SIMONIDES being ask'd by Dionyſius the tyrant what God was, deſired a day's time to conſider of it before he made his reply. When the day was expired, he deſired two days; and afterwards, inſtead of returning his anſwer, demanded ſtill double the time to conſider of it. This great poet and philoſopher, the more he contemplated the nature of the Deity, found that he [78] waded but the more out of his depth; and that he loſt himſelf in the thought, inſtead of finding an end of it.

If we conſider the Idea which wiſe men, by the light of reaſon, have framed of the Divine Being, it amounts to this: That he has in him all the perfection of a ſpiritual nature; and ſince we have no notion of any kind of ſpiritual perfection but what we diſcover in our own ſouls, we join Infinitude to each kind of theſe perfections, and what is a faculty in an human ſoul becomes an attribute in God. We exiſt in place and time, the Divine Being fills the immenſity of ſpace with his preſence, and inhabits teernity. We are poſſeſſed of a little power and a little knowledge, the Divine Being is Almigh⯑ty and Omniſcient. In ſhort, by adding Infinity to any kind of perfection we en⯑joy, and by joining all theſe different kinds of perfections in one Being, we form our idea of the great Sovereign of nature.

Though every one who thinks muſt have made this obſervation, I ſhall pro⯑duce Mr. Locke's authority to the ſame purpoſe, out of his eſſay on human un⯑derſtanding. ‘If we examine the idea [79] we have of the incomprehenſible ſu⯑preme Being, we ſhall find, that we come by it the ſame way; and that the complex ideas we have both of God and ſeparate ſpirits, are made up of the ſimple ideas we receive from reflection: v. g. having from what we experiment in our ſelves, got the ideas of exiſtence and duration, of knowledge and pow⯑er, of pleaſure and happineſs, and of ſe⯑veral other qualities and powers, which it is better to have, than to be with⯑out; when we would frame an idea the moſt ſuitable we can to the ſupreme Being, we enlarge every one of theſe with our idea of infinity; and ſo put⯑ting them together, make our complex idea of God.’

It is not impoſſible that there may be many kinds of ſpiritual perfection, beſides thoſe which are lodged in an human ſoul; but it is impoſſible that we ſhould have ideas of any kinds of perfection, except thoſe of which we have ſome ſmall rays and ſhort imperfect ſtrokes in our ſelves. It would be therefore a very high preſum⯑ption to determine whether the ſupreme Being has not many more attributes than thoſe which enter into our conceptions [80] of him. This is certain, that if there be any kind of ſpiritual perfection which is not marked out in an human ſoul, it belongs in its fulneſs to the Divine Na⯑ture.

Several eminent Philoſophers have ima⯑gined that the ſoul, in her ſeparate ſtate, may have new faculties ſpringing up in her, which ſhe is not capable of exerting during her preſent union with the body, and whether theſe faculties may not cor⯑reſpond with other attributes in the Di⯑vine Nature, and open to us hereafter new matter of wonder and adoration, we are altogether ignorant. This, as I have ſaid before, we ought to acquieſce in, that the Sovereign Being, the great Author of Nature, has in him all poſſible perfection, as well in kind as in degree; to ſpeak ac⯑cording to our methods of conceiving. I ſhall only add under this head, that when we have raiſed our notion of this infinite Being as high as it is poſſible for the mind of man to go, it will fall infinitely ſhort of what he really is. There is no end of his greatneſs: The moſt exalted creature he has made, is only capable of adoring it, none but himſelf can comprehend it.

[81]The advice of the ſon of Sirach is ve⯑ry juſt and ſublime in this light. By his word all things conſiſt. We may ſpeak much, and yet come ſhort: wherefore in ſum, he is all. How ſhall we be able to magnify him? For he is great above all his works. The Lord is terrible and very great; and marvellous in his power. When you glorify the Lord, exalt him as much as you can; for even yet will he far exceed. And when you exalt him, put forth all your ſtrength, and be not weary; for you can never go far enough. Who hath ſeen him, that he might tell us? And who can magnify him as he is? There are yet hid greater things than theſe be, for we have ſeen but a few of his works.

I have here only conſidered the Su⯑preme Being by the light of reaſon and philoſophy. If we would ſee him in all the wonders of his mercy we muſt have recourſe to revelation, which repreſents him to us, not only as infinitely great and glorious, but as infinitely good and juſt in his diſpenſations towards man. But as this is a theory which falls under every one's conſideration, tho' indeed it can never be ſufficiently conſidered, I ſhall here only take notice of that habi⯑tual worſhip and veneration which we [82] ought to pay to this Almighty Being. We ſhould often refreſh our minds with the thought of him, and annihilate our ſelves before him, in the contemplation of our own worthleſſneſs, and of his tran⯑ſcendent excellency and perfection. This would imprint in our minds ſuch a con⯑ſtant and uninterrupted awe and venera⯑tion as that which I am here recommend⯑ing, and which is in reality a kind of inceſſant prayer, and reaſonable humilia⯑tion of the ſoul before him who made it.

This would effectually kill in us all the little ſeeds of pride, vanity and ſelf-conceit, which are apt to ſhoot up in the minds of ſuch whoſe thoughts turn more on thoſe comparative advantages which they enjoy over ſome of their fel⯑low-creatures, than on that infinite di⯑ſtance which is placed between them and the ſupreme model of all perfection. It would likewiſe quicken our deſires and endeavours of uniting our ſelves to him by all the acts of religion and virtue.

Such an habitual homage to the Su⯑preme Being would, in a particular man⯑ner, baniſh from among us that prevail⯑ing impiety of uſing his name on the moſt trivial occaſions.

[83]I find the following paſſage in an ex⯑cellent ſermon, preached at the funeral of a gentleman who was an honour to his country, and a more diligent as well as ſucceſsful enquirer into the works of nature, than any other our nation has ever produced. ‘He had the profound⯑eſt veneration for the great God of hea⯑ven and earth that I have ever obſerved in any perſon. The very name of God was never mentioned by him without a pauſe and a viſible ſtop in his diſcourſe; in which, one that knew him moſt particularly above twenty years, has told me, that he was ſo exact, that he does not remember to have obſerved him once to fail in it.’

Every one knows the veneration which was paid by the Jews to a name ſo great, wonderful and holy. They would not let it enter even into their religious diſcour⯑ſes. What can we then think of thoſe who make uſe of ſo tremendous a name in the ordinary expreſſions of their anger, mirth, and moſt impertinent paſſions? Of thoſe who admit it into the moſt familiar que⯑ſtions and aſſertions, ludicrous phraſes and works of humour? not to mention thoſe who violate it by ſolemn perjuries? It [84] would be an affront to reaſon to endeavour to ſet forth the horror and profaneneſs of ſuch a practice. The very mention of it expoſes it ſufficiently to thoſe in whom the light of nature, not to ſay religion, is not utterly extinguiſhed.

I Was yeſterday about ſun-ſet walking in the open fields, 'till the night in⯑ſenſibly fell upon me. I at firſt amuſed my ſelf with all the richneſs and variety of colours, which appeared in the we⯑ſtern parts of heaven: In proportion as they faded away and went out, ſeveral ſtars and planets appeared one after ano⯑ther, 'till the whole firmament was in a glow. The blueneſs of the Aether was exceedingly heightened and enlivened by the ſeaſon of the year, and by the rays of all thoſe luminaries that paſſed thro' it. The Galaxy appeared in its moſt beau⯑tiful white. To compleat the ſcene, the full moon roſe at length in that clouded majeſty, which Milton takes notice of, and opened to the eye a new picture of [85] nature, which was more finely ſhaded, and diſpoſed among ſofter lights, than that which the ſun had before diſcovered to us.

As I was ſurveying the moon walking in her brightneſs, and taking her pro⯑greſs among the conſtellations, a thought roſe in me which I believe very often perplexes and diſturbs men of ſerious and contemplative natures. David himſelf fell into it in that reflection, When I con⯑ſider the heavens the work of thy fingers, the moon and the ſtars which thou haſt or⯑dained; what is man that thou art mindful of him, and the ſon of man that thou re⯑gardeſt him! In the ſame manner when I conſidered that infinite hoſt of ſtars, or, to ſpeak more philoſophically, of ſuns, which were then ſhining upon me, with thoſe innumerable ſets of planets or worlds, which were moving round their reſpective ſuns; when I ſtill enlar⯑ged the idea, and ſuppoſed another hea⯑ven of ſuns and worlds riſing ſtill above this which we diſcovered, and theſe ſtill enlightned by a ſuperior firmament of luminaries, which are planted at ſo great a diſtance, that they may appear to the inhabitants of the former as the ſtars do to us; in ſhort, whilſt I purſued this [86] thought, I could not but reflect on that little inſignificant figure which I my ſelf bore amidſt the immenſity of God's works.

Were the ſun, which enlightens this part of the creation, with all the hoſt of planetary worlds that move about him, utterly extinguiſhed and annihilated; they would not be miſſed more than a grain of ſand upon the ſea-ſhore. The ſpace they poſſeſs is ſo exceedingly lit⯑tle in campariſon of the whole, that it would ſcarce make a blank in the crea⯑tion. The chaſm would be impercepti⯑ble to an eye, that could take in the whole compaſs of nature, and paſs from one end of the creation to the other; as it is poſſible there may be ſuch a ſenſe in our ſelves hereafter, or in creatures which are at preſent more exalted than our ſelves. We ſee many ſtars by the help of glaſſes, which we do not diſcover with our naked eyes; and the finer our teleſcopes are, the more ſtill are our diſ⯑coveries. Huygenius carries this thought ſo far, that he does not think it impoſſi⯑ble there may be ſtars whoſe light is not yet travelled down to us, ſince their firſt creation. There is no queſtion but the [87] univerſe has certain bounds ſet to it; but when we conſider that it is the work of infinite power, prompted by infinite goodneſs, with an infinite ſpace to exert it ſelf in, how can our imagination ſet any bounds to it?

To return therefore to my firſt thought, I could not but look upon my ſelf with ſecret horror, as a Being that was not worth the ſmalleſt regard of one who had ſo great a work under his care and ſu⯑perintendency. I was afraid of being overlooked amidſt the immenſity of na⯑ture, and loſt among that infinite variety of creatures, which in all probability ſwarm through all theſe immeaſurable regions of matter.

In order to recover my ſelf from this mortifying thought, I conſidered that it took its riſe from thoſe narrow concep⯑tions, which we are apt to entertain of the Divine Nature. We our ſelves can⯑not attend to many different objects at the ſame time. If we are careful to in⯑ſpect ſome things, we muſt of courſe neglect others. This imperfection which we obſerve in our ſelves, is an imperfe⯑ction that cleaves in ſome degree to crea⯑tures of the higheſt capacities, as they [88] are creatures, that is, Beings of finite and limited natures. The preſence of every created Being is confined to a cer⯑tain meaſure of ſpace, and conſequently his obſervation is ſtinted to a certain number of objects. The ſphere in which we move, and act, and underſtand, is of a wider circumference to one creature than another, according as we riſe one above another in the ſcale of exiſtence. But the wideſt of theſe our ſpheres has its circumference. When therefore we reflect on the divine nature, we are ſo uſed and accuſtomed to this imperfection in our ſelves, that we cannot forbear in ſome meaſure aſcribing it to him in whom there is no ſhadow of imperfecti⯑on. Our reaſon indeed aſſures us that his attributes are infinite, but the poor⯑neſs of our conceptions is ſuch that it cannot forbear ſetting bounds to every thing it contemplates, till our reaſon comes again to our ſuccour, and throws down all thoſe little prejudices which riſe in us unawares, and are natural to the mind of man.

We ſhall therefore utterly extinguiſh this melancholy thought, of our being overlooked by our Maker in the multi⯑plicity [89] of his works, and the infinity of thoſe objects among which he ſeems to be inceſſantly employed, if we conſider, in the firſt place, that he is Omnipre⯑ſent; and, in the ſecond, that he is Om⯑niſcient.

If we conſider him in his Omnipre⯑ſence: His Being paſſes thro', actuates, and ſupports the whole frame of nature. His creation, and every part of it, is full of him. There is nothing he has made, that is either ſo diſtant, ſo little, or ſo inconſiderable, which he does not eſſen⯑tially inhabit. His ſubſtance is within the ſubſtance of every Being, whether material, or immaterial, and as intimate⯑ly preſent to it, as that Being is to it ſelf. It would be an imperfection in him, were he able to remove out of one place into another, or to withdraw himſelf from any thing he has created, or from any part of that ſpace which is diffuſed and ſpread abroad to infinity. In ſhort, to ſpeak of him in the language of the old philoſopher, he is a Being whoſe centre is every where, and his circumference no where.

In the ſecond place, he is Omniſcient as well as Omnipreſent. His Omniſcience [90] indeed neceſſarily and naturally flows from his Omnipreſence; he cannot but be conſcious of every motion that ariſes in the whole material world, which he thus eſſentially pervades, and of every thought that is ſtirring in the intellectual world, to every part of which he is thus intimately united. Several moraliſts have conſidered the creation as the temple of God, which he has built with his own hands, and which is filled with his pre⯑ſence. Others have conſidered infinite ſpace as the receptacle, or rather the habi⯑tation of the Almighty: But the nobleſt and moſt exalted way of conſidering this infinite ſpace is that of Sir Iſaac Newton, who calls it the Senſorium of the God⯑head. Brutes and men have their Senſo⯑riola, or little Senſoriums, by which they apprehend the preſence and perceive the actions of a few objects, that lie conti⯑guous to them. Their knowledge and obſervation turns within a very narrow circle. But as God Almighty cannot but perceive and know every thing in which he reſides, infinite ſpace gives room to infinite knowledge, and is, as it were, an organ to Omniſcience.

[91]Were the ſoul ſeparate from the bo⯑dy, and with one glance of thought ſhould ſtart beyond the bounds of the creation, ſhould it for millions of years continue its progreſs through infinite ſpace with the ſame activity, it would ſtill find it ſelf within the embrace of its creator, and encompaſſed round with the immenſity of the Godhead. Whilſt we are in the body he is not leſs preſent with us, becauſe he is concealed from us. O that I knew where I might find him! ſays Job. Behold I go forward, but he is not there; and backward, but I cannot per⯑ceive him. On the left hand, where he does work, but I cannot behold him: he hideth himſelf on the right hand that I cannot ſee him. In ſhort, reaſon as well as revela⯑tion aſſures us, that he cannot be abſent from us, notwithſtanding he is undiſco⯑vered by us.

In this conſideration of God Almigh⯑ty's Omnipreſence and Omniſcience eve⯑ry uncomfortable thought vaniſhes. He cannot but regard every thing that has being, eſpecially ſuch of his creatures who fear they are not regarded by him. He is privy to all their thoughts, and to that anxiety of heart in particular, which is [92] apt to trouble them on this occaſion: For, as it is impoſſible he ſhould over⯑look any of his creatures, ſo we may be confident that he regards, with an eye of mercy, thoſe who endeavour to re⯑commend themſelves to his notice, and in an unfeigned humility of heart think themſelves unworthy that he ſhould be mindful of them.

IN your paper of Friday the 9th in⯑ſtant, you had occaſion to conſider the Ubiquity of the Godhead, and at the ſame time to ſhew, that as he is preſent to every thing, he cannot but be atten⯑tive to every thing, and privy to all the modes and parts of its exiſtence; or, in other words, that his Omniſcience and Omnipreſence are coexiſtent, and run to⯑gether through the whole infinitude of ſpace. This conſideration might furniſh us with many incentives to devotion and motives to morality, but as this ſubject has been handled by ſeveral excellent wri⯑ters, I ſhall conſider it in a light where⯑in I have not ſeen it placed by others.

[93] Firſt, How diſconſolate is the condi⯑tion of an intellectual Being who is thus preſent with his Maker, but at the ſame time receives no extraordinary benefit or advantage from this his preſence!

Secondly, How deplorable is the con⯑dition of an intellectual Being, who feels no other effect from this his preſence but ſuch as proceed from divine wrath and indignation!

Thirdly, How happy is the condition of that intellectual Being, who is ſenſible of his Maker's preſence from the ſecret effects of his mercy and loving-kindneſs.

Firſt, How diſconſolate is the condi⯑tion of an intellectual Being, who is thus preſent with his Maker, but at the ſame time receives no extraordinary benefit or advantage from this his preſence! E⯑very particle of matter is actuated by this Almighty Being which paſſes through it. The heavens and the earth, the ſtars and planets, move and gravitate by ver⯑tue of this great principle within them. All the dead parts of nature are invigo⯑rated by the preſence of their Creator, and made capable of exerting their reſpe⯑ctive qualities. The ſeveral inſtincts, in the brute creation, do likewiſe operate and work towards the ſeveral ends which [94] are agreeable to them, by this divine energy. Man only, who does not co⯑operate with this holy ſpirit, and is un⯑attentive to his preſence, receives none of thoſe advantages from it, which are perfective of his nature, and neceſſary to his well-being. The Divinity is with him, and in him, and every where about him, but of no advantage to him. It is the ſame thing to a man without reli⯑gion, as if there were no God in the world. It is indeed impoſſible for an in⯑finite Being to remove himſelf from any of his creatures, but though he cannot withdraw his eſſence from us, which would argue an imperfection in him, he can withdraw from us all the joys and conſolations of it. His preſence may per⯑haps be neceſſary to ſupport us in our exiſtence; but he may leave this our ex⯑iſtence to it ſelf, with regard to its hap⯑pineſs or miſery. For, in this ſenſe, he may caſt us away from his preſence, and take his holy ſpirit from us. This ſingle conſideration one would think ſufficient to make us open our hearts to all thoſe infuſions of joy and gladneſs which are ſo near at hand, and ready to be poured in upon us; eſpecially when we conſi⯑der, Secondly, The deplorable condition [95] of an intellectual Being who feels no o⯑ther effects from his Maker's preſence, but ſuch as proceed from divine wrath and indignation!

We may aſſure ourſelves, that the great Author of nature will not always be as one, who is indifferent to any of his crea⯑tures. Thoſe who will not feel him in his love, will be ſure at length to feel him in his diſpleaſure. And how dread⯑ful is the condition of that creature, who is only ſenſible of the Being of his Cre⯑ator by what he ſuffers from him! He is as eſſentially preſent in hell as in heaven, but the inhabitants of thoſe accurſed places behold him only in his wrath, and ſhrink within the flames to conceal them⯑ſelves from him. It is not in the power of imagination to conceive the fearful effect of Omnipotence incenſed.

But I ſhall only conſider the wretched⯑neſs of an intellectual Being, who, in this life, lies under the diſpleaſure of him, that at all times and in all places is inti⯑mately united with him. He is able to diſquiet the ſoul, and vex it in all its faculties. He can hinder any of the great⯑eſt comforts of life from refreſhing us, and give an edge to every one of its lighteſt calamities. Who then can bear [96] the thought of being an out-caſt from his preſence, that is, from the comforts of it, or of feeling it only in its terrors? How pathetick is that expoſtulation of Job, when, for the tryal of his patience, he was made to look upon himſelf in this deplorable condition! Why haſt thou ſet me as a mark againſt thee, ſo that I am become a burthen to my ſelf? But, Thirdly, how happy is the condition of that intel⯑lectual Being, who is ſenſible of his Ma⯑ker's preſence from the ſecret effects of his mercy and loving-kindneſs.

The Bleſſed in heaven behold him face to face; that is, are as ſenſible of his preſence as we are of the preſence of any perſon whom we look upon with our eyes. There is doubtleſs a faculty in Spi⯑rits, by which they apprehend one ano⯑ther, as our ſenſes do material objects; and there is no queſtion but our ſouls, when they are diſembodied, or placed in glorified bodies, will by this faculty, in whatever part of ſpace they reſide, be al⯑ways ſenſible of the divine preſence. We, who have this veil of fleſh ſtanding be⯑tween us and the world of ſpirits, muſt be content to know that the Spirit of God is preſent with us, by the effects which he produceth in us. Our outward ſenſes are [97] too groſs to apprehend him; we may however taſte and ſee how gracious he is, by his influence upon our minds, by thoſe virtuous thoughts which he awa⯑kens in us, by thoſe ſecret comforts and refreſhments which he conveys into our ſouls, and by thoſe raviſhing joys and inward ſatisfactions, which are perpetu⯑ally ſpringing up, and diffuſing them⯑ſelves among all the thoughts of good men. He is lodged in our very eſſence, and is as a ſoul within the ſoul, to irra⯑diate its underſtanding, rectify its will, purify its paſſions, and enliven all the powers of man. How happy therefore is an intellectual Being, who, by prayer and meditation, by virtue and good works, opens this communication between God and his own ſoul! Tho' the whole crea⯑tion frowns upon him, and all nature looks black about him, he has his light and ſupport within him, that are able to cheer his mind, and bear him up in the midſt of all thoſe horrors which encom⯑paſs him. He knows that his helper is at hand, and is always nearer to him than any thing elſe can be, which is capable of annoying or terrifying him. In the midſt of calumny or contempt, he at⯑tends to that Being who whiſpers better [98] things within his ſoul, and whom he looks upon as his defender, his glory, and the lifter-up of his head. In his deepeſt ſolitude and retirement, he knows that he is in company with the greateſt of Beings; and perceives within himſelf ſuch real ſenſations of his preſence, as are more delightful than any thing that can be met with in the converſation of his creatures. Even in the hour of death, he conſiders the pains of his diſſolution to be nothing elſe but the breaking down of that partition, which ſtands betwixt his ſoul, and the ſight of that being, who is always preſent with him, and is about to manifeſt it ſelf to him in fulneſs of joy.

If we would be thus happy, and thus ſenſible of our Maker's preſence, from the ſecret effects of his mercy and good⯑neſs, we muſt keep ſuch a watch over all our thoughts, that, in the language of the ſcripture, his ſoul may have pleaſure in us. We muſt take care not to grieve his holy Spirit, and endeavour to make the meditations of our hearts always ac⯑ceptable in his ſight, that he may de⯑light thus to reſide and dwell in us. The light of nature could direct Seneca to this doctrine, in a very remarkable paſſage a⯑mong his epiſtles; Sacer ineſt in nobis ſpi⯑ritus [99] bonorum malorumque cuſtos, & obſer⯑vator, & quemadmodum nos illam tracta⯑mus, ita & ille nos. There is a holy Spi⯑rit reſiding in us, who watches and ob⯑ſerves both good and evil men, and will treat us after the ſame manner that we treat him. But I ſhall conclude this diſ⯑courſe with thoſe more emphatical words in divine revelation, If a man love me, he will keep my word, and my father will love him, and we will come unto him, and make our abode with him.

WE conſider infinite ſpace as an ex⯑panſion without a circumference: We conſider eternity, or infinite durati⯑on, as a line that has neither a begin⯑ning nor end. In our ſpeculations of in⯑finite ſpace, we conſider that particular place in which we exiſt, as a kind of center to the whole expanſion. In our [109] ſpeculations of eternity, we conſider the time which is preſent to us as the mid⯑dle, which divides the whole line into two equal parts. For this reaſon, many witty authors compare the preſent time to an Iſthmus or narrow neck of land, that riſes in the midſt of an ocean, im⯑meaſurably diffuſed on either ſide of it.

Philoſophy, and indeed common ſenſe, naturally throws eternity under two divi⯑ſions; which we may call in Engliſh, that eternity which is paſt, and that eternity which is to come. The learned terms of aeternitas a parte ante, and aeternitas a parte poſt, may be more amuſing to the reader, but can have no other idea affixed to them than what is conveyed to us by thoſe words, an eternity that is paſt, and an eternity that is to come. Each of theſe eternities is bounded at the one ex⯑tream; or, in other words, the former has an end, and the latter a beginning.

