*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 68742 *** THE WORKS OF THE Rev. JOHN WESLEY ┌────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┐ │ │ │ Transcriber’s Notes │ │ │ │ │ │ Punctuation has been standardized. │ │ │ │ The author has used an asterisk (*) to indicate passages he │ │ considers most worthy of attention. │ │ │ │ The text may show quotations within quotations, all set │ │ off by similar quote marks. The inner quotations have been │ │ changed to alternate quote marks for improved readability. │ │ │ │ Characters in small caps have been replaced by all caps. │ │ │ │ Non-printable characteristics have been given the following │ │ Italic text: --> _text_ │ │ emphasized text within │ │ italics --> |text| │ │ │ │ This book was written in a period when many words had │ │ not become standardized in their spelling. Words may have │ │ multiple spelling variations or inconsistent hyphenation in │ │ the text. These have been left unchanged unless indicated │ │ with a Transcriber’s Note. │ │ │ │ The symbol ‘‡’ indicates the description in parenthesis has │ │ been added to an illustration. This may be needed if there │ │ is no caption or if the caption does not describe the image │ │ adequately. │ │ │ │ Footnotes are identified in the text with a superscript │ │ number and are shown immediately below the paragraph in which │ │ they appear. │ │ │ │ Transcriber’s Notes are used when making corrections to the │ │ text or to provide additional information for the modern │ │ reader. These notes are identified by ♦♠♥♣ symbols in the │ │ text and are shown immediately below the paragraph in which │ │ they appear. │ └────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┘ THE WORKS OF THE Rev. JOHN WESLEY, M.A. Late Fellow of _Lincoln-College_, OXFORD. VOLUME V. BRISTOL: Printed by WILLIAM PINE, in _Wine-Street_. MDCCLXXI. THE CONTENTS Of the _Fifth_ VOLUME. An extract from Mr. LAW’s treatise on _Christian Perfection_. CHAP. VI. _Christians are called to a constant state of prayer and devotion._ CHAP. VII. _All Christians are required to imitate the life and example of Jesus Christ._ CHAP. VIII. _An exhortation to Christian Perfection._ An extract from Mr. LAW’s serious _Call_ to a _Holy Life_. CHAP. I. _Concerning the nature and extent of Christian devotion._ CHAP. II. _An enquiry into the reason why the generality of |Christians| fall so short of the holiness and devotion of Christianity._ CHAP. III. _Of the great danger and folly of not |intending| to be as eminent as we can, in the practice of all Christian virtues._ CHAP. IV. _We can please God in no state or employment, but by |intending| and |devoting| it all to his glory._ CHAP. V. _Persons that are free from the necessity of labour and employments, are to consider themselves as devoted to God in a higher degree._ CHAP. VI. _How the imprudent use of an |estate| corrupts all the tempers, and fills the heart with poor and ridiculous passions; represented in the character of |Flavia|._ CHAP. VII. _How the wise and pious use of an estate carrieth us to all the virtues of the Christian life; represented in the character of |Miranda|._ CHAP. VIII. _Shewing all orders of men and women, of all ages, are obliged to devote themselves to God._ CHAP. IX. _Shewing that great devotion fills our lives with the greatest peace and happiness that can be enjoyed in this world._ CHAP. X. _The happiness of a life wholly devoted unto God, farther proved, from the |vanity|, and |ridiculous, poor| enjoyments which they are forced to take up with, who live according to their own humours. This represented in various characters._ CHAP. XI. _That not only a life of |vanity|, or |sensuality|, but even the |most regular| kind of life, that is not governed by great devotion, sufficiently shews its miseries, its wants and emptiness to the eyes of all the world. This represented in various characters._ CHAP. XII. _Concerning that part of devotion which relates to |times| and |hours| of |prayer|. Of daily |early| prayer in the morning. How we may improve our |forms| of prayer, and increase the |spirit| of devotion._ CHAP. XIII. _Recommending devotion at nine o’clock in the morning, called, in scripture, the |third hour| of the day. The subject of these prayers may be humility._ CHAP. XIV. _Shewing how the |education| which men generally receive, makes the doctrines of humility difficult to be practised. The spirit of a better education represented in the character of |Paternus|._ CHAP. XV. _Shewing how the method of educating |daughters|, makes it difficult for them to enter into the spirit of Christian humility. How miserably they are injured and abused by such an education. The spirit of a better education, represented in the ♦character of |Eusebia|._ ♦ ‘charact’ replaced with ‘character’ CHAP. XVI. _Recommending devotion at twelve o’clock, called, in scripture, the |sixth hour| of the day, this frequency of devotion, equally desirable by all orders of people. |Universal love| is recommended to be the subject of prayer at this hour. Of intercession, as an act of universal love._ CHAP. XVII. _Of the necessity and benefit of |intercession|, considered as an exercise of universal love. How all orders of men are to interceed with God for one another: how such intercession amends and reforms the heart._ Illustration: (‡ decoration) An Extract from Mr. LAW’s TREATISE On CHRISTIAN PERFECTION. CHAP. VI. _Christians are called to a constant state of prayer and devotion?_ I. IT is one principal article of our religion to believe that our blessed Saviour is now at the right hand of God, there making _perpetual intercession_ for us, till the redemption of mankind is finished. Prayer therefore is undoubtedly a proper means of drawing near to God; since he who has conquered sin and death, who is Lord of all, is yet as the _great advocate_ for sinners, obliged to make perpetual intercession for them. Whenever therefore we are in the spirit of prayer; when our hearts are lifted up to God, breathing out holy petitions to the throne of grace, we have this encouragement to be _constant_ and _fervent_ in it, that we are then joining with an intercession at the right hand of God, and doing that for ourselves on earth which our blessed Saviour is perpetually doing for us in heaven. This reason of prayer is perhaps not much considered; yet it certainly contains a most powerful motive to it. For who that considers his redemption as now carrying on by an _intercession_ in heaven, can think himself so rightly employed as when the constancy of his own prayers bear some resemblance to that never-ceasing intercession which is made above? This shews us also, that we are most of all to desire those prayers which are offered up at the _altar_, where the body and blood of Christ are joined with them. For as our prayers are only acceptable to God through the merits of Jesus Christ; so we may be sure it is the most prevailing prayer, when we thus pray in the name of _Christ_, and plead his merits in the _highest manner_ we can. II. Devotion may be considered either as an exercise of public or private prayers at set times and occasions; or as a temper of the mind, a state and disposition of the heart, which is rightly affected with such exercises. Now external acts of devotion, are like other external actions, very liable to falseness, and are only so far good as they proceed from a right disposition of heart. Zealous professions of _friendship_ are but hypocrisy, unless there be an equal zeal in the heart; and so solemn prayers are but repeated hypocrisies, unless the heart be _conformable_ to them. Since therefore it is the heart only that is devout, I shall consider devotion chiefly in this respect, as it is a _state_ and _temper_ of heart; for it is in this sense only that _Christians_ are called to a _constant state_ of devotion. They are not to be always upon their knees; but they are to be always in the state of devotion. III. *Friendship does not require us to be always waiting upon our friends in external services; these offices have their times of intermission; it is only the service of the heart that is never to intermit. This is not to begin and end, as external services do; but to persevere like the motion of our heart, or the beating of our pulse. It is just so in devotion; _prayers_ have their _hours_, their beginning and ending, but that turn of mind, that disposition of the heart towards God, which is the life and spirit of prayer, is to be as constant and lasting as our own life and spirit. *The repeating of a _creed_ at certain times is an act of faith; but that faith, which _overcometh_ the _world_, stays neither for times nor seasons, but is a living principle of the soul, that is always believing, trusting and depending upon God. In the same manner verbal prayers are acts of devotion; but that prayer which openeth the gates of heaven, stops not at _forms_ and _manuals_ of devotion; but is a language of the soul, which worships, adores, and delights in God, at all times and seasons. The reason of prayer, like all other duties of piety, is founded in the nature of God, and the nature of man. It is founded in the nature of God, as he is the sole fountain of all happiness; it is founded in the nature of man, as he is weak and helpless, and full of wants. So that prayer is an _earnest application, or ascent of the heart to_ God, _as to the sole cause of all happiness_. He therefore that most truly feels the misery, corruption, and weakness of his own nature; who is most fully convinced that a relief from all these disorders, and a true happiness, is to be found in God alone; he who is most fully convinced of these two truths, is most fully possessed of the spirit of prayer. IV. *Hence we may perceive why people of _learning_, and great _application_ to _books_, who seem to have retired from the corruptions of the world, are yet often not devout. The reason is, because devotion imparts a full sense of the vanity and littleness of _every thing_ but God, whereas it is often the _same vanity_ that wears out scholars in their _studies_, and other people at _court_, in the _camp_, or at _sea_. They do not want to be _merchants_, or _colonels_, or _secretaries of state_; but they want to be critics, grammarians and historians. They, it may be, disregard riches and equipage; despise the sports and diversions of the _present age_; but then it is to contemplate the _riches_ and _equipage_, the sports and diversions of the ancient _Romans_. The vanity of some _ladies_ and _gentlemen_ would be touched, if you should tell them ♦that they did not understand _dress_: some great _scholars_ would be more dejected, if you should suppose them ignorant of a _fold_ in the _Roman garments_. ♦ duplicate word removed ‘that’ The _bulk_ of mankind are so dull and tasteless, and illiterate, as to set their hearts upon _current coin_. But great learning has raised some men above this vulgar grossness of taste. Their heart does not beat but at the sight of a _medal_, or an ancient coin. And they are only afraid of dying before they have out-done the world for their collections of _shells_, _skins_, _stones_, _flies_, and _insects_. V. *When men retire into their studies to _change_ their nature; to _correct_ and _reform_ their passions; to find out the folly, the falseness, the corruption and weakness of their hearts; to penetrate into the vanity and emptiness of all worldly attainments; when they read and meditate, to fill their souls with heavenly affections, and to raise their hearts unto God; when this is _learning_, (and what else deserves the name?) then learning will lead men unto God; then learned men will be devout, and great _scholars_ will be great _saints_. VI. Many people are thus far sincere in their devotions, that they would be glad to pray devoutly; they strive to be fervent, but never attain to it, because they never took the only possible way. They never thought of altering their lives, or of living different from the rest of the world; but hope to be devout merely by reading over books of devotion: which is as odd a fancy, as if a man should expect to be happy, by reading discourses upon happiness. When these people dare take Christianity, as it is offered to them in the gospel; when they deny themselves, and renounce the world, they then will have begun devotion. _Trebonius_ asks how often he shall pray? He thinks the nicety of the question shews the _piety_ of his heart. But _Trebonius_ is deceived, for the question proves, that he is a stranger to devotion. _Trebonius_ has a friend; he is constantly visiting him; he is never well out of his company. If he is absent, letters are sent at all opportunities. Now what is the reason that he never asks how often he shall visit, how often he shall delight in, how often he shall write to his friend? It is because his friend has his heart, and his heart is his faithful and sufficient instructor. When _Trebonius_ has given his heart to God, he will have done asking how often he shall pray. _Julius_ goes to prayers; he confesses himself to be a miserable sinner; he accuses himself to God with all the aggravations that can be, as having no _health_ in him. Yet _Julius_ cannot bear to be informed of any imperfection, or suspected to be wanting in any degree of virtue. Now, can there be a stronger proof, that _Julius_ is wanting in the sincerity of his devotions? Is not this a plain sign, that his confessions to God are only words of _course_, an humble _civility_ of speech to his Maker, in which his heart had no share? If a man was to confess that his _eyes_ were bad, his hands weak, his feet feeble, and his body helpless; he would not be angry with those that supposed he was not in perfect strength. Yet _Julius_ confesses himself to be in great weakness, corruption, disorder, and infirmity; and yet is angry at any one that does but suppose him defective in any virtue. Is it not the same thing as if he had said “you must not imagine that I am in earnest in my devotions”? VII. To live in true devotion, we must daily consider the end and hope of our calling, that all worldly passions and desires may be swallowed up in one great desire of future glory. This devotion to God is signified in scripture, by living _by faith and not by sight_, when the invisible things of the other life, are the reason, the motive, and the measure of all our desires and tempers. And those who thus tend to God in all their motion and desires, are devout every where. This makes their common actions acts of religion, and turns every place into a _chapel_. And it is to this devotion we are all called, not only by particular precepts, but by the whole nature and tenour of our religion. VIII. Now, as all states and tempers of the mind must be supported by actions and exercises suitable to them; so devotion, which is an earnest application of the soul to God, as its only happiness, must be supported and kept alive by actions and exercises suitable to it. The devotion of the heart disposes us to observe set times of prayer; and, on the other hand, set times of prayer increase and enliven the devotion of the heart. It is thus in all other cases: habits of the mind dispose us to actions suitable to them; and these actions strengthen and improve the habits from whence they proceed. *It is the habitual taste for _music_ that carries people to _concerts_; and again, it is _concerts_ that increase the habitual love of _music_: so it is the right disposition of the heart towards God that leads people to outward acts of prayer; and, on the other side, outward acts of prayer preserve and strengthen the right disposition of the heart towards God. As therefore we are to judge of the significancy of our prayers, by looking to the state and temper of our heart; so are we also to judge of the state of our heart by the _frequency_, _constancy_, and _importunity_ of our prayers. For as we are sure that our prayers are insignificant, unless they proceed from a right heart; so unless our prayers be _frequent_, _constant_, and full of _importunity_, we may be sure our heart is not right towards God. IX. Our blessed Saviour has indeed condemned one sort of long prayer. _But, when ye pray, use not vain repetitions, as the Heathens do; for they think they shall be heard for their much speaking_¹. But it is not _length_, or a _continuance_ of prayer that is here forbid; but _vain repetitions_. Nor are the _Heathens_ here condemned for being _importunate_, and _persevering_ in prayer; but for a _wrong judgment_, in that they thought they were heard, because they _spoke much_; that is, often repeated the same words. So that all that Christians are here forbid, is this, to think that the _efficacy_ of prayer consists in vain and long repetitions; yet some imagine, that a _continuance_ of prayer is here reproved, and thence conclude, that shortness is a necessary qualification of prayer. ¹ Matt. vi. 7. But how willing must people be to be deceived, before they can reason in this manner? For the words have plainly no relation to _length_ or _shortness_ of prayer. They no more condemn the one than the other. They only condemn an opinion of the _Heathens_, that the excellency of prayer consisted in a multitude of repetitions. Now, to think that short prayer is better, because it is _short_, is the same error as to hold with the _Heathens_, that it is better because it is often repeated. It is the same mistake in the nature of devotion. X. But supposing the meaning of these words was obscure (which it is not) yet surely it is plain enough, that our Saviour has elsewhere expresly recommended a _continuance_ and _importunity_ in prayer. And how perversely do they read the gospel, who can find this authority against such kind of devotion! For can he who was so often retiring to _deserts_, to _mountains_, to _solitary_ places to pray, who spent _whole nights_ in prayer; can he be supposed to have left a reproof of those who should follow his example? But besides his example, his doctrine is on no point more plain and certain. _He spake a parable unto them to this end, that men ought always to pray and not to faint._ And it is plain to any one that reads it, that it has no other intent but to recommend _continuance_ and _importunity_ in prayer. The widow is relieved; not because she asked relief, but because she _continued_ asking it: And God is said to avenge his elect; not because they cry to him now and then, but because they _cry day and night_. Our blessed Saviour teacheth the same doctrine in another parable, of a person going to his friend to borrow _three loaves_ at midnight, which he concludes thus: _I say unto you, though he would not rise and give him, because he is his friend; yet because of his importunity, he will rise and give him as many as he needeth_. Here again the sole scope of the passage is to shew the efficacy of continuance and importunity in prayer. XI. _Clito_ says he desires no more time for rising, dressing, and saying his prayers, than a quarter of an hour. He tells this to his friends; not to shew his want of religion, but that he may be thought to understand devotion. You tell him that our Saviour’s parables teach _continuance_ and _importunity_ in _prayer_; that the apostles exhort to pray _without ceasing_, to pray _always_; and that devout persons are recorded in scripture as praying _night and day_. Still _Clito_ is for short prayers. He at last finds a text of scripture, and appeals to the example of the _angels_; they only said, _Glory be to_ God _on high, and on earth peace, good-will towards men_. _Clito_ takes this to be an argument for short prayer, because the angels had done so soon. But _Clito_ must be told, that this is no prayer at all; it is only a joyful proclamation to men. And surely the manner of _angels_ speaking to men, can be no rule or measure of men’s speaking to God. The angels had no more to tell the world than this message of joy; but does it therefore follow, that sinners are to be as short in their addresses to God? If _Clito_ must have an example from heaven, he might have found one much more proper than this, where it is said, _That they rest not day and night, saying, holy, holy, holy, Lord |God| Almighty, which was, and is, and is to come_¹. ¹ Rev. iv. 3. XII. There are _two seasons_ of our hearts which we should carefully observe: I mean the _time_ when we are _most affected_ with our devotions, and the _time_ when we are _most indisposed_ to pray. For both these might equally serve to instruct us in the knowledge of ourselves, and how to govern the motions of our hearts. *Reflect with yourself, how it was with you; what circumstance you was in; what had _happened_ to you; what you had been _doing_; when you found yourself _so affected_ with your devotions. Now, if you find out what state you was then in, when you was disposed to pray so fervently, then you have found out a way of raising your devotion at another time. If you was then to put down in _writing_ some short remembrance of the _chief things_ that raised your heart, so that you might have a view of them as often as your mind wanted such assistance, you would find a benefit that would reward your labour. On the contrary, whenever you have found yourself _very much indisposed_ for prayer, reflect with yourself, what _state_ you was then in; what had _happened_ unto you; what _thoughts_ you had in your head; what _passions_ were then awakened; what you had been _doing_, or were _intending_ to do: for when you have found out the state you was then in, you have found out the hindrances of your devotion; and know what things to avoid, if you desire not to quench the Spirit. XIII. If you was here again to make short remembrances in _writing_, of the chief things which rendered you indisposed for prayer, and frequently to read and reflect upon them, you would have a faithful information of what you are most to avoid. If you find that _impertinent visits_, _foolish conversation_, or a day idly spent in _civil compliances_ with other people, have rendered your mind _dull_ and _indisposed_, and less _affected_ with devotion, then you will have found that impertinent visits, and ceremonious compliances in spending our time, are not _little indifferent_ things; but are to be daily watched and guarded against by all those who desire to be daily alive unto God. XIV. They who are for short prayers, because God does not _need_ much intreaty, ought also to shew, that man does not need much prayer; does not _need_ that strength, and light, and help, which arises from _much praying_. For unless this be the state of our hearts, we shall want much prayer to _move_ and _awake_ ourselves; how little soever we suppose necessary to _excite_ the goodness of God. If therefore men would consider prayer, not only as it is an _invocation_ of God, but also as it is an _exercise of holy thoughts_; as it is an endeavour to _feel_ and be affected with the great truths of religion, they would soon see, that tho’ God is so good as not to _need_ much calling upon; yet that man is so weak as to need much assistance, and to be under a constant necessity of that help, and light, and improvement which arises from praying much. When therefore we would know how much we ought to pray, we must consider how much our hearts want to be altered, and remember that the great work of prayer is, to work upon ourselves; it is not to _move_ and affect God, but it is to move and affect our own hearts, and fill them with such tempers as God delights to reward. XV. *Now prayer never so corrects and amends the heart as when we extend it to all the _particulars_ of our state, enumerating all our wants, infirmities, and disorders; not because God needs to be informed of them, but because by this means we inform ourselves, and make our hearts in the best manner acquainted with our true condition. When our prayers thus descend to all the circumstances of our condition, they become a faithful glass to us; and so often as we pray, so often we see ourselves in a true light. Don’t be content therefore with confessing yourself to be a _sinner_, or with praying against sin in _general_: for this will but a little affect your mind; it will only shew you to yourself in such a state as all mankind are in: but if you find yourself out; if you confess and lay open the guilt of your own _particular sins_; if you pray constantly against such particular sins as you find yourself most subject to, the _frequent sight_ of your own sins, and your _constant deploring_ of their guilt, will give your prayers entrance into your hearts, and put you upon measures how to amend. If you confess yourself only to be a _sinner_, you confess yourself to be a _man_; but when you describe and confess your _own particular_ guilt, then you find cause for your own _particular sorrow_; then you give your prayers all the power they can have to affect and wound your heart. In like manner, when you pray for God’s grace, don’t be satisfied with a general petition, but make your prayers suitable to your defects; and continue to ask for such gifts and graces of the Holy Spirit as you find yourself most defective in: for this will give life to your petitions, and make your heart go along with them. XVI. Lastly, this particularity in our prayers is the greatest trial of the _truth_ of our hearts. A man perhaps thinks he prays for humility, because he has the word _humility_ in his prayers; but if he was to branch out humility into all its _particular parts_, he would perhaps find himself not disposed to pray for them. If he was to represent to himself the several particulars which make a man _poor in spirit_, he would find his heart not desirous of them. So that the only way to know our hearts, and whether we really pray for any virtue, is to have all its parts in our prayers, and to ask for it in all its instances. If the _proud_ man was to pray daily for humility in all its kinds, and to beg of God to remove him from all occasions of _such pride_, as is common to his _particular state_, and to disappoint him in all his attempts that were contrary to humility, he would find that such prayers would either conquer his pride, or his pride would put an end to his prayers. For it would be impossible to live long in any instances of pride, if his daily and frequent prayers were petitions against those particular instances. XVII. Let me now only add this one word more, that he who has learned _to pray_, has learned the greatest secret of a holy and happy life. Which way soever else we let loose our hearts, they will return unto us again _empty_ and _weary_. Time will convince the _vainest_ and _blindest_ minds, that happiness is no more to be found in the things of this world, than it is to be dug out of the earth. But when the motions of our hearts are motions of piety, tending to God in constant acts of devotion, then have we found rest unto our souls; then is it that we have conquered the misery of our nature: and neither love nor desire in vain: then is it that we have found out a good that is equal to all our wants: that is, a constant source of comfort and refreshment, that will fill us with peace and joyful expectations here, and eternal happiness hereafter. For he that lives in the spirit of devotion, whose heart is always full of God, lives at the _top_ of human happiness, and is the farthest from all the vanities and vexations which disturb the minds of men devoted to the world. CHAP. VII. _All Christians are required to imitate the life and example of Jesus Christ._ I. OUR religion teaches us, that as we have _borne the image of the earthly, so we shall bear the image of the heavenly_; that after our death we shall rise to a state of life and happiness, like to that life and happiness which our blessed Saviour enjoys at the right hand of God. Since therefore we are to be fellow-heirs with Christ, it is not to be wondered at, that we are to be like Christ in this life, that we may enter into that state of happiness which he enjoys in the kingdom of heaven. II. Not that we are called to the same outward manner of life with his; but to the same spirit and temper, which was the spirit and temper of our blessed Saviour. We are to be like him in heart, to act by the _same rule_, to look towards the _same end_, and to govern our lives by the _same spirit_. This is an imitation of Jesus Christ which is as necessary to salvation as it is to believe in his name. This is the sole end of all the doctrines of Christ, to make us like himself, to fill us with his _spirit_ and _temper_, and make us live according to the rule and manner of his life. As no doctrines are true, but such as are according to the doctrines of Christ, so no life is right, but such as is according to the life of Christ. For he lived as infallibly as he taught; and it is as wrong to vary from his example, as from his doctrines. To live as he lived, is as certainly the one way of living as we ought, as to believe as he taught is the one way of believing as we ought. There is no other way besides this; nothing can possibly bring us to God in heaven, unless we are now one with Christ, and walk as he also walked. For we may as well expect to go to a heaven where Christ is not, as to go to that where he is, without his spirit and temper. If Christians would but suffer themselves to reflect upon this, their own minds would soon convince them of it. For who can find the least reason, why he should not imitate the life of Christ? Or why Christians should think of any other rule of life? It would be as easy to shew that Christ acted amiss, as that we need not act after his example. III. If it should be said, that Jesus was the _Saviour_ of the world, that he was born to redeem mankind, and was the _Son of_ God. It may be answered, that this does not make the life of Christ to be less the _rule_ and _model_ of all Christians. For, as I observed before, it is the spirit and _temper_ of Christ that all Christians are to imitate; they are to do their _proper work_ in that spirit and temper, in which Christ did the work on which he was sent. So that although Christians are not redeemers of the world, as he was; though they have not that great work to finish which he had; yet they have _their_ work to do in the manner that he had _his_; they have their part to act, which though it be a different part, must not be performed with a different spirit; but with such obedience to God, such regard to his glory, and all such holy dispositions, as our blessed Saviour manifested in every part of his life. IV. The blessed Jesus came into the world to save the world. Now we must enter into this same design, and make _salvation_ the business of our lives. And though we cannot contribute towards it like him, yet we must contribute all that we can, and make the salvation of ourselves and others the one care of our lives. The _poor widow’s mites_ were but a small matter in themselves, yet as they were the utmost she could give, our blessed Saviour set them above the larger contributions of the rich. This may encourage people in every state of life to be contented with their _capacity_ of doing good, provided they act up to it. Let no one think that he is too low, too mean and private to follow his Lord in the salvation of souls. Let him but add his mite, and if it be all that he hath, he shall be thought to have done much. Not that all are to be preachers and teachers of religion, no more than all are to be _apostles_, or all _prophets_, or all _workers of miracles_. Christians are like members of one and the same body; they are as different from one another, as hands and eyes, and have as different offices; yet may their different parts promote the same common end. As _the eye cannot say to the hand, I have no need of thee; nor again, the head to the feet, I have no need of you_¹; so neither can the learned teacher say he hath no need of the private, unlearned person. For the work of salvation is carried on by all hands, as well by him that is taught, as by him that teacheth. An _unlearned_ person, by being desirous of instruction, and careful to comply with it, may promote salvation as truly, in a degree, as he that is able and willing to instruct. This teachable disposition may as effectually influence others as another man’s ability and care of teaching. Therefore, though, as the apostle saith, all have _not the gift of healing_, though all do not _speak with tongues_, yet all have _some part_ that they may act in the salvation of mankind, and may follow their Lord and Master in the great work, for which he came down from heaven: we must not then think, that it is the business of _clergymen_ only to carry on the work of salvation; but must remember, that we are engaged in the same business, though not in the same manner. ¹ 1 Cor. xii. 2. V. Had the _poor widow_ thought herself excused from taking care of the treasury; had she thought it belonged only to the _rich_ to contribute to it, she had lost that great commendation which our Saviour bestowed upon her. Now, it may be that some widows are so very poor, as not to have so much as a _mite_ to give to the treasury, who must therefore content themselves with the charity of their hearts; but this can never happen in the business of salvation. Here no one can be so poor, as not to have a _mite_ to contribute towards it. For no circumstances of life can hinder us from being _examples_ of piety, and making our lives a _lesson_ of instruction to all that are about us. And he that lives an exemplary life though his state be ever so _poor_ and _mean_, is largely contributing to the salvation of others, and proving himself the _best_ follower of his Lord and Master. VI. This therefore is the first great instance in which we are to follow the example and spirit of our blessed Saviour. He came to save the world: we must all consider ourselves as called to carry on this _great work_. For how can we think ourselves to be his _followers_, if we do not follow him in that for which he came into the world? How can we be like the Saviour of the world, unless the _salvation_ of the world be our constant care? We cannot save the world as he saved it, but we can contribute our mite towards it. _How knowest thou, O wife, whether thou shalt save thine husband? Or how knowest thou, O man, whether thou shalt save thy wife¹?_ This shews plainly, that _all persons_ may have a share in the salvation of those that are near them, and that they are to consider themselves as expresly called to this great work. For the apostle uses it as the same argument both to husband and wife; which supposes that it is a business in which one is as much concerned as the other. The _woman_ we know is not allowed to speak in the _church_, yet is she entrusted with _some share_ in the salvation of the world; she is supposed equally capable of saving the husband, as the husband of saving the wife. Now what is here said of husband and wife, we must extend to every _state_ and relation; _brothers_ and _sisters_, _friends_ and _neighbours_, must all consider themselves as called to the salvation of one another. How knowest thou, O _sister_, whether thou shalt save thy _brother_? How knowest thou, O _man_, whether thou shalt save thy _neighbour_? Is a way of thinking that ought never to be out of our minds. For this would make brothers and sisters bear with one another, if they consider, that they are to do that for one another which Christ hath done for the whole world. This reflection would turn our anger toward bad relations into care and tenderness for their souls; we should not be glad to get away from them, but give them more of our company, and be more exact in our behaviour towards them; always supposing it possible, that our _good conversation_ may some time or other affect them, and that God may make use of us as a means of their salvation. ¹ 1 Cor. vii. 16. VII. *_Eutropius_ is very good and pious himself; but then his fault is, that he seeks only the conversation of pious and good people. He is careful and exact in his behaviour towards his virtuous friends; always studying to oblige them; but gets away from and avoids those that are of another temper. Now _Eutropius_ should recollect, that this is acting like a _physician_ that would take care of the _healthy_, and disregard those that are _sick_. He should remember, that his irreligious friends and relations are the very persons that are fallen to his care; and that he is as directly called to take care of their salvation, as the husband to take care of the unbelieving wife. _Eutropius_ therefore, if he would imitate his Lord and Master, must apply to the _lost sheep of the house of Israel_, and endeavour by all the innocent arts of pleasing his friends, to gain them to repentance. We must not excuse ourselves from this care, by saying that our relations are obstinate, hardened, and careless; but must support ourselves with the apostle’s argument, How knowest thou, O man, whether thou mayst not at last save thy relation? VIII. The apostle saith, _destroy not him with thy meat, for whom Christ died_¹. We may therefore justly reason thus, that as it lies much in our power to hinder the salvation, so it must, to promote the salvation of those for whom Christ died. Destroy not therefore by thy negligence, by thy impatience, by thy want of care, that relation for whom Christ died; nor think that thou hast done enough, till there is no more that thou canst do. This is the state in which all Christians are appointed by God in their several stations; to carry on that great work, for which Christ came into the world. _Clergymen_ are not the only men that have a _cure_ of souls, but every Christian has some people about him, whose salvation he is obliged to be careful of; with whom he is to live in all godliness and purity, that they may have the benefit of his example and assistance in their duty to God. So that all Christians, though ever so _low_, and _mean_, and _private_, must consider themselves as _hired_ by Christ to work in his vineyard; for as no circumstances of life can hinder us from saving ourselves, so neither can they hinder us from promoting the salvation of others. And though we have, according to our different stations, different parts to act; yet if we are careful of that part which is fallen to our share, we are equally objects of God’s favour. ¹ Rom. xiv. 15. Thou, it may be, art not a _prophet_; God has not honoured thee with this post in his service; yet needest thou not fall short of this happiness: for our Saviour hath said, _He that receiveth a prophet, in the name of a prophet, shall receive a prophet’s reward_. Now this shews us, that though all men have not the same part to act in the common salvation, yet none will be losers by that state they are in, if they be but true to the particular duties of it. If they do all the good they can in their _particular state_, they will be looked upon with such acceptance as the _poor widow_ that gave all that she had. IX. *Hence we may learn the greatness of their folly, who, neglecting the exact performance of such duties as fall within their power, are pleasing themselves with the great things they would do, were they but in another state. _Clemens_ has his head full of imaginary piety. He is often proposing to himself what he would do if he had a great estate. He would outdo all charitable men that are gone before him: he would retire from the world; he would have no equipage; he would allow himself only necessaries, that widows and orphans, the sick and distressed, might find relief out of his estate. He tells you, that all other ways of spending an estate is folly and madness. Now _Clemens_ has at present a moderate estate, which he spends upon himself, in the same vanities and indulgences as other people do. He might live upon one third of his fortune, and make the rest the support of the poor; but he does nothing of all this that is in his power, but pleases himself with what he would do if his power was greater. Come to thy senses, _Clemens_; do not talk what thou wouldest do, if thou wast an _angel_, but consider what thou canst do, as thou art a _man_. Make the best use of thy _present state_; do now as thou thinkest thou wouldest do with a great estate; be _sparing_, _deny_ thyself, abstain from all vanities, that the poor may be better maintained, and then thou art as charitable as thou canst be in any estate. Remember the poor _widow’s mite_. _Fervidus_ is exact in the duties of religion; but then the greatness of his zeal to be doing things that he cannot, makes him overlook those little ways of doing good which are every day in his power. _Fervidus_ is only sorry that he is not in holy orders, and that his life is not spent in a business the most desirable of all things in the world. He is often thinking what reformation he would make in the world, if he was a _priest_ or a _bishop_; he would have devoted himself wholly to God and religion, and have had no other care but how to save souls. But do not believe yourself, _Fervidus_; for if you desired in earnest to be a _clergyman_, that you might devote yourself entirely to the salvation of others, why are you not doing all you can in the state you are now in? Would you take extraordinary care of a _parish_, or a _diocese_, why then are you not as extraordinary in the care of a family? If you think the care of other peoples salvation to be the happiest business in the world, why do you neglect the care of those that are fallen into your hands? Why do you shew no concern for the souls of your servants? If they do their business for which you hired them, you never trouble your head about their Christianity. Nay, _Fervidus_, you are so far from labouring to make those that are about you truly devout and holy, that you almost put it out of their power to be so. You hire a _coachman_ to carry you to church, and to sit in the street with your _horses_, whilst you are attending divine service. You never ask him how he supplies the loss of divine service, or what means he takes to preserve himself in a state of piety. You imagine that if you was a _clergyman_, you would be ready to lay down your life for your flock; yet you cannot lay aside a _little state_ to promote the salvation of your servants. It is not desired of you, _Fervidus_, to die a _martyr_ for your brethren; you are only required to go to _church_ on foot, to spare some _state_ and _attendance_, to bear sometimes with a little _rain_ and _dirt_, rather than keep those souls which are as dear to God and Christ as yours is, from their _full share_ in the common worship of Christians. Do but deny yourself such small matters as these; let us but see that you can take the least trouble to make all your servants and dependants true servants of God, then you shall be allowed to imagine what good you would have done had you been devoted to the altar. X. *_Eugenia_ is a young woman, full of pious dispositions; she is intending, if ever she has a family, to be the _best mistress_ of it that ever was; her house shall be a _school_ of religion, and her children and servants shall be brought up in the strictest piety; she will spend her time, and live in a very different manner from the rest of the world. It may be so, _Eugenia_; you think you intend all this: but you are not yet at the head of a family, and perhaps never may be. But _Eugenia_, you have now one maid, and you do not know what religion she is of; she dresses you for the church; you ask her for what you want, and then leave her to have as little Christianity as she pleases. You turn her away; you hire another; she comes, and goes, no more instructed, or edified in religion, by living with you than if she had lived with any body else. And this comes to pass, because your mind is taken up with greater things, and you reserve yourself to make a whole family religious, if ever you come to be head of it. You need not stay, _Eugenia_, to be so extraordinary a person; the opportunity is now in your hands; you may now spend your time, and live in as different a manner from the rest of the world, as ever you can in any other state. Your _maid_ is your family at present; she is under your care; be now that religious governess that you intend to be; teach her the _catechism_, hear her read, exhort her to pray, take her with you to church, persuade her to love the divine service as you love it; and spare no pains to make her as devout as yourself. When you do thus much good in your present state, then you are that extraordinary person you intend to be; and till you thus live up to your present state, there is but little hopes that the altering your state will alter your way of life. XI. *There is no falseness of our hearts that leads us into greater errors, than imagining, that we shall some time or other be better than we are, or need be now: for _perfection_ has no dependance upon _external_ circumstances; it wants no _times_ or _opportunities_; but is then in its highest state, when we are making the _best use_ of that condition in which we are placed. The _poor widow_ did not stay till she was _rich_ before she contributed to the treasury; she readily brought her mite; and, little as it was, it got her the reward and commendation of great charity. We must therefore all imitate the wisdom of the poor widow, and exercise every virtue in the same manner that she exercised her charity. We must stay for no time or opportunities, wait for no _change_ of _life_, or _fancied abilities_, but remember that every time is a time for piety and perfection. Every thing but piety has its hindrances; but piety, the more it is hindered the higher it is raised. Let us therefore not vainly say, that if we had lived in our Saviour’s days, we would have followed him; or that if we could work miracles, we would devote ourselves to his glory. For, to follow Christ in our present state, and to do all that we are able for his glory, is as acceptable to him, as if we were working miracles in his name. XII. When our blessed Saviour was upon the cross, he thus prayed for his enemies, _Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do_¹. Now all Christians readily acknowledge that this temper of Christ is to be the _exact rule_ of our temper on the like occasion; that we are not to fall short of it, but must be perfectly like Christ in this charity towards our murderers. But then perhaps they do not enough consider, that for the very same reason, every other temper of Christ, is as much the _exact rule_ of all Christians as his temper towards his murderers. For we are to be thus disposed towards our persecutors and murderers, because Christ was so disposed towards his. And is it not as good an argument, that we are to be so and so disposed towards the world, and all worldly enjoyments, because Christ was so disposed towards them? He was as right in one case as the other, and no more erred in his temper towards _worldly things_, than in his temper towards his _enemies_. Should we not fail to be good Christians, if we fell short of that forgiving spirit, which the blessed Jesus shewed upon the cross? And shall we not equally fail to be good Christians, if we fall short of that humble and meek spirit which he shewed in all his life? ¹ Luke xxiii. 34. XIII. The short of the matter is this, the spirit and temper of Christ is the _strict measure_ of the Spirit and temper of all Christians. It is not in this or that particular temper of Christ, that we are to follow his example; but we are to aspire after his whole spirit, to be in all things as he was, and think it as dangerous to depart from his Spirit and temper in one instance as in another. For besides that there is the same authority in all that our Saviour did, which obliges us to conform to his whole example. Can any one tell why we should have more value for this world than our Saviour had? What is there in our _state_ and _circumstances_, that can make it proper for us to have more affection for the things of this life than our Saviour had? Is the world any more our _happiness_, than it was his happiness? Are riches, and honours, and pleasures, any more our _proper good_, than they were his? Are we any more born for this life than our Saviour was? Are we in less danger of being _corrupted_ by its enjoyments than he was? Are we more at leisure to take up _our rest_, and spend our time in worldly satisfactions than he was? Have we a work upon our hands that we can _more easily finish_, than he could finish his? That requires of us less _mortification_ and _self-denial_, less _devotion_ and _watching_, than our Saviour’s required of him? Now as nothing of this can be said; as this world is as little our happiness, and more our danger than it was his; as we have a work to finish that requires _all our strength_, it is plain there was no reason for his disregard of the world, but what is the same reason for us to disregard it in the same manner. XIV. Take another instance of our blessed Saviour’s Spirit, _I came down from heaven_ (says he) _not to do mine own will, but the will of him that sent me_¹. ¹ John vi. 38. And again, _My meat and drink is to do the will of him that sent me_. Now, can any Christian shew, why he may think otherwise of himself, than our Saviour here thought? Or that he need be _less devoted_ to the glory of God than he was? What is there in our nature and _condition_ to make any difference of this kind? Or can any thing else be the happiness of our nature, but that which was the happiness of his? Was he a _loser_? Did he leave the true happiness of _human life_, by devoting himself to the will of God? Or can this be our case, tho’ it was not his? *Can we be _losers_ by looking to God _alone_, and _devoting_ ourselves to his glory? Was it not the greatness and happiness of our Saviour that he lived to God alone? And is there any other greatness or happiness for us? We may as well seek out for another God, as for another happiness, or another way to it, than that in which Christ is gone before us. He did not mistake the nature of _man_, or the nature of the _world_; he did not overlook any _real felicity_, or pass by any _solid good_; he only made the best use of human life; and his spirit and temper is as _necessary_ for our condition as it was for his. For this world, and all the things of the world, signify as _little_ to us as they did to him. We are no more in our _true state_, till we are got out of this world, than he was; and we have no way to arrive at true felicity and greatness, but by so _devoting_ ourselves to God as our blessed Saviour did. We must therefore make it the business, and aim of our lives, to be like Christ: and this not in a _loose_ or _general_ way, but with great _nicety_ and _exactness_, always looking to his _spirit_, to his _ends_ and _designs_, to his _tempers_, to his ways and conversation in the world, as the exact _model_ and _rule_ of ours. ♦XVI. Again, _Learn of me_, (saith our blessed Saviour) _for I am meek and lowly in heart_. ♦ Number XV. omitted in text. *It ought to be observed, that there must be something very _extraordinary_ in these dispositions, from the manner in which we are taught them. It is only in this place, that our Saviour says expresly, _Learn of me_; and when he says, _Learn of me_, he does not say, for I am just and equitable, or kind, or holy, but _I am meek and lowly in heart_; as if he would teach us, that these are the tempers which most of all _distinguish_ his Spirit, and which he most of all requires his followers to learn of him. For consider, does Christ, when he describes himself, chuse to do it by _these tempers_? When he calls upon us to learn of him, does he only mention _these tempers_? And is not this a sufficient proof that these are tempers which the followers of Christ are most of all obliged to learn; and that we are then most _unlike_ to Christ, when we are wanting in them? Now as our great Lord and Master has made these characters the _distinguishing_ characters of his Spirit, it is plain that they are to be the _distinguishing_ characters of our spirit; for we are only so far his, as we are like him. Consider also, was he _more lowly_ than he need have been? Did he practise any degrees of humility that were _unnecessary_? This can no more be said, than he can be charged with folly. But can there be any instances of lowliness which became him, that are not necessary for us? Does our state and condition excuse us from any kind of humility that was necessary for him? Are we higher in our nature, more raised in our condition, or more in the favour of God than he was? Are there _dignities_, _honours_, and _ornaments_ of life, which we may delight in, tho’ he might not? We must own these absurdities, or else acknowledge that we are to breathe the same _lowly spirit_, act with the _same meekness_, and practise the _same humble_ behaviour that he did. So that the matter comes plainly to this conclusion, either that Christ was more humble than his nature and condition required, or we are under a necessity of the same humility, till we can prove, that we are in a higher state than he was. XVII. We see the height of our calling; that we are called to follow the example of our Lord and Master, and to go thro’ this world with his Spirit and temper. Now nothing is so likely a means to fill us with his Spirit and temper, as to be frequent in reading the _gospels_, which contain the history of his life and conversation in the world. We are apt to think, that we have sufficiently read a book, when we have so read it, as to know what it contains. This reading may be sufficient as to many books: but as to the _gospels_, we are not to think that we have read them enough, because we have often read and heard what they contain: but we must read them as we do our _prayers_, not to know what they contain, but to fill our hearts with the spirit of them. There is as much difference betwixt reading and reading, as there is betwixt praying and praying: and as no one prays well, but he that is daily and constant in prayer; so no one can read the scriptures to advantage, but he that is constant in the reading of them. By thus conversing with our blessed Lord; looking into his actions and manner of life; hearing his divine sayings; his heavenly instructions; his accounts of the terrors of the damned; his descriptions of the glory of the righteous, we should find our hearts formed and disposed _to hunger and thirst after righteousness_. Happy they who saw the Son of God upon earth converting sinners, and calling _fallen spirits_ to return to God! And next happy are we, who have his discourses, doctrines, actions, and miracles, which then converted _Jews_ and Heathens into _saints_ and _martyrs_, still preserved to fill us with the same heavenly light, and bring us to the same state of glory! CHAP. VIII. _An exhortation to Christian perfection._ I. WHOEVER hath read the foregoing chapters with attention, is, I hope, sufficiently instructed in the knowledge of Christian perfection. He hath seen that it requireth us to _devote_ ourselves _wholly_ unto God; to make the ends and designs of religion, the ends and designs of all our actions; that it calleth us to be _born again of_ God; to live by the light of his Holy Spirit; to _renounce the world_, and all _worldly tempers_; to practise a constant _universal self-denial_; to make daily war with the corruption of our nature; to shew the power of _divine grace_, by holiness of conversation; to avoid all pleasures and cares which _grieve the Holy Spirit_, and separate him from us; to live in a _daily, constant state_ of prayer and devotion; and, as the crown of all, to imitate the _life and Spirit_ of the Holy Jesus. II. *It now only remains that I exhort the reader to labour after this perfection. Was I to exhort any one to the study of _poetry_ or _eloquence_, to labour to be _rich_ and _great_, or to spend his time in _mathematics_, or other learning, I could only produce such reasons as are fit to delude the vanity of men, who are ready to be taken with any appearance of excellence. For if the same person was to ask me, what it signifies to be a _poet_ or _eloquent_, what advantage it would be to him, to be a great _mathematician_, or a great _statesman_, I must be forced to answer, that these things would signify just as much to him, as they now signify to those poets, orators, mathematicians, and statesmen, whose bodies have been a long while lost among common dust. For if a man will be so thoughtful as to put the question to every human enjoyment, and ask what real good it would bring along with it, he would soon find, that every success in the things of this life, leaves us just in the same state of want and emptiness in which it found us. If a man asks why he should labour to be the first _mathematician_, _orator_, or _statesman_, the answer is easily given, because of the _fame_ and _honour_ of such a distinction; but if he was to ask again, why he should thirst after fame and honour, or what good they would do him, he must stay long enough for an answer. For when we are at the _top_ of all human attainments, we are still at the _bottom_ of all human misery, and have made no farther advancement towards true happiness, than those whom we see in the want of all these excellencies. Whether a man die before he has writ _poems_, compiled _histories_, or raised an _estate_, signifies no more than whether he died an hundred or a thousand years ago. III. On the contrary, when any one is exhorted to labour after Christian perfection, if he then asks what good it will do him, the answer is ready, that it would do him a good which eternity only can measure; that it will deliver him from a state of vanity and misery: that it will raise him from the poor enjoyments of an animal life; that it will give him a glorious body, carry him, in spite of death and the grave, to live with God, be glorious among angels and heavenly beings, and be full of an infinite happiness to all eternity. If therefore we could but make men so reasonable, as to make the shortest enquiry into the nature of things, we should have no occasion to exhort them to strive after Christian perfection. _Two questions_ we see put an end to all the vain projects of human life; they are all so empty and useless to our happiness, that they cannot stand the trial of a _second_ question. And, on the other hand, ’tis but asking, whether Christian perfection tends: and one single thought upon the eternal happiness it leads to, is sufficient to make people _saints_. IV. This shews us how inexcusable all Christians are, who are devoted to the things of this life. It is not because they want _fine parts_, or are unable to make _deep reflections_; but it is because they reject the first principles of _common sense_; they won’t so much as ask what those things are which they are labouring after. Did they but use thus much reason, we need not desire them to be wiser, in order to seek only eternal happiness. As a shadow at the first trial of the hand appears to have no substance; so all human enjoyments sink away into nothing at the first approach of a _serious_ thought. We must not therefore complain of the deceitful appearances of worldly enjoyments, because the lowest degree of reason, if listened to, is sufficient to discover the cheat. If you will, you may _blindly_ do what the rest of the world are doing; you may follow the _cry_, and run yourself out of _breath_ for you know not what: but if you will but shew so much sense, as to ask why you should take such a chace, you will need no deeper a reflection than this to make you leave the broad way; and let the wise and learned, the rich and great, be mad by themselves. Thus much common sense will turn your eyes towards God, will separate you from all the appearances of worldly felicity, and fill you with one only ambition after eternal happiness. V. Suppose _strict sobriety_ was the sole end of man, the necessary condition of happiness, what would you think of those people, who, knowing and believing this to be true, should yet spend their time in getting quantities of all sorts of the _strongest liquors_? What would you think if you saw them constantly enlarging their _cellars_, filling every room with _drams_, and contending who should have the largest quantities of the strongest liquors? Now this is the folly and madness of Christians; they are as wise and reasonable, as they are who are always providing strong liquors, in order to be _strictly sober_. For all the enjoyments of human life, which Christians so aspire after, whether of _riches_, _greatness_, _honours_, or _pleasures_, are as much the dangers and temptations of a Christian, as strong and pleasant liquors are the temptations of a man that is to drink only water. Now if you was to ask such a man, why he is continually increasing his stock of liquors, when he is to abstain from them all, and only to drink water, he can give you as good a reason, as those Christians, who spare no pains to acquire riches, greatness, and pleasures, at the same time that their salvation depends upon their renouncing them all, upon their heavenly-mindedness, humility, and constant self-denial. VI. But it may be you are not devoted to these things; you have a greater soul than to be taken with _riches_, _equipage_, or the _pageantry_ of state; you are deeply engaged in _learning_ and _sciences_. You are squaring the _circle_, or settling the distances of the _stars_, or busy in the study of _exotic plants_. You are comparing the ancient languages, have made deep discoveries in the change of _letters_, and perhaps know how to write an _inscription_ in as obscure characters as if you had lived above two thousand years ago: or, perhaps you are meditating upon the _Heathen theology_, collecting the history of their _Gods_ and _Goddesses_; or, you are scanning some ancient _Greek_ or _Roman_ poet, and making an exact collection of their _scattered_ remains, _scraps_ of sentences, and _broken_ words. You are not exposing your life in the field like a mad _Alexander_ or _Cæsar_; but you are fighting over all their battles in your _study_; you are collecting the names of their _generals_, the number of their troops, the manner of their arms, and can give the world a more exact account of the times, places, and circumstances of their battles, than has yet been seen. VII. You will perhaps ask, whether these are not very commendable enquiries? An excellent use of our time and parts? Whether people may not be very reasonably exhorted to these kind of studies? It may be answered, that all enquiries (however learned they may be reckoned) which do not improve the mind in some useful knowledge, that do not make us wise in _religious wisdom_, are to be reckoned amongst our greatest vanities and follies. All speculations that will not stand this trial, are to be looked upon as the wanderings and impertinencies of a _disordered understanding_. It is strange want of thought to imagine, that an enquiry is ever the better, because it is taken up in _Greek_ and _Latin_. Why is it not as wise and reasonable for a _scholar_ to dwell in the _kitchen_ and converse with _cooks_, as to go into his study, to meditate upon the _Roman_ art of _cookery_, and learn their variety of _sauces_? *A grave _doctor_ in divinity would perhaps think his time very ill employed, that he was acting below his character, if he was to be an _amanuensis_ to some _modern poet_. Why then does he think it suitable with the weight of his calling, to have been a _drudge_ to some _ancient poet_, counting his syllables for several years, only to help the world to read what some _irreligious_, _wanton_, or _epicurean_ poet has wrote? It is certainly a much more reasonable employment to be making _cloaths_, than to spend one’s time in reading or writing volumes upon the _Grecian_ or _Roman_ garments. VIII. If you can shew me a learning that makes man truly sensible of his duty, that fills the mind with _true light_, that reforms the heart, that disposes it right towards God, that makes us more _reasonable_ in all our actions; that inspires us with _fortitude_, _humility_, _devotion_, and contempt of the _world_: that gives us right notions of the _greatness_ of religion, the _sanctity_ of morality, the _littleness_ of every thing but God, the _vanity_ of our passions, and the misery and corruption of our nature, I will own myself an advocate for such learning. But to think that time is well employed, because it is spent in such speculations as the vulgar cannot reach, or because they are fetched from antiquity, or found in _Greek_ or _Latin_, is a folly that may be called as great as any in human life. They who think that these enquiries are consistent with a heart _entirely devoted_ to God, have not enough considered human nature; they would do well to consult our Saviour’s rebuke of _Martha_. She did not seem to have wandered far from her proper business; she was not busy in the history of _house-wifery_, or enquiring into the _original of the distaff_; she was only taken up with present affairs, and _cumbered about much serving_: but our blessed Saviour said unto her, _Martha, Martha, thou art careful and troubled about many things. But one thing is needful._ Now if _scholars_ and _divines_ can shew, that they only apply to such studies as are serviceable to the _one thing needful_; if they are busy in a philosophy and learning that have a necessary connection with the devotion of the heart to God, such learning becomes the followers of Christ; but, if they trifle in _Greek_ and _Latin_, and only assist other people to follow them in the same impertinence, such learning may be reckoned amongst the corruptions of the age. For all the arguments against _pride_, _covetousness_, and _vanity_, are as good arguments against _such learning_; it being the same irreligion to be devoted to any false _learning_, as to be devoted to any other _false good_. A satisfaction in any vain ornaments of the body, whether of _cloaths_ or _paint_, is no greater a mistake, than a satisfaction in the _vain accomplishments_ of the mind. IX. A man that is eager and laborious in the search and study of that which does him _no good_, is the same poor, little soul, as the _miser_ who is happy in his _bags_ that are laid by in dust. A ridiculous application of our _money_, _time_, and _understanding_, is the same fault, whether it be found amongst the finery of _fops_, the hoards of _misers_, or the trinkets of _virtuoso_’s. It is the same false turn of mind, the same mistake of the use of things, the same ignorance of the state of man, and the same offence against religion. *When we see a man brooding over _bags_ of wealth, and labouring to die _rich_, we do not only accuse him of a poor littleness of mind; but we charge him with great guilt; we do not allow such a one to be in a state of religion. Let us therefore suppose that this covetous man was on a sudden changed into another temper; that he was grown _polite_ and _curious_; that he was fond and eager after the most useless things, if they were but _ancient_ and _scarce_; let us suppose that he is now as greedy of _original paintings_, as he was before of _money_; that he will give more for a _dog’s head_, or a _snuff_ of a candle done by a good _hand_, than he ever gave in charity all his life; is he a wiser man, or a better Christian than he was before? Has he more overcome the world, or is he more devoted to God, than when his soul was locked up with his money? Alas! his heart is in the same false satisfaction; he is in the same state of ignorance, is as far from the true good, as much separated from God, as he whose soul is cleaving to the dust; he lives in the same vanity, and must die in the same misery, as he that lives and dies in _foppery_ or covetousness. X. Here therefore I place my argument for _Christian perfection_. I exhort thee to labour after it, because there is nothing else for thee to labour after; there is nothing else that the reason of man can exhort thee to. The whole world has nothing to offer thee in its stead; chuse what other way thou wilt, thou hast chosen nothing but vanity and misery; for all the different ways of the world are only different ways of deluding thyself: this only excells that as one vanity can excel another. If thou wilt make thyself more happy than those who pursue their own destruction, if thou wilt shew thyself wiser than _fops_, more reasonable than _sordid misers_, thou must pursue that happiness, and study that wisdom which leads to God; for every other pursuit, every other way of life, however _polite_ or _plausible_ in the opinion of the world, has a folly and stupidity in it that is equal to the folly and stupidity of _fops_ and _misers_. For awhile shut thine eyes, and think of the _silliest creature_ in human life; imagine to thyself something that thou thinkest the most _poor_ and _vain_ in the way of the world. Now thou art thyself that poor and vain creature, unless thou art devoted to God, and labouring after Christian perfection; unless this be thy difference from the world, thou canst not think of any creature more silly than thyself. For it is not any _post_, or condition, or figure in life, that makes one man wiser or better than another; if thou art a proud _scholar_, a worldly _priest_, an indevout _philosopher_, a crafty _politician_, an ambitious _statesman_, thy imagination cannot invent a way of life that has more of vanity or folly than thine own. XI. Every one has wisdom enough to see what variety of fools and madmen there are in the world. Now perhaps we cannot do better, than to find out the true reason of the folly and madness of any sort of life. Ask thyself therefore wherein consists the folly of any sort of life, which is most condemned in thy judgment. *Is a drunken _fox-hunter_ leading a foolish life? Wherein consists the folly of it? Is it because he is not getting money upon the _exchange_? Or because he is not wrangling at the _bar_? Or not waiting at _court_? No; the folly of it consists in this, that he is not living like a _reasonable creature_; that he is not acting like a being that has a salvation to work out with _fear and trembling_; that he is throwing away his time amongst _dogs_, and noise, and intemperance, which he should devote to watching and prayer, and the improvement of his soul in all holy tempers. Now, if this is the folly (as it most certainly is) of an intemperate _fox-hunter_, it shews us an equal folly in every other way of life, where the same great ends of living are neglected. Tho’ we are shining at the _bar_, making a figure at _court_, great at the _exchange_, or famous in the _schools_ of _philosophy_, we are yet the same despicable creatures as the intemperate _fox-hunter_, if these things keep us as far from holiness and heavenly affections. There is nothing greater in any way of life than _fox-hunting_: it is all the same folly, unless religion be the beginning and ending, the rule and measure of it all. For it is as _noble_ a _wisdom_, and shews as _great_ a _soul_, to die less holy and heavenly for the sake of _hunting_ and _noise_, as for the sake of any thing that the world can give us. XII. Another motive to induce you to aspire after _Christian perfection_, may be taken from the double advantage of it in this life, and that which is to come. The apostle thus exhorts the _Corinthians_, _Wherefore, my beloved brethren, be ye stedfast, immoveable, always abounding in the work of the Lord; for as much as ye know that your labour will not be in vain in the Lord_¹. ¹ 1 Cor. xv. 58. This is an exhortation founded upon solid reason: for what can be so reasonable, as to be always abounding in _that work_ which will never be _in vain_? Whilst we are pleased with ourselves, or pleased with the world, we are pleased with vanity: and our most prosperous labours of this kind are but _vanity of vanities_: but whilst we are labouring after Christian perfection, we are labouring for eternity, and building to ourselves higher stations in the joys of heaven. _As one star differeth from another star in glory, so also is the resurrection of the dead._ We shall surely rise to different degrees of glory, of joy and happiness in God, according to our different advancements in holiness, and good works. No degrees of mortification and self-denial, no private prayers, no secret mournings, no instances of charity, no labour of love, will ever be forgotten, but all treasured up to our everlasting comfort. For though the rewards of the other life are free gifts of God; yet since he has assured us, that every man shall be rewarded according to his works, it is certain that our rewards will be as different as our works have been. XIII. Now stand still awhile, and ask yourself, whether you really believe this to be true, that the more perfect we are here, the more happy we shall be hereafter? If you do not believe this, you know nothing of God and religion. And if you do believe it, is it possible to be _awake_ and not aspiring after Christian perfection? What can you think of, what can the world shew you, that can make you any amends for the loss of _any degree_ of virtue? Can any way of life make it reasonable for you to die _less perfect_ than you might have done? But if you would now devote yourself to God, perhaps you must part with some friends; you must displease some relations, you must refrain from some pleasures, you must alter your life; nay, perhaps you must do more than this, you must expose yourself to the hatred of your friends, to the jest and ridicule of _wits_, and to the scorn and derision of worldly men. But had you not better do and suffer all this, than die _less perfect_, less prepared for eternal glory? And indeed the suffering all this is suffering nothing. For why should it signify any thing to you, what _fools_ and _madmen_ think of you? And surely it can be no wrong or rash judgment to think those both fools and mad, who condemn what God approves, and like that which God condemns: but if you think this too much to be done, to obtain eternal glory, think on the other hand, what can be gained instead of it. *Fancy yourself living in all the ease and pleasure that the world can give you, esteemed by your friends, undisturbed by your enemies, and gratifying all your _natural tempers_. If you could _stand still_ in such a state, you might say that you had got _something_; but alas! every day that is _added_ to such a life, is the same thing as a day taken from it, and shews you that so much happiness is gone from you. For be as happy as you will, you must see it all sinking away from you; you must feel yourself _decline_; you must see that your time _shortens apace_; you must hear of _sudden deaths_; you must fear _sickness_; you must both dread and desire _old age_; you must fall into the hands of death; you must either die in the bitter sorrows of a deep repentance, or in sad gloomy despair, wishing for _mountains to fall upon you, and rocks to cover you_. And is this a happiness to be chosen? Is this all that you can gain by neglecting God, by following your own desires, and not labouring after Christian perfection? Is it worth your while to separate yourself from God, to lose your share in the realms of light, to be _thus happy_; or, I may better say, to be thus miserable even in this life? You may be so blind and foolish, as not to think of these things; but it is impossible to think of them, without labouring after _Christian perfection_. XIV. It may be, you are too young, too happy, or too busy to be affected with these reflections; but let me tell you, that _all_ will be over before you are aware; your _day_ will be spent, and leave you to such a _night_, as that which surprized the _foolish virgins_. _And at midnight there was a cry made, behold the bridegroom cometh, go ye out and meet him¹._ ¹ Matt. xxv. 6. *The _last hour_ will soon be with you, when you will have nothing to look for, but your _reward_ in another life; when you will stand with nothing but _eternity_ before you, and must begin to be something that will be your state for ever. I can no more _reach_ heaven with my hands, than I can describe the sentiments that you then will have; you will then feel motions of heart that you never felt before; all your thoughts and reflections will pierce your soul in a manner, that you never before experienced; and you will feel the immortality of your nature, by the depth and piercing vigour of your thoughts. You will then know what it is to die; you will then know that you never knew it before, that you never thought worthily of it; but that dying thoughts are as _new_ and _amazing_ as that state which follows them. Let me therefore exhort you to come prepared to this time of trial; to look out for comfort, whilst the day is before you; to treasure up such a _fund_ of good and pious works, as may make you able to bear that state, which cannot be borne without them. Could I any way make you apprehend, how dying men feel the want of a pious life; how they lament time lost, health and strength squandered away in folly; how they look at eternity, and what they think of the rewards of another life, you would soon find yourself one of those, who desire to live in the highest state of piety and perfection, that by this means you may grow old in peace, and die in full hope of eternal glory. XV. Consider again, that besides the rewards of the other life, the devoting yourself wholly to God has a great reward even in this life, as it makes religion _doubly_ pleasant to you. Whilst you are divided betwixt God and the world, you have neither the pleasures of religion, nor the pleasures of the world; but are always in the uneasiness of a divided state of heart. You have only so much religion as serves to disquiet you; to check your enjoyments; to shew you a _hand-writing upon the wall_; to interrupt your pleasures; to reproach you with your follies; and to appear as a _death’s head_ at all your feasts; but not religion enough to give you a taste and feeling of its proper pleasures and satisfactions. You dare not wholly neglect religion; but then, you take no more of it than is just sufficient to keep you from being a terror to yourself; and you are as loath to be _very good_, as you are fearful to be _very bad_. So that you are just as happy as the _slave_, that dares not run away from his master, and yet always serves him against his will. Instead of having a religion that is your comfort in all troubles, your religion is itself a _trouble_, under which you want to be comforted; and those days and times hang heaviest on your hands, which leave you only to the offices and duties of religion. _Sunday_ would be very dull and tiresome, but that it is but one day in _seven_, and is made a day of _dressing_ and _visiting_, as well as of divine service. You don’t care to keep away from the public worship, but are always glad when it is over. This is the state of half _piety_; thus they live who add religion to a worldly life; all their religion is mere _yoke_ and _burden_, and is only made tolerable by having but little of their time. XVI. _Urbanus_ goes to church, but he hardly knows whether he goes out of a sense of duty, or to meet his friends. He wonders at those people who are _prophane_, and what pleasure they can find in irreligion; but then, he is in as great a wonder at those who would make every day a day of divine worship. He feels no more of the pleasures of piety, than of the pleasures of prophaneness. As religion has every thing from him but his _heart_, so he has every thing from religion but its _comforts_. _Urbanus_ likes religion, because it seems an _easy_ way of pleasing God; a _decent_ thing, that takes up but little of our time, and is a proper _mixture_ in life: but if he was reduced to take _comfort_ in it, he would be as much at a loss, as those who have lived without God in the world. When _Urbanus_ thinks of joy, and pleasure, and happiness, he does not think at all of religion. He has gone through a hundred misfortunes, fallen into variety of hardships; but never thought of making religion his _comfort_ in any of them. He makes himself quiet and happy in another manner. He is content with his Christianity, not because he is _pious_, but because he is not _prophane_. He continues in the same course of religion, not because of any real good he ever found in it, but because it does him no hurt. *To such poor purposes as these do numbers of people profess Christianity. Let me therefore exhort you to a _solid piety_, to devote yourself wholly unto God; that entering deep into religion, you may enter deep into its comforts; that serving God with all your heart, you may have the peace and pleasure of a heart that is at unity with itself. When your conscience once bears you witness, that you are _stedfast_, _immoveable_, _and always abounding in the work of the Lord_, you will find that your reward is already begun, and that you could not be less devout, less holy, less charitable, or less humble, without lessening the most substantial pleasure that ever you felt in your life. So that to be content with any lower attainments in piety, is to rob ourselves of a present happiness, which nothing else can give us. XVII. You would perhaps devote yourself to perfection, but for this or that _little difficulty_ that lies in your way; you are not in so convenient a state for the full practice of piety as you could wish: but consider that this is nonsense, because perfection consists in conquering difficulties. You could not be perfect as the present state of trial requires, had you not those difficulties and inconveniences to struggle with. These things therefore which you would have removed, are laid in your way, that you may make them so many steps to glory. As you could not exercise your charity, unless you met with objects; so neither could you shew, that you had _overcome_ the world, unless you had many worldly engagements to overcome. If all your _friends_ and _acquaintance_ were devout, humble, heavenly-minded, and wholly intent upon the one end of life, it would be less perfection in you to be like them: But if you are _humble_ amongst those that delight in pride, _heavenly-minded_ amongst the worldly, _sober_ amongst the intemperate, _devout_ amongst the irreligious, and labouring after _perfection_ amongst those that despise and ridicule your labours, then are you truly devoted unto God. Consider therefore, that you can have no difficulty, but such as the world lays in your way; and that perfection is never to be had, but by parting with the world. To stay therefore to be perfect till it suits with your condition in the world, is like staying to be charitable till there were no objects of charity. It is as if a man should intend to be courageous some time or other, when there is nothing left to try his courage. XVIII. Again, you perhaps turn your eyes upon the world; you see all orders of people full of other cares and pleasures; you see the generality of _clergy_ and _laity_, learned and unlearned, your friends and acquaintance, mostly living according to the spirit that reigneth in the world; you are therefore content with such a _piety_ as you think contents great _scholars_ and _famous_ men: and it may be you cannot think that God will reject such numbers of Christians. Now all this is amusing yourself with nothing; it is only losing yourself in vain imaginations; it is making that a _rule_ which is no rule, and cheating yourself into a false satisfaction. As you are not censoriously to damn other people; so neither are you to think your own salvation secure, because you are like the generality of the world. *The _foolish virgins_ that had provided no oil in their lamps, and so were shut out of the marriage-feast, were only thus far _foolish_, that they trusted to the _assistance_ of those that were _wise_: but you are more foolish than they; for you trust to be saved by the folly of others; you imagine yourself safe in the _negligence_, _vanity_, and _irregularity_ of the world; you take confidence in the _broad way_, because it is _broad_; you are content with yourself, because you seem to be along with _the many_, though God himself has told you, that _narrow_ is the way that leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it. XIX. One word more and I have done. Think with yourself, what a happiness it is, that you have it in your power to secure a share in the glories of heaven, and make yourself one of those blessed beings that are to live with God for ever. Reflect upon the glories of bright angels, that shine about the throne of heaven. Think upon that fulness of joy, which is the state of Christ at the right hand of God; and remember that it is this same state of glory and joy that lies open for you. You are less, it may be, in worldly distinctions than many others; but as to your relation to God, you have no superior upon earth. Let your condition be what it will, let your life be ever so mean, you may make the end of it the beginning of eternal glory. Be often therefore in these reflections, that they may fill you with a wise ambition of all that glory which God in Christ hath called you to. For it is impossible to understand and feel any thing of this, without feeling your heart affected with strong desires after it. There are many things in human life which it would be in vain for you to aspire after; but the happiness of the next, the sum of all happiness, is secure and safe to you against all accidents. Here no chances or misfortunes can prevent your success; neither can the treachery of friends, nor the malice of enemies disappoint you; it is only your own false heart that can rob you of this happiness. Be but your own true friend, and then you have nothing to fear from your enemies. Do but you sincerely labour in the Lord, and then neither heighth nor depth, neither life nor death, neither men or devils, can make your labour vain. An Extract from Mr. LAW’s SERIOUS CALL TO A HOLY LIFE. CHAP. I. _Concerning the nature and extent of Christian devotion._ 1. DEVOTION is neither _private_ nor _public_ prayer; but prayers, whether private or public, are particular parts or instances of devotion. Devotion signifies a life _devoted_ to God. He therefore is the _devout_ man, who lives no longer to his own _will_, or the _way_ and _spirit_ of the world, but to the sole will of God; who considers God in every thing, who serves God in every thing, who makes all the parts of his _common_ life, parts of piety, by doing every thing in the name of God, and under such rules as are conformable to his glory. 2. *We readily acknowledge, that God alone is to be the rule and measure of our _prayers_; that in them we are to look _wholly_ unto him, and act _wholly_ for him; that we are only to pray in _such a manner_, for _such things_, and _such ends_, as are suitable to his glory. Now let any one but find out the reason why he is to be thus strictly pious in his prayers, and he will find the same as strong a reason to be strictly pious in all the other parts of his life. For there is not the least reason why we should make God the _rule_ and _measure_ of our prayers, why we should then look _wholly_ unto him, and pray according to his will; but what equally proves it necessary for us to look _wholly_ unto God, and make him the rule and measure of all the other actions of our life. Were it not our strict duty to live by _reason_, to devote all the actions of our lives to God; were it not absolutely necessary to walk before him in wisdom and holiness, and all heavenly conversation, doing every thing in his name and for his glory, there would be no excellency or wisdom in the most _heavenly prayers_: nay, such prayers would be absurdities; they would be like prayers for _wings_, when it was no part of our duty to _fly_. 3. As sure therefore as there is any wisdom in praying for the Spirit of God, so sure is it, that we are to make that Spirit the rule of _all_ our actions; as sure as it is our duty to look _wholly_ unto God in our prayers, so sure is it, that it is our duty to live _wholly_ unto God in our lives. But we can no more be said to live unto God, unless we live unto him in all our _ordinary_ actions, unless he be the rule and measure of all our ways, than we can be said to pray unto God, unless our prayers look _wholly_ unto him. So that unreasonable and absurd ways of life, whether in _labour_ or _diversion_, whether they consume our _time_ or our _money_, are like unreasonable and absurd prayers, and are as truly an offence unto God. 4. ’Tis for want of knowing, or at least considering this, that we see such a _mixture_ of ridicule in the lives of many people. You see them strict as to some _times_ and _places_ of devotion; but when the service of the _church_ is over, they are but like those that seldom or never come there. In their way of life, their manner of spending their _time_ and _money_, in their _cares_ and _fears_, in their _pleasures_ and _indulgencies_, in their labour and diversions, they are like the rest of the world. This makes the world generally make a jest of those that are _devout_, because they see their devotion goes no farther than their _prayers_, and that they live no more unto God, till the time of prayer returns again; but live by the same _humour_ and _fancy_, and in as full an enjoyment of all the follies of life as other people. This is the reason why they are the jest of worldly people; not because they are really devoted to God, but because they appear to have no other devotion, but that of _occasional prayers_. 5. _Julius_ is very fearful of missing prayers; all the parish supposes _Julius_ to be sick, if he is not at _church_. But if you was to ask him, why he spends the rest of his time by _humour_ or _chance_? Why he is a companion of the silliest people in their most _silly pleasures_? Why he is ready for every impertinent entertainment and diversion? If you was to ask him why there is no amusement too trifling to please him? Why he gives himself up to an _idle_, _gossiping_ conversation? Why he lives in foolish friendships for particular persons, that neither want nor deserve any particular kindness? If you ask him why he never puts his _conversation_, his _time_, and _fortune_ under the rules of religion, _Julius_ has no more to say for himself than the most disorderly person. For the whole tenor of scripture lies as directly against such a life, as against _debauchery_ and _intemperance_. He that lives in such a course, lives no more according to the religion of Jesus Christ, than he that lives in gluttony and intemperance. If a man was to tell _Julius_, that there was no occasion for so much constancy at prayers, and that he might neglect the service of the church, as the generality of people do, _Julius_ would think such a one to be no Christian, and that he ought to avoid his company: but if a person only tell him, that he may live as the generality of the world does, that he may enjoy himself as others do, that he may spend his _time_ and _money_ as people of fashion do, that he may conform to the follies of the generality, and gratify his temper and passions as most people do, _Julius_ never suspects that man to want a Christian spirit, or that he is doing the devil’s work. 6. The short of the matter is this. Either reason and religion prescribe _rules_ and _ends_ to all the ordinary actions of our lives, or they do not: if they do, then it is as necessary to govern all our actions by those rules as it is necessary to worship God. For if religion teaches us any thing concerning _eating_ and _drinking_, or spending our _time_ and _money_; if it teaches us how we are to _use_ the world; if it tells us what tempers we are to have in _common_ life, how we are to be disposed towards all people, how we are to behave towards the _sick_, the _poor_, the _old_ and _destitute_; if it tells us whom we are to treat with a particular love, whom we are to regard with a particular esteem; if it tells us how we are to treat our enemies, and how we are to deny ourselves, he must be very weak that can think these parts of religion are not to be observed with as much _exactness_ as any doctrines that relate to prayers. 7. Our blessed Saviour and his apostles are wholly taken up in doctrines that relate to _common life_. They call us to differ in every _temper_ and _way_ of life from the spirit and way of the world: to renounce all its goods, to fear none of its evils, to reject its joys, and have no value for its happiness: to be as _new-born babes_, that are born into a new state of things; to live as pilgrims, in spiritual watching, in holy fear, aspiring after another life; to take up our daily cross; to deny ourselves; to profess the blessedness of mourning; to seek the blessedness of poverty of spirit; to forsake the pride and vanity of riches; to take no thought for the morrow; to live in the profoundest humility; to rejoice in sufferings; to reject the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life; to bear injuries; to forgive and bless our enemies, and to love mankind as God loveth them; to give up our whole hearts and affections to God; and strive to enter thro’ the strait gate into a life of eternal glory. 8. Thus it is in all virtues and holy tempers; they are not _ours_, unless they be the virtues and tempers of our _ordinary life_. So that Christianity is so far from leaving us to live in the common ways of life, conforming to the folly of customs, and gratifying the passions and tempers which the spirit of the world delights in: it is so far from indulging us in any of these things, that all its virtues, which it makes necessary to salvation, are only so many ways of living, contrary to the world in all the common actions of our life. If our common life is not a course of _humility_, _self-denial_, _renunciation_ of the world, _poverty_ of spirit, and _heavenly_ affection, we don’t live the life of Christians. 9. But yet, tho’ it is thus plain, that this, and this alone, is Christianity, an uniform, open and visible practice of all these virtues; yet it is as plain, that there is little or nothing of this to be found, even among the better sort of people. You see them often at church; but look into their lives, and you see them just the same sort of people as others are. The difference that you find betwixt them is only the difference of their natural tempers. They have the same _taste_ of the world, the same worldly cares, fears, and joys; they have the same _turn_ of mind, are equally _vain_ in their desires. You see the same vanity of _dress_, the same _self-love_ and indulgence, the same foolish _friendships_ and groundless _hatreds_, the same _levity_ of mind and _trifling_ spirits, the same idle dispositions, and vain ways of spending their time in visiting and conversation, as in the rest of the world, that make no pretences to devotion. 10. I don’t mean this comparison betwixt people seemingly good and professed _rakes_ but betwixt people of sober lives. Let us take an instance in two modest women: let it be supposed that one of them is careful of times of devotion, thro’ a sense of duty; and that the other is at church seldom or often, just as it happens. Now it is a very easy thing to see this difference betwixt these persons. But, can you find any farther difference betwixt them? Can you find that their _common life_ is of a different kind? Are not the _tempers_, and _customs_, and _manners_, of the one, of the same kind as of the other? Do they live as if they belonged to different worlds, had different views in their heads, and different rules and measures of all their actions? Have not they the same _goods_ and _evils_? Are they not pleased and displeased in the _same manner_, and for the same things? Do they not live in the same course of life? Does one seem to be of this world, looking at the things that are temporal, and the other to be of another world, looking wholly at the things that are eternal? Does the one live in pleasure, delighting herself in _shew_ or _dress_, and the other live in _self-denial_, renouncing every thing that looks like vanity, either of _person_, _dress_, or _carriage_? Does the one trifle away her time? And does the other study all the arts of improving it, living in prayer and watching, and such good works as may make all her time turn to her advantage, and be placed to her account at the last day? Is the one careless of expence, and glad to adorn herself with every costly ornament of dress? And does the other consider her fortune as a talent given her by God, which is to be improved religiously, and no more to be spent in vain and needless ornaments than it is to be buried in the earth? Where must you look, to find one person of religion differing in this manner from another that has none? And yet if they do not differ in these things, can it with any sense be said, the one is a _good_ Christian, and the other not? 11. Take another instance among the men. _Leo_ has a great deal of good nature, has kept what they call _good_ company, hates every thing that is _false_ and _base_, is very generous to his friends; but has concerned himself so little with religion, that he hardly knows the difference betwixt a _Jew_ and a _Christian_. _Eusebius_, on the other hand, has had early impressions of religion, and buys books of devotion. He can talk of all the _feasts_ and _fasts_ of the church, and knows the _names_ of most men that have been eminent for piety. You never hear him swear, and when he talks of religion, he talks of it as a matter of great concern. Here you see, that one person has religion enough, to be reckoned a _pious Christian_; and the other is so far from all appearance of religion, that he may fairly be reckoned a _Heathen_. And yet, if you look into their _common life_, if you examine their _ruling_ tempers in the greatest _articles_ of life, you will find the least difference imaginable. Consider them with regard to the use of the world, because that is what every body can see. Now, to have right _notions_ and _tempers_, with regard to the world, is as essential to religion, as to have right notions of God. And it is as possible for a man to worship a _Crocodile_, and yet be a _pious man_, as to have his affections set upon this world, and yet be a _good Christian_. But now, if you consider _Leo_ and _Eusebius_ in this respect, you will find them exactly alike; seeking, using, and enjoying all that can be got in this world, in the same manner. You will find, _riches_, _prosperity_, _pleasures_, and _honour_, are just as much the happiness of _Eusebius_ as they are of _Leo_. And yet, if Christianity has not changed a man’s temper, with relation to these things, what has it done for him? 12. Every one capable of reflection, must have observed, that this is generally the state, even of devout people, whether _men_ or _women_. You may see them different from other people, as to _times_ and _places_ of prayer, but like the rest of the world in all the other parts of their lives; that is, adding _Christian_ devotion to an _Heathen_ life. I have the authority of our blessed Saviour for this remark, where he says, _Take no thought, saying, what shall we eat, or what shall we drink, or wherewithal shall we be cloathed? For after all these things do the Gentiles seek._ But if to be thus affected even with the necessary things of this life, shews that we are not of a _Christian spirit_, but an _Heathen_; surely, to enjoy the vanity of the world as they did, to be like them in the main tempers of our lives, in sensual pleasures and diversions, in the vanity of dress, the love of shew and greatness, or any other gaudy distinctions of fortune, is a much greater sign of an Heathen temper; and consequently, they who add devotion to such a life, must be said to _pray_ as _Christians_, but live as _Heathens_. CHAP. II. _An enquiry into the reason why the generality of |Christians| fall so short of the holiness of Christianity._ 1. IT may now be reasonably enquired, how it is, that the lives, even of the better sort of people, are thus strangely contrary to the principles of Christianity? Before I give a direct answer, I desire it may be enquired, how it is, that _swearing_ is so common amongst Christians? It is indeed yet not so common amongst _women_, as amongst _men_; but among men this sin is so common, that perhaps there are more than two in three that are guilty of it through the whole course of their lives; swearing _more_ or _less_, just as it happens; some constantly, others only now and then. Now I ask how comes it, that two in three of men are guilty of so gross a sin as this is? There is neither ignorance nor human infirmity to plead for it: it is against an express commandment, and the most plain doctrine of our blessed Saviour. Do but find the reason why the generality of men live in this notorious vice, and you will have found the reason, why the generality even of the better sort of people, live so contrary to Christianity. 2. *Now the reason of common swearing is this; it is because men have not so much as the _intention to please God in all their actions_. For, let a man but have so much piety as to _intend to please God in all the actions of his life, as the happiest and best thing in the world_, and then he will never swear more. It will be as impossible for him to swear, whilst he feels _this intention_ within himself, as it is impossible for a man that intends to please his prince, to go up and abuse him to his face. 3. It is but a small part of piety to have such an _intention_ as this; and he has no reason to look upon himself as a disciple of Christ, who is not this far advanced. And yet it is purely for want of this degree of piety, that you see such a mixture of sin and folly in the lives even of the better sort of people. It is for want of this _intention_, that you see men that profess religion, yet live in _swearing_ and _sensuality_; that you see _clergymen_ given to pride and covetousness, and worldly enjoyments. It is for want of this _intention_, that you see _women_ that profess devotion yet living in all the vanity and folly of _dress_, and wasting their time in _idleness_ and _pleasures_, in all such instances as their estates will reach. For, let but a woman feel her heart full of _this intention_, and she will find it as impossible to _patch_ or _paint_, as to curse or swear; she will no more desire to shine at _balls_ and _assemblies_, or make a figure amongst those that are most finely dressed, than she will desire to dance upon a _rope_ to please spectators: she will know, that the one is as far from the _wisdom_ and _excellency_ of the Christian spirit as the other. 4. It was this _general intention_ that made the _primitive Christians_ such eminent instances of piety. And if you will here stop, and ask yourself, why you are not as pious as the primitive Christians were, your own heart will tell you, it is neither through _ignorance_ or _inability_, but purely because you never _thoroughly intended_ it. You observe the same _Sunday-worship_ that they did; and you are _strict_ in it, because it is your full intention to be so. And when you as fully intend to be like them in their _common_ life; when you intend to please God in _all your actions_, you will find it as possible, as to be strictly exact in the service of the church. And when you have this _intention to please God in all your actions, as the happiest and best thing in the world_, you will find in you as great an aversion to any thing that is _vain_ and _impertinent_ in common life, whether of business or pleasure, as you now have to any thing that is _prophane_. You will be as fearful of living in any foolish way, either of spending your time, or your _fortune_, as you are now fearful of neglecting the public worship. 5. Now, who that wants this general _intention_, can be reckoned a Christian? And yet if it was among Christians, it would change the whole face of the world; exemplary holiness, would be as common and visible, as _buying_ and _selling_, or any trade in life. *Let a _clergyman_ but be thus _pious_, and he will _converse_ as if he had been brought up by an _apostle_. He will no more think and talk of _noble preferment_, than of _noble eating_, or a glorious _chariot_. He will no more complain of the _frowns_ of the _world_, or a _small cure_, or the want of a _patron_, than he will complain of a _laced coat_ or a _running horse_. Let him but _intend to please God in all his actions, as the happiest and best thing in the world_, and then he will know, that there is nothing _noble_ in a clergyman, but burning zeal for the salvation of souls; nor any thing poor in his profession, but _idleness_ and a _worldly spirit_. Again, let a _tradesman_ but have this _intention_, and it will make him a saint in his _shop_; his every day business will be a course of wise and reasonable actions, made holy to God, by being done in obedience to his will and pleasure. He will _buy_ and _sell_, and _labour_ and travel, because by so doing he can do some good to himself and others; but then, as nothing can please God but what is wise, and reasonable, and holy; so he will neither buy nor sell, nor labour in any _manner_, but such as is _wise_, and _reasonable_, and _holy_. He will therefore consider, not what arts, or methods, will make him richer and greater than his brethren, or remove him from a _shop_ to a life of _state_ and _pleasure_; but he will consider what arts, what methods, can make worldly business most acceptable to God, and make a life of trade a life of holiness, devotion, and piety. This will be the temper and spirit of every tradesman; he cannot stop short of these degrees of piety, whenever it is his _intention to please God in all his actions, as the best and happiest thing in the world_. 6. Again, let the _gentleman_ of fortune but have this _intention_, and it will carry him from every appearance of evil, to every instance of piety and goodness. He cannot live by _chance_, or as _humour_ or fancy carries him, because he knows that nothing can please God but a wise and regular course of life. He cannot live in _idleness_ and _indulgence_, in _sports_ and _gaming_, in vain expences and high living, because these things cannot be turned into means of holiness, or made so many parts of a wise and religious life. *As he thus removes from all appearance of evil, so he aspires after every instance of goodness. He does not ask what is _allowable_ and _pardonable_, but what is _commendable_ and _praise-worthy_. He does not ask whether God will forgive the _folly_ of our lives, the _madness_ of our pleasures, the _vanity_ of our expences, and the careless consumption of our _time_; but he asks whether God is pleased with these things; or whether these are the appointed ways of gaining his favour. He does not enquire, whether it be pardonable to hoard up money, to adorn ourselves with diamonds, and gild our chariots, whilst the _widow_ and the _orphan_, the _sick_ and the _prisoner_ want to be relieved; but he asks whether God has required these things at our hands; whether we shall be called to account at the last day for the neglect of them? Because it is not his intent to live in such ways as God may _perhaps_ pardon, but in such as we know God will _infallibly_ reward. He will not therefore look at the lives of Christians, to learn how he ought to spend his estate, but he will look into the scripture, and make every _doctrine_, _parable_, or _instruction_ that relates to rich men, a _law_ to himself in the use of it. He will have but _one rule_ for charity, and that will be, to spend all that he can that way; because the Judge of quick and dead hath said, all that is so given, is given to him. 7. Let not any one look upon this as an imaginary description, that looks fine in the notion, but cannot be put in practice. For it is so far from being impracticable, that it has been practised by great numbers of Christians in former ages, who were glad to turn their whole estates into a constant course of charity. And it is so far from being impossible now, that if we can find any Christians that sincerely _intend to please God in all their actions, as the best and happiest thing in the world_, whether they be young or old, single or married, men or women, it will be impossible for them to do otherwise. This one principle will infallibly carry them to this, and they will find themselves unable to stop short of it. For how is it possible for a man that _intends_ to please God in the use of his _money_, because he judges it to be his _greatest happiness_; to bury his money in _needless_, _impertinent_ finery, in covering himself or his horses with gold, whilst there are any works of piety or charity to be done with it, or any ways of spending it well? 8. I have chose to explain this matter, by appealing to this _intention_, because it makes the case so plain, and because every one may see it in the clearest light, and feel it in the strongest manner, only by looking into his own heart. For it is as easy for every person to know, whether he _intends_ to please God in all his actions, as for any _servant_ to know, whether this be his intention towards his _master_. Every one also can easily tell how he lays out his money, and whether he considers how to please God in it, as he can tell where his estate is, and whether it be in _money_ or in _land_. So that here is no plea left for _ignorance_ or _frailty_, as to this matter; every body is in the _light_, and every body has _power_. And no one can fail, but he that is not so much a Christian, as to _intend_ to please God in the use of his estate. 9. You see two persons, one is regular in _public_ and _private_ prayer, the other is not. Now the reason of this difference is not this, that one has _strength_ to observe prayer, and the other has not; but the reason is this, that one intends to please God in the duties of devotion, and the other has no intention about it. The case is the same in the right or wrong use of our _time_ and _money_. You see one person throwing away his time in _sleep_ and _idleness_, in _visiting_ and _diversions_, and his money in the most vain and unreasonable expences. You see another careful of every day, dividing his hours by rules of reason and religion, and spending all his money in works of charity. Now the difference is not owing to this, that one has strength to do thus, and the other has not; but to this, that one _intends to please_ God in the right use of all his _time_ and all his _money_, and the other has no intention about it. 10. Here therefore let us judge ourselves sincerely; let us not vainly content ourselves with the common disorders of our lives, the _vanity_ of our expences, the _folly_ of our diversions, the _idleness_ of our lives, and the _wasting_ of our time, fancying that these are _such imperfections_ as we fall into thro’ the unavoidable _weakness_ of our natures; but let us be assured that these disorders of our _common_ life are owing to this, that we have not so much Christianity as to intend to please God in all our actions, as the best and happiest thing in the world. So that we must not look upon ourselves in a state of common imperfection, but in such a state as wants the _first_ and _most fundamental_ principle of Christianity, _viz. an intention to please God in all our actions_. 11. And if any one was to ask himself how it comes to pass, that there are any _degrees_ of sobriety which he neglects, any _method_ of charity which he does not follow, any _rules_ of redeeming time which he does not observe, his own heart will tell him, that it is because he never _intended_ to be so exact in those duties. For whenever we fully intend it, it is as possible to conform to all this _regularity_ of life, as it is possible for a man to observe _times_ of prayer. So that the fault does not lie here, that we desire to be good and perfect, but thro’ the weakness of our nature fall short of it; but we have not piety enough to _intend_ to be as good as we can, or to please God in _all our actions_. This we see is plainly the case of him that spends his time in _sports_, when he should be at _church_; it is not his want of power, but his want of _intention_, or desire to be there. 12. And the case is plainly the same in every other folly of human life. She that spends her time and _money_ in the unreasonable ways and fashions of the world, does not do so, because she wants power to be wise and religious in the management of her time and money, but because she has no _intention_ or desire of being so. When she feels this intention, she will find it as possible to act up to it, as to be strictly _sober_ and _chaste_ because it is her care and desire to be so. 13. This doctrine does not suppose, that we have no need of divine grace, or that it is in our own power to make ourselves perfect. It only supposes, that through the want of a _sincere_ intention of pleasing God in _all our actions_, we fall into such irregularities of life, as by the _ordinary_ means of grace, we should have power to avoid. And that we have not that perfection, which our present state of grace makes us capable of, because we don’t so much as intend to have it. It only teaches us, that the reason why you see no _real_ self-denial, no _eminent_ charity, no _profound_ humility, no _heavenly_ affection, no _true_ contempt of the world, no _Christian_ meekness, no _sincere_ zeal, no _eminent_ piety in the _common lives_ of Christians, is this, because they don’t so much as _intend to be exact and exemplary_ in these virtues. CHAP. III. _Of the great danger and folly of not |intending| to be as eminent as we can, in the practice of all Christian virtues._ 1. ALTHOUGH the goodness of God, and his rich mercy in Christ Jesus, are a sufficient assurance to us, that he will be merciful to our unavoidable weaknesses, that is, to such failings as are the effects of _ignorance_ or _surprize_; yet we have no reason to expect the same mercy towards those sins which we live in, through a want of _intention_ to avoid them. For instance, a _common swearer_, who dies in that guilt, seems to have no title to the divine mercy; because he can no more plead any weakness in his excuse, than the man that hid his _talent_ in the earth, could plead his want of strength to keep it out of the earth. 2. But, if this be right reasoning in the case of a _common swearer_, that his sin is not to be reckoned a _pardonable frailty_, because he has no weakness to plead in its excuse: why don’t we as much condemn every other error of life, that has no more weakness to plead in its excuse than common swearing? For if this be so bad, because it might be avoided, if we did but sincerely intend it, must not all other erroneous ways of life be very guilty, if we live in them, not through weakness and inability, but because we never sincerely intended to avoid them? For instance, you perhaps have made no progress in the most important Christian virtues, in _humility_ and _charity_. Now, if your failure is owing to your want of _intention_ of performing them in any true degree, have you not as little to plead for yourself? And are you not as much without all excuse as the _common swearer_? 3. Why therefore don’t you press these things home upon your conscience? Why do you not think it as dangerous for you to live in such defects as are in your power to amend, as ’tis dangerous for a common swearer to live in the breach of that duty, which it is in his power to observe? Is not the want of a sincere intention, as blameable in one case as another? You, it may be, are as far from _Christian perfection_ as the common swearer is from keeping the _third commandment_. Are you not therefore as much condemned by the doctrine of the gospel, as the swearer is by the third commandment? You perhaps will say, that all people fall short of the perfection of the gospel. But this is nothing to the purpose: for the question is not, whether gospel perfection can be fully attained; but whether you come as near it as a sincere intention, and careful diligence can carry you? Whether you are not in a much lower state than you might be, if you sincerely intended to advance yourself in all Christian virtues? If your defects in _piety_, _humility_, and _charity_ are owing to your want of _sincere intention_ to be as eminent as you can in these virtues, then you leave yourself as much without excuse, as he that lives in the sin of swearing, through the want of a sincere intention to depart from it. 4. The salvation of our souls is set forth in scripture as a thing of difficulty, that requires _all our diligence_, that is to be _worked out with fear and trembling_. We are told, _straight is the gate, and narrow is the way that leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it_: that _many are called, but few are chosen_: and that many will miss of their salvation who seem to have taken _some pains_ to obtain it. _Strive to enter in at the straight gate; for many, I say unto you, will seek to enter in, and shall not be able._ *Here our blessed Lord commands us to _strive_ to enter in, because many will fail, who only _seek_ to enter: by which we are plainly taught, that religion is a state of _labour_ and _striving_, and that many will fail of their salvation; not because they took no pains or care about it, but because they did not take care and pains enough; they only _sought_, but did not _strive_ to enter in. Every Christian therefore should as well examine his life by these _doctrines_, as by the commandments: for these doctrines are as plain marks of our condition as the commandments are. For if salvation is only given to those who _strive_ for it, then it is as reasonable for me to consider, whether my course of life be a course of striving to obtain it, as to consider whether I am keeping any of the commandments. 5. If my religion is only a formal compliance with those modes of worship that are in fashion where I live, if it costs me no pains or trouble, if it lays me under no rules and restraints, if I have no careful thoughts about it, is it not great weakness to think that I am _striving to enter in at the straight gate_? If I am seeking every thing that can delight my senses, spending my time and fortune in pleasures, in diversions, and worldly enjoyments; a stranger to watchings, fastings, prayers, and mortifications, how can it be said, that I am _working out my salvation with fear and trembling_? If I use the world and worldly enjoyments, as the generality of people do, and in all ages have done, why should I think that I am amongst _those few_, who are walking in the _narrow way_ to heaven? *And yet, if the way is _narrow_, if none can walk in it but those that _strive_, is it not as necessary for me to consider, whether the _way_ I am in be narrow _enough_, or the _labour_ I take to be a _sufficient_ striving, as to consider whether I sufficiently observe the second or third commandment? 6. The measure of our love to God seems in justice to be the measure of our love of every virtue. We are to love and practise it _with all our heart, with all our soul, with all our mind, and with all our strength_. And when we cease to live with this regard to virtue, we live below our nature, and instead of being able to plead our _infirmities_, we stand chargeable with wilful _negligence_. It is for this reason that we are exhorted to work out our salvation with _fear_ and _trembling_; because unless our _heart_ and _passions_ are eagerly bent upon the work of our salvation, unless _holy fears_ animate our endeavours, and keep our consciences tender about every part of our duty, constantly examining how we live, and how fit we are to die, we shall in all probability sit down in such a course of life, as will never carry us to the rewards of heaven. And he that considers, that a just God can only make such allowances as are suitable to his justice, that our works are all to be examined by fire, will find _fear_ and _trembling_ are proper tempers for those that are drawing near to so great a trial. Now this is not intended to possess people’s minds with a scrupulous anxiety; but to fill them with a just fear of living in the neglect of such virtues as they will want at the day of judgment. It is only desiring them to be so apprehensive of their state, so earnest after higher degrees of piety, and so fearful of falling short of happiness, as the great apostle St. _Paul_ was, when he thus wrote to the _Philippians_. _Not as though I had already attained, either were already perfect;――but this one thing I do, forgetting those things which are behind, and reaching forth unto those things which are before, I press toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of |God| in Christ Jesus._ And then he adds, _Let us therefore, as many as are perfect, be thus minded_. But if the apostle thought it necessary for those who were in his state of perfection to be _thus minded_; thus labouring, pressing, and aspiring after some degrees of holiness, to which they were not then arrived; surely it is much more necessary for us, _to be thus minded_; thus earnest and striving after such degrees of a holy life, as we have not yet attained. 7. The best way for any one to know how much he ought to aspire after holiness, is to ask himself, how much he thinks will make him easy at the hour of death. Now any man that dares put this question to himself, will be forced to answer, that at death, every one will wish, he had been as perfect as human nature can be. Is not this sufficient to put us, not only upon wishing, but labouring after all that perfection which we shall then lament the want of? Is it not excessive folly to be content with such a course of piety as we already know cannot content us, at a time when we shall so want it, as to have nothing else to comfort us? How can we carry a severer condemnation against ourselves, than to believe, that at the hour of death, we shall want the virtues of the _saints_, and wish that we had been among the first servants of God, and yet take no methods of arriving at their height of piety, whilst we are alive? 