently,—ſometimes ſo corruptly, that it is not to be truſted alone: And there⯑fore, we find, there is a Neceſſity, an ab⯑ſolute Neceſſity, of joining another Prin⯑ciple with it, to aid, if not govern, its Determinations.

So that if you would form a juſt Judgment of what is of infinite Impor⯑tance to you not to be miſled in; name⯑ly, in what Degree of real Merit you ſtand, either as an honeſt Man,—an uſe⯑ful Citizen,—a faithful Subject to your King,—or a good Servant to your God,—call in RELIGION and MORALITY.—Look—What is written in the Law of God?—How readeſt thou?—Conſult calm Reaſon, and the unchangeable O⯑bligations [14] of Juſtice and Truth,—What ſay they?

Let Conſcience determine the Matter upon theſe Reports,—and then, if thy Heart condemn thee not,—which is the Caſe the Apoſtle ſuppoſes,—the Rule will be infallible,—Thou wilt have Con⯑fidence towards God;—that is, have juſt Grounds to believe the Judgment thou haſt paſt upon thyſelf, is the Judg⯑ment of God; and nothing elſe but an Anticipation of that righteous Sentence, which will be pronounced, hereafter, upon thee by that BEING, before whom thou art finally to give an Account of thy Actions.

Bleſſed is the Man, indeed then, as the Author of the Book of Eccleſiaſti⯑cus expreſſes it, Who is not pricked with the Multitude of his Sins.—Bleſſed is the Man whoſe Heart hath not condem⯑ned him, and who is not fallen from his Hope in the Lord. Whether he be rich, continues he, or whether he be [15] poor,—if he have a good Heart (a Heart thus guided and inform'd)—He ſhall at all Times rejoice in a chearful Countenance.—His Mind ſhall tell him more than ſeven Watchmen that ſit above upon a Tower on high.—In the darkeſt Doubts it ſhall conduct him ſafer than a thouſand Caſuiſts, and give the State he lives in a better Secu⯑rity for his Behaviour, than all the Clauſes and Reſtrictions put together, which the Wiſdom of the Legiſlature is forced to multiply,—forced I ſay, as Things ſtand; human Laws being not a Matter of original Choice, but of pure Neceſſity, brought in to fence againſt the miſchievous Effects of thoſe Con⯑ſciences, which are no Law unto them⯑ſelves: Wiſely intending by the many Proviſions made, That in all ſuch cor⯑rupt or miſguided Caſes, where Prin⯑ciple and the Checks of Conſcience will not make us upright,—to ſupply their Force, and by the Terrors of Jails and Halters oblige us to it.

[16] To have the Fear of God before our Eyes; and, in our mutual Dealings with each other, to govern our Actions by the eternal Meaſures of Right and Wrong:—The firſt of theſe will comprehend the Duties of Religion: The ſecond thoſe of Morality; which are ſo inſe⯑parably connected together, that you cannot divide theſe two Tables, even in Imagination (tho' the Attempt is of⯑ten made in Practice) without breaking and mutually deſtroying them both.

I ſaid the Attempt is often made;—and ſo it is;—there being nothing more common than to ſee a Man, who has no Senſe at all of Religion,—and indeed has ſo much of Honeſty, as to pretend to none; who would yet take it as the bittereſt Affront, ſhould you but hint at a Suſpicion of his Moral Character,—or imagine he was not conſcientiouſly juſt, and ſcrupulous to the uttermoſt Mite.

[17] When there is ſome Appearance that it is ſo,—tho' one is not willing even to ſuſpect the Appearance of ſo great a Virtue, as moral Honeſty;—yet, were we to look into the Grounds of it in the preſent Caſe, I am perſuaded we ſhould find little Reaſon to envy ſuch a Man the Honour of his Motive.

Let him declaim as pompouſly as he can on the Subject, it will be found at laſt to reſt upon no better Foundation than either his Intereſt, his Pride, his Eaſe; or ſome ſuch little and changeable Paſſion, as will give us but ſmall De⯑pendence upon his Actions in Matters of great Streſs.

Give me Leave to illuſtrate this by an Example.

I know the Banker I deal with, or the Phyſician I uſually call in, to be neither of them Men of much Religion: I hear them make a Jeſt of it every [18] Day, and treat all its Sanctions with ſo much Scorn and Contempt, as to put the Matter paſt Doubt. Well,—notwith⯑ſtanding this, I put my Fortune into the Hands of the one,—and, what is dear⯑er ſtill to me, I truſt my Life to the honeſt Skill of the other.—Now let me examine what is my Reaſon for this great Confidence.—Why,—in the firſt Place, I believe there is no Proba⯑bility that either of them will employ the Power, I put into their Hands, to my Diſadvantage. I conſider that Honeſty ſerves the Purpoſes of this Life.—I know their Succeſs in the World de⯑pends upon the Fairneſs of their Cha⯑racters;—that they cannot hurt me without hurting themſelves more.

But put it otherwiſe, namely, that Intereſt lay for once on the other Side.—That a Caſe ſhould happen wherein the one, without Stain to his Reputa⯑tion, could ſecrete my Fortune, and leave me naked in the World;—Or [19] that the Other could ſend me out of it, and enjoy an Eſtate by my Death, with⯑out Diſhonour to himſelf or his Art.—In this Caſe what Hold have I of either of them?—Religion, the ſtrongeſt of all Motives, is out of the Queſtion.—Inte⯑reſt, the next moſt powerful Motive in this World, is ſtrongly againſt me.—I have nothing left to caſt into the Scale to ballance this Temptation.—I muſt lay at the Mercy of Honour,—or ſome ſuch capricious Principle.—Strait Se⯑curity! for two of my beſt and moſt valuable Bleſſings,—my Property and my Life!