Let us firſt of all conſider that eterni⯑ty which is paſt, reſerving that which is to come for the ſubject of another paper. The nature of this eternity is utterly in⯑conceivable by the mind of man: Our reaſon demonſtrates to us that it has been, but at the ſame time can frame no idea of it, but what is big with abſurdity and [110] contradiction. We can have no other conception of any duration which is paſt, than that all of it was once preſent; and whatever was once preſent, is at ſome certain diſtance from us; and whatever is at any certain diſtance from us, be the diſtance never ſo remote, cannot be eter⯑nity. The very notion of any duration's being paſt, implies that it was once pre⯑ſent; for the idea of being once preſent, is actually included in the idea of its be⯑ing paſt. This therefore is a depth not to be ſounded by human underſtanding. We are ſure that there has been an eter⯑nity, and yet contradict our ſelves when we meaſure this eternity by any notion which we can frame of it.

If we go to the bottom of this mat⯑ter, we ſhall find, that the difficulties we meet with in our conceptions of eternity proceed from this ſingle reaſon, that we can have no other idea of any kind of duration, than that by which we our ſelves, and all other created Beings, do exiſt; which is, a ſucceſſive duration made up of paſt, preſent, and to come. There is nothing which exiſts after this manner, all the parts of whoſe exiſtence were not once actually preſent, and con⯑ſequently may be reached by a certain [111] number of years applied to it. We may aſcend as high as we pleaſe, and employ our Being to that eternity which is to come, in adding millions of years to mil⯑lions of years, and we can never come up to any fountain-head of duration, to any beginning in eternity: But at the ſame time we are ſure, that whatever was once preſent does lye within the reach of numbers, though perhaps we can never be able to put enough of them together for that purpoſe. We may as well ſay, that any thing may be actually preſent in any part of infinite ſpace, which does not lye at a certain diſtance from us, as that any part of infinite duration was once actually preſent, and does not alſo lye at ſome determined diſtance from us. The diſtance in both caſes may be im⯑meaſurable and indefinite as to our facul⯑ties, but our reaſon tells us that it can⯑not be ſo in it ſelf. Here therefore is that difficulty which human underſtanding is not capable of ſurmounting. We are ſure that ſomething muſt have exiſted from eternity, and are at the ſame time unable to conceive, that any thing which exiſts, according to our notion of exi⯑ſtence, can have exiſted from eternity.

[112]It is hard for a reader, who has not rolled this thought in his own mind, to follow in ſuch an abstracted ſpeculation; but I have been the longer on it, be⯑cauſe I think it is a demonſtrative argu⯑ment of the Being and Eternity of a God: And tho' there are many other demon⯑ſtrations which lead us to this great truth, I do not think we ought to lay aſide any proofs in this matter which the light of reaſon has ſuggeſted to us, eſpeci⯑ally when it is ſuch a one as has been ur⯑ged by men famous for their penetration and force of underſtanding, and which appears altogether concluſive to thoſe who will be at the pains to examine it.

Having thus conſidered that eternity which is paſt, according to the beſt idea we can frame of it, I ſhall now draw up thoſe ſeveral articles on this ſubject which are dictated to us by the light of reaſon, and which may be looked upon as the Creed of a Philoſopher in this great point.

Firſt, It is certain that no Being could have made it ſelf; for if ſo, it muſt have acted before it was, which is a con⯑tradiction.

Secondly, That therefore ſome Being muſt have exiſted from all eternity.

[113] Thirdly, That whatever exiſts after the manner of created Beings, or according to any notions which we have of Exiſtence, could not have exiſted from Eternity.

Fourthly, That this eternal Being muſt therefore be the great Author of nature, The Ancient of Days, who, being at an in⯑finite diſtance in his perfections from all finite and created Beings, exiſts in a quite different manner from them, and in a manner of which they can have no Idea.

I know that ſeveral of the School-men, who would not be thought ignorant of any thing, have pretended to explain the manner of God's exiſtence, by telling us, That he comprehends infinite du⯑ration in every moment; That eternity is with him a Punctum ſtans, a fixed point; or, which is as good Senſe, an infinite inſtant; That nothing with refe⯑rence to his Exiſtence is either paſt or to come: To which the ingenious Mr. Cow⯑ley alludes in his deſcription of Heaven,

For my own part, I look upon theſe propoſitions as words that have no ideas annexed to them; and think men had better own their ignorance, than advance [114] Doctrines by which they mean nothing, and which indeed are ſelf-contradictory. We cannot be too modeſt in our diſ⯑quiſitions, when we meditate on Him who is environed with ſo much glory and perfection, who is the ſource of Be⯑ing, the fountain of all that Exiſtence which we and his whole Creation derive from him. Let us therefore with the ut⯑moſt humility acknowledge, that as ſome Being muſt neceſſarily have ex⯑iſted from eternity, ſo this Being does exiſt after an incomprehenſible man⯑ner, ſince it is impoſſible for a Being to have exiſted from eternity after our manner or notions of Exiſtence. Re⯑velation confirms theſe natural di⯑ctates of reaſon in the accounts which it gives us of the Divine Exiſtence, where it tells us, that he is the ſame yeſterday, to-day, and for ever; that he is the Alpha and Omega, the Be⯑ginning and the Ending; that a thou⯑ſand years are with him as one day, and one day as a thouſand years; by which and the like expreſſions, we are taught, that his Exiſtence, with relation to time or duration, is infinitely different from the Exiſtence of any of his creatures, and conſequently that it is impoſſible for [115] us to frame any adequate conceptions of it.

In the firſt revelation which he makes of his own Being, he entitles himſelf, I am that I am; and when Moſes deſires to know what Name he ſhall give him in his embaſſy to Pharaoh, he bids him ſay that I am hath ſent you. Our great Creator, by this revelation of himſelf, does in a manner exclude every thing elſe from a real Exiſtence, and diſtinguiſhes himſelf from his creatures, as the only Being which truly and really exiſts. The ancient Platonick notion, which was drawn from ſpeculations of eternity, won⯑derfully agrees with this revelation which God has made of himſelf. There is no⯑thing, ſay they, which in reality exiſts, whoſe Exiſtence, as we call it, is pieced up of paſt, preſent and to come. Such a flitting and ſucceſſive Exiſtence is ra⯑ther a ſhadow of Exiſtence, and ſome⯑thing which is like it, than Exiſtence it ſelf. He only properly exiſts whoſe Ex⯑iſtence is intirely preſent; that is, in o⯑ther words, who exiſts in the moſt per⯑fect manner, and in ſuch a manner, as we have no idea of.

I ſhall conclude this ſpeculation with [...]e uſeful inference. How can we ſuffi⯑ciently [116] proſtrate our ſelves and fall down before our Maker, when we conſider that ineffable goodneſs and wiſdom which con⯑trived this Exiſtenee for finite natures? What muſt be the overflowings of that good-will, which prompted our Creator to adapt Exiſtence to Beings, in whom it is not neceſſary? Eſpecially when we conſider that he himſelf was before in the compleat poſſeſſion of Exiſtence and of Happineſs, and in the full enjoyment of Eternity. What man can think of himſelf as called out and ſeparated from nothing, of his being made a conſcious, a reaſonable and a happy creature, in ſhort, of being taken in as a ſharer of his Exiſtence and a kind of partner in Eternity, without being ſwallowed up in wonder, in praiſe, in adoration! It is in⯑deed a thought too big for the mind of man, and rather to be entertained in the ſecrecy of devotion, and in the ſilence of the ſoul, than to be expreſſed by words. The Supreme Being has not given us powers or faculties ſufficient to extol and magnifie ſuch unutterable goodneſs.

It is however ſome comfort to us, that we ſhall be always doing what we ſhall be never able to do, and that a work which cannot be finiſhed, will however be the work of an Eternity.

THOUGH there is a great deal of pleaſure in contemplating the material world, by which I mean that ſyſtem of bodies into which Nature has ſo curiouſly wrought the maſs of dead matter, with the ſeveral relations which thoſe bodies bear to one another; there is ſtill, methinks, ſomething more wonderful and ſurprizing in contempla⯑tions on the world of life, by which I mean all thoſe animals with which eve⯑ry part of the univerſe is furniſhed. The material world is only the ſhell of the univerſe: The world of Life are its in⯑habitants.

[118]If we conſider thoſe parts of the ma⯑terial world which lie the neareſt to us, and are therefore ſubject to our obſerva⯑tions and enquiries, it is amazing to con⯑ſider the infinity of animals with which it is ſtocked. Every part of matter is peopled: Every green leaf ſwarms with Inhabitants. There is ſcarce a ſingle hu⯑mour in the body of a man, or of any other animal, in which our glaſſes do not diſcover myriads of' living creatures. The ſurface of animals is alſo covered with other animals, which are in the ſame manner the baſis of other animals, that live upon it; nay, we find in the moſt ſolid bodies, as in marble itſelf, innume⯑rable cells and cavities that are crouded with ſuch imperceptible inhabitants, as are too little for the naked eye to diſco⯑ver. On the other hand, if we, look in⯑to the more bulky parts of nature, we ſee the ſeas, lakes and rivers teeming with numberleſs kinds of living creatures: We find every mountain and marſh, wil⯑derneſs and wood, plentifully ſtocked with birds and beaſts, and every part of matter affording proper neceſſaries and conveniencies for the livelihood of multi⯑tudes which inhabit it.

[119]The author of the Plurality of Worlds draws a very good argument from this conſideration, for the Peopling of every planet; as indeed it ſeems very probable from the analogy of reaſon, that if no part of matter, which we are acquainted with, lies waſte and uſeleſs, thoſe great bodies which are at ſuch a diſtance from us ſhould not be deſart and unpeopled, but rather that they ſhould be furniſhed with Beings adapted to their reſpective ſituations.

Exiſtence is a bleſſing to thoſe Beings only which are endowed with perception, and is in a manner thrown away upon dead matter, any further than as it is ſub⯑ſervient to Beings which are conſcious of their Exiſtence. Accordingly we find, from the bodies which lie under our obſervation, that matter is only made as the baſis and ſupport of animals, and that there is no more of the one, than what is neceſſary for the Exiſtence of the o⯑ther.

Infinite Goodneſs is of ſo communi⯑cative a nature, that it ſeems to delight in the conferring of Exiſtence upon eve⯑ry degree of perceptive Being. As this is a ſpeculation, which I have often pur⯑ſued [120] with great pleaſure to my ſelf, I ſhall enlarge farther upon it, by conſi⯑dering that part of the ſcale of Beings which comes within our knowledge.

There are ſome living creatures which are raiſed but juſt above dead matter. To mention only that ſpecies of ſhelfiſh, which are form'd in the faſhion of a cone, that grow to the ſurface of ſeveral Rocks, and immediately die upon their being ſever'd from the place where they grow. There are many other creatures but one remove from theſe, which have no other ſenſe beſides that of feeling and taſte. Others have ſtill an additional one of hearing; others of ſmell, and others of ſight. It is wonderful to obſerve, by what a gradual progreſs the world of life advances through a prodigious variety of ſpecies, before a creature is form'd that is compleat in all its ſenſes; and even among theſe there is ſuch a different degree of perfection in the ſenſe which one animal enjoys beyond what appears in another, that though the ſenſe in dif⯑ferent animals be diſtinguiſhed by the ſame common denomination, it ſeems al⯑moſt of a different nature. If after this we look into the ſeveral inward per⯑fections [121] of cunning and ſagacity, or what we generally call Inſtinct, we find them riſing after the ſame manner, im⯑perceptibly one above another, and re⯑ceiving additional improvements accord⯑ing to the ſpecies in which they are im⯑planted. This progreſs in Nature is ſo very gradual, that the moſt perfect of an inferior ſpecies comes very near to the moſt imperfect of that which is imme⯑diately above it.

The exuberant and overflowing good⯑neſs of the Supreme Being, whoſe mercy extends to all his works, is plainly ſeen, as I have before hinted, from his having made ſo very little matter, at leaſt what falls within our knowledge, that does not ſwarm with life: Nor is his good⯑neſs leſs ſeen in the diverſity, than in the multitude of living creatures. Had he only made one ſpecies of animals, none of the reſt would have enjoyed the hap⯑pineſs of exiſtence; he has, therefore, ſpecified in his creation every degree of life, every capacity of Being. The whole chaſm in nature, from a plant to a man, is filled up with diverſe kinds of crea⯑tures, riſing one over another, by ſuch a gentle and eaſie aſcent, that the little [122] tranſitions and deviations; from one ſpe⯑cies to another, are almoſt inſenſible. This intermediate ſpace is ſo well huſ⯑banded and managed, that there is ſcarce a degree of perception which does not appear in ſome one part of the world of life. Is the goodneſs or wiſdom of the Divine Being, more manifested, in this his Proceeding?

There is a conſequence; beſides thoſe I have already mentioned, which ſeems very naturally deducible from the fore⯑going Conſiderations. If the ſcale of Being riſes by ſuch a regular progreſs, ſo high as man, we may by a parity of reaſon ſuppoſe that it ſtill proceeds gra⯑dually through thoſe Beings which are of a ſuperior nature to him, ſince there is an infinitely greater ſpace and room for different degrees of perfection, be⯑tween the Supreme Being and man, than between man and the moſt deſpicable in⯑ſect. This, conſequence of ſo great a variety of Beings which are ſuperior to us, from that variety which is inferior to us, is made by Mr. Locke, in a paſſage which I ſhall here ſet down, after having premiſed, that not withſtanding there is ſuch infinite room between man and his [123] Maker for the creative power to exert it ſelf in, it is impoſſible that it ſhould ever be filled up, ſince there will be ſtill an infinite gap or diſtance between the higheſt created Being, and the Power which produced him.

That there ſhould be more ſpecies of in⯑telligent creatures above us, than there are of ſenſible and material below us, is probable to me from hence; That in all the viſible corporeal world, we ſee no chaſms, or no gaps. All quite down from us, the deſcent is by eaſy ſteps, and a continued ſeries of things, that in each remove differ very lit⯑tle one from the other. There are fiſhes that have wings, and are not ſtranger to the airy region: and there are ſome birds, that are inhabitants of the water; whoſe blood is cold as fiſhes, and their fleſh ſo like in taſte, that the ſcrupulous are allowed them on fiſh-days. There are animals ſo near of kin both to birds and beaſts, that they are in the middle between both: Amphibious animals link the terreſtrial and aquatick together; Seals live at land and at ſea, and porpoiſes have the warm blood and entrails of a hog; not to mention what is confidently reported of mermaids or ſea-men. There are ſome brutes, that ſeem to have as much [124] knowledge and reaſon, as ſome that are called men; and the animal and vegetable king⯑doms are ſo nearly join'd, that if you will take the loweſt of one, and the higheſt of the other, there will ſcarce be perceived any great difference between them: and ſo on till we come to the loweſt and the moſt inorganical parts of matter, we ſhall find every where that the ſeveral Species are linked together, and differ but in almoſt inſenſible degrees. And when we conſider the infinite power and wiſdom of the Maker, we have reaſon to think that it is ſuitable to the magnificent harmony of the univerſe, and the great de⯑ſign and infinite goodneſs of the architect, that the Species of creatures ſhould alſo, by gentle degrees, aſcend upward from us to⯑ward his infinite perfection, as we ſee they gradually deſcend from us downwards: which if it be probable, we have reaſon then to be perſuaded, that there are far more Species of creatures above us, than there are beneath; we being in degrees of perfecti⯑on much more remote from the infinite Being of God, than we are from the loweſt ſtate of Being, and that which approaches neareſt to nothing. And yet of all thoſe diſtinct Spe⯑cies, we have no clear diſtinct ideas.

[125]In this ſyſtem of Being, there is no creature ſo wonderful in its nature, and which ſo much deſerves our particular attention, as man, who fills up the mid⯑dle ſpace between the animal and intel⯑lectual nature, the viſible and inviſible world, and is that link in the chain of Beings, which has been often termed the nexus utriuſque mundi. So that he who in one reſpect is aſſociated with Angels and Arch-angels, may look upon a Be⯑ing of infinite perfection as his father, and the higheſt order of ſpirits as his brethren, may in another reſpect ſay to corruption, thou art my father, and to the worm, thou art my mother and my ſiſter.

THOSE who were ſkilful in anato⯑my among the ancients, concluded from the outward and inward make of an human body, that it was the work of a Being tranſcendently wiſe and power⯑ful. As the world grew more enlightened in this art, their diſcoveries gave them freſh opportunities of admiring the con⯑duct of Providence in the formation of an [126] human body. Galen was converted by his diſſections, and could not but own a Su⯑preme Being upon a ſurvey of this his handy-work. There were, indeed, many parts of which the old Anatomiſts did not know the certain uſe; but as they ſaw that moſt of thoſe which they examined were adapted with admirable art to their ſe⯑veral functions, they did not queſtion but thoſe, whoſe uſes they could not determine, were contrived with the ſame wiſdom for reſpective ends and purpoſes. Since the circulation of the blood has been found out, and many other great diſcoveries have been made by our mo⯑dern Anatomiſts, we ſee new wonders in the human frame, and diſcern ſeveral im⯑portant uſes for thoſe parts, which uſes the ancients knew nothing of. In ſhort, the body of man is ſuch a ſubject as ſtands the utmoſt teſt of examination. Tho' it appears formed with the niceſt wiſdom, upon the moſt ſuperficial ſurvey of it, it ſtill mends upon the ſearch, and produces our ſurprize and amazement in proportion as we pry into it. What I have here ſaid of an human body, may be applied to the body of every animal which has been the ſubject of anatomical obſervations.

[127]The body of an animal is an object ade⯑quate to our Senſes. It is a particular ſyſtem of providence, that lies in a nar⯑row compaſs. The eye is able to com⯑mand it, and by ſucceſſive enquiries can ſearch into all its parts. Could the body of the whole earth, or indeed the whole univerſe, be thus ſubmitted to the exami⯑nation of our ſenſes, were it not too big and diſproportioned for our enquiries, too unwiedly for the management of the eye and hand, there is no queſtion but it would appear to us as curious and well-contrived a frame as that of an human body. We ſhould ſee the ſame conca⯑tenation and ſubſerviency, the ſame ne⯑ceſſity and uſefulneſs, the ſame beauty and harmony in all and every of its parts, as what we diſcover in the body of every ſingle animal.

The more extended our reaſon is, and the more able to grapple with immenſe objects, the greater ſtill are thoſe diſco⯑veries which it makes of wiſdom and providence in the work of the creation. A Sir Iſaac Newton, who ſtands up as the miracle of the preſent age, can look through a whole planetary ſyſtem; con⯑ſider it in its weight, number, and mea⯑ſure; [128] and draw from it as many demon⯑ſtrations of infinite power and wiſdom, as a more confined underſtanding is able to deduce from the ſyſtem of an human body.

But to return to our ſpeculations on anatomy. I ſhall here conſider the fa⯑brick and texture of the bodies of ani⯑mals in one particular view; which, in my opinion, ſhews the hand of a think⯑ing and all-wiſe Being in their formati⯑on, with the evidence of a thouſand de⯑monſtrations. I think we may lay this down as an inconteſted principle, that chance never acts in a perpetual unifor⯑mity and conſiſtence with it ſelf. If one ſhould always fling the ſame number with ten thouſand dice, or ſee every throw juſt five times leſs, or five times more in number than the throw which immediately preceded it, who would not imagine there is ſome inviſible power which directs the caſt? This is the pro⯑ceeding which we find in the operations of nature. Every kind of animal is di⯑verſified by different magnitudes, each of which gives riſe to a different ſpecies. Let a man trace the dog or lion-kind, and he will obſerve how many of the [129] works of nature are publiſhed, if I may uſe the expreſſion, in a variety of editi⯑ons. If we look into the reptile world, or into thoſe different kinds of animals that fill the element of water, we meet with the ſame repetitions among ſeveral ſpecies, that differ very little from one another, but in ſize and bulk. You find the ſame creature that is drawn at large, copied out in ſeveral proportions, and ending in miniature. It would be tedious to produce inſtances of this regular con⯑duct in Providence, as it would be ſu⯑perfluous to thoſe who are verſed in the natural hiſtory of animals. The magni⯑ficent harmony of the univerſe is ſuch, that we may obſerve innumerable divi⯑ſions running upon the ſame ground. I might alſo extend this ſpeculation to the dead parts of nature, in which we may find matter diſpoſed into many ſimilar ſyſtems, as well in our ſurvey of ſtars and planets, as of ſtones, vegetables, and o⯑ther ſublunary parts of the creation. In a word, Providence has ſhewn the rich⯑neſs of its goodneſs and wiſdom, not on⯑ly in the production of many original ſpecies, but in the multiplicity of De⯑ſcants which it has made on every origi⯑nal ſpecies in particular.

[130]But to purſue his thought ſtill farther: Every living creature, conſidered in it ſelf, has many very complicated parts, that are exact copies of ſome other parts which it poſſeſſes, and which are com⯑plicated in the ſame manner. One eye would have been ſufficient for the ſubſi⯑ſtence and preſervation of an animal; but, in order to better his condition, we ſee another placed with a mathematical ex⯑actneſs in the ſame moſt advantageous ſi⯑tuation, and in every particular of the ſame ſize and texture. Is it poſſible for chance to be thus delicate and uniform in her operations? Should a million of dice turn up twice together the ſame number, the wonder would be nothing in compa⯑riſon with this. But when we ſee this ſimilitude and reſemblance in the arm, the hand, the fingers; when we ſee one half of the body entirely correſpond with the other in all thoſe minute ſtrokes, without which a man might have very well ſubſiſted; nay, when we often ſee a ſingle part repeated an hundred times in the ſame body, notwithſtanding it con⯑ſiſts of the moſt intricate weaving of numberleſs fibres, and theſe parts differ⯑ing ſtill in magnitude, as the convenience [131] of their particular ſituation requires; ſure a man muſt have a ſtrange caſt of underſtanding, who does not diſcover the Finger of God in ſo wonderful a work. Theſe duplicates in thoſe parts of the body, without which a man might have very well ſubſiſted, tho' not ſo well as with them, are a plain demonſtration of an all-wiſe contriver; as thoſe more numerous copyings, which are found a⯑mong the veſſels of the ſame body, are evident demonſtrations that they could not be the work of chance. This argu⯑ment receives additional ſtrength, if we apply it to every animal and inſect with⯑in our knowledge, as well as to thoſe numberleſs living creatures that are ob⯑jects too minute for a human eye: and if we conſider how the ſeveral ſpecies in this whole world of life reſemble one an⯑other in very many particulars, ſo far as is convenient for their reſpective ſtates of exiſtence; it is much more probable that an hundred million of dice ſhould be ca⯑ſually thrown a hundred million of times in the ſame number, than that the body of any ſingle animal ſhould be produced by the fortuitous concourſe of matter. And that the like chance ſhould ariſe in [132] innumerable inſtances, requires a degree of credulity that is not under the dire⯑ction of common ſenſe. We may carry this conſideration yet further, if we re⯑flect on the two ſexes in every living ſpe⯑cies, with their reſemblances to each o⯑ther, and thoſe particular diſtinctions that were neceſſary for the keeping up of this great world of life.

There are many more demonſtrations of a Supreme Being, and of his tranſcen⯑dent wiſdom, power and goodneſs in the formation of the body of a living crea⯑ture, for which I refer my reader to o⯑ther writings, particularly to the ſixth book of the Poem, entitled Creation, where the anatomy of the human body is deſcribed with great perſpicuity and elegance. I have been particular on the thought which runs through this ſpecu⯑lation, becauſe I have not ſeen it enlarged upon by others.

