THE present edition of Dr. South’s Sermons consists of three distinct parts. The first four volumes, containing seventy-two discourses, correspond with the first six volumes of the preceding editions, each of which volumes contains twelve discourses. The last three volumes, with the exception of the appendix to the seventh volume, contain the posthumous discourses, some account of which is given in the advertisement to the fifth volume. The appendix to the seventh volume contains the three sermons published by Edmund Curll, with the Life of the author, in the year 1717. The Life is prefixed to the first volume of the present edition.
WHEN men crowned with age and honour, and worn out with the exercise of the most adorable virtues, go down to the grave; when learning, piety, sincerity, and courage, with them, seem to be gathered to their fathers, and almost every one of them, without a due recognition of their bright examples who gave us their survey, must cease to be any more; it would be an act of the highest injustice not to set them in their fairest light, that posterity may look upon them with the same eyes of admiration which the present age has paid their regards with; and that it may not be in the power of the teeth of time to wear out the impressions that shall pass undefaced from one generation to another.
It is with this view, and only with this, that the author of
these memoirs, who has long known the value of the subject he is writing upon, and from thence must be apprised
of the difficulty of doing it as he ought, takes them in hand;
being not without hopes, that he may in some measure prevent the many common biographers, who gather about a
dead corpse, like ravens about their prey, and croak out
insults against their memory, whilst they either praise them
The same author likewise very justly observes, “that as eloquence becomes an orator, and fables are proper for poets, so truth is that which an historian ought chiefly to follow, and have in regard;” therefore my readers are neither to expect embellishments of art, nor flourishes of rhetoric.
Non tali auxilio, nec defensoribus istis
Tempus eget——
There is no need of such assistances to support me, while I
go through with the character of a man that was arrived at the
highest pitch of knowledge in the studies of all manner of divine and human literature: a man who, in the words of the Son
of Sirach,
May it suffice then that I account for the birth of this
great man in the year 1633, when the artifices of wicked and
designing sectarists against the established government in
church and state, that broke out at last into the grand rebellion, made it necessary that so bright an assertor of both,
as he proved afterwards, should arise. He was the son of
Mr. South, an eminent merchant in London, and born at
Hackney, of a mother whose maiden name was Berry,
In the year 1647, after he had gone through the first rudiments of learning previous thereunto with uncommon success, we find him entered one of the king’s scholars in the college at Westminster, where he made himself remarkable the following year, by reading the Latin prayers in the school, on the day of king Charles the first’s martyrdom, and praying for his majesty by name: so that he was under the care of Dr. Richard Busby, who cultivated and improved so promising a genius with such industry and encouragement for four years, that, after the expiration of that time, he was admitted, an. 1651, student of Christ Church in Oxford.
He was elected with the great Mr. John Locke, an equal ornament of polite and abstruse learning. His studentship, with an allowance of 30l. per ann. from his mother, and the countenance of his relation, Dr. John South, of New college, regius professor of the Greek tongue, chanter of Salisbury, and vicar of Writtle in Essex, enabled him to obtain those acquirements that made him the admiration and esteem of the whole university, and drew upon him the eyes of the best masters of humanity and other studies, by the quick progress he made through them.
He took the degree of bachelor of arts, which he completed by his determination, in Lent 1654-5. The same
year he wrote a Latin copy of verses, published in the university book, set forth to congratulate the protector Oliver
Cromwell upon the peace then concluded with the Dutch;
upon which some people have made invidious reflections, as
Not but even those discover a certain unwillingness to act in favour of that monster, whom even the inimitable earl of Clarendon, in his History of the grand Rebellion, distinguishes by the name and title of a GLORIOUS VILLAIN.
After he had thus gained the applause of all his superiors, and by many lengths outstripped most of his contemporaries, by his well digested and well approved exercises preparatory thereunto, he proceeded to the degree of master of arts in June 1657, not without some opposition from Dr. John Owen, who supplied the place of dean of Christ Church, and officiated as head of that, royal foundation, with other sectaries called canons, during the deprivation and ejection of the legal and orthodox members of the said chapter. This man (if he deserves the name of one, that was guilty of a voluntary defection from the church established, after he had regularly received ordination at the hands of a protestant bishop, contrary to the oaths he had taken to his rightful and lawful prince, and his obedience that was due to the canons of the church) was one of the earliest of the clergy who joined with the rebels in parliament assembled, that dethroned their natural liege lord and king, and altered the form of government in matters ecclesiastical and civil, and in recompence of his zeal for that end, after the martyrdom of his royal sovereign, had been gifted with this undeserved promotion. In gratitude for which, if that word may be applied to creatures divested of all qualities that point towards the least symptoms of humanity, he thought himself obliged to bestir himself heartily for what was then called the good old cause, against all those who should swerve or deviate from it, especially such as should be found peccant against the orders of the Directory, and should be unwarrantably, according to pretended laws then in being, found in episcopal meetings, making use of the Common Prayer.
Among these was this our candidate for the degree of master of arts, being excited thereunto by the example of Mr. John Fell, of the same college with him, but of much longer standing, and ejected by the commissioners authorized thereunto from the council of state; and was caught in the very act of worshipping God after the manner and form of the church of England; whereupon Dr. Owen, who was then vice-chancellor, and had been invested with that character some years before, was pleased to express himself very severely, and after threatening him with expulsion, if he should be guilty of the like practices again, to tell him, that “He could do no less in gratitude to his highness the protector, and his other great friends who had thought him worthy of the dignities he then stood possessed of.” To which Mr. South made this grave, but very smart reply: “Gratitude among friends is like credit amongst tradesmen; it keeps business up, and maintains the correspondence: and we pay not so much out of a principle that we ought to discharge our debts, as to secure ourselves a place to be trusted another time:” and in answer to the doctor’s making use of the protector’s and his other great friends names, said, “Commonwealths put a value upon men, as well as money; and we are forced to take them both, not by weight, but according as they are pleased to stamp them, and at the current rate of the coin:” by which he exasperated him two different ways, and made him his enemy ever after; as he verified his own sayings, which were frequently applied by him to his fellow students, viz. “That few people have the wisdom to like reproofs that would do them good, better than praises that do them hurt.”
But though the doctor did what he could to shew his
resentment by virtue of his office, the majority of those
in whose power it was to give him the degree he had
regularly waited the usual terms for, was an overmatch to
all opposition; and he had it conferred on him. This enabled him some time after to pay the doctor in his own
coin, and to let him know, that he likewise was not without
This puts me in mind of another story, which Dr. South told a friend of mine, concerning the said Owen; who, at his being soon after removed from his place of vice-chancellor by the chancellor Richard, son of Oliver Cromwell, and from the pulpit of St. Mary’s, which was cleansed of him and the rebel Goodwin, president of St. Mary Magdalen’s college, at one and the same time, cried out, “I have built seats at Mary’s; let the doctors find auditors, for I will preach at Peter’s:” thereby insinuating, that none but he could have full congregations. Though, whatever were his thoughts of the affections of those who were misled by his doctrines, the very selfsame opiniative man found himself very much out in his conjectures of abiding at Christ Church, or of preaching at St. Peter’s long; for he was ejected from his deanery at the latter end of the year 1659 by the government, that was then paving the way for the restoration of the king and royal family; and soon after succeeded by Dr. John Fell, who first was installed canon of Christ Church, in the room of Ralph Button, M. A. and formerly of Merton college, by the commissioners appointed by the king; Mr. South having the orator’s place of the university of Oxford, vacant by the dismission of the said Button.
This brings me to a second digression, which the reader’s patience, it is hoped, will forgive, for its brevity. Mr. Antony a Wood, the famous antiquary, in his Athenae Oxonienses, gives us to understand, that this Ralph Button, at
In 1659 Mr. South, after having been admitted into holy
orders the year before, according to the rites and ceremonies
of the church of England, (then abolished,) by a regular,
though deprived bishop, was pitched upon to preach the
assize sermon before the judges. For which end, he took his
text from the tenth chapter of St. Matthew’s gospel, Very credibly reported to have
been done in an independent congregation at Oxon.
In the close of the said sermon, after having applied himself to the judges with proper exhortations, that bespoke his
intrepidity of soul, he addressed himself to the audience in
these words; “If ever it was seasonable to preach courage in the despised, abused cause of Christ, it is now, when
his truths are reformed into nothing, when the hands and hearts of his faithful ministers are weakened, and even
broke, and his worship extirpated in a mockery, that his honour may be advanced. Well, to establish our hearts
in duty, let us beforehand propose to ourselves the worst “that can happen. Should God in his judgment suffer
England to be transformed into a Munster; should the faithful be everywhere massacred; should the places of
learning be demolished, and our colleges reduced not only (as one in his zeal would have
it Unton Croke, a colonel in the army, the perfidious cause of Penruddock’s death, and some time after
high sheriff of Oxfordshire.
To return to Mr. South: He was not made university
orator till the tenth of August 1660, after he had preached
a most excellent sermon to the king’s commissioners, on the
29th of July in the same year, called, The Scribe instructed,
from
“Qualification,” says he, “which is an habitual preparation by study, exercise, and due improvement of the
same. Powers act but weakly and irregularly, till they are heightened and perfected by their habits. A well radicated habit, in a lively, vegete faculty, is like an
apple of gold in a picture of silver; it is perfection upon perfection; it is a coat of mail upon our armour; and, in a word,
it is the raising of the soul at least one story higher; for take
off but the wheels, and the powers in all their operations will drive but heavily. Now it is not enough to have
books, or for a man to have his divinity in his pocket, or upon the shelf, but he must have mastered his notions,
till they even incorporate into his mind so as to be able to produce and wield them upon all occasions; and not,
when a difficulty is proposed, and a performance enjoined, to say, that he will consult such and such authors. For
this is not to be a divine, who is rather to be a walking library than a walking index. As, to go no farther than
the similitude in the text, we should not account him a good and generous housekeeper, who should not have always something of standing provision by him, so as never
to be surprised, but that he should still be found able to treat his friend at
least, though perhaps not always presently to feast him. So the scribe here spoken of should
“have an inward, lasting fulness and sufficiency, to support and bear him up,
especially when present performance urges, and actual preparation can be but short.
Thus it is not the oil in the wick, but in the vessel, which must feed the lamp. The former indeed may cause a
present blaze, but it is the latter which must give a lasting light. It is not the spending-money a man has in his
pocket, but his hoards in the chest or in the bank, which must make him rich. A dying man has his breath in his
“nostrils, but to have it in the lungs is that which must preserve life. Nor will it suffice to have raked up a few
notions here and there, or to rally all one’s little utmost
Again, speaking of the malignants in the times of the same unnatural rebellion, he says, “There was no saving of life with those men, without purging away the estate.”
Then, describing the teachers of those days, he declares,
that “first of all they seize upon some text; from whence they draw something, (which they call doctrine;) and well
may it be said to be drawn from the words, forasmuch as it seldom naturally
flows or results from them. In the
next place, being thus provided, they branch it into several heads, perhaps twenty, or thirty, or upwards.
Whereupon, for the prosecution of these, they repair to some trusty concordance, which never
fails them, and, by the help of that, they range six or seven scriptures under each head: which scriptures they prosecute one by one;
first amplifying and enlarging upon one for some considerable time, till they have spoiled it; and then, that
being done, they pass to another, which in its turn suffers accordingly.
And these impertinent and unpremeditated enlargements they look upon as the motions, effects, and breathings of the Spirit, and therefore much beyond those carnal ordinances of sense and reason, supported
Some time after this, Edward earl of Clarendon, lord high chancellor of England, and chancellor of the university of Oxford, in consideration of a speech spoken by him, which you will find in the posthumous works hereunto annexed, at his investiture into the last high dignity , did him the honour of taking him for his domestic chaplain, whereby he was in the road to church preferments, and was installed prebendary of St. Peter’s, Westminster, March 30, 1663. He likewise, by virtue of a letter from, and the desire of the said earl, his patron, stood candidate for the degree of doctor in divinity, on the first of October in the same year; and obtained it by a majority of the convocation house, though strenuous opposition was made against the grant of that favour by the bachelors of divinity and masters of arts, who were against such a concession, by reason that he was a master of arts but of six years standing; after a scrutiny, it being accordingly pronounced granted by the senior proctor, Nathaniel Crew, M. A. fellow of Lincoln college, and now lord bishop of Durham: in consequence of which, by the double presentation of Dr. John Wallis, Savilian professor of geometry, he was instantly first admitted bachelor, then doctor in divinity.
Much about the same time, the doctor was made choice
of to preach a sermon at the consecration of a chapel; in
the preface to which are these remarkable expressions: “After the happy expiration of those times which had
reformed so many churches to the ground, and in which
men used to express their honour to God and their allegiance to their prince the same way, demolishing the
palaces of the one, and the temples of the other; it is now our glory and
felicity, that God has changed men’s tempers with the times, and made a spirit of building succeed
a spirit of pulling down, by a miraculous revolution; reducing many from the head of a triumphant rebellion to
their old condition of masons, smiths, and carpenters, that
“But still it is strange to see any ecclesiastical pile, not by ecclesiastical cost and influence rising above ground, especially in an age in which men’s mouths are open against the church, but their hands are shut towards it; an age in which, respecting the generality of men, we might as soon expect stones to be made bread, as to be made churches. But the more epidemical and prevailing this evil is, the more honourable are those who stand and shine as exceptions from the common practice: and may such places, built for the divine worship, derive an honour and a blessing upon the head of the builders, as great and lasting as the curse and infamy that never fails to rest upon the sacrilegious violators of them; and a greater, I am sure, I need not, I cannot wish.”
On the 29th of the month of December, 1670, the doctor was installed a canon of Christ Church in Oxford, being the fifth rightful incumbent of the third stall ever since the foundation in 1549, vacant by the death of Dr. Richard Gardiner, at the request of whose executors he wrote the following epitaph, which is to be seen in the dormitory on the north side of that cathedral church.
H. S. I.
Venerabilis Vir
Richardus Gardiner, S. T. P.
Ecclesiae hujus primum Alumnus,
Dein Canonicus;
Quo in munere,
Cum diu se magna cum laude exercuisset,
Majore eodem cessit:
Fanaticorum furoribus, fortunis omnibus exutus
Ut fidem quam Deo et Principi obligaverat,
Illibatam retineret.
Postliminio tandem restitutus,
Eadem Coustantia qua ereptas spreverat opes,
Contemnebat affluentes
Munificentia siquidem perenni,
Et Aquaeductus quem hic loci struxerat aemula,
Ecclesiam hauc,
Patriam suain Herefordiam,
Amicos,
Pauperes
Cumulatissime perfudit.
Demum
Meritis juxta atque annis plenus,
Viridi senecta, sensibusque integris,
Piam animam Deo reddidit;
Decembr. xx.
A. Salut. CIƆ IƆCLXX.
Ætat. suae LXXIX.
I should have observed, before this period of time, that the doctor caused a poem of his (entitled Musica Incantans, sive Poema exprimens Musicae Vires, Juvenem in Insaniam adigentis, et Musici inde Periculum) to be printed at the request of his very good friend Dr. John Fell, in the year 1667, though written in 1655, when he was bachelor of arts, and that this was highly applauded; as the work of an extraordinary genius and a very ready wit, for the beauty of its language, and the quickness of its turns; but the taste of the present age being contrary to what it was in those days, and less given to flourishes of that nature, I make it my choice not to be particular as to any quotations from it, since the doctor, to his dying day, has regretted the publication of it, as a juvenile and unmomentary performance. I should also have acquainted the reader, that the doctor was before this possessed of 75l. per ann. lands of inheritance, as of a copyhold estate of inheritance in the manor of Candors alias Cantlow, in Kentish Town, Middlesex, by the death of his father; but not being able to account for the year in which he died, must ask leave to insert it in this place.
John Sobieski, grand marshal of Poland, having been
elected to fill the throne of that kingdom on account of his
great merits, and notable achievements in war against the
infidels and other enemies, on the death of king Michael
Wiesnowiski, who was supposed to have been poisoned by
a Frenchman at Zamoisk, his Britannic majesty, two years
after the said choice, which was made in 1674, gave credentials to the honourable Lawrence Hyde, esq. son to the late
My best Friend, and most honoured Instructor,
TO keep my word with you, which I gave at Cornbury, when we last parted, I send herein some account of my voyage and travels, with a few observations on the country, inhabitants, manners, and customs of the kingdom, whereof I have been a cursory, and, I fear, but too curious an investigator; though I do it with hope, that you, who have so perfect a knowledge of the eastern world, by what you have communicated to me concerning the affairs of the Turkish court, Palestine, Sec. will pardon my falling infinitely short of you in my description of one of the northern kingdoms, whereof your avocations elsewhere may not have allowed you the attainment of so just a description.
My lord ambassador set sail from Portsmouth, on board
the Tyger man of war, with the Swallow in company, and
He afterwards, with a very magnificent retinue, set for
ward for Poland, and was received by the king in his camp
near Leopol in Russia, with demonstrations of respect and
kindness suitable to his character and person, where his
majesty did him the honour of sending some of his chief
officers to shew him the army, and their way of encamping.
Having mentioned Leopol, which is the metropolis of the
palatinate of Russia, it may not be improper to tell you,
that this city is large and well fortified, having two castles,
one within the walls, and one without, on a rising ground,
which commands the town; both which, together with the
city, were founded by Leo duke of Russia, about the year
1289. The archbishop of this see is both spiritual and
temporal lord of his diocese. Here also reside an Armenian
archbishop, and a Russian bishop, depending on the patriarch of Constantinople, with several churches belonging to
each bishopric. The Armenian Roman Catholics have in
habited here time out of mind, and are governed wholly by
their own prelate, enjoying very great privileges on account
of the considerable commerce they maintain with the Persians and other eastern people. This city likewise gives
great encouragement to learned men, who are very civilly
received by their academy, which is supplied with professors
from that of Cracow; though, from what I could find from
those professors themselves, and the very bishops too, they
had as little furniture that way in their own persons (except
The peace being happily concluded, to the advantage of
Poland, between his majesty and the Turks and Tartars,
whereof his excellency Mr. Hyde had no small share of the
management, the king returned in November to Zolkiew, his own patrimony, which
is a town in Russia, adorned and defended by a castle, and intermixed with
several delightful gardens, with a fair church in the middle of it, built with
various sorts of marble, and whither the ambassador waiting upon him, had his
public audience there in a most solemn manner. He was first carried in the
king’s coach, attended by six of his own, twenty-four pages and footmen in rich
liveries, and sixty odd coaches of the chief nobility. When arrived at the
court, he was received by the chief marshal (who is in the nature of a lord
chamberlain) at the stairs’ foot of the palace, and conducted to his majesty, who received him standing under a canopy. Whereupon his excellency delivered his master’s compliments in a Latin speech, This speech was written in English by Mr. Hyde, and turned into elegant Latin by Dr. South.
To this his Polish majesty gave a very agreeable and satisfactory answer in the same language, which he had readily ad unguem, and caused the ambassador afterwards to sit down at the same table with him, where he was attended by the chief officers of state standing; it being a custom in Poland to admit none to that honour but the princes of the blood.
This king is a very well spoken prince, very easy of access,
As for what relates to his majesty’s person, he is a tall and corpulent prince, large faced, and full eyes, and goes always in the same dress with his subjects, with his hair cut round about his ears like a monk, and wears a fur cap, but extraordinary rich with diamonds and jewels, large whiskers, and no neckcloth. A long robe hangs down to his heels, in the fashion of a coat, and a waistcoat under that, of the same length, tied close about the waist with a girdle. He never wears any gloves; and this long coat is of strong scar let cloth, lined in the winter with rich fur, but in summer only with silk. Instead of shoes, he always wears, both abroad and at home, Turkey-leather boots, with very thin soles, and hollow deep heels, made of a blade of silver bent hoop-wise into the form of a half-moon. He carries always a large scimetar by his side, the sheath equally flat and broad from the handle to the bottom, and curiously set with diamonds.
His majesty married Mary de la Grange, daughter to the
Marquis of Arquien, some time after his accession to the
throne, made cardinal in complaisance to his majesty. This
lady, who was but ten or twelve years old when she came
The queen is now about thirty-three years of age, though she appears not to be much above twenty: she is always attired after the French mode, as all the Polish ladies are, and speaks the Polish language full as well as her own natural tongue; which, with her sweet temper, refined sense, and majestic air, has, since her accession to the throne, gained her such affection with the Poles, such influence over the king, and such interest lately among the senators, that she manages all with a great deal of prudence, and that to the advantage of her native country France, who is very much indebted to her for the backwardness of the Poles in taking part with the emperor, and their forwardness in striking up the late peace with Turkey and its dependents.
Thus far by way of remark on the persons and accomplishments of their majesties, and the manner of our reception at court. I am in the next place to take a view of the most principal places in this kingdom, which my lord ambassador gave me an opportunity of surveying, by leaving me behind (at my own request) after his return into Eng land through Silesia, Austria, and the empire, and to give a succinct and faithful account of their economy in ecclesiastical as well as civil affairs.
I shall not enter upon a division of this great and wealthy
To begin with the first. Cracow is a famous city, seated
in a spacious plain near the Weissel, by which merchandises
are transported to Dantzick. It takes its name from Cracus,
one of the first dukes of Poland; and considering the stateliness both of its public and private edifices, and the great
plenty of all manner of necessaries, it is said to be equal to
most towns of either Germany or Italy. It is encompassed
with a very high wall, and flanked round with high towers,
with a broad deep ditch walled round likewise, and a stately
castle, about a mile in circumference, founded on a rock,
near the banks of the river Vistula. It is a large stone
building, consisting of two wings magnificently raised about
a square court, having galleries supported with pillars, and
paved with black and white marble. The king’s apartments,
with some others, are adorned with divers curious paintings
and statues; and the country round about affords one of
the most delightful prospects in Europe. Here is a cathedral of St. Stanislaus, protector of Poland; in which a
late bishop of Cracow, Martin Szyscovius, repaired and
beautified his tomb, which before had been all of silver. This,
Sigismund III. and his son Uladislaus VII. (as pompous inscriptions tell us) greatly augmented, bestowing on it many
offerings of gold and silver vessels. Sigismund I. also, in
honour of this saint, built a silver altar near his tomb, be
stowing on it several golden crucifixes, and as many vestments richly bedecked with gems of all sorts. His daughter
Anne, likewise wife to king Stephen, built another silver
altar in the chapel of the Annunciation, whose roof is all
This cathedral is principally to be noted for its chapter and treasury; and the bishop of it is lord over thirteen cities, and prince, that is, commander in chief, of the duchy of Severia. His chapter, which consists of about thirty canons, with several other inferior priests, having a proportional provision to his revenue, which is between 11 and 12,000l. sterling per annum; the very lowest salary of the meanest ecclesiastic there being 100l. yearly of our money. It was first erected into a metropolitan see, upon the first planting of the Christian religion in Poland, by Miecislaus I. but within an hundred years after degenerated into a bishopric under the archbishop of Gnesna, in regard that Lambert Pula could not be persuaded to receive his pall from the see of Rome; yet upon submission he was afterwards restored to that dignity, but which lasted only for his life, his successors having been ever since only bishops.
There are about fifty other churches, as well in the castle as the town; whereof the most celebrated is that of the Virgin Mary in the circle of Cracow, which is governed by an archpresbyter, and fronts ten large streets; having moreover on all sides four rows of magnificent structures.
A university was first begun here by Casimir the Great, who came to the throne in the year 1333, and reigned to the year 1370, and finished by Uladislaus Jagello, having its privileges confirmed soon after by pope Urban VI. However, as the rector, Mr. Siniawiski, brother to the palatine of that name, told me, the scholars forsook it in 1549, by reason that the magistrates would not do them justice on some persons that had murdered great numbers of them, and afterwards dispersed themselves into several parts of Germany, and be coming Protestants, spread the Lutheran religion through Poland, and gained a great number of proselytes; yet, not withstanding all this, they returned to the obedience of the see of Rome.
In this university are taught all sorts of learning, (though,
as I take it, superficially,) and the Poles (but I dissent from
All these colleges and schools are governed by a rector, or vice-chancellor, who takes care that orders may be duly observed, and functions rightly administered; which is so great an encouragement, that there is scarce any ecclesiastical or political dignity in the kingdom but is filled by persons that have received their education in this university.
In the monasteries also are taught both philosophy and divinity; but more especially in that of the Dominicans of the Trinity, where there are daily lectures kept, and several kinds of moral learning also promoted.
There are likewise several sorts of mendicant friars in this city, who, upon solemn feasts, according to the ancient custom, go in procession, clothed in divers colours, and are very merry devotionalists on those occasions; such as the mendicants of the Rosary, of the Mercy, of the Mantle, of the Passion, of the body of Christ, saint Sophia, saint Anne, saint Monica; names not very agreeable to their unmortified paunches.
2. Vilna, whose palatine is chief governor, is situated near the conflux of the rivers Wilia and Wiln, from whence it has its name, and is a large and populous city, capital of the great duchy of Lithuania, and well fortified with two castles; whereof one is built in a plain, and the other on a hill. Of these two castles, that on a hill is very ancient, and almost ruined; but the other is a pile of beautiful modern architecture. The churches here are all of stone, both those belonging to the Roman and Russian persuasions. The cathedral lies in the lower castle, wherein is deposited the body of St. Casimir, canonized by pope Leo X. in a large silver tomb of great value. Here also is a very large bell, like to one of the same bigness at Cracow, which requires above four and twenty strong men to ring it; and within this castle also the metropolitan of Russia holds his archiepiscopal see.
Among other public edifices, (most of the private being very mean ones, and built of wood, except some few belonging to the gentry and foreign merchants,) is the great duke’s palace, in which is a very celebrated guard chamber, furnished with all sorts of arms: and about two English miles from this city stands another ducal palace, named from its situation Rudnick, that is, near the water. This palace is entirely built of wood, but most deliciously beautified and set off with a pleasant park, agreeable gardens, and fruitful orchards.
As for the academy of this city, it was founded by king Stephen in the year 1579, and erected into an university by Pope Gregory XIII. at the request of Valerian, bishop of Vilna. In this university are six professors of divinity, five of philosophy, four of laws, and seven of humanity; which have each of them much greater salaries, besides other preferments in the church and state, than such bunglers in their respective arts and sciences deserve; since many of our servitors at Oxford are better read, and abler to fill those chairs, than any of them but the sieur Sfroski, who had acquired some knowledge in natural philosophy and the mathematics by his travels into foreign parts. However, I found myself under a necessity of extolling them for their profound knowledge, and of closing in with every opinion they at random gave vent to, for the sake of my own quiet: since their pride, if any ways mortified by contradictions from strangers, pushes them upon unforeseen extremities; and it is the best and surest way to be of the same mind with them, if any one takes a good liking for the security of his body.
As for other remarkable buildings and observations here,
though there are several fair edifices, I find none more
worthy of notice than a large beautiful storehouse, all of
brick, erected by the Muscovite company for the repository
of their furs, ermines, and other rich merchandises brought
from Moscow; so that when I have said that it is famous
for having guns of all sorts cast, and likewise divers other
warlike instruments of excellent workmanship made in it,
and the tribunal of all Lithuania is kept there, I have done
Having just parted with their two universities, that may, without impropriety of expression, be called sisters, from their affinity in ignorance, it is but natural to particularize in their studies, the chief of which is to speak good Latin; for as to all parts of polite learning, the Poles are not so curious as in other countries, yet have they a great many that will write tolerably good verses, for their genius is mightily bent that way; and besides, they are very apt to quote classic authors in their discourse; and this particularly when they get drunk, (a vice they are too frequently addicted to,) and are elevated up to a conceited pitch. Their poet Sarbievus Casimir is no small ornament to his country, who in his Odes has endeavoured to imitate Ho race; and the purity of his language is not contemptible.
I learned that Latin came so much in vogue with them from this accident. King Casimir the second and the king of Sweden had an interview at Dantzick, wherein the latter, with all his court, spoke that language fluently, but neither Casimir nor any of his attendants could do any thing like it, but were forced to make use of a poor monk, whom for that service his Polish majesty advanced to a bishopric, to explain their sentiments. Of which being heartily ashamed, the king caused great encouragement to be given to such as would make Latin their study, which began thenceforward to be much in practice: so that when king Sigismund sent the bishop of Varmia his ambassador to Vienna, his imperial majesty was surprised to hear the very Polish coachmen and postillions very dexterously and fluently explain themselves in that tongue, which was mightily encouraged also by king Stephen Bathori, who is reported often to have said to the sons of his attendants, Discite Latine, nam unum ex vobis aliquando faciam Moschi Pan, (a great lord;) which contributed very much to the increase of arts and sciences.
As for learned men, though the Poles have mightily degenerated
Yet though the Poles are so extremely expert in making and writing Latin, they are not curious in any of the oriental tongues. As to other languages, as the inhabitants of this country have the same origin with the Muscovites, Bohemians, Croatians, Moravians, Silesians, Cassabians, Bulgarians, Rascians, Servians, Illyrians, &c. so they have likewise the same language with them, notwithstanding they differ in dialects, and are scarce to be understood by each other. Their terms of mechanic arts are chiefly borrowed from the ancient Germans, who formerly had, as they still have, frequent intercourses with this country. Nay, there are at present whole towns and villages that make use of the German tongue; that nation having formerly planted several colonies in this kingdom. There are also several of the noble families here purely German, as may appear both by their names and their coats of arms.
The Polish language, as their chief historian Cromerus
allows, is neither so copious nor so easy to pronounce, as
those of other nations; but as the French, Italian, &c. consists
chiefly of vowels, that of Poland is made up in great mea
sure with consonants; insomuch that you shall sometimes
meet with Polish words that have seven or eight consonants
together, without any vowel, or at most but one or two interposed; an example of which, sir, you may have in the word
Chrzeszes, (scaraibaeus, a gadfly:) this, with others in the
To return to the Latin tongue; it must not be under stood, how universally soever it is spoken here, that the Poles have it from their mothers, as the common people have in some parts of Hungary; for they take pains to learn it from masters, as other nations do. The chief reason why they generally affect it is, first, from their natural dispositions to learn it. Secondly, by reason of the syntax of their mother tongue, the Sclavonian, which has great affinity with that language; for they both decline their nouns, and conjugate their verbs, as the Romans did. Thirdly, because in all the villages throughout the nation they have school masters for that purpose, who are either rectors of parishes, or some other qualified persons appointed by them or by the bishop of the diocese. And fourthly, because in all towns of note the Jesuits have colleges set apart to instruct youth in that language.
As to the study of divinity in Poland, those of that profession make all their learning consist in adapting Aristotle’s logic and metaphysics to their school divinity; so that you
may everywhere hear them talk much of entities, modes,
quiddities, essences of things, and the like; for they value
themselves more in the signification of logical terms than in
the nature of things themselves which they reason about.
Albertus Magnus is in great esteem here, and is perpetually quoted to attest the
truth of any assertion, with as much vehemence as Aristotle by the Italians and
Spaniards; though, as it has been said before, the natives of this kingdom have
not less respect for this last philosopher than other nations have. Yet
notwithstanding, they seldom take his meaning right, more especially in matters
that are ambiguous; for they have published several large commentaries
upon him, which besides contradicting each other, like our
Dutch annotators, stand in need of explanations themselves.
The Polish divines likewise are seldom well versed in practical
I could instance in other arts and sciences; but those not
being of so near a concern to your own studies, as that of
divinity, I make it my choice to return to the description of
the towns I have undertaken to give an account of. The
next of which, in the third place, is Posen, situated on the river
Varta. It lies in the midst of several hills, environed with a
strong double wall and a very deep ditch. The city itself,
it must be confessed, is but small, yet nevertheless exceeding beautiful, and
well built, its edifices for the most part being of stone. Among the public
structures, the most considerable is the castle, raised upon a small eminence between
the rivers Varta and Prosna. It is generally provided with
all sorts of ammunition, and wants for neither strength nor
beauty. The rest of the public buildings may justly claim
the like character, though the most stately lie on the other
side of the river Varta in the suburbs, which are very large.
The cathedral church, with a college of prebendaries, and
the bishop’s palace, are situated among the marshes, and form
a pile of buildings that is called Valilovia, and built so
strong, that, like the town, it is able to withstand a siege.
John Lubransius, a bishop of this see, founded a college
here, to be visited by that of Cracow, and which was after
wards very much augmented and beautified by Adam Conarius,
The inhabitants of this city are generally Roman Catholics, though vast numbers of Jews live also among them, government is executed by a starost, chosen yearly out of the schipens, or aldermen, who, as long as this office lasts, enjoys also the title of general of Great Poland.
Seven miles from hence lies Gnesna, from the Sclavonian word gniazdo, which signifies a nest; which, in the fourth place, has its situation (as most of the towns in these parts have) amongst bogs and hills. It is an archbishop’s see, and gives title to the primate of all Poland. This was formerly the metropolis of the whole kingdom, having been built by Lechus, the first founder thereof. In the cathedral is reposited a great quantity of inestimable treasure, most of which is owing to the tomb of St. Adelbert, raised in the middle of the church, cased about with silver, by Sigismund III. and the gifts of Henry Firlesus, late archbishop of that diocese, who, among other rarities, gave his mitre, valued at 2000l. sterling. The gates opening to this church are all of Corinthian brass curiously wrought, which were first taken from the monastery of Corsuna in Taurica Chersonesus, afterwards removed to Kiow, and this brought hither by order of king Boleslaus II.
Amongst other things worthy of remark, I observed here,
The next city I promised you an account of is Lowitz, much more populous than the very capital of the palatinate of Rava. And this, in the fifth place, is famous for being the wonted residence of the archbishop of Gnesna and primate of Poland. His palace there is built among the marshes, yet nevertheless consists of several fair piles of building. The church also is a very beautiful structure, and enriched with several noble gifts. It has likewise a great many considerable monasteries, abbeys, &c. but nothing more worthy of notice than a very fair library, replete with books of all kinds, but very rarely turned over, (as I could perceive by the covers,) they being placed there rather for shew and ostentation than any real use or instruction. The keeper of this library is monsieur de St. Piere, a Frenchman, who was likewise cross-bearer to his eminence the cardinal primate, and a person every way qualified for that office. He shewed me several valuable books in all languages, that might have excited the curiosity of one that had not seen that magazine of all useful knowledge, the Bodleian library; but nothing pleased me more than a sight of an inscription on the monument of the last king of Poland but one, who voluntarily, in 1668, left his kingdom, and retiring into France, died afterwards at Nevers in 1671. It was written by the librarian’s correspondent, father Francis Delfault: which, for the excellency in its kind, I took a transcript of, after the following manner:
Æternae Memoriae
REGIS ORTHODOXI
HEIC
Post emensos Virtutis
Ac Gloriae Gradus omnes,
Quiescit nobili sui Parte,
Johannes Casimirus,
Poloniae,
Ac Sueciae Rex;
Alto e Jagellonidum
Sanguine
Familiâ Vasatensi
POSTREMUS,
Quia summus
LITERIS, ARMIS, PIETATE.
Multarum Gentium Linguas
Addidicit, quo illas propensius
Sibi devinciret.
Septendecim Praeliis collatis
Cum Hoste Signis,
Totidem Uno minus vicit,
SEMPER INVICTUS
Moscovitas, Suecos, Brandeburgenses,
Tartaros, Germauos,
ARMIS;
Cosacos, aliosque Rebelles
Gratiâ, ac Beneficiis
EXPUGNAVIT.
Victoriâ Regem eis se praebens,
Clementiâ Patrem.
Denique totis Viginti Imperil Annis
Fortunam Virtute vincens,
Aulam habuit in Castris,
Palatia in Tentoriis,
Spectacula in
Triumphis.
Liberos ex legitimo Connubio
Suscepit, queis postea orbatus est,
Ne si Se majorem reliquisset,
Non esset Ipse maximus,
Sin minorem, Stirps degeneraret.
Par ei ad Fortitudinem
Religio fuit,
Nec segnius Caelo militavit,
QUAM SOLO.
Hinc extructa Monasteria, et
Nosocomia Varsaviae,
Lithuania excisa:
Sociniani Regno pulsi
Ne Casimirum haberent Regem,
Qui Christum Deum non
Haberent.
Senatus a variis Sectis ad
Catholicae Fidei Communionem
Adductus,
Ut Ecclesiae Legibus
Continerentur
Qui Jura Populis dicerent.
Unde illi praeclarum
ORTHODOXI NOMEN
Ab Alexandro Septimo
Inditum.
Humanae denique Gloriae
Fastigium praetergressus,
Cum nihil praeclarius agere
Posset,
Imperium Sponte abdicavit
ANNO M.D.C.LXVIII.
Tum porro Lachrymae, quas
Nulli regnans excusserat,
Omnium Oculis manarunt,
Qui abeuntem Regem, non secus
Atque obeuntem Patrem
LUXERE.
Vitae Reliquum in Pietatis
Officiis cum exegisset,
Tandem auditâ Kameciae
Expugnatione, ne tantae Cladi
Superesset,
CHARITATE PATRIÆ
VULNERATUS OCCUBUIT
XVII. Cal. Jan. M. D. C. LXXII.
Regium Cor Monachis hujus
Coenobii, cui Abbas praefuerat,
Amoris Pignus reliquit;
Quod illi istoc Tumulo
Moerentes condiderunt.
4. Warsaw is the metropolis of the province of Masovia, defended with a castle, wall, and ditch, seated in a plain in the very centre of the kingdom, and therefore pitched upon for convening of the diet. It is divided into four parts, viz. the old and new town, the suburbs of Cracow and Praag, and adorned with divers stately piles of buildings, particularly a stately palace, built in four squares by king Sigismund III. and much improved by his successor; whereof the present king John, by some foundations of apartments which he has caused to be laid, is not to be the last mentioned in history. Opposite to this, on the other side of the river, stands an other royal palace in the middle of delightful groves and gardens, erected by Uladislaus VII. and called by the name of Viasdow, where the states or diet of Poland formerly used to sit and debate the most important affairs of the kingdom. Here is moreover the palace of king John Casimir, a most exquisite piece of architecture; as likewise another, of the same beauty and magnitude, built by count Morstin, great treasurer of Poland: also, within a league of this city, king John Sobieski is now laying the foundations of a neat country palace, which is to be called Villa Nova. The other public edifices are no less remarkable; being the church of St. John Baptist, where secular canons officiate, the arsenal, castle, market-place. And divers kinds of merchandises are conveyed hither along a river from the neighbouring provinces, and from hence carried to Dantzick, to be transported into foreign countries. In the suburbs of Cracow is a small chapel, built on purpose for the burial of John Demetrius Suski, grand duke of Muscovy, who died prisoner in the castle of Gostinin, together with his two brothers. This city was taken by the Swedes in 1655, but recovered, with other acquisitions in war, by the Poles some time after.
5. Thorn, the second city of the second palatinate of
Regal Prussia, is seated upon the banks of the Vistula, by
which it is divided into two parts. It lies four Polish miles
from Culm, the metropolis, (though of little note, because
ruined in a manner by the Swedes) to the south, thirteen
6. Marienburgh, built in the year 1310, as a place of residence for the master and knights of the Teutonick order,
as may yet be seen by the several stalls in the chapel of the
castle erected for them. It lies seated upon the river Nogat,
a branch of the Vistula, about six miles from Dantzick, and is
Having mentioned the Teutonick order, it may not be
unacceptable to give you its origin, and to trace it down,
from its first settlement in this kingdom, to its expulsion
out of it. It was first founded to reward and encourage
great actions, and those particularly of the German nation,
whence it came to have the title of Teutonick. For when
the emperor Frederick Barbarossa had engaged in the crusade for the recovery of the Holy Land, a great number of
German nobility and gentry joined his army as volunteers.
Of this crusade were several other princes of Austria and
Bavaria, Philip earl of Flanders, Plorant earl of Holland,
&c. After this emperor’s death, the Germans, being before
Aeon, or Ptolemais, which they then besieged, chose for
their leaders Frederick duke of Suabia, second son to the
aforesaid emperor, and Henry duke of Brabant. Under
these generals they behaved themselves so well, both at the
taking of Aeon, Jerusalem, and other places of the Holy Land, that Henry king of
Jerusalem, the patriarch, and several other princes, thought themselves obliged to do some
thing extraordinary in honour of the German nation. Here
upon they immediately resolved to erect an order of knights
of that nation, under the protection of St. George, but after
wards they changed that saint for the Virgin Mary, by
reason that she had an hospital already founded on mount
Zion at Jerusalem, for the relief of German pilgrims; of the manner of building
which, I am here told, that, in the time of the holy war, a wealthy gentleman of
Germany, who dwelt at Jerusalem, commiserating the condition of his countrymen
coming thither on devotion, and neither understanding the language of that
place, nor knowing where to lodge, received them hospitably into his house, and
gave them all manner of suitable entertainment. Afterwards obtaining leave of the patriarch, he erected a chapel for them,
and dedicated it to the Virgin Mary; whence the knights
that were established there afterwards came to have the title
In the year 1190, they elected their first great master, Henry Walpot, and in the year following had their order confirmed, upon the request of the emperor Henry VI. by the bull of Pope Celestine III. under the title of Teutonick or High-German knights of the hospital of St. Mary the Virgin: vowing poverty, obedience, and chastity, and obliging themselves to receive none but Germans into their order.
