[][]

SERMONS, BY ALEXANDER GERARD, D. D.

[]

SERMONS, BY ALEXANDER GERARD, D. D.

PROFESSOR OF DIVINITY IN KING'S COLLEGE, ABERDEEN, AND ONE OF HIS MAJESTY'S CHAPLAINS IN ORDINARY IN SCOTLAND.

VOLUME THE SECOND.

LONDON: PRINTED FOR CHARLES DILLY IN THE POULTRY. MDCCLXXXII.

CONTENTS.

[]
  • SERMON I. II. III. THE progreſs of vice. Pages 1. 33. 65. JEREM. ix. 3. They proceed from evil to evil.
  • SERMON IV. The deſire of long life unreaſonable and pernicious.———99 JOB, vii. 16. I would not live alway.
  • SERMON V. The nature of ſound doctrine. 129 TITUS, ii. 1. But ſpeak thou the things which become ſound doctrine.
  • SERMON VI. Reſignation to the will of God. 165 1 SAM. iii. 18. It is the Lord: let him do what ſeemeth him good.
  • SERMON VII. Subjection to the authority of God. 203 PSALM cxix. 4. Thou haſt commanded us to keep thy precepts diligently.
  • []SERMON VIII. Regard to the judgment of God. 239 ISA. xxxiii. 22. The Lord is our Judge.
  • SERMON IX. The confidence of the righteous at the day of judgment.——275 I JOHN, ii. 28. And now, little children, abide in him; that when he ſhall appear, we may have confidence, and not he aſhamed before him at his coming.
  • SERMON X. The ſelf-condemnation of the wicked at the day of judgment.——307 LUKE xix. 22.Out of thine own mouth will I judge thee, thou wicked ſervant.
  • SERMON XI. IN FOUR PARTS. The influence of the paſtoral office on the character.——341 TITUS i. 7. A Biſhop muſt be blameleſs, as the ſteward of God.

ERRATA.

[]

Page 6. line ult. for hs read his. P. 46. l. 9. for eye read eyes P. 56. l. penult. for venal read venial. P. 73. l. 4. for are read were. P. 80. l. penult. read indiſpenſible. P. 81. l. 2. for beſets read beſots.—l. 8. for external read eternal. P. 88. l. 22. after vileſt, inſert office. P. 100. l. 22. read are only weary. P. 104. l. 20. for ſucceed read exceed. P. 113. l. 15. for you read your. P. 135. l. 18. put a comma after tendency. P. 144, l. 8, 9. for practices, read practice. P. 145. l. 17. read ought. P. 146. l. 14. put a comma after others. P. 149. l. 25. inſtead of a ſemicolon, put a comma after ſuperfluous.—P. 156. l. 8. put a comma after diſtinction. P. 158. l. penult. read of Chriſtians, P. 160. l. 5. Put a full ſtop after profitable. P. 167. l. 13. inſtead of a ſemicolon, put a comma after perfections. P. 185. l. 25. for for read under. P. 191. l. 14. for your read our. P. 209. l. 4. read do no. P. 210. l. 7. read anſwering P. 221. l. 8. put a comma after authority. P. 230. l. 26. read their vicious. P. 233. l. 14. for render read renders. P. 235. l. 10. read all their. P. 236. l. 25. put a full point after live. P. 245. l. 4. put a full ſtop after things. P. 329. l. 12. for and now read not now. P. 335. l. 17. for then read them. P. 336. l. 6. read aſtounding. P. 431. l. 13. for and unworthy read an unworthy.

SERMON I. THE PROGRESS OF VICE: THE FIRST STAGE.

[]
JEREM. ix. 3. They proceed from evil to evil.’

IT is a maxim confirmed by the experience of ages, That few become abandoned to vice all at once. If they who have become moſt profligate, had foreſeen, at their firſt ſetting out, the full extent of that depravity and guilt under which they now ſit down without concern or remorſe, they would have ſickened at the proſpect, and ſhrunk back with horror and deteſtation. Sin is of an inſinuating, deceitful, encroaching nature. It is with reaſon that the Scriptures ſo often repreſent it as a departing from God. The firſt ſtep carries us but a little from the right road; every ſtep removes us a little farther from it; at length the diſtance becomes immenſe, and [2] we know not how to return. They proceed from evil to evil, is not a deſcription only of one nation peculiarly degenerate: it is applicable to every vicious perſon. Evil men always wax worſe and worſe *. Whoever engages in any ſinful courſe, will find it difficult not to go forward; and ſtill more difficult the farther he has gone. A man of an ingenuous mind cannot think of committing the ſmalleſt ſin without reluctance; by forcing himſelf to commit it, he learns to repeat it with leſs reluctance; ſoon after he takes pleaſure in it; in conſequence of this he commits it often; by being often committed, it becomes habitual, and depraves the whole temper of his ſoul.

IN order to put you on your guard againſt the deceitful inſinuations and ſucceſſive encroachments of vice, I propoſe to trace out the ordinary ſteps of the ſinner's progreſs from evil to evil. However numerous they are, they may be naturally reduced to three general ſtages.

THE firſt, comprehends thoſe ſteps of mental indulgence by which irregular inclinations and vicious paſſions are inwardly cheriſhed, till they break forth into overt acts of ſin:

[3]THE ſecond, thoſe ſteps by which, in conſequence of wilful ſin, vicious habits are contracted, ſtrengthened, and multiplied:

THE third, the confirmation of the corrupted heart in profligate wickedneſs and enmity againſt religion.

THE Pſalmiſt points at a very ſimilar diſtribution. Bleſſed is the man that walketh not in the counſel of the ungodly, nor ſtandeth in the way of ſinners, nor ſitteth in the ſeat of the ſcornful *. Three gradations of vice are diſtinctly marked. At firſt a man walks in it, indulges himſelf only in tranſient acts: next he ſtands in it, his wickedneſs is habitual: at laſt he becomes ſo inflexible and obdurate, that he ſits down ſatisfied in his degeneracy. At firſt, he is occaſionally ſeduced by liſtening to the counſel of the vicious, by corrupting communication, or by ſome ſtrong temptation: then he ſpontaneouſly takes the ſame way with them, and cuſtomarily conforms to their evil practices: and at length he is not only confirmed in his own wickedneſs, but becomes one of the ſcornful, ridicules virtue and religion, and labours to corrupt thoſe who have not yet abandoned them. The body of ſin has its [4] periods of growth, analogous to thoſe of man's natural life. In its infancy, it is kept alive and cheriſhed by favourable circumſtances; its ſtrength is inconſiderable; it may eaſily be reſtrained or deſtroyed. In its youth it becomes robuſt and ungovernable; it can ſupport itſelf; it is impetuous, uncontroulable, and violent in all its exertions. When it has reached maturity, its conſtitution is fixt, its operations determined, its force irreſiſtible, and it arrogates authority to tutor men in wickedneſs.—Each of the three ſtages into which we have diſtinguiſhed the progreſs of vice, will furniſh ample matter for a ſeparate diſcourſe.

THE firſt of them ſhall be our preſent ſubject. It includes that train of mental indulgences, by which irregular inclinations and vicious paſſions are inwardly cheriſhed, till they break forth into overt acts of wilful tranſgreſſion. When luſt hath conceived, it bringeth forth ſin *. If the deſire of a forbidden object, or the deſire of obtaining any object by unlawful means, be not checked as ſoon as it begins to riſe, it becomes the embryo of vice, and grows and ripens into open wickedneſs.

[5]TOO often, it muſt be acknowledged, its growth is extremely quick; it is conceived, formed, and born almoſt in the ſame hour. Many have never been taught to attend to the difference between right and wrong: they are regardleſs of it, and care little how they act. Their paſſions have been ſeldom curbed; and have become ſo violent by the time they are capable of vice, that they hurry them into one ſin after another, juſt as they find an opportunity of committing it. But ſuch as have received a virtuous and pious education, are generally for ſome time modeſt and harmleſs, ſhocked with the baſeneſs of vice, and afraid to venture on it. Their faults are chiefly thoſe of ignorance, or infirmity, or inadvertence. Theſe ſeldom throw off the impreſſions of their education all at once; often they efface them by ſlow and painful touches.

YOUNG perſons are gradually introduced into the world. Temptations meet them, and obtrude themſelves upon them. The good things of this world, naturally, and in themſelves innocently deſireable, appear in ſituations in which they cannot reach them but by unlawful means: evils to which they are neceſſarily averſe, are ſo placed that they cannot avoid them without ſin. In the ſimplicity of his heart, the youth paſſeth through the ſtreet, [6] near the corner where vice hath her abode; unknowing, unſuſpicious, he goeth the way to her houſe *. The ſorcereſs caſts herſelf in his way: ſhe puts on her moſt dazzling attire; ſhe covers her face with ſmiles; ſhe confidently promiſes him eaſe, pleaſure, riches, or enjoyment; ſhe importunately urges him to taſte her delights, and to ſhare her treaſures. More fortunate, we ſhall ſuppoſe, than the young man void of underſtanding, whom Solomon diſcerned among the youths , he reſiſts her attacks. It is much if he does. But, to give you the more alarming view of the multiplied dangers of corruption to which the beſt guarded innocence is obnoxious, we ſhall ſuppoſe that, after the temptation, he continues as averſe to vice as before: let him be even more careful to ſhun the like occaſions of hazard to his virtue.

BUT, in this ſtate of probation, the greateſt care cannot prevent our falling into temptation, almoſt every day. He again finds himſelf in circumſtances which invite him, perhaps more urgently, to the ſame or to ſome other vice. He retreats not with ſufficient ſpeed: he guards not his heart with ſufficient diligence. Elated with hs former victory, he is confident [7] of his own reſolution. He apprehends no great difficulty in repelling this temptation likewiſe; he has little dread of falling before it; he becomes ſecure and negligent. His ſecurity, it is highly probable, will quickly betray him into ſin. With the beſt intention of firm attachment to his Lord, with full confidence that he never would be offended becauſe of him, that though he ſhould die with him, he would not deny him *, Peter followed Jeſus into the judgment-hall: but there he was unexpectedly aſſaulted by a temptation to deny him, and he was inſtantly overpowered by it . Undervaluing an enemy, has often occaſioned a defeat. If you become inſenſible of the power of temptation, you are loſt. It is only by keeping at as great a diſtance from it as poſſible, and by reckoning every temptation formidable to human weakneſs, that you can be ſafe.

BUT ſuppoſe your ſenſe of duty ſo ſtrong, as to reſtrain you, though negligent, from full compliance, from overt acts of ſin; yet whenever the natural object of a paſſion preſents itſelf in a ſituation in which it cannot be lawfully purſued, it has a plain tendency to excite the deſire of obtaining it by unlawful [8] means; and it has the ſtronger tendency, the oftener it preſents itſelf. The very firſt motion of deſire, which it neceſſarily produces, is a ſeed, not yet fully ſhaped and organized, but fit to expand itſelf quickly into ſin. The deſire however faint, will ſoon gain ſtrength, if it be not immediately and reſolutely cruſhed. The leaſt voluntary indulgence, though but in thought, will nouriſh it. But when the object of an unlawful paſſion is often in our view, and in our power, it is very difficult to abſtain from all indulgence ſo much as in thought. It is natural for a man to think of the temptation to which he was expoſed, and the ſin to which it urged him: and though at firſt he think of it with averſion, there is danger that he will come in time to regard it with more favourable ſentiments. Before he is aware, imagination paints the object of vicious paſſion in attractive colours. Embelliſhed by its pencil, ſenſual pleaſures ſmile, riches glitter, honours glow. He deliberately fixes his eye upon them; he begins to contemplate them with complacence and delight. To revel in voluptuouſneſs, ſeems to be enjoyment; to abound in wealth, appears to be magnificence; to bring harm on his enemies, he thinks, would be a triumph. He gives a welcome entertainment to the evil motions of his heart.—Happy is who then takes the alarm, [9] and flecs while yet he has it in his power to flee! This is ſomething more than the firſt motion and neceſſary propenſion of the heart. Theſe imaginations are evil, and they give form and animation to the embryo of vice. If they be indulged, they will render the paſſions irregular and turbulent. You will find an inclination riſing to gratify them, though it be unlawful. You will regret that it is unlawful. You have a painfulneſs, an eagerneſs, an impatience of deſire, which you never knew before. You pant for the pleaſure or the profit which would attend the ſin; you wiſh to commit it for the ſake of them. Already thine heart hath declined to the ways of ſin, deviſing wicked imaginations; you want but a fit occaſion of going aſtray in her paths *. Already your will has conſented to the perpetration of iniquity: and by that conſent your ſoul is polluted, and guilt contracted. Sin is conceived, it is perfected within; it only waits opportunity to be brought forth into act. Often men have ſo far indulged their paſſions, ſo entirely conſented in their hearts to ſin, that their not committing it is in no meaſure owing to their virtue, but ſolely to the kindneſs of Providence in with-holding opportunity. If they abſtain from it, when they [10] have a favourable opportunity, it muſt be by a ſtruggle between pampered paſſion and the ſenſe of duty, harder, more determined, and more laborious, than the weakneſs of human virtue can generally ſuſtain. By inwardly indulging vicious paſſions for a while, vice becomes familiar to our thoughts; the horror of it wears off; all the principles of reſtraint are enfeebled. They have raiſed a tumult in the ſoul, amidſt which the ſtill voice of conſcience cannot be heard; they have kindled a flame which all the ſuggeſtions of reaſon cannot extinguiſh; a violent eruption can ſcarcely be prevented. It is by timeouſly refuſing all occaſions of indulging them, by obſtinately denying them their food, by withdrawing every incentive to them from the very firſt, that you can, through divine aſſiſtance, hinder their growing into ſuch force, and hurrying you on irreſiſtibly to fulfil their dictates.

SUPPOSE, however, your ſenſe of virtue ſo ſtrong, as ſtill to reſtrain you from the full commiſſion of the ſin. Paſſion will pretend, that it will be ſatisfied with ſome degree of indulgence, ſhort of complete gratification. It is become too powerful not to be perſuaſive. Forgetful that, between diſordered paſſion, and virtue, no accommodation can take place, you are diſpoſed to make ſome conceſſion [11] to your paſſions, but with a firm reſolution not to go the length of an overt act of ſin. You will not allow the love of money to carry you to diſhoneſty, but you will yield to it ſo far as to avail yourſelves of a little addreſs. You will not ſuffer malice or reſentment to tranſport you into injury, but you will ſoothe them by treating your enemy as hardly as juſtice can permit. You will not be ſubſervient to the vices of the man whoſe favour you court, but you will not be ſo nice as not to flatter him in them. You will not ſink yourſelf into drunkenneſs, but you will give way to a continuation of exhilarating draughts. You will abſtain from deeds of uncleanneſs, but you will not deny yourſelf the pleaſure which ariſes from words or actions of ſlight laſciviouſneſs. You will never enter within the territories of vice, but you will indulge yourſelf in approaching to them. You will not tranſgreſs the limits of innocence, but you will venture as far as is conſiſtent with the preſervation of your innocence. By ſuch a conceſſion, you flatter yourſelf, the importunity of your paſſions will be diverted; the uneaſineſs which they give you, removed; and your inclination to the ſins which they demand, weakened. Deluſive is the expectation! Vice has gained the victory, if ſhe once perſuades men to make any approach to her. There is no [12] ſecurity but in keeping at the greateſt diſtance from her. Enter not into her path, go not in her way; avoid it, paſs not by it; turn from it, and paſs away *. Avoid all appearance of evil .—Is it certain that the very indulgence which you propoſe to give yourſelves, is perfectly lawful? It is not always eaſy to fix the preciſe boundary between virtue and vice. They run inſenſibly into one another, like day and night. You cannot diſcern the very point at which the one ends, and the other begins. By reſolving to proceed to the extremeſt line of innocence, a thouſand to one but you ſlide into real vice. The law of God is ſpiritual §, and his word is very pure . What men call juſtifiable liberties, he often abhors as groſs ſins.—But ſuppoſe the indulgence not abſolutely unlawful. Yet to venture on it, is only to give new force to your temptations, and to encreaſe the danger of your ſituation. It is as if the governour of a fortreſs, inſtead of maintaining his poſt, ſhould lead out a ſmall garriſon to encounter a great army in the open field. It is the ſtrength which paſſion has already acquired by your indulging evil imaginations, that enables it to produce an inclination to make any approach to ſin; and that approach will bring it ſuch an acceſſion of ſtrength as [13] to produce a much more violent propenſity to the completion of the crime. Every ſtrong paſſion, every inflamed appetite, engroſſes the ſoul, and unfits it for the reflection and exertion by which it might be reſtrained; and every advance in the gratification of it, proportionably augments its influence, and enervates all the powers of reſiſtance. Indulgence in whatever has the remoteſt tendency to vice, never fails to invigorate the vicious paſſion. Thus humoured, thus gratified, it domineers; it craves with irreſiſtible importunity; it combats the ſenſe of duty; it diſdains controul; it ſubverts every reſolution of retaining our integrity; it occaſions inſupportable uneaſineſs in forbearing the ſin by which its demands would be fulfilled. A ſtrong fortification may withſtand a great force; but if a very ſmall detachment gain an entrance, they can introduce the whole with eaſe. Stand remote from vice, and you may be ſafe: but go within its reach, and you will be drawn forward as by the ſuction of a whirlpool. He who has allowed himſelf in rigorous exaction, will become leſs ſcrupulous of extortion. He whoſe reſentment has already refuſed good offices, which he perſuaded himſelf were not indiſpenſibly due, is the nearer to venturing on ill offices, which are indiſputably wrong. The oftener a man has repeated his draughts, the more deſirous [14] he is to continue them, and the leſs aware of the danger of his being intoxicated. David eſpied Bathſheba by accident; he indulged his riſing paſſion but ſo far as to gaze upon her: it was inflamed; it gave him no reſt, till it plunged him into adultery. A narrow fountain ſends forth a copious ſtream; an inconſiderable ſeed grows up into a ſtately cedar; any vicious paſſion, a little indulged, will burſt into heinous ſin. If ever you find yourſelves diſpoſed to compound with paſſion, recollect yourſelves, and retreat without delay; you are on the point of ſacrificing your innocence. Can a man take fire in his boſom, and his clothes not be burnt? Can one go upon hot coals, and his feet not be burnt *? Had Joſeph allowed himſelf in any liberties with the wife of Potiphar, he muſt have fallen: it was by the moſt guarded, determined avoidance of every approach to guilt, that he eſcaped; when ſhe enticed him to incontinence, he refuſed with the moſt peremptory firmneſs; when the temptation was repeated, he would hold no parley with it, but run to a diſtance; when ſhe ſpake to him day by day, he hearkened not to her to be with her; and when ſhe caught him by his garment, he fled and got him out .

BUT if it can be ſuppoſed, that even after your negligent or preſumptuous approaches to [15] evil, your heart ſtill recoils from it, and your conſcience cannot be reconciled to the unreſerved perpetration of it; yet vice may cunningly abate your reluctance, and elude the oppoſition of conſcience, by ſuggeſting that you will indulge yourſelves but this one time. You will not make a practice of it; you will only try the experiment. There cannot be very great harm in a ſingle act; and you are determined not to repeat it. You hope that you ſhall not again be placed in ſo difficult a ſituation: but if you ſhould, you are reſolved to reſiſt. Your paſſion, you are confident, will be ſatisfied with this one gratification; at leaſt it will be ſo far blunted as to demand another with leſs importunity; it will want the aid of novelty; and you will find it eaſier to withſtand it. Infatuated man! Can it be eaſier to forſake a vicious courſe once begun, than to avoid beginning it? Can you beſt ſecure a retreat from ſin, by yielding it the victory? In every moment of temptation you ſtand on the brink of a precipice; if you begin to ſtumble, your danger is imminent; but if you throw yourſelf over, it were dotage to think that you can ſtop your fall. How much hurt you may ſuſtain, how much your ſpirit may be marred, your principles ſpoiled, and your temper corrupted, by deliberately [16] conſenting to one act of heinous ſin, it is difficult to ſay. The beginning of ſin is as when one letteth out water *: once allowed to overflow, it becomes an impetuous torrent, ſweeping away whatever would oppoſe it.

IF all the indulgence which you have given to your vicious paſſions has not ſo far corrupted your hearts as to efface your abhorrence of a great tranſgreſſion, it cannot fail to have at leaſt impaired your ſenſe of obligation, and your inclination to comply with the calls of duty. If it cannot yet precipitate you into the commiſſion of a groſs act of ſin, it will be able to lead you into the omiſſion of ſome of thoſe duties which you have hitherto been careful to perform. Unfitted by the agitation of your paſſions, for reliſhing the pleaſures of devotion; leſs intent upon its exerciſes; you begin to trifle away the ſabbath-day, you intermit your regular attendance on the ordinances of religious worſhip, you break off your wonted aſſiduity in prayer to God, you read not the Scriptures ſo frequently, or with ſo much attention and reverence as formerly. It is very often, by neglecting the external and poſitive duties of religion, that they who have been well educated, [17] and they who have made a fair appearance for a while, begin to give themſelves up to open vice. The neglect paſſes eaſily upon them: it is not the violation of a moral law; and ſome latitude, and many limitations, muſt be admitted in the obſervance of ceremonial precepts. But experience teſtifies that, when they who once were regular have become remiſs in outward worſhip, they rarely fail to paſs with rapidity into direct immorality: and reaſon declares that it ſcarcely can be otherwiſe. To learn to think lightly of duties which they uſed to venerate as ſacred, naturally unhinges all their principles, and ſubverts the authority of conſcience. Theſe duties are the great inſtruments of preſerving our regard to moral duties, of enlivening the ſentiments, and ſupporting the principles, which inſtigate to the practice of them: when therefore they are neglected; when our own paſſions, and the temptations of the world conſpire in impelling us to vice, and we refuſe to employ the only counterbalance to their impulſe, how can we but fall headlong into vice? Many whoſe abandoned manners and atrocious crimes brought them at laſt to an ignominious death, have begun their confeſſion with breach of the ſabbath and neglect of devotion; and have acknowledged a very quick tranſition from this omiſſion, to the perpetration of the baſeſt ſins.

[18]WERE it poſſible that your heart, tainted with the exorbitance of paſſion, and defenceleſs by neglect of the means of reſtraint, as it has become, ſhould ſtill ſhrink from heinous immorality; the power of ill example and vicious company may ſoon conquer your repugnance, and complete your overthrow. The wicked practices and the corrupt faſhions of the world are open to every eye; the moſt innocent muſt ſee them, the moſt circumſpect cannot help taking notice of them; if you would altogether avoid even the converſation and ſociety of ſinners, then muſt ye needs go out of the world *. Every indulgence of irregular paſſions gives a propenſity to fix the mind upon them, to feel their force, to allow them authority, to avail yourſelves of their ſanction. The diſcourſe and the manners of the vicious attract you by their congruity to the depraved motions of your own hearts; their freedom and laxneſs is gratifying and encouraging to the workings of your imagination and your paſſions; they have many agreeable qualities, or eſtimable and uſeful talents; you become fond of them, and pleaſed with their company. The vices from which you have hitherto with difficulty reſtrained yourſelves, you obſerve commonly practiſed by them: you abate the [19] rigour of your reſtraint; and your paſſions become ſtronger. Your inbred diſpoſition to imitate, co-operates with the ſtrength of paſſion, in propelling you to ſin. You care not to be ſingular, it is unpleaſant; and you cannot think it neceſſary. You ſee your elders, your ſuperiors, and thoſe who are reckoned wiſer than yourſelf, allowing themſelves in vice; and you begin to believe that it is ſomething manly. It becomes familiar by being often ſeen; it looks not ſo hateful as before: you firſt endure it, and then embrace it. As yet you have been timid, afraid of contracting guilt; your fear has been rouſed by every temptation, and has kept you from yielding to it: but it is allayed by obſervation of multitudes acting wrong without ſcruple or apprehenſion; it is deſpiſed as a littleneſs of mind, and meanneſs of ſpirit; you are emboldened to follow their example. Modeſty is the attendant of innocence, and cannot be totally extinguiſhed even by ſome deviation from innocence: it has hitherto been your guard; you have been preſerved from ſin by your full conviction that it is ſhameful and reproachful: you would have been confounded by a detection in it: but when you have become the admirer or the companion of men who practiſe it with impudence, avow it with effrontery, glory in their enormities, affect to [20] appear worſe than they are, and ridicule every ſcruple in fulfilling the deſires of their hearts; your modeſty muſt be ſoon effaced, and your virtue bereaved of every ſupport. To be intimate with the vicious, is dangerous to the moſt confirmed virtue; to him who has ſuffered his paſſions to grow irregular and exceſſive, it is unavoidable corruption. Go not in with vain perſons, ſit not with evil-doers *: fly from them, if you can; and if you cannot fly, be doubly on your guard; keep your heart as with a bridle, while the wicked is before you .

SHOULD happy ſituations preſerve you from the influence of ill company and example, or ſhould your conſcience remain ſo active, your abhorrence of ſin ſo ſtrong, that all that influence cannot forcibly bear it down; yet the continued and increaſing indulgence of your paſſions may craftily undermine it, and beguile you into ſin. They will diſpoſe you to ſeek excuſes for the full gratification of them: they will prepare your own hearts to ſuggeſt pretences for giving them licence: they will at leaſt prediſpoſe you for laying hold of looſe maxims and corruptive principles, when you find them in licentious books, or hear them in the converſation of the wicked. The violence [21] and importunity of your paſſions has created a prejudice, a prepoſſeſſion, in favour of ſuch opinions; and prepoſſeſſion makes you eaſily aſſent to them: when you wiſh that they were true, you will, without much difficulty, perſuade yourſelves that they are true. When Ahab's ambition had made him intent on the conqueſt of Ramoth-gilead, he eagerly hearkened to the falſe prophets who encouraged his deſign againſt it; but could ſcarcely be brought to conſult Micaiah, whom he had never found obſequious to his vices, and gave him no credit, when he diſapproved his enterpriſe *. When any paſſion has been indulged to a certain degree, it begets a propenſity to embrace the flattering repreſentations of depraved imagination concerning its object and exertion, and to diſregard the remonſtrances of conſcience, and the pure principles of religion, which condemn its demands.—God will not, it poſſibly inſinuates, be diſpleaſed with you for yielding to it: it can do him no hurt: you mean only a little gratification or advantage to yourſelves, not at all to offend him: you cannot think that he will grudge you a little pleaſure or a little profit, when your deſire of it has become ſo vehement that you cannot be happy without it: [22] can he have forbidden your gratifying the paſſions which himſelf has implanted in you? did he implant them only to torment you? But have your luſts already rendered your minds ſo undiſcerning, as once to heſitate, whether theſe be the deciſions of reaſon, or the ſophiſms of depravity? The naked import of all this is, that nothing can diſpleaſe God which pleaſes you. Hurt him, you cannot; but does it follow, that you cannot hurt yourſelves? Have you forgotten, that God gave you reaſon and conſcience on purpoſe to govern all your appetites and paſſions; that he requires you to reſtrain them within the limits of his law; that you directly intend, and preſumptuouſly reſolve to offend and diſhonour him, whenever you think of allowing them any gratification beyond theſe limits; that when they come to demand it, they have far outgrown what God made them, and ſhot up into enormity; that the diſtraction and torment which they now occaſion, is the fruit of your own miſmanagement, and neither the intention nor the neceſſary conſequence of God's having implanted them?—But though he may be diſpleaſed, his mercy is great, and he will forgive you. This too is the ſophiſtry of ſin. It ſets forward its advantages, but extenuates or veils its dangers. Where then has God declared, that the wilful ſinner is entitled [23] to his mercy? Where has he promiſed pardon, except on the condition of repentance and reformation? Where has he intimated favour to the perſon who, by flattering himſelf with forgiveneſs in what he knows to be wrong, adds preſumptuouſneſs to his diſobedience? Under this impious deluſion, you may go on in ſin with tranquillity; but it is to certain deſtruction.—But though it is unlawful in itſelf, your ſituation is ſo peculiar as to juſtify it: your temptations are ſo ſtrong that it is impoſſible to reſiſt them. And ſo, as you formerly indulged negligence, in confidence that you could nevertheleſs eaſily avoid ſin, you now think yourſelves authorized to commit it, becauſe your greateſt efforts muſt be ineffectual for avoiding it. So contradictory are the ſuggeſtions of the corrupted heart! Fools and blind! not to remember that the temptations of this ſtate of probation are appointed, not to juſtify crimes, but to exerciſe, and try, and improve the virtues of men.—The ſlighteſt attention to licentious or immoral ſentiments and opinions, muſt be fatal. If your principles be compatible with vice, it will prevail by its own power; if they poſitively favour it, they add much to its power, and ſecure its victory. With this the riot of the debauchee, the diſhoneſty of the villain, the perverſion of the promiſing youth, the defection of the perſon [24] who ſeemed for a while to be eſtabliſhed in virtue, very often has commenced: they held in the reins of inclination till their minds were firſt abuſed by looſe principles. Let the counſel of the wicked be far from you *: reject with abhorrence every opinion which pleads for the liberty of doing wrong. If you give any ear to it, the very next ſtep will probably be, to act upon it, to break out into vicious practice: certainly it will render you more remiſs in curbing your vicious paſſions; and from the remiſſion they will acquire new ſtrength, and tumble you down before the next temptation. Immoral principles will baniſh the reluctance of your hearts againſt ſin; they explode it as the mere murmur of a narrow mind. They controvert the admonitions of conſcience, and diſpute its decrees. They give authority to crimes.

BUT if good principles have been ſo carefully planted, and taken ſo deep root in your ſouls, as to prevent your admitting a juſtification of acknowledged vice, your indulged paſſions will put you on finding ſome diſguiſe, under which it may elude your deteſtation, paſs itſelf upon your conſcience, and betray you into the practice of it. Such diſguiſes are [25] manifold; and ſelf-deceit is active and artful in ſelecting them. Often it borrows them from ſuperſtition: a form of religion is deviſed, compoſed wholly of faith and worſhip; the value of moral duties is depreciated, and their obligation ſlackened; the immoralities to which you are prone, of courſe become venial in your eyes; they will be amply compenſated by the ſoundneſs of your principles, the aſſiduity and fervour of your devotion, and the burning of your zeal; and being ſo eaſily atoned for, you can have little ſcruple to commit them. In this manner a young Phariſee was reconciled to the diſhoneſty and violence common in his ſect; and in this manner many Chriſtians have allowed themſelves in heinous crimes, while they imagined themſelves very religious. In other caſes, men give a falſe colouring to the particular vice to which their propenſity is ſtrong. They think there may be ſome means of rendering it conſiſtent with their duty; they refine upon it; they contrive to make ſome alteration in its circumſtances; they mould it into another ſhape; and thus hope to evade its guilt, and yet attain its very end. Balaam could not be brought to diſobey the letter of the divine command, but he anxiouſly ſought leave to diſobey it; and when he could not obtain leave, he refuſed to pronounce a verbal execration againſt Iſrael; but [26] he eaſily reconciled his conſcience to what was worſe, to ſeduce them into ſuch wickedneſs as could not but ſubject them to the real execration of the Almighty *. David's conſcience forbad him to cut off Uriah by a publick ſentence or an explicit order for aſſaſſination; but it winked at his making himſelf the bearer of a command to betray him to certain death, and ſuffered itſelf to be blinded by the pitiful pretence, the ſword devoureth one as well as another . By the artifice of its colouring, by ſhading ſome of its features, and heightening others, by ſetting itſelf in ſome fallacious point of view, vice ſometimes aſſumes the look even of virtue. Deluſive imagination ſhews preſumption for lively faith; ill-humour for ſeriouſneſs; levity for cheerfulneſs; avarice for frugality; extravagance for generoſity; cunning for prudence; cenſoriouſneſs for plain-dealing; cruelty for godly zeal. If you detect not the impoſture, you will perpetrate the moſt atrocious ſins without condemning yourſelves, you will even approve yourſelves in the perpetration of them. If you wiſh not to be loſt, never behold any vice but in its own deformity; never ſuffer it to put on a ſpecious maſk, or to ſet itſelf in an attractive attitude. God will view all your ſins, not in the diſguiſe [27] which your imagination gives them, but in their naked form; he will eſtimate them, not by the names which you allow them to uſurp, but according to their real nature; he will try all your actions, not by the pretences with which you palliate them to yourſelves, but by the principles and motives from which, in you, they actually proceed.

THUS have I endeavoured to lay open the train of inward indulgences, by which irregular inclinations are gradually brought forward into overt acts of wilful ſin. Temptations to ſin everywhere abound; they caſt themſelves in your way; they frequently recur: you but remit the ſtrictneſs of your circumſpection for a moment; in that unhappy moment they aſſault you; and if they cannot ſurpriſe you into ſinful practice, they will at leaſt make ſome impreſſion on your mind: you think of ſin with leſs abhorrence; imagination paints its form in pleaſing colours; you fix your eye upon the picture, and are taken with it; your paſſions are inflamed, they prompt you to the ſin by which they would be gratified, they make it painful to forbear it: if they cannot all at once precipitate you into the ſin, they will perſuade you to comply with them ſo far as to make ſome approach to it; and though that approach ſhould happen not to be itſelf [28] abſolutely unlawful, it will at leaſt inflame them more violently, and render it torture to abſtain from the full gratification of them: they will next urge you to gratify them, if it were but once, and will probably prevail with you: if they ſhould ſtill find difficulty in prevailing with you to commit an heinous act of ſin; the neglect of devotion and religious duties, to which your indulgence of them and the depravation of heart conſequent upon it, muſt diſpoſe you; or the influence of ill company and example, to which theſe muſt lay you open; or ſome of thoſe looſe maxims and immoral ſentiments to which theſe muſt render you prone to liſten; or ſome of thoſe falſe colourings by which ſelf-deceit artfully varniſhes over the hatefulneſs of ſin, cannot fail quickly to remove the difficulty, and to betray you into the practice of wickedneſs.

BY ſuch ſteps as theſe, the well-educated youth is perverted from his innocence, and led to commence a career of vice. Alas, how many come to the full and open practice of vice by a much ſhorter road! By theſe ſame ſteps, good men deviate into the particular acts of ſin, ſometimes of heinous ſin, which, in this imperfect ſtate, too often degrade their character and pollute their conduct. While you are engaged in this inward ſtruggle againſt [92] your irregular paſſions, it is in ſuſpence, whether you ſhall remain virtuous, or degenerate into vice. If you now prefer the latter, either you muſt continue its ſlaves, or you muſt recover yourſelves, and that too but incompletely, from its dominion, by bitter and painful repentance. One act of groſs ſin committed, you will experience a wretched change in the ſtate of your mind: your innocence is loſt; your conſcience is wounded; your peace is gone. The aſpect of the ſin is totally reverſed; its charms are fled, its horrors force themſelves into your view; you abhor it, and you abhor yourſelf for having committed it. You are afraid of God, afraid of yourſelf, afraid of every thing. You are aſhamed to look up; you feel that you have diſgraced yourſelf. You go about diſconſolate, and bear a hell within you. To be again what you was but one hour ago, you would purchaſe at any price; but no price can purchaſe it. A moment may forfeit your innocence; but then it is irrecoverable for ever: the heartieſt repentance cannot efface the humiliating ſenſe of your having fallen, or deliver you from the ſharp ſtings of occaſional remorſe. Dreadful are often the reflexions of a ſoul not wholly depraved, on its firſt act of groſs and open ſin! Yet to ſuffer them in all their ſtrength, is the greateſt happineſs that can befal the ſinner [30] It is the only thing that can prevent his plunging deeper into wickedneſs, and incurring either more excruciating reflexions in this world, or inſufferable miſery in the next.

To render your abſtinence from a courſe of wickedneſs, either eaſy or certain, you muſt cruſh ſin while it is forming in the heart; and the earlier you cruſh it, the eaſier will be your taſk, and the more infallible your ſucceſs. Keep thy heart with all diligence *. Guard every avenue by which ſin may find an entrance into it; mark every temptation the moment it occurs, and inſtantly avoid it. Attend to the inmoſt motions of your hearts; obſerve the thoughts which attempt to riſe within you; if they be evil, exclude them, or baniſh them without delay; ſuffer them not to dwell on any unlawful or ſeducing object; accuſtom them to fix only on what is good or improving. Keep a jealous eye over all the workings of imagination; turn it away from whatever can encourage vicious paſſions; force it to ſuch views as are fit to check their growth. Watch over all your inclinations, paſſions, and affections; confine them to their proper objects; let them never ſwell into exceſs. Allow not the moſt hidden purpoſe or deſign of ſin to find [31] a moment's entertainment in your ſouls; fortify them by ſuch reſolutions as are virtuous. By this courſe alone, the innocent can preſerve their innocence; and by this courſe alone, more laboriouſly purſued, it is that they who have gone ſome lengths in vice, can retrieve themſelves.

CONTENT not yourſelves with endeavouring to reſtrain your paſſions from breaking out into vicious practice, while you indulge them inwardly. It is far from ſufficient, to regulate your external conduct. This was the corrupt doctrine of the Jewiſh teachers. But ye have not ſo learned Chriſt *; to this wicked doctrine he ſet himſelf in the moſt zealous oppoſition. Were it poſſible to confine vicious paſſions within the heart, yet there they are open to the eye of God, and odious in his ſight, and there they polute your ſouls, and deſtroy your quiet. If thou in thy heart conſenteſt to thoughts or deſigns of ſin, thou art truly guilty, though no trace of them were viſible in thy behaviour. The luſts of the heart are like ulcers, which, without a ſpeedy extirpation, will feſter and become incurable, though they lie ſo deep, and are ſo well concealed by decency of conduct, as not to be [32] ſeen by men. But it is impoſſible long to regulate the conduct, except we firſt govern the heart. Out of it are the iſſues of life *. No labour will dry up the ſtreams, if we cannot drain the fountain-head. If evil paſſions be not mortified in the heart, they will ſoon become ungovernable, compel us to vicious practice, and involve us in an inextricable labyrinth of wickedneſs.

SERMON II. THE PROGRESS OF VICE: THE SECOND STAGE.

[]
JEREM. ix. 3. They proceed from evil to evil.’

IF the general of an army were informed, that the enemy intended to attack him, his firſt care would naturally be, to get intelligence of his motions, of his preſent ſituation, of the part on which he expected to make an impreſſion, of the ſtratagems which he would employ for facilitating the execution of his deſign; and the more perfectly he learned theſe particulars, the better he would be prepared to repel him. Our condition in this world is ſimilar; and our conduct ought to be the ſame. We are every moment in danger of being aſſaulted and vanquiſhed by ſin. Its power is great, its deceitfulneſs is greater. It gains upon us by gradual, often [34] by imperceptible ſteps; and for every ſtep, it makes the moſt artful preparations. To be acquainted with theſe, is to be in ſome meaſure qualified for defeating it. I have therefore propoſed to trace out the progreſs of vice, to explain the manner in which men, having given the ſmalleſt indulgence to ſinful thoughts and inclinations, proceed from evil to evil. In the foregoing diſcourſe, I have deſcribed the FIRST of the three ſtages into which that progreſs may be diſtinguiſhed, by laying open the train of mental indulgences by which irregular inclinations and vicious paſſions are inwardly cheriſhed, till they break forth into overt acts of ſin. In this diſcourſe, I ſhall endeavour to delineate the SECOND ſtage, which comprehends the ſteps whereby, in conſequence of wilful ſin, vicious habits are contracted, ſtrengthened, and multiplied.

No ſooner has a perſon, unaccuſtomed to vice, committed an act of wilful ſin, than he is diſſatisfied with himſelf, and purpoſes and promiſes not to repeat it. The fear of its being known, or the ſhame of detection, the reproaches or the admonitions of virtuous friends, heighten his emotions, aggravate his remorſe, and enforce his purpoſes. He is ſuſpicious of his own frailty, attentive to his conduct, and ſolicitous to reſtrain the paſſion [35] which had led him aſtray. He hopes that conſcience has re-aſſumed its ſway, and that he is recovered to virtue. But after a while, paſſion begins to raiſe its voice, and to exert its ſtrength. It has once been gratified, and by that gratification, both its importunity and its power have been increaſed. Temptations preſs upon him, and plead for the indulgence of his paſſions. Alternately he is diſpoſed to proceed in vice, and to return to virtue: his mind fluctuates irreſolute between the two; it is diſtracted by contrary motions; it is worn out with painful agitation; it again yields to the violence of paſſion. Very ſeldom does a man acquieſce in a ſolitary act of ſin: having committed one crime, many cauſes concur in producing a repetition of it. By once violating innocence, you break down the ſtrongeſt barrier againſt vice. By having been once indulged, your vicious inclinations become more refractory and unconquerable. At the ſame time, all thoſe principles of your nature, which ought to combat them, are reduced to act with leſs confidence and vigour. The reluctance which riſes ſtrong againſt a tranſgreſſion that you have never ventured to commit, cannot riſe in equal ſtrength againſt one on which you have already ventured. You have already caſt off allegiance to conſcience, and determined that abſolute ſubjection to its [36] commands is not indiſpenſible. You have already diſclaimed its authority, and withſtood its power. Having once diſobeyed its dictates, how ſhould you hold them ſacred now? Having once forced it to bow its head under the uſurpation of lawleſs luſts, how can it be able to throw off the yoke, when their uſurpation is in ſome degree eſtabliſhed? The reaſons which you could have urged againſt the firſt tranſgreſſion, you can never urge with equal force againſt any ſubſequent tranſgreſſion: they have been already deſpiſed and contradicted. If from the former treſpaſs you have found no immediate inconvenience ariſe, if you have even derived profit or pleaſure from it, this will encourage you to the repetition of it, and will be accepted as a confutation of all the arguments for abſtinence. Every ill example, every ſeducing maxim, every inſinuation of ſelf-deceit, will operate more ſucceſsfully than before. To ſin a ſecond time, you need not put a force upon yourſelves; you are prone to it, you feel little uneaſineſs in the thought of it. You ſeek no other reaſon for doing wrong, but that you have already done it. When temptation has found forward allies in your paſſions, has bribed your principles to admit its claim in ſilence, and has warped your reaſon to chicane in ſupport of it, you cannot be able to withſtand.

[37]THE repetition of the ſin, it may be, occaſions a return of regret, ſelf-condemnation, ſhame, and virtuous purpoſes. But they are feebler and more ineffectual than before. A ſhort interval of time, or the recurrence of temptation, totally effaces them. Your vicious inclinations were ſtrengthened by being indulged: by the reſtraint which you have ſince endeavoured to lay upon them, they are only irritated; they riſe ungovernable, and ruſh impetuous into vice, like a lion on his prey. Your hopeful purpoſes ſhrink and faint before them. The flame which had been ſmothered for a while, breaks forth with greater fury. You caſt away your virtue, as if you had never formed a deſign of retaining it. One hour you are propenſe to vice, and the next hour uneaſy in the recollection of it. When you are expoſed to no temptation, you ſeem to be reformed; but whenever a temptation aſſaults you, you relapſe. Every time it defeats you with greater eaſe; your efforts to reſiſt it, are weaker; your inclination to comply with it, more eager; your conſciouſneſs of having complied, leſs painful. Your vicious actions become every day more frequent; the leaſt temptation is too ſtrong for you. Your vicious inclinations are more conſtantly heard and gratified; they drive you on ſo furiouſly, that [38] you are again and again plunged into guilt, you ſcarcely know how.

BY frequent practice, habits of vice muſt needs be formed. Great is the power of cuſtom over the ſoul of man. When we attempt an action which we have never attempted formerly, we find it difficult; but by performing it often, we learn to perform it eaſily. We likewiſe become prone to it; the paſſion which tends to that action, keeps poſſeſſion of the heart, and operates almoſt without intermiſſion. It conſtantly ſuggeſts images and ſentiments fit to increaſe its ſtrength, and aſſiſt its operation. We are in pain when we cannot exert it; to act upon it, is a pleaſure. For things moſt diſagreeable in themſelves, cuſtom creates a reliſh. By practice, therefore, the heart muſt become not only pliable, but bent to ſin; and acquire firſt a facility, and next a pleaſure in committing it. A very few acts will give a beginning to vicious habit; and as ſoon as it has begun to be formed, it will render our vicious actions very frequent. Every action is recommended by the ſame temptation as the firſt; and to its influence, the power of cuſtom is ſuperadded. For exertion againſt their combined force, you cannot inculcate any motive which you have not already baffled. If thou haſt run with the footmen, and [39] they have wearied thee, how then canſt thou contend with horſes *? The crime which you once hazarded with heſitation and reſerve, you will now perpetrate boldly, and embrace with complacency. Your conduct is no longer ſtained by ſome tranſient miſdeeds; it is contaminated in its general tenour. Formerly you only fell before a ſtrong temptation; but now the ſlendereſt temptation is irreſiſtible; you will not even wait for a temptation from without, there is a permanent temptation within your own breaſts. You will not now run into one ſin, and then regret it; but you will haſten through a train of vicious conduct, and then awake to a courſe of ſorrow, remorſe, and ſelf-reproach. The period of the former will become continually more extended and more flagitious; and that of the latter, ſhorter and leſs agonizing.

THE ſame conſtruction of the human ſoul, which fits us for contracting habits, renders it unavoidable, that every habit which we have contracted ſhould continually increaſe in ſtrength It forces us to act upon it; and by being acted upon, it is confirmed. A vicious habit needs only to be planted: as naturally as a tree flouriſhes in its proper ſoil, it will [40] quickly advance to a prodigious ſize. From each of the many indulgences to which it daily compels you, it will draw abundant nouriſhment. Actuated by habit, you will commit ſin with growing pleaſure; you will become expert in committing it, and more and more intent upon it. When a twig is bent at firſt, it will by its own elaſticity recover its rectitude as ſoon as the force is removed; but by continuing to bend it long, you may fix it in a curvature which can ſcarcely be corrected. Vicious habit will by degrees become ſo ſtubborn as to baffle all ordinary efforts to extirpate it. It deſtroys ſelf-government; it puts the paſſions in poſſeſſion of all the ſtrong holds of the heart; you will find it difficult either to diſlodge them, or to check their eruptions. The pain that attends your endeavours to forbear gratifying inclinations which have become habitual, adds much to the ſeeming value of the gratification: and the ſenſe of that pain, together with the perverſe tendency of your own heart, will render your purſuit of it keener, than in proportion to your moſt extravagant idea of its value. You no longer need the view of profit or of pleaſure to entice you to a ſinful action: you have acquired a fixt attachment to it, you run into it of courſe, without reflecting on any preciſe motive, or propoſing any determinate conſequences. Even [41] the experience of ill conſequences proceeding from it, is inſufficient to prevent your ſoon returning to the commiſſion of it. The drunkard whom Solomon deſcribes, who had drowned ſenſe and reaſon, on awaking to the exerciſe of them, found himſelf bruiſed and wounded, he knew not how, and complained bitterly, they have ſtricken me, and I was not ſick, they have beaten me, and I felt it not: nevertheleſs he immediately ſaid, I will ſeek it yet again *. The whoremonger, the thief, the robber, the oppreſſor, the miſer, the malicious, the ſinner of every denomination, meets with many ſevere checks and chaſtiſements in the proſecution of his vice, by which he notwithſtanding cannot be reclaimed. Habit neceſſarily engenders thoughtleſlneſs: actions to which we are habituated, we do often every day, without either being conſcious of it at the time, or recollecting it afterwards. Vicious habit extinguiſhes reflection. The voice of conſcience is heard ſeldomer and more faintly. Its languid oppoſition is ſo far from repreſſing the irregularity of paſſion, or vanquiſhing the propenſity of habit, that it increaſes their ſtrength. To overcome it, they collect and exert their utmoſt force; and having quickly overcome it, they will go on with the ſame [42] accumulated force, driving you headlong into ſin. By the long and cuſtomary practice of any vice, it will become predominant within you: it is dear to you as your right hand, or your right eye *: you regard it as an intimate part of the conſtitution of your ſoul. Your heart is ſet upon indulging it; you think it impoſſible to live without it. What once you ſhunned as a dangerous temptation, you now court as a deſirable opportunity. You are careful to embrace it; and by often finding, and often embracing it, your conduct is rendered habitually vicious, at leaſt in one particular.

BUT your degeneracy will not be long confined to one particular. While from a ſingle act, that vice to which your favourite paſſion or your peculiar ſituation has firſt betrayed you, is ripening into habit, many other vices will take root, and thrive beneath its ſhelter. Numberleſs are the ways in which one ſin grows out of another.—The commiſſion of any ſin weakens, the habit of any ſin deſtroys, our defence againſt every ſin, and lays us open to it. It inures us to make light of obligation, and prepares us to diſobey its dictates without diſtinction. It breaks the balance, and unhinges [43] the order of our powers: they can no longer operate on one another as mutual checks. It diſſolves the ſoul in anarchy, amidſt which, like violence in a country void of government, every irregular paſſion rages unheeded and uncontrouled, and from which it finds occaſions of fulfilling all its pleaſure. Whatever be the ſin, a temptation to which attacks the heart in this ſtate of diſtraction, it muſt prevail. There is too much uproar and confuſion within, to admit a ſtrict examination, or a vigorous reſiſtance. Every vice produces likewiſe peculiar effects favourable to the practice of other vices. Some enervate the ſoul, and render it effeminate; ſome contract or debaſe the heart; and ſome make it callous and unfeeling.—By thus debauching the heart from virtue, the practice of the ſmalleſt ſins will make way for your committing the greateſt. Men commonly begin with ſome leſſer acts of vice: there are atrocious crimes, at the thought of which they would yet ſhudder. But if a ſmall ſin once gain admittance, becauſe it is but ſmall, another will likewiſe gain admittance, becauſe it is but a little greater; and the ſame fooliſh deceit will lead you forward, ſtep by ſtep, to the moſt enormous tranſgreſſions. When conſcience is defiled, theſe will not appear more horrid to it, than the ſlendereſt offence did, when it was fair and [44] uncorrupted. When you have brought yourſelves to commit any ſin, you will ſoon commit another more aggravated, with leſs uneaſineſs. If you ſuffer any of the malevolent paſſions to vent themſelves in expreſſions of contempt and ſlight, they will quickly be poured out in bitter reproach and invective, and next proceed to violent contentions, fierce quarrels, and groſs injuries. If you accuſtom yourſelves to the uſe of fooliſh terms of aſſeveration or exclamation in your diſcourſe, it will gradually reconcile you to ſwearing vainly by the name of God; after a while the ſlighteſt provocation or impatience will burſt forth into oaths and imprecations; then neither provocation nor impatience will be neceſſary; raſhly, for the mereſt trifles, without conſideration of the truth or the falſehood, the moment or the conſequences of the matter, you will heap oaths and curſes on one another; and by thoughtleſsly multiplying oaths in your ordinary converſation, you will at length come to deſpiſe them, and venture without much ſcruple on premeditated perjury, when you have a ſtrong temptation to it. Peter at firſt ſimply denied that he had been with Jeſus; next he denied it with an oath; the third time he denied with curſing and ſwearing, that he knew the man *. To ſuffer yourſelves to be betrayed [45] into any ſin, by an imagination that it is ſmall, is to conſent that you ſhall gradually, but unavoidably, be drawn on to the moſt heinous ſins.

IT is not only by its tendency to introduce a general depravation of heart, that one ſin leads men forward to other ſins; it likewiſe begets many ſtrong temptations to them. The natural progeny of every vice is numerous. With whatever vice you begin, you will find many others inſeparably connected with it. To inſtance in the ſenſual vices, to which young perſons are commonly moſt expoſed; whoredom and wine take away the heart *: intemperance of every kind intoxicates and ſtupifies, like a ſtrong opiate; it infatuates the ſoul; it diſpoſes to, and, when it has become habitual, it implies the neglect of all the duties which we owe to ourſelves, our families, and our friends. Lewdneſs deſtroys all regard to decency and reputation, wears away the ſenſe of ſhame, and produces impudence and effrontery in doing and in avowing the moſt flagitious actions. When Joſeph rejected the ſolicitation of his miſtreſs to commit adultery, his chaſtity upbraided her immodeſty; his continued refuſal at once inflamed and diſappointed her luſt; [46] ſhe could ſcarce be but exaſperated and incenſed againſt him; and revenge and fury of courſe dictated the complication of falſehood and cruelty, which ſhe found means to execute againſt him. Drunkenneſs makes a man incapable of the attention and recollection which is neceſſary for his doing right in any caſe, and expoſes him an eaſy prey to every crime. If thou art addicted to it, thine eye ſhall behold ſtrange women, and thine heart ſhall utter perverſe things *; thy tongue ſhall be abuſive, thine hand ſhall be in quarrels, perhaps in bloodſhed; yea thou ſhalt be as he that lieth down in the midſt of the ſea, or as he that lieth on the top of a maſt , ready every moment to plunge into an abyſs of wickedneſs.—It would be too tedious to attempt enumerating all the ways in which one ſin lays men under temptation to other ſins: ſome of them, it will be proper to mention.

ONE ſin will generally demand new ſins, in order to conceal it. Evil is aſhamed of itſelf; it cannot bear to be looked upon. To a novice in vice, detection appears inſupportable: and often it would have conſequences which the greateſt proficient in vice trembles at the thought of incurring. What he has done, muſt [47] be concealed by any means. Diſſimulation, lying, murder, it may be, is the only means of concealment. It muſt be perpetrated: infamy, puniſhment, ruin, cannot be otherwiſe avoided. When you have already given up yourſelves to one vice, it cannot be expected that you ſhould meet theſe, rather than commit another. When David knew that Bathſheba had conceived, he neceſſarily became anxious to prevent a diſcovery of his adultery: it could not be prevented without his conſenting to ſome additional baſeneſs; and his anxiety led him into a ſeries of the blackeſt deſigns. He firſt attempted to impoſe a ſpurious offspring on one of the braveſt and moſt faithful of his captains; but the attempt was defeated by Uriah's ſcrupulous attachment to a nice point of honour. The king made another effort to accompliſh the impoſition; he wheedled him into drunkenneſs, that wine might inflame his paſſion; but the ſame delicacy of honour preſerved him from the ſnare. The horrors of a diſcovery, and the juſt reſentment of an abuſed ſervant, ſtare David in the face; they drive him on to the moſt violent and atrocious methods of averting them; there are no others, and they muſt be adopted: Uriah is perfidiouſly ſacrificed to the ſword; his courage, his fidelity, and his zeal are employed for his deſtruction; many brave men are devoted along [48] with him; and Joab is made a guilty accomplice in the butchery*. Complicated and enormous is the villany; but the concealment of a former ſin demands it.

ONE ſinful action, much more a continued courſe of ſin, will ſometimes involve men in ſuch a labyrinth, that they cannot extricate themſelves without new ſin. To whatever hand they turn, they ſeem to be under a neceſſity of doing wrong. If they go forward, they plunge themſelves deeper into guilt; and if they return, it muſt be by committing a greater ſin than what they have already committed. No choice is left them, but between one crime and another They are like mariners in a ſtorm; to purſue their courſe, is to be ſwallowed up by the ocean; to ſteer for a haven, is to be wrecked upon the rocks. Saul had denounced with an oath, the death of him who ſhould violate his raſh adjuration to taſte no food; Jonathan had unknowingly taſted a little honey, and incurred the puniſhment; and his father could avoid the injuſtice and cruelty of inflicting it, only by breaking his oath. Herod, in an hour of diſſipation, ſwore to give the daughter of Herodias whatever ſhe ſhould aſk; when ſhe aſked the head [49] of John, what could he fix upon? If he refuſed, he forfeited his promiſe in the preſence of his officers and lords, and the chief eſtates of Galilee. He thought this ſo diſhonourable and baſe, that he choſe rather, in performance of his oath, to put to death a righteous man, a prophet, nay one greater than a prophet *. Engaged in vice, you muſt either plunge into all the crimes naturally conſequent upon it, or infringe gratitude, friendſhip, honour, fidelity, in retreating. Perhaps the real fault lies only in your having reduced yourſelves to ſo perplexing an alternative; and to embrace the only means of retreat, has but the appearance of faultineſs. But you will probably think otherwiſe: vice commonly produces a perverſion of ſentiment, and inſinuates falſe maxims of honour, by means of which, what an unhappy peculiarity of ſituation has rendered right and neceſſary, ſhocks more than what is abſolutely wrong. You will go on, but find no end till you ſink into perdition.

ONE indulged vice will always require many others for its ſupport and execution. Avarice will not long be ſatisfied with the gratification which penurious ſavings, or toilſome [50] drudgery, can bring: for feeding itſelf, it will ſoon come to intercept the gift of charity, the retribution of gratitude, the oblation of benevolence, and it will next exact the practice of every diſhoneſt art of making gain. Luſt cannot effectuate its purpoſes without often employing deceit, falſehood, ſeduction, and inflicting injury the deepeſt and the moſt irreparable. The expenſive vices cannot be continued without ſubmitting to ſupply their demands by covetouſneſs, injuſtice, fraud, or rapine. Every one among you who has, for the ſhorteſt time, addicted himſelf to any vicious courſe, knows, by certain experience, that in purſuing it, he has been forced to commit many other vices. For theſe ſubſidiary vices, you perhaps have no inclination; they are even perfectly abhorrent from your nature; but you muſt either conſent to them, or abſtain from your darling ſin. Contrary propenſions may for a while ſtruggle within you, and diſtract your ſoul; you may ſhudder at the thought of what you muſt do: you may ſtart back, and again ſtart back, and wiſh and purpoſe to leave the deed undone. But the darling ſin requires it; and it has got firm poſſeſſion of your heart: reaſon, conſcience, nature itſelf, reſiſt in vain; that ſin will at length prevail, and drive you into whatever [51] crimes ſhall become neceſſary for accompliſhing its ends.

BY repeated acts, the ſeveral vices into which your favourite ſin betrays you, will likewiſe become habitual. What you at firſt only endured for the ſake of ſomething elſe, you will in time acquire a proneneſs to, perpetrate for its own ſake, and take delight in perpetrating. Your vice will not only grow inveterate, but alſo ſpread like a gangrene. It will at once ſtrike its roots deeper, and extend its branches wider. What was in the beginning like a handful of ſmall ſeeds, grows at laſt into a foreſt of lofty cedars. Your ſouls are overrun with vicious habits, continually increaſing in ſtrength and number, and fixing you in all manner of unrighteouſneſs.

WHILE vice is thus riſing to maturity, by the ſtrength of thoſe principles of growth which it contains within itſelf, it will likewiſe ſeek nouriſhment from every thing external that can ſupply it.—It will lay itſelf open to all the influence of ill example. The corrupted heart has a fixt bias to the ſociety and the imitation of the vicious. Whatever be its preſent temper, whether paſſion or conſcience predominates for the time, it pants for the company of the wicked with equal eagerneſs. [52] When your vicious paſſions rage, they will drive you into it, that you may find the opportunity of indulging them, and encouragement to give them full ſcope. When conſcience reſumes its place, and cuts you with its rebukes, you will flee from the torment of your own reflections, to the haunts of evildoers, that the levity of the thoughtleſs may divert your remorſe, or that the audacity of hardier ſinners may embolden you to diſregard it. From every advance which you make in vice, ill example will acquire additional power to puſh you forward. The greater your own depravity is, the more eaſily you will be reconciled to vice by the cuſtom of ſeeing it practiſed. You will ſcarcely need to be inſtigated by the propenſity to imitation: you are under the dominion of thoſe very paſſions, from which it directly proceeds. By aſſociating together, ſinners keep one another in countenance in proſecuting their evil courſes, and are mutually incited to the proſecution of them by the ſentiments, excuſes, and recommendations, which they in their turns ſuggeſt. By yielding to the example, and entering into the ſociety, of the vicious, you will become more hardened in the vice to which you are already addicted; and you will be ſeduced into many others, to which you have naturally no diſpoſition. In the character of every [53] wicked man, along with the vices which are properly of his own growth, there are ſome which have been planted and reared ſolely by the influence of company and example. To this cauſe, the ſin of cuſtomary ſwearing, common as it is, muſt be totally referred: there is no natural temptation to it, in the conſtitution or temperament of any human creature. Even a natural diſinclination to a particular vice, will ſoon be conquered by the force of ill example: if your choſen intimates be devoted to it, you will learn to copy it from them. The man whom nature had endued with the quickeſt ſenſe of honour, has often been enticed into the meaneſt practices. The man whom nature had fortified by an abſolute averſion to intoxicating liquors, has often become a drunkard, ſometimes the moſt abandoned to debauchery. The modeſteſt youth has ſometimes degenerated into the moſt ſhameleſs libertine. To frequent the aſſemblies of the wicked, is to take up your abode in a houſe filled with the contagion of every mortal diſeaſe. O my ſoul, come not thou into their ſecret *. Depart from me, all ye workers of iniquity .

IN whatever degree your vice becomes habitual, it will have a tendency, proportionably, [54] to alienate you from all the means of curbing it. It will incapacitate you for the devout obſervance of religious ordinances; it will lead you on to the neglect of them; and from your coldneſs or neglect, it will draw freſh vigour. It will weaken your faith of the great principles of religion, which condemn it, deaden your ſenſe of them, draw off your attention from them, and deprive you of their aid in reſiſting it. Conſcience will remonſtrate leſs frequently and leſs warmly the farther you proceed; and when it does remonſtrate, you will, with greater and greater anxiety and ſucceſs, ſet yourſelves to ſilence it. You cannot think of forſaking your ſins; and therefore you will ſtudy to make yourſelves eaſy in them. Every ſtep you take, you will the more eagerly graſp at thoſe falſe opinions and licentious ſentiments which ſeem to juſtify or extenuate your ſins; and they will become the more effectual for encouraging you to take another ſtep. You will the more ſolicitouſly avail yourſelves of all the evaſions and ſubterfuges of ſelf-deceit; and in every ſtage of your progreſs, it will furniſh ſome artful diſtinction, ſome deluſive maxim, ſome plauſible diſguiſe, adapted to your ſituation, and calculated for producing ſecurity in it.

As long as your practice is confined to one favourite vice, which has not yet ſeduced you [55] into the frequent commiſſion of others, you will ſoothe yourſelves into the fearleſs indulgence of it, by a fond perſuaſion that it alone is not ſufficient to denominate you vicious men. You are faulty in this one thing; but in it the Lord will ſurely pardon his ſervants *; you nevertheleſs have many virtues; theſe may make amends for one fault; and by means of theſe you may hope for the rewards of heaven. It is but a neceſſary imperfection inſeparable from fallen man. No human character was ever uniformly excellent; the pureſt has had ſome ſtains, and the brighteſt ſome dark ſhades. Every one of the holy men whom the Scripture moſt commends, failed in ſome particular; and ſome of them were guilty of very heinous ſins. You therefore may well be allowed in your peculiar frailty. But between the acts of ſin into which good men have ſometimes been ſurprized, and the practice of ſin in which you live; between the temporary defections for which they mourned, and the cuſtomary tranſgreſſions which you juſtify to yourſelves; between the iniquities from which they ſpeedily recovered themſelves by repentance, and thoſe in which you deliberately reſolve to perſiſt; there is the wideſt difference. If you live in the habit of [56] any one ſin, you are as truly, though not in ſo high a degree, wilful and preſumptuous ſinners, as they who abandon themſelves to more. God is ſo far from granting you allowance in your beloved vice, that againſt it he requires you to employ your moſt ſpecial care.

WHEN any vicious paſſion, by being confirmed into habit, has become ſo powerful that it conquers you on every the ſlighteſt temptation, you will begin to flatter yourſelves that therefore it is only a ſin of infirmity, for which God will never call you to a rigorous account. Though you fall ſo often before it, you approve it not, you ſubmit not quietly to its dominion, you form frequent purpoſes againſt it: but ſtill it prevails over the ſenſe of your minds, and overthrows your ſtrongeſt purpoſes; and this convinces you that it ariſes unavoidably from the frailty of your nature, and will find an eaſy pardon. To facilitate the deception, you will labour to perſuade yourſelves, that it is but a ſmall treſpaſs; and no vice is ſo enormous, but exorbitant paſſion may impoſe it on a corrupted conſcience, as a ſmall treſpaſs. You compare your own ſins with the moſt flagitious practices of other men; and becauſe you perceive them to be leſs, you conclude them to be venal. You do not ſcoff at religion, though you neglect all its duties: [57] you oppreſs not your dependents to abſolute ruin, though you haraſs them with ſeverity: you are not murderers, though you be injurious: you live not in adultery, though you indulge yourſelves in whoredom: you are not ſunk into the ſottiſhneſs of ſolitary drunkenneſs, though you never ſcruple to join in the riots of your company. If all the partiality of ſelf-deceit cannot repreſent your ſin as ſmall in itſelf, you will extenuate it into a ſin of infirmity, by referring it to the peculiarity of your temper or your ſituation: it is ſo deeply rooted in your conſtitution, it grows ſo neceſſarily out of your circumſtances or occupation, it is ſo inſeparably connected with your intereſt and views, that to you it is inevitable, and you muſt be pardonable in yielding to it. But you deceive yourſelves. That only can be a ſin of infirmity, which proceeds from excuſeable ignorance, or ſudden ſurpriſe. What is contrary to an expreſs command of God, what you know to be at all a ſin at the time of committing it, what needs refinement for reconciling it to the native ſentiments of your hearts, muſt merit a very different name. It is a known, deliberate, wilful diſobedience of your Maker. By groſs abuſe of yourſelves, you have firſt contracted ſtrong habits of vice; and now, when their ſtrength is irreſiſtible, you fooliſhly imagine that they are therefore but [58] pitiable frailties. The imagination is ſo deſperately abſurd, as neceſſarily to imply, that the more inveterate your vices are become, the more they are intitled to indulgence and forgiveneſs. If you can infatuate yourſelves into the belief of it, you may obtain tranquillity in your cuſtomary ſins: but you will, at the ſame time, harden yourſelves in them, and prevent your ever thinking of that repentance, without which they muſt iſſue in your eternal ruin.

SOMETIMES, again, the habitual ſinner quiets his conſcience by deviſing ſuperſtitious equivalents for the virtue which he ſuffers himſelf to violate. He cannot abandon his vices, but he will make amends for them: he will punctiliouſly obſerve all the rituals of religion, he will believe all its doctrines, he will be moſt violently zealous againſt thoſe whom he conceives to be erroneous. The ambitious, the covetous, the unjuſt, the voluptuous, will make any atonement, any compenſation, which does not preclude him from the indulgence of his beloved vice; and by perſuading himſelf that it will avail, he is lulled into a fatal ſecurity. Hence the characters in which the ſhifts of avarice, the tricks of diſhoneſty, the revellings of debauchery, or the arts of ambition, are unnaturally conjoined with a high [59] profeſſion of religion, and a preſumptuous conceit of extraordinary ſanctity.