8. Though this is an _absurdity_ that we can pass over, whilst the health of our bodies, the passions of our minds, the noise, and hurry, and pleasures, and business of the world, lead us on with eyes that see not; yet at death, it will appear before us in a dreadful magnitude: it will haunt us like a dismal ghost; and our conscience will never let us take our eyes from it. We see in worldly matters, what a torment self-condemnation is; and how hardly a man is able to forgive himself, when he has brought himself into any calamity or disgrace, purely by his own folly. The affliction is made doubly tormenting; if he is forced to charge it all upon himself, as his own act and deed, against the reason of things, and contrary to the advice of his friends. Now by this we may in some degree guess, how terrible that self-condemnation will be, when a man shall find himself in the misery of death, under the severity of a self-condemning conscience; charging all his distress upon his own folly and madness, against the sense and reason of his own mind, against all the doctrines and precepts of religion, and contrary to all the instructions, calls, and warnings both of God and man. 9. *_Penitens_ was a busy, notable tradesman, and very prosperous in his dealings, but died in the _thirty-fifth_ year of his age. A little before his death, when the doctors had given him over, some of his neighbours came to see him; at which time he spoke thus to them. I see, my friends, the tender concern you have for me, by the grief that appears in your countenances; and I know the thoughts that you have about me. You think how melancholy a case it is, to see so young a man, and in such flourishing business, delivered up to death. And perhaps, had I visited any of you in my condition, I should have had the same thoughts of you. But now, my friends, my thoughts are no more like your thoughts, than my condition is like yours. It is no trouble to me now to think, that I am to die young, or before I have raised an estate. These things are now sunk into such mere _nothings_, that I have no name little enough to call them by. For if in a few days, or hours, I am to leave this carcase to be buried in the earth, and to find myself either for ever happy in the favour of God, or eternally separated from all light and peace. Can any words sufficiently express the littleness of every thing else? Is there any dream like the dream of life, which amuses us with the disregard of these things? Is there any folly like the folly of our manly state, which is too _wise_ and _busy_ to be at leisure for these reflections? 10. When we consider death as a misery, we only think of it as a miserable separation from the enjoyments of this life. We seldom mourn over an old man that dies rich; but we lament the young, that are taken away in the progress of their fortune. You yourselves look upon me with pity, not that I am going unprepared to meet the Judge of quick and dead, but that I am to leave a prosperous trade in the flower of my life. This is the wisdom of our manly thoughts: And yet what folly of the silliest children is so great as this? For what is there miserable in death, but the consequences of it? When a man is dead, what does any thing signify to him, but the state he is then in? Our poor friend _Lepidus_ died, you know, as he was dressing himself for a _feast_. Do you think it is now part of his trouble, that he did not live till that entertainment was over? _Feasts_, and _business_, and pleasures, and _enjoyments_, seem great things to us, whilst we think of nothing else; but as soon as we add death to them, they all sink into an equal littleness; and the soul, that is separated from the body, no more laments the loss of business, than the losing of a _feast_. If I am now going into the joys of God, could there be any reason to grieve, that this happened to me before I was forty years of age? Could it be a sad thing to go to heaven, before I had made a few more _bargains_, or stood a little longer behind a _counter_? And if I am to go amongst lost spirits, could there be any reason to be content, that this did not happen to me till I was old, and full of riches? If good angels were ready to receive my soul, could it be any grief to me, that I was dying upon a _poor bed_ in a _garret_? And if God has delivered me up to evil spirits, to be dragged by them to places of torment, could it be any comfort to me, that they found me upon a _bed of state_? 11. When you are as near death as I am, you will know, that all the different states of life, whether of youth or age, riches or poverty, greatness or meanness, signify no more to you, than whether you die in a _poor_ or _stately_ apartment. The greatness of those things which follow death, makes all that go before it sink into nothing. Now that everlasting happiness or misery is come so near, all the enjoyments and prosperities of life seem as vain and insignificant, and to have no more to do with my happiness than the cloaths I wore before I could speak. But, my friends, how am I surprized, that I have not always had these thoughts? For what is there in the terrors of death, in the vanities of life, or the necessities of piety, but what I might have as easily and fully seen in any part of my life? What a strange thing is it, that a little _health_, or the poor business of a _shop_, should keep us so senseless of these great things that are coming so fast upon us! 12. Just as you came into my chamber, I was thinking with myself, what numbers of souls there are now in the world, in my condition at this very time, surprized with a summons to the other world; some taken from their _shops_ and _farms_, others from their _sports_ and _pleasures_, these at _suits at law_, those at _gaming-tables_, some on the _road_, others at their own _fire-sides_, and all seized at an hour when they thought not of it; frighted at the approach of death, confounded at the vanity of all their labours, designs and projects, astonished at the folly of their past lives, and not knowing which way to turn their thoughts, to find any comfort; their consciences flying in their faces, bringing all their sins to remembrance, presenting them with the sight of the angry Judge, the worm that never dies, the fire that is never quenched, the gates of hell, the powers of darkness, and the bitter pains of eternal death. Oh my friends! bless God that you are not of this number, that you have time and strength so to employ yourselves, as may bring you peace at the last. 13. You, perhaps when you consider that I have lived free from scandal and debauchery, and in the communion of the church, wonder to see me so full of remorse and self-condemnation at the approach of death. It is true, I have lived in the communion of the church, and frequented its service on _Sundays_, when I was not too _idle_, or otherwise disposed of by my _business_ and _pleasures_: but then, my conformity to the public worship has been rather a thing of course, than from any real intention of glorifying God; had it been so, I had been more devout when there, and more fearful of ever neglecting it. 14. But the thing that now surprizes me above all wonders, is this, that I never had so much as a _general intention_ of living up to the piety of the gospel. This never so much as entered into my heart. I never once in my life considered, whether my way of life was such as would procure me the mercy of God at this hour. How easy a thing would salvation be, if it could fall into my careless hands, who have never had so much serious thought ♦about it, as about any one common bargain that I have made? ♦ duplicate word removed ‘about’ Do you think any thing can astonish and confound a dying man like this? What pain do you think a man must feel, when his conscience lays all this folly to his charge, when it shews him how regular, exact, and wise he has been in small matters, that are passed away like a dream, and how stupid and senseless he has lived without any reflection, in things of such eternal moment, as no heart can sufficiently conceive them? Oh my friends! a careless life, unconcerned and inattentive to the duties of religion, is so without all excuse, so unworthy of the mercy of God, such a shame to the sense and reason of our minds, that I can hardly conceive a greater punishment, than for a man to be thrown into the state that I am in, to reflect upon it. _Penitens_ was here going on, but had his mouth stopped by a _convulsion_, which never suffered him to speak any more. He lay convulsed for about twelve hours, and then gave up the ghost. CHAP. IV. _We can please |God| in no state or employment, but by |intending| and |devoting| it all to his glory_. 1. HAVING already stated the general nature of devotion, and shewn, that it implies not any _form of prayer_, but a certain form of life, that is offered to God, not at any particular _times_ or _places_, but every where and in every thing; I shall now descend to some particulars, and shew how we are to devote our _labour_ and _employment_, our _time_ and _fortunes_, to God. As a Christian should consider every place as holy, because God is there; so he should look upon every part of his life as a matter of holiness, because it is to be offered to God. The profession of a _clergyman_ is an holy profession, because it is a ministration in _holy things_. But worldly business is to be made holy, by being done as a service to God, and in conformity to his will. For as all men, and all things in the world, as truly belong unto God, as any _places_, _things_, or _persons_, that are devoted to divine service; so all things are to be _used_, and all persons are to _act_ in their several states for the glory of God. Men of business therefore must not look upon themselves as at liberty to live to themselves, to sacrifice to their own _humours_ and _tempers_, because their employment is of a worldly nature: but they must consider, that as the world, and all worldly professions, as truly belong to God as _persons_ and _things_ that are devoted to the _altar_; so it is as much the duty of men in worldly business to live wholly unto God, as ’tis the duty of those who are devoted to divine service. 2. As the whole world is God’s; so the whole world is to act for God. As all men have the same _relation_ to God, as all men have all their _powers_ and _faculties_ from God; so all men are obliged to act for God with all their _powers_ and _faculties_. *As all things are God’s; so all things are to be used and regarded as the things of God. For _men_ to abuse things on _earth_, and live to themselves, is the same rebellion against God as for _angels_ to abuse things in _heaven_; because God is just the same Lord of all on earth, as he is of all in heaven. _Things_ may, and must differ in their _use_: but yet they are all to be used according to the will of God. _Men_ may, and must differ in their _employments_; but yet they must all act for the same ends, as dutiful servants of God, in the right and pious performance of their several callings. 3. _Clergymen_ must live wholly to God in one _particular_ way; that is, in the exercise of _holy offices_, in the ministration of _prayers_ and _sacraments_, and a zealous distribution of spiritual goods. But men of other employments are, in their _particular_ ways, as much obliged to act as the servants of God, and live wholly unto him in their several callings. This is the only difference between clergymen and people of other callings. *When it can be shewn, that men may be vain, covetous, sensual, worldly-minded, or proud in the exercise of their worldly business, then it will be allowable for _clergymen_ to indulge the same tempers in their sacred professions. For, tho’ these tempers are most odious and most criminal in _clergymen_, who, besides their baptismal vow, have a second time devoted themselves to God, to be his servants, not in the _common offices_ of life, but in the service of the most _holy_ things; and who are therefore to keep themselves as separate from the _common_ life of other men, as a _church_ or an _altar_ is to be kept separate from houses and tables of common use: yet as all Christians are by their baptism _devoted_ to God, and made professors of holiness; so are they all in their several callings to live as holy and heavenly persons; doing everything in their _common_ life only in such a manner, as it may be received by God, as a service done to him. For things, spiritual and temporal, sacred and common, must, like _men_ and _angels_, like _heaven_ and _earth_, all conspire in the glory of God. 4. *As there is but one _God_ and _Father of us all_, whose glory gives light and life to every thing that lives, whose presence fills all places, whose power supports all beings, whose providence ruleth all events; so every thing that lives, whether in _heaven_ or _earth_, whether they be _thrones_ or _principalities_, _men_ or _angels_, must all, with one Spirit, live wholly to the praise and glory of this one God and Father of them all. _Angels_ as _angels_, in their heavenly ministrations, but _men_ as men, _women_ as women, _bishops_ as bishops, _priests_ as priests, and _deacons_ as deacons; some with things _spiritual_, and some with things _temporal_, offering to God the daily sacrifice of a reasonable life, wise actions, purity of heart, and heavenly affections. This is the _common business_ of all persons in this world. It is not left to any _women_ in the world to trifle away their time in the follies and impertinences of a _fashionable life_, nor to any _men_ to resign themselves up to worldly _cares_ and _concerns_; it is not left to the _rich_, to gratify their passions in the _indulgences_ and _pride_ of life, nor to the _poor_, to vex and torment their hearts with the _poverty_ of their state; but _men_ and women, rich and poor, must, with _bishops_ and _priests_, walk before God in the same wise and holy Spirit, in the same denial of all vain tempers, and in the same discipline and care of their souls; not only because they have all the same rational nature, and are servants of the same God, but because they all _want_ the same holiness to make them fit for the same happiness. It is therefore absolutely necessary for all Christians, whether _men_ or _women_, to consider themselves as persons that are _devoted_ to holiness, and to order their _common ways of life_ by such rules of reason and piety as may turn it into a _continual service_ to Almighty God. 5. As the glory of God is _one_ and the _same_ thing; so whatever we do, suitable to it, must be done with _one_ and the _same_ Spirit. That same temper of mind which makes our _alms_ and _devotions_ acceptable, must also make our _labour_, or _employment_, a proper offering to God. If a man pursues his business, that he may raise himself to _figure_ and _glory_ in the world, he is no longer serving God in his employment; he is acting under other _masters_, and has no more title to a reward from God, than he that gives _alms_ that he may be _seen_ of men. For vain and earthly desires are no more allowable in our _employments_, than in our _alms_ and _devotions_. For these tempers of worldly pride, and vain glory, are not only evil, when they mix with our good works; but they have the same evil nature, when they enter into our common business. If it were allowable to indulge _covetous_ or _vain_ passions in our worldly _employments_, it would be allowable to be vain-glorious in our _devotions_. But as our _alms_ and _devotions_ are not an acceptable service, but when they proceed from a heart _truly devoted_ to God; so our common employment cannot be reckoned a service to him, but when it is performed with the same piety of heart. 6. *Most of the employments of life are in their own nature lawful; and all those that are so, may be made a substantial part of our duty to God, if we engage in them only _so far_, and for such _ends_, as are suitable to _beings_, that are to live _above_ the world, all the time they live in the world. This is the _only measure_ of our application to any worldly business; let it be what it will, or where it will, it must have no more of our _hands_, our _hearts_, or our _time_, than is consistent with an hearty, daily, careful preparation of ourselves for another life. For as all Christians, as such, have renounced this world, to prepare themselves by _daily_ devotion, and _universal_ holiness, for an eternal state of quite another nature, they must look upon worldly employments as upon _worldly wants_, and _bodily infirmities_; things not to be desired, but only to be endured till death and the resurrection have carried us to an eternal state of real happiness. 7. Now he that does not look at the things of this life in this _degree_ of littleness, cannot be said either to feel or believe the greatest truths of Christianity. For, if he thinks any thing great or important in human business, can he be said to feel or believe those scriptures which represent this life, and the greatest things of life, as _bubbles_, _vapours_, _dreams_ and _shadows_? If he thinks _figure_, and _shew_, and worldly _glory_, to be any _proper_ happiness of a Christian, how can he be said to feel or believe this doctrine, _Blessed are ye when men shall hate you, and when they shall separate you from their company, and shall reproach you, and cast out your name as evil, for the Son of man’s sake?_ For surely, if there was any real happiness in _figure_, and _shew_, and _worldly glory_; if these things deserved our thoughts and care, it could not be matter of the _highest joy_, when we are torn from them by _persecution_ and _sufferings_. If therefore a man will so live, as to shew, that he believes the most _fundamental_ doctrines of Christianity, he must live above the world; he must do the business of life, and yet live _wholly_ unto God. And it is as necessary that people live in their employments with this _temper_, as it is necessary, that their employment itself be _lawful_. 8. *The _husbandman_ that tilleth the ground, is employed in an honest business, that is necessary in life, and very capable of being made an _acceptable service_ unto God: but if he labours and toils, not to serve any reasonable ends of life, but in order to have his _plough_ made of _silver_, and to have his _horses_ harnessed in _gold_, the honesty of his employment is lost as to him, and his labour becomes his _folly_. A _tradesman_ may justly think, that it is agreeable to the will of God for him to sell such things as are _useful_ in _life_; such as help both himself and others to a reasonable support, and enable them to assist those that want to be assisted: but if instead of this, it be his chief end in it to grow _rich_, that he may live in _figure_ and _indulgence_, and be able to retire from business to _idleness_ and _luxury_, his trade, as to him, loses all its _innocency_, and is so far from being an acceptable service to God, that it is only a more plausible course of _covetousness_, _self-love_, and _ambition_. For such a one turns the necessities of his employment into pride and covetousness, just as the _sot_ and _epicure_ turn the necessities of eating and drinking into _gluttony_ and _drunkenness_. Now he that is up early and late, that sweats and labours for those ends that he may be some time or other rich, and live in _pleasure_ and _indulgence_, lives no more to the glory of God than he that _plays_ and _games_ for the same ends. For though there is a great difference between _trading_ and _gaming_; yet most of that difference is lost, when men trade with the _same desires_ and _tempers_, and for the same ends that others game. _Charity_ and _fine dressing_ are things very different; but if men give _alms_ for the same reasons that others _dress fine_, only to be _seen_ and _admired_, charity is then but like the vanity of _fine cloaths_. In like manner, if the same motives make some people industrious in their _trades_, which makes others constant at _gaming_, such pains are but like the pains of gaming. 9. *_Calidus_ has traded above thirty years in the greatest city of the kingdom; he has been so many years constantly increasing his _trade_ and his _fortune_. Every hour of the day is with him an hour of business; and though he _eats_ and _drinks_ very heartily, yet every meal seems to be in a hurry, and he would say _grace_ if he _had time_. _Calidus_ ends every day at the _tavern_; but has not leisure to be there till near nine o’clock. He is always forced to drink a good _hearty glass_, to drive thoughts of business out of his head, and make his spirits _drowsy_ enough for sleep. He does business all the time that he is rising, and has settled several matters, before he can get to his _compting-house_. His prayers are a short _ejaculation_ or two, which he never misses in _stormy_ weather, because he has always something or other at _sea_. _Calidus_ will tell you with great pleasure, that he has been in this _hurry_ for so many years, and that it must have killed him long ago, but that it has been a _rule_ with him, to get out of the town every _Saturday_, and make the _Sunday_ a day of _quiet_ and good _refreshment_ in the country. *He is now so rich that he would leave off his business, and amuse his _old age_ with building and furnishing a fine house in the country; but that he is afraid he should grow _melancholy_, if he was to quit his business. He will tell you with great gravity, that it is a dangerous thing for a man, that has been used to get money, ever to leave it off. If thoughts of religion happen at any time to _steal_ into his head, _Calidus_ contents himself with thinking, that he never was a friend to _heretics_ and _infidels_; that he has always been civil to the _minister_ of his parish, and very often given something to the _charity-schools_. 10. *Now this way of life is at such a _distance_ from all the doctrines and discipline of Christianity, that no one can live in it through ignorance or frailty. _Calidus_ can no more imagine, that _he is born again of the Spirit_¹; that _he is in Christ a new creature_²; that he lives _here as a stranger and pilgrim, setting his affections upon things above, and laying up treasures in heaven_³. He can no more imagine this, than he can think that he has been all his life an _apostle_, working _miracles_, and preaching the _gospel_. ¹ John iii. ² 1 Pet. ii. 11. ³ Coloss. iii. 1. It must also be owned, that the _generality_ of trading people, especially in _great towns_, are too much like _Calidus_. You see them all the week buried in business, unable to think of any thing else; and then spending the _Sunday_ in _idleness_ and _refreshment_, in wandering into the country, in such visits and jovial meetings as make it often the worst day of the week. 11. Now they do not live thus, because they cannot support themselves with _less care_ and application to business; but they live thus because they want to grow _rich_ in their trades, and to maintain their families in some such _figure_ and degree of _finery_, as a _reasonable Christian_ has no occasion for. Take away but this _temper_, and then people of _all trades_ will find themselves at leisure to live every day like Christians, to be careful of every duty of the gospel, to live in a visible course of religion, and be every day strict observers both of private and public prayer. Now the only way to do this, is, for people to consider their trade as something that they are to _devote_ to the glory of God, something that they are to do only in such a manner, as that they may make it a duty to him. Nothing can be right in _business_, that is not under these rules. The apostle commands servants, _to be obedient to their masters in singleness of heart as unto Christ: not with eye-service, as men-pleasers; but as the servants of Christ, doing the will of |God| from the heart¹. With good-will, doing service as unto the Lord, and not unto men²._ ¹ Ephes. vi. 5. ² Coloss. iii. 22, 23. This passage sufficiently shews, that all Christians are to live wholly unto God in every state and condition; doing the work of their _common calling_ in such a manner, and for such ends, as to make it a part of their _service_ to God. For if _poor slaves_ are not to comply with their business as _men-pleasers_, if they are to look wholly unto God in all their actions, and serve in _singleness_ of _heart_, as unto the Lord; surely men of other conditions must be as much obliged to go through their business with the same _singleness_ of _heart_; not as pleasing the vanity of their own minds, not as gratifying their own selfish, worldly passions, but as the servants of God in all that they have to do. 12. *It is therefore absolutely certain, that no Christian is to enter _any farther_ into business, nor for any _other ends_, than such as he can, in _singleness_ of heart, offer unto God as a _reasonable_ service. For the Son of God having redeemed us for this _only end_, that we should, by a life of _reason_ and _piety_, live to the glory of God; this is the only rule and measure for every order and state of life. Without this _rule_, the most _lawful_ employment becomes a _sinful_ state of life. *Take away this from the life of a _clergyman_, and his holy profession serves only to expose him to the greater _damnation_. Take away this from _tradesmen_, and shops are but so many houses of greediness and filthy lucre. Take away this from _gentlemen_, and the course of their life becomes a course of sensuality, pride, and wantonness. Take away this rule from our _tables_, and all falls into gluttony and drunkenness. Take away this measure from our _dress_ and _habits_, and all is turned into such _paint_, and _glitter_, and ridiculous ornaments, as are a _real_ shame to the wearer. Take away this from the use of our _fortunes_, and you will find people sparing in nothing but charity. Take away this from our _diversions_, and you will find no sports too silly, nor any entertainments too vain and corrupt to be the pleasures of Christians. 13. If therefore we desire to live unto God, it is necessary to bring our _whole life_ under this law, to make his glory the sole _rule_ and _measure_ of our acting in every employment of life. For there is no other _true devotion_, but this of living devoted to God in the common business of our lives. *So that men must not content themselves with the _lawfulness_ of their employments; but must consider whether they use them, as they are to use every thing, as strangers and pilgrims, that are baptized into the resurrection of Jesus Christ, that are to follow him in a _wise and heavenly_ course of life, in the mortification of all worldly desires, and in purifying and preparing their souls for the blessed enjoyment of God. For to be vain, or proud, or covetous, or ambitious in the _common course_ of our business, is as contrary to these holy tempers, as cheating and dishonesty. If a _glutton_ was to say, in excuse of his gluttony, that he only eats such things as it is _lawful_ to eat, he would make as good an excuse for himself as the greedy, covetous, ambitious tradesman, that should say, he only deals in lawful business. For as a Christian is not only required to be honest, but to be of a Christian _spirit_, and make his life an exercise of _humility_, _repentance_, and _heavenly_ affection; so all tempers contrary to these, are as contrary to Christianity, as _cheating_ is contrary to _honesty_. 14. All this is only to shew us the absolute necessity of such uniform piety, as extends to all the actions of our common life. That we must _eat_, and _drink_, and _dress_, and _discourse_ according to the sobriety of the Christian spirit; engage in no employments but such as we can truly devote unto God; nor pursue them any farther, than conduces to the reasonable ends of a holy life. That we must be _honest_, not only on particular occasions, and in _such_ instances as are _applauded_ in the world, easy to be performed, and free from _danger_ or _loss_, but from such a _living principle_ of justice, as makes us love truth and integrity in _all its instances_, follow it thro’ all dangers, and against all opposition; as knowing that the more we pay for any truth, the better is our _bargain_, and that then our integrity becomes a _pearl_, when we have parted with _all_ to keep it. That we must be _humble_, not only in such instances as are _expected_ in the world, or _suitable_ to our tempers, or confined to particular occasions, but in such a spirit, as renders us meek and holy in the _whole course_ of our lives, as shews itself in our _dress_, our _person_, our _conversation_, our _enjoyment_ of the world, _patience_ under injuries, _submission_ to superiors, and condescension to those that are below us, and in all the outward actions of our lives. That we must not only devote _times_ and _places_ to prayer, but be every where in the _spirit_ of devotion, with hearts always set towards heaven, looking up to God in all our actions, and doing every thing as servants living in the world, as in an holy temple of God; always worshipping him, tho’ not with our lips, yet with the _thankfulness_ of our hearts, the _holiness_ of our actions, and the pious and charitable use of his gifts. That we must not only send up petitions and thoughts now and then to heaven; but must go thro’ all our worldly business, with an heavenly spirit, as members of Christ’s mystical body, that, with new _hearts_ and new _minds_, we are to turn an earthly life into a preparation for a life of greatness and glory in the kingdom of heaven. 15. Enough, I hope, has been said, to shew you the necessity of thus introducing religion into _all the actions_ of our _common life_, and of living and acting with the same regard to God in all that you do, as in your prayers and alms. _Eating_ is one of the lowest actions of our lives; it is common to us with mere _animals_: yet we see that the piety of all the ages of the world, has turned this _ordinary_ action of the animal life, into a _piety_ to God, by making every meal to begin and end with devotion. *We see yet some _remains_ of this custom in most Christian families; some such _little formality_ as shews you, that people used to call upon God at the beginning and end of their meals. But indeed it is generally now so performed, as to look more like a mockery upon devotion, than any solemn application of the mind unto God. In one house you may perhaps see the _head_ of the family just pulling off his hat; in another half getting up from his _seat_; another shall, it may be, proceed so far, as to make as if he said _something_: but however, these _little attempts_ are the remains of some devotion that was formerly used at such times, and are proofs that religion has formerly belonged to this part of _common life_. But to such a pass are we now come, that tho’ the custom is still preserved, yet we can hardly bear with him, that seems to perform it with any degree of _seriousness_, and look upon it as a sign of a _fanatical_ temper, if a man has not done it as soon as he begins. I would not be thought to plead for the necessity of _long prayers_ at these times; but thus much I think may be said, that if prayer is proper at these times, we ought to use such _words_ as should shew, that we _solemnly_ appeal to God for such graces and blessings as are proper to the occasion; otherwise the mock-ceremony, instead of blessing our victuals, does but accustom us to trifle with devotion, and give us a habit of being unaffected with our prayers. ♦17. If every _head_ of a family would, at the return of every meal, make a _solemn adoration_ of God, in such a decent manner as becomes a devout mind, it would be very likely to teach him, that _swearing_, _sensuality_, _gluttony_, and _loose_ discourse, were very improper at those meals, which were to begin and end with devotion. ♦ Number 16 omitted in text. And if in these days of general corruption, this part of devotion is fallen into a _mock-ceremony_, it must be imputed to this, that _sensuality_ and _intemperance_ have got too great power over us, to suffer us to add any devotion to our meals. But thus much must be said, that when we are as pious as _Jews_ and _Heathens_ of all ages have been, we shall think it proper to pray at the beginning and end of our meals. I have appealed to this pious custom of all ages as a proof of the reasonableness of the doctrine of this and the foregoing chapters; that is, as a proof that religion is to be the _rule_ and _measure_ of all the actions of our _ordinary_ life. For surely, if we are not to _eat_, but under such rules of devotion, it must appear, that whatever else we do, must, in its proper way, be done with the same regard to the glory of God. CHAP. V. _Persons that are free from the necessity of labour and employments, are to consider themselves as devoted to God in a higher degree._ 1. GREAT part of the world are free from the necessities of labour, and have their _time_ and _fortunes_ in their own disposal. But as no one is to live in his _employment_ according to his own humour, or to please his own fancy, but is to do all his business in such a manner as to make it a service unto God; so those who have no particular employment, are so far from being left at liberty to live to themselves, to pursue their own humours, and spend their time and fortune as they please, that they are under greater obligations of living wholly unto God in all their actions. The _freedom_ of their state lays them under a greater _necessity_ of always chusing and doing the best things. They are those, of whom _much will be required_, because _much is given unto them_. A _slave_ can only live unto God in one particular way; that is, by religious patience and submission in his state of slavery. But all ways of holy living, all instances, and all kinds of virtue, lie open to those who are masters of themselves, their time, and their fortune. It is as much the duty, therefore, of such persons, to make a wise use of their liberty, to devote themselves to all kinds of virtue, to aspire after every thing that is holy and pious, and to please God in the highest and most perfect manner, as it is the duty of a _slave_ to be _resigned_ unto God in his state of slavery. 2. You are no _labourer_, or _tradesman_; you are neither _merchant_ nor _soldier_; consider yourself therefore as placed in a state, in some degree like that of _good angels_, who are sent into the world as _ministring spirits_, for the general good of mankind, to _assist_, _protect_, and _minister_ for them who shall be heirs of salvation. For the more you are free from the _common_ necessities of _men_, the more you are to imitate the _higher_ perfections of _angels_. Had you, _Serena_, been obliged to wash cloaths for your maintenance, or to wait upon some _mistress_, that demanded all your _labour_, it would be your duty to glorify God, by such _humility_, _obedience_, and _faithfulness_, as might adorn that state of life. It would then be recommended to your care, to improve that _one talent_ to its greatest height; that when the time came for mankind to be rewarded for their labours by the great Judge of the quick and dead, you might be received with a _well done good and faithful servant, enter thou into the joy of thy Lord_. But as God has given you _five talents_, as he has placed you above the necessities of life, as he has left you in the happy liberty of chusing the most exalted ways of virtue; as he has left you nothing to do, but to make the best use of variety of blessings, to make the best of a short life, to study your own perfection, the honour of God, and the good of your neighbour; so it is now your duty to enquire how the most eminent saints have lived, to study all the _arts_ and _methods_ of perfection, and to set no bounds to your love and gratitude to the bountiful author of so many blessings. 3. It is now your duty to turn your _five talents_ into five more, and to consider how your _time_, and _leisure_, and _health_, and _fortune_ may be made so many happy means of purifying your own soul, improving your fellow-creatures, and of carrying you at last to the greatest heights of eternal glory. As you have no _mistress_ to serve, so let your own soul be the object of your daily care and attendance. Nourish it with _good works_, give it peace in _solitude_, get it strength in _prayer_, make it wise with _reading_, enlighten it by _meditation_, make it tender with _love_, sweeten it with _humility_, enliven it with _psalms_ and _hymns_, and comfort it with frequent _reflections_ upon future glory. Keep it in the presence of God, and teach it to imitate those _guardian angels_; which tho’ they attend on the lowest of mankind, yet _always behold the face of our Father which is in heaven_. This, _Serena_, is your profession. For as sure as God is one God, so sure it is, that he has but one command to all mankind, whether they be bond or free, rich or poor; and that is, to act up to the _excellency_ of their nature, to live by _reason_, to walk in the _light_ of religion, to glorify God in all his _gifts_, and dedicate every condition of life to his service. This is the _one common_ command of God to all mankind. If you have an employment, you are to be thus reasonable, and holy in the exercise of it; if you have time and a fortune in your own power, you are to be thus reasonable, and holy, in the use of all your time and all your fortune. 4. The right use of every talent, is the indispensable duty of every being that is capable of knowing right or wrong. For the reason why we are to do _any thing_ as unto God, and with regard to our relation to him, is the same reason why we are to do _every thing_ as unto God, and with regard to this relation. That which is a reason for our being _wise_ and _holy_ in the discharge of all our _business_, is the same reason for our being wise and holy in the use of all our _money_. *As we have always the _same natures_, and are every where the servants of the same God; as every place is equally full of his presence, and every thing is equally his gift; so we must do every thing as the servants of God; we must live in every place, as in his presence; we must use every thing as that ought to be used which belongs to God. Either this wisdom, and devotion is to go thro’ every way of life, or it is to go through no part of life. If we might forget _ourselves_, or forget God; if we might live by humour or fancy in any thing, or at any time, or in any place, it would be as lawful to do the same in every thing, and every time, and every place. 5. If therefore some people, fancy, that they must be grave and solemn at _church_, but may be _silly_ and _frantic_ at home; that they must live by some rule on the _Sunday_, but may spend other days by chance; that they must have some times of prayer, but may waste the rest of their time as they please; that they must give some money in _charity_, but may squander away the rest as they have a mind; such people have not considered the nature of religion, or the true reasons of piety. For he that, upon principles of reason, can tell why it is good to be wise and heavenly-minded at _church_, can tell that ’tis good to have the _same tempers_ in all other places. He that knows why he should spend any time well, knows it is never allowable to throw any time away. He that rightly understands the reasonableness of _charity_, will know that it can never be excusable, to waste any of our money in pride and folly, or in any needless expences. For every argument that shews the wisdom of charity, proves the wisdom of spending all our fortune well. Every argument that proves the reasonableness of having times of prayer, shews the reasonableness of losing none of our time. 6. *If any one can shew, that we need not _always_ act in the divine presence, that we need not use _every thing_ as the gift of God, that we need not _always_ live by reason, and make religion the rule of all our actions, the same arguments would shew, that we need _never_ act as in the presence of God, nor make religion and reason the measure of _any_ of our actions. If therefore we are to live to God at any time, or in any place, we are to live unto him at all times, and in all places. If we are to use any thing as the gift of God, we are to use every thing as his gift. If we are to do any thing by strict rules of reason and piety, we ought to do every thing in the same manner; because _reason_, and _wisdom_, and piety are as much the best things at _all times_, and in _all places_, as they are the best things at _any time_, or in _any_ place. If it is our glory and happiness to have a _rational nature_, that is endued with wisdom and reason, that is capable of imitating the divine nature; then it must be our glory and happiness, to improve our reason and wisdom, to act up to the excellency of our rational nature, and to imitate God in all our actions. They, therefore, who confine their religion to _times_ and _places_, and some little rules of _retirement_, who think that it is being too strict to introduce religion into _common life_, and make it give laws to all their actions and ways of living; they who think thus, not only mistake, but they mistake the _whole nature_ of religion, who can think any part of their life is more easy, for being free from it. They may well be said to mistake the _whole nature_ of wisdom, who don’t think it desirable to be _always_ wise. He has not learned the _nature_ of piety, who thinks it too much to be pious in all his actions. He does not sufficiently understand what _reason_ is, who does not earnestly desire to live in every thing according to it. If we had a religion that consisted in absurd superstitions, that had no regard to the perfection of our nature, people might well be glad to have some part of their life excused from it: but as the religion of the gospel is only the refinement of our best faculties, as it only requires a life of the highest reason, as it only requires us to use this world, as in reason it ought to be used, to live in such _tempers_ as are the glory of intelligent beings, to walk in such wisdom as exalts our nature, and to practise such piety as will raise us to God; who can think it grievous, to live _always_ in the _spirit_ of such a religion, to have _every part_ of his life full of it, but he that would think it much more grievous, to be as the angels of God in heaven? 7. Farther, as God is one and the same being, always acting like himself, and suitable to his own nature; so it is the duty of every being that he has created, to live according to the nature that he has given it, and _always_ to act like itself. It is therefore an immutable law of God, that all rational beings should act _reasonably_ in _all_ their actions; not at this _time_, or in that _place_, or upon this occasion, or in the use of some particular thing; but at _all_ times, in _all_ places, at _all_ occasions, and in the use of _all_ things. When, therefore, any being that is endued with reason, does an _unreasonable_ thing at any time, or in any place, or in the use of any thing, it sins against the _great law_ of its nature, and against God the author of that nature. They, therefore, who plead for any _foolish_ fashions, _customs_ and _humours_, for the misuse of our _time_ or _money_, plead for a rebellion against our nature, for a rebellion against God, who has given us reason for no other end, than to make it the _rule_ and _measure_ of all our ways of life. 8. When, therefore, you are guilty of any _folly_ or _extravagance_, or indulge any _vain_ temper, don’t consider it as a small matter; but consider it as it is, acting _contrary_ to your _nature_; and then you will see that there is nothing _small_ that is _unreasonable_, because all unreasonable ways are contrary to the nature of all rational beings. The infirmities of human life make such _food_ and _raiment_ necessary for us as _angels_ do not want; but it is no more allowable for us to turn these necessities into _follies_, and indulge ourselves in the luxury of _food_, or the vanities of _dress_, than it is allowable for _angels_ to act below the dignity of their proper state. For a reasonable life, is as much the duty of all _men_, as it is the duty of all _angels_. These are not _speculative_ flights, but plain and _undeniable laws_, that are founded in the _nature_ of rational beings, who, as such, are obliged to live by reason, and glorify God by a continual right use of their several talents. So that tho’ men are not _angels_; yet they may know by what rules men are to act, by considering the state of angels. Our blessed Saviour has plainly turned our thoughts this way, by making this petition, _Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven_. A plain proof, that the obedience of _men_ is to imitate the obedience of _angels_; and that rational beings on earth are to live unto God, as rational beings in heaven live unto him. 9. When, therefore, you would represent to your mind how Christians ought to live unto God, and by what degrees of wisdom and holiness they ought to use the things of this life, you must not look at the world; but you must look up to the society of angels, and think what wisdom and holiness is fit to prepare you for such a state of glory. You must look to all the _highest precepts_ of the gospel; you must examine yourself by the _Spirit_ of Christ; you must think how _departed souls_ would live, if they were again to act the short part of human life; and what degrees of wisdom and holiness you will wish for when you are leaving the world. 10. And as Christianity consecrates all _states_ and _employments_ to God, as it requires us to aspire after universal obedience, doing and using every thing as the servants of God; so are we more especially obliged to observe this exactness in the use of our _estates_ and _fortunes_. The reason is plain, if we only consider, that our _estate_ is as much the gift of God, as our _eyes_, or our _hands_, and is no more to be buried, or thrown away at pleasure, than we are to pull out our eyes, or throw away our limbs. But besides this consideration, there are several other important reasons why we should be exact in the use of our estates. 11. *_First_, because the manner of using our money, enters so far into the business of every day, and makes so great a part of our common life, that our _common life_ must be much of the same nature, as our _common way_ of spending our estate. If reason and religion govern us in this, then reason and religion have got great hold of us; but if _humour_, _pride_, and _fancy_ are the measures of our spending our estate, then humour, pride, and fancy will have the direction of the greatest part of our life. 12. Another reason is, because our money is capable of being used to the most excellent purposes, and is so great a means of doing good. If we waste it, we don’t waste a trifle that signifies little; but we waste that which might be as eyes to the _blind_, as a husband to the _widow_, as a father to the _orphan_. If a man had _eyes_, and _hands_, and _feet_, that he could give to those that wanted them; if he should either lock them up in a _chest_, or please himself with some _needless_ or _ridiculous_ use of them, instead of giving them to his brethren that were _blind_ and _lame_, should we not justly reckon him an inhuman wretch? If he should rather chuse to amuse himself with _furnishing_ his house with those things, than to intitle himself to an eternal reward, by giving them to those that wanted _eyes_ and _hands_, might we not justly reckon him mad? Now _money_ has much the nature of _eyes_ and _feet_: if we either lock it up in _chests_, or waste it in _needless_ and _ridiculous_ expences whilst the poor and the distressed want it for their necessary uses; if we consume it in the _ridiculous ornaments_ of apparel, whilst others are starving in _nakedness_, we are not far from the cruelty of him that chuses rather to adorn his house with the _hands_ and _eyes_, than to give them to those that want them. If we indulge ourselves in such expensive enjoyments, to satisfy no _real want_, rather than to entitle ourselves to an eternal reward, by disposing of our money well, we are guilty of his madness, that rather chuses to lock up _eyes_ and _hands_, than to make himself for ever blessed, by giving them to those that want them. 13. *_Thirdly_, if we waste our money, we are not only guilty of making that useless, which is so powerful a means of doing good, but we turn this useful talent into a powerful means of corrupting ourselves; because so far as it is spent _wrong_, so far it is spent in the support of some _wrong temper_, in gratifying some vain and unreasonable desires. *As _wit_ and _fine parts_ cannot be only lost, but expose those that have them to greater follies, if they are not strictly devoted to piety; so _money_, if it is not used strictly according to reason and religion, cannot only be trifled away, but it will betray people into _greater_ follies, and make them live a more silly and extravagant life, than they would have done without it. If therefore you don’t spend your money in doing good to others, you spend it to the hurt of yourself. You will act like a man that should refuse to give a _cordial_ to a sick friend, tho’ he could not drink it himself without _inflaming_ his blood. For this is the case of _superfluous_ money; if you give it to those that want it, it is a _cordial_; if you spend it upon yourself, in something that you do not want, it only _inflames_ and disorders your mind, and makes you worse than you would be without it. 14. Consider again the fore-mentioned comparison; if the man that would not make a right use of spare _eyes_ and _hands_, should, by continually trying to use them himself, spoil his own eyes and hands, we might accuse him of still greater madness. Now this is truly the case of riches spent upon ourselves in _vain_ and _needless_ expences: in trying to use them where they have no real use, we only use them to our hurt, in creating unreasonable desires, in nourishing ill tempers, in indulging our passions, and supporting a vain turn of mind. For high _eating_ and _drinking_, fine _cloaths_, and fine _houses_, state and equipage, gay _pleasures_ and _diversions_, do all of them hurt and disorder our hearts; they are the food and nourishment of all the folly and weakness of our nature, and are certain means to make us vain and worldly in our tempers; they are all of them the support of something that ought not to be supported; they are contrary to that sobriety of heart which relisheth divine things; they are like so many weights upon our mind, that make us less able, and less inclined to raise up our thoughts and affections to the things that are above. So that money, thus spent, is not merely _wasted_, but spent to bad purposes; to the corruption of our hearts, and make us less able to live up to the doctrines of the gospel. It is like keeping money from the poor, to buy poison for ourselves. For so much as is spent in the vanity of _dress_, is so much laid out to _fix_ vanity in our minds. So much as is laid out for _idleness_ and _indulgence_, is so much given to render our hearts _dull_ and _sensual_. So much as is spent in _state_ and _equipage_, is so much spent to _dazzle_ your own eyes, and render you the idol of your own imagination. And so in every thing, when you go from _reasonable_ wants, you only support some unreasonable _temper_, some _turn_ of mind, which every Christian is called upon to _renounce_. So that, whether we consider our fortune as a trust from God, or the _great good_ it enables us to do, or the great harm that it does to ourselves, if idly spent; on all these accounts it is absolutely necessary to make reason and religion the strict rule of using all our fortune. 15. Every exhortation in scripture to satisfy only such wants as God would have satisfied; every exhortation to be spiritual and heavenly, pressing after a glorious change of our nature; every exhortation to love our neighbours as ourselves, is a command to be _strictly religious_ in the use of our money. This use of our worldly goods, is so much the doctrine of the New Testament, that you cannot read a chapter without being taught something of it. I shall only produce one passage of scripture, which is sufficient to justify all that I have said. _When the Son of Man shall come in his glory, and all his holy angels with him, then he shall sit upon the throne of his glory. And before him shall be gathered all nations; and he shall separate them one from another, as a shepherd divideth the sheep from the goats; and he shall set the sheep on his right-hand, but the goats on the left. Then shall the King say unto them on his right-hand, Come ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world: for I was hungry, and ye gave me meat; I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink; I was a stranger, and ye took me in; naked and ye cloathed me: I was sick, and ye visited me; I was in prison, and ye came unto me. Then shall he say unto them on the left-hand, Depart from me ye cursed, into everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and his angels: for I was hungry, and ye gave me no meat; I was thirsty, and ye gave me no drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me not in; naked, and ye cloathed me not; sick, and in prison, and ye visited me not. These shall go away into everlasting punishment; but the righteous into life eternal._ 16. I have quoted this passage at length, because if one looks at the way of the world, one would hardly think Christians had ever read this scripture. Some people look upon this text only as a general recommendation of _occasional_ works of _charity_; whereas it shews the necessity, not only of occasional charities, but of such an _entire charitable life_, as is a continual exercise of all such works of charity as we are able to perform. You own that there is no salvation but in the performance of these good works. Who is it, therefore, that may be said to have performed these good works? Is it he that has _sometime_ assisted a _prisoner_, or relieved the poor or sick? This would be as absurd as to say, that he had performed the duties of _devotion_, who had sometime said his prayers. Is it, therefore, he that has _several times_ done these works of charity? This can no more be said, than he can be said to be the truly _just_ man, who had done acts of justice _several times_. What is the rule therefore, or measure, of performing these good works? Now the rule is very _plain_ and _easy_, and such as is _common_ to every other _virtue_, as well as to charity. Who is the humble, or meek, or just, or faithful man? Is it he that has _several times_ done acts of humility, meekness, justice, or fidelity? No; but it is he that lives in the _habitual exercise_ of these virtues. In like manner, he only can be said to have performed those works of charity, who lives in the _habitual exercise_ of them to the utmost of his power. He only has performed the duty of divine love, who loves God with all his heart, and _mind_, and _strength_. And he only has performed the duty of these good works, who has done them with all his heart, and mind, and strength. For there is no other measure of our doing good, than our power of doing it. 17. The apostle _Peter_ puts this question to our blessed Saviour, _Lord, how oft shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him, till seven times? Jesus saith unto him, I say not unto thee until seven times, but until seventy times seven._ Not as if after this number of offences, a man might then cease to forgive; but the expression is to shew us, that we are not to bound our forgiveness by _any number_ of offences, but are to _continue_ forgiving the most repeated offences against us. If therefore a man ceases to forgive his brother, because he has forgiven him _often_ already: if he excuses himself from forgiving this man, because he has forgiven _several others_, such a one breaks this law of Christ, concerning the forgiving one’s brother. Now the rule of _forgiving_ is also the rule of _giving_. You are not to _give_, or do good to _seven_, but to _seventy times seven_. You are not to cease from giving, because you have given often to the same person, or to other persons; but must account yourself as much obliged to continue relieving those that continue in want, as you was obliged to relieve them once or twice. Had it not been in your power, you had been excused from relieving any person _once_; but if it is in your power to relieve people _often_, it is as much your duty to do it often as it is the duty of others to do it but seldom, because they are but seldom able. 18. And the reason of all this is plain; there is the same _necessity_ of being charitable at one time as at another. It is as much the best use of our money, to be _always_ doing good with it, as it is the best use of it at any _particular time_; so that that which is a reason for a charitable _action_, is as good a reason for a charitable _life_; for charity has nothing to recommend it to-day, but what will be the same recommendation of it to-morrow; and you cannot neglect it at one time, without being guilty of the same sin as if you neglected it at another time. As sure, therefore, as these works of charity are necessary to salvation, so sure is it that we are to do them to the utmost of our power; not to-day, or to-morrow, but through the whole _course_ of our life. If therefore it be our duty at any time to deny ourselves any _needless_ expences, that we may have to give to those that want, it is as much our duty to do so at all times, that we may be able to do more good: for if it is at any time a sin to prefer _needless_ expence to works of charity, it is so at all times. If it is ever necessary to take care of these works of charity, and to see that we make ourselves in some degree capable of doing them; it is as necessary to take care to make ourselves as capable as we can be, of performing them in all the parts of our life. 19. Either therefore you must say, that you need never perform any of these good works; or you must own, that you are to perform all your life in as high a degree as you are able. There is no middle way any more than there is a middle way between temperance and intemperance. If you do not strive to fulfil all charitable works, if you neglect any of them that are in your power, let it be when it will, or where it will, you number yourself amongst those that want Christian charity; because it is as much your duty to do good with all that you have, as it is your duty to be temperate in all that you eat or drink. 20. Hence appears the _necessity_ of renouncing all those _foolish_ and _unreasonable_ expences, which the folly of mankind has made so common and fashionable in the world. For if it is necessary to do good works as far as you are able, it must be as necessary to renounce those needless ways of spending money, which render you unable to do works of charity. You must therefore no more conform to these ways of the world, than you must conform to the vices of the world. You must no more spend with those that idly waste their money as their own humour leads them, than you must drink with the drunken; because a course of such expences is no more consistent with a life of _charity_, than excess in drinking is consistent with a _life of sobriety_. When therefore any one tells you of the lawfulness of expensive apparel, or the innocency of pleasing yourself with costly satisfactions, only imagine that the same person was to tell you, that you need not do works of charity, that Christ does not require you to do good to your poor brethren, as unto him, and then you will see the wickedness of such advice; for, to tell you that you may live in such expences, as make it impossible for you to live in the exercise of good works, is the same thing as telling you, that you need not have any care about such good works themselves. CHAP. VI. _How the imprudent use of an estate corrupts all the tempers, and fills the heart with poor and ridiculous passions; represented in the character of |Flavia|._ 1. IT has already been observed, that a religious care is to be used in the manner ♦of spending our _money_ or _estate_; because the manner of spending our estate makes so great a part of our common life, and is so much the business of every day, that, according as we are wise or imprudent in this, the _whole course_ of our _lives_ will be wise, or full of folly. ♦ duplicate word ‘of’ removed Persons that receive instructions of piety with _pleasure_, often wonder that they make no farther progress in that religion which they so much _admire_. Now the reason is this: religion lives only in their _head_, but something else has possession of their hearts; and therefore, they continue from _year_ to _year_ mere _admirers_ and _praisers_ of piety, without ever coming up to its precepts. 2. If it be asked, why religion does not get possession of their hearts? It is not because they live in _gross sins_ or _debaucheries_; but because their _hearts_ are constantly _employed_, _perverted_, and kept in a wrong state, by the _indiscreet use_ of such things as are _lawful_. The use and enjoyment of their estates is _lawful_, and therefore it never comes into their heads to imagine any danger from that quarter. They never reflect that there is a _vain_ and _imprudent_ use of their estates: which, though it does nor destroy like _gross sins_, yet so _disorders_ the heart, and supports it in such _sensuality_ and _dullness_, as makes it incapable of receiving the life and spirit of piety. For our souls may be rendered incapable of all virtue, merely by the use of _innocent_ and _lawful_ things. 3. What is more innocent than _rest_? And yet what more dangerous than sloth and idleness? What is more lawful than _eating_ and _drinking_? And yet what more destructive of all virtue, and fruitful of all vice, than _sensuality_. Now, it is for want of exactness in the use of these _innocent_ and _lawful things_, that religion cannot get possession of our hearts: and it is in the right management of ourselves, as to these things, that the _art_ of holy living chiefly consists. 