After they had thus received confirmation from the papal see, some rich citizens of Bremen and Lubeck joining with them, and making large contributions, another hospital was erected for them in the city of Ancon, or Ptolemais, in Syria. But after that city, together with Jerusalem and all the Holy Land, had been taken by the Saracens under the command of Saladin, having been in possession of the Christians for more than eighty-seven years, one Hermannus, then great master, with the remaining knights, removed into Germany, on whom the emperor Frederick XL and pope Honorius III. (or, as some will have it, Conradus duke of Masovia, in 1220,) in the year 1229, bestowed the province of Prussia; where, having conquered that nation, and reduced it from paganism to Christianity, they built the city of Marienburgh, or Mary-town, and in the year 1340 fixed the residence of their great masters there.
This country they enjoyed till about the year 1525, when
Albert marquis of Brandenburgh, the last great master of
this order in those parts, by a solemn renunciation, became
feudatory to king Sigismund of Poland, who raised Prussia to
a dukedom, and made this marquis first duke thereof. But
however, some of the knights, disliking this action, proceeded
to elect another great master, which was Walter de Cronenburgh: and forthwith leaving Prussia, took their residence
up in Germany, where they continue at this day, though
Their statutes were composed after the model of those of the knights Hospitallers and knights Templars, at this day the knights of Malta; but nevertheless, to distinguish them from these orders, their habit was ordained to be a white mantle, with a plain black cross on the breast. This cross they were also to have upon white banners, as likewise upon their shields in their coat of arms. They were moreover enjoined to live conformable to the orders and rules of St. Austin. Their first number was twenty-four lay brothers, and as many priests, though they are since increased to several hundreds. They both were allowed to wear armour and swords, and might celebrate mass in that habit. None of them shaved their beards, but by their order were obliged to let them grow, and to sleep upon sacks of straw. But however, this, with other mortifying injunctions, were soon of no manner of force.
This order being established after the manner which I have shewn before, all Christian princes endeavoured to give them encouragement; and among the rest, his holiness (as the people of this side of the world call the pope) and the emperor gave them particular proofs of their favour and liberality. Philip king of France also, being willing to do the like on his part, made them great presents, and more over granted their grand master a liberty to wear the fleur de lis on the four extremities of their mantles or robes.
Their power and force in war will appear by the efforts
which Albert marquis of Brandenburgh, and their thirty-fourth and last great master, there made to keep his footing
in Poland. He was nephew to Sigismund I. and elected in
the time of Maximilian the emperor and pope Julius. The
chapter of this order chose him, in hopes that, being so near
a kinsman, he might prevail upon his uncle to restore to them
what had been taken from them by the Poles. But this
great master was so far from answering their expectation,
that, having refused to swear allegiance to the king of Poland, he fortified all his towns for his defence, and gave
After this, the king’s army took in Dirschow, Stargardie, and the strong castle of Choinicz, and proceeded in their conquests with such vigour and diligence, that most of the cities and castles of the order surrendered themselves. By these means the Teutonick knights were totally expelled Prussia; which their great master Albert perceiving, as likewise that he was no longer able to contend with so powerful a monarch as his Polish majesty, (though his predecessors had formerly done it for many years, when they were in a better condition than he was,) resolved to submit himself and his order to his uncle’s mercy; which he not long after did in the public market-place of Cracow.
A throne being erected for the king, much after the same
nature of that wherein he is wont to take the oaths and
homage of his subjects after his coronation, the marquis delivered up the ensigns of his order to the king, and swore
all manner of allegiance to him. In consideration of which,
The Teutonick order being thus expelled Prussia, they transferred their chapter to Marienthal, where they continued to choose masters as the vacancies happened; he that is the chief of that order now being the forty-fifth master, and duke of Newburgh. The ceremony of creating one of these knights is after this manner. The person that is to be in vested with that dignity is to be conducted by the great master and knights, out of which three commissioners, who have been to inspect the titles of honour, are to make their report upon oath, that they have examined, and found his honour to be unquestionable. After which, he is to be sworn to chastity, poverty, and to go to the wars against the infidels, whenever occasion shall require. When they give him the white mantle with the black cross, which are the ensigns of this order, they pronounce these words according to custom: “We promise to give you, as long as you live, water, bread, and a habit of our order.”
The Teutonick order at present consists of twelve provinces, which are Alsace and Burgundy for one, Coblentz, Austria, and Etsch: these four still retain the name of provinces of the jurisdiction of Prussia, as the eight following do that of Germany, being the provinces of Franconia, Hesse, Bressen, Westphalia, Lorrain, Thuringen, Saxony, and Utrecht; although this last is now altogether under the dominion of the Hollanders. Every one of these provinces has its peculiar commanderies of the commendadors, of which the provincial is chief. These commendadors compose the chapter of the electors; amongst whom the great master has two voices, and a decisive one in case the numbers are equal. This great master’s place of residence is to be at Mariendal in Franconia, where these assemblies are held.
Having carried you out of Poland into the heart of Germany, and led you out of your way many leagues, give me
Dantzick (in Latin Dantiscum, or Gedanum) is the largest, strongest, and most wealthy city in all Royal Prussia, and is situated in one of the three islands (of which Regal Prussia consists) called by the Germans der Dantzicher Werder; this der Werder implying properly so many pieces of solid ground encompassed by fens and bogs.
By whom this city was first built, it remains as yet undetermined. Becanus will have the Danes to have been the founders of it, and from them to have been called Daneswick, i. e. Danes-town. But this derivation seems to have too much Dutch in it, and to be drawn in favour of a people that are not content with engrossing the trade of the world, but its very towns too; therefore it is more probable, that to the word Dan, Cdan, or Gdan, was added the Sclavonian term Scke, (signifying a town,) which made it Danscke, Cdanscke, or Gdanske, and which might very reasonably be supposed afterwards, for better pronunciation sake, to be changed into Dantzig, or Dantzick.
The town itself is watered by the rivers Rodawn and Motlaw, and divided by the former into two parts, the old and the new: on the southern and western side, it is surrounded by high mountains, and has been well fortified against the incursions of the Swedes and others, ever since the year 1656. It has a large and high wall, so broad, that coaches may easily go round the ramparts; and so large in compass, that it is three hours’ journey round, which I may very well compute at six English miles. At the entrance of the Rodawn, on the other side it, is a strong fort, wherein there is commonly a garrison of a thousand men; nor is it possible that this city should be bombarded from the sea, by reason of its distance from it; but from the neighbouring hills it may; and therefore some works are raised there, and always a certain number of soldiers, with store of can non and ammunition, placed in them for its greater security.
It is also at present a very famous mart, and one of the principal of the Hans towns, scarce inferior to Hamburgh, being altogether governed by its own laws, though under the protection of the crown of Poland, from which it has a castellan appointed over it: half of the suburbs belong to that crown, and the other half to the city; for in some parts the crown lands reach to the suburbs, but in others the city lands go several miles together into the country.
There are twenty parishes in the city and suburbs. The houses are generally of brick, and the streets most commonly very wide, and well paved, though somewhat dirty in winter, as most of the streets in Poland are. The chief part of the city is called by the inhabitants Die rechte Stadt, and was built by Conrad Wallenrodt, master of the Teutonick order, about the year 1388. There are no gardens in the city, but several very fine and large ones in the suburbs.
The inhabitants are for the most part Germans, and computed to be upwards of two hundred thousand souls; whereof the greatest part have adhered to the Ausburgh Confession ever since the year 1525; and the Lutherans alone are admitted to a share in the government: yet all other sects are tolerated, and allowed a free exercise of their religion.
The public buildings here are, first, the churches; whereof there are two very famous, viz. St. Mary’s and St. Peter’s: the former of which is by much the stateliest and most exquisite fabric in all Prussia, being very high-roofed, and having in it a most melodious and well wrought organ. Besides it has forty-eight altars, three thousand seven hundred and twenty-two windows, and a font, made at Antwerp, which cost twenty-four thousand rixdollars, i. e. five thousand four hundred pounds of English money.
In the second place, the townhouse, where the magistrates sit for the despatch of public business, is a most
magnificent structure, with an exceeding high spire. It has
abundance of noble inscriptions in several rooms, into which
it is divided; and the court of judicature surpasses any that
I ever yet saw, being built all with freestone, and curiously
Three large magazines of warlike stores, ammunition, and provision are likewise kept in this city, capable of equipping more than forty thousand men at few hours warning; and a prodigious amassment of naval stores to fit out shipping.
But though there is no university, the professors of all faculties reside here in a very noble college, which is endowed with most academical privileges but that of giving the degree of a doctor. The exchange for merchants may likewise pass for a famous pile of building, if compared to any other but ours in London, or the stadthouse at Amsterdam: nor are the palace of St. Dominick or the college of Jesuits here any ways inferior to many beautiful edifices.
The jurisdiction of Dantzick extends to above forty miles circumference, and it sends two deputies to the diet of Poland.
The absolute government of it is in the hands of thirty senators, elders, or magistrates; whereof the greatest part are persons of learning, though some few are merchants, but of no other trade. None of the clergy can be of this magistracy, though any foreigners may; yet none of any other religion but the Lutheran, except the Calvinist, whereof there must be always four in the whole senate.
The senators, when once created, continue for life; and the first and chief of them are the four burgomasters, or, as they call them, proconsuls; out of which a president is chosen every year. Under these there are thirteen consuls, who choose the aforesaid burgomasters out of their body, as often as vacancies happen by death, &c. They likewise have the election of all other officers belonging as well to the city as the suburbs.
There are twelve scabins or judges for all manner of processes;
from whom there lies an appeal to the thirteen consuls and four burgomasters, and from thence to the court of
Poland. The thirtieth senator is their syndic or orator, who
The king nominates every year, out of the consuls or burgomasters, a burgrave, to represent his person in the senate: and all sentences of death must be signed by him in the king’s name; for nobody can be executed here without such signing: and there is a very out of the way distinction in those executions; for natives must be always executed before Arlus-house, or the townhouse, and foreigners near one of the gates of the city, where the prison lies: all those that are executed in the city are beheaded; but all thieves and robbers (the others’ crimes being offences against the state) are to be hanged about two miles out of town, at a famous gallows supported by four pillars of brick.
To represent the grievances of the people, and to maintain their privileges, there are an hundred burghers chosen, for inspecting the conduct of the senate. They have likewise a vote in electing the clergy, in conjunction with the senate. Within this city and its jurisdiction there are no bishops, but only a college of the clergy, who have no power, except to examine such as are designed to be elected priests by the senate and the centum viri; the manner of whose election is this.
The candidate first makes his application to the clergy to examine him; which done, they give him a certificate, setting forth that they think him capable, and allow him a liberty to preach. After which, the people or congregation of some parish present him to the senate and centum viri, desiring he may be elected for their minister; when, by plurality of voices, he is elected accordingly, and thereupon sent back to the college of the clergy to be ordained, which is performed by imposition of hands, reading of prayers, and some other ceremonies.
In this city also there are four Roman Catholic churches;
whereof one is the king’s chapel, and the rest are for
monks. There are also two for Calvinists, where the senate
has no power to nominate the clergy. I may here likewise
observe a particular custom relating to marriage; which is,
As for the king’s power in the city; he can save any body’s life that he pleases, though condemned to die by the magistrates. To him half the customs of the port come: and one mill brings him in every hour of the day and night twenty-four gold ducats. This mill is moved by the Rodawn, which runs through the city. It grinds such a great quantity of corn all the year round, that its revenue amounts to 4320l. sterling to the state and the king, besides the profit arising to the proprietors: and they are obliged to put the king’s effigies on one side of their coin, though they commonly have their own arms on the other; and also to treat his Polish majesty and his whole court for three days, when he comes thither: but, however, he can bring but a few of his guards into the city. They are likewise to have a secretary always at the court of Poland.
In relation to the city privileges; they can coin their own money without the king’s leave, choose their magistrates, make their own laws, and determine absolutely in matters of debt to the value of five hundred gilders; but where the action exceeds that sum, an appeal lies to the tribunal of Po land. Yet in such case the appellant is obliged to lay down a hundred gilders in the townhouse before he can proceed: and this is to deter people from making such appeals; for the Dantzickers do not much care that any of their money should get into Poland, but where they cannot help it.
This city has always above two thousand soldiers in service, and can easily maintain twenty thousand; but in cases of necessity has been known to have raised sixty thousand. As for ships, they have none that they call men of war, but abundance of merchantmen of three or four hundred tons each, and thirty or forty guns apiece, which never trade so far as the East or West Indies, but into the Straits, and all the other parts of Europe.
It was taken from the Danes by Sabislaus, grandson to Swentorohus, about the year 1186, and seized by the Poles some short time after. The knights of the Teutonick order made themselves masters of it in 1305, and walled it round in 1314. Casimir III. king of Poland, surnamed the Great, regained it in 1454, and granted very great privileges to the citizens, who afterwards declaring for the Ausburgh Confession, sided with Maximilian of Austria against king Stephen Bathori: insomuch that the latter proscribed, and even besieged them in 1577. But however, by the mediation of other princes, they were restored to their religion and liberties in 1 597.
In 1656, they vigorously repulsed the Swedes, and adhered to the interest of John Casimir, king of Poland; and at present they make one of the members of that state, having been admitted to a suffrage in the election of the Polish monarchs in the year 1632.
Having mentioned king Stephen Bathori just before, I cannot omit an elogy which I found in an ancient manuscript in the college of the clergy’s library here, relating to that prince. It runs thus:
In templo plusquam sacerdos.
In republica plusquam rex.
In sententia dicenda plusquam senator.
In judicio plusquam jurisconsultus.
In exercitu plusquam imperator.
In acie plusquam miles.
In adversis perferendis, injuriisque condonandis, plusquam vir.
In publica libertate tuenda plusquam civis.
In amicitia colenda plusquam amicus.
In convictu plusquam familiaris.
In venatione ferisque domandis, plusquam leo.
In tota reliqua vita plusquam philosophus.
Thus much concerning the description of the places in and about this ancient and renowned kingdom: I shall in the next place make good my word in relation to other particulars concerning their religion, customs, and manners.
Besides the Lutherans and Calvinists, which abound
chiefly in Regal Prussia, there are many other religions
tolerated in this kingdom, such as the Armenians, Jews,
Yet, notwithstanding Poland admits of all these religions,
the national churchmen, which are Roman Catholics, are so
bigoted to their own persuasion, that they will admit of
none into their senate, diet, or courts of judicature, (except
in those of Prussia,) that hold not the same religious tenets.
Also bishops always preside in the assembly of the states,
that nothing may be transacted there in prejudice of that
faith. The inferior clergy likewise, selected out of the several
colleges and chapters of the kingdom, are appointed to have
seats in the tribunals, and other courts of justice, for the
same reason. In like manner, the great officers of the crown
Here are sixteen ecclesiastical, and one hundred and twenty-eight lay senators. The first are either archbishops or bishops, and are the chief members of the senate, of which the archbishop of Gnesna is chief. He is primate of the kingdom, a title given him by the council of Constance, and moreover styles himself the pope’s legate born, by a grant of the council of Lateran. All ecclesiastical affairs that have been determined in the archbishop of Leopolds, or any of the other bishops court, may be reversed or confirmed by an appeal to him; and his power and authority is so exceeding great, it being next to the king’s, that it is death to draw a sword in his presence, or to quarrel in any manner whatsoever before him. When he goes to the king or the diet, there is always a golden cross carried before him; and when he sits, his chaplain holds it behind his chair. He has his marshal, who is a castellan, and senator of the kingdom. This person on horseback carries a golden batoon before his coach, but salutes none with it, except the king, when the archbishop and his majesty happen to meet. This marshal has likewise the honour to carry a staff of the same nature before the king, when the other marshals are absent. When the archbishop comes to wait on the king, the great chamberlain, or some other great officer, always receives him at the stairs, and the king comes afterwards out of his chamber, to meet him in the antechamber. He never pays any visits out of duty, but to the pope’s nuncio, and to him only but once; neither does he pay that compliment to the ambassadors of crowned heads, though they visit him first.
After the king’s death, he is the supreme regent of the
kingdom till a new one is chosen; during which time, he
may coin money in his own name; a privilege granted him
by Boleslaus the Chaste, but which, nevertheless, has not
been practised, no money having as yet been seen of any
one of the primates coining. The revenues also of the
crown belong to him in the interregnum; he convenes the
The reason why the republic intrusts this great authority to a clergyman is, lest, if it should devolve upon a secular senator, he might make use of it to advance himself to the throne.
These senators’ office is to serve faithfully the king and republic with their advice, to administer justice, by commission or otherwise, at home; and, with consent of the diet, to exercise foreign ministry abroad: and they value themselves for their dignities so highly, that they despise almost all other titles whatsoever. Therefore when Sigismund I. went, as has been before related, to Vienna, and his imperial majesty offered the title of prince of the empire to the several senators that came along with him, they absolutely refused them; giving for reason, “that being born gentlemen of Poland, and thereby having a right to treat either of peace or war with their king, they believed it an injury to their dignity to have a prince of the empire thought their superior.”
The regular clergy in Poland are generally more esteemed than the secular; for they can perform all the offices of parish priests, without having permission from the bishops; and friars mendicant are allowed to enter the most private part of any house, without so much as knocking at the door. All religious orders are likewise to be seen in this kingdom, but Carthusians and Minims.
Those regular clergy are generally very rich, but not less
dissolute and immodest; for they frequently go into the
cellars to drink, those being the tippling places in this
country; and sometimes you shall see many of them so
On fast days, these religious persons, and all others of the Poles, abstain from milk, eggs, flesh, and boiled fish, at nights only: for provided they keep to these rules at that time, they may eat and drink what they please all the day; only Fridays and Saturdays they forbear butter, cheese, milk, and eggs, all the day long. Nor can they be inclined to eat butter or cheese on fast days, though they have permission from the church; for when the present archbishop of Gnesna obtained them that liberty from the see of Rome, they absolutely refused it, saying, “that his holiness the pope was an heretic.” This rigid custom they have observed ever since one of those Roman pontiffs enjoined them to fast for a hundred years together for some enormous crime; and which it may be they do not yet think sufficiently expiated. They also are so obstinate in their abstaining from flesh, that they will not eat any, notwithstanding they are sick, and advised thereunto by their doctors, and permitted by their priests.
As for the secular inferior clergy, they are either collegiate or parochial; and both are much after the same nature as with us. The canons are never almost present at the office; for they give the poor scholars to the value of two pence of our money per diem, to say their hours for them in the choir. And the parsons generally neglect their cures, by leaving most of their duty to the monks, or vicars, or curates. They also sing part of the service in the Polish language, and that especially in the parish churches at high mass.
The rosary is also repeated in the Dominican’s chapels, in which the men are seated, and join in the repetition on one side, and the women on the other; the former alone singing the Ave Maria, and the latter the Sancta Maria.
Plurality of benefices is here tolerated; for there are some
of these secular clergy who have not only rights to canonships, but also two or
more parsonages. But there are none that take any care to perform the duties of
their function;
At divine service the Poles seem always very devout, and bestow considerable gifts upon their churches; but they are neither liberal to the poor, nor careful of sick necessitous persons. They pray always aloud in the church, and at the elevation of the host at mass, they cuff themselves, and knock their heads against the pavement or the bench whereon they sit, that it commonly makes a great noise, and may be heard at a considerable distance.
Their ecclesiastical courts, as in other nations, are altogether in the hands of the bishops, who have each their chancellor, register, &c. from whom appeals may be made to the two archbishops, and even from the archbishop of Leopol to the archbishop of Gnesna. Nevertheless, from him appeals lie to the see of Rome. These judge according to the canons of the church; and the civil magistrates are obliged to be assisting to them in the execution of their sentences, as often as they shall be so required.
To the ecclesiastical courts belongs the court of nunciature, held by the pope’s nuncio, for that purpose always residing in Poland. However, before he can have any jurisdiction, he must have presented the king and the principal ministers of state with the apostolic brief of his nunciature.
The civil jurisdiction is divided among diverse sorts of judges, and belongs to the commonalty as well as gentry. Some of these determine causes exempt from appeals, and others cannot.
Those from whom there lies no appeal are the three high
tribunals instituted by king Stephen Bathori, the judges
whereof are all gentry. Two of these tribunals are for the
kingdom, and one for the great duchy of Lithuania; and
all of them consists of fixed numbers to be judges, both ecclesiastical and civil, chosen out of every palatinate; the
former once in four years, and the latter once in two. These
pronounce judgment by plurality of voices; but where
There is also a board of green cloth to determine affairs relating to the king’s household, (as with us,) two courts of exchequer, and likewise courts of the gentry and commonalty in every palatinate, which are neither exempt from appeals, nor by any means to have so much as one of the clergy among their judges, and determine in disputes about the limits of land, or in criminal cases.
The immediate appeal from these courts is to the vice-chamberlain of the palatinate, who, either by himself or his deputy, the chamberlain of that district, restores all to persons illegally dispossessed, and ascertains all bounds and limits of land. This is in a manner the sphere of his whole jurisdiction. But where there is any contest between the king and any of the gentry in this kind, then, at their request, commissioners are appointed out of the senate, to inspect the matter of the controversy, and to do justice therein. Likewise when a difference arises between the king and a clergy man, commissioners are ordered; but there the bishop of the diocese claims the nomination of one or more of them; and when any of the courts of land-judicature die, the king cannot name others, till the district to which they belonged have chosen four out of the housekeepers; but then he may pitch upon one for each election.
The other courts for the gentry are those that take cognizance of criminal cases; whereof there is only one in every
starostaship, where the starosta himself, or his lieutenant, administers justice in his castle, or some other public place, at
least every six weeks. He likewise determines in civil causes
between such as have no lands, and such foreigners as come
to trade here, and is to cause process to be served in criminal
He is also the executive minister of all sentences pronounced, and likewise the sole conservator of the peace within his territories, being obliged, by himself or his officers, like our high sheriffs, to see all public executions performed.
As to the courts of commonalty, they are either held in cities or villages. In cities, justice is administered by the scabins, {officers belonging to the king,) the magistracy, or judge advocate. The scabins have cognizance of all capital offences and criminal matters; the magistracy, of all civil cases, to which likewise the gentry are subject; and the judge advocate, of offences committed by the soldiery. Civil matters of small moment are determined solely by the governor of the city; but from him there lies an appeal to the townhall or magistracy, and thence to the king.
In villages, the commonalty are subject to scabins, and to scultets, or peculiar lords; from which last there is no appeal. Here justice is almost arbitrary, except in criminal cases; the scultets being hereditary judges, and not to be dispossessed of their offices, but by death, and forfeiture of life by high treason, &c.
The officers and magistrates of the plebeian courts are some named by their peculiar lords, and some elected by their fellow citizens, except in Cracow only, where the palatine has a right of choosing the magistrates, though he has not the same power to displace them after they are once chosen; they being also to continue their offices for life, unless forfeited by infamy and inability, as aforesaid.
The profits of all offices in any of these courts are but very small, and uncertain; the Poles esteeming the honour of enjoying them sufficient recompence. Nevertheless, they have all salaries and perquisites, howsoever inconsiderable.
The military jurisdiction of Poland is altogether in the
hands of the king or his generals, although the palatines
and castellans, who generally accompany his majesty in the
wars, retain their authority over their respective inferiors,
As for the laws of Poland, it is on all hands agreed, that t had none till the time of Casimir the Great, and then but very few made by him: although it is certain, that the Poles had embraced Christianity long before, and were well enough versed in human learning; yet was there never any law or statute of any prince committed to writing, but the pie were contented to be governed by the customs and manners of their ancestors, handed down to them from father to son. Casimir III. therefore, (called the Great from his prudent administration,) observing the disadvantages his kingdom laboured under by the Germans, who then frequently came into Poland on account of trade, received the Saxon laws, (now called Magdeburg laws, from the city whence they were taken,) by which Poland is at this day principally governed; although the gentry have many peculiar customs, and some statutes which have been since made; and which, in the time of Sigismundus Augustus, being compiled into one volume by learned men, were entitled, The Statutes of the Kingdom; and since (some having been approved and augmented, and others changed and altered in several diets) have obtained the name of Constitutions of Poland; to which, nevertheless, all that kingdom is not subject, Lithuania and Volhinia observing its own laws. Prussia also, both Regal and Ducal, has a municipal law of its own, commonly styled, the law of Culm; from which, notwithstanding, three cities are exempt, viz. Elbing, Bransberg, and Fraumberg, all which make use of the laws of Lansberg.
The punishments in Poland are various, and differ only
according to the quality of the crimes, and not of persons
offending; for a thief is to be hanged, of what degree soever
he be, and capital offenders, of all other kinds and qualities,
are to be beheaded, (as has been observed in the description
of Dantzick,) except in cases of the most flagrant and notorious villainies, when the criminal is commonly broken
Masters also have a power of chastising their servants; which they do after this manner: If the servant they are about to punish be a Polish gentleman, then they make him lie down on his belly on a carpet spread on the ground, or upon a stool, when another gentleman servant lays him on unmercifully upon the back with a rope or stick, giving him as many blows or lashes, as the master, who is always present, orders. After which, he that is beaten embraces the knees of him that has commanded him to be beat, and salutes him with the goodnatured title of benefactor. Which discipline seems a little too severe, but, however, is necessary from the temper of these people. The servants of vulgar extraction are likewise punished after the same manner, only with this difference, that they have no carpet spread under them. Some of the former think it an honour to be so thrashed; which honour they always bestow liberally, as often as they deserve it.
Nor is this custom among the Poles, of punishing their gentlemen servants so rigorously, much to be wondered at, if it be considered that they may serve in the meanest offices, without derogating from the nobility of their birth, or incapacitating themselves for the highest preferments. For, says Hauteville, one of their most celebrated historians, “I have known some who, from being footmen to great lords, and drummers in a troop of dragoons, have been advanced to the dignity of senators;” there being nothing that debases nobility in this country, but a handicraft or mechanic employment.
I should here bestow some time on the manner of choosing
their diet, and its session, for the promulgation of the laws
just now spoken of; but the several particulars and customs
observed therein requiring more time than the compass of a
letter will allow of, and a writer better versed than myself
It is the king, or, during an interregnum, the primate, who has the sole power of convening them, as likewise to appoint the place where they shall sit; and by the constitutions of the kingdom, the king, as head of the republic, is obliged to call a diet every third year; and of every three successively, two are held in Poland most commonly, and the third in Lithuania, in the city of Grodno, in the palatinate of Troki, twenty leagues from Vilna, capital of that great duchy; so that every ninth year, the king, with all the senators and deputies of the kingdom, goes into Lithuania; and every third, the senators and deputies of Lithuania come into Poland. The reason of the diet’s being held thus in Lithuania, proceeds from the inhabitants of that duchy’s complaint, that it was very inconvenient for them to come so far as Poland, without having it in their turn to make themselves compensation, by enriching their country also by the presence of his majesty and the estates of the kingdom.
When the king is pleased to give out summons for this general
meeting, he is, by the constitution in the year 1613, to issue forth circular
letters six weeks before the time be appointed for its session, to all the
palatines of the provinces, acquainting them with his design, together with the
time he intends it shall meet at. He sends them likewise a
list of all the affairs and articles which are to be treated of
in that diet: whereupon every palatine, or his deputy, in
his own respective government, forthwith despatches notice
to all the castellans, starostas, and other gentry, to meet together at a certain time, in order to deliberate upon the
articles and affairs proposed in the king’s letters, as also to
The qualification for voting in these little diets is, that all sorts of gentlemen, both rich and poor, provided they have but three acres of land in their possession, which must be worth at least eight crowns sterling a year, (like our freeholders in the country,) have a right to come thither, where they have all equal authority and votes, none being suffered to be present there in that capacity, but who is well descended. But what is more particular, the electors must be unanimous here, or the choice is invalid; for I am informed, it has lain in the power of one of these diminutive gentry to hinder a person from being chosen chairman of one of these petty sessions, till the candidate had given him a Polish pair of boots, for he was before almost barefooted; after which he came in, and consented to the election.
Not but at these little diets the poorer sort of gentry for the most part accord with their seignior, and generally approve of what he says, without knowing sometime what the matter in hand is: an example whereof, Hauteville says, happened in his time at one of these assemblies in the province of Masovia, where some affairs of the province being in debate, and one of the gentry declaring against them, his party or mob, not knowing what the business was, cried out like madmen, “that such a proposal should not pass.” Whereupon, a witty fellow, observing their senseless rage, started up, and cried, “Brethren, you are fools to oppose this affair; for the question is only to abate the price of wheat and aqua vitae:” whereat they immediately consented to and approved of the matter, and said, that “their “seignior was a rogue that had betrayed them;” and moreover threatened him with their sabres.
Yet, notwithstanding every gentleman-freeholder can vote for whom he pleases, the election always falls upon some rich nobleman, who can treat high, and make a figure suitable to this honourable charge. Most commonly they choose two or three deputies for every palatinate; one of which is always an understanding man, and the rest young noblemen, who are sent up to the grand diet for honour’s sake, and that they may be trained up betimes in the service of their country.
When the deputies are chosen, they receive full instructions from the gentry of their province, of what they are to agree to, and dissent from, in the general diet; and when once they are intrusted with these instructions, they dare not for their lives transgress them; so that if but one deputy has orders contrary to the rest, it lies in his single power to break all their measures.
The number of all these nuncios amounts commonly to one hundred and seventy-four, excluding those of Prussia, which are uncertain, and which are sometimes seventy of themselves; and they cannot be chosen senators, being for the most part elected out of the common magistrates, excepting the judges of the high tribunals, assessors, collectors of the revenue, &c. Furthermore it is to be observed, that they have certain salaries assigned them by the constitutions in the year 1540.
When all the deputies of the provinces are assembled at the
place appointed for the grand diet, they divide themselves into three nations,
viz. the deputies of High and Low Poland, and Lithuania. Out of these three,
they next proceed to the choice of a great mareschal, or speaker, who is
the first time chosen out of the deputies of High Poland;
the second, out of the deputies of Low Poland; and at the
third diet, out of Lithuania; and they often spend several
days in bloody contests, before they can agree about an
election. Nay, it happens sometimes that they cannot agree
at all; and that the senators and deputies, who make great
preparations to appear in the utmost pomp and grandeur,
(whereof some come above three hundred miles from their
The cause of this great stickling is, that the dignity of this mareschal is not only honourable, but exceeding beneficial; which occasions several noblemen among the deputies to raise cabals and intrigues to secure it to themselves. He has likewise a very great extent of authority, and can, by his eloquent and subtle speeches, turn affairs to what side al most he pleases; which is the reason that he is often bribed, either by the king, or foreign princes, or some great men of the kingdom.
When the mareschal or speaker is elected, he, with all the deputies of the provinces, goes to kiss the king’s hand in the diet chamber, where his majesty sits on a throne, with his chief officers of state about him, all standing. Then the chancellor proposes all the points to be debated in the diet, and desires the senators and the nobility to take them into consideration; which being done, the king immediately leaves them, lest his presence might be an awe upon them; and then the senators retiring into their apartments by themselves, and the nuncios into theirs, they forth with set about deliberating on the articles proposed.
Not that I can here pass by unremarked a pleasant reflection of Hauteville, whom I am obliged to consult more than once, to enable me to go through with my under taking. That historian, in his account of Poland, says, that the Poles employ more time in drinking and feasting, than in debating matters of state; for they never think of that work, till they begin to want money to buy Hungarian wine with.
After the chancellor has thus proposed to the diet, in the
king’s name, all the articles they are to go upon, the mareschal of the nuncios likewise, on the part of the deputies,
presents to the king what they desire of his majesty; which
The manner of proceeding in the nuncios house is, that nobody offers his opinion there, till leave for so doing is asked of the mareschal, who alone introduces all messengers from the king, senators, army, or foreign princes, and answers them all in the name of the house: if any differences also arise among the nuncios, or other tumults occasioned by the spectators, he causes silence immediately, by striking his staff against the ground.
The two bodies being thus separated, there are nevertheless frequent intercourses between them, as are between our two most honourable houses of parliament; and the nuncios have the same power as the commons are invested with in England, of impeaching all magistrates and officers in high stations for corrupt practices, and put the king in mind, as often as they think fit, of his coronation oath. Moreover, the nuncios’ power and authority appears the greater, in that no constitution or law is of any validity or force, that was not first begun in their house. Nay, their mareschal is to make the first motion for all laws; and when concluded upon, it is his office only to read them before the senate. For this reason, about nine years ago, in the year 1668, the mareschal protested against a certain law, because it was first concerted in the senate.
To confirm this authority, and for the further security of the nuncios, Sigismund I. in the year 1510, ordained that it should be high treason to injure any member of the diet, though he afterwards, in the year 1530, restrained this law to the royal person; but which, notwithstanding, John Casimir in some measure renewed in the year 1640.
As to their further privileges, if one of these nuncios commits any crime whatsoever, he is to be tried by his fellow members; which custom is in force a month before, and lasts as long after the breaking up of the diet.
Nor, whilst they are thus providing for the public good in
their house, does the king and senate pass their time idly in
Near the conclusion of the diet, and before the senators and nuncios are joined, the mareschal of the lower house, in a set speech, gives thanks to the deputies for the honour and favour they have conferred upon him, and is answered by one of the nuncios in the name of the rest, who returns him their acknowledgments for the faithful execution of his office.
To establish a law or constitution in the diet, is for the deputies first to propose it by their mareschal, and then the king and senate are to approve of it. But however, before it can have any force, it must be reviewed by the great mareschal and two deputies, or by three senators and six deputies. Having been thus reviewed, it is read out in the diet by the nuncio mareschal; after which the chancellor demands with a low voice, if the king, senate, and deputies consent to apply the seal to it; which being answered in the affirmative, it is presently sealed and enrolled among the acts in the registry of Warsaw; and this by the care of the deputies’ mareschal, who is to see it done soon after the conclusion of the session. After this, one of the king’s secretaries is to get it printed and dispersed among the several little diets and tribunals all over the kingdom.
By the constitution of the kingdom, the diet ought never to sit above six weeks; and the gentry are so very exact in observing this privilege, that as soon as that time is expired, they send their mareschal to take leave of the king in their name, and to acquaint him, that they intend to wait on him and kiss his hand; and they are so obstinately bent upon abiding by this custom, that though the urgencies of state require never so short a continuance of the diet after the time prescribed, yet they always vigorously oppose it, as they did in the year 1649, when the Tartars and Cossacks had almost overrun the kingdom.
The reason, it is to be presumed, why the members of
At this time likewise there is always such a crowd of soldiers, heydukes, and footmen in the streets, that it is not safe to be abroad in the night, for fear of being robbed or stripped naked, as it happens very often: for the Polish gentry give so very short allowance to their guards and servants, (a dragoon having but fifteen pence of our money per week to maintain his horse and himself,) that they must be forced to rob, and be otherwise very industrious, to live.
Every member of the diet, after having obtained leave of
the marshal, who can only stop their mouths, has a right to
speak and harangue there as long as he pleases; nay, can
say what he will; for they often abuse one another, and
affront their king to his face, branding him with the infamous
titles of “perjured, unjust,” &c. They very often likewise
threaten both him and his children, upon the least grounds
Hereupon there is nobody but sees the unhappy state of the government of Poland; that their constitutions and privileges are most pernicious; and that the unlimited and absolute liberty of each member makes all the republic slaves to the whimsy or factious obstinacy of one particular man. For can there be any thing more unreasonable, than, after the senators and deputies have come from most remote provinces with excessive expense to the diet, and laboured jointly with their sovereign to conclude matters for the common interest of the nation, it should be in the power of one disaffected or corrupted person, without giving any further reason than his own pleasure, to annul the proceedings of the rest, and to dissolve the diet, at a juncture especially, when there is the greatest necessity for their concurrence?
Thus, Sir, you may perceive that affairs of the greatest consequence depend not only on the prudent deliberations of sober men, but also on the capricious humours of the senseless and depraved; which excessive liberty of every private man shews, that both the nation and the diet have none at all.
Yet there is a policy in concluding matters by unanimous
consent; since this constitution was established to deprive
their kings of all means and opportunities of ever becoming
absolute: for they imagined it to be morally impossible, (as
it really is,) that whatever interest or authority the king
From what has been said, you may have just reason to admire how the Polish kingdom could subsist for above a thousand years with such bad constitutions, and still possess not only vast tracts of land, but also hitherto enjoy their freedom and liberties in their utmost force and extent. It is wonderful also, that far from losing or limiting any of their privileges, they rather enlarge and increase them, as often as they elect their kings. Nay, considering the power of their sovereign, the absolute prerogative every gentleman has in his own lands, in a manner above the laws, the turbulency of their diets, and the small obligation the officers think they lie under to perform their several duties, the Poles themselves have owned it to be no less than a miracle, that they should have subsisted as a kingdom and republic so long; I having heard them to say, “that their preservation was to be attributed to God alone, that protected them to be the invincible bulwark of Europe against the progress of the common enemies of Christendom, the Turks and Tartars.”
But here we have no need to have recourse to any peculiar providence bestowed by God upon the Poles, since, by our own ordinary recourse to all natural causes, we may easily infer that the Polish nation could not but subsist hitherto only, but likewise must, in all probability, last as long as any kingdom in Europe; and this for the following reasons.
First, Because, though the king’s power is limited by the
law, his credit and authority nevertheless is so great, that he
can dispose the affairs of the diet as he pleases, especially
where they tend to the public good of the kingdom; for
few, if any one at all, will venture to protest against any
proceedings there, that are for the interest of the nation,
unless they are supported by a good party of senators and
deputies; and this, because it is not only infamous and
Secondly, The order of the government, and their courage and resolution, does not so much contribute towards their preservation, as the envy and jealousies of their neighbours among themselves; for when the king of Sweden and the elector of Brandenburgh made war with Poland, the Tartars came to assist the Poles, and at the same time the king of Denmark made a diversion in Sweden: when the Tartars likewise declared war against Poland, most commonly either the emperor of Germany or the czar of Muscovy comes to its relief, or else make great diversions on their sides. For as it is the interest of the princes their neighbours not to let them grow to an exorbitance of power, so it is not at all for their benefit to let them perish; for whosoever could be able to conquer Poland, and unite it to his dominions, would quickly be too powerful to be put in balance with the rest.
Thirdly, The Poles, besides this, can the more easily
conserve their dominions, by reason that they have very few
strong forts or castles to shelter their enemies in, where
they happen to make any progress in their country; yet I
verily believe that an army of fifty thousand men well disciplined would at present conquer the whole kingdom of
Poland, though at the same time I am of opinion that an
hundred thousand could not be able to keep it. Carolus
I come now to my last particular; which is a short view of their customs and manners, such as I have already given no account of; and must assure you, that both men and women are extravagant to the last degree, insomuch that some among them will have fifty suits of clothes at once, all as rich as possible. But what shews their prodigality much more is, that they will have their servants go almost as well clad as themselves; whereby they generally waste away their estates in a short time, and are reduced to great poverty and want. As to their dwellingplaces, they never live above stairs, and their houses are not united: the kitchen is on one side, the stable on another, the house on another, and the gate in the front; all which make a court, either square or round.
The inside of these houses is generally hung with tapestry or arras; and all the rest of their householdstuff proportionably suitable. Yet towards Tartary they have little
or no rich furniture; and the gentry content themselves
with a few small beds with taffeta curtains, just enough to
The Poles are generally so great admirers of splendour and shew, that their ladies scarce stir out of doors, though little further than cross the way, without a coach and six horses, either to church, or to visit a neighbour; but the men for the greatest part go on horseback, and rarely on foot, which they look upon as ignoble. When the gentry of either sex go abroad at night, they have twenty-four or more white wax flambeaux carried before their coach. Wo men of quality for the generality have their trains borne up by he or she dwarfs: they have also an old woman with them, which they call their governante, and an old gentleman usher, whose office it is to follow their coach on foot, and to help them out of it when they alight; though the reason of these two old peopled waiting on them does not proceed from any jealousy in their husbands, as in most of the eastern countries, since the Polish ladies are generally very modest, and do not at all abuse the great liberty that is allowed them.
As the Poles bear their own losses, and suffer all disasters, with a great deal of temper, so likewise they regard the miseries and misfortunes of others with the same indifference; for they will often stand and see a house burn, without offering in the least to lend a helping hand to quench the fire. Neither are they more indulgent to their children, or, on the contrary, the children to their parents; both of whom are reciprocally suffered to continue slaves to the Tartars, when but a small sum of money would purchase their redemption.
As to their marriages, it must first be observed, that the feasts of those gentry always last three days, be they that make them either poor or rich; wherefore they are necessarily exceeding expensive; since, if a lady give in matrimony any one of her waiting maids, she generally expends as much as for one of her daughters: an instance of which I saw at court, during my lord ambassador Hyde’s stay at Zolkiew, when the queen celebrated the nuptials of one of her maids of honour after this manner. The first and second day she gave a very magnificent feast; for which purpose a large hall was pitched upon, where three tables were placed. At the first sat the king and queen, in a manner that both faced the entrance into the hall. Next the queen sat the couple that were to be married; and next to the king, the pope’s nuncio and archbishop of Gnesna, with the foreign ambassadors. At the two other tables, extending the whole length of the hall, were placed all the ladies, senators, and officers, except only such as attended upon the king and queen, all ranked according to their respective precedence.