I Had this morning a very valuable and kind preſent ſent me, of a tranſ⯑lated work of a moſt excellent foreign writer, who makes a very conſiderable figure in the learned and chriſtian world. It is entitled, A demonſtration of the Exi⯑ſtence, Wiſdom, and Omnipotence of God, drawn from the knowledge of nature, particularly of man, and fitted to the meaneſt capacity, by the Archbiſhop of Cambray, author of Telemachus, and tranſ⯑lated from the French by the ſame hand that Engliſhed that excellent piece. This great author, in the writings which he has before produced, has manifeſted an heart full of virtuous ſentiments, great benevolence to mankind, as well as a ſin⯑cere and fervent piety towards his Crea⯑tor. His talents and parts are a very great good to the world, and it is a plea⯑ſing thing to behold the polite arts ſub⯑servient to religion, and recommending it from its natural beauty. Looking over the letters of my correſpondents, I find one which celebrates this treatiſe, and recommends it to my readers.

IT is very reaſonable to believe, that part of the pleaſure which happy minds ſhall enjoy in a future ſtate, will a⯑riſe from an enlarged contemplation of the Divine Wiſdom in the government of the world, and a diſcovery of the ſe⯑cret and amazing ſteps of Providence, from the beginning to the end of time. Nothing ſeems to be an entertainment more adapted to the nature of man, if we conſider that curioſity is one of the ſtrongeſt and moſt laſting appetites im⯑planted in us, and that admiration is one of our moſt pleaſing paſſions; and what a perpetual ſucceſſion of enjoyments will be afforded to both theſe, in a ſcene ſo [...]arge and various as ſhall then be laid [142] open to our view in the ſociety of ſupe⯑rior Spirits, who perhaps will join with us in ſo delightful a proſpect!

It is not impoſſible, on the contrary, that part of the puniſhment of ſuch as are excluded from bliſs, may conſiſt not only in their being denied this privilege, but in having their appetites at the ſame time vaſtly encreaſed, without any ſatis⯑faction afforded to them. In theſe, the vain purſuit of knowledge ſhall, perhaps, add to their infelicity, and bewilder them into labyrinths of error, darkneſs, diſtraction and uncertainty of every thing but their own evil ſtate. Milton has thus repre⯑ſented the fallen Angels reaſoning to⯑gether in a kind of reſpite from their torments, and creating to themſelves a new diſquiet amidſt their very amuſe⯑ments; he could not properly have de⯑ſcribed the ſports of condemned Spirits, without that caſt of horror and melan⯑choly he has ſo judiciouſly mingled with them.

[143]In our preſent condition, which is a middle ſtate, our minds are, as it were, chequered with truth and falſhood; and as our faculties are narrow and our views imperfect, it is impoſſible but our curio⯑ſity muſt meet with many repulſes. The buſineſs of mankind in this life being ra⯑ther to act than to know, their portion of knowledge is dealt to them accord⯑ingly.

From hence it is, that the reaſon of the Inquiſitive has ſo long been exerci⯑ſed with difficulties, in accounting for the promiſcuous diſtribution of good and evil to the virtuous and the wicked in this world. From hence come all thoſe pathetical complaints of ſo many tragi⯑cal events, which happen to the wiſe and the good; and of ſuch ſurprizing proſperity, which is often the reward of the guilty and the fooliſh; that reaſon is ſometimes puzzled, and at a loſs what to pronounce upon ſo myſterious a diſpen⯑ſation.

Plato expreſſes his abhorrence of ſome fables of the Poets, which ſeem to reflect on the Gods as the authors of injuſtice; and lays it down as a principle, that [144] whatever is permitted to befal a juſt man, whether poverty, ſickneſs, or any of thoſe things which ſeem to be evils, ſhall either in life or death conduce to his good. My reader will obſerve how a⯑greeable this maxim is to what we find delivered by a greater authority. Seneca has written a diſcourſe purpoſely on this ſubject, in which he takes pains, after the doctrine of the Stoicks, to ſhew, that adverſity is not in itſelf an evil; and mentions a noble ſaying of Demetrius, That nothing would be more unhappy than a man who had never known affliction. He compares proſperity to the indulgence of a fond mother to a child, which often proves his ruin; but the affection of the Divine Being to that of a wiſe father, who would have his ſons exerciſed with labour, diſappointment, and pain, that they may gather ſtrength, and improve their fortitude. On this occaſion the Philoſopher riſes into that celebrated ſen⯑timent, that there is not on earth a ſpe⯑ctacle more worthy the regard of a Cre⯑ator intent on his works, than a brave man ſuperior to his ſufferings; to which he adds, that it muſt be a pleaſure to Ju⯑piter [145] himſelf to look down from heaven, and ſee Cato amidſt the ruins of his coun⯑try preſerving his integrity

This thought will appear yet more reaſonable, if we conſider human life as a ſtate of probation, and adverſity as the poſt of honour in it, aſſigned often to the beſt and moſt ſelect Spirits.

But what I would chiefly inſiſt on here, is, that we are not at preſent in a proper ſituation to judge of the coun⯑ſels by which Providence acts, ſince but little arrives at our knowledge, and even that little we diſcern imperfectly; or ac⯑cording to the elegant figure in Holy Writ, We ſee but in part, and as in a glaſs darkly. It is to be conſidered, that Pro⯑vidence in its oeconomy regards the whole ſyſtem of time and things together, ſo that we cannot diſcover the beautiful connections between incidents which lie widely ſeparated in time, and by loſing ſo many links of the chain, our reaſon⯑ings become broken and imperfect. Thus thoſe parts in the moral world which have not an abſolute, may yet have a relative beauty, in reſpect of ſome other parts concealed from us, but open to his eye before whom Paſt, Preſent, and To [146] come, are ſet together in one point of view: and thoſe events, the permiſſion of which ſeems now to accuſe his good⯑neſs, may in the conſummation of things both magnify his goodneſs, and exalt his wiſdom. And this is enough to check our preſumption, ſince it is in vain to apply our meaſures of regularity to mat⯑ters of which we know neither the an⯑tecedents nor the conſequents, the be⯑ginning nor the end.

I ſhall relieve my readers from this abſtracted thought, by relating here a Jewiſh tradition concerning Moſes, which ſeems to be a kind of parable, illuſtra⯑ting what I have laſt mentioned. That great Prophet, it is ſaid, was called up by a voice from heaven to the top of a mountain; where, in a conference with the Supreme Being, he was permitted to propoſe to him ſome queſtions concern⯑ing his adminiſtration of the univerſe. In the midſt of this Divine Colloquy he was commanded to look down on the plain below. At the foot of the moun⯑tain there iſſued out a clear ſpring of water, at which a ſoldier alighted from his horſe to drink. He was no ſooner gone than a little boy came to the ſame [147] place, and finding a purſe of gold which the Soldier had dropped, took it up and went away with it. Immediately after this came an infirm old man, weary with age and travelling, and having quenched his thirſt, ſat down to reſt himſelf by the ſide of the ſpring. The ſoldier miſſing his purſe returns to ſearch for it, and demands it of the old man, who affirms he had not ſeen it, and ap⯑peals to heaven in witneſs of his inno⯑cence. The Soldier, not believing his proteſtation, kills him. Moſes fell on his face with horror and amazement, when the Divine Voice thus prevented his ex⯑poſtulation; ‘Be not ſurprized, Moſes, nor ask why the Judge of the whole earth has ſuffer'd this thing to come to paſs: The child is the occaſion that the blood of the old man is ſpilt; but know, that the old man whom thou ſaw'ſt, was the murderer of that child's father.’

THE famous Gratian, in his little book wherein he lays down max⯑ims for a man's advancing himſelf at court, adviſes his reader to aſſociate him⯑ſelf with the fortunate, and to ſhun the company of the unfortunate; which not⯑withſtanding the baſeneſs of the precept to an honeſt mind, may have ſomething uſeful in it for thoſe who puſh their in⯑tereſt in the world. It is certain a great part of what we call good or ill fortune, riſes out of right or wrong meaſures nd ſchemes of life. When I hear a man complain of his being unfortunate in all his undertakings, I ſhrewdly ſuſpect him for a very weak man in his affairs. In conformity with this way of thinking, Cardinal Richlieu uſed to ſay, that un⯑fortunate and imprudent were but two words for the ſame thing. As the Car⯑dinal himſelf had a great ſhare both of prudence and good-fortune, his famous antagoniſt, the Count d'Olivarez, was diſgraced at the Court of Madrid, be⯑cauſe it was alledged againſt him that he [149] had never any ſucceſs in his undertakings. This, ſays an eminent author, was indi⯑rectly accuſing him of Imprudence.

Cicero recommended Pompey to the Ro⯑mans for their General upon three ac⯑counts, as he was a man of courage, con⯑duct, and good-fortune. It was, perhaps, for the reaſon above mentioned, namely, that a ſeries of good-fortune ſuppoſes a prudent management in the perſon whom it befalls, that not only Sylla the Dicta⯑tor, but ſeveral of the Roman Emperors, as is ſtill to be ſeen upon their medals, among their other titles, gave them⯑ſelves that of Felix or fortunate. The Heathens, indeed, ſeem to have valued a man more for his good-fortune than for any other quality, which I think is very natural for thoſe who have not a ſtrong belief of another world. For how can I conceive a man crowned with ma⯑ny diſtinguiſhing bleſſings, that has not ſome extraordinary fund of merit and perfection in him, which lies open to the Supreme Eye, tho' perhaps it is not diſ⯑covered by my obſervation? What is the reaſon Homer's and Virgil's heroes do not form a reſolution, or ſtrike a blow, with⯑out the conduct and direction of ſome [150] Deity? Doubtleſs, becauſe the Poets eſteemed it the greateſt honour to be fa⯑voured by the Gods, and thought the beſt way of praiſing a man was to re⯑count thoſe favours which naturally im⯑plied an extraordinary merit in the per⯑ſon on whom they deſcended.

Thoſe who believe a future ſtate of rewards and puniſhments act very abſurd⯑ly, if they form their opinions of a man's merit from his ſucceſſes. But certainly, if I thought the whole circle of our Be⯑ing was concluded between our births and deaths, I ſhould think a man's good-fortune the meaſure and ſtandard of his real merit, ſince Providence would have no opportunity of rewarding his virtue and perfections, but in the preſent life. A virtuous unbeliever, who lies under the preſſure of misfortunes, has reaſon to cry out, as they ſay Brutus did a little before his death, O Virtue, I have wor⯑ſhipped thee as a ſubſtantial good, but I find thou art an empty name.

But to return to our firſt point: Tho' prudence does undoubtedly in a great meaſure produce our good or ill-fortune in the world, it is certain there are ma⯑ny unforeſeen accidents and occurrences, [151] which very often pervert the fineſt ſchemes that can be laid by human wiſ⯑dom. The race is not always to the ſwift, nor the battle to the ſtrong. No⯑thing leſs than Infinite Wiſdom can have an abſolute command over Fortune; the higheſt degree of it which man can poſ⯑ſeſs, is by no means equal to fortuitous events, and to ſuch contingencies as may riſe in the proſecution of our affairs. Nay, it very often happens, that prudence, which has always in it a great mixture of caution, hinders a man from being ſo fortunate as he might poſſibly have been without it. A perſon who only aims at what is likely to ſucceed, and follows cloſely the dictates of humane prudence, never meets with thoſe great and unfore⯑ſeen ſucceſſes, which are often the effect of a ſanguine temper, or a more happy raſhneſs; and this perhaps may be the reaſon, that according to the common obſervation, Fortune, like other females, delights rather in favouring the young than the old.

Upon the whole, ſince man is ſo ſhort-ſighted a creature, and the accidents which may happen to him ſo various, I cannot but be of Dr. Tillotſon's opinion [] in [...]nother caſe, that were there any [...]t of a Providence, yet it certainly [...]ld be very deſirable there ſhould be [...]h a Being of infinite wiſdom and goodneſs, on whoſe direction we might rely in the conduct of human life.

It is a great preſumption to aſcribe our ſucceſſes to our own management, and not to eſteem our ſelves upon any bleſſing, rather as it is the bounty of heaven, than the acquiſition of our own prudence. I am very well pleaſed with a Medal which was ſtruck by Queen Elizabeth, a little after the defeat of the invincible Armada, to perpetuate the memory of that extraordinary event. It is well known how the King of Spain, and others, who were the enemies of that great Princeſs, to derogate from her glory, aſcribed the ruin of their fleet rather to the violence of ſtorms and tem⯑peſts, than to the bravery of the Engliſh. Queen Elizabeth, inſtead of looking up⯑on this as a diminution of her honour, valued herſelf upon ſuch a ſignal favour of Providence, and accordingly in the reverſe of the Medal above mentioned has repreſented a fleet beaten by a tempeſt, and falling foul upon one another, with [153] that religious inſcription, Afflavit deus & diſſipantur. He blew with his wind, and they were ſcattered.

It is remarked of a famous Grecian Ge⯑neral, whoſe name I cannot at preſent recollect, and who had been a particular favourite of Fortune, that upon recount⯑ing his victories among his friends, he added at the end of ſeveral great actions, And in this Fortune had no ſhare. After which it is obſerved in hiſtory, that he never proſpered in any thing he under⯑took.

As arrogance, and a conceitedneſs of our own abilities, are very ſhocking and of⯑fenſive to men of ſenſe and virtue, we may be ſure they are highly diſpleaſing to that Being who delights in an humble mind, and by ſeveral of his diſpenſations ſeems purpoſely to ſhow us, that our own ſchemes or prudence have no ſhare in our advancements.

Since on this ſubject I have already ad⯑mitted ſeveral quotations which have oc⯑curred to my memory upon writing this paper, I will conclude it with a little Per⯑ſian Fable. A drop of water fell out of a cloud into the ſea, and finding it ſelf loſt in ſuch an immenſity of fluid matter, [154] broke out into the following reflection: ‘'Alas! what an inſignificant creature am I in this prodigious ocean of wa⯑ters; my exiſtence is of no concern to the univerſe, I am reduced to a kind of nothing, and am leſs than the leaſt of the works of God.'’ It ſo happened that an Oyſter, which lay in the neigh⯑bourhood of this Drop, chanced to gape and ſwallow it up in the midſt of this its humble Soliloquy. The Drop, ſays the fable, lay a great while hardening in the ſhell, 'till by degrees it was ripened into a pearl, which falling into the hands of a Diver, after a long ſeries of adventures, is at preſent that famous pearl which is fixed on the top of the Perſian dia⯑dem.

MAN, conſidered in himſelf, is a ve⯑ry helpleſs and a very wretched Being. He is ſubject every moment to the greateſt calamities and misfortunes. He is beſet with dangers on all ſides, and may become unhappy by numberleſs ca⯑ſualties, [155] which he could not foreſee, nor have prevented, had he foreſeen them.

It is our comfort, while we are ob⯑noxious to ſo many accidents, that we are under the care of one who directs contingencies, and has in his hands the management of every thing that is capa⯑ble of annoying or offending us; who knows the aſſiſtance we ſtand in need of, and is always ready to beſtow it on thoſe who ask it of him.

The natural homage, which ſuch a creature bears to ſo infinitely wiſe and good a Being, is a firm reliance on him for the bleſſings and conveniencies of life, and an habitual truſt in him for de⯑liverance out of all ſuch dangers and difficulties as may befall us.

The Man, who always lives in this diſpoſition of mind, has not the ſame dark and melancholy views of human nature, as he who conſiders himſelf ab⯑ſtractedly from this relation to the Su⯑preme Being. At the ſame time that he reflects upon his own weakneſs and im⯑perfection, he comforts himſelf with the contemplation of thoſe divine attributes, which are employed for his ſafety and his welfare. He finds his want of fore⯑ſight [156] made up by the Omniſcience of him who is his ſupport. He is not ſenſi⯑ble of his own want of ſtrength, when he knows that his Helper is Almighty. In ſhort, the perſon who has a firm truſt on the Supreme Being is Powerful in his Power, Wiſe by his Wiſdom, Happy by his Happineſs. He reaps the benefit of every Divine Attribute, and loſes his own inſufficiency in the fullneſs of infinite perfection.

To make our lives more eaſie to us, we are commanded to put our truſt in him, who is thus able to relieve and ſuc⯑cour us; The Divine Goodneſs having made ſuch a reliance a duty, notwith⯑ſtanding we ſhould have been miſerable had it been forbidden us.

Among ſeveral motives, which might be made uſe of to recommend this duty to us, I ſhall only take notice of thoſe that follow.

The firſt and ſtrongeſt is, that we are promiſed, He will not fail thoſe who put their truſt in him.

But without conſidering the ſuperna⯑tural bleſſing which accompanies this duty, we may obſerve that it has a na⯑tural tendency to its own reward, or in [157] other words, that this firm truſt and con⯑fidence in the great Diſpoſer of all things, contributes very much to the getting clear of any affliction, or to the bearing it manfully. A perſon who believes he has his ſuccour at hand, and that he acts in ſight of his friend, often exerts him⯑ſelf beyond his abilities, and does won⯑ders that are not to be matched by one who is not animated with ſuch a confi⯑dence of ſucceſs. I could produce in⯑ſtances from hiſtory, of Generals, who out of a belief that they were under the protection of ſome inviſible aſſiſtant, did not only encourage their Soldiers to do their utmoſt, but have acted themſelves beyond what they would have done, had they not been inſpired by ſuch a be⯑lief. I might in the ſame manner ſhew how ſuch a truſt in the aſſiſtance of an Almighty Being, naturally produces pa⯑tience, hope, chearfulneſs, and all other diſpoſitions of mind that alleviate thoſe calamities which we are not able to re⯑move.

The practice of this virtue adminiſters great comfort to the mind of man in times of poverty and affliction, but moſt of all in the hour of death. When the [158] ſoul is hovering in the laſt moments of its ſeparation, when it is juſt entring on another ſtate of Exiſtence, to converſe with ſcenes, and objects, and compani⯑ons that are altogether new, what can ſupport her under ſuch tremblings of thought, ſuch fear, ſuch anxiety, ſuch apprehenſions, but the caſting of all her cares upon him who firſt gave her Being, who has conducted her through one ſtage of it, and will be always with her to guide and comfort her in her progreſs through eternity?

David has very beautifully repreſent⯑ed this ſteady reliance on God Almighty in his twenty third Pſalm, which is a kind of Paſtoral hymn, and filled with thoſe alluſions which are uſual in that kind of writing. As the poetry is very exquiſite, I ſhall preſent my reader with the following Tranſlation of it.

IT is of the laſt importance to ſeaſon the paſſions of a child with Devo⯑tion, which ſeldom dies in a mind that has received an early tincture of it. Though it may ſeem extinguiſhed for a while by the cares of the world, the heats of youth, or the allurements of vice, it generally breaks out and diſ⯑covers it ſelf again as ſoon as diſcre⯑tion, conſideration, age, or misfortunes have brought the man to himſelf. The fire may be covered and overlaid, but cannot be entirely quenched and ſmo⯑thered.

A ſtate of temperance, ſobriety, and juſtice, without devotion, is a cold, life⯑leſs, [161] inſipid condition of virtue; and is rather to be ſtyled Philoſophy than Reli⯑gion. Devotion opens the mind to great conceptions, and fills it with more ſub⯑lime ideas than any that are to be met with in the moſt exalted ſcience; and at the ſame time warms and agitates the Soul more than ſenſual pleaſure.

It has been obſerved by ſome writers, that man is more diſtinguiſhed from the animal world by Devotion than by Rea⯑ſon, as ſeveral brute creatures diſcover in their actions ſomething like a faint glimmering of reaſon, though they be⯑tray in no ſingle circumſtance of their behaviour any thing that bears the leaſt affinity to devotion. It is certain, the propenſity of the mind to religious wor⯑ſhip, the natural tendency of the ſoul to fly to ſome ſuperior Being for ſuccour in dangers and diſtreſſes, the gratitude to an inviſible Superintendent which ari⯑ſes in us upon receiving any extraordina⯑ry and unexpected good fortune, the acts of love and admiration with which the thoughts of men are ſo wonderfully tranſ⯑ported in meditating upon the Divine Perfections, and the univerſal concur⯑rence of all the nations under heaven in [162] the great article of adoration, plainly ſhew that devotion or religious worſhip muſt be the effect of a tradition from ſome firſt founder of mankind, or that it is conformable to the natural light of reaſon, or that it proceeds from an in⯑ſtinct implanted in the ſoul it ſelf. For my part, I look upon all theſe to be the concurrent cauſes, but which ever of them ſhall be aſſigned as the principle of Divine Worſhip, it manifeſtly points to a Supreme Being as the firſt author of it.

I may take ſome other opportunity of conſidering thoſe particular forms and methods of devotion which are taught us by Chriſtianity; but ſhall here obſerve into what errors even this Divine Prin⯑ciple may ſometimes lead us, when it is not moderated by that right reaſon which was given us as the guide of all our actions.

The two great errors into which a miſtaken devotion may betray us, are Enthuſiaſm and Superſtition.

There is not a more melancholy ob⯑ject than a man who has his head turned with religious enthuſiaſm. A perſon that is crazed, tho' with pride or malice, is [163] a ſight very mortifying to human na⯑ture; but when the diſtemper ariſes from any indiſcreet fervors of devotion, or too intenſe an application of the mind to its miſtaken duties, it deſerves our compaſ⯑ſion in a more particular manner. We may however learn this leſſon from it, that ſince devotion it ſelf (which one would be apt to think could not be too warm) may diſorder the mind, unleſs its heats are tempered with caution and pru⯑dence, we ſhould be particularly careful to keep our reaſon as cool as poſſible, and to guard our ſelves in all parts of life againſt the influence of paſſion, imagina⯑tion, and conſtitution.

Devotion, when it does not lie under the check of reaſon, is very apt to de⯑generate into Enthuſiaſm. When the mind finds herſelf very much enflamed with her devotions, ſhe is too much in⯑clined to think they are not of her own kindling, but blown up with ſomething Divine within her. If ſhe indulges this thought too far, and humours the grow⯑ing paſſion, ſhe at laſt flings herſelf into imaginary raptures and ecſtaſies; and when once ſhe fancies herſelf under the influence of a Divine Impulſe, it is no [164] wonder if ſhe ſlights human ordinances, and refuſes to comply with any eſta⯑bliſhed form of religion, as thinking her ſelf directed by a much ſuperior guide.

As Enthuſiaſm is a kind of exceſs in devotion, Superſtition is the exceſs not only of devotion, but of religion in ge⯑neral; according to an old Heathen ſay⯑ing, quoted by Aulus Gellius, Religentem eſſe oportet; Religioſum nefas; A man ſhould be religious, not ſuperſtitious; for as the author tells us, Nigidius ob⯑ſerved upon this paſſage, that the Latin words which terminate in oſus generally imply vitious characters, and the having of any quality to an exceſs.

An Enthuſiaſt in religion is like an ob⯑ſtinate clown, a ſuperſtitious man like an inſipid courtier. Enthuſiaſm has ſome⯑thing in it of madneſs, Superſtition of folly. Moſt of the Sects that fall ſhort of the Church of England have in them ſtrong tinctures of Enthuſiaſm, as the Roman Catholick Religion is one huge over-grown body of childiſh and idle Su⯑perſtitions.

The Roman Catholick Church ſeems indeed irrecoverably loſt in this particu⯑lar. If an abſurd dreſs or behaviour be [165] introduced in the world, it will ſoon be found out and diſcarded: On the con⯑trary, a habit or ceremony, tho' never ſo ridiculous, which has taken ſanctuary in the Church, ſticks in it for ever. A Gothic Biſhop, perhaps, thought it pro⯑per to repeat ſuch a form in ſuch parti⯑cular ſhoes or ſlippers; another fancied it would be very decent if ſuch a part of publick devotions were performed with a Mitre on his head, and a Croſier in his hand: To this a brother Van⯑dal, as wiſe as the others, adds an antick dreſs, which he conceived would allude very aptly to ſuch and ſuch myſteries, 'till by degrees the whole office has de⯑generated into an empty ſhow.

Their ſucceſſors ſee the vanity and in⯑convenience of theſe ceremonies; but in⯑ſtead of reforming, perhaps add others, which they think more ſignificant, and which take poſſeſſion in the ſame man⯑ner, and are never to be driven out after they have been once admitted. I have ſeen the Pope officiate at St. Peter's, where, for two hours together, he was buſied in putting on or off his different accoutrements, according to the different parts he was to act in them.