FINALLY, when habitual ſinners can find no means of concealing from themſelves the turpitude of thoſe vices to which they are addicted, they notwithſtanding reconcile their minds to the perpetration of them, by ſome imperfect motions of preſent repentance, or half-reſolutions of future reformation. You condemn yourſelves in what you do; you regret every act of ſin as ſoon almoſt as it is done; you lament that you are not better, and wiſh earneſtly that you were: and you hope that this is repentance, and ſhows your heart to be right, however faulty your conduct be. If there be any defect in this, you will ſupply it hereafter; you cannot think of encountering the difficulties of a complete reformation, at preſent; but at a more convenient ſeaſon, when you have enjoyed your ſins a little longer, you are determined that you will accompliſh it. Strange! to pervert thoſe checks and rebukes of conſcience, which proclaim your guilt, into an evidence that you are guiltleſs! to dream that your ſinning againſt conviction, is repentance! to conclude that God will not condemn you, becauſe you cannot help condemning yourſelves! Your reſolutions are as full of abſurdity as your [66] ſentiments: at the very time you are doing an action, you reſolve to diſapprove and condemn it afterwards; you reſolve that hereafter, when it ſhall be impoſſible to undo it, you will heartily wiſh that undone, which you will not leave undone, now when it is abſolutely in your power to abſtain from doing it. A reſolution to repent hereafter, is inconſiſtent with every degree of honeſty of heart—and it never will be executed; every impediment to preſent reformation, every difficulty in effecting it, every reaſon for delay, will continue and daily gather ſtrength. You may repeat, and again repeat your reſolution to reform; but you will never ſet about actual reformation. While you regret that you are ſinning, and yet go on; while you reſolve to amend, and amend not immediately; you are the ſlaves of ſin, and likely to die in bondage to it. To-day, while it is called to-day, harden not your hearts *.

WHEN we thus diſplay the long train of wickedneſs which ſprings naturally and unavoidably from the leaſt vicious indulgence, you perhaps conſider it as in a great meaſure the work of imagination. You think you can eaſily go a ſhort way in vice, when your pleaſure [61] or your intereſt requires it, without any danger of becoming abandoned to it. You have already ventured on ſome acts of ſin, but you are certain that you can forbear them when you pleaſe: you have yielded to your favourite vice, and you have found no neceſſary connexion between it and other vices. But can you ſay, that you have found no connexion? Perhaps you have not yet run into them. But have you not been ſometimes tempted to them? Has never your cuſtomary ſin hinted that you might make trial of them? Yes, but you abhor them. Rather than be guilty of them, you will renounce the moſt beloved vice. This may be your preſent opinion: after cuſtom has effaced a man's deteſtation of familiar ſins, he may continue to regard a higher degree, or another ſpecies of guilt with horror. But by a little longer practice, this likewiſe will be effaced, and that very guilt incurred without ſcruple. Recollect Hazael, and be alarmed for yourſelves. You cannot feel ſtronger indignation againſt any crime, than he expreſſed when the Prophet foretold his future enormities. Is thy ſervant a dog, that he ſhould do this great thing *? His ambition was yet young, but it quickly roſe to ſtrength, and drove him into all the barbarities [62] which he had ſo confidently diſclaimed. The effects of wickedneſs are always carried far beyond the ſinner's firſt deſign. Nothing could prevail upon you to leap from the top of a high tower; but by an eaſy ſcale of ſteps you will without fear deſcend to the very ſame depth. From the firſt wilful tranſgreſſion to confirmation in wickedneſs, the deſcent is ſo eaſy that every tranſition is ſcarcely perceptible. One act of ſin, in many ways induces the repetition of it; repetition neceſſarily forms a habit of it: the habit impels to frequent practice, and by practice becomes inveterate. The practice, the habit of one ſin leads on to other ſins; prepares the ſoul for greater crimes; begets temptations to them; demands them for concealing it; involves you in them as its inevitable conſequences; or impoſes them upon you as neceſſary for its ſupport and execution; and quickly rears them alſo into eſtabliſhed habits. Habitual vice lays you open to all the power of ill example, to all the influence of looſe principles, to all the artifices of ſelfdeceit; and by means of theſe, you will become irreclaimable, and yet fearleſs in all your vicious courſes. Smooth, and often rapid, is the progreſs; but fatal is the iſſue.

How carefully then ought they, who have yet retained their innocence, ſtill to hold it [63] faſt? You cannot gueſs beforehand, of what depravity, trouble, and miſery, you lay the foundation, when you make the firſt ſtep into a bad courſe. Fully retrieved it can never be. However early you retract it, it muſt be with pungent ſorrow, with painful ſtruggling, and with a conſciouſneſs of guilt never to be totally obliterated. But it is not probable that you will retract it early: a downward motion is not eaſily repreſſed. If you commit one ſin, you can hardly avoid committing many more: if you commit many ſins, you muſt contract ſtrong vicious habits; and if theſe be once contracted, they will render you the irredeemable ſlaves of vice. It is with a trembling heart that the virtuous friend, or the attentive parent ſees the inexperienced youth engaging in the commerce of the world; a few of his firſt ſteps may very probably determine his character through life, and his ſtate through eternity.

How, then, ſhall we addreſs thoſe who have already proceeded far in vicious courſes? Your condition is imminently dangerous. You are going ſtraight forward in the road to deſtruction; and the farther you have gone, the more violently you are compelled to go farther. Stop ſhort, while yet there is a poſſibility. However little a way you have proceeded, [64] you will find abundant difficulty in returning; another ſtep will make a great addition to it. You cannot paſs at once from the path of vice into that of virtue; they touch only at their entrance; in their progreſs they ſeparate to an unmeaſurable diſtance: to croſs into the path of virtue, will require more laborious and tedious exertions than you have made in wandering from it; it is like toiling up a ſteep aſcent, where the ſand is continually ſlipping from beneath your feet, and fruſtrates more than half your effort. By every hour's continuance in evil courſes, the power of ſin is ſtrengthened, the vigour of the ſoul impaired, and the principles of reformation weakened. How ſeldom is the practiſed ſinner perfectly recovered to virtue? Be not therefore without fear, to add ſin unto ſin any more: make no tarrying to turn unto the Lord; and put not off from day to day: for ſuddenly ſhall the wrath of the Lord come forth, and in thy ſecurity thou ſhalt be deſtroyed, and periſh in the day of vengeance *. By immediate reformation you will prevent it: if you defer it for a day, it may be for ever beyond your power.

SERMON III. THE PROGRESS OF VICE: THE THIRD STAGE.

[]
JEREM. ix. 3. They proceed from evil to evil.’

IT is a common prejudice againſt religion, that it is for ſome time difficult and painful, at leaſt to ſuch as have been formerly engaged in vicious courſes, who muſt undergo a ſevere diſcipline of mortification and ſelf-denial, before they can find any pleaſure in it. Againſt religion it is but a prejudice; for its joys are more than ſufficient to compenſate all the pains which we can endure in acquiring a reliſh for them. But againſt vice, it is an unanſwerable argument, that its beginnings occaſion racking pains, which it has no ſolid joys to counterbalance. To every well-diſpoſed mind, a heinous ſin is at firſt the object of dread and horror. Before a man can think without reluctance of committing [66] it, before he can ſet about it without trepidation of heart and confuſion of face, before he can reflect on it without pungent remorſe and ſelf-condemnation, he muſt not only ſuffer many an uneaſy ſtruggle within, between the irregular paſſions which urge him to it, and conſcience which forbids it; but he muſt likewiſe, by many outward actions of baſeneſs, intermingled with ſeaſons of diſſatiſfaction and dread, wear out all the principles of modeſty and ingenuity, which were the glory of his nature. By perſeverance in wickedneſs, he may at length become eaſy in it: but his eaſe is only ſtupeſaction in guilt, and ſecurity on the brink of deſtruction. It is founded in the corruption of his heart; it is always in proportion to the inveteracy of that corruption; it is the deſperate period of a mortal diſt [...]mper, in which a man is cruſhed beneath its power, thinks not of a remedy, or becomes fond of his diſeaſe. Inſtead of a recommendation of vice, it is one of the ſtrongeſt arguments againſt it; and when we conſider how inſenſibly, and almoſt unavoidably, the man who is once engaged in vice, is drawn forward to this ſtate of mind, the argument becomes truly alarming. I have propoſed to enforce it, by tracing out the ſinner's progreſs from evil to evil. In purſuing this deſign, I have, firſt, pointed out thoſe ſteps of mental [67] indulgence by which irregular inclinations and vicious paſſions are inwardly cheriſhed, till they break forth into overt acts of ſin: and, ſecondly, thoſe ſteps by which, in conſequence of wilful ſin, vicious habits are contracted, ſtrengthened, and multiplied: and I ſhall now, in the third place, endeavour to deſcribe the confirmation of the corrupted heart in profligate wickedneſs and enmity againſt religion.

IN pointing out the ſinner's progreſs to habitual vice, we have obſerved that his averſion to it, his reluctance to practiſe it, and his pain in the conſciouſncſs of it, continually grow weaker. At length they are almoſt totally effaced; he becomes inſenſible to its baſeneſs and its wretchedneſs. Inſenſibility in ſin is the neceſſary conſequence of being enured to it; and it forms a principal part of its maturity. Cuſtom, which ſtrengthens our active propenſities, never fails to weaken paſſive impreſſions: the frequent ſight of diſtreſs blunts the emotions of pity; the being often expoſed to danger impairs the ſenſation of fear; the being long forced to bear inſults and indignities, deadens the pungency of that mortification with which they are felt at firſt. The cuſtom of committing ſin wears off the the uneaſineſs, the ſhame, and the dread, [68] which the thought of it once produced. Conſcience, which formerly eyed it with horror, remonſtrated againſt it, and faithfully repreſented its baſeneſs and its miſery, becomes ſo blind that it cannot ſee the evil of ſin, ſo heedleſs that it will not reprove it, or ſo debauched that it excuſes and defends it. Its ſtrongeſt checks and its ſharpeſt rebukes have been deſpiſed or eluded, and now it ceaſes from them; it is become ſeared with a hot iron *; it is reprobate and undiſcerning. But were the conſcience of the habitual ſinner ſtill capable of continuing its rebukes, and ſounding them ever ſo loudly in his ears, he could not hear them; he has ſo often heard and diſregarded them, that they can make no impreſſion. He is like a perſon who, having always lived near to a noiſy cataract, has loſt the very perception of its roaring. Sin is of a benumbing, ſtupifying nature; in its earlieſt ſtages, the ſinner ſlumbers; in its laſt ſtage, the ſpirit of deep ſleep is fallen upon him , a lethargy oppreſſes all his powers. He is paſt feeling . His mind is as a member of the body that is mortified; it has no ſenſe of the moſt flagitious crimes. In the nervous language of Scripture, he is even dead in treſpaſſes [69] and ſins *. Nay he has made his heart an heart of ſtone , as an adamant ſtone, leſt he ſhould hear the law .

IN this ſtate of obduracy, the ſinner can reflect upon the moſt heinous particulars of his abandoned conduct without ſorrow or regret. Long cuſtom of ſinning has taken away the conſciouſneſs of his guilt. Remorſe, which never fails to wound the tender heart of a novice in vice, cannot touch the callous ſoul of the proficient. The yoke of ſin no longer galls his neck: he has hardened it; he has made it an iron ſinew §. Habituated to the ſlavery of ſin, he forgets his chains. In a condition which by all the declarations of the goſpel excludes him from the happineſs of heaven, and which in its own nature renders him incapable of happineſs, he ſits down ſecure and unconcerned, without a deſire of reformation, without one thought of altering his courſe.

WHEN the ſinner can make himſelf eaſy under the load of guilt which he has already contracted, he will likewiſe go on without reluctance to contract new guilt. The ſame depravity which ſmothers remorſe for former [70] crimes, precludes repugnance to freſh tranſgreſſions. Whenever conſcience ceaſes from its rebukes, it of courſe gives over its remonſtrances. As often as an opportunity occurs, the hardened ſinner runs into vice without thought, without almoſt knowing that he is doing wrong. He has freed himſelf from every reſtraint. By his being ſo long addicted to what is baſe, his conſcience is ſilenced, his deteſtation and dread of ſin, his ſenſe of its vile and ſhameful nature, and his apprehenſions of its miſerable conſequences, are in a great meaſure loſt. He thinks neither of the goodneſs of God, nor of his wrath. He regards not the obligations of virtue, nor any of the motives of the goſpel. The modeſty, which he poſſeſſed in his early wanderings from duty, has forſaken him; he has no reſpect to his own character, or to the opinion of others; he abandons himſelf to ſin in broad day-light, without a maſk, without a bluſh. It muſt be a very atrocious deed from which he will ſtart back. He is like thoſe who are reported to have rendered poiſon ſo familiar to them, by the cuſtom of ſwallowing it, that they could digeſt a great quantity of it without any ſenſation of pain. By a courſe of rebellion againſt conſcience, he has not only broken its power, but learned to deſpiſe its authority.

[71]BY being long habituated to vice, a man becomes not only inſenſible, but likewiſe inflexible and irreclaimable. Theſe two characters are ſo cloſely connected, that the Scripture includes both under the ſame term, hardneſs of heart. Both are clearly diſcernible in the deſcriptions which it gives of the obduracy with which the Prophets and the Meſſiah ſo often charge the degenerate Jews. Of the inſenſibility which we have juſt now deſcribed, obſtinate adherence to vice is the neceſſary conſequence. In every nature there is originally a principle of ſelf-reſtoration; when it is a little put out of order, it labours to recover itſelf. Storms and tempeſts are the agitations of the elements endeavouring to diſcharge the noxious vapours which have infected them; and they are ſucceeded by a wholeſome calm. Agues and fevers in the human body, are the ſtruggles of its remaining vigour to expel ſome malignant humours which threaten its diſſolution; and when they ceaſe without producing this effect, a broken conſtitution or ſpeedy death enſues. Vice is the diſorder, the diſeaſe, the miſery of moral agents: as long as the mind retains any ſoundneſs, it makes efforts to throw it off: regret, remorſe, ſelf-condemnation, conſideration of the reaſons for virtue, reſolutions of amendment, are no other than its motions towards [72] repentance, its endeavours after reformation. When by perſeverance in wickedneſs they are ſuppreſſed, the very principle of ſelf-reſtitution is loſt, the diſtemper is incurable. When a man is unaffected with all the ſins which he has committed, how can he think of forſaking them? When he has no ſenſe of the evil of ſin, how can he be brought to abhor and avoid it? His ſleep will be a perpetual ſleep. To arouſe him, would be to give feeling to a mortified limb, or motion to a dead carcaſe. He is blind to all moral conſiderations: he is impenetrable by exhortation, by reproof, by the mercies, by the judgments of God, by all incentives to amendment. There is nothing remaining in his ſoul on which they can take hold. In ſpite of all poſſible motives to virtue, he has obſtinately purſued his wicked courſes; they could not reſtrain him when they operated with their full force; how then can they reclaim him now, when, by being often baſſled, they have loſt their force; and when, by the inveteracy of habit, he is ſteeled againſt them? In a Chriſtian, hardneſs of heart has been contracted in contempt of all the means of recovery which the goſpel can ſupply: they might reform a heathen; but for correcting his depravity, a new revelation, of greater efficacy than the goſpel, would ſeem to be neceſſary. None ſuch will be given; [73] and therefore the apoſtle affirms that it is impoſſible, he cannot mean leſs than that it is ſo difficult as ſcarcely to be expected, for thoſe who are once enlightened, if they ſhall fall away, ſo far as to become obdurate ſinners, to renew them again unto repentance *. Were they even indulged with a new revelation, it is not probable that they would repent. After the Jews had, in contempt of Moſes and the Prophets, become obdurate in wickedneſs, the goſpel was granted to them; but they trampled it likewiſe under foot, remained impenitent, and made a dreadful addition to their guilt.

THE inflexibility of the hardened ſinner is ſecured, not only by his inſenſibility, but by the ſtrength of his vicious habits. How difficult it is to break off any habit even the moſt inſignificant, the experience of every day proclaims. A confirmed habit few have reſolution to attempt eradicating. The labour, the care, the conſtancy of vigilance which it requires, is almoſt incredible. After the pains of years, it is diſcovered that ſome fibre has remained, which ſhoots anew, and demands a repetition of the toil. How then can deep-rooted habits of vice be extirpated? Could the hardened ſinner feel the whole [74] force of all the arguments for undertaking the extirpation of them, they ſcarcely could prevail. His habits are become too ſtubborn to bend before them; they are too much indurated to yield to the edge of reaſon. By length of time, the habits of the mind, as well as the members of the body, become ſtiff and rigid. The man who has through life accuſtomed himſelf to ſin, is chained faſt by his luſts; and in chains, what can he do for his own releaſe? He has not the power to reform, though he had the inclination. He has gone ſo far, that he is frightened at the length and ruggedneſs of the way by which he muſt return; he doubts whether it be poſſible; deſpondence ſuſpends all his powers, and deprives him of all heart to purpoſe it. The Scripture therefore deſcribes hardened ſinners as not only abominable and diſobedient, but alſo unto every good work reprobate *; ſo far alienated from the life of God, as to have given themſelves over unto laſciviouſneſs, to work all uncleanneſs with greedineſs ; in the ſnare of the Devil, taken captive by him at his will . The ſtain of ſin may ſink ſo deep as to tincture the ſoul throughout. The habit of wickedneſs becomes a ſecond nature; the whole propenſion of the heart is as much to ſin, as the tendency of a ſtone to [75] fall, or of ſparks to fly upwards; to correct it, is almoſt as difficult as to alter the original powers of the mind. By wallowing in ſenſuality, men may be degraded into beaſts: by reſigning themſelves to malevolence, they may be tranſformed into fiends. The incorrigible obſtinacy of habitual ſinners, and the deſperate danger of their condition is emphatically expreſſed by the Prophet; Can the Ethiopian change his ſkin, or the leopard his ſpots? then may ye alſo do good, that are accuſtomed to do evil *. But if you will obſerve with what compoſure and perſeverance you ſee the miſer continuing his penurious ſhifts, the rapacious multiplying his rapines, the unjuſt executing his villanies, the drunkard repeating his debauches, the profligate of every denomination purſuing his own courſe to the very laſt, you can ſcarcely imagine even that deſcription to be exaggerated.

Is it then impoſſible that they who have become hardened in vicious courſes, ſhould be reclaimed from them? With men, I am afraid, we muſt determine this is impoſſible, but with God all things are poſſible . It can be effected only by an extraordinary meaſure of divine grace: but they have no reaſon to expect ſo much as the ordinary influences of [76] grace. They are totally eſtranged from the means which he has appointed for conveying it: how can they find acceſs to it? They have continually reſiſted the ſpirit of God, and in defiance of all his motions proceeded to ſo extreme depravity; he will be provoked to ceaſe from his ſuggeſtions, and to withdraw his aids. They have ſo long refuſed to hearken to the voice of God, that he will give them up unto their own hearts luſts, to walk in their own counſels *. He will employ no farther methods for their reformation. Why ſhould ye be ſtriken any more? Ye will revolt more and more . He that heareth, let him hear; and he that forbeareth let him forbear : he that is unjuſt, let him be unjuſt ſtill; and he that is filthy, let him be filthy ſtill §. When Divine juſtice thus pronounceth concerning the habitual ſinner, his condition is irretrievable. Without Divine grace, he cannot be awakened even to think of repenting; without a great degree of its aſſiſtance he cannot accompliſh his repentance; but he has totally forfeited its aids. That which is crooked in him cannot be made ſtraight . His perverſity will increaſe every day; and after his hardneſs and impenitent [77] heart, he treaſureth up unto himſelf wrath againſt the day of wrath *.

BY long cuſtom of ſinning, men become not only blind to the evil of ſin, and confirmed in the practice of it, but likewiſe fond of it. They not only commit it, but approve it, and glory in it. Even their mind and conſcience is defiled : their moral ſentiments are totally reverſed: they call evil good, and good evil, and put darkneſs for light, and light for darkneſs . They have ſo transfigured their vices, and ſo vitiated their judgment, as to reckon them commendable. They have ſo audaciouſly trampled upon obligation, that they applaud themſelves in deſpiſing it. They forget that ever they heard the voice of conſcience, and therefore perſuade themſelves that its dictates are impoſtures, and that virtue and vice are empty names. Fools make a mock at ſin §, and turn duty unto ridicule. The drunkard boaſts of his beaſtly debauches, and laughs at temperance, as an inſipid, dull preciſion. The diſſolute libertine triumphs in the multitude of his impurities, and ſneers at modeſty as ſpiritleſs auſterity. The practiſed villain pours contempt on the reſtraints [78] of juſtice, and values himſelf on the boldneſs with which he has broken through them, the ſkill with which he has eluded them, the addreſs with which he has ſcreened himſelf from the vengeance of the laws, and the opulence which he poſſeſſes in conſequence of his crimes. The irreligious jeers at the fervours of devotion as mere enthuſiaſm, at the regular performance of its duties as ceremonious formality, weak ſuperſtition, or ſtudied hypocriſy; and exults in his own impiety as refinement of ſpirit, and ſuperiority of mind. The ſinner of every claſs, when he has purſued his evil courſes to a great length, ſets himſelf down in the ſeat of the ſcornful *, and makes right and wrong the ſubjects of his ſlight, his mirth, or his ſatire.

IN the earlier periods of their degeneracy men ſometimes venture to treat particular acts of virtue or vice with deriſion, or even to jeſt with the ſanctity and the importance of moral obligation. In that caſe, it is the effuſion of unthinking levity; it is the ill-judged affectation of with and pleaſantry; it is the heedleſs mimickry of the profane ſcoffer; it is an aſſumed diſguiſe of inward pangs from conſciouſneſs of guilt; or it is a fond attempt [79] to obtain tranquillity in vices which they have not reſolution to forſake. It is belied by the real ſentiments of their hearts, and intermixt with checks of conſcience and miſgivings of ſoul. From whatever cauſe it proceeds, it is fooliſh and highly culpable; and it is of the moſt pernicious conſequence. It gradually ſaps the authority of conſcience, leſſens the power of its decrees, wears off the reverence due to virtue, and prepares the way for regarding ſin as a light and trivial failing. But in the veteran ſinner, it proceeds from cauſes which lie deeper, and it implies the blackeſt corruption. His temper is a contradiction to virtue; and therefore he hates it, and ſupports his hatred by repreſenting it as contemptible. Vice has interwoven itſelf with all the exertions of his ſoul; and therefore he ſtudiouſly juſtifies and commends it. His ſcoffing is not the unmeaning jeſt of giddineſs, but the deſigning ſneer of malignity. It is the effect of that falſe peace which, by ſmothering his ſenſe of right and wrong, he has obtained in adding ſin to ſin. It is indulged with eagerneſs and complacence; the ſcorners delight in their ſcorning *. Such perverſion of heart precludes almoſt the poſſibility of repentance. It empoiſons all the ſprings from which repentance [80] can proceed: it throws ridicule on all the ſentiments which can inſtigate to reformation. When a man has long addicted himſelf to any courſe, this alone is often ſufficient to make him aſhamed to alter it: but when he has moreover ſet himſelf, on every occaſion, to maintain and applaud it, to expoſe and vilify the contrary courſe, and to deride thoſe who purſue it, how can he have the courage to reſolve upon amendment? His jeſts would be all retorted on himſelf: he muſt encounter not the ſcoffs of others only, but his own. He hates to be reformed.

SCOFFING at the practice of religion, is ſometimes united with belief of its principles. They who would think with horror of denying the exiſtence of God, glory in living without God in the world *. They who would ſhudder at diſbelieving a future ſtate, laugh at that conduct which alone can qualify them for happineſs in it. They who retain conſiderable reverence for the truths of the goſpel of Chriſt, treat with contempt a converſation becoming the goſpel . The inconſiſtence, the abſurdity of their character is aſtoniſhing: they deride what their avowed principles demand as indeſpenſible; they boaſt of what their own principles demonſtrate to be their diſgrace and [81] miſery. It ſhews to what a deplorable pitch vice can infatuate the ſoul: it beſets it into ſuch ſtupidity, that it cannot diſcern the moſt palpable repugnances.

BUT very often the deriſion of the ſcorner extends itſelf to the principles of religion. The moſt ſacred, venerable and important truths, the being of God, the external ſtate of retribution, the divinity of the goſpel, its excellence, its ſublime doctrines, its precious promiſes, its awful threatenings, are made the choſen objects of his ſcurrilous wit and diſſolute mirth. If any of theſe have been miſunderſtood through the weakneſs of believers, the undeſigned miſrepreſentation is greedily laid hold of, unfairly ſubſtituted in place of the reality, exaggerated to the utmoſt that it may the better receive the falſe colouring of ridicule. In every ſtep of his progreſs from evil to evil, the ſinner is gradually trained to this extremity of corruption; and by obduracy in wickedneſs, he is completely prepared for it. The ſportiveneſs of childhood and the vivacity of youth, uncorrected by reverence for religious truth, is ſometimes found to overflow in an indecent jeſt on ſome principle which ought to be regarded as ſacred, and never mentioned but with ſeriouſneſs. Its being heard without [82] marks of diſguſt, received with ſatisfaction, or echoed back with the voice of mirth, is an encouragement to the repetition of it. By ſuch communication men become indiſpoſed to ſedateneſs, and fond of frivolous and jocular diſcourſe. The novice in vice, panting for liberty to gratify his indulged paſſions, or to palliate from himſelf, and juſtify to others, the deviations into which they have betrayed him, catches at the licentious poſitions or the ludicrous images which he has learned from the proficient in wickedneſs, inculcates them on his recoiling heart, and produces them with ſeeming complacence, but often with real compunction and miſtruſt. When, after having plunged himſelf into vice, his conſcience upbraids him, and holds up to his view the great truths which condemn his conduct, and proclaim his danger, he labours to evade their force, by whatever can diſguiſe their certainty, or debaſe their importance. Intent on ſilencing conſcience, he neceſſarily directs his efforts againſt the truths from which it draws its ſharpeſt weapons: and if he be ſucceſsful in ſilencing it, there can be nothing to check him in throwing off the belief of theſe truths. When he has become determined and contumacious in his vices, he muſt be impatient of every reſtraint. The tenets of religion are all [83] doctrines according to godlineſs *, contradictory to every vice. The abandoned to vice would gladly diſbelieve them: to confute them by arguments, is above his power; to deſtroy his reverence for them, by profane ſcoffing is an eaſier taſk, and will almoſt as effectually ſecure his peace, or perhaps facilitate his infidelity. Inveterate habits of wickedneſs cannot fail to ſet men in oppoſition to religion which is incompatible with them. This is the very account which our Saviour gives of the contempt and malice with which the Jews treated his inſtructions: They loved darkneſs rather than light: Why? Becauſe their deeds were evil; for every one that doth evil hateth the light, leſt his deeds ſhould be reproved . Two of the Apoſtles aſcribe to the ſame cauſe, the impious mocking which, they foretel, was to take place in after-ages: There ſhall come in the laſt days ſcoffers, walking after their own ungodly luſts, ſenſual, having not the ſpirit .

IF the perſon who extends his invective or his ridicule to the principles of religion, avoids the inconſiſtency chargeable on him who laughs only at the practice of it, he is guilty of an equal, though diſſimilar, abſurdity, [84] and he ſhews deeper depravity of mind. To miſrepreſent the tenets of religion, is not wit, but folly. To be incapable of ſhining, except by means of irreligion, betrays a want of parts. To contemn the moſt venerable things, and to be merry with the moſt ſerious, ſhows a ſhameful perverſion of taſte and ſentiment. To affect expoſing by banter, what you cannot confute by argument, and what you have never examined with diligence, implies a heart loſt to every thing that is ingenuous in human nature. If the principles of religion be true, their importance muſt be confeſſed: nothing ſhort of a demonſtration of their falſity can juſtify your treating them either with ſpite or with levity: but the utmoſt effrontery of infidelity dare not boaſt of ſuch a demonſtration.

WHEN men have contracted enmity againſt the truths of religion, and accuſtomed themſelves to treat them with contempt and deriſion, how can they be reclaimed from wickedneſs? God works repentance in ſinners by his grace: but he works it in a manner ſuitable to their reaſonable nature. He does not convert them by force, as the ſhips are turned about with a helm, whitherſoever the governor liſteth, or as we put bits in the horſes [85] mouths, that they may obey us *. He operates upon them by principles of reaſon, he perſuades them by means of truths which infer the obligations of virtue. But all theſe they regard as fables, fit only to be laughed at. Enured to deſpiſe the only means of amendment, incapable of feeling their force, they muſt be fixt in their impenitence. A ſcorner heareth not rebuke , nor can be touched with exhortation. Will God in ſome extraordinary way, for all ordinary ways are rendered ineffectual, awaken him to ſerious reflexion? God himſelf has been the object of his blaſphemy. Will the compaſſion of the Son of God exert itſelf to ſoften the obduracy and correct the perverſity of his ſoul? The Son of God he reviles as an impoſtor. Will the Holy Spirit, by an irreſiſtible impulſe of his grace, renew his corrupted heart? It has been his conſtant practice to do deſpite unto the ſpirit of grace . His condition is determined, his ruin is almoſt inevitable.

IF the degree of wickedneſs hitherto deſcribed be ſuſceptible of any aggravation, it is when the ſinner makes it his buſineſs to ſeduce others into vicious courſes: and it never fails to lead him forward to this ſummit of [86] guilt. To aſſimilate others to ourſelves, is a deſire natural to the ſoul. When men are determined to perſiſt in their vices, and have laid aſide every thought of reforming themſelves, they will become intent on perverting others into the ſame evil courſes, and forming them to the like character. Many vices can be practiſed only in ſociety: the man who is addicted to them, muſt ſearch for fit aſſociates; and if he meets not with ſuch as of choice run with him to the ſame exceſs of riot *, he muſt, for enjoying his own vices, draw them on to it. Many vices cannot yield their full meaſure of advantage to him who delights in them, except they be likewiſe practiſed by others: the ruling paſſion of the miſer receives a direct gratification from the parſimony of all who depend upon him, as well as from his own penuriouſneſs, and will therefore inſtigate him to model them according to his own maxims: diſhoneſty of every ſpecies requires accomplices or inſtruments for executing its ſchemes, and muſt faſhion them to its purpoſes, by debauching them from all the principles of juſtice. Every vice is kept in countenance by numbers; and no vice is ſo completely ſatisfied with itſelf, even in the moſt degenerate nature, as not to graſp eagerly [87] at this appearance of patronage, and labour to procure it. A vitiated palate takes pleaſure in the vileſt favours, a diſordered mind is gratified by the moſt improper objects; and a heart depraved into the love of vice, cannot but feel an unnatural ſatisfaction in its prevalence. To ſee others yielding to his influence, or copying after his example, though it be in wickedneſs, gives the profligate an opinion of his own authority and importance, that flatters the illegitimate and inverted pride for which his profligacy has prepared him. So great is the corruption into which human nature may fall by continuance in vice, that ſome find a poſitive and ultimate delight in ſeducing the thoughtleſs, corrupting the innocent, and encouraging the timid ſinner to go greater lengths. They will perſuade or delude them into the moſt atrocious crimes. They will ſcruple no method by which it can be accompliſhed. They content not themſelves with ſpreading vice by the moſt flagrant example: they recommend it; they ſet it off to the beſt advantage; they employ all their art to produce enchanting pictures of it; they point out the way to it; they lead the reluctant by the hand into its darkeſt retreats; they ſedulouſly mock at whatever might prove a reſtraint from it. Like the Jews who were hardened againſt the true religion, [88] they ſpeak evil of that way before the multitude *. Their enmity againſt religion is too rancorous to be confined within their own breaſts; it is not purely to gratify themſelves that they pour it out; they proclaim it with a ſixt deſign, and an anxious deſire to communicate it to others. They direct all their ſcoffs to the propagation of iniquity. Shocking as this degree of wickedneſs is, there have been many inſtances of it in every age. Solomon deſcribes it in ſeveral paſſages of his writings. Evil men ſpeak froward things, who leave the paths of uprightneſs, to walk in the ways of darkneſs, who rejoice to do evil, and delight in the frowardneſs of the wicked . They ſay, let us lay wait for blood, let us lurk privily for the innocent, let us ſwallow them up alive, as the grave, and whole, as thoſe that go down into the pit . They ſleep not except they have done miſchief, and their ſleep is taken away unleſs they cauſe ſome to fall §. It is the temper of the fiend tranſplanted into the human breaſt: it is to perform the vileſt of the devil. Go, and find amuſement in the horrors of the wretch who is haſtening to the torture: it were leſs inhuman than to ſport with what muſt incur the wrath of God, or to take pleaſure in betraying men to the [89] perpetration of it. The proſtituted pander to wickedneſs, muſt be nearly paſt redemption. A conſcience ſo thoroughly debauched cannot be reſtored to a vigorous ſenſe of guilt: a heart ſo completely obdurate cannot feel its ſting. The guilt is ſo dreadfully accumulated, that a lively ſenſe of it, inſtead of impelling him to repentance, would moſt probably overwhelm him with deſpair, in thinking of the multitude of his ſins, and the numbers whom he has contributed to contaminate and ruin. He ventures not to hope for mercy; he cannot bring himſelf to pray for it; his ſoul cannot frame a wiſh from which it has been ſo long and ſo far alienated. By the hardneſs of his heart, he knows that God withholds his grace. If he feels that in all this God is juſt, it aggravates his torture: the long ſuffering of God abuſed and exhauſted, the purchaſe of Chriſt rejected and forfeited, oppreſs him with unſufferable anguiſh. If he acquit not God from the charge of dealing hardly with him, he ſets his mouth againſt the heavens *, he vents his rage in blaſphemies, he curſes God, and dies.

I HAVE now traced out the natural progreſs of vice from its ſlendereſt beginnings to its [90] baneful iſſue. In the preceding diſcourſes, I delineated the train of inward indulgences and deceits by which paſſion is rendered irregular, and put forth into acts of ſin; and the manner in which, from acts of ſin, habits of depravity ſpring up, and grow, and multiply: and in the preſent, I have deſcribed that hardneſs of heart, and that contempt and hatred of religion, which neceſſarily reſult from confirmed and multiplied habits of wickedneſs, and complete the corruption of the ſinner. It is a ſhocking, a confounding object. It cannot be beheld without horror. If any of you ſhudder at it, be careful to turn your terror to your own advantage. It inculcates the moſt important leſſons in the moſt alarming manner, eſpecially when it is conſidered in connexion with the ſeveral gradations which, from the firſt deviation into vice, almoſt imperceptibly lead forward to it.

THE whole of this ſubject ſerves as an awful warning to thoſe who are ſo happy as not to be yet engaged in any vicious courſe. I cannot conclude it, without again beſeeching the young and the innocent to guard againſt the firſt deviation from virtue, however ſmall it may appear, and however ſtrong you may think the inducements to it. Give no credit to its infant ſmiles; admit not a wiſh for the pleaſure [91] or the profit which it promiſes: they are a lie; its end is bitter as wormwood, ſharp as a two-edged ſword *. In vain you think of ſinning in moderation, of ſetting bounds to your tranſgreſſions, of going only a certain length, but no farther: you might as well attempt to reſtrain the raging of the ocean. Vice creeps on by little ſteps, but with an uninterrupted progreſſion. By the ſmalleſt failure in care and recollection, you will ſlide from what is lawful, into what is ſuſpicious; from that into what is plainly ſinful; from leſſer into greater tranſgreſſions; from acts into cuſtomary practice; from ſtrong inclinations into deliberate habits; from one habit into another; from leſs to more inveteracy; from the practice of wickedneſs to the love of it. The connexion between the ſlighteſt vicious indulgence, and the blackeſt guilt, though formed by many links, is indiſſoluble. To what vigilance againſt the ſmalleſt treſpaſs would an adequate ſenſe of this determine us? Labour to acquire and to preſerve the livelieſt ſenſe of it. Avoid every object which can excite the fainteſt inclination to a forbidden courſe; fly from every ſituation which can aſſiſt its operation. Give no wilful indulgence ſo much as to a ſinful thought, or an evil imagination; [92] conſent not, even in your hearts, to the demands of any irregular paſſion. To reſtrain the extravagance of thought, and to check the firſt riſing of unlawful paſſion, is the eaſieſt, as well as the ſureſt, means of preventing hardneſs of heart and future miſery. It will require intenſe and conſtant care: but if this be neglected, to repent, to keep you in the ſtate of penitence, to preſerve you from relapſes into ſin, will require much more painful vigilance. The ſtrongeſt inclination to ſin, which you can feel at preſent, bears no proportion to the violence of deſire to perſiſt and to go on in ſin, which will torment you, if you once enter into its ways. If you ſuffer yourſelves to contract a vicious habit, for conquering it, you muſt lay yourſelves under harder reſtraints than would now be neceſſary, and deny yourſelves many things which now you might ſafely uſe; and you will be leſs diſpoſed and leſs able to apply the remedy. Take heed, therefore, brethren, that ye begin not to depart from the living God *.

BUT, alas! how many of us have already begun to depart from him? How many of us have already departed far from him? Return without delay. In whatever part of your ſinful [93] progreſs you may be, the preſent is the fitteſt ſeaſon that ever you will find for reformation. If you return not, you muſt go on; if you grow not better, you muſt grow worſe; there is no poſſiblity of your being ſtationary. Next to eſcaping ſin, is quickly to forſake it. To forſake it the moſt quickly, is far more difficult than to have avoided it, but will become every day more difficult and more precarious. The diſeaſes of the ſoul, as well as of the body, are eaſieſt to be cured at firſt; by continuance they become more obſtinate; and by long continuance a ſlight ailment may grow to ſuch a head as to baffle the moſt powerful medicine. While the ſinner only ſlumbers, a ſlight touch will rouſe him: if he falls aſleep, it will require a ſtrong pull to awaken him: but if he ſinks into a lethargy, what force is ſufficient to remove it? and if he is dead in ſin, what but a miracle can raiſe him to ſpiritual life? I will ſay to every one of you, ſet about your reformation immediately, and God will enable you to accompliſh it. But I muſt likewiſe ſay, if you delay it for one hour, it may very ſoon be impoſſible. If this moment you diſregard the checks of conſcience, refuſe the calls of the goſpel, and reſiſt the motions of the ſpirit; think not that you will yield to them hereafter. Every time they are felt and diſregarded, their influence will be weakened. If this day they produce a purpoſe to repent in a little, to-morrow they [94] will produce a fainter deſign to repent at a more diſtant time; and very ſoon they will produce no intention ever to repent. To day, if ye will hear his voice, if ye would ever liſten to it, to-day harden not your hearts *. If you continue to harden them, the time will come when, if you ſhould happen to be alarmed to a ſenſe of your guilt, your ſouls will be overwhelmed with ſuch deſponding thoughts as theſe: my condition is deſperate; the labour of extirpating habits ſo deeply rooted would be inſurmountable; I have not the reſolution to attempt it; God has doubtleſs long ago withdrawn his grace, elſe I could not have ſinned ſo heinouſly; he has given me up to judicial hardneſs; it were preſumption for ſo provoking an offender to hope for his forgiveneſs of the paſt, or his aſſiſtance for the future; there remaineth nothing for me, but the fearful looking for of judgment . Then your reformation will be barely poſſible; it would be almoſt miraculous but what reaſon has the daring ſinner to expect a miracle? Seek ye the Lord while he may be found, call ye upon him while he is near .

WHETHER you have avoided vicious courſes, or whether you have forſaken them, be careful [95] conſtantly to maintain a deep abhorrence of every vice. Reckon nothing trivial that is in any degree ſinful. When we conſider how fatal the end of ſin is, and yet how inconſiderable its beginning, and how imperceptible its advances, we have reaſon to tremble. From an unavoidable propenſion, it proceeds firſt to ſinful delight, then to actual tranſgreſſion; and from acts to habits, till the whole ſoul be corrupted and exaſperated againſt all truth and goodneſs. To guard ourſelves againſt the ſubtlety of its inſinuations, and the force of its attacks, we muſt keep its malignity and its miſery continually in our view. Be at pains to preſerve your conſcience tender and delicately ſenſible. Whenever it warns or reproves you, hearken to it. Attempt not to drown its voice by the noiſe of mirth, or to ſuppreſs it by the multiplicity of worldly cares. Improve its admonitions by obedience, and ſeek not to get rid of its rebukes, except by repentance.

IN ſo difficult a work as it plainly is, to avoid the encroachments of ſin, let us not truſt wholly to our own management. To the moſt attentive circumſpection and the moſt ſtrenuous endeavours, let us add dependance on the aſſiſtance of God's grace. In a road ſo full of danger, and ſo beſet with ſnares, [96] ſurely it is not in man that walketh, to direct his ſteps *; it cannot be ſafe to travel alone, without a guide and without a helper. To preſerve us from the path of deſtruction, and to uphold us in the way of life, we muſt earneſtly implore the aid of the Almighty, humbly truſt in it, and ſecure its continuance by improving it.

I SHALL conclude with calling your attention to the apoſtle's injunction, Exhort one another daily, leſt any of you be hardened through the deceitfulneſs of ſin . Chriſtianity conſiders mankind as intimately related; and enjoins all its followers to be concerned, not for themſelves only, but each alſo for another, eſpecially in what regards their eternal intereſts. While the hardened ſinner and the ſcoffer is aſſiduous in perverting the innocent, can he be a friend to virtue who will do nothing to confirm them? Every man has ſome opportunities of checking the growth of vice in others: and it is his duty to employ theſe opportunities; and by hints and ſuggeſtions, by warnings or admonitions, by reproofs, by every method conſiſtent with prudence and propriety, to diſcourage vicious practices. It is a duty which elders owe eſpecially to the [97] younger, the parent to his children, the ſuperior to his dependents. Were it conſcientiouſly diſcharged, it muſt have great effect. Its being a duty, implies that it is likewiſe the duty of each to comply with the exhortation of another, in evading the cunning, and reſiſting the power of ſin. It is the moſt important ſervice: let us all avail ourſelves of it. He that refuſeth inſtruction, deſpiſeth his own ſoul; but he that heareth reproof, getteth underſtanding, and abideth among the wiſe *.

SERMON IV. THE DESIRE OF LONG LIFE UNREASONABLE AND PERNICIOUS.

[]
JOB, vii. 16. I would not live alway.’

THE deſire of life is common to all animals; and it is the ſtrongeſt principle in every nature. In other animals, it is wholly inſtinctive: in man, the inſtinct is ſtrengthened by ſentiment, and ſupported by reflexion. In the day of high health and proſperity, when our pleaſures are many, and our ſorrows few, when we indulge ſanguine hopes, and liſten not to the ſuggeſtions of fear, life ſeems to have charms ſufficient to juſtify a warm attachment to it. A perſon cut off in theſe circumſtances is always the object of our tendereſt regret. When the ſupport of a family, or the eſtabliſhment of friends, depends on a perſon's life, he feels himſelf inſtigated by benevolence to earneſt [100] wiſhes for its long continuance. The ſenſe of guilt, cloathing eternity with terrors, raiſes the love of life to the utmoſt pitch of anxiety. The ſelf-condemned graſp eagerly at another day, as a reſpite from perdition, and would gladly prolong this earthly life for ever.

THE love of life continues ſtrong, even when it is oppoſed by ſentiment, and diſapproved by reflexion. There may be moments in the life of moſt men, in which they imagine that it is extinguiſhed: but they are very few; and in theſe few, men only imagine that they have got rid of it. Under the firſt ſhock or the violent preſſure of a great calamity, they cry out that life is not worth the living. But at that very inſtant, if they were put to the trial, they would be found unwilling to reſign it; and no ſooner is the weight of their affliction abated, than they ſhew as ſtrong a paſſion for life as before. They ſuppoſe themſelves indifferent about life, when they are weary of its diſtreſſes. The deſire of life is far from being extinct, even in him who can taſte no ſatisfaction in his preſent condition, and who regards all that is paſt as vanity. Of the moſt diſcontented, of the moſt diſconſolate heart, the firſt wiſh always is for a life of greater enjoyment, and free from the wants and diſappointments which [101] have hitherto been felt. O ſpare me, that I may recover ſtrength before I go hence and be no more * : make us glad according to the days wherein thou haſt afflicted us, and the years in which we have ſeen evil ; are the prayers to which nature prompts men, even when they are moſt broken by the violence of diſtreſs, or moſt exhauſted by its continuance. Averſe as we are to pain, we ſcruple not to redeem life at the expence of very grievous pain. When a man has drawn life to the very dregs, when old age has deprived him of every comfort, loaded him with numberleſs infirmities, and left him no poſſibility of better days, ſtill he is willing to live a little longer. If in any caſe the love of this earthly life be wholly loſt, yet the deſire of exiſtence remains, and would make the thought of annihilation horrible. To ſeem to be reconciled to nonexiſtence, is only a phrenzy, in which the principles of nature are confounded by diſeaſe, ſuppreſſed by the violence of paſſion, ſmothered by depravity of heart, or perverted by falſe opinions.

RELIGION itſelf can ſeldom conquer the deſire of prolonging life. The man into whom it has infuſed the moſt enchanting [102] ideas and the livelieſt hope of the celeſtial joys, generally thinks of his diſſolution, notwithſtanding, with ſome reluctance. He finds himſelf in a ſtrait betwixt two. To depart and to be with Chriſt, he knows, is far better *; he deſires it ardently: but he cannot bring himſelf to be fully ſatisfied that the deſire ſhould be inſtantly accompliſhed; a wiſh ſtarts up, to abide in the fleſh for a little while, and when it is repreſſed, ſoon ſtarts up again. If in any, the power of religion has totally ſubdued the love of life, and eradicated every degree of averſion to death, the principle is not deſtroyed; it has but changed its form; the deſire of living in this ſtate, is only ſupplanted by the deſire of living in a better ſtate.

IN my text, Job diſclaims every wiſh to lengthen out his days. It was amidſt the early aſſaults of deep, complicated, and ſeemingly irremediable diſtreſs. His fleſh was clothed with worms, and clods of duſt; his ſkin was broken and become loathſome : he was in miſery, and bitter in ſoul; and his roarings were poured out like the waters §. His friend, inſtead of ſoothing his ſorrows, had raiſed them into agonies, by cruel reproaches, pronounced as [103] well-weighed accuſations, and with a provoking confidence; lo this, we have ſearched it, ſo it is; hear it, and know thou it for thy good *. His expreſſion bears plain marks of the ſource from which it flowed; it is the language of fretfulneſs and impatience; it betrays an exceſs of vehemence: I loath it, I would not live alway; let me alone, for my days are vanity. He acknowledges that he ſpake it in the anguiſh of his ſpirit, and complained in the bitterneſs of his ſoul . This was his infirmity. Religion neither approves a peeviſh diſguſt at life, nor requires us to extirpate all deſire of it. A deſire which is founded in inſtinct, and ſtrengthened by almoſt all our paſſions, which clings faſt to us in every condition, and aſſumes every form rather than quit its hold, neither can nor ought to be exterminated. It muſt be neceſſary; it muſt be ſubſervient to very important purpoſes. Nevertheleſs it may become exceſſive; and its exceſs may be hurtful. Reaſon, therefore, and religion, will concur in requiring us to govern it: and they preſent arguments ſufficient to determine us, and principles ſufficient to enable us, to reſtrain it within its proper limits. In order to repreſs the wiſh for living alway, in order to excite you to conquer [104] an exceſſive fondneſs for long life, I ſhall prove,

FIRST, That long life is in many reſpects undeſireable; and,

SECONDLY, That the immoderate deſire of it is pernicious.

FIRST, That long life is in many reſpects undeſireable, may be evinced by arguments drawn—from the general nature of human life,—from the peculiar attendants of long life;—and from the ſuperior happineſs of the future life.

1. THE general nature of human life leads us to reflexions which may reaſonably check an eager paſſion for length of days. I would not live alway, for my days are vanity.—I wiſh not to exaggerate the evils of life: it cannot ſerve any good purpoſe. If the inconſiderate and gay paint its joys in too gaudy colours, the peeviſh and dejected ſucceed as much in their gloomy portraits of its ſorrows. Complaints of the vanity and inſipidity of this world, have an appearance of religion: but whenever they are carried beyond the truth, they are offences againſt religion, and they [105] injure it. It is pious to extol the future world; the preſent will not bear to be compared with it: but to depreciate the preſent as unworthy of the God who made it, cannot poſſibly be pious. It is pious to breathe ardent deſires of the glories of heaven: but there is no piety in ſullen contempt of thoſe benefits which the God of heaven ſhowers down upon the earth. Heavenly-mindedneſs is a noble temper; it refines and exalts the ſoul: but chagrin and diſſatisfaction with the world, is a pitiful diſpoſition which contracts and ſours the ſpirit, and produces many vices. To blacken human life, is to defame its Author; it obſtructs reſignation to his will; and is incompatible with gratitude for his mercies. The deficiencies of this life are numerous and great enough to intimate that man is intended for a better life: but if this life were a ſeries of unmixt diſtreſſes, where would be the evidence of that divine goodneſs which alone can ſupport the hope of a better? The inequalities of the preſent ſtate are ſuch as require a future retribution: but if it be abſolute confuſion, without a mark of wiſe or righteous government, it can afford no proof of that juſtice, from which only a retribution can proceed. When the Scripture aſſerts that life is vanity, it means not that it is altoge [...]her ſorrow, or void of all enjoyment: on the [106] contrary, both by its precepts, and by the examples of the Saints, it teaches us, that in every ſtate we may be content *, that in the worſt ſituation we may be patient , that all the days of our appointed time we may wait, till our change come . When old age, with aſſumed authority, preaches to youth, that life contains nothing at all worth ſeeking after, it only utters its own regret that life is over. Undiſtinguiſhing cenſures of the condition of man, always are either the murmurings of diſcontent, or the unfelt language of affectation. They have no ſanction from genuine experience. Each of you has had many griefs; but each of you has likewiſe had many joys. If a moment of deep diſtreſs obliterates the ſenſe of former pleaſures, a moment of gladneſs baniſhes the remembrance of paſt diſtreſs. If the memory of ſome great affliction recurs at intervals for years, and occaſions hours of ſighing, yet with theſe are mingled days of eaſe, and even of cheerfulneſs. Afflictions which, we think at their firſt onſet, muſt put a period to our earthly comfort, are ſo much mellowed by time, as to become very tolerable, and to admit the partnerſhip of many pleaſures. Under the acuteneſs of bodily pain, the pangs of diſappointment, [107] the anguiſh of grief, the heart can find no peace: but in the life of every man, how ſmall a proportion have the moments thus embittered, born to his happier days? It is not more certain that this world cannot ſatisfy all our deſires, than that it gratifies many of them. Let us not diſſemble the favours of our Maker; let us not unthankfully vilify the enjoyments which he beſtows; let us not fretfully aggravate the evils which he has mingled in the cup of life. If the heart can really go along with the overcharged deſcriptions of unalleviated miſery, in which ill-humour indulges itſelf, they will corrupt it. If they can make any determinate impreſſion, it muſt be a bad impreſſion. In conſequence of it, that deſire which God hath made the ſtrongeſt in our nature, would appear to be an abſolute abſurdity; it would ſeem to be at variance with our whole condition. We muſt fall into ſtupid indifference, ſullen diſguſt, or dejecting tiredneſs of life. Theſe are diſpoſitions which religion reprobates. It acknowledges only ſuch moderation in the love of life, as the juſt eſtimate of it can authorize.

WE may conſider life as it really is, we may even turn up its faireſt ſide, and yet find abundant reaſon both for checking the ardor [108] and for contracting the limits of our deſire of life.—This life cannot be a ſtate of perfect enjoyment. It is not adequate to the capacity of the ſoul; it neceſſarily leaves a ſenſe of deficience, which would require ſomething nobler to fill it up. We wiſh to vary our enjoyments: but the number of them is limited, and their frequent recurrence begets ſatiety. Moſt of them grow firſt inſipid, and then diſtaſteful. What gave us pleaſure by its preſence, we often deſpiſe upon reflexion. Our reliſh varies; what at one time attached us to life, a little after we count of no value. It is lawful to deſire life for the ſake of its enjoyments; but becauſe its enjoyments are, to our experience, imperfect, it muſt be unreaſonable to deſire it with anxiety, or to wiſh to protract it to its extremeſt length.—This life cannot be a ſtate even of pure enjoyment. Its ſunſhine is broken by many intervals of rain and tempeſt. Uneaſineſs of mind, pain of body, and diſtreſs in outward circumſtances, make weeping often ſuddenly to follow laughter. The heart ſometimes feels pleaſure and pain at once: it regrets one want, while it rejoices in the ſupply of another; it fears one evil, while it exults in having eſcaped another; it mourns for a dead friend in the very hour in which it indulges gaietywith the living. The moſt fortunate have [109] their diſagreeable moments: and multitudes are viſited with afflictions ſevere, frequent, and laſting. The ſoul pants for unmingled joy; but this world affords it not: and can it be reaſonable to exceed in fondneſs for a ſtate in which diſappointment is inevitable? Were you permitted to live your paſt life over again, each of you would wiſh for an exception of ſome particulars: and if you ſhould live twenty years longer, you would as little be content to tread again the ſame unvaried ſteps. Imagination paints flattering proſpects of the future, which inflame the deſire of living on: but if they were examined by the ſtandard of the paſt, they would loſe a great part of their power.—Nothing, on account of which you can be anxious to live, is certain. You wiſh to accompliſh a favourite deſign: but you may live, and yet not accompliſh it; and you may accompliſh it, and find little joy in it. You wiſh to make proviſion for your family: but are you certain that, by living, you ſhall make it? or are you certain that an ampler proviſion will be a real advantage to them? You wiſh, before you die, to ſee your children grown up, and flouriſhing, and repaying all your cares: alas! the tendereſt cares of parents have ſometimes been repaid only with anguiſh: happy would they have thought it, that they had been dead before [110] they felt it. Every hope that can enamour you of life, is precarious: can it then juſtify very earneſt wiſhes to prolong your days? By the unalterable decree of Heaven life is ſhort; the utmoſt remainder, therefore, of your life cannot deſerve great ſolicitude: and when it has ſo large a mixture of vanity, need we repine at the decree? Would it really be deſireable to have lived before the flood?

THE happieſt among mankind will not ſay, that this repreſentation of the vanity of human life is beyond the truth. Yet it is ſufficient to convince us, that an eager deſire of ſpinning out life, would be extravagant in compariſon of its value. This repreſentation will not ſuggeſt an attempt to extirpate the deſire of life: but it will enforce the neceſſity of moderating it. It will diſpoſe us, neither to be impatient for the hour of our departure, nor to repine becauſe we muſt ſoon depart. Content to live as long as God pleaſes, we ſhall willingly obey his call to reſign our breath. Thankful for life while it continues, we ſhall feel the approaches of death without dejection. The meaſure of our days we ſhall, without carefulneſs, refer to the will of God.

2. The peculiar attendants of long life may reaſonably check the anxious deſire of it. Of [111] the wiſh for length of days, which ſwells into fervour in the breaſt of the young and the proſperous, it is always tacitly a part, to continue in health, at eaſe, full of ſpirits, poſſeſſed of a quick reliſh for enjoyment. This implication renders the wiſh chimerical. It is not ſuch an old age that is allotted to human creatures. Youth neceſſarily fades like the flower of the field: years give every thing a very different aſpect. Old age is the dregs of a turbid cup. If you live long, you can expect only ſuch a life as falls to the ſhare of man. If that be not highly eligible, you cannot reaſonably be anxious for it.

EVEN this darkeſt period of life is ſometimes relieved by ſtreaks of ſhining light. Now and then you meet an aged perſon who retains conſiderable health and vigour, and a capacity for many ſatisfactions. You ſee one whoſe weakneſs, if it has rendered his enjoyments languid, has likewiſe rendered his pains gentle. You find one whom a happy temperature has preſerved fit for receiving and communicating pleaſure in the cheerful intercourſe of ſociety. You find one whom the wiſdom of religion has rendered ſingularly inſtructive, and the benignity of its ſpirit eminently engaging. You find one who, [112] looking back, is conſcious of a well-ſpent life; and looking forward, eſpies a crown of glory prepared for him; who, in the thought that his labours are nearly paſt, and his reward at hand, taſtes more ſolid and ſublime delight, than in all the pleaſures of youth; who even rejoices in his infirmities, as the indications of his having reached the gates of immortality. But it is only one from among many aged perſons, that falls under any of theſe deſcriptions. What may be juſtly called a good old age *, is generally good, only in compariſon with the old age of other men: compared with the earlier periods of life, its days are almoſt always the evil days .

I WILL not repreſent old age in its moſt frightful forms. I will not paint the condition of that wretch who has waſted his life in empty joys, who cannot longer taſte even theſe, who feels that he ſhall be ſoon cut off and fly away , and who hath not a hope beyond the grave. I will not remind you of the monſter who continues to hold faſt the ſins of his youth; who is racked by deſires which indulgence has rendered importunate, but which decay has diſqualified him for gratifying; who, ſunk into decrepitude, glories in [113] the former abuſes of his ſtrength, and delights in recounting the ſins which long ago ſhould have covered him with ſhame, and produced bitter repentance. I will not deſcribe the man whoſe avarice grows, as the time in which he can enjoy his riches becomes leſs. I will not even enlarge on the peeviſhneſs, the fretfulneſs, the ſuſpiciouſneſs, the cenſoriouſneſs, the ſeverity, which often come on with years; which chace away the young from the ſociety of the aged, and render the attentions of their very children an irkſome taſk. All theſe are the vices of old age: and if you be ſolicitous to live long, you ſhould be equally ſolicitous to be virtuous, were it only that, by vice, you latter days may not become in any of theſe ways contemptible and wretched.

BUT you muſt expect that your old age will be juſt like that of moſt other men, comfortleſs in many reſpects. Old age cannot but have fewer enjoyments and more pains than the prime of life. It has rendered the organs callous to the impreſſions of pleaſure; and by frequent repetitions theſe impreſſions have become faint. That exertion which was a high gratification in the maturity of life, will be an overpowering burden in its decline. The old have loſt their reliſh for their accuſtomed [114] pleaſures, and there are not other pleaſures to ſupply their place. To every pleaſure of the young, the quickneſs of deſire, and the preſumption of hope, give a ſeaſoning which the old man cannot procure: he has come to the years when deſire ſhall fail, and he ſhall ſay, I have no pleaſure in them *. The certainty of his dying ſoon, throws a gloom upon all his ſatisfactions. He has outlived the companions of his former days, and he is incapable of forming new connexions with equal cloſeneſs. He goes into the ſtreets, into the chief places of concourſe, and he finds none that remembers his father; he ſpeaks of the friends of his own youth, and even they are forgotten; he meets but a few who recollect that they have heard their names when themſelves were very young. He is left himſelf alone, and there is not a ſecond : the uneaſy thought that he ſhall very ſoon be as much forgotten as if he had never been, is every moment forced upon him. Children's children are the crown of old men : ſometimes they rejoice in ſeeing themſelves renewed in a multitude of promiſing deſcendants. But it is not always ſo: ſometimes the wickedneſs or the misfortunes of a family bring down the grey hairs [115] of the parent with ſorrow to the grave *: and ſometimes his progeny live not to become his poſterity: after having followed all his children to the tomb, and ſpent many of his years in mourning for his friends, he leaves none to mourn for himſelf; a ſtranger cloſes his eyes, and aliens devour his ſubſtance. Threeſcore and ten, or fourſcore years, may leave vigour enough to protract exiſtence, but rarely enough to render it comfortable; their ſtrength is labour and ſorrow . If a puny conſtitution happen to creep forward to age, it then ſinks into helpleſs debility: and the robuſt, who ſcarcely knew an ailment for ſixty years, derive no other conſequence from the remains of their vigour, but greater violence of pain. The diſappointments and ſufferings of the earlier periods are often relieved by the occupations of active and ſocial life, or alleviated by the expectation of better days: but the old man is capable of no employment which can divert the full ſenſe of his infirmities and diſtreſſes; they cannot ceaſe, they muſt grow, death is their only poſſible termination. A fondneſs for life, retained in old age, is acknowledged to be a deſire which has ſurvived its object: it cannot then be reaſonable to wiſh eagerly for long life, which muſt bring on old [116] age. If we reach it, we ſhall find all the power of patience and pious reſignation neceſſary for rendering it ſupportable. Its circumſtances of peculiar vanity render it really deſireable to be taken away from the evil to come *.

3. BUT when to the imperfection of the preſent life, and the multiplied ſorrows of long life, we oppoſe that happineſs which is to be obtained after death, who can be ſo fooliſh as to form a wiſh for length of days? Though life contains ſo much vanity, and the prolongation of it ſo much increaſes vanity, that it cannot be worthy of great ſolicitude; yet, without any hope of another life, the horror of falling into nothing might make us deſirous of living on. But we know that we are made for another ſtate, in which God will beſtow unſpeakable happineſs on all who fear and ſerve him. Can it be but unreaſonable to prefer continuing on earth, to an entrance into heaven?

ON earth we are of the kindred of the brutes: but in heaven we ſhall be equal unto the angels , and like unto God. Many of the enjoyments of this world are trifling; [117] but all the enjoyments of heaven are ſublime. Every preſent enjoyment is incomplete, and leaves ſome ſenſe of want; but the pleaſures of heaven are fulneſs of joy *; they ſatisfy all the capacities of our natures. In this checquered ſtate, ſorrows are intermingled with all our joys: but in heaven, there ſhall be no more ſorrow, nor crying, nor pain . All the pleaſures of mortality are vitiated by the certainty that they cannot laſt; a moment of the gayeſt feſtivity is often ſaddened, by imagination repreſenting diſtemper ready to lay it waſte, or death haſtening to extinguiſh it: but in heaven, the delights of every moment, unſpeakable in themſelves, ſhall be heightened by the aſſurance that they will endure for ever, and increaſe for ever.

HOPE of the bleſſedneſs of heaven is the chief joy of the good man; but during this life it can be only hope; and is it reaſonable to wiſh earneſtly that, by the prolongation of this life, it may be retarded from ripening into fruition? Is it not deſireable that our perfect happineſs begin as ſoon as poſſible? Can it be wiſe to ſhew anxiety for poſtponing it? Does the exile ever wiſh that [118] it may be long before he be permitted to return to his native land? Our native land is heaven; on earth, we are but pilgrims and ſojourners. Does the fettered priſoner wiſh that he be not ſoon releaſed? In theſe earthly bodies we are priſoners; it is only when we have caſt them off that we ſhall be delivered from the bondage of corruption, into the glorious liberty of the children of God *. Does the heir of an ample fortune look forward with reluctance or terror to the day which ſhall put him in full poſſeſſion of it? And ſhall we, who are heirs of the heavenly inheritance, wiſh to defer as long as poſſible our entrance on it? The ſtrongeſt inſtinct would ſeem too weak to prevent our becoming impatient for the accompliſhment of ſo bleſſed a hope. But, alas! we are not careful to live in ſuch a manner as may render it certain that heaven will be our portion after death: and therefore we cling to life with all its miſeries, through dread of exchanging it for the incomparably greater miſeries of eternity. But if we are obnoxious to theſe, the longeſt life would be a reprieve too inſignificant to deſerve a wiſh. Our only ſecurity is in immediate reformation. At preſent, the thought that you may live to reform, gives you ſome eaſe in the ſenſe of [119] your being unprepared for eternity: but the hour will come when you can live no longer; how dreadful will it be to know that you are unprepared then? It is not the utmoſt prolongation of life that can prevent it. If you delay your preparation now, you will ſtill delay it: the propenſity to procraſtination always grows with years. By immediate repentance, by ſtedfaſt holineſs, aſſure your hearts *, that you may be able to moderate your love of this life, by the hope of a better life. Then you will neither murmur at the vanity of life, nor doat upon it as if it were not vanity. Becauſe a due improvement of it qualifies you for heaven, you will, without fooliſhly overvaluing it, ſubmit cheerfully to whatever it contains. You will look forward to the day of death with patient expectation, yet alſo with longing deſire. Once confident, we ſhall be willing rather to be abſent from the body, and to be preſent with the Lord .

THUS, the nature of the preſent life, the ordinary attendants of long life, and the happineſs of the future life, form together a ſtrong argument for moderating our deſire of length of days; for they concur in forcing us [120] to feel that, conſider it in what light we will, it is not worthy of vehement deſire.

SECONDLY, The deſire of long life, when ſuffered to become immoderate, is pernicious, as well as unreaſonable: it is a ſource of pain,—it leads us to delay our preparation for eternity,—and it renders our preparation more difficult.

1. THE deſire of life, allowed to become immoderate, is a ſource of pain and diſquiet. Every exorbitant deſire creates uneaſineſs and anxiety; but the exorbitant deſire of life, is of all the moſt tormenting. Life is a complex object, including all the particular goods on which other deſires are fixt: the deſire of it agitates the ſoul with violence proportioned to its moment. The diſappointment of other deſires is but the loſs of ſome one thing: the diſappointment of this deſire is the loſs of our all in the preſent world. The loſs of one enjoyment is alleviated by the hope or the poſſeſſion of others: but the apprehenſion of loſing life, admits no alleviation; it is the apprehenſion of being deprived of all ſublunary enjoyments at once. All earthly things are precarious; the deſires of them muſt be embittered by frequent fears: but of all things life is the moſt precarious; every day alarms [121] us with examples of its uncertainty; if we indulge exceſſive fondneſs for it, we muſt, through fear of death, be all our life-time ſubject to bondage *. Other deſires may be gratified: the deſire of life is ſingular in this, that it cannot poſſibly be gratified; its object is the future, it is, to live ſtill longer; if we ſhould live a hundred years, at laſt it muſt be fruſtrated. Why ſhould we indulge a deſire fitted, ſo much beyond all others, for involving us in uneaſineſs, ſubjecting us to fears, and plunging us into inevitable diſappointment? If you have indulged it, yourſelves know what diſquiet it creates. A thought of the ſhortneſs and uncertainty of human life is haraſſing to you. The death of a contemporary plants a dagger in your heart. A ſituation of hazard confounds all the powers of your nature, and wrings you with anguiſh. The ſlighteſt ailment, your timidity magnifies into a threatening diſtemper: you feel the remoteſt beginnings of ſickneſs with trepidation, leſt it ſhould prove mortal. Rid yourſelves of theſe unavailing torments. Conquer your fond ſolicitude for life. Then ſhall you fully reliſh it, while it is continued, without abatement from the dread of diſſolution. Then ſhall you bear the ſenſe of its brevity, without diſturbing your ſerenity. [122] Knowing that you may die to-morrow, you ſhall nevertheleſs enjoy this day. Neither wiſhing for long life, nor reckoning on it, you ſhall be exempt from the poſſibility of diſappointment. You ſhall rejoice in every day as a new gift from God: and if your days are multiplied, you ſhall have the pleaſure of living beyond your wiſh or expectation.