As therefore we can have no Depen⯑dence upon Morality without Religion;—ſo, on the other Hand, there is no⯑thing better to be expected from Reli⯑gion without Morality; nor can any Man be ſuppos'd to diſcharge his Du⯑ties to God, (whatever fair Appearances he may hang out, that he does ſo) if he does not pay as conſcientious a Re⯑gard [20] to the Duties, which he owes his Fellow-Creature.

This is a Point capable in itſelf of ſtrict Demonſtration.—Nevertheleſs, 'tis no Rarity to ſee a Man whoſe real moral Merit ſtands very low, who yet entertains the higheſt Notion of himſelf, in the Light of a devout and religious Man. He ſhall not only be covetous, revengeful, implacable,—but even wan⯑ting in Points of common Honeſty.—Yet becauſe he talks loud againſt the Infidelity of the Age,—is zealous for ſome Points of Religion,—goes twice a Day to Church,—attends the Sacra⯑ments,—and amuſes himſelf with a few Inſtrumental Duties of Religion,—ſhall cheat his Conſcience into a Judgment that for this he is a religious Man, and has diſcharged faithfully his Duty to God: And you will find, that ſuch a Man, thro' Force of this Deluſion, gene⯑rally looks down with Spiritual Pride upon every other Man who has leſs [21] Affectation of Piety, tho', perhaps, ten Times more moral Honeſty than him⯑ſelf.

This is likewiſe a ſore Evil under the Sun; and I believe there is no one miſtaken Principle which, for its Time, has wrought more ſerious Miſchiefs. For a general Proof of this,—examine the Hiſtory of the Romiſh Church.—See what Scenes of Cruelty, Murders, Rapines, Bloodſhed, have all been ſanctified by a Religion not ſtrictly go⯑verned by Morality.

In how many Kingdoms of the World, has the cruſading Sword of this miſguided Saint-Errant ſpared neither Age, or Merit, or Sex, or Condition.—And, as he fought under the Banners of a Religion, which ſet him looſe from Juſtice and Humanity,—he ſhew⯑ed none,—mercileſsly trampled upon both, heard neither the Cries of the Unfortunate, nor pitied their Diſtreſſes.

[22] If the Teſtimony of paſt Centuries in this Matter is not ſufficient,—conſi⯑der at this Inſtant, how the Votaries of that Religion are every Day think⯑ing to do Service and Honour to God, by Actions which are a Diſhonour and Scandal to themſelves.

To be convinced of this, go with me for a Moment into the Priſons of the In⯑quiſition.—Behold Religion with Mer⯑cy and Juſtice chain'd down under her Feet,—there ſitting ghaſtly upon a black Tribunal, propp'd up with Racks and Inſtruments of Torment.—Hark!—What a piteous Groan!—See the me⯑lancholy Wretch who utter'd it, juſt brought forth to undergo the Anguiſh of a Mock-Trial, and endure the ut⯑moſt Pains that a ſtudied Syſtem of religious Cruelty has been able to invent. Behold this helpleſs Victim delivered up to his Tormentors. His Body ſo waſted with Sorrow and long Confine⯑ment, you'll ſee every Nerve and [23] Muſcle as it ſuffers.—Obſerve the laſt Movement of that horrid Engine.—What Convulſions it has thrown him into.—Conſider the Nature of the Poſture in which he now lies ſtretch'd.—What exquiſite Torture he endures by it.—'Tis all Nature can bear.—Good God! See how it keeps his weary Soul hanging upon his trembling Lips, willing to take its Leave,—but cruelly not ſuffer'd to depart. Behold the unhappy Wretch led back to his Cell,—dragg'd out of it again to meet the Flames,—and the Inſults in his laſt Agonies, which this Principle—This Principle that there can be Religion without Morality, has prepared for him.

The ſureſt Way to try the Merit of any diſputed Notion,—is to trace down the Conſequences ſuch a Notion has produced, and compare them with the Spirit of Chriſtianity.—'Tis the ſhort and deciſive Rule, which our Saviour [24] has left for theſe and ſuch like Caſes,—and is worth a thouſand Arguments.—By their Fruits, ſays he, ye ſhall know them.

Thus Religion and Morality, like faſt Friends and natural Allies, can never be ſet at Variance, without the mutual Ruin and Diſhonour of them both;—and whoever goes about this unfriendly Of⯑fice, is no Well-wiſher to either;—and whatever he pretends, he deceives his own Heart, and, I fear, his Morality as well as his Religion will be vain.

I will add no farther to the Length of this Diſcourſe, than by two or three ſhort and independent Rules, deducible from what has been ſaid.

1ſt. Whenever a Man talks loudly againſt Religion, always ſuſpect that it is not his Reaſon but his Paſſions which have got the Better of his Creed. [25] —A bad Life and a good Belief are diſ⯑agreeable and troubleſome Neighbours, and where they ſeparate, depend upon it, 'tis for no other Cauſe but Quietneſs Sake.

2dly. When a Man thus repreſented, tells you in any particular Inſtance, that ſuch a Thing goes againſt his Con⯑ſcience,—always believe he means ex⯑actly the ſame Thing as when he tells you ſuch a Thing goes againſt his Sto⯑mach,—a preſent Want of Appetite being generally the true ſe of both.

In a Word,—truſt the Man in no⯑thing—who has not a Conſcience in every Thing.

And in your own Caſe remember this plain Diſtinction, a Miſtake, in which, has ruin'd Thouſands.—That your Conſcience is not a Law;—no,—God and Reaſon made the Law, and has placed Conſcience within you to deter⯑mine,—not like an Aſiatic Cadi, ac⯑cording [26] to the Ebbs and Flows of his own Paſſions:—But like a Britiſh Judge in this Land of Liberty, who makes no new Law,—but faithfully declares that glorious Law which he finds already written.