4. _Gross sins_ are plainly seen, and easily avoided by persons that profess religion: but the _indiscreet_ use of innocent and lawful things, as it does not _shock_ our consciences, so it is difficult to make people at all sensible of the danger of it. A _gentleman_ that expends all his estate in _sports_, and a _woman_ that lays out all her fortune upon herself, can hardly be persuaded that the spirit of religion cannot subsist in such a way of life. These persons may live free from debaucheries; they may be friends of religion, so far as to _praise_ and _speak_ well of it: but it cannot govern their hearts, and be the spirit of their actions, till they change their way of life. For a _woman_ that loves _dress_, that thinks no expence too great to bestow upon the _adorning_ of her person, cannot stop there; for that temper draws a _thousand_ other follies along with it, and will render the whole course of her life, her _business_, her _conversation_, her _hopes_, her _fears_, her _taste_, her _pleasures_ and _diversions_, all suitable to it. 5. *_Flavia_ and _Miranda_ are two maiden sisters, that have each of them _two hundred pounds_ a year: they buried their parents twenty years ago, and have since that time spent their estate as they pleased. *_Flavia_ has been the wonder of all her friends, for her excellent management, in making so surprizing a figure in so moderate a fortune. Several _ladies_ that have twice her fortune, are not able to be always so _genteel_, and so constant at all places of _pleasure_ and _expence_. She has every thing that is in the _fashion_, and is in every place where there is any _diversion_. _Flavia_ is very _orthodox_; she talks warmly against _heretics_ and _schismatics_, is generally at _church_, and often at the _sacrament_. She once commended a _sermon_ that was against the _vanity_ of dress, and thought it was very just against _Lucinda_, whom she takes to be a great deal finer than she need be. If any one asks _Flavia_ to do some thing in charity, if she likes the person that makes the proposal, or happens to be in a right _temper_, she will toss him _half a crown_, or a _crown_; and tell him, if he knew what a _long millener’s bill_ she had just received, he would think it a great deal for her to give. A _quarter_ of a year after this, she hears a _sermon_ upon the _necessity_ of charity; she thinks the man preaches well; that it is a very _proper_ subject; that people want much to be put in mind of it; but she applies nothing to herself, because she remembers that she gave a _crown_ some time ago when she could so ill spare it. 6. As for _poor_ people themselves, she will admit of no complaints from them: she is very positive they are all _cheats_ and _liars_, and will say any thing to get relief; and therefore, it must be a sin to encourage them in their evil ways. You would think _Flavia_ had the tenderest conscience in the world, if you was to see how _scrupulous_ she is of the guilt and danger of _giving_ amiss. 7. She buys all books of _wit_ and _humour_, and has made an expensive collection of all our _English poets_. For she says, one cannot have a _true taste_ of any of them, without being conversant with them all. She will sometimes read a _book_ of _piety_, if it is a short one, if it is much commended for _stile_ and _language_, and she can tell where to _borrow_ it. _Flavia_ is very _idle_, and yet very fond of _fine work_. This makes her often _sit_ working in _bed_ until _noon_, and be told many a _long story_ before she is up; so that I need not tell you her morning devotions are not _always_ rightly performed. _Flavia_ would be a _miracle_ of piety, if she was but half so careful of her soul as she is of her body. The rising of a _pimple_ in her face, the sting of a _gnat_, will make her keep her room two or three days; and she thinks they are very _rash_ people, that don’t take care of things in time. This makes her so over-careful of her _health_, that she never thinks she is well enough; and so _over-indulgent_, that she can never be really well. So that it costs her a great deal in _sleeping-draughts_ and _waking-draughts_, in _spirits_ for the head, in _drops_ for the nerves, in _cordials_ for the stomach, and in _saffron_ for her _tea_. 8. If you visit _Flavia_ on the _Sunday_ you will always meet _good company_: you will know what is doing in the world; you will hear the last _lampoon_, be told who wrote it, and who is meant by every name that is in it. You will hear what _plays_ were acted that week, which is the finest song in the _opera_, who was intolerable at the last assembly, and what games are most in fashion. _Flavia_ thinks they are _Atheists_ that play at _cards_ on the _Sunday_; but she will tell you the _nicety_ of all the games, what cards she held, how she _played_ them, and the _history_ of all that happened at _play_, as soon as she comes from _church_. If you would know who is _rude_ and _ill-natured_, who is _vain_ and _foppish_, who lives too _high_, and who is in _debt_; if you would know what is the quarrel at a _certain house_, or who and who are in _love_; if you would know how late _Belinda_ comes home at night, what _cloaths_ she has bought, how she loves _compliments_, and what a long story she told at such a place; if you would know how cross _Lucius_ is to his _wife_, what ill-natured things he says to her when _nobody_ hears him; if you would know how they hate one another in their _hearts_, though they appear so kind in public, you must visit _Flavia_ on the _Sunday_. But still she has so great a regard for the holiness of the day, that she has turned a poor old widow out of her house, as a _prophane wretch_, for having been found once _mending her cloaths_ on the _Sunday_ night. Thus lives _Flavia_; and if she lives ten years longer, she will have spent about _fifteen hundred and sixty Sundays_ after this manner. She will have wore about _two hundred_ different suits of cloaths. Out of this _thirty years_ of her life, fifteen of them will have been disposed of in _bed_; and of the remaining fifteen, about _fourteen_ of them will have been consumed in eating, drinking, dressing, visiting, conversation, reading and hearing plays and romances; at operas, assemblies, balls, and diversions. For you may reckon all the time she is _up_, thus spent, except about an _hour_ and half that is disposed of at church, most _Sundays_ in the year. With great management, and under mighty rules of œconomy, she will have spent _sixty hundred_ pounds upon herself, bating only some _shillings_, _crowns_, or _half crowns_, that have gone from her in _accidental_ charities. 9. I shall not take upon me to say, that it is impossible for _Flavia_ to be saved; but thus much must be said, that her whole life is in direct opposition to all those _tempers_ and _practices_ which the gospel has made necessary to salvation. *If you was to hear her say, that she had lived all her life like _Anna_ the prophetess, _who departed not from the temple, but served God with fastings and prayers night and day_, you would look upon her as very extravagant; and yet this would be no greater an extravagance, than for her to say, that she had been _striving to enter in at the straight gate_, or making any one doctrine of the gospel a rule of her life. *She may as well say, that she lived with our Saviour when he was upon earth, as that she has lived in imitation of him, or made it any part of her care to live in such tempers, as he required of all those that would be his disciples. She may as truly say, that she has every day _washed the saints feet_, as that she has lived in Christian _humility_ and _poverty_ of Spirit; and as reasonably think, that she has taught a _charity-school_, as that she has lived in _works of charity_. She has as much reason to think, that she has been a _sentinel_ in an army, as that she has lived in _watching and self-denial_. And it may as fairly be said, that she lived by the labour of her hands, as that she had _given all diligence to make her calling and election sure_. 10. And here it is to be well observed, that the _poor_, _vain_ turn of mind, the _folly_ and _vanity_ of this whole life of _Flavia_, is all owing to the manner of using her estate. It is this that has formed her _spirit_, that has given life to every _idle temper_, that has supported every _trifling passion_, and kept her from all thoughts of a prudent, useful, and devout life. When her parents died, she had no thoughts about her two hundred pounds a year; but that she had so much money to do what she would with, to spend upon herself, and purchase the pleasures and gratifications of all her passions. And it is this setting out, this false judgment, and indiscreet use of her fortune, that has filled her whole life with the same indiscretion, and kept her from thinking of what is _right_, and _wise_, and pious in every thing else. If you have seen her delighted in _plays_ and _romances_, in _scandal_ and _backbiting_, easily _flattered_, and soon _affronted_; if you have seen her devoted to _pleasures_ and _diversions_, a slave to every _passion_ in its turn, nice in every thing that concerned her _body_ or _dress_, careless of every thing that might benefit her _soul_, always wanting some new entertainment, and ready for every _happy_ invention in _shew_ or _dress_, it was because she had _purchased_ all these tempers with her yearly revenue. 11. She might have been _humble_, _serious_, _devout_, a lover of _good books_, an admirer of _prayer_ and retirement, careful of her time, diligent in _good works_, full of _charity_ and the love of God; but that the imprudent use of her estate forced all the contrary tempers upon her. And it was no wonder that she should turn her _time_, her _mind_, her _health_ and strength to the same uses that she turned her fortune. It is owing to her being wrong in so great an _article_ of life, that you can see nothing wise, or pious, in any other part of it. 12. And as _Flavia_ is undone by the unreasonable use of her fortune; so the _lowness_ of most peoples virtue, the _imperfections_ of their piety, and the disorders of their _passions_, are generally owing to their imprudent use of lawful things. More people are kept from a true sense of religion, by a _regular kind_ of sensuality than by gross _drunkenness_. More men live regardless of the great duties of piety, through too _great a concern_ for worldly goods, than through _direct injustice_. 13. This man would perhaps be devout, if he was not a _virtuoso_. Another is deaf to all the motives to piety, by indulging an _idle_, _slothful_ temper. Could you cure this man of his _curiosity_ and _inquisitive_ temper, or that of his _false_ satisfaction and thirst after _learning_, you need do no more to make them both become men of great piety. If this _woman_ would make _fewer visits_, or that not be _always talking_, they would neither of them find it hard to be affected with religion. Would we therefore make a real progress in religion, we must not only abhor _gross_ and _notorious_ sins; but regulate the _innocent_ and _lawful_ parts of our behaviour, and put the common actions of life under the rules of discretion and piety. CHAP. VII. _How the wise and pious use of an estate carrieth us to all the virtues of the Christian life; represented in the character of |Miranda|._ 1. MIRANDA (the sister of _Flavia_) is a sober, reasonable Christian. As soon as she was mistress of her _time_ and _fortune_, it was her first thought how she might _best fulfil_ every thing that God required of her in the use of them, and make the best use of this short life. She depends upon the truth of what our blessed Lord hath said, _that there is but one thing needful_; and therefore makes her whole life but one continual labour after it. She has but one reason for doing, or not doing, for liking, or not liking any thing; and that is, the _will_ of God. She is not so weak as to pretend to add, what is called the _fine lady_, to the true Christian; _Miranda_ thinks too well, to be taken with the sound of such silly words. She has renounced the world, to follow Christ in the exercise of humility, charity, devotion, abstinence, and heavenly affections; and that is _Miranda_’s fine breeding. Whilst she was under her _mother_, she was forced to live in _ceremony_, to sit up late at _nights_, to be in the folly of every _fashion_, to go loaded with _finery_ to the holy sacrament, to be in every polite _conversation_, to hear prophaneness at the _play-house_, and wanton songs and love-intrigues at the _opera_, to dance at public places, that _fops_ and _rakes_ might admire the fineness of her _shape_, and the _beauty_ of her motions. The remembrance of this way of life, makes her exceeding careful to maintain a contrary behaviour. 2. _Miranda_ does not divide her duty between God, her neighbour, and herself; but she considers all as due to God, and so does every thing for his sake. This makes her consider her _fortune_ as the gift of God, that is to be used, as every thing is that belongs to God, for the wise and reasonable ends of a Christian life. Her fortune therefore is divided betwixt herself and several other poor people, and she has only her part of _relief_ from it. She thinks it the same folly to indulge herself in needless expences, as to give to other people to spend in the same way; therefore, as she will not give a poor man money to go see a _puppet shew_; neither will she allow herself any to spend in the same manner, thinking it very proper to be as _wise_ herself as she expects poor men should be. For is it a folly and a crime in a _poor_ man, says _Miranda_, to waste what is given him in trifles, whilst he wants _meat_, _drink_, and _cloaths_? And is it less folly, or a less crime in me, to spend that money in silly diversions, which might be so much better spent in _imitation_ of the divine goodness, in works of kindness to my fellow-creatures? If a poor man’s own necessities are a reason why he should not waste any of his money idly, surely the necessities of the _poor_, and the _excellency_ of charity, is a much _greater reason_ why no one should waste any of his money. For if he does so, he does not only, like the poor man, waste that which he wants himself; but that which is wanted for the most noble uses, and which Christ himself is ready to receive at his hands. And if we are angry at a _poor_ man, when he throws away that which should buy his own bread, how must we appear in the sight of God, if we make a _wanton_ idle use of that which would buy bread and cloaths for our hungry and naked brethren, who are as near and dear to God as we are, and fellow-heirs of the same glory? This is the spirit of _Miranda_: she is only one of a certain number of poor _people_ that are _relieved_ out of her fortune; and she only differs from them in the _blessedness_ of giving. 3. If you was to see her, you would wonder what poor body it was, that was so surprizingly _neat_ and _clean_. She has but one rule in her dress, to be always _clean_, and in the _cheapest_ things. Every thing about her resembles the purity of her soul; and she is always clean without, because she is always pure within. Every morning sees her _early_ at her prayers. She rejoices in the beginning of every day, because it begins all her rules of holy living, and brings the fresh pleasure of repeating them. She is as _guardian angel_ to those that dwell about her, with her watchings and prayers, blessing the place where she dwells, and making intercession with God for those that are asleep. Her devotions have had some intervals; before the light is suffered to enter into her sister’s room. _Miranda_ does not know what it is to have a dull half-day; the returns of her hours of prayer, and her religious exercises, comes too often to let any considerable part of time lie heavy upon her hands. 4. When you see her at _work_, you see the same wisdom that governs all her other actions. She is either doing something that is necessary for herself, or necessary for others who want to be assisted. There is scarce a poor family in the neighbourhood, but wears something or other that has had the labour of her hands. Her pious mind neither wants the amusement, nor can bear with the folly of idle impertinent work. When there is no _useful_ or _charitable_ work to be done, _Miranda_ will work no more. At her table she lives strictly by this rule of holy scripture, _Whether ye eat or drink, or whatsoever ye do, do all to the glory of God_. This makes her begin and end every meal, as she begins and ends every day, with acts of devotion. She eats and drinks only for the sake of living, and with so _regular_ an abstinence, that every _meal_ is an exercise of _self-denial_. If _Miranda_ was to run a _race_ for her life, she would submit to a _diet_ that was proper for it; but as the race which is set before her, is a race of _holiness_ and _heavenly_ affection, which she is to finish in a disordered body of earthly passions; so her every day diet has this one end, to make her body fitter for this spiritual race. She does not weigh her meat in a pair of _scales_; but she weighs it in a much better ballance: so much as gives a proper strength to her body, and renders it able and willing to obey the soul, to join in psalms and prayers, and lift up eyes and hands towards heaven with greater readiness, so much is _Miranda’s meal_. So that _Miranda_ will never have her eyes swell with fatness, till she has _changed_ her religion. 5. The holy scriptures, especially of the New Testament, are her daily study; these she reads with a watchful attention, constantly casting an eye upon herself, and trying herself by every doctrine that is there. When she has the New Testament in her hand, she supposes herself at the feet of our Saviour and his apostles; and makes every thing that she learns of them so many laws of her life. She receives their words with as much attention and reverence, as if she saw their persons, and knew that they were just come from heaven, on purpose to teach her the way that leads to it. She thinks that the trying herself every day by the scripture, is the only way to be ready for her trial at the last day. Of all human writings, the lives of pious persons, and eminent saints, are her greatest delight. In these she searches as for hidden treasure, hoping to find some secret of holy living, some uncommon degree of piety, which she may make her own. By this means _Miranda_ has her head and heart stored with all the principles of wisdom and holiness. She is so full of the one business of life, that she finds it difficult to converse upon any other subject; and if you are in her company, you must be made wiser and better, whether you will or no. 6. To relate her charity, would be to relate the history of every day for twenty years; for so long has all her fortune been spent that way. She has set up near twenty poor tradesmen that had failed in their business, and saved as many from failing. She has educated several poor children, that were picked up in the streets, and put them in an honest employment. As soon as any labourer is confined at home with any sickness, she sends him, till he recovers, twice the value of his wages, that he may have one part to give to his family, as usual, and the other to provide things convenient for his sickness. If a family seems too large to be supported by the labour of those that can work in it, she pays their rent, and gives them something yearly towards their cloathing. By this means there are many poor families that live in a comfortable manner, and are from year to year blessing her in their prayers. If there is any poor man or woman that is more than ordinary wicked, _Miranda_ has her eye upon them: she watches their time of adversity; and if she can discover they are in straits or affliction, she gives them speedy relief. She has this care for this sort of people, because she once saved a profligate person from being carried to prison, who immediately became a true penitent. 7. There is nothing in the character of _Miranda_ more to be admired than this temper. For this tenderness towards the most abandoned sinners, is the highest instance of a godlike soul. _Miranda_ once passed by a house, where the _man_ and his _wife_ were cursing and swearing at one another in a most dreadful manner, and three children crying about them. This sight so much affected her compassionate mind, that she went the next day, and bought the three children, that they might not be ruined by living with such wicked parents. They now live with _Miranda_, are blessed with her care and prayers, and all the good works which she can do for them. They hear her talk, they see her live, they join with her in psalms and prayers. The eldest of them has already converted his parents from their wicked life, and shews a turn of mind so remarkably pious, that _Miranda_ intends him for _holy orders_; that being thus saved himself, he may do to other miserable objects, as she has done to him. _Miranda_ is a constant relief to poor people in their _misfortunes_ and _accidents_. There are sometimes little misfortunes that happen to them, which of themselves they could never be able to overcome. The death of a _cow_, or a _horse_, or some little _robbery_, would keep them in distress all their lives. She does not suffer them to grieve under such accidents. She immediately gives them the full value of their loss, and makes use of it as a means of raising their minds to God. She has a great tenderness for _old people_ that are past their labour. The parish allowance to such is seldom a comfortable maintenance. For this reason they are the constant objects of her care. She adds so much to their allowance, as somewhat exceeds the wages they got when they were young. This she does to comfort the infirmities of their age, that, being free from trouble, they may serve God in peace. She has generally a large number of this kind, who, by her charities and exhortations, spend their last days in great piety. ♦9. _Miranda_ never wants compassion, even to common beggars; especially those that are _old_ or _sick_, or that want _eyes_ or _limbs_. She hears their complaints with tenderness, gives them some proof of her kindness, and never rejects them with hard or reproachful language, for fear of adding affliction to her fellow creatures. ♦ Number 8 omitted in text. If a poor traveller tells her, that he has neither _strength_, nor _food_, nor _money_ left, she never bids him go to the place from whence he came, or tells him, that she cannot relieve him, because he may be a _cheat_, and she does not know him; but she relieves him for that reason, because he is a _stranger_, and _unknown_ to her. For it is the most noble part of charity, to be kind to those whom we never saw before, and perhaps never may see again in this life. _I was a stranger, and ye took me in_, saith our blessed Saviour; but who can perform this duty, that will not relieve persons that are unknown to him? _Miranda_ considers, that _Lazarus_ was a common beggar; that he was the care of angels, and carried into _Abraham_’s bosom. She considers, that our blessed Saviour and his apostles were kind to _beggars_; that they spoke comfortably to them, healed their diseases, and restored eyes and limbs to the blind and lame; that _Peter_ said to the beggar that wanted an alms from him, _Silver and gold have I none, but such as I have, give I thee; in the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, rise up and walk_. _Miranda_ therefore never treats beggars with disregard and aversion; but imitates the kindness of our Saviour and his apostles towards them; and tho’ she cannot, like them, work miracles for their relief, yet she relieves them with that power that she hath; and may say with the apostle, _such as I have give I thee, in the name of Jesus Christ_. It may be, says _Miranda_, that I may often give to those that do not deserve it, or that will make an _ill use_ of my alms. But what then? Is not this the very method of divine goodness? Does not God make _his sun to rise on the evil and on the good_? Is not this the very _goodness_ that is recommended to us in scripture, that by imitating of it, we may be children of our Father which is in heaven, _who sendeth rain on the just and on the unjust_? And shall I with-hold a little _money_ or _food_ from my fellow-creature, for fear he should not be good enough to receive it of me? Do I beg of God to deal with me, not according to my merit, but according to his own goodness; and shall I be so absurd, as to with-hold my charity from a poor brother, because he may perhaps not deserve it? Shall I use a _measure_ towards him, which I pray God never to use towards me? Besides, where has the scripture made _merit_ the rule or measure of charity? On the contrary, the scripture saith, _If thy enemy hunger, feed him; if he thirst, give him drink_. Now this plainly teaches us, that the _merit_ of persons is to be no rule of our charity, but that we are to do acts of kindness to those that _least_ of all deserve it. For if I am to _love_ and do good to my worst enemies; notwithstanding all their _spite_ and _malice_, surely _merit_ is no measure of charity. If I am not to with-hold my charity from such bad people, surely I am not to deny alms to poor beggars, whom I do not know to be bad people. ♦11. You will perhaps say, that by this means I encourage people to be _beggars_. But the same thoughtless objection may be made against _all kinds_ of charities, for they may encourage people to depend upon them. The same may be said against _forgiving_ our enemies, for it may _encourage_ people to do us hurt. The same may be said, even against the goodness of God, that by pouring his blessings on the evil and on the good, on the just and on the unjust, evil and unjust men are _encouraged_ in their wicked ways. The same may be said against cloathing the naked, or giving medicines to the sick, for that may encourage people to _neglect_ themselves, and be _careless_ of their health. But when the _love of God dwelleth in you_, and has filled you with bowels of mercy, you will make no more such objections as these. ♦ Number 10 omitted in text. When you are at any time turning away the _poor_, the _old_, the _sick_ and _helpless_ traveller, the _lame_, or the _blind_, ask yourself this question, Do I sincerely wish these poor creatures may be as happy as _Lazarus_, that was carried by _angels_ into _Abraham_’s bosom? Do I sincerely desire that God would make them fellow-heirs with me in eternal glory? Now if you search into your soul, you will find that there is none of these motions there, that you are wishing nothing of this. For it is impossible for any one heartily to wish a poor creature so _great_ a happiness, and yet not have a heart to give him a _small_ alms. For this reason, says _Miranda_, as far as I can, I give to _all_, because I pray to God to forgive _all_; and I cannot refuse an alms to those whom I pray God to bless, whom I wish to be partakers of _eternal glory_; but am glad to shew some degree of love to such, as, I hope, will be the objects of the infinite love of God. And if, as our Saviour has assured us, _it be more blessed to give than to receive_, we ought to look upon those that ask our alms, as so many _friends_ and _benefactors_ that come to do us a greater good than they can receive; that come to be _witnesses_ of our charity, to be _monuments_ of our love, to _appear_ for us at the day of judgment, and to help us to a blessedness greater than our alms can bestow on them. 12. This is the spirit, and this is the life of _Miranda_; and if she lives ten years longer, she will have spent _sixty hundred_ pounds in charity; for that which she allows herself, may fairly be reckoned among her _alms_. When she dies, she must shine amongst _apostles_, and _saints_, and _martyrs_; she must stand among the _first servants_ of God, and be glorious among those that have fought the good fight, and finished their course with joy. 13. Now this life of _Miranda_, however contrary to the fashion of the world, is yet suitable to the true spirit of Christianity. To live as she does, is as truly suitable to the gospel of Christ, as to be _baptized_, or receive the _sacrament_. Her spirit is that which animated the _saints_ of former ages; and it is because they lived as she does, that we now celebrate their memories, and praise God for their examples. There is nothing _whimsical_, _trifling_, or _unreasonable_ in her character; but every thing there described, is a proper instance of solid piety. 14. It is as easy to shew, that it is _whimsical_ to go to church, as that it is whimsical to observe any of these rules. For all _Miranda_’s rules of living to God, of spending her _time_ and _fortune_, of eating, working, dressing, and conversing, are as substantial parts of an holy life, as devotion and prayer. For there is nothing to be said for the wisdom of _devotion_, but what is as good an argument for the wise and reasonable use of _apparel_. If you fancy that it is your _only folly_, and that therefore there can be no great matter in it, you are like those that think they are only guilty of the folly of covetousness or ambition. Now though some people may live so plausible a life, as to appear chargeable with no other fault than covetousness or ambition; yet the case is not as it appears, for covetousness or ambition cannot subsist in a heart that is in other respects rightly devoted to God. In like manner, though some may spend most that they have in needless ornaments, and yet seem in other respects truly pious, yet it is certainly false; for it is impossible for a mind that is in a _true state_ of religion, to be vain in the use of cloaths. Now to convince you of this, let us suppose that some _eminent saint_, for instance, the _Virgin Mary_ was sent into the world for a few years, and that you was going to her to be edified by her piety, would you expect to find her dressed out and adorned in fine and expensive cloaths? No: you would know in your own mind, that it was as impossible as to find her learning to _dance_. Do but add _saint_, or _holy_, to any person, either _man_ or _woman_, and your own mind tells you immediately, that such a character cannot admit of the vanity of fine apparel. A _saint_ finely dressed, is as great nonsense, as an _apostle_ in an _embroidered suit_. Every one’s own natural sense convinces him of the inconsistency of these things. ♦16. Now what is the reason, that when you think of a _saint_, you cannot admit the vanity of apparel? Is it not because it is inconsistent with such a right state of heart? And is not this a demonstration, that where such vanity is admitted, there a right state of heart is wanted? For as certainly as the _Virgin Mary_ could not indulge herself, or conform to the vanity of the world in _dress_ and _figure_; so certain is it, that none can indulge themselves in this vanity, but those who want her piety of heart; and consequently it must be owned, that all needless and expensive finery is the effect of a disordered heart. ♦ Number 15 omitted in text. _Covetousness_ is not a crime, because there is any harm in _gold_ or _silver_; but because it is a foolish and unreasonable state of mind, that is fallen from its true good, and sunk into such a poor and wretched satisfaction. In like manner, the _expensive finery_ of dress is not a crime, because there is any thing good or evil in cloaths, but because the expensive ornaments of cloathing shews a _foolish_ and _unreasonable_ state of heart, that is fallen from right notions of human nature, and turns the necessities of life into so many instances of pride and folly. 17. This therefore is the way that you are to judge of the crime of vain apparel: it is an offence against the _proper use_ of cloaths, as covetousness is an offence against the proper use of money: it is an indulgence of _proud_ and _unreasonable_ tempers, an offence against the _humility_ and _sobriety_ of the Christian spirit: it is an offence against all those doctrines that require you to do all to the _glory_ of God, and an offence against all those texts of scripture, that command you to _love_ your neighbour as yourself, to _feed_ the hungry, to _cloath_ the naked, and do _all works_ of charity that you are able. So that you must not deceive yourself with saying, where can be the harm of _cloaths_? For the covetous man might as well say, where can be the harm of _gold_ or _silver_? But you must consider, that it is a great deal of harm to want that _wise_ and _reasonable_ state of heart, which is according to the spirit of religion, and which no one can have in the manner that he ought to have it, who indulges himself either in the _vanity_ of dress, or the _desire_ of riches. 18. Some persons perhaps, who admire the life of _Miranda_, may say, how can it be proposed as a common example? How can we that are married, or we who are under the direction of our parents, imitate such a life? It is answered, just as you may imitate the life of our blessed Saviour and his apostles. The circumstances of our Saviour’s life, and the state and condition of his apostles, were more different from yours than that of _Miranda_ is; and yet their life is the common example that is proposed to all Christians. It is their _spirit_ therefore, their piety, their love of God, that you are to imitate, and not the particular form of their life. Act under God as they did, direct your common actions to that end which they did, practise such love of God, such charity to your neighbour, such humility and self-denial, as they did; and then, though you are only teaching your own children, and St. _Paul_ is converting nations, yet you are following his steps, and acting after his example. 19. Don’t think therefore, that you can’t or need not be like _Miranda_, because you are not in her state of life: for as the same spirit and temper would have made _Miranda_ a _saint_, tho’ she had been forced to labour for a maintenance; so if you will aspire after her spirit, every _condition_ of life will furnish you with sufficient means of employing it. _Miranda_ is what she is, because she does every thing in the name, and with regard to her duty to God; and when you do the same, you will be exactly like her, though you are never so different in your outward state. You are married, you say; therefore you have not your _time_ and _fortune_ in your power as she has. It is true; therefore you cannot spend _so much_ time, nor _so much_ money in the manner that she does. But _Miranda_’s perfection does not consist in this, that she spends _so much_ time, or _so much_ money in such a manner, but that she is careful to make the best use of all the time and money which she has. Do you this, and then you are like _Miranda_. If she has _two hundred pounds_ a year, and you have only _two mites_, have you not the more reason to be exceeding exact in the wisest use of it? If she has a great deal of time, and you have but a little, ought you not to be the more _watchful_ and _circumspect_, lest that _little_ should be lost? CHAP. VIII. _Shewing that all orders of men and women, of all ages, are obliged to devote themselves to God._ 1. I HAVE in the foregoing chapters shewn that all the parts of our common life, our _employments_, our _talents_ and _fortune_, are to be made holy and acceptable unto God, by a wise and religious use of every thing, and by directing our actions and designs to the glory of God. I shall now shew, that this holiness of common life, this religious use of every thing we have, is a devotion that is the duty of all orders of Christian people. *_Fulvius_ has had a learned education, and taken his degrees in the _university_; he came from thence, that he might be free from any rules of life. He takes no employment upon him, nor enters into any business, because he thinks that every employment or business calls people to the just discharge of its several duties. He did not enter into holy orders, because he looks upon it to be a state that requires great holiness of life, and it does not suit his temper to be so good. He will tell you that he never intends to marry, because he cannot oblige himself to that regularity of life, which he takes to be the duty of those that are at the head of a family. He refused to be _godfather_ to his nephew, because he will have no _trust_ of any kind to answer for. _Fulvius_ thinks that he is conscientious in this conduct, and is therefore content with the most _idle_, _impertinent_, and _careless_ life. He has no religion, no devotion, no pretences to piety. He lives by no rules, and thinks all is very well, because he is neither a _priest_, nor a _father_, nor a _guardian_, nor has any _employment_ or family to look after. 2. *But _Fulvius_, you are a rational creature, and as such, are as much obliged to live according to _reason_, as a _priest_ is obliged to attend at the _altar_, or a _guardian_ to be faithful to his trust; if you live contrary to reason, you don’t commit a small crime, you don’t break a small trust; but you break the _law_ of your nature, you rebel against God who gave you that nature, and put yourself among those whom the God of _reason_ will punish as _apostates_ and _deserters_. Though you have no employment, yet as you are baptized into the profession of the Christian religion, you are as much obliged to live according to the holiness of the Christian spirit, as any man is obliged to be honest and faithful in his calling. If you abuse this great calling, you are not false in a small matter, but you abuse the precious blood of Christ; you crucify the Son of God afresh; you neglect the highest instances of divine goodness; and it will be more tolerable for _Tyre_ and _Sidon at the day of judgment than for you_. 3. It is therefore great folly for any one to think himself at liberty to live as he pleases, because he is not in such a state of life as some others are: for if there is any thing dreadful in the abuse of any _trust_; if there is any thing to be feared for the neglect of any calling, there is nothing more to be feared than the wrong use of our _reason_, nor any thing more to be dreaded, than the neglect of our _Christian calling_; which is not to serve the little uses of a short life, but to redeem souls unto God, to fill heaven with saints, and finish a kingdom of eternal glory. No man therefore must think himself excused from the _exactness_ of piety, because he has chosen to be _idle_ and _independent_ in the world; for the _necessities_ of a holy life are not founded in the several conditions of this life, but in the immutable nature of God and the nature of man. A man is not to be reasonable and holy, because he is a _priest_, or a _father_ of a family; but he is to be a pious priest, and a good father, because piety and goodness are the _laws_ of human nature. Could any man please God, without living according to _reason_ and _order_, there would be nothing displeasing to God in an _idle_ priest or a _reprobate_ father. He therefore that abuses his _reason_, is like him that abuses the _priesthood_; and he that neglects the holiness of the _Christian life_, is as the man that disregards the most _important trust_. 4. If a man was to chuse to put out his eyes, rather than enjoy the light, and see the works of God; if he should voluntarily kill himself, by refusing to eat and drink, every one would own that such a one was a rebel against God, that justly deserved his highest indignation. You would not say, that this was only sinful in a _priest_, or a _master_ of a family, but in every man as such. Now wherein does the sinfulness of this behaviour consist? Does it not consist in this, that he abuses his _nature_, and refuses to act that part for which God had created him? But if this be true, then all persons that abuse their _reason_, that act a different part from that for which God created them, are like this man, rebels against God, and on the same account subject to his wrath. *Let us suppose that this man, instead of putting out his eyes, had only employed them in looking at _ridiculous things_, or shut them up in _sleep_; that instead of _starving_ himself to death, by not eating at all, he should turn every meal into a _feast_, and eat and drink like an _epicure_, could he be said to have lived more to the glory of God? Could he any more be said to act the part for which God had created him, than if he had put out his eyes, and starved himself to death? Now do but suppose a man extinguishing his _reason_, instead of putting out his _eyes_, and living in a course of folly and impertinence, instead of starving himself to death, and then you have found out as _great a rebel_ against God. ♦6. *If we consider mankind as a redeemed order of _fallen spirits_, that are baptized into a fellowship with the Son of God; to be temples of the Holy Ghost; to live according to his holy inspirations; to offer to God the reasonable sacrifice of an humble, pious, and thankful life; to purify themselves from the disorders of their fall; to make a right use of the means of grace, in order to be sons of eternal glory: if we look at mankind in this true light, then we shall find, that all tempers that are contrary to this holy society; all actions that make us unlike to Christ, have every thing in them that can make us odious to God. So that tho’ _pride_ and _sensuality_, do not hurt civil society, as _cheating_ and _dishonesty_ do; yet they hurt that society, and oppose those ends, which are greater and more glorious in the eyes of God, than all the societies that relate to this world. ♦ Number 5 omitted in text. 7. *Nothing therefore can be more foolish, than to imagine, that because we are private persons who have taken upon us no charge or employment, therefore we may live more at large, indulge our appetites, and be less careful of holiness, for it is as good an excuse for _cheating_ and _dishonesty_; because he that abuses his _reason_, that indulges himself in _lust_ and _sensuality_, and neglects to act the wise reasonable part of a Christian, has every thing in his life to render him hateful to God, that is to be found in _cheating_ and _dishonesty_. If therefore you rather chuse to be an _idle epicure_, than to be _unfaithful_; if you rather chuse to live in _lust_ and _sensuality_, than to injure your neighbour in his goods, you have made no better a provision for the favour of God, than he that rather chuses to rob a _house_, than to rob a _church_. For the abusing of our own nature, is as great a disobedience against God, as the injuring our neighbour; and he that wants piety towards God, has done as much to damn himself, as he that wants honesty towards men. 8. Another argument to prove that all orders of men are obliged to be thus holy in the common course of their lives, in the use of every thing that they enjoy, may be taken from our obligation to _prayer_. It is granted, that _prayer_ is a duty that belongs to all states and conditions of men. Now, if we enquire, why no state of life is to be excused from prayer, we shall find it as good a reason why every state of life is to be made a state of holiness in all its parts. For the reason why we are to pray to God, and praise him with hymns and psalms of thanksgiving, is because we are to live wholly to God, and glorify him in all possible ways. It is not because the praises of _words_, or _forms_ of thanksgiving, are more particularly parts of piety, or more the worship of God than other things; but it is because they are possible ways of expressing our dependance, our obedience and devotion to God. Now, if this be the reason of verbal praises and thanksgivings, because we are to live to God in all possible ways; then we are equally obliged to glorify God in all other actions that can be turned into acts of piety and obedience. And as actions are of much more significancy than words, it must be a much more acceptable worship of God to glorify him in all the actions of our common life, than with any little form of words at any particular times. Thus, if God is to be worshipped with forms of thanksgiving, he that is content and thankful in every accident of his life, because it comes from God, praises God in a much higher manner, than he that has some set times for singing of psalms. He that dares not say an ill-natured word, or do an unreasonable thing, because he considers God as every where present, performs a better devotion than he that dares not miss the church. To live in the world as a stranger and a pilgrim, using all its enjoyments as if we used them not, making all our actions so many steps towards a better life, is offering a better sacrifice to God, than any forms of holy and heavenly prayers. 9. To be humble in all our actions, to avoid every appearance of pride and vanity, to be meek and lowly in our words, actions, dress, behaviour, and designs, in imitation of our blessed Saviour, is worshipping God in a higher manner, than those do who have only _times_ to fall low on their knees. He that contents himself with _necessaries_, that he may give the _remainder_ to those that want it; that dares not spend any money foolishly, because he considers it as a talent from God, which must be used according to his will, praises God with something more glorious than songs of praise. Prayers therefore are so far from being a sufficient devotion, that they are the smallest parts of it. We are to praise God with words and prayers, because it is a possible way of glorifying God. But then, as words are but small things in themselves, as times of prayer are but little, if compared with the rest of our lives; so that devotion which consists in times and forms of prayer, is but a very small thing, if compared to that devotion which is to appear in every other part and circumstance of our lives. 10. Again, as it is an easy thing to worship God with forms of words, and to observe times of offering them unto him, so it is the smallest kind of piety. And, on the other hand, as it is more difficult to worship God with our substance, to honour him with the right use of our time, to offer to him the continual sacrifice of self-denial and mortification; as it requires more piety to eat and drink only for such ends as may glorify God, to undertake no labour, nor allow of any diversion, but where we can act in the name of God; as it is most difficult to sacrifice all our corrupt tempers, and make piety to God the rule and measure of all the actions of our common life; so the devotion of this kind is a much more acceptable service to God, than those words of devotion which we offer to him either in the _church_ or in our _closet_. Every sober reader will easily perceive, that I don’t intend to lessen the value of prayers, either public or private; but only to shew him, that they are but a very slender part of devotion, when compared to a devout life. 11. *To see this in a yet clearer light, let us suppose a person to have appointed times for praising God with psalms and hymns, and to be strict in the observation of them; let it be supposed also, that in his common life he is restless and uneasy, full of murmurings and complaints at every thing, never pleased but by chance, but murmuring and repining at the very seasons, and having something to dislike in every thing that happens to him. Now, can you conceive any thing more absurd and unreasonable, than such a character as this? Is such a one to be reckoned _thankful_ to God, because he has _forms of praise_ which he offers to him? Nay, is it not certain, that such forms of praise must be so far from being an acceptable devotion to God, that they must be an abomination? Now the absurdity which you see in this instance, is the same in any other part of our life. If our _common life_ hath any contrariety to our prayers, it is the same abomination, as songs of thanksgiving in the mouths of murmurers. Bended knees, whilst you are cloathed with pride: heavenly petitions, whilst you are hoarding up treasures upon earth; holy devotions, whilst you live in the follies of the world; prayers of meekness and charity, whilst your heart is the seat of spite and resentment; hours of prayer, whilst you give up days and years to idle diversions, impertinent visits, and foolish pleasures, are as unacceptable a service to God, as forms of thanksgiving from a person that lives in repinings and discontent. So that unless the common course of our lives be according to the common spirit of our prayers, our prayers are so far from being a sufficient degree of devotion, that they become an empty lip-labour; or, what is worse, a notorious hypocrisy. 12. Seeing therefore we are to make the _spirit_ and _temper_ of our prayers the _common spirit and temper_ of our lives, this may convince us, that _all orders_ of people are to labour after the _same utmost_ perfection of the Christian life. For as all Christians are to use the same holy and heavenly devotions, as they are all with the same earnestness to pray for the Spirit of God; so is it a sufficient proof, that all orders of people are, to the utmost of their power, to make their life agreeable to that one Spirit for which they all pray. *A _soldier_, or a _tradesman_, is not called to minister at the _altar_, or preach the gospel; but every soldier or tradesman is as much obliged to be devout, humble, holy, and heavenly-minded in all the parts of his _common life_, as a _clergyman_ is obliged to be zealous, faithful, and laborious in all parts of his profession. 13. *All men therefore, as men, have one and the same important business, to act up to the excellency of their rational nature, and to make _reason_ and _order_ the law of all their designs and actions. All Christians, as Christians, have one and the same calling, to live according to the excellency of the Christian spirit, and to make the sublime precepts of the gospel the rule and measure of all their tempers in common life. The one thing needful to one, is the one thing needful to all. *The _merchant_ is no longer to hoard up treasures upon earth; the _soldier_ is no longer to fight for glory; the great _scholar_ is no longer to pride himself in the depths of science; but they must all, with one spirit, _count all things but loss, for the excellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus_. *The _fine lady_, must teach her eyes to weep, and be cloathed with humility. The _polite gentleman_ must exchange the gay thoughts of wit and fancy, for a _broken and a contrite heart_. The man of _quality_ must so far renounce the dignity of his birth, as to think himself miserable till he is _born again_. _Servants_ must consider their service as done unto God. _Masters_ must consider their servants as their brethren in Christ, that are to be treated as their fellow-members of the mystical body of Christ. 14. *_Young ladies_ must either devote themselves to piety, prayer, self-denial, and all good works in a _Virgin state_ of life, or else marry to be holy, sober, and prudent in the care of a family; bringing up their children in piety, humility, and devotion, and abounding in all other good works, to the utmost of their capacity. They have no choice of any thing else; but must devote themselves to God in one of these states. They may chuse a married, or a single life; but it is not left to their choice, whether they will make either state, a state of holiness, humility, and all other duties of ♦the Christian life. It is no more left in their power, because they have fortunes, or are born of rich parents, to divide themselves betwixt God and the world, or take such pleasures as their fortune will afford them, than to be sometimes chaste and modest, and sometimes not. ♦ ‘he’ replaced with ‘the’ *They are not to consider how much religion may secure them a _fair character_, or how they may add devotion to an _impertinent_, _vain_, and _giddy_ life; but must look into the _spirit_ and _temper_ of their prayers, into the _nature_ and _end_ of ♦Christianity; and then they will find, that whether married or unmarried, they have but one business upon their hands; to be wise, and pious, and holy; not in little modes and forms of worship, but in the whole turn of their minds, in the whole form of their behaviour, and in the daily course of their common life. ♦ ‘Christianiiy’ replaced with ‘Christianity’ 15. *_Young gentlemen_ must consider what our blessed Saviour said to the young gentleman in the gospel; he bid _him sell all he had, and give to the poor_. Now, though this text does not oblige _all_ people to sell _all_; yet it certainly obliges all kinds of people to _employ all_ their estates in such wise and reasonable ways, as may shew, all they have is devoted to God; and that no part of it is kept from the poor, to be spent in needless, vain, and foolish expences. *If therefore _young gentlemen_ propose to themselves a life of pleasure and indulgence; if they spend their estates in high living, in luxury and intemperance, in state and equipage, in pleasures and diversions, in sports and gaming, and such like wanton gratifications of their foolish passions, they have as much reason to look upon themselves to be _angels_, as to be disciples of Christ. *Let them be assured, that it is the one only business of a _Christian gentleman_, to distinguish himself by good works, to be eminent in the most sublime virtues of the gospel, to bear with the ignorance and weakness of the vulgar, to be a friend and patron to all that dwell about him, to live in the utmost heights of wisdom and holiness, and shew through the whole course of his life a true religious greatness of mind. They must aspire after such a gentility, as they might have learnt from seeing the blessed Jesus, and shew no other spirit of a gentleman, but such as they might have got by living with the holy apostles. They must learn to love God with all their heart, with all their soul, and with all their strength, and their neighbour as themselves; and then they have all the greatness and distinction that they can have here, and are fit for eternal happiness in heaven. 16. Thus, in all orders and conditions, either of men or women, this is the one holiness, which is to be the _common_ life of all Christians. The _merchant_ is not to leave devotion to the clergyman, nor the _clergyman_ to leave humility to the _labourer_. Women of _fortune_ are not to leave it to the poor of their sex, _to be discreet_, _chaste_, _keepers at home_, _to adorn themselves in modest apparel_, _shame-facedness_, and _sobriety_; nor _poor women_ to leave it to the rich to attend at the worship of God. _Great men_ must be eminent for true _poverty of spirit_, and people of a _low and afflicted_ state must greatly rejoice in God. The man of _strength_ and _power_ is to forgive and pray for his enemies, and the _innocent sufferer_, that is chained in prison, must, with _Paul_ and _Silas_, at midnight sing praises unto God. For God is to be glorified, holiness is to be practised, and the spirit of religion is to be the common spirit of every Christian in every state and condition of life. *For the Son of God did not come from above, to add an external form of worship to the several ways of life that are in the world, and so to leave people to live as they did before, in such tempers and enjoyments as the fashion and spirit of the world approves: but as he came down from heaven, altogether divine and heavenly in his own nature; so it was to call mankind to a divine and heavenly life; to the highest change of their whole nature and temper; to be born again of the Holy Spirit; to walk in the wisdom, and light, and love of God, and to be like him to the utmost of their power; to a mortification of their passions; and to live in such wisdom, and holiness, as might fit them to enjoy God to all eternity. 17. Whatever therefore is _foolish_, _vain_, or _earthly_, or _sensual_ in the life of a Christian, is something that ought not to be there. But if any thing of this kind runs through the _course_ of our whole life, if we allow ourselves in things that are either vain, foolish, or sensual, we renounce our profession. For as sure as Jesus Christ was wisdom and holiness; as sure as he came to make us like himself, so sure is it, that none keep to their Christian profession, but they who, to the utmost of their power, live a wise, and holy, and heavenly life. This, and this alone, is Christianity; universal holiness in every part of life, a heavenly wisdom in all our actions, not conforming to the spirit and temper of the world, but turning all worldly enjoyments into means of piety and devotion. 18. And if it be the happiness and glory of a _bishop_ to live in this Spirit, full of these holy tempers, doing every thing as unto God, it is as much the glory and happiness of all men and women, whether young or old, to live in the same Spirit. And whoever can find any reasons why an _ancient bishop_ should be intent upon divine things, turning all his life into the highest exercises of piety and devotion, will find them so many reasons why he should, to the utmost of his power, do the same himself. If you say that a _bishop_ must be an eminent example of Christian holiness, because of his high and sacred calling, you say right. But if you say, that it is more to his advantage to be exemplary, than it is yours, you greatly mistake. For there is nothing to make the highest degrees of holiness desirable to a bishop, but what makes them equally desirable to every _young person_ of every family. For an exalted piety, and the religious use of every thing, is as much the glory and happiness of one state of life as it is of another. *Do but fancy what a spirit of piety you would have in the _best bishop_ in the world, how you would have him _love_ God, how you would have him _imitate_ the life of our Saviour and his apostles, how you would have him live _above_ the world, _shining_ in all the instances of a _heavenly life_, and then you have found out that Spirit, which you ought to make the spirit of your own life. I desire every reader to dwell awhile upon this reflection, and perhaps he will find more conviction from it than he imagines. Every one can tell how good and pious he would have some people to be; every one knows how wise and reasonable a thing it is in a _bishop_, to be entirely above the world, and be an eminent example of Christian perfection. As soon as you think of a _wise and ancient bishop_, you fancy some exalted degree of piety, a living example of all those holy tempers which you find described in the gospel. 19. Now if you ask yourself, what is the happiest thing for a _young clergyman_ to do? You must be forced to answer, that nothing can be so happy and glorious for him, as to be like that excellent, holy bishop. *If you go on, and ask what is the happiest thing for a _young gentleman_ or his _sisters_ to do? The answer must be the same; that nothing can be so happy or glorious for them, as to live in such habits of piety, in such exercises of a divine life, as this good old bishop does. For every thing that is great and glorious in religion, is as much the true glory of every man or woman, as it is the glory of any bishop. If high degrees of divine love, if fervent charity, if spotless purity, if heavenly affection, if constant mortification, if frequent devotion, be the best and happiest way of life for any Christian, it is so for every Christian. And as the wisest _bishop_ in the world is he who lives in the greatest heights of holiness, who is most exemplary in all the exercises of a divine life; so the _wisest youth_, the _wisest woman_, whether married or unmarried, is she that lives in the highest degrees of Christian holiness, and all the exercises of a divine and heavenly life. CHAP. IX. _Shewing how great devotion fills our lives with the greatest peace and happiness that can be enjoyed in this world._ 1. SOME people will perhaps object, that this living unto God in all that we do, is too great a _restraint_ upon human life; and that, by depriving ourselves of so many innocent pleasures, we shall render our lives, _dull_, _uneasy_, and _melancholy_. *It will produce just the contrary effect. Instead of making our lives dull and melancholy, it will render them full of content and strong satisfactions; as by these rules we only change the childish satisfactions of our _vain_ and _sickly_ passions, for the solid enjoyments, and real happiness of a _sound mind_. For as there is no true foundation for comfort in life, but in the assurance that a wise and good God governeth the world: so the more we find out God in every thing, the more we apply to him in every place, the more we look up to him in all our actions, the more we conform to his will, the more we act according to his wisdom, and imitate his goodness, by so much the more do we enjoy God, and increase all that is _happy_ and _comfortable_ in human life. And it is plain, he that is endeavouring to subdue all those passions of _pride_, _envy_, and _ambition_, which religion opposes, is doing more to make himself happy, even in this life, than he that is contriving means to indulge them. *For these passions are the causes of all the disquiets of human life: they are the _dropsies_ and _fevers_ of our minds, vexing them with false appetites, and restless cravings after such things as we do not want, and spoiling our taste for those things which are our proper good. 2. *Do but imagine that you some where or other saw a man, that proposed _reason_ as the rule of all his actions; that had no desires but after such things as _nature_ wants, and _religion_ approves; that was as pure from all the motions of _pride_, _envy_, and _covetousness_, as from thoughts of _murder_; that in this freedom from worldly passions, he had a soul full of divine love, wishing and praying that all men may have what they want of worldly things, and be partakers of eternal glory. Do but fancy a man living in this manner, and your own conscience will immediately tell you, that he is the happiest man in the world, and that it is not in the power of the richest fancy to invent any higher happiness in the present life. And, on the other hand, if you suppose him to be in any degree _less perfect_; if you suppose him but subject to one foolish fondness, or vain passion, your own conscience will tell you, that he so far lessens his own happiness, and robs himself of the true enjoyment of his other virtues. So true is it, that the _more_ we live by the rules of religion, the more peaceful and happy we are. 3. Again, as it thus appears that real happiness is only to be had from religion; so the same truth will appear from a consideration of _human misery_. If we look into the world, and view the troubles of human life, we shall find that they are all owing to our irreligious passions. Now all trouble and uneasiness is founded in the _want_ of something or other; would we therefore know the true cause of our troubles and disquiets, we must find out the cause of our wants; because that which creates and increases our wants, does in the same degree create and increase our troubles and disquiets. God Almighty has sent us into the world with very few wants: _meat_, and _drink_, and _cloathing_, are the only things necessary in life; and as these are only our present needs, so the present world is well furnished to supply these needs. If a man had half the world in his power, he can make no more of it than this; as he wants it only to support an _animal_ life, so is it unable to do any thing else for him, or to afford him any other happiness. 