2. THE immoderate deſire of life, not only eats out our preſent comfort, but occaſions the delay of that preparation for eternity, on which our future happineſs depends. That we may prepare ourſelves for eternity, it is neceſſary that we think of it. But attachment to life, renders the thought of leaving life a torment, and diſpoſes us to baniſh it as often as it is ſuggeſted. We flee to diſſipation or to buſineſs; we become continually more averſe to preparation for our great change. We eaſily believe what we ardently deſire; our fondneſs for long life begets the expectation of it. We promiſe ourſelves the greateſt length of days that man can reach. When we have approached to it, we ſeem to be perſuaded that we ſhall overleap the utmoſt limits of the time appointed to man upon earth *. [123] We flatter ourſelves that full ſpace remains for the neceſſary preparation: we therefore ſtill go on to neglect it for the preſent: death arreſts us before we have ſet about it, and conveys us into the manſions of woe. But by moderating our love of life, we ſhall be able to bear the thought of dying: many occaſions will ſuggeſt it, and we ſhall willingly embrace them. That thought, often preſent, will inſtigate us to make immediate preparation. We ſhall live always, ſo as to be always fit to die.

3. THE immoderate love of life renders our preparation for death more difficult. Attachment to life, and attachment to the good things of life, mutually ſupport and ſtrengthen one another. Ambition, avarice, ſenſuality, inflame the love of life; for without our living, they cannot be gratified. They are in their turn inflamed by it. The more anxious we are for life, the higher value we muſt ſet upon thoſe things which render it agreeable. But the mortification of fleſhly and worldly luſts is a great part of our preparation for death. How can that man be fit to leave this world for ever, who doats upon thoſe things which he muſt for ever leave along with it? Such luſts are not only vicious, but likewiſe the great ſources of all other [124] vices; they cheriſh the habit, they impel to the practice, they impede the relinquiſhment, of all that wickedneſs which renders us in every reſpect unprepared for the ſtate of retribution, incapable of the favour of God, unfit for the enjoyment of him, meet only for the day of vengeance. Like noxious weeds, they cumber the ſoul, choak the ſeeds of goodneſs, and prevent its growth: and they entangle us in purſuits inconſiſtent with that diligence in well-doing, which alone can form us to virtue, and qualify us for eternal happineſs. But if the man who fondly hugs the preſent life, be called to hazard it in holding faſt his integrity, how difficult muſt he find it to obey the call? Unable to reconcile himſelf to the thought of reſigning this life, he is in the extremeſt danger of forfeiting all the intereſts of the next, by a timid apoſtacy from virtue. It is madneſs, by foſtering an immoderate deſire, ſo much to increaſe the difficulty of what is in itſelf difficult enough, the attainment of purity and holineſs ſufficient to accompliſh us for the everlaſting preſence of the all-perfect God. Where the love of life is moderate, the love of the world can ſcarcely become extravagant: in proportion as that is conquered, earthly affections will of courſe decline; our temptations will become fewer and leſs powerful; our reformation, our improvement, [125] and our progreſs will be facilitated and accelerated.

THESE conſiderations I have ſuggeſted, in order to excite you to moderate the deſire of prolonging life. I have proved that long life is in many reſpects undeſireable. The vanity of life, the increaſe of vanity in its later periods, and the excellence of that ſtate from which the protraction of it detains us, at once evince that exceſſive fondneſs for it is unreaſonable, and impreſs ſentiments fit for checking and correcting it. They are arguments for our ſetting ourſelves to ſubdue it, and they are the direct means by which it may be ſubdued.—I have likewiſe proved that the exceſſive deſire of life produces the moſt pernicious conſequences. Theſe both excite and direct our efforts to ſubdue it: they not only urge us to reſtrain it, but at the ſame time indicate the exceſſes from which it needs to be reſtrained. It is not to be extirpated; but it muſt be rendered conſiſtent with compoſure and ſerenity in a full view of the ſhortneſs and precariouſneſs of this mortal ſtate; conſiſtent with our willingly dwelling on the conſideration of our latter end, and our applying ourſelves readily to make preparation for it; and conſiſtent with that diſengagedneſs from the things of time, that purity from [126] worldly luſts, and that conſtancy in holy practice, which are requiſite for our being capable of happineſs after death.—I plead not for a ſtupid indifference to life, a ſullen diſdain of it, or a peeviſh impatience for death; to theſe religion gives no countenance: I plead only for ſuch moderation in the love of it, as ſuits its real value, as fits the deſire of life for anſwering its end, as prevents the abuſe of this paſſion from defeating, or even reverſing, the benefits of which it was intended to be productive; and in ſtrongly inculcating this, reaſon and religion conſpire. But that we may be able to liſten to them, we muſt without delay fly for refuge to lay hold upon the hope ſet before us *; we muſt, by an effectual reformation, and by unwearied diligence and conſtant improvement in all goodneſs, make our calling and election ſure . Though an ardent paſſion for the preſent life can never be but unreaſonable and hurtful, yet it can never become reaſonable, and is ſcarcely poſſible, for the wicked man to avoid it. Deſtitute of all good hope beyond the grave, terrified with diſmal forebodings of wretchedneſs, he loves life far beyond his own opinion of its value, he clings to it even while he nauſeates it, he pants for it while he knows [127] not how to bear it. In this, as well as in every other reſpect, wickedneſs intangles men in palpable abſurdity, and enſnares them in acknowledged inconſiſtence. Speedily therefore abandon wickedneſs; for till you have abandoned it, all your ſentiments and conduct muſt be contradiction and perplexity; to think or to act rationally, properly, or wiſely, will not be in your power.

SERMON V. THE NATURE OF SOUND DOCTRINE.

[]
TITUS ii. 1. But ſpeak thou the things which become ſound doctrine.’

SOUND doctrine is an expreſſion ſo commonly uſed by Chriſtians, that few are apt to ſuſpect any ambiguity in its meaning. Every one of thoſe ſects into which the Chriſtian world is unhappily divided, applies the expreſſion to ſignify the whole of its own ſyſtem of doctrine, but eſpecially thoſe ſpeculative and diſputable tenets which diſtinguiſh it from other ſects, and even thoſe technical terms which it has coined or adopted on purpoſe to define them with preciſion. All ſects, with equal confidence, appropriate the epithet to their own peculiar ſyſtems: yet the diſtinguiſhing tenets of different ſects [130] are contradictory It is certain, therefore, that the epithet is miſapplied by ſome of them. Each affirms, that it is miſapplied by all except its own adherents: and as the theological ſyſtem of every ſect contains ſomething of human, and conſequently fallible, explication, impartiality can ſcarce avoid ſuſpecting that the epithet is, in ſome meaſure, miſapplied by all ſects. It will not therefore be ſuperfluous, profeſſedly to aſcertain and illuſtrate its genuine import.

WITH this view, I ſhall, FIRST, examine its preciſe meaning in Scripture;

SECONDLY, Explain the ſeveral particulars which ſhall, from that examination, appear to be implied in it; and,

THIRDLY, Conclude with ſome reflexions naturally ſuggeſted by the ſubject.

SOUND doctrine, ſound or wholeſome words, ſound ſpeech, ſound in the faith, are all expreſſions found in Scripture, and evidently intended to convey the ſame idea. The original words which expreſs the epithet in all theſe phraſes *, refer primarily to bodily health, [131] as oppoſed to diſeaſe: but they are, by claſſical writers, uſed with great latitude, for ſignifying metaphorically whatever is right or approveable. They are all words of the ſame etymology. One of them * primarily ſignifies healthful, but is alſo uſed by Greek authors, to ſignify healing, wholeſome, or conducive to health. Another of them ſignifies, moſt literally, healing, but is uſed likewiſe, in ſeveral places of the new Teſtament , to ſignify healthful. We may conclude, therefore, that they are deſigned to be ſynonymous when they are applied to doctrine, and to denote ſuch as is healthful, or ſuch as is healing, or ſuch as unites both theſe characters. What they preciſely denote, we ſhall be beſt able to determine, by comparing the paſſages in which they occur, and examining the ſcope and connexion of each. All theſe paſſages lie in Paul's epiſtles to Timothy and to Titus: and, from the ſlighteſt attention to them, it will, I think, be evident, that the Apoſtle calls doctrine ſound, in a ſenſe very remote from that in which the term is uſed by the diſcordant ſects of Chriſtians; that he conſtantly means it to expreſs both the ideas which it naturally ſignifies; that he intends the genuine doctrine of Chriſt, but with a particular [132] reference, both to its being healthful, pure, and unſophiſticated, and to its being wholeſome or healing, as having a practical tendency. So far is he from deſigning it to denote the peculiarities of any human ſyſtem, that, on the contrary, he is at pains to intimate, that he deſigns it to expreſs the plainneſs and ſimplicity of the doctrine of the goſpel, as delivered by Chriſt and his Apoſtles, in direct oppoſition to the precarious opinions, the ſubtile explications and definitions, the ingenious ſpeculations and refinements of uninſpired men: and ſo far is he from applying the term to any curious or intricate theory, that he no leſs clearly and conſtantly intimates that, by calling doctrine ſound, he means to expreſs its being fit to cure the diſeaſes, and promote the health, of the ſoul; and that, in oppoſition not only to tenets directly immoral, but particularly alſo to the inutility and pernicious tendency of all ſubtile queſtions and abſtract diſquiſitions. Theſe two ideas, by which the Apoſtle characterizes ſound doctrine, it will be neceſſary to trace out jointly; for, in every paſſage of his writings, they are jointly kept in view with the greateſt care.

OUR Apoſtle uſes the term ſound doctrine, in 1 Tim. i. 10. He immediately ſubjoins a definition of it: it is what is according [133] to the glorious goſpel of the bleſſed God, which, ſays he, was committed to my truſt *; it is what is plainly and expreſsly revealed by God in the goſpel. In the context, the idea of ſound doctrine is ſtill more preciſely defined, and fully illuſtrated, particularly by being contraſted with its oppoſites. To perceive this, we muſt look back to the beginning of the paragraph, ver. 3. The Apoſtle there reminds Timothy, that he had formerly deſired him to charge ſome that they teach no OTHER doctrine: OTHER, he can only mean, than the doctrine of the goſpel, which he had preached. And what was the other doctrine which they taught? The next words inform us, Neither give heed to fables, and endleſs genealogies : the fabulous traditions which the Jews had invented, and which, they pretended, led to the right underſtanding of the Scriptures; and the fanciful notions concerning certain ſucceſſive derivations of ſpiritual beings, commonly called Aeons, from the Supreme Being, or from one another, which the Apoſtle juſtly pronounces endleſs or interminable; becauſe, being founded ſolely in imagination, they might be, and actually were, varied and multiplied according to every man's caprice. The Chriſtian converts from Judaiſm, retaining their fondneſs [134] for both theſe, endeavoured to intermix them with, or ſuperadd them to, the goſpel, under pretence of explaining ſome of its doctrines with the greater preciſion and fullneſs—Theſe ſpeculations, which were the human definitions and refinements, at that time heterogeneouſly interwoven with the goſpel, he cenſures not only as being another doctrine, totally foreign to the goſpel; but alſo, very explicitly, on account of their having no moral tendency, but neceſſarily drawing men off from practice; for he ſubjoins, which miniſter queſtions intricate, perplexing, unprofitable diſputes, rather than godly edifying. That it might appear how contradictory they are, in this reſpect, to the goſpel, he aſſerts that its end, its ſole purpoſe, its direct and ultimate ſcope, is love out of a pure heart, and of a good conſcience, and of faith unfeigned *: and ſo anxious is he to exclude the ſubtilizing upon its ſimple principles, that he repreſents every ſuch attempt as a deviation from its whole ſtructure and deſign; from which, ſays he, ſome, the teachers already cenſured, having ſwerved, have turned aſide unto vain jangling . He proceeds to expoſe the ignorance and ſelfconceit which led them into this deviation: and, as they vented their fantaſtical ſubtleties [135] as belonging to the law, and under pretence of teaching it perfectly, he takes occaſion to explain what was the real deſign of the law; not to ſerve as a foundation for ſuch ſpeculative viſions, but to condemn every kind of immorality: many kinds of it he enumerates; and it is incloſing the enumeration that he ſays, And if there be any other thing that is CONTRARY to ſound doctrine *. Thus directing us to refer the phraſe to the whole paragraph, and to explain it by the whole tenour of his diſcourſe; as marking the doctrine of the goſpel as ſimple, and as practical, fully taught by Chriſt and his Apoſtles, and applied to the ſole purpoſe of promoting holineſs; uncombined with any refinements of human ingenuity, which always are another doctrine, and never fail to counteract its tendency to produce, not purity and charity, but indeterminable controverſies, and unhallowed, uncharitable contentions and diviſions.——The idea of Chriſtian doctrine which he had here given, he is ſolicitous to keep in view throughout the epiſtle, and frequently recurs to it. In particular, when he predicts a great corruption of the Chriſtian church, and deſcribes it as a departure from the faith , he plainly intimates, that the departure conſiſted in a deviation from [136] that ſimplicity and moral tendency which belong to the true faith; for, in exhorting Timothy to oppoſe it by good doctrine *, he gives him this direction, Refuſe profane and old wives fables, and exerciſe thyſelf unto godlineſs .

BUT, chap. vi. 3. he ſpeaks again of wholeſome or ſound words; for, in the original, the epithet is the ſame which he had formerly applied to doctrine. What theſe were, he immediately explains, Even the words of our Lord Jeſus Chriſt, the goſpel in the ſimplicity in which it was at firſt delivered; and the doctrine which is according to godlineſs: thus ſtudiouſly unfolding and forcing into view both the ideas which we have affirmed to be implied in the epithet. If farther evidence of this be neceſſary, the whole context will abundantly ſupply it. He inſinuates, that ſome conſent not to the wholeſome words, but teach otherwiſe. Otherwiſe than what? Certainly one of two things. Either, firſt, otherwiſe than he had taught, and commanded Timothy to teach and exhort, immediately before; and then he muſt mean, that they teach otherwiſe than they ought, and not according to the wholeſome words of Chriſt, who are not careful to inculcate the ſeveral moral duties of life; for he [137] had immediately before been wholly occupied in giving plain practical directions concerning the particular duties incumbent on Timothy himſelf, on widows, and on ſervants. Or, ſecondly, otherwiſe than was required by the general deſcriptions which the Apoſtle had formerly given of Chriſtian doctrine: and that theſe had been anxiouſly contrived to mark eſpecially both its practical tendency and its ſimplicity in oppoſition to all human ſpeculations and opinions, is evident from the paſſage which we have already explained, and might be confirmed by other paſſages. The apoſtle's idea of ſound words is farther aſcertained by the character which he gives of the man who deviates from them *: He is proud, knowing nothing, but doating, ailing, diſeaſed, about queſtions and ſtrifes of words. It is a falſe conceit of his own acuteneſs and ingenuity which impels him to ſubtilize on the plain doctrines of the goſpel; and his doing ſo betrays his total ignorance of their genuine nature, and is truly a diſtempered appetite for enquiries, diſcuſſions, and definitions, which, profound or important as he imagines them, are in fact trifling or unintelligible logomachies, at the beſt controverſies not about truth itſelf, but about particular modes of expreſſing it, [136] [...] [137] [...] [138] none of them neceſſary, and perhaps all of them in ſome reſpect improper. He ſtigmatizes theſe as not only thus foreign to the ſimplicity of the goſpel, but alſo contradictory to its moral tendency; as ſpeculations whereof, inſtead of godlineſs, cometh envy, ſtrife, railings, evil ſurmiſings, perverſe diſputings of men of corrupt minds, and deſtitute of the truth. In this paſſage, therefore, as well as in the former, it is the original, ſimple doctrine of the goſpel, ſtudiouſly oppoſed to all abſtract, curious definitions and queſtions miſnamed theological, that the Apoſtle calls ſound or wholeſome, and he ſo calls it with a direct and particular view to mark its natural influence on all the virtues of a good life. It will not perhaps be a blameable minuteneſs to remark farther, that in this paſſage it is the WORDS of Chriſt, not his DOCTRINE as in the former paſſage, that the Apoſtle calls ſound; on purpoſe, it would ſeem, to intimate, that the words of Scripture are the moſt proper for expreſſing the doctrine of Scripture; that the ſubſtitution of other terms, as more explicit and preciſe, and fitter for diſtinguiſhing the truth from error, is really a deviation from the ſimplicity of the goſpel, and a certain means of introducing human refinements, and raiſing vain and ſubtile queſtions heterogeneous to its nature and deſign. At any rate, the Apoſtle's anxiety to condemn [139] theſe is plain and undeniable; for returning to this ſubject, he concludes the epiſtle with an earneſt exhortation to beware of them: O Timothy, keep that which is committed to thy truſt, avoiding profane and vain babblings, and oppoſitions of ſcience falſely ſo called; which ſome profeſſing, have erred concerning the faith *.

NOTWITHSTANDING all the pains which the Apoſtle had thus taken to deſcribe and recommend ſound doctrine, the falſe teachers perſiſted in their attachment to fanciful and unprofitable fables and queſtions, and diſſeminated them in the Epheſian, and other Aſiatic churches, with ſo great ſucceſs, that he found it neceſſary to reſume the ſubject in his ſecond epiſtle to Timothy, and to give almoſt the whole epiſtle a reference to it. He commands Timothy , to hold faſt, to adhere to the form, the model and exemplar of ſound words. It is the ſame phraſe which he had uſed in the paſſage laſt explained, and he uſes it in the very ſame ſenſe. That he means the ſimple doctrine of the goſpel as originally delivered, he is careful to intimate, by immediately ſubjoining this teſt and criterion, which thou haſt heard of me: not the words or the opinions of any uninſpired man, but the words and the [140] doctrine of the inſpired Apoſtle. He is very ſolicitous to inculcate this; for he ſoon after exhorts him, The things which thou haſt heard of me, the ſame commit thou to faithful men, who ſhall be able to teach others alſo *; he tells him, Thou haſt fully known MY DOCTRINE ; he enjoins him, Continue thou in the things which thou haſt learned, and haſt been aſſured of, knowing OF WHOM thou haſt learned them ; and he refers him to the Scripture given by inſpiration of God, as the only ſource from which the pure principles of religion can be derived, and declares it to be profitable for doctrine, and able to make wiſe unto ſalvation, through faith which is in Chriſt Jeſus §.—That it was his purpoſe, ſtudiouſly to diſtinguiſh this pure, ſimple doctrine of the goſpel from, and to contraſt it with, the curious ſpeculations which affected ingenuity might build upon it, the abſtract definitions and diſtinctions by which men might attempt explaining it with preciſion, the nice and puzzling queſtions concerning it which they might agitate, and likewiſe all the unſcriptural, technical, and philoſophical terms which they might invent or adopt under colour of expreſſing the exact truth, and effectually excluding the contrary error, is clear [141] from the whole ſeries of his diſcourſe. When he deſires Timothy to put them in remembrance of the things which he had ſaid, he adds, charging them before the Lord, that they ſtrive not about words *, about contending modes of expreſſion. When he directs him rightly to divide the word of truth, he immediately ſubjoins, but ſhun, as abſolutely inconſiſtent with this, profane and vain, empty babblings : he could not have uſed an expreſſion more ſignificant at once of abhorrence and contempt. Intent on ſtigmatizing them, he again reprobates them in terms of deteſtation, But fooliſh and unlearned queſtions avoid : unlearned in truth they always are, however much they may aſſume the guiſe of learning or of penetration.—It is no leſs evident that the Apoſtle, in this place calls words ſound, with an expreſs deſign to mark their wholeſome or practical tendency: he even labours to force this into view, and to keep it in view. He declares that this is an eſſential part of his idea of the form of ſound words; he carefully includes it in his very deſcription of them; he ſays, they are the words which are in faith and LOVE which is in Chriſt Jeſus §. Whenever he mentions the refinements and ſubtleties which he ſo anxiouſly [142] excludes from ſound doctrine, he never fails carefully to ſpecify their having no moral, or their having an immoral tendency. They are not only to no profit, but to great hurt, to the ſubverting of the hearers *. They are ſo far from producing love, that they gender ſtrifes . They not only do not promote godlineſs; but, in proportion as they are indulged, they will increaſe unto more ungodlineſs, and will eat as doth a canker . In the progreſs of his diſcourſe, he again predicts that apoſtaſy which he had foretold in his firſt epiſtle, and deſcribed as a departure from the faith; and here he deſcribes it as a contradiction to the practical tendency of ſound doctrine; he marks it by the corruption of morals conſequent on that apoſtaſy, and after enumerating ſeveral vices which were to abound in theſe perilous times §, he ſums up the character of them, in this, Having a form of godlineſs, but denying the power thereof . Farther, when he recommends the Scripture as the only untainted ſource of Chriſtian doctrine, he takes particular care to remark, that it is profitable for reproof, for correction, for inſtruction in righteouſneſs, that the man of God may be perfect, thoroughly furniſhed unto all good works .

[143]IMMEDIATELY after this, he gives Timothy a very ſolemn charge to indefatigable diligence in preaching and applying the word *; in enforcing which he employs the phraſe ſound doctrine; For the time will come, when they will not endure ſound doctrine , and he employs it in the very ſame ſenſe as formerly. He characterizes it by its ſimplicity, in oppoſition to all human refinements and determinations: it is the word : it is the truth, unmixt with any fables §, with any of the precarious of falſe opinions, the doubtful ſpeculations, the diſputable niceties, which, he foreſaw, would ariſe in the Chriſtian church, and uſurp the name of ſound doctrine. He characterizes it by its moral tendency: it is fit to be applied to reprove and rebuke ſin, and exhort ‡ to holineſs, purpoſes to which practical doctrine alone is applicable. He characterizes it by both theſe qualities, in his deſcription of the perſons who will not endure it §: their averſion to it is owing to their own luſts, to a vitiated taſte loathing the plain truths of the goſpel, peculiar prejudices producing delight in empty ſubtleties, or corrupt paſſions diſguſting them againſt the holy doctrine of the goſpel, and attaching them to frigid, abſtract notions which touch [144] not the heart, and to looſe opinions which give countenance or licence to their favourite vices. Prompted by ſuch luſts, they heap to themſelves teachers, ſuch as gratify their illdirected curioſity or their prejudices, by dwelling on the diſtinctive ſubtleties of ſome human ſyſtem; ſuch as by amuſing them with theſe, divert their attention from good practices; ſuch as propagate principles conſiſtent with an immoral life; having itching ears; taking pleaſure in hearing only what tickles them, by falling in with their diſtempered notions or their corrupt inclinations.

IN writing to Titus, as well as to Timothy, the apoſtle ſeveral times applies the epithet ſound to doctrine, to ſpeech, or to faith; and he applies it invariably in the ſame ſenſe. Among the neceſſary qualifications, and the indiſpenſible duties of a Chriſtian biſhop, he ſpecifies this, Holding faſt the faithful word, as he hath been taught, that he may be able, by SOUND DOCTRINE, both to exhort and convince the gainſayers *. This ſound doctrine is the ſimple doctrine of revelation, as propoſed in revelation unadulterated with any thing of human invention: he expreſsly ſays ſo; it is [145] the faithful, the ſure, the indubitable word, as he hath been taught. It is doctrine of a practical nature; for by it he might be able to exhort. That he was deſirous of expreſſing both theſe characteriſtics of it, and that particularly in oppoſition to all unſcriptural and unprofitable ſpeculations, is evident from his deſcription * of the gainſayers whom Chriſtian teachers were to convince BY this ſound doctrine; that is, by ſhewing that their refinements had no foundation in it, not by ſetting up other human explications in oppoſition to theirs. They were vain talkers, venting frivolous notions under the ſpecious, boaſting ſhew of wiſdom and philoſophy, of depth or of preciſion; and by this means deceivers, teaching things which they ought not: Their opinions were immoral; they were unruly; they ſubverted whole houſes; they flattered the corrupt propenſities of the Cretans, who had been juſtly characterized always liars, evil beaſts, ſlow bellies. On account of both theſe depravities of their doctrine, the Apoſtle commands Titus to rebuke them ſharply, to expoſe the futility and immorality of their notions, that, ſays he, they may be ſound in the faith , that they may return to the ſimple and practical [146] doctrine of the goſpel, which is the ſole object of faith. To keep in view, by what means they had departed from this, he adds, Not giving heed to Jewiſh fables; what theſe were, we have already ſeen; and commandments of men, definitions, determinations, and impoſitions of human invention, by which they turn from the truth *, or pervert it: and by perverting it, by deviating from its ſimplicity, they deviate likewiſe from that holineſs which is its end; they profeſs that they know God, often that they know him more perfectly, and underſtand his will more accurately, than others but in works they deny him, being abominable, and diſobedient, and unto every good work reprobate . It is in direct oppoſition to theſe falſe teachers, that the Apoſtle immediately ſubjoins in the text, But ſpeak thou the things which become ſound doctrine: and what he here principally meant by it, he profeſſedly and largely explains in the following verſes, That the aged men be ſober, and ſo 0n : it is the inculcating of the plain moral duties of life in every condition. When, among the duties of aged men he mentions, ſound in faith §, and among thoſe of Titus, ſound ſpeech , there can be no doubt that he uſes the expreſſion [147] in his ordinary and invariable meaning; and in the latter caſe he explains it by gravity, weight, or importance, and by uncorruptneſs *, freedom from all taint of a foreign mixture; and he ſays, that it cannot be condemned; being the ſimple doctrine of the goſpel, not one human explication oppoſed to another, it cannot be retorted by the adverſary, ſo that he that is of the contrary part, muſt be aſhamed , confounded and ſilnced. There cannot be a clearer or a ſtronger proof, how eſſential a moral tendency is in the apoſtle's idea of ſound doctrine, or how great a part of ſound doctrine he reckons morality to be, than this his profeſſed explication of that idea. It is remarkable, that for nine verſes after his exhortation to teach ſound doctrine, he does not ſo much as mention even any of the genuine and ſimple articles of Chriſtian faith; and when at length he comes to mention ſome of them, it is not curiouſly to explain or define them, but ſolely to repreſent them as powerful principles of good practice. When he mentions the grace of God, its having appeared to men, its bringing ſalvation, he conſiders it ſimply as teaching us, that denying ungodlineſs and worldly luſts, we ſhould live ſoberly, rightcouſly, and godly in this preſent world . When he mentions [148] the bleſſed hope, and the appearing of Chriſt to judgment, it is only as the looking for theſe will ſtrongly encourage and urge us to thoſe great duties of life *. When he mentions Chriſt's giving himſelf to death for us, it is only to inculcate its practical end and influence, that he might redeem us from all iniquity, and purify unto himſelf a peculiar people zealous of good works . In commanding, therefore, to ſpeak the things which become ſound doctrine, the Apoſtle moſt manifeſtly and explicitly means to command, to inculcate both holineſs in general, and all the particular duties of morality, and to be ſolicitous not to ſubtilize upon the doctrines of the goſpel, or to define them with exact preciſion, but, neglecting all human definitions of them, to urge them warmly as motives to the ſeveral virtues of the Chriſtian life. So anxious is he that Titus and all his ſucceſſors ſhould teach according to this model, that he adds this charge, Theſe things ſpeak, and exhort, and rebuke, with all autbority . He is ſo full of the ſubject, that he returns to it, and after recommending ſome other moral duties §, and enforcing them by a ſimple view of the peculiar doctrines of the goſpel , enjoins Titus, to affirm conſtantly, that they [149] which have believed in God, ſhould be careful to maintain good works, but to avoid fooliſh queſtions, and genealogies, and contentions and ſtrivings about the law; for they are unprofitable and vain *. The man who addicts himſelf to theſe and propagates them, it is that he calls a heretic , as by reſtricting and refining upon the ſimple truths of the goſpel, he gives occaſion to diviſions and parties in the church.

THUS, by an impartial examination of all the texts in which it is mentioned, we have aſcertained the true ſcriptural ſenſe of ſound doctrine. The Apoſtle uſes the term ſo often, and whenever he uſes it, unfolds and guards its meaning ſo carefully, that he has enabled us to aſcertain it with the fulleſt and the moſt convincing evidence. The evidence is indeed ſo ſtrong, that when we attend to it, ſo large an inveſtigation may ſeem to be unneceſſary; but men are ſo enured to an oppoſite conception of the ſubject, that the largeſt inveſtigation will, I am afraid, be inſufficient for ſtriking conviction into the rigid adherents to ſects and parties, and will be far from rendering it ſuperfluous; as we propoſed, in the SECOND place, to illuſtrate the ſeveral particulars which we have found to be implied in it.

[150]1. IN general, ſound doctrine is the pure genuine doctrine of the goſpel, the very doctrine taught by Chriſt and his Apoſtles: entire, without the omiſſion of any part of it: unperverted, without being ſtrained or wreſted: ſincere, unmixt with any thing elſe, either in the matter or in the manner of expreſſion: propoſed chiefly in the ſound words in which Chriſt and his Apoſtles delivered it. Certainly it can require but little modeſty to own that theſe are the fitteſt: the words of Chriſt are the words of God, they were dictated by his divine nature; the ſpirit of God ſuperintended the Apoſtles and Prophets, ſo as to reſtrain them from uſing any words which were not ſignificant of the very truth; and, notwithſtanding conſiderable varieties in their ſtile, the language of them all has a certain common character and general complexion; in reſpect of which we may affirm, that there is one uniform tenour of ſcriptural phraſeology. This general deſcription of ſound doctrine will be, in the main, admitted by all ſects: for though their peculiar ſyſtems be, in ſome parts, diametrically oppoſite, each ſect reckons its own ſyſtem the pure doctrine of the goſpel: and though they all employ ſome technical terms not found in Scripture, each reckons its own ſet of theſe perfectly equivalent to the terms of Scripture, but more definite, [151] fit for expreſſing their real ſenſe ſo determinately as to guard them againſt miſconception or miſinterpretation.

2. IT therefore deſerves our moſt ſerious attention, That ſound doctrine means the pure doctrine of the goſpel, particularly as diſtinguiſhed from all human definitions, limitations, refinements, and ſuperadditions. We have all along ſeen how explicitly and how anxiouſly the Apoſtle ſets it in oppoſition to all theſe. His expreſſions are levelled directly againſt the corruptions of doctrine which prevailed at that time: but they are ſo choſen as to be likewiſe in ſtrict propriety applicable to all poſterior corruptions of it; he foreſaw theſe, and foretold them, and has an eye to them, at leaſt in ſome of the paſſages which we have examined. Indeed all the curious or forced explications of Chriſtian doctrine, all the groundleſs or precarious deductions from it, all the ſubtile controverſies about it, which have infeſted the church, demonſtrate themſelves to be ſuch adulterations as he condemns; they are marked by the very features which he has delineated; they have produced the very effects which he has deſcribed.

THEY had already begun, and they quickly ſpread wider and wider. Forgetful [152] that the goſpel was not given to exerciſe ingenuity, or gratify curioſity; and deſirous of recommending it to unbelievers, particularly the philoſophers; partly too, it muſt be owned, ſwayed by their own preconceived notions, and expecting to diſplay the accuracy of their own apprehenſion, ſome Chriſtians began very early to conceive the articles of their faith, according to the theories of the Greek philoſophy, chiefly the Platonic; to define them with ſcientifical preciſion, and in the phraſeology of the ſchools; and to adopt ſimilitudes for illuſtrating them, and hypotheſes for accounting for them, not only arbitrary, but generally improper. They were accuſed of error. Their accuſers were not wiſe enough to ſatisfy themſelves with proving, that the Scripture did not imply or admit the ſenſe to which they determined it; but, infected with the ſpirit of the ſame philoſophy, run into oppoſite definitions, compariſons, hypotheſes, and terms of ſcience, often equally improper, and equally involving error. Theſe were juſtly retorted upon them by their adverſaries. Controverſies were agitated concerning theſe contradictory definitions: multitudes ranged themſelves on each ſide; they broke out into contention, animoſities, unjuſt ſuſpicions, and inſinuations, mutual reproaches and invectives. Falſehood was [153] eagerly ſought for, and for the moſt part eaſily found, in the abſtract, ſubtile definitions of each party. In the progreſs of diſputation new terms, new diſtinctions, new compariſons were invented on each ſide, for marking with preciſion the peculiarity of its own opinion; and new hypotheſes were contrived for reconciling it to Scripture or to itſelf, and for evading the objections urged againſt it. Every ſuch attempt produced new queſtions; and every new queſtion became more frivolous, more notional, more abſtruſe than the former. In diſcuſſing it, new refinements of diſtinction, and new intricacies of argumentation, were introduced. Every diſputant added ſomething according to his own manner of apprehenſion.

THE church was diſtracted, bewildered, and inflamed. Councils were aſſembled to determine the points in queſtion, and to extinguiſh the heats which they had raiſed. But inſtead of holding faſt the form of ſound words, inſtead of recalling all parties to the ſimple doctrine of the goſpel, and rejecting the unſcriptural, precarious explications by which both ſides went beyond it; they entered into all the minutiae of the controverſy, they debated them with prejudice and paſſion, they indulged cavil and chicane, they broke forth [154] into clamour and outrage, into mutual accuſations and threatenings, and ſometimes they proceeded to tumult and violence. The ſtronger party overpowered the weaker by their ſuperior vehemence, by the terror of their menaces, by mere force, or by a plurality, it may be, a very ſmall plurality, of voices. They approved all the ſubtleties, refinements, and inventions of one party; adopted whatever hard words and technical terms they thought fitteſt for diſcriminating them from thoſe of the other party; and by a decree of uſurped, but formidable authority, they determined all theſe to be articles of faith, and their choſen terms of art to be the teſt of the truth. All who refuſed ſubmiſſion to their impoſitions, they condemned as adherents to the contrary party, and ſtigmatized as heretics; and they reviled, anathematized, excommunicated, and, whenever they could get the civil power to enter into their reſentments, perſecuted, baniſhed, or put them to death. Other councils were aſſembled, and often gave oppoſite deciſions, eſtabliſhed the contrary tenets, and fenced them by contrary terms of art; but ſtill decided in the ſame ſpirit of party contention, and violence. None of their decrees ever ended a ſingle controverſy. On the contrary, they perpetuated the controverſies then ſubſiſting, increaſed the bitterneſs [155] of contention, and diffuſed it wider. They never failed likewiſe to produce new controverſies. The perſons who opp [...]d them, contrived new terms, diſtinctions, and cavils, in contradiction to the ſubtleties imp [...]d in their decrees: they differed about th [...], and ſplit into leſſer parties. Thoſe who adhered to the decrees, diſagreed about their meaning, broke out into fierce contention, charged each other with error or with blaſphemy, and diſdained communion with one another. By the rage of controverſy, and the ſpirit of faction in all, the Chriſtian church was divided, and ſubdivided, and again and again ſubdivided into fects innumerable, hating and execrating one another; but diſtinguiſhed only by verbal differences, or by notions of none of which the Scripture affirms any thing, or of which the human faculties can form no clear conception, and of which any conception or thought at all is both unneceſſary and unprofitable.

DIFFERENT ſyſtems of philoſophy were ſucceſ [...]vely in vogue. With each of theſe in its turn, the doctrine of the goſpel was unnaturally incorporated. By this means it aſſumed a variety of forms, but all of them ve [...]y unlike to its original ſimplicity. When the philoſophy of Ariſtotle obtained unrivalled [156] poſſeſſion of the ſchools (a philoſophy from the beginning ſubtile, diſputatious, and contentious, and rendered more ſo by the perverſion of the ſcholaſtics), the Chriſtian doctrine, by being adapted to it, ranged according to its forced mode of diſtribution, conceived according to its rules of definition and diſtinction expreſſed in its hard words, and reaſoned about in the artificial manner of its analytics, was totally diſtorted from its genuine form. A falſe ingenuity was laboriouſly employed in deviſing queſtions concerning every article of Chriſtian doctrine, in puſhing them to the utmoſt length of ſubtlety, and wrangling about them with all the nicety of affected preciſion. Queſtions ſprung from queſtions in an endleſs ſeries; all of them unneceſſary, moſt of them of no importance, many of them mere plays of words, many of them ridiculous, many of them interminable, and even unintelligible, nay ſome of them impious and blaſphemous. They were almoſt all dogmatically determined: the determinations of many of them were erected into articles of faith; and the technical words employed in the determinations, were the only allowed criterion of men's holding theſe articles. [157] BY ſuch oppoſitions and contentions of ſcience, falſely ſo called, continued and increaſing through many ages of intellectual darkneſs, the doctrine of the papal church became a huge body of tenets, unſcripturally conceived and expreſſed, and many of them, not only deſtitute of all foundation in the goſpel, but directly repugnant to it. The Reformers, raiſed up in a bleſſed hour for that very purpoſe, unveiled this maſs of corruption, expoſed the perverſions of the goſpel which compoſed it, and the fables which it had ſuperadded to the goſpel. They pronounced the Scripture to be the only rule of faith, and diſclaimed all human definitions of its ſimple principles. Happy had it been if they had perſiſted ſteddily in this. But their adverſaries demanded, what it was preciſely that they believed; they declared an appeal to Scripture inſufficient for fixing this, becauſe the authority of its words was pled by all ſides; they cried out that the doctrine of Proteſtants was altogether indefinite and uncertain; they miſrepreſented it groſsly; they called upon them to publiſh it in determinate language. Overcome by theſe importunities, clamours, and accuſations, and not perfectly cured of the ſubtilizing ſpirit from which they ſprung, Proteſtants were led unwarily, though at firſt reluctantly, to accept the challenge. The earlieſt explications of [158] their doctrine were tolerably ſimple; the ſcholaſtic mode of arrangement, argument, and expreſſion, was in general rather avoided than affected: but the ſpirit of abſtraction gradually acquired ſtrength and violence; the explications of doctrine given by ſome diſpleaſed others; oppoſite explications were propoſed; queſtions about them were agitated; they were puſhed to greater and greater degrees of ſubtlety; all the hardeſt words of the ſchools were borrowed for expreſſing the differences of opinion; and all the moſt frivolous or unintelligible diſtinctions of the ſchools were employed in debating them. Proteſtants were crumbled down into numberleſs ſects, diſtinguiſhed by peculiarities of belief upon points unneceſſary or impoſſible to be determined. Creeds were oppoſed to creeds; ſyſtems were multiplied againſt ſyſtems; ſome on all ſides, not ſo much ſyſtems of Chriſtian theology, as metaphyſical ſyſtems of verbal, ſpeculative, abſtruſe, unimportant controverſies, for which a handle was taken from that theology. Each party was tenacious of its own mode of conceiving, and even of expreſſing the truth; and by this means they have all continued divided and at variance.

SUCH is the general portrait of the departure of the Chriſtians from the SIMPLICITY of ſound doctrine: every part of it might eaſily be confirmed [159] by numberleſs facts in the hiſtory of the church. Not content with thus departing from it, they have ſubſtituted the very deviation in its place, and given it its name. Every party appropriates the name of ſound doctrine to thoſe peculiar explications, ſpeculations, and definitions which characterize itſelf, and diſcriminate it, and ſet it at the greateſt diſtance from all other parties: but theſe the Apoſtle expreſsly, and in terms of abhorrence, excludes from the idea of ſound doctrine, and urges Chriſtians to avoid as repugnant to it. What the ſeveral ſects have extolled as the ſoundeſt doctrine is, therefore, in the Apoſtle's ſenſe, moſt unſound. According to his ſenſe of it, the only ſenſe which merits the regard of Chriſtians, the bigot of every denomination, the tenacious partizan of any ſect, neceſſarily deviates in ſome degree, and generally deviates the fartheſt.

3. SOUND doctrine means practical doctrine. The Apoſtle ſtudiouſly and conſtantly connects this idea with the former; and they are in their nature intimately connected. All abſtract definitions of doctrine, all abſtruſe queſtions about it, are in their very eſſence wholly ſpeculative; they are at beſt fit only for informing the underſtanding, too often only for perplexing it: their natural effects are thorny diſputes, contentions, [160] diviſions, not the active exertions of Chriſtian virtue and holineſs: Do men gather grapes of thorns, or figs of thiſtles *? The utmoſt they can claim is, that they may be harmleſsly amuſing: they never can be profitable, If it were poſſible to determine them with the greateſt clearneſs and certainty, yet they could not influence practice. Abſtract ideas are too frigid to warm the heart; too weak to draw out good affections; too dim to be kept in view in the moment of action. They are always in danger of becoming hurtful: the diſcuſſion of them excites paſſions deſtructive of mutual love; attachment to them diverts men's attention from applying faith to practice; it leads them to lay too little ſtreſs on practice, and too much upon opinion. Many queſtions have even iſſued in deciſions, on one ſide at leaſt, ſometimes on both ſides, directly favourable to immorality. Some of the real doctrines of the holy goſpel have been ſo groſsly miſrepreſented in ſome pretended explications of them, as to be twiſted into unholy principles of impurity and vice: and to the real doctrines of the goſpel, ſpurious doctrines have been ſuperadded in ſome ſyſtems profeſſing to be Chriſtian, which by their neceſſary conſequences make void all moral obligation; and [161] this ſo plainly, that their partizans find it neceſſary to diſclaim conſequences which they cannot refute, and to throw in cautions, caveats, and diſtinctions, for rendering them, not conducive to, but barely conſiſtent with, good practice, and which will always be forgotten or diſregarded in the hour of temptation. Yet, by the moſt aſtoniſhing and the profaneſt abuſe of words, tenets and explications, in their tendency immoral, are, by thoſe who hold them, pronounced the moſt eſſential to ſound doctrine, the moſt evangelical, the moſt honourable to the grace of the goſpel: But ſo far are they from being ſound, that they are in the very worſt ſenſe CONTRARY to ſound doctrine; ſo far from being wholeſome, that however fairly they be gilded over, however ſpeciouſly they be diſguiſed, they are poiſon.

No opinion can be a Chriſtian doctrine, whoſe direct and primary tendency is not to holineſs. God gave a Revelation of the truth for this very purpoſe, by it to purify and improve the hearts, and to direct and influence the practice of men. Every part of it is immediately and powerfully conducive to this purpoſe: all the precepts of the goſpel, and all its principles conſpire in promoting it. The former preſcribe the pureſt and the ſublimeſt virtue: The latter are even more directly ſubſervient [162] to it, they excite to that virtue. They delineate thoſe qualities, characters, and relations of perſons and objects, which are fit for producing right affections, and prompting to right practice towards them: but of thoſe which, though they were known, could contribute nothing to this effect, the Scripture takes no notice. For temper and action, it is not an apprehenſion of an object ſcientifically accurate that is neceſſary, but a conception lively, ſtriking, and intereſting: and ſuch a conception the Scripture is careful to give of all the objects belonging to religion. It ſets them only in thoſe points of view in which they can enforce piety and goodneſs; it is intent on ſetting them in every attitude in which they can moſt ſtrongly enforce theſe; and it conſtantly and earneſtly applies them to this end.

THIRDLY, We ſhall now conclude with ſome reflexions naturally ariſing from this ſubject.

1. IT appears that the Chriſtian church is more cloſely united, in one common faith, in reality than in appearance. In human ſyſtems, it is neceſſary to diſtinguiſh the principles of doctrine which they imply from the particular manner in which they explain them. In the latter they differ widely; and it, being derived [163] from fallible men, may very readily be improper or erroneous. In the former they very generally agree; and the former only is either of indubitable certainty or of real importance.

2. LET each of us, for himſelf, ſtudy to adhere to, and be ſatisfied with the pure, ſimple, practical doctrine of Chriſt; deſpiſing and avoiding all unprofitable queſtions and ſpeculative niceties, as abſolutely foreign to it. It is by no means neceſſary for us to be wiſe above what is written: it is improper to attempt it. It is not needful to have any more preciſe, abſtract, or ſcientifical conception of the doctrines of religion, of the myſteries of the Chriſtian faith, than the Scripture gives. If we find that conception inadequate, we may be aſſured that it is not requiſite, perhaps not poſſible, to render it, in our preſent ſtate of weakneſs, more adequate. Whatever words of human invention pretend to mark it with greater preciſion and force than the words of Scripture, there is always reaſon to ſuſpect, will either diſtort, or add ſomething to, the original doctrine of Scripture.

3. LET us carefully attend to the great end of all Chriſtian doctrine, namely, holineſs of heart and life, our purification from vice, and our improvement in virtue. Let us conſtantly repreſent [164] it to ourſelves as expreſsly deſigned and calculated for this purpoſe. Every opinion of immoral tendency let us abhor as perfectly incompatible with it, and deſtructive of its very end. Let us learn all the duties of life; let us urge on ourſelves all the truths of the goſpel as motives to them; let us conſider them in thoſe points of view, which can render them the ſtrongeſt motives. Let us not reſt in believing the doctrines of religion; let us ſtudy them with the ſole deſign of becoming better; let us be concerned to comply with them, and to act agreeably to them; let our converſation be as becometh the goſpel of Chriſt *

GOD grant that we may ſtand perfect and complete in all the will of God : and this is the will of God, even our ſanctification .

SERMON VI. RESIGNATION TO THE WILL OF GOD.

[]
1 SAM. iii. 18. It is the Lord: let him do what ſeemeth him good.’

OF the pious affections there are ſome, which, though always due to God, can be perfectly exerciſed only in the heavenly ſtate: we muſt be pure as God is pure, and ſee him face to face, before we can riſe to that perfect love which caſteth out fear, or to fulneſs of rejoicing in the enjoyment of him as our portion. There are others to which our preſent ſtate gives the fulleſt ſcope and the propereſt exerciſe: ſuch is reſignation to the divine Providence, enabling a man ſincerely to think and ſay, amidſt the moſt diſaſtrous occurrences of human life, It is the Lord: let him do what ſeemeth him good.

[166]THESE words were ſpoken by Eli, on an occaſion very likely to overcome human fortitude. His ſons had been guilty of groſs miſconduct in executing the prieſtly office; he had not reſtrained them with ſufficient authority: a man of God had, on this account, denounced the deſtruction of his family *: God had repeated and confirmed the denunciation in a viſion to Samuel; I will perform againſt Eli, all the things which I have ſpoken concerning his houſe : Samuel had related to him, all that the Lord had ſaid: and at that inſtant the power of reſignation enabled the too indulgent father to ſay, It is the Lord: let him do what ſeemeth him good. In order to explain the temper which is here ſo ſtrikingly expreſſed, I ſhall,

FIRST, Point out the conception of God, from which reſignation takes its riſe in creatures formed and ſituate as we are in the preſent world: and,

SECONDLY, Illuſtrate the diſpoſitions and exertions by which it is completed.

FIRST, I ſhall point out the conception of God, from which reſignation to his will takes [167] its riſe. Every branch of a pious temper ſprings from a correſpondent conception of the divine character. Reſignation ſprings from a lively ſenſe of God as the ſovereign Governor of the world, good, wiſe, and powerful; who has placed us in a ſtate liable to diſappointment and ſorrow; and who, by a plan of Providence, too extenſive to to be fully comprehended by us, conducts us through this life to a higher ſtate of being.

GOD is the object of our reſignation, on account of his perfections; not as conſidered ſimply and abſolutely, but as exerciſed in the government of the world, and the diſpoſal of our lot. Were he a being, however excellent, who lived in ſelfiſh, ſolitary bleſſedneſs, at a diſtance from the earth, an inactive ſpectator of all that paſſes, unconcerned in what befals us, we might admire and adore his perfections, but we could exerciſe no reſignation, truſt, or confidence towards him. For engaging theſe regards, a perſon muſt have ſome direction and influence in our affairs. Such direction veſted in a fellowcreature, neceſſarily produces dependence on him: and if we know him to be well-diſpoſed to us, this dependence will be exerted in willing ſubmiſſion and cheerful hope. God [168] is the ſupreme Ruler of the univerſe, the original cauſe of all events, the moſt High, out of whoſe mouth proceedeth evil and good *. To ſecond cauſes, no event can be ultimately aſcribed; they derive their agency from God; they are but the inſtruments of his will. Nothing that is not either appointed or permitted by him, can happen to any one of us: a ſparrow ſhall not fall on the ground without our Father; but the very hairs of our head are all numbered . The firm belief of this leads us naturally in every event to take notice of God, and to reflect that it is the Lord who gave, and the Lord who hath taken away .

WHETHER he give, or whether he take away, his ſovereignty exacts our acquieſcence. All things are his: he has a right to diſpoſe of them as he pleaſes. He reigneth with unlimited authority and irreſiſtible power. To withſtand his will, to rebel againſt his appointments, is to uſurp his throne, and to preſcribe him laws. The attempt is daringly preſumptuous; and it is deſperately fooliſh. Wo unto him that ſtriveth with his Maker: let the potſherd ſtrive with the potſherds of the earth; but ſhall the clay ſay to him that faſhioneth it, What makeſt thou §? Whatſoever the Lord [169] pleaſeth, that doth he in heaven, and in earth, in the ſea, and all deep places *. He giveth not account of any of his matters . Who hath hardened himſelf againſt him, and hath proſpered? Behold he taketh away: who can hinder him? who will ſay unto him, What doſt thou ? Senſible of his uncontroulable dominion, what can we wiſely do, but reconcile our minds to every ſituation in which he places us, ſaying, The will of the Lord be done §.

HIS will is always agreeable to his attributes; and theſe invite us to refer ourſelves and all our intereſts to him. He can appoint only what is fit to be appointed: what is beſt, always ſeemeth beſt to God. His character is goodneſs, wiſdom, and power united. Goodneſs is the principle of his whole adminiſtration: he delights in communicating happineſs to his creatures. All the paths of the Lord are mercy and truth . So far as we do not wilfully render ourſelves incapable of them, the intentions of his benevolence cannot be diſappointed: they are conducted by unerring wiſdom. They cannot be defeated: almighty power ſecures the execution of them. Theſe attributes, in perfect harmony, form a [170] character fit to encourage our reſignation, and allure our confidence. To a fellow-creature, poſſeſſed of a very imperfect degree of this character, we often commit very important affairs without ſcruple or ſuſpicion. To the Creator, who poſſeſſes it in perfection, our ſubmiſſion may be unreſerved and implicit. They that know thy name, will put their truſt in thee *. Knowing that ſuch a God preſides over the univerſe, can we doubt that his omnipotent arm will force the moſt diſſimilar events to co-operate for the beſt and wiſeſt purpoſes? Under his government, what evil can his ſincere, though frail, creatures reaſonably dread? When he careth for you, can you heſitate to caſt all your care upon him ? Is he not, O my ſoul, thy refuge and ſtrength, a very preſent help in trouble ? How excellent is thy loving-kindneſs, O God! therefore the children of men put their truſt under the ſhadow of thy wings §. Our experience of the paſt gives ſupport and energy to our conviction of the divine character: gratitude for the multitude of mercies which Providence has beſtowed on each of us, naturally checks complaint on account of what is diſagreeable: and recollection of the many inſtances in [171] which the moſt threatening events have turned out ſignally to our advantage, enforces tranquillity with reſpect to the preſent, and reliance with reſpect to the future.

SOME creatures are ſo entirely aſſimilated to God, ſo extenſively acquainted with the ways of his Providence, and ſo unalterably fixt in perfect happineſs, that their acquieſcence in the will of the Ruler of the univerſe, is not ſo properly reſignation, as gratitude and joy. To give ſcope for reſignation, ſome imperfection of nature, or ſome defect in ſtate, is requiſite; and both theſe conſpire to give it exerciſe in human creatures.—Our nature is ſo complicated, our ſenſes and deſires are ſo various, and often ſo incompatible, that we cannot, by any means, obtain all poſſible gratifications at once. To ſecure one, we muſt ſubmit to the want of another: to enjoy pleaſure, we muſt forego profit; to accumulate riches, we muſt forfeit eaſe; to the attainment of temporal goods, we muſt often ſacrifice the ſatisfactions of virtue and integrity; and not to loſe theſe, we muſt reſign many gratifications of ſenſe, appetite, and paſſion. By forming our nature in this manner, God proclaims that we are not made for unallayed happineſs; lays us under a neceſſity of bearing diſappointment, and giving up many [172] things which would be deſireable; requires us to be content with that meaſure of enjoyment, however incomplete, of which he has made us capable, and which he is pleaſed at any time to grant us; and prepares us for eagerly embracing the excellencies of his character and government, as giving ground for our referring ourſelves to him without repining.

OUR ſtate in this world affords full place for reſignation, and demands the exerciſe of it. We muſt be ſatisfied to want particular advantages which even inferior animals poſſeſs: the ſtrength of the lion, the ſwiftneſs of the horſe, the flight of the eagle, belong not to the condition of our being, and are for ever without our reach. The advantages proper to our condition, are not at all times attainable; and thoſe which we have attained, are not always permanent. We are not placed in a region of continual ſerenity; we dwell in the land of ſtorms and tempeſts. Our ſtate is mixt, complicated, and precarious. Becauſe our bodies are ſubjected to the laws of the material world, and connected with it by manifold relations, our ſouls are neceſſarily affected by its viciſſitudes. Pain and ſuffering are inſeparable from human life. Proſperity and adverſity unexpectedly ſucceed each other [173] by quick intervals. In the morning we know not what the day may bring forth *; and we have neither ſtrength nor wiſdom to mould its events according to our wiſhes. Our condition depends not wholly on our own behaviour; God, in token of his ſovereignty, and for the purpoſes of his government, has in a great meaſure reſerved to himſelf the diſpoſal of our enjoyment and ſuffering; and frequently diſpenſes them in a manner which appears to us unequal or promiſcuous, and of which we can give no account. We feel ourſelves ignorant and impotent, unfit for our own direction, unable to accompliſh our deſires. While we have no dependence but on ourſelves, we are orphans expoſed in a ſtrange land, we are travellers ſolitary and benighted, in a waſte and dreary wilderneſs, left to wander in a thouſand undiſtinguiſhable by-paths, ſurrounded with dangers, uncertain but the next ſtep may lead us to deſtruction. We are ready to faint under the uneaſineſſes and apprehenſions which preſs upon us. We cannot but wiſh for the friendly guidance of ſuperior wiſdom and ſuperior power. We cannot but learn with pleaſure, that there is a God all-good, all-wiſe, and all-powerful, who governs the world, in whom we may [174] confide, into whoſe hands we may reſign all our intereſts with unreſerved truſt. We naturally repoſe ourſelves on him who carries on one fixt and well-contrived plan amidſt all the changes and commotions of things, who ſitteth upon the flood *, who walketh upon the wings of the wind , who dwelleth in the tempeſt, who from darkneſs produceth light, and from confuſion bringeth forth order. A firm belief and an habitual ſenſe of his wiſe and gracious, though incomprehenſible, adminiſtration, is our only adequate ſupport.

BY the appointment of God, our preſent life is only a part of our exiſtence, an introduction to a future life, ſubordinate to eternity. In conſequence of this appointment, nothing in our preſent ſtate is final; nothing to be regarded only on its own account: every thing has a reference to eternity, and thence derives its real importance. Proſperity and adverſity, pleaſure and pain, ſucceſs and diſappointment, are but different means of promoting the ſame end, but different methods of training us up for immortality. It is in this light that God always conſiders our preſent life, and the ſeveral events which fill it up. Steady in his plan, unmoved either by weak pity or by [175] weaker fury, he goes forward in the execution of it, through all the methods of ſeverity and gentleneſs, of chaſtiſement and reward, of reſtraint and encouragement, allotting us ſuch events as tend moſt, if we duly improve them, to promote our everlaſting welfare. In this light we likewiſe ought conſtantly to view our earthly ſtate. The view will ſtrengthen the principles of reſignation, and aſſiſt its exerciſe. We are but travellers through this world; whatever affects only our outward condition, whatever is merely temporal, muſt be of little moment; it is no more than the accommodation of an hour at an inn, which we are ſoon to leave: it is too inconſiderable to diſturb our equanimity, or check our ſubmiſſion to the will of God. Our proſpect is enlarged to eternity; we look down upon this world as from the height of heaven: and as the little hills, in the eye of him who ſtands on the top of a lofty mountain, ſink to a level with the plain; this earth ſeems but a point, and all thoſe earthly things which formerly looked big, and excited the moſt anxious wiſhes or the moſt pungent regret, dwindle into inſignificance. We are raiſed above ſome of thoſe clouds which obſcure the throne of God, and give an appearance of confuſion to the ways of his Providence: what was irregular and inexplicable when referred only to [176] time, becomes beautiful and conſiſtent by being connected with eternity. When we conſider this life as but one period of our being, one ſtage of our progreſs to perfection, the moſt diſagreeable events are often diſcovered to be the moſt uſeful, as tending moſt directly to the improvement of our hearts, and thus are rendered the objects of the moſt rational ſubmiſſion and the moſt cheerful reſignation.

THE connexion of this life with eternity, opens likewiſe a new field for the exerciſe of our reſignation and pious confidence. Unable to direct our own courſe amidſt preſent things, which are ſeen, we cannot but be more unable to direct it to the future world, where all is unſeen. We have need of the guidance of him who ruleth both worlds; and to his guidance, a ſenſe of our ſituation will make us ſolicitous to commit ourſelves. Nature feels the want; but the notices which nature gives of the future world, are too imperfect to ſupport confidence in God for its felicity. It is the goſpel only that can ſupport it. It teaches us that God hath ſet on foot a ſtupendous diſpenſation of grace and love for bringing the children of men to immortal glory. That ſins repented of might not produce diſtruſt, he has given his Son for our [177] redemption from all theſe ſins, and to be the Author of eternal ſalvation unto all them that obey him *. Informed of this diſpenſation, we can, with joyful confidence, reſign our eternal ſtate, in well-doing, to the diſpoſal of God our Saviour. It was on purpoſe to render our faith and hope in him firm and aſſured, that he has redeemed us by the precious blood of Chriſt, and raiſed him up from the dead, and given him glory . He that ſpared not his own Son, but delivered him up for us all, how ſhall he not with him alſo freely give us all things ?

SUCH are the ſentiments of God's character, of the nature of his Providence, and of his conduct and intentions with reſpect to ourſelves, from which reſignation to his will takes its riſe. Reſignation requires ſome knowledge of the ways of God, for ſupporting and encouraging it; but it likewiſe ſuppoſes ſome degree of ignorance and uncertainty, leaving room for implicit ſubmiſſion and dependence. What we know of God, of the general meaſures of his government, particularly over mankind, invite our acquieſcence in his diſpoſals: in many caſes too, he has given us expreſs promiſes, for the accompliſhment of which his fidelity is engaged, by which we may ſafely regulate our expectations, and [178] ſuſtain our hopes, reſting, ſo far as they extend, in full aſſurance of the very things promiſed. Amidſt the abſolute uncertainty of the particular events which ſhall befal us, we know that all things work together for good, to them that love God *: and all our hopes for eternity he has directed by the moſt explicit promiſes, and by a clear determination of the conditions on which we may become partakers in them. But we are totally ignorant of the particular ſteps of God's preſent providence, of the nature of thoſe events which await us, and of what is good for man in this life : and we are ignorant of many things in the nature of our future ſtate, and that diſpenſation by which the everlaſting happineſs of the obedient is ſecured. The whole ſyſtem of Divine Providence is too large and too intricate, to be fully comprehended by our weak underſtandings; the greateſt part of it is covered with thick darkneſs, and impenetrable to mortal eyes: no man can find out the work which God worketh, from the beginning to the end . We can only have recourſe to that great Being who comprehends and orders all things, to whom all his works are known from the beginning of the world §; following implicitly wherever he leads us, reſigning ourſelves to his diſpoſal, through all the unknown [179] paths by which we muſt travel forward to the more unknown regions of eternity.

TO explain the diſpoſitions and exertions by which a temper of reſignation is completed, was the SECOND thing propoſed.—It conſiſts not in a cold ſpeculative belief that the good and wiſe Providence of God orders all that concerns us, but in the conſent of the heart that it ſhould be ſo. It preſuppoſes love to God, which is indeed the common foundation of all the virtues of piety, and an eſſential ingredient in every devout affection; for we can never refer ourſelves to the diſpoſal of a perſon whom we reckon not deſerving of our love: but it includes ſomething additional to love; regarding the divine goodneſs, wiſdom, and omnipotence, as employed in the government of the world and the management of all our intereſts, it appropriates theſe perfections to ourſelves, and begets a ſenſe of ſecurity in yielding ourſelves up to God's diſpoſal. It includes hope in God, which renders it not the forced ſufferance of ſlaves, but the willing ſubmiſſion of ſubjects. But the hope is mingled with fear; the ſovereignty of God impreſſes us with awe; the extent of his plan of government involves us in uncertainty, what kind of events he may perceive to be beſt for us; we feel preſent ſorrows, and have reaſon to believe, that the general [180] good and our own greateſt happineſs will require our bearing many things which are diſagreeable, and our enduring ſevere chaſtiſements for our iniquities. A ſenſe of this prevents our indulging the expectation of every thing that would be pleaſing to us, and in its place ſubſtitutes a general confidence, that what impairs our ſatisfaction, will notwithſtanding contribute to our happineſs.—Reſignation requires us to receive both good and evil from God: but it requires us not to receive them with the very ſame ſentiments. It ſuppoſes that we are ſenſible of pain, that we feel it with averſion, and look forward to it with apprehenſion: it conſiſts in our nevertheleſs encountering and ſuſtaining it with quietneſs, and ſubmiſſion to Him who has ordained it. It allows us to ſorrow, but not to fret: it allows us to fear, but not to deſpair: it allows us to deſire, but not with impatience. It leads us to yield to thoſe events which we cannot avoid, without any rebellious motions of heart. It is a pliableneſs of ſoul, by which our temper ſuits itſelf to all the viciſſitudes of our ſtate. It brings our will and our deſires to give place to the pleaſure of God, as ſoon as we diſcover what it is. It teaches us to check our inclinations whenever they are inconſiſtent with his appointments; and to controul them ſteadily, till they concur with his [181] good and perfect will, and ſuffer us to reſt ſatisfied with all that he decrees, as the beſt for us.—That we may the more diſtinctly perceive the operation of a temper of reſignation, let us conſider it as exerciſed with reſpect to the preſent,—the paſt,—and the future.

1. RESIGNATION muſt be exerciſed with reſpect to the preſent. Whatever our condition at any time is, we muſt ſubmit to it contentedly, patiently, and with dutiful acquieſcence in the will of God. Reſignation ſuppoſes not that all things ſhould become indifferent to us: this would be to diveſt us of the ſenſes and affections which are eſſential to human nature. It requires us not to be inſenſible either of the defects or the diſtreſſes of our lot: it requires us only to bear them. It is not to be meaſured by the acuteneſs of our feelings: the tempers of men are neceſſarily very different. Some have a natural coldneſs or hardineſs of conſtitution, which admits but a ſlight impreſſion from circumſtances of uneaſineſs: but if their compoſure proceed not from a religious ſenſe of the Divine Providence, it is not reſignation; it is only a ſtupid unfeelingneſs of ſoul, or a ſullen ſtubbornneſs of diſpoſition. Others are of a ſoft and delicate make, eaſily and deeply affected with whatever befals them: but if they, notwithſtanding [182] preſerve an unrepining reverence of Providence, the ſenſibility of their hearts is ſo far from being inconſiſtent with reſignation, that it much enhances it: they devoutly chuſe that God's good pleaſure be accompliſhed, though it gives them ſo great pain. The beſt of men have expreſſed their ſenſe of their diſtreſſes very pathetically, even while they exerciſed the moſt blameleſs and exemplary reſignation. Job welcomed the loſs of all his ſubſtance and all his children with the cheerfulleſt ſubmiſſion, becauſe it was the Lord who had taken them away: yet he rent his mantle, and ſhaved his head, and fell down upon the ground, and ſaid, Naked came I out of my mother's womb, and naked ſhall I return thither *: but in all this, we are aſſured, Job ſinned not, nor charged God fooliſhly . I was dumb, ſays David, I opened not my mouth, becauſe thou didſt it : this was the meekeſt reſignation; but it prevented not his having a pungent ſenſe of the reproach of the fooliſh, the ſtroke of God, and the blow of his hand by which he was conſumed §. Even he who is greater than man, and who was perfect in reſignation, ſaying, Nevertheleſs, not what I will, but what thou wilt, felt all the bitterneſs of his ſituation, and was [183] ſore amazed, and very heavy, and ſaid, My ſoul is exceeding ſorrowful unto death *. Reſignation operates, not by extinguiſhing the ſenſe of evil, but by reſtraining it within proper bounds.

ANY preſent diſſatisfaction or uncaſineſs is apt to engroſs all our thoughts, and to abſorb our whole attention. We often yield to the impreſſion of it, without any effort to relieve or to reſiſt it. We abandon ourſelves to grief, and ſink into dejection. The ſpirit of reſignation ſuggeſts ſuch ſentiments as can divert or alleviate the ſenſation of diſtreſs. It renders us recollected, and when that ſenſation cannot be ſuppreſſed, draws out the vigour of our ſouls on purpoſe to ſuſtain it.—Inſtead of endeavouring to reſtrain or mitigate the ſenſations of uneaſineſs, we too often wilfully inflame them. We ſuffer imagination to ſearch out all the circumſtances that can aggravate them, and we inceſſantly ruminate upon them. By the multitude of our thoughts, we are loaded with ſupernumerary evils, our ſouls are broken into peeviſhneſs, and irritated into diſcontent. Reſignation checks the wanderings of imagination; it turns it to ſuch views as can divert our grief: we think how much worſe our ſituation might have been, and how much worſe the full puniſhment of [184] our ſins would render it; and we become pleaſed that it is ſo tolerable: we conſider the good ends to which it may be improved, and embrace it as the means of confirming us in thoſe virtues to which it gives ſcope and opportunity.—By our yielding to the impreſſions of pain or diſappointment, they are enabled to deſtroy our reliſh for all enjoyment. It is the buſineſs of reſignation to eſtabliſh ſuch compoſure and ſerenity of mind, as may leave us open to all the ſatisfactions which our condition can afford. Senſible of one evil, and groaning under it, we forget not our remaining comforts, we ſuffer not ourſelves to undervalue them, we rejoice that they too are not withdrawn.