[166]Nothing is ſo glorious in the eyes of mankind, and ornamental to human na⯑ture, ſetting aſide the infinite advantages which ariſe from it, as a ſtrong ſteady maſculine piety; but Enthuſiaſm and Su⯑perſtition are the weakneſſes of human reaſon, that expoſe us to the ſcorn and deriſion of Infidels, and ſink us even be⯑low the Beaſts that periſh.

Idolatry may be looked upon as ano⯑ther error ariſing from miſtaken Devo⯑tion; but becauſe reflections on that ſub⯑ject would be of no uſe to an Engliſh reader I ſhall not enlarge upon it.

IN my laſt Saturday's paper I laid down ſome thoughts upon Devotion in ge⯑neral, and ſhall here ſhew what were the notions of the moſt refined Heathens on this ſubject, as they are repreſented in Plato's dialogue upon Prayer, enti⯑tuled, Alcibiades the Second, which doubt⯑leſs gave occaſion to Juvenal's tenth Sa⯑tyr, [167] and to the ſecond Satyr of Perſius; as the laſt of theſe authors has almoſt tran⯑ſcribed the preceding dialogue, enti⯑tuled, Alcibiades the Firſt, in his fourth Satyr.

The ſpeakers in this dialogue upon Prayer, are Socrates and Alcibiades; and the ſubſtance of it (when drawn toge⯑ther out of the intricacies and digreſſi⯑ons) as follows.

Socrates meeting his pupil Alcibiades, as he was going to his devotions, and obſerving his eyes to be fixed upon the earth with great ſeriouſneſs and attenti⯑on, tells him, that he had reaſon to be thoughtful on that occaſion, ſince it was poſſible for a man to bring down evils upon himſelf by his own Prayers, and that thoſe things which the Gods ſend him in anſwer to his petitions might turn to his deſtruction: This, ſays he, may not only happen when a man prays for what he knows is miſchievous in its own nature, as Oedipus implored the Gods to ſow diſſention between his ſons, but when he prays for what he believes would be for his good, and againſt what he believes would be to his detriment. This the Philoſopher ſhews muſt neceſſa⯑rily [168] happen among us, ſince moſt men are blinded with ignorance, prejudice, or paſſion, which hinder them from ſeeing ſuch things as are really beneficial to them. For an inſtance, he asks Alci⯑biades, Whether he would not be tho⯑roughly pleaſed and ſatisfied if that God to whom he was going to addreſs him⯑ſelf, ſhould promiſe to make him the ſo⯑vereign of the whole earth? Alcibiades anſwers, That he ſhould doubtleſs look upon ſuch a promiſe as the greateſt fa⯑vour that could be beſtowed upon him. Socrates then asks him, If after receiving this great favour he would be contented to loſe his life? or if he would receive it though he was ſure he ſhould make an ill uſe of it? To both which queſti⯑ons Alcibiades anſwers in the negative. Socrates then ſhews him, from the ex⯑amples of others, how theſe might pro⯑bably be the effects of ſuch a bleſſing. He then adds, That other reputed pieces of good fortune, as that of having a ſon, or procuring the higheſt poſt in a go⯑vernment, are ſubject to the like fatal conſequences; which nevertheleſs, ſays he, men ardently deſire, and would not fail to pray for, if they thought their [169] prayers might be effectual for the ob⯑taining of them.

Having eſtabliſhed this great point, That all the moſt apparent bleſſings in this life are obnoxious to ſuch dreadful conſequences, and that no man knows what in its events would prove to him a bleſſing or a curſe, he teaches Alcibiades after what manner he ought to pray.

In the firſt place, he recommends to him, as the model of his devotions, a ſhort prayer, which a Greek Poet com⯑poſed for the use of his friends, in the following words; O Jupiter, give us thoſe things which are good for us, whether they are ſuch things as we pray for, or ſuch things as we do not pray for; and remove from us thoſe things which are hurtful, though they are ſuch things as we pray for.

In the ſecond place, that his Diſciple may ask ſuch things as are expedient for him, he ſhews him, that it is abſolutely neceſſary to apply himſelf to the ſtudy of true wiſdom, and to the knowledge of that which is his chief good, and the moſt ſuitable to the excellency of his nature.

[170]In the third and laſt place he informs him, that the beſt methods he could make uſe of to draw down bleſſings up⯑on himſelf, and to render his prayers ac⯑ceptable, would be to live in a con⯑ſtant practice of his duty towards the Gods, and towards men. Under this head he very much recommends a form of Prayer the Lacedemonians made uſe of, in which they petition the Gods, to give them all good things, ſo long as they were virtuous. Under this head likewiſe he gives a very remarkable account of an Oracle to the following purpoſe.

When the Athenians in the war with the Lacedemonians received many defeats both by ſea and land, they ſent a meſſage to the oracle of Jupiter Ammon, to ask the reaſon why they who erected ſo ma⯑ny temples to the Gods, and adorned them with ſuch coſtly offerings; why they who had inſtituted ſo many feſti⯑vals, and accompanied them with ſuch pomps and ceremonies; in ſhort, why they who had ſlain ſo many Hecatombs at their altars, ſhould be leſs succeſsful than the Lacedemonians, who fell ſo ſhort of them in all theſe particulars. To this, ſays he, the Oracle made the following [171] reply; I am better pleaſed with the prayer of the Lacedemonians than with all the oblations of the Greeks. As this prayer implied and encouraged virtue in thoſe who made it; the Philoſopher proceeds to ſhew how the moſt vicious man might be devout, ſo far as victims could make him, but that his Offerings were regard⯑ed by the Gods as bribes, and his peti⯑tions as blaſphemies. He likewiſe quotes on this occaſion two verſes out of Homer, in which the Poet ſays, That the ſcent of the Trojan ſacrifices was carried up to heaven by the winds; but that it was not acceptable to the Gods, who were diſpleaſed with Priam and all his People.

The concluſion of this dialogue is ve⯑ry remarkable. Socrates having deterr'd Alcibiades from the prayers and ſacrifice which he was going to offer, by ſetting forth the above-mentioned difficulties of performing that duty as he ought, adds theſe words, We muſt therefore wait 'till ſuch time as we may learn how we ought to behave our ſelves towards the Gods, and towards men. But when will that time come, ſays Alcibiades, and who is it will inſtruct us? For I would fain ſee this man, whoever he is. It is one, ſays [172] Socrates, who takes care of you; but as Homer tells us, that Minerva removed the miſt from Diomedes his eyes, that he might plainly diſcover both Gods and men; ſo the darkneſs that hangs upon your mind muſt be removed, before you are able to diſcern what is good and what is evil. Let him remove from my mind, ſays Alcibiades, the darkneſs, and what elſe he pleaſes; I am determined to refuſe nothing he ſhall order me, whoever he is, ſo that I may become the better man by it. The remaining part of this dialogue is very obſcure: There is ſomething in it that would make us think Socrates hinted at himſelf, when he ſpoke of this Divine Teacher who was to come into the world, did he not own that he himſelf was in this reſpect as much at a loſs, and in as great diſtreſs as the reſt of mankind.

Some learned men look upon this concluſion as a prediction of our Savi⯑our, or at leaſt that Socrates, like the High-prieſt, propheſied unknowingly, and pointed at that Divine Teacher who was to come into the world ſome ages after him. However that may be, we find that this great Philoſopher ſaw, by the [173] light of reaſon, that it was ſuitable to the goodneſs of the Divine Nature, to ſend a Perſon into the world who ſhould inſtruct mankind in the duties of reli⯑gion, and, in particular, teach them how to Pray.

Whoever reads this abſtract of Plato's diſcourſe on Prayer, will, I believe, na⯑turally make this reflection, That the great Founder of our religion, as well by his own example, as in the form of prayer which he taught his diſciples, did not only keep up to thoſe rules which the light of nature had ſuggeſted to this great Philoſopher, but inſtructed his diſciples in the whole extent of this duty, as well as of all others. He directed them to the proper object of adoration, and taught them, according to the third rule above-mentioned, to apply themſelves to him in their cloſets, without ſhow or oſtentation, and to worſhip him in ſpirit and in truth. As the Lacedemonians in their form of Prayer implored the Gods in ge⯑neral to give them all good things ſo long as they were virtuous, we ask in particular that our offences may be forgiven as we forgive thoſe of others. If we look into the ſecond Rule which Socrates has [174] preſcribed, namely, That we ſhould ap⯑ply our ſelves to the knowledge of ſuch things as are beſt for us, this too is ex⯑plained at large in the doctrines of the Goſpel, where we are taught in ſeveral inſtances to regard thoſe things as curſes, which appear as bleſſings in the eye of the world; and on the contrary, to e⯑ſteem thoſe things as bleſſings, which to the generality of mankind appear as curſes. Thus in the form which is pre⯑ſcribed to us we only pray for that hap⯑pineſs which is our chief good, and the great end of our Exiſtence, when we pe⯑tition the Supreme Being for the coming of his kingdom, being ſollicitous for no other temporal bleſſing but our daily ſuſtenance. On the other ſide, we pray againſt nothing but Sin, and a⯑gainſt Evil in general, leaving it with Omniſcience to determine what is really ſuch. If we look into the firſt of Socrates his rules of prayer, in which he recom⯑mends the above-mentioned form of the antient Poet, we find that form not only comprehended, but very much improved in the petition, wherein we pray to the Supreme Being that his Will may be done: which is of the ſame force with that [175] form which our Saviour uſed, when he prayed againſt the moſt painful and moſt ignominious of deaths, Nevertheleſs not my Will, but thine be done. This compre⯑henſive petition is the moſt humble, as well as the moſt prudent, that can be offered up from the creature to his Creator, as it ſuppoſes the Supreme Be⯑ing wills nothing but what is for our good, and that he knows better than our ſelves what is ſo.

REligion may be conſidered under two general heads. The firſt com⯑prehends what we are to believe, the other what we are to practiſe. By thoſe things which we are to believe, I mean whatever is revealed to us in the Holy Writings, and which we could not have obtained the knowledge of by the light of nature; by the things which we are to practiſe, I mean all thoſe duties to which we are directed by reaſon or natural religion. The firſt of theſe I ſhall diſtinguiſh by the name of Faith, the ſe⯑cond by that of Morality.

If we look into the more ſerious part of mankind, we find many who lay ſo [177] great a ſtreſs upon faith, that they neg⯑lect morality; and many who build ſo much upon morality, that they do not pay a due regard to faith. The perfect man ſhould be defective in neither of theſe particulars, as will be very evident to thoſe who conſider the benefits which ariſe from each of them, and which I ſhall make the ſubject of this day's paper.

Notwithſtanding this general diviſion of Chriſtian duty into morality and faith, and that they have both their peculiar ex⯑cellencies, the firſt has the pre-eminence in ſeveral reſpects.

Firſt, Becauſe the greateſt part of mo⯑rality (as I have ſtated the notion of it) is of a fixt eternal nature, and will en⯑dure when faith ſhall fail, and be loſt in conviction.

Secondly, Becauſe a Perſon may be qua⯑lified to do greater good to mankind, and become more beneficial to the world, by morality, without faith, than by faith without morality.

Thirdly, Becauſe morality gives a grea⯑ter perfection to humane nature, by qui⯑eting the mind, moderating the paſſions, and advancing the happineſs of every man in his private capacity.

[178] Fourthly, Becauſe the rule of morality is much more certain than that of faith, all the civilized nations of the world agreeing in the great points of mora⯑lity, as much as they differ in thoſe of faith.

Fifthly, Becauſe infidelity is not of ſo malignant a nature as immorality; or to put the ſame Reaſon in another light, becauſe it is generally owned, there may be ſalvation for a virtuous Infidel, (particularly in the caſe of invincible ignorance) but none for a vicious Be⯑liever.

Sixthly, Becauſe faith ſeems to draw its principal, if not all its excellency, from the influence it has upon morality; as we ſhall ſee more at large, if we con⯑ſider wherein conſiſts the excellency of faith, or the belief of revealed religion; and this I think is,

Firſt, In explaining and carrying to greater heights, ſeveral points of mora⯑lity.

Secondly, In furniſhing new and ſtron⯑ger motives to enforce the practice of morality.

Thirdly, In giving us more amiable ideas of the Supreme Being, more en⯑dearing [179] notions of one another, and a truer ſtate of our ſelves, both in regard to the grandeur and vileneſs of our na⯑tures.

Fourthly, By ſhewing us the blackneſs and deformity of vice, which in the Chriſtian ſyſtem is ſo very great, that he who is poſſeſſed of all perfection and the Sovereign Judge of it, is repreſented by ſeveral of our Divines as hating ſin to the ſame degree that he loves the Sacred Perſon who was made the propitiation of it.

Fifthly, In being the ordinary and pre⯑ſcribed method of making morality ef⯑fectual to ſalvation.

I have only touched on theſe ſeveral heads, which every one who is conver⯑ſant in diſcourſes of this nature will ea⯑ſily enlarge upon in his own thoughts, and draw concluſions from them which may be uſeful to him in the conduct of his life. One I am ſure is ſo obvious, that he cannot miſs it, namely that a man cannot be perfect in his ſcheme of morality, who does not ſtrengthen and ſupport it with that of the Chriſtian faith.

[180]Beſides this, I ſhall lay down two or three other maxims which I think we may deduce from what has been ſaid.

Firſt, That we ſhould be particularly cautious of making any thing an article of faith, which does not contribute to the confirmation or improvement of mo⯑rality.

Secondly, That no article of faith can be true and authentick, which weakens or ſubverts the practical part of religion, or what I have hitherto called mora⯑lity.

Thirdly, That the greateſt friend of morality, or natural religion, cannot poſ⯑ſibly apprehend any danger from embra⯑cing Chriſtianity, as it is preſerved pure and uncorrupt in the doctrines of our na⯑tional Church.

There is likewiſe another maxim which I think may be drawn from the forego⯑ing conſiderations, which is this, that we ſhould, in all dubious points, conſi⯑der any ill conſequences that may ariſe from them, ſuppoſing they ſhould be er⯑roneous, before we give up our aſſent to them.

For example, in that diſputable point of perſecuting men for conſcience ſake, [181] beſides the imbittering their minds with hatred, indignation, and all the vehe⯑mence of reſentment, and enſnaring them to profeſs what they do not believe; we cut them off from the pleaſures and ad⯑vantages of ſociety, afflict their bodies, diſtreſs their fortunes, hurt their reputa⯑tions, ruin their families, make their lives painful, or put an end to them. Sure when I ſee ſuch dreadful conſequences riſing from a principle, I would be as fully convinced of the truth of it, as of a mathematical demonſtration, before I would venture to act upon it, or make it a part of my religion.

In this caſe the injury done our neigh⯑bour is plain and evident, the principle that puts us upon doing it, of a dubious and diſputable nature. Morality ſeems highly violated by the one, and whether or no a zeal for what a man thinks the true ſyſtem of faith may juſtify it, is very uncertain. I cannot but think, if our religion produce charity as well as zeal, it will not be for ſhewing it ſelf by ſuch cruel inſtances. But, to conclude with the words of an excellent author, We have juſt enough religion to make us hate, but not enough to make us love one another.

IT was the common boaſt of the Hea⯑then Philoſophers, that by the effica⯑cy of their ſeveral doctrines, they made humane nature reſemble the Divine. How much miſtaken ſoever they might be in the ſeveral means they propoſed for this end, it muſt be owned that the deſign was great and glorious. The fineſt works of invention and imagination are of ve⯑ry little weight, when put in the ba⯑lance with what refines and exalts the rational mind. Longinus excuſes Homer very handſomely, when he ſays the Poet made his Gods like men, that he might make his men appear like the Gods: But it muſt be allowed that ſeveral of the ancient Philoſophers acted, as Cicero wiſhes Homer had done; they endeavour⯑ed rather to make men like Gods, than Gods like men.

According to this general maxim in philoſophy, ſome of them have endea⯑voured to place men in ſuch a ſtate of pleaſure, or indolence at leaſt, as they [183] vainly imagined the happineſs of the Su⯑preme Being to conſiſt in. On the other hand, the moſt virtuous ſect of Philo⯑ſophers have created a chimerical wiſe man, whom they made exempt from paſ⯑ſion and pain, and thought it enough to pronounce him All-ſufficient.

This laſt character, when diveſted of the glare of humane philoſophy that ſur⯑rounds it, ſignifies no more, than that a good and wiſe man ſhould ſo arm him⯑ſelf with patience, as not to yield tame⯑ly to the violence of paſſion and pain; that he ſhould learn ſo to ſuppreſs and contract his deſires as to have few wants; and that he ſhould cheriſh ſo many vir⯑tues in his ſoul, as to have a perpetual ſource of pleaſure in himſelf.

The Chriſtian religion requires, that, after having framed the beſt Idea, we are able, of the Divine Nature, it ſhould be our next care to conform our ſelves to it, as far as our imperfections will per⯑mit. I might mention ſeveral paſſages in the Sacred Writings on this head, to which I might add many maxims and wiſe ſayings of moral Authors among the Greeks and Romans.

[184]I ſhall only inſtance a remarkable paſ⯑ſage, to this purpoſe, out of Julian's Caeſars. The Emperor having repreſent⯑ed all the Roman Emperors, with Alex⯑ander the Great, as paſſing in review be⯑fore the Gods, and ſtriving for the ſu⯑periority, lets them all drop, excepting Alexander, Julius Caeſar, Auguſtus Caeſar, Trajan, Marcus Aurelius, and Conſtantine. Each of theſe great heroes of antiquity lays in his claim for the upper place; and, in order to it, ſets forth his actions after the moſt advantageous manner. But the Gods, inſtead of being dazzled with the luſtre of their actions, enquire, by Mercury, into the proper motive and go⯑verning principle that influenced them throughout the whole ſeries of their lives and exploits. Alexander tells them, That his aim was to conquer: Julius Caeſar, That his was to gain the higheſt poſt in his country; Auguſtus, To govern well; Trajan, That his was the ſame as that of Alexander, namely, to conquer. The queſtion, at length, was put to Marcus Aurelius, who replied, with great modeſty, That it had always been his care to imitate the Gods. This conduct ſeems to have gained him the moſt votes and [185] beſt place in the whole aſſembly. Mar⯑cus Aurelius being afterwards asked to ex⯑plain himſelf declares, That, by imita⯑ting the Gods, he endeavoured to imi⯑tate them in the uſe of his underſtanding, and of all other faculties; and, in parti⯑cular, That it was always his ſtudy to have as few wants as poſſible in him⯑ſelf, and to do all the good he could to others.

Among the many methods by which revealed religion has advanced morality, this is one, That it has given us a more juſt and perfect idea of that Being whom every reaſonable creature ought to imi⯑tate. The young man, in a heathen Comedy, might juſtify his lewdneſs by the example of Jupiter; as, indeed, there was ſcarce any crime that might not be countenanced by thoſe notions of the Deity which prevailed among the com⯑mon people in the heathen world. Re⯑vealed religion ſets forth a proper ob⯑ject for imitation, in that Being who is the pattern, as well as the ſource, of all ſpiritual perfection.

While we remain in this life, we are ſubject to innumerable temptations, which, if liſten'd to, will make us deviate from [186] reaſon and goodneſs, the only things wherein we can imitate the Supreme Be⯑ing. In the next life we meet with no⯑thing to excite our inclinations that doth not deſerve them. I ſhall therefore diſ⯑miſs my reader with this maxim, viz. Our happineſs in this world proceeds from the ſuppreſſion of our deſires, but in the next world from the gratification of them.

IT is uſual with polemical writers to object ill deſigns to their adverſaries. This turns their argument into ſatyr, which, inſtead of ſhewing an error in the underſtanding, tends only to expoſe the morals of thoſe they write againſt. I ſhall not act after this manner with re⯑ſpect to the Free-thinkers. Virtue, and the happineſs of ſociety, are the great ends which all men ought to promote, and ſome of that Sect would be thought to have at heart above the reſt of mankind. But ſuppoſing thoſe who make that pro⯑feſſion to carry on a good deſign in the ſimplicity of their hearts, and according [187] to their beſt knowledge, yet it is much to be feared, thoſe well-meaning ſouls, while they endeavoured to recommend virtue, have in reality been advancing the intereſts of vice, which as I take to proceed from their ignorance of human nature, we may hope, when they become ſenſible of their miſtake, they will, in conſequence of that beneficent principle they pretend to act upon, reform their practice for the future.

The Sages whom I have in my eye ſpeak of virtue as the moſt amiable thing in the world; but at the ſame time that they extol her Beauty, they take care to leſſen her Portion. Such innocent crea⯑tures are they, and ſo great ſtrangers to the world, that they think this a likely method to increaſe the number of her admirers.

Virtue has in her ſelf the moſt en⯑gaging charms; and Chriſtianity, as it places her in the ſtrongeſt light, and adorned with all her native attractions, ſo it kindles a new fire in the Soul, by adding to them the unutterable rewards which attend her votaries in an eternal ſtate. Or if there are men of a Saturnine and heavy complexion, who are not ea⯑ſily [188] lifted up by hope, there is the pro⯑ſpect of everlaſting puniſhment to agitate their ſouls, and frighten them into the practice of virtue, and an averſion from vice.

Whereas your ſober Free-thinkers tell you, that virtue indeed is beautiful, and vice deformed: the former deſerves your love, and the latter your abhorrence; but then, it is for their own ſake, or on account of the good and evil which im⯑mediately attend them, and are inſepa⯑rable from their reſpective natures. As for the immortality of the Soul, or eter⯑nal puniſhments and rewards, thoſe are openly ridiculed, or rendered ſuſpici⯑ous by the moſt ſly and laboured arti⯑fice.

I will not ſay, theſe men act treache⯑rouſly in the cauſe of virtue; but, will any one deny, that they act fooliſhly, who pretend to advance the intereſt of it by deſtroying or weakening the ſtrong⯑eſt motives to it, which are accommo⯑dated to all capacities, and fitted to work on all diſpoſitions, and enforcing thoſe alone which can affect only a generous and exalted mind?

[189]Surely they muſt be deſtitute of paſſi⯑on themſelves, and unacquainted with the force it hath on the minds of others, who can imagine that the meer beauty of fortitude, temperance and juſtice, is ſuf⯑ficient to ſuſtain the mind of man in a ſevere courſe of ſelf-denial againſt all the temptations of preſent profit and ſen⯑ſuality.

It is my opinion the Free-thinkers ſhould be treated as a ſett of poor ignorant creatures, that have not ſenſe to diſco⯑ver the excellency of religion; it being evident thoſe men are no witches, nor likely to be guilty of any deep deſign, who proclaim aloud to the world, that they have leſs motives of honeſty than the reſt of their fellow-ſubjects; who have all the inducements to the exerciſe of any virtue which a Free-thinker can poſſibly have, and beſides, the expecta⯑tion of never-ending happineſs or miſery as the conſequence of their choice.

Are not men actuated by their paſſi⯑ons; and are not hope and fear the moſt powerful of our paſſions? and are there any objects which can rouſe and awaken our hopes and fears, like thoſe proſpects that warm and penetrate the heart of a Chri⯑ſtian, [190] but are not regarded by a Free-thinker.

It is not only a clear point, that a Chriſtian breaks through ſtronger en⯑gagements whenever he ſurrenders him⯑ſelf to commit a criminal action, and is ſtung with a ſharper remorſe after it, than a Free-thinker; but it ſhould even ſeem that a man who believes no future ſtate, would act a fooliſh part in being tho⯑roughly honeſt. For what reaſon is there why ſuch a one ſhould poſtpone his own private intereſt or pleaſure to the doing his duty? If a Chriſtian foregoes ſome preſent advantage for the ſake of his con⯑ſcience, he acts accountably, becauſe it is with the view of gaining ſome greater future good. But he that, having no ſuch view, ſhould yet conſcientiouſly deny himſelf a preſent good in any incident where he may ſave appearances, is alto⯑gether as ſtupid as he that would truſt him at ſuch a juncture.