This feast began both days precisely at four in the after noon, and lasted to the same hour of the next morning; and it was observable that the senators eat very little, but drank Hungarian wine to an immoderate degree; nor did the bi shops themselves shew any great tokens of continence, they leaving their seats very often, to go up to the king’s table, and drink his majesty’s health on their knees. The ladies, out of modesty, only touched the tops of the glasses with their lips, and so sat them down before them, or poured them into their plates, in such a manner that abundance more wine was spilt than drank by them.
When they had sitten about five or six hours at table,
the violins and a little sort of portable organ began to strike
up, and then they spent the rest of the time in dancing. In
this exercise every body joined; and even I myself, who
have no manner of relish for such unedifying vagaries,
had a Madonna put into my hand by the bishop of Plosko,
On the second day, all the guests presented the bride with something new; and none gave less than a piece of plate: which presents were all made in the presence of the queen, it being the custom to perform this ceremony just before they sit down to table. These made a good part of the bride’s portion.
On the third day, the espousals were solemnized after this manner. All the guests accompanied the bridegroom and bride on horseback to church, as likewise in their return home. During all the time of their going and coming, the trumpets sounded from the balconies on each side of the way. When the bride had been conducted to her husband’s house, where a noble entertainment had been prepared, she, at the departure of the company after dinner was ended, fell a crying; it being the custom, it seems, in Poland, for maids to weep at that time, and to seem concerned, for fear they should be thought impudent and immodest.
The men and women that stand godfathers and god mothers together at christenings, are thenceforward deemed to be cousins and relations, though they were not so before, and consequently cannot be married to each other, without a dispensation from the bishop of the diocese.
The ceremonies of burial also in Poland are usually celebrated with so great pomp and magnificence, that one would
rather take them for triumphs than interments. At these,
the corpse having been put into a velvet coffin with large
thick silver plates at each corner, is placed in a hearse or
chariot with six horses all covered with black housings.
The coffin has a large black velvet pall thrown over it,
with a cross of red satin in the middle, and six long black
I shall close all with the customs and manners of travel
ling in Poland. As an introduction to which, you are to
understand, that there are scarce any inns in that country,
except those the natives call karczmas, where travellers are
obliged to lodge with the cattle. These inns, or rather long
stables, are all built up with boards, and covered with
straw: within there is no furniture; neither are there any
windows, but all the light comes in either at holes made by
the weather, or the crevices of ill-joined boards. It is true,
at the further end they have a little chamber with a fire-hearth; but to make an abatement for that, there is no
lodging in it, because of the gnats, fleas, bugs, and especially the noisome smell that incommodes it. For if they
happen to have a little window there, (which is a rarity if
they do,) yet they never open it, though the weather be at
its extremity of heat: so that strangers choose to lie in the
aforesaid stable, where the gospodarz or innkeeper lodges
himself and his family, than to be suffocated by the stink
and smell of so close and small a room. In the long room
there is also an intolerable smell, occasioned by a parcel of
rotten cabbages, which those people always keep by them.
In the inns or stables there are no tables or beds, except one of the last in the little room just mentioned, which no body cares to lie in, because they can have no sheets but what are as coarse as sackcloth, and have been often lain in before. Neither is the straw in the stable much better, be cause (even of that) every company cannot have fresh: for the gospodarz, after his guests are gone, generally gathers it up, and preserves it for new comers. Yet is it, in this condition, preferable to the bed, by reason that he most commonly airs it after it has been used.
By reason of this ill entertainment on the roads, all travellers in this country are obliged to have a calash with two horses, wherein they carry all their necessaries and provisions. Their beds, quilts, bolsters, sheets, and the like, are generally packed up in a large serge bag, which afterwards serves them instead of a seat in their leathern convenience. They must provide also for the belly, by a case of bottles, wherein to put the drink they make use of on the road, and a basket for their meat, bread, &c. Moreover, they must furnish themselves with every individual thing that they may have occasion for, and take care to renew what they have exhausted, whenever an opportunity shall offer: for he that expects any thing but the indifferent lodging which I have before spoken of, will be in a fair way of laying down in it supperless.
Thus you may perceive, sir, that one that travels in Po
land must, as it were tortoise or Tartar like, carry his whole
house with him, and besides undergo not a few incommodities to boot. However, when a man is provided as above,
he may travel at a very inconsiderable expense; for lodging,
as indeed it ought, costs but very little; and there is nothing
to pay for any thing else, because it cannot be got: the reason, I suppose, being, that the gentry of the country never
offer to pay for what they call for, since there is no way to
force them to it; so that when they ask for any thing, the
Poland being for the most part a flat and champaign country, a calash and two horses will rid a great deal of ground there in a day. Some of the gentry are so provident as to drive their own calashes themselves; but of these there are but few, stateliness being more in vogue with them, than to suffer them to stoop to an employ fit for their meanest servants. When they come to the inn, they generally put their horses to grass, because the gospodarz will not be easily induced to trust them for hay. There are some likewise that travel on horseback, with a quilt for their bed, about a foot and half broad, laid under their saddle. They commonly employ the gospodarz to fetch them in beer, bread, and whatever else they have occasion for; and which service he is not to refuse at his peril.
He that travels in winter will find it a very hard thing to rest anights, especially on holydays, because then all the peasants of the village are gathered together to carouse and make merry in that long room where you are obliged to lodge for want of a fire elsewhere; for at that time there is no sleeping without; nay, as I said before, scarce with it, (though men are commonly weary when they come off a journey,) these men making such a continued din in your ears with their excessive singing and dancing about the room, which none perform more awkwardly, there being a custom of rewarding a hard drinker here in Poland, by presenting him with a shirt, frock, handkerchief, and the like.
Yet notwithstanding this vice, to which they are most unmercifully addicted, I may affirm, that, as to the character
of the Poles in general, they exceed all the nations of Europe in vivacity of spirit, strength of body, and length of
First, from their diet; which, as to meat, is generally fresh roasted flesh (for they scarce ever eat any boiled, or salt, which causes the scurvy) and fowl; which increases the volatile and hard salts, and gives being to their vigour of body and soul.
Secondly, from their drink, which is spirituous and strong; being chiefly Hungarian wine burnt, or anise seed water, both which they guzzle down in great quantities almost all day long; the poorer sort having a liquor distilled from wheat, oats, or barley, which the gentry rectify with anise seeds or aromatics.
Thirdly, from their living hardly, for they hate effeminacy; and a poor country cottage pleases them as well as a palace; and they frequently weave tapestry and arras as they travel along the road. Nay, many of them will sleep in time of frost and snow without any bed or other conveniency; and the little children, two months after they have been born, have been carried about stark naked in that season.
Fourthly, from hunting, which is very much in use with them; they being expert in horsemanship to the greatest perfection.
Fifthly, from other exercises; as dancing, leaping, vaulting, jumping. They are likewise exceedingly given to talking, wherewith they agree with the French.
Sixthly, their hard beds, fasting, and temperance in eating, very much contribute towards their long lives; for hard beds knit their joints, and temperance at meals revives their spirits. Their slaves among them have no beds, and the masters seldom use any thing but quilts.
Seventhly, their health, vigour, and long lives may reasonably receive an addition from their great freedom and
privileges; for where a slavish dependance hebetates and
blunts the mind, and consequently enervates the body,
Thus having acquitted myself of every particular I gave the promise of, I must, in discharge of the friendship you honour me with, put the last hand to this long tiresome let ter; which I cannot better do, than by my addresses to the great Preserver of mankind, to keep you in the same state of health which I left you in at my departure from Oxford shire; that I may at my return (which I more and more wish for, through the consideration of the great advantages I shall receive from it) be restored to the happiness of your conversation; than which nothing can be more improving to or desired by,
My best friend and most honoured instructor,
Your most faithful
and most obliged servant,
ROBERT SOUTH.
Dantzick,
Dec. 16, 1677.
Soon after the doctor’s return from Poland, he was, by the dean and chapter of the collegiate church of Westminster, in consideration of his great abilities to discharge the pastoral office, made choice of to succeed Dr. Edward Hinton as rector of Islip in Oxfordshire, a living of 200l. per annum; 100l. of which, out of his generous temper, he allowed to the Rev. Mr. Penny, (student of Christ Church,) his curate; and the other he expended in the educating and apprenticing the poorer children of that place. After having been two years incumbent there, he caused the chancel, that had been suffered miserably to run to ruin by his predecessor, to be rebuilt, as appears from the following inscription over the entrance into the chancel:
ROBERTUS SOUTH, S. T. P.
In Ecclesiam hanc Parochialem
Inductus Anno 1678,
Propriis Sumptibus hanc
Cancellariam a Fundamentis
Instauravit extruxitque Anno Domini 1680.
He likewise having found the mansion-house belonging to the rector much too mean for the largeness of the stipend, and having heard of the honour done to that village by the birth of Edward the Confessor, (as that king himself declares in his charter, whereby he gives that village, and other lands thereunto adjacent, to St. Peter’s church in Westminster,) caused the shattered remains of it to be to tally pulled down, and an edifice erected in a more convenient part of the town. The land upon which he built it, with a handsome garden, he purchased as a perpetual mansion for himself and successors; which may now vie with most parsonage houses in England, as may be seen in Dr. White Kennet’s Parochial Antiquities, wherein he gives a view of it in a plate inscribed to Dr. South, whose coat of arms is engraved over it, with this inscription, Viro reverendo Roberto South, S. T. P. rectori ecclesiae de Islip, tabulam hanc, quae amplum et elegantem rectoriae mansum suis impensis constructum representat, D. D. White Kennet. Nos admiremur, imitentur posteri. Though in what year this house was built, I am not hitherto informed.
In the year 1681, the doctor, who was then one of his majesty’s chaplains in ordinary, being in waiting, preached before the king upon these words, The lot is cast into the lap, but the disposing of it is of the Lord. Wherein, having spoken of the various changes and dispensations of Providence, and the unaccountable accidents and particulars of life, he introduces these three examples of unexpected advancements after this manner:
“Who that had looked upon Agathocles first handling the clay, and making pots under his father, and afterwards turning robber, could have thought, that from such a condition he should come to be king of Sicily?
“Who that had seen Masinello, a poor fisherman, with his red cap and his angle, would have reckoned it possible to see such a pitiful thing, within a week after, shining in his cloth of gold, and with a word or a nod absolutely commanding the whole city of Naples?
“And who, that had beheld such a bankrupt, beggarly
During the remaining part of king Charles the second’s reign, wherein he continued a strenuous assertor of the prerogatives of the crown against such as were industrious towards their diminution, what by the interest of his patron, who, at his return from his embassy, was made lord Hyde and viscount Wootton Basset, and what by his own merits, he had several offers of advancement into the hierarchy, which he modestly declined, as having wherewithal to sup port himself according to the dignities of the church he stood possessed of, and the distribution of charities he had already settled, and intended to lay schemes for.
In order to this, he made some purchases of houses on Ludgate-hill and Token-house Yard; which puts me in mind of a tenant of his, one Mr. Taylor, then living upon Ludgate-hill, a rigid Presbyterian, who, during the time of Oates’s sham plot, had nothing but the whore of Babylon before his eyes, and dreamt of nothing but evidences, forty thousand Spanish pilgrims with long bills, butchers knives, gags, gridirons, and what not. This man, upon his coming to the doctor in order to pay his rent, could not but discover his fears of the introduction of popery, and the dismal circumstances of fire and fagot, with many other terrible ideas of persecution and enslavement. At which the doctor smiling, bid him be of good cheer, and very briskly told him, that “churchmen indeed might have some grounds for such apprehensions, but that persons of his persuasion had nothing to fear on the account of religion, since they were too great hypocrites to die martyrs.”
On the accession of king James the second to the throne,
Among others, the earl of Rochester, who was his majesty’s brother-in-law, and therefore very dear to him, was
examined concerning his opinion and sentiments relating
to the king’s will and pleasure, which his majesty was fully
bent to have obedience paid to by all about him on pain of
removal. Hereupon the good earl, after having, like a faithful counsellor, pointed out the fatal consequences of his majesty’s impolitic
resolves, and begged him to desist from an enterprise that would be found
impracticable, very submissively and prudently made answer, that he had been
bred up in the principles of a religion which taught him
that obedience to his prince which he had hitherto never
failed in; and that his duty to God, who was the King of
kings, obliged him to continue in the practice of them.
However, if his majesty should be so pleased, (so certain
was he of the truth of the doctrines he had received from
the primitive church,) he was willing to abide by the result
of a dispute between two church of England divines and
two of the church of Rome; being not fearful of venturing to say, that, to which
side soever the victory should incline, his lordship would from that time abide
by that which conquered. Hereunto the king very readily agreed, and immediately nominated the fathers Giffard and Tilden for his
two champions, and appointed the rule of faith to be the
The residue of king James’s reign being taken up in acts
of bigotry and violence, after he had quelled Monmouth’s rebellion, (towards the suppression of which the doctor
openly professed, that if there should be occasion, he would
change his black gown for a buff coat,) gives us no farther
particulars of Dr. South, than that he spent the greatest part
of his time at Islip and Oxford, and sometimes at his paternal
estate at Caversham in Oxfordshire, near Reading, where he
was busied in preparing most of those excellent sermons for
the press, which have since seen the light, and exercised himself in devotions to deprecate the judgments that seemed to
Yet, how ludicrous soever such expressions as these may
seem, when applied to a man of his character, so inexhaustible and flowing was his wit, that it even broke through him
in his most serious meditations; and it ought to be imputed
to his zeal for the honour of the true religion, if he, in
many of his discourses, is found harsh and acrimonious.
Lukewarmness in devotion was what his soul abhorred, and
he looked upon sectarists of all sorts as enemies, who, though
different in persuasion, joined together in attempts for the
destruction of the holy catholic church; and to thwart their
measures, he was unwearied in his persuasions, wheresoever
he went, and wheresoever he preached, to excite his audience to the most ardent and holy affections for the cause of
God and his church. Not that he, as many others did, levelled his satires against the court, or would speak evil of
those powers whom God in his wise dispensation had set
over us; not that he uttered grievances from the pulpit,
or sought the alteration of the government by bringing in
texts of scripture in justification of resistance and taking
However, when the revolution was happily brought about, and the king thought fit to abdicate his kingdom by flying into France; when the convention had settled the crown upon the prince and princess of Orange, and he saw himself deserted by that sovereign who should have continued to protect him; he, after many struggles with himself, and many conflicts with others, was convinced that obedience and protection were reciprocal terms; and that when the latter ceased to be of any use to him, the former was void also; though as to the time of his closing in with the government newly settled, I cannot be particular; notwithstanding I am perfectly well assured that he stood out for some time, and at last did not come in upon any temporal considerations: it having always been known to be his practice rather to slight riches, than to have an overweening desire after them; and to keep his conscience void of offence towards God and towards man, than to indulge any earthly appetite.
Yet though Dr. South complied so far with the necessity
of the times, as to acknowledge the settlement to be legal,
upon the foot of the revolution, when offers were made him
by some great men at the helm, who had then the benefit of
the royal ear, of procuring him a very great dignity in the
church, upon the vacating several of the episcopal sees,
for refusing the oaths of allegiance to their majesties king
William and queen Mary, in the year 1691, he very handsomely
To return to Dr. South, who by no means liked the act of
toleration for all Protestant dissenters, nor could well relish
some proceedings at court, whereby he suspected (how justly
I will not take upon me to determine) some persons to be
countenanced, and in great power, who were enemies to the
church established; he laid hold of all occasions to decry
their measures, and baffle their designs. And as he had vigorously exerted himself with the commissioners appointed
by the king in 1689, for an union with dissenting Protest
ants, in behalf of our Liturgy and forms of prayer, and entreated them by no means to part with any of its ceremonies
that might have endangered the loss of the whole; so he
scarce ever preached, but he set before his auditors the
mischiefs that would arise by admitting such vipers into the
revenues of the church, that would eat their way through
In the year 1693, the pestilent sect of the Socinians, by the countenance of the act of toleration, and the loose sentiments of some of our own divines, had gotten considerable ground in England since the revolution, and being favoured by the licentiousness of the press, they published many of their pamphlets, enough to provoke any Christian government. Hereupon, either to check their insolence, or aggrandize himself in the opinion of the world, Dr. Sherlock, then dean of St. Paul’s by his new conversion, undertook the vindication of that orthodox doctrine concerning the Trinity. But because mysteries of faith, being above reason, are not to be explained by reason, since they would thereby cease to be mysteries; it fared with the doctor, that while he made it his endeavour to prove three distinct Persons, he was very justly charged with proving three distinct Gods; having asserted that there were in the Godhead three minds, three beings, and three intelligences; which gave the Unitarians occasion to triumph, and made it necessary that one well-skilled champion should arise for the defence of the truth delivered down to us by the holy gospel.
Hereupon Dr. South, one whom his very antagonists al lowed to be a person every way qualified, engaged the bold Tritheist, and so handled him, that he had little else to have recourse to than superficial and trifling evasions; and the charge of Tritheism upon him was no supposed crime, but a most real, and, what is more, a premeditated offence. But it must be confessed, that it had been much more for the honour of them both, had they not been so severe upon the characters of each other, and had entered less into searches after those unfathomable depths which are imperceptible, and by the divine will are likewise ever to remain so, and therefore ought by all Christians to be revered as mysteries that surpass human understanding.
Dr. Sherlock entitled his book, A Vindication of the holy and ever blessed Trinity. And Dr. South published his reply (without his name) under the following title: Animadversions upon Dr. Sherlock’s Book, entitled, A Vindication of the holy and ever blessed Trinity, &c. Together with a more necessary Vindication of that sacred and prime Article of the Christian Faith from his new Notions and false Explications of it; humbly offered to his Admirers, and to himself the chief of them. By a Divine of the Church of England. The preface to which he begins thus, viz.
“To be impugned from without, and betrayed from within, is certainly the worst condition that either church or state can fall into; and the best of churches, the “church of England, has had experience of both. It had been to be wished, and (one would think) might very reasonably have been expected, that when Providence had took the work of destroying the church of England out of the Papists’ hands, some would have been contented with her preferments, without either attempting to give up her rights and liturgy, or deserting her doctrine. But it has proved much otherwise. And amongst those who are justly chargeable with the latter, I know none who has faced, the world and defied the church with so bold a front, as the author of two very heterodox books; the first entitled, A Discourse concerning the Knowledge of Jesus Christ, &c. published in the year 1674: and the other, A Vindication of the Doctrine of the holy and ever blessed Trinity, &c. and (as one would think) wrote purposely to let the world see, that the truth cannot be so much shaken by a direct opposition, as by a treacherous and false defence.”
“Really our author has shewn himself very communicative to the world: for as in the beginning of his book
he has vouchsafed to instruct us how to judge of contradictions, so in the progress of his work he has condescended to teach us (if we will but learn) how to speak
and write contradictions too. There remains therefore
“It is indeed an amazing thing to consider, that any one man should presume to browbeat all the world at such a rate; and we may well wonder at the force of his confidence and self-conceit, that it should be able to raise any one to such a pitch. But naturalists have observed, that blindness in some animals is a very great help and instigation to boldness. And amongst men, as Ignorance is commonly said to be the mother of devotion, so, in account for the birth and descent of Confidence too, (whatsoever cause some may derive it from,) yet certainly he who makes Ignorance the mother of this also, reckons its pedigree by the surer side.” Chap. ii. p. 67.
“Our author not being satisfied with the account given of the mystery of the blessed Trinity by the schools, nor with those notions about it which have hitherto obtained in the world till he carne into it; (no doubt as a person peculiarly sent and qualified to rectify all those imperfect and improper notions which had been formerly received by divines;) he, I say, with a lofty, undertaking mind, and a reach beyond all before, and indeed beside him, and (as the issue is like to prove) as much above him too, undertakes to give the world a much better and more satisfactory explication of this great mystery; and that, by two new terms or notions (purely and solely) of his own invention, called self consciousness and mutual consciousness; which, though still joined together by our author, in his explication of the blessed Trinity, have yet very different effects.” Chap. iii. in princip.
“He exposes a poor, senseless, infant hypothesis to the wide world, and then very unmercifully leaves it to shift for itself.” In eodem cap. versus finem.
“I dismiss his two so much admired terms, (by himself, I mean,) as in no degree answering the expectation he
“And indeed I cannot but here further declare, that to me it seems one of the most preposterous and unreasonable things in nature, for any one first to assert three Gods, and, when he has so well furnished the world with deities, to expect that all mankind should fall down and worship them.” Chap. v. page 143.
“Certainly one would think, that the very shame of the world, and that common awe and regard of truth, which nature has imprinted on the minds of men, should keep any one from offering to impose upon men in so gross and shameless a manner, as to venture to call a notion or opinion the constant doctrine both of the fathers and schools; nay, and to profess to make it out, and shew it to be so; and while he is so doing, not to produce one father or schoolman; I say again, not so much as one of either, in behalf of that which he so confidently and expressly avows to be the joint sentiments of both. This surely is a way of proving, or rather of imposing, peculiar to himself. But we have seen how extremely fond he is of this new term and notion: and therefore, since he will needs have the reputation of being the sole father and begetter of the hopeful issue, there is no reason in the world that antiquity should find other fathers to maintain it.” Chap. vi. p. 168.
“The book called by him A Vindication of the Trinity,
“I cannot see any new advantage he has got over the Socinians, unless it be that he thinks his three Gods will be too hard for their one. And perhaps it is upon presumption of this, that he discharges that clap of thunder at them in his preface, where he tells us, that having dipped his pen in the vindication of so glorious a cause, by the grace of God he will never desert it, while he can hold pen in hand. In which words methinks I see him ready armed and mounted, (with his face towards the west,) and brandishing his sword aloft, all reeking with Socinian blood, and with the very darts of his eyes looking his poor forgotten friends through and through. For in good earnest the words sound very terribly to these men; but most terribly of all to the article itself, (which is like to suffer most by his Vindication;) for thus to threaten that he will never leave off vexing it, as long as he can hold pen in hand, (which I dare say will be as long as he can tell money with it,) this, I say again, sounds very dreadfully.” P. 359.
In 1695, Dr. Sherlock published a Defence of himself
against the animadverter; to which Dr. South replied (incog, as before) in a treatise, entitled,
Tritheism charged
upon Dr. Sherlock’s new Notion of the Trinity. And the
Charge made good, in Answer to the Defence of the said
Notion against the Animadversions, &c. This piece he thus
addressed, To all Professors of Divinity in the two Universities of this Kingdom. “Our church’s enemies of late,”
says he, “seem to have diverted their main attacks from her outworks in matters of discipline and ceremony; and now
it is no less than her very capitol which they invade; her palladium (if I may allude to such expressions) which
they would rob her of; even the prime, the grand, and distinguishing article of our Christianity, the article of the
blessed Trinity itself; without the belief of which, I dare aver that a man can no more be a
Christian, than he can,
If it must be the lot of the church of England to sit down, and see her most holy religion practised upon by such wretched innovations as can tend only to ridicule and expose the chief articles of it to the scorn of Arians and Socinians, and all this under pretence of explaining them; I can but say, God deliver our poor church from such explainers, and our creed from such explications. And as I heartily commiserate the unhappy state of that, so I really pity this bold man himself, that he should be thus suffered to go on venting his scandalous heterodoxies, without finding either friends to counsel, or superiors to control him.” Page 71.
“That the Holy Ghost is called προβολὴ, not by emanation, but by procession, is just as if one should say of Peter, that he is not a living creature, but a man. From all which it follows, that this author is grossly ignorant of the true philosophical sense of the term emanation; sometimes applying it to one thing, and sometimes denying it of another; but both at a venture, and just as people use to do at blindman’s buff.” Page 76.
“The soul of Socrates, vitally joined with a female body, would certainly make a
woman; and yet, according to this author’s principle, (affirming that it is the
soul, and the soul only, which makes the person,) Socrates, with
such a change of body, would continue the same person,
“If he proves, that three absolute entire beings can be three relative subsistences or modifications of one and the same infinite mind or being, then I will grant, that he has defended his assertion against the animadverter; and not only so, but that he has full power also (by a theological use of his own making) to alter the sense and signification of all words, in spite of the world, and by virtue of the same, (if he pleases,) may call the deanery of St. Paul’s the archbishopric of Canterbury, and behave himself accordingly.”” Pages 243, 244.
“He excepts against Bellarmine’s orthodoxy, (because forsooth he was a Papist,) like that profound dotard who reproved a young student for reading Clavius upon Euclid, telling him that he ought to read none but Protestant mathematics: surely the Romish writers are as orthodox about the article of the Trinity, as any Protestant writers whatsoever!” P. 256.
“When I look back upon that shrewd remark of his, with which he begins the said answer, viz. That logic is a very troublesome thing when men want sense, (p. 93. l. 7,) I must confess, that he here speaks like a man who understands himself; and that having so often shewn, how troublesome a thing logic is to him, by his being so angry with it, he now gives a very satisfactory reason why it is so: and therefore, in requital of it, I cannot but tell him, that if logic without sense be so troublesome, confidence, without either logic, or sense, or truth, or shame, or so much as conscience of what one says or denies, is intolerable.” P. 274.
“And so I take my leave of the dean’s three distinct, infinite minds, spirits, or
substances, that is to say, of his three Gods; and having done this, methinks I see him go whimpering away, with his finger in his eye, and that
complaint of Micah in his mouth,
The result of this paper war gave the victory to Dr. South, and decided after a most extraordinary manner in his favour: for Mr. Bingham, fellow of University college in Oxford, having some time after taken upon him to fall in with Dr. Sherlock’s notions, and asserted, in a sermon before the university, “that there were three infinite distinct minds and substances in the Trinity; and also that the three Persons in the Trinity are three distinct minds or spirits, and three individual substances;” was censured by a solemn decree there in convocation: wherein, “they judge, declare, and determine the aforesaid words, lately delivered in the said sermon, to be false, impious, and heretical, disagreeing with, and contrary to the doctrine of the church of England publicly received.”
But this decree rather irritated the parties than composed
the differences: whereupon the king interposed his royal
authority, by directions to the archbishops and bishops, that
no preacher whatsoever, in his sermon or lecture, should
presume to deliver any other doctrine concerning the blessed
Trinity, than what was contained in the holy scriptures,
and was agreeable to the three Creeds and the Thirty-nine
Articles of Religion; which put an end to the controversy,
though not till after both the disputants (with Dr. Burnet,
master of the Charter-house, who about the same time published his Archaeologia, whereby he impugned and weakened,
as much as in him lay, the divine truths of the Old Testament)
Whether this ballad is worded with that decency that the
subject of the dispute, or the very eminent and learned persons
Nor can I account for the manifest partiality of some
great men in favour of Dr. Sherlock; especially of Dr. Stillingfleet, then bishop of Worcester, a person every way
qualified for the high dignity he was invested with, and of
a most excelling judgment in all points of human and divine
literature; who though, in his preface to his Vindication of the
Trinity, quotes this sentence against the manner of the treatment the two antagonists gave each other; viz.
Oderit rixas
et jurgia, praesertimque inter eruditos, ac turpe esse dicebat,
viros indubitate doctos canina rabie famam vicissim suam
rodere ac lacerare scriptis trucibus, tanquam vilissimos de
plebe cerdones in angiportis sese luto ac stercore conspurcantes. Nic. Rigalt. Vit. P. Puteani, p. 48. i. e.
“He ever hated broils and opprobrious language, especially among the learned; and said, it was a very odious and unseemly thing,
for men, who were undoubtedly renowned for knowledge and understanding, to insult and tear to pieces each other’s
reputations, in their inhuman writings, with a canine fury, not unfitly compared to cobblers sprung from the vilest
dregs of the people, bespattering each other in lanes and
This Dr. South was very accurately apprised of; and not
withstanding his great deference for his lordship’s unquestionable skill in polemical and casuistical divinity, joined to
his obedience to the royal mandate and the episcopal order,
held his hands from entering the lists with him in a controversial way, he could not but have a fling at them both, in a
dedication to Narcissus Boyle, archbishop of Dublin; See vol. ii. p. 226.
“But at length happily steps in the royal authority to the church’s relief, with several healing injunctions in its
hands, for the composing and ending the disputes about the Trinity then on foot; and those indeed so wisely
framed, so seasonably timed, and (by the king, at least,) so graciously intended, that they must, in all likelihood,
(without any other Irenicon,) have restored peace to the church, had it
not been for the importunity and partiality of some, who having by the awe of
these injunctions endeavoured to silence the opposite party, (which by their
arguments they could not do,) and withal looking upon
“But, blessed be God, matters stand not so with you in Ireland; the climate there being not more impatient of poisonous animals, than the church of poisonous opinions: an universal concurrent orthodoxy shining all over it, from the superior clergy who preside, to the inferior placed under them: so that we never hear from thence of any presbyter, and much less of any dean, who dares innovate upon the faith received: and least of all (should such a wretch chance to start up among you) can I hear of any bishop likely to debase his style and character so low, as either to defend the man, or colour over his opinions. Nor, lastly, do we find that in the judgment of the clergy there, a man’s having wrote against one sort of heresy or heterodoxy, ought to justify or excuse him in writing for another, and much less for a worse.”
His character likewise of high and low churchmen, in the
same dedication, highly deserve a place in these Memoirs;
not only because they speak the sense and opinion of the
author, but impress upon the minds of disinterested and
impartial readers the same ideas which his was filled with: “Those of the ancienter members of her (viz. the church
Much about this time, the doctor’s unwearied application
to his studies brought upon him the bloody flux, which was
followed by the strangury, that scarce left him, but for some
transitory releases from it, to his last moments; yet, notwithstanding the uneasiness this must needs give him, he still
kept up his sprightliness and vivacity of temper with the
few friends he conversed with, which were always well
chosen; and so far was he from deserving the character of
a morose and reserved person by a certain author, (who
said, that the sourness of his disposition, which made him
unfit for conversation, made him a scholar,) that whosoever
was once in his company, went off with such a relish of his
wit and good humour, as to covet the coming into it, though
————ridentem Flaccus amicum
Tangit, et admissus circum praecordia ludit.
During the greatest part of the reign of queen Anne, he was in a state of inactivity; and the infirmities of old age growing fast upon him, he performed very little of the duties of the ministerial function, otherwise than, when his health would allow of his going to the abbey church at Westminster, to be present at divine service; though he would take a journey sometimes to his seat near Reading, having always two chairmen attending his coach to take him out, when he was uneasy through the means of his indisposition before mentioned, and carry him in the chair; for which service he was so bountiful, as constantly to allow them ten pounds for the journey.
Notwithstanding his ill state of health, he continued his wonted recourse to books, and the improvement of his mind, (which had a sufficient magazine of learning before,) almost to the day of his death; and it was with great difficulty that his surgeon, who had the cure of a sore leg two or three years since under hand, prevailed on him not to creep into his study too often; which yet he could not refrain.
Yet, notwithstanding all these impediments to activity and motion, none shewed a greater concern for the church, when he judged it to be in danger: he was unwearied in his application to many of the lords spiritual and temporal, to be mild and gentle in their sentence against Dr. Sacheverell, whose trial came on in 1710, and who is highly indebted to him for a very successful advocate.
Upon the change of the ministry, when Mr. Bromley, an
illustrious and truly honest patriot, came to preside at helm,
in the post of one of her late majesty’s principal secretaries
of state, the Dr. was again solicited and courted to accept of
higher dignities of the church, and to become one of the
fathers of it, that had been so very dutiful a son; more
On the death of queen Anne, of immortal and ever blessed memory, the doctor told a friend of his, that was wont to visit him once or twice a week, “that it was time for him to prepare for his journey to a blessed immortality; since all that was good and gracious, and the very breath of his nostrils, had made its departure to the regions of bliss and eternal happiness.”
Accordingly, he began thenceforward to set his house in order, and to provide for the further good of posterity, as will be seen by his generous benefactions.
In the year 1715, he published a fourth volume of excellent sermons, which he inscribed to Mr. Bromley in the
The next thing he had to do, was to shew his zeal and gratitude for and to the family of the late duke of Ormond, (who had unhappily forfeited his title by a bill of attainder in parliament,) in causing himself to be brought in a chair to the election of a new high steward, vacant upon the forfeiture of his said late grace. The candidates were the duke of Newcastle and the earl of Arran, the late duke’s only brother, who had lost his election, had not Dr. South (who was in a manner bedridden) made the voices of the prebendaries equal, by saying very briskly, when he was asked whom he would vote for,
“Heart and hand for my lord Arran.”
So that the dean, who had the casting vote, determined the choice in his lordship’s favour.
This being the last time he went abroad, it is easy to imagine, that weakness, the attendant upon old age, made very quick advances towards his dissolution, which happened on Sunday the 8th day of July, 1716.
Four days after his decease, the corpse having for some
time lain in a decent manner in the Jerusalem chamber, was
brought into the college hall, where a Latin oration was
spoken by Mr. John Barber, captain of the king’s scholars.
Thence it was attended by the bishop of Rochester, with
the prebendaries who were in town, the masters, the scholars,
the whole choir, and all the servants belonging to that royal
foundation, with many worthy members of the university and
college of Christ Church in Oxford. Upon their entry into the
Having brought the remains of this great and good man
with peace to the grave, we shall conclude these memoirs
with giving his character, as drawn up by an eminent
hand: Tatler, No. 205. Tatler, No. 205.
“The last instance,” says he, “in which, above all others, this confidence towards God does most eminently shew and exert itself, is at the time of death; which surely gives the grand opportunity of trying both the strength and worth of every principle. When a man shall be just about to quit the stage of this world, to put off his mortality, and to deliver up his last accounts to God; at which sad time, his memory shall serve him for little else, but to terrify him with a frightful review of his past life, and his former extravagances stripped of all their pleasure, but retaining their guilt: what is it then, that can promise him a fair passage into the other world, or a comfortable appearance before his dreadful Judge, when he is there? Not all the friends and interests, all the riches and honours under heaven, can speak so much as a word for him, or one word of comfort to him in that condition: they may possibly reproach, but they cannot relieve him.
“No; at this disconsolate time, when the busy tempter shall be more than usually apt to vex and trouble him, and the pains of a dying body to hinder and discompose him, and the settlement of worldly affairs to disturb and confound him; and, in a word, all things conspire to make his sick bed grievous and uneasy: nothing can then stand up against all these ruins, and speak life in the midst of death, but a clear conscience.
“And the testimony of that shall make the comforts of heaven descend upon his weary head, like a refreshing dew or shower upon a parched ground. It shall give him some lively earnests and secret anticipations of his approaching joy. It shall bid his soul go out of the body undauntedly, and lift up its head with confidence before saints and angels. Surely the comfort which it conveys at this season is something bigger than the capacities of mortality, mighty and unspeakable, and not to be understood, till it comes to be felt.
“And now, who would not quit all the pleasures, and trash, and trifles, which are apt to captivate the heart of
man, and pursue the greatest rigours of piety, and austerities of a good life, to purchase to himself such a con” science, as, at the hour of death, when all the friendships of
the world shall bid him adieu, and the whole creation turn its back upon him, shall dismiss the soul, and close
his eyes with that blessed sentence, Well done, thou good and faithful servant; enter thou into the joy of thy
Lord? Vol. ii. p. 222, 223.
In the south aisle of Westminster-abbey, joining to Dr. Busby’s, is erected a very noble marble monument to the memory of Dr. South, with his effigies in a cumbent posture, containing the following inscription:
Ab hoc hand procul marmore,
Juxta Praeceptoris BUSBEII cineres, suos conquiescere voluit
ROBERTUS SOUTH, S. T. P.
Vir Eruditione, Pietate, Moribus antiquis,
Scholae Westmonasteriensis,
deinde Ædis Christi Alumnus.
Et post restauratum CAROLUM, magno favente CLARENDONO,
Utriusque in quo sensim adoleverat Collegii Prebendarius,
Ecclesiae Anglicanae et florentis et afflictae Propugnator assiduus,
Fidei Christianae Vindex acerrimus.
In Concionibus novo quodam et plane suo,
Sed illustri, sed admirabili dicendi genere excellens;
Ut harum rerum peritis dubitandi sit locus,
Utrum ingenii acumine an argumentorum vi,
Utrum doctrinae ubertate, an splendore verborum et pondere
praestaret:
Hisce certe omnibus simul instructus adjumentis
Animos audientium non tenuit tantum, sed percelluit, iuflammavit.
Erat ille humaniorum Literarum et primaevae Theologiae, cum paucis, sciens;
In Scholasticorum interim Scriptis idem versatissimus,
E quibus quod sanum est et succulentum expressit,
Idque a rerum futilium disquisitione et Vocabulorum involucris liberatum,
Luculenta oratione illustravit.
Si quando vel in rerum, vel in hominum, vitia acerbius est
invectus,
Ne hoc aut partium studio, aut Naturae cuidam asperitati tribuatur,
Eam quippe is de rebus omnibus sententiam aperte protulit,
Quam ex maturo Animi
sui Judicio amplexus est:
Et cum esset Ipse suae Integritatis conscius,
Quicquid in Vita turpe, quicquid in Religione fucatum fictumque viderat,
Illud omne liberrima indignatione commotus profligavit.
His intentus Studiis, haec animo semper agitans,
Hominum a consortio cum esset remotior, auxilio tamen non defuit.
Quam enim benignum, quam misericordem in calamitosos animum gesserit,
Largis Muneribus vivens moriensque testatus est.
Upon the Pedestal.
Apud ISLIPAM Ecclesiae Sacrarium et Rectoris Domum de integro extruxit,
Ibidem Scholam erudiendis pauperum liberis instituit et dotavit. Literis et
hic loci, et apud Ædem Christi promovendis, Ædificiis istius Collegii
instaurandis, libras millenas in numeratis pecuniis, ter centenas
circiter Annul reditus, ex Testamento reliquit. Pietatis erga Deum,
benevolentiae erga homines Monumenta in aeternum mansura.
Obiit Jul. 8. An. Dom. MDCCXVI. Æt. lxxxii.
IN the name of God, Amen. I Robert South, prebendary of the collegiate church of St. Peter in Westminster, and doctor in divinity, being well in health, and of good and perfect memory; God be thanked for the same; do make this my last will and testament in manner and form following.
First, I recommend my soul to my most merciful God; my body to the earth, there to be buried in such decent manner, neither sumptuous nor sordid, as my executrix, hereafter to be named, shall think fit. And as touching such worldly estate as God hath blessed me with, I give and dispose of the same as followeth.
Imprimis, I give and bequeath to Robert South, gent. my nephew by the half blood, all my messuages, lands, tenements, and hereditaments, descended to me by and from my father, and now rented by Elizabeth Brookes, widow of John Brookes, husbandman, lately deceased, at seventy-five pounds per annum, situate and being in Whittley, commonly called the hamlets of Whittley, in the parish of St. Giles in Reading, in the county of Berks, to have and to hold the same to him and his heirs for ever.
Provided always, and upon condition nevertheless, that
the said Robert South my nephew, and his heirs, do and
shall, within two years next after my decease, pay or cause
Item, I give and bequeath to Mrs. Margaret Hammond, my housekeeper, and widow or relict of Mr. Edward Hammond, clerk, deceased, all my messuages or tenements situate and being in and near Holyday-yard in London, which I hold by lease from the dean and chapter of St. Paul’s in London aforesaid, to hold the same unto the said Mrs. Margaret Hammond, her executors, administrators, and assigns, for and during the residue of the term of years which I shall have to come therein at the time of my death; though I could and do most heartily wish, that at or before her death she would give and settle the same to some charitable use for ever: and this to the great honour of Almighty God, the benefit of the public, to my own great satisfaction, the good of her own soul, and the just reputation of us to all posterity.
Item, I give and bequeath to the said Mrs. Margaret
Hammond all my lands, messuages, tenements, or hereditaments, in or bordering upon the parish of Cavesham, alias Caversham, in the county of Oxon; and also all my messuages,
lands, tenements, and hereditaments, being copyhold estate
of inheritance in the manor of Candors, alias Cantlow, in
Kentish-town in the county of Middlesex, to have and to
hold the said messuages, lands, tenements, and hereditaments, both in Cavesham, alias Caversham, and in Kentishtown aforesaid, unto the said Mrs. Margaret Hammond,
and her assigns, during her natural life, without impeachment of or for any manner of waste whatsoever, done or
committed during her time of widowhood or single life only,
which from my heart I desire she would continue in to her
life’s end; and that for her own sake and interest, as well as
Viz. Ten pounds yearly to the vicar of Southstoke cum capellis in the county of Oxon, for the time being.
Item, The like sum of ten pounds yearly to the vicar of Norton Broyn, alias Brise Norton, in the county of Oxon, for the time being.
Item, To the vicar of East Garsdon in the county of Berks for the time being, the like yearly sum of ten pounds for ever,
Item, To the vicar of Nethersoll in the county of Gloucester for the time being, the like yearly sum of ten pounds for ever.
Item, To the vicar of Ardington in the county of Berks for the time being, the like yearly sum of ten pounds for ever.
Item, To the vicar of Cerleton in the county of Wilts for the time being, the like yearly sum of ten pounds for ever.
Item, To the vicar of Little Compton in the county of Oxon for the time being, the like sum of ten pounds yearly for ever.
Item, To the curate of Drayton in the same county of Oxon for the time being, the like sum of ten pounds yearly for ever.
Item, To the curate of South Littleton in the county of Worcester for the time being, the like yearly sum of ten pounds for ever.