THE irreligious attend not to the hand of God in what befals them: or if they acknowledge it, it is only to cenſure the ordinations of his Providence, to complain of the ſeverity of his diſpenſations, to murmur and repine, to ſet their mouth againſt the heavens, and even, it may be, to blaſpheme the perfections of the divine nature. The pious man, on the contrary, aſcribes all that befals him to the benevolent and wiſe appointment of God; and even when he cannot help lamenting his own condition, he ſuffers not himſelf to think hardly, or to complain of Providence. He [185] inculcates on himſelf, that what God wills muſt be better for him than what he wills himſelf, though at preſent he perceives not how: being ſent by that gracious God who doth not afflict willingly *, it muſt be ſent for his own and for the general good. We every day ſubmit, not only with patience, but of choice, to what is diſagreeable in itſelf, when we know it to be uſeful; we endure the bitterneſs of medicine for the ſake of health, we cheerfully undergo fatigue for the ſake of gain. A full conviction of the wiſdom and benevolence of Providence, may juſtly be as effectual for compoſing our ſouls into reſignation, as the proſpect of any determinate advantage. Under the power of that conviction, we acquieſce in poverty or diſtreſs, as, in unknown ways, by its concomitants or its conſequences certainly ſubſervient to our preſent or our future good. In adverſity, forget not how many mercies you have conſtantly derived from the bounty of God, retain a ſenſe of them, continue to be thankful for them: your gratitude for them will nouriſh reſignation for the contrary evils. Shall we receive good at the hand of God, and ſhall we not receive evil ? In afflicting you, he only recals what was always his own free gift: the [186] health which you now find broken, the riches which you have loſt, the beloved child or the dear friend for whoſe death you mourn, were only lent to you by the Lord of all things for a while; you owe him thanks for having lent them ſo long, and ſhould reſtore them with cheerfulneſs whenever he demands them: the Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; bleſſed be the name of the Lord *. He who giveth liberally and delighteth in beneficence, we are ſure, would not take away but for the beſt reaſons. His mercies and his chaſtiſements are links of the ſame chain of wiſe arrangements for our good. Why then art thou caſt down, O my ſoul? and why art thou diſquieted within me? Hope in God, for I ſhall yet praiſe him, who is the health of my countenance, and my God .

AN unreſigned temper breaks in upon the affection which we owe to men, as well as upon the regard which we owe to God. It fixes our view on thoſe perſons who have contributed to our diſappointments or our calamities; and it kindles wrath, rancour, and revenge againſt them. It excites theſe paſſions againſt ſuch as have been only the innocent occaſions of our loſſes or our ſufferings. [187] It directs our attention to thoſe who are in more fortunate circumſtances than ourſelves; and it tortures us with envy. It produces a ſettled diſſatisfaction, which breaks out in ill humour, peeviſhneſs, and abuſe towards all who are connected with us. Reſignation, on the contrary, by eſtabliſhing continual ſerenity of ſoul, prepares the heart for exerciſing benevolence in every ſituation. Under the heavieſt preſſure of diſtreſs, it leads us to treat our companions, our friends, our families, our dependants, with a placid ſweetneſs, and mild though perhaps melancholy complacence. It permits not a wiſh for bettering our own ſtate, by robbing any man of his proſperity. It diſtinguiſhes between the innocent occaſions, and the guilty cauſes of our troubles; and even towards the latter, it repreſſes the emotions of malevolence: repentance and forgiveneſs are all that it prays may overtake them. It conſiders all ſecond cauſes as only inſtruments employed by the Supreme Ruler; and by reſpect to him, it ſoftens all our ſentiments of them. It enabled David to overlook the inveteracy of Shimei, and to ſay, Let him alone, and let him curſe, for the Lord hath hidden him it may be that the Lord will look on mine affliction, and that the Lord will requite me good for his curſing this day *.

[188]THE continuance of adverſity is apt to depreſs men's ſpirits, or to produce impatience. They weary themſelves with vain wiſhes that their condition were other than it is or can be; and in all their wiſhes they interpoſe not, if it be the will of the Lord. Struggling againſt his appointment, they attempt to extricate themſelves by unlawful means; or fainting under his correction, they become incapable of uſing any means for their deliverance, ſit down in ſullen indolence, and ſink into deſpondence. Reſignation condemns not the wiſh for deliverance from evil; but it prevents its ſwelling into anxiety, and it keeps it in ſubordinacy to God's good pleaſure. It converts all the wiſhes of the heart into devout ſupplications, and directs them to heaven in fervent prayers to God moſt high. It is ſo far from being inconſiſtent with innocent endeavours to remove what occaſions us diſquiet, that it qualifies us for employing them to the beſt advantage. The inward ſerenity which it eſtabliſhes, enables us quickly to diſcern, what ſteps we have it in our power to take; and the tranquillity and firmneſs of mind which it produces, prepares us for purſuing them with prudence, vigour, and perſeverance. Compoſed and recollected in ourſelves, we can always perceive and execute what our ſituation requires. At the ſame time, reſignation [189] teaches us to reject with abhorrence every ſinful method of extricating ourſelves, however effectual it may ſeem to be. Fret not thyſelf in any wiſe to do evil *: as long as without doing evil you cannot better your condition, it is the will of God that it be not bettered; and it is your duty to reconcile yourſelves to it as it is, to truſt in the Lord, and do good, to reſt in the Lord, and wait patiently for him . When all preſent circumſtances are the moſt unpromiſing, when immediate deliverance appears impoſſible, yet we deſpair not of deliverance; we know that God can nevertheleſs ſend it by the moſt unlikely and unexpected means, and we indulge the confidence that he will ſend it if it be truly good for us, and ſend it at the fitteſt ſeaſon. But if he ſhould never ſend it, we repine not, we yield not to dejection; it will be as God pleaſes, and that is always the beſt, and muſt demand our contented ſubmiſſion. If every worldly enjoyment be taken from us, we ſtill repoſe ourſelves in the wiſdom and goodneſs of God's inſcrutable deſigns, ſaying with David, I looked on my right hand, and beheld, but there was no man that would know me: refuge failed me; no man cared for my ſoul: but thou, [190] O Lord, art my refuge, and my portion in the land of the living *.

2. OUR reſignation muſt extend its influence backward to the paſt. To diſcontent on account of our preſent ſituation, the reſtleſſneſs of imagination often ſuperadds an uneaſy and repining recollection of events which happened long ago. There is reaſon for our reproaching ourſelves with ſuch events, when they were owing to our own miſconduct; yet even in this caſe repentance for that miſconduct is ſufficient, and perpetual regret for the inconveniences which it once occaſioned, is wrong. Wherefore doth a living man complain, a man for the puniſhment of his ſins ? But when diſagreeable events aroſe not from our own fault, no natural principle can lead us to allow the remembrance of them to eat out our preſent ſatisfaction. It ſhould rather heighten the reliſh of ſucceeding eaſe and proſperity. To be continually thinking, how much better our ſituation might have been at times than it actually was; to retain reſentment againſt the authors of our paſt misfortunes; to remain implacable againſt Providence for permitting them; to cheriſh the fretful remembrance of them, and the remains [191] of that diſcontent which their preſence produced; to become, by theſe means, habitually ſullen and diſſatisfied with a world in which we have not been always ſo proſperous as we wiſhed is perverſely to enter into a conſpiracy againſt our own enjoyment.

THE preſſure of a preſent evil may plead ſome excuſe for frail man, if he murmur under it: but when the evil itſelf is paſt, to retain the ill temper which it produced, is inexcuſable. Deliverance from calamity is the ſubject, not of murmuring, but of thankfulneſs. If it has left ſome conſequences which affect your preſent ſtate, yet we ought by degrees to reconcile ourſelves to them. The firſt aſſault of trouble may ſurprize us into peeviſhneſs; but when we have had leiſure to bethink ourſelves, and to ponder it deliberately, it is but reaſonable to expect we ſhould call up our reſolution, collect our courage, invigorate our ſouls to bear it, apply ourſelves to the peculiar duties for which it gives opportunity, and form ourſelves to that cheerful enjoyment of life, which becomes thoſe who live in a world regulated by infinite perfection. By the treach [...]ry and malice of his brethren, Joſeph had undergone all the hardſhips of long ſlavery and impriſonment: but they left neither reſentment nor [192] repining. When theſe brethren afterwards ſtood before him pierced with remorſe, and overwhelmed with terror, inſtead of ſo much as upbraiding them in the gentleſt terms, he with equal generoſity and piety turned up the faireſt ſide of their conduct and his paſt condition: Now therefore be not grieved, nor angry with yourſelves that ye ſold me hither; for God did ſend me before you to preſerve life: God ſent me before you to preſerve you a poſterity in the earth: ſo now it was not you that ſent me hither, but God *.

3. RESIGNATION exerts itſelf in truſt and reliance upon God for the future part of our exiſtence. Formed reaſonable creatures, capable of foreſeeing the conſequences of our own actions, and the effects likely to reſult from other cauſes, we cannot be wholly unconcerned about the future. We gueſs what it will be, and regard it either with hope or with fear. It is this wiſe and gracious conſtitution of our nature that fits us for regulating our conduct by the proſpect of what may be, for being affected with good or evil before they become preſent, and for uſing our endeavours to obtain the one and avoid the other. But many convert it into a ſource of diſquiet and [193] vexation: by the abuſe of it, ſolicitude and impatience, about future events, creates them far greater unhappineſs than the ſenſe of preſent evils. They are ever prying into thoſe deſigns of Providence which are unſearchable to human ſagacity, and miſerable, becauſe they find themſelves unable to diſcover them. They wiſh for ſome good thing; and grieve themſelves becauſe they cannot obtain it: they hope to obtain another; but repine that it is not already obtained. They diſtreſs themſelves with terrors which will never be realized: the very poſſibility of trouble or diſappointment fills them with apprehenſions: if it become probable, they are overpowered with dread, and either wait its approach with deſpondence, or eſſay to prevent it by doing what is wrong: and if it become imminent, trouble and anguiſh make them afraid, and prevail againſt them as a king ready to the battle *. Strangers to reſignation, we muſt be reſtleſs in forming ſchemes for the future, fearful of their failing, and a prey to painful and unavailing cares.

IT belongs to God to determine what events ſhall fill up our lives: our part is, to ſubmit to them whatever they be, to [194] prepare ourſelves for bearing them, and to exert ourſelves in improving them. Senſible of our own ignorance concerning what would be beſt for us, we ſhould refer all our concerns to the direction of Him who is infinitely wiſer than we, and more concerned for our true happineſs than ourſelves can be.—Unable to conjecture what may be before us, we ſhould rejoice that it is only what God wills, ſaying with David, I truſted in thee, O Lord; I ſaid, Thou art my God, my times are in thy hand *. In reſpect of all events without exception or reſerve, we ſhould exerciſe ſuch implicit confidence as Abraham ſhowed, when, at the call of God, he by faith left his native land, and went out, not knowing whither he went . The language of our ſouls ought always to be, Lead me, O God, whither thou wilt, I willingly follow thee: ſend what is truly good for me, though I ſhould be averſe from receiving it: withhold what would be hurtful, though I ſhould moſt earneſtly deſire it. It is not in the power of man to fruſtrate the ordinations of Providence: the ſevereſt of them every mortal muſt endure, however bitterly he repine, and however violently he ſtruggle againſt them: by reconciling our ſouls to them, we only [195] prefer the decrees of unerring wiſdom to the ſuggeſtions of our own folly, and eſcape the agonies which frowardneſs ſuperadds to the intrinſic weight of our diſtreſſes.

I MEAN not that reſignation forbids our wiſhing for an eaſy and comfortable ſtate, in preference to a lot of ſorrow and calamity. The wiſh is natural and inevitable. But we ſhould indulge it only in ſubordination to God's good pleaſure. We ſhould not ſuffer it either to ſettle too peremptorily on a particular object, which, for what we know, he may ſee meet to refuſe, or to ſwell into anxiety and carefulneſs. We ſhould check every propenſity to ſuppoſe any one of the uncertain enjoyments of this world eſſential to our happineſs. If God ordain what is moſt contrary to our wiſhes, it is our duty to keep ourſelves in readineſs, to meet it without ſullenneſs, and without violent perturbation.

RESIGNATION muſt not be confounded with improvident thoughtleſſneſs about futurity. It permits the moſt attentive forecaſt; but it renders it calm and compoſed. It permits us to employ all our prudence and activity in executing every innocent deſign; but it teaches us, having employed them, to refer the event to Him who rules the world, avoiding painful [196] ſolicitude about ſucceſs or diſappointment. Uſing the fitteſt means in our power for accompliſhing our purpoſes, our dependence ſhould be on God for rendering them effectual, and our prayers for ſucceſs ſhould be with the reſervation of its being his will. I would ſeek unto God, and to God would I commit my cauſe *. If he fruſtrate my endeavours, I will not peeviſhly complain of croſs accidents, but cheerfully acquieſce in it as the doing of him who permits only what is beſt and fitteſt. Aſſiduous in all the duties which ſuit the condition allotted to me by him, I will reſt ſatisfied that, whether my deſires be gratified or diſappointed, it ſhall be well with me; and aſſure myſelf that he will beſtow upon me, though not perhaps what I would chuſe, yet what it is proper for perfect goodneſs and wiſdom to beſtow. For the Lord will not caſt off for ever; but though he cauſe grief, yet will he have compaſſion according to the multitude of his mercies .

RESIGNATION exerts itſelf in dependence upon God, for all the intereſts of the future, as well as of the preſent life. Looking forward to the God of his ſalvation; believing in the Son of God, and relying on his mediation, [197] who is able to ſave to the uttermoſt all who come unto God by him *; yielding himſelf to the influence of the Holy Spirit to fulfil in him all the good pleaſure of God's goodneſs, and the work of faith with power , and exerting himſelf ſtrenuouſly by his aſſiſtance in doing the will of his heavenly Father; the good man cheriſhes, through life, the bleſſed hope of immortal happineſs. Conſcious of his integrity, he is confident that, for the ſake of Chriſt, God will pardon all his imperfections. Careful to perform the terms of the goſpel, he expects, without tormenting doubts, the promiſed reward. He ſhrinks not, trembling, from the darkneſs and ſolitude of the grave; he truſts that God will be his companion and his guide amidſt its unexplored gloom: when his breath is going out, he commits the keeping of his ſoul to God in well-doing, as unto his faithful Creator : and tranſported into the world of ſpirits, he finds that his dependence was not in vain, that the iſſue ſurpaſſes his fondeſt expectations; reſignation is loſt in love, hope yields to fruition, truſt is converted into fulneſs of joy.

SUCH ſubmiſſion in reſpect of the preſent, ſuch unrepining recollection of the paſt, and [198] ſuch dependence for the future, are the g [...] nuine exertions of that temper of reſignation which is juſtly due to God, as the good, th [...] wiſe, and the almighty Governour of the univerſe, the ſole Diſpoſer of our lot. That eſſential principle in our conſtitution, which makes us eaſy in the want of what belongs not to our ſtate, but to other ranks of creatures, piety cheriſhes into dutiful reſignation to the ordination of our Maker, in things which may belong to the ſtate of men, but which he ſees fit to deny to us. The lot of every man is fixt within its own limits, and cannot be altered by our ſolicitude; it is folly not to comply with it: it is fixt within theſe limits by infinite perfection; we may embrace it cheerfully. It is good that a man ſhould both hope, and wait quietly for the ſalvation of the Lord *. Reſignation is a temper ſingularly requiſite and uſeful in the preſent ſtate.—Were it cultivated and exerciſed with ſufficient care, it would render our wills coincident in all things with the will of God, make all our deſires to terminate, and our ſouls to reſt, in his appointment, and enable us to proceed compoſedly through all the viciſſitudes of this world, to the full enjoyment of Him in the next. It diſlodges many vices [199] from the heart: it excludes the ſtubbornneſs of ſelf-will, the effeminacy of voluptuouſneſs, the rapacity of covetouſneſs, the eagerneſs of falſe ambition, the violence of grief, the fierceneſs of anger, the dejections of fear, the exorbitance of deſire, the grumblings of envy, and the clamorouſneſs of complaint. It implies many of the moſt important virtues of the Chriſtian life: exerciſed in ſubmiſſion to the defects and imperfections of our lot, it eſtabliſhes contentment; in bearing its diſtreſſes, patience; and in encountering its dangers, fortitude. It is interwoven with pious truſt; and it ſhoots out into religious joy. To a ſuperficial eye, reſignation ſeems to be altogether paſſive: but it iſſues in the moſt active virtue. By moulding our whole ſouls into an entire conformity to our condition, it enables us to occupy, with propriety, the ſphere aſſigned to us, to act cheerfully the part befitting it, and in the moſt unpleaſant ſituations to apply with alacrity and vigour to whatever duties they demand. Drawing us off from ſolicitude about events, it directs our principal attention to the defeat of the temptations, and the improvement of the opportunities, reſulting from our condition; that by this conduct we may be warranted to indulge hope of the divine protection.

[200]WOULD you acquire, or carry to greater perfection, the ſpirit of reſignation, you muſt beſtow your firſt pains on the root from which it grows: you muſt form a juſt conception of the benignity and wiſdom of God's almighty providence, and by cloſe and frequent meditation fix that conception in your minds, and render it lively, familiar, and ever preſent to your thoughts. Reſignation cannot thrive in a ſoil choaked up by earthly paſſions: we muſt prepare our hearts for the reception of it, by ſelf-government and ſelf-denial: immoderate deſires are neceſſarily inſatiable; abundance cannot ſatisfy them, it only enlarges them; importunate deſires operate with a violence and turbulence inconſiſtent with the tranquillity of reſignation; both render us incapable of ſubmiſſion and deference to him who with-holds their gratification. Every temper is rendered habitual, by congruous exerciſe. Endeavour to exerciſe reſignation in bearing the ſeveral events of life; accuſtom yourſelves to exert it both in trivial and important matters; be not unguardedly ruffled by inconſiderable croſſes; ſuffer not the greateſt diſappointments to overwhelm your ſpirit with exceſſive or permanent vexation; when at one time you have failed in maintaining your compoſure, labour to maintain it more perfectly on the next occaſion. Exerciſe your reſignation likewiſe in devotion: [201] retreat frequently from the world to your God: under a lively ſenſe of his intimate preſence with you, give ſcope to your ſentiments of dependence and confidence in addreſſing him; explicitly commit your way unto the Lord *, and refer all your concerns to his diſpoſal; implore his protection, and his aſſiſtance for reſting in the aſſurance of it. Truſt in him at all times, ye people, and pour out your heart before him: God is a refuge for us Pſal. lxii. 8.. Wait on the Lord; be of good courage: and he ſhall ſtrengthen your heart, all ye that hope in the Lord .

SERMON VII. SUBJECTION TO THE AUTHORITY OF GOD.

[]
PSALM cxix. 4. Thou haſt commanded us to keep thy precepts diligently.’

THE will of God may be conſidered in two lights, as regarding either the events which befal us, or the conduct which is preſcribed to us. Viewed in the former light, it is the object of reſignation; viewed in the latter, of ſubjection and obedience. Reſignation ariſes from a ſenſe of God's right to diſpoſe of us, and of the wiſdom and goodneſs of all his diſpoſitions: ſubjection ariſes from a ſenſe of his right to command us, aided by a conviction of the equity and benevolence of all his laws. The one is a willing ſubmiſſion to God's natural government of the world: the other a willing ſubmiſſion to [204] his moral government. United, they complete that loyalty of heart which we owe to the Sovereign of the univerſe. It is the latter that my text leads us to conſider. In this addreſs, Thou haſt commanded us to keep thy precepts diligently; or, as it is tranſlated by ſome, Thou haſt commanded thy precepts that they may be diligently kept; David acknowledges that God publiſhes his laws with an authority which demands our obedience, and expreſſes his own diſpoſition to yield obedience. A ſenſe of duty towards God, a ſubjection of heart to his ſtatutes, is indiſpenſibly incumbent on us as the ſubjects of his government, and is the immediate principle of compliance with the dictates of his will. For illuſtrating this important part of piety, let us conſider,

FIRST, That authority by which all his laws exact our obedience; and,

SECONDLY, That ſubjection of heart which is due to the authority of theſe laws.

FIRST, Let us conſider the nature of God's authority over us, or of his right to preſcribe us laws which we are obliged to obſerve.

[205]IN order to perceive it, we muſt attend to the conſtitution of our moral nature, we muſt reflect on the operation of our own conſcience. From it, our very idea of authority is primarily derived. Conſcience is our ſupreme power: it claims a right to govern all our paſſions and actions; and it forces us to feel that it has a right to govern them. By it we are a law unto ourſelves *. In its very exertion, we, without reaſoning or ſtudy, perceive the authority of its dictates, and our obligation to regulate all our motions according to them.—What it approves, we are immediately ſenſible is right, and ought to be done; what it diſapproves is wrong, and ought not to be done. It does not merely propoſe our duty; it enjoins it: it does not merely diſcern good from evil; it commands, and it forbids.—When our heart tells us that we have violated its commands, we condemn ourſelves, we are ſtung with remorſe, conſcious of ill deſert, and apprehenſive of miſery: but when we reflect on our having fulfilled them, we become poſſeſſed of ſelf-complacence, inward joy, the feeling of good deſert, and the hope of happineſs. Such is our original idea of authority: the very acting of conſcience involves a ſenſe of the authority of its own decrees, and, correſpondent [206] to this, of our obligation to comply with them.

IT is conſcience, likewiſe, that makes us capable of perceiving, and teaches us to acknowledge, authority in one perſon over another. It enables us to diſtinguiſh a lawful ſuperior from a tyrant or uſurper; it recognizes in the former, a right to command us, which belongs not to the latter. One of our fellow-men may become our lawful ſuperior: and whenever he does, conſcience requires us to obey him, and enforces our obedience to him, by the very ſame ſentiments and exertions, as our ſubmiſſion to its own decrees. The counſels of a friend are, to our feeling, eſſentially different from the orders of a ſuperior. A maſter, a father, a ruler, a ſovereign, have a juſt authority, to which we muſt be ſubject for conſcience ſake *. But when we turn our thoughts to God, and conſider his perfections, and the relations in which he ſtands to us, conſcience acknowledges an higher authority and a more ſacred obligation. All the characters which can imply a right to command us, are united in him, and belong to him, in an infinitely higher ſenſe than to any other being.

[207]OUR parents are not the proper cauſes of our exiſtence: they are only the inſtruments by means of whom we receive it. Yet from this they derive an authority over us, which all men own to be juſt, and feel to be ſacred. Diſregard to it, is neceſſarily and univerſally accounted, not only baſe, but unnatural. God is the Firſt Cauſe, who made our parents the inſtruments of bringing us into life: he is the proper Author of our being and our whole nature. His authority is, therefore, greater and more abſolute: to oppoſe it, is baſer and more unnatural. Shall we not much rather be in ſubjection to the Father of our ſpirits, than to the fathers of our fleſh *? Thy hands have made me and faſhioned me: therefore ought I to learn and to keep all thy commandments . Becauſe thou art my Creator, I am indiſpenſibly bound to remember thee, and to devote myſelf to thy will. Thou who gaveſt me all my powers, haſt an unlimited right to direct the application of them: to employ them in any action which thou forbiddeſt, would be to employ them againſt him whoſe they wholly are.

A MASTER has a right to the labour and obedience of a ſervant, while he ſuſtains him; [208] and a prince to the allegiance of his ſubjects, while he protects them. The Lord is our Maſter in heaven *; the Lord is our Lawgiver; the Lord is our King . He has a perfect right to our ſervice and allegiance: he ſupports our very being; he gives energy to all our powers. If he withdrew his preſerving hand for a ſingle moment, they would all be blaſted, and we muſt fall into nothing. To reſiſt his authority, to tranſgreſs his laws, is to affect independence upon him, on whom we are totally dependent: it is to oppoſe him with thoſe faculties which we retain, and can exerciſe, only by his permiſſion.

A FELLOW-CREATURE who has the juſteſt authority over us, may give commands which are of no obligation: they may be unlawful and wrong. But the authority of God is abſolute in all things; the obligation of his laws admits of no exception. His is perfect rectitude of nature; he can will nothing that is wrong: Wherefore his law is holy, and his commandment holy, juſt, and good . The law of the Lord is perfect; the teſtimony of the Lord is ſure; the ſtatutes of the Lord are right; the judgments of the Lord are true and righteous altogether §. In acting contrary [209] to ſuch laws, there muſt always be pollution and depravity: but while we obſerve them, we muſt continue pure and unblameable; they do iniquity who walk in his ways *.

THE benevolence of God's nature gives additional authority to his laws. Men may iſſue their orders without regard to the intereſt of thoſe from whom they require obedience, or even with a view to hurt them. But perfect goodneſs can enact no laws in the moral world, but ſuch as are intended for the moſt extenſive happineſs of the rational creation. They are deſigned to point out and enforce that courſe by which moral agents may promote the general good, and their own true intereſt. By violating the laws of God, we do what we can to bring miſery on ourſelves and others. By making them the invariable rule of our temper and our conduct, we contribute our part to the perfection and order of the univerſe, and we purſue our own felicity. The Lord hath commanded us to do all theſe ſtatutes for our good always . They can have no other aim. They are the dictates of pure benevolence. More to be deſired are they than gold, yea than much fine gold: ſweeter alſo than honey, and the honey-comb .

[210]WITH the beſt intention poſſible, men may preſcribe us rules which ſhall prove of very pernicious conſequence. They are fallible, and may miſtake their tendency. But God's wiſdom is unerring: he knows all the tendencies of his laws. They muſt be fit for ſwering the purpoſe of benevolence. Obedience to them cannot but produce happineſs.—The certainty that they willnot miſlead us, adds confidence to our conviction that we ought to be guided by them. In them, the uncreated wiſdom uttereth her voice, and crieth, I will make known my words unto you: receive my inſtruction, and not ſilver, and knowledge rather than choice gold: my fruit is better than gold, yea than fine gold; and my revenue than choice ſilver: I lead in the way of righteouſneſs, in the midſt of the paths of righteouſneſs *.

RECTITUDE, benevolence, and wiſdom, united in a ſuperior degree, give a man an authority and influence among his fellows, to which they of their own accord pay a deference, though he has not power to enforce it. This is the trueſt authority. Mere power, by creating dependence, may compel ſubmiſſion: but the ſubmiſſion is always reluctant and unwilling. On the contrary, that which we yield [211] to the directions of ſuperior worth and wiſdom, is ſpontaneous and hearty. Our heartieſt and our moſt cheerful ſubmiſſion is therefore due to God. All his precepts are the dictates of infinite perfection; the counſels of goodneſs and wiſdom in conjunction, for regulating our whole conduct: can we imagine ourſelves at liberty not to regard them? They are a tranſcript of his own excellence: and can they be but binding upon all thoſe creatures whom he has formed capable of becoming partakers of his excellence? Every precept of God has an inherent authority, implied in its excellence, its neceſſity, and its utility: an injunction from the All-perfect carries along with it an immediate obligation upon us to obey it.

BUT ſtrong and commanding as this immediate and internal obligation is, our obedience is not left to reſt on it alone. Every perfect law contains a ſanction, as well as a precept. All the precepts of God's law are enforced by ſanctions. Puniſhment is denounced againſt the tranſgreſſors, and reward is promiſed to the obſervers of them. The ſtrength of the obligation thence reſulting is confeſſed by all: the force of ſanctions exacts obedience from thoſe who would pay little regard to the righteouſneſs of the precept. Human laws [212] generally owe their influence almoſt wholly to their ſanctions; their authority is ſlighted, when theſe are not ſtrictly and vigorouſly executed: and by impotence, or injuſtice in the execution, the beſt laws are rendered totaliy ineffectual. With the divine law it never can be ſo. The venerable authority of its precepts is awfully ſupported by its ſanctions. They are the moſt important and intereſting; and it is certain that they will be executed. They can neither be wreſted by injuſtice, nor defeated through impotence.—The divine Lawgiver is a God of truth, and without iniquity; juſt and right is he *. His perfect juſtice binds him to maintain the authority, and vindicate the honour of his laws. With incorruptible and undeviating righteouſneſs, he will inflict puniſhment on the diſobedient, and beſtow reward on the obedient. In his adminiſtration there can be no partiality. When the proper time is come, when this ſtate of trial is ended, he will render to every man according to his deeds; and there will be no reſpect of perſons with God .—Whatever ſentence his juſtice pronounces, his power will execute. Power is the great ſupport of the authority of laws, among thoſe who are diſaflected to them; it urges reſpect to them, by rendering it our intereſt [213] and our only ſafety. How tremendous is the authority of God's laws! how inviolable their obligation! It is defended by omnipotence. I am the almighty God: walk before me *. The one Lawgiver is able to ſave, and to deſtroy —In the tranſgreſſion of his laws there can be no ſecurity. Juſtice armed with omnipotence, on purpoſe to enforce them, precludes the ſlighteſt hope of impunity. Will ye, by diſobedience, provoke the Lord? Are ye ſtronger than he ? or can ye by a gift pervert his judgment? Miſery ſhall be the protion of a wicked man from God §. Though hand join in hand, he ſhall not be unpuniſhed . Bleſſed are the undefiled in the way, who walk in the way of the Lord: bleſſed are they that keep his teſtimonies . In keeping of them there is great reward **.

So manifold are the foundations of God's authority over us. On every poſſible principle, he has a right to govern us by his laws. His authority is ſupreme; to it all other muſt give way: it is ſovereign over all the actions of the moſt exalted creatures, and is by them acknowledged to be ſovereign; his angels a [...] his commandments, hearkening unto the voice of his word; and the [...]ſts of heaven are his miniſters, [214] that do his pleaſure *: how then can the children of men plead an exemption from obedience? His authority is abſolute, circumſcribed by no limitation: to render any thing incumbent on us, it is only neceſſary that it be required by God; to convince us that it is incumbent and to make us guilty in neglecting it, it is ſufficient that we know it to be required by him. Whether it be ſuggeſted by nature, or intimated by revelation, whether it be enjoined by the dictates of conſcience, or impoſed by a written precept, we are bound to it by the whole ſtrength of the divine authority.

REASON qualifies us for reflecting on the conſtitution of our nature, and teaches us that it is the workmanſhip of God; that he made conſcience a part of it, that he gave it the authority which we feel it has to govern us, and therefore that it is the will of our Maker that we ſhould be governed by it. It is he who hath, by its notices, ſhewed thee, O man, what is good, and aſſured thee that the Lord doth require it of thee . Thy conſcience is, and cauſes thee perceive that it is, the deputy of the moſt High. It bears his commiſſion; and it ſpeaks in his name. It affirms [215] and it proves itſelf to be the guide of life, which he has appointed thee to follow. It impreſſes an inſtantaneous and irreſiſtible conviction, that all its dictates are his laws written in thy heart *. It enacts them as his laws, and it proclaims their ſanctions. While it puniſhes the violation of them with immediate remorſe, it denounces farther puniſhment from the hand of God; it forces on thee a perception of demerit towards him, and guiltineſs in his ſight; and it f [...]lls thee with apprehenſion of the miſery threatened in that perception. While it approves the obſervance of them, and rewards it with gladneſs of heart, it likewiſe promiſes a higher reward; it declares it worthy of God's approbation; and inſpires the hope of happineſs from his favour.

THE clearer and fuller publication of his ſtatutes, in his word, is attended with the ſame authority. All the holy men who by inſpiration promulgated his moral laws, inculcated them upon the conſciences of men by, Thus ſaith the Lord; declared him the Almighty Vindicator of them, and fortified them by promiſes and threatenings from his mouth. Convinced that they ſpoke by commiſſion from [216] him, we are bound to receive all their words as the words of God. The perfect revelation of his will in the goſpel of Chriſt, is ſtamped with the higheſt authority of heaven, and entitled to our moſt dutiful and reverent ſubmiſſion by many circumſtances of affecting peculiarity. It has the authority of God explicitly interpoſed for it, when by a voice from heaven he teſtified, This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleaſed, HEAR YE HIM *. It has likewiſe the authority of the only begotten Son of God: to magnify the law, and make it honourable , he ſent a divine meſſenger to promulgate it. He ſaid, They will reverence my Son . His dignity beſpeaks its infinite importance, and recommends it to our moſt careful and conſcientious obſervance. In publiſhing the will of God, Chriſt ſpoke, not only as the meſſenger, and as the Son of God, but alſo as the Saviour of mankind; who has recovered us to the ability of obeying it, and reſtored us to a capacity of obtaining, through him, the reward of obedience; who, by dying for us, has purchaſed our ſervice to God. By him God demands our obedience on a new title, ſuperadded to all the other rights of his ſovereign dominion. He demands it as God [217] our Saviour *. He requires us to ſerve him in holineſs and righteouſneſs, becauſe he has delivered us out of the hands of our enemies . He requires us to glorify him in our body and in our ſpirit, becauſe he hath bought us with a price . By exacting the death of Chriſt for our redemption, he has made an awful declaration of the ſacred obligation of his laws. In the goſpel, obedience to them is ſecured by the great ſanctions of eternal life and eternal death, clearly revealed, ſtrikingly deſcribed, and not only confirmed by the moſt expreſs promiſes and threatenings, but alſo ſealed by the blood of Chriſt.

WHAT now is implied in that ſubjection of heart, which the authority of God's laws demands from us? To explain this, was the SECOND thing propoſed: and in explaining it, we will be beſt directed by attention to the ſame conſtitution of human nature, which has led us to a juſt conception of the divine authority.—Our nature conſiſts of two parts, conſcience, enjoining what God requires us to do, and appetites and paſſions, either oppoſing or complying with what it enjoins For our being in ſubjection to the laws of our Creator, it is neceſſary both that conſcience enjoin with [218] force, and that appetite and paſſion obey with readineſs. A temper of ſubjection, therefore, implies two things,—that a ſenſe of duty towards God, or a regard to his will, be the ruling principle of our conduct,—and that all our other principles of action ſubmit to be regulated by it.

1. A REGARD to the will of God, muſt be our ruling principle of conduct. The very definition of authority, is a right to govern us; the very idea of a law, is a declaration of the will of a ſuperior, obligatory upon us. Conſcience, which is the original law of God to us, and the immediate percipient of the obligation of all his laws, differs eſſentially from our other active powers. It does not merely incline or impel us: it preſcribes authoritatively, and pronounces it unlawful and wrong not to liſten to it. Each of the others is intended to influence us only on ſome occaſions, in ſuch of our actions as it is particularly adapted to: but conſcience is intended to influence us at all times, it is alike adapted to all our actions. To govern them all is its right; and it is our leading principle, whenever it has power to maintain this right.—God gave us his law, to be our rule in all caſes and at all times without exception.

[219]A GENUINE regard to its authority, will firſt of all render us ſolicitous to know, what it is that God requires of us. To have no concern ſo much as to know our duty, is inconſiſtent with the fainteſt deſire to do it; it betrays the groſſeſt indifference about it; it is pouring the utmoſt contempt upon the authority by which it is required. To liſten to him when he ſpeaks, is the very loweſt mark of deference that we can pay to a ſuperior; an equal would with reaſon be offended, if even from him we ſhould with-hold it. Supine or wilful ignorance of the will of God proclaimed in his moral laws, marks many among mankind for children of diſobedience *. They beſtow no attention on their obligations. Like brute beaſts, they heedleſsly follow the preſent inclination, without reflecting whether it be right or wrong. They are at no pains to conſult their conſcience how they ought to act: and when it ſpontaneouſly interpoſes and obtrudes its admonitions on them, inſtead of hearkening to it, that they may learn God's law from its mouth, they labour to ſilence it, that it may not teſtify againſt their ſins, nor interrupt the courſe of their tranſgreſſions. They are at no pains to ſtudy the precepts of God's word: if ever they caſt an eye upon [220] them, it is not that they may underſtand their real import, and apply them honeſtly to their direction in the ways of virtue, but that they may explain them away, and reconcile them to their ſins. In ſuch men, conſci [...]nce can have no power: it is ſo far from being the ſupreme principle, that it cannot be properly one principle of their conduct. Their own will, their inclination ever varying and toſſing them about at random, not at all the will of God, gives the colour to their whole behaviour. To have no ſenſe of good and evil, is the conſummation of depravity; and the ſenſe of them can be only in proportion to our knowledge of them. In the knowledge of our duty, the foundation of a temper of obedience muſt be laid. Wherever knowledge fails, practice muſt fail of courſe. A prevailing regard to the ſacredneſs of obligation, will not ſuffer us to be willingly ignorant of any particular of its demands.—That it may prove a principle of real virtue, we muſt likewiſe be careful to avoid every miſapprehenſion of our duty. The deluſive miſts of prejudice and paſſion often obſcure the light of the divine laws, ſet before us a falſe form of virtue, and pervert the ſentiments of conſcience. An erroneous conſcience gives its ſanction to vice, and enforces the wrong as right. It may impoſe upon us as the will of God, w [...]at is moſt repugnant to [221] his will: it may lead us into heinous ſin, in the full perſuaſion that we do God ſervice *.—An uninformed conſcience can be no guide; and a miſinformed conſcience muſt be a falſe guide. Ignorance of our duty ſubverts the power of conſcience: miſtakes about it render that power dangerous; the more ſtrenuouſly it exerts its authority the more intent we are on fulfilling its dictates, it will the more certainly miſlead us, and the more irreſiſtibly drive us into ſin.—To diſpel our ignorance, and correct our errors, God has given us the revelation of his will. Its divine authority binds us to ſtudy it with the greateſt diligence, and to ſtudy it with a ſingle and honeſt intention to learn what God really requires of us; to conſider his teſtimonies , and meditate in his precepts, that we may have reſpect unto his ways . Even the plain precepts of God's law may be miſunderſtood or miſapplied; they have ſometimes been wreſted to authorize the blackeſt crimes. It might have been prevented by attention to the native ſentiments of the human heart: to the corrupt propenſities of man, the pure law of God muſt be contradictory; but it will always approve itſelf to conſcience, and fall in with our beſt affections. If it be repugnant to theſe, it is doubtleſs miſinterpreted. [222] The ſuggeſtions of our moral nature, and the maxims of Scripture, mutually illuſtrate one another, and muſt be ſtudied in conjunction. A conſcience enlightened by the full underſtanding of God's written law, will be an unerring guide.

THAT a regard to the will of God may be the governing principle in our hearts, we muſt not only clearly underſtand its dictates, but feelingly perceive their obligation. To be qualified for holding us in ſubjection to its authority, conſcience having aſcertained our duty juſtly, muſt impreſs a lively and ardent ſenſe of it. A callous conſcience is inſenſible; its perceptions are dull; its warnings againſt tranſgreſſion, and its reproofs for our having tranſgreſſed, are faint and feeble; it can be touched only with heinous guilt. The calls to action come ſuddenly upon us: if conſcience be aſleep, they are paſt before it can beſtir itſelf to offer its advice; we have violated our duty, before it was in condition to remind us of it. Exempt from ſeaſonable admonition, ſerious remonſtrance, and quick remorſe, men can have no effectual reſtraint from going on in diſobedience. But where conſcience reigns, it is conſtantly awake, ready to perceive our duty in the moment of action, and alert in ſuggeſting it. The ſenſes are exerciſed to diſcern [223] both good and evil *: and they reſt not in cold diſcernment. They have a delicacy of feeling, which perceives every ſin with keen diſguſt, and every virtue with eager complacence: goodneſs is embraced with warm affection; evil is rejected with hatred and abhorrence. The ſenſibility of conſcience renders its dictates ſtriking, fit to affect the heart, and to actuate the conduct. Its deciſions are revered, becauſe they are pronounced with vivacity, and impreſſed with earneſtneſs. Keeping a watchful and piercing eye upon our conduct, it is quick and active in accuſing or elſe excuſing us ; it is ſoon aware of every deviation from our duty; the ſmalleſt ſin is recollected with regret; a heinous tranſgreſſion breaks the ſpirit into contrition; the ſlighteſt hint is ſufficient to rouſe the heart to remorſe for our having ſinned againſt the Lord. The authority of conſcience is confirmed, and a reſpect to all the divine commandments enforced, by the experience that every act of diſobedience is followed by pungent ſorrow, and that only the ſtricteſt adherence to our duty can ſecure our peace of mind. The encomium given to Joſiah, is, that his heart was tender: the ſenſe of the encomium is obvious in his hiſtory: reflecting on the former iniquities of his kingdom, he [224] humbled himſelf, and wept before the Lord *; and he made a covenant before the Lord, to keep his commandments, and his teſtimonies, and his ſtatutes, with all his heart and all his ſoul ; and he declined neither to the right hand nor to the left . It is the very character which I have now deſcribed.

CONSCIENCE is both a power of perception, and a principle of action. Its influence as a principle, will always be in proportion to the clearneſs and the ſtrength of its perceptions. If it apprehends our duty darkly and uncertainly, it muſt impoſe it with heſitation; if it feels obligation faintly, it can inculcate it but feebly: but when it is accurately informed, it dictates with aſſurance; when its ſenſations are affecting, it commands with energy. It is its vigour, as a principle of action, that gives effect to its perceptions, that ſecures the application of them to the actual direction of our conduct, and impreſſes us with a prevailing regard to the will of God. Entitled by the original conſtitution of our nature, and the appointment of him who formed it, to rule within us, its right is notwithſtanding often violated, and its authority deſpiſed, becauſe it [225] has loſt its power. We ſee what is right, and yet do what is wrong. We hear its commands, and we counteract them. Its throne is uſurped by paſſion. We are in a temper of diſobedience to God. That his laws may govern us, conſcience muſt be reinſtated in its juſt ſupremacy. Its power muſt be commenſurate with its authority. It muſt be able to enforce whatever it pronounces to be right. All who are not perfectly abandoned pay ſome regard to conſcience: they allow it ſome influence in its turn with their appetites and paſſions; they act from it in ſome inſtances; they do ſome things becauſe they are right, and forbear others becauſe they are wrong. But this is not enough. Like the Almighty, whoſe deputy it is, it ought to have abſolute and uncontrouled dominion. It ſhould make itſelf to be obeyed in every caſe, and in oppoſition to the claims of every appetite and paſſion. Our concern ſhould be, not what is pleaſant, or what is profitable, but ſolely what is right and good. Once informed of what God really requires, we muſt hold it indiſpenſible. There remains no room for a moment's ſuſpence, whether we will comply with it or not. The language of duty is, All that the Lord hath ſaid, will we do, and be obedient *. A [226] darling paſſion craves indulgence, an inclination riſes to the action by which it might be gratified: but conſcience intimates that God forbids it; our heart ſtandeth in awe of his word *, and we refrain our feet from every evil way, that we may keep his word . The corruption of our nature ſtruggles againſt the exertion of a good affection; we are indiſpoſed to a good action; conſcience reminds us that God requires it; we eſteem all his precepts concerning all things to be right ; and we rouſe ourſelves to fulfil them. Conſcience, in full poſſeſſion of its natural dominion, forces on us an habitual attention to its directions; it preſerves them ſo intimately preſent to our view, and entwiſts them ſo entirely with all our thoughts, that they readily occur, and determine our choice in the hour of action. In every ſituation, we take time to aſk ourſelves, What is the duty belonging to it, what the part which God wills us now to act? His teſtimonies are our counſellors . His word have we hid in our heart that we might not ſin againſt him §. By our bringing all our intentions before it, taking its judgment concerning all our motions, and uniformly complying with its dictates, it is daily invigorated. Every tranſgreſſion weakens its power; every act of obedience confirms and [227] extends its influence. By the habit of ſubmitting implicitly to its deciſions, its ſway becomes more and more ſovereign and irreſiſtible, till it bring into captivity every thought to the obedience of Chriſt *.

2. THAT our hearts may become ſubject to the law of God, it is neceſſary, not only that conſcience be invigorated, and enabled to enforce our duty powerfully, but likewiſe that all our other principles of action be formed to ſubmiſſion to it, and regulated in all their exertions according to its dictates. Conſcience is not the whole of human nature: along with that ſupreme faculty, we have many appetites, paſſions, and affections, which attach us to a variety of objects, and impel us to a variety of actions. Whenever their objects are preſented, they neceſſarily riſe, and inſtinctively urge us to thoſe actions by which they may be obtained. If the only practicable means of obtaining them, in any caſe, be diſallowed by conſcience, and condemned by the law of God, they will, in proportion to their ſtrength, inſtigate us to violate conſcience and deviate from our duty. The ſcripture, therefore, repreſents our nature as conſiſting of two oppoſite principles, the fleſh and the ſpirit, contending for the [228] dominion of the heart. The fleſh luſteth againſt the ſpirit, and the ſpirit againſt the fleſh; and theſe are contrary the one to the other *. The law of God cannot but often lay a reſtraint upon our inclinations: and for this reaſon the ſcripture acknowledges it to be a yoke, and requires us to take it upon us .

OUR natural paſſions, enured to no controul, ſtrengthened by continual indulgence, and ſuſtained by the corruption of our hearts, are too refractory to be governed by a ſenſe of duty. They riſe with aſſurance, and with an irreſiſtible force drive us on to gratify them. Conſcience pronounces it unlawful; but in vain: it attempts to reſtrain them; but it is oppoſed and defeated. Its power is broken, and its authority renounced. The heart is froward and perverſe; revolting and rebellious ; the life is a courſe of diſobedience and tranſgreſſion againſt the laws of heaven. They that are after the fleſh, do mind the things of the fleſh . They fulfil the deſires of the fleſh §. They are diſobedient, and unto every good work reprobate **. They are the ſervants of ſin, not the ſervants of God; they yield their members as inſtruments of unrighteouſneſs unto ſin, not as inſtruments of righteouſneſs unto holineſs. While ſin reigns within them, it muſt have dominion [229] over them, and force them to obey it in the luſts thereof *. So then they that are in the fleſh cannot pleaſe God, becauſe the carnal mind is enmity againſt God, for it is not ſubject to the law of God, neither indeed can be . The ſtrongeſt ſenſe of duty cannot determine us effectually, except our ſenſual appetites, our corrupt paſſions, and our worldly affections be likewiſe weakened. While theſe preſerve their ſtrength, they will maintain a continual oppoſition to it; they will prevail alternately, and diſtract the ſoul. It is like a war carried on between parties of equal power; the ſucceſs of either can never be deciſive. A conſcience acting with vigour, and paſſions operating with undiminiſhed force, produce, by their inceſſant ſtruggles, that haraſſing ſtate of mind which the apoſtle deſcribes: that which I do, I allow not; for what I would, that do I not; but what I hate, that do I. To will, is preſent with me; but how to perform that which is good, I find not; for the good that I would, I do not; but the evil which I would not, that I do. I find a law, that when I would do good, evil is preſent with me: for I delight in the law of God after the inward man; but I ſee another law in my members, warring againſt the law of my mind, and bringing me into captivity to the law [...] which is in my members. O wretched [...], who ſhall deliver me from this body [230] of death ! The power of conſcience, conjoined with ungovernable paſſions, can only fill us with unſufferable anguiſh in the ſenſe of our continual diſobedience. To render it productive either of obedience or tranquillity, all thoſe paſſions and principles of action which oppoſe our obligations muſt be weakened and ſubdued. We muſt keep under our body, and bring it into ſubjection . We muſt through the ſpirit mortify the deeds of the body §. For enabling us to mortify them, the ſpirit of God is given; and all the ſtrength which he infuſes into our hearts, we muſt employ in checking and in conquering every propenſity to ſin. Our paſſions cannot be extirpated; nor can their impulſes be brought perfectly to coincide with the dictates of conſcience. In this earthly ſtate they always meet their objects; they are excited by the view of them; they aim at indulgence; and they retain ſome power. In the beſt ſome corruption remains; the ſeeds of diſobedience are not wholly deſtroyed; there ariſes now and then a wiſh for a forbidden gratification; they cannot always do the things that they would ; they fall at times into acts of ſin. But vicious paſſions are generally reſtrained; by being reſtrained they become weaker and weaker; they are enured to ſubmit to the limitations [231] of duty; and accuſtomed to ceaſe from importunity, whenever their demands are perceived to be forbidden. In proportion as they are brought to yield to the controul of obligation, we become willing and obedient *, and our hearts inclined to God's teſtimonies .

ALL the affections of our ſouls are by no means equally contradictory to conſcience, or alike apt to ſeduce us from our duty. The benevolent affections rather fall in with conſcience, and inſtigate us to fulfil its dictates. They are the immediate principles of that conduct towards other men, which conſcience approves, and God requires: and the ſame affections directed to God, and raiſed and refined by the infinity of his perfection, are the firſt rudiments of piety and devotion. When human nature is diſtinguiſhed into the ſpirit and the fleſh, theſe affections are referred to the former: the virtues into which they grow up by proper culture, make a great part of the fruits of the ſpirit enumerated by the apoſtle, love, peace, long-ſuffering, gentleneſs, goodneſs, meekneſs: their oppoſites, hatred, variance, emulations, wrath, ſtrife, ſeditions, envyings, as well as the natural effects of the ſenſual and the ſelfiſh paſſions, are reckoned among the works of the fleſh , and can become no other. In our depraved [232] ſtate, even our beſt affections need to be kept under the dominion of the ruling principle. If they were indulged without any reſerve, they would degenerate into vice; if their impulſe were implicitly followed in every caſe, it would lead us aſtray from what is right. They muſt be reſtrained from improper exertions, and regulated by the divine law. But ſtill they ſtand moſt in need of being cheriſhed and ſtrengthened. The prevalence of vicious paſſions cumbers the ſoul; like noxious weeds, they choak the ſeeds of good affections, prevent their growth, and repreſs their exerciſe. When the heart is cleared from the former, the latter take root, and flouriſh, and bear their precious fruits. Nouriſhed by the dews of heaven, purified by the influences of grace, and preſerved from irregularity and diſtortion, they are the native principles of thoſe virtues which God commands us to cultivate, and of thoſe good actions which he enjoins us to be diligent in performing. Their vigour gives ſupport to conſcience; they are engaged on its ſide. They tend directly to the extinction of many of the vices which it moſt ſeverely condemns; they ſtand in diametrical oppoſition to every ſpecies of malevolence; they are incompatible with the filthineſs of the ſpirit *; they reſtrain us from fulfilling the evil [233] deſires of the mind *; they co-operate with the ſenſe of duty in ſubduing the power of corruption. They are the miniſters which carry the commands of conſcience into execution; they are the members which we are called to yield, and which alone are fit to be yielded, as inſtruments of righteouſneſs unto God . To the entire ſubjection of our hearts to God, the ſtrength of good affections is no leſs neceſſary, than the mortification of vicious paſſions. We muſt be alive unto God, as well as dead unto ſin . His law requires both abſtinence from evil, and diligence in well-doing: the controul of corrupt inclinations only render us capable of the former; it is the ſtrength and energy of good affections that can qualify us for the latter. If they were weak and languid, it would render us unfit for that active holineſs which is pleaſing to God; a neceſſary impulſe to our duty would be wanting; we would be indiſpoſed to it, and often neglect it, notwithſtanding the ſtrongeſt perception of its obligation. Our obedience would be only the outward ſervice of the body; the heart would not be engaged in it. The fervour of good affections is the living ſpirit, which muſt animate it.

IT is when the heart is in this manner formed to obedience, by the mortification of [234] vicious paſſions and the improvement of good affections, that a ſenſe of duty, and a regard to God's law, will become in fact our ruling principle. It will actuate us in the practice of all the virtues; but it cannot be, in the very ſame ſenſe, the principle of them all. It is obviouſly deducible from what has been ſaid, that they are of two kinds. Some virtues are negative; they conſiſt in the reſtraint of ſuch paſſions as tend to vice, and iſſue in abſtinence from the gratification of them. Temperance, juſtice, and moderation of deſire, imply no poſitive diſpoſition impelling to them: they conſiſt wholly in repreſſing the impetuoſity, and avoiding the exceſſes, of ſenſual appetites and worldly paſſions. Conſcience diſapproves the indulgence of theſe, and condemns it as prohibited by God; from reſpect to its judgment, we ſet ourſelves to ſubdue them: that reſpect is the proper and only principle of our abſtinence: and this abſtinence has no value, in a religious and moral view, but ſo far as it proceeds from that reſpect. Other virtues are poſitive in their nature; they conſiſt in the ſtrength and prevalence of pious or kind affections; they iſſue in performance. Theſe affections, and all the genuine exertions of them, are good in themſelves; and, on account of their inherent goodneſs, are approved and enjoined by conſcience. [235] Theſe are the proper and immediate ſprings of the practice which is congruous to them; and give it value, though we ſhould not reflect on its being our duty. If it were not the expreſſion of theſe affections, but proceeded ſolely from the ſenſe of duty, it would be obedience, but it could not be charity or devotion. Yet conſcience operates along with them; its approbation follows cloſe upon their earlieſt motions, it attends them in all progreſſive exertions, it encourages and animates them, it invigorates them, by inculcating that the divine authority is interpoſed in their favour.

THAT ſubjection of heart to the law of God, which we have now explained, is a very important temper. It is indiſpenſibly due to God as our lawgiver, our ſovereign, and our king. Capable of perceiving the right of a ſuperior to command us, we cannot, on the leaſt reflection, but feel the right of the Supreme to exact the obſervance of all his precepts. It is moſt beneficial to ourſelves. It is the moſt immediate preſervative from ſin. It is the firmeſt ſupport, and the ſureſt guard of every virtue. If it prevail, univerſal holineſs muſt quickly enſue. It alike ſecures, but with the diſtinction belonging to their natures, the practice of the moral virtues, and the obſervance [236] of the poſitive appointments of God's will; determining us to do the one, and not leave the other undone *, but to walk in all the commandments and ordinances of the Lord, blameleſs .

CULTIVATE this temper with care ſuitable to its importance. Meditate often on the ſacredneſs and ſupremacy of the divine authority. Form awful conceptions of it, and render them familiar to you, that you may learn to reverence the laws which are derived from it. Conſider all the reaſons on which theſe laws are founded; they will endear them to you. You have been in ſituations of perplexity, in which you were at a loſs how to act; the council of a wiſe and good man would have then been, of all things, the moſt deſirable: without the laws of God, every ſtep of your conduct would be perplexed and intricate, and every moment you muſt be uncertain what you ought to do; they are the directions of infinite perfection for the whole of your behaviour; ſhall not his commandments then be our delights? They give us underſtanding, that we may live , accuſtom yourſelves to think and act according to them. Bring every motion which riſes in your hearts, and every action [237] which you intend, to the teſt of duty. Invite your conſcience to pronounce impartially, whether it be right or wrong. If it declare that it is forbidden, if it be even doubtful whether it is allowed or not, invariably forbear it. To venture upon any thing till every ſuſpicion of its innocence be removed, is to offend conſcience, and to ſin preſumptuouſly againſt God. What you are ſatisfied that he requires, let no temptation prevail upon you to neglect. Implore the divine aſſiſtance to conquer the diſobedience and corruption of your hearts, and to renew you in the ſpirit of your mind *; to take away the ſtony heart out of your fleſh, and give you an heart of fleſh, and put his ſpirit within you, and cauſe you to walk in his ſtatutes, and to keep his judgments, and do them .

SERMON VIII. REGARD TO THE JUDGMENT OF GOD.

[]
ISA. xxxiii. 22. The Lord is our Judge.’

THE conſtitution of human nature permits us not to be indifferent to the ſentiments of others concerning our character and conduct. A total diſregard to them would ſhew depravity of ſoul; a great unconcernedneſs about them would betray the want of that delicate ſenſibility which is inſeparable from true worth. The judgment of the virtuous and diſcerning is, for its own ſake, an object of affection to every human heart: their good opinion we deſire with ardour, and reflect upon with joy; their ill opinion we regard with averſion; to have incurred it, overwhelms us with ſorrow and confution. But if we be particularly connected with them, eſpecially if we in any reſpect depend upon them, their good or their ill opinion, by being of [240] advantage or diſadvantage to us, becomes ſtill more intereſting.

RELIGION eradicates none of theſe determinations of nature. It grafts its exertions on them as their proper roots. From inadequate objects, it turns them to an object perfectly adequate. It teaches us that the Lord is our judge. It requires us to pay a ſupreme and conſtant regard to the judgment of that God, who alone can juſtly eſtimate our character, and whoſe eſtimation of it is of infinite importance to us. This regard is an eſſential part of the duty which we owe to God; and it is a powerful incitement to that courſe of life which is pleaſing to him, and productive of our own happineſs, both in this world and in the next.

IN the preſent diſcourſe, I propoſe to conſider it, firſt, in its principle; and ſecondly, in its operation.

FIRST, I ſhall point out the proper principle of a ſupreme regard to the judgment of God. It is in brief a lively conception of God,—as our omniſcient witneſs,—as neceſſarily approving or diſapproving us,—and as our proper and righteous governor, who will reward thoſe whom he approves, and puniſh thoſe whom he diſapproves.

[241]1. GOD is continually preſent with us, intimately acquainted with our real characters, the witneſs of all our thoughts, and words, and actions. By this he is qualified for being in an eminent ſenſe our Judge. It is but a ſmall part of our behaviour, of which any man can be an eye witneſs; and even that part he may know but imperfectly: he ſees our actions, but he can often only gueſs at our motives and our intentions. Of many of our actions he is wholly ignorant; and therefore he can form no opinion about them. But there is not a particular of our heart or our life of our temper or our converſation, exempt from the judgment of God; for he knows and obſerves all things. The eyes of the Lord are in every place, beholding the evil and the good * His eyes behold, his eye-lids try the children of men ; doth not he ſee my ways, and count all my ſteps ? For the ways of man are before the eyes of the Lord, and he pondereth all his goings §. When thou performeſt an act of beneficence with ſuch ſecrecy that thy left hand knoweth not what thy right hand doth ; when, in the retirement of thy cloſet, the ſigh of penitence, or the aſpiration of devotion, riſes from an upright heart, it is not unobſerved by thy Father which ſeeth in ſecret **. Neither is the iniquity of men hid [242] from his eyes ; he ſets our iniquities before him, our ſecret ſins in the light of his countenance . O Lord, thou haſt ſearched me, and known me: thou underſtandeſt my thoughts afar off: and there is not a word in my tongue, but lo, O Lord, thou knoweſt it altogether. Thou haſt beſet me before and behind. Whither ſhall I go from thy Spirit? or whither ſhall I flee from thy preſence ? When a perſon is preſent with us, his ſentiments concerning us become the object of our livelieſt attention; were he at a diſtance, we could perhaps think of them with more indifference. God is never far from every one of us §; he is more intimately preſent with us than any creature can be. It requires no ſtretch of imagination, to conceive him privy to our inmoſt thoughts, to every riſing paſſion, to the moſt hidden propenſities of our ſouls: it requires only that we really believe what is abſolutely certain. We may be, we ought to be, as ſtrikingly ſenſible of his preſence as of our own being; for in him we have our being **. We may be as deeply convinced of his knowledge of all our motions, as of our own conſciouſneſs of them. His knowledge of them is more perfect than our own: we may forget them, but he cannot; we may impoſe a falſe repreſentation of them even upon ourſelves, [243] but not upon him. For the Lord ſearcheth all hearts, and underſtandeth all the imaginations of the thoughts *; and is a diſcerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart: neither is there any creature that is not manifeſt in his ſight; but all things are naked and opened unto the eyes of him with whom we have to do .

2. THE God who is perfectly acquainted with all our diſpoſitions and our actions, cannot behold any one of them with indifference: he obſerves them on purpoſe to eſtimate their real nature: he neceſſarily approves or diſapproves them. It is this that renders his knowledge of them important. We would conſider ourſelves as alone, in the preſence of a perſon who could not diſcern between right and wrong. It is our being endued with a moral nature, with a power which diſtinguiſhes good from evil, and regards them with contrary ſentiments, that renders one man at all capable of judging concerning the character and conduct of another. It is that divine perfection, of which this ruling faculty of the human ſoul is the image and the offspring, that renders the Lord our judge. He poſſeſſes abſolute rectitude of nature: he not only is pure from all moral evil, but he holds it in abomination; [244] he not only is perfect in all moral goodneſs, but he loveth goodneſs. An invariable love of virtue and hatred of vice is neceſſarily implied in his eſſential rectitude, and it is the firſt principle of his juſtice. Without this attribute, he could neither perceive nor approve his own excellence; and with it, he cannot but approve, favour, and be pleaſed with whatever is right, and diſapprove, condemn, and be offended with whatever is wrong, in the characters and behaviour of all his reaſonable creatures. The Lord God is the holy One, of purer eyes than to behold evil, and cannot look on iniquity *. Thou art not a God that hath pleaſure in wickdeneſs; neither ſhall evil dwell with thee: the fooliſh ſhall not ſtand in thy ſight; thou hateſt all workers of iniquity: the Lord will abhor the bloody and deceitful man . I am the Lord which exerciſe loving-kindneſs, judgment, and righteouſneſs in the earth; for in theſe things I delight, ſaith the Lord . For the righteous Lord loveth righteouſneſs, his countenance doth behold the upright ; he delighteth in his way §. There are ſeaſons in which every human heart feels and proclaims, that there is indelibly impreſſed upon it a ſenſe that this is the character of God. If it were not, vain and abſurd would be the complaints and the appeals which nature [245] irreſiſtibly prompts innocence blackened by calumny, and integrity overpowered by injury, to ſend up in groans to him who knoweth all things, Holy, holy, holy, is the Lord of hoſts *. Prejudice and miſtake may pervert the judgment of men; their conſcience may be corrupted, and they may call evil good, and good evil . Yet fallible as their judgment is, to pay it no regard would be unnatural: no little fortitude is often requiſite for preventing the ſenſible heart from paying it ſome regard, even when it knows it to be wrong. But we are ſure that the judgment of God is according to truth : by him actions are weighed . His holineſs is unerring as his underſtanding, and perfect as his nature: its deciſion can never fail to be ratified and enforced by the full conviction of our own hearts; it demands unlimited reſpect. The depravity of men often deadens their moral ſentiments; both the approbation and the diſapprobation of the vicious is ſlight and languid, and it is accounted of little weight. The vigour of theſe ſentiments, and our deference to them, riſe in proportion to the worth of the perſon who expreſſes them. But there is none holy as the Lord §: compared with his immaculate light, all created excellence is as darkneſs: yea the heavens are [246] not clean in his ſight *; and his angels he chargeth with folly . The ſtrength, the intenſeneſs of his approbation and diſapprobation, who is incapable of paſſion or emotion, we cannot properly conceive: to intimate that it is great, the ſacred writers ſpeak of it in terms borrowed from the moſt ardent paſſions and the keeneſt emotions, which the moral qualities of others produce in our ſouls; they repreſent him as loving, delighting, and taking pleaſure in our goodneſs, and viewing our ſins with hatred, abhorrence, wrath, and indignation.

3. THIS omniſcient and holy God is our proper and righteous governour. This brings his approbation and diſapprobation directly home to us; it implies that they will be attended with the weightieſt conſequences; it calls forth ſelf-love to ſupport the ſenſe of honour. The Lord is our judge, the Lord is our law-giver, the Lord is our king. The judgment of men often reaches only to favourable or unfavourable ſentiments of us; their eſteem is all that we can hope for, their blame all that we can incur. If they have authority over us, if their influence and power can promote or obſtruct our intereſt, their opinion of our character aſſumes a new importance. The wrath [247] of a king is as the roaring of a lion; but his favour is as dew upon the graſs *. Honour or diſhonour in the eye of the all-perfect Being, are for their own ſake deeply affecting to every ingenuous mind: but to every ſoul of man that is not dead to thought, they muſt, on account of the infinite moment of their conſequences, appear to be of infinite importance. The Lord moſt high is terrible; he is a great king over all the earth: he reigneth over the nations, ſitting upon the throne of his holineſs . God is the ſovereign and the moral governour of mankind; he will employ omnipotence for the ſupport of his government; his approbation will be followed by a great reward, his diſapprobation by dreadful puniſhment. He obſerves and eſtimates our actions, not as a ſpectator, but as our ruler: when he ſearcheth the heart and trieth the reins, it is that he may judge the righteous and the wicked, even to give every man according to his ways, and according to the fruit of his doings .

GOD has formed us the proper ſubjects of moral laws. Both by the dictates of our nature, and by the precepts of his word, he has preſcribed us laws. His having preſcribed them neceſſarily implies that he will make a difference [248] between the obedient and the diſobedient. The natural ſenſe of good deſert in virtue and of ill deſert in vice, which in every man ſhews itſelf in a variety of ſhapes, is an expreſs declaration from him who formed us, that he will make the difference. He forces us to interpret and receive it as a certain intimation of his deſigns; apprehenſion of puniſhment is inſeparable from the conſciouſneſs of guilt, but the reflection that we have done our duty inſpires the hope and expectation of reward. The ſtate in which God has placed us, is adapted to our moral nature; it gives ſcope for our voluntarily obeying or voluntarily tranſgreſſing his laws. His providence towards us in this ſtate, is a plan of government by theſe laws. By the unalterable conſtitution of things, what he requires tends to our peace and joy, what he forbids, to our diſquiet and pain: and by the diſpoſitions of his providence, they often actually produce theſe contrary effects. Our condition is generally the conſequence of our behaviour; and frequently it is eaſy or uneaſy, according as our behaviour has been moral or immoral. Some of the proſperous and the adverſe occurrences of life, conſcience, of its own accord, conſtrains every man to conſider as marks of God's favour to righteouſneſs, and his diſpleaſure againſt ſin. We are verily guilty; therefore is this diſtreſs [249] come upon us *, has at times been the unwelcome ſuggeſtion of nature to every ſinner. We feel that we are accountable to God; and we have experience that he ſometimes calls us to an account. That it is but ſometimes, that often in the preſent world there is one event to the righteous and to the wicked , proceeds only from this, that in the preſent world the plan of God's righteous government is but in its beginning: it is no proof that it will not be completed; it is a confirmation that it will. The beginning of a righteous government infers its progreſs and its accompliſhment: its imperfection in the preſent ſtate, proclaims that there will be another ſtate in which it will be perfected; it requires it for vindicating the ways of God. A ſtate of retribution preſuppoſes an opportunity of trial; and the appointment of a ſeaſon for trial, is the pledge of an exact and equal retribution. None of the irregularities of the preſent world, neither ſucceſs in vice, nor unſucceſsfulneſs in virtue, can eraſe from the ſoul of man a conviction of the final juſtice of God's government: there are moments in which the moſt proſperous wickedneſs ſhudders with apprehenſions of him to whom vengeance belongeth ; and oppreſſed innocence often looks up with confidence to God, as its refuge, [250] its avenger, and its recompence, ſaying in its trouble, Not for any injuſtice in mine hands; alſo now, behold, my witneſs is in heaven, and my record is on high *. Verily there is a reward for the righteous: verily he is a God that judgeth in the earth .