4. This is the state of man, born with few wants, and into a large world, very capable of supplying them. So that one would reasonably suppose, men should pass their lives in content and thankfulness to God; at least, that they should be free from violent disquiets and vexations, as being placed in a world that has more than enough to relieve all their wants. But if to all this we add, that this short life, thus furnished with all that we want in it, is only a short passage to eternal glory, where we shall be cloathed with the brightness of _angels_, and enter into the joys of God, we might still more reasonably expect, that human life should be a state of peace, and joy, and delight in God. Thus it would certainly be, if reason had its full power over us. *But alas, though God, and nature, and reason, make human life thus free from wants; yet our passions, in rebellion against God, against _nature_ and _reason_, create a new world of evils, and fill human life with imaginary wants, and vain disquiets. *The man of _pride_ has a thousand wants, which only his own pride has _created_; and these render him as full of trouble, as if God had created him with a _thousand appetites_, without creating any thing that was proper to satisfy them. _Envy_ and _ambition_ have also their endless wants, which disquiet the souls of men, and by their contradictory motions render them as foolishly miserable as those that want to _fly_ and _creep_ at the same time. Let but any complaining, disquieted man, tell you the ground of his uneasiness, and you will plainly see that he is the author of his own torment; that he is vexing himself at some imaginary evil, which will cease to torment him as soon as he is content to be that which God, and nature, and reason, require him to be. 5. *If you should see a man passing his days in disquiet, because he could not _walk_ upon the _water_, or _catch birds_ as they fly by him, you would readily confess that such an one might thank himself for such uneasiness. But now, if you look into the most tormenting disquiets of life, you will find them all thus absurd. People are only tormented by their own folly, and vexing themselves at such things as no more concern them, nor are any more their proper good, than _walking_ upon the _water_, or _catching birds_. *What can you conceive more silly and extravagant, than a man racking his brains, and studying night and day how to fly? Wandering from his own house and home, wearying himself with _climbing_ upon every ascent, _cringing_ and _courting_ every body he meets, to lift him up from the ground, bruising himself with continual falls, and at last breaking his neck? And all this, from an imagination that it would be glorious to have the eyes of people gazing up at him, and mighty happy to _eat_, and _drink_, and _sleep_, at the top of the highest trees in the kingdom. Would you not readily own that such a one was only disquieted at his _own folly_? If you ask, what it signifies to suppose such silly creatures as are no where to be found in human life? It may be answered, that wherever you see an _ambitious_ man, there you see this _vain and senseless flyer_. 6. *Again, if you should see a man that had a large _pond_ of _water_, yet living in _continual thirst_, not suffering himself to drink _half a draught_, for fear of lessening his pond; if you should see him wasting his time and strength, in _fetching more_ water to his pond, always _thirsty_, yet always carrying a _bucket_ of water in his hand, watching early and late to catch the _drops_ of rain, gaping after every cloud, and running greedily into every _mire_ and mud, in hopes of water, and always studying how to make every _ditch_ empty itself into his _pond_. If you should see him grow _grey_ and _old_ in these anxious labours, and at last end a _careful_, _thirsty_ life, by falling into his own _pond_: would you not say, that such a one was not only the author of his own disquiets, but was foolish enough to be reckoned amongst _ideots_ and _madmen_? But yet foolish and absurd as this character is, it does not represent half the follies and absurd disquiets of the _covetous man_. I could now easily proceed to shew the same effects of all our other passions, and make it plainly appear, that all our miseries, vexations, and complaints, are entirely of our own making, and that in the same absurd manner, as in these instances of the _covetous_ and _ambitious_ man. *Look where you will, you will see all _worldly vexations_, but like the vexation of him that was always in _mire_ and _mud_ in search of water to drink, when he had more at home than was sufficient for an _hundred horses_. 7. *_Cælia_ is always telling you how _provoked_ she is, what _intolerable shocking_ things happen to her, what _monstrous_ usage she suffers, and what _vexations_ she meets with every where. She tells you that her patience is quite worn out, and there is no bearing the behaviour of people. Every _assembly_ that she is at, sends her home provoked; something or other has been said or done, that no reasonable, well bred person ought to bear. _Poor people_ that want her charity, are sent away with hasty answers; not because she has not a heart to part with any money, but because she is _too full_ of some trouble of her own, to attend to the complaints of others. _Cælia_ has no business upon her hands, but to receive the income of a plentiful fortune: but yet by the doleful turn of her mind, you would be apt to think that she had neither _food_ nor _lodging_. If you see her look more pale than ordinary, if her lips tremble when she speaks to you, it is because she is just come from a _visit_, where _Lupus_ took no notice at all of her, but talked all the time to _Lucinda_, who has not half her fortune. When cross accidents have so disordered her spirits, that she is forced to send for the _doctor_ to make her able to eat; she tells him, in great anger at providence, that she never was well since she was born, and that she envies every beggar that she sees in health. This is the unquiet life of _Cælia_, who has nothing to torment her but her own _spirit_. If you could inspire her with _Christian humility_, you need do no more to make her happy. This virtue would make her thankful to God for half so much health as she has had, and help her to enjoy more for the time to come. This would keep off _tremblings_ and _loss_ of appetite, and her blood would need nothing else to sweeten it. 8. I have just touched upon these absurd characters, to convince you in the plainest manner, that religion is so far from rendering a life _dull_, _anxious_, and _uncomfortable_, that on the contrary, all the miseries, vexations, and complaints that are in the world, are owing to the want of religion; being directly caused by those absurd passions, which religion teaches us to deny. 9. Most people indeed confess, that religion preserves us from many evils, and helps us in many respects to a more happy enjoyment of ourselves; but then, they imagine, this is only true of such a _moderate share_ of religion, as restrains us from the excesses of our passions. They suppose that the _strict rules_ of piety must make our lives _dull_ and _uncomfortable_. This objection supposes, that religion, _moderately_ practised, adds to our happiness; but that heights of religion have a contrary effect. *It supposes therefore, that it is happy to be kept from the _excesses_ of envy, but unhappy to be kept from _other_ degrees of _envy_; that it is happy to be delivered from a _boundless_ ambition, but unhappy to be without a _moderate_ ambition. It supposes also, that the happiness of life consists in a _mixture_ of virtue and vice, of ambition and humility, charity and envy, heavenly affection and covetousness. All which is as absurd, as to suppose that it is happy to be free from excessive pains, but unhappy to be without moderate pains; or that the happiness of _health_ consisted in being partly sick, and partly well. But if humility be the peace and rest of the soul, then no one has so much happiness from humility, as he that is the most humble. If excessive envy is a torment of the soul, he is most happy who extinguishes every spark of envy. Thus it is in every virtue: the more you act up to every degree of it, the more happiness you have from it. And so of every vice: if you only abate its excesses, you do but little for yourself; but if you reject it in all degrees, then you feel the true ease of a _reformed_ mind. 10. And, as to those enjoyments which piety requireth us to deny ourselves, this deprives us of no real comfort. For, 1_st_, Piety requires us to renounce no ways of life, where we can act _reasonably_, and offer what we do to God. All ways of life, all enjoyments that are within these bounds, are no way denied us by the strictest rules of piety. Whatever you can do, or enjoy, as in the presence of God, as his servant, as his rational creature; all that you can perform conformably to a rational nature, is allowed by the laws of piety. And will you think that your life will be uncomfortable, unless you may displease God, and act contrary to that reason and wisdom which he has implanted in you? As for those satisfactions, which we dare not offer to a holy God, which are only invented by the folly and corruption of the world, which inflame our passions, and sink our souls into grossness and sensuality, and render us incapable of the divine favour either here or hereafter, surely it can be no uncomfortable thing to be rescued by religion from such self-murder, and to be rendered capable of eternal happiness. 11. *Let us suppose a _person_ placed somewhere alone, in the midst of a variety of things which he did not know how to use; that he has by him _bread_, _wine_, _water_, _golden dust_, _iron chains_, _gravel_, _garments_, _fire_. Let it be supposed, that he has no knowledge, nor any directions from his _senses_, how to quench his _thirst_, or satisfy his _hunger_, or make _any use_ of the things about him. Let it be supposed, that in his drought he puts _golden dust_ into his eyes; when his _eyes_ smart, he puts _wine_ into his _ears_: that in his hunger, he puts _gravel_ in his mouth; that in pain, he loads himself with _iron chains_; that feeling cold, he puts his feet in the water; that being frighted at the fire, he runs away from it; that being weary, he makes a _seat_ of his _bread_. Let it be supposed, that thro’ his ignorance of the right use of the things that are about him, he will vainly torment himself whilst he lives; and at last die, _blinded_ with _dust_, _choaked_ with _gravel_, and loaded with _irons_. Let it be supposed, that some good being came to him, and shewed him the nature and use of all the things that were about him, and gave him such _strict rules_ of using them, as would certainly, if observed, make him the happier for all that he had, and deliver him from the pains of hunger, and thirst, and cold. Now, could you with any reason affirm, that those strict rules of using those things that were about him, had rendered that poor man’s life _dull_ and _uncomfortable_? 12. This is, in some measure, a representation of the _strict_ rules of religion; they only relieve our ignorance, save us from tormenting ourselves, and teach us to use _every thing_ about us to our advantage. Man is placed in a world full of variety of things; his ignorance makes him use many of them as absurdly, as the man that put _dust_ in his _eyes_ to relieve his _thirst_, or put on chains to remove pain. Religion therefore here comes in to his relief, and gives him _strict rules_ of using every thing that is about him; that by so using them suitably to his own nature and the nature of the things, he may have always the pleasure of receiving benefit from them. It shews him what is strictly right in meat, and drink, and cloaths; and that he has nothing else to expect from the things of this world, but to satisfy such wants of his own; and then to extend his assistance to all his brethren, that, as far as he is able, he may help all his fellow-creatures to the same benefit from the world that he hath. 13. *It tells him, that this world is incapable of giving him any other happiness; and that all endeavours to be happy in _heaps_ of _money_, or _acres_ of _land_, in fine _cloaths_, rich _beds_, stately _equipage_, and _shew_ and _splendour_, are only vain endeavours, ignorant attempts after impossibilities; these things be no more able to give the least degree of happiness, than _dust_ in the eyes can cure thirst, or _gravel_ in the mouth satisfy hunger; but, like dust and gravel misapplied, will only serve to render him more unhappy by such an ignorant misuse of them. It tells him, altho’ this world can do no more for him, than satisfy these wants of the body; yet there is a much greater good prepared for man, than eating, drinking, and dressing; that it is yet invisible to his eyes, being too glorious for the apprehension of flesh and blood; but reserved for him to enter upon, as soon as this short life is over; where, in a new body, formed to an angelic likeness, he shall dwell in the light and glory of God to all eternity. *It tells him, that this state of glory will be given to all those that make a _right use_ of the things of this present world; who do not blind themselves with _golden dust_, or eat _gravel_, or groan under loads of _iron_ of their own putting on; but use _bread_, _water_, _wine_, and _garments_ for such ends as are according to _nature_ and _reason_; and who with faith and thankfulness worship the kind giver of all that they enjoy here, and hope for hereafter. 14. Now can any one say, that the strictest rules of such a religion as this, debar us of any of the comforts of life? Might it not as justly be said of those rules, that only ♦hindered a man from _choaking_ himself with _gravel_? For the strictness of these rules only consists in the exactness of their rectitude. ♦ ‘hindred’ replaced with ‘hindered’ *Who would complain of the severe strictness of a law, that without any exception forbad the putting of dust into our eyes? Who could think it too rigid, that there were no abatements? Now this is the _strictness_ of religion; it requires nothing of us strictly, or without abatements, but where every degree of the thing is wrong, where every indulgence does us hurt. *If religion forbids all instances of _revenge_ without exception, ’tis because all revenge is of the nature of _poison_; and though we don’t take so much as to put an end to life, yet if we take any at all, it corrupts the mass of blood, and makes it difficult to be restored to our former health. If religion commands an _universal charity_, to love our neighbour as ourselves, to forgive and pray for all our enemies without any _reserve_, ’tis because all degrees of love are degrees of happiness, that strengthen and support the divine life of the soul, and are as necessary to its health and happiness, as proper food is necessary to the health and happiness of the body. *If religion has laws against _laying up treasures upon earth_, and commands us to be content with food and raiment; ’tis because every other use of the world is abusing it to our own vexation, and turning its conveniences into snares and traps to destroy us. ’Tis because this _plainness_ and _simplicity_ of life, secure us from the cares and pains of restless pride and envy, and make it easier to keep that strait road that will carry us to eternal life. 15. If religion requires us sometimes to _fast_ and _deny_ our natural appetites, ’tis to lessen that struggle and war that is in our nature; ’tis to render our bodies fitter instruments of purity, and more obedient to the good motions of divine grace; ’tis to dry up the springs of our passions that war against the soul, to cool the flame of our blood, and render the mind more capable of divine meditations. So that altho’ these abstinences give some pain to the body, yet they so lessen the power of bodily appetites and passions, and so increase our taste of spiritual joys, that even these severities of religion, when practised with discretion, add much to the comfort of our lives. If religion calleth us to a life of watching and prayer, ’tis because we live amongst a crowd of enemies, and are always in need of the assistance of God. If we are to confess and bewail our sins, ’tis because such confessions relieve the mind, and restore it to ease; as _burdens_ and _weights_ taken off the shoulders, relieve the body, and make it easier to itself. If we are to be frequent and fervent in holy petitions, ’tis to keep us steady in the sight of our true good, and that we may never want the happiness of a lively faith, a joyful hope, and well-grounded trust in God. If we are to pray often, ’tis that we may be often happy in such secret joys as only prayer can give; in such communications of the divine presence, as will fill our minds with all the happiness that beings not in heaven, are capable of. If religion commands us to live _wholly_ unto God, and to _do all_ to his glory, ’tis because every other way is living _wholly_ against ourselves, and will end in our shame and confusion of face. 16. *As every thing is _dark_, that God does not enlighten; as every thing is _senseless_, that has not its share of knowledge from him; as nothing _lives_ but by partaking of life from him; as nothing _exists_, but because he commands it to be; so there is no _glory_ or _greatness_, but what is the glory or greatness of God. We indeed may talk of _human glory_, as we may talk of _human life_ or _human knowledge_; but as we are sure that human life implies nothing of our _own_, but a dependent living in God, or enjoying so much life in God; so human glory, whenever we find it, must be only so much glory as we enjoy in the glory of God. *This is the state of all creatures, whether men or angels; as they make not themselves, so if they are great, they are only great receivers of the gifts of God; their _power_ can only be so much of the divine power acting in them; their _wisdom_ can be only so much of the divine wisdom shining within them; and their _light_ and _glory_, only so much of the life and glory of God shining upon them. 17. *As they are not _men_ or _angels_, because they had a mind to be so, but because the will of God formed them to be what they are; so they cannot enjoy this or that happiness of men or angels, because they have a mind to it, but because it is the will of God, that such things be the happiness of men, and such things the happiness of angels. But now, if God be thus all in all; if his will is thus the measure of all things and all natures; if nothing can be done, but by his power; if nothing can be seen, but by a light from him; if we have nothing to fear, but from his justice; if we have nothing to hope for, but from his goodness; if this is the nature of man, thus helpless in himself; if this is the state of all creatures, as well those in _heaven_, as those on _earth_; if they are nothing, can do nothing, can suffer no pain, nor feel any happiness, but so far, and in such degrees, as the power of God does all this: if this be the state of things, then how can we have the least glimpse of joy or comfort? How can we have any peaceful enjoyment of ourselves, but by living wholly unto God, using and doing every thing conformably to his will? A life thus devoted unto God, looking wholly unto him in all our actions, and doing all things suitable to his glory, is so far from being dull, and uncomfortable, that it creates new comforts in every thing that we do. 18. On the contrary, would you see how _happy_ they are who live according to their own wills, who cannot submit to the _dull_ and _melancholy_ business of a life devoted to God? Look at the man in the _parable_, to whom his Lord had given one talent. He could not bear the thoughts of using his talent according to the will of him from whom he had it, and therefore he chose to make himself happier in another way of his own. _Lord_, says he, _I knew thee, that thou art an hard man, reaping where thou hadst not sown, and gathering where thou hadst not strawed. And I was afraid, and went and hid thy talent in the earth. Lo there thou hast that is thine._ Matt. xxv. 24. Here you see how happy this man made himself by not acting _wholly_ according to his Lord’s will. It was, according to his own account, an happiness of _murmuring_ and _discontent_; _I knew thee_, says he, _that thou wast an hard man_: it was an happiness of _fears_ and _apprehensions_; _I was_, says he, _afraid_: it was an happiness of _vain labours_ and _fruitless travels_: _I went_, says he, _and hid thy talent_; and after having been awhile the sport of foolish passion, tormenting fears, and fruitless labours, he is rewarded with darkness, eternal weeping and gnashing of teeth. 19. Now this is the happiness of all those, who look upon _strict_ piety, that is, a right use of their talent, to be a dull and melancholy thing. They may live awhile free from the restraints and directions of religion; but instead thereof, they must be under the absurd government of their passions: they must, like the man in the _parable_, live in _murmurings_ and _discontents_, in _fears_ and _apprehensions_. They may avoid the labour of doing good, of spending their time devoutly, of laying up treasures in heaven, of cloathing the naked, of visiting the sick; but then they must, like this man, have _labours_ and _pains_ in vain, that tend to no use or advantage, that do no good either to themselves, or others; they must _travel_, and _labour_, and _work_, and _dig_, to hide their talent in the earth. They must, like him, at their Lord’s coming, be convicted out of their own mouths, be accused by their own hearts, and have every thing that they have said and thought of religion, be made to shew the justice of their condemnation to eternal darkness, weeping and gnashing of teeth. This is the purchase that they make, who avoid the strictness of religion, in order to live happily. 20. On the other hand, would you see a short description of the happiness of a life rightly employed, wholly devoted to God, you must look at the man in the _parable_, to whom his Lord had given five talents. _Lord_, says he, _thou deliveredst unto five talents: behold, I have gained besides them five talents more. His Lord said unto him, well done thou good and faithful servant; thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over many things; enter thou into the joy of thy Lord._ Here you see a life that is wholly intent upon the improvement of the talents, that is devoted wholly unto God, is a state of happiness, prosperous labours, and glorious success. Here are not, as in the former case, any _uneasy passions_, _murmurings_, _vain fears_ and _fruitless labours_. The man is not toiling, and digging in the earth for no end or advantage; but his labours prosper in his hands, his happiness increases upon him, the blessing of five becomes the blessing of ten talents; and he is received with a _Well done good and faithful servant, enter thou into the joy of thy Lord_. 21. Now, as the case of these men in the _parable_ left nothing else to their choice, but either to be happy in using their gifts to the _glory_ of their Lord, or miserable by using them according to their _own humours_ and _fancies_; so the state of Christianity leaves us no other choice. *All that we have, all that we are, all that we enjoy, are only so many talents from God: if we use them to the end of a pious and holy life, our five talents will become ten, and our labours will carry us into the joy of our Lord; but if we abuse them to the gratification of our own passions, sacrificing the gifts of God to our own pride and vanity, we shall live here in vain labours and foolish anxieties, shunning religion as a melancholy thing, accusing our Lord as a hard master, and then fall into everlasting misery. We may for awhile amuse ourselves with _names_, and _sounds_, and _shadows_ of happiness, we may talk of this or that greatness and dignity; but if we desire real happiness, we have no other possible way to it, but by improving our talents, by so holily and piously using the _powers_ and _faculties_ of _men_ in this present state, that we may be happy and glorious in the _powers_ and _faculties_ of _angels_ in the world to come. How ignorant therefore are they of the nature of religion, of the nature of man, and the nature of God, who think a life of _strict piety_ to be a _dull_ and _uncomfortable_ state, when it is so plain and certain, that there is neither comfort nor joy to be found in any thing else? CHAP. X. _The happiness of a life wholly devoted unto God, farther proved, from the |vanity|, and the |ridiculous|, |poor| enjoyments which they are forced to take up with, who live according to their own humours. This represented in various characters._ 1. WE may see yet more of the happiness of a life devoted to God, by considering the poor contrivances for happiness, and the contemptible ways of life, which they are thrown into, who are seeking after happiness by other methods. If one looks at their lives, who live by no rule but their own humours and fancies; if one sees what it is, which they call _joy_, and _greatness_, and _happiness_; if one sees how they rejoice and repent, change and fly from one delusion to another, one shall find great reason to rejoice, that God hath appointed a _narrow_ way that leadeth unto life, and that we are not left to the folly of our own minds, or forced to take up with such shadows of happiness, as the folly of the world has invented. I say _invented_, because those things which make up the _joy and happiness_ of the world, are mere _inventions_, which have no foundation in nature, are no way the proper good or happiness of man, no way perfect either his body or his mind. 2. *As, for instance, when a man proposes to be happy in ways of _ambition_, by raising himself to some _imaginary heights_ above other people. This is an _invention_ of happiness which has no foundation in nature, but it is as mere a cheat of our own making, as if a man should intend to make himself happy by _climbing_ up a _ladder_. *If a _woman_ seeks for happiness from _fine colours_ or _spots_ upon _her face_, from _jewels_ and _rich cloaths_, this is as merely an _invention_ of happiness, as contrary to _nature_ and _reason_, as if she should propose to make herself happy, by painting a _post_, and putting the same finery upon it. It is in this respect that I call these mere _inventions_ of happiness, because neither God, nor nature, nor reason, hath appointed them as such; but whatever appears joyful or happy in them, is entirely invented by the blindness and vanity of our own minds. And it is on these inventions of happiness, that I desire you to cast your eye, that you may thence learn how _great a good_ religion is, which delivers you from such a multitude of follies, and vain pursuits, as are the torment of minds that wander from their true happiness in God. 3. *Look at _Flatus_, and learn how miserable they are, who are left to the folly of their own passions. _Flatus_ is rich and in health, yet always uneasy, and always searching after happiness. Every time you visit him, you find some new project in his head; he is eager upon it as something that is more worth his while, and will do more for him, than any thing that is already past. Every new thing so seizes him, that if you was to take him from it, he would think himself quite undone. His sanguine temper, and strong passions, promise him so much happiness in every thing, that he is always cheated, and is satisfied with nothing. At his first setting out in life, _fine cloaths_ was his delight. His enquiry was only after the best _taylors_ and _peruke-makers_; and he had no thoughts of excelling in any thing but _dress_. He spared no expence, but carried every nicety to its greatest height. But this happiness not answering his expectations, he left off his _brocades_, put on a plain coat, railed at _fops_ and _beaux_, and gave himself up to _gaming_ with great eagerness. This new pleasure satisfied him for some time; he envied no other way of life. But being by the fate of _play_, drawn into a _duel_, where he narrowly escaped his death, he left off the _dice_, and sought for happiness no longer amongst the _gamesters_. 4. The next thing that seized his wandering imagination, was the diversions of the _town_; and for more than a twelvemonth, you heard him talk of nothing but _ladies_, _drawing-rooms_, _birth-nights_, _plays_, _balls_, and _assemblies_; but growing sick of these, he had recourse to hard _drinking_. He had now many a merry night, and met with stronger joys than any he had felt before. And here he had thoughts of setting up his staff, and looking out no farther; but unluckily falling into a _fever_, he grew angry at all strong liquors, and took his leave of the happiness of being drunk. The next attempt after happiness carried him into the _field_. For two or three years nothing was so happy as _hunting_. He entered upon it with all his soul, and leaped over more _hedges_ and _ditches_ than had ever been known in so short a time. You never saw him but in a _green coat_. He was the envy of all that blow the _horn_, and always spoke to his dogs in great propriety of language. If you meet him at home in a bad day, you would hear him blow his horn, and be entertained with the surprizing accidents of the last _noble chace_. No sooner had _Flatus_ outdone all the world in the breed and education of his _dogs_, built new _kennels_, new _stables_, and bought a new _hunting-seat_, but he got sight of another happiness, hated the senseless noise and hurry of hunting, gave away his dogs, and was for some time after deep in the _pleasures_ of _building_. 5. Now he invents new kinds of _dovecoats_, and has such contrivances in his _barns_ and _stables_, as were never seen before. He wonders at the dulness of the old builders, is wholly bent upon the improvement of _architecture_, and will hardly hang a door in the ordinary way. He tells his friends, that he never was so delighted in any thing in his life; that he has more happiness amongst his _brick_ and _mortar_, than ever he had at _court_: and that he is contriving how to have some little matter to do that way as long as he lives. After this, he was a great _student_ for one whole year. He was up early and late at his _Italian grammar_, that he might have the happiness of understanding the _opera_, and not be like those _unreasonable_ people, that are pleased with they don’t know what. _Flatus_ is very ill-natured, or otherwise, just as his affairs happen to be when you visit him. If you find him when some project is almost wore out, you will find a peevish, ill-bred man; but if you had seen him just as he entered upon his _riding regimen_, or begun to excel in sounding the horn, you had been saluted with great civility. _Flatus_ is now at a full stand, and is doing what he never did in his life before. He is _reasoning_ and _reflecting_ with himself. He loses several days, in considering which of his _cast-off_ ways of life he should try again. But here a new project comes in to his relief. He is now living upon _herbs_, and running about the country, to get himself in as _good wind_ as any _running footman_ in the kingdom. 6. I have been thus circumstantial in so many foolish particulars, because I hope that every particular folly that you here see, will naturally turn itself into an argument for the wisdom and happiness of a religious life. If I could lay before you a particular account of all the circumstances of terror and distress, that daily attend a life at _sea_, the more particular I was in the account, the more I should make you feel and rejoice in the happiness of living upon the _land_. In like manner, the more I enumerate the _follies_, _anxieties_, _delusions_, and restless desires which go thro’ every part of a life devoted to worldly enjoyments, the more you must be affected with that peace, and rest, and solid content, which religion gives to the souls of men. 7. But you will perhaps say, that the ridiculous, restless life of _Flatus_, is not the common state of those who neglect the strict rules of religion; and that therefore it is not so great an argument of the happiness of a religious life. I answer, that I am afraid it is one of the most _general characters_ in life; and that few people can read it, without seeing something in it that belongs to themselves. For where shall we find that wise and happy man, who has not been eagerly pursuing different appearances of happiness, sometimes thinking it was here, and sometimes there? And if people were to divide their lives into particular stages, and ask themselves what they were pursuing, or what it was which they had chiefly in view, when they were _twenty_ years old, what at _twenty-five_, what at _thirty_, what at _forty_, what at _fifty_, and so on, till they were brought to their last bed, numbers of people would find, that they had pursued as many different appearances of happiness, as are to be seen in the life of _Flatus_. And thus it must be, more or less, with all who propose any other happiness, than that which arises from a strict and regular piety. 8. But, _secondly_, let it be granted, that the _generality_ of people are not of such restless, fickle tempers as _Flatus_, the difference is only this, _Flatus_ is continually changing and trying something new, but others are content with some one state; they don’t leave _gaming_, and then fall to _hunting_, but follow one or the other all their life. Some have so much _steadiness_ in their tempers, that they seek after no other happiness, but that of _heaping_ up riches; others grow old in the sports of the _field_; others are content to _drink_ themselves to death, without the least enquiry after any other happiness. Now, is there any thing more _happy_ or _reasonable_, in such a life as this, than in the life of _Flatus_? Is it not as wise and happy, to be constantly changing from one thing to another, as to be nothing else but a _gatherer_ of money, a _hunter_, a _gamester_, or a _drunkard_, all your life? Shall religion be looked upon as a burden, as a dull and melancholy state, for calling men from such _happiness_ as this, to labour after the perfection of their nature, and prepare themselves for an endless state of joy and glory in the presence of God? 9. *But turn your eyes now another way, and let the _trifling joys_, the _gewgaw_ happiness of _Feliciana_, teach you how wise they are, what delusion they escape, whose hearts and hopes are fixed upon happiness in God. If you was to live with _Feliciana_ but one half year, you would see all the happiness that she is to have as long as she lives. She has no more to come, but the poor repetition of that which could never have pleased once, but thro’ a littleness of mind, and want of thought. She is to be again dressed fine, and keep her visiting-day. She is again to change the colour of her _cloaths_, again to have a new _head_. She is again to see who acts best at the _playhouse_, and who sings finest at the _opera_. She is again to make ten visits in a day, and be ten times in a day trying to talk artfully, easily, and politely, about nothing. She is to be again delighted with some new fashion, and again angry at the change of some old one. She is to be again at cards, and gaming at midnight, and again in bed at noon. She is to be again pleased with hypocritical compliments, and again disturbed with imaginary affronts. She is to be again delighted with her good luck at _gaming_, and again tormented with the loss of her money. She is again to prepare herself for a birth-night, and again to see the town full of good company. She is again to hear the cabals and intrigues of the town, again to have secret intelligence of private amours, and early notice of marriages, quarrels and partings. If you see her come out of her chariot more briskly than usual, converse with more spirit, and seem fuller of joy than she was last week, it is because there is some surprising new dress, or new diversion just come to town. 10. These are all the _substantial_ and _regular_ parts of _Feliciana_’s happiness; and she never knew a pleasant day in her life, but it was owing to some one, or more, of these things. It is for this happiness, that she has always been deaf to the reasonings of religion, that her heart has been too gay and chearful to consider what is _right_ or _wrong_ in regard to eternity; or to listen to the sound of such dull words, as _wisdom_, _piety_, and _devotion_. It is for fear of losing some of this happiness, that she dares not meditate on the immortality of her soul, consider her relation to God, or turn her thoughts towards those joys, which make saints and angels infinitely happy in the presence and glory of God. But let it be observed, that as poor a round of happiness as this appears, yet most women that avoid the restraints of religion for a gay life, must be content with very small parts of it. As they have not _Feliciana_’s fortune; so they must give away the comforts of a pious life, for a very small part of her happiness. 11. And if you look into the world, and observe the lives of those women, whom no arguments can persuade to live wholly unto God, you will find most of them such, as lose all the comforts of religion without gaining the tenth part of _Feliciana_’s happiness. They are such as spend their times and fortunes only in mimicking the pleasures of richer people; and rather look and long after, than enjoy those delusions, which are not to be purchased but by considerable fortunes. But if a woman of _high_ birth and _great_ fortune, having read the gospel, should rather wish to be an _under servant_ in some pious family, where wisdom, piety, and great devotion, directed all the actions of every day; if she should rather wish this, than to live at the top of _Feliciana_’s happiness, I should think her neither _mad_ nor _melancholy_; but that she judged as rightly of the spirit of the gospel, as if she had rather wished to be _poor Lazarus_ at the gate, than to be the rich man _cloathed in purple and fine linen, and faring sumptuously every day_. *But to proceed, would you know what an happiness it is, to be governed by the wisdom of religion, look at the poor condition of _Succus_, whose greatest happiness is a _good night_’s rest in bed, and a _good meal_ when he is up. When he talks of happiness, it is always in such expressions as shews you, that he has only his bed and his dinner in his thoughts. This regard to his _meals_ and _repose_, makes _Succus_ order all the rest of his time with relation to them. He will undertake no business that may hurry his spirits, or break in upon his hours of _eating_ and _rest_. If he reads, it shall be only for half an hour, because that is sufficient to amuse the spirits; and he will read something that may make him laugh, as rendering the body fitter for its _food_ and _rest_; or, if he has a mind at any time to indulge a grave thought, he has recourse to a useful treatise upon the _♦ancient cookery_. _Succus_ is an enemy to all _party matters_, having made it an observation, that there is as good eating amongst the _whigs_ as the _tories_. ♦ ‘antient’ replaced with ‘ancient’ He talks coolly and moderately upon all subjects, and is as fearful of falling into a passion, as of catching cold; being very positive they are both equally injurious to the _stomach_. If ever you see him more hot than ordinary, it is upon some provoking occasion, when the dispute about cookery runs high, or in the defence of some beloved dish, which has often made him happy. But he has been so long upon these subjects, is so well acquainted with all that can be said on both sides, and has so often answered all objections, that he generally decides the matter with great gravity. _Succus_ is very loyal, and as soon as ever he likes any wine, he drinks the king’s health with all his heart. Nothing could put rebellious thoughts into his head, unless he should live to see a proclamation against eating of _pheasant_’s _eggs_. ♦13. All the hours that are not devoted either to _repose_ or _nourishment_, are looked upon by _Succus_ as _waste_ or _spare time_. For this reason he lodges near a _coffee-house_ and a _tavern_, that when he rises in the morning he may be near the _news_, and when he parts at night, he may not have far to go to bed. In the morning you always see him in the same place in the _coffee-room_; and if he seems more attentively engaged than ordinary, it is because some _criminal_ is broke out of _newgate_, or some _lady_ was robbed last night, but they can’t tell where. When he has learnt all that he can, he goes home to settle the matter with the barber’s boy that comes to shave him. ♦ Number 12 omitted in text. The next _waste time_ that lies upon his hands, is from dinner to supper; and if melancholy thoughts ever come into his head, it is at this time, when he is often left to himself for an hour or more, and that after the greatest pleasure he knows is just over. He is afraid to sleep, because he has heard it is not healthful at that time; so that he is forced to refuse so welcome a guest. But here he is soon relieved by a settled method of playing at cards, till it is time to think of some little, nice matter for supper. After this _Succus_ takes his glass, talks of the excellency of the _English constitution_, and praises that _minister_ the most, who keeps the best table. On a _Sunday_ night you may sometimes hear him condemning the iniquity of _town rakes_; and the bitterest thing that he says against them is this, that he verily believes, some of them are so abandoned, as not to have a _regular meal_, or a _sound night_’s sleep, in a week. At eleven _Succus_ bids all good night, and parts in great friendship. He is presently in bed, and sleeps till it is time to go to the _coffee-house_ next morning. If you was to live with _Succus_ for a twelvemonth, this is all that you would see in his life, except a few _curses_ and _oaths_ that he uses as occasion offers. And now I cannot help making this reflection: 14. That as I believe the most likely means in the world to inspire a person with true piety, was to have seen the example of some eminent professors of religion: so the next thing that is likely to fill us with the same zeal, is to see the _folly_, the _baseness_, and poor satisfactions of a life destitute of religion. As the one excites us to love and admire the wisdom and greatness of religion; so the other may make us fearful of living without it. For who can help blessing God for the _means of grace_, and for the _hope of glory_, when he sees what variety of folly they sink into, who live without it? Who would not heartily engage in all the labours of a pious life, when he sees what _dull_ sensuality, what _gross_ enjoyments they are left to, who seek for happiness in other ways? So that whether we consider the greatness of religion, or the littleness of all other things, and the meanness of all other enjoyments, there is nothing to be found in the whole nature of things for a thoughtful mind to rest upon, but a happiness in religion. 15. Consider now with yourself, how unreasonably, it is pretended that a life of strict piety must be a _dull_ and _anxious_ state? For, can it with any reason be said that the duties of religion render our lives heavy and melancholy, when they only deprive us of such happiness as has been here laid before you? Must it be tedious to live in the continual exercise of charity and temperance, to act wisely and virtuously, to do good to the utmost of your power, to imitate the divine perfections, and prepare yourself for the enjoyment of God? Must it be dull and tiresome to improve in holiness, to feel the comforts of conscience in all your actions, to know that God is your friend, that all must work for your good; that neither life nor death, neither men nor devils can do you any harm; but that all your sufferings and doings, are in a short time to be rewarded with everlasting glory: must such a state be _dull_ and _tiresome_, for want of such happiness as _Flatus_ or _Feliciana_ enjoys? Now, if this cannot be said, then there is no happiness lost, by being strictly pious; nor has the devout man any thing to envy in any other state of life. For all the art and contrivances in the world, without religion, cannot make more of human life, or carry its happiness to any greater height, than _Flatus_ or _Feliciana_ has done. The finest _wit_, the greatest _genius_ upon earth, if not governed by religion, must be as _foolish_, and _low_, and _vain_, in his method of happiness, as the _poor Succus_. 16. *If you was to see a man dully endeavouring all his life to satisfy his thirst, by holding up one and the same _empty cup_ to his mouth, you would certainly despise his ignorance. *But, if you should see others, of _brighter parts_, and _finer understandings_, ridiculing the dull satisfaction of _one cup_, and thinking to satisfy their own thirst by variety of gilt and _golden empty cups_; would you think that these were ever the _wiser_, or _happier_, or _better_ employed, for their _finer parts_? *Now, this is all the difference that you can see in the happiness of this life. The _dull_ and _heavy_ soul may be content with one _empty appearance_ of happiness, and be continually trying to hold the _same empty cup_ to his mouth all his life. But let the _wit_, the _deep scholar_, the _fine genius_, the great _statesman_, the polite _gentleman_, lay all their heads together, and they can only shew you _more_ and _various_, _empty appearances_ of happiness; give them all the world into their hands, let them cut and carve as they please, they can only make a greater variety of _empty cups_. *So that if you don’t think it hard to be deprived of the pleasures of _gluttony_, for the sake of religion, you have no reason to think it hard to be restrained from any worldly pleasure. For search as deep, and look as far as you will, there is nothing here to be found, that is _nobler_, or _greater_, than _high eating_ and _drinking_, unless you look for it in the wisdom of religion. And if all that is in the world, are only so many _empty cups_, what does it signify which you take, or how many? 17. If you would but use yourself to such meditations as these, to reflect upon the vanity of _all orders_ of life without piety, to consider how all the ways of the world, are only so many different ways of error, blindness, and mistake; these meditations would awaken your soul into a zealous desire of that solid happiness which is only to be found in recourse to God. 18. To meditate upon the perfection of the divine attributes, to contemplate the glories of heaven, to consider the joys of saints and angels living for ever in the brightness and glory of the divine presence; these are the meditations of souls advanced in piety, and not suited to every capacity. But to see and consider the _emptiness_ and error of all worldly happiness, to see the _grossness_ of _sensuality_, the _poorness_ of pride, the _stupidity_ of covetousness, the _vanity_ of dress, the _blindness_ of our passions, the _uncertainty_ of our lives, and the _shortness_ of all worldly projects; these are meditations that are suited to all capacities. They require no depth of thought, or sublime speculation; but are forced upon us by all our senses, and taught by almost every thing that we see and hear. This is that _Wisdom that crieth, and putteth forth her voice in the streets_, Prov. viii. 1. that standeth at all our doors, that appealeth to all our senses, teaching us in every thing and every where, by all that we see, and all that we hear, by births ♦and burials, by sickness and health, by life and death, by pains and poverty, by misery and vanity, and by all the changes of life; that there is nothing else for man to look after, no other end in nature for him to drive at, but a happiness in religion. ♦ duplicate word removed ‘and’ CHAP. XI. _That not only a life of |vanity|, or |sensuality|, but even the |most regular| kind of life, that is not governed by great devotion, sufficiently shews its miseries, its wants and emptiness to the eyes of all the world. This represented in various characters._ 1. *_OCTAVIUS_ is a learned, ingenious man, well versed in most parts of literature, and no stranger to any kingdom in _Europe_. The other day, being just recovered from a lingering _fever_ he took upon him to talk thus to his friends. “My _glass_, says he, is almost run out; and your eyes see how many marks of _age_ and _death_ I bear about me: but I plainly feel myself sinking away faster than any standers-by imagine. I fully believe, that one year more will conclude my reckoning.” The attention of his friends was much raised by such a declaration, expecting to hear something truly excellent from so learned a man, who had but a year longer to live; when _Octavius_ proceeded in this manner, “For these reasons, says he, my friends, I have left off all _taverns_; the wine of those places is not good enough for me in this decay of nature. I must now be _nice_ in what I drink. I can’t pretend to do as I have done; and therefore I am resolved to furnish my own _cellar_ with a little of the very best, tho’ it cost me ever so much.” 2. A few days after _Octavius_ had made this declaration to his friends, he relapsed into his former illness, was committed to _a nurse_, who closed his eyes before his fresh parcel of wine came in. Young _Eugenius_ who was present at this discourse went home a new man. I never, says _Eugenius_, was so deeply affected with the wisdom and importance of religion, as when I saw how _poorly_ and _meanly_ the learned _Octavius_ was to leave the world, thro’ the want of it. 3. *Was _all_ to die with our _bodies_, there might be some pretence for those _different sorts_ of happiness, that are now so much talked of: but since _our all_ begins at the death of our bodies; since all men are to be immortal, either in misery or happiness, in a world entirely different from this; since they are all hastening thence at all uncertainties, as fast as death can cut them down; some in _sickness_, some in _health_, some _sleeping_, some _waking_, some at _midnight_, others at _cock-crowing_, and at all hours they know not of; is it not certain, that no man can exceed another in joy and happiness, but so far as he exceeds him in those virtues which fit him for a happy death? *_Cognatus_ is a sober, regular _clergyman_, of good repute in the world, and well esteemed in his parish. All his parishioners say he is an _honest_ man, and very notable at making a _bargain_. The farmers listen to him with great attention, when he talks of the properest time of selling corn. He has been for twenty years a diligent observer of _markets_, and has raised a considerable fortune by good management. _Cognatus_ is very _orthodox_, and full of _esteem_ for our _English_ liturgy; and if he has not prayers on _Wednesdays_ and _Fridays_, ’tis because his _predecessor_ had not used the parish to any such custom. As he cannot serve both his livings himself; so he makes it matter of _conscience_ to keep a _sober curate_ upon one of them, whom he _hires_ to take care of all the souls in the parish, at as _cheap_ a rate as a sober man can be procured. _Cognatus_ has been very prosperous all his time; but still he has had the uneasiness and vexations that they have, who are deep in worldly business. _Taxes_, _losses_, _crosses_, _bad mortgages_, _bad tenants_, and the hardness of the times, are frequent subjects of his conversation, and a good or a bad _season_ has a great effect upon his spirits. _Cognatus_ has no other end in growing rich, but that he may leave a considerable fortune to a _niece_, whom he has _politely_ educated in expensive finery, by what he has saved out of the tythes of _two livings_. The neighbours look upon _Cognatus_ as an happy clergyman, because they see him (as they call it) in _good circumstances_; and some of them intend to dedicate their own sons to the church, because they see how well it has succeeded with _Cognatus_, whose father was but an _ordinary man_. ♦5. *But now if _Cognatus_, when he first entered into holy orders, had perceived how absurd a thing it is to grow _rich_ by the gospel; if he had proposed to himself the example of some _primitive father_; if, instead of twenty years care to lay up treasures upon earth, he had distributed the income of every year in the most Christian acts of charity. ♦ Number 4 omitted in text. If instead of tempting his _niece_ to be proud, and providing her with such ornaments as the _apostle_ forbids, he had cloathed, comforted, and relieved numbers of _widows_ and _orphans_, who were all to appear for him at the last day: *If instead of the cares and anxieties of _bad bonds_, _troublesome mortgages_, and _ill bargains_, he had had the constant comfort of knowing, that his treasure was securely laid up, where neither moth corrupteth, nor thieves break thro’ and steal; could it with any reason be said, that he had mistaken the spirit and dignity of his order, or lessened any of that happiness, which is to be found in his sacred employment? If instead of rejoicing in the happiness of a second _living_, he had thought it unbecoming the office of a clergyman to traffick for gain in _holy things_, as to open a shop. *If he had thought it better to recommend some _honest labour_ to his _niece_, than to support her in _idleness_ by the labour of a _curate_; better that she should want _fine cloaths_, and a _rich husband_, than that cures of souls should be farmed out, and brother clergymen not suffered to live by those altars at which they serve. If this had been the spirit of _Cognatus_, could it with any reason be said, that these rules of religion, this strictness of piety, had robbed _Cognatus_ of any real happiness? Could it be said, that a life thus governed by the spirit of the gospel, must be _dull_ and _melancholy_, if compared to that of raising a fortune for a _niece_? 6. Look now at that condition of life which draws the envy of all. *_Negotius_ is a temperate, honest man. He served his time under a master of great trade; but has, by his own management, made it a more considerable business than ever it was before. For thirty years last past, he has been corresponding with all parts of _Europe_. The general good of trade seems to _Negotius_ to be the general good of life; whatever he commends or condemns, either in church or state, is commended, or condemned, with regard to trade. As money is continually pouring in upon him; so he often lets it go in various kinds of expence and generosity, and sometimes in ways of charity. _Negotius_ is always ready to join in any public contribution. If a _purse_ is making at any place where he happens to be, whether it be to buy a plate for a horse-race, or to redeem a _prisoner_ out of gaol, you are always sure of having something from him. He has given a fine _ring of bells_ to a church in the country; and there is much expectation that he will some time or other make a more beautiful _front_ to the _market-house_, than has yet been seen in any place: for it is the generous spirit of _Negotius_, to do nothing in a mean way. 7. If you ask what it is that has secured _Negotius_ from all _scandalous vices_, it is the same thing that has kept him from all _strictness of devotion_, it is his great business. He has always had too many important things in his head: his thoughts are too much employed, to suffer him to fall either into a course of _rakery_, or to feel the necessity of an _inward, solid_ piety. For this reason he hears of the pleasures of debauchery, and the pleasures of piety with the ♦same indifferency; and has no more desire of living in the one than in the other, because neither of them consists with that turn of mind, and multiplicity of business, which are his happiness. ♦ inserted omitted word ‘same’ *If _Negotius_ was asked, what it is which he drives at in life? He would be as much at a loss for an answer, as if he was asked, what any other person was thinking of. For though he always seems to himself to know what he is doing, and has many things in his head, which are the motives of his actions; yet he cannot tell you of any _one general end_ of life that he has chosen with deliberation, as being truly worthy of all his labour and pains. He has several confused notions in his head, which have been a long time there: such as these; that it is _something great_ to have more business than other people, to have more dealings upon his hands than a hundred of the same profession, to grow continually richer and richer, and to raise an immense fortune before he dies. The thing that seems to give _Negotius_ the greatest life and spirit, and to be most in his thoughts, is an expectation that he shall die richer than any of his business ever did. 8. The generality of people when they think of happiness, think upon _Negotius_; in whose life every instance of happiness is supposed to meet, sober, prudent, rich, prosperous, generous and charitable. Let us now look at this condition in another, but truer light. *Let it be supposed, that this same _Negotius_ was a painful, laborious man, very deep in variety of affairs; that he neither drank, nor debauched, but was sober and regular in his business. Let it be supposed, that he grew old in this course of trading, and that the _end_ and _design_ of all his labour, and care, and application to business, was only this, that he might die possessed of more than an hundred thousand pair of _boots_ and _spurs_. Let it be supposed that the sober part of the world say of him when he ♦is dead, that he was a great and happy man, a thorough master of business, and had acquired an hundred thousand pair of _boots_ and _spurs_ when he died. ♦ ‘his’ replaced with ‘is’ 9. *Now if this was really the case, I believe that it would be readily granted that a life of such business was as poor and ridiculous as any that can be invented. But it would puzzle any one to shew, that a man that has spent all his time and thoughts in business and hurry, that he might die, as it is said, worth an hundred thousand pounds, is any whit wiser than he, who has taken the same pains to have as many pairs of _boots_ and _spurs_ when he leaves the world. *For if the _state_ of our souls be our _whole state_, if the only end of life be to die as _free_ from sin, and as _exalted_ in virtue as we can; if naked as we came, so naked are we to return, and to stand a trial before Christ and his holy angels, for everlasting happiness or misery, what can it possibly signify, what a man had, or had not, in this world? What can it signify what you call these things that a man left behind him; whether you call him _his_, or any _one’s_ else; whether you _call_ them _trees_ or _fields_, or birds and feathers; whether you _call_ them an hundred _thousand pounds_, or an hundred thousand pair of _boots_ and _spurs_? I say _call_ them; for the _things_ signify no more to him than the _names_. Now ’tis easy to see the folly of a life thus spent, to furnish a man with such a number of _boots_ and _spurs_. But yet there needs no better faculty of seeing, no finer understanding, to see the folly of a life spent in making a man possessor of _ten towns_ before he dies. *For if, when he has got all his _towns_, or all his _boots_, his soul is to go into his _own place_ amongst separate spirits, and his body to be laid by in a _coffin_, till the last trumpet calls him to judgment; where the enquiry will be, how _humbly_, how _devoutly_, how _meekly_, how _piously_, how _charitably_, we have _spoke_, _thought_, and _acted_, whilst we were in the body? How can we say, that he who has wore out his life in raising an _hundred thousand pounds_, has acted wiser for himself, than he who has had the same _care_ to procure an hundred thousand of _any thing_ else? 10. *But farther, let it now be supposed, that _Negotius_, when he first entered into business, happening to read the gospel with _attention_, found he had a much greater business upon his hands, than that to which he had served an apprenticeship: that there were things which belong to man, of much more importance than all that our eyes can see; so glorious, as to deserve all our thoughts; so dangerous, as to need all our care; and so certain, as never to deceive the faithful labourer. Let it be supposed, that by reading this book, he had discovered that his soul was more to him than his body: that it was better to grow in the virtues of the soul, than to have a large body, or a full purse; that it was better to be fit for heaven, than to have a variety of fine houses upon the earth; that it was better to secure an everlasting happiness, than to have plenty of things which he cannot keep; better to live in habits of humility, piety, charity, and self-denial, than to die unprepared for judgment; better to be most like our Saviour, than to excel all the tradesmen in the world, in business and bulk of fortune. Let it be supposed, that _Negotius_, believing these things to be true, entirely devoted himself to God at his first setting out in the world, resolving to pursue his _business_ no farther than was consistent with great devotion, humility, and self-denial; and for no other ends, but to provide himself with a sober subsistence, and to do all the good he could, to the souls and bodies of his fellow creatures. Let it therefore be supposed, that instead of the continual hurry of business, he was frequent in his retirements; that instead of restless desires after more riches, his soul had been full of the love of God and heavenly affection, constantly watching against worldly tempers, and always aspiring after divine grace; that instead of worldly cares and contrivances, he had been busy in fortifying his soul against all approaches of sin; that instead of costly shew, and the expensive generosity of a splendid life, he had loved and exercised all instances of humility and lowliness; that instead of great treats and full tables, his house had only furnished a sober refreshment to those that wanted it. Let it be supposed, that his contentment kept him free from all kinds of envy: that his piety made him thankful to God in all crosses and disappointments: that his charity kept him from being rich, by a continual distribution to all objects of compassion. ♦12. Now, had this been the Christian spirit of _Negotius_, can any one say, that he had lost the true happiness of life, by thus conforming to the Spirit, and living up to the hope of the gospel? ♦ Number 11 omitted in text. *Can it be said, that a life made exemplary by such virtues as these, which keep heaven always in our sight, which both delight and exalt the soul here, and prepare it for the presence of God hereafter, must be _poor_ and _dull_, if compared to that of heaping up riches, which can neither stay with us, nor we with them? It would be endless to multiply examples of this kind, to shew you how little is lost, and how much is gained, by introducing a strict and exact piety into every condition of human life. I shall now therefore leave it to your own meditation, to carry this way of thinking farther, hoping that enough is said, to convince yourself, that an exalted piety is so far from rendering any life dull and tiresome, that it is the only joy and happiness of any condition in the world. 