And to the curate of Offenham in the same county of Worcester for the time being, the like sum of ten pounds yearly for ever.
And to the curate of Stratton Audley in the county of Oxon for the time being, ten pounds yearly for ever.
And lastly, to the vicar or curate of Dorchester in the
said county of Oxon, and seven miles from the city of Oxon,
for the time being, the like sum of ten pounds yearly for
ever. To all and every one of which the said persons I give
and bequeath the forementioned yearly sum of ten pounds,
free from all deductions and abatements for or by reason
of taxes, or any other duties chargeable upon the premises
whatsoever, to be paid them by the dean and chapter of
Christ Church, and their successors for ever, at or upon the
two most usual feasts; that is to say, on the feast of the
Annunciation of the blessed Virgin Mary, and of St. Michael
the archangel, by even and equal portions; and the first
payment thereof to be accordingly made on the first of the
said festivals which shall next and immediately follow the
decease of my executrix. And my will also is, that in case
the yearly rents and profits arising out of the premises so
given to the dean and chapter of Christ Church, and their
successors, should in any year happen to fall short of satisfying the said sum of ten pounds to each of the said vicars,
curates, and incumbents aforesaid for the time being; then,
and so often as this shall happen, there shall be an equal
Item, I give and bequeath the sum of one hundred pounds of the like lawful money of Great Britain to the chancellor, doctors, and masters of arts of the university of Oxon, for the use and benefit of the public library of that place, and the buying into it such modern authors of principal note, as the vice-chancellor and head library-keeper for the time being shall judge both most useful and most wanting there. Likewise I give the sum of two hundred pounds of the like lawful current money of Great Britain to twenty poor ejected clergymen, non-jurors; and those at the sole choice and nomination of Mrs. Margaret Hammond, my executrix, to be distributed to them by ten pounds apiece.
Item, I give the like sum of two hundred pounds of the
like current money as aforesaid to forty poor ministers’ widows, and those also of the sole choice and nomination of
my aforementioned executrix, to be distributed to them by
five pounds apiece; willing withal, and hereby requiring,
that both the said clergymen and clergymen’s widows now
mentioned be respectively paid the several sums here allotted
them, within the term of two years at the utmost after my
decease. Also I give and bequeath to the governors of the
grey coat hospital here in Tuthill-fields, Westminster, the
sum of one hundred pounds of the like lawful money as beforesaid, for and towards the maintenance of the poor children taught and bred up there. And here to look a little
back again upon my affairs in Christ Church: whereas
I have for several years last past, at a constant yearly
salary, employed one Mr. Thomas Rookes, verger of Christ
Church in Oxon, in managing my accounts, and some
other of my concerns in and about Oxon, I give him the sum
Imprimis, I give and bequeath one hundred pounds of
good and lawful money of Great Britain to fifty poor house
keepers or widows, those of clergymen only excepted, as
having been before in this my will provided for, within the
city of Westminster, to be distributed to them by Mrs.
Margaret Hammond, my housekeeper and executrix, by
forty shillings apiece; and the said housekeepers and widows
to be all of them at the sole choice and nomination of the
said Mrs. Margaret Hammond; but still such as shall be
truly conformable to our church, as now by law established,
and diligent attenders upon the service and worship thereof,
either at Westminster-abbey, which I most like, or in some
parish church thereabouts: and this I would have done
as speedily as it can with any tolerable convenience be after
my funeral. Also to the poor of the parish of Cavesham,
alias Caversham, in Oxfordshire, where I have dwelt for
many years last past, I give ten pounds, having been all
along very liberal to that place, and the poor thereof, during
all the time I spent there. And to the poor of the town and
parish of I slip in the county of Oxford also; to which I have
been a constant and (as they themselves very well know) no
ordinary benefactor. I give five pounds to the poor of the
parish of Hackney in the county of Middlesex, near Lon
don, where I was born and baptized. I give five pounds
likewise to the poor of the place where I shall happen to be
buried; (in case it proves to be none of those three places
just now mentioned, I also give five pounds, but not other
wise.) And all these sums I will to be distributed by my executrix accordingly, and as soon as with what possible expedition it can. And I give moreover to my servant, Clement
Apthorp of Bedfordshire, the sum of fifty pounds, provided
A Codicil to be annexed to my last will, and accounted as part of it.
WHEREAS I Robert South, doctor in divinity, have at
several times past paid unto Mr. William Vernon, of Westminster, gentleman, the sum of six hundred and seventeen
pounds thirteen shillings and ten pence, or thereabouts; for
securing the repayment whereof with interest, the said William Vernon, by one or more deeds of assignment, did assign
unto Mrs. Margaret Hammond, of Westminster, widow, in
trust for me, a judgment obtained by him against dame Frances Atkins, widow, deceased, for the sum of nine hundred
and seventy-seven pounds debt, or some such sum, besides
cost of suit. Now I do give and bequeath all the monies
which now are or shall become due to me upon the said
judgment and security, unto Mrs. Margaret Hammond, my
executrix, to her sole only and proper use and behoof for
ever. But nevertheless upon this condition, that the said
Mrs. Margaret Hammond, my executrix, do and shall,
within three, or at most five years after she shall have received the same, pay unto the dean and chapter of Christ
Church in Oxford for the time being, the sum of five hundred pounds for and towards their carrying on the buildings
of that church and college. And whereas moreover I Robert
South, doctor in divinity, on the seventh day of April, in
the year of our Lord one thousand seven hundred and
fourteen, purchased of one Henry Clements, bookseller in
St. Paul’s churchyard in London, three volumes of doctor
Robert South’s sermons,, each of them containing twelve
A second codicil, to be annexed to my will bearing date on the thirtieth of March, one thousand seven hundred and fourteen, and to be accounted as part of the same.
WHEREAS I Robert South, doctor in divinity, and canon of the collegiate church of Christ in Oxon, of king Henry the eighth’s foundation, &c. have by my last testament, bearing date as aforesaid, already disposed of all or most of my real, and a great part of my personal estate after my decease, I do nevertheless by this codicil (which I do hereby annex to my said will, as part thereof) bestow upon the persons hereafter mentioned these following legacies.
Imprimis, I give to Mr. Robert South, of Northampton, attorney by profession, and son to my half-brother, Mr. James South, deceased, my father’s picture, drawn by the excellent hand of Vanzoest, and now hanging in my lodgings at Christ Church in Oxon; as also a gold ring set with a blue stone called an amethyst, with my father’s arms curiously engraved upon it; likewise a pebble-stone artificially set in a gold ring, (to be used as a seal,) with the same coat of arms cast or engraved in it; moreover, an agate of a pretty large size, and handle tipped with silver, and bearing my father’s arms also upon it, intended chiefly for the smoothing of written papers; and together with this, a small silver seal with the same engravement upon it, and commonly made use of by me in the sealing of my letters: which said legacies, whether he shall pass a due value upon them or no, (for I have heard of his character,) I have thought fit to leave him, as the properest things to remind him of the worthy father whom he is descended from, and the family which he belongs to, and deserves with the utmost respect to be remembered by him.
Item, I give to Mrs. Elizabeth Kirkland, the eldest sister
of the said Robert South, &c. my wrought bed, (the work
of my own dear sister Elizabeth, long since deceased,) together with the table, stands, stools, chairs, carpets, and
covers respectively belonging to them; as likewise a walnut
tree cabinet or scrutoire; first emptied of all things that were
Item, I give to the second sister of the said Robert South, named Rachael Partridge, (as I remember,) one of my silver tankards, at the choice of my executrix, and a silver cup with a snake on the cover of it, and two silver tumblers; also a set of damask linen, reckoning to a set, one table cloth, one sideboard cloth, and twelve napkins, and no more; and all at the choice of my executrix, Mrs. Margaret Hammond. And as for a third sister which he once had, named Jane, (she having been some years since dead, and having left behind her one only daughter, named Jane Taylor,) I give to the said Jane Taylor my pearl cabinet, and a black ebony dressing box, (all things being first taken out of both of them,) together with a curiously-wrought silver and crystal candlestick, with the black leathern case be longing to it; and likewise a suit of diaper linen belonging to me, and containing one table-cloth, one sideboard cloth, twelve napkins, and no more; but still all these, as well as those aforementioned, to be chosen only by my executrix; from whom also this Mrs. Jane Taylor is to receive five broad Carolus pieces of gold, with one silver coronation medal of queen Anne, as a further testimony of my good will towards her.
Item, To Mrs. Elizabeth Morris, of Antigua in the West
Indies, and wife to captain Valentine Morris, and granddaughter to my sister by the half-blood, Mrs. Joan Hall,
formerly living in the same place, I give as follows, viz. two
silver porringers, six silver forks and salts; and with all
those, two very fine pieces of wrought and gilt plate, bought
by me at Dantzick, in my travels into Poland, with the two
reddish leathern cases at first made for them, and fittest to
preserve them in. These, I say, I bequeath to her after my
A third codicil, to be annexed to my last will and testament, and reckoned as part of the same.
WHEREAS I Robert South, doctor in divinity, and
prebendary of the collegiate church of St. Peter in Westminster, have made my last will and testament, bearing date
on the thirtieth day of March in the year of our Lord one
thousand seven hundred and fourteen, and duly signed and
sealed the same, and got it attested and subscribed by three
sufficient witnesses. And whereas after that, I likewise
made and annexed two codicils to the said will, as part
thereof, both of them bearing date the second day of June
in the year of our Lord one thousand seven hundred and
fourteen; and the same being then also signed and sealed
day of in the year of our Lord
and of her present majesty’s reign the
The 24th day of July, 1716.
APPEARED personally Jonah Bowyer, of the parish of St. Bridget, London, bookseller; and being sworn upon the holy evangelists to depose the truth, did depose as follows: viz. That he was very well acquainted with the reverend doctor Robert South, and his manner and character of hand-writing, having often seen him write, and having viewed the codicil or paper, number three, hereunto annexed, beginning thus, “A third codicil, to be annexed to my last will and testament, and reckoned as part of the same. Whereas I Robert South, doctor in divinity, and prebendary of the collegiate church of St. Peter’s in Westminster,” &c. and ending thus, “And accordingly I do here set my hand and seal to this my third codicil, and annex it in like manner to my last will, adding it to the two other codicils, as equally part of my will with them. And this I do on the day of in the year of our Lord and of her present majesty’s reign the does, as he verily believes, and has been credibly informed, think the same to be all wrote with the proper hand of the said doctor Robert South. Jonah Bowyer. Die praedict. dictus Jonah Bowyer juratus fuit super veritate premissorum coram me Gulielmo Strahan, snrrog. &c.
Reprinted from the same volume which contains the Life and Will. Sec Advertisement to the Appendix, vol. vii. of the present edition.
QUOD populis humanitatis et literarum laude florentibus solenne olim fuit, ut celeberrimi cujusque viri exequiis orationem publice habendam instituerent, quae defuncti merita et virtutes commemoraret; ita nobis, alias si unquam, in praeclarissimi hujus viri funere celebrando aequum est fieri. Neque dubito quin vos, auditores, quotquot adestis, honores omnes, qui ad mortuum deferri possunt, quibus pompa funebris decorari potest et cohonestari, venerando viro, cujus reliquias ante vos positas intuemini, facile concedatis. Vereor autem ne inter vos sint, qui indignentur munus hoc mihi potissimum demandatum, et inique ferant, viri doctissimi et celeberrimi oratoris praedicationem a puero, qui literas labris primoribus vix gustaverit, susceptam. At reputent illi, quod Romae, quod Athenis, ubi praestantissimi vigebant oratores, non semper usitatum erat homines doctos et disertos ad hoc munus evocari; sed ii, qui forte fuerint viro defuncto vel affinitate vel beneficiis devincti, hanc provinciam libenter susceperunt, non eloquentiae confisi suae, sed volentes aliquod grati animi exhibere testimonium.
Liceat itaque nobis pro beneficiis acceptis, sine invidia,
gratiam referre. Liceat insigni huic viro supremum munus
persolvere, qui qualis quantusque fuit, nobis tamen aliquo
affmitatis jure conjunctus est. Superbius quidem hoc a me
Insigni huic muneri sustinendo quam par fuerit, si taceret hominum memoria, satis testantur quae in ecclesiae emolumentum et subsidium reliquit scripta immortalia. Notum est vobis, auditores eruditissimi, quanta sit in illis, quam varia et multiplex doctrina, quae in disserendo subtilitas, qui in refutando nervi, quod ingenii acumen, quae dicendi copia et majestas.
His armis instructus in aciem prodiit, ecclesiae et monarchiae acerrimus propugnator; haec tela in homines nefarios utrisque perniciem molientes strenuus contorsit, neque signa prius deseruit, quam graves illas tempestates restituto rege sedatas, et restinctos malevolorum impetus videret.
Jam tandem optimo cuique patebat ad honores via; et inter multos, qui aequissima ceperunt meritorum praemia, insignis hic vir ad summam dignitatem feliciter coactus est; iis scilicet in aedibus quibus eductus alitusque fuerat, sedes amplissimas obtinuit.
Dici sane vix potest, utrum huic an aedibus illis hoc
evenerit optatius. Hic certe gaudebat, quod iis potissimum
in locis, quos ex omnibus dilexit plurimum, fortunarum suarum
Non enim quieti se dedit, neque vitam, quam in publicum commodum protraxit Deus, in otio consumpsit. Quos subiret labores, quas vigilias pertulerit, ex praeclaris iis quas frequenter habuit concionibus, ex doctissimis quos diligenter confecit libris, nemini ignotum est. Neque vestrum plerosque latere arbitror, quot et quantae in illo extiterint virtutes, quae vitam privatam ornant, neque tam celebrem quam bonum virum indicant.
Quali animo in egenos fuerit, satis testantur quas intra unam parochiam munificentissime erogarit opes; quali erga Deum pietate (quanquam hoc in scriptis omnibus et vitae quotidianae usu videre erat) maxime declaravit sacrorum frequentatio: quamdiu enim per valetudinem licuit, horas sacris celebrandis institutas ita observabat, ut sol vices diurnas et nocturnas vix obiret constantior. At ingravescente paulatim senectute, et morte appropinquante, quam neque animi dotes egregiae, neque pietas eximia potest propulsare, vir optimus, qui huic saeculo abunde profuisset, venturis etiam saeculis prospexit; et ut doctrinam immensam libris mandatam posteris reliquit, sic opes quae ex effusa largitione tandem superfuerant, ita legavit, ut literarum studio et pietati promovendae per omne aevum inservirent.
His rebus confectis, quasi in aliorum commoda omnino natus fuisset, e vita excessit vir praestantissimus; cujus dum inter illustrissimorum virorum tumulos conquiescent reliquiae, nemini secundus, literatorum et bonorum omnium sempiterna vigebit memoria.
THAT solemnity, of celebrating in public orations the
extraordinary merits of great men at their funerals, which was established of
old by those people who were eminent for having humanity and learning flourish
among them, can certainly never be more justly observed, than in our performance of the obsequies of this illustrious person before
us. Nor do I in the least doubt but all you, who are present, perfectly agree, that all the honours that can possibly
be paid to the venerable person whose remains lie before
you, by which his funeral rites may be made conspicuous
and deservedly eminent, should be performed. And yet I
must confess I am very apprehensive, that some among you
may be offended that I should be singled out particularly to
execute so awful and solemn a duty, and bear it with some
indignation, that the praise of so learned and celebrated an
orator should be undertaken by a boy, who is scarce yet arrived to be master of
the very first principles of letters. But I would have these gentlemen consider,
that at Rome and at Athens, which were full of great and excellent orators, men
of learning and consummate eloquence were not always deputed to this office, but such as were either related to the
deceased, or bound to him by some signal obligations; who
freely and voluntarily undertook this province, not at all
confiding in their own eloquence to do him justice, but
Give me therefore leave, without envy, to make some small return for the benefits I have received; give me leave to perform this last office to the excellent person here deceased; who as great and eminent as he was, yet to him I must boast some alliance. This indeed might be looked on as a more proud and arrogant assertion, had not this reverend gentleman, as long as he lived, seemed, in all his discourse, with a particular satisfaction, freely and voluntarily to tell his friends the same thing; that he had his early days instructed in our seminary of noble and wholesome arts; and he was so far from being ashamed of taking his rise in learning from this school, that in the midst of those distinguishing merits of which he was master, and those dignities which he obtained, this only seemed to give him satisfaction in that good fortune which had attended him; and that which made the memory of this place the more dear to him was, that here the seeds were happily sown, which after wards produced so noble and so daily increasing a harvest. And this harvest so increased, that our school, the fertile mother of learned men, never received from any of her children more ample matter of glory. For when this excellent man was elected into that college’s which has always been eminent for men of extraordinary parts, he first grew considerable among his fellow-collegians, and soon extended the knowledge of his admirable talents beyond those narrow bounds; and soon after, the fame of his learning and eloquence increased so far, that out of many persons of consummate learning, who then flourished in the same house, he alone was chosen to explain, and by his eloquence to adorn, the sense of that most celebrated university.
And how fit for and how equal he was to this great work,
if the treachery of our memory should leave the fact in silence, yet we have sufficient testimony from those admirable
and immortal works which he has left written for the benefit
and support of the church. Christ Church, Oxon.
Now at last the way lay open and easy to all men of worth for honours; and among many who received the most just rewards of their merits, this most excellent person was happily compelled to accept of the highest dignity; that is, he obtained a chief seat in those places where he was educated.
It is a difficult matter to determine, whether this was a happier and more desired event to him or to those houses. It is certain he was infinitely satisfied that he should settle his fortunes particularly in those places which he loved above all others; and those perfectly rejoiced, that this worthy person, who had his childhood instructed in one, and his youth accomplished in the other, should thus be an ornament and defence to both. Nor did these hopes in the least deceive them; for that immense glory which this great man justly acquired through the whole course of his life, they in some measure had their share of.
For he gave not himself up to sloth and inactivity, nor
squandered away that life, which God, for the public benefit,
made long, in a mere idle retreat. There is no man surely
can be ignorant of this, since it is evident from the many
excellent sermons he has given the world, and the other
accurate books which he writ. Nor can I suppose it possible, that most of you should be ignorant of those numerous
and sublime virtues which were conspicuous in him, and
which are an ornament to a private station, and prove not
so much a popular as a good man. There is no greater
All this being done, as if he had been born entirely for the
benefit of others, this most excellent person departed this life; and while his
sacred relics are deposited among the tombs of the most illustrious, his name
will ever live and flourish in the memory of the learned and the virtuous. Islip, in Oxfordshire.
Her ways are ways of pleasantness. Page 3.
Some objections against this truth are removed, 3. and the duty of repentance represented under a mixture of sweetness, 11.
The excellencies of the pleasure of wisdom are enumerated:
I. As it is the pleasure of the mind, 13. in reference, 1. to speculation, 13. on the account of the greatness, 14. and newness of the objects, 16. 2. To practice, 17.
II. As it never satiates and wearies, 18. The comparison of other pleasures with it; such as that of an epicure, 19. that of ambition, 21. that of friendship and conversation, 22.
III. As it is in nobody’s power, but only in his that has it, 23. which property and perpetuity is not to be found in worldly enjoyments, 24.
A consequence is drawn against the absurd austerities of the Romish profession, 25.
A short description of the religious pleasure, 27.
So God created man in Ms own image, in the image of God created he him. P. 28.
The several false opinions of the heathen philosophers concerning the original of the world, 31.
The image of God in man considered, 32.
I. Wherein it does not consist, adequately and formally; not in power and dominion, as the Socinians erroneously assert, 33.
II. Wherein it does consist: 1. In the universal rectitude of all the faculties of the soul, 35. viz. of his understanding, 35. both speculative, 36. and practical, 38. Of his will, 40. Concerning the freedom of it, 41. Of his passions, 42: love, 43. hatred, 44. anger, 45. joy, 45. sorrow, 46. hope, 46. fear, 47. 2. In those characters of majesty that God imprinted upon his body, 48.
The consideration of the irreparable loss sustained in the fall of our first parents, 50. and of the excellency of Christian religion, designed by God to repair the breaches of our humanity, 52.
But whosoever shall deny me before men, him will I also deny before my Father which is in heaven. P. 56.
The occasion of those words inquired into, 56. and their explication, by being compared with other parallel scriptures, 58. and some observations deduced from them, 59.
The explication of them, by shewing,
I. How many ways Christ and his truths may be denied, 60. 1. By an heretical judgment, 61. 2. By oral expressions, 63. 3. By our actions, 64.
What denial is intended by these words, 66.
II. The causes inducing men to deny Christ in his truths, 67. 1. The seeming absurdity of many truths, 67. 2. Their unprofitableness, 69. 3. Their apparent danger, 71.
III. How far a man may consult his safety in time of persecution, without denying Christ, 73. 1. By withdrawing his person, 73. 2. By concealing his judgment, 73.
When those ways of securing ourselves are not lawful, 74.
IV. What is meant by Christ’s denial of us, 76. with reference, 1. To the action itself, 76. 2. To its circumstances, 78.
V. How many uses may be drawn from the words, 80. 1. An exhortation chiefly to persons in authority, to defend Christ in his truth, 80. and in his members, 81. 2. An in formation, to shew us the danger as well as baseness of denying Christ, 83.
After this thing king Jeroboam returned not from his evil way, but made again of the lowest of the people priests of the high places: whosoever would, he consecrated him, and he became one of the priests of the high places. And this thing became sin unto the house of Jeroboam, even to cut it off, and to destroy it from off the face of the earth. P. 85.
Jeroboam’s history and practice, 85. Some observations from it, 89. An explication of the words high places, 90. and consecration, 91.
The sense of the words drawn into two propositions, 91.
I. The means to strengthen or to ruin the civil power, is either to establish or destroy the right worship of God, 91. Of which proposition the truth is proved by all records of divine and profane history, 92. and the reason is drawn from the judicial proceeding of God; and from the dependence of the principles of government upon religion, 92.
From which may be inferred, 1. The pestilential design of disjoining the civil and ecclesiastical interest, 99. 2. The danger of any thing that may make even the true religion suspected to be false, 101.
II. The way to destroy religion is to embase the dispensers of it, 103. which is done, 1. By divesting them of
all temporal privileges and advantages, 103. 2. By admitting unworthy persons to this function, 108. By which
A brief recapitulation of the whole, 117.
These things speak, and exhort, and rebuke with all authority. Let no man despise thee. P. 122.
Titus supposed to be a bishop in all this epistle, 122. The duties of which place are,
I. To teach, 124. either immediately by himself, 127. or mediately by the subordinate ministration of others, 128.
II. To rule, 129. by an exaction of duty from persons under him, 130. by a protection of the persons under the discharge of their duty, 131. and by animadversion upon such as neglect it, 131.
And the means better to execute those duties, is not to be despised, 124-134. in the handling of which prescription these things may be observed:
1. The ill effects that contempt has upon government, 134. 2. The causes upon which church-rulers are frequently despised, 137. And they are
Either groundless; such as their very profession itself, 138. loss of their former grandeur and privilege, 139.
Or just; such as ignorance, 140. viciousness, 141. fearfulness, 142. and a proneness to despise others, 143.
The character of a clergyman, 144.
If any man will do his will, he shall know of the doc trine, whether it be of God, or whether I speak of myself. P. 146.
An account of the Jewish and Christian economy, 146.
The gospel must meet with a rightly disposed will, before it can gain the assent of the understanding, 148. which will appear from the following considerations:
I. What Christ’s doctrine is, with relation to matters of belief, 149. and to matters of practice, 149.
II. That men’s unbelief of that doctrine was from no defect in the arguments, 152. whose strength was sufficient, from the completion of all the predictions, 152. and the authority of miracles, 153. And whose insufficiency (if there could have been any) was not the cause of the unbelief of the Jews, 154. who assented to things less evident, 155. neither evident nor certain, but only probable, 156. neither evident, nor certain, nor probable, but false and fallacious, 156.
III. That the Jewish unbelief proceeded from the pravity of the will influencing the understanding to a disbelief of Christianity, 157. the last being prepossessed with other notions, and the first being wholly governed by covetousness and ambition, 157.
IV. That a well-disposed mind, with a readiness to obey the will of God, is the best means to enlighten the understanding to a belief of Christianity, 160. upon the account both of God’s goodness, 160. and of a natural efficiency, 162. arising from a right disposition of the will, which will engage the understanding in the search of the truth through diligence, 163. and impartiality, 165.
From which particulars may be learned, 1. The true cause of atheism and scepticism, 167. 2. The most effectual means of becoming good Christians, 169.
God hath loved the gates of Sion more than all the dwellings of Jacob. P. 175.
All comparisons import, in the superior part of them,
I. That God bears a different respect to consecrated places, from what he bears to all others, 175. which difference he shews, 1. By the interposals of his providence for the erecting and preserving of them, 176. 2. By his punishments upon the violators of them, 180. 3. Not upon the account of any inherent sanctity in the things themselves, but because he has the sole property of them, 186. by appropriating them to his peculiar use, 187. and by deed of gift made by surrender on man’s part, 187. and by acceptance on his, 189.
II. That God prefers the worship paid to him in such places above that in all others, 193. because, 1. Such places are naturally apt to excite a greater devotion, 193. 2. In them our worship is a more direct service and homage to him, 197.
From all which we are taught to have these three ingredients in our devotion; desire, reverence, and confidence, 199.
The lot is cast into the lap; but the whole disposing of it is of the Lord. P. 201.
God’s providence has its influence upon all things, even the most fortuitous, such as the casting of lots, P. 201. Which things, implying in themselves somewhat future and some what contingent, are,
I. In reference to men, out of the reach of their knowledge and of their power, 202.
II. In reference to God, comprehended by a certain knowledge, 204. and governed by as certain a providence, 205. and by him directed to both certain, 205. and great ends, 208. in reference,
1. To societies, or united bodies of men, 208. 2. To particular
Therefore we ought to rely on divine Providence; and be neither too confident in prosperity, 225. nor too despondent in adversity, 227. but carry a conscience clear towards God, who is the sole and absolute disposer of all things, 228.
For the wisdom of this world is foolishness with God. P. 229.
Worldly wisdom, in scripture, is taken sometimes for philosophy, 229. sometimes, as here, for policy, 230. which,
I. Governs its actions generally by these rules, 231. 1. By a constant dissimulation; not a bare concealment of one’s mind; but a man’s positive professing what he is not, and resolves not to be, 231. 2. By submitting conscience and religion to one’s interest, 234. 3. By making one’s self the sole end of all actions, 237. 4. By having no respect to friendship, gratitude, or sense of honour, 239.
Which rules and principles are,
II. Foolish and absurd in reference to God, 241. because in the pursuit of them man pitches, 1. Upon an end, unproportionable, 242. to the measure of his duration, 242. or to the vastness of his desires, 243. 2. Upon means in themselves insufficient for, 244. and frequently contrary to the attaining of such ends, 247. which is proved to happen in the four foregoing rules of the worldly politician, 248.
Therefore we ought to be sincere, 255. and commit our persons and concerns to the wise and good providence of God, 255.
For if there be first a willing mind, it is accepted according
Men are apt to abuse the world and themselves in some general principles of action; and particularly in this, That God accepts the will for the deed, 257. The delusion of which is laid open in these words, 258. expressing, that where there is no power, God accepts the will; but implying, that where there is, he does not. So there is no thing of so fatal an import as the plea of a good intention, and of a good will, 258. for God requires the obedience of the whole man, and never accepts the will but as such, 262. Thence we may understand how far it holds good, that God accepts the will for the deed, 265. a rule whose
I. Ground is founded upon that eternal truth, that God requires of man nothing impossible, 265. and consequently whose,
II. Bounds are determined by what power man naturally hath, 265. but whose,
III. Misapplication consists in these, 266. 1. That men often mistake for an act of the will what really is not so, 266. as a bare approbation, 266. wishing, 267. mere inclination, 269. 2. That men mistake for impossibilities things which are not truly so, 271. as in duties of very great labour, 271. danger, 273. cost, 278. in conquering an inveterate habit, 283.
Therefore there is not a weightier case of conscience, than to know how far God accepts the will, and when men truly will a thing, and have really no power, 286.
And the children of Israel remembered not the Lord their God, who had delivered them out of the hands of all their enemies on every side: neither shewed they kindness to the house of Jerubbaal, namely, Gideon, according to all the goodness which he had shewed unto Israel. P. 288.
The history of Gideon, and the Israelites behaviour towards him, 288. are the subject and occasion of these words, which treat of their ingratitude both towards God and man, 290. This vice in this latter sense is described, 291. by shewing,
I. What gratitude is, 291. what are its parts, 292. what grounds it hath in the law of nature, 293. Of God’s word, 296. Of man, 296.
II. The nature and baseness of ingratitude, 300.
III. That ingratitude proceeds from a proneness to do ill turns with a complacency upon the sight of any mischief be falling another; and from an utter insensibility of all kindnesses, 302.
IV. That it is always attended with many other ill qualities, 304. pride, 305. hard-heartedness, 307. and false hood, 310. Therefore,
V. What consequences may be drawn from the premises, 310. 1. Never to enter into a league of friendship with an ungrateful person, 310. because, 2. he cannot be altered by any acts of kindness, 311. and, 3. he has no true sense of religion, 313. Exhortation to gratitude as a debt to God, 314.
Lying lips are abomination to the Lord. P. 316.
The universality of lying is described, 316. And this vice is further prosecuted, by shewing,
I. The nature of it, 319. wherein it consists, 319. and the unlawfulness of all sorts of lies, whether pernicious, officious, or jocose, 320.
II. The effects of it, 325. all sins that came into the world, 325. all miseries that befall mankind, 326. an utter dissolution of all society, 330. an indisposition to the impressions of religion, 333.
III. The punishments of it: the loss of all credit, 336.
the hatred of all whom the liar has or would have deceived
He that walketh uprightly walketh surely. P. 349
The life of man is in scripture expressed by walking; which to do surely, great caution must be taken not to lay down false principles, or mistake in consequences from right ones, 349. but to walk uprightly, under the notion of an infinite mind governing the world, and an expectation of another state hereafter, 349. Which two principles will secure us in all our actions, whether they be considered,
I. As true, 351. the folly of a sinner presuming upon God’s mercy, 353. or relying upon a future repentance, 356. or whether supposed,
II. As only probable, 357. No man, in most temporal concerns, acts upon surer grounds than of probability, 359. And self-preservation will oblige a man to undergo a lesser evil to secure himself from the probability of a greater, 361. Probability supposes that a thing may or may not be; both which are examined with relation to a future state, 361.
III. As false, 364. Under this supposition the virtuous walketh more surely than the wicked, with reference to temporal enjoyments: reputation, 364. quietness, 366. health, 369. Answer to an objection, that many sinners enjoy all these, 371.
Thence we may perceive the folly of atheistical persons, 373. and learn to walk uprightly, as the best ground for our present and future happiness, 376.
Henceforth I call you not servants; for the servant knoweth
The superlative love of Christ appears in the several degrees of his kindness to man, before he was created, 378. when created, 379. when fallen, 379. whom even he not only spared, but, from the number of subjects, took into the retinue of his servants, and further advanced to the privilege of a friend, 380. The difference between which two appellations is this:
I. That a servant is for the most part, 1. unacquainted with his master’s designs, 383. 2. restrained with a degenerous awe of mind, 383. 3. endued with a mercenary disposition, 384.
II. That a friend is blessed with many privileges; as, 1. Freedom of access, 385. 2. Favourable construction of all passages, 386. 3. Sympathy in joy and grief, 390. 4. Communication of secrets, 392. 5. Counsel and advice, 395. 6. Constancy and perpetuity, 396.
In every one of which particulars, the excellency of Christ’s friendship shining forth, 400. we may learn the high advantage of true piety, 401.
Be not rash with thy mouth, and let not thine heart be hasty to utter any thing before God: for God is in heaven, and thou upon earth; therefore let thy words be few. P. 405.
Solomon having been spoken to by God himself, and so the fittest to teach us how to speak to God, here observes to us, that when we are in God’s house, we are more especially in his presence; that this ought to create a reverence in our addresses to him, and that this reverence consists in the preparation of our thoughts and the government of our expressions, 405. the two great joint ingredients of prayer, 415. Of which,
The first is premeditation of thought, 406. 415. 417.
The second is, ordering of our words by pertinence and brevity of expression, 406. 435.
Because prayer prevails upon God,
Not as it does with men, by way of information, 406. persuasion, 407. importunity, 408. An objection to this last is answered, 413.
But as it is the fulfilling of that condition upon which God dispenseth his blessings to mankind, 409. An objection to this is removed, 409.
As it is most properly an act of dependence upon God, 412. a dependence not natural, but moral; for else it would belong indifferently to the wicked as well as to the just, 412.
I. Premeditation ought to respect, 1. The object of our prayers; God and his divine perfections, 416. 2. The matter of our prayers, 418. either things of absolute necessity, as the virtues of a pious life; or of unquestionable charity, as the innocent comforts of it, 419. 3. The order and disposition of our prayers, 421. by excluding every thing which may seem irreverent, incoherent, and impertinent; absurd and irrational; 421. rude, slight, and careless, 422.
Therefore all Christian churches have governed their public worship by a liturgy, or set form of prayer, 423. Which way of praying is truly,
To pray by the Spirit; that is, with the heart, not hypo critically; and according to the rules prescribed by God’s holy Spirit, not unwarrantably, or by a pretence to immediate inspiration, 424.
Not to stint, but help and enlarge the spirit of prayer, 427. for the soul being of a limited nature, cannot at the same time supply two distinct faculties to the same height of operation; words are the work of the brain; and devotion, properly the business of the heart, indispensably required in prayer, 428.
Whereas, on the contrary,
Extempore prayers stint the spirit, by calling off the faculties of the soul from dealing with the heart both in the minister and in the people, 427, 428. And besides,
They are prone to encourage pride and ostentation, 429. faction and sedition, 431.
II. Brevity of expression, the greatest perfection of speech, 435. authorized by both divine, 435. and human examples, 437. suited best to the modesty, 440. discretion, 440. and respect required in all suppliants, 441. is still further enforced in our addresses to God by these arguments, 441. 1. That all the reasons for prolixity of speech with men cease to be so, when we pray to God, 442. 2. That there are but few things necessary to be prayed for, 448. 3. That the person who prays cannot keep up the same fervour and attention in a long as in a short prayer, 450. 4. That shortness of speech is the most natural and lively way of expressing the utmost agonies of the soul, 451. 5. That we have examples in scripture, both of brevity and prolixity of speech in prayer, as of brevity in the Lord’s Prayer, 453. the practice of it in our Saviour himself, 454. the success of it in several instances; as of the leper, of , the blind man, and of the publican, 455. Whereas the heathens and the pharisees, the grand instances of idolatry and hypocrisy, are noted for prolixity, 456.
By these rules we may judge, 1. of our church’s excellent liturgy; for its brevity and fulness, for the frequent opportunity of mentioning the name and some great attribute of God; for its alternate responses, which thing properly denominates it a Book of Common-Prayer, 457. for appointing even a form of prayer before sermons, 459. 2. Of the dissenters prayers, always notable for length and tautology, incoherence and confusion, 460.
And, after this comparison, pronounce our liturgy the greatest treasure of rational devotion; and pray God would vouchsafe long to continue to us the use of it, 463.
My Lord,
THOUGH to prefix so great a name to so mean a piece seems like enlarging the entrance of an house that affords
no reception; yet since there is nothing can warrant the
publication of it, but what can also command it, the work
must think of no other patronage than the same that adorns
and protects its author. Some indeed vouch great names,
because they think they deserve; but I, because I need
such: and had I not more occasion than many others to
see and converse with your lordship’s candour and proneness to pardon, there is none had greater cause to dread
your judgment; and thereby in some part I venture to
commend my own. For all know, who know your lord
ship, that in a nobler respect, than either that of government or patronage, you represent and head the best of
universities; and have travelled over too many nations and authors to encourage any one that understands himself, to
appear an author in your hands, who seldom read any books
My lord, I have obeyed your command, for such must I account your desire; and thereby design, not so much the publication of my sermon, as of my obedience: for, next to the supreme pleasure described in the ensuing discourse, I enjoy none greater, than in having any opportunity to declare myself,
Your lordship’s very humble servant,
and obliged chaplain,
ROBERT SOUTH.
Her ways are ways of pleasantness.
THE text relating to something going before, must carry our eye back to the thirteenth verse, where we shall find, that the thing, of which these words are affirmed, is wisdom: a name by which the Spirit of God was here pleased to express to us religion, and thereby to tell the world, what before it was not aware of, and perhaps will not yet believe, that those two great things that so engross the desires and designs of both the nobler and ignobler sort of mankind, are to be found in religion; namely, wisdom and pleasure; and that the former is the direct way to the latter, as religion is to both.
That pleasure is man’s chiefest good, (because in deed it is the perception of good that is properly pleasure,) is an assertion most certainly true, though under the common acceptance of it, not only false, but odious: for according to this, pleasure and sensuality pass for terms equivalent; and therefore he that takes it in this sense, alters the subject of the discourse. Sensuality is indeed a part, or rather one kind of pleasure, such an one as it is: for plea sure in general is the consequent apprehension of a suitable object, suitably applied to a rightly disposed faculty; and so must be conversant both about the faculties of the body and of the soul respectively; as being the result of the fruitions belonging to both.
Now amongst those many arguments used to
press upon men the exercise of religion, I know
He therefore that would persuade men to religion, both with art and efficacy, must found the
persuasion of it upon this, that it interferes not with
But it is easily foreseen, that this discourse will in
the very beginning of it be encountered by an argument from experience, and
therefore not more obvious than strong; namely, that it cannot but be the
greatest trouble in the world for a man thus (as it
were) even to shake off himself, and to defy his nature, by a perpetual thwarting of his innate appetites and desires; which yet is absolutely necessary
to a severe and impartial prosecution of a course of
piety: nay, and we have this asserted also, by the
verdict of Christ himself, who still makes the disciplines of self-denial and the cross, those terrible
blows to flesh and blood, the indispensable requisites
to the being of his disciples. All which being so,
would not he that should be so hardy as to attempt
to persuade men to piety from the pleasures of it,
be liable to that invective taunt from all mankind,
that the Israelites gave to Moses; Wilt thou put
out the eyes of this people? Wilt thou persuade us
out of our first notions? Wilt thou demonstrate,
that there is any delight in a cross, any comfort in
For answer to which, it must be confessed, that all arguments whatsoever against experience are fallacious; and therefore, in order to the clearing of the assertion laid down, I shall premise these two considerations.
1. That pleasure is in the nature of it a relative thing, and so imports a peculiar relation and correspondence to the state and condition of the person to whom it is a pleasure. For as those who discourse of atoms, affirm, that there are atoms of all forms, some round, some triangular, some square, and the like; all which are continually in motion, and never settle till they fall into a fit circumscription or place of the same figure: so there are the like great diversities of minds and objects. Whence it is, that this object striking upon a mind thus or thus disposed, flies off, and rebounds without making any impression; but the same luckily happening upon another, of a disposition as it were framed for it, is presently catched at, and greedily clasped into the nearest unions and embraces.
2. The other thing to be considered is this: that the estate
of all men by nature is more or less different from that estate, into which the same
persons do or may pass, by the exercise of that which
the philosophers called virtue, and into which men
are much more effectually and sublimely translated
by that which we call grace; that is, by the super
natural, overpowering operation of God’s Spirit.
The difference of which two estates consists in this;
that in the former the sensitive appetites rule and
That the distinction between these two is not a
mere figment, framed only to serve an hypothesis in
divinity; and that there is no man but is really
under one, before he is under the other, I shall
prove, by shewing a reason why it is so, or rather
indeed why it cannot but be so. And it is this:
because every man in the beginning of his life, for
several years is capable only of exercising his sensitive faculties and desires, the use of reason not
shewing itself till about the seventh year of his age;
and then at length but (as it were) dawning in very
imperfect essays and discoveries. Now it being
most undeniably evident, that every faculty and
power grows stronger and stronger by exercise; is
it any wonder at all, when a man for the space of
his first six years, and those the years of ductility
and impression, has been wholly ruled by the propensions of sense, at that age very eager and impetuous; that then after all, his reason beginning to
exert and put forth itself, finds the man prepossessed,
and under another power? So that it has much
ado, by many little steps and gradual conquests, to
recover its prerogative from the usurpations of appetite, and so to subject the whole man to its dictates:
the difficulty of which is not conquered by some
men all their days. And this is one true ground of
the difference between a state of nature and a state of
grace, which some are pleased to scoff at in divinity,
who think that they confute all that they laugh at,
These two considerations being premised, namely, that pleasure implies a proportion and agreement to the respective states and conditions of men; and that the state of men by nature is vastly different from the estate into which grace or virtue transplants them; all that objection levelled against the foregoing assertion is very easily resolvable.