THE ſcripture every where juſtifies the conviction, and unfolds the deſigns, of a perfectly righteous government; aſſuring us that, in ſpite of all the preſent appearances of diſorder, the Lord is righteous in all his ways, and holy in all his works . For God will bring every work into judgment, with every ſecret thing, whether it be good, or whether it be evil . The diſpenſation of our redemption by Jeſus Chriſt, which diſplays the marvellous grace and compaſſion of God, diſplays, at the ſame time, in the moſt ſtriking manner, the inviolable ſanctity of his government of mankind. While it provides for the pardon of ſin, the blood of Chriſt ſhed for the expiation of ſin teſtifies how odious, how deſerving of puniſhment, it is in the ſight of God. While it ſecures mercy to the penitent, it ſeals the condemnation and the miſery of every impenitent ſinner. It extends reward to the mixt and imperfect virtues of weak men; but it extends it only in favour [251] to the perfect righteouſneſs and ſinleſs obedience of the Son of God. The ſame revelation which informs us of this diſpenſation of grace, teaches us with new light and evidence, that this world is the ſeaſon of our trial, and that at the end of it God's favour to righteouſneſs, and his wrath againſt all iniquity, will be proclaimed in the face of the whole univerſe. It gives aſſurance unto all men, that he hath appointed a day in which he will judge the world in righteouſneſs *; that the Son of man, unto whom the judgment is committed by the Father , will come to execute it, encompaſſed with all the glories of heaven; that we muſt all appear before the judgment-ſeat of Chriſt, that every one may receive the things done in his body, according to that he hath done, whether good or bad ; and that they who are in that day approved as righteous, ſhall be recompenſed with eternal life and happineſs; but they who are found to be wicked, ſhall be puniſhed with everlaſting deſtruction from the preſence of the Lord §. If then either honour or happineſs, either diſgrace or miſery, can make an impreſſion on us, the judgment of God may make the deepeſt and the moſt permanent impreſſion.

[252]A CONCEPTION of God as, in this manner, our all-ſeeing witneſs, neceſſarily pleaſed or diſpleaſed with us, and our abſolute and righteous ſovereign, is the natural principle of a ſupreme regard to his judgment of our character and conduct. If it fail of producing this in creatures ſuſceptible of a ſenſe of character, concerned how they appear in the eyes of men, often involuntarily touched with the unjuſt cenſure or the undeſerved praiſe even of thoſe who poſſeſs not their high eſteem; the conception cannot be lively, it cannot be embraced with faith, it cannot be entertained with ſincerity.

SECONDLY, Let us now conſider, in what manner a regard to the judgment of God will operate and exert itſelf. It is not a mere impreſſion on the underſtanding; it is likewiſe an active motion of the heart. It includes a deep ſenſe of the importance of his judgment, a ſupreme value for it, an earneſt and ſteady attention to it, an habitual ſolicitude how all our habits and our actions will appear in his ſight, and a conſtant care to render them ſuch as will bear his eye. God's judgment concerning every one of us, is either a judgment of approbation, or a judgment of diſapprobation. Each of theſe will produce different affections, according to the ſeveral aſpects under which [253] our opinion of ourſelves leads us to view it; and all of them the moſt important and commanding. To be approved and beloved, or to be diſapproved and hated, by the ruler of the univerſe! Immenſe is the diſtance between theſe two ſtates! To hang in ſuſpence between them, to be drawing the lot for the one or the other, is a ſituation fit for agitating the ſoul with the moſt vehement emotions, and for drawing out all its powers in the moſt vigorous exertions. It is the ſituation of every human creature in this period of trial. Diſapprobation from God, is the extremity of diſgrace and miſery; approbation from him, is the ſummit of honour and of happineſs: the former is the natural object of fear, ſorrow, and ſhame, exciting to circumſpect avoidance of it; the latter of ardent deſire, elevating hope, and rapturous joy, conſpiring to animate us in the eager purſuit of it. Let us briefly unfold theſe oppoſite movements of the ſoul.

1. WHEN we conſider God as diſapproving all ſin, a pious regard to his judgment will exert itſelf in fear, ſorrow, or ſhame, according to the light in which we conceive ourſelves to be viewed by him.

[254]ANY poſſible or probable evil is the object of our fear. The wrath of that God in whoſe hand is the ſoul of every man, is the greateſt of evils; and by wickedneſs it cannot fail to be provoked; in all, therefore, who are in danger of wickedneſs, it may juſtly awaken the moſt awful apprehenſions. The Almighty is excellent in power, and in judgment, and in plenty of juſtice; men do therefore fear him *. The fear of God, the dread of diſapprobation and puniſhment from him, is the moſt obvious expreſſion of reſpect to his judgment. It is the native reſult of the reflection, that we are in a ſtate of trial for eternity. The very idea of trial implies a poſſibility of failing; and where the iſſue is ſo important, a bare poſſibility of failing would be a formidable danger. But our danger is far more formidable: we are weak; we are already lapſed apoſtates; our ſtate abounds with ſtrong temptations to ſin: it is encumbered with circumſtances which render it very difficult to avoid it. Narrow is the way which leadeth unto life ; it runs along the edge of an unfathomable precipice; it is choaked up by briars and thorns. If you have any ſenſe of him who without reſpect of perſons judgeth according to every man's work, you cannot but paſs the time of your ſojourning here [255] in fear *. Every one of us has already gone through ſome part of his trial; and in that part of it, every one of us has already failed. The impotence of humanity admits not perfect purity; all have already ſinned , in many things we offend all : we have forfeited the approbation of juſtice; we can have recourſe only to the indulgence of mercy. The beſt are conſcious of many infirmities, many defects, and many ſins. When a tender conſcience ſets theſe before their eyes, when they place theſe in the light of God's purity, they cannot think without awe, what may be the conſequences of them under his holy government: how ſhould man be juſt with God? If he will contend with him, he cannot anſwer him one of a thouſand : enter not into judgment with thy ſervant; for in thy ſight ſhall no man living be juſtified §. If their ſincerity be ſo fully aſcertained as to caſt out the fear of final puniſhment, yet it excludes not the apprehenſion of rebuke and correction for their faults. Though they were alſo ſecure from this, they could not bear, without concern, the thought of deſerving to be blamed by God.—But when conſcience tells the heinous ſinner, that he has corrupted all his doings ‡‡, that he has choſen thoſe ways which are hateful to God, and againſt which his [256] fierce anger is denounced, what, except inſenſibility, can prevent his being alarmed with the terrors of the living God? He looks up with conſternation to the offended purity and omnipotence of his Judge; and with a trembling heart cries out, He hath kindled his wrath againſt me, and he counteth me unto him as one of his enemies *. What then ſhall I do when he riſeth up? And when he viſiteth, what ſhall I anſwer him ? What muſt I do to be ſaved ? Rouſed to an agonizing perception of his danger, he deprecates the wrath to which he is obnoxious, with anxious importunity: O Lord, rebuke me not in thine anger: Have mercy upon me, O Lord . Hide thy face from my ſins; and blot out all mine iniquities §. Such fear of God's diſpleaſure againſt ſin, is generally the firſt motion of the corrupted ſoul towards him: and if it be not violently ſuppreſſed or heedleſsly diſſipated, it will work repentance; for by repentance alone the diſpleaſure of the holy God can be averted, and the forgiveneſs of ſin obtained.

FEAR always includes a mixture of ſorrow, which becomes more intenſe in proportion to the greatneſs of the evil, and the probability of our incurring it. It is a fearful thing to fall [257] into the hands of the living God *: in the apprehenſion of this, ſorrow muſt be the predominant ingredient. The miſerable conſequences of his diſpleaſure are not altogether future: though the wicked be reſerved to the day of deſtruction for the full puniſhment of his ſins, the beginnings of that puniſhment often tread cloſe on the commiſſion of them: thine own wickedneſs ſhall correct thee, and thy back ſlidings ſhall reprove thee; and thou ſhalt know and ſee that it is an evil thing, and bitter, that thou haſt forſaken the Lord thy God : the nearneſs, the imminence of this danger, is fit for wringing the heart with grief. The diſpleaſure of God is not an evil to which the ſinner is only obnoxious: he has already incurred it: God is angry with the wicked every day ; his wrath is kindled, though it has not burnt forth; he hath bent his bow, and made it ready §, though his arrows have not yet proved the inſtruments of death . In the conſciouſneſs of this, the ſinner who has become ſenſible of the diſcriminating eye of perfect ſanctity marking all his paths ‖‖, mourneth for his ſins, and is troubled. His fear is aggravated into ſadneſs, and his ſadneſs is ruffled by all [...]he anxieties of fear. His ſpirit is broken, his heart is contrite ‡‡. He [258] ſorrows to repentance , to the reformation of his ways. His heartieſt repentance, his moſt effectual reformation, cannot prevent ſorrow from ſometimes overcaſting his ſoul: it is recalled by every failing, it is renewed by every treſpaſs: he is grieved that he cannot avoid every action and every thought which is diſapproved by his God; the ſenſibility of his ſpirit makes every imperfection in his temper the object of deep regret.

ANY evil can produce fear and ſorrow, but the diſapprobation of God is likewiſe fit for producing ſhame and humiliation in every perſon who is conſcious that he has incurred it. Whatever we conſider as bringing a ſtain upon our characters, naturally excites theſe ſentiments. To be detected in what is baſe, confounds the feeling heart, though no farther inconvenience be apprehended. To be loſt to ſhame, is the laſt ſtage of degeneracy. To deſerve blame from God, is the deepeſt ignominy; it muſt cover every man with confuſion who has any ſenſe of God. When the man who has multiplied his tranſgreſſions as the ſand, is awakened to a juſt view of what he has done, and of what he is; when he perceives with anguiſh, that he is odious to God, and all his ways abominable in his ſight; he lies down [259] in his ſhame *; he cannot lift up ſo much as his eyes unto heaven; he ſmites upon his breaſt, ſaying, God be merciful to me a ſinner ; O Lord, unto me belongeth confuſion of face, becauſe I have ſinned againſt thee . Not a wicked action of his life, not an evil thought of his heart, is unknown to the holy Judge of the world; they have all been indulged and perpetrated in his very preſence. They were marked by God, when himſelf was regardleſs of them; they were diſapproved by God, when himſelf was unconſcious of their baſeneſs; and they will at laſt be publiſhed to men and angels. He feels himſelf deſerving of everlaſting contempt . How ſhall he appear? How ſhall he be able to bear his ſhame? He is in his own eyes abaſed to the duſt. It is not the heinous ſinner alone who is obnoxious to ſhame in the ſenſe of God as his judge. Ingenuity of ſpirit is always in proportion to virtuous improvement; it enables reflection, on the ſmalleſt ſin, to overſpread the good man's face with ſecret bluſhes. Even his beſt ſervices ſink him low in his own eſteem, becauſe they are imperfect. Every new failing reiterates his inward abaſement; every devout thought of its offenſiveneſs to perfect purity, revives the impreſſion of his ſhame.

[260]THE fear, the ſorrow, and the humiliation, which ariſe in ſinful man from an habitual ſenſe of God's holy government, are not confined to thoſe ſeaſons in which ſerious reflection on ourſelves excites remorſe. The violent emotions unavoidable in theſe ſeaſons, ſubſide gradually into permanent ſentiments. They dwell upon the ſpirits of the ſaints; they mix themſelves with all their thoughts and actions. They make them to proceed through life with unremitted caution; to take every ſtep with circumſpect attention; to exerciſe ſteady care in avoiding every tranſgreſſion and every omiſſion diſpleaſing to God. The fear of the Lord is to hate and to depart from evil *. Happy is the man that feareth alway . The exertions of the good man are not enervated by timidity; but they are guarded by wary concern that they they may be blameleſs. Unſullied by dejection, they are all tinged with ſeriouſneſs; remote from meanneſs, they all ſhew poverty of ſpirit. The ſenſe of his danger baniſhes arrogance from his heart; and the conſciouſneſs of his faults hides pride from his eyes. He walks humbly with God . Modeſty, diffidence, lowlineſs, ſober-mindedneſs, are leading qualities in his temper, and render his conduct innocent and pure.

[261]2. A DEVOUT ſenſe that the Lord is our judge, turning our view to his approbation of virtue, will produce ardent deſire, elevating hope, or rapturous joy.

HIS approbation is the ſublimeſt honour; the rewards which attend it are the pureſt happineſs. But what is ſinful man, that he ſhould dare to look for honour or reward from the God of heaven? If his piercing eye ſhould ſearch us with ſeverity, or mark all our iniquities, the thought even of eſcaping his diſpleaſure would be blind preſumption. What is man that he ſhould be clean? And he which is born of a woman, that he ſhould be righteous *? But our God is merciful: he knoweth our frame; he remembereth that we are duſt : he maketh gracious allowance for the weakneſs of our nature. By the diſpenſation of Chriſt's perfect obedience unto death, he hath made proviſion for granting his acceptance and his favour to the defective virtues of the upright. Though all the world be guilty before God, ſo that by the deeds of the law there ſhall no fleſh be juſtified in his ſight, yet through the redemption that is in Jeſus Chriſt, God is the juſtifier of him which believeth in Jeſus , with that true faith which purifieth the heart , and worketh [262] by works, and by works is made perfect 8. Whoever is ſincere, is accounted worthy ; his tranſgreſſion is forgiven, his ſin is covered, the Lord imputeth not iniquity unto him ; it is blotted out from his ſight . Whatever is good in him, however weak, however mixt with evil, is acceptable to God by Jeſus Chriſt 1 Pet. ii. 5., and will be found unto praiſe, and honour, and glory at his appearing . Eternal life is too great a felicity to be merited by the ſpotleſs innocence of any mortal man; it is the free gift of God through Jeſus Chriſt ††; it is the overflowing of his love to righteouſneſs; it is an aſtoniſhing diſplay of the exuberant riches of his grace. Yet even to it our way is opened by the mediation of his Son; it is ſecured to the obedient by the promiſe of God, who cannot lie.

AUTHORIZED by the indulgent diſpenſation of the goſpel to aſpire to praiſe of God ¶¶, can we think of it with indifference? Can we hear without throbbing hearts, the Almighty condeſcending to proclaim to man, I will ſet him on high, becauſe he hath known my name, and I will honour him ‡‡. If honour from man can engage a wiſh, honour from God may well draw forth all the ardour of the ſoul. Compared with this, the applauſes of the [263] whole world, and the favour of all its potentates, are worthleſs. Ye receive honour one of another, and ſeek not the honour that cometh from God only *, is the deſcription of a character of extreme abjectneſs, no leſs than of abominable wickedneſs. Honour from God ſolicits our moſt fervent deſires; it demands all the efforts of our ambition; it is an object worthy of ambition. Of the ſoul that perceives its value, the earneſt cry will be, Lord lift thou up the light of thy countenance upon us . The deſire of it will give a direction to our whole conduct. It will impel us to walk worthy of the Lord unto all pleaſing, being fruitful in every good work ; it will determine us to labour, that, whether preſent or abſent, we may be accepted of him . It will give ſpirit and elevation to all our endeavours to perform the good, and acceptable, and perfect will of God §; for it ſuſtains them by the proſpect of true glory, of renown in the complacence, love, favour, and applauſe of the all-perfect Ruler of the univerſe.

THE approbation of God reſts not in complacence; his favour is inſeparably connected with reward. By walking ſo as to pleaſe God, we ſhall be in his grace entitled to his peculiar protection, to his unerring care for our real [264] intereſt in this world, and to all that happineſs in the next, which can proceed from the munificence of him who delights in communicating bleſſedneſs. Deſire of his approbation implies the deſire of our own greateſt happineſs. It has ſometimes been repreſented as mean and mercenary to be influenced by this deſire. But the repreſentation is an abſurd affectation of refinement, alike inconſiſtent with the frame of human nature, and the doctrine of holy writ. Genuine ſelf-love is, next to conſcience, the higheſt principle of the heart: it was placed there on purpoſe to render us ſteady in the proſecution of our happineſs: it is inveſted with authority to controul all the paſſions which would attach us to immediate gratifications and advantages deſtructive of our higheſt intereſt, which would miſlead us into the purſuit of apparent good inconſiſtent with real felicity. If we miſtake the nature of human happineſs, that principle will carry us aſtray, it will diſappoint itſelf, and plunge us into miſery. But when it is directed to thoſe ſatisfactions which God has annexed to virtue, and to thoſe unſpeakable joys which he will beſtow in approbation of it, it is a worthy principle of conduct, it is the powerful guardian of integrity, it is the certain guide to everlaſting pleaſures. Theſe joys are highly honourable, for they are earned by virtue: they are full of [265] glory *, for they are the marks of the favour of the King of kings. The deſire of them ſhews a ſoul whoſe views are enlarged to look beyond the ſphere of ſenſe, and whoſe powers have riſen ſuperior to all the allurements of the world. The ſcripture is far from blaming the deſire of them. On the contrary, it repreſents the beſt men as continually actuated by it; as looking for a city which hath foundations, whoſe builder is God ; as having reſpect unto the recompence of reward ; as preſſing towards the mark, for the prize of the high calling of God in Chriſt Jeſus . And it expreſsly commands us to look at the things which are not ſeen, which are eternal , and to ſet our affection on things above §. To inflame the deſire, it paints the rewards of the righteous in the moſt glowing colours; to ſupport it by hope, it gives every aſſurance that they will be conferred on all who pleaſe God, and diligently ſeek him **. It propoſes, it inculcates them as motives to action; and if our deſire of them bear any proportion to their value, they will be powerful motives. Deſire leads us in every caſe to that conduct by which its objects may be obtained. Deſire of reward from God will determine us to perform the conditions on which he has promiſed it, and to acquire the habits which [266] can qualify us for enjoying it. It will determine us to forſake every ſin; for impenitence in any ſin is the forfeiture of heaven. It will produce careful application to every duty; for the appointment of God is, If thou wilt enter into life, keep the commandments *. It will inſtigate us to perfect holineſs ; for we muſt be like God, to ſee him as he is . It will draw out our activity, and inſpirit our labour by firm confidence, that it is not in vain in the Lord .

REGARD to the judgment of God is not completed by deſire: when the conſciouſneſs of our own ſincerity warrants our indulging the pleaſant thought, that ourſelves are approved of him, the happy objects of his favour, the heirs of immortal glory, it breaks forth into triumphant hope and joy. This ſublimeſt hope, this pureſt of joys is not hid even from mortal man. Being juſtified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jeſus Chriſt, by whom alſo we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God §. Neither the remembrance of the ſins that are paſt , nor the ſenſe of many remaining ſtains and failings, can exclude the ſincere Chriſtian from this exalted privilege; for the remiſſion of theſe, the clemency of the new covenant has made full proviſion. The fainteſt [267] ſenſe of our acceptance with God, though ſhaded by diffidence and doubt, is a ground of ſerenity of ſoul. But when by the ſpirit bearing witneſs with our ſpirit, that we are the children of God, heirs of God, and joint heirs with Chriſt *, we can aſſure our hearts before him , it is the peace of God, which paſſeth all underſtanding . The hope of the righteous is gladneſs . Joy is always one element in the compoſition of hope; and it predominates in proportion to our opinion of the greatneſs and the certainty of the good hoped for. Religious hope is the firm expectation of our ſupreme dignity and happineſs. It includes not only expectation of the future enjoyment of God, but experience alſo of his preſent favour. It eſtabliſhes in the ſoul a temper of the moſt unclouded cheerfulneſs; it elevates it at times into triumph and rapture. It fans an inextinguiſhable flame of gratitude; and ſends it upwards in high praiſes to God §, who hath made him accepted in the beloved . Thou haſt forgiven the iniquity of thy people, thou haſt covered all their ſin **. Thou haſt put gladneſs in my heart, more than in the time that their corn and their wine increaſed §§. The all-penetrating eye of God, ſo terrible to the ſinner, is become to the [268] man who feels himſelf approved in his ſight, the exhilarating, the encouraging eye of his friend and his father. He is no longer troubled at his preſence *: the ſenſe of it is his chiefeſt joy; it is his conſolation in every gloomy hour: He knoweth the way that I take; when he hath tried me, I ſhall come forth as gold . Thou wilt bring forth my righteouſneſs as the light, and my judgment as the noon-day . His hope not only prompts to activity, but inſpires alacrity in ſerving God; it enlarges his heart to run the way of his commandments ; it enables him to go on, not with diligence only, but with rejoicing; it renders the hardeſt labour eaſy, and the greateſt efforts pleaſing. It ſecures his unremitted perſeverance, that he may hold faſt the confidence and the rejoicing of hope firm unto the end §: having taſted how ſweet it is, the thought of forfeiting it by inconſtancy or defection, would be anguiſh to his ſoul. His hope and his joy brighten in proportion to his progreſs: they diſpel the ſhadows of the valley of death , they illuminate the land of darkneſs itſelf §§: they ſtrengthen his heart to cry out with exultation, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me, thy rod and thy ſtaff they comfort me: henceforth there is laid up for me a [269] crown of righteouſneſs, which the Lord the righteous judge ſhall give me at that day *.

SUCH are the native exertions of a pious regard to the judgment of God. According to the different ſituations of our own hearts, it will produce fear of diſpleaſure and puniſhment from him, or ſorrow and ſhame in the reflection that we have deſerved it; deſire of approbation and reward, or hope and joy, in the thought that we are entitled to it. Theſe unite their energies in the checquered temper of the good man, and mitigate and qualify one another. Amidſt all the faults of our nature, all the imperfections of our temper, and all the deviations of our conduct, deſire and hope prevent our fears from degenerating into terror and deſpair, and our ſorrow and humiliation from ſinking us into dejection and deſpondence: and amidſt our moſt ſatisfying reflections, and our ſublimeſt proſpects, the ſenſe of our danger, and the conſciouſneſs of our innumerable failings, reſtrains our hope from becoming preſumptuous, and our joy from elating or throwing us off our guard. Derived from the ſame fountain, they again mix their ſtreams, and run forward in one even current. They form a temper in which [270] ſedateneſs and ardour, gravity, and cheerfulneſs, circumſpection and ſpirit, caution and confidence, are happily blended together. It is at once a barrier againſt heedleſsneſs and levity, and an incitement to activity and enterpriſe. It is alike remote from the horrors of ſuperſtition, and the ſwellings of enthuſiaſm.

ALL the parts of this temper have the very ſame tendency; they impel us with their complicated force, to avoid every vice, for every vice is diſpleaſing to God, and inconſiſtent with his favour; and to practiſe every virtue, for every virtue is pleaſing to him, and will be rewarded by him. If this temper be real, it will be powerful: if it exiſt, it will be a ruling and leading principle; its influence will be diſcernible in the whole tenour of our behaviour; every act of vice, every neglect of duty proclaims ſome defect in our recollection, that the Lord is our judge. A lively ſenſe of this will make us as ſolicitous for the innocence of our moſt ſecret actions, as for the blameleſſneſs of thoſe which are moſt open. To be exempt from the obſervation and the cenſure of men, is nothing: behold, I have ſeen it, ſaith the Lord *; and I will recompence it : the darkneſs hideth not from him, but the night [271] ſhineth as the day *. It will render us as attentive to the purity of our thoughts, as to the decency of our behaviour: they are alike expoſed to the judgment of God. It will be the preſervative of ſincerity; it will ſecure the conformity of our intentions to our profeſſions, and of our principles to our actions; it will force us to feel that hypocriſy is fooliſhneſs: by it ye may juſtify yourſelves before men, but God knoweth your hearts ; he ſeeth not as man ſeeth, he looketh not on the outward appearance, but on the heart : and when the Lord ſhall come, he will bring to light the hidden things of darkneſs, and will make manifeſt the counſels of the hearts . Awed by this conviction, till I die I will not remove my integrity from me; my righteouſneſs I hold faſt, and will not let it go; my heart ſhall not reproach me ſo long as I live: for what is the hope of the hypocrite, though he hath gained, when God taketh away his ſoul §.

A PREVAILING regard to the judgment of God, is the moſt effectual antidote againſt infection from the erroneous opinions of men concerning good and evil. Deſirous as we naturally are of avoiding their cenſure, and obtaining their eſteem, both, whenever they [272] are miſplaced, will appear deſpicable to the man who is poſſeſſed of that regard. Corrupt faſhion, preſuming to authorize what God diſapproves, or to explode what he approves, will be accounted but the ſilly caprice of fools. Attempts to palliate or juſtify any thing that is immoral, or to throw ridicule on any thing that belongs to virtue, will be neglected as no better than the ravings of inſanity. Wherever the misjudgings of erring mortals run counter to the eſtimation of the infallible arbiter of right and wrong, they will be ſlighted and derided. If every ſenſible man prefers the eſteem of a few able judges to the applauſes of an ignorant multitude, he muſt be as deſtitute of good ſenſe as of religion, who can heſitate in preferring honour from God, to the good opinion of the whole univerſe. With me it is a very ſmall thing that I ſhould be judged of man's judgment: but he that judgeth me is the Lord *. Every expectation, every apprehenſion, that can be entertained in conſequence of the good or the ill opinion of men, vaniſhes at the thought of what will reſult from our being acquitted or condemned by God. They can only kill the body; be not afraid of them: but fear him who, after he hath killed, hath power to caſt into hell . Their ſmiles are often deceitful, always [273] inſignificant: but in his favour is life , his loving-kindneſs is better than life *.

ALL the preſent pleaſures and advantages which ſin can offer, will be unable to ſeduce the man who preſerves a lively ſenſe of the heavenly Judge: for they bear no proportion either to the happineſs which accompanies his approbation, or to the miſery which ariſes from his wrath. For what is a man profited, if he ſhall gain the whole world, and loſe his own ſoul? or what ſhall a man give in exchange for his ſoul? For the Son of man ſhall come in the glory of his Father, with his angels; and then he ſhall reward every man according to his works . All the loſſes, troubles, and perils to which virtue can expoſe him, will not have power enough to terrify him from the love and practice of it: for the ſufferings of this preſent time are not worthy to be compared with the glory that ſhall be revealed in us . Convinced that no man knoweth either love or hatred, by all that is before them ; looking beyond the inequalities of the ſtate of trial, fixing his eye on the perfect diſplay of God's impartial righteouſneſs which is to take place in the eternal ſtate of recompence, he will in every ſituation do good, and wait patiently for the Lord §, not j [...]ing [274] himſelf in anywiſe to do evil *, nor ſuffering himſelf to ſay, I have cleanſed my heart in vain, and waſhed my hands in innocency . Conſcious that he is obſerved by God, animated by the ſenſe of his acting his part before ſo auguſt a preſence, he will exert all the powers of his ſoul to act it well. In the exertion he will feel a noble expanſion of heart, and triumph in the hope of being approved and rewarded: and his hope ſhall not be diſappointed, its largeſt promiſes ſhall be ſurpaſſed by the greatneſs of his reward.

SERMON IX. THE CONFIDENCE OF THE RIGHTEOUS AT THE DAY OF JUDGMENT.

[]
1 JOHN, ii. 28. And now, little children, abide in him; that when he ſhall appear, we may have confidence, and not be aſhamed before him at his coming.’

THAT the belief of the future judgment may the more effectually influence our conduct, the ſcriptures repreſent it as a ſolemn proceſs, attended with many ſenſible circumſtances eaſily and ſtrongly apprehenſible. That it may give motion to all our ſprings of action, they place it in a great variety of lights. Sometimes they deſcribe it as a tremendous event, fit to alarm our fears, and to enforce anxious vigilance and circumſpection. At other times they ſet it forth as what good men have reaſon to love *, as the day of their redemption , the commencement of their eternal [276] life, the proſpect of which may comfort them amidſt their preſent ſorrows, diſpel all temporary fears, and produce alacrity and cheerfulneſs in virtuous practice. It is in this light that my text has placed it. John, with an authority to which he was entitled both as an apoſtle and as an old man, and with a tenderneſs of affection for which he was remarkable, addreſſing Chriſtians by the appellation of little children, and exhorting them to abide in Chriſt, to continue ſtedfaſt in the faith and practice of his religion, enforces the exhortation by this argument, that when he ſhall appear, we may have confidence, and not be aſhamed before him at his coming. It is a very perſuaſive argument. The coming of the Son of God to judgment, is the terror of wicked men: they avoid the very thought of it as inſupportable; and in the hour of judgment, their ſhame and confuſion, their anguiſh and miſery, will ſurpaſs all that their terror had foreboded. Even good men cannot always look forward to it without painful concern. The poſſibility of their not being fully prepared for a trial, the conſequences of which are everlaſting, muſt at times excite ſome apprehenſions in thoſe who are conſcious of many imperfections. To be able to look for the coming of the day of God * with entire tranquillity, [277] to be qualified for welcoming its ſolemnities with firmneſs and intrepidity, and for ſtanding before the Lord, the righteous Judge, with boldneſs and joyful confidence that he will acquit us, and put us in poſſeſſion of all the joys of heaven: how invaluable is the privilege! By inviolable ſincerity and perſevering diligence in univerſal holineſs, it may be certainly attained.

IT is this alluring, this animating motive to Chriſtian virtue, that I now propoſe to inculcate on you. I propoſe to evince, that the ſtedfaſt practice of it will give you aſſurance and joy at Chriſt's awful appearance to judge the world. In proſecution of this deſign, I would lead you to obſerve,

FIRST, That Chriſtian virtue naturally produces theſe effects in this world; and

SECONDLY, That the intention and the circumſtances of Chriſt's appearance will ſecure its then producing them in an higher degree.

FIRST, That Chriſtian virtue will inſpire confidence and joy at the coming of Chriſt to judgment, we may fairly conclude from its [278] naturally producing theſe effects in the preſent world.

THIS will not require a laboured proof: its evidence lies within yourſelves; for perceiving it, you need only attend to what paſſes in your own hearts when you reflect upon your conduct. You have experience that conſcience ſometimes approves, and ſometimes diſapproves you; and you cannot but be ſenſible that both its approbation and its diſapprobation imply an anticipation, a preſentiment of the conſequences of your actions, as well as a judgment concerning their nature. Its diſapprobation includes not only regret and ſorrow for our having done amiſs, but apprehenſion alſo that we ſhall ſuffer for it. Its approbation includes not only pleaſure in the conviction that we have done right, but a ſenſe that we deſerve well by what we have done, and hope that it will contribute ſomething to our happineſs. Fearfulneſs is ſo eſſential to an evil conſcience, and confidence to a good conſcience, that by them the wiſe man characterizes the vicious and the virtuous: The wicked flee when no man purſueth; but the righteous are bold as a lion *. Along with ſatisfaction in reviewing the paſt, a good conſcience begets tranquillity in the proſpect of the future. [279] It gives a ſenſe of ſecurity; it infuſes hope, often even aſſurance, that it ſhall be well with us. This is a part of that peace of mind, which it eſtabliſhes; this forms one diſtinction between it and every other joy; and to a reaſonable creature, prone to look forward, inevitably ſolicitous about what ſhall befal him hereafter, this renders a good conſcience the moſt important of all joys.

HOPE ſprings ſo naturally from conſciouſneſs of virtue, that a ſingle good action produces ſome degree of it, though we know ourſelves to be very faulty in other particulars. We reckon ourſelves ſecure, at leaſt as to the conſequences of that action. If it meet with praiſe, if it bring us honour or advantage, we accept them as our right: if it be miſconſtrued and cenſured, we are diſappointed, we feel with indignation that we are injured, and hug ourſelves in the ſenſe of our integrity. It cheriſhes good hope, not only towards men, but alſo towards God: it leads us to expect his bleſſing on it. The expectation is ſo natural, that bad conſequences, proceeding from a well-intended and worthy action, have ſometimes ſurprized even religious perſons into a momentary arraignment of the juſtice of Divine Providence. It is ſo natural, that it enables the man, whoſe good deeds are traduced, or repaid with evil, to appeal [280] to God for their rectitude, and fearleſsly to plead that he will vindicate them. In relation to the particular crimes with which David was falſely charged by his enemies, he often addreſſes God, in words which ſeem to befit only innocence: Hear the right, O Lord, attend unto my cry, give ear unto my prayer that goeth not out of feigned lips; let my ſentence come forth from thy preſence, let thine eyes behold the things that are equal: thou haſt proved mine heart, thou haſt tried me, and ſhalt find nothing *. Judge me, O Lord, for I have walked in mine integrity: examine me, O Lord, and prove me; try my reins and my heart: I will waſh mine hands in innocency; ſo will I compaſs thine altar, O Lord . Of the like confidence towards God, dictated by the conſciouſneſs of integrity in ſome particular inſtance of calumniated behaviour, we find examples every day. We have all experienced it in ourſelves. It is not confined to the uniformly virtuous.

BUT the conſciouſneſs of uniform virtue, of genuine and habitual holineſs, produces a boldneſs and confidence of a more enlarged and important nature. A particular good action can give confidence only in reſpect of its proper conſequences: but univerſal and perſevering [281] goodneſs begets a ſenſe of ſecurity in reſpect of the final reſult of our whole behaviour. It inſpires and it ſuſtains the bleſſed hope of a ſtate of pure and permanent happineſs. By the favour of him who made us, this glorious privilege is annexed to the upright obedience of his will. By his appointment in the moment of our creation, the work of righteouſneſs is peace; and the effect of righteouſneſs, quietneſs, and aſſurance for ever *. Sinleſs obedience would produce full and uninterrupted aſſurance of happineſs. But in every human breaſt, the ſenſe of innumerable failings, and of ſome heinous offences, raiſes doubts and apprehenſions which often break the fulneſs of aſſurance. Yet ſo great is the power of virtue, that the teſtimony of conſcience for the habitual ſincerity of our hearts, can generally diſpel our fears, and ſupport our expectation of approbation and reward from God, notwithſtanding the multitude of our imperfections. Encouraged by that teſtimony, we no longer tremble at the rigour of inexorable juſtice; we look up to the indulgence of divine mercy with humble confidence.

IT is only, we muſt confeſs, the diſpenſation of redemption by Jeſus Chriſt, that lays a [282] ſure foundation for a guilty creature's confidence in God; it alone can render his truſt rational and conſiſtent; it alone can warrant the ſons of men to aſpire to ſo tranſcendent an happineſs as that of heaven. Yet ſo congenial is this confidence and truſt to the virtuous ſoul, that even into thoſe who were wholly ignorant of that diſpenſation, a good conſcience has always infuſed the hope of a future happineſs and of an happineſs greater than can be found on earth. The beſt of the heathens pleaſed themſelves with the expectation, of living after death in the ſociety of all the great and good men of former ages. It was nature itſelf that raiſed the expectation: the God of nature authorized it. The diſpenſation of redemption was decreed by him before the world began: he had it in his eye when he created man: he adapted human nature to the whole of that ſtate for which he deſigned human creatures: he framed its conſtitution with a reference to the ſecret intentions of his grace. He therefore impowered conſcience to ſuggeſt to all good men, hopes which are unaccountable to mere reaſon, which can be juſtified only by the revelation of a merciful diſpenſation, rendering repentance available to the forgiveneſs of ſins, and entitling our imperfect and unprofitable ſervice [283] to the reward of perfect and endleſs happineſs.

TO us, Chriſtians, this revelation is vouchſafed. By it we are aſſured, that God has already reconciled the world to himſelf by Jeſus Chriſt; that by his ſacrifice the pardon of ſin is obtained for every penitent; that by the merit of his obedience unto death, the inconceivable glory of heaven is purchaſed for all who ſincerely obey the goſpel; that he has already entered into heaven, to make interceſſion for us *, and as our fore-runner , to prepare a place for us . This revelation reſolves the doubts of nature, confirms its hopes, and brightens its proſpects. Enlightened by it, a good conſcience exerts itſelf with unimpaired force. The Chriſtian's hope is enlivened and invigorated by faith. Having his heart ſprinkled from an evil conſcience, he can look up to God in full aſſurance of faith ; he can rejoice in ſtedfaſt hope that he ſhall enjoy the divine protection and favour in this world, and that, when he is called to his great account hereafter, he ſhall be acquitted from his ſins, ſaved from wrath §, and bleſſed with everlaſting happineſs. Beloved, if our heart condemn us not, [284] then have we confidence toward God *. Our confidence is built upon promiſes numerous and explicit. It is ſtrengthened by the t [...]timony of the Holy Spirit, which is the [...] of our inheritance . Of Chriſtian virtu [...], therefore, everlaſting conſolation and good [...] through grace , are the native fruits.—If the ſenſe of many defects and frequent lapſes hinders ſome who are habitually ſincere, from reaping theſe fruits, it can be imputed only to their defections and their ſins: completer and more conſiſtent virtue would have ſecured their peace of mind. If a melancholy and timid temper, or miſtakes concerning the terms of the Chriſtian ſalvation, overcaſt their ſouls with a cauſeleſs gloom, it is only an accidental cloud intercepting, for a ſeaſon, the light and comfort to which their virtue gives them a right.

MOST of our joys are tranſient, and moſt of our hopes fallacious; they wither in the day of trouble, they vaniſh in the hour of death. But the joy and the hope of a good conſcience are permanent. Far from being blaſted by affliction, they often draw nutriment from it, and flouriſh in unwonted freſhneſs when ſorrows moſt abound. By the preſſure [285] of adverſity, the good man becomes recollected in himſelf; his ſpirit is rouſed within him; his fortitude is called forth. A conſcience void of eſſence toward God and toward man *, is his only remaining refuge: he finds it a ſource of unuſual intrepidity; he derives from it a firmneſs of hope, and a fullneſs of joy, which he never knew before. Even in his death the righteous hath hope . At the approach of death his hope often becomes more lively: the doubts which at times perplexed him diſappear: the ſins which often alarmed his fears, he perceives to be relinquiſhed and pardoned: the infirmities for which he often mourned, he ſees to be compaſſionable. Eternity looks leſs formidable, in proportion as it is viewed nearer, and diſcerned more clearly. He feels himſelf by grace entitled to that eternal life, which is the gift of God through Jeſus Chriſt our Lord . Without anxiety or dread, he is able to com [...]t the k [...]eping of his ſoul to God . He reſigns it in calm confidence that he ſhall be raiſed again to immortal happineſs.

THUS, ſtedfaſt virtue is neceſſarily attended by a good conſcience; and a good conſcience [286] neceſſarily inſpires hope, boldneſs, and confidence towards God. If theſe be the preſent conſequences of a virtuous courſe, how can we entertain a doubt that it will likewiſe produce the bleſſed conſequence by which the Apoſtle recommends it in the text? If theſe accompany the good man through life, and forſake him not in the dark hour of death, why ſhould they deſert him in the bright morning of the reſurrection? If they have ſtrength enough to endure all the ſtorms which beat upon them in this world of turbulence, why ſhould they die away when they are tranſplanted into the regions of ſerenity which are exempt from every ſtorm? If faith in Chriſt unſeen can now preſerve them, is it poſſible that they ſhould be extinguiſhed when our eyes ſhall ſee him, on whom we have believed, coming in his glory? Shall that hope, which ſupported itſelf when it was deferred, begin to languiſh when it is juſt ready to be fulfilled? It cannot fail, on the contrary, to riſe into firm aſſurance and undiſturbed joy.

FOR completing the proof of this, we propoſed, SECONDLY, to ſhew, that the deſign and the circumſtances of Chriſt's appearance are ſuch, as muſt increaſe the boldneſs and confidence of all who have been ſincerely and habitually holy.—Can it then be, that they [287] will not rather deſtroy it? Is not the day of the Lord great and very terrible? And who can abide it *? Very terrible it will be to the wicked; but to the righteous it will be comfortable. It is common for the ſame object to produce contrary effects on contrary tempers. Let us in thought tranſport ourſelves for a little to the judgment of the laſt day.—The Scripture has in part revealed its ſolemnities: let us conſider how they may naturally be expected to affect the man whoſe temper and conduct have through life cheriſhed good hope towards God. Awful and ſtriking they doubtleſs are: the fainteſt conception of them will give us a feeling ſenſe of the importance of that intrepidity which, through their progreſs, the righteous alone will be able to preſerve; but the fulleſt detail of them could not raiſe a ſuſpicion that they will break the firmneſs of the virtuous ſoul.

ALL the preparations for the judgment of the world, will be awful. When ſigns ſhall be ſeen in the ſun, and in the moon, and in the ſtars; when the ſea and the waves ſhall roar; when the powers of heaven ſhall be ſhaken; when the ſign of the Son of man ſhall appear in heaven; who among all that are alive and remain unto [288] the coming of the Lord, can ſtand undiſmayed? There will be upon the earth diſtreſs of nations with perplexity, all the tribes and kindreds of the earth mourning and wailing, men's hearts failing them for fear, and for looking after thoſe things which are coming on the earth *. But from this conſternation, the righteous of every tribe, and kindred and nation, are exempt. Their wonder is without amazement, their awe is void of terror, and their expectation of anxiety. When theſe things begin to come to paſs, they look up and lift up their heads, for they know that their redemption draweth nigh . The convulſions of nature which they behold around them, are the appointed preludes to its completion; and their greatneſs only indicates the immenſity of its value.

WHILE the living ſee theſe ſigns, the dead ſhall hear the trump of God, and the voice of the Archangel , commanding them to ariſe. It tumbles down the vaulted ſepulchres; it rends the foundations of the mountains; it ſhakes the depths of the ocean: but it ſhakes not the ſoul of the righteous, nor diſturbs his thoughts. The moment it reaches his ear, he knows it to be the call to immortality: the moment he awakes from the grave, he finds himſelf partaker [289] of the reſurrection of the juſt *. If the light of the morning is cheering to man, the dawning of eternal day muſt be tranſporting. The joy of a priſoner releaſed from the dungeon in which he has been long confined, is faint, in compariſon of their joy who, by the opening of the grave, have now obtained the everlaſting redemption of their body . A reſurrection unto life has always been the hope and the comfort of the Chriſtian : when the hope is now accompliſhed, when he has already attained unto the reſurrection of the dead §, it muſt be unmixed joy. At death the ſpirits of juſt men are made perfect : and riſing at the laſt day, conſcious of their being perfect, they cannot but be certain that they ſhall not come into condemnation, but have come forth unto everlaſting life . Their very ſenſes aſſure them, that they are the children of the reſurrection, who cannot die any more **; for they inform them, that they bear no longer the image of the earthy, but the image of the heavenly ††. They ſee with their eyes, they feel through their whole frame, that their bodies are raiſed ſpiritual, in incorruption, in glory, in power ‡‡In a moment too, in the twinkling of an eye, at [290] the laſt trump, the living, who had not fallen aſleep, ſhall be changed, this corruptible putting on incorruption, and this mortal immortality *. The quick and the dead together experience in themſelves mortality ſwallowed up of life : Chriſt hath already changed their vile body; it is faſhioned like unto his own glorious body . With what ineffable rapture will they then enter into the full ſenſe of that triumph, which the Apoſtle has expreſſed as ſtrongly as the feebleneſs of mortal language can admit, Death is ſwallowed up in victory: O death, where is thy ſting? O grave, where is thy victory? Thanks be to God which giveth us the victory, through our Lord Jeſus Chriſt §!—Every thing is gone, which could check or abate their triumph. The avocations of ſenſe cannot for a moment divert the conſciouſneſs of their purity: the objects of ſenſe cannot impreſs a feeling of uneaſineſs to damp their joy in that conſciouſneſs. They have now no mortal part, from which vapours can riſe, to involve their hearts in heavineſs.—Imperfect conceptions of God, or of themſelves, cannot now miſlead them into doubt, or diſtract them with gloomy apprehenſions: the knowledge which was in part, is done away; that which is perfect, is come . No poſſibility of future perils or temptations can infuſe [291] the leaſt grain of diffidence, to adulterate their gladneſs: every danger is ſurmounted; temptation is annihilated; their trial is finiſhed; the laſt enemy death is deſtroyed *. Their confidence is the ſecurity conſequent on a victory already gained; their joy is the triumphant exultation of the conqueror. The humble and timid Chriſtian, whoſe evening was overcaſt with clouds, who could not reſign his ſpirit without ſolicitude and trembling, awakes in ſunſhine, filled with gladneſs, rapt into extaſy. The ſtedfaſt Chriſtian, who was, even in his earthly ſtate, delivered from the ſpirit of fear , who lived and who died rejoicing in hope of the glory of God , forgets all his former peace in the exuberance of delight which now flows in upon him. Not with the firmeſt perſuaſion of faith, or the fulleſt aſſurance of hope §, but with the infallible certainty of experience, they cry out, Who ſhall ſeparate us from the love of Chriſt? In all things we are more than conquerors through him that loved us !

AROUND them, they behold the multitudes of men innumerable, who have peopled all the regions of the earth, from the creation to the laſt day. Of theſe many have awaked to ſhame and everlaſting contempt . The haggard [292] form of the wicked, the confuſion of their faces, the trembling of their joints, proclaim that they have come forth unto the reſurrection of damnation *. Were the righteous man acceſſible to fear for himſelf, the ſight of the wicked would inſtantly baniſh it: his whole figure is a contraſt to theirs; their viſible deſpondence, of which he bears no mark, confirms his confidence; their deſperation proves the importance of his own ſecurity, and elevates his joy in it.—He finds himſelf in a great company of ſaints: they differ, as one ſtar differeth from another ſtar in glory ; but in glory they all appear. They wear robes of immortality reſembling his own: like himſelf, they look up with confidence, and are not aſhamed. He mingles in the general aſſembly of the firſt-born ; he congratulates, and is congratulated by them; they recognize each other as kindred ſpirits, companions in tribulation and in patience, fellow-labourers and fellow-conquerors, compatriots of the kingdom of heaven. By aſſociating together, by the mutual contagion of heart-felt ſentiments, they are more emboldened, their confidence invigorated, and their joy exalted.

[293]THEN ſhall they ſee the Son of man, coming in the clouds of heaven, with power and great glory * But they ſhall ſee him without fear. It is the Son of man. The Judge of the world comes in human nature: a pledge of his mildneſs and equity in judging human creatures; a token that he can be touched with the feeling of our infirmities; for in that nature, he was in all points tempted like as we are : an intimation that he acknowledges his relation to them; a cheering, an elevating evidence that he is not aſhamed to call them brethren ; an aſſurance that he will preſent them to his Father, ſaying, Behold I and the children which God hath given me §! It is he who came in abaſement, to redeem the world. It is he who died, that he might become the Saviour of the obedient. It is he who has already expiated all their failings by his blood. After his reſurrection, it is certain that his hands bore the print of the nails, and his ſide the mark of the ſpear , by which his blood was ſhed: and probably his body will retain theſe ſignatures of his philanthropy and grace, when he returns to judge the world. He has always been for true Chriſtians an advocate with the Father . He cannot [294] but make the moſt gracious allowances for all their imperfections. Before this merciful Judge, how ſhould they who, through life, ſtudied to abide in him, but have confidence and boldneſs? Inſtead of ſhrinking from his preſence, they welcome him with ſhouts, Lo, this is our Lord, we have waited for him, and he will ſave us; we will be glad, and rejoice in his ſalvation *.

LET the wicked tremble at his coming: to the righteous, the purpoſe of his coming is the moſt exhilarating. He who was once offered to bear the fins of many, now unto them that look for him, appears the ſecond time, without ſin, unto ſalvation . He appears on purpoſe to diſpenſe the mercy of God to all who have accepted it. He appears to diſplay the munificence of God to all who have ſerved him in ſincerity. This is the time to which good men always looked forward by faith, with earneſt expectation, for the accompliſhment of the precious promiſes of the goſpel. This is the time of which Jeſus ſaid, I will come again, and receive you unto myſelf, that where I am, there ye may be alſo §. Behold, I come quickly, and my reward is with me .—Aſſuredly conſcious that they have adhered to [295] the terms of God's ſalvation, and are entitled to the great reward, their joy is full. The faith by which they were wont to eye it, is improved into ſight. The hour is come, in which they are to receive a crown of glory that fadeth not away *: they perceive it ready: with alacrity they ſtretch out their hand to take hold of it.

SUCH being the Judge, and ſuch to them the purpoſe of his coming, the glory and power with which he comes cannot poſſibly abaſh them. On the contrary, theſe encourage their confidence and exultation. They are the enſigns of his majeſty, who is their patron and their friend: they are the badges of his authority to ſeal their ſalvation: they are the evidences of his power to bleſs them. They add ſpirit to their boldneſs, and rapture to their gladneſs. The ſplendour, the treaſures, and the forces of a ſovereign, terrifying to his enemies, are, in prop [...]tion to their greatneſs, the protection [...] the boaſt of his loyal ſubjects. [...] ſhall be the glory of the Son of man at his appearing.—He ſhall come in his own glory . The majeſty of his perſon is awful: but only guilt unforgiven can render it tremendous. The righteous, delivered from the guilt of all their ſins, can contemplate [296] it without confuſion. They contemplate it with deep veneration: but their veneration has no mixture of pain or dread; it is like the ſolemn reverence of the happy ſpirits who ſurround the throne of God, and always behold his face *, replete with ſedate and placid enjoyment. The glory of the Son of man is magnificent: viewed without terror, it can only exalt and expand the ſoul. It is the dignity of perfect excellence: it gratifies the nobleſt faculties with the ſublimeſt of delights. It is the effulgence of divine benignity, raviſhing to the heart. The word of truth has aſſured us, that in that day, the Lord ſhall be glorified in his Saints, and admired in all them that have believed . To them, his eyes brighter than a flame of fire, confounding to the ſinner as the flaſhes of lightning, beam mildneſs and condeſcenſion. To them, his countenance as the ſun ſhining in his ſtrength, is not dazzling, but ſplendid and cheering. To them, his voice, loud as the ſound of many waters , is only grand and elevating. To them, the glories of his perſon are animating and tranſporting, not only as being the ſecurity, but alſo as being the exemplar of their own immortal glory.—For he has promiſed to them, that when he ſhall [297] appear, they ſhall be like him *, that they ſhall be glorified together with him, that the glory which his Father gave him, he will give them . Aſtoniſhed with the brightneſs of his glory, how muſt they triumph in the thought of being quickly cloathed with the like glory!

HE ſhall come in his Father's glory §: not only inveſted with his authority, but attended by his Shechinah, the token of his immediate preſence. It was always the pledge of his kindneſs to his people: when it filled his houſe, they praiſed the Lord, ſaying, For he is good, for his mercy endureth for ever . It is now the evidence of the completion of his kindneſs. It is the aſſurance that henceforth the tabernacle of God is with men, and he that ſitteth on the throne ſhall dwell among them, and God himſelf ſhall be their God .

HE ſhall come with all the holy angels **; an innumerable company ††, a glorious retinue of mighty ſpirits. At the ſight of one of them, man in his mortal ſtate has oftener than once been terrified: but the children of the reſurrection feel themſelves equal to the angels ‡‡.— [298] They behold them with pleaſure, attending their Lord, to contribute to his glory. They know that he has brought them with him, on purpoſe to ſubſerve their own advancement; to miniſter for the heirs of ſalvation *; to GATHER them together from one end of heaven to the other ; to ſevere them from among the wicked, that they may ſhine forth as the ſun, in the kingdom of their Father .

UNAPPALLED they ſhall ſee the Judge ſit upon the throne of his glory §, and all nations aſſembled at the judgment-ſeat. Even rejoicing, they ſhall ſtand before it. It is the tribunal to which they were always accuſtomed to appeal from the injuſtice of men: it is the tribunal from which they conſtantly expected the reward of all their labours, ample compenſation for all their ſorrows, the ſentence which was to fix them immutably in perfect happineſs. It is now erected. Their aſſurance is confirmed, their joy riſes as they approach to it. To them, it is the throne of grace . The tranquillity of their reflections makes them certain that they ſhall be found in peace, without ſpot, and blameleſs . When the judgment is ſet, and the books opened **, all the procedure ſupports [299] and augments their boldneſs. When they meet the eye of the Judge, it ſmiles upon them with complacence, and darts new rays of gladneſs into their ſouls. He judges his people with equity *. In as much as ye have done it unto one of the leaſt of theſe my brethren, ye have done it unto me , is his indulgent conſtruction of their good actions. Their frailties are excuſed by his clemency, who remembereth that they were duſt . Their ſins are mercifully covered: they were forſaken, and they are no more imputed to them. Partakers of the redemption which is in Chriſt §, they are, in the gracious acceptance of the Judge, holy, and without blemiſh, and unreproveable in his ſight They are found written in the book of life .—They are caught up together in the clouds, to meet the Lord in the air **. They are ſet on his right hand ††. Sentence is pronounced in their favour. It is proclaimed through the univerſe, that they are juſtified, approved, and glorified. The King places them with him on his throne ‡‡. He authorizes them, with him, to judge the world, and the angels §§. The dimneſs of the moſt aſſured faith, the feebleneſs of the moſt eſtabliſhed hope, is now no more: it is ſuperſeded by the clearneſs of viſion and the fulneſs [300] of fruition. Their whole frame is joy, rapture, triumph.

WHAT, though nature be all in flames; the elements melting with fervent heat; the heavens on fire, paſſing away with a great noiſe; the earth, and the works that are therein, burnt up *! The conflagration cannot excite either a fear or a ſorrow in their happy ſouls. The ſaints, when ſuſtained only by faith in God inviſible, had ſuch a ſuperiority to the moſt frightful commotions of nature, which themſelves too might be involved in, and ſuffer from, as enabled them to ſay, God is our refuge and ſtrength: therefore will we not fear, though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midſt of the ſea, though the waters thereof roar and be troubled, though the mountains ſhake with the ſwelling thereof . How perfect then will their ſuperiority be to the final convulſions of nature, when they ſhall ſee God, and when they ſhall know that the wreck of worlds can give no diſappointment to their deſires, no diſturbance to their peace. They behold it, not only unconcerned, but exulting. They know that the things which have been, are now diſſolved, only that from their ruins, refined by fire, there may ariſe, according to God's promiſe, new heavens [301] and a new earth, wherein dwelleth rightcouſneſs *.—He that ſitteth upon the throne, ſaith, Behold I make all things new . The glorious edifice riſes at his word. It is the holy city of the great God, the ſpacious manſion of eternal delight. The righteous enter into it, and there live and reign in glory and joys inconceivable, for ever and ever §.

THUS,—both from the hope which accompanies the conſciouſneſs of virtue in the preſent life,—and from the fitneſs of all the circumſtances of the judgment, to raiſe the hope of the virtuous into aſſurance, and convert it into triumph,—it is evident, that if, by the diligent practice of all virtue, we abide in Chriſt, we ſhall have confidence when he ſhall appear, and not be aſhamed before him at his coming. Can there be a more bleſſed proſpect? Can there be a ſtronger incentive to indefatigable diligence and undeviating conſtancy in Chriſtian virtue? By this conduct alone it is attainable. In the preſent world in this land of darkneſs and deceitfulneſs, the wicked may flatter and ſolace themſelves with deluſive hopes of mercy and favour from God; but theſe will vaniſh, as the dreams of the night, at the approach of the eternal day. In this world, the falſe confidence of the hypocrite, [302] the daring boldneſs of the enthuſiaſt, the blind preſumption of the thoughtleſs ſinner, may rival, or even outſhine, the humility of Chriſtian hope; but in the day of wrath, they ſhall periſh; it alone ſhall continue and increaſe. In this world, religion has its joys, the pureſt, the moſt ſatisfying, that belong to the lot of mortal man. They are ſmall in compariſon with thoſe which await good men when they ſhall be raiſed to immortality; they are but like the earlieſt dawn in compariſon with the meridian light: but as the dawn preſages the perfect day, they are earneſts of thoſe exalted joys. If we act in ſuch a manner as to ſecure preſent rejoicing in the teſtimony of our conſcience *, we ſhall likewiſe be able to rejoice in the great day of the Lord. Undaunted we ſhall hear the ſound of the laſt trump . With gladneſs we ſhall perceive that we are not found naked but cloathed with incorruptible bodies. Undazzled our eyes ſhall ſee the Son of man coming in his glory §: his majeſty ſhall be the confirmation of our hopes. Intrepid we ſhall ſtand before his judgment-ſeat, undergo our trial, and wait for our ſentence. Enraptured we ſhall hear the ſentence of approbation pronounced in our favour. Conſciouſly ſecure we ſhall look on the fall of diſſolving worlds. We [303] ſhall ſee a more ſtupendous fabric raiſed. We ſhall be received into it, and be for ever with the Lord *.

IF we would keep this glorious proſpect continually in our eye, it could not fail to determine us to that holy conduct by which alone it can be realized to us. No temptation could have art or ſtrength enough to defeat its influence. The moſt faſcinating pleaſures of ſin could not entice us, if, in the moment of their ſolicitation, we reflected, that by venturing to taſte them, we ſhall forfeit our confidence, and be covered with ſhame, in the important day when every one of us ſhall give account of himſelf to God . No danger, no difficulty, no loſs, no ſuffering, could deter us from our duty, if, in the moment of its aſſault, we preſerved a lively ſenſe, that every danger which we bravely face, every difficulty which we ſtrenuouſly combat, every loſs which we reſolutely incur, every pain which we patiently endure, rather than neglect what is good, or do what is evil, will add a wreath to our crown of rejoicing in the preſence of our Lord Jeſus Chriſt at his coming . With whatever violence corrupt appetites and paſſions rage within us, we would reckon no ſelf-denial too ſevere, no labour too [304] hard, no vigilance too intenſe, no perſeverance too fatiguing, in order to ſubdue and mortify them, if we maintained a permanent conviction, that every ungoverned propenſity is a [...] of bitterneſs ſpringing up to trouble us *, that we muſt conquer before our tranquillity can be eſtabliſhed, that we can triumph only in conſequence of a victory.

WHETHER the remembrance of groſs tranſgreſſions or ſeeble wavering will impair the confidence and debaſe the joy of thoſe who are upright on the whole, while they are rendering their account and expecting their ſentence, I preſume not to determine. But certain it is, that it diſturbs their preſent peace, enervates their hope, overwhelms them with ſorrow, fills them with melancholy thoughts, and often occaſions their meeting death with terror and dejection, and leaving this world with perplexing doubts, or deſpondence, concerning their eternal ſtate. And certain it likewiſe is, that inconſtancy or heinous offences will leſſen their happineſs in heaven. He which ſoweth ſparingly, ſhall reap alſo ſparingly . The nobleman advanced his ſervants in exact proportion to what each had gained by his pound . To be unſtable in holineſs, to be often ſtarting aſide [305] into faulty actions, even though we again recover ourſelves by repentance, comes not up to the full import of abiding in Chriſt: nor can be expected completely to aſcertain our right to the glorious privileges which attend it. If we would be ſure to give account with joy *, we muſt ſtudy to render our virtue pure, our goodneſs uniform, our obedience perſevering, our improvement continually progreſſive.—Then ſhall the Lord ſtabliſh our hearts unblameable in holineſs before God, even our Father, at the coming of our Lord Jeſus Chriſt with all his ſaints . Wherefore we beſeech you, brethren, by the coming of our Lord Jeſus Chriſt, and by our gathering together unto him, that ye be not ſhaken , nor fall from your own ſtedfaſtneſs, but grow in grace §.

NOW unto him that is able to keep you from falling, and to preſent you faultleſs before the preſence of his glory with exceeding joy, be glory and majeſty, dominion and power, both now and ever.

Amen.

SERMON X. THE SELF CONDEMNATION OF THE WICKED AT THE DAY OF JUDGMENT.

[]
LUKE xix. 22.Out of thine own mouth will I judge thee, thou wicked ſervant.

THE future judgment is in many reſpects awful to all men, and dreadful to the wicked. But no circumſtance renders it more dreadful to them than this, That in the day of judgment they ſhall be ſelf condemned. To be ſelf-condemned is exquiſitely painful. The wicked ſometimes feel the torment of it in this world; they are always expoſed to it: and when they ſhall be called to judgment, they cannot poſſibly eſcape it. This reflection binds down upon the guilty ſoul all the terrors of that tremendous ſeaſon, and muſt be a powerful motive to that repentance and reformation which will deliver us from the agonies [308] of guilt. The text naturally ſuggeſts it to our thoughts. It is part of a parable ſpoken by our Saviour. Alluding to the ſtate of Judea, at that time a Roman province, parts of which were beſtowed by the emperours on tributary princes, he repreſents a nobleman going into a far country, to receive a kingdom; calling his ſervants together before his departure; giving each of them a piece of money to improve during his abſence; returning after having received the kingdom; calling them to an account for the money which he had entruſted to them; applauding thoſe who had improved it, and rewarding them in proportion to the degree of their improvement; but condemning one who had hid the money in a napkin: firſt, judging him out of his own mouth, and then commanding him to be puniſhed. The meaning of the parable is this: Our Lord Jeſus Chriſt, who has aſcended into heaven, to receive from his Father the kingdom and dominion over all, and has left his followers to improve the advantages which they enjoy by their reaſonable and moral nature, and by revelation; will return at the end of the world, will call them and all mankind before his judgment-ſeat, will munificently reward his faithful ſervants according to their deſerts, but will force the wicked to condemn themſelves out of their own mouths, their [309] conſcience accuſing them, anticipating their ſentence, and bearing witneſs to its juſtice. By ſeriouſly reflecting on this miſery at preſent, we may avoid it, we may be excited to forſake thoſe ſins which will produce it, and, in the diligent practice of holineſs, obtain, in its ſtead, the approbation of our own minds, brightening the ſolemnity of the judgment into gladneſs, and aſſuring us of everlaſting happineſs as the iſſue of our trial. May this be the effect, as it is the ſincere deſign, of the reflections which we propoſe to offer on the confuſion and anguiſh, which, at the coming of the Son of God to judgment, all the wicked ſhall endure, in being ſelf-condemned! That theſe reflections may, by the grace of God, produce conviction, I ſhall ſhew,

FIRST, That by the ſtate of their minds in this world, the wicked are prepared for being ſelf-condemned, and enduring all the horrors of guilt in the day of judgment; and,

SECONDLY, That the nature and circumſtances of the judgment will awaken the ſenſe of guilt, and raiſe the anguiſh of their ſelfcondemnation to extremity.

FIRST, To be convinced that wicked men cannot eſcape ſelf-condemnation at the day of [310] judgment, we need only conſider what is the ſtate of their minds in the preſent world. It cannot be better illuſtrated, than by the account which the wicked ſervant, cenſured in this parable, gives of himſelf. Lord, behold here is thy pound, which I have kept laid up in a napkin: for I feared thee, becauſe thou art an auſtere man: thou takeſt up that thou laidſt not down, and reapeſt that thou didſt not ſow. His plea confutes itſelf. His conduct was the reverſe of what his profeſſed opinion of his maſter's character naturally dictated. He knew that his lord would demand more than he had lent him; yet, by laying it up unemployed, he rendered it impoſſible that he could return him more. Palpable as the inconſiſtence was, he never attended to it during the abſence of his lord: but he inſtantly convicted him by the very juſtification which he offered, and cauſed him feel that he had already condemned his own practice by his avowed ſentiments: Thou knoweſt that I auſtere man, taking up that I laid not down, and reaping that I did not ſow: wherefore then gaveſt thou not my money into the bank, that at my coming I might have required my own with uſury? The queſtion was unanſwerable; he was ſilenced and confounded. Perfectly ſimilar is the condition of the wicked. Their practice is contradictory, though often they perceive it not, to their nature, to their [311] principles, to what they are, to what they believe, to what they profeſs; and is condemned by all theſe.

EVERY man has conſcience in his breaſt, to point out his duty, to command him to perform it, and to reprove him when he tranſgreſſes it. Every man is ſenſible, and at times ſhews, that he has conſcience, and that he has it for this very purpoſe. When it has loſt the power of enforcing obedience to its dictates, it notwithſtanding continues long to excite a painful ſenſe that they ought to be obeyed. Hence the ſhuddering reluctance which precedes the perpetration of iniquity; and hence the cutting remorſe which attends reflection on it. What ſinner is there, who never had experience of theſe? Which of you dare ſay, that you were perfectly eaſy in your vices when you firſt engaged in them, and till you had by habit gradually ſteeled your heart againſt the ſenſe of guilt? Or can the moſt obdurate among you deny, that, after all your endeavours to elude the agonies of guilt, they ſtill break in upon you on ſome particular occaſions? Indeed, if we ſaw not the wicked at greater eaſe, than it is poſſible to be, under the actual feeling of this ſelf-torment, we could not doubt that they endured it conſtantly, while they remained conſcious of impenitence [312] in any ſin. For every ſin is a violation of our nature, a violation of the law of God written in our hearts *, an act of rebellion againſt conſcience, to which God hath given a right to govern us, and authority to chaſtiſe our diſobedience; and therefore every ſin is the proper object of its rebukes, and eſſentially worthy to be condemned by it.

THUS every ſinner is ſelf-condemned as he is a man, condemned by his own nature; we moreover call ourſelves Chriſtians; and every ſinner is likewiſe ſelf-condemned as he is a Chriſtian; he is condemned by his ſaith, condemned by his profeſſion. You live in the habitual practice of ſin; yet you believe the ſcripture to be infallible truth, which forbids, and threatens puniſhment againſt every ſin. Thou liveſt,—I ſpeak to every individual who knows that he is guilty,—in impurity, in fleſhly luſts, in drunkenneſs, in debauchery; yet thou acknowledgeſt that divine revelation by which God hath called us not unto uncleanneſs, but unto holineſs , and which teacheth us to live ſoberly . Thou art unjuſt, diſhoneſt, oppreſſive, malicious, revengeful, envious, cenſorious, ſlanderous, uncharitable; yet thou receiveſt that religion which teacheth men to [313] live righteouſly *, and whoſe end is charity . Thou indulgeſt impiety, profaneſt the name of God, diſregardeſt his authority, repineſt againſt his providence, liveſt without any habitual ſenſe of him; and nevertheleſs thou owneſt the divinity of that book which requires that denying all ungodlineſs, we ſhould live godly , and which aſſures us, that love to God is the firſt and great commandment . Thou committeſt what God has forbidden; and yet knoweſt that they which commit ſuch things are worthy of death §. Thou addeſt iniquity to iniquity; and yet believeſt that the great Judge will ſay, Depart from me ye that work iniquity: I never knew you . What is this but to believe, and to know, that you have incurred eternal death?