It will, perhaps, be ſaid, that virtue is her own reward, that a natural gratifi⯑cation attends good actions, which is a⯑lone ſufficient to excite men to the per⯑formance of them. But although there is nothing more lovely than virtue, and [191] the practice of it is the ſureſt way to ſolid, natural happineſs, even in this life; yet titles, eſtates, and fantaſtical pleaſures, are more ardently ſought after by moſt men, than the natural gratifications of a reaſonable mind; and it cannot be de⯑nied, that virtue and innocence are not always the readieſt methods to attain that ſort of happineſs. Beſides, the fumes of paſſion muſt be allayed, and reaſon muſt burn brighter than ordinary, to enable men to ſee and reliſh all the native beau⯑ties and delights of a virtuous life. And tho' we ſhould grant our Free-thinkers to be a ſett of refined ſpirits, capable only of being enamoured of virtue, yet what would become of the bulk of mankind who have groſs underſtandings, but live⯑ly ſenſes and ſtrong paſſions? What a deluge of luſt, and fraud, and violence would in a little time overflow the whole nation, if theſe wiſe advocates for mora⯑lity were univerſally hearkened to? Laſt⯑ly, opportunities do ſometimes offer in which a man may wickedly make his fortune, or indulge a pleaſure, without fear of temporal damage, either in repu⯑tation, health, or fortune. In ſuch caſes what reſtraint do they lie under who have [192] no regards beyond the grave? the inward compunctions of a wicked, as well as the joys of an upright mind, being grafted on the ſenſe of another ſtate.

The thought, that our Exiſtence ter⯑minates with this life, doth naturally check the ſoul in any generous purſuit, con⯑tract her views, and fix them on tem⯑porary and ſelfiſh ends. It dethrones the reaſon, extinguiſhes all noble and heroick ſentiments, and ſubjects the mind to the ſlavery of every preſent paſſion. The wiſe Heathens of antiquity were not ig⯑norant of this; hence they endeavoured by fables, and conjectures, and the glim⯑merings of nature, to poſſeſs the minds of men with the belief of a future ſtate, which has been ſince brought to light by the Goſpel, and is now moſt incon⯑ſiſtently decry'd by a few weak men, who would have us believe that they promote Virtue by turning Religion in⯑to ridicule.

TO one who regards things with a philoſophical eye, and hath a Soul capable of being delighted with the ſenſe that truth and knowledge prevail among men, it muſt be a grateful reflection to think that the ſublimeſt truths, which among the Heathens only here and there one of brighter parts and more leiſure than ordinary could attain to, are now grown familiar to the meaneſt in⯑habitants of theſe nations.

Whence came this ſurprizing change, that regions formerly inhabited by igno⯑rant and ſavage people ſhould now out⯑ſhine ancient Greece, and the other eaſtern countries, ſo renowned of old, in the moſt elevated notions of theology and morality? Is it the effect of our own parts and induſtry? Have our common mechanicks more refined underſtandings than the ancient Philoſophers? It is ow⯑ing to the God of truth, who came down from heaven, and condeſcended to be himſelf our Teacher. It is as we are Chriſtians, that we profeſs more excel⯑lent [194] and divine truths than the reſt of mankind.

If there be any of the Free-thinkers who are not direct Atheiſts, Charity would incline one to believe them igno⯑rant of what is here advanced. And it is for their information that I write this paper, the deſign of which is to com⯑pare the ideas that Chriſtians entertain of the Being and Attributes of a God, with the groſs notions of the heathen world. Is it poſſible for the mind of man to conceive a more auguſt idea of the Deity than is ſet forth in the holy Scriptures? I ſhall throw together ſome paſſages relating to this ſubject, which I propoſe only as philoſophical ſentiments, to be conſidered by a Free-thinker.

Tho' there be that are called Gods, yet to us there is but one God. He made the Heaven, and Heaven of Hea⯑vens, with all their hoſt; the earth and all things that are therein; the ſeas and all that is therein; He ſaid, Let them be, and it was ſo. He hath ſtretched forth the heavens. He hath founded the earth, and hung it upon nothing. He hath ſhut up the ſea with doors, and ſaid, Hitherto ſhalt thou [195] come and no further, and here ſhall thy proud waves be ſtaid. The Lord is an inviſible Spirit, in whom we live, and move, and have our Being. He is the fountain of life. He preſerveth man and beaſt. He giveth food to all fleſh. In his hand is the ſoul of every living thing, and the breath of all man⯑kind. The Lord maketh poor and ma⯑keth rich. He bringeth low and lift⯑eth up. He killeth and maketh alive. He woundeth and he healeth. By him Kings reign, and Princes decree juſtice, and not a ſparrow falleth to the ground without him. All Angels, Authorities, and Powers are ſubject to him. He appointeth the Moon for ſeaſons, and the Sun knoweth his going down. He thundereth with his voice, and direct⯑eth it under the whole Heaven, and his lightning unto the ends of the earth. Fire and hail, ſnow and vapour, wind and ſtorm, fulfil his word. The Lord is King for ever and ever, and his do⯑minion is an everlaſting dominion. The earth and the heavens ſhall periſh, but thou, O Lord, remaineſt. They all ſhall wax old, as doth a garment, and as a veſture ſhalt thou fold them up, and [196] they ſhall be changed; but thou art the ſame, and thy years ſhall have no end. God is perfect in knowledge; his underſtanding is infinite. He is the Fa⯑ther of lights. He looketh to the ends of the earth, and ſeeth under the whole heaven. The Lord beholdeth all the children of men from the place of his habitation, and conſidereth all their works. He knoweth our down-ſitting and upriſing. He compaſſeth our path, and counteth our ſteps. He is acquaint⯑ed with all our ways; and when we enter our cloſet, and ſhut our door, he ſeeth us. He knoweth the things that come into our mind, every one of them: and no thought can be with⯑holden from him. The Lord is good to all, and his tender mercies are over all his works. He is a father of the fa⯑therleſs, and a judge of the widow. He is the God of peace, the Father of mercies, and the God of all comfort and conſolation. The Lord is great, and we know him not: His greatneſs is unſearchable. Who but he hath meaſured the waters in the hollow of his hand, and meted out the heavens with a ſpan? Thine, O Lord, is the [197] Greatneſs, and the Power, and the Glory, and the Victory, and the Ma⯑jeſty. Thou art very great, thou art clothed with honour. Heaven is thy throne, and earth is thy footſtool.

Can the mind of a Philoſopher riſe to a more juſt and magnificent, and at the ſame time, a more amiable idea of the Deity, than is here ſet forth in the ſtrongeſt images and moſt emphatical language? And yet this is the language of Shepherds and Fiſhermen. The illite⯑rate Jews and poor perſecuted Chriſtians retained theſe noble ſentiments, while the polite and powerful nations of the earth were given up to that ſottiſh ſort of wor⯑ſhip of which the following elegant de⯑ſcription is extracted from one of the in⯑ſpired Writers.

Who hath formed a God or molten an image that is profitable for nothing? The Smith with the tongs both work⯑eth in the coals and faſhioneth it with hammers and worketh it with the ſtrength of his arms: Yea he is hungry and his ſtrength faileth. He drinketh no water and is faint. A man planteth an aſh, and the rain doth nouriſh it. He burneth part thereof in the fire. [198] He roaſteth Roaſt. He warmeth him⯑ſelf. And the reſidue thereof he maketh a God. He falleth down unto it, and worſhippeth it, and prayeth unto it and ſaith, Deliver me, for thou art my God. None conſidereth in his heart, I have burnt part of it in the fire, yea alſo, I have baked bread upon the coals there⯑thereof: I have roaſted fleſh and eaten it; and ſhall I make the reſidue there⯑of an abomination? Shall I fall down to the Stock of a Tree?

In ſuch circumſtances as theſe▪ for a man to declare for Free-thinking, and diſengage himſelf from the yoke of Ido⯑latry, were doing honour to human na⯑ture, and a work well becoming the great aſſerters of reaſon. But in a Church, where our adoration is directed to the Supreme Being, and (to ſay the leaſt) where is no⯑thing either in the object or manner of worſhip that contradicts the light of Na⯑ture, there, under the pretence of Free-thinking, to rail at the religious inſtitu⯑tions of their Country, ſheweth an un⯑diſtinguiſhing Genius that miſtakes Op⯑poſition for Freedom of thought. And, indeed, notwithſtanding the pretences of some few among our Free-thinkers, I can [199] hardly think there are men ſo ſtupid and inconſiſtent with themſelves, as to have a ſerious regard for natural Religion, and at the ſame time uſe their utmoſt endea⯑vours to deſtroy the credit of thoſe ſa⯑cred Writings, which as they have been the means of bringing theſe parts of the world to the knowledge of natural Reli⯑gion, ſo in caſe they loſe their authority over the minds of men, we ſhould of courſe ſink into the ſame idolatry which we ſee practiſed by other unenlightened nations.

If a perſon who exerts himſelf in the modern way of Free-thinking be not a ſtupid Idolater, it is undeniable that he contributes all he can to the making o⯑ther men ſo, either by ignorance or de⯑ſign; which lays him under the dilemma, I will not ſay of being a Fool or Knave, but of incurring the contempt or dete⯑ſtation of mankind.

IT is owing to pride, and a ſecret af⯑fectation of a certain ſelf-exiſtence, that the nobleſt motive for action that ever was propoſed to man, is not acknowledged the glory and happineſs of their Being. The heart is treacherous to it ſelf, and we do not let our reflecti⯑ons go deep enough to receive religion as the moſt honourable incentive to good and worthy actions. It is our natural weakneſs, to flatter our ſelves into a be⯑lief, that if we ſearch into our inmoſt thoughts, we find our ſelves wholly diſ⯑intereſted, and diveſted of any views ari⯑ſing from ſelf-love and vain-glory. But [201] however ſpirits of ſuperficial greatneſs may diſdain at firſt fight to do any thing, but from a noble impulſe in themſelves, without any future regards in this or an⯑other Being; upon ſtricter enquiry they will find, to act worthily and expect to be rewarded only in another world, is as heroick a pitch of virtue as human na⯑ture can arrive at. If the tenor of our actions have any other motive than the deſire to be pleaſing in the eye of the Deity, it will neceſſarily follow that we muſt be more than men, if we are not too much exalted in proſperity and de⯑preſſed in adverſity: But the Chriſtian world has a leader, the contemplation of whoſe life and ſufferings muſt adminiſter comfort in affliction, while the ſenſe of his Power and Omnipotence muſt give them humiliation in proſperity.

It is owing to the forbidden and un⯑lovely conſtraint with which men of low conceptions act when they think they conform themſelves to religion, as well as to the more odious conduct of hypo⯑crites, that the word Chriſtian does not carry with it at firſt view all that is great, worthy, friendly, generous, and heroick. The man who ſuſpends his [202] hopes of the reward of worthy actions till after death, who can beſtow unſeen, who can overlook hatred, do good to his ſlanderer, who can never be angry at his friend, never revengeful to his ene⯑my, is certainly formed for the benefit of ſociety: Yet theſe are ſo far from he⯑roick virtues, that they are but the or⯑dinary duties of a Chriſtian.

When a man with a ſteady faith looks back on the great cataſtrophe of this day, with what bleeding emotions of heart muſt he contemplate the life and ſuffer⯑ings of his deliverer? When his agonies occur to him, how will he weep to re⯑flect that he has often forgot them for the glance of a wanton, for the applauſe of a vain world, for an heap of fleeting paſt pleaſures, which are at preſent aking ſorrows?

How pleaſing is the contemplation of the lowly ſteps our Almighty Leader took in conducting us to his heavenly manſions! In plain and apt parable, ſi⯑militude, and allegory, our great Maſter enforced the doctrine of our ſalvation; but they of his acquaintance, inſtead of receiving what they could not oppoſe, were offended at the preſumption of be⯑ing [203] wiſer than they: They could not raiſe their little ideas above the conſide⯑ration of him, in thoſe circumſtances familiar to them, or conceive that he who appear'd not more terrible or pom⯑pous, ſhould have any thing more ex⯑alted than themſelves; he in that place therefore would not longer ineffectually exert a power which was incapable of conquering the prepoſſeſſion of their nar⯑row and mean conceptions.

Multitudes follow'd him, and brought him the dumb, the blind, the ſick, and maim'd; whom when their Creator had touch'd, with a ſecond life they ſaw, ſpoke, leap'd, and ran. In affection to him, and admiration of his actions, the crowd could not leave him, but waited near him till they were almoſt as faint and helpleſs as others they brought for ſuccour. He had compaſſion on them, and by a miracle ſupplied their neceſſi⯑ties. Oh, the ecſtatic entertainment, when they could behold their food immediately increaſe to the Diſtributer's hand, and ſee their God in perſon feeding and refreſhing his creatures! Oh envied happineſs! But why do I ſay envied? as if our God did not ſtill preſide over our temperate meals, [204] chearful hours, and innocent converſa⯑tions.

But tho' the ſacred ſtory is every where full of miracles not inferior to this, and tho' in the midſt of those acts of Divi⯑nity he never gave the leaſt hint of a de⯑ſign to become a ſecular Prince, yet had not hitherto the Apoſtles themſelves any other hopes than of worldly power, pre⯑ferment, riches and pomp; for Peter, upon an accident of ambition among the Apoſtles, hearing his Maſter explain that his kingdom was not of this world, was ſo ſcandaliz'd that he whom he had ſo long follow'd ſhould ſuffer the ignominy, ſhame, and death which he foretold, that he took him aſide and ſaid, Be it far from thee, Lord, this ſhall not be unto thee: For which he ſuffered a ſevere reprehenſion from his Maſter, as having in his view the glory of man rather than that of God.

The great change of things began to draw near, when the Lord of Nature thought fit as a Saviour and Deliverer to make his publick entry into Jeruſa⯑lem with more than the power and joy, but none of the oſtentation and pomp of a triumph; he came humble, meek, and [205] lowly: with an unfelt new ecſtacy, mul⯑titudes ſtrewed his way with garments and olive-branches, crying with loud gladneſs and acclamation, Hoſannah to the ſon of David, Bleſſed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord! At this great King's acceſſion to his throne, men were not en⯑nobled, but ſav'd; crimes were not re⯑mitted, but ſins forgiven; he did not be⯑ſtow medals, honours, favours, but health, joy, ſight, ſpeech. The firſt object the blind ever ſaw, was the Author of Sight; while the lame ran before, and the dumb repeated the Hoſannah. Thus attended, he entered into his own houſe, the ſa⯑cred temple, and by his Divine Autho⯑rity expell'd traders and worldlings that profaned it; and thus did he, for a time, uſe a great and deſpotick power, to let unbelievers underſtand, that 'twas not want of, but ſuperiority to, all worldly dominion, that made him not exert it. But is this then the Saviour? is this the Deliverer? Shall this obſeure Nazarene command Iſrael, and ſit on the throne of David? Their proud and diſdainful hearts, which were petrified with the love and pride of this world, were impregnable to the reception of ſo mean a benefactor, [206] and were now enough exaſperated with benefits to conſpire his death. Our Lord was ſenſible of their deſign, and prepa⯑red his diſciples for it, by recounting to 'em now more diſtinctly what ſhould be⯑fal him; but Peter with an ungrounded reſolution, and in a fluſh of temper, made a ſanguine proteſtation, that tho' all men were offended in him, yet would not he be offended. It was a great article of our Saviour's buſineſs in the world, to bring us to a ſenſe of our inability, without God's aſſiſtance, to do any thing great or good; he therefore told Peter, who thought ſo well of his courage and fide⯑lity, that they would both fail him, and even he ſhould deny him thrice that very night.

But what heart can conceive, what tongue utter the ſequel? Who is that yonder buf⯑feted, mock'd, and ſpurn'd? Whom do they drag like a felon? Whither do they carry my Lord, my King, my Saviour, and my God? And will he die to expiate thoſe very injuries? See where they have nailed the Lord and Giver of Life! How his wounds blacken, his body writhes, and heart heaves with pity and with agony! Oh Almighty Sufferer, look down, look down from thy tri⯑umphant [207] infamy: Lo he inclines his head to his ſacred boſom! Hark, he groans! ſee, he expires! The earth trembles, the temple rends, the rocks burſt, the dead ariſe: Which are the quick? Which are the dead? Sure na⯑ture, all nature is departing with her Cre⯑ator.

IF to inform the underſtanding, and regulate the will, is the moſt laſting and diffuſive benefit, there will not be found ſo uſeful and excellent an inſtitu⯑tion as that of the Chriſtian Prieſthood, which is now become the ſcorn of fools. That a numerous order of men ſhould be conſecrated to the ſtudy of the moſt ſub⯑lime and beneficial truths, with a deſign to propagate them by their diſcourſes and writings, to inform their fellow-creatures of the Being and Attributes of the Deity, to poſſeſs their minds with the ſenſe of a future ſtate, and not only to explain the nature of every virtue and moral duty, but likewiſe to perſuade mankind to the practice of them by the moſt powerful and engaging motives, is a thing ſo excellent and neceſſary to the well-being of the world, that no body [208] but a modern Free-thinker could have the forehead or folly to turn it into ridicule.

The light in which theſe points ſhould be expoſed to the view of one who is pre⯑judiced againſt the names, Religion, Church, Prieſt, and the like, is, to conſtider the Clergy as ſo many Philoſophers, the churches as ſchools, and their ſermons as lectures, for the information and improve⯑ment of the audience. How would the heart of Socrates or Tully have rejoiced, had they lived in a nation, where the law had made proviſion for Philoſophers, to read lectures of morality and theolo⯑gy every ſeventh day, in ſeveral thou⯑ſands of ſchools erected at the publick charge throughout the whole country, at which lectures all ranks and ſexes without diſtinction were obliged to be preſent for their general improvement? And what wicked wretches would they think thoſe men, who ſhould endeavour to defeat the purpoſe of ſo divine an in⯑ſtitution?

It is indeed uſual with that low tribe of writers, to pretend their deſign is on⯑ly to reform the Church, and expoſe the vices and not the order of the Clergy. The Author of a pamphlet printed the [209] other day, (which without my men⯑tioning the title, will on this occaſion occur to the thoughts of thoſe who have read it) hopes to inſinuate by that artifice what he is afraid or aſhamed openly to maintain. But there are two points which clearly ſhew what it is he aims at. The firſt is, that he con⯑ſtantly uſes the word Prieſt in ſuch a manner, as that his reader cannot but obſerve he means to throw an odium on the Clergy of the church of England, from their being called by a name which they enjoy in common with Heathens and Impoſtors. The other is, his raking together and exaggerating, with great ſpleen and induſtry, all thoſe actions of church-men, which, either by their own illneſs or the bad light in which he places them, tend to give men an ill impreſſion of the diſpenſers of the Goſpel: All which he pathetically addreſſes to the conſide⯑ration of his wiſe and honeſt countrymen of the laiety. The ſophiſtry and ill-breeding of theſe proceedings are ſo ob⯑vious to men who have any pretence to that character, that I need ſay no more either of them or their author.

THERE is a certain coldneſs and indifference in the phraſes of our European languages, when they are compared with the oriental forms of ſpeech; and it happens very luckily, that the Hebrew idioms run into the Engliſh tongue with a particular grace and beau⯑ty. Our language has received innume⯑rable elegancies and improvements, from that infuſion of Hebraiſms, which are de⯑rived to it out of the poetical paſſages in Holy Writ. They give a force and ener⯑gy to our expreſſions, warm and animate our language, and convey our thoughts [211] in more ardent and intenſe phraſes, than any that are to be met with in our own tongue. There is ſomething ſo pathe⯑tick in this kind of diction, that it often ſets the mind in a flame, and makes our hearts burn within us. How cold and dead does a prayer appear, that is com⯑poſed in the moſt elegant and polite forms of ſpeech, which are natural to our tongue, when it is not heightned by that ſolemnity of phraſe, which may be drawn from the Sacred Writings. It has been ſaid by ſome of the ancients, that if the Gods were to talk with men, they would certainly ſpeak in Plato's ſtyle; but I think we may ſay, with juſtice, that when mortals converſe with their Creator, they cannot do it in ſo proper a ſtyle as in that of the Holy Scriptures.

If any one would judge of the beau⯑ties of poetry that are to be met with in the Divine Writings, and examine how kindly the Hebrew manners of ſpeech mix and incorporate with the Engliſh lan⯑guage; after having peruſed the book of Pſalms, let him read a literal tranſlation of Horace or Pindar. He will find in theſe two laſt ſuch an abſurdity and confuſion of ſtyle, with ſuch a comparative pover⯑ty [212] of imagination, as will make him ve⯑ry ſenſible of what I have been here ad⯑vancing.

Since we have therefore ſuch a treaſury of words, ſo beautiful in themſelves, and ſo proper for the airs of muſick, I can⯑not but wonder that perſons of diſtinction ſhould give ſo little attention and encou⯑ragement to that kind of muſick, which would have its foundation in reaſon, and which would improve our virtue in pro⯑portion as it raiſed our delight. The paſſions that are excited by ordinary compoſitions generally flow from ſuch ſilly and abſurd occaſions, that a man is aſhamed to reflect upon them ſeriouſly; but the fear, the love, the ſorrow, the indignation that are awakened in the mind by hymns and anthems, make the heart better, and proceed from ſuch cauſes as are altogether reaſonable and praiſe⯑worthy. Pleaſure and duty go hand in hand, and the greater our ſatisfaction is, the greater is our religion.

Muſick among thoſe who were ſtyled the choſen people was a religious art. The ſongs of Sion, which we have reaſon to believe were in high repute among the courts of the Eaſtern Monarchs, were [213] nothing elſe but Pſalms and pieces of Poetry that adored or celebrated the Su⯑preme Being. The greateſt conqueror in this Holy Nation, after the manner of the old Grecian Lyricks, did not only compoſe the words of his Divine Odes, but generally ſet them to muſick himſelf: After which, his works, tho' they were conſecrated to the tabernacle, became the national entertainment, as well as the devotion of his people.

The firſt original of the Drama was a religious worſhip conſiſting only of a Chorus, which was nothing elſe but an hymn to a Deity. As luxury and volup⯑tuouſneſs prevailed over innocence and religion, this form of worſhip degene⯑rated into Tragedies; in which however the Chorus ſo far remembered its firſt of⯑fice, as to brand every thing that was vicious, and recommend every thing that was laudable; to intercede with heaven for the innocent, and to implore its ven⯑geance on the criminal.

Homer and Heſiod intimate to us how this art ſhould be applied, when they re⯑preſent the Muſes as ſurrounding Jupiter, and warbling their hymns about his throne. I might ſhew from innumerable [214] ſages in ancient Writers, not only that vocal and inſtrumental muſick were made uſe of in their religious worſhip, but that their moſt favourite diverſions were fil⯑led with ſongs and hymns to their re⯑ſpective Deities. Had we frequent en⯑tertainments of this nature among us, they would not a little purify and exalt our paſſions, give our thoughts a proper turn, and cheriſh thoſe divine impulſes in the ſoul, which every one feels that has not ſtifled them by ſenſual and immoderate pleaſures.

Muſick, when thus applied, raiſes no⯑ble hints in the mind of the hearer, and fills it with great conceptions. It ſtrength⯑ens devotion, and advances praiſe in⯑to rapture. It lengthens out every act of worſhip, and produces more laſting and permanent impreſſions in the mind, than thoſe which accompany any tranſi⯑ent form of words that are uttered in the ordinary method of religious wor⯑ſhip.

DR. Tillotſon, in his diſcourſe con⯑cerning the danger of all known ſin, both from the light of nature and revela⯑tion, after having given us the deſcription of the laſt day out of Holy Writ, has this remarkable paſſage.