For there is no doubt, but a man, while he resigns himself up to the brutish guidance of sense
and appetite, has no relish at all for the spiritual,
refined delights of a soul clarified by grace and virtue. The pleasures of an
angel can never be the pleasures of a hog. But this is the thing that we contend
for; that a man having once advanced himself to a state of superiority over the
control of his inferior appetites, finds an infinitely more solid and sublime
pleasure in the delights proper to his reason, than the same person had ever
conveyed to him by the bare ministry of his senses. His taste is absolutely
changed, and therefore that which pleased him formerly, becomes flat and insipid
to his appetite, now grown more masculine and severe. For as age and maturity
passes a real and a marvellous change upon the diet and recreations of the same
person; so that no man at the years and vigour of thirty is either fond of sugar-plumbs or
rattles: in like manner, when reason, by the assistance of grace, has prevailed over, and outgrown the
encroachments of sense, the delights of sensuality
are to such an one but as an hobby-horse would be
to a counsellor of state, or as tasteless as a bundle
The Athenians laughed the physiognomist to scorn, who, pretending to read men’s minds in their foreheads, described Socrates for a crabbed, lustful, proud, ill-natured person; they knowing how directly contrary he was to that dirty character. But Socrates bid them forbear laughing at the man, for that he had given them a most exact account of his nature; but what they saw in him so contrary at the present, was from the conquest that he had got over his natural disposition by philosophy. And now let any one consider, whether that anger, that revenge, that wantonness and ambition, that were the proper pleasures of Socrates, under his natural temper of crabbed, lustful, and proud, could have at all affected or enamoured the mind of the same So crates, made gentle, chaste, and humble by philosophy.
Aristotle says, that were it possible to put a young
man’s eye into an old man’s head, he would see as
plainly and clearly as the other: so could we infuse
the inclinations and principles of a virtuous person
into him that prosecutes his debauches with the
greatest keenness of desire and sense of delight, he
would loathe and reject them as heartily as he now
pursues them. Diogenes, being asked at a feast,
why he did not continue eating as the rest did, answered him that asked him with another question,
Pray why do you eat? Why, says he, for my pleasure. Why so, says Diogenes, do I abstain for my
pleasure. And therefore the vain, the vicious, and
luxurious person argues at an high rate of inconsequence,
But still, after all, I must not deny, that the change and passage from a state of nature to a state of virtue is laborious, and consequently irksome and unpleasant: and to this it is, that all the forementioned expressions of our Saviour do allude. But surely the baseness of one condition, and the generous excellency of the other, is a sufficient argument to induce any one to a change. For as no man would think it a desirable thing, to preserve the itch upon himself, only for the pleasure of scratching, that attends that loathsome distemper: so neither can any man, that would be faithful to his reason, yield his ear to be bored through by his domineering appetites, and so choose to serve them for ever, only for those poor, thin gratifications of sensuality that they are able to reward him with. The ascent up the hill is hard and tedious, but the serenity and fair prospect at the top is sufficient to in cite the labour of undertaking it, and to reward it, being undertook. But the difference of these two conditions of men, as the foundation of their different pleasures, being thus made out, to press men with arguments to pass from one to the other, is not directly in the way or design of this discourse.
Yet before I come to declare positively the pleasures that are to be found in the ways of religion,
one of the grand duties of which is stated upon repentance; a thing expressed to us by the grim
names of mortification, crucifixion, and the like: and
Now repentance consists properly of two things:
1. Sorrow for sin.
2. Change of life.
A word briefly of them both.
1. And first for sorrow for sin: usually, the sting
of sorrow is this, that it neither removes nor alters
the thing we sorrow for; and so is but a kind of reproach to our reason, which will be sure to accost
us with this dilemma. Either the thing we sorrow
for, is to be remedied, or it is not: if it is, why then
do we spend the time in mourning, which should
be spent in an active applying of remedies? But if
it is not, then is our sorrow vain and superfluous,
as tending to no real effect. For no man can weep
his father or his friend out of the grave, or mourn
himself out of a bankrupt condition. But this spiritual sorrow is effectual to one of the greatest and
highest purposes, that mankind can be concerned
in. It is a means to avert an impendent wrath, to
disarm an offended omnipotence, and even to fetch
a soul out of the very jaws of hell. So that the end
and consequence of this sorrow sweetens the sorrow
itself: and as Solomon says, In the midst of laugh
ter, the heart is sorrowful; so in the midst of sorrow here, the heart may rejoice: for while it mourns,
it reads, that those that mourn shall be comforted;
and so while the penitent weeps with one eye, he
2. As for the other part of repentance, which is
change of life, this indeed may be troublesome in the
entrance; but it is but the first bold onset, the first resolute violence and
invasion upon a vicious habit, that is so sharp and afflicting. Every impression
of the lancet cuts, but it is the first only that smarts. Besides, it is an
argument hugely unreasonable, to plead the pain of passing from a vicious
estate, unless it were proved, that there was none in the continuance under it:
but surely, when we read of the service, the bondage, and the captivity of
sinners, we are not entertained only with the air of words and metaphors, and,
instead of truth, put off with similitudes. Let him that says it is a trouble to
refrain from a debauch, convince us, that it is not a
greater to undergo one; and that the confessor did
not impose a shrewd penance upon the drunken man,
by bidding him go and be drunk again; and that
lisping, raging, redness of eyes, and what is not fit
to be named in such an audience, is not more toil
some, than to be clean, and quiet, and discreet, and
respected for being so. All the trouble that is in it,
is the trouble of being sound, being cured, and being
recovered. But if there be great arguments for
health, then certainly there are the same for the
Having thus now cleared off all, that by way of objection can He against the truth asserted, by shewing the proper qualification of the subject, to whom only the ways of wisdom can be ways of pleasantness; for the further prosecution of the matter in hand, I shall shew what are those properties that so peculiarly set off and enhance the excellency of this pleasure.
1. The first is, That it is the proper pleasure of that part of man, which is the largest and most comprehensive of pleasure, and that is his mind: a substance of a boundless comprehension. The mind of man is an image, not only of God’s spirituality, but of his infinity. It is not like any of the senses, limited to this or that kind of object: as the sight intermeddles not with that which affects the smell; but with an universal superintendence, it arbitrates upon and takes them in all. It is (as I may so say) an ocean, into which all the little rivulets of sensation, both external and internal, discharge themselves. It is framed by God to receive all, and more than nature can afford it; and so to be its own motive to seek for something above nature. Now this is that part of man to which the pleasures of religion properly belong: and that in a double respect.
1. In reference to speculation, as it sustains the name of understanding.
2. In reference to practice, as it sustains the name of conscience.
1. And first for speculation: the pleasures of which
How short of this are the delights of the epicure! How vastly disproportionate are the pleasures of the eating and of the thinking man! Indeed as different as the silence of an Archimedes in the study of a problem, and the stillness of a sow at her wash. Nothing is comparable to the pleasure of an active and a prevailing thought: a thought prevailing over the difficulty and obscurity of the object, and refreshing the soul with new discoveries and images of things; and thereby extending the bounds of apprehension, and (as it were) enlarging the territories of reason.
Now this pleasure of the speculation of divine things is advanced upon a double account.
(1.) The greatness.
(2.) The newness of the object.
(1.) And first for the greatness of it. It is no less
than the great God himself, and that both in his nature and his works. For the eye of reason, like
that of the eagle, directs itself chiefly to the sun, to
It poses it with the amazing thoughts of omnipotence; of a power able to fetch up such a glorious
fabric, as this of the world, out of the abyss of
vanity and nothing, and able to throw it back into
the same original nothing again. It drowns us in
the speculation of the divine omniscience; that can
maintain a steady infallible comprehension of all
events in themselves contingent and accidental; and
certainly know that, which does not certainly exist.
It confounds the greatest subtilties of speculation,
with the riddles of God’s omnipresence; that can
spread a single individual substance through all
spaces; and yet without any commensuration of
parts to any, or circumscription within any, though
totally in every one. And then for his eternity;
which nonpluses the strongest and clearest conception, to comprehend how one single act of duration
should measure all periods and portions of time,
without any of the distinguishing parts of succession.
Likewise for his justice; which shall prey upon the
sinner for ever, satisfying itself by a perpetual miracle, rendering the creature immortal in the midst
of the flames; always consuming, but never consumed. With the like wonders we may entertain
our speculations from his mercy; his beloved, his
triumphant attribute; an attribute, if it were possible, something more than infinite; for even his
justice is so, and his mercy transcends that. Lastly,
we may contemplate upon his supernatural, astonishing works: particularly in the
resurrection, and reparation of the same numerical body, by a reunion
(2.) As the things belonging to religion entertain
our speculation with great objects, so they entertain
it also with new: and novelty, we know, is the great
parent of pleasure; upon which account it is that
men are so much pleased with variety, and variety
is nothing else but a continued novelty. The Athenians, who were the professed and most diligent
improvers of their reason, made it their whole business
to hear or to tell some new thing: for the truth is,
newness especially in great matters, was a worthy
entertainment for a searching mind; it was (as I
may so say) an high taste, fit for the relish of an
Athenian reason. And thereupon the mere unheard
of strangeness of Jesus and the resurrection, made
them desirous to hear it discoursed of to them again,
It is clear therefore, that, if there be any pleasure to the mind from speculation, and if this pleasure of speculation be advanced by the greatness and newness of the things contemplated upon, all this is to be found in the ways of religion.
2. In the next place, religion is a pleasure to the
mind, as it respects practice, and so sustains the
name of conscience. And conscience undoubtedly
is the great repository and magazine of all those
pleasures that can afford any solid refreshment to
the soul. For when this is calm, and serene, and
absolving, then properly a man enjoys all things,
and what is more, himself; for that he must do,
And thus much for the first ennobling property of the pleasure belonging to religion; namely, That it is the pleasure of the mind, and that both as it relates to speculation, and is called the understanding, and as it relates to practice, and is called the conscience.
II. The second ennobling property of it is, That
it is such a pleasure as never satiates or wearies:
for it properly affects the spirit, and a spirit feels no
weariness, as being privileged from the causes of it.
But can the epicure say so of any of the pleasures
that he so much dotes upon? Do they not expire,
while they satisfy? And after a few minutes refreshment, determine in loathing and unquietness?
How short is the interval between a pleasure and a
burden? How undiscernible the transition from one
to the other? Pleasure dwells no longer upon the
appetite, than the necessities of nature, which are
He that prolongs his meals, and sacrifices his time, as well as his other conveniences, to his luxury, how quickly does he out-sit his pleasure! And then, how is all the following time bestowed upon ceremony and surfeit! till at length, after a long fatigue of eating, and drinking, and babbling, he concludes the great work of dining genteelly, and so makes a shift to rise from table, that he may He down upon his bed: where, after he has slept himself into some use of himself, by much ado he staggers to his table again, and there acts over the same brutish scene: so that he passes his whole life in a dozed condition between sleeping and waking, with a kind of drowsiness and confusion upon his senses; which, what pleasure it can be, is hard to conceive; all that is of it, dwells upon the tip of his tongue, and within the compass of his palate: a worthy prize for a man to purchase with the loss of his time, his reason, and himself.
Nor is that man less deceived, that thinks to
maintain a constant tenure of pleasure, by a continual pursuit of sports and recreations: for it is most
certainly true of all these things, that as they refresh
a man when he is weary, so they weary him when
he is refreshed; which is an evident demonstration
that God never designed the use of them to be continual;
The most voluptuous and loose person breathing, were he but tied to follow his hawks and his hounds, his dice and his courtships every day, would find it the greatest torment and calamity that could befall him; he would fly to the mines and the gal leys for his recreation, and to the spade and the mattock for a diversion from the misery of a continual unintermitted pleasure.
But on the contrary, the providence of God has so ordered the course of things, that there is no action, the usefulness of which has made it the matter of duty, and of a profession, but a man may bear the continual pursuit of it, without loathing or satiety. The same shop and trade that employs a man in his youth, employs him also in his age. Every morning he rises fresh to his hammer and his anvil; he passes the day singing: custom has naturalized his labour to him: his shop is his element, and he cannot with any enjoyment of himself live out of it. Whereas no custom can make the painfulness of a debauch easy or pleasing to a man; since nothing can be pleasant that is unnatural. But now, if God has interwoven such a pleasure with the works of our ordinary calling; how much superior and more refined must that be, that arises from the survey of a pious and well governed life! Surely, as much as Christianity is nobler than a trade.
And then, for the constant freshness of it; it is
such a pleasure as can never cloy or overwork the
mind: for surely no man was ever weary of thinking,
much less of thinking that he had done well or virtuously,
But to look upon those pleasures also that have
an higher object than the body; as those that
spring from honour and grandeur of condition; yet
we shall find, that even these are not so fresh and
constant, but the mind can nauseate them, and
quickly feel the thinness of a popular breath. Those
that are so fond of applause while they pursue it,
how little do they taste it when they have it! Like
lightning, it only flashes upon the face, and is gone;
and it is well if it does not hurt the man. But for
But farther, to proceed from hence to yet an
higher degree of pleasure, indeed the highest on
this side that of religion; which is the pleasure of
friendship and conversation. Friendship must confessedly be allowed the top, the flower, and crown of
all temporal enjoyments. Yet has not this also its
flaws and its dark side? For is not my friend a
man; and is not friendship subject to the same mortality and change that men are? And in case a man
loves, and is not loved again, does he not think that
he has cause to hate as heartily, and ten times more
eagerly than ever he loved? And then to be an
And then lastly for company; though it may reprieve a man from his melancholy, yet it cannot secure him from his conscience, nor from sometimes being alone. And what is all that a man enjoys, from a week’s, a month’s, or a year’s converse, comparable to what he feels for one hour, when his conscience shall take him aside, and rate him by himself?
In short, run over the whole circle of ah 1 earthly pleasures, and I dare affirm, that had not God secured a man a solid pleasure from his own actions, after he had rolled from one to another, and enjoyed them all, he would be forced to complain, that either they were not indeed pleasures, or that plea sure was not satisfaction.
III. The third ennobling property of the pleasure
that accrues to a man from religion, is, that it is
such an one as is in nobody’s power, but only in his
that has it; so that he that has the property may
be also sure of the perpetuity. And tell me so of
any outward enjoyment that mortality is capable of.
We are generally at the mercy of men’s rapine, avarice, and violence, whether we shall be happy or no.
For if I build my felicity upon my estate or reputation, I am happy as long as the tyrant or the railer
will give me leave to be so. But when my concernment
There is nothing that can raise a man to that generous absoluteness of condition, as neither to cringe, to fawn, or to depend meanly; but that which gives him that happiness within himself, for which men depend upon others. For surely I need salute no great man’s threshold, sneak to none of his friends or servants, to speak a good word for me to my conscience. It is a noble and a sure defiance of a great malice, backed with a great interest; which yet can have no advantage of a man, but from his own expectations of something that is without himself. But if I can make my duty my delight; if I can feast, and please, and caress my mind with the pleasures of worthy speculations or virtuous practices; let greatness and malice vex and abridge me if they can: my pleasures are as free as my will; no more to be controlled than my choice, or the unlimited range of my thoughts and my desires.
Nor is this kind of pleasure only out of the reach
And thus I have endeavoured to describe the excellency of that pleasure that is to be found in the ways of a religious wisdom, by those excellent properties that do attend it; which, whether they reach the description that has been given them, or no, every man may convince himself, by the best of demonstrations, which is his own trial.
Now from all this discourse, this I am sure is a
most natural and direct consequence, that if the
ways of religion are ways of pleasantness, then such
as are not ways of pleasantness are not truly and
properly ways of religion. Upon which ground, it
is easy to see what judgment is to be passed upon
all those affected, uncommanded, absurd austerities,
so much prized and exercised by some of the Romish profession. Pilgrimages, going barefoot, hair-shirts, and whips, with other such gospel artillery,
are their only helps to devotion: things never enjoined,
It seems, that with them a man sometimes can not be a penitent, unless he also turns vagabond, and foots it to Jerusalem; or wanders over this or that part of the world to visit the shrine of such or such a pretended saint; though perhaps, in his life, ten times more ridiculous than themselves: thus, that which was Cain’s curse is become their religion. He that thinks to expiate a sin by going barefoot, does the penance of a goose, and only makes one folly the atonement of another. Paul in deed was scourged and beaten by the Jews, but we never read that he beat or scourged himself: and if they think that his keeping under of his body imports so much, they must first prove that the body cannot be kept under by a virtuous mind, and that the mind cannot be made virtuous but by a scourge; and consequently, that thongs and whipcord are means of grace, and things necessary to salvation. The truth is, if men’s religion lies no deeper than their skin, it is possible that they may scourge themselves into very great improvements.
But they will find that bodily exercise touches
not the soul; and that neither pride, nor lust, nor covetousness, nor any other vice, was ever mortified by
corporal disciplines: it is not the back, but the heart
that must bleed for sin: and consequently, that in
this whole course they are like men out of their
way; let them lash on never so fast, they are not at
And now upon the result of all, I suppose, that to exhort men to be religious, is only in other words to exhort them to take their pleasure. A pleasure, high, rational, and angelical; a pleasure embased with no appendant sting, no consequent loathing, no remorses or bitter farewells: but such an. one, as being honey in the mouth, never turns to gall or gravel in the belly. A pleasure made for the soul, and the soul for that; suitable to its spirituality, and equal to all its capacities. Such an one as grows fresher upon enjoyment, and though continually fed upon, yet is never devoured. A pleasure that a man may can as properly his own, as his soul and his conscience; neither liable to accident, nor exposed to injury. It is the foretaste of heaven, and the earnest of eternity. In a word, it is such an one, as being begun in grace, passes into glory, blessedness, and immortality, and those pleasures that neither eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor has it entered into the heart of man to conceive.
To which God of his mercy vouchsafe to bring us to whom he rendered and ascribed, as is most due, all praise, might, majesty, and dominion, both, now and for evermore. Amen.
Right honourable,
WHEN I consider how impossible it is for a person of
my condition to produce, and consequently how imprudent
to attempt, any thing in proportion either to the ampleness
of the body you represent, or of the places you bear, I
should be kept from venturing so poor a piece, designed to
live but an hour, in so lasting a publication; did not what your civility calls
a request, your greatness render a command. The truth is, in things not unlawful, great persons
cannot be properly said to request; because, all things considered, they must not be denied. To me it was honour
enough to have your audience, enjoyment enough to behold
your happy change, and to see the same city, the metropolis of loyalty and of
the kingdom, to behold the glory of English churches reformed, that is,
delivered from the reformers; and to find at least the service of the church
repaired, though not the building; to see St. Paul’s delivered from beasts here,
as well as St. Paul at Ephesus; and to view the church thronged only with troops
of auditors, not of horse. This I could fully have acquiesced in, and received
Your honour’s
very humble servant,
ROBERT SOUTH.
Worcester-House,
Nov. 24, 1662.
So God created man in his own image, in the image of God created he him.
HOW hard it is for natural reason to discover a creation before revealed, or being revealed to believe it, the strange opinions of the old philosophers, and the infidelity of modern atheists, is too sad a demonstration. To run the world back to its first original and infancy, and (as it were) to view nature in its cradle, to trace the outgoings of the Ancient of days in the first instance and specimen of his creative power, is a research too great for any mortal inquiry: and we might continue our scrutiny to the end of the world, before natural reason would be able to find out when it begun.
Epicurus’s discourse concerning the original of the world is so fabulous and ridiculously merry, that we may well judge the design of his philosophy to have been pleasure, and not instruction.
Aristotle held, that it streamed by connatural result and emanation from God, the infinite and eternal mind, as the light issues from the sun; so that there was no instant of duration assignable of God’s eternal existence, in which the world did not also coexist.
Others held a fortuitous concourse of atoms; but
all seem jointly to explode a creation; still beating
upon this ground, that to produce something out
of nothing is impossible and incomprehensible: incomprehensible indeed I grant, but not therefore impossible. There is not the least transaction of sense
But to bring things even to the bare perceptions of reason, I appeal to any one, who shall impartially reflect upon the ideas and conceptions of his own mind, whether he doth not find it as easy and suit able to his natural notions, to conceive that an infinite almighty power might produce a thing out of nothing, and make that to exist de novo, which did not exist before; as to conceive the world to have had no beginning, but to have existed from eternity: which, were it so proper for this place and exercise, I could easily demonstrate to be attended with no small train of absurdities. But then, besides that the acknowledging of a creation is safe, and the denial of it dangerous and irreligious, and yet not more (perhaps much less) demonstrable than the affirmative; so, over and above, it gives me this advantage, that, let it seem never so strange, uncouth, and impossible, the nonplus of my reason will yield a fairer opportunity to my faith.
In this chapter, we have God surveying the
works of the creation, and leaving this general impress or character upon them,
that they were
exceeding good. What an omnipotence wrought, we
have an omniscience to approve. But as it is reasonable to imagine that there is more of design, and
consequently more of perfection, in the last work,
we have God here giving his last stroke, and summing up all into man, the whole into a part, the
universe into an individual: so that, whereas in
The work that I shall undertake from these words, shall be to shew what this image of God in man is, and wherein it doth consist. Which I shall do these two ways: 1. Negatively, by shewing wherein it does not consist. 2. Positively, by shewing wherein it does.
For the first of these, we are to remove the erroneous opinion of the Socinians. They deny that the image of God consisted in any habitual perfections that adorned the soul of Adam: but as to his understanding bring him in void of all notion, a rude unwritten blank; making him to be created as much an infant as others are born; sent into the world only to read and spell out a God in the works of creation, to learn by degrees, till at length his understanding grew up to the stature of his body. Also without any inherent habits of virtue in his will; thus divesting him of all, and stripping him to his bare essence; so that all the perfection they allowed his understanding was aptness and docility; and all that they attributed to his will was a possibility to be virtuous.
But wherein then, according to their opinion, did
this image of God consist? Why, in that power and
dominion that God gave Adam over the creatures:
in that he was vouched his immediate deputy upon
1. That the scripture neither makes nor owns such a distinction; nor any where asserts, that when princes begin to be wicked, they cease of right to be governors. Add to this, that when God renewed this charter of man’s sovereignty over the creatures to Noah and his family, we find no exception at all, but that Cham stood as fully invested with this right as any of his brethren.
2. But secondly; this savours of something ranker than Socinianism, even the tenents of the fifth monarchy, and of sovereignty founded only upon saintship; and therefore fitter to be answered by the judge, than by the divine; and to receive its confutation at the bar of justice, than from the pulpit.
Having now made our way through this false opinion, we are in the next place to lay down positively what this image of God in man is. It is, in short, that universal rectitude of all the faculties of the soul, by which they stand apt and disposed to their respective offices and operations: which will be more fully set forth, by taking a distinct survey of it, in the several faculties belonging to the soul.
I. In the understanding.
II. In the will.
III. In the passions or affections.
I. And first for its noblest faculty, the understanding: it was then sublime, clear, and aspiring,
and, as it were, the soul’s upper region, lofty and serene, free from the
vapours and disturbances of the inferior affections. It was the leading, control
ling faculty; all the passions wore the colours of reason; it did not so much persuade, as command; it
was not consul, but dictator. Discourse was then
almost as quick as intuition; it was nimble in proposing, firm in concluding; it could sooner deter
mine than now it can dispute. Like the sun, it
had both light and agility; it knew no rest, but in
motion; no quiet, but in activity. It did not so
properly apprehend, as irradiate the object; not so
much find, as make things intelligible. It did arbitrate upon the several reports of sense, and all the
varieties of imagination; not like a drowsy judge,
only hearing, but also directing their verdict. In
sum, it was vegete, quick, and lively; open as the
day, untainted as the morning, full of the innocence
and sprightliness of youth; it gave the soul a bright
and a full view into all things; and was not only a window, but itself the prospect. Briefly, there is as
Now as there are two great functions of the soul, contemplation and practice, according to that general division of objects, some of which only entertain our speculation, others also employ our actions; so the understanding with relation to these, not because of any distinction in the faculty itself, is accordingly divided into speculative and practick; in both of which the image of God was then apparent.
1. For the understanding speculative. There are some general maxims and notions in the mind of man, which are the rules of discourse, and the basis of all philosophy. As, that the same thing can not at the same time be, and not be; that the whole is bigger than a part; that two proportions equal to a third, must also be equal to one an other. Aristotle, indeed, affirms the mind to be at first a mere rasa tabula; and that these notions are not ingenite, and imprinted by the finger of nature, but by the latter and more languid impressions of sense; being only the reports of observation, and the result of so many repeated experiments.
But to this I answer two things.
(1.) That these notions are universal; and what is universal must needs proceed from some universal, constant principle, the same in all particulars, which here can be nothing else but human nature.
(2.) These cannot be infused by observation, be
cause they are the rules by which men take their
first apprehensions and observations of things, and
therefore in order of nature must needs precede
Now it was Adam’s happiness in the state of innocence to have these clear and unsullied. He came
into the world a philosopher, which sufficiently appeared by his writing the nature of things upon
their names; he could view essences in themselves, and read forms without the
comment of their respective properties: he could see consequents yet
dormant in their principles, and effects yet unborn,
and in the womb of their causes: his understanding could almost pierce into
future contingents, his conjectures improving even to prophecy, or the certainties of prediction; till his fall, it was ignorant of
nothing but of sin; or at least it rested in the notion, without the smart of the experiment. Could
any difficulty have been proposed, the resolution
would have been as early as the proposal; it could
not have had time to settle into doubt. Like a bet
ter Archimedes, the issue of all his inquiries was an
εὕρηκα,
an εὕρηκα the offspring of his brain without
the sweat of his brow. Study was not then a duty,
night-watchings were needless; the light of reason
wanted not the assistance of a candle. This is the
doom of fallen man, to labour in the fire, to seek
truth in profundo, to exhaust his time and impair
his health, and perhaps to spin out his days, and
himself, into one pitiful, controverted conclusion.
There was then no poring, no struggling with memory, no straining for invention: his faculties were
2. The image of God was no less resplendent in
that which we call man’s practical understanding;
namely, that storehouse of the soul, in which are
treasured up the rules of action and the seeds of
It was the privilege of Adam innocent, to have
these notions also firm and untainted, to carry his
monitor in his bosom, his law in his heart, and to
have such a conscience as might be its own casuist:
and certainly those actions must needs be regular,
where there is an identity between the rule and the
faculty. His own mind taught him a due dependance upon God, and chalked out to him the just
proportions and measures of behaviour to his fellow
creatures. He had no catechism but the creation,
needed no study but reflection, read no book, but the
volume of the world, and that too, not for rules to
work by, but for objects to work upon. Reason
was his tutor, and first principles his magna moralia. The decalogue of Moses was but a transcript,
not an original. All the laws of nations, and wise
decrees of states, the statutes of Solon, and the
twelve tables, were but a paraphrase upon this
standing rectitude of nature, this fruitful principle
of justice, that was ready to run out, and enlarge it
self into suitable determinations, upon all emergent
objects and occasions. Justice then was neither
blind to discern, nor lame to execute. It was not
subject to be imposed upon by a deluded fancy, nor
yet to be bribed by a glozing appetite, for an utile
And thus much for the image of God, as it shone in man’s understanding.
II. Let us in the next place take a view of it, as
it was stamped upon the will. It is much disputed
by divines concerning the power of man’s will to
good and evil in the state of innocence; and upon
very nice and dangerous precipices stand their determinations on either side. Some hold, that God
invested him with a power to stand, so that in the
strength of that power received, he might, without
the auxiliaries of any farther influence, have deter
mined his will to a full choice of good. Others hold,
1. That it seems contrary to the common and natural conceptions of all mankind, who acknowledge themselves able and sufficient to do many things, which actually they never do.
2. That to assert, that God looked upon Adam’s fall as a sin, and punished it as such, when, without any antecedent sin of his, he withdrew that actual grace from him, upon the withdrawing of which, it was impossible for him not to fall, seems a thing that highly reproaches the essential equity and goodness of the divine nature.
Wherefore, doubtless the will of man in the state
of innocence had an entire freedom, a perfect equipendency and indifference to
either part of the contradiction, to stand, or not to stand; to accept, or
not accept the temptation. I will grant the will of
man now to be as much a slave as any one will have
it, and be only free to sin; that is, instead of a
liberty, to have only a licentiousness; yet certainly
this is not nature, but chance. We were not born
crooked; we learnt these windings and turnings of
the serpent: and therefore it cannot but be a blasphemous
The will was then ductile, and pliant to all the motions of right reason; it met the dictates of a clarified understanding half way. And the active in formations of the intellect, filling the passive reception of the will, like form closing with matter, grew actuate into a third, and distinct perfection of practice: the understanding and will never disagreed; for the proposals of the one never thwarted the inclinations of the other. Yet neither did the will servilely attend upon the understanding, but as a favourite does upon his prince, where the service is privilege and preferment; or as Solomon’s servants waited upon him, it admired its wisdom, and heard its prudent dictates and counsels, both the direction and the reward of its obedience. It is indeed the nature of this faculty to follow a superior guide, to be drawn by the intellect; but then it was drawn as a triumphant chariot, which at the same time both follows and triumphs; while it obeyed this, it commanded the other faculties. It was subordinate, not enslaved to the understanding: not as a servant to a master, but as a queen to her king, who both acknowledges a subjection, and yet retains a majesty.
Pass we now downward from man’s intellect and will,
III. To the passions, which have their residence
and situation chiefly in the sensitive appetite. For
we must know, that inasmuch as man is a compound, and mixture of flesh as well as spirit, the
soul, during its abode in the body, does all things
by the mediation of these passions and inferior affections.
Now, though the schools reduce all the passions to these two heads, the concupiscible, and the irascible appetite; yet I shall not tie myself to an exact prosecution of them under this division; but at this time, leaving both their terms and their method to themselves, consider only the principal and most noted passions, from whence we may take an estimate of the rest.
And first, for the grand leading affection of all,
which is love. This is the great instrument and engine
Then, for the contrary passion of hatred. This,
we know, is the passion of defiance, and there is a
kind of aversation and hostility included in its very
essence and being. But then, (if there could have
been hatred in the world, when there was scarce
any thing odious,) it would have acted within the
compass of its proper object. Like aloes, bitter in
deed, but wholesome. There would have been no
rancour, no hatred of our brother: an innocent nature
And if we may bring anger under this head, as
being, according to some, a transient hatred, or at
least very like it: this also, as unruly as now it is,
yet then it vented itself by the measures of reason.
There was no such thing as the transports of malice,
or the violences of revenge: no rendering evil for evil,
when evil was truly a nonentity, and no where to
be found. Anger then was like the sword of justice,
keen, but innocent and righteous: it did not act like
fury, and then call itself zeal. It always espoused
God’s honour, and never kindled upon any thing but
in order to a sacrifice. It sparkled like the coal
upon the altar, with the fervours of piety, the heats
of devotion, the sallies and vibrations of an harmless
activity. In the next place, for the lightsome passion of joy. It was not that, which now often
usurps this name; that trivial, vanishing, superficial
thing, that only gilds the apprehension, and plays
upon the surface of the soul. It was not the mere
crackling of thorns, a sudden blaze of the spirits,
the exultation of a tickled fancy or a pleased appetite. Joy was then a masculine and a severe thing;
the recreation of the judgment, the jubilee of reason.
It was the result of a real good, suitably applied. It
commenced upon the solidities of truth and the
substance of fruition. It did not run out in voice,
or undecent eruptions, but filled the soul, as God
does the universe, silently and without noise. It
was refreshing, but composed; like the pleasantness of youth tempered with the gravity of age; or the
And, on the other side, for sorrow. Had any loss or disaster made but room for grief, it would have moved according to the severe allowances of prudence, and the proportions of the provocation. It would not have sallied out into complaint or loudness, nor spread itself upon the face, and writ sad stories upon the forehead. No wringing of the hands, knocking the breast, or wishing one’s self unborn; all which are but the ceremonies of sorrow, the pomp and ostentation of an effeminate grief: which speak, not so much the greatness of the misery, as the smallness of the mind. Tears may spoil the eyes, but not wash away the affliction. Sighs may exhaust the man, but not eject the burden. Sorrow then would have been as silent as thoughts, as severe as philosophy. It would have rested in inward senses, tacit dislikes; and the whole scene of it been transacted in sad and silent reflections.
Then again for hope. Though indeed the fulness
and affluence of man’s enjoyments in the state of innocence, might seem to leave no place for hope, in
respect of any farther addition, but only of the prorogation, and future continuance of what already he
possessed: yet doubtless, God, who made no faculty,
but also provided it with a proper object, upon which
it might exercise and lay out itself, even in its
greatest innocence, did then exercise man’s hopes
with the expectations of a better paradise, or a more
intimate admission to himself. For it is not imaginable, that Adam could fix upon such poor, thin
enjoyments, as riches, pleasure, and the gayeties of
And lastly, for the affection of fear. It was then the instrument of caution, not of anxiety; a guard, and not a torment to the breast that had it. It is now indeed an unhappiness, the disease of the soul: it flies from a shadow, and makes more dangers than it avoids: it weakens the judgment, and be trays the succours of reason: so hard is it to tremble and not to err, and to hit the mark with a shaking hand. Then it fixed upon him who is only to be feared, God: and yet with a filial fear, which at the same time both fears and loves. It was awe with out amazement, dread without distraction. There was then a beauty even in this very paleness. It was the colour of devotion, giving a lustre to reverence, and a gloss to humility.
Thus did the passions then act without any of
their present jars, combats, or repugnances; all
moving with the beauty of uniformity, and the stillness of composure. Like a well-governed army,
not for fighting, but for rank and order. I confess
the scripture does not expressly attribute these several endowments to Adam in his first estate. But
all that I have said, and much more, may be drawn
out of that short aphorism, God made man upright,
Now from this so exact and regular composure of
Having thus surveyed the image of God in the
soul of man, we are not to omit now those characters of majesty that God imprinted upon the body.
He drew some traces of his image upon this also;
as much as a spiritual substance could be pictured
upon a corporeal. As for the sect of the Anthropomorphites, who from hence ascribe to God the
figure of a man, eyes, hands, feet, and the like, they
are too ridiculous to deserve a confutation. They
would seem to draw this impiety from the letter of
the scripture sometimes speaking of God in this
manner. Absurdly; as if the mercy of scripture
expressions ought to warrant the blasphemy of our
Now the use of this point might be various, but
at present it shall be only this; to remind us of the
irreparable loss that we sustained in our first parents, to shew us of how fair a portion Adam disinherited his whole posterity by one single prevarication. Take the picture of a man in the greenness
and vivacity of his youth, and in the latter date and
declensions of his drooping years, and you will
scarce know it to belong to the same person: there would be more art to discern, than at first to draw
it. The same and greater is the difference between
man innocent and fallen. He is, as it were, a new
kind or species; the plague of sin has even altered
his nature, and eaten into his very essentials. The
image of God is wiped out, the creatures have shook
off his yoke, renounced his sovereignty, and revolted
from his dominion. Distempers and diseases have
shattered the excellent frame of his body; and, by a
new dispensation, immortality is swallowed up of
mortality. The same disaster and decay also has
invaded his spirituals: the passions rebel, every
faculty would usurp and rule; and there are so
many governors, that there can be no government.
The light within us is become darkness; and the
understanding, that should be eyes to the blind faculty
The two great perfections, that both adorn and
exercise man’s understanding, are philosophy and
religion: for the first of these; take it even amongst
the professors of it, where it most flourished, and
we shall find the very first notions of common sense
debauched by them. For there have been such as
have asserted, that there is no such thing in the
world as motion; that contradictions may be true. There has not been wanting
one, that has denied snow to be white. Such a stupidity or wantonness had seized
upon the most raised wits, that it might be doubted, whether the philosophers or
the owls of Athens were the quicker sighted. But then for religion; what prodigious, monstrous, misshapen births
has the reason of fallen man produced! It is now
almost six thousand years, that far the greatest part
of the world has had no other religion but idolatry:
and idolatry certainly is the first-born of folly, the
great and leading paradox; nay, the very abridgment and sum total of all absurdities. For is it not
strange, that a rational man should worship an ox,
nay, the image of an ox? that he should fawn
upon his dog? bow himself before a cat? adore
leeks and garlic, and shed penitential tears at the
smell of a deified onion? Yet so did the Egyptians,
once the famed masters of all arts and learning,
In the last place, we learn from hence the excellency of Christian religion, in that it is the great and only means that God has sanctified and designed to repair the breaches of humanity, to set fallen man upon his legs again, to clarify his reason, to rectify his will, and to compose and regulate his affections. The whole business of our redemption is, in short, only to rub over the defaced copy of the creation, to reprint God’s image upon the soul, and (as it were) to set forth nature in a second and a fairer edition.
The recovery of which lost image, as it is God’s pleasure to command, and our duty to endeavour, so it is in his power only to effect.
To whom be rendered and ascribed, as is most due, all praise, might, majesty, and dominion, both now and for evermore. Amen.
Interest deposed, and Truth restored:
The first at St. Mary’s in Oxford, on the 24th of July 1659, being the time of the Assizes: as also of the fears and groans of the nation, in the threatened and expected ruin of the laws, ministry, and universities.
The other preached before the honourable Society of Lincoln’s Inn.
Honoured Sir,
THOUGH at first it was free, and in my choice, whether I should publish these discourses, yet the publication
being once resolved, the dedication was not so indifferent;
the nature of the subject, no less than the obligations of
the author, styling them in a peculiar manner yours:
for since their drift is to carry the most endangered and
endangering truth, above the safest, when sinful, interest;
as a practice upon grounds of reason the most generous,
and of Christianity the most religious; to whom rather
should this assertion repair as to a patron, than to him whom
it has for an instance? Who, in a case of eminent competition, chose duty before interest; and when the judge grew
inconsistent with the justice, preferred rather to be constant to sure principles, than to an unconstant
And thus, sir, having presumed to honour my first essays in divinity, by prefixing to them a name, to which divines are so much obliged; I should here in the close of this address contribute a wish at least to your happiness: but since we desire it not yet in another world, and your enjoyments in this (according to the standard of a Christian desire) are so complete, that they require no addition; I shall turn my wishes into gratulations, and congratulating their fulness, only wish their continuance: praying that you may still possess what you possess, and do what you do; that is, reflect upon a clear, unblotted, acquitting conscience, and feed upon the ineffable comforts of the memorial of a conquered temptation, without the danger of returning to the trial. And this, sir, I account the greatest felicity that you can enjoy, and therefore the greatest that he can desire, who is
Your’s in all observance,
ROBERT SOUTH.
Ch. Ch. 25. of
May 1660.
But whosoever shall deny me before men, him will I also deny before my Father which is in heaven.
AS the great comprehensive gospel duty is the denial of self, so the grand gospel sin that confronts it is the denial of Christ. These two are both the commanding and the dividing principles of all our actions: for whosoever acts in opposition to one, does it always in behalf of the other. None ever op posed Christ, but it was to gratify self: none ever renounced the interest of self, but from a prevailing love to the interest of Christ. The subject I have here pitched upon may seem improper in these times, and in this place, where the number of professors and of men is the same; where the cause and interest of Christ has been so cried up; and Christ’s personal reign and kingdom so called for and expected. But since it has been still preached up, but acted down; and dealt with, as the eagle in the fable did with the oyster, carrying it up on high, that by letting it fall he might dash it in pieces: I say, since Christ must reign, but his truths be made to serve; I suppose it is but reason to distinguish between profession and pretence, and to conclude, that men’s present crying, Hail king, and bending the knee to Christ, are only in order to his future crucifixion.
For the discovery of the sense of the words, I
shall inquire into their occasion. From the very beginning of the chapter we have Christ consulting
the propagation of the gospel; and in order to it In the parliament 1653, it being put to the vote, whether
they should support and encourage a godly and learned ministry, the latter word was rejected,
and the vote passed for a godly and faithful ministry.
As for the explication of the words, they are clear
and easy; and their originals in the Greek are of
single signification, without any ambiguity; and
therefore I shall not trouble you, by proposing how
they run in this or that edition; or straining for an
interpretation where there is no difficulty, or distinction where there is no difference. The only exposition that I shall give of them, will be to compare
them to other parallel scriptures, and peculiarly to
that in
1. What is here in the text called a denying of
Christ, is there termed a being ashamed of him,
2. What is here termed a denying of Christ, is there called a being ashamed of Christ and his words: Christ’s truths are his second self. And he that offers a contempt to a king’s letters or edicts, virtually affronts the king; it strikes his words, but it rebounds upon his person.
3. What is here said, before men, is there phrased, in this adulterous and sinful generation. These words import the hinderance of the duty enjoined; which therefore is here purposely enforced with a non obstante to all opposition. The term adulterous, I conceive, may chiefly relate to the Jews, who being nationally espoused to God by covenant, every sin of theirs was in a peculiar manner spiritual adultery.
4. What is here said, I will deny him before my Father, is there expressed, I will be ashamed of him before my Father and his holy angels; that is, when he shall come to judgment, when revenging justice shall come in pomp, attended with the glorious retinue of all the host of heaven. In short, the sentence pronounced declares the judgment, the solemnity of it the terror.
From the words we may deduce these observations:
I. We shall find strong motives and temptations from men, to draw us to a denial of Christ.
II. No terrors or solicitations from men, though never so great, can warrant or excuse such a denial.
III. To deny Christ’s words, is to deny Christ.
But since these observations are rather implied than expressed in the words, I shall wave them, and instead of deducing a doctrine distinct from the words, prosecute the words themselves under this doctrinal paraphrase:
Whosoever shall deny, disown, or be ashamed of either the person or truths of Jesus Christ, for any fear or favour of man, shall with shame be disowned and eternally rejected by him at the dreadful judgment of the great day.
The discussion of this shall lie in these things:
I. To shew, how many ways Christ and his truths may be denied; and what is the denial here chiefly intended.
II. To shew, what are the causes that induce men to a denial of Christ and his truths.
III. To shew, how far a man may consult his safety in time of persecution, without denying Christ.
IV To shew, what is imported in Christ’s denying us before his Father in heaven.