WHILE ſinners continue men, their nature pronounces them worthy of puniſhment; while they call themſelves Chriſtians, their ſaith ſentences them to the pains of hell. Remorſe wringing them with anguiſh, and appalling them with terrors, ſometimes awakens them to a diſtracting ſenſe that they are in this manner ſelf-condemned: and even when they elude remorſe, they often betray their [314] ſenſe of their being notwithſtanding ſelf-condemned. Elſe why do we ſeek to diſguiſe or conceal our vices? Or why are we aſhamed when they are detected? Is not this to acknowledge that we diſapprove them, and know that they deſerve to be diſapproved by all men? Or why do we condemn vice in others, often the very vice in which we indulge ourſelves? What is this, but in judging another to give ſentence againſt ourſelves? The inconſiſtence is very common. The legiſlator enacts laws, and fixes heavy penalties againſt crimes in which himſelf lives. The magiſtrate executes the laws on his fellow-ſubjects for offences from which himſelf is by no means free; he paſſes ſentence on them for diſhoneſty, while himſelf is guilty of partiality, oppreſſion, or corruption; he inflicts death on the murderer, while himſelf ſheds innocent blood under the forms of public juſtice. The preacher denounces the vengeance of God againſt ſins which ſtain his own practice. One man cenſures another, or indignantly proſecutes him, for tranſgreſſions notoriouſly chargeable upon himſelf, or which he indulges in another form, or with greater ſecrecy, or from which he has abſtained only for want of opportunity. By all this, we judge ourſelves in another man's perſon, and proclaim that, even when we are [...] in our ſins, we condemn ourſelves in that thing [315] which we allow Rom. xiv. [...]2. Is it poſ [...]ble then that any perſon who lives in ſin, can avoid condemning himſelf when he ſhall ſtand before the judgment-ſeat of Chriſt?

IT is very true that, in this life, the wicked are not always ſenſible of their being ſelf-condemned. But can this be any ſecurity,—I will not ſay, againſt the judgment of God—but againſt the judgment of their own hearts hereafter? They are already actually ſelf-condemned: to make them ſenſible of it, is all that is wanting to render them miſerable. If in this life they never became ſenſible of it, what would it avail them? A criminal under ſentence of death may fall aſleep, and loſe all conſciouſneſs of his condition; but is he therefore not condemned to death? or is it therefore impoſſible that he ſhould ever again reflect on his being condemned? And if the wicked are now ſo faſt aſleep, ſo thoughtleſs, ſo ſtupid, as to have loſt all conſciouſneſs of their guilt, is this a proof, is it ſo much as the fainteſt preſumption, either that they are not really guilty, or that they ſhall never feel themſelves guilty? There are many objects in this world fit to divert or to blunt the feeling of their real ſtate: but at the [316] reſurrection, theſe ſhall be all removed; and what can obſtruct it then? The preſent tranquillity of the ſinner gives him no ſecurity againſt the tortures of an evil conſcience, even throughout this life. He needs only think ſeriouſly but for one hour, of what he is, and what he has done, to be wretched. On the moſt incidental recollection of his more heinous ſins, regret, diſſatisfaction, ſhame, terror, conſternation, riſe and ſeize upon him, like tormenters let looſe from hell, to puniſh him before the time. Often when he affects a cheerful countenance, often when none ſuſpects his hidden woe, the fiends which haunt the guilty breaſt prey inwardly upon him, and make him miſerable in his own reflections and forebodings. Can they fail then to invade him in the awful hour of his final judgment? They will aſſault him with tenfold rage. Their wounds will be all empoiſoned with the corroding venom of deſpair.

THUS, ſinners, the preſent condition of your ſouls evinces that you muſt be ſelf-condemned at the day of judgment. You are already condemned in your ſins by the eſſential principles of your own nature, and by that religion which you believe and profeſs. You are in this manner ſelf-condemned, even when you have no ſenſe or thought of it: often you are [317] awakened, in the preſent world, to the cutting ſenſe of it; and overpowered with remorſe, ſhame, and fearful apprehenſions: theſe are the imperfect foretaſtes, and they are the expreſs intimations, the certain pledges of that unſpeakable anguiſh, confuſion, and terror, to which you ſhall certainly be awakened at the day of judgment. For,

SECONDLY, The nature and circumſtances of the judgment are ſuch as cannot fail to rouſe the wicked to the ſenſe of their whole guilt, and to aggravate it beyond endurance. Only fix your attention for a moment, on the ſolemn proceſs, on the awful tranſactions of the day of vengeance; and doubt of it, if you can. How dreadfully do they ſurpaſs all the occurrences which have often alarmed wicked men with an excruciating conſciouſneſs of their own demerit?

I WILL not enlarge on the convulſions of nature, and the appearances of terror, which will precede and introduce the day of the Lord; the roarings of the ſea *; the quakings of the earth ; the blood, and fire, and pillars of ſmoke ; the ſigns and wonders in heaven ; [318] the ſtars falling down *; the moon turned into blood; and the ſun into an orb of darkneſs ; all dreadfully announcing the approach of the Judge. Theſe portents will diſmay the wicked, overwhelm them with diſtreſs, diſtract them with perplexity , melt their heart in the midſt of them, and cauſe them to mourn and wail . But they will be perceived only by thoſe who will be then alive. It is by the reſurrection, that all the reſt of the wicked ſhall be arouſed to the tortures of ſelf-reproach.

An angel cometh down from heaven, and crieth with a loud voice, and ſoundeth the trump of God §. The grave, the earth, the ſea, give up their dead . The dead hear the voice of the Son of God, and live, and come forth **. That voice, that trump, which raiſes the dead, awakens the wicked to all the miſgivings of conſcious guilt, to the full view of all the horrors of their miſerable ſtate; it awakens them to fruitleſs remorſe and racking deſpair. How can it fail? The guilty—it is the decree of God, the unchangeable law of human nature—are eaſily alarmed; they catch a conſuming flame from every ſtrange occurrence. The ſons of Jacob [319] but felt ſome ſome hardſhip, and apprehended ſome danger, in a diſtant country: and immediately their conſcience reminded them of their ill-deſert in ſelling Joſeph *. Belſhazzar had made a ſplendid feaſt, and was indulging himſelf amidſt his lords, his wives, and his concubines, in all the pleaſures of luxury, wine, and revelling; when the fingers of a man's hand came forth, and wrote upon the wall—he underſtood not what; but it conjured up terrors to his mind, in the very hour of diſſipation and riot; the king's countenance was changed, and his thoughts troubled him, ſo that the joints of his loins were looſed, and his knees ſmote one againſt another . The very winds will ſometimes ſeem to whiſper their offences to the wicked. And will not that voice force them on their remembrance which ſoundeth louder than the thunder, from the one end of heaven to the other? that voice which they know to be the call to judgment? The ſignal for the coming of an earthly judge is terrifying to the criminal; how much more terrifying, to every conſcious ſinner, muſt that trumpet be, which announces the appearance of the univerſal Judge from heaven, and proclaims the great and laſt aſſize?—Awakened by that trumpet, to the torturing ſenſe of [320] guilt—happy for them to have ſlept for ever;—but awake they muſt,—the wicked come forth reluctant, ghaſtly, trembling. And to what a ſcene? How changed from the preſent world! In the preſent world, the objects of ſenſe divert your thoughts from yourſelves; the buſtle of buſineſs engroſſes your attention, gaieties and amuſements diſſipate your reflection; inconſideration hides your real character from your eyes, the avocations of life turn off the anguiſh which your ſuſpicions of it ſometimes threaten. But at the reſurrection, the phantoms have diſappeared; they find no place beyond the grave; they have left you diſtracted for not having ſooner diſcovered their deſtructive vanity. Even on earth, they could not always infatuate you into peace; your own heart knows, that guilt has ſometimes pierced it, like a ſharp arrow, when there appeared no hand which let it fly; and when, abſorbed in worldly cares, or diſſolved in the effuſeſt mirth, you ſeemed to be ſecure from every wound: when then you riſe naked from the grave, and can find no ſhield; and when all things around you conſpire in impreſſing you with your guilt, how certainly and how deeply ſhall it lacerate your ſouls? To think, is to be miſerable; and not to think, is impoſſible. In the preſent world, when the ſinner is rouſed from his thoughtleſſneſs, and conſtrained [321] ſtrained to reflect upon his ways, he can often elude the rebukes of conſcience by the chicanery of ſelf-deceit. He can perſuade himſelf that his ſins are ſmall, and abate the ſeverity of remorſe; he can miſrepreſent his vices as innocent, and ſtifle the uneaſy ſenſe of them; he can confound them with virtue, and glory in what is in truth his ſhame. But the brightneſs of Chriſt's coming will reveal all the illuſions of ſelf-deceit. Every thing will appear as it really is. No faſcination can hide or diſguiſe a ſingle crime. Every ſin ſtarts up in its genuine form; its baſeneſs is written on it as with a ſun-beam; no colouring can varniſh over its deformity; no philm can obſtruct the full perception of it. All the painted virtues of men, to their confuſion, ſhew themſelves real vices; their laborious religion is diſcovered to have been but abject ſuperſtition; their flaming zeal, but bigotry, bitterneſs, and cruelty; their prudence and frugality, avarice; their generoſity, vanity, and profuſion; their charity oſtentation; their rigid juſtice, hard-heartedneſs and rancour. The paſt ſucceſs of their ſelf-impoſition adds to the bitterneſs of their reflections. We befool ourſelves whenever we attempt to diſguiſe our vices from ourſelves. It is to be willingly lulled into a falſe ſecurity, which muſt end in unexpected ruin. In the preſent world, by continuing [322] to act in bold defiance to conſcience, the wicked can ſtupify it, and ſtop its mouth from either inculcating their duty, or warning them of their danger. But the effrontery of the moſt daring and abandoned ſinner will fail when he is called to judgment. Though he could diſpute the commands of conſcience, and deſpiſe its threatenings of puniſhment, he finds that when the ſeaſon for puniſhment is come, it inflicts it with a power that is irreſiſtible. Pierced by its ſtings, he writhes himſelf in torture, he is embowelled with agonies; they are entwiſted with the eſſential principles of his frame.—The night is paſt; the darkneſs which concealed him from his own eyes is over and gone; gone with them, and gone for ever his reſt and peace. He laments that ever he was at reſt; he bewails that ever he enjoyed peace in ſin. It has forfeited his everlaſting peace. There is no longer a poſſibility of diſregarding the things which were unſeen, and deemed remote, perhaps uncertain. The cauſe of diſregarding them has ceaſed. All other things have fled before the glories of the laſt day, like miſt before the wind. Theſe alone are preſent now; they are heard, and ſeen, and felt. The ſinner was forewarned that he would be brought into judgment; he nevertheleſs indulged himſelf in what he knew could not endure the trial; [323] and he found means to evade the painful apprehenſion of his condemnation, which might have reſtrained him. But the ſeverer pain which he now endures, by what means can he evade? The angel of the reſurrection has, with the blaſt of his breath, ſwept away all the refuges of lies *. He might have known what has now befallen him! He could not avoid ſometimes dreading it! He might have prevented it! But now it is inevitable! The reflection aggravates the tortures of remorſe and terror, to whoſe united ſury his ſepulchre has caſt him out. Neither heaven nor earth, neither eternity nor time, contains aught that can alleviate his pain. The paſt, the future, and the preſent conſpire to inflame it. The paſt is a precious opportunity of obtaining eternal happineſs, wilfully loſt, and loſt for ever. The future diſcloſes only the certain proſpect of puniſhment for having loſt it. The preſent is full of agonizing reflections, and fearful apprehenſions, and of objects calculated for driving them into his inmoſt ſoul. It is the ſtate of retribution, not the ſtate of trial, into which he has ariſen. The appointed meſſenger has already proclaimed, that there ſhall be time no longer : he that is unjuſt, let him be unjuſt ſtill; and he which is filthy, let him [324] be filthy ſtill *. He cannot indulge the ſainteſt hope of retrieving his condition. In the moment of deep remorſe for an atrocious ſin, an awakened conſcience, ſometimes even in this life, repreſents it as unpardonable: then it will declare with irreſiſtible perſuaſiveneſs, that every unforſaken ſin is in truth unpardonable. How dreadful is the miſery of guilt and deſpair united! If guilt may become the moſt unſufferable torment that can ſeize a man, even now when there is room for its being expiated, what will it be, when there is no more place for repentance? In vain would we attempt to expreſs to the full the torture which vice has often inflicted on the guilty mind; the inward pain which drove Adam to hide himſelf from God; the conſternation which ſhook Belſhazzar at his idolatrous debauch; the anguiſh which tore the traitor Judas when he hanged himſelf; the wretchedneſs which wrung the wicked emperour when he defied all the gods and goddeſſes to make it greater. Much leſs can we put in words, that complicated agony which the wicked ſhall ſuffer at the laſt. It ſurpaſſes thoſe greateſt diſtreſſes incident to mortal man, more than they ſurpaſs the ſlighteſt ailment that draws a tear from a puny or fretful child. To ſee that [325] the puniſhment of hell is to be inſtantly inflicted! to be confounded with its greatneſs! yet to feel it perfectly juſt! not to dare to call it too ſevere! not to be able to allege a reaſ [...]n why it ſhould not be rigorouſly executed!—It is an agony without a name!

THE whole world is aſſembled. The ſinner beholds thouſands, like himſelf, pale, trembling, agitated by the ſame unutterable agonies. Can the ſight make him forget himſelf, or eaſe the torment which ariſes from reflecting on himſelf? It muſt be but a ſlight diſtreſs, in which one can derive conſolation from his having fellow-ſufferers. The horrors of guilt admit no alleviation from companions in miſery; they are heightened by the ſight of them; it reverberates a man's reflections upon himſelf, and ſharpens them. The ſight of an accomplice, though he betrayed no ſymptoms of a troubled conſcience; the conviction of another for a crime ſimilar to their own, though they were in no danger of detection, has ſometimes ſurpriſed the wicked into a recollection of miſdeeds which they had long forgotten, and kindled a devouring fire within them. And can the preſence of all the world of ſinners, at the laſt day, fail to kindle a fire like hell, in every wicked man; when their agonies are impreſſed on every feature, [326] obvious in the quaking of every joint, intuitively ſeen, and when he knows that he and they together have come forth to condemnation? He meets his aſſociates in vice; and is overwhelmed with additional confuſion. He meets his ſeducers; and his rage againſt them convulſes him with a freſh torment. He meets thoſe whom he has corrupted; and their upbraidings harrow up his ſoul. The miſery of every ſinner is contagious as the peſtilence. Every groan of a guilty heart, ſerves for fuel to feed the flames of all the reſt.—But here likewiſe are all the generations of the righteous. They riſe, as they fell aſleep, intermingled with the wicked. But how ſplendidly diſtinguiſhable from them? By the ſolemnities of this great day, they are fixt in awe; but it is ſerene and pleaſant; they rejoice, they triumph, in confidence of the approbation of the Judge; their ſerenity and their joy every moment grow and become more conſpicuous; by the emanations of their inward gladneſs, their very bodies are already glorified. All the tokens of their bleſſedneſs are like barbed arrows, tearing the hearts of the wicked. They run to and fro, like ſparks among the ſtubble , and lay waſte their ſpirits within them. Even on earth, the good man,* [327] though compaſſed with infirmities, depreſſed by poverty, deſpicable for his external meanneſs, reputed unhappy in compariſon, is uneaſy to the wicked; he was made to reprove their thoughts; his deeds upbraid them with their offences; he is grievous unto them, even to behold *. But when they ſhall ſee the whole company of congregated ſaints raiſed each in glory, and ſtanding in great boldneſs, when they ſhall diſcern among them the man whoſe admonitions they ſlighted, whoſe practice they ridiculed, whoſe perſon they inſulted; then they ſhall be troubled with terrible fear, and ſhall be amazed at the ſtrangeneſs of his ſalvation: and groaning for anguiſh of ſpirit, they ſhall ſay within themſelves, This was he whom we had ſometimes in deriſion, and a proverb of reproach: we fools accounted his life madneſs, and his end to be without honour: how is he numbered among the children of God, and his lot is among the ſaints! We have wearied ourſelves in the way of wickedneſs and deſtruction ! On all the inherent torments of guilt, theſe reflections accumulate the gnawings of unavailing and unrelenting ſpite and envy.—But all theſe are only the beginnings of ſorrows .

THE Judge of the world appears, deſcending in awful majeſty; his glory covereth the [328] heavens *. Angels, more numerous than the ſtars of the firmament, and more radiant than the ſun, attend him at his coming. The breaſts of the wicked are all tumult and diſtraction; horror chills their hearts, and ſhame is upon all their faces. The appearance of a ſingle angel, with his glory veiled, ſent on a meſſage of kindneſs, has laid even good men proſtrate on the earth, in bitter abomination of their vileneſs, and made them to tremble becauſe they were unclean. And when the whole hoſt of heaven, angels and archangels, cherubim and ſeraphim, thrones and dominions, principalities and powers, ſhall appear together, ſhining in the fulneſs of their celeſtial ſplendour, and on purpoſe to miniſter to the final deſtruction of all the wicked, can it be but every ſinner muſt be alarmed into tribulation, and anguiſh, and terror in the conſciouſneſs of his impurity and guilt? Before the face of the Son of God, when his glory was hid under the form of a ſervant , and when he ſpake in the mildeſt accents, the ruffians who came up boldly to apprehend him, daunted in an inſtant, went backward and fell to the ground : at his word, when he bore only the likeneſs of m [...]n a whole legion of devils trembled and [...] [329] in apprehenſion, that he would torment them before the time *. When therefore he ſhall come to judgment,—how changed from him at whom the legion trembled! not now in faſhion as a man , not now eclipſed by mortal fleſh; but, as he was from the beginning, in the form of God , the brightneſs of his gl [...]ry , ſhining, as befits the only-begotten of the Father, in all his natural and all his mediatorial glory; and not in his perſonal glory alone, but in all the glory likewiſe of his Father §, inveſted with all the majeſty of God; and now perhaps to puniſh, but certainly to take vengeance on them that know not God, and that obey not the goſpel of our Lord Jeſus Chriſt : When this majeſtic one, ſo tremendouſly arrayed, on ſight of whom, leſs awfully diſplayed, even his beloved John fell at his feet as dead §§, ſhall appear to judge the world, how ſhall the wicked ſtand before him? They dare not ſtand: yet ſtand they muſt. Fear and diſmay is upon them, pangs have taken hold of them, as the pangs of a woman that travaileth ¶¶. They run about howling for ſhelter; they hide themſelves in the dens and caverns of the earth; they cry out to the rocks and to the mountains, [330] fall on us, and hide us from his face; for the great day of his wrath is come, and who ſhall be able to ſtand *? He abhors their ways; and themſelves feel them to be abominable. He is come to puniſh them; and their own hearts condemn them to the puniſhment. The juſtice of God demands it: they cannot fabricate a plea againſt its being inflicted. The very goodneſs of God cuts them off from hope; it dictated thoſe laws which they have obſtinately violated. They cannot pray, they cannot aſk forgiveneſs; their conſcience thunders in their ears, that it is now impoſſible. They cannot bear to think of the miſery which they have entailed upon themſelves; but they can think of nothing elſe; it obtrudes itſelf upon them. Can the puniſhment which they dread, be heavier than the anguiſh which they endure already! What need of a ſentence to compleat their woe! They are loaded with greater wretchedneſs than they can bear! But they ſhudder in expectation of more unſufferable wretchedneſs.

A great white throne is erected. The Son of God ſits down upon it. The noon-day light is loſt in the celeſtial eſſulgence which ſurrounds him. He caſts his eyes upon the wicked; and [331] they are troubled. When Peter had fallen, the Lord turned and looked upon him *. It was a look full of compaſſion; yet it cut him to the heart; and he went out, and wept bitterly . If a look of tenderneſs from Jeſus, when a priſoner, ſtung Peter with ſo ſharp contrition for a ſingle ſin, with what horror will his look of anger, from the throne of his glory , when his face and his eyes ſhall be more dazzling than the meridian ſun, overwhelm the wicked, in the unavailing recollection of tranſgreſſions numberleſs and atrocious? If the ſorrow of repentance was ſo violent, what will be the ſorrow of conſternation and deſpair?—They are brought before the judgment-ſeat. They can make no defence. Should they plead any of thoſe excuſes with which they were wont to reconcile themſelves to their ſins, they would be turned into evidences and aggravations of their guilt. It ſtares them in the face. They accuſe themſelves; they witneſs againſt themſelves. Remorſe has often compelled men to publiſh their crimes, when without this they could never have been known; in the day of judgment remorſe is ſtronger; and diſſimulation would be in vain. The Judge cannot be deceived; nothing can be hid; the moſt perverſe [332] ſilence, the hardieſt denial could not prevent a ſingle ſin from being proclaimed upon the houſe-tops *. But with what anguiſh of ſpirit muſt they divulge their ſins? To be forced to accuſe a friend, eſpecially in a capital caſe, is torture. What then muſt it be for a man to accuſe and to give teſtimony againſt himſelf, in the moſt capital caſe, when everlaſting deſtruction muſt be his ſentence? The confeſſion of a fault is never unaccompanied with ſome degree of ſhame; to have a confeſſion extorted from himſelf, of a crime which, from conſciouſneſs of its baſeneſs, he laboured to conceal, covers a perſon with confuſion: the ignominy of a public confeſſion is ſo great, as to be deemed an expiation of very injurious offences; the mortification which it occaſions is almoſt worſe than death; to avoid the ſhame of detection, men have ſometimes ruſhed into enormous deeds which their very hearts abhorred. How then can we conceive the mortification, the confuſion, the diſgrace, which overpower and rack the ſinner, when all his ſins are dragged out of that darkneſs in which he hoped to bury them for ever; when his own conſcience is conſtrained to diſcloſe his moſt hidden wickedneſs, to reveal the guilt of all his thoughts, and words, and actions, [333] before the whole world of reaſonable beings, the aſſembly of all nations and ages, the numberleſs hoſts of angels, the glorious Judge; when he is forced with his own mouth to pronounce them atrocious, inexcuſeable, and worthy of damnation?—The Judge ſets the wicked on his left hand *. He rehearſes their demerits. He convinces them of all their ungodly deeds, and of all their hard ſpeeches . He gives the tremendous ſentence; Depart from me, ye curſed, into everlaſting fire, prepared for the devil and his angels . It cometh from his gracious lips, who died to ſave them from deſtruction; it wounds the deeper. They feel its juſtice, and are ſtruck with horror. Heaven and earth reſound with the united acknowledgments of men and angels. Thou art righteous, O Lord, becauſe thou haſt judged thus .

THE diſſolution of the world will accompany the judgment of mankind; and it will heighten the ſorrows and the terrors of the wicked. The agonies of a perſon who awakes in the midſt of flames, and muſt ſtand ſtill till they devour him, the conſternation of a perſon who perceives the earth opening beneath his feet, and howls, and ſinks into its bowels, defy [334] deſcription; but they bear no proportion to the convulſions of the wicked, when all nature ſhall be commixed in univerſal conflagration, the mountains conſumed, the rocks melted down, the earth burnt up, the heavens tumbling, the ſtars, the moon, the ſun, falling blazing from their orbits. A faint deſcription of this cataſtrophe impreſſes aſtoniſhment; what will the execution of it be! The world on fire would be in itſelf a ſight of terror; but the wicked are involved in its deſtruction. It wrings them with a tormenting ſenſe of the folly of their ſins. A heavy loſs, or a deep affliction is generally ſufficient to open the eyes of the ſinner to the unprofitableneſs of his vices. But now his all is loſt: his affliction is complete. In that world were all the objects which tempted him to commit his ſins, all the objects in which he ſought his happineſs, his only portion; and now it is gone for ever. He has wearied himſelf for things which are not. The whole creation is converted into a weapon for avenging God upon his enemies. The bottomleſs pit is uncovered. Hell opens its mouth. The angels gather out of the kingdom of God, all them that offend, and all them which do iniquity, and caſt them into the furnace of fire *. The ſenſe of [335] guilt remains. The torture of ſelf-condemnation aggravates all their ſufferings. The abyſs is full of weeping, and wailing, and gnaſhing of teeth *.

WHAT madneſs is it to ruſh on all theſe complicated horrors? It is a madneſs chargeable on all who live in wickedneſs. They are the neceſſary conſequences of wickedneſs. Conſider them in time; and be perſuaded to repent of all your ſins. Ye giddy and ye thoughtleſs, attend to them, and learn to think ſeriouſly of your moſt important intereſts: if ye trifle away the ſeaſon in which they may be ſecured, ye will be awakened to thoughtfulneſs, when it can avail only to diſcover and enhance your irreparable miſery. Ponder then, ye hypocrites; they are your portion: ceaſe to impoſe yourſelves upon the world for other than you are; ſtudy to be really what you wiſh to appear: in the hour of judgment, your falſehood will be expoſed, and the rottenneſs of your hearts ſhewn naked to the whole creation; whatever is not ſincere and genuine will be a ſting; your fair pretences and goodly profeſſions will be your confuſion. Think of them, ye abandoned, ye openly profane; harden not your hearts [336] any longer in your profligacy; your bold contempt of obligation will be no defence, in the day of your account, againſt the laſhes of your conſciences for having violated it; your audacity in committing ſin, will be changed into a ſtounding dread of the merited puniſhment of ſin. If you have fortified yourſelves in obduracy, by caſting off the belief of revelation, the falſe courage which this intoxication has produced will fail in the morning of the reſurrection: your boaſted freedom and depth of thought will unmaſk itſelf, and ſtand forth a vicious prejudice armed with ſcourges to chaſtiſe you as its voluntary ſlaves: you will be forced to reproach yourſelves for having diſobeyed the goſpel which you diſbelieved, becauſe God gave you the opportunity of believing it: and you will diſcover that even its falſhood could not vindicate you, becauſe the principles of your own reaſon, and the dictates of your own conſcience, inculcate the very virtues which it requires. If you have renounced the principles of reaſon, perſuaded yourſelves that there is no God nor future ſtate, and debauched yourſelves from the very ſenſe of good and evil; yet your infidelity will vaniſh in the grave; the reſurrection will convince you, to your unutterable anguiſh, that you are not beaſts which periſh; you ſhall find that to baffle the ſuggeſtions of your moral nature, [337] is not to ſubvert its conſtitution: conſcience will re-aſſume its power; reaſon will re-aſſert its rights; you ſhall ſee the face of that God whom you denied, and ſink beneath his terrors in that ſtate of retribution which you derided. Ye who believe the goſpel, but obey it not; ye who pervert it from its real intention, and turn its grace into licentiouſneſs; ye who abuſe its promiſes to cheriſh the hope of happineſs on any terms conſiſtent with wilful ſin; be aſſured that its purity will render you without excuſe in the day of wrath, and force your own mouth to condemn you: if you forſake not your ſins, the religious profeſſions which you now regard as an impenetrable ſhield, will fly from your graſp, and leave you defenceleſs againſt the wounds of guilt. Ye who are blind to your own character, and keep yourſelves eaſy in your ſins by the artifices of ſelf-deceit, open your eyes in time, behold yourſelves as you truly are, and be reformed: when it is too late, your eyes will certainly be opened, and no diſguiſe, no varniſh will be able to hide from them the blackneſs of your hearts, and the vileneſs of your practices. Conſider, ſinners, and tremble, and be troubled, that by ceaſing to be ſinners, ye may have reſt in the final day of tribulation.

[338]IF you can withſtand incitements to repentance, ſo alarming, you muſt even ſleep on in ſin, and take your reſt on the brink of deſtruction. Yet your judgment lingereth not, your ſelf-condemnation ſlumbereth not *. Be perſuaded to prevent it ſpeedily. Under a deep ſenſe of the dreadful iſſue of iniquity, let us call ourſelves to a ſtrict account, and diligently ſearch out our moſt ſecret ſins. For every ſin with which your conſcience charges you, condemn yourſelves honeſtly and impartially. Excuſe none of your ſins; extenuate none of them; repreſent them all to yourſelves in their whole enormity. Shrink not from the remorſe which the view of them produces; however ſevere, it is a wholeſome pain: purſue it to repentance; rear it into a vehement and habitual abhorrence of evil. Actuated by this principle, guard carefully againſt every ſin; abſtain from whatever you muſt diſapprove upon reflection; allow not yourſelves in any thing which you but ſuſpect that you will afterwards wiſh undone. Let conſcience, informed by that goſpel according to which you ſhall be judged , be your guide in every part of your conduct: for what you do by its direction, you ſhall never need to condemn yourſelves. As long as you find any thing in you which your hearts condemn, you remain imperfect: labour [339] to become more perfect. Every day amend ſome fault in your temper, or ſome error in your practice. Wear off by degrees your moſt natural infirmities; reckon every defect in your virtue a real vice. Leave nothing for which your hearts can reproach you; if for any thing they now reproach you, and you forſake it not, they will reproach you more grievouſly at the laſt day. Decline not the labours of reformation and improvement: they alone can preſerve you from the agonies of ſelf-condemnation, and from the wrath of God; and amidſt all the ſolemnities of the judgment, all the convulſions of nature, and all the terrors of the wicked, they will give the righteous peace, confidence, and joy, and fix them in the manſions of everlaſting happineſs. Let me die the death of the righteous, and let my laſt end be like his *.

Amen.

SERMON XI. IN FOUR PARTS. THE INFLUENCE OF THE PASTORAL OFFICE ON THE CHARACTER.
Preached before THE SYNOD OF ABERDEEN, At ABERDEEN, April 8, 1760, and publiſhed at their Deſire.

[]
TITUS i. 7. firſt Clauſe. A Biſhop muſt be blameleſs, as the ſteward of God.—’

PART I.

IN forming general concluſions from particular inſtances, eſpecially when our experience of theſe inſtances has not been uniform, great caution is neceſſary, on every ſubject, to preſerve us from miſtakes. But a peculiar degree of caution is neceſſary in forming general maxims concerning characters; becauſe the circumſtances on which characters depend, are both more complicated, and more uncertain in their operation, than the cauſes of [342] natural effects. On this account, obſervations muſt be made on a very great number of individuals, before we can judge with accuracy concerning the character of the nation or the profeſſion to which theſe individuals belong: and even after we have made the moſt extenſive obſervations, we ought ſtill to remember, that the maxim, which we form, far from being an univerſal truth, will neceſſarily be liable to numberleſs exceptions.

IT is however undeniable, that there are few ſubjects on which men judge, either more raſhly, or more dogmatically, than on the characters both of nations and of particular profeſſions. They impute the faults which they have obſerved in a few individuals, to a whole nation or order. They often alſo embrace the groundleſs prejudice ſo cloſely, that, when they afterwards diſcover many other individuals, who appear to be free from the blemiſh which they had expected to find in them, they ſuppoſe them to be tainted with it notwithſtanding, and take it for granted that it would become obvious in proper circumſtances.

IN no inſtance has this ſhameful prejudice been indulged more freely, than in forming a diſadvantageous idea of the clergy in general, [343] on account of the vices of ſome who have been members of that ſociety. And, becauſe miniſters are the public teachers of chriſtianity, the vices imputed to them in a body, without evidence, have been conſidered as throwing a reflection on the truth or the efficacy of the religion which it is their buſineſs to publiſh. The charge has been commonly enforced by looſe and popular declamation, fit to make an impreſſion on the imagination of the thoughtleſs, and, by conſequence, to gain their paſſions to the party; but abſolutely inſufficient to convince the impartial and inquiſitive. If there be any difficulty in confuting the accuſations that are commonly brought againſt our order, and againſt the goſpel on our account, it ariſes, not from the ſtrength of the arguments by which they are ſupported, but from the total want of argument.

THE moſt natural and direct method of proving, that the clergy deſerve the diſagreeable character which is ſometimes aſcribed to them, would doubtleſs be, to examine the temper and conduct of the ſeveral individuals, and to ſhew, from an intimate knowledge of them, that the majority are really guilty of the vices imputed to the order. A candid enquirer would likewiſe chooſe, before he pronounced ſentence concerning their character [344] on the whole, to compare them with the individuals of other profeſſions, and to ſee what proportion the virtues and the vices of the clergy bear to thoſe of the laity. It will ſcarcely be pretended, that this ſpecies of proof has been attempted by thoſe who are ſo liberal in their declamations againſt the vices of the miniſters of the goſpel.—But though they could produce this proof in its greateſt ſtrength, it would ſtill be difficult to ſhew, that the faults of miniſters can be juſtly charged on the Chriſtian religion, to the rules of which, it is manifeſt, theſe faults are abſolutely contrary. The moral tendency of the doctrines of the goſpel, and the purity and ſublimity of its precepts, ought always to preſerve it free from blame, on account of the vices of any who profeſs to believe it. Before theſe vices be imputed to the goſpel, it ſhould certainly be ſhown, that there is ſome doctrine, or precept, or example, recommended in Scripture, which gives countenance to them.

BUT though the method of proof which we have mentioned, be the moſt natural and direct, upon a ſubject of this kind, it muſt be acknowledged that another ſpecies of reaſoning may be likewiſe uſed. All arguments concerning matter of fact are ultimately founded on experience; but it is not neceſſary to have [345] recourſe in every argument to experience of inſtances preciſely ſimilar to that which we infer. It is often ſufficient, that the preſent argument be ſupported by ſome general maxims, which are clearly deducible from experience. We may conclude that a man who is intruſted with abſolute power, will probably abuſe it, not only from inſtances of tyrants who have abuſed it, but alſo from the more general obſervation of examples which occur of corruption and inſolence in private life. In like manner could it be fairly proved, that there are circumſtances eſſential to the miniſterial office, which, according to our general obſervation of human nature, have a direct and primary tendency to produce certain vices in thoſe who exerciſe that office; and ſhould it be inferred from this, that theſe vices will be characteriſtical of the order, and that the religion which inſtitutes the office, is the occaſion of them; we could not juſtly refuſe to admit the inference. This method of proof has been attempted by a late author, in an Eſſay on national Characters * Declining the direct [346] proof of the vices commonly imputed to the clergy, from immediate experience, he has593 [347] drawn a character for them (though he admits of many exceptions in individuals), which is by594 [348] no means amiable, a character which includes many of the blackeſt vices in human nature;595 [349] and he has endeavoured to prove, that this character naturally reſults from the very genius of the miniſterial calling.596

[350]THAT candour, which the goſpel recommends, and which ought always to prevail in the heart of a miniſter of the goſpel, forbids me to attempt detracting from the real merit or abilities of this author. He is poſſeſſed of a very conſiderable ſhare of genius and penetration. [351] This will gain him attention from the inquiſitive; and will render his reaſonings on every ſubject more ſpecious than thoſe of many others, and on that account more dangerous, when, at any time, he happens to miſtake. Is it not, then, worth while, my reverend fathers and brethren, to enquire whether his charge be juſt? Will it be unſuitable to the preſent occaſion, to examine fairly and impartially, what is the natural influence of the miniſterial office upon the characters of thoſe who exerciſe it?

THE ungainly potrait that has been drawn for the miniſters of the goſpel, ſuggeſted this inveſtigation to my thoughts. When I found myſelf obliged, by the authority of my ſuperiors, to appear in this place, on the preſent occaſion, I willingly choſe this ſubject. It affords me an opportunity of conſidering the miniſterial character and office, in a point of view in which they have not been frequently regarded. It frees me from the neceſſity of even ſeeming to give directions to thoſe, from whom it becomes me rather to receive inſtruction; for the very nature of the deſign confines me to enquiry. At the ſame time it will appear, that the enquiry is far from being merely ſpeculative, or unimproving, and that it has, on the contrary, the moſt intimate connexion [352] with practice. I enter on it, with a ſincere deſire to vindicate our ſacred function from reproach; and will conduct it with an eye eſpecially to that author to whom I have referred already. Prieſts, of the temper which he deſcribes, would unite in the bittereſt invectives againſt an antagoniſt who has attacked the whole body of the clergy, in a manner ſo unreſerved. But that is not the temper of the miniſters of Jeſus Chriſt. I know well, that my reverend hearers would not excuſe me, if I made the leaſt approach to rancour, or unbecoming warmth againſt him, if I oppoſed him in any other ſpirit than the ſpirit of meekneſs *, or if I conſidered my ſubject in any other manner, than with that impartiality which will be obſerved by thoſe who ſeek only to diſcover truth.

THE Apoſtle Paul ſays in my text, A biſhop muſt be blameleſs, as the ſteward of God. It will be evident that theſe words lead naturally to the propoſed enquiry, if we attend to the manner in which they are introduced, eſpecially if we conſider, at the ſame time, the import of the words themſelves in the original. The Apoſtle reminds Titus, ver. 5. that he had left him in Crete for this purpoſe, that he [353] might ordain elders or preſbyters in every city; men blameleſs, free not only from groſs and ſcandalous wickedneſs, but from every ſpecies of vice; for the word here uſed has a reſpect to the judgment of God, and not merely to the ſentiments of men *. In my text he ſhews that, when he required preſbyters to be blameleſs, he enjoined only what the very nature of their office demands. A preſbyter is, by his office, a biſhop, that is, an overſeer; and, according to the language of the New Teſtament, as appears from the only place where the term is uſed in ſuch a way, that its meaning can be preciſely determined , an overſeer of all the flock, of the church of God. On this account, he muſt be blameleſs: ſteady and univerſal virtue, as far as it can be attained by human nature, is a qualification abſolutely neceſſary for the exerciſe of his office. To render the neceſſity of this character ſtill more evident, the Apoſtle adds, as the ſteward of God. He repreſents the Chriſtian church as the family of God, and informs us, that miniſters are appointed to diſpenſe, to the ſeveral members of it, that ſpiritual food by which they may be nouriſhed to eternal life. As he elſewhere characteriſes them more explicitly, they are ſtewards of the myſteries of God , teachers, not of their own [354] opinions, but of the doctrines of the Chriſtian revelation. The import of the text is, therefore, plainly this; ‘the moſt exalted and blameleſs virtue is requiſite, from the very nature of their office, in thoſe whoſe buſineſs it is to teach religion, and to overſee the morals of the people.’ Does not this aſſertion of the Apoſtle imply, that the miniſterial office has a tendency upon the whole to form a good and virtuous character? Could his maxim be true, if that very office had an unalterable tendency to inflame many of the baſeſt vices of human nature, and to produce a character which every good man muſt regard with indignation? May not we, then, with ſufficient propriety, take occaſion from this text to enquire, what is that temper which our employment, as miniſters of the goſpel, tends to cultivate in our ſouls?

IN proſecuting this ſubject, I will, FIRST, enquire how far a tendency in the miniſterial office, to form a character in ſome reſpects diſagreeable, or even a character expoſed to the danger of becoming vicious, could reaſonably affect either the credit of that office, or the excellence of the Chriſtian religion, in which the office is founded.

[355]SECONDLY, I will enquire, whether that character, which the miniſterial office tends to form, be virtuous or vicious on the whole.

THIRDLY, I will enquire, how far this office has really a tendency to produce, or to inflame thoſe particular vices which ſome have repreſented as characteriſtical of our order.

FIRST, I will enquire, how far a tendency in the miniſterial office, to form a character in ſome reſpects diſagreeable, or a character expoſed to the danger of becoming vicious, could reaſonably affect either the credit of that office, or the excellence of the Chriſtian religion.

IT is not unuſual to draw from an argument, a concluſion totally different from that which it really proves; and, by means of the ambiguity of words, or the confuſion of men's ideas, the fallacy often eſcapes detection, and it is taken for granted that a propoſition is proved, for which, in fact, there has not been a ſingle argument propoſed. Attempts have been ſometimes made to ſhew that the occupation of miniſters tends to prevent their acquiring that artificial poliſh, which adds gracefulneſs to the behaviour of the higher ranks of [356] mankind: and when plauſible evidence for this trivial charge has been produced, men have triumphed, as if they had demonſtrated a very different propoſition, that the character of our profeſſion is poſitively diſagreeable, contemptible, or ridiculous. In like manner, when men have produced ſuch arguments as ſeem to make it probable, that the turn of character and manners, which is promoted by the genius of the miniſterial office, will be unfit to engage the liking of the generality, or will be diſagreeable in ſome ſituations, they have taken it for granted, that theſe arguments prove with equal force, that this turn of character and manners is likewiſe poſitively vicious, and unfit to gain the inward eſteem, or the moral approbation of men.

A MODERATE degree of underſtanding might preſerve a perſon from being deceived by ſophiſms ſo palpable. But perſons of good underſtanding are often not ſo ready to exert a very ſmall degree of reflection, as to receive every thing, without examination, which can gratify their own pride, or afford them mirth, by repreſenting others as proper objects of contempt or ridicule. For this reaſon, theſe arguments, or others equally inconcluſive, have in fact occaſioned a great part of the contempt, which has been poured out upon the clergy. [357] It will not, therefore, be unneceſſary to remark, though the remark be extremely obvious, that a character not only may be agreeable, when many agreeable qualities are wanting in it, becauſe the mere abſence of them gives no poſitive diſguſt; but alſo may be really diſagreeable, or unfit to engage a general liking, and yet be ſo far from vicious, that it ſhall, on the contrary, command the moral approbation, and force the good opinion, and even the veneration of mankind.

As characters and actions may be conſidered in various lights, they may gratify a ſpectator, by ſentiments totally diſtinct and different. Theſe ſentiments are very apt to be confounded, becauſe they are all agreeable; but every man who deſires to think with accuracy, muſt be at pains to preſerve them ſeparate. A liking to a character is very different from the approbation or eſteem of it. The former ſentiment is excited chiefly by the more trivial accompliſhments of the man; the latter, only by ſuch as are important. The qualities, which moſt effectually engage the liking of the generality, are of too low an order to be regarded as being even a-kin to the moral virtues: nay, there are ſome vices, which, becauſe they diffuſe a certain eaſe, and gaiety, and ſprightlineſs over the temper and behaviour, are very apt [358] to obtain the liking even of thoſe, in whom a moment of reflexion produces abhorrence of their baſeneſs. But it is only ſolid virtue, rooted deep in the temper, and exerted regularly in the conduct, that can either gain or preſerve the real inward approbation and eſteem of mankind. It likewiſe deſerves to be remarked, that a man's own turn of character has great influence in determining the objects of his likeing, who will be thoſe chiefly whoſe manners reſemble his own; and therefore this ſentiment will be variable and precarious. Approbation is more permanent and univerſal, and leſs dependent on the peculiarities of temper; it is often beſtowed unwillingly by men, on thoſe to whom their own conſciences tell them, to their anguiſh, that themſelves bear no ſimilitude.

SUPPOSE now, my fathers and brethren, that ſome perſon ſhould aſſert, in writing or in converſation, that our office deprives us of opportunities for acquiring that exterior poliſh of manners, which is very acceptable to the generality, and indeed graceful in itſelf. This is really the whole amount of ſome of thoſe ſuperficial reflexions which are often thrown out againſt us. The author whom we have principally in our eye, does not expreſsly urge this inſignificant accuſation; yet he ſeems to inſinuate, [359] not only that we are obnoxious to it, but alſo that it doth detract from the credit of our office; for he mentions good breeding and openneſs of behaviour, as one of the amiable qualities which enter into the character of a ſoldier, and are naturally derived from his way of life; and he tells us, that the character of a clergyman, as well as his way of life, is, in moſt points, oppoſite to that of a ſoldier.—Need we be much concerned to enquire, whether the charge be true or falſe? If we ſhould acknowledge it, do you think that either the importance of our office, or the excellence of our religion, would ſuffer by the acknowledgment? Nay, might not the miniſterial character be, nevertheleſs, agreeable, and fit to procure even the liking of the generality? For might not it contain thoſe amiable inward qualities, of which external politeneſs is only either the expreſſion or the mimickry, and from which openneſs and eaſe of behaviour deriveth all its merit?

SUPPOSE again, that it ſhould be aſſerted, that the character which naturally reſults from our office, is very generally diſagreeable; muſt we take it for granted immediately, that this character is vicious? May not we reaſonably aſk, before we admit this concluſion, to whom, and in what particular manner, it is diſagreeable? [360] It is aſſerted by others, and it is not diſſembled by ourſelves, that our office tends to form us to a grave and ſerious temper, that it diſcourages the gaiety of pleaſure and unthinking levity of behaviour, that it confines us to ſtrict rules of decency, that it leads us to ſet a guard over our looks, and words, and actions, and reſtrains us from giving ſcope to our natural movements and ſentiments, whenever they are either ſinful or unbecoming.—I do not know but there are ſome particular ſeaſons in which the generality would diſlike a man of this character, and ſhun his company. But it would be only when they were diſpoſed to exceed the limits of right and innocence. And could it be inferred, from his being diſagreeable to them in this ſituation, that his character is vicious, or even that they who diſlike him, do not really approve and eſteem him notwithſtanding? I doubt not but a perſon of the character, which we have deſcribed, will be, in all ſituations, diſagreeable to many. He bears no reſemblance, in his manners, to the gay, the diſſipated, and the voluptuous; and his preſence would lay them under an uneaſy reſtraint. They will always diſlike him: but is it certain, that even they will always diſapprove him? Or if they ſhould, would it be of mighty conſequence? For could he be more agreeable to them, without becoming leſs virtuous? Admit, [361] then, that our office naturally produces a turn of character which is diſagreeable in ſome reſpects; will either the credit of that office, or the excellence of our religion, ſuffer by this charge, if we be able to vindicate our calling from a temper, that is really vicious, or morally evil?

FARTHER, brethren, is it abſolutely certain, that every tendency in the miniſterial function, to produce ſome real vices in thoſe who exerciſe it, will neceſſarily detract from its credit, or be inconſiſtent with the perfect purity of the goſpel? An aſſertion or inſinuation of this nature is plauſible indeed: yet it may be proved, that it ought not to be admitted but under ſeveral limitations.—Were it the direct and primary tendency of our profeſſion, to form a vicious character, or to inflame ſome heinous vices, this would certainly reflect diſhonour on it. This would render ours an unlawful calling, becauſe we could not exerciſe it, without doing what is wrong. Were there, for inſtance, any eſſential part of our office which we could not execute, without impoſing cunningly deviſed fables * on the credulity of mankind, or foſtering a ſpirit of ſuperſtition among them, or offering violence [362] to their conſciences, our employment would be ſo far abſolutely immoral. This would alſo reflect diſhonour on our religion; for that religion could not be true, or holy, or divine, which it were impoſſible to teach without committing ſin. Let it be clearly proved, that ſomething unlawful muſt neceſſarily be practiſed in teaching the doctrines, or inculcating the duties of genuine, uncorrupted chriſtianity:—by this, indeed, but by nothing leſs than this, our office and our religion will be expoſed to cenſure.

IF any perſon ſhould diſcover that, though our office tend primarily to form and improve a virtuous character, it has a remote and ſecondary tendency to produce vicious diſpoſitions in thoſe who reſiſt its original impulſe; we may give him liberty to avail himſelf of the diſcovery as much as he can with reaſon. The amount of the diſcovery is only this, that the beſt things may be abuſed, that what is naturally calculated for the worthieſt purpoſe may be perverted, and, after it is perverted, rendered ſubſervient to an unworthy and contrary end. This is, indeed, an univerſal truth. Reaſon is a noble faculty, implanted in our nature, on purpoſe to enable us to diſtinguiſh truth from falſehood: but a ſuperior degree of reaſon has been often employed to diſguiſe plain truths, and [363] to render errors plauſible. Natural affection is an amiable inſtinct, deſigned to prompt the parent, to provide for the helpleſs infant, and to ſubmit to all the fatigues which may be neceſſary for inſtilling knowledge and virtue into the opening mind: yet it frequently degenerates into a vicious ſendneſs, which occaſions the death, or prevents the education of the child. The primary end of ingenuous ſhame and regard to reputation plainly is the prevention of infamous vices: but does not this very principle often l [...]ad m [...]n to commit one act of wickedneſs in order to conceal another which they have already perpetrated in ſecret? In a word, nothing can have ſo ſtrong a tendency to promote a good end, but it may be perverted to ſerve a bad, or even a contrary purpoſe. Are we then to judge of things by their primary and eſſential tendency, or by that accidental direction which they acquire when they have been abuſed? By the former, certainly. If it is not ſufficient that the primary tendency of a thing be good, if it is neceſſary likewiſe, that it be incapable of perverſion or abuſe; there will be nothing good or wiſe in art or nature; there will be no ſituation or employment in the world ſafe or lawful, for there is none from which men may not take occaſion to fall into vicious conduct. And is it fair or reaſonable to inſiſt, that more is requiſite for the vindication of the paſtoral office [364] than of any thing beſides? Are thoſe vices to be charged on the office, which ſpring only from the abuſe of it? Are they not rather to be imputed ſolely to the faults of individuals?

WHEN therefore any perſon aſſerts, that there are circumſtances in the paſtoral office which tend to inflame any particular vice, it is incumbent on him to diſtinguiſh carefully between the primary and the accidental tendency of theſe circumſtances. If the tendency be but accidental, to urge it to the diſadvantage of the office, is, either inadvertently or artfully, to confound things totally diſtinct, and thus to render a falſehood plauſible, or to give a harmleſs truth an unfavourable aſpect: it is like hurting a man's reputation by an inſinuation which will very probably be miſunderſtood, and which could do no hurt except it were miſunderſtood.

IT has been ſaid, that there are certain vices of which miniſters are often guilty, and into which they are led by their profeſſion. Suppoſe it were alleged, as an inſtance of this, that when miniſters are conſcious of their wanting ſome virtue which the decorum of their character requires, they are apt to affect the outward appearance of that virtue. [365] Such miniſters are, no doubt, guilty of hypocriſy. It may be affirmed too, in ſome ſenſe, that their profeſſion is the occaſion of this hypocriſy; becauſe their being conſcious that their profeſſion requires the virtue which they affect, is their motive in making falſe pretences to it. But is it not plain that in this caſe, the ſpirit of the office leads them naturally, not to affect the virtue, but really to cultivate it? It can be ſaid to lead to hypocriſy, only by accident, by being perverted from its original and proper aim; and its being thus perverted, far from implying that it has an immoral tendency, ſets the ſtrength of its tendency to virtue in the cleareſt light; for it ſhows, that the miniſterial office prompts men ſo powerfully to the culture of virtue, that even they who reſiſt its impulſe, and over whom it has the leaſt power, muſt palliate their want of real virtue, to themſelves and others, by an hypocritical ſhow of goodneſs.

THERE are ſome vices, which bear a general reſemblance to certain virtues: ſuperſtition, for inſtance, mimics piety; rancour calls itſelf zeal; moroſeneſs would paſs for a ſerious temper. Men of all profeſſions often indulge the vice, while they flatter themſelves that they are cultivating the virtue for which it is miſtaken. We impute it to their weakneſs, [366] [...] want of true moral [...] that a clergyman ſhould in [...] ſome ſpecious vice in the [...] virtue which eminently [...] of his profeſſion: ought we to [...] vice to the profeſſion? Muſt not we, [...] contrary, impute it wholly to the infir [...]y of the individual, and to the general deceitfulneſs of ſin? If this can account for ſimilar inſtances among other ranks of men, with what colour of reaſon can we urge the vice, as a proof of an immoral tendency in the miniſterial calling?

THERE are certain ends naturally deſirable to mankind, in whatever ſtation they be placed. Every ſtation furniſhes a man with lawful means of promoting theſe ends; but in every ſtation, a man has it likewiſe in his power to purſue them by unlawful means.—Beſides thoſe ends, which we may innocently aim at, there are others, which it is wrong to purſue, but which the corrupt affections of mankind will often lead them to purſue; and different wrong ends will be moſt likely to attract different claſſes of men.—In the preſent degenerate ſtate of mankind, many will purſue unlawful ends, or ſeek to promote ſuch ends as are lawful in themſelves, by unjuſtifiable means. They have the vicious [367] bent which occaſions this, independent of their particular profeſſion; but it determines the form which the vice aſſumes. It is in this way that every ſtation and profeſſion has its peculiar temptations, and expoſes thoſe who occupy it to peculiar dangers.—Now ſuppoſe that the ſtation in which miniſters are placed, has, in like manner, its peculiar temptations; that miniſters may find in their employment unlawful means of attaining a lawful end, or that they may render their ſacred functions ſubſervient to a wrong end: is this any more than happens in other profeſſions? If this can expoſe the miniſtry to cenſure, muſt it not equally expoſe every other occupation? Can it, then, be fairly urged to the diſadvantage of this one office, in compariſon with others? If this tendency to vice be but ſecondary and accidental in other callings, muſt it not be eſteemed ſuch alſo in our vocation? If, in other employments, the fault be chargeable only on the individuals who are guilty, pray, why ſhould not individual clergymen likewiſe be alone anſwerable for yielding to the temptations, which ariſe from their peculiar buſineſs?—The office of a clergyman is founded in the goſpel: but can the goſpel be blamed, becauſe this office has its peculiar temptations? Before you determine that it can, ſtop for a moment, and obſerve [368] the conſequences. Other ſtations are appointed in the courſe of ordinary providence; and their peculiar temptations would reflect the ſame diſhonour upon it. If the common temptations of life be not ſufficient to overturn the belief of a God and a providence, thoſe which are peculiar to the paſtoral office, cannot affect the truth or the excellence of the goſpel. Let none therefore throw blame on the Chriſtian miniſtry, on account of its ſupplying ſome temptations to vice, or on the goſpel, becauſe it has eſtabliſhed an office, which is liable to abuſe, but thoſe who have already embraced atheiſm, and denied the conſtitution of the world to be wiſe and good.—Mankind are at preſent, by the univerſal appointment of God, in a ſtate of trial and exerciſe. There is no circumſtance in life, but gives us opportunities of acting either virtuouſly or viciouſly. It is only by putting it in our power to act viciouſly if we chooſe, that any ſituation can exerciſe or improve our virtuous affections. Exerciſe is afforded to out temper, not only by the general circumſtances of life, common to all men, but likewiſe by the peculiar circumſtances of particular profeſſions. There are peculiar circumſtances in the miniſterial office, as well as in every other, which may give exerciſe to our virtues, and improve them, but may likewiſe, [369] as is indeed a neceſſary conſequence, prove occaſions of vice. To aſſert this, is only to ſay, that miniſters of the goſpel are in a ſtate of probation and diſcipline, in the ſame ſenſe as other men; that their employment, as well as other employments, contains circumſtances fit to draw out virtuous principles, and to give them exerciſe; and this ſurely can derogate nothing from the excellence of their office.

BUT ſuppoſe that the vices of a wicked miniſter riſe higher, in particular inſtances, and become more atrocious than thoſe of others: this is ſo far from neceſſarily implying an immoral tendency in his office, that, on the contrary, it may really proceed from the ſtrength of its virtuous tendency; for the greater the advantages which this office affords for virtuous practice, the greater will be the depravity neceſſary for abuſing them, and the more heinous and inveterate the corruption which will ſpring from the abuſe.—As the ſame vicious principle may aſſume different forms, and be exerted in different ways, ſome forms and exertions of it are often more deteſtable and pernicious than others. If, then, ſome vicious principle ſhould aſſume its blackeſt form, in the practice of a clergyman who foſters it; and if it ſhould appear to be [370] determined to that form by the circumſtances of his occupation; can we arraign the ſpirit of his office on this account? This were to judge of that office only by the abuſe of it. But do not all men admit it for a maxim, that thoſe things are generally the beſt in themſelves, the corruption of which is the worſt?

SUPPOSE again, that the employment of a miniſter contains circumſtances which will lead to vicious conduct, if the greateſt caution be not exerciſed: this would not neceſſarily prove even that vice will be more common among miniſters than among other ranks of men; much leſs would it prove, that the ſpirit of the office is, on the whole, friendly to vice; for it may contain other circumſtances which prompt ſtrongly to exert the neceſſary caution, to reſiſt the importunities of vice, and to cultivate every virtue. The miniſterial office may, from its being abuſed and perverted by the weakneſs or corruption of thoſe who exerciſe it, or from various circumſtances in this ſtate of probation in which it is to be executed, ſupply temptations which have a direct and powerful tendency to excite a paſſion or inclination, the indulgence of which will lead the negligent into vicious conduct. If this could throw a reflection on the ſpirit of that office, or on the Chriſtian religion which [371] has inſtituted it, how could we vindicate the ordinary ſituations in which God places us, or the general plan of his providence towards us in the preſent world? Many objects in nature excite paſſions which crave gratification often when it is vicious to gratify them. Were man formed for following thoughtleſsly the preſent inclination, theſe objects would infallibly lead him into vice. But we muſt take the whole of human nature into the account; man is endued with a moral principle, a principle of reflection, whoſe proper buſineſs it is, to reſtrain inclination whenever it cannot be indulged lawfully. His ſtate is ſuited to his whole nature. The temptations of life are deſigned to give him opportunities of exerting reflection, of acting with moral attention to his conduct, and are ſit to ſtrengthen, by this means, the principle of reflection, and improve a habit of ſelf-government, which is the great ſecurity of virtue. They who will not exerciſe reflection and employ care, in controuling their inclinations, fall before temptations through their own fault, are hardened in vice by means of them, and thus render them ſubſervient to a contrary end from that which God has deſigned and ſitted them to anſwer. This is the general conſtitution of the world, yet the Creator is wife, and good, and perfect. The office of a Chriſtian minifter, [372] in like manner, ſupplies temptations, with which many comply, and which it requires a great degree of care and attention to reſiſt; yet that office may be deſigned for the virtuous improvement of thoſe who occupy it, its ſpirit may tend ſtrongly to promote that improvement; and the religion which inſtitutes that office, may be holy and divine, for it is indeed analogous to the whole plan of providence.

I WILL make one ſuppoſition more, and that as favourable to our adverſaries as they can reaſonably deſire. I will ſuppoſe that the office of a Chriſtian miniſter expoſes him to greater danger of acting viciouſly than other men. Even this ſuppoſition will not avail them much. In this caſe our ſtation would indeed be hazardous to ourſelves: as a few ſoldiers are ſometimes forced to defend a deſperate poſt, in order to preſerve a whole army from deſtruction, ſo we ſhould be expoſed to an imminent danger of loſing our own ſouls, in promoting the ſalvation of others. But even this would not prove, that our office has an immoral tendency, in any ſenſe which could affect the credit of our religion. It would be only analogous to what happens in the courſe of nature, that ſome ſituations ſupply ſtronger and more numerous [373] temptations than others; and therefore it could never prove, that the goſpel is not derived from the Author of nature.

THESE obſervations appeared to be neceſſary for removing the confuſion in which the charge againſt the ſpirit of our profeſſion has been commonly involved, and for enabling us to detect ſome of the artifices by which it has been rendered plauſible, and ſeemingly important. The ſum is this. If the enemies of our order only prove, that our office tends to form a character in which ſome agreeable qualities are wanting, or even a character poſitively diſagreeable in ſome reſpects; or if they prove, that ſome circumſtances in it may be perverted into occaſions of vice, or that it preſents peculiar temptations which it will require great caution to avoid complying with, they allege nothing which can juſtly affect either the ſpirit of our office, or the religion by which it is eſtabliſhed. If they can prove no more, they attack us with inſufficient weapons, we may expoſe our boſoms to their pointleſs arrows without receiving the ſlighteſt hurt. They ſhow their inclination to annoy us; and the undiſcerning and the prejudiced may take it for granted, that they have given a mortal wound to religion and its miniſters. But the candid and the conſiderate will ſoon [374] perceive, that, in order to accompliſh their deſign, they muſt evince, that the original and prevailing tendency of our office is immoral; that ſomething vicious is neceſſary in order to promote its genuine end, and to diſcharge its real duties. To diſcover whether this has ever been evinced, or can indeed be evinced, is the intention of the ſequel.

PART II.

[375]

WITH a view to diſcover what is the real ſpirit of the miniſterial office, we propoſed, ſecondly, to enquire, whether that character which it tends to form, be virtuous or vicious on the whole?

OUR office is charged expreſsly, only with ſome particular vices: but theſe are ſo heinous and ſo numerous, and ſoftened by the mixture of ſo few virtues, that, were the charge ſupported with ſufficient evidence, it would imply, that the natural character of a clergyman is, upon the whole, vicious and deteſtable. I doubt not however but it will appear, by every kind of evidence of which the ſubject can be ſuppoſed capable, that a character, in all reſpects virtuous, is the natural reſult of our profeſſion.

MAY it not be aſſerted, in the firſt place, with conſiderable evidence, that the clergy in general are in fact equal, nay ſuperior to other claſſes of men, in whatever deſerves the name of moral virtue? And if this be true, [376] will it not form an argument in favour of the genius of our calling? For if it really led to vice, it could ſcarce fail to corrupt the greater number. It is not eaſy to prove beyond diſpute, what depends upon ſo many inſtances, what requires the obſervation of many ages and nations; nor is it poſſible, on this occaſion, to enter on a long detail from hiſtory, to ſupport the aſſertion: but let any perſon examine with impartiality, and he will find that, in every ſtate of things, miniſters of the goſpel have had their full proportion of the virtue of the times. In the beſt and the moſt virtuous ages, there have been more of this order eminent for virtue, in proportion to the number of thoſe who belong to it, than of any other. In the moſt degenerate times, when religion has been moſt perverted from its true deſign, the morals of the clergy have been higher than on a level with thoſe of the laity. If there be any period, in which it has been otherwiſe, let our adverſaries point it out.—We own they have great advantages on their ſide.—The miniſterial office leads to privacy and retreat; the abuſes of it often carry a man into public life. On this account, the vices of thoſe clergymen, who have departed from the genius of their office, are conſpicuous, and liable to be expoſed by the torch of hiſtory: but they who have been ſteddily actuated by [377] its genuine ſpirit, have paſſed through life in a virtuous obſcurity, revered by thoſe who knew them, their memory honoured for a generation or two, but totally unregarded by hiſtory, which confines itſelf to the actions of the higher ranks of men, or to thoſe actions which had an influence on the revolutions of government, or on the general ſtate of civil affairs.—It will likewiſe deſerve attention, that in ſome eſtabliſhments of religion, many clergymen have not been confined to the proper functions of their office, but have devoted themſelves chiefly to ſecular affairs, perfectly foreign to it. It is not in theſe that we can expect to find the genuine character of the order; for the paſtoral office cannot poſſibly exert its influence on a man who is ſcarce at all employed in the duties of it. The temper of ſuch a perſon muſt neceſſarily be formed, principally by thoſe ſecular occupations in which he is moſt converſant. Yet it is from clergymen in this ſituation, that perſons are readieſt to take their idea of the whole body; becauſe they are moſt expoſed to obſervation—Our adverſaries derive another advantage from the unequal manner in which the comparative importance of different virtues and vices is ordinarily eſtimated. Temperance, piety, and the other virtues which will naturally predominate in the character of [378] a clergyman, are depreſſed far below their genuine dignity; and at the ſame time many vices, frequent among other ranks of men, but rarely to be found among the clergy, are regarded with a more favourable eye than their real deformity deſerves. This perverſion of moral ſentiment, if it be not guarded againſt, will neceſſarily diminiſh the merit of the clergyman, and raiſe that of the man of the world, and thus diſguiſe their true proportion to each other.—But let our adverſaries take no more advantage from theſe or other circumſtances, than themſelves can approve as fair; let them examine what has been the real character of the clergy, not by ſelecting a few inſtances on one ſide only, but by making a complete and impartial induction; let them make the ſame allowance in this caſe, that they would reckon reaſonable in other caſes; let them form their judgment chiefly from thoſe clergymen, who have been employed only in the proper duties of their calling; at leaſt let them diſtinguiſh, in others, between the vices which belong to them as clergymen, and thoſe which have ſprung from their adventitious occupations; let the ſeveral virtues, and their oppoſite vices be valued, I will not ſay, according to the Chriſtian ſtandard, but according to that ſtandard which the unperverted ſentiments of mankind have fixed, and [379] the beſt heathen moraliſts have acknowledged; let them tell us honeſtly the reſult of their enquiry. If they ſhould find, that miniſters of the goſpel have been, upon the whole, more blameleſs, more virtuous than the reſt of mankind, that they have for the moſt part fallen in lateſt with a prevailing corruption of manners, that they have often oppoſed its progreſs, and been leaſt infected with it, that ſometimes the majority of them have totally eſcaped the contagion of vice which raged among other ranks; they cannot deny that the miniſterial office has a ſtrong tendency to promote the practice of univerſal virtue.

THAT the reſult of their enquiry will be what we have ſuppoſed, I pronounce with the greater confidence, becauſe it ſeems to be really acknowledged by all mankind. It is an undeniable matter of fact, that the general ſenſe of mankind proclaims vice to be peculiarly ſcandalous, and virtue to be peculiarly requiſite in a clergyman. They who pay little regard to the laws of morality in their own conduct, demand the moſt ſpotleſs virtue in the teachers of religion. Every deviation from ſtrict virtue, every inſtance of vice in men of this profeſſion, has always excited greater and more general indignation, than ſimilar faults in others. Whence does this univerſal ſentiment [380] ariſe? It can ariſe from no cauſe which is not obvious to the very ſenſes of mankind; for circumſtances which cannot be diſcovered without cloſe attention and deep penetration, will never affect the generality: their ſentiments and judgments are produced only by plain matters of facts. And from what cauſe can their ſentiment on this ſubject ariſe, but actual experience of the ſuperior virtue of Chriſtian miniſters? Familiar objects never ſtrike us ſtrongly. Vices, which we are accuſtomed to witneſs, we ſoon learn to behold without a great degree of horror. Were a vicious miniſter very common, men muſt have long ago regarded him with as little indignation as other vicious men. They are peculiarly ſhocked with vice in a clergyman, for this reaſon, becauſe they do not find it ſo frequently in men of this character as in others.

BUT this ſentiment of the peculiar unſuitableneſs of vice to the profeſſion of a clergyman deſerves to be conſidered farther; for not only do mankind, by means of it, give teſtimony that virtue is more general among miniſters than among others, but it likewiſe contains a direct proof, that the genius of our calling is eminently favourable to virtue. It ſuppoſes that all the world is ſenſible, that miniſters of the goſpel have, from the very [381] nature of their office, peculiar advantages for being virtuous. If this were not taken for granted, men could never deem vice peculiarly atrocious in a clergyman, they could never exact uniform virtue more rigorouſly from him than from any other perſon. When the ſituation in which a man is placed, lays him under ſtrong temptations to vice, we make allowance for it in our cenſure of him. We excuſe, in ſome meaſure, the ſallies of youth, becauſe the paſſions are violent at that time of life. We give ſome indulgence to the peeviſhneſs of old age, becauſe the infirmities incident to that period are powerful temptations to ill humour. We pity, rather than blame a wretch who, overcome by torture, betrays his friend. The judgment is natural, neceſſary, and well founded. The vices on which we are diſpoſed to paſs a heavy cenſure, are thoſe which a man commits without any inducement from his ſituation, thoſe which he is under a ſtrong obligation to avoid, and has great advantages for avoiding. When all men, therefore, perceive vice to be incongruous to the character of a clergyman, is not this a confeſſion, that his ſacred function has a peculiar fitneſs for forming him to virtue? Believers and infidels agree in the ſentiment on which our argument is founded, and therefore muſt equally perceive its force. The natural [382] ſentiments even of thoſe who are moſt forward to cenſure the ſpirit of our office, pronounce vice peculiarly odious, and virtue peculiarly neceſſary in a clergyman; and theſe ſentiments, ariſing ſpontaneouſly and irreſiſtibly in their hearts, are a much ſtronger proof of their being conſcious of the moral tendency of the Chriſtian miniſtry, than any refined arguments, formed at leiſure, can be of the contrary. Let them either acknowledge, that our office urges us powerfully to all virtue, or let them regard thoſe vices which they charge upon it, as more venial and excuſeable, as leſs worthy of diſapprobation in a clergyman, than in another.