I appeal to any man, whether this be not a repreſentation of things very proper and ſuitable to that great day, wherein he who made the world ſhall come to judge it? And whether the wit of man ever deviſed any thing ſo awful, and ſo agreeable to the Majeſty of God, and the ſolemn judgment of the whole world? The deſcription which Virgil makes of the Elyſian Fields, and the Infernal Regions, how infinitely do they fall ſhort of the majeſty of the Holy Scripture, and the deſcription there made of heaven and hell, and of the great and terrible day of the Lord! So that in compariſon they are childiſh and trifling; and yet perhaps he had the moſt regular and moſt govern'd [216] imagination of any man that ever lived, and obſerved the greateſt decorum in his characters and deſcriptions. But who can declare the great things of God, but he to whom God ſhall reveal them?

This obſervation was worthy a moſt polite man, and ought to be of authori⯑ty with all who are ſuch, ſo far as to ex⯑amine whether he ſpoke that as a man of a juſt taſte and judgment, or advanced it merely for the ſervice of his doctrine as a clergyman.

I am very confident whoever reads the Goſpels, with an heart as much prepa⯑red in favour of them as when he ſits down to Virgil or Homer, will find no paſſage there which is not told with more natural force than any epiſode in either of thoſe wits, who were the chief of mere mankind.

The laſt thing I read was the 24th chapter of St. Luke, which gives an ac⯑count of the manner in which our bleſ⯑ſed Saviour, after his reſurrection, joined with two diſciples on the way to Em⯑maus as an ordinary traveller, and took the privilege as ſuch to enquire of them what occaſioned a ſadneſs he obſerved in [217] their countenances; or whether it was from any publick cauſe? Their wonder that any man ſo near Jeruſalem ſhould be a ſtranger to what had paſſed there; their acknowledgment to one they met accidentally that they had believed in this Prophet; and that now, the third day after his death, they were in doubt as to their pleaſing hope which occa⯑ſioned the heavineſs he took notice of, are all repreſented in a ſtyle which men of letters call the great and noble ſimplicity. The attention of the Diſciples, when he expounded the Scriptures concerning himſelf, his offering to take his leave of them, their fondneſs of his ſtay, and the manifeſtation of the great gueſt whom they had entertained while he was yet at meat with them, are all incidents which wonderfully pleaſe the imagination of a Chriſtian reader; and give to him ſome⯑thing of that touch of mind which the brethren felt, when they ſaid one to an⯑other, Did not our hearts burn within us, while he talked with us by the way, and while he opened to us the Scriptures?

I am very far from pretending to treat theſe matters as they deſerve; but I hope thoſe Gentlemen who are qualified for it, [218] and called to it, will forgive me, and conſider that I ſpeak as a meer ſecular man, impartially conſidering the effect which the Sacred Writings will have upon the ſoul of an intelligent reader; and it is ſome argument, that a thing is the immediate work of God, when it ſo infinitely tranſcends all the labours of man. When I look upon Raphael's pi⯑cture of our Saviour appearing to his Diſciples after his reſurrection, I cannot but think the juſt diſpoſition of that piece has in it the force of many volumes on the ſubject: The Evangeliſts are eaſi⯑ly diſtinguiſhed from the reſt by a paſ⯑ſionate zeal and love which the Painter has thrown in their faces; the huddle group of thoſe who ſtand moſt diſtant are admirable repreſentations of men a⯑baſhed with their late unbelief and hard⯑neſs of heart. And ſuch endeavours as this of Raphael, and of all men not cal⯑led to the altar, are collateral helps not to be deſpiſed by the Miniſters of the Goſpel.

'Tis with this view that I preſume up⯑on ſubjects of this kind, and men may take up this paper, and be catched by an admonition under the diſguiſe of a di⯑verſion.

[219]All the arts and ſciences ought to be employed in one confederacy againſt the prevailing torrent of vice and impiety; and it will be no ſmall ſtep in the pro⯑greſs of religion, if it is as evident as it ought to be, that he wants the beſt taſte and beſt ſenſe a man can have, who is cold to the beauty of holineſs.

As for my part, when I have happen⯑ed to attend the corps of a friend to his interment, and have ſeen a graceful man at the entrance of a church-yard, who became the dignity of his function, and aſſumed an authority which is natural to truth, pronounce I am the reſurrection and the life, he that believeth in me, though he were dead yet ſhall he live; and who⯑ſoever liveth and believeth in me ſhall never die: I ſay, upon ſuch an occaſion, the retroſpect upon paſt actions between the deceaſed whom I followed and my ſelf, together with the many little circum⯑ſtances that ſtrike upon the ſoul, and al⯑ternately give grief and conſolation, have vaniſhed like a dream; and I have been relieved as by a voice from heaven, when the ſolemnity has proceeded, and after a long pauſe I have heard the ſer⯑vant of God utter, I know that my Re⯑deemer [220] liveth, and that he ſhall ſtand at the latter day upon the earth; and though worms deſtroy his body, yet in my fleſh ſhall I ſee God; whom I ſhall ſee for my ſelf, and my eyes ſhall behold, and not another. How have I been raiſed above this world and all its regards, and how well prepa⯑red to receive the next ſentence which the holy man has ſpoken, We brought no⯑thing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out; the Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away, bleſſed be the name of the Lord!

There are I know men of heavy tem⯑per without genius, who can read theſe expreſſions of Scripture with as much indifference as they do the reſt of theſe looſe papers: However I will not deſpair but to bring men of wit into a love and admiration of Sacred Writings; and, as old as I am, I promiſe my ſelf to ſee the day when it ſhall be as much the faſhion among men of politeneſs to admire a rap⯑ture of St. Paul, as any fine expreſſion in Virgil or Horace; and to ſee a well-dreſſed young man produce an Evange⯑liſt out of his pocket, and be no more out of countenance than if it were a Claſſick printed by Elzevir.

[221]It is a gratitude that ought to be paid to Providence by men of diſtinguiſhed faculties, to praiſe and adore the Author of their Being with a ſpirit ſuitable to thoſe faculties, and rouſe ſlower men by their words, actions, and writings to a participation of their tranſports and thankſgivings.

AFTER having treated of falſe Zealots in Religion, I cannot for⯑bear mentioning a monſtrous ſpe⯑cies of men, who one would not think had any exiſtence in nature, were they not to be met with in ordinary converſa⯑tion, I mean the Zealots in Atheiſm. One would fancy that theſe men, tho' they fall ſhort, in every other reſpect, of thoſe who make a profeſſion of religion, would at leaſt out-ſhine them in this par⯑ticular, and be exempt from that ſingle fault which ſeems to grow out of the imprudent fervours of religion: But ſo it is, that Infidelity is propagated with as much fierceneſs and contention, wrath and indignation, as if the ſafety of man⯑kind [223] depended upon it. There is ſome⯑thing ſo ridiculous and perverſe in this kind of Zealots, that one does not know how to ſet them out in their proper co⯑lours. They are a ſort of gameſters who are eternally upon the fret, tho' they play for nothing. They are perpetually teiz⯑ing their friends to come over to them, though at the ſame time they allow that neither of them ſhall get any thing by the bargain. In ſhort, the zeal of ſpreading Atheiſm is, if poſſible, more abſurd than Atheiſm it ſelf.

Since I have mentioned this unac⯑countable Zeal which appears in Atheiſts and Infidels, I muſt further obſerve that they are likewiſe in a moſt particular manner poſſeſſed with the ſpirit of bigo⯑try. They are wedded to opinions full of contradiction and impoſſibility, and at the ſame time look upon the ſmalleſt difficulty in an article of faith as a ſufficient reaſon for rejecting it. Notions that fall in with the common reaſon of mankind, that are conformable to the ſenſe of all ages and all nations, not to mention their tendency for promoting the happineſs of ſocieties, or of particular perſons, are ex⯑ploded as errors and prejudices; and [224] ſchemes erected in their ſtead that are al⯑together monſtrous and irrational, and require the moſt extravagant credulity to embrace them. I would fain ask of one theſe bigotted Infidels, ſuppoſing all the great points of Atheiſm, as the caſual or eter⯑nal formation of the world, the materi⯑ality of a thinking ſubſtance, the morta⯑lity of the Soul, the fortuitous organi⯑zation of the body, the motions and gra⯑vitation of matter, with the like particu⯑lars, were laid together and formed into a kind of Creed, according to the opini⯑ons of the moſt celebrated Atheiſts; I ſay, ſuppoſing ſuch a Creed as this were formed, and impoſed upon any one peo⯑ple in the world, whether it would not require an infinitely greater meaſure of faith, than any ſet of articles which they ſo violently oppoſe. Let me therefore adviſe this generation of Wranglers, for their own and for the publick good, to act at leaſt ſo conſiſtently with them⯑ſelves, as not to burn with Zeal for Ir⯑religion, and with Bigotry for Non-ſenſe.

UPon my return to my lodgings laſt night I found a letter from my worthy friend the Clergyman, whom I have given ſome account of in my former papers. He tells me in it that he was particularly pleaſed with the latter part of my yeſterday's ſpeculation; and at the ſame time encloſed the following Eſſay, which he deſires me to publiſh as the ſe⯑quel of that diſcourſe. It conſiſts partly of uncommon reflections, and partly of ſuch as have been already uſed, but now ſet in a ſtronger light.

HAVING endeavoured in my laſt Saturday's paper to ſhew the great excellency of faith, I ſhall here conſider what are the proper means of ſtrength⯑ning and confirming it in the mind of man. Thoſe who delight in reading books of controverſy, which are written on both ſides of the queſtion in points of faith, do very ſeldom arrive at a fixed and ſet⯑tled habit of it. They are one day en⯑tirely convinced of its important truths, and the next meet with ſomething that ſhakes and diſturbs them. The doubt which was laid revives again, and ſhews it ſelf in new difficulties, and that gene⯑rally for this reaſon, becauſe the mind which is perpetually toſt in controverſies and diſputes, is apt to forget the reaſons which had once ſet it at reſt, and to be diſquieted with any former perplexity, when it appears in a new ſhape, or is ſtarted by a different hand. As nothing is more laudable than an enquiry after [233] truth, ſo nothing is more irrational than to paſs away our whole lives, without determining our ſelves one way or other in thoſe points which are of the laſt im⯑portance to us. There are indeed many things from which we may with-hold our aſſent; but in caſes by which we are to regulate our lives, it is the greateſt ab⯑ſurdity to be wavering and unſettled, without cloſing with that ſide which ap⯑pears the moſt ſafe and the moſt proba⯑ble.

The firſt rule therefore which I ſhall lay down is this, that when by reading or diſcourſe we find our ſelves thorough⯑ly convinced of the truth of any article, and of the reaſonableneſs of our belief in it, we ſhould never after ſuffer our ſelves to call it into queſtion. We may per⯑haps forget the arguments which occa⯑ſioned our conviction, but we ought to remember the ſtrength they had with us, and therefore ſtill to retain the convi⯑ction which they once produced. This is no more than what we do in every common art or ſcience, nor is it poſſible to act otherwiſe, conſidering the weak⯑neſs and limitation of our intellectual fa⯑culties. It was thus that Latimer, one [234] of the glorious army of martyrs who in⯑troduced the reformation in England, be⯑haved himſelf in that great conference which was managed between the moſt learned among the Proteſtants and Pa⯑piſts in the reign of Queen Mary. This venerable old man knowing how his abi⯑lities were impaired by age, and that it was impoſſible for him to recollect all thoſe reaſons which had directed him in the choice of his religion, left his com⯑panions, who were in the full poſſeſſion of their parts and learning, to baffle and confound their antagoniſts by the force of reaſon. As for himſelf he only re⯑peated to his adverſaries the articles in which he firmly believed, and in the pro⯑feſſion of which he was determined to die. It is in this manner that the Ma⯑thematician proceeds upon propoſitions which he has once demonſtrated; and though the demonſtration may have ſlipt out of his memory, he builds upon the truth, becauſe he knows it was demon⯑ſtrated. This rule is abſolutely neceſſary for weaker minds, and in ſome meaſure for men of the greateſt abilities.

But to theſe laſt I would propoſe, in the ſecond place, that they ſhould lay [235] up in their memories, and always keep by them in a readineſs, thoſe arguments which appear to them of the greateſt ſtrength, and which cannot be got over by all the doubts and cavils of infide⯑lity.

But, in the third place, there is no⯑thing which ſtrengthens faith more than morality. Faith and morality naturally produce each other. A man is quickly convinced of the truth of religion, who finds it is not againſt his intereſt that it ſhould be true. The pleaſure he receives at preſent, and the happineſs which he promiſes himſelf from it hereafter, will both diſpoſe him very powerfully to give credit to it, according to the ordinary obſervation that we are eaſy to believe what we wiſh. It is very certain, that a man of ſound reaſon cannot forbear clo⯑ſing with religion upon an impartial exa⯑mination of it; but at the ſame time it is as certain, that faith is kept alive in us, and gathers ſtrength from practice more than from ſpeculation.

There is ſtill another method which is more perſuaſive than any of the former, and that is an habitual adoration of the Supreme Being, as well in conſtant acts [236] of mental worſhip, as in outward forms. The devout man does not only believe but feels there is a Deity. He has actual ſenſations of him; his experience con⯑curs with his reaſon; he ſees him more and more in all his intercourſes with him, and even in this life almoſt loſes his faith in conviction.

The laſt method which I ſhall men⯑tion for the giving life to a man's faith, is frequent retirement from the world, accompanied with religious meditation. When a man thinks of any thing in the darkneſs of the night, whatever deep impreſſions it may make in his mind, they are apt to vaniſh as ſoon as the day breaks about him. The light and noiſe of the day, which are perpetually ſolliciting his ſenſes, and calling off his attention, wear out of his mind the thoughts that im⯑printed themſelves in it, with ſo much ſtrength, during the ſilence and dark⯑neſs of the night. A man finds the ſame difference as to himſelf in a crowd and in a ſolitude: The mind is ſtunned and dazzled amidſt that variety of objects which preſs upon her in a great city: She cannot apply herſelf to the conſide⯑ration of thoſe things which are of the [237] utmoſt concern to her. The cares or pleaſures of the world ſtrike in with eve⯑ry thought, and a multitude of vicious examples give a kind of juſtification to our folly. In our retirements every thing diſpoſes us to be ſerious. In courts and cities we are entertained with the works of men; in the country with thoſe of God. One is the province of art, the other of nature. Faith and devotion na⯑turally grow in the mind of every rea⯑ſonable man, who ſees the impreſſions of Divine Power and Wiſdom in every ob⯑ject, on which he caſts his eye. The Supreme Being has made the beſt argu⯑ments for his own Exiſtence, in the for⯑mation of the heavens and the earth, and theſe are arguments which a man of ſenſe cannot forbear attending to, who is out of the noiſe and hurry of human affairs. Ariſtotle ſays, that ſhould a man live un⯑der ground, and there converſe with works of art and mechaniſm, and ſhould afterwards be brought up into the open day, and ſee the ſeveral glories of the heaven and earth, he would immediately pronounce them the works of ſuch a Be⯑ing as we define God to be. The Pſalmiſt has very beautiful ſtrokes of Poetry to [238] this purpoſe, in that exalted ſtrain, The heavens declare the glory of God: And the firmament ſheweth his handy-work. On [...] day telleth another: And one night certifieth another. There is neither ſpeech nor lan⯑guage: But their voices are heard among them. Their ſound is gone out into all lands▪ And their words into the ends of the world As ſuch a bold and ſublime manner of thinking furniſhes very noble matter for an Ode, the reader may ſee it wrought into the following one.

I Am diverted from the account I was giving the town of my particular con⯑cerns, by caſting my eye upon a trea⯑tiſe, which I could not overlook with⯑out an inexcuſable negligence, and want of concern for all the civil, as well as re⯑ligious intereſts of mankind. This piece has for its title, A diſcourſe of free-think⯑ing, occaſioned by the riſe and growth of a ſect called free-thinkers. The Author ve⯑ry methodically enters upon his argu⯑ment, and ſays, By free-thinking I mean the uſe of the underſtanding in endeavouring to find out the meaning of any propoſition whatſoever, in conſidering the nature of the evidence for, or againſt, and in judging of it according to the ſeeming force or weak⯑neſs of the evidence. As ſoon as he has [244] delivered this definition, from which one would expect he did not deſign to ſhew a particular inclination for or againſt any thing before he had conſidered it, he gives up all title to the character of a Free-thinker, with the moſt appa⯑rent prejudice againſt a body of men, whom of all other a good man would be moſt careful not to violate, I mean men in holy orders. Perſons who have devo⯑ted themſelves to the ſervice of God, are venerable to all who fear him; and it is a certain characteriſtick of a diſſo⯑lute and ungovern'd mind, to rail or ſpeak diſreſpectfully of them in general. It is certain, that in ſo great a crowd of men ſome will intrude, who are of tem⯑pers very unbecoming their function; but becauſe ambition and avarice are ſometimes lodged in that boſom, which ought to be the dwelling of ſanctity and devotion, muſt this unreaſonable Author villify the whole order? He has not ta⯑ken the leaſt care to diſguiſe his being an enemy to the perſons againſt whom he writes, nor any where granted that the inſtitution of religious men to ſerve at the altar, and inſtruct ſuch who are not as wiſe as himſelf, is at all neceſſary [245] or deſirable; but proceeds without the leaſt apology, to undermine their cre⯑dit, and fruſtrate their labours: What⯑ever clergy-men in diſputes againſt each other, have unguardedly uttered, is here recorded in ſuch a manner as to affect religion itſelf, by wreſting conceſſions to its diſadvantage from its own teachers. If this be true, as ſure any man that reads the diſcourſe muſt allow it is; and if religion is the ſtrongeſt tie of human ſociety; in what manner are we to treat this our common enemy, who promotes the growth of ſuch a ſect as he calls Free-thinkers: He that ſhould burn a houſe, and juſtify the action by aſſert⯑ing he is a free agent, would be more excuſable than this Author in uttering what he has from the right of a Free-thinker: But they are a ſet of dry, joy⯑leſs, dull fellows, who want capacities and talents to make a figure amongſt mankind upon benevolent and generous principles, that think to ſurmount their own natural meanneſs, by laying offen⯑ces in the way of ſuch as make it their endeavour to excel upon the received maxims and honeſt arts of life. If it were poſſible to laugh at ſo melancholy an af⯑fair [246] as what hazards ſalvation, it would be no unpleaſant enquiry to ask what ſa⯑tisfaction they reap, what extraordinary gratification of ſenſe, or what delicious libertiniſm this ſect of Free-thinkers en⯑joy, after getting looſe of the laws which confine the paſſions of other men? Would it not be a matter of mirth to find, after all, that the heads of this growing ſect are ſober wretches, who prate whole evenings over coffee, and have not them⯑ſelves fire enough to be any further de⯑bauchees, than merely in principle? Theſe ſages of iniquity are, it ſeems, themſelves only ſpeculatively wicked, and are con⯑tented that all the abandoned young men of the age are kept ſafe from reflection by dabbling in their rhapſodies, without taſting the pleaſures for which their do⯑ctrines leave them unaccountable. Thus do heavy mortals, only to gratify a dry pride of heart, give up the intereſts of another world, without enlarging their gratifications in this; but it is certain that there are a ſort of men that can puz⯑zle truth, but cannot enjoy the ſatisfa⯑ction of it. This ſame Free-thinker is a creature unacquainted with the emotions which poſſeſs great minds when they are [247] turned for religion, and it is apparent that he is untouched with any ſuch ſen⯑ſation as the rapture of devotion. What⯑ever one of theſe ſcorners may think, they certainly want parts to be devout; and a ſenſe of piety towards heaven, as well as the ſenſe of any thing elſe, is live⯑ly and warm in proportion to the facul⯑ties of the head and heart. This gentle⯑man may be aſſured he has not a taſte for what he pretends to decry, and the poor man is certainly more a blockhead than an Atheiſt. I muſt repeat, that he wants capacity to reliſh what true piety is; and he is as capable of writing an heroick Poem, as making a fervent Pray⯑er. When men are thus low and nar⯑row in their apprehenſions of things, and at the ſame time vain, they are na⯑turally led to think every thing they do not underſtand, not to be underſtood. Their contradiction to what is urged by others, is a neceſſary conſequence of their incapacity to receive it. The atheiſtical fellows who appeared the laſt age did not ſerve the devil for nought; but re⯑velled in exceſſes ſuitable to their prin⯑ciples, while in theſe unhappy days miſ⯑chief is done for miſchief's ſake. Theſe [248] Free-thinkers, who lead the lives of re⯑cluſe ſtudents, for no other purpoſe but to diſturb the ſentiments of other men put me in mind of the monſtrous re⯑creation of thoſe late wild youths, who, without provocation, had a wantonneſs in ſtabbing and defacing thoſe they met with. When ſuch writers as this, who has no ſpirit but that of malice, pretend to inform the age, Mohocks and Cut-throats may well ſet up for wits and men of pleaſure.

It will be perhaps expected, that I ſhould produce ſome inſtances of the ill intention of this Free-thinker, to ſupport the treatment I here give him. In his 52d page he ſays,

2dly, The Prieſts throughout the world differ about Scriptures, and the autho⯑rity of Scriptures. The Bramins have a book of Scripture called the Shaſter. The Perſees have their Zundavaſtaw. The Bonzes of China have books writ⯑ten by the Diſciples of Fo-he, whom they call the God and Saviour of the world, who was born to teach the way of ſalvation, and to give ſatisfaction for all mens ſins. The Talapoins of Siam have a book of Scripture written by Sommono⯑codom, [249] who, the Siameſe ſay, was born of a Virgin, and was the God expected by the univerſe. The Dervizes have their Alcoran.

I believe there is no one will diſpute the Author's great impartiality in ſetting down the accounts of theſe different re⯑ligions. And I think it is pretty evi⯑dent he delivers the matter with an air, that betrays, the hiſtory of one born of a Virgin has as much authority with him from St. Sommonocodom as from St. Mat⯑thew. Thus he treats revelation. Then as to philoſophy, he tells you, p. 136. Cicero produces this as an inſtance of a pro⯑bable opinion, that they who ſtudy Philoſo⯑phy do not believe there are any Gods; and then, from conſideration of various no⯑tions, he affirms Tully concludes, That there can be nothing after death.

As to what he miſrepreſents of Tully, the ſhort ſentence on the head of this paper is enough to oppoſe; but who can have patience to reflect upon the aſſem⯑blage of impoſtures among which our Author places the religion of his coun⯑try? As for my part, I cannot ſee any poſſible interpretation to give this work, but a deſign to ſubvert and ridicule the [250] authority of Scripture. The peace and tranquility of the nation, and regards even above thoſe, are ſo much concern⯑ed in this matter, that it is difficult to expreſs ſufficient ſorrow for the offender, or indignation againſt him. But if e⯑ver man deſerved to be denied the com⯑mon benefits of air and water, it is the Author of a Diſcourſe of Free-thinking.

AS I was, the other day, taking a ſo⯑litary walk in St. Paul's, I indulged my thoughts in the purſuit of a certain analogy between the Fabrick and the Chriſtian Church in the largeſt ſenſe. The divine order and oeconomy of the one ſeemed to be emblematically ſet forth by the juſt, plain, and majeſtick architecture of the other. And as the one conſiſts of a great variety of parts united in the ſame regular deſign, according to the trueſt art, and moſt exact proportion; ſo the other contains a decent ſubordination of members, various ſacred inſtitutions, ſu⯑blime doctrines, and ſolid precepts of morality digeſted into the ſame deſign, [251] and with an admirable concurrence tend⯑ing to one view, the happineſs and ex⯑altation of human nature.