V. To apply all to the present occasion.
But before I enter upon these, I must briefly premise this, that though the text and the doctrine run
peremptory and absolute, Whosoever denies Christ,
shall assuredly be denied by him; yet still there is a tacit condition in the
words supposed, unless repentance intervene. For this and many other scriptures, though as to their formal terms they are absolute, yet as to their sense they are conditional. God
in mercy has so framed and tempered his word, that
we have, for the most part, a reserve of mercy
wrapped up in a curse. And the very first judgment
1. We may deny him and his truths by an erroneous, heretical judgment. I know it is doubted
whether a bare error in judgment can condemn:
but since truths absolutely necessary to salvation
are so clearly revealed, that we cannot err in them,
unless we be notoriously wanting to ourselves;
herein the fault of the judgment is resolved into a
precedent default in the will; and so the case is put
out of doubt. But here it may be replied, Are not
truths of absolute and fundamental necessity very
disputable; as the deity of Christ, the trinity of persons? If they are not in themselves disputable,
why are they so much disputed? Indeed, I believe,
if we trace these disputes to their original cause, we
shall find, that they never sprung from a reluctancy
in reason to embrace them. For this reason itself
dictates, as most rational, to assent to any thing,
though seemingly contrary to reason, if it is revealed
by God, and we are certain of the revelation. These
two supposed, these disputes must needs arise only
from curiosity and singularity; and these are faults
of a diseased will. But some will farther demand
2. We may deny Christ verbally, and by oral expressions. Now our words are the interpreters of
our hearts, the transcripts of the judgment, with
some farther addition of good or evil. He that interprets, usually enlarges.
What our judgment whispers in secret, these proclaim upon the house top. To deny
Christ in the former, imports enmity r but in these, open defiance. Christ’s passion
is renewed in both: he that misjudges of him, condemns him; but he that blasphemes him, spits in
his face. Thus the Jews and the Pharisees denied
Christ. We know that this man is a sinner,
3. We may deny Christ in our actions and practice; and these
speak much louder than our tongues. To have an orthodox belief, and a true
profession, concurring with a bad life, is only to deny Christ with a greater
solemnity. Belief and profession will speak thee a Christian but very faintly,
when thy conversation proclaims thee an infidel. Many, while they have preached
Christ in their sermons, have read a lecture of atheism in their practice. We
have many here who speak of godliness, mortification, and self-denial; but if
these are so, what means the bleating of the sheep, and the lowing of the oxen,
the noise of their ordinary sins, and the cry of their great ones? If godly, why
do they wallow and steep in all the carnalities of the world, under pretence of
Christian liberty? Why do they make religion ridiculous by pretending to
prophecy; and when their prophecies prove delusions, why do they blaspheme? A noted independent divine,
when Oliver Cromwell was sick, of which sickness he
died, declared that God had revealed to him that he should recover, and live
thirty years longer, for that God had raised him up for a work which could not
be done in less time. But Oliver’s death being published two days after, the
said divine publicly in prayer expostulated with God the defeat of his prophecy, in these words:
Lord, thou hast lied unto us; yea, thou hast lied unto us. Very credibly reported to have been done in an independent congregation at Oxon.
And thus having shewn the three ways by which Christ may be denied, it may now be demanded, which is the denial here intended in the words.
Answer. (1.) I conceive, if the words are taken as
they were particularly and personally directed to the
apostles, upon the occasion of their mission to preach
the gospel, so the denial of him was the not acknowledgment of the deity or godhead of Christ; and the
reason to prove that this was then principally in
tended is this; because this was the truth in those
days chiefly opposed, and most disbelieved; as appears, because Christ and the apostles did most earnestly inculcate the belief of this, and accepted men
upon the bare acknowledgment of this, and baptism
was administered to such as did but profess this,
As for the manner of our denying the deity of Christ here prohibited, I conceive, it was by words and oral expressions verbally to deny and disacknowledge it. This I ground upon these reasons:
1. Because it was such a denial as was before men,
and therefore consisted in open profession; for a denial
2. Because it was such a denial or confession of him as would appear in preaching: but this is managed in words and verbal profession.
But now, (2.) if we take the words as they are a general precept, equally relating to all times and to all persons, though delivered only upon a particular occasion to the apostles, (as I suppose they are to be understood;) so I think they comprehend all the three ways mentioned of confessing or denying Christ: but principally in respect of practice; and that, 1. Because by this he is most honoured or dishonoured. 2. Because without this the other two cannot save. 3. Because those who are ready enough to confess him both in judgment and profession, are for the most part very prone to deny him shamefully in their doings.
Pass we now to a second thing, viz. to shew,
II. What are the causes inducing men to deny Christ in his truths. I shall propose three.
1. The seeming supposed absurdity of many
truths: upon this foundation heresy always builds.
The heathens derided the Christians, that still they
required and pressed belief; and well they might,
say they, since the articles of their religion are so
absurd, that upon principles of science they can
never win assent. It is easy to draw it forth and
demonstrate, how upon this score the chief heresies,
that now are said to trouble the church, do oppose and deny the most important truths in divinity.
As first, hear the denier of the deity and satisfaction of Christ. What, says he, can the same person be
God and man? the creature and the creator? Can
The second thing causing men to deny the
truths of Christ is their unprofitableness. And no
wonder, if here men forsake the truth, and assert
interest. To be pious is the way to be poor. Truth
still gives its followers its own badge and livery, a
despised nakedness. It is hard to maintain the
truth, but much harder to be maintained by it.
Could it ever yet feed, clothe, or defend its assertors?
Did ever any man quench his thirst or satisfy his
hunger with a notion? Did ever any one live upon
propositions? The testimony of Brutus concerning
virtue is the apprehension of most concerning truth:
at it is a name, but lives and estates are things,
d therefore not to be thrown away upon words.
That we are neither to worship or cringe to any
thing under the Deity, is a truth too strict for a
Naaman: he can be content to worship the true
God, but then it must be in the house of Rimmon:
the reason was implied in his condition; he was captain of the host, and therefore he thought it reason
good to bow to Rimmon, rather than endanger his
place: better bow than break. Indeed sometimes
Providence casts things so, that truth and interest lie
the same way: and, when it is wrapt up in this covering, men can be content to follow it, to press
hard after it, but it is, as we pursue some beasts,
3. The third cause inducing men to deny Christ in
his truths is their apparent danger. To confess
Christ is the ready way to be cast out of the synagogue. The church is a place of graves, as well as
of worship and profession. To be resolute in a
good cause is to bring upon ourselves the punishments due to a bad. Truth indeed is a possession
of the highest value, and therefore it must needs expose the owner to much danger. Christ is sometimes
pleased to make the profession of himself costly, and
a man cannot buy the truth, but he must pay down
his life and his dearest blood for it. Christianity
marks a man out for destruction; and Christ some
times chalks out such a way to salvation as shall
verify his own saying, He that will save his life
shall lose it. The first ages of the church had a
more abundant experience of this: what Paul and
the rest planted by their preaching, they watered
with their blood. We know their usage was such,
as Christ foretold; he sent them to wolves, and the
common course then was, Christianos ad leones. For
a man to give his name to Christianity in those days
III. We proceed now to the third thing, which is to shew, how far a man may consult his safety, &c.
This he may do two ways.
1. By withdrawing his person. Martyrdom is an
heroic act of faith: an achievement beyond an
ordinary pitch of it; To you, says the Spirit, it is
given to suffer,
2. By concealing his judgment. A man some
times is no more bound to speak, than to destroy
himself: and as nature abhors this, so religion does
not command that. In the times of the primitive
And thus much concerning those lawful ways of
securing ourselves in time of persecution: not as if
these were always lawful: for sometimes a man is
bound to confess Christ openly, though he dies for
it; and to conceal a truth is to deny it. But now,
to shew when it is our duty, and when unlawful to
take these courses, by some general rule of a perpetual, never-failing truth,
none ever would yet presume: for, as Aristotle says, we are not to expect demonstrations in ethics or politics, nor to build certain rules upon the contingency of human actions:
so, inasmuch as our flying from persecution, our
confessing or concealing persecuted truths, vary and
change their very nature, according to different circumstances
IV. Having thus despatched the third thing, I proceed to the fourth, which is to shew, what it is for Christ to deny us before his Father in heaven. Hitherto we have treated of men’s carriage to Christ in this world; now we will describe his carriage to them in the other. These words clearly relate to the last judgment, and they are a summary description of his proceeding with men at that day.
And here we will consider,
1. The action itself, He will deny them.
2. The circumstance of the action, He will deny them before his Father and the holy angels.
1. Concerning the first: Christ’s denying us is
otherwise expressed in
2. For the circumstance, He will deny us before
his Father and the holy angels. As much as God
is more glorious than man, so much is it more glorious to be confessed before him, than before men:
and so much glory as there is in being confessed, so
much dishonour there is in being denied. If there
could be any room for comfort after the sentence of
damnation, it would be this, to be executed in secret,
to perish unobserved: as it is some allay to the infamy of him who died ignominiously, to be buried
privately. But when a man’s folly must be spread
open before the angels, and all his baseness ript up
before those pure spirits, this will be a double hell:
to be thrust into utter darkness, only to be punished
by it, without the benefit of being concealed. When
Christ shall compare himself, who was denied, and
the thing for which he was denied, together, and
parallel his merits with a lust, and lay eternity in
V. I proceed now to the uses which may be drawn from the truths delivered. And here,
1. (Right honourable) not only the present occasion, but even the words themselves, seem eminently to address an exhortation to your honours. As for others not to deny Christ, is openly to profess him; so for you who are invested with authority, not to deny him, is to defend him. Know therefore, that Christ does not only desire, but demand your defence, and that in a double respect.
(1.) In respect of his truth. (2.) Of his members.
(1.) He requires that you should defend and confess him in his truth. Heresy is a tare sometimes
not to be pulled up but by the civil magistrate. The
word liberty of conscience is much abused for the
defence of it, because not well understood. Every
man may have liberty of conscience to think and
judge as he pleases, but not to vent what he pleases.
The reason is, because conscience bounding itself
within the thoughts is of private concernment, and
the cognizance of these belong only to God: but
when an opinion is published, it concerns all that
hear it; and the public is endamaged, and therefore
becomes punishable by the magistrate, to whom the
(2.) Christ requires you to own and defend him
in his members; and amongst these, the chief of
them, and such as most fall in your way, the ministers; I say, that despised, abject, oppressed sort of
men, the ministers, whom the world would make
antichristian, and so deprive them of heaven; and
also strip them of that poor remainder of their maintenance, and so allow them no portion upon the
earth. You may now spare that distinction of scandalous ministers, when it is even made scandalous to
be a minister. And as for their discouragement in
the courts of the law, I shall only note this, that for
these many years last past, it has been the constant
observation of all, that if a minister had a cause depending in the court, it was ten to one but it went Whensoever any petition was put up to the parliament in the
year 1653, for the taking away of tithes, the thanks of the house were still returned to them, and that by the name and elogy of the well-affected petitioners.
2. Use is of information, to shew us the danger as
well as the baseness of a dastardly spirit, in asserting
the interest and truth of Christ. Since Christ has
made a Christian course a warfare, of all men living
a coward is the most unfit to make a Christian:
whose infamy is not so great, but it is sometimes
less than his peril. A coward does not always scape
with disgrace, but sometimes also he loses his life:
wherefore, let all such know, as can enlarge their
consciences like hell, and call any sinful compliance
submission, and style a cowardly silence in Christ’s cause, discretion and prudence; I say, let them
know, that Christ will one day scorn them, and spit
them, with their policy and prudence, into hell; and
then let them consult, how politic they were, for a
temporal emolument, to throw away eternity. The
things which generally cause men to deny Christ
are, either the enjoyments or the miseries of this
life: but alas! at the day of judgment all these will
expire; and, as one well observes, what are we the
better for pleasure, or the worse for sorrow, when it
is past? But then sin and guilt will be still fresh,
and heaven and hell will be then yet to begin. If
ever it was seasonable to preach courage in the despised, abused cause of Christ, it is now, when his
truths are reformed into nothing, when the hands
and hearts of his faithful ministers are weakened,
and even broke, and his worship extirpated in a A colonel of the army, the perfidious cause of Penruddock’s
death, and some time after high-sheriff of Oxfordshire, openly and frequently affirmed
the uselessness of the universities, and that three colleges were sufficient to answer the occasions of the nation, for the breeding of men up to learning, so far as it was either necessary or useful.
Ecclesiastical Policy the best Policy:
After this thing Jeroboam returned not from his evil way, but made again of the lowest of the people priests of the high places: whosoever would, he consecrated him, and he became one of the priests of the high places. And this thing became sin unto the house of Jeroboam, even to cut it off, and to destroy it from off the face of the earth.
JEROBOAM (from the name of a person become
the character of impiety) is reported to posterity
eminent, or rather infamous, for two things; usurpation of government, and innovation of religion. It
is confessed, the former is expressly said to have
been from God; but since God may order and dispose what he does not approve, and use the wickedness
of men while he forbids it, the design of the first cause does not excuse the
malignity of the second: and therefore, the advancement and sceptre
of Jeroboam was in that sense only the work of God, Cromwell (a lively copy of Jeroboam) did so.
From the story and practice of Jeroboam, we might gather these observations.
1. That God sometimes punishes a notorious sin, by suffering the sinner to fall into a worse.
Thus God punished the rebellion of the Israelites, by permitting them to fall into idolatry.
2. There is nothing so absurd, but may be obtruded upon the vulgar under pretence of religion.
Certainly, otherwise a golden calf could never have been made either the object or the means of divine worship.
3. Sin, especially that of perverting God’s worship, as it leaves a guilt upon the soul, so it perpetuates a blot upon the name.
Hence nothing so frequent, as for the Spirit of God to express wicked, irreligious kings, by comparing them to Ahab or Jeroboam. It being usual to make the first and most eminent in any kind, not only the standard for comparison, but also the rule of expression.
But I shall insist only upon the words of the
text, and what shall be drawn from thence. There
1. What is meant by the high places.
2. What by the consecration of the priests.
1. Concerning the high places. The use of these
in the divine worship was general and ancient; and
as Dionysius Vossius observes in his notes upon
Moses Maimonides, the first way that was used, long
before temples were either built or thought lawful.
The reason of this seems to be, because those places
could not be thought to shut up or confine the immensity of God, as they supposed an house did; and
withal gave his worshippers a nearer approach to
heaven by their height. Hence we read that the
Samaritans worshipped upon mount Gerizim,
2. For the second thing, which is the consecration of the priests; it seems to have been correspondent to ordination in the Christian church. Idolaters themselves were not so far gone, as to venture upon the priesthood without consecration and a call. To shew all the solemnities of this would be tedious, and here unnecessary: the Hebrew word which we render to consecrate, signifies to fill the hand, which indeed imports the manner of consecration, which was done by filling the hand: for the priest cut a piece of the sacrifice, and put it into the hands of him that was to be consecrated; by which ceremony he received right to sacrifice, and so became a priest. As our ordination in the Christian church is said to have been heretofore transacted by the bishop’s delivering of the Bible into the hands of him that was to be ordained, whereby he received power ministerially to dispense the mysteries contained in it, and so was made a presbyter. Thus much briefly concerning consecration.
There remains nothing else to be explained in the words: I shall therefore now draw forth the sense of them into these two propositions.
I. The surest means to strengthen, or the readiest to ruin the civil power, is either to establish or destroy the worship of God in the right exercise of religion.
II. The next and most effectual way to destroy religion, is to embase the teachers and dispensers of it.
Of both these in their order.
For the prosecution of the former we are to shew,
1. The truth of the assertion, that it is so.
2. The reason of the assertion, why and whence it is so.
1. For the truth of it: it is abundantly evinced from all records both of divine and profane history, in which he that runs may read the ruin of the state in the destruction of the church; and that not only portended by it, as its sign, but also inferred from it, as its cause.
2. For the reason of the point; it may be drawn
(1.) From the judicial proceeding of God, the great king of kings, and supreme ruler of the universe; who for his commands is indeed careful, but for his worship jealous: and therefore in states notoriously irreligious, by a secret and irresistible power, countermands their deepest project, splits their counsels, and smites their most refined policies with frustration and a curse; being resolved that the kingdoms of the world shall fall down before him, either in his adoration, or their own confusion.
(2.) The reason of the doctrine may be drawn
from the necessary dependance of the very principles of government upon religion. And this I shall
pursue more fully. The great business of government is to procure obedience, and keep off disobedience: the great springs upon which those two move
are rewards and punishments, answering the two
ruling affections of man’s mind, hope and fear. For
since there is a natural opposition between the judgment and the appetite, the former respecting what
is honest, the latter what is pleasing; which two
qualifications seldom concur in the same thing, and
since withal man’s design in every action is delight;
therefore to render things honest also practicable,
The inferences from hence are two.
1. If government depends upon religion, then this
shows the pestilential design of those, that attempt
to disjoin the civil and ecclesiastical interest, setting
the latter wholly out of the tuition of the former.
But it is clear that the fanaticks know no other
step to the magistracy, but through the ruin of the
ministry. There is a great analogy between the
body natural and politic; in which the ecclesiastical
or spiritual part justly supplies the part of the soul;
and the violent separation of this from the other
does as certainly infer death and dissolution, as the
disjunction of the body and the soul in the natural;
for when this once departs, it leaves the body of the
commonwealth a carcass, noisome, and exposed to be
devoured by birds of prey. The ministry will be
one day found, according to Christ’s word, the salt
of the earth, the only thing that keeps societies of
ten from stench and corruption. These two interests See Serm. on
2. If the safety of government is founded upon
the truth of religion, then this shews the danger of
any thing that may make even the true religion
suspected to be false. To be false, and to be thought
false, is all one in respect of men, who act not according to truth, but
apprehension. As on the contrary, a false religion, while apprehended true, has
the force and efficacy of truth. Now there is nothing
more apt to induce men to a suspicion of any religion, than frequent innovation and change: for since
the object of religion, God, the subject of it, the
soul of man, and the business of it, truth, is always
one and the same; variety and novelty is a just
presumption of falsity. It argues sickness and distemper in the mind, as well as in the body, when a
Thus much for the first doctrine. I proceed now to the second, viz. That the next, and most effectual way to destroy religion, is to embase the teachers and dispensers of it. In the handling of this I shall shew,
1. How the dispensers of religion, the ministers of the word, are embased or rendered vile.
2. How the embasing or vilifying them is a means to destroy religion.
1. For the first of these, the ministers and dispensers of the word are rendered base or vile two ways:
(1.) By divesting them of all temporal privileges
And thus much concerning the first way of debasing the ministers and ministry.
(2.) The second way is by admitting ignorant,
sordid, illiterate persons to this function. This is
to give the royal stamp to a piece of lead. I confess, God has no need of any man’s parts or learning;
but certainly then, he has much less need of his
ignorance and ill behaviour. It is a sad thing,
when all other employments shall empty themselves
into the ministry: when men shall repair to it, not
for preferment, but refuge; like malefactors flying
to the altar, only to save their lives; or like those
of Eli’s race, (
And this may suffice concerning the second way of embasing God’s ministers; namely, by intrusting the ministry with raw, unlearned, ill-bred persons; so that what Solomon speaks of a proverb in the mouth of a fool, the same may be said of the minis try vested in them, that it is like a pearl in a swine’s snout.
2. I proceed now to the second thing proposed in the discussion of this doctrine, which is, to shew how the embasing of the ministers tends to the destruction of religion.
This it does two ways.
(1.) Because it brings them under exceeding scorn
and contempt; and then, let none think religion
itself secure: for the vulgar have not such logical
heads, as to be able to abstract such subtile conceptions as to separate the man from the minister, or to
consider the same person under a double capacity,
and so honour him as a divine, while they despise
him as poor. But suppose they could, yet actions
cannot distinguish, as conceptions do; and therefore
every act of contempt strikes at both, and unavoidably wounds the ministry
through the sides of the minister. And we must know, that the least degree of contempt weakens religion, because it is absolutely contrary to the nature of it; religion properly consisting in a reverential esteem of things
sacred. Now that which in any measure weakens
religion, will at length destroy it: for the weakening of a thing is only a partial destruction of it.
Poverty and meanness of condition expose the wisest
to scorn, it being natural for men to place their esteem
(2.) The second way by which it tends to the
ruin of the ministry is, because it discourages men
of fit parts and abilities from undertaking it. And
certain it is, that as the calling dignifies the man,
so the man much more advances his calling: as a
garment, though it warms the body, has a return
with an advantage, being much more warmed by it.
And how often a good cause may miscarry without
a wise manager, and the faith for want of a defender, is, or at least may be known. It is not the
truth of an assertion, but the skill of the disputant, Caspar Streso.
Well now, instead of raising any particular uses
from the point that has been delivered, let us make
a brief recapitulation of the whole. Government,
we see, depends upon religion, and religion upon the
encouragement of those that are to dispense and
assert it. For the further evidence of which truths,
we need not travel beyond our own borders; but
leave it to every one impartially to judge, whether
from the very first day that our religion was unsettled, and church government flung out of doors,
the civil government has ever been able to fix upon
a sure foundation. We have been changing even
to a proverb. The indignation of heaven has been
rolling and turning us from one form to another,
till at length such a giddiness seized upon government,
My Lord,
THOUGH the interposal of my Lord of Canterbury’s command for the publication of this mean discourse, may seem
so far to determine, as even to take away my choice; yet I must own it to the
world, that it is solely and entirely my own inclination, seconded by my
obligations to your Lord ship, that makes this, that was so lately an humble
attendant upon your Lordship’s consecration, now ambitious to consecrate itself
with your Lordship’s name. It was my honour to have lived in the same college with your Lordship,
and now to belong to the same cathedral, where at present
you credit the church as much by your government, as you
did the school formerly by your wit. Your Lordship even
then grew up into a constant superiority above others; and
all your after-greatness seems but a paraphrase upon those
promising beginnings: for whatsoever you are, or shall be,
Your Lordship’s
most obliged servant,
ROBERT SOUTH.
From St. James’s,
Dec. 3, 1666.
These things speak and exhort, and rebuke with all authority. Let no man despise thee.
IT may possibly be expected, that the very taking of my text out of this epistle to Titus, may engage me in a discourse about the nature, original, and divine right of episcopacy; and if it should, it were no more than what some of the greatest and the learnedest persons in the world (when men served truth instead of design) had done before: for I must profess, that I cannot look upon Titus as so far unbishoped yet, but that he still exhibits to us all the essentials of that jurisdiction, which to this day is claimed for episcopal. We are told in the fifth verse of the first chapter, that he was left in Crete to set things in order, and to ordain elders in every city; which text one would think were sufficiently clear and full, and too big with evidence to be perverted: but when we have seen rebellion commented out of the thirteenth of the Romans; and since there are few things but admit of gloss and probability, and consequently may be expounded as well as disputed on both sides; it is no such wonder, that some would bear the world in hand, that the apostle’s design and meaning is for presbytery, though his words are all the time for episcopacy: no wonder, I say, to us at least, who have conversed with too many strange unparalleled actions, occurrences, and events, now to wonder at any thing: wonder is from surprise; and surprise ceases upon experience.
I am not so much a friend to the stale starched
In all this epistle it is evident that St. Paul looks
upon Titus as advanced to the dignity of a prime
ruler of the church, and intrusted with a large diocese, containing many particular churches under the
immediate government of their respective elders;
and those deriving authority from his ordination, as
was specified in the fifth verse of the first chapter.
I. An account of the duties of his place or office.
II. Of the means to facilitate and make effectual their execution.
I. The duties of his place were two. 1. To teach. 2. To rule. Both comprised in these words; These things speak and exhort, and rebuke with all authority.
And then the means, the only means to make him successful, bright, and victorious in the performance of these great works, was to be above contempt, to shine like the Baptist, with a clear and a triumphant light. In a word, it is every bishop’s duty to teach and to govern; and his way to do it is not to be despised.
We will discourse of each respectively in their order.
1. And first, for the first branch of the great work
incumbent upon a church ruler, which is to teach.
A work that none is too great or too high for; it is
a work of charity, and charity is the work of heaven,
which is always laying itself out upon the needy and
the impotent: nay, and it is a work of the highest
and the noblest charity; for he that teacheth an
other, gives an alms to his soul; he clothes the nakedness of his understanding, and relieves the wants
of his impoverished reason: he indeed that governs
well, leads the blind; but he that teaches, gives him
eyes: and it is a glorious thing to have been the repairer
To say a man is advanced too high to condescend to teach the ignorant, is as much as to say, that the sun is in too high a place to shine upon what is be low it. The sun is said to rule the day, and the moon to rule the night: but do they not rule them only by enlightening them? Doctrine is that, that must prepare men for discipline; and men never go on so cheerfully, as when they see where they go.
Nor is the dulness of the scholar to extinguish,
but rather to inflame the charity of the teacher: for
since it is not in men as in vessels, that the smallest
capacity is the soonest filled; where the labour is
doubled, the value of the work is enhanced; for it
is a sowing where a man never expects to reap any
thing but the comfort and conscience of having done
virtuously. And yet we know moreover, that God
sometimes converts even the dull and the slow, turning very stones into
sons of Abraham; where besides
that the difficulty of the conquest advances the trophy of the conqueror; it
often falls out, that the backward learner makes amends another way, recompensing sure for sudden, expiating his want of
docility with a deeper and a more rooted retention:
which alone were argument sufficient to enforce the
apostle’s injunction of being instant in season and
out of season, even upon the highest and most exalted
The teaching part indeed of a Romish bishop is
easy enough, whose grand business is only to teach
men to be ignorant, to instruct them how to know
nothing, or, which is all one, to know upon trust, to
believe implicitly, and in a word, to see with other
men’s eyes, till they come to be lost in their own
souls. But our religion is a religion that dares to
be understood; that offers itself to the search of the
inquisitive, to the inspection of the severest and the
most awakened reason: for being secure of her substantial truth and purity, she knows, that for her to
be seen and looked into, is to be embraced and admired: as there needs no greater argument for men
to love the light, than to see it. It needs no legends,
no service in an unknown tongue, no inquisition
against scripture, no purging out the heart and
sense of authors, no altering or bribing the voice of
antiquity to speak for it; it needs none of all these
laborious artifices of ignorance; none of all these
cloaks and coverings. The Romish faith indeed
must be covered, or it cannot be kept warm, and
their clergy deal with their religion as with a great
crime; if it is discovered, they are undone. But
there is no bishop of the church of England, but accounts it his interest, as well as his duty, to comply
Now this teaching may be effected two ways:
(1.) Immediately by himself.
(2.) Mediately by others.
And first, immediately by himself. Where God gives a talent, the episcopal robe can be no napkin to hide it in. Change of condition changes not the abilities of nature, but makes them more illustrious in their exercise; and the episcopal dignity added to a good preaching faculty, is like the erecting of a stately fountain upon a spring, which still, for all that, remains as much a spring as it was before, and flows as plentifully, only it flows with the circumstance of greater state and magnificence. Height of place is intended only to stamp the endowments of a private condition with lustre and authority: and, thanks be to God, neither the church’s professed enemies, nor her pretended friends, have any cause to asperse her in this respect, as having over her such bishops as are able to silence the factious, no less by their preaching than by their authority.
But then, on the other hand, let me add also, that
this is not so absolutely necessary, as to be of the
vital constitution of this function. He may teach
his diocese, who ceases to be able to preach to it:
for he may do it by appointing teachers, and by a
vigilant exacting from them the care and the instruction of their respective flocks. He is the spiritual father of his diocese; and a father may see
his children taught, though he himself does not turn
schoolmaster. It is not the gift of every person nor
of every age, to harangue the multitude, to voice it
high and loud, et dominari in concionibus. And
(2.) In the second place therefore, there is a teaching mediately, by the subordinate ministration of others; in which, since the action of the instrumental agent is, upon all grounds of reason, to be ascribed to the principal, he, who ordains and furnishes all his churches with able preachers, is an universal teacher; he instructs where he cannot be present; he speaks in every mouth of his diocese; and every congregation of it every Sunday feels his influence, though it hears not his voice. That master deprives not his family of their food, who orders a faithful steward to dispense it. Teaching is not a flow of words, nor the draining of an hour glass, but an effectual procuring, that a man comes to know something which he knew not before, or to know it better. And therefore eloquence and ability of speech is to a church governor, as Tully said it was to a philosopher; Si afferatur, non repudianda; si absit, non magnopere desideranda: and to find fault with such an one for not being a popular speaker, is to blame a painter for not being a good musician.
To teach indeed must be confessed his duty, but then there is a teaching by example, by authority, by restraining seducers, and so removing the hinderances of knowledge. And a bishop does his church, his prince and country, more service by ruling other men’s tongues, than he can by employing his own. And thus much for the first branch of the great work belonging to a pastor of the church, which was to teach and to exhort.
2. The second is to rule, expressed in these words; rebuke with all authority. By which I doubt not but the apostle principally intends church censures; and so the words are a metonymy of the part for the whole, giving an instance in ecclesiastical censures, instead of all other ecclesiastical jurisdiction. A jurisdiction, which in the essentials of it is as old as Christianity, and even in those circumstantial additions of secular encouragement, with which the piety and wisdom of Christian princes always thought necessary to support it against the encroachments of the injurious world, much older and more venerable than any constitution that has divested the church of it.
But to speak directly to the thing before us; we see here the great apostle employing the utmost of his authority in commanding Titus to use his: and what he said to him, he says to every Christian bi shop after him, rebuke with all authority. This authority is a spiritual sword put into the hands of every church ruler; and God put not this sword into his hands, with an intent that he should keep it there for no other purpose, but only for fashion sake, as men use to wear one by their sides. Government is an art above the attainment of an ordinary genius, and requires a wider, a larger, and a more comprehending soul than God has put into every body. The spirit which animates and acts the universe, is a spirit of government; and that ruler that is possessed of it, is the substitute and vicegerent of Providence, whether in church or state: every bishop is God’s curate. Now the nature of government contains in it these three parts:
(1.) An exaction of duty from the persons placed under it.
(2.) A protection of them in the performance of their duty.
(3.) Coercion and animadversion upon such as neglect it. All which are, in their proportion, ingredients of that government which we call ecclesiastical.
(1.) And first, it implies exaction of duty from the persons placed under it: for it is both to be confessed and lamented, that men are not so ready to offer it, where it is not exacted: otherwise, what means the service of the church so imperfectly and by halves read over, and that by many who profess a conformity to the rules of the church? What makes them mince and mangle that in their practice, which they could swallow whole in their subscriptions? Why are the public prayers curtailed and left out, prayers composed with sobriety, and enjoined with authority, only to make the more room for a long, crude, impertinent, upstart harangue before the sermon?
Such persons seem to conform (the signification of which word they never make good) only that they may despise the church’s injunctions under the church’s wing, and contemn authority within the protection of the laws. Duty is but another English word for debt; and God knows, that it is well if men pay their debts when they are called upon. But if governors do not remind men of, and call them to obedience, they will find, that it will never come as a free-will offering, no not from many who even serve at the altar.
(2.) Government imports a protection and encouragement of the persons under it, in the discharge of their duty. It is not for a magistrate to frown upon, and browbeat those who are hearty and exact in the management of their ministry; and with a grave insignificant nod, to call a well regulated and resolved zeal, want of prudence and moderation. Such discouraging of men in the ways of an active conformity to the church’s rules is that, which will crack the sinews of government; for it weakens the hands and damps the spirits of the obedient. And if only scorn and rebuke shall attend men for asserting the church’s dignity, and taxing the murder of kings, and the like; many will choose rather to neglect their duty safely and creditably, than to get a broken pate in the church’s service, only to be rewarded with that which shall break their hearts too.
(3.) The third thing implied in government is
coercion, and animadversion upon such as neglect
their duty: without which coercive power all government is but toothless and
precarious, and does not so much command as beg obedience. Nothing, I confess,
is more becoming a Christian, of what degree soever, than meekness, candour, and condescension;
but they are virtues that have their proper sphere and season to act and shew
themselves in, and consequently not to interfere with others, different indeed in their nature, but altogether as necessary in their use. And when an insolent despiser of discipline, nurtured into impudence and
contempt of all order by a long risk of licence and
rebellion, shall appear before a church governor, severity and resolution are that governor’s virtues, and
Were indeed the consciences of men as they should be, the censures of the church might be a sufficient coercion upon them; but being, as most of them nowadays are, hell and damnation proof, her bare anathemas fall but like so many bruta fulmina upon the obstinate and schismatical; who are like to think themselves shrewdly hurt (forsooth) by being cut off from that body, which they choose not to be of; and so being punished into a quiet enjoyment of their beloved separation. Some will by no means allow the church any further power than only to exhort and to advise; and this but with a proviso too, that it extends not to such as think themselves too wise and too great to be advised; according to the hypothesis of which persons, the authority of the church, and the obliging force of all church sanctions, can bespeak men only thus; These and these things it is your duty to do, and if you will not do them, you may as well let them alone. A strict and efficacious constitution indeed, which invests the church with no power at all, but where men will be so very civil as to obey it, and so at the same time pay it a duty, and do it a courtesy too.
But when in the judgment of some men the spiritual function, as such, must render a churchman,
though otherwise never so discreet and qualified,
yet merely because he is a churchman, unfit to
be intrusted by his prince with a share of that
power and jurisdiction, which in many circumstances
his prince has judged but too necessary to secure
But surely, all our kings and our parliaments understood well enough what they did, when they thought fit to prop and fortify the spiritual order with some power that was temporal; and such is the present state of the world, in the judgment of any observing eye, that if the bishop has no other defensatives but excommunication, no other power but that of the keys, he may, for any notable effect that he is like to do upon the factious and contumacious, surrender up his pastoral staff, shut up the church, and put those keys under the door.
And thus I have endeavoured to shew the three things included in the general nature of government; but to prescribe the manner of it in particular is neither in my power nor inclination: only, I suppose, the common theory and speculation of things is free and open to any one whom God has sent into the world with some ability to contemplate, and by continuing him in the world, gives him also opportunity. In all that has been said, I do not in the least pretend to advise, or chalk out rules to my superiors; for some men cannot be fools with so good acceptance as others. But whosoever is called to speak upon a certain occasion, may, I conceive, without offence, take any text suitable to that occasion, and having taken it, may, or at least ought, to speak suitably to that text.
II. I proceed now to the second thing proposed from the words, which is the means assigned for the discharge of the duties mentioned, and exhibited under this one short prescription, Let no man despise thee: in the handling of which I shall shew,
1. The ill effects and destructive influence that contempt has upon government.
2. The groundless causes upon which church rulers are frequently despised.
3. And lastly, the just causes that would render them, or indeed any other rulers, worthy to be despised. All which being clearly made out, and impartially laid before our eyes, it will be easy and obvious for every one, by avoiding the evil so marked out, to answer and come up to the apostle’s exhortation. And,
1. We will discourse of contempt, and the malign
hostile influence it has upon government. As for
the thing itself, every man’s experience will inform
him, that there is no action in the behaviour of one
man towards another, of which human nature is
more impatient than of contempt, it being a thing
made up of these two ingredients, an undervaluing
of a man upon a belief of his utter uselessness and
inability, and a spiteful endeavour to engage the
rest of the world in the same belief and slight
esteem of him. So that the immediate design of
contempt is the shame of the person contemned;
and shame is a banishment of him from the good
opinion of the world, which every man most earnestly desires, both upon a principle of nature and
of interest. For it is natural to all men to affect a
good name; and he that despises a man, libels him
in his thoughts, reviles and traduces him in his judgment.
By all which, I suppose, it is sufficiently proved how noxious it must needs be to every governor: for, can a man respect the person whom he despises? and can there be obedience, where there is not so much as respect? Will the knee bend, while the heart insults? and the actions submit, while the apprehensions rebel? And therefore the most experienced disturbers and underminers of government have always laid their first train in contempt, endeavouring to blow it up in the judgment and esteem of the subject. And was not this method observed in the late most flourishing and successful rebellion? For, how studiously did they lay about them, both from the pulpit and the press, to cast a slur upon the king’s person, and to bring his governing abilities under a disrepute? And then after they had sufficiently blasted him in his personal capacity, they found it easy work to dash and over throw him in his political.
Reputation is power, and consequently to despise
Nor is what has been said of princes less true of all other governors, from highest to lowest, from him that heads an army, to him that is master of a family, or of one single servant; the formal reason of a thing equally extending itself to every particular of the same kind. It is a proposition of eternal verity, that none can govern while he is despised. We may as well imagine that there may be a king without majesty, a supreme without sovereignty. It is a paradox, and a direct contradiction in practice; for where contempt takes place, the very causes and capacities of government cease.
Men are so far from being governed by a despised
person, that they will not so much as be taught by
him. Truth itself shall lose its credit, if delivered
by a person that has none. As on the contrary, be
but a person in vogue and credit with the multitude, he shall be able to commend and set off
whatsoever he says, to authorize any nonsense, and to
make popular, rambling, incoherent stuff (seasoned
with twang and tautology) pass for high rhetoric
2. I pass now to the second thing, which is to shew the groundless causes, upon which church rulers are frequently despised.
Concerning which, I shall premise this; that no
thing can be a reasonable ground of despising a
man, but some fault or other chargeable upon him;
and nothing can be a fault that is not naturally in
a man’s power to prevent; otherwise, it is a man’s unhappiness, his mischance, or calamity, but not his
This premised, we may take notice of two usual grounds of the contempt men cast upon the clergy, and yet for which no man ought to think himself at all the more worthy to be contemned.
(1.) The first is their very profession itself; concerning which it is a sad, but an experimented truth, that the names derived from it, in the refined language of the present age, are made but the appellatives of scorn. This is not charged universally upon all, but experience will affirm, or rather proclaim it of much the greater part of the world; and men must persuade us that we have lost our hearing and our common sense, before we can believe the contrary. But surely, the bottom and foundation of this behaviour towards persons set apart for the service of God, that this very relation should entitle them to such a peculiar scorn, can be nothing else but atheism, the growing rampant sin of the times.
For call a man oppressor, griping, covetous, or
over-reaching person, and the word indeed, being ill
befriended by custom, perhaps sounds not well, but
generally, in the apprehension of the hearer, it signifies no more, than that such an one is a wise and a
thriving, or, in the common phrase, a notable man;
which will certainly procure him a respect: and say
of another, that he is an epicure, a loose, or a vicious man; and it leaves in men no other opinion of
him, than that he is a merry, pleasant, and a genteel
person: and that he that taxes him, is but a pedant,
an unexperienced and a morose fellow; one that
But let us not be discouraged or displeased, either with ourselves or our profession, upon this account. Let the virtuosos mock, insult, and despise on: yet after all, they shall never be able to droll away the nature of things; to trample a pearl into a pebble, nor to make sacred things contemptible, any more than themselves, by such speeches, honourable.
(2.) Another groundless cause of some men’s despising the
governors of our church, is their loss of that former grandeur and privilege
that they enjoyed. But it is no real disgrace to the church merely to lose her
privileges, but to forfeit them by her fault or misdemeanor, of which she is not
conscious. Whatsoever she enjoyed in this kind, she
readily acknowledges to have streamed from the
royal munificence, and the favours of the civil power
shining upon the spiritual; which favours the same
power may retract and gather back into itself, when
it pleases. And we envy not the greatness and
lustre of the Romish clergy; neither their scarlet
gowns nor their scarlet sins. If our church cannot
be great; which is better, she can be humble, and
content to be reformed into as low a condition as
men for their own private advantage would have
her; who wisely tell her, that it is best and safest
for her to be without any power or temporal advantage; like the good physician, who out of tenderness to his patient, lest he should hurt himself by
drinking, was so kind as to rob him of his silver
cup. The church of England glories in nothing
3. And last thing, which is to shew those just causes, that would render them, or indeed any other rulers, worthy to be despised. Many might be as signed, but I shall pitch only upon four; in discoursing of which, rather the time than the subject will force me to be very brief.
(1.) And the first is ignorance. We know how
great an absurdity our Saviour accounted it, for the
blind to lead the blind; and to put him that cannot
(2.) A second thing, that makes a governor justly
despised, is viciousness and ill morals. Virtue is
that which must tip the preacher’s tongue and the
ruler’s sceptre with authority. And therefore with
what a controlling overpowering force did our Saviour tax the sins of the Jews, when he ushered in
his rebukes of them with that high assertion of
himself, Who is there amongst you, that convinces
3. A third thing that makes a governor justly despised, is fearfulness of, and mean compliances with bold, popular offenders. Some indeed account it the very spirit of policy and prudence, where men refuse to come up to a law, to make the law come down to them. And for their so doing, have this infallible recompence, that they are not at all the more loved, but much the less feared; and, which is a sure consequent of it, accordingly respected. But believe it, it is a resolute, tenacious adherence to well chosen principles, that adds glory to greatness, and makes the face of a governor shine in the eyes of those that see and examine his actions. Disobedience, if complied with, is infinitely encroaching, and having gained one degree of liberty upon indulgence, will demand another upon claim. Every vice interprets a connivance and approbation.