BEFORE I leave this topic, allow me to make one obſervation, which ſeems to be of importance in eſtimating the real character of a clergyman. It is the judgment of human nature, that every vice has a ſingular atrocity in him; this judgment could not be formed, except vice were comparatively rare in that profeſſion, and likewiſe abſolutely repugnant to its genuine ſpirit; yet this very judgment has contributed not a little to beſtow plauſibility on the aſſertion, that the ſpirit of our profeſſion is immoral, an aſſertion to which it is altogether contradictory. The conſequence of this judgment has been, that, while very high degrees of vice are overlooked in other men, [383] or, at moſt, are ſlightly blamed, the leaſt appearance of every vice in a clergyman is immediately remarked and ſeverely condemned. By this means a few ſmall vices in him appear both greater and more numerous, than many atrocious vices in another, becauſe they are more certainly obſerved, and more heavily cenſured. A perſon is highly diſapproved, when he bears the character of a clergyman, who would have been noways cenſured, if he had belonged to any other order. Thus the very tendency of the miniſterial office to promote virtue has led men, firſt to think miniſters more vicious in compariſon with others, than they really are; and next, in conſequence of this, to charge the office itſelf with a tendency to vice. We own that mankind do us no injuſtice in reckoning vice more heinous in us, than in others; but the judgment ſuppoſes the ſpirit of our office to be eminently favourable to virtue; and therefore a perſon cannot fairly avail himſelf of it, who denies this, and is examining the real characters of clergymen, in order to determine, whether the ſpirit of their office be moral or immoral; he ought to eſtimate their actions only by that ſtandard, which he applies to the actions of others.

FARTHER, it is worth while to obſerve, that they who cenſure the ſpirit of our profeſſion [384] moſt ſeverely, acknowledge its tendency to be moral in one reſpect. There is one virtue, ſtrict decency and temperance, which they own that we naturally derive from our employment. They inſinuate, indeed, that it is the only one. But if it be evident, that this one virtue neceſſarily promotes other virtues, and gives us advantages for cultivating them, it cannot be denied that our calling, by its immediate influence on this one, will indirectly, but really tend to form the other parts of a virtuous temper.—Decency and temperance implies at leaſt ſtrict abſtinence from all the exceſſes of pleaſure, from the diſſipation of gay and thoughtleſs mirth, and from all thoſe expreſſions of any of our paſſions, which are unbecoming. In conſequence of this abſtinence, the ſenſual appetites and inferior paſſions, which are always vicious when they become exceſſive, and which in others are apt to become exceſſive by being indulged without controul, will, almoſt unavoidably, be preſerved weak and moderate in a clergyman. This is one important ingredient in a virtuous character.—But this is not all. They who are diſpoſed to regard intemperance and levity with the moſt favourable eye, can ſcarce deny that they often prove occaſions of leading men into vices much more heinous. There is no crime ſo atrocious, but a man brutified by exceſs, [385] or diſſipated by giddineſs, may occaſionally perpetrate. The baſeſt courſes have been taken, in order to procure gratification to pampered appetites. The frequent returns of levity and intemperance may produce repeated acts of any vice, and theſe repeated acts will, by degrees, render the worſt diſpoſitions habitual. Our office, therefore, by confining us to ſtrict rules of decency, preſerves us from a ſituation which would put us in imminent hazard of committing many acts of vice, and of contracting many evil habits. By this means, it has a peculiar tendency to produce a general purity of heart, which undoubtedly confers very conſiderable worth upon the character.—A ſtrict regard to decency will likewiſe influence our temper in another way. It implies a conſtant reſtraint of vicious principles, concern that our conduct be right and unblameable, and regard to the authority and dictates of the moral faculty. Now there is a natural aſſociation among our principles of action, by means of which any one of them prepares the mind for receiving any other that has the ſame direction. On this account, a regard to decency muſt have a tendency to introduce into the ſoul, juſtice, veracity, humility, meekneſs, patience, forbearance, and, in a word, all the virtues, which, like itſelf, hold of controul, and are included in the [386] idea of ſelf-government. The direct principle of all theſe is the ſame with that of decency, a ſenſe of duty, a ſubmiſſion to the law of conſcience. As every principle is ſtrengthened by being habitually exerted, the authority of conſcience will be confirmed by our regard to decency; it will be enabled to controul every wrong affection with greater eaſe; and, by being accuſtomed to ſubmit to its government in one inſtance, we ſhall be better diſpoſed to ſubmit to it in all. Indeed men are often ſurpriſingly abſurd and inconſiſtent in their conduct; one paſſion may be perfectly ungoverned while another is reſtrained. On this account we cannot affirm that a regard to decency will neceſſarily produce all the virtues of ſelfgovernment; but it certainly tends to have a favourable influence upon them; and our office, by almoſt certainly producing that, will probably promote theſe others.—The principal obſtruction to the prevalence of good affections ariſes from the ſtrength of ſome vicious paſſions, which oppoſe their exerciſe. A regard to decency, by contributing directly to weaken theſe vicious paſſions, will lay the mind open to the influence of worthy affections, and will thus give us great advantages for acquiring all thoſe amiable virtues which conſiſt in the exerciſe of them.—If, therefore, ſtrict decency and temperance reſult naturally [387] from our profeſſion, it muſt have, at leaſt, an indirect tendency to promote all other virtues. The conceſſions of our adverſaries, however ſmall they may appear, imply that our profeſſion has a real tendency to promote univerſal virtue.

THESE general arguments, drawn from the real characters of the generality of clergymen, from the natural judgment of mankind, that virtue is peculiarly incumbent on them; and from the influence of that partial virtue which is allowed by all to reſult naturally from our profeſſion, appeared too important to be wholly omitted, becauſe they not only are concluſive in themſelves, but alſo throw conſiderable light on the whole of this ſubject.—But the moſt direct proof of the tendency of our office, to form us to a temper of univerſal virtue, ſtill remains. It ariſes from the nature of that office.

As moral cauſes have doubtleſs a very great influence on the characters of men, ſo all profeſſions, it is allowed, contain fixt moral principles which tend to produce a correſpondent character, and have often force enough to alter the diſpoſition, that was received from nature. Now we may learn, with certainty, the tendency of the moral principles eſſential [388] to any profeſſion, by examining the nature of that profeſſion, its end, and the proper means of promoting that end. If we ſurvey the miniſterial office in this manner, we ſhall find, that it has an eſſential tendency to promote a virtuous temper.

THE buſineſs of a miniſter of the goſpel is, in brief, to teach religion. The tendency of his office will, therefore, be altogether determined by the nature of the religion which he teaches. Chriſtianity includes all the principles of natural religion, and ſuperadds the revelation of a ſtupendous diſpenſation of Providence, for the redemption and reformation of an apoſtate world, by Jeſus Chriſt. The truths of natural theology, eſpecially as they are illuſtrated and refined in ſcripture, center in this, that to fear God, and keep his commandment, is the whole of man *. The peculiar doctrines of revelation teach us, that denying ungodlineſs and worldly luſts, we ſhould live ſoberly, righteouſly, and godly . Both are propoſed in the ſcriptures, the only rule of our teaching, with an expreſs deſign to form us to the love of God and of man, to make us perfect, thoroughly furniſhed unto all good works . Religious principles are conſtantly [389] repreſented as arguments for all virtue, and addreſſed to our hopes, to our fears, to our gratitude, to our honour, to our propenſity to imitation, to every affection of the human heart that can have any influence on conduct. At the ſame time, in the ſcriptures, all the parts of virtue, all the duties of life, are illuſtrated in the juſteſt, and the moſt practical maner. Our employment is, to promote the belief, and the practice of this religion; to recommend goodneſs, by publiſhing truth; to explain virtue, and enforce it by all poſſible motives. Can ſuch employment tend to form us to any other temper, than that virtue which we inculcate upon others?

IT is certainly firſt of all requiſite in a teacher, that he underſtand the ſubject of his teaching, and that, for this purpoſe, he ſtudy it with care. Our profeſſion will, therefore, naturally lead us to the diligent and conſtant ſtudy of all the doctrines and duties of religion; it will urge us to know the holy ſcrip [...] *, to meditate upon them, to give ourſelves wholly to them , that we may be able to teach others . If, then, religious or moral conſiderations, if precepts, or arguments, if maxims, of ſentiments, examples, or rules of virtue [390] have really any force, they muſt exert it moſt in purifying, refining, and exalting the tempers of thoſe whoſe whole buſineſs it is, to attend to them. Since miniſters muſt often think on all theſe, that they may underſtand them, and that they may inculcate them upon others; the conſequence will be, that, if they are, like other men, ſubject to the law of habit, incitements to virtue will occur to their thoughts more eaſily and frequently, than to the thoughts of others, and urge them more powerfully to a ſuitable behaviour.

A GREAT part of the vice with which other men are infected, ariſes from the temptations to which they are expoſed in the courſe of their worldly buſineſs. Each of them has a temporal vocation, the direct end of which does not coincide with that of their ſpiritual calling, and which therefore ſometimes leads them off from the duties of the latter. But miniſters of the goſpel have no worldly buſineſs: the nature of their office, as well as the authority of ſcripture, to which they are indiſpenſibly obliged to ſubmit, forbids them to entangle themſelves with the affairs of this life *; and, by conſequence, preſerves them, while they continue in their proper province, from [391] thoſe temptations which produce the greateſt part of the wickedneſs of the world. Our occupation is, to enforce a ſenſe of virtue and religion upon others; and every attempt of this kind is an act of virtue, which tends directly to our own improvement. Every effort which we make in our particular vocation, promotes the end of our general calling.

OUR office leads us to obſerve our fellowcreatures in all thoſe ſituations, in which either virtuous principles, or the ſenſe of vice, produce the moſt conſpicuous effects, and tend moſt ſtrongly to alarm a ſpectator, and to force him to attend to the oppoſite natures of good and evil. It introduces us, for example into the houſe of mourning *, it conducts us to the bed of death. There we obſerve virtue ſupporting thoſe who have been ſteddy in the practice of it, under all the agonies of pain, and enabling them to triumph in the proſpect of their diſſolution, as a ſecond birth, a glorious birth into the world of pure light and immortality. There we ſee vi [...]e taking faſt hold of thoſe in the hour of perplexity, who have formerly eluded its painful graſp; we behold the horrors of remorſe, and the [392] ghaſtly fears of guilt; we perceive the wicked, in his lateſt moments, inheriting the unforſaken ſins of his youth; he looks eagerly for comfort to every ſide; but he can find no comfort; the flattering temptations which have ſeduced him, already appear to be deluſions; he feels already, that all which this world contains, is a vain ſhadow, that eternity alone is real; and he feels the pains of hell begun already in himſelf; if his faultering tongue ſhould attempt to diſſemble the anguiſh of his ſoul, his trembling joints, his beating heart, his agonized and deſpairing look, proclaim it in more ſtriking language. Is there nothing in all this, by which the heart may be made better *? Others may have ſome opportunities of this kind; but our opportunities are ſo frequent, that the impreſſion made by one inſtance can ſcarce decay, till it be revived and ſtrengthened by another. Muſt not that man be deſtitute of all principles of reformation, who is not formed to virtue by theſe means?

IT is our buſineſs to inſtruct , to convince, to exhort , to charge , to intreat §, to reprove and to rebuke others. Can a vicious man be [393] thus employed, without ſome ſecret miſgivings, without ſome inward checks, without ſometimes feeling the agonies of remorſe? And have theſe no tendency to excite a man to that genuine virtue which alone can keep his own heart from condemning him? Can miniſters allow themſelves in any open and known vice, and yet urge abſtinence from every vice on others, in public, and in private, in the ſolemn aſſemblies, and from houſe to houſe *? Will it not require a degree of impudence and effrontery, which is ſeldom to be found, even in the moſt degenerate?

MANKIND are extremely averſe from labouring in vain. Let an end be of over ſo little importance in itſelf, yet a perſon who is actually engaged in the purſuit of it, becomes anxious to attain it, and cannot, without uneaſineſs, bear the thought of diſappointment. The end of our office is of the greateſt importance in itſelf; it is to form mankind to virtue. We cannot promote it, without being highly virtuous ourſelves. An example of vice, exhibited by us, will render the beſt inſtructions ineffectual, and will lead men into vice, with much greater fo [...]ce than all our exhortations have to urge them to virtue. When this is [394] the certain conſequence of wickedneſs in miniſters, muſt not we acknowledge, either that they alone of all mankind have no concern for ſucceſs, and are in love with diſappointment, or that they have, from their office, a peculiar and powerful motive to be exemplarily virtuous, to ſhew themſelves in all things patterns of good works *?

THE opinion of the world has very great, often too great, influence on all men. Can it be ſuppoſed that it will not likewiſe have ſome influence on miniſters of the goſpel? It ſometimes leads other men aſtray into vice; but it invariably urges miniſters to the ſtricteſt virtue; for every vice in them appears ſcandalous to all mankind, and neceſſarily renders them contemptible and baſe before all the people . It is not a conſiderable advantage, that a motive, ſo powerful as the ſenſe of character, is conſtantly applied to us on the ſide of virtue?

WILL it not alſo have ſome influence on miniſters of the goſpel, that, in the opinion of the world, the vices of each individual reflect diſhonour on the whole order, and bring the office itſelf into contempt? Can a man conſider with perfect indifference, that he renders himſelf [395] an object of juſt indignation to thouſands of worthy men of his own profeſſion, whom his vices expoſe to undeſerved ignominy? When the meaneſt artificer is ſolicitous to repreſent his own occupation in a favourable light, can we imagine miniſters ſo totally deſtitute of the moſt ordinary principles of human nature, as to have no concern to be virtuous, when that alone can prevent the miniſtry from being blamed *?—Nay, the vices of miniſters have ſtill worſe effects. Men impute them to religion itſelf, and cenſure and di [...]gard it on account of them. Our vices make [...] to [...] the offering of the Lord ; they cauſe many to ſtumble at the law ; they cauſe the name of God and his doctrine to be [...]; they induce great numbers to make [...] of their faith, to harden themſelves in their ſins, and to deſtroy their own ſouls. Can this conſideration fail to operate powerfully on every man who is not loſt to all good principles?

To enumerate all the peculiar inducements which the miniſters of Jeſus have to pure and exalted virtue, were indeed to explain all the circumſtances of the paſtoral [...]. From the few obſervations which we have made already, it appears evident, that that office [396] tends to promote virtue in thoſe who exerciſe it, by many moral cauſes eſſential to it, and fit to work on the moſt univerſal and unqueſtionable principles of human nature.

BUT though our office has plainly an eſſential and unalterable tendency to purify and refine the heart, yet we will acknowledge,—we reckon ourſelves nowiſe concerned to diſſemble it—it highly imports us to conſider it very often,—that our profeſſion will not form us infallibly to virtue; nay that, if we allow it to fail of producing this its primary and moſt natural effect, the very circumſtances which give us ſo many advantages for virtue, will render us more deeply and more obſtinately wicked than the reſt of mankind.—By the original conſtitution of our nature, habit, which ſtrengthens our active principles, weakens all paſſive impreſſions. The more frequently we conſider or feel motives to virtue without being really excited to the practice of virtue, the feebler will be their influence upon us, the greater our inſenſibility, the more imminent our danger of never yielding to their force. This is an alarming truth to all human creatures, but to miniſters of the goſpel more alarming than to others. We muſt revolve and preach the truths and duties of religion ſo frequently, that if they do not [397] influence us early to ſincere and ſtedfaſt virtue, they muſt quickly become familiar and loſe their power. Moral and divine conſiderations muſt paſs ſo continually through our minds, that in a very ſhort time they will make no impreſſion on us. A perſon whom our profeſſion does not render virtuous, will become more ſuddenly and more deſperately obdurate in wickedneſs, than any other man. Nothing contributes more to ſtrengthen any principle, than an oppoſition which doth not effectually reſtrain it. Our profeſſion contains the moſt powerful inducements to virtue; theſe will, at leaſt, make a vigorous oppoſition to all vicious principles of action; but if the oppoſition do not ſubdue them, they will collect all their force in order to ſurmount it, and they will be ſtrengthened and confirmed by the violent effort. As a ſluice which cannot ſtem a torrent altogether, only renders the inundation greater, and greater ſtill the longer it keeps it back; juſt ſo vicious paſſions which are too violent to be wholly reſtrained by the fences that our profeſſion raiſes againſt them, will produce the moſt dreadful deluge of wickedneſs, whenever their fury can break down theſe fences. If a paſtor be really vicious, he will, almoſt neceſſarily, be ſingularly vicious. Nothing leſs than a total [398] depravation of ſoul can be the effect of a man's reſiſting the ſtrict obligations to virtue, and abuſing the ſignal advantages for cultivating it, which the paſtoral office affords.—In theſe, and, perhaps, in ſome other ways, our office may heighten vice in thoſe who refuſe to be actuated by its genuine ſpirit. But this conceſſion will avail our antagoniſts nothing. Were this a ſufficient proof, that our office tends naturally to vice, it would likewiſe be a proof, that all conſideration of our duty, or of arguments for the practice of it, has a natural tendency to render us vicious; for it is certain that the oftener any man reflects on his duty, and the ſtronger his ſenſe of its obligation is, if he be not really excited to the practice of it, the leſs chance there is of his ever practiſing it, the more hardened in vice he will become in time, and the more impetuouſly ungoverned paſſions will rage within him.

BOTH from the former arguments, and from the ſurvey that we have taken of the nature of our office, it is plain, that it tends primarily and moſt naturally to virtue. It promotes not one virtue, but a temper which diſpoſes the mind to the culture of every virtue. It is the abuſe of it that leads to vice; and the abuſe leads ſo ſtrongly to vice, only becauſe [399] the office itſelf has a powerful influence on virtue. If this general examination of the genius of our calling be not neceſſary for vindicating it from the aſperſions of our adverſaries, it is notwithſtanding highly proper for producing in ourſelves, my reverend fathers and brethren, a ſenſe of the ſtrength of thoſe obligations to virtue which we lie under.

PART III.

[400]

WE will now enquire, THIRDLY, how far our office has really a tendency to produce or to inflame thoſe particular vices which ſome have repreſented as characteriſtical of our order.

THIS is the more neceſſary, becauſe the late Author to whom we have referred, has unwarily admitted ſome fallacious principles and wrong ſuppoſitions, into the reaſoning by which he ſupports the charge. Theſe render his arguments ſpecious, and make thoſe inducements to vice appear to ariſe from the original and prevailing ſpirit of our profeſſion, which are really but the partial effects of ſome of its circumſtances, or accidental temptations ariſing from the abuſe of it. And becauſe theſe fallacies run through all the parts of his reaſoning, it will be proper, before we examine the particular vices which he derives from the genius of our calling, to make a few obſervations on the general method, in which he traces out the tendency of that calling.

[401]IF we ſhould allow that he [...] a true account of the tendency of thoſe [...] in our profeſſion, which he mentions, yet we might inſiſt with reaſon, that he has applied the character, which reſults from them, by far too generally. He juſtly blames the undiſtinguiſhed judgments of the vulgar, who comprehend every individual of a nation, without exception, in the ſame national character. He juſtly obſerves, that all that can be aſſerted with truth is, that ſome particular qualities will be more frequently met with among ſome claſſes of people than others. Has he preſerved this neceſſary caution and delicacy in determining the character of the clergy? He indeed ſays, there are exceptions. I will not enquire, how far he can ſeriouſly admit exceptions, with reſpect to ſome particulars, conſiſtently with the manner in which his reaſoning is purſued. But certainly it was wrong to combine all the vices which he mentions, into one character, and to aſcribe it to moſt individuals of our order. The ſame temptation will not prevail with all; but only with thoſe to whoſe conſtitution it is adapted. Every day's experience proves, that that may be an irreſiſtible temptation to one man, which makes no impreſſion on another. Though, therefore, the genius of our calling were ſuch as it is deſcribed, it could only be inferred, that ſome of [402] the vices which are enumerated, will belong to one clergyman, others to another, but not that all theſe vices will be united in the temper of any conſiderable number. The circumſtances which operate on the character are ſo various, and on that account the influence of each of them is ſo precarious, and the turn of mind from which each derives its force is ſo uncertain, that we ought to reaſon on this ſubject with a peculiar degree of diffidence.

IT is eaſy to ſelect a few circumſtances, in any profeſſion, which, conſidered by themſelves, may appear to have an immoral tendency; but we cannot thence infer that the profeſſion hath an immoral tendency upon the whole; for the influence of theſe may be overbalanced by other circumſtances equally eſſential to it. Were we to eſtimate the character which any profeſſion forms, by the ſeparate view of ſome circumſtances belonging to it, we might repreſent it in a very unfavourable light. The character of a ſoldier is reckoned ſo amiable by this author, that he judges it the fitteſt to be oppoſed to ours, in order to ſet off its deformity. But it is a ſoldier's buſineſs to fight and kill, at the command of his ſuperiors, without examining the juſtice of the cauſe.—Were it fair to attend to this circumſtance alone, we might ſay that his employment neceſſarily [403] renders him cruel, arbitrary, a contemner of right, and an abſolute peſt in ſociety. Such preciſely is the reaſoning by which this author would prove, that our office neceſſarily inflames many of the blackeſt vices of human nature. He has, by ſome overſight, omitted many circumſtances eſſential to it, which have the moſt powerful influence on virtue; he has fixed on a few circumſtances, ſome of them really foreign to our office, and others of them but caſually and remotely connected with it; he has conſidered the effects, which theſe would produce, if they conſtituted the whole of our office; and I will venture to ſay, he has exaggerated both theſe effects, and the cauſes, from which they are repreſented as proceeding. In this reſpect his reaſoning is fallacious, being built on an inſufficient foundation.

WHEN it appears that any circumſtance in a profeſſion, viewed in one light, tends to vice, we cannot always conclude, that even this circumſtance tends to vice upon the whole; becauſe it may as naturally, or more naturally, produce other effects of an oppoſite kind. It is the office of a judge to pronounce ſentence exactly according to law, without regard to the ties of relation, to compaſſion, or to worthineſs of character. By conſidering this circumſtance in one point of view, we might be [404] inclined to think, that this office naturally baniſhes from the heart, pity, generoſity, friendſhip, the love of relations, and all the amiable offspring of benevolence. But this will not be its natural effect; for this unbiaſſed regard to right, in oppoſition to all inducements from affection, is fit to cheriſh an attachment to public happineſs, for promoting which all the rules of juſtice are calculated; and, by giving conſtant exerciſe to the ſenſe of virtue, it ſtrengthens this ſenſe, and enables it to controul all vicious diſpoſitions, and to lay the mind open, by this means, to the operation of every generous, and kind, and worthy affection. But this author has conſidered thoſe circumſtances in our profeſſion, of which he takes notice, only in one point of view; he has obſerved only ſome of their conſequences on the character, but has unluckily overlooked others, more eſſential and important, and of a perfectly contrary nature. If this be true, his arguments will be inconcluſive, and that may be but a very partial tendency, which they would repreſent as the prevailing ſpirit of our office.

THIS author begins his character of our profeſſion, by adopting a trite maxim, which, he ſays, is not altogether falſe, that prieſts of all religions are the ſame. I think, it may be [405] eaſily proved, that this maxim cannot be true. It neceſſarily ſuppoſes, that the way of life and the occupation of prieſts of all religions is perfectly the ſame. Different cauſes can produce the ſame or ſimilar effects, only by means of thoſe qualities which they poſſeſs in common. Every circumſtance in an occupation has ſome influence upon the character. Characters, therefore, perfectly uniform, cannot be the reſult of occupations which do not coincide in all reſpects. Politeneſs and the good qua [...]ties related to it, make up the character which this author derives from the profeſſion of a modern ſoldier. He quotes a ſaying of an antient writer who was perfectly well acquainted with life and manners, that it is not in the power even of the gods to make a polite ſoldier. Yet the way of life of an ancient ſoldier included almoſt all the circumſtances from which he derives the politeneſs of a modern ſoldier. The very ſame profeſſion, therefore, may produce perfectly contrary characters, in different periods, by means of a difference in the prevailing manners of the world. It is ſtrange, that an author of uncommon penetration, who had remarked in this inſtance, that a ſmall change, in the cuſtoms of common life, could even reverſe the ſpirit of one profeſſion, ſhould immediately after produce a maxim, which ſuppoſes that the greateſt change [406] in religious principles and cuſtoms, cannot make any alteration in the character of prieſts.—Prieſts, being the miniſters of religion, muſt derive, from their office, a character correſpondent to the nature of that religion, in which they miniſter. But ſurely the nature of all religions is not perfectly the ſame. This author acknowledges in another place *, that no two nations, and ſcarce any two men, have agreed preciſely in the ſame religious ſentiments; that polytheiſm of every kind is, moſt properly, a ſort of ſuperſtitious atheiſm, ſimilar to a belief of elves and fairies, which it is great complaiſance to dignify with the name of religion. The pagan religion conſiſted wholly of groundleſs fables, inconſiſtent traditions, immoral tales, inſignificant ceremonies, and empty pageantry . Could it then have the ſame tendency with Chriſtianity, which delivers the genuine principles of theiſm, which inſtitutes very few ceremonial duties, which every where repreſents theſe as ſubſervient to moral virtue, which proclaims, that the alone weighty matters of the law are juſtice, mercy, fidelity, and the love of God , which ſets before men the moſt illuſtrious examples of every virtue, and the ſtrongeſt motives to the practice of it? Can a [407] pagan prieſt, wholly employed in the abſurd rites of the former, derive from his office the ſame character to which a Chriſtian miniſter will be naturally formed, by teaching the doctrines, and inculcating the duties of the latter? What one principle almoſt is common to their functions *? The Proteſtant religion is very [408] different from Popery, both in its form, and in its ſpirit. The office of a Popiſh prieſt is, in [409] conſequence of this, very different from that of a Proteſtant miniſter. The one is continually recommending imignificant ceremonies, as a compenſation for real goodneſs; the other is perpetually inculcating, that nothing can compenſate the want of it. Can theſe employments promote the very ſame turn of character? It can ſcarce be ſaid, that prieſts of theſe two religions agree in the acknowledgment of the Scriptures; for in popery the Scriptures are made void by legends and traditions. But if they agree in this, the only part of their [410] character, which they can, on this account, derive in common from their office, is either that which reſults from the general tendency of revelation, the love of God and man, or thoſe virtues which are recommended particularly to the miniſters of religion. And what are theſe? The Scripture commands them to be apt to teach, blameleſs, holy, godly, vigilant, ſober, temperate, not given to wine, modeſt, of good behaviour, juſt, not covetous, not ſtrikers, not brawlers, not ſelf-willed, not ſoon angry, patient, forbearing, gentle, meek, peaceable, benevolent, given to hoſpitality, lovers of good men *. May theſe ever be the qualities in which prieſts of all religions agree! But then their character will be, in every reſpect, the reverſe of what this author has drawn for them.—In a word, becauſe different religions are unlike in many circumſtances fit to operate on the character, prieſts of all religions cannot be the ſame.

IT is not very eaſy to determine with certainty, what place the falſe maxim, which we have mentioned, really poſſeſſes in this author's reaſoning; whether it be one of the principles, which he uſes in aſcertaining the tendency of [411] the ſacerdotal office; or whether it be the concluſion which he draws from circumſtances, ſuppoſed to belong to that office, in all the various forms of religion.

IF it be a principle on which the reaſoning proceeds, it ought to have been clearly proved before it was adopted; for, if it be really falſe or doubtful, every argument built upon it is deſtitute of evidence, however plauſible it may appear to thoſe who take the principle for granted. If it be conſidered in this light, there is but one argument produced for proving it. ‘Prieſts of all religions are the ſame, for as chymiſts obſerve, that ſpirits, when raiſed to a certain height, are all the ſame, from whatever materials they be extracted; ſo theſe men, being elevated above humanity, acquire an uniform character, which is entirely their own.’ Do you think that this compariſon beſtows any evidence upon the maxim? Is the diſtillation of ſpirits, by a chemical proceſs, a caſe exactly ſimilar to the forming of a character, by means of religious and moral principles? And is it not ſomewhat ſtrange, to ſuppoſe all prieſts elevated above humanity, as a ſtep towards proving, that they are all ſunk into vices which depreſs humanity below itſelf? To produce this as an argument, would be unworthy of this ingenious [412] philoſopher, who is well acquainted with the rules of reaſoning; who can eaſily diſcern the fallacy of very ſpecious arguments; who is even ſcrupulous in allowing men to reaſon from one ſubject to another, in which the leaſt circumſtance of ſimilarity is wanting *. It is a mere metaphor, an alluſion to a fact ſo wholly diſſimilar, that it has almoſt too much the appearance of a turn of wit, to be admitted as an appoſite image in the more ſerious kinds of poetry. On this account, I am inclined to think, that the maxim in queſtion was intended, not for a principle in the reaſoning, but for the concluſion deducible from it.

BUT if the author really deſigned to infer, from the nature of our office, that prieſts of all religions agree in the character which he deſcribes, he ought not to ſuppoſe this concluſion in determining the nature of that office. This is plainly reaſoning in a circle. Yet many of his arguments reſt on this ſuppoſition, and will be inconcluſive without it. Could this manner of reaſoning be allowed, it is obvious that great advantage might be derived from it. By means of it all the baſeſt corruptions of religion come to be regarded as [413] eſſential parts of it; every thing which, in conſequence of the corruption of religion, has ever been attempted by its miniſters, in the moſt degenerate ſtate of things, for ſupporting or promoting that corruption, comes to be repreſented as a neceſſary part of the paſtoral office, though it be in fact repugnant to the very nature and deſign of it.

BUT if we would examine fairly and impartially, what is the tendency of the paſtoral office, with reſpect to any virtue or vice, we muſt diſtinguiſh the office itſelf from the abuſes of it. In order to this, we muſt take our account of it only from the Scriptures; we muſt conſider the end for which they declare that it was appointed, the employment on which they put Chriſtian miniſters for promoting that end, and the rules which they preſcribe concerning the manner of executing their employment. An infidel cannot juſtly proceed in any other way; for whether the Scriptures have any real authority or not, it is only in them that the inſtitution of this office, or the manner of executing it, is ſaid to be contained. Whatever is not, by the Scriptures, incumbent on a clergyman, is foreign to his office, at leaſt; and may be inconſiſtent with it, however generally it be practiſed. An enquirer muſt firſt diſcover, in this manner, what our office [414] really is; and then he muſt conſider all the circumſtances of it together, trace out all the natural effects of each, balance the good and the bad effects of the ſame circumſtance, and weigh the tendencies of different circumſtances againſt one another, before he can expect to determine its genuine ſpirit. This will be, indeed, a difficult and complex induction; but philoſophers know well, that an induction equally ſevere is requiſite, before a certain concluſion can be eſtabliſhed, in ſubjects of a leſs intricate nature than the formation of human characters. Whether the author whoſe arguments we are examining, has obſerved this method; whether, in eſtimating our character, he has not, on the contrary, fixed on ſome circumſtances in our profeſſion, conſidered even theſe but in one light, pointed out only ſome of their effects upon the character, unduly exaggerated particulars, and argued from circumſtances foreign to the office of a Chriſtian miniſter, nay wholly contradictory to it; I will appeal to the impartial; I will appeal to his own candour, after he has reviewed his arguments, by the acknowledged rules of reaſoning. It will appear, in ſome meaſure, from the following examination of thoſe vices which our office is ſaid to have a fixt and unalterable tendency to promote—They are hypocriſy, ſuperſtition, ambition, vanity, [415] party-ſpirit, rancour. Truly a black catalogue of the moſt diabolical vices! Had one of us drawn ſuch a character for the laity in general, or for any particular profeſſion, would it not have been cited as an inſtance of prieſtly fury? But deſtitute as we are repreſented to be of the noble virtues of humanity, meekneſs and moderation, we will content ourſelves with ſubmitting our cauſe coolly to the cognizance of reaſon.

DO thoſe abominable vices, which have been mentioned, indeed compoſe the genuine character of the miniſters of Jeſus? Are theſe the natural reſult of their profeſſion? Say, Chriſtians, when you look around you, and obſerve the miniſters who come within your knowledge, do you really find theſe to be the qualities which are predominant in the temper and conduct of the greateſt part of them?—Would you be diſpoſed to give greater indulgence to theſe vices in a miniſter than in another? Or would not your hearts condemn them as unſuitable to his profeſſion? If theſe vices reſulted neceſſarily from our office, would it not follow, that mankind muſt be diſpoſed to excuſe them in miniſters, on account of the difficulty of their avoiding them? But can our adverſaries ſay, that hypocriſy, ambition, pride, rancour, or any other vice in that horrid [416] catalogue, by which they deſcribe the ſpirit of our calling, is regarded with a more favourable eye in one of us, than in men of a different occupation? The weak may not perceive ſome exertions of theſe principles to be vicious, the prejudiced may miſtake them for virtuous: but whenever they are at all diſapproved as wrong, are not they, as well as other vices, condemned with ſingular ſeverity in a clergyman? Doth not the common ſenſe of mankind thus declare that our office tends to promote the virtues oppoſite to theſe, as well as other virtues? Some vices are reckoned more indecent in a clergyman than others; but all vices are reckoned more indecent in him, than in any other man. Some virtues are eſteemed more indiſpenſibly neceſſary than others, but every virtue is eſteemed more requiſite in this profeſſion than in other profeſſions.

THERE are two circumſtances in our profeſſion, which, it is ſaid, neceſſarily form us to hypocriſy.—One is the obligation which it lays us under to obſerve ſtrict decency.—Decency conſiſts in abſtaining from all behaviour that is either vicious or offenſive. The moſt natural principle of this abſtinence is virtue; and our office obliges us to decency, only by obliging us to blameleſs virtue. Did it exert its full influence upon our character, we [417] ſhould not ſtand in need of diſſimulation, in order to appear virtuous. Indeed, it cannot be expected, in the preſent imperfect ſtate, that this office will exert its full influence univerſally, or produce that exalted virtue which it demands, in all who exerciſe it. On this account many miniſters may have an inducement, from their profeſſion, to endeavour in particular inſtances, to conceal vices and imperfections which really belong to them. Yet ſtill this is but a ſecondary tendency, by which the profeſſion cannot be fairly characterized; a tendency too, which reflects honour upon it, becauſe it proceeds only from the ſtrength of its original tendency to virtue.—And is that conduct which even this ſecondary tendency produces, abſolutely blameable? Can it be allowed, that all reſerve is criminal hypocriſy? Is every man obliged in honeſty to diſcover to others all the faults of which he is conſcious in himſelf? Is it not right to conceal our vices from the knowledge of others, by all lawful means? Will it not in ſome meaſure prevent the infection of our bad example? Certainly it is not criminal for a perſon to endeavour to reform himſelf from any vice which he has contracted. Yet this can be done, only by ſetting a guard over his words and actions, and abſtaining from giving ſcope to thoſe wrong paſſions which continue to [418] ſolicit him very powerfully. May not a miniſter abſtain from the practice of vices to which he is diſpoſed, from a ſenſe of duty, or from a deſire to extirpate them by degrees; or may not he abſtain from things which he knows to be lawful, in charitable indulgence to the weakneſs of others, or from a regard to character, without any fault, without being liable to the charge of hypocriſy, without incurring any danger of deſtroying the candour and ingenuity of his temper, or making an irreparable breach in his character? Is not the conduct rather laudable?—Indeed, if a clergyman be obſtinately wicked, he will be expoſed to a temptation, from his office, to blameable hypocriſy. In every profeſſion, the vicious are often induced to affect an appearance of virtue, in order to promote their deſigns. The paſtoral office will not render every individual really virtuous. But it cannot be executed by a perſon who is known to be vicious. It is, therefore, probable that a vicious miniſter will put on a falſe ſhew of goodneſs. But ſhall the whole order be, for this reaſon, charged with affecting a continued grimace, in order to ſupport the veneration of the ignorant vulgar, and promote the ſpirit of ſuperſtition? Abſurd corruptions of religion there have been, which were intended for promoting a ſpirit of ſuperſtition, [419] and which could not be ſupported without an implicit veneration of the prieſt: but to argue from theſe, is to confound the vileſt perverſions of religion with Chriſtianity, the baſeſt proſtitutions of the paſtoral office with the office itſelf. Where do the Scriptures enjoin a clergyman to promote a ſuperſtitious ſpirit? The clergyman who aims at it, purſues a wrong end, ſuggeſted to him by his corrupt paſſions, not by his office, to which it is altogether foreign; and the ſame corrupt paſſions lead him to pervert his office, that it may become ſubſervient to this end. For what part of the paſtoral function is the blind veneration of the ignorant vulgar requiſite? Indeed, we cannot execute our office, without being careful to deſerve eſteem; virtue alone deſerves it; our office, therefore, prompts us ſtrongly to virtue. If any of us attempt to ſupply the want of virtue, by affected grimace, in order to procure eſteem, he uſes unlawful means of accompliſhing a lawful end; he is guilty of baſe hypocriſy, the temptation to which ariſes indeed from his office, but ariſes ſolely from its rendering virtue neceſſary for the execution of it. If any of us weakly miſtake grimace for the genuine dignity of virtue, he confounds a vice with a good quality, to which it bears ſome general reſemblance.— [420] But how does the miniſterial office contribute to the miſtake? Do any of the duties of that office, deſcribed in Scripture, or does the example of our Saviour, who came cating and drinking *, or the example of his Apoſtles, lead into it? It ariſes only from the weakneſs of men, which produces ſimilar inſtances of ſelf-deceit in all profeſſions.—We may add, that our danger of being ſeduced into hypocritical grimace cannot juſtly make the character of our order appear in a diſadvantageous light, when it is compared with the character of other ranks of men. The weakneſs of our nature may render that corruption of religion and of our office, from which the temptation to hypocriſy ariſes, very frequent; but the ſame cauſe will as frequently introduce diſhoneſt views, and diſhoneſt artifices, of different kinds, into other profeſſions. When the paſtoral office is actually perverted from its real end, to promote the purpoſes of a corrupt religion, the temptation to hypocriſy may be very ſtrong, ſo as actually to prevail with many of our order; but the perverſions of other profeſſions afford temptations, to thoſe ſpecies of diſhoneſty and craft which ſuit them, as irreſiſtible and as univerſally prevalent. The [421] hypocriſy which ariſes from our compliance with theſe temptations, is highly blameable and pernicious, but is not generally baſer or more deſtructive than the various frauds and artifices, which are practiſed by bad men in other callings.—On the whole, our office leads primarily to real virtue, not to an affected appearance of it; it very naturally produces a grave and ſerious temper, and a cautious attention to our deportment, which may be diſagreeable to the gay and diſſipated, and which they may uncharitably charge with hypocriſy, becauſe of its contrariety to their own manners, but which is totally diſtinct from vicious grimace: corruptions of religion may pervert our office ſo far as to lead us to purſue ends, which cannot be accompliſhed without affected grimace; but the temptation to it is to be imputed, not to our office, or to religion, but to the corruption of both, and to the weakneſs and fault of individuals; and whatever degree of grimace may really prevail among the clergy, it cannot juſtly expoſe them to peculiar diſapprobation, becauſe many kinds of diſhoneſt art, as odious to the full as this, are equally general among other ranks of men.

[422]IT is likewiſe ſaid, that our office promotes hypocriſy by leading us to be employed in the exerciſes of religion oftener than we can be poſſeſſed with the real ſpirit of devotion.—It leads us, indeed, to be frequently employed in the exerciſes of religion. The natural tendency of this is, to improve a temper of piety in our ſouls; for every habit is formed and ſtrengthened by frequent exerciſe. Miniſters will ſometimes find their devotion languid, when they are called to exerciſe it. But the more conſtantly an affection is exerted, the ſtronger and more habitual it is rendered by this means, the leſs will a perſon be indiſpoſed for exerting it. If, therefore, our office leads us to be more conſtant in the exerciſes of devotion than other men, it will neceſſarily render us leſs ſubject than others to fits of languor. They who have not originally a higher or more conſtant ſpirit of devotion than the generality of mankind, will naturally acquire it by being engaged in our profeſſion. It cannot be denied that our employment has an eſſential and ſtrong tendency to form us to eminent and conſtant piety, the moſt neceſſary and the moſt excellent of all virtues, without abſurdly ſuppoſing, either that frequent acts of any virtue have no tendency to promote a habit of that virtue, or that the ſtrength [423] of a habit has no tendency to lead us to act frequently upon it.—But it is ſaid, that our office obliges us to affect devotion often, when we are already jaded with the exerciſes of it, or when our minds are engaged in worldly occupations. Suppoſe that it ſometimes called us to devotion, when we are in this ſituation. Is it neceſſarily unlawful to attempt to exert a good affection, when a perſon is ill-diſpoſed to it? If the attempt proceed from a ſenſe of duty, it is ſurely virtuous. And it is remarked by philoſophers *, that one of the moſt proper ſeaſons for exerting a principle ſo as to improve it, is when we are worſt diſpoſed. Then a ſtrong effort will be neceſſary to overcome the oppoſition ariſing from our reluctance; and by this effort the principle will acquire greater ſtrength, than if it had been exerciſed more eaſily . When other men find themſelves indiſpoſed for devotion, they may be tempted to neglect it; by neglecting it they will become more indiſpoſed, and are thus in danger of becoming, by degrees, habitually impious; but a clergyman, being under a neceſſity, from his office, to exerciſe it, is led, by this means, to take one of the fitteſt opportunities for cultivating [424] a temper of real piety.—As our affections ariſe directly from juſt conceptions of their objects, we can ſeldom be ſo averſe from the exerciſe of any affection, that it cannot be produced by due attention to its object. Our office leads us to frequent meditation on that God who is the object of devotion, and on all thoſe ſubjects which can render our ſentiments of his perfections vigorous and lively. It thus affords us the proper and direct means of rouſing pious affections, when they are languid. And ſince our office thus fixes us in contemplation of God, and obliges us frequently to exerciſe devout affections towards him, we muſt be groſsly faulty, if we be, at any time, ſo ill-diſpoſed, as to approach him with feigned devotion. By theſe advantages which our profeſſion gives us, piety may be rendered ſo habitually predominant in our temper, that it ſhall eagerly ſeize every opportunity of acting, and that we ſhall be able to exerciſe ſincere devotion, in circumſtances in which they who are ſeldom employed in religious duties, judging of us by themſelves, may think it impoſſible, and cenſure our worſhip as hypocritical.—But is there no danger that we may be contented with going the round of religious exerciſes, without being at pains to excite the inward affections which ought to animate [425] them? And if we ſhould, will not this produce hypocriſy? Undoubtedly. Mere formal worſhip, frequently gone about, tends to make us think that we are already poſſeſſed of thoſe inward affections from which our worſhip ſhould have proceeded, and thus prevents our ſetting ourſelves to cultivate them, and confirms us in hypocriſy. This danger ariſes from the very conſtitution of human nature, and extends to all external actions, which may ſometimes proceed from other principles than the virtue to which they correſpond, and will, in that caſe, diſguiſe our want of that virtue from us. If miniſters, notwithſtanding the peculiar advantages which their profeſſion gives them for cultivating a temper of real piety, engage in devotion without exciting that temper into act, they will be in greater danger than others, of becoming inſenſible of their want of piety, and will more quickly contract a ſtrong habit of hypocriſy, by reaſon of their frequent calls to devotion. But is this habit really worſe, than a want of all appearance of religion, which theſe men would have infallibly run into, from the ſame degeneracy of mind, in any profeſſion which did not give them frequent calls to devotion? Or though it were, can our profeſſion be juſtly blamed for requiring thoſe acts of devotion, from the wrong performance [426] of which that habit ſprings? If it could, it muſt follow, that all exerciſe of devotion is not only uſeleſs but highly dangerous. Nay, on this principle, all good external actions muſt be cenſured, as tending to corrupt the character, becauſe they may be performed when they do not proceed from their natural principle; and becauſe, when they are thus performed, they will rather obſtruct, than promote the improvement of that principle.—But, after all, a clergyman can really be in no peculiar danger from the public exerciſes of religion, becauſe in them all the people profeſs to join; and yet they alone appear to be intended by this Author. He ſeems to have had thoſe prieſts in his eye, who are almoſt conſtantly employed in running over forms of devotion, in a language which the people do not underſtand. But is it fair to draw an argument from them, to clergymen, who, by their office, only preſide in thoſe exerciſes of devotion in which all the people are as much concerned as they? He ſeems likewiſe to confound mechanical warmth and extaſy, which muſt needs be tranſient, with calm and rational piety, which may actuate the mind as habitually, and uninterruptedly, and be as much in readineſs to exert itſelf, whenever an occaſion offers, as gratitude, friendſhip, or any other affection of the human heart.—In a word, [427] our profeſſion is ſingularly fit to form us to ſincere and exalted piety, by obliging us to frequency in thoſe exerciſes of devotion, by the right performance of which alone a temper of piety can be formed, and by giving us great advantages for performing them aright; we may indeed perform them in a wrong manner, it may require ſtrict attention to avoid it; if we do not beſtow this attention, we may become hypocritical in our devotions; but the fault will be chargeable, not on our office, but on ourſelves, who have reſiſted its primary and natural impulſe.

To conclude this head, the prevailing tendency of thoſe functions in which we are employed, is to promote virtue and piety; they will tempt the obſtinately vicious to hypocriſy, but they could not ceaſe to tempt them to this, without ceaſing to urge powerfully to univerſal goodneſs. Thoſe only will become hypocrites by being engaged in our profeſſion, who would have been either diſhoneſt or abandoned, if they had followed another occupation.

ANOTHER of the vices imputed to our office is ſuperſtition, leading us to regard an appearance of religion, or zeal for religious obſervances, as a full compenſation for all [428] vices and violations of morality.—But is there any ſpirit againſt which the Scriptures, the only rule of our inſtructions, guard mankind with greater care? Can we teach the religion of Jeſus, without making it a great part of our buſineſs to warn our people againſt this vile perverſion of devotion? What circumſtance can there be, then, in our profeſſion, that puts us in peculiar danger of ſuperſtition? This Author really mentions none. Inſtead of ſupporting his charge, inſtead of attempting to prove, that ſuperſtition is one of thoſe characters, which are entirely our own, he obſerves that all mankind almoſt have a ſtrong propenſity to it; an obſervation, which is inconſiſtent with its being peculiar to the clergy. Our office, indeed, naturally tends to form us to a temper of devotion; but from the warmth of genuine devotion, ſuperſtition never can ariſe. On the contrary, it is plain from the nature of the diſpoſitions themſelves, as well as from the declarations of Scripture, that reverence, and love of God, gratitude to him, ſubmiſſion to his providence, regard to his authority, and to his judgment of us, and all the other parts of real piety lead to univerſal virtue, and cannot be completed without producing it. All mankind appear to be ſenſible of this. They will allow a perſon to be really juſt or temperate, though ſome other virtues be plainly [429] wanting in his character. But if a man want any virtue, and have an appearance of piety, they determine that his piety is inſincere and hypocritical; conſcious, that, if it were genuine, it could not fail to produce every moral virtue.—If men be apt to ſuſpect the probity of thoſe who put on an extraordinary appearance of religion, their judgment may be eaſily accounted for. For it is too obvious to eſcape their notice, that real piety is attended with little ſhow; and it is an obſervation which all men make in numberleſs other caſes, that whenever a man affects any good quality which he does not really poſſeſs, he is ſure to overact his part.—But we need not dwell on this article of the charge; for the Author, inſtead of producing any evidence for it, indulges himſelf in remarks, which only tend to depreciate all religion, by confounding it with ſuperſtition. An examination of this point, though it be important in itſelf, is foreign to our preſent ſubject.

THE clergy have been often accuſed of ambition, and the accuſation has been moulded into many different forms. This Author chuſes to repreſent them as a ſet of men whoſe ambition can be ſatisfied, only by promoting ignorance, and ſuperſtition, and implicit faith, and pious frauds, that, by arguments drawn [430] from another world, they may move this world at their pleaſure; whereas the ambition of other men may commonly be ſatisfied, by excelling in their particular profeſſion, and thereby promoting the intereſts of ſociety.—Is this a fair compariſon of our character with that of others? Is it not plainly a compariſon of laudable ambition in them, with the greateſt corruption of that principle in us? But is the ambition of other men always of the praiſeworthy kind? Is it this that has prompted individuals to raiſe themſelves by ſupplanting better men, by fraud, by perfidy, by aſſaſſinations, by every the moſt ſhocking crime? Is it this that has diſtacted kingdoms with faction and rebellion, and filled the world with war and bloodſhed? Will it be ſaid, that the ambition of the laity has never appeared in this form, or produced theſe effects? And is not this the form of it, which ought, in juſt argument, to have been oppoſed to wrong-turned ambition in a clergyman? On the other hand, will it be aſſerted, that our office does not ſuggeſt to us a laudable object of ambition, which will bear to be compared with the deſires of others, to ſerve mankind by excelling in their own profeſſions? Our office, brethren, naturally propoſes to us only one object of ambition, the nobleſt indeed that can be propoſed, to be workers together with [431] God, and with Chriſt, in recommending righteouſneſs to mankind *, and thus promoting the moſt valuable intereſts of ſociety. It is the direct end of our office, to excite mankind, by the diſcoveries of a future world, which reaſon and revelation make, to that conduct which alone can promote their true happineſs, both in time and in eternity. If we miſapply theſe engines, to move men at our pleaſure, or to render them ſubſervient to our deſigns, we baſely deviate from the end of our vocation, and, inſtead of it, purſue an oppoſite, and unworthy and pernicious end. And ſhall that be imputed to our office, which is contradictory to its whole deſign?—But may not our office contribute, in ſome way to this conduct? Moſt men are prone to prefer preſent and temporal, to ſpiritual and eternal objects, and to purſue them by whatever means they can. Many, who were not of our order, have often proſtituted religion, by making it a tool for promoting their ſecular ends. The vice is not, therefore, peculiar to our order. To be employed in the functions of our office will never lead a man to form theſe worldly deſigns, which can be accompliſhed by a proſtitution of religion; theſe are ſuggeſted by the viciouſneſs of his own temper, [432] or by his being engaged in foreign occupations, and would not probably have been formed, if he had confined himſelf to his proper buſineſs. Indeed, when ambitious views are, from theſe cauſes, once formed by a clergyman, he will endeavour to promote them by thoſe religious inſtruments which his office affords, more readily than by any others, becauſe they are moſt directly in his eye. His office obliges him to apply them to the moſt glorious purpoſe; this is an argument for its excellence: his wickedneſs prompts him to miſapply them to bad purpoſes; this is wholly his own fault. Ought the world to have been deprived of the only means by which virtue and happineſs can be obtained, becauſe the abuſe of them may ſometimes be pernicious? This vice cannot, therefore, juſtly be imputed to the genius of our calling, for it has no primary or eſſential tendency to promote it; on the contrary it has a very remote, indirect, and accidental influence upon it; it will ſupply a temptation to it very ſeldom, never except by reaſon of the previous corruption either of individuals, or of the ſpirit of religion; the vice will not be generally characteriſtical of our order, except in the moſt degenerate ſtate of things; on this account, and likewiſe becauſe ambition often aſſumes the ſame form in the reſt of mankind, and becauſe other [433] forms of it are equally deteſtable and pernicious, particular inſtances of clergymen applying religion to ſelfiſh or worldly purpoſes cannot, with any reaſon, render the character of the profeſſion peculiarly odious.—If we promote ignorance, and ſuperſtition, and implicit faith, and pious frauds, for any end, we uſe the moſt unjuſtifiable means. But it is impoſſible, that our office can, in the remoteſt manner, prompt us to uſe them. The method, by which its genuine end can be promoted, is the manifeſtation of the truth *; our buſineſs is rightly to divide the word of truth to all, to diffuſe religious and moral knowledge to the utmoſt of our power. Is this the ſame with promoting ignorance and error? Say, all the world, is it not perfectly the reverſe? Our office tends ſo directly to make us apt to teach , that it cannot even afford a temptation to the conduct of which we are accuſed, till it be firſt perverted to the very oppoſite of what it ought to be. It cannot put it in our power to purſue this conduct, except all the reſt of mankind be, in one way or another, as degenerate as ourſelves.—What then could lead a perſon to charge our office with a tendency, abſolutely contradictory [434] to its genuine ſpirit? There is one religion, the prieſts of which purſue this unnatural conduct. Chriſtianity was gradually corrupted from its genuine purity, during ſeveral ages of ignorance and barbarity, by a mixture of the groſſeſt abſurdities of Paganiſm. The monſtrous medley could not bear examination, and therefore the prieſts of the Romiſh church betook themſelves to the only means by which it could be protected from contempt or indignation. But is it candid to transfer their character, to other Chriſtian miniſters, whoſe conduct is avowedly the contrary?—This were to take it for granted, that prieſts of all religions are the ſame, not only without evidence, but really in contradiction to the evidence of actual experience. This character ſprung, not from the office of teaching religion, but from men's having ceaſed to teach true religion: it can be aſcribed only to thoſe cauſes which produced the corruption of religion, and, by that means, neceſſarily changed the buſineſs of the ſacred function, and reverſed the natural character of the clergy.

IT is affirmed, likewiſe, that we lie under a peculiar temptation, from our office, to vanity, and an overweening conceit of ourſelves, becauſe we are regarded with veneration, and are even deemed ſacred, by the ignorant multitude. [435] —There are few ſituations, from which men may not take occaſion from criminal vanity; for there are few, which do not give perſons ſome real or imaginary advantage; and every opinion of advantage, however trivial, may produce an high conceit of ourſelves. But the more important, or the more exalted any ſtation is, the ſtronger its temptations to this vice. Our office has plainly very conſiderable dignity; the provinces of the philoſopher and the orator are united in it; it is deſigned for the nobleſt end, for training men to virtue, and fitting them for eternal happineſs. It is by its excellence alone, that it leads us to ſet a value on ourſelves; and it has this tendency in common with every thing, which has any degree of worth.—But it is not every kind of ſelf-eſteem, that can be reckoned faulty. A juſt ſenſe of any real and important advantage is not blamed in others, and cannot be blameable in us. It muſt be owned, however, that all men are very prone to an exceſs of pride, and very ready to expreſs it in an improper manner. Vanity, oſtentation, arrogance, inſolence, are highly cenſurable, both in miniſters, and in others. But the cenſure is due ſolely to the individuals who abuſe the advantages of their ſituation, to foſter theſe vices in their ſouls. The fault will be peculiarly chargeable on individuals in our profeſſion, [436] becauſe it gives us ſtrong inducements to avoid it. The very dignity of our office will fill a man of an ingenuous ſpirit with deep humility, when he compares it with his own unworthineſs. Who is ſufficient for theſe things *? Its functions will lead us to fix our thoughts often on the majeſty of the divine nature; and, when we think of it, what is man? and what is the ſon of man ? And can we always avoid reflecting, that the humble and lowly Jeſus is our founder? If we cannot, will not his example have ſome tendency to form this mind in us, which was alſo in him §?—The principle of ſympathy is very powerful. By means of it we enter into all the ſentiments of others. The good opinion of the world cannot fail to have a conſiderable influence on our judgment of ourſelves. But have miniſters of the goſpel any peculiar ſecurity for veneration or reſpect? It is plain, that many profeſſions are, in the general eſtimation of the world, more reputable than theirs. It will be difficult to point out any ſet of men, on whom greater reproach and contempt has been poured out, for their works ſake, than the teachers of religion. Undiſtinguiſhed reflections on this order are thrown out without [437] reſerve, and hearkened to with pleaſure, by many who would regard general cenſures of any other body in the groſs, as an evidence of prejudice and ill-breeding. If, therefore, general reproach and ridicule have any tendency to mortify the vanity of mankind, the clergy, at leaſt in the preſent age, are furniſhed with a peculiar antidote againſt vanity.—All the veneration, which we can expect on account of our office, it is inſinuated, is that of the ignorant multitude. We will not complain of the unjuſt ſeverity of this infinuation; we hope that our profeſſion may give us a right, while we maintain a character becoming it, to the reſpect of the moſt knowing. It will prompt us more [...] to vanity, by this means; but if we allow that paſſion to have any other effect, than to give us a new reaſon for endeavouring to deſerve their eſteem, it will be wholly our own fault. If we cannot expect the eſteem of the diſcerning, we can ſcarce have an irreſiſtible temptation to vanity, from the veneration of the ignorant, except we be formed very differently from all other men, who are moſt apt to be elated with the approbation of the moſt knowing judges. And, truly, in the preſent age, we cannot certainly obtain the veneration even of the ignorant; they who oppoſe religion, or inveigh againſt its miniſters, are formidable rivals to us Theſe [438] are not generally like this Author. His infidelity will probably rob him of ſome part of the attention and regard, which his philoſophical genius and taſte would have otherwiſe commanded from the curious and intelligent. But almoſt all the reſt owe their reputation ſolely to their irreligion, and muſt have been neglected or contemned, even by the moſt ignorant and careleſs reader, if they had attempted to write on any other ſubject.

PART IV.

[439]

OUR office is, alſo, cenſured, becauſe it leads us to bear a great regard to the members of our own profeſſion, and to have a particular concern for the intereſts of our own body.—But can this be culpable? Becauſe our power to do good is very limited, becauſe our beneficence would become uſeleſs, if it were diſſipated equally among all mankind, God has wiſely formed our conſtitution in ſuch a manner, that benevolence riſes in very different degrees towards different perſons. The human heart is ſo ſtrongly turned to love, that we eagerly take occaſion for exerciſing a peculiar degree of this affection, not only from relation, perſonal qualities, or favours received, but alſo from more trivial circumſtances, a name, a neighbourhood, or the like. This conſtitution of nature neceſſe [...]ily leads men to love thoſe of their own profeſ [...]n, and to be concerned for the intereſt of the ſociety to which they belong Was this ever before cenſured as vicious? To neglect this were highly blameable. It is chiefly by particular kind affections, that men are linked together in ſociety. [440] —If the intereſts of clergymen of the ſame religion be really united more cloſely, than the intereſts of thoſe of other profeſſions; our office has a direct tendency, by this circumſtance, to prompt us ſtrongly to one ſpecies of benevolence and public ſpirit, and thus is peculiarly fit to promote one of the moſt amiable virtues. The intereſts of men of other profeſſions not only are diſtinct, becauſe each carries on his buſineſs apart, but often interfere, and by this means, the love which they ought to bear to one another, is extinguiſhed. Ought it not to be mentioned to the honour of our profeſſion, inſtead of being objected to it as a reproach, that it does not expoſe us to this danger?—All particular attachments may, indeed, be carried too far, and obſtruct the exerciſe of other ſocial virtues; love to a family may render a man negligent of the good of his country; even patriotiſm may make a man too carcleſs about the intereſts of the kind. But is that conſtitution of our nature which makes us capable of theſe attachments, to be blamed on this account? In like manner, if ſome clergymen pervert that juſt benevolence which they owe to their ſociety, into a narrow party-ſpirit, diſpoſing them to ſacrifice the intereſts of the laity, or leading them to aim at the ſupport of their own peculiar tenets, or at the ſuppreſſion of antagoniſts, inſtead of the [441] real intereſt of the order, which always coincides with the intereſt of truth and virtue, and, by conſequence, with the intereſt of mankind; is the office to be therefore cenſured? It gives occaſion to this miſconduct, only by containing a circumſtance which has a direct tendency to promote an amiable virtue, but which is capable of being abuſed by the folly or perverſeneſs of men.—At the ſame time, our office tends ſtrongly to prevent the abuſes which might ariſe from an exceſſive attachment to our own ſociety. We teach a religion which repreſents us and all mankind as connected together by every endearing relation which can excite the tendereſt love, and by every ſimilarity of condition, which can improve our love by ſympathy and fellow-feeling. Our office ſets frequently in our view the general connexions of the children of men; and it unites us with mankind by peculiar ties. It intereſts us in their moſt important concerns, it engages us in the moſt affectionate intercourſe with their very ſouls. Benevolence can be cheriſhed only by thoſe exerciſes of beneficence, for which the circumſtances of men give opportunity. A miniſter has all the ſame opportunities of doing good, with another man; and, if he really execute his office, he muſt have many opportunities peculiar to himſelf; for he can ſeldom ſpend a [442] day without being led to inform the ignorant, to comfort the diſtreſſed, to confirm the wavering, to cultivate the ſeeds of goodneſs in the minds of men. Such employment is certainly fit to melt the heart into love, and to make it to overflow in ſtreams of good-will to the whole human race.—When this Author repreſented the clergy as a ſeparate body, wholly unconnected with ſociety, I am apt to think, that he had in his eye only one ſet of clergymen, thoſe prieſts whom the law of celibacy and a monaſtic life cut off from all the ordinary relations to mankind. Indeed they are ſcarce a part of ſociety, they have an independent intereſt, by which they are firmly united among themſelves, by which they are often prompted to conſpire in oppoſing the intereſt of ſociety, and for promoting which their religion is evidently framed. But is it fair to aſcribe a character, which ſprings from peculiarities in their ſituation, to clergymen of other profeſſions, who are joined with ſociety by all the ſame tender charities, as other men? To ſpeak the truth, by means of theſe, the intereſt of individual clergymen is ſo much interwoven with that of the reſt of mankind, or ſo much dependent on their favour, that they are in conſiderable danger of bearing too little regard to the members of their own body, and of becoming the tools of the laity in promoting [443] deſigns which a concern for the intereſts of their own ſociety ought to urge them to oppoſe.

IN the laſt place, the ſpirit of our profeſſion is ſaid to promote impatience of contradiction, bigoted rancour, bitterneſs, and fury againſt antagoniſts.—When we conſider, brethren, the genius of the Chriſtian religion, as it is delineated in Scripture, we can ſcarce expect to find this vice among either the miniſters or the profeſſors of it: for it is indeed the goſpel of peace *, its end is charity , its ſpirit is moderation and forbearance , it is wholly deſigned to root out of the hearts of men all bitterneſs, wrath, anger, clamour, evil ſpeaking, malice, and to make them kind, tender-hearted, forgiving, loving and benevolent §. Is it poſ [...]ible that the teachers of this religion can derive from their office a perfectly contrary ſpirit? If this office do not tend to ſweeten the temper, and to give peculiar advantages for meekneſs, moderation, and humanity, it will be difficult to ſay, what are the proper means of cultivating theſe noble virtues.—The character and the office of a Chriſtian miniſter are deſcribed in Scripture, as perfectly ſuitable to the benign [444] ſpirit of his religion. The ſervant of the Lord muſt not ſtrive, but be gentle unto all men, apt to teach, patient, in meekneſs inſtructing them that oppoſe themſelves *; reproving, rebuking, exhorting with all LONG-SUFFERING and d [...]ctrine . This employment is ſo far from [...]ing to the leaſt degree of malevolence or wrath, that it cannot be executed aright, if we give any ſcope to this diſpoſition.—But when we attend to the hiſtory of the Chriſtian church, we find it, in contradiction to the ſpirit of the goſpel, filled with fierce contentions, often about trifles, producing angry zeal, and cruel perſecutions on account of religious differences. Had theſe things been peculiar to the clergy, we might have regarded a temper of blind zeal, as a vice to which our profeſſion lays us under peculiar temptations, intended for our trial, which it will require our utmoſt vigilance to avoid complying with. Yet even in this caſe, we ſhould have been able to evince that they are temptations which reflect no real diſhonour on the paſtoral office, becauſe they ariſe from a perverſion of it. But indeed a ſpirit of bitter zeal has not been peculiar to the clergy; it has infected all ranks among the laity, in almoſt every age of the Chriſtian church. What has been the cauſe of this? [445] And does not it affect the credit of the goſpel itſelf?—In order to anſwer theſe queſtions, we may obſerve, that Chriſtianity, as it is exhibited in the Scriptures, is a ſyſtem, not of curious ſpeculations, or intricate diſputes, but of plain and ſimple facts, fit to affect the heart and influence the practice. It is propoſed, not with a view to exerciſe the ingenuity of men, but expreſsly as a doctrine according to godlineſs; and it is repreſented in that manner which fits it moſt for promoting this important end. As the principles or common ſenſe, which the powerful hand of the God of nature has impreſſed indelibly upon the human ſoul, influence the actions of thoſe who have never made them an object of reflection or enquiry, in ordinary life; ſo the principles of true religion, which the ſame God has revealed in the goſpel, firmly embraced and thoroughly digeſted, will exert their full force upon the religious and moral conduct of thoſe who are no wiſe qualified to anſwer all the difficulties, or even to comprehend all the abſtruſe queſtions, that may be raiſed in relation to them. But men are prone to refinement on every ſubject, to nice diſquiſitions concerning the manner of things, and to contentions with thoſe who receive not their theories, or advance others repugnant to them. Even the moſt obvious and irreſiſtible dictates of common [446] ſenſe have been called in queſtion by the ſubtlety of philoſophers; and, had nature left it in our power not to act upon them, till theſe diſputes were determined, the moſt neceſſary functions of life would have been ſuſpended, and immediate ruin would have enſued. Now, brethren, the Chriſtian religion has been treated like every thing elſe; it has been made a ſubject of endleſs cavil and diſputation. Men have ſet themſelves to refine upon its ſimple tenets; and, inſtead of repreſenting it in a manner fit to operate upon the principles of action, they have reduced theology to a ſyſtem of ſubtle controverſies. We are ſo prone to diſputation, that the greateſt ignorance to which mankind can be reduced, does not prevent it altogether. But the introduction of this evil into religion was immenſely forwarded by the univerſal authority, obtained by that ſyſtem of philoſophy which Ariſtotle had eſtabliſhed, in declared oppoſition to all his predeceſſors, and which, in conformity to the ſpirit of its Author, was wholly calculated for wrangling and altercation, and abſolutely intolerant to all who oppoſed it. The ſpirit of this falſe philoſophy diffuſed itſelf over religion, as well as over every other ſubject, filled it with innumerable ſubtle queſtions, and, by this means, rendered it unfit to influence the practice: for the manner [447] of repreſenting any doctrine, with a view to guard it ſtudiouſly againſt the cavils of adverſaries, will ever be very different from the manner in which it muſt be repreſented, in order to move the heart. A ſyſtem of principles of any kind, which ſpends itſelf in diſputes, muſt be barren of works, and uſeleſs with reſpect to practice. It can produce only contentions, with all the fierce paſſions that muſt needs attend them. Thus Chriſtianity has been perverted, by a falſe philoſophy, from its real nature and deſign; and from this perverſion have ariſen religious heats and animoſities and a bitter and perſecuting ſpirit.