13. *Imagine to yourself some person in a _consumption_, or any other _lingering distemper_ that was _incurable_. If you was to see such a man wholly intent upon doing every thing in the spirit of religion, making the wisest use of all his time, fortune, and abilities. If he was for carrying every duty of piety to its greatest height, and striving to have all the advantage that could be had in the remainder of his life: if he avoided all business, but such as was necessary; if he was averse to all the follies and vanities of the world, had no taste for _finery_ and _shew_, but sought for all his comfort in the hopes and expeditions of religion, you would certainly commend his prudence; you would say, that he had taken the right method to make himself as joyful and happy, as any one can be in a state of such infirmity. *On the other hand, if you should see the same person, with _trembling_ hands, short breath, _thin_ jaws, and _hollow_ eyes, wholly intent upon business and bargains, as long as he could speak: if you should see him pleased with _fine cloaths_, when he could scarce stand to be dressed, and laying out his money in _horses_ and _dogs_, rather than purchase the prayers of the poor for his soul, which was so soon to be separated from his body, you would certainly condemn him, as a weak, silly man. 14. Now, as it is easy to see the reasonableness, the wisdom and happiness of a religious spirit in a _consumptive man_; so, if you pursue the same way of thinking, you will as easily perceive the same wisdom and happiness of a pious temper in every other state of life. For how soon will any man that is in _health_, be in the state of him that is in a _consumption_? How soon will he want all the same comforts of religion, which every dying man wants? *And if it be wise and happy to live piously, because we have not above a year to live, is it not being more wise, and making ourselves more happy, to live piously, because we may have more years to come? If one year of piety before we die, is so desirable, are not more years of piety much more desirable? 15. If a man had _five fixed_ years to live, he could not possibly think at all, without intending to make the best use of them _all_. When he saw his stay so short in this world, he must needs think that this was not a world for him; and when he saw how near he was to another world, that was eternal, he must surely think it necessary to be very diligent in preparing for it. Now as reasonable as piety appears in such a circumstance of life, it is yet more reasonable in every circumstance of life, to every thinking man. For who but a madman can recount that he has _five_ years _certain_ to come? *And if it be reasonable and necessary to deny our worldly tempers, and live wholly unto God, because we are _certain_ that we are to die at the end of _five years_; surely it must be much more reasonable and necessary for us to live in the same spirit, because we have no _certainty_ that we shall live _five weeks_. 16. *Again, if we are to add _twenty_ years to the _five_, which is, in all probability, more than will be added to the lives of many people, who are at man’s estate; what a poor thing it is! How small a difference is there between five, and twenty-five years? It is said, that a _day_ is with God as a _thousand years_, and a thousand years as one day; because, in regard to his eternity, this difference is as nothing. *Now, as we are created to be _eternal_, to live an endless succession of ages upon ages, where _thousands_, and _millions of thousands_ of years will have no proportion to our everlasting life in God; so with regard to his eternal state, which is our real state, twenty-five _years_ is as poor a pittance as twenty-five _days_. We can never make any true judgment of time as it relates to us, without considering the true state of our _duration_. If we are _temporary_ beings, then a little time may justly be called a great deal in relation to us; but if we are _eternal_ beings, then the difference of a few years is as nothing. 17. If we were to suppose _three_ different _sorts_ of rational beings, all of _different_, but _fixed_ duration; one sort that lived _certainly_ only a _month_, the other a _year_, and the third an _hundred years_. If these beings were to meet together, and talk about time, they must talk in a very different language. _Half_ an _hour_ to those who were to live but a _month_, must be a very different thing, to what it is to those, who are to live an _hundred years_. As therefore time is thus a different thing, with regard to the _state_ of those who enjoy it; so if we would know what time is with regard to ourselves, we must consider our state. Now since our eternal state, is as certainly ours, as our present state; since we are as certainly to live for ever, as we are now to live at all; it is plain, that we cannot judge of the value of any particular time, as to us, but by comparing it to that eternal duration for which we are created. If you would know what _five years_ signify to a being that was to live an _hundred_, you must compare _five_ to a _hundred_, and see what proportion it bears to it, and then you would judge right. *So if you would know, what _twenty_ years signify to a son of _Adam_, you must compare it, not to a _million_ of ages, but to an _eternal duration_, to which no number of millions bears any proportion; and then you will judge right, by finding it _nothing_. 18. Consider therefore this; how would you condemn the folly of a man, that should lose his share of future glory, for the sake of being _rich_, or _great_, or _praised_, or delighted in _any enjoyment_, only _one poor_ day before he was to die! But if the time will come, when a number of years will seem less to every one than a day does now; what a condemnation must it then be, if eternal happiness should be lost, for something less than the enjoyment of a day! Why does a day seem a trifle to us now? It is because we have years to set against it. It is the duration of years that makes it seem as nothing. *What a _trifle_ therefore must the years of a _man_’s _age_ appear, when they are forced to be set against _eternity_, when there shall be nothing but eternity to compare them with! *And this will be the case of every man, as soon as he is out of the body; he will be forced to forget the distinction of days and years, and to measure time, not by the course of the sun, but by setting it against eternity. As the _fixed stars_, by reason of our being placed at such distance from them, appear but as so many _points_; so when we, placed in eternity, shall look back upon _all time_, it will appear but as a _moment_. *Then, a _luxury_, an _indulgence_, a _prosperity_, a _greatness_ of _fifty_ years, will seem to every one that looks back upon it, as the same _poor short_ enjoyment, as if he had been snatched away in his _first sin_. These few reflections upon _time_, are only to shew how poorly they think, how miserably they judge, who are less careful of an eternal state, because they _may_ be at some _years_ distance from it, than they would be, if they knew they were within a few _weeks of it_. CHAP. XII. _Concerning that part of devotion which relates to |times| and |hours| of |prayer|. Of daily |early| prayer in the morning. How we may improve our |forms| of prayer, and increase the |spirit| of devotion._ 1. HAVING in the foregoing chapters shewn the necessity of a devout spirit, in every part of our common life, in the discharge of all our business, in the use of all the gifts of God: I come now to consider that part of devotion, which relates to _times_ and _hours_ of prayer. *I take it for granted, that every Christian, that is in health, is up _early_ in the morning; for it is much more reasonable to suppose a person up _early_, because he is a _Christian_, than because he is a _labourer_, or a _tradesman_, or a _servant_, or has business that wants him. *We naturally conceive some abhorrence of a man that is in _bed_, when he should be at his _labour_, or in his _shop_. We can’t tell how to think any thing good of him, who is such a slave to drowsiness, as to neglect his business for it. *Let this therefore teach us to conceive, how odious we must appear in the sight of heaven, if we are in _bed_, shut up in _sleep_, when we should be praising God; and are such slaves to drowsiness, as to neglect our devotions for it. For if he is to be blamed as a _slothful drone_, that rather chuses the lazy indulgence of sleep, than to perform his proper worldly business, how much more is he to be reproached, that had rather lie folded up in a bed, than be raising up his heart to God in acts of praise and adoration. 2. Prayer is the nearest approach to God, and the highest enjoyment of him, that we are capable of in this life. It is the noblest exercise of the soul, the most exalted use of our best faculties, and the highest imitation of the blessed inhabitants of heaven. When our hearts are full of God, sending up holy desires to the throne of grace, we are then in our highest state, we are upon the utmost height of human greatness; we are not before _kings_ and _princes_, but in the presence of the _Lord_ of all the world, and can be no higher till death is swallowed up in glory. On the other hand, _sleep_ is the _poorest_, _dullest_ refreshment of the body; that is so far from being intended as an _enjoyment_, that we are forced to receive it either in a state of _insensibility_, or in the folly of _dreams_. *_Sleep_, is such a _dull_, _stupid_ state of existence, than even amongst _mere animals_, we despise them most which are most drowsy. He therefore that chuses to enlarge the slothful indolence of sleep, rather than be early at his devotions to God; chuses the dullest refreshment of the body, before the highest, noblest enjoyment of the soul; he chuses that state, which is a reproach to _mere animals_, rather than that exercise, which is the glory of _angels_. 3. *Besides, he that cannot deny himself this drowsy indulgence, but must pass away good part of the morning in it, is no more prepared for prayer when he is up, than he is prepared for _fasting_, or any other _self-denial_. He may, indeed, more easily read over a _form_ of prayer, than he can perform those duties; but he is no more disposed for the _true spirit_ of prayer, than he is disposed for _fasting_. For sleep, thus indulged, gives a _softness_ and _idleness_ to all our tempers, and makes us unable to relish any thing, but what suits with an _idle state_ of mind, and gratifies our natural tempers, as sleep does. So that a person that is a slave to this idleness, is in the same temper when he is up; and tho’ he is not asleep, yet he is under the effects of it: and every thing that is _idle_, _indulgent_, or _sensual_, pleases him for the same reason that sleep pleases him: on the other hand, every thing that requires _care_, _trouble_, or _self-denial_, is hateful to him for the same reason that he hates to rise. 4. It is not possible in nature for an _epicure_ to be truly devout; he must renounce his sensuality, before he can relish the happiness of devotion. Now, he that turns sleep into an _idle indulgence_, does as much to corrupt his soul, to make it a slave to bodily appetites, as he that turns the necessity of eating into a course of indulgence. A person that eats and drinks too much, does not feel such effects from it as those do, who live in _notorious_ gluttony and intemperance; but yet his course of indulgence, tho’ it be not _scandalous_ in the eyes of the world, nor such as _torments_ his own conscience, is a great and constant hindrance to his improvement in virtue: it gives him _eyes that see not_, and _ears that hear not_; it creates a sensuality in the soul, increases the power of bodily passions, and makes him incapable of entering into the true spirit of religion. And this is the case of those who waste their time in sleep; it does not _disorder_ their lives, or _wound_ their consciences, as _notorious acts_ of intemperance do; but, like any other more moderate course of indulgence, it silently, and by smaller degrees, wears away the spirit of religion, and sinks the soul into a state of dulness and sensuality. 5. If you consider devotion only as a _time_ of so much prayer, you may perhaps perform it, tho’ you live in this daily indulgence; but if you consider it as a _state_ of the heart, that is deeply affected with a sense of its own misery and infirmities, and desires the Spirit of God more than all things in the world, you will find the spirit of indulgence, and the spirit of prayer, cannot subsist together. Self-denial, of _all kinds_, is the very life and soul of piety; but he that has not so small a degree of it, as to be able to be early at his prayers, can have no reason to think that he has taken up his cross, and is following Christ. *What conquest has he got over himself? What right-hand has he cut off? What trials is he prepared for? What sacrifice is he ready to offer to God, who cannot be so cruel to himself, as to rise to prayer at such a time, as the drudging part of the world are content to rise to their labour? 6. *Some people will not scruple to tell you, that they indulge themselves in sleep, because they have nothing to do: and that if they had either _business_ or _pleasure_ to rise to, they would not lose so much of their time in sleep. But such people must be told, that they mistake the matter; that they have a great deal of business to do; they have a _hardened heart_ to change; they have the _whole spirit_ of religion to get. For surely, he that thinks devotion to be of less moment than business or pleasure; or that he has nothing to do, because nothing but his prayers want him, may be justly said to have the whole spirit of religion to seek. You must not therefore consider how small a crime it is to _rise late_; but you must consider how great a misery it is to want the _spirit_ of religion; to have a heart not rightly affected with prayer, and to live in such softness and idleness, as makes you incapable of the most fundamental duties of a Christian life. When you read the scriptures, you see a religion that is all _life_, and _spirit_, and _joy_ in God; that supposes our souls risen from earthly desires and bodily indulgences, to prepare for another body, another world, and other enjoyments. You see Christians represented as temples of the Holy Ghost, as children of the day, as candidates for an eternal crown, as watchful virgins, that have their lamps always burning in expectation of the bridegroom. But can he be thought to have this joy in God, this care of eternity, this watchful spirit, who has not zeal enough to rise to his prayers? 7. If I was to desire you not to study the gratification of your _palate_, in the niceties of meats and drinks, I would not insist upon the crime of wasting your money in such a way, tho’ it be a great one; but I would desire you to renounce such a way of life, because it supports you in such a state of sensuality and indulgence, as renders you incapable of relishing the most essential doctrines of religion. For the same reason, I don’t insist much upon the crime of wasting your time in sleep, tho’ it be a great one; but I desire you to renounce this indulgence, because it gives a softness and idleness to your soul, and is so contrary to that _lively_, _zealous_, _watchful_, _self-denying_ spirit, which was not only the Spirit of Christ and his apostles, and the spirit of all the saints and martyrs which have ever been among men, but must be the spirit of those who would not sink in the common corruption of the world. *Here therefore we must fix our charge against this practice; we must blame it not as having this or that particular evil, but as a _general habit_, that extends itself thro’ our whole spirit, and supports a state of mind that is wholly wrong. It is contrary to piety; not as accidental slips and mistakes in life are contrary to it, but in such a manner, as an ill habit of body is contrary to health. On the other hand, if you was to rise early every morning, as an instance of self-denial, as a method of renouncing indulgence, as a means of redeeming your time, and fitting your spirit for prayer, you would find mighty advantages from it. This method, tho’ it seems such a small circumstance, would in all probability, be a means of great piety. It would keep it constantly in your head, that softness and idleness were to be avoided; that self-denial was a part of Christianity. It would teach you to exercise power over yourself, and make you able to renounce other pleasures and tempers that war against the soul. But above all, what is so planted and watered, will certainly have an increase from God. You will then speak from your heart, your soul will be awake, your prayers will refresh you like meat and drink, you will feel what you say, and begin to know what saints and holy men have meant by fervour in devotion. 8. Hoping therefore that you are now convinced of the necessity of rising early to your prayers, I shall proceed to lay before you a method of daily prayer. I don’t take upon me to prescribe to you the use of any _particular forms_ of prayer, but you will here find some helps, how to furnish yourself with such as may be useful. And if your heart is ready to pray in its own language, I press no necessity of borrowed forms. For tho’ I think a form of prayer very _necessary_ to _public_ worship, yet if any one can find a better way of raising his heart unto God in private, I have nothing to object against it; my design being only to assist and direct such as stand in need of this assistance. It seems right for such an one to begin with a _form_ of prayer; and if, in the midst of it he finds his heart ready to break forth into other words, he may leave his _form_, and follow those fervours of his heart, till it again want the assistance of his usual petitions. *This seems to be the _true liberty_ of _private_ devotion: it may be under the direction of some _form_; yet not so tied down to it, but that it may be free to take such new expressions as its present fervours furnish it with, which sometimes carry the soul more powerfully to God, than any expressions that were ever used before. 9. Most people are changeable in regard to devotion. Sometimes our hearts have such _strong_ apprehensions of the divine presence, and are so full of compunction, that we cannot speak in any language but that of _tears_. Sometimes the light of God’s countenance shines so bright, we see so far into the invisible world, we are so affected with the wonders of the goodness of God, that our hearts worship in a language higher than that of words, and we feel transports of devotion, which only can be felt. On the other hand, sometimes we are so sunk into our bodies, so _dull_ and _unaffected_ with that which concerns our souls, that we cannot keep pace with our _forms_ of confession, or feel half of that in our hearts, which we have in our mouths; we thank and praise God with forms of words, but our hearts have little or no share in them. We may provide against this _inconstancy_ of our hearts, by having at hand such _forms_ of prayer, as may best suit us when our hearts are in their _best_ state, and also be most likely to stir them up, when they are _sunk_ into _dulness_. 10. The first thing you are to do, when you are upon your knees, is, with a short _silence_, let your soul place itself in the presence of God; use this, or some other method, to separate yourself from all common thoughts, and make your heart as sensible as you can of the divine presence. Now, if this recollection of spirit is necessary, as who can say it is not? How poorly must they perform their devotions, who are always in a _hurry_; who begin them in haste, and hardly allow themselves time to repeat their very _form_, with attention? Theirs is properly _saying_ prayers, instead of _praying_. If you was to use yourself, as far as you can, to pray always in the same place; if you was to reserve that place for devotion, and not allow yourself to do any thing common in it; if you was never to be there yourself, but in times of devotion; if any _little room_, or, if that cannot be, if any particular _part_ of a room was thus used, this kind of consecration of it, as a place _holy_ unto God, would much assist your devotion. 11. It may be of use to you to observe this farther rule: when at any time, either in reading the _scripture_, or any book of _piety_, you meet with a passage, that more than ordinarily affects your mind, turn it into the _form_ of a petition, and give it a place in your prayers. At all the _stated hours_ of prayer, it may be of benefit to you, to have something _fixed_, and something at _liberty_, in your devotions. You may have some _fixed_ subject to be the chief matter of your prayer at that particular time; and yet have liberty to add such _other petitions_, as your condition may then require. For instance; as the _morning_ is to you the beginning of a new life; as God has then given you a new enjoyment of yourself, and a fresh entrance into the world, it is highly proper that your _first_ devotions should be _praise_ and thanksgiving to God, as for a new creation; and that you should devote _body_ and _soul_, all you _are_, and all you _have_, to his service and glory. Receive therefore every day, as a _resurrection_ from death, as a new enjoyment of life; meet every _rising sun_ with such sentiments of God’s goodness, as if you had seen it, and all things, _new created_ upon your account; and under the sense of so great a blessing, let your heart praise and magnify so good and glorious a Creator. Therefore _praise_ and _thanksgiving_, and _oblation_ of yourself to God, may be the _fixed_ subject of your _first_ prayers in the morning; and then take the liberty of adding such other devotions, as the _accidental_ difference of your state, or the accidental difference of your heart, shall direct. 12. *One of the greatest benefits of _private_ devotion, consists in adapting our prayers to the difference of our _state_, and the difference of our hearts. *By the difference of our _state_, is meant the difference of our _external state_, as of _sickness_, _health_, _pains_, _losses_, _disappointments_, _troubles_, particular _mercies_ or _judgments_ from God, and all sorts of _kindnesses_, _injuries_, or _reproaches_ from other people. Now, as these are great parts of our state of life, as they make great difference in it, by continually changing; so our devotion will be made doubly beneficial to us, when it watches to receive and sanctify all these _changes_ of our state, and turns them all into so many occasions of a more particular application to God, of such thanksgivings, such resignation, such petitions, as our present state more especially requires. *And he that makes every change in his state, a reason of presenting unto God some particular petitions suitable to that change, will soon find, that he has taken an excellent means, not only of _praying_ with fervour, but of _living_ as he prays. 13. *We are likewise always to adapt some part of our prayers to the _difference_ of our _hearts_; by which is meant the different tempers of our hearts, as of _love_, _joy_, _peace_, _tranquility_, _dulness_ and _dryness_ of _spirit_, _anxiety_, _discontent_, _motions_ of _envy_ and _ambition_, _dark_ and _disconsolate thoughts_, _resentments_, _fretfulness_, and _peevish tempers_. If we are in the delightful calm of sweet and easy passions, of _love_ and _joy_ in God, we should then offer the tribute of thanksgiving. If, on the other hand, we feel ourselves laden with _heavy_ passions, with _dulness_ of spirit, _anxiety_ and _uneasiness_, we must then look up to God in acts of humility, confessing our unworthiness, opening our troubles to him, beseeching him in his good time to lessen our infirmities, and to deliver us from these passions. By this wise application of our prayers, we shall get all the relief from them that is possible; and the very _changeableness_ of our hearts, will prove a means of exercising a greater variety of holy tempers. You will perceive by this, that persons ought to have a great share in composing their own devotions. As to that part of their prayers, which is always fixed, they may use forms composed by other persons; but in that part which they are to suit to the present _state_ of their _life_, and the _present_ state of their _heart_, they must let the sense of their own condition help them to such kinds of _petition_, _thanksgiving_, or _resignation_, as their present state requires. 14. But it is amazing to see how ♦eagerly men employ their _parts_, their _study_, _application_, and _exercise_; how all helps are called to their assistance, when any thing is intended in worldly matters; and how little they use their _parts_, _sagacity_, and abilities, to raise and increase their devotion. ♦ ‘eargerly’ replaced with ‘eagerly’ *_Mandanus_ is a man of excellent parts, and clear apprehension. He is well advanced in age, and has made a great figure in his business. Every part of _trade_ that has fallen in his way, has had some improvement from him; and he is always contriving to carry every method of doing any thing well to its greatest height. _Mandanus_ aims at the greatest perfection in every thing. The _strength_ of his mind, and his just way of thinking, make him intent upon removing all imperfections. He can tell you all the defects and errors in all the common methods, whether of _trade_, _building_, or improving _land_ or _manufactures_. The clearness and strength of his understanding, which he is constantly improving, by continual exercise in these matters, by often digesting his thoughts in writing, and trying every thing every way, has rendered him a great master in most concerns in human life. Thus has _Mandanus_ gone on, increasing his _knowledge_ and _judgment_, as fast as his years came upon him. The one thing which has not fallen under his improvement, nor received any benefit from his judicious mind, is his _devotion_: this is just in the same _poor_ state it was, when he was only six years of age; and the _old man_ prays now in that little form of words which his mother used to hear him repeat night and morning. This _Mandanus_, that hardly ever saw the poorest _utensil_, or ever took the meanest _trifle_ into his hand, without considering how it might be _made_, or _used_ to better advantage, has gone all his life-long praying in the same manner as when he was a child; without ever considering how much _better_ or _oftner_ he might pray. If _Mandanus_ sees a book of _devotion_, he passes it by, as he does a _spelling-book_; because he remembers that he learned to _pray_ so many years ago under his _mother_, when he learnt to _spell_. Now, how poor and pitiable is the conduct of this man of sense, who has so much judgment in every thing, but that which is the _whole wisdom_ of man? And how miserably do many people, more or less, imitate this conduct? 15. *_Classicus_ is a man of learning, and well versed in all the best authors of antiquity. He has read them so much, that he has entered into their spirit, and can imitate the manner of any of them. All their thoughts are his thoughts, and he can express himself in their language. He is so great a friend to this improvement of the mind, that if he lights on a young scholar, he never fails to advise him concerning his studies. _Classicus_ tells his young man, he must not think he has done enough, when he has only learnt _languages_; but that he must be daily conversant with the best authors, read them again and again, catch their spirit by living with them; and that there is no other way of becoming like them, or of making himself a man of _taste_ and _judgment_. How wise might _Classicus_ have been, if he had but thought as _justly_ of _devotion_, as he does of _learning_? He never, indeed, says any thing _shocking_ or _offensive_ about _devotion_, because he never _thinks_ or _talks_ about it. It suffers nothing from him, but neglect and disregard. The two testaments would not have had so much as a place amongst his books, but that they are both to be had in _Greek_. 16. _Classicus_ thinks, he sufficiently shews his regard for the holy scripture, when he tells you, that he has no other books of piety besides them. It is very well, _Classicus_, that you prefer the bible to all other books of piety; he has no judgment, that is not thus far of your opinion. But if you will have no other book of piety besides the _bible_, because it is the best, how comes it, _Classicus_, that you don’t content yourself with _one_ of the _best_ books among the _Greeks_ and _Romans_? How comes it that you are so eager after _all_ of them? How comes it that you think the knowledge of one is a necessary help to the knowledge of the other? How comes it that you are so earnest, so laborious, so expensive of your time and money, to restore _broken periods_, and _scraps_ of the ancients? How comes it that you tell your _young scholar_, he must not content himself with barely understanding his authors, but must be continually reading them _all_, as the only means of entering into their spirit, and forming his own judgment according to them? Why then must the bible lie alone in your study? Is not the spirit of the saints, the piety of the holy followers of Jesus Christ, as good and necessary a means of entering into the spirit and _taste_ of the gospel, as the reading of the ancients is of entering into the spirit of antiquity? Is your young poet to search after _every line_, that may give new wings to his fancy, or direct his imagination? And is it not as reasonable for him, who desires to improve in the divine life, to search after every strain of devotion, that may move, kindle, and inflame the holy ardour of his soul? Do you advise your _orator_ to translate the best orations, to commit much of them to memory, to be frequently exercising his talent in this manner, that habits of thinking and speaking justly may be formed in his mind? And is there not the same advantage to be made by books of devotion? Should not a man use them in the same way, that habits of devotion, and aspiring to God in holy thoughts, may be well formed in his soul? Now the reason why _Classicus_ does not _think_ and judge thus reasonably of devotion, is owing to his never thinking of it in any other manner, than as the repeating a _form_ of _words_. It never in his life entered into his head, to think of devotion as a _state of the heart_, as a _temper_ that is to _grow_ and _increase_ like our _reason_ and _judgment_, and to be formed in us by such a diligent use of proper means, as are necessary to form any other wise habit of mind. And it is for want of this, that he has been content all his life with the _bare letter_ of prayer, and eagerly bent upon entering into the _spirit_ of _Heathen poets_ and _orators_. And it is much to be lamented, that numbers of _scholars_ are _more_ or _less_ chargeable with this excessive folly; so negligent of improving their devotion, and so desirous of other poor accomplishments, as if they thought it a nobler talent, to be able to write an _epigram_ in the _turn_ of _Martial_, than to _live_, and _think_, and _pray_ to God, in the spirit of St. _Austin_. And yet if you was to ask _Mandanus_ and _Classicus_, or any man of business or learning, whether _piety_ is not the highest perfection of man, or _devotion_ the greatest attainment in the world, they must both be forced to answer in the affirmative, or else give up the truth of the gospel. 17. Devotion is nothing else but _right apprehensions_ and _right affections_ towards God. All practices therefore that improve our true apprehensions of God, all ways of life that tend to _nourish_, _raise_, and fix our affections upon him, are to be reckoned so many helps and means of devotion. As _prayer_ is the proper fuel of this holy flame, so we must use all our care to give prayer its full power; as by _alms_, _self-denial_, frequent _retirements_, and _holy readings_, composing _forms_ for ourselves, or using the _best_ we can get, adding _length_ of time, and observing _hours_ of prayer; _changing_, _improving_, and _suiting_ our devotions to the condition of our lives, and the state of our hearts. Those who have most leisure, seem more especially called to a more eminent observance of this; and they, who by the necessity of their state, have but little time to employ thus, must make the best use of that little they have. 18. There is one thing more I would advise; and that is, to begin your prayers with a _psalm_. I don’t mean, that you should _read_ over a psalm, but that you should _chant_ or _sing_ one. The difference between singing and reading a psalm, will be easily understood, if you consider the difference between reading and singing a _common song_ that you like. Whilst you only read it, you only _like_ it; but as soon as you _sing_ it, you feel the _same spirit_ within you, that there seems to be in the words. You will perhaps say, you cannot sing. This objection might be of weight, if you was desired to sing to entertain other people; but it is not to be admitted in the present case, where you are only advised to sing the praises of God in private. Do but so live, that your heart may truly rejoice in God, that it may feel itself affected with the praises of God; and then you will find, that this state of your heart will neither want a voice, nor ear, to find a tune for a psalm. 19. *The union of soul and body, is not a mixture of their substances, as we see bodies united and mixed together, but consists solely in the mutual power that they have of acting upon one another. *If two persons were in such a state of dependance upon one another, that neither of them could act, or move, or think, or feel, or suffer, or desire any thing, without putting the other into the same condition, one might properly say, that they were in a state of strict union, altho’ their substances were not united together. *Now this is the union of the soul and body; the substance of the one cannot be mixed or united with the other; but they are held together in such a state of union, that all the actions and sufferings of the one, are at the same time the actions and sufferings of the other. The soul has no thought or passion, but the body is concerned in it; the body has no action or motion, but what, in some degree, affects the soul. Now, as it is the sole will of God, that is the _cause_ of all the powers and effects which you see in the world; as the _sun_ gives light and heat, not because it has any natural power of so doing; as it is fixed in a certain place, and other bodies moving about it; not because it is in the nature of the sun to stand still, and in the nature of other bodies to move about it; but merely because it is the _will_ of God, that they should be in such a state: as the _eye_ is the organ, or instrument of seeing, not because the _skins_, and _coats_, and _humours_ of the eye, have a natural power of giving sight: as the ears are the organs, or instruments of hearing, not because the _make_ of the ear has any natural power over sounds, but merely because it is the will of God, that _seeing_ and _hearing_ should be thus received; so it is the sole will of God, that is the cause of this union betwixt the soul and the body. 20. If you rightly apprehend this short account of the union of the soul and body, you will see a great deal into the reason of all the outward parts of religion. This union of our souls and bodies, is the reason both why we have so little and so much power over ourselves. It is owing to this, that we have so little power over our souls: for as we cannot prevent the effects of external objects upon our bodies; as we cannot command outward causes; so we cannot always command the inward state of our minds; because, as outward objects act upon our bodies without our leave, so our bodies act upon our minds by the laws of the union vital. And thus you see it is owing to this union, that we have so _little_ power over ourselves. On the other hand, it is owing to this union, that we have so _much_ power over ourselves. For as our souls in a great measure depend upon our bodies; and as we have great power over these; as we can mortify our bodies, and remove ourselves from objects that inflame our passions; so we have a great power over the _inward_ state of our souls. Again, as the outward acts of reading, praying, singing, and the like, have an effect upon the soul; so by being masters of these outward, bodily actions, we have great power over the inward state of the heart. And thus it is owing to this union, that we have so much power over ourselves. Now from this you may see the benefit of singing psalms, and of all the outward acts of religion; for if the body has so much power over the soul, all such bodily actions as affect the soul, are of great weight in religion, because they are proper to support that _spirit_, which is the true worship of God. 21. This doctrine may be easily carried too far; for by calling in too many outward means of worship, it may degenerate into superstition. But some have fallen into the contrary extreme. Because religion is justly placed in the heart, they renounce vocal prayer, and other outward acts of worship, and resolve all religion into a _quietism_, or _mystic_ intercourse with God in silence. But since we are neither _all soul_, nor _all body_; seeing none of our actions are either separately of the soul, or separately of the body; if we would truly prostrate ourselves before God, we must use our bodies to postures of lowliness. If we desire true fervours of devotion, we must make prayer the frequent labour of our lips. If we would feel inward joy and delight in God, we must practise all the outward acts of it, and make our voices call upon our hearts. Now therefore, you may plainly see the reason of _singing of psalms_; it is because outward actions are necessary to support inward tempers. 22. I have been the longer upon this head, because of its importance to true religion. For there is no state of mind so excellent, as that of _thankfulness_ to God; and consequently, nothing is of more importance than that which exercises and improves this habit of mind. *An _uneasy_, _complaining_ spirit, which is sometimes the spirit of those that seem careful of religion, is yet of all tempers the most contrary to religion; for it disowns that God which it pretends to adore. For he sufficiently disowns God, who does not adore him as a being of infinite goodness. *If a man does not believe that all the world is as God’s family, where nothing happens by chance, but all is guided and directed by the care and providence of a being that is all love and goodness to all his creatures; if a man does not believe this from his heart, he cannot be said to believe in God. And yet he that has this faith, has faith enough to be always thankful to God. For he that believes every thing happens to him for the _best_, cannot complain for the want of something that is _better_. If therefore you live in murmurings and complaints, it is not because you are a weak, infirm creature, but it is because you want the first principle of religion, a right belief in God. For as thankfulness is an express acknowledgement of the goodness of God towards you; so repinings and complaints are as plain accusations of God’s want of goodness towards you. *On the other hand, would you know who is the greatest saint in the world? It is not he who _prays_ most, or _fasts_ most; it is not he who gives most _alms_, or is most eminent for temperance, chastity, or justice; but it is he who is _always thankful_ to God, who _wills_ every thing that God _willeth_, who receives every thing as an instance of God’s goodness, and has a heart always ready to praise God for it. All prayer and devotion, fastings and repentance, meditation and retirement, all sacraments and ordinances, are but so many means to render the soul thus conformable to the will of God, and to fill it with thankfulness and praise for every thing that comes from God. This is the perfection of all virtues; and all virtues that do not tend to it, or proceed from it, are but so many false ornaments of a soul not converted unto God. 23. If any one would tell you the shortest, surest way to all happiness, he must tell you to _thank and praise God for every thing that happens to you_. For whatever seeming calamity happens, if you thank and praise God for it, you turn it into a blessing. Could you therefore work miracles, you could not do more for yourself, than by this _thankful spirit_; for it _heals_ with a word speaking, and turns all that it touches into happiness. If therefore you would be so true to your interest, as to propose this _thankfulness_ as the end of all your religion; if you would but settle it in your mind, that this was the state that you was to aim at by all your devotions, you would then have something plain and visible to walk by, and might judge of your improvement in piety. For so far as you renounce all motions of your own will, and seek for no other happiness, but in the thankful reception of every thing that happens to you, so far you have advanced in piety. And altho’ this be the highest temper that you can aim at; yet it is not tied to any _time_, or _place_, or _great_ occasion, but is always in your power, and may be the exercise of every day. For the _common events_ of every day are sufficient to discover and exercise this temper, and may plainly shew you how far you are governed in all your actions by this thankful spirit. 24. It may perhaps be objected, that tho’ the benefit of this practice is apparent; yet it seems not so fit for _private_ devotions, since it can hardly be performed without making our devotions public. It is answered, _first_, that great numbers of people have it in their power to be as private as they please; such persons therefore are excluded from this excuse. _Secondly_, Numbers of people are by the _necessity_ of their state, as _servants_, _apprentices_, _prisoners_, and _families_ in small houses, forced to be continually in the presence of somebody or other. Now are such persons to neglect their prayers, because they cannot pray without being seen? Are they not rather obliged to be more exact in them, that others may not be witnesses of their neglect, and so corrupted by their example? And what is here said of devotion, may surely be said of _singing a psalm_. The rule is this: Don’t pray that you _may be seen_ of men; but if your _confinement_ obliges you to be always in the sight of others, be more afraid of being seen to _neglect_, than of being seen to have _recourse_ to prayer. _Thirdly_, Either people can use such privacy in this practice, as to have no hearers, or they cannot. If they can, then this objection vanishes as to them; and if they cannot, they should consider their _confinement_, and the _necessities_ of their state, as the confinement of a _prison_; and then have an excellent _pattern_ to follow: they may imitate St. _Paul_ and _Silas_, who _sang praises to God in prison_, tho’ we are expresly told, that the _prisoners heard them_. They did not refrain this kind of devotion, for fear of being heard by others. If therefore any one is in the same necessity, either in _prison_ or out of prison, what can he do better, than to follow this example? _Fourthly_, The _privacy_ of our prayers is not _destroyed_ by our _having_, but by our _seeking_ witnesses of them. If therefore nobody hears you but those you cannot separate yourself from, you are as much in _secret_, and _your Father who seeth in secret_, will as truly reward your secrecy, as if you was seen by him alone. CHAP. XIII. _Recommending devotions at nine o’clock in the morning, called in scripture, the |third hour| of the day. The subject of these prayers may be |humility|._ I AM now come to another hour of prayer, which in scripture is called the _third hour_ of the day; but according to our way of numbering the hours, it is called the ninth hour of the morning. But if the practice of the saints in all ages, if the customs of the pious _Jews_ and primitive Christians be of any force with us, we have authority enough to persuade us, to make this hour a constant season of devotion. I have in the last chapter laid before you the excellency of _praise_ and _thanksgiving_, and recommended that as the subject of your first devotions in the morning. And because humility is the _life_ and _soul_ of piety, the _ground_ and _security_ of all holy affections, this may be the subject of your devotions at this _hour_. This virtue is so essential to the _right state_ of our souls, that there is no pretending to a _reasonable_ or _pious_ life without it. We may as well think to see without _eyes_, or live without _breath_, as to live in the spirit of religion, without the spirit of _humility_. But altho’ it is the _soul_ and _essence_ of all religious duties; yet is it, generally speaking, the least _understood_, the least _regarded_, the least _intended_, the least _desired_, and _sought_ after, of all other virtues. *No people have more occasion to be afraid of the approaches of pride, than those who have made _some advances_ in a pious life. For pride can grow as well upon our _virtues_ as our _vices_, and steal upon us on all occasions. Every good thought we have, every good action we do, lays us open to pride. *It is not only the beauty of our persons, the gifts of fortune, our natural talents, and the distinctions of life; but even our _devotions_ and _alms_, our _fastings_ and _humiliations_, expose us to fresh temptations of this evil spirit. And it is for this reason, I so earnestly advise every _devout_ person to the exercise of humility, that he may not fall a sacrifice to his own progress in those virtues, which are to save mankind from destruction. As all virtue is founded in truth; so humility is a _true_ sense of our _weakness_, _misery_, and _sin_. *The _weakness_ of our state appears from our inability to do any thing of ourselves. In our natural state we are entirely without _any power_; we are indeed active beings, but can only act by a power, that is every _moment_ lent us from God. We have no more power of our own to move a _hand_, or stir a _foot_, than to move the _sun_, or stop the _clouds_. *When we _speak_ a word, we feel no more power in ourselves to do it, than we feel ourselves able to raise the _dead_. For we act no more within our _own power_, or by our own strength, when we _speak_ a word, or make a _sound_, than the _apostles_ acted within their own power, or by their own strength, when a _word_ from their mouth cast out _devils_, and cured _diseases_. As it was solely the power of God that enabled them to speak to _such purposes_, so it is solely the power of God that enables us to speak _at all_. This is the dependent, helpless poverty of our state, which is a great reason for humility. For since we neither are, nor can do any thing of ourselves; to be proud of any thing that we are, or of any thing that we can do, and to ascribe glory to ourselves for these things, has the guilt both of _stealing_ and _lying_. It has the guilt of stealing, as it gives to ourselves those things which only belong to God. It has the guilt of lying, as it is denying the truth of our state, and pretending to be something that we are not. ♦3. The misery of our condition appears in this, that we use these _borrowed_ powers of our nature, to the _torment_ and _vexation_ of ourselves, and our fellow creatures. ♦ Numbers 1. and 2. omitted in text. *God has entrusted us with reason, and we use it to the disorder and corruption of our nature. We reason ourselves into all kinds of folly and misery, and make our lives the sport of foolish and extravagant passions: seeking after imaginary happiness in all kinds, creating to ourselves a thousand wants, amusing our hearts with false hopes and fears, using the world worse than irrational animals, envying, vexing, and tormenting one another with restless passions, and unreasonable contentions. Let any man but look back upon his own life, and see what use he has made of his reason. What foolish _passions_, what vain _thoughts_, what needless _labours_, what extravagant _projects_, have taken up the greatest part of his life: how foolish he has been in his _words_ and _conversation_; how seldom he has been able to _please_ himself, and how often he has _displeased_ others; how often he has changed his counsels, hated what he loved, and loved what he hated; how often he has been enraged and transported at _trifles_, pleased and displeased with the very _same things_, and constantly changing from one vanity to another. Let a man but take this view of his own life, and he will see cause enough to confess, _that pride was not made for man_. *Let him but consider, that if the world knew all that of him, which he knows of himself; if they saw what _vanity_ and _passions_ govern his inside, and what secret _tempers_ sully and corrupt his best actions, he would have no more pretence to be honoured and admired for his _goodness_ and _wisdom_, than a _rotten_ and _distempered_ body to be loved and admired for its _health_ and _comeliness_. 4. This is so true, and so known to the hearts of almost all people, that nothing would appear more dreadful to them, than to have their hearts thus fully discovered to the eyes of all beholders. And perhaps there are very few people in the world, who would not rather chuse to die, than to have all their _secret_ follies, the vanity of their minds, the frequency of their _vain_ and disorderly _passions_, their _uneasiness_, _hatreds_, _envies_, and _vexations_, made known unto the world. And shall pride be entertained in a heart thus _conscious_ of its own _miserable behaviour_? *Shall a creature in such a condition, that he could not support himself under the shame of being known to the world in his _real state_; shall such a creature, because his shame is only known to God, to holy angels, and his own conscience; shall he, in the sight of God and holy angels, dare to be _vain_ and _proud_ of himself? 5. If to this we add the _shame_ and _guilt_ of sin, we shall find still a greater reason for humility. No creature that had lived in innocence, would have thereby got any pretence for pride; because, as a creature, all that it _is_, or _has_, or _does_, is from God, and therefore the honour of all that belongs to it is only due to God. But if a creature that is a _sinner_, deserving nothing but pains and punishments for the _shameful_ abuse of his powers; if such a creature pretends to glory for any thing that he is, or does, he can only be said to glory in his shame. Now, how _monstrous_ and _shameful_ the nature of sin is, is sufficiently apparent from that _great atonement_ that is necessary to cleanse us from the guilt of it. Nothing less has been required to take away the guilt of our sins, than the sufferings and death of the Son of God. Had he not taken our nature upon him, our nature had been for ever separated from God, and incapable of ever appearing before him. And is there any room for _pride_, whilst we are partakers of _such a nature_ as this? *Have our sins rendered us so abominable ♦to him that made us, that he could not so much as _receive_ our prayers, or _admit_ our repentance, till the Son of God made himself man, and became a suffering advocate for our whole race; and can we, in _this state_, pretend to high thoughts of ourselves? Shall we presume to take delight in our _own worth_, who are not worthy so much as to _ask pardon_ for our sins, without the mediation and intercession of the Son of God? ♦ duplicate word removed ‘to’ Thus deep is the foundation of humility laid, in these deplorable circumstances of our condition; which shew, that it is as great an offence against truth for a man, to lay claim to any degrees of glory, as to pretend to the honour of creating himself. If man will boast of any thing as his own, he must boast of his _misery_ and _sin_; for there is nothing else but this, that is his own property. 6. Turn your eyes towards heaven, and fancy that you saw what is doing there; that you saw _cherubim_ and _seraphim_, and all the glorious _inhabitants_ of that place, all united in one work; not seeking _glory_ from one another, not labouring their own _advancement_, not contemplating their own _perfections_, not singing their own _praises_, not valuing _themselves_, and despising _others_, but all employed in one and the same work, all happy in one and the same joy; _casting down their crowns before the throne of God, giving glory, and honour, and power to him alone_. Rev. iv. 10, 11. Then turn your eyes to the _fallen world_, and consider how unreasonable and odious it must be, for such poor _worms_, such miserable _sinners_, to take delight in their own _fancied glories_, whilst the highest and most glorious sons of heaven seek for no other greatness and honour, but that of ascribing all honour and greatness, and glory to God alone? *Pride is only the disorder of the _fallen world_, it has no place amongst other beings; it can only subsist where _ignorance_ and _sensuality_, _lies_ and _falshood_, _lusts_ and _impurity_ reign. Let a man, when he is most delighted with his own _figure_, contemplate our blessed Lord _stretched_ out, and _nailed_ upon a _cross_: and then let him consider how absurd it must be, for a heart full of _pride_ and _vanity_, to pray to God, through the sufferings of a _crucified_ Saviour? These are the reflections you are often to meditate upon, that you may walk before God in such a spirit of humility, as becomes the _meak_, _miserable_, and _sinful_ state of all that are descended from fallen _Adam_. 7. But you must not content yourself with this, as if you was therefore humble, because you acknowledge the reasonableness of humility, and declare against pride. You would not imagine yourself to be devout, because in your judgment you approved of prayers, and often declared your mind in favour of devotion. Yet how many people imagine themselves humble enough, for no other reason, but because they often commend humility, and make vehement declarations against pride? _Cæcus_ is a rich man, of good birth, and very fine parts; is very full of every thing that he says or does, and never imagines it possible for such a judgment as his to be mistaken. He can bear no contradiction, and discovers the weakness of your understanding, as soon as ever you oppose him. _Cæcus_ would have been very religious, but that he always thought he was so. There is nothing so odious to _Cæcus_ as a proud man; and the misfortune is, that in this he is so very quicksighted, that he discovers in almost everybody, some _strokes_ of vanity. On the other hand, he is exceeding fond of humble and modest persons. Humility, says he, is so amiable a quality, that it forces our esteem wherever we meet with it. There is no possibility of despising the _meanest_ person that has it, or of esteeming the _greatest_ man that wants it. _Cæcus_ no more suspects himself to be proud, than he suspects his want of sense. And the reason of it is, because he always finds himself so in love with humility, and so enraged at pride. It is very true, _Cæcus_, you speak _sincerely_ when you say you love humility, and abhor pride. You are no _hypocrite_, you speak the _true_ sentiments of your mind; but then take this along with you, you only love humility, and hate pride, in _other people_. You never once in your life thought of any other humility, or of any other pride, than that which you have seen in _other people_. 8. The case of _Cæcus_ is a common case: many people live in all the instances of pride, and yet never suspect themselves, because they dislike proud people, and are pleased with humility and modesty, wherever they find them. All their speeches in favour of humility, and all their railings against pride, are looked upon as effects of their own humble spirit. Whereas in truth, these are so far from being proofs of humility, that they are great arguments of the want of it. *For the fuller of pride any one is himself, the more impatient will he be at the smallest instances of it in other people. And the less humility any one has in his own mind, the more will he demand it in other people. *You must therefore act by a quite contrary measure, and reckon yourself only so far humble, as you impose _every instance_ of humility upon yourself, and _never_ call for it in other people. So far an enemy to pride, as you never _spare_ it in yourself, nor ever _censure_ it in other persons. The loving humility is of no benefit to you, but so far as all your own thoughts, words, and actions are governed by it. And the hating of pride does you no good, but so far as you hate to harbour any degree of it in your own heart. Now in order to set out in the practice of humility, you must take it for granted, that you are _proud_, that you have been so all your life. You should believe also, that it is your _greatest_ weakness, that your heart is most _subject_ to it; that it is so _constantly_ stealing upon you, you have reason to suspect its approaches in all your actions. For there is no one vice that is more deeply rooted in our nature, or that receives such constant nourishment from almost every thing that we think or do; there being hardly any thing in the world that we _want_ or _use_, or any _action_ or _duty_ of life, but pride finds some means or other to take hold of it. So that at what time soever we begin to offer ourselves to God, we can hardly be surer of any thing, than that we have a great deal of pride to repent of. If therefore you find it disagreeable to entertain this opinion of yourself, and that you cannot put yourself amongst those that want to be cured of pride, you may be as sure, as if an _angel_ from heaven had told you, that you have not only much, but all your humility to seek. *For you can have no greater sign of a confirmed pride, than when you think that you are humble enough. He that thinks he loves God enough, shews himself to be an entire stranger to that holy passion; so he that thinks he has humility enough, shews that he is not so much as a beginner in the practice of true humility. 