Which being so, is it not an enormous indecency,
But let such an one be assured, that even that blasphemer himself would inwardly reverence him, if rebuked by him; as, on the contrary, he in his heart really despises him for his cowardly, base silence. If any one should reply here, that the times and manners of men will not bear such a practice, I confess that it is an answer, from the mouth of a professed time-server, very rational: but as for that man that is not so, let him satisfy himself of the reason, justice, and duty of an action, and leave the event of it to God, who will never fail those who do not think themselves too wise to trust him. For, let the worst come to the worst, a man in so doing would be ruined more honourably than otherwise preferred.
4. And lastly. A fourth thing that makes a governor justly despised, is a proneness to despise
others. There is a kind of respect due to the mean
est person, even from the greatest; for it is the
mere favour of Providence, that he, who is actually
the greatest, was not the meanest. A man cannot
cast his respects so low, but they will rebound and
return upon him. What Heaven bestows upon the
And thus I have shewn four several causes that may justly render any ruler despised; and by the same work, I hope, have made it evident, how little cause men have to despise the rulers of our church.
God is the fountain of honour; and the conduit by which he conveys it to the sons of men, are virtuous and generous practices. But as for us, who have more immediately and nearly devoted, both our persons and concerns to his service, it were infinitely vain to expect it upon any other terms. Some in deed may please and promise themselves high matters, from full revenues, stately palaces, court-interests, and great dependences: but that which makes the clergy glorious, is to be knowing in their profession, unspotted in their lives, active and laborious in their charges, bold and resolute in opposing seducers, and daring to look vice in the face, though never so potent and illustrious; and lastly, to be gentle, courteous, and compassionate to all.
These are our robes and our maces, our escutcheons, and highest titles of honour: for by all these
things God is honoured, who has declared this the
eternal rule and standard of all honour derivable
To which God, fearful in praises, and working wonders, be rendered and ascribed as is most due, all praise, might, majesty, and dominion, both now and for evermore. Amen.
If any man will do his wilt, he shall know of the doctrine, whether it be of God, or whether I speak of myself.
WHEN God was pleased to new-model the world
by the introduction of a new religion, and that in
the room of one set up by himself, it was requisite
that he should recommend it to the reasons of men
with the same authority and evidence that enforced
the former; and that a religion established by God
himself should not be displaced by any thing under
a demonstration of that divine power that first introduced it. And the whole Jewish economy, we
know, was brought in with miracles; the law was
writ and confirmed by the same almighty hand: the
whole universe was subservient to its promulgation:
the signs of Egypt and the Red sea; fire and a
voice from heaven; the heights of the one, and the
depths of the other; so that (as it were) from the
top to the bottom of nature, there issued forth one
universal united testimony of the divinity of the
Mosaic law and religion. And this stood in the
world for the space of two thousand years; till at
length, in the fulness of time, the reason of men
ripening to such a pitch, as to be above the pedagogy of Moses’s rod, and the discipline of types, God
thought fit to display the substance without the shadow,
Now the cause that Christ’s doctrine was rejected, must of necessity be one of these two. 1. An insufficiency in the arguments brought by Christ to enforce it. Or, 2. An indisposition in the persons, to whom this doctrine was addressed, to receive it.
And for this, Christ, who had not only an infinite
power to work miracles, but also an equal wisdom
both to know the just force and measure of every
argument or motive to persuade or cause assent;
and withal, to look through and through all the
dark corners of the soul of man, all the windings
and turnings, and various workings of his faculties;
and to discern how and by what means they are to
be wrought upon; and what prevails upon them,
and what does not: he, I say, states the whole matter
This is the design and purport of the words, which I shall draw forth and handle in the prosecution of these four following heads.
I. I shall shew, what the doctrine of Christ was, that the world so much stuck at, and was so averse from believing.
II. I shall shew, that men’s unbelief of it was from no defect or insufficiency in the arguments brought by Christ to enforce it.
III. I shall shew, what was the true and proper cause, into which this unbelief was resolved.
IV. And lastly, I shall shew, that a pious and well disposed mind, attended with a readiness to obey the known will of God, is the surest and best means to enlighten the understanding to a belief of Christianity.
Of these in their order: and,
First for the doctrine of Christ. We must take it in the known and common division of it, into matters of belief, and matters of practice.
The matters of belief related chiefly to his person and offices. As, That he was the Messias that should come into the world: the eternal son of God, begotten of him before all worlds: that in time he was made man, and born of a pure virgin: that he should die and satisfy for the sins of the world; and that he should rise again from the dead, and ascend into heaven; and there sitting at the right hand of God, hold the government of the whole world, till the great and last day; in which he should judge both the quick and the dead, raised to life again with the very same bodies; and then deliver up all rule and government into the hands of his Father. These were the great articles and credenda of Christianity, that so much startled the world, and seemed to be such, as not only brought in a new religion amongst men, but also required new reason to embrace it.
The other part of his doctrine lay in matters of
practice; which we find contained in his several sermons, See Sermon on
And that this was so, will appear from a consideration of the state and condition the world was in, as
to religion, when Christ promulged his doctrine.
Nothing further than the outward action was then
looked after, and when that failed, there was an expiation ready in the
opus operatum of a sacrifice.
So that all their virtue and religion lay in their folds
and their stalls, and what was wanting in the innocence, the blood of lambs was to supply. The
Scribes and Pharisees, who were the great doctors
of the Jewish church, expounded the law no further.
They accounted no man a murderer, but he that
struck a knife into his brother’s heart: no man an
adulterer, but he that actually defiled his neighbour’s bed. They thought it no injustice nor irreligion to
prosecute the severest retaliation or revenge; so
But the severe notions of Christianity turned all this upside
down, filling all with surprise and amazement: they came upon the world, like light darting
full upon the face of a man asleep, who had a mind
to sleep on, and not to be disturbed: they were terrible astonishing alarms to
persons grown fat and wealthy by a long and successful imposture; by suppressing
the true sense of the law, by putting another veil upon Moses; and, in a word, persuading
And thus much for the first thing proposed; which was to give you a brief draught of the doc trine of Christ, that met with so little assent from the world in general, and from the Jews in particular. I come now to the
Second thing proposed: which was to shew, That men’s unbelief of Christ’s doctrine was from no defect or insufficiency in the arguments brought by Christ to enforce it. This I shall make appear two ways.
1. By shewing, that the arguments spoken of were in themselves convincing and sufficient.
2. By shewing, that upon supposition they were not so, yet their insufficiency was not the cause of their rejection.
And first for the first of these: That the arguments brought by Christ for the confirmation of his
doctrine were in themselves convincing and sufficient. I shall insist only upon the convincing power
of the two principal. One from the prophecies recorded concerning him; the other from the miracles
done by him. Of both very briefly. And for the
former. There was a full entire harmony and consent of all the divine predictions receiving their
completion in Christ. The strength of which argument lies in this, that it evinces the divine mission
of Christ’s person, and thereby proves him to be the
Messias; which by consequence proves and asserts
the truth of his doctrine. For he that was so sent
by God, could declare nothing but the will of God.
And so evidently do all the prophecies agree to
Nor was that other from the miracles done by him
at all inferior. The strength and force of which, to
prove the things they are alleged for, consists in
this, that a miracle being a work exceeding the
power of any created agent, and consequently being
an effect of the divine omnipotence, when it is done
to give credit and authority to any word or doctrine
declared to proceed from God, either that doctrine
must really proceed from God, as it is declared; or
God by that work of his almighty power must bear
witness to a falsehood; and so bring the creature
under the greatest obligation, that can possibly engage the assent of a rational nature, to believe and
assent to a lie. For surely a greater reason than
this cannot be produced for the belief of any thing,
than for a man to stand up and say, This and this I
I come now to the other part of it, which is to shew, That admitting or supposing that they were not sufficient, yet their insufficiency was not the cause of their actual rejection. Which will appear from these following reasons.
(1.) Because those who rejected Christ’s doctrine,
and the arguments by which he confirmed it, fully
The evidence of sense (as I have noted) is the clearest that naturally the mind of man can receive, and is indeed the foundation both of all the evidence and certainty too, that tradition is capable of; which pretends to no other credibility from the testimony and word of some men, but because their word is at length traced up to, and originally terminates in, the sense and experience of some others, which could not be known beyond that compass of time in which it was exercised, but by being told and reported to such, as, not living at that time, saw it not, and by them to others, and so down from one age to another. For we therefore believe the report of some men concerning a thing, because it implies that there were some others who actually saw that thing. It is clear therefore, that want of evidence could not be the cause that the Jews rejected and disbelieved the gospel, since they embraced and believed the law, upon the credit of those miracles that were less evident. For those of Christ they knew by sight and sense, those of Moses only by tradition; which, though equally certain, yet were by no means equally evident with the other.
(2.) They believed and assented to things that were neither evident nor certain, but only probable; for they conversed, they traded, they merchandized, and, by so doing, frequently ventured their whole estates and fortunes upon a probable belief or persuasion of the honesty and truth of those whom they dealt and corresponded with. And interest, especially in worldly matters, and yet more especially with a Jew, never proceeds but upon supposal, at least, of a firm and sufficient bottom: from whence it is manifest, that since they could believe and practically rely upon, and that even in their dearest concerns, bare probabilities; they could not with any colour of reason pretend want of evidence for their disbelief of Christ’s doctrine, which came enforced with arguments far surpassing all such probabilities.
(3.) They believed and assented to things neither
evident nor certain, nor yet so much as probable, but
actually false and fallacious. Such as were the absurd doctrines and stories of their rabbins: which,
though since Christ’s time they have grown much
more numerous and fabulous than before, yet even
then did so much pester the church, and so grossly
abuse and delude the minds of that people, that
contradictions themselves asserted by rabbies were equally received and revered
by them as the sacred and infallible word of God. And whereas they rejected Christ and his doctrine, though every tittle of
it came enforced with miracle, and the best arguments that heaven and earth could back it with;
yet Christ then foretold, and after-times confirmed
that prediction of his in
From all which it follows, that the Jews could not allege so much as a pretence of the want of evidence in the argument brought by Christ to prove the divinity and authority of his doctrine, as a reason of their rejection and disbelief of it; since they embraced and believed many things, for some of which they had no evidence, and for others of which they had no certainty, and for most of which they had not so much as probability. Which being so, from whence then could such an obstinate infidelity, in matters of so great clearness and credibility, take its rise? Why, this will be made out to us in the
Third thing proposed, which was to shew, What was the true and proper cause into which this unbelief of the Pharisees was resolved. And that was, in a word, the captivity of their wills and affections to lusts directly opposite to the design and spirit of Christianity. They were extremely ambitious and insatiably covetous, and therefore no impression from argument or miracle could reach them; but they stood proof against all conviction. Now, to shew how the pravity of the will could influence the understanding to a disbelief of Christianity, I shall premise these two considerations.
1. That the understanding in its assent to any
religion, is very differently wrought upon in persons
bred up in it, and in persons at length converted to
it. For in the first, it finds the mind naked and
unprepossessed with any former notions, and so easily
and insensibly gains upon the assent, grows up with
2. The other thing to be considered is, that in
this great work, the understanding is chiefly at the
disposal of the will. For though it is not in the
power of the will, directly either to cause or hinder
the assent of the understanding to a thing proposed
and duly set before it; yet it is antecedently in the
power of the will, to apply the understanding faculty
to, or to take it off from the consideration of those
objects, to which, without such a previous consideration, it cannot yield its assent. For all assent
presupposes a simple apprehension or knowledge of the
terms of the proposition to be assented to. But
unless the understanding employ and exercise its
cognitive or apprehensive power about these terms,
there can be no actual apprehension of them. And
the understanding, as to the exercise of this power,
is subject to the command of the will, though as to
the specific nature of its acts, it is determined by the
object. As for instance; my understanding cannot
assent to this proposition, That Jesus Christ is the
Son of God; but it must first consider, and so apprehend, what the terms and parts of it are, and
what they signify. And this cannot be done, if my
will be so slothful, worldly, or voluptuously disposed,
Now these two considerations being premised,
namely, that persons grown up in the belief of any
religion cannot change that for another, without applying their understanding duly to consider and
compare both; and then, that it is in the power of
the will, whether it will suffer the understanding
thus to dwell upon such objects or no: from these
two, I say, we have the true philosophy and reason of the Pharisees unbelief;
for they could not relinquish their Judaism, and embrace Christianity, without
considering, weighing, and collating both religions. And this their understanding could not
apply to, if it were diverted and took off by their
will; and their will would be sure to divert and
take it off, being wholly possessed and governed by
their covetousness and ambition, which perfectly
abhorred the precepts of such a doctrine. And this
is the very account that our Saviour himself gives of
this matter in
Fourth and last, which is to shew, That a pious and well disposed mind, attended with a readiness to obey the known will of God, is the surest and best means to enlighten the understanding to a belief of Christianity. That it is so, will appear upon a double account.
First, upon the account of God’s goodness, and
the method of his dealing with the souls of men;
which is, to reward every degree of sincere obedience
to his will, with a further discovery of it. I understand more than the ancients, says David,
I dare not, I confess, join in that bold assertion
of some, that facienti quod in se est, Deus nec debet,
If any one should here say, Were there then none living up to these measures of sincerity amongst the heathen? and if there were, did the goodness of God afford such persons knowledge enough to save them? My answer is according to that of St. Paul, I judge not those that are without the church: they stand or fall to their own master: I have no thing to say of them. Secret things belong to God: it becomes us to be thankful to God, and charitable to men.
2. A pious and well-disposed will is the readiest
means to enlighten the understanding to a knowledge of the truth of Christianity, upon the account
of a natural efficiency; forasmuch as a will so disposed will be sure to engage
the mind in a severe search into the great and concerning truths of religion: nor will it only engage the mind in such a
search; but it will also accompany that search with
two dispositions, directly tending to, and principally
(1.) For the diligence of the search. Diligence is the great harbinger of truth; which rarely takes up in any mind till that has gone before, and made room for it. It is a steady, constant, and pertinacious study, that naturally leads the soul into the knowledge of that, which at first seemed locked up from it. For this keeps the understanding long in converse with an object: and long converse brings acquaintance. Frequent consideration of a thing wears off the strangeness of it; and shews it in its several lights, and various ways of appearance, to the view of the mind.
Truth is a great strong hold, barred and fortified by God and nature; and diligence is properly the understanding’s laying siege to it: so that, as in a kind of warfare, it must be perpetually upon the watch; observing all the avenues and passes to it, and accordingly makes its approaches. Sometimes it thinks it gains a point; and presently again, it finds itself baffled and beaten off: yet still it renews the onset; attacks the difficulty afresh; plants is reasoning, and that argument, this consequence, and that distinction, like so many intellectual batteries, till at length it forces a way and passage into the obstinate enclosed truth, that so long withstood and defied all its assaults.
The Jesuits have a saying common amongst them,
touching the institution of youth, (in which their
chief strength and talent lies,) that vexatio dat intellectum.
As when the mind casts and turns itself restlessly from one thing to another,
strains this power of the soul to apprehend, that to judge, another
Now all this, that I have said, is to shew the force of diligence in the investigation of truth, and particularly of the noblest of all truths, which is that of religion. But then, as diligence is the great discoverer of truth, so is the will the great spring of diligence. For no man can heartily search after that which he is not very desirous to find. Diligence is to the understanding, as the whetstone to the razor; but the will is the hand that must apply one to the other.
What makes many men so strangely immerse
themselves, some in chymical, and some in mathematical inquiries, but because they strangely love
the things they labour in? Their intent study gives
them skill and proficiency, and their particular affection
(2.) A pious and well-disposed will gives not only diligence, but also impartiality to the understanding, in its search into religion, which is as absolutely necessary to give success to our inquiries into truth, as the former; it being scarce possible for that man to hit the mark, whose eye is still glancing upon something beside it. Partiality is properly the understanding’s judging according to the inclination of the will and affections, and not according to the exact truth of things, or the merits of the cause before it. Affection is still a briber of the judgment; and it is hard for a man to admit a reason against the thing he loves, or to confess the force of an argument against an interest.
In this case, he prevaricates with his own understanding, and cannot seriously and sincerely set his
mind to consider the strength, to poise the weight,
and to discern the evidence of the clearest and best
argumentations, where they would conclude against
the darling of his desires. For still that beloved
thing possesses, and even engrosses him, and like a
coloured glass before his eyes casts its own colour
and tincture upon all the images and ideas of things
that pass from the fancy to the understanding; and
so absolutely does it sway that, that if a strange
irresistible evidence of some unacceptable truth
Upon which account, Socinus and his followers state the reason of a man’s believing or embracing Christianity upon the natural goodness or virtuous disposition of his mind, which they sometimes call naturalis probitas, and sometimes animus in virtutem pronus. For, say they, the whole doctrine of Christianity teaches nothing but what is perfectly suitable to, and coincident with, the ruling principles, that a virtuous and well inclined man is acted by; and with the main interest that he proposes to himself. So that as soon as ever it is declared to such an one, he presently closes in, accepts, and complies with it: as a prepared soil eagerly takes in and firmly retains such seed or plants as particularly agree with it.
With ordinary minds, such as much the greatest part of the world are, it is the suitableness, not the evidence of a truth, that makes it to be assented to. And it is seldom that any thing practically convinces a man, that does not please him first. If you would be sure of him, you must inform and gratify him too. But now, impartiality strips the mind of prejudice and passion, keeps it right and even from the bias of interest and desire, and so presents it like a rasa tabula, equally disposed to the reception of all truth. So that the soul lies prepared, and open to entertain it, and prepossessed with nothing that can oppose or thrust it out. For where diligence opens the door of the understanding, and impartiality keeps it, truth is sure to find both an entrance and a welcome too.
And thus I have done with the fourth and last general thing proposed, and proved by argument, that a pious and well disposed mind, attended with a readiness to obey the known will of God, is the surest and best means to enlighten the understanding to a belief of Christianity.
Now, from the foregoing particulars, by way of use, we may collect these two things.
1. The true cause of that atheism, that scepticism and cavilling at religion, that we see and have cause to lament in too many in these days. It is not from any thing weak or wanting in our religion, to support, and enable it to look the strongest arguments, and the severest and most controlling reason in the face: but men are atheistical, because they are first vicious; and question the truth of Christianity, because they hate the practice. And therefore, that they may seem to have some pretence and colour to sin on freely, and to surrender up themselves wholly to their sensuality, without any imputation upon their judgment, and to quit their morals, without any discredit to their intellectuals; they fly to several stale, trite, pitiful objections and cavils, some against religion in general, and some against Christianity in particular, and some against the very first principles of morality, to give them some poor credit and countenance in the pursuit of their brutish courses.
Few practical errors in the world are embraced
upon the stock of conviction, but inclination: for
though indeed the judgment may err upon the account of weakness, yet where there is one error that
enters in at this door, ten are let into it through the
will: that, for the most part, being set upon those
But these sons of Epicurus, both for voluptuousness and irreligion also, (as it is hard to support the former without the latter,) these, I say, rest not here; but (if you will take them at their word) they must also pass for the only wits of the age: though greater arguments, I am sure, may be produced against this, than any they can allege against the most improbable article of Christianity. But heretofore the rate and standard of wit was very different from what it is nowadays. No man was then accounted a wit for speaking such things as deserved to have the tongue cut out that spake them: nor did any man pass for a philosopher, or a man of depth, for talking atheistically: or a man of parts, for employing them against that God that gave them. For then the world was generally better inclined; virtue was in so much reputation, as to be pretended to at least. And virtue, whether in a Christian or in an infidel, can have no interest to be served either by atheism or infidelity.
For which cause, could we but prevail with the
greatest debauchees amongst us to change their
lives, we should find it no very hard matter to
2. In the next place, we learn from hence the
most effectual way and means of proficiency and
growth in the knowledge of the great and profound
truths of religion, and how to make us all not only
good Christians, but also expert divines. It is a
knowledge, that men are not so much to study, as to
live themselves into: a knowledge that passes into
the head through the heart. I have heard of some,
that in their latter years, through the feebleness of
their limbs, have been forced to study upon their
knees: and I think it might well become the young
est and the strongest to do so too. Let them daily
and incessantly pray to God for his grace; and if
God gives grace, they may be sure that knowledge
will not stay long behind: since it is the same spirit
and principle that purifies the heart, and clarifies the
understanding. Let all their inquiries into the deep
and mysterious points of theology be begun and carried
This was the case of the Pharisees. And no
doubt but this very consideration also gives us the
true reason and full explication of that notable and
strange passage of scripture, in
The truths of Christ crucified are the Christian’s philosophy, and a good life is the Christian’s logic; that great instrumental introductive art that must guide the mind into the former. And where a long course of piety, and close communion with God, has purged the heart, and rectified the will, and made all things ready for the reception of God’s Spirit; knowledge will break in upon such a soul, like the sun shining in his full might, with such a victorious light, that nothing shall be able to resist it.
If now at length some should object here, that from what has been delivered, it will follow, that the most pious men are still the most knowing, which yet seems contrary to common experience and observation; I answer, that as to all things directly conducing, and necessary to salvation, there is no doubt but they are so; as the meanest common soldier, that has fought often in an army, has a truer and better knowledge of war, than he that has read and writ whole volumes of it, but never was in any battle.
Practical sciences are not to be learnt but in the
way of action. It is experience that must give
knowledge in the Christian profession, as well as in
all others. And the knowledge drawn from experience is quite of another kind from that which flows
To which God, infinitely wise, holy, and just, be rendered and ascribed, as is most due, all praise, might, majesty, and dominion, both now and for evermore. Amen.
AFTER the happy expiration of those times which had reformed so many churches to the ground, and in which men used to express their honour to God, and their allegiance to their prince the same way, demolishing the palaces of the one, and the temples of the other; it is now our glory and felicity, that God has changed men’s tempers with the times, and made a spirit of building succeed a spirit of pulling down: by a miraculous revolution, reducing many from the head of a triumphant rebellion to their old condition of masons, smiths, and carpenters, that in this capacity they might repair what, as colonels and captains, they had ruined and defaced.
But still it is strange to see any ecclesiastical pile, not by ecclesiastical cost and influence rising above ground; especially in an age, in which men’s mouths are open against the church, but their hands shut towards it; an age in which, respecting the generality of men, we might as soon expect stones to be made bread, as to be made churches.
But the more epidemical and prevailing this evil is, the
more honourable are those who stand and shine as exceptions from the common practice; and may such places, built
for the divine worship, derive an honour and a blessing
Now the foundation of what I shall discourse, upon the present subject and occasion, shall be laid in that place in
God hath loved the gates of Sion, more than all the dwellings of Jacob.
THE comparison here exhibited between the love God bore to Sion, the great place of his solemn worship, and that which he bore to the other dwellings of Israel, imports, as all other comparisons do in the superior part of them, two things; difference and preeminence: and accordingly I cannot more commodiously and naturally contrive the prosecution of these words, than by casting the sense of them into these two propositions.
I. That God bears a different respect to places set apart and consecrated to his worship, from what he bears to all other places designed to the uses of common life.
II. That God prefers the worship paid him in such places, above that which is offered him in any other places whatsoever.
I. As to the former of these, this difference of respect, borne by God to such places, from what he bears to others, may be evinced these three several ways.
1. By those eminent interposals of Providence, for the erecting and preserving of such places.
2. By those notable judgments shewn by God upon the violators of them.
3. Lastly, by declaring the ground and reason, why God shews such a different respect to those places, from what he manifests to others. Of all which in their order.
1. First of all then, those eminent interposals of the divine Providence for the erecting and preserving such places, will be one pregnant and strong argument to prove the difference of God’s respect to them, and to others of common use.
That Providence that universally casts its eye over
all the parts of the creation, is yet pleased more particularly to fasten it upon some. God made all the
world, that he might be worshipped in some parts of
the world; and therefore in the first and most early
times of the church, what care did he manifest to
have such places erected to his honour! Jacob he
admonished by a vision, as by a messenger from heaven, to build him an altar; and then, what awe did
Jacob express to it! How dreadful, says he, is this
place! for surely it is no other than the house of
God. What particular inspirations were there upon Aholiab to fit him to work about the sanctuary!
The Spirit of God was the surveyor, director, and
manager of the whole business. But above all, how
exact and (as we may say with reverence) how nice
was God about the building of the temple! David, though a man of most intimate
converse and acquaintance with God, and one who bore a kingly
preeminence over others, no less in point of piety
than of majesty, after he had made such rich, such
vast, and almost incredible provision of materials for
the building of the temple; yet because he had dipt
his hands in blood, though but the blood of God’s enemies, had the glory of that work took out of
them, and was not permitted to lay a stone in that
sacred pile; but the whole work was entirely reserved for Solomon, a prince adorned with those
parts of mind, and exalted by such a concurrence of
And to proceed, when after a long tract of time, the sins of Israel had even unconsecrated and profaned that sacred edifice, and thereby robbed it of its only defence, the palladium of God’s presence, so that the Assyrians laid it even with the ground; yet after that a long captivity and affliction had made the Jews fit again for so great a privilege, as a pubic place to worship God in, how did God put it into the heart, even of an heathen prince, to promote the building of a second temple! How was the work undertook and carried on amidst all the unlikelihoods and discouraging circumstances imaginable! The builders holding the sword in one hand, to defend the trowel working with the other; yet finished and completed it was, under the conduct and protection of a peculiar providence, that made the instruments of that great design prevalent and victorious, and all those mountains of opposition to become plains before Zorobabel.
And lastly, when Herod the great, whose magnificence
Add to all this, that the extraordinary manifestations of God’s presence were still in the sanctuary:
the cloud, the Urim and Thummim, and the oracular answers of God, were graces
and prerogatives proper and peculiar to the sacredness of this place. These were
the dignities that made it (as it were) the presence-chamber of the Almighty,
the room of audience, where he declared that he would receive and
answer petitions from all places under heaven, and
where he displayed his royalty and glory. There
was no parlour or dining-room in all the dwellings
But to evidence, how different a respect God
bears to things consecrated to his own worship,
from what he bears to all other things, let that one
eminent passage of Corah, Dathan, and Abiram, be
proof beyond all exception; in which, the censers of
those wretches, who, I am sure, could derive no
sanctity to them from their own persons; yet upon
this account, that they had been consecrated by the
offering incense in them, were, by God’s special
command, sequestered from all common use, and appointed to be beaten into broad plates, and fastened
as a covering upon the altar,
2. The second argument for the proof of the same assertion, shall be taken from those remarkable judgments shewn by God, upon the violators of things consecrated and set apart to holy uses.
A coal, we know, snatched from the altar once
fired the nest of the eagle, the royal and commanding bird; and so has sacrilege consumed the families
of princes, broke sceptres, and destroyed kingdoms.
We read how the victorious Philistines were worsted
by the captivated ark, which foraged their country
more than a conquering army; they were not able
to cohabit with that holy thing; it was like a plague
in their bowels, and a curse in the midst of them;
so that they were forced to restore their prey, and
to turn their triumphs into supplications. Poor
Uzzah for but touching the ark, though out of care
and zeal for its preservation, was struck dead with a
blow from heaven. He had no right to touch it,
and therefore his very zeal was a sin, and his care
an usurpation; nor could the purpose of his heart
excuse the error of his hand. Nay, in the promulgation of the Mosaic law, if so much as a brute beast
touched the mountain, the bow of vengeance was
But to give some higher and clearer instances of
the divine judgments upon sacrilegious persons. In
These were violators of the first temple, and those
that profaned and abused the second sped no better.
And for this, take for instance that first-born of sin
and sacrilege, Antiochus; the story of whose profaning God’s house you may read in the first book of
Maccabees,
Take another notable instance in Nicanor, who
purposed and threatened to burn the temple,
But now, lest some should puff at these instances,
as being such as were under a different economy of
religion, in which God was more tender of the shell
and ceremonious part of his worship, and consequently not directly pertinent to ours; therefore to
shew that all profanation, and invasion of things sacred, is an offence against the eternal law of nature,
and not against any positive institution after a time
to expire, we need not go many nations off, nor
many ages back, to see the vengeance of God upon
some families, raised upon the ruins of churches,
and enriched with the spoils of sacrilege, gilded with
And for this (to shew the world that Papists can
commit sacrilege as freely as they can object it to
Protestants) it shall be in that great cardinal and
minister of state, Wolsey, who obtained leave of
pope Clement the seventh to demolish forty religious
houses; which he did by the service of five men, to
whose conduct he committed the effecting of that
And for the five men employed by him, two of them quarrelled, one of which was slain, and the other hanged for it; the third drowned himself in a well; the fourth (though rich) came at length to beg his bread; and the fifth was miserably stabbed to death at Dublin in Ireland.
This was the tragical end of a knot of sacrilegious persons from highest to lowest. The consideration of which and the like passages, one would think, should make men keep their fingers off from the church’s patrimony, though not out of love to the church, (which few men have,) yet at least out of love to themselves, which, I suppose, few want.
Nor is that instance in one of another religion to
be passed over, (so near it is to the former passage
of Nicanor,) of a commander in the parliament’s rebel army, who, coming to rifle and deface the cathedral at Litchfield, solemnly at the head of his troops
begged of God to shew some remarkable token of
his approbation or dislike of the work they were
going about. Immediately after which, looking out
at a window, he was shot in the forehead by a deaf
and dumb man. And this was on St. Chadd’s day,
the name of which saint that church bore, being
dedicated to God in memory of the same. Where
we see, that as he asked of God a sign, so God gave
There is nothing that the united voice of all history proclaims so loud, as the certain unfailing curse that has pursued and overtook sacrilege. Make a catalogue of all the prosperous sacrilegious persons that have been from the beginning of the world to this day, and I believe they will come within a very narrow compass, and be repeated much sooner than the alphabet.
Religion claims a great interest in the world, even as great as its object, God, and the souls of men. And since God has resolved not to alter the course of nature, and upon principles of nature, religion will scarce be supported without the encouragement of the ministers of it; Providence, where it loves a nation, concerns itself to own and assert the interest of religion, by blasting the spoilers of religious persons and places. Many have gaped at the church revenues, but, before they could swallow them, have had their mouths stopt in the churchyard.
And thus much for the second argument, to prove the different respect that God bears to things consecrated to holy uses; namely, his signal judgments upon the sacrilegious violators of them.
3. I descend now to the third and last thing proposed for the proof of the first proposition, which is,
to assign the ground and reason, why God shews
such a concern for these things. Touching which
we are to observe, (1.) Negatively, that it is no
worth or sanctity naturally inherent in the things
themselves, that either does or can procure them
this esteem from God; for by nature all things
It is a known maxim, that in Deo sunt jura omnia; and consequently, that he is the proprietor of all things, by that grand and transcendent right founded upon creation. Yet notwithstanding he may be said to have a greater, because a sole property in some things, for that he permits not the use of them to men, to whom yet he has granted the free use of all other things. Now this property may be founded upon a double ground.
First, God’s own fixing upon, and institution of, a place or thing to his peculiar use. When he shall say to the sons of men, as he spoke to Adam concerning the forbidden fruit, Of all things and places that I have enriched the universe with, you may freely make use for your own occasions; but as for this spot of ground, this person, this thing, I have selected and appropriated, I have enclosed it to myself and my own use; and I will endure no sharer, no rival, or companion in it: he that invades them, usurps, and shall bear the guilt of his usurpation. Now, upon this account, the gates of Sion, and the tribe of Levi, became God’s property. He laid his hand upon them, and said, These are mine.
Secondly, The other ground of God’s sole property
And this is the ground of God’s sole property in things, persons, and places, now under the gospel. Men by free gift consign over a place to the divine worship, and thereby have no more right to apply it to another use, than they have to make use of another man’s goods. He that has devoted himself to the service of God in the Christian priesthood, has given himself to God, and so can no more dispose of himself to another employment, than he can dispose of a thing that he has sold or freely given away. Now in passing a thing away to another by deed of gift, two things are required:
1. A surrender on the giver’s part, of all the property and right he has in the thing given. And to
the making of a thing or place sacred, this surrender
of it, by its right owner, is so necessary, that all the
rites of consecration used upon a place against the
owner’s will, and without his giving up his property,
make not that place sacred, forasmuch as the property of it is not hereby altered; and therefore says
the canonist, Qui sine voluntate Domini consecrat,
revera desecrat. The like judgment passed that
For we must know, that consecration makes not a place sacred, any more than coronation makes a king, but only solemnly declares it so. It is the gift of the owner of it to God, which makes it to be solely God’s, and consequently sacred; after which, every violation of it is as really sacrilege, as to conspire against the king is treason before the solemnity of his coronation. And moreover, as consecration makes not a thing sacred without the owner’s gift, so the owner’s gift of itself alone makes a thing sacred, without the ceremonies of consecration; for we know that tythes and lands given to God are never, and plate, vestments, and other sacred utensils are seldom consecrated: yet certain it is, that after the donation of them to the church, it is as really sacrilege to steal or alienate them from those sacred uses, to which they were dedicated by the donors, as it is to pull down a church, or turn it into a stable.
2. As in order to the passing away a thing by gift, there is required a surrender of all right to it on his part that gives, so there is required also an acceptation of it on his part to whom it is given. For giving being a relative action; (and so requiring a correlative to answer it;) giving on one part transfers no property, unless there be an accepting on the other; for as volenti non fit injuria, so in this case nolenti non fit beneficium.
And if it be now asked, how God can be said to
accept what we give, since we are not able to
transact with him in person? To this I answer,
These two things therefore concurring, the gift of
the owner, and God’s acceptance of it, either immediately by himself, which we rationally presume, or
mediately by the hands of the bishop, which is visibly
done before us, is that which vests the sole property
of a thing or place in God. If it be now asked, Of
what use then is consecration, if a thing were sacred
before it? I answer, Of very much; even as much
Eusebius, (the earliest church-historian,) in the
tenth book of his Ecclesiastical History, as also in
the Life of Constantine, speaks of these consecrations
of churches, as of things generally in use, and withal
sets down those actions particularly, of which they
consisted, styling them Θεοπρεπεῖς ἐκκλησίας θεσμοὺς,
laws or customs of the church becoming God. What
the Greek and Latin churches used to do, may be
seen in their pontificals, containing the set forms for
these consecrations; though indeed (for these six or
seven last centuries) full of many tedious, superfluous, and ridiculous fopperies; setting aside all which,
if also our liturgy had a set form for the consecration
of places, as it has of persons, perhaps it would be
The same also appears from those forms of expression, in which the donation of sacred things usually ran. As Deo omnipotenti hac praesente charta donavimus, with the like. But most undeniably is this proved by this one argument: That in case a bishop should commit treason or felony, and thereby forfeit his estate with his life, yet the lands of his bishopric become not forfeit, but remain still in the church, and pass entire to his successor; which sufficiently shews that they were none of his.
It being therefore thus proved, that God is the
sole proprietor of all sacred things or places; I suppose
I have now finished the first proposition drawn from the words; namely, that God bears a different respect to places set apart and consecrated to his worship, from what he bears to all other places designed to the uses of common life: and also shewn the reason why he does so. I proceed now to the other proposition, which is, That God prefers the worship paid him in such places, above that which is offered him in any other places whatsoever. And at for these reasons:
1. Because such places are naturally apt to excite greater reverence and devotion in the discharge of divine service, than places of common use. The place properly reminds a man of the business of the lace, and strikes a kind of awe into the thoughts, when they reflect upon that great and sacred Majesty they use to treat and converse with there. They find the same holy consternation upon themselves that Jacob did at his consecrated Bethel, which he called the gate of heaven; and if such places are so, then surely a daily expectation at the gate is the readiest way to gain admittance into the house.
It has been the advice of some spiritual persons, that such as were able should set apart some certain place in their dwellings for private devotions only, which if they constantly performed there, and nothing
For is there any man (whose heart has not shook off all sense of what is sacred) who finds himself no otherwise affected, when he enters into a church, than when he enters into his parlour or chamber? If he does, for ought I know, he is fitter to be there always than in a church.
The mind of man, even in spirituals, acts with a corporeal dependence, and so is helped or hindered in its operations, according to the different quality of external objects that incur into the senses. And perhaps sometimes the sight of the altar, and those decent preparations for the work of devotion, may compose and recover the wandering mind much more effectually than a sermon, or a rational discourse. For these things in a manner preach to the eye, when the ear is dull, and will not hear, and the eye dictates to the imagination, and that at last moves the affections. And if these little impulses set the great wheels of devotion on work, the largeness and height of that shall not at all be prejudiced by the smallness of its occasion. If the fire burns bright and vigorously, it is no matter by what means it was at first kindled; there is the same force, and the same refreshing virtue in it, kindled by a spark from a flint, as if it were kindled by a beam from the sun.
I am far from thinking that these external things
are either parts of our devotion, or by any strength
in themselves direct causes of it; but the grace of
What says David, in
In all our worshippings of God, we return him but what he first gives us; and therefore he prefers the service offered him in the sanctuary, because there he usually vouchsafes more helps to the piously disposed person, for the discharge of it. As we value the same kind of fruit growing under one climate more than under another; because under one it has a directer and a warmer influence from the sun, than under the other, which gives it both a bet ter savour and a greater worth.
And perhaps I should not want a further argument for the confirmation of the truth discoursed of,
if I should appeal to the experience of many in this
nation, who, having been long bred to the decent
way of divine service in the cathedrals of the church
of England, were afterwards driven into foreign
countries, where, though they brought with them
the same sincerity to church, yet perhaps they could
not find the same enlargements and flowings out of
spirit which they were wont to find here. Especially
in some countries, where their very religion smelt of
the shop; and their ruder and coarser methods of
divine service seemed only adapted to the genius of
trade and the designs of parsimony; though one
would think, that parsimony in God’s worship were
2. The other reason, why God prefers a worship paid him in places solemnly dedicated and set apart for that purpose, is, because in such places it is a more direct service and testification of our homage to him. For surely, if I should have something to ask of a great person, it were greater respect to wait upon him with my petition at his own house, than to desire him to come and receive it at mine.
Set places and set hours for divine worship, as much as the laws of necessity and charity permit us to observe them, are but parts of that due reverence that we owe it: for he that is strict in observing these, declares to the world, that he accounts his attendance upon God his greatest and most important business: and surely, it is infinitely more reasonable that we should wait upon God, than God upon us.
We shall still find, that when God was pleased to
vouchsafe his people a meeting, he himself would
prescribe the place. When he commanded Abraham
to sacrifice his only and beloved Isaac, the place of
the offering was not left undetermined, and to the
offerer’s discretion: but in
It was part of his sacrifice, not only what he should offer, but where. When we serve God in his own house, his service (as I may so say) leads all our other secular affairs in triumph after it. They are all made to stoop and bend the knee to prayer, as that does to the throne of grace.
Thrice a year were the Israelites from all, even
Whether or no they had coaches, to the temple
they must go: nor could it excuse them to plead
God’s omniscience, that he could equally see and
hear them in any place: nor yet their own good will
and intentions; as if the readiness of their mind to
go, might, forsooth, warrant their bodies to stay at
home. Nor, lastly, could the real danger of leaving
their dwellings to go up to the temple excuse their
journey: for they might very plausibly and very rationally have alleged, that during their absence their
enemies round about them might take that advantage to invade their land. And therefore, to obviate
this fear and exception, which indeed was built upon
so good ground, God makes them a promise, which
certainly is as remarkable as any in the whole book
of God,
For surely, a rich land, guardless and undefended,
must needs have been a double incitement, and such
an one as might not only admit, but even invite the
But now, had not God set a very peculiar value upon the service paid him in his temple, surely he would not have thus (as it were) made himself his people’s convoy, and exerted a supernatural work to secure them in their passage to it. And therefore that eminent hero in religion, Daniel, when in the land of his captivity he used to pay his daily devotions to God, not being able to go to the temple, would at least look towards it, advance to it in wish and desire; and so, in a manner, bring the temple to his prayers, when he could not bring his prayers to that.
And now, what have I to do more, but to wish that all this discourse may have that blessed effect upon us, as to send us both to this and to all other solemn places of divine worship, with those three excellent ingredients of devotion, desire, reverence, and confidence?
1. And first, for desire. We should come hither, as to meet God in a place where he loves to meet us: and where (as Isaac did to his sons) he gives us blessings with embraces. Many frequent the gates of Sion, but is it because they love them; and not rather because their interest forces them, much against their inclination, to endure them?
Do they hasten to their devotions with that ardour and quickness of mind that they would to a lewd play or a masquerade?
Or do they not rather come hither slowly, sit here uneasily, and depart desirously? All which is but too evident a sign, that men repair to the house of God, not as to a place of fruition, but of task and trouble, not to enjoy, but to afflict themselves.
2. We should come full of reverence to such sacred places; and where there are affections of reverence, there will be postures of reverence too. With in consecrated walls, we are more directly under God’s eye, who looks through and through every one that appears before him, and is too jealous a God to be affronted to his face,
3. And lastly; God’s peculiar property in such places should give us a confidence in our addresses to him here. Reverence and confidence are so far from being inconsistent, that they are the most direct and proper qualifications of a devout and filial approach to God.
For where should we be so confident of a blessing, as in the place and element of blessings; the place where God both promises and delights to dispense larger proportions of his favour, even for this purpose, that he may fix a mark of honour upon his sanctuary; and so recommend and endear it to the sons of men, upon the stock of their own interest as well as his glory; who has declared himself the high and the lofty One that inhabits eternity, and dwells not in houses made with men’s hands, yet is pleased to be present in the assemblies of his saints.
To whom be rendered and ascribed, as is most due, all praise, might, majesty, and dominion, both now and for evermore. Amen.