In the midſt of my contemplation I beheld a Fly upon one of the Pillars; and it ſtraitway came into my head, that this ſame Fly was a Free-thinker. For it required ſome comprehenſion in the eye of the Spectator, to take in at one view the various parts of the building, in or⯑der to obſerve their ſymmetry and de⯑ſign. But to the Fly, whoſe proſpect was confined to a little part of one of the ſtones of a ſingle pillar, the joint beauty of the whole, or the diſtinct uſe of its parts, were inconſpicuous, and no⯑thing could appear but ſmall inequalities in the ſurface of the hewn ſtone, which in the view of that inſect ſeemed ſo ma⯑ny deformed rocks and precipices.

The thoughts of a Free-thinker are em⯑ployed on certain minute particularities of Religion, the difficulty of a ſingle text, or the unaccountableneſs of ſome ſtep of Providence or point of doctrine to his narrow faculties, without com⯑prehending the ſcope and deſign of Chri⯑ſtianity, the perfection to which it rai⯑ſeth human nature, the light it hath ſhed [252] abroad in the world, and the cloſe con⯑nexion it hath as well with the good of publick ſocieties, as with that of parti⯑cular perſons.

This raiſed in me ſome reflections on that frame or diſpoſition which is called largeneſs of mind, its neceſſity towards forming a true judgment of things, and where the Soul is not incurably ſtinted by nature, what are the likelieſt methods to give it enlargement.

It is evident that Philoſophy doth open and enlarge the mind, by the gene⯑ral views to which men are habituated in that ſtudy, and by the contemplation of more numerous and diſtant objects, than fall within the ſphere of mankind in the ordinary purſuits of life. Hence it comes to paſs, that Philoſophers judge of moſt things very differently from the vulgar. Some inſtances of this may be ſeen in the Theaetetus of Plato, where Socrates makes the following remarks, among o⯑thers of the like nature.

When a Philoſopher hears ten thou⯑ſand acres mentioned as a great eſtate, he looks upon it as an inconſider⯑able ſpot, having been uſed to con⯑template the whole globe of earth. [253] Or when he beholds a man elated with the nobility of his race, becauſe he can reckon a ſeries of ſeven rich anceſtors, the Philoſopher thinks him a ſtupid ig⯑norant fellow, whoſe mind cannot reach to a general view of human na⯑ture, which would ſhew him that we have all innumerable anceſtors, among whom are crowds of rich and poor, Kings and Slaves, Greeks and Barbari⯑ans. Thus far Socrates, who was ac⯑counted wiſer than the reſt of the Hea⯑thens, for notions which approach the neareſt to Chriſtianity.

As all parts and branches of Philoſo⯑phy, or ſpeculative knowledge, are uſe⯑ful in that reſpect, Aſtronomy is peculi⯑arly adapted to remedy a little and nar⯑row ſpirit. In that ſcience there are good reaſons aſſigned to prove the ſun an hun⯑dred thouſand times bigger than our earth; and the diſtance of the ſtars ſo prodigious, that a Cannon-bullet conti⯑nuing in its ordinary rapid motion, would not arrive from hence at the neareſt of them, in the ſpace of an hundred and fifty thouſand years. Theſe ideas won⯑derfully dilate and expand the mind. There is ſomething in the immenſity of [254] this diſtance, that ſhocks and over⯑whelms the imagination, it is too big for the graſp of a human intellect: Eſtates, Provinces, and Kingdoms vaniſh at its preſence. It were to be wiſhed a cer⯑tain Prince, who hath encouraged the ſtudy of it in his ſubjects, had been him⯑ſelf a proficient in Aſtronomy. This might have ſhewed him how mean an ambition that was, which terminated in a ſmall part of what is it ſelf but a point, in reſpect of that part of the univerſe which lies within our view.

But the Chriſtian Religion ennobleth and enlargeth the mind beyond any o⯑ther profeſſion or ſcience whatſoever. Upon that ſcheme, while the earth, and the tranſient enjoyments of this life, ſhrink in the narroweſt dimenſions, and are accounted as the duſt of a balance, the drop of a bucket, yea leſs than nothing, the intellectual world opens wider to our view: The perfections of the Deity, the nature and excellence of virtue, the dig⯑nity of the human ſoul, are diſplayed in the largeſt characters. The mind of man ſeems to adapt it ſelf to the different na⯑ture of its objects; it is contracted and debaſed by being converſant in little and [255] low things, and feels a proportionable enlargement ariſing from the contem⯑plation of theſe great and ſublime ideas.

The greatneſs of things is compara⯑tive; and this does not only hold, in re⯑ſpect of extenſion, but likewiſe in reſpect of dignity, duration, and all kinds of perfection. Aſtronomy opens the mind, and alters our judgment, with regard to the magnitude of extended Beings; but Chriſtianity produceth an univerſal great⯑neſs of Soul. Philoſophy encreaſeth our views in every reſpect, but Chriſtianity extends them to a degree beyond the light of nature.

How mean muſt the moſt exalted Po⯑tentate upon earth appear to that eye which takes in innumerable orders of bleſſed Spirits, differing in glory and perfection? How little muſt the amuſements of ſenſe, and the ordinary occupations of mortal men, ſeem to one who is engaged in ſo noble a purſuit, as the aſſimilation of himſelf to the Deity, which is the pro⯑per employment of every Chriſtian!

And the improvement which grows from habituating the mind to the com⯑prehenſive views of Religion muſt not be thought wholly to regard the under⯑ſtanding. [256] Nothing is of greater force to ſubdue the inordinate motions of the heart, and to regulate the will. Whe⯑ther a man be actuated by his paſſions or his reaſon, theſe are firſt wrought up⯑on by ſome object, which ſtirs the ſoul in proportion to its apparent dimenſions. Hence irreligious men, whoſe ſhort pro⯑ſpects are filled with earth, and ſenſe, and mortal life, are invited, by theſe mean ideas, to actions proportionably little and low. But a mind, whoſe views are en⯑lightened and extended by Religion, is animated to nobler purſuits by more ſub⯑lime and remote objects.

There is not any inſtance of weakneſs in the Free-thinkers that raiſes my indig⯑nation more, than their pretending to ri⯑dicule Chriſtians, as men of narrow un⯑derſtandings, and to paſs themſelves up⯑on the world for perſons of ſuperior ſenſe, and more enlarged views. But I leave it to any impartial man to judge which hath the nobler ſentiments, which the greater views; he whoſe notions are ſtinted to a few miſerable inlets of ſenſe, or he whoſe ſentiments are raiſed above the common taſte by the anticipation of thoſe delights which will ſatiate the ſoul, when the [257] whole capacity of her nature is branched out into new faculties? He who looks for nothing beyond this ſhort ſpan of du⯑ration, or he whoſe aims are co-extended with the endleſs length of Eternity? He who derives his Spirit from the elements, or he who thinks it was inſpired by the Almighty?

To the SPECTATOR.

I Am fully perſuaded that one of the beſt ſprings of generous and wor⯑thy actions, is the having generous and worthy thoughts of our ſelves. Whoever has a mean opinion of the dignity of his nature, will act in no higher a rank than he has allotted him⯑ſelf in his own eſtimation. If he con⯑ſiders his Being as circumſcribed by the uncertain term of a few years, his de⯑ſigns will be contracted into the ſame [267] narrow ſpan he imagines is to bound his Exiſtence. How can he exalt his thoughts to any thing great and no⯑ble, who only believes that, after a ſhort turn on the ſtage of this world, he is to ſink into oblivion, and to loſe his Conſciouſneſs for ever?

For this reaſon I am of opinion, that ſo uſeful and elevated a contemplation as that of the Soul's Immortality cannot be reſumed too often. There is not a more improving exerciſe to the human mind, than to be frequently reviewing its own great privileges and endow⯑ments; nor a more effectual means to awaken in us an ambition raiſed above low objects and little purſuits, than to value our ſelves as heirs of eternity.

It is very great ſatisfaction to con⯑ſider the beſt and wiſeſt of mankind in all nations and ages, aſſerting, as with one voice, this their birth-right, and to find it ratify'd by an expreſs revelation. At the ſame time, if we turn our thoughts inward upon our⯑ſelves, we may meet with a kind of ſecret ſenſe concurring with the proofs of our own immortality.

[268] You have, in my opinion, raiſed a good preſumptive argument from the encreaſing appetite the mind has to knowledge, and to the extending its own faculties, which cannot be accom⯑pliſhed, as the more reſtrained perfe⯑ction of lower creatures may, in the limits of a ſhort life. I think another probable conjecture may be raiſed from our appetite to duration it ſelf, and from a reflection on our progreſs thro' the ſeveral ſtages of it: We are com⯑plaining, as you obſerve in a former ſpeculation, of the ſhortneſs of life, and yet are perpetually hurrying over the parts of it, to arrive at certain little ſettlements or imaginary points of reſt, which are diſ⯑perſed up and down in it.

Now let us conſider what happens to us when we arrive at theſe imaginary points of reſt: Do we ſtop our motion, and ſit down ſatisfied in the ſettlement we have gain'd? or are we not remo⯑ving the boundary, and marking out new points of reſt, to which we preſs forward with the like eagerneſs, and which ceaſe to be ſuch as faſt as we at⯑tain them? Our caſe is like that of a traveller upon the Alps, who ſhould [269] fancy that the top of the next hill muſt end his journey, becauſe it terminates his proſpect; but he no ſooner arrives at it, than he ſees new ground and other hills beyond it, and continues to travel on as before.

This is ſo plainly every man's con⯑dition in life, that there is no one who has obſerved any thing, but may obſerve, that as faſt as his time wears away, his appetite to ſomething future remains. The uſe therefore I would make of it, is this; That ſince Nature (as ſome love to expreſs it) does nothing in vain, or, to ſpeak properly, ſince the Author of our Being has planted no wander⯑ing paſſion in it, no deſire which has not its object, Futurity is the proper object of the paſſion ſo conſtantly ex⯑erciſed about it; and this reſtleſſneſs in the preſent, this aſſigning our ſelves over to farther ſtages of duration, this ſucceſſive graſping at ſomewhat ſtill to come, appears to me (whatever it may to others) as a kind of inſtinct or natu⯑ral ſymptom which the mind of man has of its own immortality.

I take it at the ſame time for grant⯑ed, that the Immortality of the ſoul is [270] ſufficiently eſtabliſhed by other argu⯑ments: and if ſo, this appetite, which otherwiſe would be very unaccountable and abſurd, ſeems very reaſonable, and adds ſtrength to the concluſion. But I am amazed when I conſider there are creatures capable of thought, who, in ſpite of every argument, can form to themſelves a ſullen ſatisfaction in thinking otherwiſe. There is ſome⯑thing ſo pitifully mean in the inverted ambition of that man who can hope for annihilation, and pleaſe himſelf to think that his whole fabrick ſhall one day crumble into duſt, and mix with the maſs of inanimate Beings, that it equal⯑ly deſerves our admiration and pity. The myſtery of ſuch mens unbelief is not hard to be penetrated; and indeed amounts to nothing more than a ſor⯑did hope that they ſhall not be immor⯑tal, becauſe they dare not be ſo.

This brings me back to my firſt ob⯑ſervation, and gives me occaſion to ſay further, That as worthy actions ſpring from worthy thoughts, ſo worthy thoughts are likewiſe the conſequence of worthy actions: But the wretch who has degraded himſelf below the cha⯑racter [271] of immortality, is very willing to reſign his pretenſions to it, and to ſubſtitute in its room a dark negative happineſs in his extinction of his Being.

The admirable Shakeſpear has given us a ſtrong image of the unſupported condition of ſuch a perſon in his laſt minutes, in the ſecond part of King Henry the Sixth, where Cardinal Beau⯑fort, who had been concerned in the mur⯑ther of the good Duke Humphrey, is re⯑preſented on his death-bed. After ſome ſhort confuſed ſpeeches which ſhew an imagination diſturbed with guilt, juſt as he is expiring, King Henry ſtanding by him full of compaſſion, ſays,

The deſpair which is here ſhewn, without a word or action on the part of the dying perſon, is beyond what could be painted by the moſt forcible expreſſions whatever.

I ſhall not purſue this thought fur⯑ther, but only add, That as annihila⯑tion is not be had with a wiſh, ſo it is the moſt abject thing in the world to [272] wiſh it. What are honour, ſame, wealth or power, when compared with the ge⯑nerous expectation of a Being without end, and a happineſs adequate to that Being?

THE time preſent ſeldom affords ſuffi⯑cient employment to the mind of man. Objects of pain or pleaſure, love or admiration, do not lie thick enough together in life to keep the Soul in con⯑ſtant action, and ſupply an immediate ex⯑erciſe to its faculties. In order, there⯑fore, to remedy this defect, that the mind may not want buſineſs, but always have materials for thinking, ſhe is endowed with certain powers, that can recal what is paſſed, and anticipate what is to come.

That wonderful faculty, which we call the Memory, is perpetually looking back, when we have nothing preſent to enter⯑tain us. It is like thoſe repoſitories in ſeveral animals, that are filled with ſtores [273] of their former food, on which they may ruminate when their preſent paſture fails.

As the memory relieves the mind in her vacant moments, and prevents any chaſms of thought by ideas of what is paſt, we have other faculties that agitate and employ her upon what is to come. Theſe are the paſſions of hope and fear.

By theſe two paſſions we reach forward into futurity, and bring up to our pre⯑ſent thoughts objects that lie hid in the remoteſt depths of time. We ſuf⯑fer miſery, and enjoy happineſs, before they are in Being; we can ſet the ſun and ſtars forward, or loſe ſight of them by wandring into thoſe retired parts of eternity, when the heavens and earth ſhall be no more.

By the way, who can imagine that the Exiſtence of a creature is to be circum⯑ſcribed by time, whoſe Thoughts are not? But I ſhall, in this paper, confine my ſelf to that particular paſſion which goes by the name of Hope.

Our actual enjoyments are ſo few and tranſient, that man would be a very mi⯑ſerable Being, were he not endowed with this paſſion, which gives him a taſte of thoſe good things that may poſſibly come [274] into his poſſeſſion. We ſhould hope for every thing that is good, ſays the old Poet Linus, becauſe there is nothing which may not be hoped for, and nothing but what the Gods are able to give us. Hope quickens all the ſtill parts of life, and keeps the mind awake in her moſt remiſs and indo⯑lent hours. It gives habitual ſerenity and good humour. It is a kind of vital heat in the ſoul, that chears and gladdens her, when ſhe does not attend to it. It makes pain eaſy, and labour pleaſant.

Beſide theſe ſeveral advantages which riſe from Hope, there is another which is none of the leaſt, and that is, its great efficacy in preſerving us from ſetting too high a value on preſent enjoyments. The ſaying of Caeſar is very well known. When he had given away all his eſtate in gratuities among his friends, one of them asked what he had left for himſelf; to which that great man replied, Hope. His natural magnanimity hindred him from prizing what he was certainly poſ⯑ſeſſed of, and turned all his thoughts up⯑on ſomething more valuable that he had in view. I queſtion not but every rea⯑der will draw a moral from this ſtory, and apply it to himſelf without my direction.

[275]The old ſtory of Pandora's box (which) many of the learned believe was formed among the Heathens upon the tradition of the fall of man) ſhews us how deplo⯑rable a ſtate they thought the preſent life, without Hope: To ſet forth the ut⯑moſt condition of miſery they tell us, that our forefather, according to the Pa⯑gan Theology, had a great veſſel pre⯑ſented him by Pandora: Upon his lifting up the lid of it, ſays the fable, there flew out all the calamities and diſtempers in⯑cident to men, from which, till that time, they had been altogether exempt. Hope, who had been encloſed in the cup with ſo much bad company, inſtead of flying of with the reſt, ſtuck ſo cloſe to the lid of it, that it was ſhut down up⯑on her.

I ſhall make but two reflections upon what I have hitherto ſaid. Firſt, that no kind of life is ſo happy as that which is full of hope, eſpecially when the hope is well grounded, and when the object of it is of an exalted kind, and in its na⯑ture proper to make the perſon happy who enjoys it. This propoſition muſt be very evident to thoſe who conſider how few are the preſent enjoyments of [276] the moſt happy man, and how inſuffi⯑cient to give him an entire ſatisfaction and acquieſcence in them.

My next obſervation is this, That a religious life is that which moſt abounds in a well-grounded Hope, and ſuch an one as is fixed on objects that are capa⯑ble of making us entirely happy. This hope in a religious man, is much more ſure and certain than the hope of any temporal bleſſing, as it is ſtrengthened not only by reaſon, but by faith. It has at the ſame time its eye perpetually fixed on that ſtate, which implies in the very notion of it the moſt full and the moſt compleat happineſs.

I have before ſhewn how the influ⯑ence of hope in general ſweetens life, and makes our preſent condition ſup⯑portable, if not pleaſing; but a religious hope has ſtill greater advantages. It does not only bear up the mind under her ſufferings, but makes her rejoice in them, as they may be the inſtruments of pro⯑curing her the great and ultimate end of all her hope.

Religious hope has likewiſe this ad⯑vantage above any other kind of hope, that it is able to revive the dying man, [277] and to fill his mind not only with ſecret comfort and refreſhment, but ſometimes with rapture and tranſport. He triumphs in his agonies, whilſt the ſoul ſprings forward with delight to the great ob⯑ject which ſhe has always had in view, and leaves the body with an expectation of being re-united to her in a glorious and joyful reſurrection.

I ſhall conclude this Eſſay with thoſe em⯑phatical expreſſions of a lively hope, which the Pſalmiſt made uſe of in the midſt of thoſe dangers and adverſities which ſur⯑rounded him; for the following paſſage had its preſent and perſonal, as well as its fu⯑ture and prophetick ſenſe. I have ſet the Lord always before me: Becauſe he is at right hand I ſhall not be moved. Therefore my heart is glad, and my glory rejoiceth: my fleſh alſo ſhall reſt in hope. For thou wilt not leave my ſoul in hell, neither wilt thou ſuffer thine holy one to ſee corruption. Thou wilt ſhew me the path of life: in thy preſence is fulneſs of joy, at thy right hand there are pleaſures for evermore.

A Lewd young fellow ſeeing an aged Hermit go by him barefoot, Father, ſays he, you are in a very miſerable condition if there is not another world. True, Son, ſaid the Hermit; but what is thy condition if there is? Man is a creature deſigned for two different ſtates of Being, or ra⯑ther, for two different Lives. His firſt life is ſhort and tranſient; his ſecond permanent and laſting. The queſtion we are all concerned in is this, In which of theſe two lives it is our chief intereſt to make our ſelves happy? Or, in other words, Whether we ſhould endeavour to ſecure to ourſelves the pleaſures and [287] gratifications of a life which is uncertain and precarious, and at its utmoſt length of a very inconſiderable duration; or to ſecure to our ſelves the pleaſures of a life which is fixed and ſettled, and will ne⯑ver end? Every man, upon the firſt hear⯑ing of this queſtion, knows very well which ſide of it he ought to cloſe with. But however right we are in Theory, it is plain that in Practice we adhere to the wrong ſide of the queſtion. We make proviſions for this life as tho' it were ne⯑ver to have an End, and for the other life as tho' it were never to have a Be⯑ginning.

Should a Spirit of ſuperior rank who is a ſtranger to human nature, acciden⯑tally alight upon the earth, and take a ſurvey of its inhabitants; what would his notions of us be? Would not he think that we are a ſpecies of Beings made for quite different ends and pur⯑poſes than what we really are? Muſt not he imagine that we were placed in this world to get riches and honours? Would not he think that it was our duty to toil after wealth, and ſtation, and title? Nay, would not he believe we were forbidden Poverty by threats of eternal puniſhment, [288] and enjoined to purſue our pleaſures un⯑der pain of Damnation? He would cer⯑tainly imagine that we were influenced by a ſcheme of duties quite oppoſite to thoſe which are indeed preſcribed to us. And truly, according to ſuch an imagi⯑nation, he muſt conclude that we are a ſpecies of the moſt obedient creatures in the univerſe; that we are conſtant to our duty; and that we keep a ſteddy eye on the end for which we were ſent hither.

But how great would be his aſtoniſh⯑ment, when he learnt that we were Be⯑ings not deſigned to exiſt in this world above threeſcore and ten years? and that the greateſt part of this buſie ſpecies fall ſhort even of that age? How would he be loſt in horrour and admiration, when he ſhould know that this ſett of creatures, who lay out all their endeavours for this life, which ſcarce deſerves the name of Exiſtence, when, I ſay, he ſhould know that this ſett of creatures are to exiſt to all eternity in another life, for which they make no preparations? Nothing can be a greater diſgrace to reaſon, than that men, who are perſuaded of theſe two different ſtates of Being, ſhould be perpetually em⯑ployed in providing for a life of threeſcore [289] and ten years, and neglecting to make proviſion for that, which after many myriads of years will be ſtill new, and ſtill beginning; eſpecially when we con⯑ſider that our endeavours for making our⯑ſelves great, or rich, or honourable, or whatever elſe we place our happineſs in, may after all prove unſucceſsful; where⯑as if we conſtantly and ſincerely endea⯑vour to make ourſelves happy in the o⯑ther life, we are ſure that our endeavours will ſucceed, and that we ſhall not be diſappointed of our hope.

The following queſtion is ſtarted by one of the Schoolmen. Suppoſing the whole body of the earth were a great ball or maſs of the fineſt ſand, and that a ſingle grain or particle of this ſand ſhould be annihilated every thouſand years. Suppoſing then that you had it in your choice to be happy all the while this prodigious maſs of ſand was conſu⯑ming by this ſlow method 'till there was not a grain of it left, on condition you were to be miſerable for ever after; or, ſuppoſing that you might be happy for ever after, on condition you would be miſerable 'till the whole maſs of ſand were thus annihilated at the rate of one ſand in [290] a thouſand years: Which of theſe two caſes would you make your choice?

It muſt be confeſſed in this caſe, ſo many thouſands of years are to the ima⯑gination as a kind of Eternity, tho' in reality they do not bear ſo great a pro⯑portion to that duration which is to follow them, as an Unite does to the greateſt number which you can put together in figures, or as one of thoſe ſands to the ſuppoſed heap. Reaſon therefore tells us, without any manner of heſitation, which would be the better part in this choice. However, as I have before intimated, our reaſon might in ſuch caſe be ſo overſet by the imagination, as to diſpoſe ſome perſons to ſink under the conſideration of the great length of the firſt part of this duration, and of the great diſtance of that ſecond duration which is to ſuc⯑ceed it. The mind, I ſay, might give it ſelf up to that happineſs which is at hand, conſidering that it is ſo very near, and that it would laſt ſo very long. But when the choice we actually have before us is this, Whether we will chuſe to be happy for the ſpace only of threeſcore and ten, nay perhaps of only twenty or ten years, I might ſay of only a day or [291] an hour, and miſerable to all eternity; or, on the contrary, miſerable for this ſhort term of years, and happy for a whole Eternity: What words are ſuffi⯑cient to expreſs that folly and want of conſideration which in ſuch a caſe makes a wrong choice?

I here put the caſe even at the worſt, by ſuppoſing (what ſeldom happens) that a courſe of virtue makes us miſerable in this life: But if we ſuppoſe (as it gene⯑rally happens) that virtue would make us more happy even in this life than a con⯑trary courſe of vice; how can we ſuffi⯑ciently admire the ſtupidity or madneſs of thoſe perſons who are capable of ma⯑king ſo abſurd a choice?

Every wiſe man therefore will conſi⯑der this life only as it may conduce to the happineſs of the other, and chearful⯑ly ſacrifice the Pleaſures of a few years to thoſe of an Eternity.

THE following Eſſay comes from the ingenious Author of the letter upon Novelty, printed in a late Spectator: The notions are drawn from the Platonick way of thinking, but as they contribute to raiſe the mind, and may inſpire noble ſentiments of our own future grandeur and happineſs, I think it well deſerves to be preſented to the publick.