9. Every person, therefore, when he first applies himself to the exercise of humility, must consider himself as a _learner_, who is, to learn something that is contrary to all his former tempers and habits of mind. He has not only much to learn; but he has also a great deal to _unlearn_: he is to forget, and lay aside his own spirit, which has been a long while fixing and forming itself; he must forget and depart from abundance of passions and opinions, which the _fashion_, and _vogue_, and spirit of the world, have made natural to him. He must lay aside the opinions and passions which he has received from the world; because the vogue and fashion of the world, by which we have been carried away, as in a _torrent_, before we could pass right judgments of the value of things, is utterly contrary to _humility_. The devil is called, in scripture, the prince of this world; because he has great power in it, because many of its rules and principles are invented by this evil spirit, to separate us from God, and prevent our return to happiness. Now, according to the _spirit_ of this world, whose corrupt air we have all breathed, there are many things that pass for _great_, and _honourable_, and _desirable_, which yet are so far from being so, that the _true greatness_ and honour of our nature consists in the not desiring them. To abound in wealth, to have fine houses and rich cloaths, to be attended with splendour and equipage, to be beautiful in our persons, to have titles of dignity, to be above our fellow creatures, to command the bows and obeisance of other people, to be looked on with admiration, to subdue all that oppose us, to set out ourselves in as much splendour as we can, to live highly and magnificently, to eat and drink, and delight ourselves in the most costly manner, these are the _great_, the _honourable_, the _desirable_ things, to which the _spirit_ of the world turns the eyes of all people. And many a man is afraid of not engaging in the pursuit of them, lest the world should take him for a _fool_. 10. The history of the gospel, is chiefly the history of Christ’s _conquest_ over this _spirit_ of the world. And the number of true Christians, is only the number of those who, following the _Spirit_ of Christ, have lived _contrary_ to the spirit of the world. _If any man hath not the Spirit of Christ, he is none of his._ Again, _Whosoever is born of God, overcometh the world. Set your affections on things above, and not on things of the earth; for ye are dead, and your life is hid with Christ in God._ This is the language of the whole New Testament. This is the _mark_ of Christianity; you are to be _dead_, that is, dead to the _spirit_ and _temper_ of the world, and live a new life in the _Spirit_ of Jesus Christ. But notwithstanding the plainness of these doctrines, most Christians live and die slaves to the _customs_ and _tempers_ of the world. How many people swell with _pride_ and _vanity_, for such things as they would not value at all, but that they are admired in the world? Would a man take _ten years_ more drudgery in business, to add _two horses_ more to his coach, but that he knows that the world admires a _coach_ and _six_? How fearful are many people of having their houses poorly furnished, or themselves meanly cloathed, for this only reason, lest the world should place them amongst _low_ and _mean_ people? Many a man would drop a _resentment_, and forgive an _affront_, but that he is afraid, if he should, the world would not forgive him. How many would practise Christian _temperance_ and sobriety, were it not for the censure which the world passes upon such a life? Others have frequent intentions of living up to the _rules_ of Christian perfection; but they are frighted, by considering what the world would say of them? 11. Thus they dare not attempt to be _eminent_ in the sight of God, for fear of being little in the eyes of the world. From this quarter arises the greatest difficulty of humility, because it cannot subsist in any mind, but so far as it is dead to the world. You can make no _stand_ against the assaults of pride, humility can have no place in your soul, ’till you stop the power of the world over you, and resolve against a _blind obedience_ to its laws. For indeed, as great as the power of the world is, it is all built upon a _blind obedience_. Ask who you will, _learned_ or _unlearned_, every one seems to know and confess, that the general temper and spirit of the world, is nothing else but _humour_, _folly_, and _extravagance_. Who will not own, that the wisdom of _philosophy_, the piety of _religion_, was always confined to a small number? And is not this expresly owning, that the _common spirit_ and _temper_ of the world, is neither according to the wisdom of _philosophy_, nor the piety of _religion_? Therefore you should not think it a _hard saying_, that in order to be _humble_, you must withdraw your obedience from that _vulgar spirit_ which gives laws to _fops_ and _coquets_, and form your judgments according to the wisdom of _philosophy_, and the piety of _religion_. 12. *Again, to lessen your regard to the opinion of the world, think how soon the world will disregard you, and have no more thought or concern about you, than about the _poorest animal_ that died in a _ditch_. *Your friends, if they can, may bury you with some distinction, and set up a monument to let posterity see that your _dust_ lies under such a _stone_; and when that is done, all is done. Your place is filled up by another; the world is just in the same state it was; you are blotted out of its sight, and as much forgotten by the world as if you had never belonged to it. *Think upon the _rich_, the _great_, and the _learned_ persons, that have made great figures, and been high in the esteem of the world; many of them died in your time, and yet they are sunk, and lost, and gone, and as much disregarded by the world, as if they had been only so many _bubbles of water_. Think again, how many poor souls see heaven lost, and lie now expecting a miserable eternity, for their homage to a world, that thinks itself every whit as well without them, and is just as merry as it was when they were in it. Is it therefore worth your while to lose the _smallest degree_ of virtue, for the sake of pleasing so _bad a master_, and so _false a friend_ as the world is? Is it worth your while to bow the knee to such an _idol_ as this, that so soon will have neither _eyes_, nor _ears_, nor a _heart_ to regard you, instead of serving that great, and holy, and mighty God, that will make all his servants partakers of his own eternity? Will you let the fear of a false world, that has no love for you, keep you from the fear of that God, who has only created you, that he may love and bless you to all eternity? 13. Consider our blessed Lord’s words, _They are not of this world, as I am not of this world_. This is the state of Christianity, with regard to this world. If you are not thus out of, and contrary to the world, you want the distinguishing mark of Christianity; you don’t belong to Christ, but by being out of the world as he was out of it. We may deceive ourselves, if we please, with softening comments upon these words; but they are and will be understood in their first simplicity and plainness, by every one that reads them in the same spirit that our blessed Lord spoke them. And to understand them in any lower meaning, is to let carnal wisdom explain away that doctrine, by which itself was to be destroyed. Christianity has placed us out of, and above the world; and we fall from our calling, as soon as we fall into the tempers of the world. Now as it was the spirit of the world that nailed our blessed Lord to the cross; so every man that has the Spirit of Christ, that opposes the world as he did, will certainly be crucified by the world some way or other. For Christianity still lives in the same world that Christ did; and these two will be utter enemies, till the kingdom of darkness is entirely at an end. Had you lived with our Saviour as his true disciple, you had then been hated as he was; and if you now live in his Spirit, the world will be the same enemy to you now, that it was to him then. 14. _If ye were of the world_, saith our blessed Lord, _the world would love its own; but because ye are not of the world, but I have chosen you out of the world, therefore the world hateth you_. John xv. 19. We are apt to lose the true meaning of these words, by considering them only as an _historical description_ of something that was the state of our Saviour and his disciples at that time. But this is reading the scripture as a _dead letter_: for they as exactly describe the state of true Christians at this, and all other times, to the end of the world. For as _true Christianity_ is nothing else but the Spirit of Christ; so whether that Spirit appear in the person of Christ himself, or his apostles, or followers in any age, it is the same thing; whoever hath his Spirit, will be hated, despised, and condemned by the world, as he was. For the world will always love its own, and none but its own: this is as certain and unchangeable, as the contrariety betwixt _light_ and _darkness_. 15. You will perhaps say, that the world is now become Christian, at least that part of it where we live; and therefore the world is not now to be considered in that state of opposition to Christianity, as when it was _Heathen_. *It is granted, the world now professeth Christianity. But will any one say, that this Christian world is of the Spirit of Christ? Are its general tempers the tempers of Christ? Are the passions of sensuality, self-love, pride, covetousness, ambition, and vain-glory, less contrary to the spirit of the gospel, now they are among Christians, than when they were among Heathens? Or, will you say, that the tempers and passions of the Heathen world are lost and gone? 16. And indeed the world, by professing Christianity, is so far from being a less dangerous enemy than it was before, that it has by its favours destroyed more Christians, than ever it did by the most violent persecution. We must therefore be so far from considering the world as in a state of less enmity and opposition to Christianity, than it was in the first times of the gospel, that we must guard against it as a more dangerous enemy now, than it was in those times. It is a greater enemy, because it has greater power over Christians by its favours, riches, honours, rewards, and protections, than it had by the fire and fury of its persecutions. It is a more dangerous enemy, by having lost its appearance of enmity. Its outward profession of Christianity makes it no longer considered as an enemy; and therefore the generality of people are easily persuaded to resign themselves up to be governed and directed by it. How many consciences are kept at quiet, upon no other foundation, but because they sin under the authority of the Christian world? How many directions of the gospel lye by unregarded? And how unconcernedly do particular persons read them, for no other reason, but because they seem unregarded by the Christian world? How many compliances do people make to the Christian world, without any hesitation, or remorse; which, if they had been required of them only by Heathens, would have been refused, as contrary to the holiness of Christianity? Who could be content with seeing how contrary his life is to the _gospel_, but because he sees that he lives as the Christian world doth? 17. There is nothing therefore, that a Christian ought more constantly to guard against, than the authority of the _Christian world_. And all the passages of scripture, which represent the world as contrary to Christianity, which require our separation from it, as from a monster of iniquity, are to be taken in the _strict sense_, in relation to the present world. For the change that the world has undergone, has only altered its methods, but not lessened its power of destroying religion. Whilst _pride_, _sensuality_, _covetousness_, and _ambition_, had only the authority of the _Heathen world_, Christians were thereby made more intent upon the contrary virtues. But when pride, sensuality, covetousness and ambition, have the authority of the Christian world, then private Christians are in the utmost danger, not only of being shamed out of the practice, but of losing the very notion of the piety of the gospel. There is therefore hardly any possibility of saving yourself from the present world, but by considering it as the same _enemy_ to all true holiness, as it is represented in the scriptures; and by assuring yourself, that it is as dangerous to conform to its _tempers_ and _passions_, now it is Christian, as when it was Heathen. Need a man do more to make his soul unfit for the mercy of God, than by being _greedy_ and _ambitious_ of honour? Yet how can you renounce this temper, without renouncing the spirit and temper of the world, in which you now live? How can a man be made more incapable of the Spirit of Christ, than by a _wrong value_ for money; and yet how can he be more wrong in his value of it, than by following the authority of the Christian world? *Nay, in every _order_ and _station_ of life, whether of _learning_ or _business_, either in church or state, you cannot act up to the spirit of religion, without renouncing the most _general temper_ and _behaviour_ of those, who are of the same order and business as yourself. *And though _human prudence_ seems to talk mighty wisely about the necessity of avoiding _particularities_, yet he that dares not be so _weak_ as to be particular, will be obliged to avoid the most substantial duties of Christian piety. These reflections, will, I hope, help you to break through those difficulties, and resist those temptations, which the authority and fashion of the world hath raised against the practice of _Christian humility_. CHAP. XIV. _Shewing how the education which men generally receive, makes the doctrines of humility difficult to be practised. The spirit of a better education represented in the character of |Paternus|._ 1. ANOTHER difficulty in the practice of humility, arises from our education. We are corruptly educated, and then committed to take our course in a corrupt world; so that it is no wonder, if examples of great piety are so seldom seen. Great part of the world are undone, by being born and bred in families that have no religion. But this is not the thing I now mean; the education that I here intend, is such as children generally receive from virtuous _parents_, and learned _tutors_ and governors. *Had we continued perfect, as God created the first man, perhaps the perfection of our nature had been a sufficient _self-instruction_ for every one. But as _sickness_ and _diseases_ have created the necessity of _medicines_ and _physicians_, so the disorder of our rational nature has introduced the necessity of _education_ and _tutors_. *And as the only end of the physician is, to restore nature to its own state; so the only end of education is, to restore our rational nature to its proper state. Education therefore is to be considered as _reason_ borrowed at _second hand_, which is, as far as it can, to supply the loss of _original_ perfection. And as physic may justly be called the _art_ of restoring health, so education should be considered in no other light, than as the art of recovering to man the use of his reason. 2. Now as the instruction of every _art_ or _science_ is founded upon the _wisdom_, _experience_, and _maxims_ of the several great men that have laboured in it; so that _right use_ of our reason, which young people should be called to by their education, is nothing but the _best experience_, and _finest reasonings_ of men, that have devoted themselves to the improvement of human nature. All therefore that _great saints_ and _dying_ men, when the fullest light and conviction, and after the highest improvement of their reason, have said of the necessity of _piety_, of the excellency of _virtue_, of the emptiness of _riches_, of the vanity of the _world_; all the _sentences_, _judgments_, _reasonings_ and _maxims_ of the wisest philosophers, when in their highest state of wisdom, should constitute the _common lessons_ of instruction for youthful minds. This is the only way to make the _young_ and _ignorant_ part of the world the better for the _wisdom_ and _knowledge_ of the wise and ancient. 3. *The youths that attended upon _Pythagoras_, _Socrates_, _Plato_, and _Epictetus_, were thus educated. Their every day lessons and instructions were so many lectures upon the nature of man, his true _end_, and the right use of his faculties; upon the immortality of the soul, its relation to God, the beauty of virtue, and its agreeableness to the divine nature; upon the necessity of temperance, fortitude, and generosity, and the shame and folly of indulging our passions. *Now as Christianity has, as it were, new-created the _moral_ and _religious_ world, and set every thing that is reasonable, wise, holy and desirable, in its true point of light: so one would expect, that the education of youth should be as much bettered and amended by Christianity, as the _doctrines_ of religion are amended by it. *As it has introduced a _new_ state of things, and so fully informed us of the _nature_ of man, and the _end_ of his creation; as it has fixed all our _goods_ and _evils_, taught us the means of purifying our souls, pleasing God, and becoming eternally happy; one might naturally suppose, that every Christian country abounded with _schools_, not only for teaching a few questions and answers of a _catechism_, but for the forming, training and practising youths in such a course of life, as the _highest_ precepts, the _strictest_ rules, and the _sublimest_ doctrines of Christianity require. 4. *An education under _Pythagoras_, or _Socrates_, had no other end, but to teach youth to _think_, _judge_, and _act_ as _Pythagoras_ and _Socrates_ used. And is it not as reasonable to suppose, that a Christian education should have no other end, but to teach youth how to think, and judge, and act according to the _strictest laws_ of Christianity? At least one would suppose, that in all Christian schools, the teaching youth to begin their lives in the _spirit_ of Christianity, in such _severity_ of behaviour, such _abstinence_, _sobriety_, _humility_, and _devotion_, as Christianity requires, should not only be _more_, but an _hundred times_ more regarded, than any, or all things else. For our educators should imitate our _guardian angels_, suggest nothing to our minds but what is _wise_ and _holy_; help us to discover and subdue every _vain passion_ of our hearts, and every _false judgment_ of our minds. And it is as reasonable to expect and require all this benefit of a Christian education, as to require that physic should strengthen all that is right in our nature, and remove that which is _sickly_ and _diseased_. 5. But alas, our modern education is not of this kind. *The _first temper_ that we try to awaken in children, is _pride_; as dangerous a passion as that of _lust_. We stir them up to vain thoughts of themselves, and do every thing we can, to puff up their minds with a sense of their own abilities. *Whatever way of life we intend them for, we apply to the _fire_ and _vanity_ of their minds, and exhort them to every thing from corrupt motives: we stir them up to action from principles of _strife_ and _ambition_, from _glory_, _envy_, and a desire of distinction, that they may excel others, and shine in the eyes of the world. And when we have taught them to scorn to be outdone by any, to bear no _rival_, to thirst after _every instance_ of applause, to be content with nothing but the highest distinctions; then we begin to take comfort in them, and promise the world some mighty things from youths of such a glorious spirit. If children are intended for _holy orders_, we set before them some eminent _oratory_ whose _fine_ preaching has made him the _admiration_ of the age, and carried him through all the _dignities_ and _preferments_ of the church. We encourage them to have these _honours_ in their eye, and to expect the reward of their studies from them. If the youth is intended for a _trade_, we bid him look at the rich men in the _same trade_, and consider how many now are carried in their _stately coaches_, who began in the same low degree as he now does. We awaken his ambition, and endeavour to give his mind a _right turn_, by often telling him how rich such and such a tradesman died. If he is to be a lawyer, then we set great _counsellors_, _lords_, _judges_, and _chancellors_, before his eyes. We tell him what great fees, and great _applause_ attend fine pleading. We exhort him to take fire at these things to raise a spirit of emulation in himself, and to be content with nothing less than the highest honours of the _long robe_. 6. That this is the nature of our _best education_, is too plain to need any proof; and I believe there are few parents, but would be glad to see these instructions daily given to their children. And after all this, we complain of the effects of pride; we wonder to see _grown men_ acted and governed by _ambition_, _envy_, _scorn_, and a desire of glory; not considering that they were all the time of their youth called upon to form all their action and industry upon the same principles. You teach a child to _scorn_ to be outdone, to thirst for _distinction_ and _applause_; and is it any wonder that he continues to act all his life in the same manner? *Now if a youth is ever to be so far a Christian, as to govern his heart by the _doctrines_ of humility, I would fain know at _what time_ he is to begin it; or, if he is _ever_ to begin it at all, why we train him up in tempers quite contrary to it? How _dry_ and _poor_ must the doctrine of humility sound to a youth, that has been spurred up to all his industry by _ambition_, _envy_, _emulation_, and a desire of _glory_ and _distinction_? And if he is not to act by these _principles_ when he is a _man_, why do we call him to act by them in his _youth_? _Envy_ is acknowledged by all people to be the most _ungenerous_, _base_ and _wicked_ passion, that can enter into the heart of man. And is this the temper to be instilled, nourished and established in the minds of young people? 7. I know it is said, that it is not _envy_, but _emulation_, that is intended to be awakened in the minds of young men. *But this is vainly said. For when children are taught to bear no _rival_, and to _scorn_ to be outdone by any of their age, they are plainly and directly taught to be _envious_. For it is impossible for any one to have this _scorn_ to be outdone, this contention with _rivals_, without burning with _envy_ against all those that seem to excel him, or get any distinction from him. So that what children are taught, is _rank envy_, and only covered with a name of a less odious sound. *_Secondly_, If _envy_ is thus confessedly bad, and it be only _emulation_ that is endeavoured to be awakened in children, surely there ought to be _great_ care taken, that children may know the one from the other; that they may abominate one as a great _crime_, whilst they give the other admission into their minds. But if this were to be attempted, the _fineness_ of the distinction betwixt envy and emulation, would shew that it was easier to divide them in words, than to separate them in action. For _emulation_, when it is defined in its best manner, is nothing else but a _refinement_ upon envy, or rather the most _plausible part_ of that black and venomous passion. And though it is easy to separate them in the _notion_, yet the most _acute philosopher_, that understands the art of distinguishing ever so well, if he gives himself up to _emulation_, will certainly find himself _deep_ in _envy_. 8. It is said also, that ambition, and a desire of glory, are necessary to excite young people to industry; and that if we were to press upon them the doctrines of humility, we should deject the minds, and sink them into _dullness_ and _idleness_. But these people who say this, don’t consider, that this reason, if it has any strength, is full as strong against pressing the doctrines of humility upon _grown men_, lest we should deject their minds, and sink them into dullness and idleness. This reason therefore that is given, why children should not be trained up in the principles of true humility, is as good a reason why the same humility should never be required of grown men. Again, let those people, who think that children would be spoiled, if they were not thus educated, consider this. *Could they think, that if any children had been educated by our blessed Lord, or his holy apostles, their minds would have been sunk into dullness and idleness? *Or could they think, that such children would not have been trained up in the profoundest principles of humility? Can they say that our blessed Lord, who was the humblest man that ever was on earth, was hindered by his humility from being the greatest example of worthy and glorious actions, that ever were done by man? Can they say that his apostles, who lived in the humble spirit of their Master, did therefore cease to be laborious and active instruments of doing good to all the world? A few such reflections as these, are sufficient to expose all the poor pretences for an education in pride and ambition. 9. *_Paternus_ lived about _two hundred_ years ago; he had but one son, whom he educated himself in his own house. As they were sitting together in the garden, when the child was _ten years_ old, _Paternus_ thus began to him. The little time that you have been in the world, my child, you have spent wholly with me: and my love and tenderness to you, has made you look upon me as your only friend and benefactor, and the cause of all the comfort and pleasure you enjoy: your heart, I know, would be ready to break with grief, if you thought this was the last day that I should live with you. But, my child, tho’ you now think yourself mighty happy, because you have hold of my hand, you are now in the hands, and under the tender care of a much greater father and friend than I am, whose love to you is far greater than mine, and from whom you receive such blessings as no mortal can give. That God whom you have seen me daily worship; whom I daily call upon to bless both you and me, and all mankind; whose wondrous acts are recorded in those scriptures which you constantly read. That God who created the heavens and the earth; who brought a flood upon the old world; who saved _Noah_ in the ark; who was the God of _Abraham_, _Isaac_, and _Jacob_; whom _Job_ blessed and praised in the greatest afflictions; who delivered the _Israelites_ out of the hands of the _Egyptians_; who was the protector of righteous _Joseph_, _Moses_, _Joshua_, and holy _Daniel_; who sent so many prophets into the world; who sent his Son Jesus Christ to redeem mankind. This God, who has done all these great things; who has created so many millions of men; who lived and died before you was born, with whom the spirits of good men that are departed this life, now live; whom infinite numbers of angels now worship in heaven. This great God, who is the Creator of worlds, of angels, and men, is your loving Father and Friend, your good Creator and Nourisher, from whom, and not from me, you received your being ten years ago, at the time that I planted that little, tender _elm_ which you there see. 10. I myself am not half the age of this _shady oak_, under which we sit; many of our fathers have sat under its boughs; we have all of us called it ours in our turn, though it stands, and drops its _masters_, as it drops its _leaves_. You see, my son, this wide and large _firmament_ over our heads, where the _sun_ and _moon_, and all the _stars_ appear in their turns. If you was to be carried up to any of these bodies at this vast distance from us, you would still discover others as much above you, as the _stars_ that you see here are above the _earth_. Were you to go up or down, _east_ or _west_, _north_ or _south_, you would find the same height without any _top_, and the same depth without any _bottom_. And yet, my child, so great is God, that all these bodies added together, are but as a _grain_ of sand in his sight. And yet you are as much the care of this great God, and Father of all _worlds_, and all _spirits_, as if he had no son but you, or there were no creature for him to love and protect but you alone. He numbers the _hairs_ of your head, watches over you sleeping and waking, and has preserved you from a thousand dangers, which neither you nor I know ♦any thing of. ♦ duplicate word ‘any’ removed 11. How poor my power is, and how little I am able to do for you, you have often seen. Your late _sickness_ has shewn you how little I could do for you in that state; and the frequent pains of your head, are plain proofs, that I have no power to remove them. I can bring you _food_ and _medicines_, but have no power to turn them into your relief and nourishment; it is God alone that can do this for you. Therefore, my child, fear, and worship, and love God. Your eyes indeed cannot yet see him, but every thing you see, are so many marks of his power and presence, and he is nearer to you than any thing that you can see. Take him for your _Lord_, and _Father_, and _Friend_; look up unto him as the fountain and cause of all the good that you have received through my hands; and reverence me only as the _bearer_ and _minister_ of God’s good things unto you; and he that blessed my Father before I was born, will bless you when I am dead. Your youth and little mind is only yet acquainted with my family, and therefore you think there is no happiness out of it. But, my child, you belong to a greater family than mine; you are a younger member of the family of this Almighty Father of all nations, who has created infinite orders of angels, and numberless generations of men, to be fellow-members of one and the same society in heaven. 12. You do well to reverence my authority, because God has given me power over you, to bring you up in his fear, and to do for you, as the holy fathers recorded in scripture did for their children, who are now in rest and peace with God. I shall in a short time die, and leave you to God and yourself; and if God forgiveth my sins, I shall go to his Son Jesus Christ, and live amongst patriarchs and prophets, saints and martyrs, where I shall pray for you, and hope for your safe arrival at the same place. Therefore, my child, meditate on these great things, and let your thoughts often leave these _gardens_, these _fields_ and _farms_, to contemplate God and heaven, to consider angels, and the spirits of good men living in light and glory. As you have been used to look to me in all your actions, and have been afraid to do any thing, unless you first knew my will; so let it now be your rule to look up to God in all your actions, to do every thing in his fear, and to abstain from every thing that is not according to his will. Bear him always in your mind; teach your thoughts to reverence him in every place; for there is no place where he is not. 13. God keepeth a _book_ of life, wherein all the actions of all men are written; your name is there, my child; and when you die, this book will be laid open before men and angels; and according as your actions are there found, you will either be received to the happiness of those holy men who have died before you, or be turned away among wicked spirits, that are never to see God any more. Never forget this book, my son; for it is written, it must be opened, you must see it, and you must be tried by it. Strive therefore to fill it with your good deeds, that the hand-writing of God may not appear against you. God, my child, is all _love_ and _wisdom_, and _goodness_; and every thing that he has made, and every action that he does, is the effect of them all. Therefore you cannot please God, but so far as you strive to walk in love, wisdom and goodness. As all wisdom, love, and goodness proceeds from God; so nothing but love, wisdom, and goodness can lead to God. When you love that which God loves, you act with him, you join yourself to him; and when you love what he dislikes, then you oppose him, and separate yourself from him. This is the true and the right way; think what God loves, and do you love it with all your heart. 14. First of all, my child, worship and adore God, think of him magnificently, speak of him reverently, magnify his providence, adore his power, frequent his service, and pray unto him constantly. Next to this, love your neighbour, which is all mankind, with such tenderness and affection as you love yourself. Think how God loves all mankind, how merciful he is to them, how tender he is of them, how carefully he preserves them, and then strive to love the world as God loves it. God would have all men to be happy, therefore do you _will_ and desire the same. All men are great instances of divine love, therefore let all men be instances of your love. But above all, my son, mark this: never do any thing through strife, or envy, or emulation, or vain-glory. Never do any thing in order to excel other people, but in order to please God, and because it is his will, that you should do every thing in the best manner that you can. For if it is once a pleasure to you to excel other people, it will by degrees be a pleasure to you, to see other people not so good as yourself. Banish therefore every thought of _pride_ and _distinction_, and accustom yourself to rejoice in all the excellencies of your fellow-creatures, and be as glad to see any of their good actions as your own. For as God is well pleased with their well-doings, as with yours; so you ought to desire, that every thing that is wise, and holy, and good, may be performed in as high a manner by other people, as by yourself. 15. Let this therefore be your only motive to all good actions, to do every thing in as perfect a manner as you can; for this only reason, because it is pleasing to God, who writes all your actions in a book. When I am dead, my son, you will be master of all my estate, which will be a great deal more than the necessities of one family require. Therefore, as you are to be charitable to the souls of men, and wish them the same happiness with you in heaven; so be charitable to their bodies, and endeavour to make them as happy as you upon earth. As God has created all things for the common good of all men; so let that part of them, which is fallen to your share, be employed, as God would have all employed, for the common good of all. Do good, my son, first of all to those that most deserve it, but remember to do good to all. The greatest sinners receive daily instances of God’s goodness towards them; he nourishes and preserves them, that they may repent, and return to him; do you therefore imitate God, and think no one too bad to receive your relief and kindness, when you see that he wants it. 16. I am teaching you _Latin_ and _Greek_, not that you should desire to be a great _critic_, a fine _poet_, or an eloquent _orator_. I would not have your heart feel any of these desires; for the desire of these accomplishments is vanity, and the masters of them are generally vain men. But I teach you these languages, that at proper times you may look into the history of past ages, and learn the methods of God’s providence over the world: that reading the writings ♦of the ancient sages, you may see how wisdom and virtue have been the praise of great men of all ages. ♦ duplicate word removed ‘of’ Let truth and plainness be the only ornament of your language, and study nothing but how to think of all things as they deserve, to chuse every thing that is best, to live according to reason, and to act in every part of your life in conformity to the will of God. Study how to fill your heart full of the love of God, and the love of your neighbour, and then be content to be no deeper a scholar, no finer a gentleman, than these tempers will make you. As true religion is nothing else but simple nature governed by right reason; so it loves and requires great plainness and simplicity of life. Therefore avoid all superfluous shews, finery, and equipage, and let your house be plainly furnished with moderate conveniences. Don’t consider what your estate can afford, but what right reason requires. 17. Let your _dress_ be sober, clean, and modest; not to set out the beauty of your person, but to declare the sobriety of your mind, that your outward garb may resemble the plainness of your heart. For it is highly reasonable, that you should be _one man_, all of a piece, and appear outwardly such as you are inwardly. As to your _meat_ and _drink_, in them observe the _highest rules_ of Christian temperance and sobriety: consider your body only as the servant of your soul; and only so nourish it, that it may perform an humble and obedient service to it. But, my son, observe this as a principal thing, which I shall remember you of as long as I live. Hate and despise all _human glory_, for it is nothing else but human folly. It is the greatest _snare_, and the greatest _betrayer_ that you can possibly admit into your heart. Let every day therefore be a day of humility; condescend to all the infirmities of your fellow-creatures, cover their frailties, love their excellencies, encourage their virtues, relieve their wants, rejoice in their prosperities, compassionate their distress, receive their friendship, overlook their unkindness, forgive their malice, be a servant of servants, and condescend to do the lowest offices to the lowest of mankind. 18. *Aspire after nothing but your own purity and perfection, and have no ambition but to do every thing in so religious a manner, that you may be glad God is every where present, and sees all your actions. The greatest trial of humility, is an humble behaviour towards your equals in _age_, _estate_, and _condition_. Therefore be careful of all the motions of your heart towards these people. Let all your behaviour towards them be governed by unfeigned love. Have no desire to put any of your equals below you, nor any anger at those that would put themselves above you, if they are proud, they are ill of a very bad distemper; let them therefore have your tender pity, and perhaps your meekness may prove an occasion of their cure; but if your humility should do them no good, it will however be the greatest good to yourself. Remember that there is but one man in the world, with whom you are to have perpetual contention, and be always striving to excel him, and that is yourself. The time of practising these precepts, my child, will soon be over with you; the world will soon slip thro’ your hands, or rather you will soon slip thro’ it; it seems but the other day since I received these instructions from my dear father, that I am now leaving with you. And the God that gave me ears to hear, and a heart to receive what my father said unto me, will, I hope, give you grace to love and follow the same instructions. CHAP XV. _Shewing how the method of educating |daughters,| makes it difficult for them to enter into the spirit of Christian humility. How miserably they are injured and abused by such an education. The spirit of a better education, represented in the character of |Eusebia|._ 1. THAT turn of mind which is taught and encouraged in the education of _daughters_, makes it exceeding difficult for them to enter into such a sense and practice of humility, as the spirit of Christianity requireth. *The right education of this _sex_ is of the utmost importance. For tho’ _women_ don’t carry on the _trade_ and _business_ of the world; yet as they are _mothers_ and _mistresses_ of families, that have for some time the care of the education of their children, they are entrusted with that which is of the greatest consequence to human life. For this reason, _good_ or _bad_ women are likely to do as much good or harm in the world, as good or bad men in the greatest business. *For as the _health_ and _strength_, or _weakness_ of our bodies, is much owing to _their methods_ of treating us when we were young; so the _soundness_ or _folly_ of our minds is not less owing to these _first tempers_ and ways of thinking, which we eagerly received from the _love_, _tenderness_, _authority_, and constant _conversation_ of our mothers. *As we call our first language our _mother-tongue_, so we may as justly call our first tempers our _mother-tempers_; and perhaps it may be found more easy to forget the _language_, than to part entirely with those _tempers_ which we learnt in the _nursery_. 2. It is therefore much to be lamented, that this _sex_, who have the first forming both of our _bodies_ and _minds_, are not only educated in _pride_, but in the _silliest_ and most _contemptible_ part of it. *They are not indeed suffered to dispute with us the proud _prizes_ of _arts_ and _sciences_; but we turn them over to the study of _beauty_ and _dress_, and the whole world conspires to make them think of nothing else. _Fathers_ and _mothers_, _friends_ and _relations_, seem to have no other wish towards the _little girl_, but that she may have a _fair skin_, _a fine shape_, _dress well_, and _dance_ to admiration. Now if a fondness for our _persons_, a desire of _beauty_, a love of _dress_, be a part of pride (as surely it is a most contemptible part of it) the first step towards a _woman’s humility_, seems to require a _repentance_ of her education. For it must be owned, that, generally speaking, good parents are never more fond of their daughters, than when they see them _too fond_ of themselves, and _dressed_ in such a manner, as is a great reproach to the gravity and sobriety of the Christian life. 3. The _church_ has formerly had _eminent saints_ in that sex; and it may reasonably be thought, that it is purely owing to their _poor_ and _vain_ education, that this honour of their sex is for the _most part_ confined to _former_ ages. *The corruption of the world indulges them in great vanity, and mankind seem to consider them in no other view, than as so many _painted idols_, that are to allure and gratify their passions; so that if many women are _vain_, _light_, _gewgaw_ creatures, they have this to excuse themselves, that they are not only such as their _education_ has made them, but such as the _generality_ the world _allows_ them to be. *But then they should consider, that the _friends_ to their _vanity_ are no friends of theirs; that they are to live for _themselves_; that they have as great a share in the _rational nature_ as men have; that they have as much _reason_ to pretend, and as much _necessity_ to aspire after the _highest accomplishments_ of Christian virtue, as the _gravest_ and _wisest_ among Christian _philosophers_. *They should consider, that they are _abused_, and _injured_, and _betrayed_ from their _only perfection_, whenever they are taught, that any thing is an _ornament_ in them, that is not an ornament in the _wisest_ among mankind. 4. *It is generally said, that _women_ are naturally of _little_ and _vain minds_; but this I look upon to be as _false_, as to say, that _butchers_ are naturally _cruel_: for as their cruelty is not owing to their _nature_, but to their _way_ of life; so whatever _littleness_ and _vanity_ is in the minds of women, it is like the cruelty of _butchers_, a temper that is wrought into them by that life which they are _taught_ and _accustomed_ to lead. And if it were true, that they were thus naturally vain and light, then how much more blameable is that education, which seems contrived to _strengthen_ and _increase_ this folly and weakness of their minds? For if it were a virtue in a woman to be proud and vain of herself, we could hardly take better means to raise this passion in her, than those that are now used in their education. 5. *_Matilda_ is a fine woman, of good _breeding_, and great _sense_. She has three daughters that are educated by herself. She will not trust them with any one else, or at any _school_, for fear they should learn any thing ill. She stays with the _dancing-master_ all the time he is with them, because she will hear every thing that is said to them. She has heard them read the scriptures so often, that they can repeat great part of it without book: and there is scarce a good book of _devotion_, but you may find it in their _closets_. Had _Matilda_ lived in the first ages of Christianity, she had in all probability been one of the greatest saints. But as she was born in corrupt times, where she hardly ever saw a piety higher than her own; so she has many defects, and communicates them all to her daughters. 6. _Matilda_ never was _meanly_ dressed in her life; and nothing pleases her in _dress_, but that which is very _rich_, and _beautiful_ to the eye. Her daughters see her great zeal for religion, but then they see an equal earnestness for all sorts of _finery_. They see she is not negligent of her _devotion_; but then they see her more careful to preserve her _complexion_, and to prevent those changes which time and age threaten her with. They are afraid to meet her, if they have missed the _church_; but then they are more afraid to see her, if they are not _laced_ as _straight_ as they can possibly be. She often shews them her _own picture_, which was taken when their father fell in love with her. She tells them how _distracted_ he was with passion at the _first sight_ of her; and that she had never had so _fine_ a _complexion_, but for the diligence of her good mother, who took exceeding care of it. The children see so plainly _the temper_ of their mother, that they affect to be _more pleased_ with dress, than they really are. They saw their eldest sister once brought to her _tears_, and her _perverseness_ severely reprimanded, for presuming to say, that she thought it was better to cover the _neck_, than to go so _far naked_ as the modern dress requires. 7. She stints them in their _meals_, and is very scrupulous of what they eat and drink, and tells them how many _fine shapes_ she has seen spoiled in her time for want of such care. Whenever they begin to look _sanguine_ and _healthful_, she calls in the assistance of the _doctor_; and if _physic_, or _issues_, will keep the complexion from inclining to _coarse_ or _ruddy_, she thinks them well employed. By this means they are _poor_, _pale_, _sickly_, _infirm_ creatures, _vapoured_ through want of spirits, _crying_ at the smallest accidents, _swooning_ away at any thing that frights them, and hardly able to bear the _weight_ of their best cloaths. The eldest daughter lived as long as she could under this discipline, and died in the twentieth year of her age. When her body was opened, it appeared that her _ribs_ had grown into her _liver_, and that her other _entrails_ were much hurt, by being _crushed_ together with her _stays_; which her mother had ordered to be twitched so strait, that it has often brought tears into her eyes, whilst the maid was dressing her. Her youngest daughter is run away with a _gamester_, a man of great beauty, who in _dressing_ and _dancing_ has no superior. _Matilda_ says, she should die with grief at this accident, but that her _conscience_ tells her, she has contributed nothing to it herself. She appeals to their _closets_, to their books of devotion, to testify what care she has taken to establish her children in piety. 8. Now, tho’ I don’t intend to say, that no daughters are brought up in a _better way_ than this; yet thus much may be said, that the greater part of them are not brought up so well, or accustomed to so much religion. Their minds are turned as much to the care of their beauty and dress, without having such rules of devotion to stand against it. So that if _solid_ piety is much wanted in that sex, it is the plain consequence of a corrupt education. And if they are often ready to receive the first _fops_, _beaux_, and fine _dancers_, for their husbands, ’tis no wonder that they should like that in men, which they have been taught to admire in themselves. Some people will perhaps say, that I am exercising too great a severity against the sex. But reasonable persons will observe, that I spare the _sex_, and only arraign their _education_; that I not only spare them, but plead their _interest_, assert their _honour_, and only condemn that _education_ which is so _injurious_ thereto. Their education I cannot spare; but the only reason is, because it is their _greatest enemy_, because it deprives the world of so many _blessings_, and the church of so many _saints_. If it should here be said, that I even charge _too high_ upon their _education_, and that they are not so _much_ hurt by it, as I imagine. It may be answered, that tho’ I don’t pretend to state the _exact degree_ of mischief that is done by it, yet its plain and natural tendency to do harm, is sufficient to justify the most _absolute_ condemnation of it. 9. But how possible it is to bring up daughters in a more excellent way, let the following character declare. *_Eusebia_ is a pious widow, well born, and well bred, and has a good estate for five daughters, whom she brings up as one entrusted by God, to fit five virgins for the kingdom of heaven. Her family has the same regulation as a _religious house_, and all its orders tend to the support of a constant regular devotion. She loves them as her spiritual children, and they reverence her as their spiritual mother, with an affection far above that of the fondest friends. She has divided part of her estate among them, that every one may be charitable out of their own stock, and each of them take it in their turns to provide for the _poor_ and _sick_ of the parish. _Eusebia_ brings them up to all kinds of labour that are proper for women, as _sewing_, _knitting_, _spinning_, and all other parts of _housewifery_; not for their _amusement_, but that they may be serviceable to themselves and others, and be saved from those temptations which attend an idle life. She tells them, she had rather see them reduced to the necessity of maintaining themselves by their own work, than to have riches to excuse themselves from labour. For tho’, says she, you may be able to assist the poor without your labour, yet by your labour you will be able to assist them more. 10. If _Eusebia_ has lived as free from sin as it is possible for human nature, it is because she is always watching and guarding against _all instances_ of pride. And if her virtues are stronger and higher than other peoples, ’tis because they are all founded in a deep _humility_. My children, says she, when your father died, I was much pitied by my friends, as having all the care of a family, and the management of an estate fallen upon me. But my own grief was founded upon another principle: I was grieved to see myself deprived of so faithful a friend; and that such an eminent example of Christian virtues should be taken from the eyes of his children, before they were of an age to love and follow it. But as to worldly cares, which my friends thought so heavy upon me, they are most of them of our own making, and fall away as soon as we _know ourselves_. If a person in a _dream_ is disturbed with strange appearances, his trouble is over as soon as he is _awake_, and sees that it was a dream. Now, when a right knowledge of ourselves enters into our minds, it makes as great a change in all our thoughts and apprehensions, as when we _awake_ from the _wandrings_ of a dream. We acknowledge a man to be _mad_ or _melancholy_, who fancies himself to be _glass_, and so is afraid of stirring; or taking himself to be _wax_, dares not let the _sun_ shine upon him. But, my children, there are things in the world which pass for _wisdom_, _politeness_, _grandeur_, _happiness_, and _fine breeding_, which shew as great _ignorance_ of ourselves, and might as justly pass for _thorough madness_, as when a man fancies himself to be _glass_ or _ice_. A woman that dares not appear in the world without _fine cloaths_, that thinks it is a happiness to have a face _finely coloured_, to have a skin _delicately fair_, that had rather die than be reduced to poverty, and be forced to work for a maintenance, is as ignorant of herself to the full, as he that fancies himself to be _glass_. 11. For this reason, all my discourse with you, has been to acquaint you with yourselves, and to accustom you to such books, as might best instruct you in this greatest of all knowledge. You would think it hard, not to know the family into which you was born, what ancestors you were descended from, and what estate was to come to you; but, my children, you may know all this with exactness, and yet be as ignorant of yourselves, as he that takes himself to be _wax_. For tho’ you were all of you born of my body, and bear your father’s name, yet you are all of you _pure spirits_. I don’t mean that you have not bodies; ♦but that _all_ which deserves to be called _you_, is nothing else but _spirit_. A being spiritual and rational in its nature; that is as contrary to all corporeal beings, as _life_ is contrary to _death_; that is made in the image of God, to live for ever, never to cease any more, but to enjoy _life_, and _reason_, and _knowledge_, and _happiness_ in the presence of God, and the society of angels, and glorious spirits, to all eternity. ♦ ‘hut’ replaced with ‘but’ Every thing that you call yours, besides this spirit, is but like your _cloathing_; something that is only to be used for awhile, and then to end, and die, and wear away, and to signify no more to you than the _cloathing_ and _bodies_ of other people. 12. But, my children, you are not only in this manner _spirits_, but you are _fallen_ spirits, that began your life in a state of corruption and disorder, full of tempers and passions, that blind and darken your reason, and incline you to that which is hurtful. Your bodies are not only poor and perishing like your cloaths, but they are like ill _infected cloaths_, that fill you with ill diseases, which oppress the soul with sickly appetites, and vain cravings. So that all of us are like two beings, that have, as it were, two hearts within us; with the one we see, and taste, and admire reason, and holiness; with the other we incline to pride, and vanity, and sensual delights. If you would know the one thing necessary to all the world, it is this, to preserve and perfect all that is _rational_, _holy_, and _divine_ in our nature, and to mortify, remove, and destroy all _vanity_, _pride_, and _sensuality_. Could you think, my children, when you look at the world, and see what _customs_, and _fashions_, and _pleasures_, and _troubles_, and _projects_, employ the hearts and time of mankind, that things were thus? But don’t you be affected at these things; the world is in a great _dream_, and but few people are awake in it. We fancy that we fall into darkness, when we die; but alas, we are most of us in the dark till then; and the eyes of our souls only then begin to see, when our bodily eyes are closing. 13. You see then your state, my children; you are to improve and perfect the spirit that is within you; you are to prepare it for the kingdom of heaven, to nourish it with the love of God, to adorn it with good works, and to make it as holy and heavenly as you can. You are to preserve it from the errors and vanities of the world; to save it from the corruptions of the body, from those false delights and sensual tempers which the body tempts it with. You are to nourish your spirits with pious readings, and holy meditations, with watchings, fastings, and prayers, that you may relish that eternal state which is to begin when this life ends. As to your bodies, you are to consider them as _poor_, _perishing_ things, that are corrupt at present, and will soon drop into common dust; you are to watch over them as _enemies_, that are always trying to betray you, and so never follow their counsel; you are to consider them as the _place_ and _habitation_ of your souls, and so keep them _clean_, and _decent_; you are to consider them as the servants and instruments of action, and so give them _food_, and _rest_, and _raiment_, that they may be strong and healthful to do the duties of a charitable, useful, pious life. Whilst you live thus, you live like yourselves; and whenever you have less regard to your souls, or more regard to your bodies; whenever you are more intent upon adorning your persons, than upon perfecting your souls, you are much more beside yourselves, than he that had rather have a _laced coat_, than an healthful body. 14. For this reason, my children, I have taught you nothing that was dangerous for you to learn: I have kept you from every thing that might betray you into _weakness_ and _folly_; or make you think any thing fine, but a _fine mind_; any thing happy, but the favour of God; or any thing desirable, but to do all the good you possibly can. Instead of the vain, immodest entertainment of _plays_ and _operas_, I have taught you to delight in visiting the _sick_ and _poor_. What ♦_music_, and _dancing_, and _diversions_ are to many in the world, that prayers and devotions, and psalms are to you. Your hands have not been employed in plaiting the hair, and adorning your persons; but in making cloaths for the naked. You have not wasted your fortunes upon yourselves; but have added your labour to them, to do more good to other people. ♦ ‘musick’ replaced with ‘music’ Instead of forced _shapes_, _genteel airs_, and _affected motions_, I have taught you to conceal your bodies with _modest garments_, and let the world have nothing to view of you, but the _plainness_, and _sincerity_, and _humility_ of all your behaviour. 15. You know, my children, the _high perfection_, and the _great rewards_ of virginity; you know how it frees from worldly cares and troubles, and furnishes means and opportunities of higher advancements in the divine life. Therefore love, and esteem, and honour virginity: bless God for all that glorious company of holy virgins, that from the beginning of Christianity have, in the several ages of the church, renounced the cares and pleasures of matrimony, to be perpetual examples of contemplation and prayer. But as every one has their proper gift from God, as I look upon you all to be so many great blessings of a married state; so I leave to your choice, either to do as I have done, or to aspire after higher degrees of perfection in a virgin state. I press nothing upon you, but to make the most of human life, and to aspire after perfection in whatever state you chuse. Never therefore consider yourselves as persons that are to be _seen_, _admired_, and _courted_ by men; but as _poor sinners_, that are to save yourselves from the vanities and follies of a miserable world. Learn to live for your own sakes, and the service of God; and let nothing in the world be of any value with you, but that which you can turn into a service to God, and a means of your future happiness. 16. Whether married therefore, or unmarried, consider yourselves as mothers and sisters, as friends and relations to all that want your assistance; and never allow yourselves to be idle, whilst others are in want of any thing that your hands can make for them. This useful, charitable, humble employment of yourselves, is what I recommend to you with great earnestness; and besides the good you will thereby do to other people, your own heart will be improved by it. For next to _reading_, _meditation_, and _prayer_, there is nothing that so secures our hearts from foolish passions, as some _useful_, _humble_ employment of ourselves. Never therefore consider your labour as an _amusement_, that is to get rid of your time, and so may be as trifling as you please; but consider it as something that is to be serviceable to yourselves and others, that is to serve some sober ends of life, to save and redeem your time, and make it turn to your account, when the works of all people shall be tried by fire. If there is any good to be done by your labour, if you can possibly employ yourselves usefully to other people, how silly is it, how contrary to the wisdom of religion, to make that a _mere amusement_, which might as easily be made an exercise of the _greatest charity_? What would you think of the wisdom of him, that should employ his time in distilling of waters, and making liquors which no body could use, merely to amuse himself with the variety of their colour, when, with less labour and expence, he might satisfy the wants of those who have nothing to drink? Yet he would be as wisely employed, as those that are amusing themselves with such tedious works as they neither need, nor hardly know how to use when they are finished; when, with less labour and expence, they might be doing as much good, as he that is _cloathing_ the naked, or _visiting_ the sick. Be glad therefore to know the wants of the poorest people, and let your hands be employed in making such things for them, as their necessities require. By thus making your labour a gift and service to the poor, your ordinary work will be changed into a holy service, and made as acceptable to God as your devotions. This will make you true disciples of your meek Lord and Master, who _came into the world not to be ministered unto, but to minister_; and tho’ he was Lord of all, and among the creatures of his own making, yet was among them _as one that serveth_. 