THE Apoſtles foreſaw this depravation of religion, and put both miniſters and people on their guard againſt it, warning them to beware, leſt any man ſhould ſpoil them through philoſophy and vain deceit, after the tradition of men, after the rudiments of the world, and not after Chriſt *; not to give heed to fables, which miniſter queſtions rather than godly edifying ; to avoid fooliſh and unlearned queſtions, knowing that they engender ſtrifes and contentions, and are unprofitable and vain . And the Apoſtle Paul intimates plainly, that they conſent not to the wholeſome words of our Lord Jeſus Chriſt, and to the doctrine [448] which is according to godlineſs, who dote about queſtions, and logomachies, whereof cometh envy, ſtrifes, railings, evil ſurmiſings, perverſe diſputings of men of corrupt minds *. But Chriſtians have not been ſo wiſe as to regard theſe warnings. They have deviated from the ſpirit of the goſpel, they have corrupted it into a diſputatious theology by foreign mixtures; and hence malevolent paſſions have ariſen. But can they be imputed to the ſpirit of the goſpel, when they have been introduced by men's contradicting its ſpirit? Can we be infected with them by teaching the goſpel, when their cauſe is plainly teaching ſomething elſe, inſtead of the goſpel? They are a groſs abuſe of the goſpel. But there is nothing incapable of being abuſed. They have been very frequent in the Chriſtian church. Perhaps God permitted them for the exerciſe and probation of Chriſtians, that, as they have much greater advantages than other men, they might likewiſe have ſome peculiar temptations.—When religious diſputes ariſe, they will naturally be managed with greater warmth, than queſtions on other ſubjects, by reaſon of their ſuperior importance, and the conviction of each party that their ſentiments alone are agreeable to the will of God. But this warmth will not be peculiar [449] to the clergy; the people will engage in the diſpute with equal acrimony. If there be inſtances in which the clergy have inflamed the people, it is certain too, that, in ſome inſtances, the clergy have been urged to fiery zeal by the art of deſigning laymen; and that, in ſome inſtances, they have laboured to curb the fury, and to cure the bigotry of the people, by illuſtrating and enforcing the principles of toleration and free enquiry. Nay, uncommon ardor ſeizes not the friends of religion alone, in queſtions where it is concerned, but the oppoſers of religion likewiſe. Warmed with the moment of the ſubject, they too urge their arguments without a ſtrict regard to the rules of moderation. Is not the Author, to whom we have ſo often referred, an example of it? Would he have reaſoned on any other ſubject, in the manner in which he has reaſoned concerning the character of the miniſters of religion? Had he been perfectly free from that zeal which he imputes to us, and from the prejudice which it occaſions, I am perſuaded, that his benevolence of heart would have rejected with indignation the general reflexions which he has thrown out againſt the clergy, and that his ſtrength of underſtanding would have enabled him to perceive, that they prove nothing to the diſadvantage of the paſtoral office, or of the [450] Chriſtian religion. Wrong-turned zeal has ſometimes excited the clergy to call in the aſſiſtance of the ſecular arm for the ſuppreſſion of their antagoniſts; is not this Author, do you think, under the influence of ſome degree of the ſame ſpirit, when, in imitation of their conduct, he endeavours to alarm ſociety againſt the attempts of the body of the clergy, as neceſſarily factious, ambitious, and perſecuting?—Thus the odium theologicum is not peculiar to prieſts, it ariſes not from the particular genius of their calling, the corrupt paſſions of all men often take occaſion, from the importance of religion, to inflame it in queſtions where religion is anywiſe concerned. Fully convinced of the truth of their own opinions, they are too apt to indulge intemperate zeal, under the appearance of the love of truth.—But have clergymen no temptations to this vice from which other men are free? Perhaps they have. If religion be already perverted, if the credit of peculiar tenets be ſubſtituted in the place of the intereſts of religion, which always coincide with the intereſts of virtue; they will, in that ſituation, but only in that, have a temptation to ſupport their peculiar tenets with intemperate zeal, becauſe their own credit and their livelihood will depend upon the belief which their opinions meet with. But could either depend ſo much on this, if the people [451] were not fired with a bigoted attachment to certain peculiar tenets, and diſpoſed to deſert or perſecute their teachers, when they differ from them? Into the corruption of the people, therefore, that temptation muſt, in ſome meaſure, be ultimately reſolved, which, on a ſuperficial view, ſeems to ariſe from the paſtoral office. In truth, religion is firſt corrupted through the weakneſs or wickedneſs of men; this corruption enters into the characters of all who profeſs it; both together pervert the paſtoral office from its genuine ſpirit; and the perverſion of it increaſes that corruption from which it ſprung.—If a man enter into the paſtoral office fired with a ſpirit of diſputation or wrong turned zeal, the fault is chargeable only on his natural temper or his education. But if he enter into it without this ſpirit, the office will give him ſome advantages for avoiding it. It is acknowledged that, in other ſubjects, an acquaintance with the various opinions of learned men, and with the arguments by which each ſupports his own, tends to ſecure a man from unreaſonable dogmatiſm. If it has the ſame tendency in religion, a clergyman muſt have an inducement to moderation, from his office. His office leads him alſo to ſtudy the Scriptures, in which meekneſs and all the kindred virtues are enforced by every method, by examples, by precepts, by promiſes, [452] and their oppoſite vices are expoſed, prohibited, and ſeverely threatened: and this ſurely has ſome tendency to ſweeten the temper and humanize the heart.—In a word, my brethren, a ſpirit of bitter zeal ſprings not from religion, nor from the office of the teachers of religion, but from a corruption of both; from a corruption, however, to which human nature is ſo prone, that it will require the greateſt vigilance, both of miniſters and of the people, to preſerve themſelves from its infection *.

[453]I HOPE it is by this time evident, that this Author has haſtily thrown off a portrait [454] for the miniſters of religion, which does by no means expreſs their genuine features; and [455] that the charge which he brings againſt the ſpirit of our office, has been rendered in any [456] degree plauſible, only by fixing on ſome ſeparate circumſtances of our profeſſion, by omitting ſome of their moſt natural effects upon the character, and by exaggerating the reſt; nay by aſcribing circumſtances to our office, which are not only foreign, but even repugnant to it; by confounding the temptations, which may ariſe from the corruptions of it or of the goſpel, with the direct and eſſential tendency of both; and by comparing the higheſt degree of the vices to which theſe temptations may ſolicit us, with the loweſt degree of the vices into which other men may be led by their particular ſituation. If the vices to which clergymen are moſt expoſed, be compared with the ſame degree of the vices to which men of other profeſſions are liable, the former will not appear to be more odious than the latter. It cannot be pretended that the peculiar temptations of the paſtoral office are more generally complied with, than the common temptations of our earthly ſtate, or the peculiar temptations of other profeſſions. There is, therefore, no reaſon for repreſenting the character of the clergy as peculiarly diſagreeable in compariſon with other characters. There is still leſs reaſon [457] for cenſuring the ſpirit of our office, or the goſpel by which it is inſtituted. In the preceding enquiry, we have not diſſembled any real temptation to the vices charged upon us, which can ariſe from our profeſſion. But it has appeared that, whatever theſe temptations be, they ariſe from it only ſecondarily and indirectly; from the corruptions of our office, not from the office itſelf, whoſe primary and prevailing tendency is only to virtue. It has appeared, that, if our functions be performed aright, they will naturally and ſtrongly promote ſincere and manly piety, completed by univerſal virtue; and will lead to warm and diffuſive benevolence, fit not only to check all angry paſſions, and all deſigns hurtful to mankind, but to prompt us likewiſe to uninterrupted aſſiduity in producing the happineſs of others, by inſtilling the moſt important knowledge, and recommending the pureſt virtue.

IF this be the character, which the miniſterial office tends to form in the ſeveral individuals of our ſociety, it will be unneceſſary to prove by any additional arguments, that no government can have reaſon to dread the attempts of the ſociety itſelf, while its members retain the true ſpirit of their profeſſion. As long as they are actuated by it, they muſt agree in conſidering all mankind as united into one [458] great ſociety, under the ſupreme government of God, and in regarding themſelves as members of this ſyſtem, connected with all the parts of it, employed to promote the order, and enforce the laws of this moſt antient and univerſal polity, by doing their utmoſt to render all to whom their influence can reach, wiſe and virtuous and happy. They muſt totally apoſtatize from this ſpirit, before they can form themſelves into a faction, eager to eſtabliſh any ſeparate intereſt, any intereſt diſtinct from that of truth, goodneſs, and mankind. They muſt contract a ſpirit oppoſite to that which reſults from the true genius of their calling, before they can concur in giving ſcope to ambition, pride, or a perſecuting ſpirit. Society can have no reaſon to be more jealous of their attempts, than of the attempts of any other claſs of men; for they are not more apt to degenerate from the virtuous ſpirit of their profeſſion, and to promote faction or perſecution, than other men are to become vicious, and to form deſigns, and to purſue meaſures, equally deſtructive of the peace and order of civil government. A peculiar jealouſy of the clergy, and a deſire to depreſs them, will always indicate a prevailing corruption of manners, a diſaffection to religion, an indifference about the practice of real virtue, and about the eternal happineſs of [459] mankind, in the ſocieties or individuals who entertain that jealouſy.

IT was remarked, in the beginning of this diſcourſe, that the enquiry which we propoſed for the ſubject of it, is of a very practical nature. It ſuggeſts important inſtructions, both to miniſters and to the people.

1. EVERY part of the inveſtigation now attempted, forces reflections into our view, which merit the attention of all the miniſters of the goſpel. It ſhows us, my reverend fathers and brethren, both the advantages and the difficulties of our ſituation; both the ſtrong obligations to virtue which we lie under, and the dangerous temptations to vice to which we are expoſed. By exhibiting the former it urges us, ſeeing we have this miniſtry, not to faint *, till we have attained that blameleſs holineſs which is ſo ſtrictly incumbent on us. By diſcovering the latter, it warns us to take heed to ourſelves with the moſt conſtant vigilance, leſt we be ſeduced by them.

THE office of a Biſhop is, indeed, a good, a worthy work . It has the ſtrongeſt tendency to adorn the characters of thoſe who exerciſe it, with [460] univerſal holineſs, the true beauty, the only excellence of the human ſoul. It gives us the nobleſt opportunities of ſaving ourſelves, by doing all that we can to promote the ſalvation of others. The advantages which we enjoy, demand from us the pureſt and the ſublimeſt virtue. The voice of mankind, the nature of our office, the credit of our religion, call upon us to guard carefully againſt every ſin, and to ſtudy to excell others in every amiable quality. In gratitude, in duty, in intereſt, in honour, by every poſſible tie, we are indiſpenſibly obliged to be blameleſs, to have our ſouls deeply tinctured with all real goodneſs, and to render our whole lives an uninterrupted ſeries of conſpicuous holineſs. Every degree of vice in us is ſingularly atrocious, not only in the opinion of the world, but in the eye of unbiaſſed reaſon, and in the unerring judgment of God; and will be puniſhed with the greateſt ſeverity: and what would be eſteemed only a defect of virtue in others, will ever be accounted a poſitive and heinous vice in us. In vain ſhall any miniſter of the goſpel expect to derive eſteem from the dignity of his calling, if he do not walk worthy of it. Its dignity ariſes from its holineſs. A vicious miniſter will debaſe it more, in the opinion of the world, than all the groundleſs cenſures of its enemies. Nay, brethren, to our vices their reflections may juſtly be imputed; [461] for our vices alone put it in their power to cenſure the genius of our profeſſion, to revile our order, or to blaſpheme the goſpel for our ſakes; our vices alone diſpoſe mankind to liſten, in any degree, to their aſperſions, or hinder them from rejecting them with indignation.

BY improving the advantages which our occupation gives us, we may, with the aſſiſtance of God, which will never be wanting to us but through our own fault, attain the higheſt degree of virtue: but by miſimproving them, we ſhall ſink into the loweſt degeneracy. As meat which is extremely nouriſhing to the healthful, may inflame dangerous diſtempers in the weak, ſo advantages for cultivating virtue, which have the moſt powerful influence on the well-diſpoſed, will contribute to harden the wicked in their vices. The danger of our falling ſhort of that exalted virtue which our advantages render indiſpenſible, and the danger of our periſhing for ever, which will neceſſarily ſpring from our falling ſhort of it, have appeared ſo great to many pious perſons of our profeſſion, that they have not ſcrupled to expreſs their fears, that a ſmaller proportion of our order, than of other ranks of men, ſhall obtain ſalvation. Certainly, we cannot be too careful to impreſs upon ourſelves the deepeſt ſenſe of both theſe dangers, which the ſtrictneſs [462] of our obligations and our ſignal advantages render very great. It is infinitely hazardous for a vicious man to enter into the paſtoral office; it is infinitely hazardous for us to neglect the immediate application of its advantages to the improvement of our own hearts; for if the peculiar means of holineſs which it affords, do not very quickly excite the miniſters of the goſpel to virtue, there is ſcarce a chance for their reformation. Where can they find means of reformation, more efficacious than thoſe with which they have already refuſed to comply? It is of great importance, that every perſon, who aſpires to this ſacred office, ſhould devote himſelf early to piety and virtue, that he may be qualified to improve its opportunities, and to avoid its dangers. It is of everlaſting importance to his own ſoul. Every man who finds himſelf deſtitute of the ſeeds of exalted and uniform goodneſs, ought to relinquiſh all thoughts of engaging in a profeſſion, to which his vices, of whatever kind they are, will be a reproach and ignominy. Whoever has entered into the paſtoral office ought to give up himſelf to the practice of its duties, and, as much as poſſible, to confine himſelf to them, that he may not loſe the advantages for cultivating virtue, which this office puts in his power. He ought to be extremely attentive to the manner in which he [463] exerciſes his ſacred functions, that he may avoid the heinous vice which will infallibly ariſe from the negligent or the improper exerciſe of them, and attain that improvement of heart, which will be promoted by the diligent and right performance of the duties of his holy calling.

SOME vices, as intemperance, impiety, exceſſive diſſipation, are ſo unſuitable to our profeſſion, that they will be indulged only by the abandoned; they demouſtrate a total depravation of heart, a mind loſt to all the principles of goodneſs. In the moſt degenerate ſtate of things, theſe vices will not be very frequent in our ſociety; the leaſt approach to them is univerſally reckoned ſcandalous. We ſhould guard againſt theſe, becauſe they will infallibly render our characters odious, and all our labours uſeleſs. However ſlightly they may be diſapproved in others, let us remember, not only that they are highly blameable in their own nature, but alſo that the world will ever regard them with indignation in a clergyman, that even the perverted judgement of thoſe who practiſe them, will pronounce them deteſtible in him, that even they who ſolicit him to commit them, and ſeem to like his gaiety, will deſpiſe him in their hearts. Let not the example or corrupted ſentiments of the world, let [464] not an affectation of ſpirit and freedom, let not the fear of being reckoned auſtere, moroſe, or ſtubborn, let not any inducement, prevail with us to admit the loweſt degree of theſe vices into our character or practice. The virtues oppoſite to theſe are abſolutely neceſſary to preſerve us from univerſal infamy; let us take care that we have not the appearance of them only, but that we really poſſeſs the virtues themſelves, and excell in them. They are enforced upon us by the ſpirit of our profeſſion in its full ſtrength; they are inculcated by all the moral principles, by which our employment operates on the temper.

THERE are ſome other vices, which have not ſo manifeſt a repugnance to our profeſſion, or which may even appear to ſpring from a common and probable abuſe of it. But for that very reaſon, we have greater need to be upon our guard againſt them. Intemperate zeal and its kindred vices will inſinuate themſelves more imperceptibly than thoſe which were mentioned before, will diſguiſe themſelves more artfully, will more eaſily elude the obſervation of the ignorant, or, perhaps, will be even conſecrated by them. In general, the vices which we are in greateſt danger of indulging, are thoſe which admit of the faireſt pretexts, and which are moſt apt to be confounded with [465] ſome virtuous principle; our profeſſion does not afford all the motives to abſtinence from theſe, which it affords to abſtinence from other vices, though it affords all that their nature will allow. If we attend to the exhortations which the inſpired writers addreſs to miniſters of the goſpel, we ſhall find that they much oftener give us warning againſt the vices of this c [...]aſs, than againſt others; thus plainly intimating that we are obnoxious chiefly to theſe. To avoid every degree of theſe will require the greateſt circumſpection. Theſe will be more frequent in our ſociety than other vices. Theſe alone can, with any plauſibility, be charged on the ſpirit of our office. If we indulge ourſelves in theſe, their prevalence will furniſh our more diſcerning enemies with the moſt ſpecious arguments againſt us. Inſtead of entertaining reſentment againſt them, let us turn their cenſures to our own advantage. The miniſterial office has not ſuch a tendency to any vice, as can juſtly expoſe its ſpirit to reproach; but the vices which are imputed to it, may notwithſtanding be thoſe which a wicked or a careleſs miniſter will moſt probably indulge. Let us not be ſatisfied with a conviction, that our office does not deſerve cenſure; but let every individual take care, that he may not [...] it. Adverſaries of penetration will be ſure to attack us on the ſide where we are [466] weakeſt. Let us take warning; let us employ particular attention there; let us beware of every thing that can lead us into the vices which they impute to us. Our office has its peculiar temptations; let us not diſguiſe them from ourſelves; let us rather be ſolicitous to diſcover them: they cannot reflect diſhonour on that office, or on religion; yet they may ſometimes put our virtue to a very difficult and hazardous trial; they will overcome us and ſeduce us into vice, if we be not vigilant and circumſpect. But if, through the grace of God, whom we ſerve in the goſpel, we ſtrenuouſly reſiſt them, we ſhall acquire ſtrong habits of ſincere piety, unfeigned humility, diffuſive benevolence, meekneſs, gentleneſs, charity, and every amiable virtue which can adorn our ſtation or our religion.

2. THE enquiry in which we have been engaged, likewiſe ſuggeſts uſeful inſtructions to the laity.

IN the preſent age, and in this nation, infidelity has erected its ſtandard, and many have enliſted in its ſervice. If there be any among theſe, who think that they have rejected the goſpel after a fair examination of its evidences, we will pray fervently to God, that he may have mercy upon them, and bring them to the [467] knowledge of the truth *. We will beſeech them, for their own ſakes, to take care that they have been really unprejudiced in their enquiries. Prejudices againſt religion may inſinuate themſelves as imperceptibly as prejudices for it; and they are, at leaſt, as highly blameable. If God has really given a revelation of his will to mankind, every degree of unfairneſs in examining its evidence, will be highly vicious in the judgment of reaſon and natural conſcience, and will evidently deſerve the ſevereſt puniſhment. But, without pretending to judge of men's ſecret intentions, we may ſurely ſay, that when men attack religion, either in public or private, either in converſation or from the preſs, by throwing out undiſtinguiſhed reflexions againſt the clergy; when they exaggerate the failings of individual clergymen, and charge them on the whole body; when they attempt to reproach the ſpirit of the miniſterial office, by partial or wrong repreſentations of its nature; when they labour to overturn religion, by raiſing a groundleſs prejudice againſt the teachers of it; this affords a preſumption of prejudice, though perhaps unſuſpected by themſelves, which, when it is pointed out to them, may juſtly excite them to review the temper and care with which they have enquired [468] into religion. If an infidel be not poſſeſſed with blameable prejudice, he will certainly confine himſelf, in his attacks againſt religion, to direct arguments, carefully avoiding every topic which may weaken its influence, without deciding concerning its truth. Let illiberal reflexions againſt the clergy be left to the tribe of vulgar infidels who have not perhaps penetration enough to diſcover, that they do not amount to a full conſutation of chriſtianity. Let thoſe abſtain from them, who are capable of perceiving, that many miniſters may be extremely vicious, and yet the office which they hold may have a virtuous tendency, and the goſpel may be true.

MY ſubject leads me alſo to addreſs the chriſtian people. It leads me to warn you, my friends, not to allow any man to beguile you with enticing words, by ſlight and cunning craftineſs, whereby many lie in wait to deceive *. It leads me to exhort you, that ye ſhould earneſtly contend for the faith, which was once delivered unto the ſaints; for there are many crept into chriſtian countries, who deny the only Lord God, and our Lord Jeſus Chriſt . Let not example, let not inconcluſive cavils, let not unſubſtantial turns of wit, prevail with you to deny the [469] Lord that bought you , in oppoſition to your rational conviction. You may adopt ſome of the maxims of infidels, without perceiving their conſequences; you may be infected with their ſpirit, while you reject their principles. This is ſhameful inconſiſtence; but every day's experience evinces that men may fall into it. Infidels have no prejudice againſt miniſters of the goſpel, except on account of their being the teachers of chriſtianity; they reproach them only, that they may wound religion. But do not ſome of you join in deſpiſing, ridiculing, or reproaching the chriſtian miniſtry, though you acknowledge the truth of the chriſtian religion? The conduct of infidels is extremely fooliſh, becauſe their reaſoning is evidently fallacious. But your conduct is infinitely more abſurd; you promote the deſigns of unbelievers againſt yourſelves; you inconſiderately contribute to the ſucceſs of a cauſe which you abhor. It has been often obſerved, that modern deiſts have derived, from thoſe very ſcriptures which they reject, juſter opinions in natural religion, than the wiſeſt heathens were able to form by unaſſiſted reaſon; and that the goſpel has thus inſenſibly refined the principles even of its enemies. But it may be obſerved with equal truth, that the prevalence of infidelity has [470] greatly corrupted the ſentiments and practice even of thoſe whoſe faith it could not directly ſubvert. Be on your guard, therefore, againſt the contagion of its ſpirit.—Indeed, you have a right to expect exemplary holineſs from your miniſters; vice in them may juſtly excite your indignation; and your expreſſing your diſapprobation of it, in every proper manner, may prevent it from becoming frequent. Be ſure, however, to find fault only with real vices. Confine your cenſures to the individuals who are guilty. In your cenſures even of them, remember ſtill, that they are weak and fallible creatures like yourſelves, expoſed to all the temptations of this ſtate of trial. But let not the faults of a few be imputed to all. Do not, on account of them, deſpiſe or reproach the office. Blame vicious miniſters for behaving unſuitably to their profeſſion; but remember, that this very judgment implies the excellence of that profeſſion. While you believe the goſpel, you ought to preſerve a high regard for the office of teaching it; you ought to eſteem thoſe, who are employed in it, very highly in love for their work's ſake *. If you deſpiſe the order in general, you deſpiſe their work, you deſpiſe the goſpel; for the goſpel is both the ſource and the ſubject of their employment. Is this conſiſtent with your being chriſtians?

[471]YOU, brethren, as well as miniſters, enjoy great advantages for the practice of holineſs, by the goſpel. Your obligations and your dangers are very ſimilar to ours. It is your buſineſs to ſtudy and to practiſe that religion, which it is our buſineſs to teach and inculcate on you. Let your ſenſe of the advantages which it affords, animate you to blameleſs holineſs. Let your ſenſe of the danger of your miſimproving theſe advantages, excite your vigilance and caution. In oppoſition to all temptations, walk worthy of the vocation wherewith ye are called *; walk worthy of the Lord unto all well-pleaſing, being fruitful in every good work, and increaſing in the knowledge of God ; let your converſation be as it becometh the goſpel of Chriſt , which you have learned, which we have taught, and by which both you and we muſt be judged at laſt.

MAY God fill the hearts both of miniſters, and of the people, with the true ſpirit of the goſpel of JESUS!

Amen.

THE END.
Notes
*
2 Tim. iii. 13.
*
Pſal. i. 1.
*
Jam. i. 15.
*
Prov. vii. 8.
Ver. 7.
*
Mat. xxvi. [...]3 35.
Ver. 5 [...]. 70.
*
Prov. vi. 18. vii. 25.
*
Prov. iv. 14, 15.
1 Theſſ. v. 22.
§
Rom. vii. 14.
Pſal. cxix. 140.
*
Prov. vi. 27, 28.
Gen. xxxix. 7-12.
*
Prov. xvii. 14.
*
1 Cor. v. 10.
*
Pſal. xxvi. 4, 5.
Pſal. xxxix. 1.
*
1 Kings, xxii. 3, -29.
*
Job, xxi. 16.
*
Num. xxxi. 16.
2 Sam. xi. 14, -25.
*
Prov. iv. 23.
*
Eph. iv. 20.
*
Prov. iv. 23.
*
Jer. xii. 5.
*
Prov. xxiii. 35.
*
Mat. v. 29. 30.
*
Mat. xxvi. 69,—74. Mark xiv. 66,—71.
*
Hoſ. iv. 11.
*
Prov. xxiii. 33.
Ver. 34.
*
2 Sam. xi. 5 &c.
1 Sam. xiv.
*
Mark vi. 21, &c.
*
Gen. xlix. 6.
Pſal. vi. 8.
*
2 Kings v. 13.
*
Heb. iii. 7, 8, 15.
*
2 Kings viii. 13.
*
Eccluſ. v. 5 7.
*
1 Tim. iv. 2.
Iſa. xxix. 10.
Eph. iv. 19.
*
Chap. ii. 1.
Ezek. xxxvi. 26.
Zech. vii. 12.
§
Jer. vii. 26. Iſa. xlviii. 4.
*
Heb. vi. 4, 6.
*
Tit. i. 16.
Eph. iv. 18, 19.
2 Tim. ii. 26.
*
Jer. xiii. 23.
Mat. xix. 26.
*
Pſal. lxxxi. 12.
Iſa. i. 5.
Ezek. iii. 27.
§
Rev. xxii. 11.
Eccl. i. 15.
*
Rom. ii. 5.
Tit. i. 15.
Iſa. v. 20.
§
Prov. xiv. 9.
*
Pſal. i. 1.
*
Prov. i. 22.
*
Eph. ii. 12.
Phil. i. 27.
*
1 Tim. vi. 3.
John iii. 19. 20.
2 Pet. iii. 3. Jude 18, 19.
*
Jam. iii. 3, 4.
Prov. xiii. 1.
Heb. x. 29.
*
1 Pet. iv. 4.
*
Acts xix. 9.
Prov. ii. 12, 13, 14.
Chap. i. 11, 12.
§
Chap. iv. 16.
*
Pſal. lxxiii. 9.
*
Prov. v. 4.
*
Heb. iii. 12.
*
Heb. iii. 7, 8.
Chap. x. 27.
Iſa. lv. 6.
*
Jer. x. 23.
Heb. iii. 13.
*
Prov. xv. 31, 32.
*
Pſal. xxxix. 13.
Pſal. xc. 15.
*
Phil. i. 23.
Ver. 24.
Job, vii. 5.
§
Chap. iii. 20, 24.
*
Job, v. 27.
Chap. vii. 11.
*
Phil. iv. 11.
Jam. v. 7, -11.
Job xiv. 14.
*
Gen. xxv. 8.
Eccl. xii. 1.
Pſal. xc. 10.
*
Eccl. xii. 1, 5.
Chap. iv. 8.
Prov. xvii. 6.
*
Gen. xlii. 38.
Pſal. xc. 10.
*
Iſa. lvii. 1.
Luke xx. 36.
*
Pſal. xvi. 11.
Rev. xxi. 4.
*
Rom. viii. 21.
*
1 John iii. 19.
2 Cor. v. 8.
*
Heb. ii. 15.
*
Job vii. 1.
*
Heb. vi. 18.
2 Pet. i. 10.
*
In one text, the adjective [...]; in another, the verb [...]; in all the reſt, the participle [...].
*
[...]
[...]
Luke v. 31. vii. 10 xv. 27.
*
Ver. 11.
Ver. 4.
*
Ver. 5.
Ver. 6.
*
Ver. 7, -10.
Chap. iv. 1.
*
Ver. 6.
Ver. 7.
*
Ver. 4, 5.
*
Ver. 20, 21.
2 Tim. i. 13.
*
Chap. ii. 2.
Chap iii. 10.
Ver. 14.
§
Ver. 15, 16.
*
Chap. ii. 14.
Ver. 15 16.
Ver. 23.
§
Chap. i. 13.
*
Chap. ii. 14.
Ver. 23.
Ver. 16, 17.
§
Chap. iii. 1, -4.
Ver. 5.
Ver. 16, 17.
*
Chap. iv. 1, 2.
Ver. 3.
Ver. 2.
§
Ver. 4.
*
Tit. i. 9.
*
Ver. 10, 11, 12.
Ver. 13.
*
Ver. 14.
Ver. 16.
Chap. ii. 2-10.
§
Ver. 2.
Ver. 8.
*
Ver. 7.
Ver. 8.
Ver. 11, 12.
*
Ver. 13.
Ver. 14.
Ver. 15.
§
Chap. iii, 1, 2.
Ver. 3-7.
*
Ver. 8, 9.
Ver. 10.
*
Mat. vii. 16.
*
Phil. i. 27.
Col. iv. 12.
1 Theſſ. iv. 3;
*
1 Sam. ii. 22-36.
Chap. iii. 11-14.
*
Lam. iii. 38.
Mat. x. 29, 30.
Job, i. 21.
§
Iſa. xlv. 9.
*
Pſal. cxxxv. 6.
Job xxxiii. 13.
Chap. ix. 4, 12.
§
Acts xxi. 14.
Pſal. xxv. 10.
*
Pſal. ix. 10.
1 Pet. v. 7.
Pſal. xlvi. 1.
§
Pſal. xxxvi. 7.
*
Prov. xxvii. 1.
*
Pſal. xxix. 10.
Pſal. civ. 3.
*
Heb. v. 9.
1 Pet. i. 18-21.
Rom. viii. 32.
*
Rom. viii. 28.
Eccleſ. vi. 12.
Chap. iii. 11.
§
Acts xv. 14.
*
Job, i. 20, 21.
Ver. 22.
Pſal. xxxix. 9.
§
Ver. 8. 10.
*
Mark xiv. 33, 34. 36.
*
Lam. iii. 33.
Job, ii. 10.
*
Chap. i. 21.
Pſal. xliii. 5.
*
[...] Sam. xvi. 11, 12.
*
Pſal. xxxvii. 8.
Ver. 3. 7.
*
Pſal. cxlii. 4, 5.
Lam. iii. 39.
*
Gen. xlv. 5. 7, 8.
*
Job, xv. 24.
*
Pſal. xxxi. 14, 15.
Heb. xi. 8.
*
Job, v. 8.
Lament. iii. 31, 32.
*
Heb. vii. 25.
2 Theſſ. i. 11.
1 Pet. iv. 19.
*
Lam. iii. 26.
*
Pſal. xxxvii. 5.
Pſal xxvii. 14. xxxi. 24.
*
Rom. ii. 14.
*
Rom. xiii. 5.
*
Heb. xii. 9.
Pſal. cxix. 73.
Eccleſ. xii. 1.
*
Eph. vi. 9.
Iſa. xxxiii. 22.
Rom. vii. 12.
§
Pſal. xix. 7, 8, 9.
*
Pſal. cxix.
Deut. vi 24.
Pſal. xix. 10.
*
Prov. i. 20, 23. viii. 10, 19, 20.
*
Deut. xxxii. 4.
Rom. ii. 6. 11.
*
Gen. xvii. 1.
J [...]m. iv. 12.
1 Cor. x. 22.
§
Job, xx. 29.
Prov. xi. 21.
Pſal. cxix.
**
Pſal. xix. 11.
*
Pſal. ciii. 20, 21.
Mic. vi. 8.
*
P [...]m. ii. 15.
*
Mat. xvii. 5.
Iſa. xlii. 21.
Mat. xxi. 37.
*
1 Tim. i. 1.
Luke, i. 74, 75.
1 Cor. vi. 20.
*
Eph. ii. 2.
*
John xvi. 2.
Pſal. cxix. 93.
Ver. 15.
*
Heb. v. 14.
Rom. ii. 15.
*
2 Kings xxii. 19. 2 Chron. xxxiv. 27.
2 Kings xxiii. 3. 2 Chron. xxxiv. 31.
Ver. 2.
*
Exod. xxiv. 7.
*
Pſal. cxix. 161.
Ver. 101.
Ver. 128.
Ver. 24.
§
Ver. 11.
*
2 Cor. x. 5.
*
Gal. v. 17.
Mat. xi. 29.
Jer. v. 23.
Rom. viii. 5.
§
Eph. ii. 3.
**
Tit. i. 16.
*
Rom. vi. 12-20.
Chap. viii. 7, 8.
Rom. vii. 15-24.
1 Cor. ix. 27.
§
Rom. viii. 13.
Gal. v. 17.
*
Iſa. i. 19.
Pſal. cxix. 36.
Gal. v. 19-23.
*
2 Cor. vii. 1.
*
Eph. ii. 3.
Rom. vi. 13.
Ver. 11.
*
Mat. xxiii. 23.
Luke, i. 6.
Pſal. cxix. 143, 144.
*
Eph. iv. 24.
Ezek. xxxvi. 26, 27.
*
Prov. xv. 3.
Pſal. xi. 4.
Job xxxi. 4.
§
Prov. v. 21.
Mat. vi. 3.
**
Ver. 6.
Jer. xvi. 17.
Pſal. xc. 8.
Pſal. cxxxix. 1, 2. 4, 5. 7.
§
Acts, xvii. 27.
**
Ver. 28.
*
1 Chron. xxviii. 9.
Heb. iv. 12, 13.
*
Hab. i. 12, 13.
Pſal v. 4, 5, 6.
Jer. ix. 24.
Pſal. xi. 7.
§
Pſal. xxxvii. 23.
*
Iſa. vi. 3.
Chap. v. 20.
Rom. ii. 2.
1 Sam. ii. 3.
§
1 Sam. ii. 2.
*
Job, xv. 15.
Chap. iv. 18.
*
Prov. xix. 12.
Pſal. xlvii. 2. 8.
Jer. x [...]ii. 10. Eccl. iii. 17.
*
Gen. xlii. 21.
Eccl. ix. 2.
Pſal. xciv. 1.
*
Job xvi. 17. 19.
Pſal. lviii. 11.
Pſal. cxlv. 17.
Eccl. xii. 14.
*
Acts, xvii. 31.
John, v. 22.
2 Cor. v. 10.
Mat. xxv. 46.
§
2 Theſſ. i. 9.
*
Job, xxxvii. 25, 24.
Mat. vii. 14.
*
1 Pet. i. 17.
Rom. iii. [...]3.
Jam. iii. 2.
Job, ix. 2, 3.
§
Pſal. cxliii. 2.
‡‡
Zeph. iii. 7.
*
Job. xix. 11.
Chap. xxxi. 14.
Acts, xvi. 30.
Pſal. vi. 1, 2.
§
Pſal. li. 9.
*
Heb x. 31.
Job. xxi. 30.
Jer. ii. 19.
Pſal. vii. 11.
§
Ver. 12.
Ver. 13.
‖‖
Job, xxxiii. 11.
‡‡
Pſal. li. 17.
2 Cor. vii. 9.
*
Jer. iii. 25.
Luke, xviii. 13.
Dan. ix. 8.
Chap. xii. 2.
*
Prov. viii. 13.
Prov. xxviii. 14. Job, xxviii. 28.
Mic. vi. 8.
*
Job, xv. 14.
Pſal. ciii. 14.
Rom. iii. 19, 20, 24 26.
Acts, xv. 19.
8.
Jam. ii. 22.
Rev. iii. 4.
Pſal. xxxii. 1, 2.
Jer. xviii. 23.
Chap. i. 7.
††
Rom. vi. 23.
¶¶
1 Cor. iv. 5.
‡‡
Pſal. xci. 14, 15.
*
John, v. 44.
Pſal. iv. 6.
Col. i. 10.
2 Cor. v. 9.
§
Rom. xii. 2.
*
1 Pet. i. 8.
Heb. xi. 10.
Ver. 26.
Phil. iii. 14.
2 Cor. iv. 18.
§
Col. iii. 2.
**
Heb. xi. 6.
*
Mat. xix. 17.
2 Cor. vii. i.
1 John iii. 2.
1 Cor. xv. 58.
§
Rom. v. 1, 2.
Chap. iii. 25.
*
Chap. viii. 16, 17.
1 John, iii. 19.
Phil. iv. 7.
Prov. x. 28.
§
Pſal. cxlix. 6.
Eph. i. 6.
**
Pſal. lxxxv. 2.
§§
Pſal. iv. 7.
*
Job, xxiii. 15.
Ver. 10.
Pſal. xxxvii. 6.
Pſal. cxix. 32.
§
Heb. iii. 6.
Pſal. xxiii. 4.
§§
Job, x. 22.
*
2 Tim. iv. 8.
*
Jer. vii. 11.
Heb. x. 30.
*
Pſal. cxxxix. 12.
Luke, xvi. 15.
1 Sam. xvi. 7.
1 Cor. iv. 5.
§
Job, xxvii. 5, 6. 8.
*
1 Cor. iv. 3. 4.
Luke, xii. 4, 5.
Pſal. xxx. 5.
*
Pſal. lxiii. 3.
Mat. xvi. 26, 27.
Rom. viii. 18.
Eccl. ix 1.
§
Pſal. xxxvi [...]. 3. 7.
*
Pſal. xxxvii. 8.
Pſal. lxxiii. 13.
*
2 Tim. iv. 8.
Eph. iv. [...].
*
2 Pet. iii. 12.
*
Prov. xxviii. 1.
*
Pſal. xvii. 1, 2, 3.
Pſal. xxvi. 1, 2. 6.
*
Iſa. xxii. 17.
*
Rom. viii. 34.
Heb. vi. 20.
John, xiv. 2.
Heb. x. 22.
§
Rom. v. 9.
*
1 John, iii. 21.
Eph. i. 14.
2 Theſſ. ii. 16.
*
Acts, xxiv. 16.
Prov. xiv. 32.
Rom. vi. 23.
1 Pet. iv. 19.
*
Joel, ii. 11.
*
Luke, xxi. 25, 26, 27. Mat. xxiv. 30. 1 Theſſ. iv. 15. Rev. i. 7.
Luke, xxi. 28.
1 Theſſ. iv. 16.
*
Luke, xiv. 14.
Rom. viii. 23.
A [...] [...]iii. 6. 1 Theſſ. iv. 18.
§
Phil. iii. 11.
Heb. xii. 23.
John, v. 24.
**
Luke, xx. 36.
††
1 Cor. xv. 49.
‡‡
Ver. 42, 43, 44.
*
1 Cor. xv. 51, 52, 53.
2 Cor. v. 4.
Phil. iii. 21.
§
1 Cor. xv. 54, 55. 57.
Chap. xiii. 10.
*
1 Cor. xv. 26.
2 Tim. i. 7.
Rom. v. 2.
§
Heb. vi. 11.
Rom. viii. 35, 37.
Dan. xii. 2.
*
John, v. 29.
1 Cor. xv. 41.
Heb. xii. 23.
*
Mat. xxiv. 30. Mark, xiii. 26. Luke, xxi. 27.
Heb. iv. 15.
Chap. ii. 11.
§
Ver. 13.
John, xx. 25, 27.
1 John, ii. 1.
*
Iſa. xxv. 9.
Heb. ix. 28.
2 Pet. i. 4.
§
John, xiv. 3.
Rev. xxii. 12.
*
1 Pet. v. 4.
Luke, ix. 26.
*
Mat. xviii. 10.
2 Theſſ. i. 10.
Rev i. 14, 15, 16.
*
1 John, iii. 2.
Rom. viii. 17.
John, xvii. 22.
§
Mat. xvi. 27. Mark, viii. 38. Luke, ix. 26.
2 Chron. vii. 3.
Rev. ix. 15. xxi. 3.
**
Mat. xvi. 27. xxv. 31. Mark, viii. 38. Luke, ix. 26.
††
Heb. xii. 22.
‡‡
Luke, xx. 26.
*
Heb. i. 14.
Mat. xxiv. 31.
Chap. xiii. 43, 49.
§
Chap. xxv. 31.
Heb. iv. 16.
2 Pet. iii. 14.
**
Dan. vii. 10.
*
Pſal. xcviii. 9.
Mat. xxv. 40.
Pſal. [...] 14.
§
Rom. iii. 24.
Eph. v. 27. Col. 1. 22.
Rev. xx. 15.
**
1 Theſſ. iv. 17.
††
M. xxv. 33.
‡‡
Rev. iii. 21.
§§
1 Cor. vi. 2, 3.
*
2 Pet. iii. 10.
Pſal. xlvi. 1, 2, 3.
*
2 Pet. iii. 13.
Rev. xxi. 5.
Ver. 2.
§
Chap. xxii. 5.
*
2 Cor. i. 12.
1 Cor. xv. 52.
2 Cor. v. 3.
§
Mat. xxv. 31.
*
1 Theſſ. iv. 17.
Rom xiv. 12.
1 Theſſ. ii. 10.
*
Heb. xii. 15.
2 Cor. ix. 6.
Luke, xix. 16-19.
*
Heb. xiii. 17.
1 Theſſ. iii. 13.
2 Theſſ. ii. 1, 2.
§
2 Pet. iii. 17, 18.
Jude, 14, 15.
*
Rom ii. 15.
1 Theſſ. iv. 7.
Tit. ii. 12.
*
Tit. ii. 12.
1 Tim. i. 5.
Tit. ii. 12.
Mat. xxii. 38.
§
Rom. i. 32.
Mat. vii. 23.
*
Luke, xxi. 25.
Ver. 11.
Joel, ii. 30.
Ver. 31. Luke. xxi. 11.
*
Mat. xxiv. 29.
Luke, xxi. 11.
Ver. 25.
Mat. xxiv. 30.
§
Rev. x. 1. 3.
Rev. xx. 13. 1 Theſſ. iv. 16.
**
John, v, 25. 2 [...].
*
Gen. xlii. 21, 22.
Dan. v. 5. 6.
*
Iſa. xxviii. 17.
Rev. x. 6.
*
Rev. xxii. 11.
Wiſd. iii. 7.
*
John, v. 29.
*
Wiſd. ii. 12-15.
Chap. v. 1-7.
Mark xiii. 8.
*
Habak. iii. [...].
Phil. ii. 7.
John [...]
*
Mat. viii. 29.
Phil. ii. 8.
Ver. 6.
Heb. 1. 3.
§
Mat. xvi. [...].
2 Theſſ. [...].
§§
Rev. i. 1 [...].
¶¶
Iſa. xxi. 3.
*
Rev. vi. 15, 16, 17.
Rev. xx. 11.
*
Luke. xxii. 61.
Ver. 62.
Mat. xxv. 31.
*
Luke, xii. 3.
*
Mat. xxv. 33.
Jude, 15.
Mat. xxv. 33.
Rev. xvi. 5.
*
Mat. xiii. 41, 42.
*
Matt. xxv. 30.
*
2 Pet. ii. 3.
Rom. ii. 16.
*
Num. xiii. 10.
*
THE character, which he draws, is this; `'Tis a trite, but not altogether a falſe maxim, that Prieſts of all religions are the ſome; and though the character of the profeſſion will not, in every inſtance, prevail over the perſonal character, yet it is ſure always to predominate with the greater number. For as chymiſts obſerve, that ſpirits, when raiſed to a certain height, are all the ſame, from whatever materials they be extracted; ſo theſe men, being elevated above humanity, acquire a uniform character, which is entirely their own, and which, in my opinion, is, generally ſpeaking, not the moſt amiable that is to be met with in human ſociety. It is, in moſt points, oppoſite to that of a ſoldier; as is the way of life, from which it is derived.
593

THOUGH all mankind have a ſtrong propenſity to religion at certain times and in certain diſpoſitions; yet are there few or none, who have it to that degree, and with that conſtancy, which is requiſite to ſupport the character of this profeſſion. It muſt, therefore, happen, that clergymen, being drawn from the common maſs of mankind, as people are to other employments, by the views of profit, the greateſt part, though no atheiſts or freethinkers, will find it neceſſary, on particular occaſions, to feign more devotion than they are, at that time, poſſeſt of, and to maintain the appearance of fervour and ſeriouſneſs, even when jaded with the exerciſes of their religion, or when they have their minds engaged in the common occupations of life. They muſt not, like the reſt of the world, give ſcope to their natural movements and ſentiments: they muſt ſet a guard over their looks and words and actions; and in order to ſupport the veneration paid them by the ignorant vulgar, they muſt not only keep a remarkable reſerve, but muſt promote the ſpirit of ſuperſtition, by a continued grimace and hypocriſy. This diſſimulation often deſtroys the candour and ingenuity of their tempers, and makes an irreparable breach in their characters.

IF by chance any of them be poſſeſt of a temper more ſuſceptible of devotion than uſual, ſo that he has but [...] occaſion for hypocriſy to ſupport the character of his profeſſion; it is ſo natural for him to over-rate this advantage, and to think it atones for every violation of morality, that frequently he is not more virtuous than the hypocrite. And though few dare openly avow theſe exploded opinions, “that every thing is lawful to the ſaints, and that they alone have a property in their goods;” yet may we obſerve, that theſe principles lurk in every boſom, and repreſent a zeal for religious obſervances as ſo great a merit, that it may compenſate for many vices and enormities. This obſervation is ſo common, that all prudent men are on their guard, when they meet with any extraordinary appearance of religion; though at the ſame time they confeſs, that there are many exceptions to this general rule, and that probity and ſuperſtition are far from being incompatible.

594

MOST men are ambitious; but the ambition of other men may commonly be ſatisfied, by excelling in their particular profeſſion, and thereby promoting the intereſts of ſociety. The ambition of the clergy can often be ſatisfied only by promoting ignorance and ſuperſtition, and implicit faith and pious frauds. And having got what Archimedes only wanted (viz. another world, on which he could fix his engines), no wonder they move this world at their pleaſure.

MOST men have an over-weening conceit of themſelves, but theſe have a peculiar temptation to that vice, who are regarded with ſuch veneration, and are even deemed ſacred, by the ignorant multitude.

MOST men are apt to bear a particular regard for the members of their own profeſſion; but as a lawyer, a phyſician, or merchant does, each of them, follow out his buſineſs apart, the intereſts of theſe profeſſions are not ſo cloſely united as the intereſts of clergymen of the ſame religion; where the whole body gain by the veneration paid to their common tenets, and by the ſuppreſſion of antagoniſts.

595

FEW men can bear contradiction with patience; but the clergy too often proceed even to a degree of fury on this article; becauſe all their credit and livelihood depend upon the belief which their opinions meet with; and they alone pretend to a divine and ſupernatural authority, or have any colour for repreſenting their antagoniſts as impious and profane. The Odium Theologicum, or theological hatred, is noted even to a proverb, and means that degree of rancour which is the moſt furious and implacable.

THUS many of the vices of human nature are, by fixt moral cauſes, inflamed in that profeſſion; and though ſeveral individuals eſcape the contagion, yet all wiſe governments will be on their guard againſt the attempts of a ſociety, who will for ever combine into one faction, and while it acts as a ſociety, will for ever be actuated by ambition, pride, and a perſecuting ſpirit.

THE temper of religion is grave and ſerious; and this is the character required of prieſts, which confines them to ſtrict rules of decency, and commonly prevents irregularity and intemperance amongſt them. The gaiety, much leſs the exceſſes of pleaſure, is not permitted in that body; and this virtue is, perhaps, the only one they owe to their profeſſion. In religions, indeed, founded on ſpeculative principles, and where public diſcourſes make a part of religious ſervice, it may alſo be ſuppoſed that the clergy will have a conſiderable ſhare in the learning of the times; though it is certain, that their taſte in eloquence will always be better than their ſkill in reaſoning and philoſophy. But whoever poſſeſſes the other noble virtues of humanity, meekneſs, and moderation, as very many of them, no doubt, do, is beholden for them to nature or reflection, not to the genius of his calling.' Hume's Eſſays Moral and Political, Eſſay 24.

596
THIS is a repreſentation chiefly of the MORAL character of the clergy; and to that the following diſcourſe is wholly confined. But as an inſinuation is likewiſe made to the diſadvantage of their INTELLECTUAL character, it will be proper to remark, that this inſinuation is, both of little weight, and, in a great meaſure, without foundation.——It is of little weight; for taſte is more general among all men, than ſkill in philoſophy. A greater number can judge of beauty, than of truth. Many are moved by the eloquence of a diſcourſe, who cannot examine the juſtneſs of the reaſoning. We meet much oftener with a degree of imagination, and ſenſibility of temper, ſufficient to form a good ſpeaker, than with the penetration which is neceſſary for inveſtigating the cauſes of things, and inventing juſt theories. It can be no reflection on the clergy, that taſte is more univerſal, than philoſophical genius, in their profeſſion, as well as in all other profeſſions. Their taſte will naturally be better in eloquence, than in other arts, becauſe their office leads them to apply eſpecially to that.——In every ſenſe, in which it can be conſidered as a reflection on our order, the inſinuation is entirely groundleſs. Were mankind perſuaded that we are unacquainted with the rules of juſt reaſoning, and only qualified for popular declamation on principles taken for granted without enquiry; this might perhaps incline them to liſten to thoſe who tell them, that the truths of religion, which we teach, are mere fables, deſtitute of evidence, though we be not poſſeſſed of a degree of reaſon ſufficient for detecting the fallacious arguments produced in ſupport of them; it might prepare them for expecting wonderful diſcoveries in the writings of infidels, and prejudice them againſt our vindications of religion. I will not ſay, that this author made the inſinuation with a deſign to promote this end, becauſe he has not informed us what is his deſign. But I will ſay, this end can be really promoted by nothing leſs, than a proof that the clergy are weak reaſoners, in compariſon with the reſt of mankind; and I will venture to affirm, that neither the nature of their employment, nor experience of their real character, gives reaſon for repreſenting them in this light. Their profeſſion turns their attention to eloquence, but does not divert it from juſt reaſoning. Their public functions lead them to employ all their powers of perſuaſion, in inculcating truth and goodneſs on their hearers; their ſtudies lead them alſo to examine moſt queſtions of importance, to enquire into the abſtruſeſt truths, and to detect the moſt ſubtle errors. Corruptions of religion, interwoven with the tenets of a falſe philoſophy, have ſometimes retarded the improvement of ſcience; but it is the buſineſs of miniſters to teach only pure religion; it is a perverſion of their office to ſupport corruptions of religion, and the effects of this perverſion cannot juſtly be imputed to the genuine ſpirit of the office. In fact, the clergy have never been remarkably defective in the knowledge of philoſophy. There have been periods, in which the philoſophy of the times was almoſt wholly confined to them. When the ſcholaſtic philoſophy prevailed univerſally, they diſcovered as great ſubtlety, as men of other profeſſions. As great a proportion of the clergy, as of any other claſs, have excelled in the knowledge, both of nature, and of the human mind. It is natural for freethinkers to reckon the reaſonings of the clergy, concerning religion, weak and inconcluſive, becauſe they are contradictory to their own; but we are not afraid to deſire the world to compare the writings of men of our order, with thoſe of the moſt admired infidels, in reſpect either of the truth of the principles, from which they argue, or of the ſtrength and cloſeneſs of the arguments.
*
Gal. vi. i.
*
See 1 Cor. i. 22. Col. i. 22.
Acts, xv. 28.
1 Cor. iv. 1.
*
2 Pet. i. 16.
*
Eccleſ. xii. 13.
Tit. ii. 12.
2 Tit. iii. 17.
*
2 Tim. iii. 15.
1 Tim. iv. 15.
2 Tim. ii. 2.
*
2 Tim. ii. 4.
*
Eccleſ vii. 2.
*
Eccleſ. vii. 3.
2 Tim. ii. 25.
Tit i. 9.
1 Tim. vi. 17.
§
1 Tim. v. 1. 1 Tim. ii. 14.
Ver. 20. 2 Tim. iv. 2.
*
Acts, xx. 20.
*
Tit. ii. 7.
Mal. ii. 9.
*
2 Cor. vi. 3.
2 Sam. ii. 17.
Mat. ii. 8.
*
Natural Hiſtory of Religion, p. 2, 25, 34.
Ibid. p. 69.
Mat. xxiii. 23. Luke, xi. 42.
*
IT is plain from the moſt ſuperficial view of the character which Mr. Hume draws for Chriſtian miniſters, that he avails himſelf of all the corruptions of character ariſing from the abſurdities of Popery for blackening the clergy in general. I was unwilling, however, to ſuppoſe that he deſigned to repreſent the character of Chriſtian miniſters, derived from their office as the ſame with that character which Heathen prieſts would receive from their functions. I took it for granted, that this learned author was too well acquainted with antiquity, not to know that the Pagan prieſthood was eſtabliſhed on a very different footing from the Chriſtian miniſtry, and that the diſtinction between clergy and laity was never heard of in the Heathen world. Candour induced me to believe that a perſon who muſt know the purity and excellence of the religion and morality taught in the Scriptures, though he may not reckon it of divine original, could never entertain a thought of ſetting it on a level with Pagan ſuperſtition. I was diſpoſed to aſcribe thoſe paſſages in his writings, which ſeemed to imply this, to an exceſs of zeal againſt thoſe corruptions of true religion, which the folly and wickedneſs of men have too often introduced. I therefore intended the obſervations, which have been made above, concerning the difference between Paganiſm and Chriſtianity, only for illuſtrating the general principle, that the nature of all religions is not perfectly the ſame, and that, by conſequence, all religions cannot form preciſely the ſame character in prieſts; a principle, which I immediately applied to prove the difference between the natural character of a Popiſh prieſt, and that of a Proteſtant Clergyman. But in a later edition of his Eſſays, which did not fall in my way till after the firſt publication of the Sermon, this author is ſolicitous to put it beyond doubt that he regards the Heathen prieſthood and the Chriſtian miniſtry as preciſely the ſame office; from which it will be a neceſſary conſequence, that Paganiſm and Chriſtianity are, in his opinion, the very ſame religion. He makes this addition to his character of the clergy. ‘'Twas no bad expedient in the ROMANS, for preventing the ſtrong effect of the prieſtly character, to make it a law that no one ſhould be received into the Sacerdotal office, till he was paſt fifty years of age. DION. Hal. lib. 1. The living a layman till that age, 'tis preſumed, would be able to fix the character.’ Any perſon, who reads this paragraph, would certainly think that Dionyſius has aſſerted, that Romulus fixed the age of prieſts to fifty, as an expedient for preventing the ſtrong effect of the ſame prieſtly character, which is delineated by Mr. Hume. But in truth, that hiſtorian does by no means repreſent the law of Romulus as an expedient for this purpoſe. He ſays, ‘While others generally choſe the officers of religion in an improper manner, ſome ſelling the dignity, and ſome diſpoſing of it by lot; he would not allow the prieſtly office either to be ſold, or to be given by lot: on the contrary, he made a law, that out of every ward two ſhould be choſen into the prieſthood, above fifty years of age, who excelled the reſt in virtue and nobility, who had a plentiful fortune, and were free from every bodily defect.’ DION. Hal. Ant. Rom. lib. 2. Mr. Hume's account of the intention of this law muſt, therefore, ſtand wholly on his own authority. But to what does that authority amount in the preſent caſe? When it is firſt proved that a prince who, according to the account given of him by Dionyſius, beſtowed his firſt care on the eſtabliſhment of the religion with which he was acquainted, who reckoned a regard to it the principal means of ſecuring the proſperity of the nation, and who made larger proviſion for the prieſthood, than the founders of any other ſtates, yet believed that religion has an unfavourable influence on good morals: when it is proved that he foreſaw that the prieſtly office tended neceſſarily to corrupt the character, and contrived this law on purpoſe to counteract this tendency, and to render the unavoidable corruption as little as poſſible; then Mr. Hume's account of the ſpirit of this law may be admitted as ingenious. But till all this be proved, it is a conjecture not only deſtitute of all plauſibility, but even perfectly improbable.—A great degree of ingenuity, miſguided by partiality to a favourite notion, has cauſed Mr. Hume to overlook the obvious reaſon of the Roman law. The religion of R [...]m was a political inſtitution, and was conſtantly rendered ſubſervient to the views of the leading men. The prieſthood was an high dignity in the ſtate, to which only patricians were admitted for a long time after the foundation of the city. A certain age was fixed for every magiſtracy; and the age of fifty was, in like manner, fixed for the prieſthood, that it might be beſtowed only on perſons, who had ſerved their country, and acquired authority in it. When the law in queſtion is conſidereo in this natural and obvious point of view, let any perſon determine, whether it can, in the leaſt degree, confirm Mr. Hume's argument, or has the remoteſt connection with his ſubject.
*
1 Tim. iii. 2, 3. 2 Tim. ii. 22, 24. Tit. i. 7, 8.
*
Eſſay on a particular Providence, &c. page 230.
*
Matth. xi. 19.
*
Bacon de Aug. Scient. lib. 7. cap. 3.
Hume's Diſſert. on the Paſſions, page 176.
*
2 Cor. v. 20. 21. chap. vi. 1.
*
2 Cor. iv. 2.
2 Tim. ii. 15.
1 Tim. iii. 2. 2 Tim ii. 24.
*
2 Cor. ii. 16.
Pſal. viii. 4.
Mat. xi. 29.
§
Philip. ii. 5.
*
Rom. x. 15.
1 Tim i. 5.
Luke ix. 54, 55. 56.
§
Eph. iv. 31, 32. chap. v. 1, 2.
*
2 Tim. ii. 24. 25.
Chap. iv. 2.
*
Col. ii. 8.
1 Tim. i. 4.
2 Tim. ii. 23. Tit. iii. 9.
*
1 Tim. vi. 3, 4.
*
Mr. HUME, far from diſcovering the fallacies of that reaſoning which induced him to draw ſo diſagreeable a character of the clergy, or from ſoftening that character on mature reflexion, which it had not been unreaſonable to expect from his judgment and candour, has thought proper, in the laſt edition of his Eſſays, to add revenge to the catalogue of vices with which he charges them. ‘Revenge, ſays he, is a very natural paſſion to mankind; but ſeems to reign with the greateſt force in prieſts and women: becauſe being deprived of the immediate exertion of anger, in violence and combat, they are apt to fancy themſelves deſpiſed on that account; and their pride ſupports their vindictive diſpoſition.’ I do not imagine that the Author intends to throw any reflection on women, by joining them with prieſts in this character; he rather intends to beſtow plauſibility on his charge againſt the clergy, by bringing that charge, at the ſame time, againſt women. A woman's revenge has become a proverb among thoſe, who are deſirous to propagate a diſadvantageous character of that ſex. An unwary reader, finding prieſts claſſed with women, may take it for granted that a vindictive temper is aſcribed likewiſe to prieſts, by ſome trite maxim; and the ſuppoſed authority of that maxim will render him leſs ready to enquire, whether it be juſtly aſcribed to them. But the aſſertion, that revenge reigns with peculiar force in prieſts, is by no means evidently true. It has never, ſo far as I know, paſſed into a common ſaying; it is not here ſupported by any compariſon of their condact with that of others, in particular inſtances; and it would be very eaſy to ſhew that revenge has been as frequent, and as impl [...]cable in men of other profeſſions as in clergymen.—But as this Author only infers the matter of fact, by reaſoning from a circumſtance in the ſituation of the clergy, his charge can claim no degree of probability, except what it derives from the force of that reaſoning. He lays the charge, it muſt be owned, with an uncommon diffidence; he had aſſerted boldly that the other vices are characteriſtical of the clergy; but he only ſays that this ſeems to belong to them. Yet his reaſoning has not ſtrength enough to beſtow even the appearance of truth on his aſſertion. It will be found, on the moſt ſuperficial examination, to be as weak as any argument which ever dropt from ſo able a philoſopher. What is the reaſon, why revenge is ſtrongeſt in prie [...]s and women? It is “becauſe they are deprived of the immediate “exertion of anger in violence and combat.” It has hitherto been the unanimous opinion of philoſophers, and the experience of all ages has ſeemed to confirm it, that the indulgence and exertion of any paſſion tends to ſtrengthen it, and to render it habitual; and that abſtinence from the e [...]ertion of it tends to weaken it, and can even we [...]r out, by degrees, the moſt rooted habit of any vicious paſſion. In conſequence of theſe acknowledged principles, all men would be apt to conclude, that prieſts and women being deprived of the exertion of anger in violence and combat, this paſſion, in all its forms, muſt be weakened in them more than in others. But this author has diſcovered, it ſeems, that all this is perfectly the reverſe of truth. If to be reſtrained from the exertion of anger has really, as he affirms it has, a tendency to cheriſh a temper of revenge; it will neceſſarily [...]ollow, that the only proper method of weakening any paſſion is to exert it upon all occaſions, and to ſatiate it with indulgence, and that abſtinence from ſuch exertion will infallibly ſtrengthen it. Thus all the received maxims and rules of conduct will be perfectly inverted Repe [...]ted acts muſt weaken every habit A modeſt [...]oman muſt a [...]quire very ſtrong ſenſual paſſions, for ſhe is deprived of the exertion of them; and a common proſtitute muſt have extremely weak deſires. A temperate man muſt have a violent and conſtant craving [...]or liquor, while the greateſt drunkards have the leaſt appeti [...]e for it. Such are the neceſſary conſequences of this author's reaſoning—But what is that particular ex [...]rtion of anger, of which prieſts and women are deprived? The author ſeems to mean that they are excluded from the privilege of duelling. Truly prieſts have not been always excluded from it. When duels were firſt introduced by the Goths and Vandals, churchmen were admitted to them; and many inſtances of prieſts engaged in ſingle combat are recorded in hiſtory. Duelling has been generally condemned by conſiderate perſons; it has been ſupported by corrupt faſhion in oppoſition to reaſon; attempts have been ſometimes made to palliate or extenuate its folly and its guilt; but few have gone ſo far as to endeavour to prove that it is altogether innocent. This author's reaſoning however, if it were juſt, would prove it to be not only innocent, but likewiſe highly uſeful. On his principles, it muſt be a powerful and abſolutely neceſſary means of moral culture; it alone can prevent a vindictive temper; all who are excluded from it, muſt become a prey to inveterate revenge. Strange that they alone ſhould be deemed placable and forgiving, who ſcruple not to avenge the ſmalleſt appearance of offence, with the death of the offender! that a ſavage cuſtom, unknown to the politeſt nations of antiquity, decried by all wiſe men, introduced in the moſt barbarous times, on purpoſe to execute and ſatisfy revenge, ſhould, notwithſtanding, be the only effectual inſtrument of extinguiſhing revenge! If we will not avow theſe conſequences, we muſt admit that this author's reaſoning is fallacious, and that his concluſion ought to have been the oppoſite of what it is: but theſe conſequences who will avow? But it is not only by preventing the exertion of anger, that the [...]r being excluded from violence and combat makes revenge to reign with greateſt [...]or [...]e in pr [...]eſts and women. The Author adds, “The [...] are apt to fancy themſelve [...] [...]pi [...]ed on that “account, and [...]heir pride ſupports their vindictive di [...]poſition.” We readily [...]nowledge that pride ſupports any [...]ſſion, with which it happen [...] to coincide. But though we ſhould allow that pride will be excited in this caſe, yet it has an oppoſite force to combat. We muſt be of opinion, notwithſtanding Mr. Hums's authority, that abſtinence from the exertion of anger has really a tendency to weaken anger. Pride muſt, there [...]ore, have, not ſome tendency only to ſupport and ſtrengthen anger, but a greater tendency to ſtrengthen it, than abſtinence has to weaken it, before it can produce the effect which is here aſcribed to it. There will, however, be no occa [...]ion to balance nicely theſe contrary forces againſt each other; for pride can ſcarce have any concern in the matter. Before price can be engaged, perſ [...]n [...] muſt really fancy that they are deſpiſed on account of their being excluded from the privilege of combat. But combat muſt be very univerſal, before any perſon can apprehend contempt on this account: it can happen only, when all except prieſts and women are forward to inſ [...]lt and challenge; and when all are, moreover, either b [...]u [...]es or coward [...], for ſuch only will att [...]k th [...]ſe, who are known to be unarmed and defenceleſs. In [...]ru [...], ho [...]ever, a very ſmall proportion of mankind ever think of e [...]er [...]ing their anger in ſingle combat. The far greate [...] pa [...]t, t [...]r [...]re, c [...] have no prope [...]ity to deſpiſe thoſe, who are exc [...]ded from it; but all, who from any motives abſtain from combat, muſt be as apt as prieſts and women to fancy themſelves deſpiſed, to find their pride alarmed, and, by conſequence, muſt be as much ſubject to a vind [...]ctive temper. In a word, pr [...], and w [...]en run no peculiar riſk of the contempt to which this au [...]hor pronounces them expoſed; their pride, therefore, cannot be n [...]urally rouſed by their ſituation, in order to ſupport reveng [...]; wi [...] out its being rouſed, their being deprived, in the words of the Eſſay, of the immediate exertion of anger will rather [...]bſtruct, [...]n promote a vindictive diſpoſition; they will eſcape this diſpoſition, except more powerful cauſes, than thoſe which are here aſſigned, contribute to produce it; and till much ſtronger evidence of the charge be produced, than any which ariſes from this Author's reaſoning, the voice of mankind will acquit them from any peculiar degree of a revengeful temper.
*
2 Cor. iv. 1.
1 Tim. iv. 16.
Chap. iii. 1.
*
1 Tim. ii. 4.
*
Col. ii. 4. Eph. iv. 14.
Jude iii. 4.
2 Pet. ii. 1.
*
1 Theſſ. v. 13.
*
Eph. iv. 1.
Col. i. 10.
Philip. i. 27.
Distributed by the University of Oxford under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License

Zitationsvorschlag für dieses Objekt
TextGrid Repository (2020). TEI. 4755 Sermons by Alexander Gerard D D pt 2. University of Oxford Text Archive. . https://hdl.handle.net/21.T11991/0000-001A-5FDD-2