IF the univerſe be the creature of an In⯑telligent Mind, this Mind could have no immediate regard to himſelf in pro⯑ducing it. He needed not to make trial of his Omnipotence, to be informed what effects were within its reach: The world as exiſting in his eternal idea was then as beautiful as now it is drawn forth in⯑to Being; and in the immenſe abyſs of [295] his Eſſence are contained far brighter ſcenes than will be ever ſet forth to view; it being impoſſible that the great Author of Nature ſhould bound his own power by giving Exiſtence to a ſyſtem of crea⯑tures ſo perfect that he cannot improve upon it by any other exertions of his Al⯑mighty Will. Between finite and infi⯑nite there is an unmeaſured interval, not to be filled up in endleſs ages; for which reaſon, the moſt excellent of all God's works muſt be equally ſhort of what his power is able to produce as the moſt im⯑perfect, and may be exceeded with the ſame eaſe.

This thought hath made ſome ima⯑gine, (what, it muſt be confeſt, is not impoſſible) that the unfathomed ſpace is ever teeming with new births, the youn⯑ger ſtill inheriting a greater perfection than the elder. But as this doth not fall within my preſent view, I ſhall content my ſelf with taking notice, that the con⯑ſideration now mentioned proves undeni⯑ably, that the ideal worlds in the Divine Underſtanding yield a proſpect incom⯑parably more ample, various and delight⯑ful than any created world can do: And that therefore as it is not to be ſuppoſed [296] that God ſhould make a world merely of inanimate matter, however diverſified; or inhabited only by creatures of no higher an order than brutes; ſo the end for which he deſigned his reaſonable off⯑ſpring is the contemplation of his works, the enjoyment of himſelf, and in both to be happy, having, to this purpoſe, en⯑dowed them with correſpondent facul⯑ties and deſires. He can have no greater pleaſure from a bare review of his works, than from the ſurvey of his own ideas, but we may be aſſured that he is well pleaſed in the ſatisfaction derived to Be⯑ings capable of it, and, for whoſe enter⯑tainment, he hath erected this immenſe theatre. Is not this more than an inti⯑mation of our Immortality? Man, who when conſidered as on his probation for a happy Exiſtence hereafter is the moſt remarkable inſtance of Divine Wiſdom; if we cut him off from all relation to E⯑ternity, is the moſt wonderful and un⯑accountable compoſition in the whole creation. He hath capacities to lodge a much greater variety of knowledge than he will be ever maſter of, and an unſatisfied curioſity to tread the ſecret paths of nature and providence: But, [297] with this, his organs, in their preſent ſtructure, are rather fitted to ſerve the neceſſities of a vile body, than to mini⯑ſter to his underſtanding? and from the little ſpot to which he is chained, he can frame but wandering gueſſes concerning the innumerable worlds of light that en⯑compaſs him, which, tho' in themſelves of a prodigious bigneſs, do but juſt glimmer in the remote ſpaces of the hea⯑vens; and, when with a great deal of time and pains he hath laboured a little way up the ſteep aſcent of truth, and beholds with pity the groveling multi⯑tude beneath, in a moment, his foot ſlides, and he tumbles down headlong into the grave.

Thinking on this, I am obliged to be⯑lieve, in juſtice to the Creator of the world, that there is another ſtate when man ſhall be better ſituated for contem⯑plation, or rather have it in his power to remove from object to object, and from world to world; and be accommo⯑dated with ſenſes, and other helps, for making the quickeſt and moſt amazing diſcoveries. How doth ſuch a genius as Sir Iſaac Newton, from amidſt the darkneſs that involves human under⯑ſtanding, [298] break forth, and appear like one of another species! The vaſt machine, we inhabit, lies open to him, he ſeems not unacquainted with the general laws that govern it; and while with the tran⯑ſport of a Philoſopher he beholds and admires the glorious work, he is capable of paying at once a more devout and more rational homage to his maker. But alas! how narrow is the proſpect even of ſuch a mind? and how obſcure to the compaſs that is taken in by the ken of an Angel; or of a Soul but newly eſcaped from its impriſonment in the bo⯑dy! For my part, I freely indulge my ſoul in the confidence of its future gran⯑deur; it pleaſes me to think that I who know ſo ſsmall a portion of the works of the Creator, and with ſlow and painful steps creep up and down on the ſurface of this globe, ſhall e'er long ſhoot away with the ſwiftneſs of imagination, trace out the hidden ſprings of nature's ope⯑rations, be able to keep pace with the heavenly bodies in the rapidity of their career, be a spectator of the long chain of events in the natural and moral worlds, viſit the ſeveral apartments of the crea⯑tion, know how they are furniſhed and [299] how inhabited, comprehend the order, and meaſure the magnitudes, and diſtan⯑ces of thoſe orbs, which to us ſeem diſ⯑poſed without any regular deſign, and ſet all in the ſame circle; obſerve the dependance of the parts of each ſyſtem, and (if our minds are big enough to graſp the theory) of the ſeveral ſyſtems upon one another, from whence reſults the harmony of the univerſe. In Eternity a great deal may be done of this kind. I find it of uſe to cheriſh this generous ambition; for beſides the ſecret refreſh⯑ment it diffuſes through my ſoul, it en⯑gages me in an endeavour to improve my faculties, as well as to exerciſe them conformably to the rank I now hold a⯑mong reaſonable Beings, and the hope I have of being once advanced to a more exalted ſtation.

The other, and that the ultimate end of man, is the enjoyment of God, be⯑yond which he cannot form a wiſh. Dim at beſt are the conceptions we have of the Supreme Being, who, as it were, keeps his creatures in ſuſpence, neither diſcovering, nor hiding himſelf; by which means, the Libertine hath a handle to diſ⯑pute his Exiſtence, while the moſt are [300] content to ſpeak him fair, but in their hearts prefer every trifling ſatisfaction to the favour of their Maker, and ridicule the good man for the ſingularity of his choice. Will there not a time come, when the Free-thinker ſhall ſee his im⯑pious ſchemes overturned, and be made a convert to the truths he hates; when deluded mortals ſhall be convinced of the folly of their purſuits, and the few wiſe who followed the guidance of heaven, and, ſcorning the blandiſhments of ſenſe and the ſordid bribery of the world, aſ⯑pired to a celeſtial abode, ſhall ſtand poſ⯑ſeſſed of their utmoſt wiſh in the viſion of the Creator? Here the mind heaves a thought now and then towards him, and hath ſome tranſient glances of his Pre⯑ſence: When, in the inſtant it thinks it ſelf to have the faſteſt hold, the object eludes its expectations, and it falls back tired and baffled to the ground. Doubt⯑leſs there is ſome more perfect way of converſing with heavenly Beings. Are not Spirits capable of mutual intelli⯑gence, unleſs immerſed in bodies, or by their intervention? Muſt ſuperior natures depend on inferior for the main privi⯑lege of ſociable Beings, that of conver⯑ſing [301] with them, and knowing each other? What would they have done, had mat⯑ter never been created? I ſuppoſe, not have lived in eternal ſolitude. As incor⯑poreal ſubſtances are of a nobler order, ſo be ſure, their manner of intercourſe is anſwerably more expedite and inti⯑mate. This method of communication, we call intellectual Viſion, as ſomewhat analogous to the ſenſe of ſeeing, which is the medium of our acquaintance with this viſible world. And in ſome ſuch way can God make himſelf the object of immediate intuition to the Bleſſed; and as he can, 'tis not improbable that he will, always condeſcending, in the cir⯑cumſtances of doing it, to the weakneſs and proportion of finite minds. His works but faintly reflect the Image of his Perfections, 'tis a ſecond-hand know⯑ledge: To have a juſt idea of him, it may be neceſſary that we ſee him as he is. But what is that? 'Tis ſomething, that never entered into the heart of man to conceive; yet, what we can eaſi⯑ly conceive, will be a fountain of un⯑ſpeakable, of everlaſting rapture. All created glories will fade and die away in his Preſence. Perhaps it will be my hap⯑pineſs [302] to compare the world with the fair Exemplar of it in the Divine Mind; perhaps, to view the original plan of thoſe wiſe deſigns that have been execu⯑ting in a long ſucceſſion of ages. Thus em⯑ployed in finding out his works, and con⯑templating their Author! how ſhall I fall proſtrate and adoring, my body ſwallow⯑ed up in the immenſity of matter, my mind in the infinity of his perfections.

IN compaſſion to thoſe gloomy mor⯑tals, who by their unbelief are ren⯑dered incapable of feeling thoſe impreſ⯑ſions of joy and hope, which the ce⯑lebration of the late glorious Eaſter feſti⯑val naturally leaves on the mind of a Chriſtian, I ſhall in this paper endeavour to evince that there are grounds to ex⯑pect a future ſtate, without ſuppoſing in the reader any faith at all, not even the belief of a Deity. Let the moſt ſted⯑faſt unbeliever open his eyes, and take a ſurvey of the ſenſible world, and then ſay if there be not a connexion, an ad⯑juſtment, an exact and conſtant order [303] diſcoverable in all the parts of it. What⯑ever be the cauſe, the thing it ſelf is evi⯑dent to all our faculties. Look into the animal ſyſtem, the paſſions, ſenſes, and locomotive powers; is not the like con⯑trivance and propriety obſervable in theſe too? Are they not fitted to certain ends, and are they not by nature directed to proper objects?

Is it poſſible then that the ſmalleſt bo⯑dies ſhould, by a management ſuperior to the wit of man, be diſpoſed in the moſt excellent manner agreeable to their reſpective natures; and yet the Spirits or Souls of men be neglected, or managed by ſuch rules as fall ſhort of man's un⯑derſtanding? Shall every other paſſion be rightly placed by nature, and ſhall that appetite of Immortality natural to all mankind be alone miſplaced, or deſigned to be fruſtrated? Shall the induſtrious application of the inferior animal powers in the meaneſt vocations be anſwered by the ends we propoſe, and ſhall not the generous efforts of a virtuous mind be rewarded? In a word, Shall the corpo⯑real world be all order and harmony, the intellectual diſcord and confuſion? He who is Bigot enough to believe theſe [304] things, muſt bid adieu to that natural rule, of reaſoning from Analogy; muſt run counter to that maxim of common ſenſe, That men ought to form their judgments of things unexperienced from what they have experienced.

If any thing looks like a recompence of calamitous virtue on this ſide the grave, it is either an aſſurance that there⯑by we obtain the favour and protection of heaven, and ſhall, whatever befalls us in this, in another life meet with a juſt return; or elſe that applauſe and repu⯑tation, which is thought to attend vir⯑tuous actions. The former of theſe, our Free-thinkers, out of their ſingular wiſ⯑dom, and benevolence to makind, en⯑deavour to eraſe from the minds of men. The latter can never be juſtly diſtributed in this life, where ſo many ill actions are reputable, and ſo many good actions diſ⯑eſteemed or miſinterpreted; where ſub⯑tile hypocriſy is placed in the moſt en⯑gaging light, and modeſt virtue lies concealed; where the heart and the ſoul are hid from the eyes of men, and the eyes of men are dimmed and vitiated. Plato's ſenſe in relation to this point is contained in his Gorgias, where he in⯑troduces [305] Socrates ſpeaking after this man⯑ner.

It was in the reign of Saturn pro⯑vided by a law, which the Gods have ſince continued down to this time, That they who had lived virtuouſly and piouſly upon earth, ſhould after death enjoy a life full of happineſs, in cer⯑tain Iſlands appointed for the habi⯑tation of the Bleſſed: But that ſuch as had lived wickedly ſhould go into the receptacle of damned Souls, named Tar⯑tarus, there to ſuffer the puniſhments they deſerved. But in all the reign of Saturn, and in the beginning of the reign of Jove, living judges were ap⯑pointed, by whom each perſon was judged in his life-time in the ſame day on which he was to die. The conſe⯑quence of which was, that they often paſſed wrong judgments. Pluto, there⯑fore, who preſided in Tartarus, and the Guardians of the bleſſed Iſlands, finding that on the other ſide many unfit per⯑ſons were ſent to their reſpective domi⯑nions, complain'd to Jove, who pro⯑miſed to redreſs the evil. He added, the reaſon of theſe unjuſt proceedings are that men are judged in the body. [306] Hence many conceal the blemiſhes and imperfections of their minds by beauty, birth and riches; not to mention, that at the time of trial there are crowds of witneſſes to atteſt their having lived well. Theſe things miſ-lead the judges, who being themſelves alſo of the num⯑ber of the living, are ſurrounded each with his own body, as with a veil thrown over his mind. For the fu⯑ture, therefore, it is my intention that men do not come on their trial till af⯑ter death, when they ſhall appear be⯑fore the judge, diſrobed of all their corporeal ornaments. The judge him⯑ſelf too ſhall be a pure unveiled ſpirit, beholding the very ſoul, the naked ſoul of the party before him. With this view I have already conſtituted my ſons, Minos and Rhadamanthus, judges, who are natives of Aſia; and Aeacus, a native of Europe. Theſe, after death, ſhall hold their court in a certain mea⯑dow, from which there are two roads, leading the one to Tartarus, the other to the Iſlands of the Bleſſed.

From this, as from numberleſs other paſſages of his writings, may be ſeen Plato's opinion of a Future State. A thing [307] therefore in regard to us ſo comfortable, in itſelf ſo juſt and excellent, a thing ſo agreeable to the analogy of nature, and ſo univerſally credited by all orders and ranks of men, of all nations and ages, what is it that ſhould move a few men to reject? Surely there muſt be ſomething of prejudice in the caſe. I appeal to the ſecret thoughts of a Free-thinker, if he does not argue within himſelf after this manner: The ſenſes and faculties I enjoy at preſent are viſibly deſigned to repair, or preſerve the body from the injuries it is liable to in its preſent circumſtances. But in an eternal ſtate where no decays are to be repaired, no outward injuries to be fenced againſt, where there are no fleſh and bones, nerves or blood-veſſels, there will certanly be none of the Senſes: and that there ſhould be a ſtate of life without the Senſes is inconceivable?

But as this manner of reaſoning pro⯑ceeds from a poverty of imagination, and narrowneſs of Soul in thoſe that uſe it, I ſhall endeavour to remedy thoſe de⯑fects, and open their views, by laying before them a caſe which, being natural⯑ly poſſible, may perhaps reconcile them to [308] the belief of what is ſupernaturally re⯑vealed.

Let us ſuppoſe a perſon blind and deaf from his birth, who being grown to man's eſtate, is by the Dead-palſy, or ſome other cauſe, deprived of his Feel⯑ing, Taſting, and Smelling; and at the ſame time has the impediment of his Hearing removed, and the film taken from his eyes: What the five Senſes are to us, that the Touch, Taſte and Smell were to him. And any other ways of perception of a more refined and exten⯑ſive nature were to him as inconceivable, as to us thoſe are which will one day be adapted to perceive thoſe things which Eye hath not ſeen, nor Ear heard, neither hath it entred into the heart of man to con⯑ceive. And it would be juſt as reaſon⯑able in him to conclude, that the loſs of thoſe three Senſes could not poſſibly be ſucceeded by any new inlets of percep⯑tion; as in a modern Free-thinker to ima⯑gine there can be no ſtate of life and per⯑ception without the Senſes he enjoys at preſent. Let us further ſuppoſe the ſame perſon's eyes, at their firſt opening, to be ſtruck with a great variety of the moſt [309] gay and pleaſing objects, and his ears with a melodious conſort of vocal and inſtrumental muſick: Behold him ama⯑zed, raviſhed, tranſported; and you have ſome diſtant repreſentation, ſome faint and glimmering idea of the ecſtatic ſtate of the Soul in that article in which ſhe emerges from this Sepulchre of fleſh into life and immortality.

THE ſame faculty of Reaſon and Underſtanding, which placeth us above the Brute part of the Creation, doth alſo ſubject our minds to greater and more manifold diſquiets than crea⯑tures of an inferior rank are ſenſible of. It is by this that we anticipate future diſaſters, and oft create to ourſelves real pain from imaginary evils, as well as multiply the pangs ariſing from thoſe which cannot be avoided.

It behoves us therefore to make the beſt uſe of that ſublime talent, which, [310] ſo long as it continues the inſtrument of paſſion, will ſerve only to make us more miſerable, in proportion as we are more excellent than other Beings.

It is the privilege of a Thinking Be⯑ing to withdraw from the objects that ſollicit his ſenſes, and turn his thoughts inward on himſelf. For my own part, I often mitigate the pain ariſing from the little miſfortunes and diſappoint⯑ments that chequer human life by this introverſion of my faculties, wherein I regard my own Soul as the image of her Creator, and receive great conſola⯑tion from beholding thoſe perfections which teſtify her Divine Original, and lead me into ſome knowledge of her e⯑verlaſting Archetype.

But there is not any property or cir⯑cumſtance of my Being that I contem⯑plate with more joy than my Immorta⯑lity. I can eaſily overlook any preſent momentary ſorrow, when I reflect that it is in my power to be happy a thou⯑ſand years hence. If it were not for this thought, I had rather be an Oyſter than a Man, the moſt ſtupid and ſenſeleſs of animals than a reaſonable mind tortured [311] with an extream innate deſire of that perfection which it deſpairs to ob⯑tain.

It is with great pleaſure that I be⯑hold Inſtinct, Reaſon and Faith con⯑curring to atteſt this comfortable truth. It is revealed from Heaven, it is diſco⯑vered by Philoſophers, and the ignorant, unenlightened part of mankind have a natural propenſity to believe it. It is an agreeable entertainment to reflect on the various ſhapes under which this do⯑ctrine has appeared in the world. The Pythagorean tranſmigration, the ſenſual habitations of the Mahometan, and the ſhady realms of Pluto, do all agree in the main points, the continuation of our Exiſtence, and the diſtribution of rewards and puniſhments, proportioned to the merits or demerits of men in this life.

But in all theſe ſchemes there is ſome⯑thing groſs and improbable, that ſhocks a reaſonable and ſpeculative mind. Where⯑as nothing can be more rational and ſub⯑lime than the Chriſtian idea of a future State. Eye hath not ſeen, nor ear heard, neither hath it entered into the heart of [312] man to conceive the things which God hath prepared for thoſe that love him. The above-mentioned ſchemes are narrow tranſcripts of our preſent ſtate: But in this indefinite deſcription there is ſomething ineffably great and noble. The mind of man muſt be raiſed to a higher pitch, not only to partake the enjoyments of the Chriſtian Paradiſe, but even to be able to frame any notion of them.

Nevertheleſs, in order to gratify our imagination, and by way of condeſcen⯑ſion to our low way of thinking, the Ideas of Light, Glory, a Crown, &c. are made uſe of to adumbrate that which we cannot directly underſtand. The Lamb which is in the midſt of the throne ſhall feed them, and ſhall lead them into living fountains of waters; and God ſhall wipe a⯑way all tears from their eyes. And there ſhall be no more death, neither ſorrow, nor crying, neither ſhall there be any more pain; for the former things are paſſed away, and behold all things are new. There ſhall be no night there, and they need no candle, neither light of the ſun: for the Lord God giveth them light, and ſhall make them [313] drink of the river of his pleaſures: and they ſhall reign for ever and ever. They ſhall receive a crown of glory which fadeth not away.

Theſe are chearing reflections: And I have often wondered that men could be found ſo dull and phlegmatick, as to prefer the thought of annihilation before them; or ſo ill-natur'd, as to endeavour to perſuade mankind to the disbelief of what is ſo pleaſing and profitable even in the proſpect; or ſo blind, as not to ſee that there is a Deity, and if there be, that this ſcheme of things flows from his attributes, and evidently corre⯑ſponds with the other parts of his cre⯑ation.

I know not how to account for this abſurd turn of thought, except it pro⯑ceed from a want of other employment joined with an affectation of ſingularity. I ſhall, therefore, inform our modern Free-thinkers of two points, whereof they ſeem to be ignorant. The firſt is, that it is not the being ſingular, but be⯑ing ſingular for ſomething that argues either extraordinary endowments of na⯑ture, or benevolent intentions to man⯑kind, [314] which draws the admiration and eſteem of the world. A miſtake in this point naturally ariſes from that con⯑fuſion of thought which I do not re⯑member to have ſeen ſo great inſtances of in any Writers, as in certain modern Free-Thinkers.

The other point is, that there are innumerable objects within the reach of a human mind, and each of theſe objects may be viewed in innumerable lights and poſitions, and the relations ariſing between them are innumerable. There is, therefore, an infinity of things whereon to employ their thoughts, if not with advantage to the world, at leaſt with amuſement to themſelves, and without offence or prejudice to other people. If they proceed to exert their talent of Free-thinking in this way; they may be innocently dull, and no one take any notice of it. But to ſee men with⯑out either Wit or Argument pretend to run down Divine and Human Laws, and treat their fellow-ſubjects with con⯑tempt for profeſſing a belief of thoſe points on which the preſent as well as future intereſt of Mankind depends, is [315] not to be endured. For my own part, I ſhall omit no endeavours to render their perſons as deſpicable, and their practices as odious, in the eye of the world, as they deſerve.

THE following Letter comes to me from that excellent man in Holy Orders, whom I have men⯑tioned more than once as one of that ſociety who aſſiſt me in my ſpecula⯑tions. It is a thought in ſickneſs, and of a very ſerious nature, for which rea⯑ſon I give it a place in the paper of this day.

THE proſpect of death is ſo gloomy and diſmal, that if it were con⯑ſtantly before our eyes, it would imbit⯑ter all the ſweets of life. The gracious Author of our Being hath therefore ſo formed us, that we are capable of ma⯑ny pleaſing ſenſations and reflections, [224] and meet with ſo many amuſements and ſolicitudes, as divert our thoughts from dwelling upon an evil, which by rea⯑ſon of its ſeeming diſtance, makes but languid impreſſions upon the mind. But how diſtant ſoever the time of our death may be, ſince it is certain that we muſt die, it is neceſſary to allot ſome portion of our life to conſider the end of it; and it is highly convenient to fix ſome ſtated times to meditate upon the final period of our Exiſtence here. The prin⯑ciple of ſelf-love, as we are men, will make us enquire, what is like to be⯑come of us after our diſſolution? and our conſcience, as we are Chriſtians, will inform us, that according to the good or evil of our actions here, we ſhall be tranſlated to the manſions of eternal bliſs or miſery. When this is ſeriouſly weighed, we muſt think it madneſs to be unprepared againſt the black mo⯑ment; but when we reflect that perhaps that black moment may be to-night, how watchful ought we to be!

I was wonderfully affected with a diſ⯑courſe I had lately with a Clergyman of my acquaintance upon this head, [325] which was to this effect: The conſi⯑deration, ſaid the good man, that my Being is precarious, moved me many years ago to make a reſolution, which I have diligently kept, and to which I owe the greateſt ſatisfaction that a mortal man can enjoy. Every night before I addreſs my ſelf in private to my Creator, I lay my hand upon my heart, and ask my ſelf, Whether if God ſhould require my Soul of me this night, I could hope for mercy from him? The bitter agonies I un⯑derwent, in this my firſt acquaintance with my ſelf, were ſo far from throw⯑ing me into deſpair of that mercy which is over all God's works, that they rather proved motives to greater circumſpection in my future conduct. The oftner I exerciſed my ſelf in me⯑ditations of this kind, the leſs was my anxiety; and by making the thoughts of death familiar, what was at firſt ſo terrible and ſhocking is become the ſweeteſt of my enjoyments. Theſe con⯑templations have indeed made me ſe⯑rious, but not ſullen; nay, they are ſo far from having ſour'd my temper [326] that as I have a mind perfectly com⯑poſed, and a ſecret ſpring of joy in my heart, ſo my converſation is plea⯑ſant, and my countenance ſerene. I taſte all the innocent ſatisfactions of life pure and ſincere; I have no ſhare in pleaſures that leave a ſting behind them, nor am I cheated with that kind of mirth, in the midſt of which there is heavineſs.