17. Christianity has then had its effect upon your hearts, when it has removed pride from you, and made you delight in humbling yourselves beneath the lowest of all your fellow creatures. Live therefore, my children, as you have begun your lives, in humble labour for the good of others; not in ceremonious visits and vain acquaintances. Contract no foolish friendships, or vain fondnesses for particular persons; but love them most, that most turn your love towards God, and your compassion towards all the world. But above all, avoid the conversation of _fine-bred fops_ and _beaux_, and hate nothing more than the idle discourse, the flattery and compliments of that sort of men; for they are the _shame_ of their own _sex_, and ought to be the _abhorrence_ of yours. When you go abroad, let humility, modesty, and a decent carriage, be all the _state_ you take upon you; and let tenderness, compassion, and good-nature, be all the _fine breeding_ you shew in any place. If evil _speaking_, _scandal_, or _backbiting_, be the conversation where you happen to be, be as much grieved as if you was amongst cursing and swearing, and retire as soon as you can. Tho’ you intend to marry, yet let the time never come, till you find a man that has those perfections which you have been labouring after yourselves; who is likely to be a friend to all your virtues, and with whom it is better to live, than to want the benefit of his example. 18. Love _poverty_, and reverence _poor people_; as for many reasons, so particularly for this, because our blessed Saviour was one of the number. Visit and converse with them frequently; you will often find _simplicity_, _innocence_, _patience_, _fortitude_, and great piety amongst them. Rejoice at every opportunity of doing an humble action; whether it be, as the scripture expresses it, in _washing the saints feet_, that is, in waiting upon, and serving those that are below you, or in bearing with the haughtiness and ill manners of those that are your equals, or above you. For there is nothing better than humility; it is the fruitful soil of all virtues, and every thing that is kind and good, naturally grows from it. Therefore, my children, pray for, and practise, humility; and reject every thing in _dress_, or _carriage_, or _conversation_, that has any appearance of pride. Strive to do every thing that is praise-worthy, but do nothing in order to be praised; nor think of any reward for your labours of love, till Christ cometh with all his holy angels. 19. And above all, my children, have a care of vain thoughts of your own virtues. For as soon as ever people live different from the common way of the world, the devil represents to their minds the height of their perfections; and is content they should excel in good works, provided he can make them proud of them. Therefore watch over your virtues with a jealous eye, and reject every vain thought, as you would reject the most wicked imaginations; and think what a loss it would be to you, to have the fruit of all your good works devoured by the vanity of your minds. Never therefore allow yourselves to despise those who do not follow your rules, but love them, and pray to God for them; and let humility be always _whispering_ in your ears, that you yourselves would fall from those rules to-morrow, if God should leave you to your own strength and wisdom. When therefore you have spent days and weeks well, do not suffer your hearts to contemplate any thing as your own, but give all the glory to God, who has carried you thro’ such rules of holy living, as you were not able to observe by your own strength; and take care to begin the next day, not as proficients in virtue, that can do great matters, but as _poor beginners_, that want the daily assistance of God to save you from the _grossest sins_. 20. Your dear father was an humble, watchful, pious, wise man. Whilst his sickness would suffer him to talk with me, his discourse was chiefly about your education. He knew the benefits of humility, he saw the ruins which pride made in our sex; and therefore he conjured me with the tenderest expressions, to renounce the _fashionable ways_ of educating daughters in _pride_ and _softness_, in the care of their _beauty_ and _dress_; and to bring you all up in the _plainest_, _simplest_ instances of an humble, holy, and industrious life. He taught me an admirable rule of humility, which he practised all the days of his life; which was this, to let no morning pass, without thinking upon some _frailty_ and _infirmity_ of our own, that may put us to _confusion_, make us _blush inwardly_, and entertain a mean opinion of ourselves. Think therefore, my children, that the soul of your good father, who is now with God, speaks to you through my mouth; and let the double desire of your father, who is gone, and me, who am with you, prevail upon you to love God, to study your own perfection, to practise humility, and, with innocent labour, to do all the good you can to all your fellow creatures, till God calls you to another life. *Thus did the pious widow educate her daughters. And a very ordinary knowledge of the _spirit_ of _Christianity_, may convince us, that no education can be of true advantage to young women, but that which trains them up in _humble industry_, in _great plainness_ of life, in _exact modesty_ of _dress_, _manners_ and _carriage_, and in _strict devotion_. For what should a Christian woman be, but a _plain_, _unaffected_, _modest_, _humble_ creature, averse to every thing in her _dress_ and _carriage_, that can draw the eyes of beholders, or gratify the passions of lewd and amorous persons? 21. *These considerations may teach you to let no day pass, without a serious application to God, for the _whole spirit_ of humility: fervently beseeching him to fill every part of your soul with it; to make it the ruling, constant habit of your mind, that you may not only feel it, but feel all your other tempers arising from it; that you may have no thoughts, no desires, no designs, but such as are the true fruits of an humble, meek, and lowly heart. That you may always appear poor, and little, and mean in your own eyes, and fully content that others should have the same opinion of you. That the whole course of your life, your _expence_, your _house_, your _dress_, your manner of _eating_, _drinking_, _conversing_, and doing _every thing_, may be so many continual proofs of the humility of your heart. That you may look for nothing, claim nothing, resent nothing; that you may go thro’ all the actions of life calmly and quietly, as in the presence of God, looking wholly unto him, acting wholly for him; neither seeking applause, nor resenting neglects, or affronts, but doing and receiving every thing in the meek and lowly spirit of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. CHAP. XVI. _Recommending devotion at twelve o’clock, called, in scripture, the |sixth hour| of the day. This frequency of devotion, equally desirable by all orders of people. |Universal love| is recommended to be the subject of prayer at this hour. Of intercession, as an act of universal love._ 1. IT will, perhaps, be thought by some, that these hours of prayer come _too thick_, and are only fit for _monasteries_, or such people as have no more to do in the world than they have. To this it is answered, this method of devotion is not pressed upon any as _absolutely necessary_, but recommended to all people, as the _best_ and the _happiest_ way of life. And if exemplary devotion is as much the happiness and perfection of a _merchant_, a _soldier_, or a man of _quality_, as it is the happiness and perfection of the most _retired_, _contemplative_ life, then it is as proper to recommend it without any _abatements_ to one order of men as to another. Here is therefore no excuse for men of _business_ and _figure_. _First_, Because it would be to excuse them from that which is the end of living, to make them _less beneficial_ to themselves, and _less serviceable_ to God and the world. *_Secondly_, Because most men of business and figure engage _too far_ in worldly matters; much farther than the reasons of human life, or the necessities of the world require. *_Merchants_ and _tradesmen_, for instance, are generally ten times farther engaged in business than they need; which is so far from being a reasonable _excuse_ for their want of time for devotion, that it is their _crime_, and must be censured as a blameable instance of covetousness and ambition. _Gentry_, and people of _figure_, either give themselves up to _state-employments_, or to the gratifications of their _passions_, in a life of _gaity_ and _debauchery_. And if these things might be admitted as allowable avocations from devotion, devotion must be reckoned a poor circumstance of life. Unless _gentlemen_ can shew, that they have another God, than the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ; another nature, than that which is derived from _Adam_; another religion than the Christian, it is in vain to plead their state, and dignity, as reasons for not preparing their souls for God, by a _strict_ and _regular_ devotion. 2. If a _merchant_, having forbore too great business, that he might quietly attend on the service of God, should die worth _twenty_, instead _fifty_ thousand pounds, could any one say, he had mistaken his _calling_, or gone a _loser_ out of the world? If a _gentleman_ should have killed _fewer foxes_, been less frequent at _balls_, _gaming_, and _merry meetings_, because stated parts of his time had been given to _retirement_, to _meditation_, and _devotion_, could it be thought, that when he left the world, he would regret the loss of those hours that he had given to the improvement of his soul? If a _tradesman_, by aspiring after Christian perfection, and retiring often from business, should, instead of leaving his children fortunes to spend in _luxury_ and _idleness_, leave them to live by their own honest labour; could it be said that he had made a _wrong use_ of the world, because he had more regard to that which is eternal, than to this which is so soon to be at an end? Since therefore devotion is not only the best and most desirable practice in a _cloyster_, but in _every state_ of life, they that desire to be excused from it, because they are men of _figure_, and _estates_, and _business_, are no wiser than those that should desire to be excused from _health_ and _happiness_, because they were men of _figure_ and _estates_. 3. I can’t see why every _gentleman_, _merchant_, or _soldier_, should not put these questions seriously to himself; _What is the best thing for me to aim at in all my actions? How shall I do to make the most of human life? What ways shall I wish that I had taken, when I am leaving the world?_ Now, to be thus wise, seems but a _small_ and _necessary_ piece of wisdom. For how can we pretend to sense and judgment, if we dare not seriously consider, and govern our lives by that which such questions require of us? Shall a _nobleman_ think his birth too high, to condescend to such questions as these? Or a _tradesman_ think his business too great, to take any care about himself? Now, here is desired no more devotion in any one’s life, than the answering these _few questions_ requires. Any devotion that is not to the greater advantage of him that uses it, than any thing he can do in the _room_ of it; any devotion that does not procure an _infinitely greater_ good, than can be got by neglecting it, is yielded up. But if people will live in so _much ignorance_, as never to put these questions to themselves, but push on a blind life at all chances, in quest of they don’t know what, or why; without ever considering the worth, or value, or tendency of their actions; without considering what God, _reason_, _eternity_, and their own happiness requires of them: it is for the honour of devotion that none can neglect it, but those who are thus inconsiderate, who dare not enquire after that which is the best and most worthy of their choice. 4. *It is true, _Claudius_, you are a man of _figure_ and _estate_, and are to act the part of such a station in life; you are not called, as _Elijah_ was, to be a prophet, or as St. _Paul_, to be an apostle. But will you therefore not love yourself? Will you not seek and study your own happiness? You would think it very absurd for a man not to value his own _health_, because he was not a ♦_physician_; or the preservation of his _limbs_, because he was not a _bone-setter_: yet it is more absurd for you, _Claudius_, to neglect the improvement of your soul, because you are not an apostle, or a bishop. ♦ ‘physycian’ replaced with ‘physician’ *Consider, _we must all appear before the judgment-seat of Christ, that every one may receive the things done in his body, according to that he hath done, whether it be good or bad_, 2 Cor. v. 10. Now, if your _estate_ would excuse you from appearing before this judgment-seat; if your _figure_ could protect you from receiving according to your works, there would be some pretence for your leaving devotion to other people: but if you, who are now thus distinguished, must then appear _naked_ amongst _common souls_, without any other distinction from others, but such as your virtues or sins give you, does it not as much concern you, as any _prophet_, or _apostle_, to make the best provision for that great day? Consider the words of St. _Peter_, _As he which hath called you is holy, so be ye holy in all manner of conversation_, 1 Pet. i. 15. If therefore, _Claudius_, you are one of those here called, you see what it is that you are called to. It is not to have so much religion as suits with your temper, your business, or your pleasures; it is not a particular sort of piety, that may be sufficient for gentlemen of figure and estates; but it is, _first_, to be _holy_, _as he which hath called you is holy_; _secondly_, it is to be _thus holy_ in all manner of conversation; that is, to carry this spirit and degree of holiness into every part, and through the whole form of your life. And the reason the apostle immediately gives, why this spirit of holiness must be the common spirit of Christians, as such, is very affecting, and such as equally calls upon all sorts of Christians. _Forasmuch as ye know, that ye were not redeemed with corruptible things, as silver and gold, from your vain conversation,――but with the precious blood of Christ._ As if he had said, forasmuch as ye know ye were made capable of this state of holiness, entered into a society with Christ, and made heirs of his glory, not by any human means, but by such a mysterious instance of love, as infinitely exceeds every thing that can be thought of in this world; since God has redeemed you to himself, and your own happiness, at so _great a price_, how base and shameful must it be, if you don’t henceforth devote yourselves wholly to the glory of God, and become holy as he who hath called you is holy? 5. Again, the apostle saith, _Know ye not, that your body is the temple of the Holy Ghost which is in you, and ye are not your own? For ye are bought with a price; therefore glorify |God| in your body, and in your spirit, which are |God|’s_, 1 Cor. vi. 19, 20. How poorly therefore, _Claudius_, have you read the scripture? How little do you know of Christianity, if you can talk of your _estate_ and _condition_, as a pretence for a freer kind of life? Are you any more _your own_, than he that has no estate or dignity in the world? Must _mean_ and _little_ people preserve their bodies as temples of the Holy Ghost, by _watching_, _fasting_, and _prayer_; but may you indulge yours in _idleness_, in _lust_, and _sensuality_, because you have so much _rent_, or such a _title_ of distinction? And you must either think thus, or else acknowledge that the holiness of _saints_, _prophets_, and _apostles_, is the holiness that you are to labour after with all diligence and care. And if you leave it to others, to live in such piety and devotion, in such self-denial, humility, and temperance, as may render them able to glorify God in their body, and in their spirit; you must leave it to them also, to have the benefit of the blood of Christ. 6. Thus much being said to shew, that _great devotion_ is not to be left to any particular sort of people, but to be the _common spirit_ of all Christians; I now proceed to consider the nature of _universal love_, which is here recommended to be the subject of your devotion at this hour. By intercession is meant a praying to God, in behalf of our fellow-creatures. Our blessed Lord hath recommended his love to us, as the pattern of our love to one another. As therefore he is continually making intercession for us all, so ought we to intercede for one another. _A new commandment_, saith he, _I give unto you, that ye love one another, as I have loved you. By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye love one another._ The newness of this precept did not consist in this, that men were commanded to love one another; for this was an old precept, both of the law of _Moses_, and of nature. But it was new in this respect, that it was to imitate a new, and, till then, unheard-of example of love; it was to love one another, as Christ had loved us. And if men are to know that we are disciples of Christ, by our loving one another, according to his example; then, if we are void of this love, we make it plainly known we are none of his disciples. 7. There is no principle more acceptable to God, than an _universal_ fervent love to all mankind, _wishing_ and _praying_ for their happiness; because there is no principle that makes us more like God, who is love and goodness itself, and created all beings for the enjoyment of happiness. The greatest _idea_ that we can frame of God is, a being of infinite love and goodness; using infinite wisdom and power for the common good and happiness of all his creatures. The highest notion therefore that we can form of man is, when we conceive him as like God in this respect as he can be; using all his finite faculties, whether of wisdom, power, or prayers, for the common good of all his fellow-creatures: heartily desiring they may have all the happiness they are capable of, and as many assistances from him, as his condition in the world will permit him to give them. And, on the other hand, what a _baseness_ and _iniquity_ is there in all instances of _hatred_, _envy_, _spite_ and _ill will_; if we consider, that every instance of them, is so far acting in _opposition_ to God, and intending _mischief_ and _harm_ to those creatures, which God _favours_, and _protects_, and _preserves_, in order to their happiness? An _ill-natured_ man amongst God’s creatures, is the most _perverse_ creature in the world, acting contrary to that _love_, by which himself _subsists_, and which alone gives subsistence to all that variety of beings, that enjoy life in any part of the creation. 8. _Whatsoever ye would that men should do unto you, even so do unto them._ Now, though this is a doctrine of _strict justice_, yet it is only an _universal love_ that can comply with it. As we have no degrees of spite or ill-will to ourselves, so we cannot be disposed towards others as we are towards ourselves, till we _universally_ renounce all instances of spite and ill-will, even in the _smallest_ degrees. If we had any imperfection in our _eyes_, that made us see _any one_ thing wrong, for the same reason they would shew us an hundred things wrong. So if we have any temper of our hearts, that makes us spiteful, or ill-natured towards _any one_ man, the same temper will make us envious, and spiteful, and ill-natured towards a great many more. If therefore we desire this love, we must exercise our hearts in the love of _all_, because it is not _Christian_ love, till it is the love of _all_. If a man could keep this whole law of love, and yet offend in _one point_, he would be guilty of all. For as one allowed instance of injustice destroys the justice of all our other actions; so one allowed instance of envy, spite, or ill-will, renders all our other acts of affection nothing worth. Acts of love, that proceed not from a principle of _universal love_, are but like acts of justice, that proceed from a heart not disposed to _universal justice_. 9. Now, the noblest motive to universal tenderness is this, _God is love, and he that dwelleth in love, dwelleth in God_. Who therefore, whose heart has any tendency towards God, would not aspire after this divine temper. How should we rejoice in the exercise of this love, which, is an assurance to us, that we act according to his Spirit, who is love itself? God willeth the happiness of all beings, though it is no happiness to himself; therefore we must desire the happiness of all beings, tho’ no happiness cometh to us from it. God equally delighteth in the perfections of all his creatures; therefore we should rejoice in those perfections wherever we see them, and be as glad to have other people perfect as ourselves. 10. *God, besides his own great example of love, which ought to draw all his creatures after it, has so provided for us, and made our happiness so _common_ to us all, that we have no occasion to envy or hate one another. For we cannot stand in one another’s way; or by enjoying our true good, keep another from his full share of it. As we cannot be happy, but in the enjoyment of God; so we cannot rob one another of this happiness. And as to other things, the _enjoyments_ of this life, they are so little in themselves, so foreign to our happiness; and generally speaking, so _contrary_ to that which they appear to be, that they are no foundation for envy, or hatred. How silly would it be to envy a man, that was drinking poison out of a _golden_ cup? And yet who can say, that he is acting wiser than thus, when he is envying any instance of worldly greatness? 11. *How many _saints_ has adversity sent to heaven? And how many sinners has prosperity plunged into everlasting misery? A man seems to be in the most glorious state, when he has conquered, disgraced, and humbled his enemy; though it may be, that same conquest has saved his adversary, and undone himself. _This_ man had perhaps never been debauched, but for his _fortune_ and _advancement_; _that_ had never been pious, but thro’ his _poverty_ and _disgrace_. She that is envied for her beauty, may, perchance, owe all her _misery_ to it; and another may be for ever happy, for having had no admirers of her _person_. _One_ man succeeds in every thing, and so loses all: _another_ meets with nothing but crosses and disappointments, and thereby gains more than all the world is worth. This _clergyman_ may be undone by his being made a _bishop_; and _that_ may save both himself and others by being fixed to his _poor vicarage_. How envied was _Alexander_, when conquering the world, he built _towns_, set up his _statues_, and left marks of his glory in so many kingdoms! And how despised was the poor preacher St. _Paul_ when he was _beaten with rods_! And yet how strangely was the world mistaken in their judgment! How much to be envied was St. _Paul_! How much to be pitied was _Alexander_! These few reflections shew, that the different conditions of this life have nothing in them to excite our uneasy passions, nothing that can reasonably interrupt our love and affection to one another. 12. To proceed now to another motive to this _universal_ love. Our power of doing _external acts_ of love, is often very narrow and restrained. There are, it may be, but few people to whom we can contribute any worldly relief. But tho’ our outward means of doing good are often thus limited, yet, if our hearts are full of love, we get, as it were, an infinite power; because God will attribute to us those good works, which we would have performed, had it been in our power. You cannot heal all the _sick_, relieve all the _poor_; you cannot comfort all in distress, nor be a father to all the fatherless. You cannot, it may be, deliver many from their misfortunes, or teach them to find comfort in God. *But if there is a love in your heart, that _excites_ you to do _all_ that you can; if your love has _no bounds_, but continually _wishes_ and _prays_ for the relief of all that are in distress, you will be received by God as a benefactor to those, who had nothing from you but your _good-will_, and tender affections. You cannot build _hospitals_ for the _incurable_; but if you join in your heart with those that do; if you are a friend to these great friends to mankind, and rejoice in their eminent virtues, you will be received by God as a sharer of such good works, as tho’ they had none of your _hands_, yet had _all_ your _heart_. This consideration surely is sufficient to make us watch over our hearts with all diligence: and aspire after the height of a loving, charitable, and benevolent mind. 13. And, on the other hand, we may hence learn the great evil of _envy_, _spite_, _hatred_, and _ill-will_. For if the goodness of our hearts will intitle us to the reward of good actions, which we never performed; it is certain that the badness of our hearts, will bring us under the guilt of actions that we have never committed. *As he that lusteth after a woman shall be reckoned an adulterer, tho’ he has only committed the crime in his heart; so the malicious, spiteful, ill-natured man, that only _secretly_ rejoices at evil, shall be reckoned a _murderer_, tho’ he has shed no blood. *Since therefore our hearts, which are always naked and open to the eyes of God, give such an exceeding extent and increase, either to our virtues or vices, it is our _greatest_ business to govern the motions of our hearts, to correct and improve the inward state of our souls. 14. Now there is nothing that so much exalts our souls, as this heavenly love; it cleanses and purifies like a holy fire, and all ill tempers fall away before it. By love, I don’t mean any _natural tenderness_, which is more or less in people, according to their constitutions; but a _larger principle_ of the soul, which makes us kind to all our fellow-creatures, as creatures of God, and for his sake. It is this love that loves all things in God, as his creatures, as the images of his power, as the creatures of his goodness, as parts of his family, as members of his society, that becomes a holy principle of all great and good actions. These reasons sufficiently shew, that no love is _holy_, or _religious_, till it becomes _universal_. For if religion requires me to love all persons, as God’s creatures, that belong to him, that bear his image, enjoy his protection, and make parts of his family and houshold; if these are the great reasons why I should live in love with any one man in the world, they are the same great reasons why I should live in love with every man in the world; and consequently, I offend against _all these reasons_, whenever I want love towards any one man. The sin therefore of hating or despising any one man, is like the sin of hating all God’s creation; and the necessity of loving any one man, is the same necessity of loving every man in the world. And tho’ many people may appear to us ever so sinful, odious, or extravagant in their conduct, we must never look upon that as the least motive for any contempt or disregard of them; but look upon them with the greater compassion, as being in the most pitiable condition that can be. 15. *As it was the sins of the world, that made the Son of God become a compassionate suffering Advocate for all mankind; so no one is of the Spirit of Christ, but he that has the _utmost compassion_ for sinners. And you have never less reason to be pleased with yourself, than when you find yourself most offended at the behaviour of others. All sin is certainly to be hated; but then, we must set ourselves against sin, as we do against _sickness_ and _diseases_, by shewing ourselves tender and compassionate to the _sick_ and _diseased_. *All other hatred of sin, which does not fill the heart with the _softest_, _tenderest_ affections towards persons miserable in it, it is the servant of sin at the same time that it seems to be hating it. And there is no temper which even good men ought more carefully to guard against than this. For it is a temper that lurks under the cover of many virtues, and by being unsuspected does the more mischief. A man naturally fancies, that it is his own love of virtue that makes him not able to bear with those that want it; and when he _abhors_ one man, _despises_ another, and can’t bear the _name_ of a third, he supposes it all to be a proof of his own _high sense_ of virtue, and _just hatred_ of sin. And yet one would think that a man needed no other cure for this temper, than this one reflection: That if this had been the _spirit_ of the Son of God, if he had hated sin in _this manner_, there had been no redemption of the world: if God had hated sinners in this manner, the world itself had ceased long ago. This therefore we may take for a certain rule, that the more we partake of the divine nature, and the higher our sense of virtue is, the more we shall compassionate those that want it. The sight of such people will then, instead of raising in us a haughty contempt, or peevish indignation towards them, fill us with such bowels of compassion, as when we see the miseries of an _hospital_. 16. That the follies therefore, and ill-behaviour of our fellow creatures, may not lessen that love which we are to have for all mankind, we should often consider the reasons on which this duty of love is founded. Now we are to love our neighbour, that is, all mankind, not because they are wise, holy or virtuous; for all mankind never was, nor ever will be so. Again, if their goodness were the reason of our being obliged to love people, we should have no _rule_ to proceed by; because tho’ some people’s virtues or vices are notorious, yet, generally speaking, we are but ill judges of the virtue of other people. _Thirdly_, We are sure that the virtue of persons, is not the reason of our being obliged to love them, because we are commanded to pay the highest instances of love to our worst enemies; we are to love, and bless, and pray for those that most injuriously treat us. This therefore is demonstration, that the merit of persons is not the reason on which our obligation to love them is founded. Let us farther consider what that love is which we owe to our neighbour; it is to love him as ourselves, that is, to wish him every thing that we may lawfully wish to ourselves; to be glad of every good, and sorry for every evil that happens to him: and to be ready to do him all such acts of kindness, as we are always ready to do ourselves. This love therefore, you see, is nothing but a love of _benevolence_; it requires nothing of us, but good _wishes_, _tender affections_, and such acts of kindness, as we shew to ourselves. 17. Now we are obliged to this love, in imitation of God’s goodness, that we may be children of our Father which is in heaven, who willeth the happiness of all his creatures, and maketh his sun to rise on the evil and on the good. Again, our redemption, by Jesus Christ, calleth us to the exercise of this love, who came from heaven, and laid down his life, out of love, to the whole sinful world. _Lastly_, Our Lord and Saviour has required us to love one another, as he loved us. These are the great, perpetual reasons, on which our obligation to love all mankind as ourselves is founded. These reasons never vary; they always continue in their full force; and therefore equally oblige at all times, and in regard to all persons. God loves us, not because we are wise, and good, and holy, but in pity to us, because we want this happiness. He loves us, in order to make us good. Our love therefore must take this course; not looking for, or requiring the merit of our brethren, but pitying their disorders, and wishing them all the good that they want, and are capable of receiving. 18. You will perhaps ask, if you are not to have a _particular esteem_ for good men? Yes; but this _esteem_ is very different from that love of _benevolence_ which we owe to our neighbour. The distinction betwixt love of benevolence, and esteem, is plain and obvious. No man is to have a _high esteem_ for his own accomplishments or behaviour; yet every man is to love himself, that is, to wish well to himself; therefore this distinction betwixt love and esteem, is not only plain, but very necessary to be observed. Again, if you think it hardly possible to dislike the actions of unreasonable men, and yet have a true love for them, consider this with relation to yourself. It is very possible, for you not only to dislike, but to _detest_ and _abhor_ a great many of your own past actions. But do you then lose any of those tender sentiments towards yourself, which you used to have? Do you then cease to wish well to yourself? Is not the love of yourself as strong then as at any other time? Now what is thus possible with relation to ourselves, is possible with relation to others. We may have the highest good wishes towards them, desiring for them every good that we desire for ourselves, and yet at the same time dislike their way of life. 19. To conclude, all that love which we may justly have for ourselves, we are in _strict justice_ obliged to exercise towards all other men; and we offend against the great law of our nature, when our tempers towards others are different from those which we have towards ourselves. Now that _self-love_ which is _just_ and _reasonable_, keeps us constantly _tender_, _compassionate_, and _well-affected_ towards ourselves. If therefore you don’t feel these kind dispositions towards all other people, you may be assured, that you are not in that state of charity, which is the very life and soul of Christian piety. You know how it hurts you, to be made the _jest_ and _ridicule_ of other people; how it grieves you to be _robbed_ of your reputation: if therefore you expose others to _scorn_ and _contempt_ in _any_ degree; if it pleases you to see or hear of their _frailties_ and _infirmities_; or if you are only _loth_ to conceal their faults, you are so far from loving such people as yourself, that you may be justly supposed to have as much hatred for them, as you have love for yourself. For such tempers are as truly the proper fruits of hatred, as the contrary tempers are the proper fruits of love. And as it is a certain sign that you love yourself, because you are tender of every thing that concerns you; so it is as certain a sign that you hate your neighbour, when you are pleased with any thing that hurts him. CHAP. XVII. _Of the necessity and benefit of |intercession|, considered as an exercise of universal love. How all orders of men are to interceed with God for one another. How such intercession amends and reforms the heart._ 1. THAT intercession is a great and necessary part of Christian devotion, is very evident from scripture. The first followers of Christ seem to support all their love, by prayers for one another. St. _Paul_, whether he writes to churches, or particular persons, shews that they are the constant subject of his prayers. Thus to the _Philippians_, _I thank my God upon every remembrance of you: always in every prayer of mine for you all, making request with joy_, Phil. i. 4, 5. His devotion had also the same care for particular persons, as appears by the following passage: _I thank my God, whom I serve from my forefathers, with a pure conscience, that, without ceasing, I have remembrance of thee in my prayers night and day_, 2 Tim. i. 3. How holy an acquaintance and friendship was this, how worthy of persons that were raised above the world, and related to one another, as new members of a kingdom of heaven! 2. Apostles and great saints did not only thus bless particular churches, and private persons; but they themselves also received graces from God by the prayers of others. Thus saith St. _Paul_ to the _Corinthians_, _You also helping together by prayer for us, that for the gift bestowed upon us by the means of many persons, thanks may be given by many on our behalf_, 2 Cor. i. 11. This was the _ancient friendship_ of Christians, uniting and cementing their hearts, not by worldly considerations, or human passions, but by the mutual communication of spiritual blessings, by prayers and thanksgivings to God for one another. It was this holy intercession that raised Christians to such a state of mutual love, as far exceeded all that had been admired in human friendship. And when the same spirit of intercession is again in the world, this holy friendship will be again in fashion, and Christians will be again the wonder of the world, for that exceeding love which they bear to one another. For a _frequent_ intercession with God, earnestly beseeching him to forgive the sins of all mankind, to bless them with his providence, enlighten them with his Spirit, and bring them to everlasting happiness, is the divinest exercise that the heart of man can be engaged in. 3. Be daily therefore on your knees in a solemn, deliberate performance of this devotion, praying for others with such _length_, _importunity_, and _earnestness_, as you use for yourself; and you will find all _little_, _ill-natured_ passions die away; and your heart will delight in the common happiness of others, as you used only to delight in your own. For it is hardly possible for you to beseech God to make any one happy in his glory to all eternity, and yet be troubled to see him enjoy the much smaller gifts of God in this life. But the greatest benefits of intercession are then received, when it descends to such _particular_ instances as our _state_ and _condition_ in life more particularly require of us. Tho’ we are to treat all mankind as _neighbour_ and _brethren_, as occasion offers; yet as we can only live in the actual society of a few, and are more particularly _related_ to some than others; so when our intercession is made an exercise of love and care for those amongst whom our _lot_ is fallen, or who belong to us in a _nearer relation_, it then becomes the greatest benefit to ourselves. If therefore you should always alter your intercessions, according as the _needs_ of your _neighbours_ or _acquaintance_ require; beseeching God to deliver them from such or such particular evils, or to grant them this or that particular gift, or blessing; such intercessions, besides the great charity of them, would have a mighty effect upon your own heart. 4. This would make it pleasant to you to be _courteous_, _civil_, and _condescending_ to all about you, and make you unable to say or do a rude or hard thing to those for whom you had used yourself to be so kind and compassionate in your prayers. *For there is nothing that makes us love a man so much, as praying for him; and when you can once do this sincerely for any man, you have fitted your soul for the performance of every thing that is kind and civil towards him. This will fill your heart with a generosity and tenderness, that will give you a better and sweeter behaviour, than any thing that is called _fine breeding_ and _good manners_. By considering yourself as an advocate with God for your neighbours and acquaintance, you would never find it hard to be at peace with them yourself. It would be easy to you to bear with, and forgive those, for whom you particularly implored the divine mercy and forgiveness. Such prayers as these amongst _neighbours_ and _acquaintance_, would unite them to one another in the strongest bonds of love and tenderness. It would teach them to consider one another in a higher state, as members of a _spiritual society_, that are created for the enjoyment of the common blessings of God, and fellow heirs of the same glory. And by being thus desirous that every one should have their full share of the favours of God, they would be glad to see one another happy in the little enjoyments of this life. 5. *_Ouranius_ is a holy priest, full of the spirit of the gospel, watching, labouring, and praying for a poor _country village_. Every soul in it is as dear to him as himself; and he loves them all, as he loves himself, because he _prays_ for them all, as often as he prays for himself. If his whole life is one continual exercise of great zeal and labour, hardly ever satisfied with any degrees of care and watchfulness, ’tis because he has learned the great value of souls, by so often appearing before God as an _intercessor_ for them. He never thinks he can love, or do enough for his flock; because he never considers them in any other view, than as so many persons, that, by receiving the gifts and graces of God, are to become his _hope_, his _joy_, and his _crown of rejoicing_. He goes about his parish, and visits every body in it; but visits in the same spirit of piety that he preaches to them: he visits them to encourage their virtues, to assist them with his advice, to discover their manner of life, and to know the state of their souls, that he may _interceed_ with God for them, according to their _particular necessities_. 6. When _Ouranius_ first entered into holy orders, he had a _haughtiness_ in his temper, a great _contempt_ for all foolish and unreasonable people: but he has _prayed away_ this spirit, and has now the greatest tenderness for the most obstinate sinners; because he is always hoping, that God will sooner or later hear those _prayers_ that he makes for their repentance. The _rudeness_, _ill-nature_, or _perverse_ behaviour of any of his flock, used at first to betray him into impatience; but it now raises no other passion in him, than a desire of being upon his knees in prayer to God for them. Thus have his _prayers_ for others _altered_ and _amended_ the state of his own heart. It would delight you to see with what _spirit_ he converses, with what _tenderness_ he reproves, with what _affection_ he exhorts, and with what _vigour_ he preaches; and ’tis all owing to this, because he reproves, exhorts, and preaches to those, for whom he first _prays_ to God. This devotion softens his heart, enlightens his mind, sweetens his temper, and makes every thing that comes from him, instructive, amiable and affecting. 7. At his first coming to this little _village_, it was as disagreeable to him as a _prison_, and every day seemed too tedious to be endured in so retired a place. He thought his parish was too full of _poor_ and _mean_ people, that were none of them fit for the conversation of a _gentleman_. This put him upon a close application to his studies. He kept much at home, writ _notes_ upon _Homer_ and _Plautus_, and sometimes thought it hard to be called to pray by any poor body, when he was just in the midst of one of _Homer’s battles_. This was his _polite_, or I may rather say, _poor, ignorant_ turn of mind, before devotion had got the government of his heart. But now his days are so far from being tedious, or his parish too great a retirement, that he only wants more time to do that variety of good which his soul thirsts after. The solitude of his little parish is become matter of great comfort to him, because he hopes that God has placed him and his flock there, to make it their way to heaven. He can now not only converse with, but gladly _wait_ upon the poorest kind of people. He is now daily watching over the _weak_, humbling himself to perverse, rude, ignorant people, wherever he can find them; and is so far from desiring to be considered as a _gentleman_, that he desires to be used as the _servant_ of all; and in the Spirit of his Lord and Master _girds himself_, and is glad to _kneel down_ and _wash_ any of their _feet_. He now thinks the poorest creature in his parish good enough, and great enough, to deserve the humblest attendances, the kindest friendships, the tenderest offices, he can possibly shew them. He is so far now from wanting agreeable company, that he thinks there is no better conversation in the world, than to be talking with _poor_ and _mean_ people about the kingdom of heaven. All these noble thoughts and divine sentiments are the effects of his great devotion; he presents every one so often before God in his prayers, that he never thinks he can _esteem_, or serve those enough, for whom he implores so many mercies from God. 8. _Ouranius_ is mightily affected with this passage of holy scripture, _The effectual, fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much_, James v. 16. This makes him practise all the arts of holy living, and aspire after every instance of piety, that his prayers for his flock may have their full force, and avail much with God. For this reason he has sold a small estate that he had, and has erected a charitable retirement for ancient, poor people, to live in prayer and piety; that his prayers, being assisted by such good works, may _pierce the clouds_, and bring down blessings upon those souls committed to his care. 9. _Ouranius_ reads how God himself said unto _Abimelech_ concerning _Abraham_: _He is a prophet; he shall pray for thee, and thou shalt live_, Gen. xx. 7. And again, how he said of _Job_: _And my servant Job shall pray for you; for him will I accept_, Job xlii. 8. From these passages _Ouranius_ justly concludes, that the prayers of men eminent for holiness, have an extraordinary power with God; that he grants to other people such blessings, through their prayers, as would not be granted to men of less piety. This makes _Ouranius_ exceeding studious of Christian perfection, searching after every grace and holy temper, fearful of every error and defect in his life, lest his prayers for his flock should be less availing with God. This makes him careful of every _temper_ of his heart, give _alms_ of all that he hath, _watch_, and _fast_, and _mortify_, and live according to the strictest rules of _temperance_, _meekness_ and _humility_, that he may be in some degree like an _Abraham_, or a _Job_, in his parish, and make such prayers for them as God will hear and accept. These are the happy effects which a _devout intercession_ hath produced in the life of _Ouranius_. And if other people in their several stations, were to imitate his example, in such a manner as suited their particular state of life, they would certainly find the same happy effects from it. 10. *If _masters_, for instance, were to remember their _servants_ in their prayers, beseeching God to bless them, and suiting their petitions to the particular wants of their servants; letting no day pass, without a _full performance_ of this part of devotion; the benefit would be as great to themselves as to their servants. No way so likely as this, to inspire them with a true sense of that power which they have in their hands, to make them delight in doing good, and become exemplary in all the parts of a wise and good master. *The presenting their servants so often before God, as equally related to God, and intitled to the same heaven as themselves, would incline them to treat them not only with such _humanity_ as became _fellow-creatures_, but with such _tenderness_, _care_, and _generosity_, as became _fellow-heirs_ of the same glory. This devotion would make masters inclined to every thing that was good towards their servants; be watchful of their behaviour, and as ready to require of them an exact observance of the duties of Christianity as of the duties of their service. *This would teach them to consider their servants as God’s servants, to desire their perfection, to do nothing before them that might corrupt their minds, to impose no business upon them that should lessen their sense of religion, or hinder them from their full share of devotion, both public and private. This praying for them, would make them as glad to see their servants eminent in piety as themselves, and contrive that they should have all opportunities and encouragements, both to know and perform all the duties of the Christian life. 11. How natural would it be for such a master, to perform every part of family devotion; to have constant prayers; to excuse no one’s absence from them; to have the scriptures, and books of piety, often read among his servants; take all opportunities of instructing them, of raising their minds to God, and teaching them to do all their business, as a service to God, and upon the hopes and expectations of another life? *How natural would it be for such a one to pity their weakness and ignorance, to bear with the dulness of their understandings, or the perverseness of their tempers; to reprove them with tenderness, exhort them with affection, as hoping that God would hear his prayers for them? How impossible would it be for a master, that thus interceeded with God for his servants, to use any unkind threatenings towards them, to damn and curse them as _dogs_ and scoundrels, and treat them only as dregs of the creation? This devotion would give them another spirit, and make them consider how to make proper returns of care, kindness, and protection to those, who had spent their strength and time in service and attendance upon them. 12. Now if _gentlemen_ think it too low an employment to exercise such a devotion as this for their _servants_, let them consider how far they are from the spirit of Christ, who made himself not only an intercessor, but a sacrifice for the whole race of sinful mankind? Let them consider how miserable their greatness would be, if the Son of God should think it as much below him to pray for them, as they do to pray for their fellow-creatures? Let them consider how far they are from that spirit, which prays for its most unjust enemies, if they have not kindness enough to pray for those, by whose labours and service they live in ease themselves. 13. Again: If parents should thus make themselves _advocates_ and _intercessors_ with God for their children, constantly applying to heaven in behalf of them, nothing would be more likely, not only to bless their children, but also to dispose their own minds to the performance of every thing that was excellent and praise-worthy. I don’t suppose, but that the generality of parents remember their children in their prayers. *But the thing here intended is not a general remembrance of them, but a _regular method_ of recommending all their _particular needs_ unto God; and of praying for every such particular _grace_ and _virtue_ for them as their _state_ and _condition_ of life shall seem to require. The state of parents is a holy state, in some degree like that of the priesthood, and calls upon them to bless their children with their prayers and sacrifices to God. Thus it was that holy _Job_ watched over, and blessed his children, he _sanctified them, he rose up early in the morning, and offered burnt-offerings, according to the number of them all_, Job i. 5. If parents therefore, considering themselves in this light, should be daily calling upon God in a _solemn, deliberate_ manner, _altering_ and _extending_ their intercessions, as the _state_ and _growth_ of their children required, such devotion would have a mighty influence upon the rest of their lives; it would make them very circumspect in the government of themselves; prudent and careful of every thing they said or did, lest their example should hinder that which they so constantly desired in their prayers. 14. If a father was daily making particular prayers to God, that he would please to inspire his children with _true piety_, _great humility_, and _strict temperance_, what could be more likely to make the father himself become exemplary in these virtues? How naturally would he grow ashamed of wanting such virtues as he thought necessary for his children? So that his prayers for their piety, would be a certain means of exalting his own. If a father thus considered himself as an intercessor with God for his children, to bless them with his prayers, how would such thoughts make him avoid every thing that was displeasing to God, lest when he prayed for his children, God should reject his prayers? *How tenderly, how religiously would such a father converse with his children, whom he considered as his little spiritual flock, whose virtues he was to form by his example, encourage by his authority, nourish by his counsel, and prosper by his prayers to God for them? *How fearful would he be of all unjust ways of raising their fortune, of bringing them up in pride and indulgence, or of making them too fond of the world, lest he should thereby render them incapable of those graces which he was so often beseeching God to grant them? 15. _Lastly_, If all people, when they feel the first approaches of _resentment_, _envy_, or _contempt_, towards others; or if in all little disagreements and misunderstandings whatever, they should, instead of indulging their minds with little, low reflections, have recourse to a more particular intercession with God, for such persons as had raised their envy, resentment, or discontent; this would be a certain way to prevent the growth of all uncharitable tempers. If you was always to form your prayer at that time to the greatest degree of _contrariety_ to that temper which you was then in, it would be an excellent means of mending your heart. As for instance: when at any time you find in your heart motions of _envy_ towards any person, whether on account of his _riches_, _power_, _reputation_, _learning_, or _advancement_, if you should immediately pray to God to bless and prosper him in that _very thing_ which raised your envy; if you should repeat your petitions in the strongest terms, beseeching God to grant him all the happiness from the enjoyment of it that can possibly be received, you would soon find it to be the best antidote in the world, to expel the venom of that passion. *_Again_: If in any little difference or misunderstandings that you happened to have at any time with a _relation_, a _neighbour_, or any one else, you should then pray for them in a more _extraordinary manner_ than you ever did before, beseeching God to give them every grace and blessing you can think of, you would take the speediest method of reconciling all differences, and clearing up all misunderstandings. You would then think nothing too great to be forgiven, stay for no condescensions, need no mediation of a third person, but be glad to testify your love and good-will to him, who had so high a place in your secret prayers. This would remove all peevish passions, soften your heart into the most tender condescensions, and be the best arbitrator of all differences that happened betwixt you and any of your acquaintance. 16. Hence we may also learn the odious nature of all _spite_, _hatred_, _contempt_, and _angry passions_. They are not to be considered as defects in _good-nature_, not as failings in _civility_ or _good breeding_, but as such _base tempers_ as are entirely inconsistent with the _charity_ of intercession. You think it a small matter to be _peevish_ or _ill-natured_ to such or such a man; but you should consider, whether it be a small matter to do that which you could not do, if you had but so much charity as to be able to recommend him to God in your prayers. You think it a small matter to _ridicule_ one man, and _despise_ another; but you should consider, whether it be a small matter to want that charity towards these people which Christians are not allowed to want towards their most inveterate enemies. For, be but as charitable to these men, do but _bless_ and _pray_ for them, as you are obliged to bless and pray for your _enemies_, and then you will find that you have charity enough, to make it impossible for you to treat them with any degree of scorn or contempt. For you cannot possibly despise and ridicule that man, whom your _private prayers_ recommend to the love and favour of God. When you despise and ridicule a man, it is with no other end but to make him ridiculous and contemptible in the eyes of other men. How therefore can it be possible for you sincerely to beseech God to bless that man with the _honour_ of his love and favour, whom you desire men to treat as worthy of their contempt. Could you, out of love to a neighbour, desire your _prince_ to honour him with his esteem and favour, and yet at the same time expose him to the scorn and derision of your own servants. Yet this is as possible, as to expose that man to the scorn and contempt of your fellow-creatures, whom you recommend to the favour of God in your secret prayers. 17. You cannot despise a brother, without despising him that stands in a _high relation_ to God, to his Son Jesus Christ, and to the Holy Trinity. You would certainly think it a mighty impiety to treat a _writing_ with contempt, that had been written by the _finger_ of God; and can you think it a less impiety to contemn a brother, who is not only the _workmanship_, but the _image_ of God? You would justly think it great prophaneness to condemn and trample upon an _altar_, because it was appropriated to holy uses, and had had the body of Christ so often placed upon it; and can you suppose it to be less prophaneness to scorn and trample upon a brother, who so belongs to God, that his very body is the _temple of the Holy Ghost_, 1 Cor. vi. 15. 18. *But to return: _Intercession_ is not only the best arbitrator of all differences, the best promoter of true friendship, the best cure and preservative against all unkind tempers, all angry and haughty passions, but is also of great use to discover to us the true state of our own hearts. There are many tempers which we think _lawful_ and _innocent_, which we never suspect of any harm; which, if they were to be tried by this devotion, would soon shew us how we have deceived ourselves. *_Susurrus_ is a pious, temperate man, remarkable for abundance of excellent qualities. No one more constant at the service of the church. His charity is so great, that he almost starves himself, to be able to give greater alms to the poor. 19. Yet _Susurrus_ had a prodigious failing along with these great virtues. He had a mighty inclination to hear and discover all the defects and infirmities of all about him. You was welcome to tell him any thing of any body, provided that you did not do it in the _stile_ of an enemy. He never disliked an _evil-speaker_, but when his language was _rough_ and _passionate_. If you would but whisper any thing gently, tho’ it was ever so bad, _Susurrus_ was ready to receive it. When he visits, you generally hear him relating, how sorry he is for the failings of such a neighbour. He is always letting you know how tender he is of the reputation of his neighbour; how loth to say that which he is forced to say; and how gladly he would conceal it, if it could be concealed. _Susurrus_ had such a tender, compassionate manner of relating things the most prejudicial to his neighbour, that he even seemed, both to himself and others, to be exercising a Christian charity, at the same time that he was indulging a whispering, evil-speaking temper. _Susurrus_ once whispered to a particular friend in great secrecy, something too bad to be spoke of publickly. He ended with saying, how glad he was, that he had some hopes it might not be true, tho’ the suspicions were very strong. His friend made him this reply: You say, _Susurrus_, that you are glad it has not yet taken wind; and that you have some hopes it may not prove true. Go home therefore to your _closet_, and pray to God for this man, in such a manner, and with such earnestness as you would pray for yourself on the like occasion. Beseech God to interpose in his favour, to save him from false accusers, and bring all those to shame, who, by _uncharitable whispers_, and _secret stories_, wound him, like those that stab in the dark. And when you have made this prayer, then you may, if you please, go tell the same secret to some other friend, that you have told to me. 20. _Susurrus_ was exceedingly affected with this rebuke, and felt the force of it upon his conscience in as lively a manner, as if he had seen the _books opened_ at the day of judgment. All other arguments might have been resisted; but it was impossible for _Susurrus_ either to reject, or follow this advice, without being equally self-condemned in the highest degree. From that time to this, he has constantly used himself to this method of intercession; and his heart is so ♦entirely changed by it, that he can now no more privately whisper any thing to the prejudice of another, than he can openly pray to God to do people hurt. ♦ ‘intirely’ replaced with ‘entirely’ Whisperings and evil-speakings now hurt his ears, like oaths and curses; and he has appointed one day in the week, to be a day of penance as long as he lives, to humble himself before God, in the sorrowful confession of his former guilt. It may be well wondered, how a man of so much piety as _Susurrus_, could be so deceived in himself, as to live in such a state of _scandal_ and _evil-speaking_, without suspecting himself to be guilty of it. But it was the _tenderness_ and seeming _compassion_ with which he heard and related every thing, that deceived both himself and others. This was a falseness of heart, which was fully discovered, by the true charity of _intercession_. And if people of virtue, who think as little harm of themselves, as _Susurrus_ did, were often to try their spirit by such an _intercession_, they would often find themselves to be such, as they least of all suspected. The End of the _Fifth_ Volume. *** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 68742 ***