The lot is cast into the lap; but the whole disposing of it is of the Lord.
I CANNOT think myself engaged from these words to discourse of lots, as to their nature, use, and allowableness; and that not only in matters of moment and business, but also of recreation; which latter is indeed impugned by some, though better defended by others; but I shall fix only upon the design of the words, which seems to be a declaration of a divine perfection by a signal instance; a proof of the exactness and universality of God’s providence from its influence upon a thing, of all others, the most casual and fortuitous, such as is the casting of lots.
A lot is properly a casual event, purposely applied to the determination of some doubtful thing.
Some there are, who utterly proscribe the name
of chance, as a word of impious and profane signification; and indeed, if it be taken by us in that
sense in which it was used by the heathen, so as to
make any thing casual in respect of God himself,
their exception ought justly to be admitted. But
The subject therefore, that from hence we are naturally carried to the consideration of, is, the admirable extent of the divine Providence, in managing the most contingent passages of human affairs; which that we may the better treat of, we will consider the result of a lot:
I. In reference to men.
II. In reference to God.
I. For the first of these, if we consider it as relating to men, who suspend the decision of some dubious case upon it, so we shall find, that it naturally implies in it these two things:
1. Something future. 2. Something contingent.
From which two qualifications these two things also follow:
1. That it is absolutely out of the reach of man’s knowledge.
2. That it is equally out of his power.
This is most clear; for otherwise, why are men in such cases doubtful, and concerned, what the issue and result should be? for no man doubts of what he sees and knows; nor is solicitous about the event of that which he has in his power to dispose of to what event he pleases.
The light of man’s understanding is but a short,
diminutive, contracted light, and looks not beyond
But when we look upon such things as relate to their immediate causes with a perfect indifference, so that in respect of them they equally may or may not be; human reason can then, at the best, but conjecture what will be. And in some things, as here in the casting of lots, a man cannot, upon any ground of reason, bring the event of them so much as under conjecture.
The choice of man’s will is indeed uncertain, be
cause in many things free; but yet there are certain
habits and principles in the soul, that have some
kind of sway upon it, apt to bias it more one way
than another; so that, upon the proposal of an agree able object, it may
rationally be conjectured, that a man’s choice will rather incline him to accept
than to refuse it. But when lots are shuffled together in a lap, urn, or
pitcher, or a man blindfold casts a die, what reason in the world can he have to
presume that he shall draw a white stone rather than a black, or throw an ace
rather than a size? Now, if these things are thus out of the compass of a man’s
knowledge, it will unavoidably follow, that they are also out of his power. For
no man can govern or command that which he cannot possibly know;
And thus we have seen how a contingent event baffles man’s knowledge, and evades his power. Let us now consider the same in respect of God; and so we shall find that it falls under,
1. A certain knowledge. And
2. A determining providence.
1. First of all then, the most casual event of things, as it stands related to God, is comprehended by a certain knowledge. God, by reason of his eternal, infinite, and indivisible nature, is, by one single act of duration, present to all the successive portions of time; and consequently to all things successively existing in them: which eternal, indivisible act of his existence, makes all futures actually present to him; and it is the presentiality of the object which founds the unerring certainty of his knowledge. For whatsoever is known, is some way or other present; and that which is present, cannot but be known by him who is omniscient.
But I shall not insist upon these speculations;
which when they are most refined serve only to
shew, how impossible it is for us to have a clear and
explicit notion of that which is infinite. Let it suffice us in general to acknowledge and adore the
vast compass of God’s omniscience. That it is a
light shining into every dark corner, ripping up all
secrets, and steadfastly grasping the greatest and
most slippery uncertainties. As when we see the
sun shine upon a river, though the waves of it move
and roll this way and that way by the wind; yet
for all their unsettledness, the sun strikes them with
2. As all contingencies are comprehended by a certain divine knowledge, so they are governed by as certain and steady a providence.
There is no wandering out of the reach of this, no slipping through the hands of omnipotence. God’s hand is as steady as his eye; and certainly thus to reduce contingency to method, instability and chance itself to an unfailing rule and order, argues such a mind as is fit to govern the world; and I am sure nothing less than such an one can.
Now God may be said to bring the greatest casualties under his providence upon a twofold account.
(1.) That he directs them to a certain end.
(2.) Oftentimes to very weighty and great ends.
(1.) And first of all, he directs them to a certain end.
Providence never shoots at rovers. There is an
arrow that flies by night as well as by day, and
God is the person that shoots it, who can aim then
as well as in the day. Things are not left to an
aequilibrium, to hover under an indifference whether they shall come to pass or not come to pass;
but the whole train of events is laid beforehand, and
The reason why men are so short and weak in governing is, because most things fall out to them accidentally, and come not into any compliance with their preconceived ends, but they are forced to comply subsequently, and to strike in with things as they fall out, by postliminious after-applications of them to their purposes, or by framing their purposes to them.
But now there is not the least thing that falls within the cognizance of man, but is directed by the counsel of God. Not an hair can fall from our head, nor a sparrow to the ground, without the will of our heavenly Father. Such an universal superintendency has the eye and hand of Providence over all, even the most minute and inconsiderable things.
Nay, and sinful actions too are overruled to a certain issue; even that horrid villainy of the crucifixion
of our Saviour was not a thing left to the disposal of
chance and uncertainty; but in
Those that suspend the purposes of God, and the resolves of an eternal mind upon the actions of the creature, and make God first wait and expect what the creature will do, (and then frame his decrees and counsels accordingly,) forget that he is the first cause of all things, and discourse most unphilosophically, absurdly, and unsuitably to the nature of an infinite being; whose influence in every motion must set the first wheel a going. He must still be the first agent, and what he does he must will and intend to do before he does it, and what he wills and intends once, he willed and intended from all eternity; it being grossly contrary to the very first notions we have of the infinite perfection of the divine nature, to state or suppose any new immanent act in God.
The Stoics indeed held a fatality, and a fixed unalterable course of events; but then they held also,
that they fell out by a necessity emergent from and
inherent in the things themselves, which God himself could not alter: so that they subjected God to
the fatal chain of causes, whereas they should have
resolved the necessity of all inferior events into the
In a word, if we allow God to be the governor of the world, we cannot but grant, that he orders and disposes of all inferior events; and if we allow him to be a wise and a rational governor, he cannot but direct them to a certain end.
(2.) In the next place, he directs all these appearing casualties, not only to certain, but also to very great ends.
He that created something out of nothing, surely can raise great things out of small; and bring all the scattered and disordered passages of affairs into a great, beautiful, and exact frame. Now this over ruling, directing power of God may be considered,
First, In reference to societies, or united bodies of men.
Secondly, In reference to particular persons.
First. And first for societies. God and nature do not principally concern themselves in the preservation of particulars, but of kinds and companies. Accordingly, we must allow Providence to be more intent and solicitous about nations and governments than about any private interest whatsoever. Upon which account it must needs have a peculiar influence upon the erection, continuance, and dissolution of every society. Which great effects it is strange to consider, by what small, inconsiderable means they are oftentimes brought about, and those so wholly undesigned by such as are the immediate visible actors in them. Examples of this we have both in holy writ, and also in other stories.
And first for those of the former sort.
Let us reflect upon that strange and unparalleled
story of Joseph and his brethren; a story that seems
to be made up of nothing else but chances and
little contingencies, all directed to mighty ends.
For was it not a mere chance that his father Jacob
should send him to visit his brethren, just at that
time that the Ishmaelites were to pass by that way,
and so his unnatural brethren take occasion to sell
him to them, and they to carry him into Egypt?
and then that he should be cast into prison, and
thereby brought at length to the knowledge of Pharaoh in that unlikely manner
that he was? Yet by a joint connection of every one of these casual events,
Providence served itself in the preservation of a kingdom from famine, and of the church, then circumscribed within the family of Jacob. Likewise
by their sojourning in Egypt, he made way for
their bondage there, and their bondage for. a glorious
deliverance through those prodigious manifestations
of the divine power, in the several plagues inflicted
upon the Egyptians. It was hugely accidental,
that Joash king of Israel, being commanded by the
prophet to strike upon the ground,
And then for examples out of other histories, to hint a few of them.
Perhaps there is none more remarkable, than that passage about Alexander the great, in his famed expedition against Darius.
When in his march towards him, chancing to bathe himself in the river Cydnus, through the excessive coldness of those waters, he fell sick near unto death for three days; during which short space the Persian army had advanced itself into the strait passages of Cilicia: by which means Alexander with his small army was able to equal them under those disadvantages, and to fight and conquer them. Whereas had not this stop been given him by that accidental sickness, his great courage and promptness of mind would, beyond all doubt, have carried him directly forward to the enemy, till he had met him in the vast open plains of Persia, where his paucity and small numbers would have been contemptible, and the Persian multitudes formidable; and, in all likelihood of reason, victorious. So that this one little accident of that prince’s taking a fancy to bathe himself at that time, caused the interruption of his march, and that interruption gave occasion to that great victory that founded the third monarchy of the world. In like manner, how much of casualty was there in the preservation of Romulus, as soon as born exposed by his uncle, and took up and nourished by a shepherd! (for the story of the she-wolf is a fable.) And yet in that one accident was laid the foundation of the fourth universal monarchy.
How doubtful a case was it, whether Hannibal,
And to descend to occurrences within our own nation. How many strange accidents concurred in the whole business of king Henry the eighth’s divorce! yet we see Providence directed it and them to an entire change of the affairs and state of the whole kingdom. And surely, there could not be a greater chance than that which brought to light the powder treason, when Providence (as it were) snatched a king and kingdom out of the very jaws of death, only by the mistake of a word in the direction of a letter.
But of all cases, in which little casualties produce great and strange effects, the chief is in war; upon the issues of which hangs the fortune of states and kingdoms.
Caesar, I am sure, whose great sagacity and conduct put his success as much out of the power of
chance, as human reason could well do; yet upon
occasion of a notable experiment that had like to
have lost him his whole army at Dyrrachium, tells
us the power of it in the third book of his Commentaries, De Bello Civili: “Fortuna quae plurimum potest, cum in aliis rebus, tum praecipue in bello,
in parvis momentis magnas rerum mutationes
Sometimes the misunderstanding of a word has scattered and destroyed those who have been even in possession of victory, and wholly turned the fortune of the day. A spark of fire or an unexpected gust of wind may ruin a navy. And sometimes a false, senseless report has spread so far, and sunk so deep into the people’s minds, as to cause a tumult, and that tumult a rebellion, and that rebellion has ended in the subversion of a government.
And in the late war between the king and some of his rebel subjects, has it not sometimes been at an even cast, whether his army should march this way or that way? Whereas had it took that way, which actually it did not, things afterwards so fell out, that in very high probability of reason, it must have met with such success, as would have put an happy issue to that wretched war, and thereby have continued the crown upon that blessed prince’s head, and his head upon his shoulders. Upon supposal of which event, most of those sad and strange alterations that have since happened would have been prevented; the ruin of many honest men hindered, the punishment of many great villains hastened, and the preferment of greater spoiled.
Many passages happen in the world, much like
that little cloud in
For who, that should view the small, despicable beginnings of some things and persons at first, could imagine or prognosticate those vast and stupendous increases of fortune that have afterwards followed them?
Who, that had looked upon Agathocles first hand ling the clay, and making pots under his father, and afterwards turning robber, could have thought, that from such a condition, he should come to be king of Sicily?
Who, that had seen Masianello, a poor fisherman, with his red cap and his angle, could have reckoned it possible to see such a pitiful thing, within a week after, shining in his cloth of gold, and with a word or a nod absolutely commanding the whole city of Naples?
And who, that had beheld such a bankrupt, beggarly fellow as Cromwell, first entering the parliament house with a threadbare torn cloak, and a
It is (as it were) the sport of the Almighty, thus to baffle and confound the sons of men by such events, as both cross the methods of their actings, and surpass the measure of their expectations. For according to both these, men still suppose a gradual natural progress of things; as that from great, things and persons should grow greater, till at length, by many steps and ascents, they come to be at greatest; not considering, that when Providence designs strange and mighty changes, it gives men wings instead of legs; and instead of climbing lei surely, makes them at once fly to the top and height of greatness and power. So that the world about them (looking up to those illustrious upstarts) scarce knows who or whence they were, nor they themselves where they are.
It were infinite to insist upon particular instances; histories are full of them, and experience seals to the truth of history.
In the next place, let us consider to what great purposes God directs these little casualties, with reference to particular persons; and those either public or private.
1. And first for public persons, as princes. Was it
not a mere accident, that Pharaoh’s daughter met
with Moses? Yet it was a means to bring him up in
But we need not go far for a prime preserved by as strange a series of little contingencies, as ever were managed by the art of Providence to so great a purpose.
There was but an hair’s breadth between him and certain destruction for the space of many days. For
had the rebel forces pone one
way rather than another, or come but a little sooner to his hiding-place, or but mistrusted something which they passed over, (all
which things might very easily have happened;) we had not seen this face of things at this day; but rebellion had been still
enthroned, perjury and cruelty had reigned, majesty had been proscribed, religion extinguished, and both church and
On the contrary, when Providence designs judgment or destruction to a prince, nobody knows by what little, unusual, unregarded means the fatal blow shall reach him. If Ahab be designed for death, though a soldier in the enemy’s army draws a bow at a venture; yet the sure, unerring directions of Providence shall carry it in a direct course to his heart, and there lodge the revenge of Heaven.
An old woman shall cast down a stone from a wall, and God shall send it to the head of Abimelech, and so sacrifice a king in the very head of his army.
How many warnings had Julius Caesar of the fatal ides of March! Whereupon sometimes he resolved not to go to the senate, and sometimes again he would go; and when at length he did go, in his very passage thither, one put into his hand a note of the whole conspiracy against him, together with all the names of the conspirators, desiring him to read it forthwith, and to remember the giver of it as long as he lived. But continual salutes and addresses entertaining him all the way, kept him from saving so great a life, but with one glance of his eye upon the paper; till he came to the fatal place where he was stabbed, and died with the very means of preventing death in his hand.
Henry the second of France, by a splinter, unhappily thrust into his eye at a solemn justing, was despatched and sent out of the world, by a sad, but very accidental death.
In a word, God has many ways to reap down the
grandees of the earth; an arrow, a bullet, a tile, a
In the last place we will consider this directing influence of God, with reference to private persons; and that, as touching things of nearest concernment to them. As,
1. Their lives.
2. Their health. .
3. Their reputation.
4. Their friendships. And,
5. And lastly, their employments or preferments. And first for men’s lives. Though these are things for which nature knows no price or ransom; yet I appeal to universal experience, whether they have not, in many men, hung oftentimes upon a very slender thread, and the distance between them and death been very nice, and the escape wonderful. There have been some, who upon a slight, and perhaps groundless occasion, have gone out of a ship, or house, and the ship has sunk, and the house has fell immediately after their departure.
He that, in a great wind, suspecting the strength of his house, betook himself to his orchard, and walking there, was knocked on the head by a tree, falling through the fury of a sudden gust, wanted but the advance of one or two steps, to have put him out of the way of that mortal blow.
He that being subject to an apoplexy, used still to
carry his remedy about him; but, upon a time,
In like manner, for men’s health, it is no less wonderful to consider to what strange casualties many sick persons oftentimes owe their recovery. Perhaps an unusual draught or morsel, or some accidental violence of motion, has removed that malady, that for many years has baffled the skill of all physicians. So that, in effect,, he is the best physician that has the best luck; he prescribes, but it is chance that cures.
That person that (being provoked by excessive pain) thrust his dagger into his body, and thereby, instead of reaching his vitals, opened an imposthume, the unknown cause of all his pain, and so stabbed himself into perfect health and ease, surely had great reason to acknowledge Chance for his chirurgeon, and Providence for the guider of his hand.
And then also for men’s reputation; and that either in point of wisdom or of wit. There is hardly
Ahithophel was as great an oracle, and gave as good counsel to Absalom, as ever he had given to David; but not having the good luck to be believed, and thereupon losing his former repute, he thought it high time to hang himself. And, on the other side, there have been some, who for several years have been fools with tolerable good reputation, and never discovered themselves to be so, till at length they attempted to be knaves also, but wanted art and dexterity.
And as the repute of wisdom, so that of wit also, is very casual. Sometimes a lucky saying, or a pertinent reply, has procured an esteem of wit, to persons otherwise very shallow, and no ways accustomed to utter such things by any standing ability of mind; so that if such an one should have the ill hap at any time to strike a man dead with a smart saying, it ought, in all reason and conscience, to be judged but a chance-medley: the poor man (God knows) being no way guilty of any design of wit.
Nay, even where there is a real stock of wit, yet
For consult the acutest poets and speakers, and they will confess that their quickest and most admired conceptions were such as darted into their minds like sudden flashes of lightning, they knew not how, nor whence; and not by any certain consequence or dependence of one thought upon another, as it is in matters of ratiocination.
Moreover, sometimes a man’s reputation rises or falls as his memory serves him in a performance; and yet there is nothing more fickle, slippery, and less under command, than this faculty. So that many, having used their utmost diligence to secure a faithful retention of the things or words committed to it, yet after all cannot certainly know where it will trip, and fail them. Any sudden diversion of the spirits, or the justling in of a transient thought, is able to deface those little images of things; and so breaking the train that was laid in the mind, to leave a man in the lurch. And for the other part of memory, called reminiscence, which is the retrieving of a thing, at present forgot, or but confusedly remembered, by setting the mind to hunt over all its notions, and to ransack every little cell of the brain. While it is thus busied, how accidentally oftentimes does the thing sought for offer itself to the mind! And by what small, petit hints, does the mind catch hold of, and recover a vanishing notion!
In short, though wit and learning are certain and
habitual perfections of the mind, yet the declaration
of them (which alone brings the repute) is subject to
a thousand hazards. So that every wit runs something
And then, in the fourth place, for the friendships or enmities that a man contracts in the world; than which surely there is nothing that has a more direct and potent influence upon the whole course of a man’s life, whether as to happiness or misery; yet chance has the ruling stroke in them all.
A man by mere peradventure lights into company, possibly is driven into an house by a shower of rain for present shelter, and there begins an acquaintance with a person; which acquaintance and endearment grows and continues, even when relations fail, and perhaps proves the support of his mind and of his fortunes to his dying day.
And the like holds in enmities, which come much more easily than the other. A word unadvisedly spoken on the one side, or misunderstood on the other; any the least surmise of neglect; sometimes a bare gesture; nay, the very unsuitableness of one man’s aspect to another man’s fancy, has raised such an aversion to him, as in time has produced a perfect hatred of him; and that so strong and so tenacious, that it has never left vexing and troubling him, till perhaps at length it has worried him to his grave; yea, and after death too, has pursued him in his surviving shadow, exercising the same tyranny upon his very name and memory.
It is hard to please men of some tempers, who in
deed hardly know what will please themselves; and
yet if a man does not please them, which it is ten
In the last place. As for men’s employments and preferments, every man that sets forth into the world, comes into a great lottery, and draws some one certain profession to act, and live by, but knows not the fortune that will attend him in it.
One man perhaps proves miserable in the study of the law, who might have flourished in that of physic or divinity. Another runs his head against the pulpit, who might have been very serviceable to his country at the plough. And a third proves a very dull and heavy philosopher, who possibly would have made a good mechanic, and have done well enough at the useful philosophy of the spade or the anvil.
Now let this man reflect upon the time when all these several callings and professions were equally offered to his choice, and consider how indifferent it was once for him to have fixed upon any one of them, and what little accidents and considerations cast the balance of his choice, rather one way than the other; and he will find how easily chance may throw a man upon a profession, which all his diligence cannot make him fit for.
And then for the preferments of the world, he that
would reckon up all the accidents that they depend
upon, may as well undertake to count the sands, or
to sum up infinity; so that greatness, as well as an
estate, may, upon this account, be properly called a
man’s fortune, forasmuch as no man can state either
The source of men’s preferments is most commonly the will, humour, and fancy of persons in
power; whereupon, when a prince or grandee manifests a liking to such a thing, such an art, or such a
pleasure, men generally set about to make themselves
considerable for such things, and thereby, through
his favour, to advance themselves; and at length,
when they have spent their whole time in them, and
so are become fit for nothing else, that prince or
grandee perhaps dies, and another succeeds him,
quite of a different disposition, and inclining him to
be pleased with quite different things. Whereupon
these men’s hopes, studies, and expectations, are
wholly at an end. And besides, though the grandee
whom they build upon should not die, or quit the
stage, yet the same person does not always like the
same things. For age may alter his constitution,
humour, or appetite; or the circumstances of his affairs may put him upon different courses and counsels; every one of which accidents wholly alters the
road to preferment. So that those who travel that
Caesar Borgia (base son to pope Alexander VI.) used to boast to his friend Machiavel, that he had contrived his affairs and greatness into such a posture of firmness, that whether his holy father lived or died, they could not but be secure. If he lived, there could be no doubt of them; and if he died,, he laid his interest so as to overrule the next election as he pleased. But all this while, the politician never thought, or considered, that he might in the mean time fall dangerously sick, and that sickness necessitate his removal from the court, and during that his absence, his father die, and so his interest decay, and his mortal enemy be chosen to the papacy, as indeed it fell out. So that for all his exact plot, down was he cast from all his greatness, and forced to end his days in a mean condition: as it is pity but all such politic opiniators should.
Upon much the like account, we find it once said of an eminent cardinal, by reason of his great and apparent likelihood to step into St. Peter’s chair, that in two conclaves he went in pope, and came out again cardinal.
So much has chance the casting voice in the disposal of all the great things of the world. That
which men call merit, is a mere nothing. For even
when persons of the greatest worth and merit are
preferred, it is not their merit, but their fortune that
prefers them. And then, for that other so much admired
And now I am far from affirming, that I have recounted all, or indeed the hundredth part of those casualties of human life, that may display the full compass of divine Providence; but surely, I have reckoned up so many, as sufficiently enforce the necessity of our reliance upon it, and that in opposition to two extremes, that men are usually apt to fall into.
1. Too much confidence and presumption in a
prosperous estate. David, after his deliverances from
Saul, and his victories over all his enemies round
about him, in
The sun shines in his full brightness but the very moment before he passes under a cloud. Who knows what a day, what an hour, nay, what a minute may bring forth! He who builds upon the present, builds upon the narrow compass of a point; and where the foundation is so narrow, the superstructure cannot be high, and strong too.
Is a man confident of his present health and strength? Why, an unwholesome blast of air, a cold, or a surfeit took by chance, may shake in pieces his hardy fabric; and (in spite of all his youth and vigour) send him, in the very flower of his years, pining and drooping, to his long home. Nay, he can not with any assurance, so much as step out of his doors, but (unless God commissions his protecting angel to bear him up in his hands) he may dash his foot against a stone, and fall, and in that fall breathe his last.
Or is a man confident of his estate, wealth, and power? Why, let him read of those strange, unexpected dissolutions of the great monarchies and governments of the world. Governments that once made such a noise, and looked so big in the eyes of mankind, as being founded upon the deepest counsels and the strongest force; and yet, by some slight miscarriage or cross accident, (which let in ruin and desolation upon them at first,) are now so utterly extinct, that nothing remains of them but a name, nor are there the least signs or traces of them to be found, but only in story. When, I say, he shall have well reflected upon all this, let him see what security he can promise himself, in his own little personal domestic concerns, which at the best have but the protection of the laws, to guard and defend them, which, God knows, are far from being able to defend themselves.
No man can rationally account himself secure, unless he could command all the chances of the world:
but how should he command them, when he cannot
so much as number them? Possibilities are as infinite as God’s power; and whatsoever may come to
People forget how little it is that they know, and how much less it is that they can do, when they grow confident upon any present state of things.
There is no one enjoyment that a man pleases himself in, but is liable to be lost by ten thousand accidents, wholly out of all mortal power either to foresee or to prevent. Reason allows none to be confident, but Him only who governs the world, who knows all things, and can do all things, and therefore can neither be surprised nor overpowered.
2. The other extreme, which these considerations should arm the heart of man against, is, utter despondency of mind in a time of pressing adversity.
As he who presumes, steps into the throne of God; so he that despairs, limits an infinite power to a finite apprehension, and measures Providence by his own little, contracted model. But the contrivances of Heaven are as much above our politics, as beyond our arithmetic.
Of those many millions of casualties, which we are not aware of, there is hardly one, but God can make an instrument of our deliverance. And most men, who are at length delivered from any great distress indeed, find that they are so, by ways that they never thought of; ways above or beside their imagination.
And therefore let no man, who owns the belief of
a providence, grow desperate or forlorn under any calamity or strait whatsoever; but compose the anguish of his thoughts, and rest his amazed spirits
upon this one consideration, that he knows not which way the lot may fall, or what may happen to him;
In a word. To sum up all the foregoing discourse: since the interest of governments and nations, of princes and private persons, and that, both as to life and health, reputation and honour, friendships and enmities, employments and preferments, (notwithstanding all the contrivance and power that human nature can exert about them,) remain so wholly contingent, as to us; surely all the reason of mankind cannot suggest any solid ground of satisfaction, but in making that God our friend, who is the sole and absolute disposer of all these things: and in carrying a conscience so clear towards him, as may encourage us with confidence to cast ourselves upon him: and in all casualties still to promise ourselves the best events from his providence, to whom no thing is casual: who constantly wills the truest happiness to those that trust in him, and works all things according to the counsel of that blessed will.
To whom be rendered and ascribed, as is most due, all praise, might, majesty, and dominion, both now and for evermore. Amen.
For the wisdom of this world is foolishness with God.
THE wisdom of the world, so called by an Hebraism, frequent in the writings of this apostle, for worldly wisdom, is taken in scripture in a double sense.
1. For that sort of wisdom that consists in speculation, called (both by St. Paul and the professors
of it) philosophy; the great idol of the learned part
of the heathen world, and which divided it into so
many sects and denominations, as Stoics, Peripatetics, Epicureans, and the like; it was professed and
owned by them for the grand rule of life, and certain guide to man’s chief happiness. But for its
utter insufficiency to make good so high an undertaking, we find it termed by the same apostle,
2. The wisdom of this world is sometimes taken in scripture for such a wisdom as lies in practice, and goes commonly by the name of policy; and consists in a certain dexterity or art of managing business for a man’s secular advantage: and so being in deed that ruling engine that governs the world, it both claims and finds as great a preeminence above all other kinds of knowledge, as government is above contemplation, or the leading of an army above the making of syllogisms, or managing the little issues of a dispute.
And so much is the very name and reputation of it affected and valued by most men, that they can much rather brook their being reputed knaves, than for their honesty be accounted fools; as they easily may: knave, in the mean time, passing for a name of credit, where it is only another word for politician.
Now this is the wisdom here intended in the text;
namely, that practical cunning that shews itself in
political matters, and has in it really the mystery of
a trade, or craft. So that in this latter part of
In short, it is a kind of trick or sleight, got not by
study, but converse, learned not from books, but
men; and those also, for the most part, the very
worst of men of all sorts, ways, and professions. So
that if it be in truth such a precious jewel as the
world takes it for, yet, as precious as it is, we see
that they are forced to rake it out of dunghills; and
accordingly, the apostle gives it a value suitable to
its extract, branding it with the most degrading and
ignominious imputation of foolishness. Which character
I. To shew what are those rules or principles of action, upon which the policy or wisdom here condemned by the apostle does proceed.
II. To shew and demonstrate the folly and absurdity of them, in relation to God, in whose account they receive a very different estimate, from what they have in the world’s.
And first, for the first of these; I shall set down four several rules or principles, which that policy or wisdom, which carries so great a vogue and value in the world, governs its actions by.
1. The first is, That a man must maintain a constant continued course of dissimulation, in the whole
tenor of his behaviour. Where yet, we must observe, that dissimulation admits of a twofold acception. (1.) It may be taken for a bare concealment
of one’s mind: in which sense we commonly say,
that it is prudence to dissemble injuries; that is, not
always to declare our resentments of them; and this
must be allowed not only lawful, but, in most of the
affairs of human life, absolutely necessary: for certainly it can be no man’s duty, to write his heart
(2.) Dissimulation is taken for a man’s positive professing himself to be what indeed he is not, and what he resolves not to be; and consequently, it employs all the art and industry imaginable, to make good the disguise; and by false appearances to render its designs the less visible, that so they may prove the more effectual: and this is the dissimulation here meant, which is the very groundwork of all worldly policy. The superstructure of which being folly, it is but reason that the foundation of it should be falsity.
In the language of the scripture it is damnable hypocrisy; but of those who neither believe scripture nor damnation, it is voted wisdom; nay, the very primum mobile, or great wheel, upon which all the various arts of policy move and turn: the soul, or spirit, which, as it were, animates and runs through all the particular designs and contrivances, by which the great masters of this mysterious wisdom turn about the world. So that he who hates his neighbour mortally, and wisely too, must profess all the dearness and friendship, all the readiness to serve him, (as the phrase now is,) that words and superficial actions can express.
When he purposes one thing, he must swear and
lie, and damn himself with ten thousand protestations, that he designs the clean contrary. If he
really intends to ruin and murder his prince, (as
If such persons project the ruin of church and state, they must appeal to God, the searcher of all hearts, that they are ready to sacrifice their dearest blood for the peace of the one, and the purity of the other.
And now, if men will be prevailed upon so far, as to renounce the sure and impartial judgments of sense and experience, and to believe that black is white, provided there be somebody to swear that it is so; they shall not want arguments of this sort, good store, to convince them: there being knights of the post, and holy cheats enough in the world, to swear the truth of the broadest contradictions, and the highest impossibilities, where interest and pious frauds shall give them an extraordinary call to it.
It is looked upon as a great piece of weakness
and unfitness for business, forsooth, for a man to be
so clear and open, as really to think, not only what
he says, but what he swears; and when he makes
any promise, to have the least intent of performing
it, but when his interest serves instead of veracity,
and engages him rather to be true to another, than
false to himself. He only nowadays speaks like an
oracle, who speaks tricks and ambiguities. Nothing
is thought beautiful that is not painted: so that,
what between French fashions and Italian dissimulations, the old, generous English spirit, which
heretofore made this nation so great in the eyes of all
2. The second rule or principle, upon which this policy, or wisdom of the world, does proceed, is, That conscience and religion ought to lay no restraint upon men at all, when it lies opposite to the prosecution of their interest.
The great patron and coryphaeus of this tribe, Nicolas Machiavel, laid down this for a master rule in his political scheme, That the shew of religion was helpful to the politician, but the reality of it hurtful and pernicious. Accordingly, having shewn how the former part of his maxim has been followed by these men in that first and fundamental principle of dissimulation already spoken to by us; we come now to shew further, that they cannot with more art dissemble the appearance of religion, than they can with ease lay aside the substance.
The politician, whose very essence lies in this,
that he be a person ready to do any thing that he
apprehends for his advantage, must first of all be
sure to put himself into a state of liberty, as free
and large as his principles: and so to provide elbowroom enough for his conscience to lay about, and
have its full play in. And for that purpose, he must
Upon which account, these children of darkness seem excellently well to imitate the wisdom of those children of light, the great illuminati of the late times, who professedly laid clown this as the basis of all their proceedings; That whatsoever they said or did for the present, under such a measure of light, should oblige them no longer, when a greater measure of light should give them other discoveries.
And this principle, they professed, was of great use to them; as how could it be otherwise, if it fell into skilful hands? For since this light was to rest within them, and the judgment of it to remain wholly in themselves, they might safely and uncontrollably pretend it greater or less, as their occasions should enlighten them.
If a man has a prospect of a fair estate, and sees way open to it, but it must be through fraud, violence, and oppression; if he see large preferments tendered him, but conditionally upon
his doing base and wicked offices; if he sees he may crush his enemy, but that it must be
by slandering, belying, and giving him a secret blow; and conscience shall here, according to its office, interpose, and protest the
illegality and injustice of such actions, and the damnation that is expressly threatened to them by the word of God; the thorough-paced politician must
3. The third rule or principle, upon which this policy, or wisdom of the world, proceeds, is, That a man ought to make himself, and not the public, the chief, if not the sole end of all his actions. He is to be his own centre and circumference too: that is, to draw all things to himself, and to extend nothing beyond himself: he is to make the greater world serve the less; and not only, not to love his neighbour as himself, but indeed to account none for his neighbour but himself.
And therefore, to die or suffer for his country, is not only exploded by him as a great paradox in politics, and fitter for poets to sing of, than for wise men to practise; but also, to make himself so much as one penny the poorer, or to forbear one base gain to serve his prince, to secure a whole nation, or to credit a church, is judged by him a great want of experience, and a piece of romantic melancholy, unbecoming a politician; who is still to look upon himself as his prince, his country, his church; nay, and his God too.
The general interest of the nation is nothing to
Let the public sink or swim, so long as he can hold up his head above water: let the ship be cast away, if he may but have the benefit of the wreck: let the government be ruined by his avarice, if by the same avarice he can scrape together so much as to make his peace, and maintain him as well under another: let foreigners invade and spoil the land, so long as he has a good estate in bank elsewhere. Peradventure, for all this, men may curse him as a covetous wretch, a traitor, and a villain: but such words are to be looked upon only as the splendid declaimings of novices, and men of heat, who, while they rail at his person, perhaps envy his fortune: or possibly of losers and malecontents, whose portion and inheritance is a freedom to speak. But a politician must be above words. Wealth, he knows, answers all, and if it brings a storm upon him, will provide him also a coat to weather it out.
That such thoughts and principles as these lie at
the bottom of most men’s actions; at the bottom, do
I say? nay, sit at the top, and visibly hold the
helm in the management of the weightiest affairs of
most nations, we need not much history, nor curiosity of observation, to convince us: for though
there have not been wanting such heretofore, as
have practised these unworthy arts, (forasmuch as
there have been villains in all places and all ages,)
yet nowadays they are owned above-board; and
But this, I confess, being a new, unexemplified kind of policy, scarce comes up to that which the apostle here condemns for the wisdom of the world, but must pass rather for the wisdom of this particular age, which, as in most other things it stands alone, scorning the examples of all former ages, so it has a way of policy and wisdom also peculiar to itself.
4. The fourth and last principle that I shall mention, upon which this wisdom of the world proceeds, is this:
That in shewing kindness, or doing favours, no respect at all is to be had to friendship, gratitude, or sense of honour; but that such favours are to be done only to the rich or potent, from whom a man may receive a further advantage, or to his enemies, from whom he may otherwise fear a mischief.
I have here mentioned gratitude, and sense of honour, being (as I may so speak) a man’s civil conscience, prompting him to many things, upon the accounts of common decency, which religion would otherwise bind him to, upon the score of duty. And it is sometimes found, that some, who have little or no reverence for religion, have yet those innate seeds and sparks of generosity, as make them scorn to do such things as would render them mean in the opinion of sober and worthy men; and with such persons, shame is instead of piety, to restrain them from many base and degenerous practices.
But now our politician having baffled his greater
conscience, must not be nonplused with inferior obligations;
Whence it is, that nowadays, only rich men or enemies are accounted the rational objects of benefaction. For to be kind to the former is traffic; and in these times men present, just as they soil their ground, not that they love the dirt, but that they expect a crop: and for the latter, the politician well approves of the Indian’s religion, in worshipping the devil, that he may do him no hurt; how much soever he hates him, and is hated by him.
But if a poor, old, decayed friend or relation,
whose purse, whose house and heart had been formerly free, and open to such an one, shall at length
upon change of fortune come to him with hunger
and rags, pleading his past services and his present
wants, and so crave some relief of one, for the merit
and memory of the other; the politician, who imitates the serpent’s wisdom, must turn his deaf ear
too, to all the insignificant charms of gratitude and
honour, in behalf of such a bankrupt, undone friend,
who having been already used, and now squeezed
dry, is fit only to be cast aside. He must abhor
gratitude as a worse kind of witchcraft, which only
And thus I have finished the first general head proposed from the text, and shewn some of those rules, principles, and maxims, that this wisdom of the world acts by: I say some of them, for I neither pretend nor desire to know them all.
II. I come now to the other general head, which is, to shew the folly and absurdity of these principles in relation to God. In order to which we must observe that foolishness, being properly a man’s deviation from right reason in point of practice, must needs consist in one of these two things:
1. In his pitching upon such an end as is unsuitable to his condition; or,
2. In his pitching upon means unsuitable to the compassing of his end.
There is folly enough in either of these; and my business shall be to shew, that such as act by the forementioned rules of worldly wisdom, are eminently foolish upon both accounts.
1. And first, for that first sort of foolishness imputable to them; namely, that a man, by following such principles, pitches upon that for his end which no ways suits his condition.
Certain it is, and indeed self-evident, that the wisdom of this world looks no further than this world. All its designs and efficacy terminate on this side heaven, nor does policy so much as pretend to any more than to be the great art of raising a man to the plenties, glories, and grandeurs of the world. And if it arrives so far as to make a man rich, potent, and honourable, it has its end, and has done its utmost. But now that a man cannot rationally make these things his end, will appear from these two considerations.
(1.) That they reach not the measure of his duration or being; the perpetuity of which surviving this mortal state, and shooting forth into the end less eternities of another world, must needs render a man infinitely miserable and forlorn, if he has no other comforts, but what he must leave behind him in this. For nothing can make a man happy, but that which shall last as long as he lasts. And all these enjoyments are much too short for an immortal soul to stretch itself upon, which shall persist in being, not only when profit, pleasure, and honour, but when time itself shall cease, and be no more.
No man can transport his large retinue, his sumptuous fare, and his rich furniture into another world.
Nothing of all these things can continue with him
then, but the memory of them. And surely the
bare remembrance that a man was formerly rich or
great, cannot make him at all happier there, where
an infinite happiness or an infinite misery shall
(2.) Admitting, that either these enjoyments were
eternal, or the soul mortal; and so, that one way or
other they were commensurate to its duration; yet
still they cannot be an end suitable to a rational nature, forasmuch as they fill not the measure of its
desires. The foundation of all man’s unhappiness
here on earth, is the great disproportion between his
enjoyments and his appetites; which appears evidently in this, that let a man have never so much,
he is still desiring something or other more. Alexander, we know, was much troubled at the scantiness
of nature itself, that there were no more worlds for
him to disturb: and in this respect, every man living has a soul as great as Alexander, and put under
Now this is most certain, that in spiritual natures, so much as there is of desire, so much there is also of capacity to receive. I do not say, there is always a capacity to receive the very thing they desire, for that may be impossible: but for the degree of happiness that they propose to themselves from that thing, this I say they are capable of. And as God is said to have made man after his own image, so upon this quality he seems peculiarly to have stampt the resemblance of his infinity. For man seems as boundless in his desires, as God is in his being; and therefore, nothing but God himself can satisfy him. But the great inequality of all things else to the appetites of a rational soul appears yet farther from this; that in all these worldly things, that a man pursues with the greatest eagerness and intention of mind imaginable, he finds not half the plea sure in the actual possession of them, that he proposed to himself in the expectation. Which shews, that there is a great cheat or lie which overspreads the world, while all things here below beguile men’s expectations, and their expectations cheat their experience.
Let this therefore be the first thing, in which the foolishness of this worldly wisdom is manifest. Namely, that by it a man proposes to himself an end wholly unsuitable to his condition; as bearing no proportion to the measure of his duration, or the vastness of his desires.
2. The other thing, in which foolishness is seen, is a man’s pitching upon means unsuitable to that which he has made his end.
And here we will, for the present, suppose the things of the world to have neither that shortness nor emptiness in them, that we have indeed proved them to have. But that they are so adequate to all the concerns of an intelligent nature, that they may be rationally fixed upon by men as the ultimate
I end of all their designs; yet the folly of this wisdom appears in this, that it suggests those means for the acquisition of these enjoyments, that are no ways fit to compass or acquire them, and that upon a double account.
(1.) That they are in themselves unable and insufficient for, and,
(2.) That they are frequently opposite to a successful attainment of them.
(1.) And first for their insufficiency. Let politicians contrive as accurately,
project as deeply, and pursue what they have thus contrived and projected, as diligently as it is possible for human wit
and industry to do; yet still the success of all depends upon the favour of an overruling hand. For
God expressly claims it as a special part of his prerogative, to have the entire disposal of riches, honours, and whatsoever else is apt to command the
desires of mankind here below,
And then for dignities and preferments, we have
the word of one, that could dispose of these things
much as kings could do,
And why all this? Surely not always for want of
craft to spy out where their game lay, nor yet for
want of irreligion to give them all the scope of ways
lawful and unlawful, to prosecute their intentions;
but, because the providence of God strikes not in
with them, but dashes, and even dispirits all their
endeavours, and makes their designs heartless and
ineffectual. So that it is not their seeing this man,
their belying another, nor their sneaking to a third,
that shall be able to do their business, when the
designs of Heaven will be served by their disappointment. And this is the true cause why so
many politic conceptions, so elaborately formed and
wrought, and grown at length ripe for delivery, do
(2!.) The means suggested by policy and worldly wisdom, for the attainment of these earthly enjoyments, are unfit for that purpose, not only upon the account of their insufficiency for, but also of their frequent opposition and contrariety to, the accomplishment of such ends; nothing being more usual, than for these unchristian fishers of men to be fatally caught in their own nets: for does not the text expressly say, that God taketh the wise in their own craftiness? And has not our own experience sufficiently commented upon the text, when we have seen some by the very same ways, by which they had designed to rise uncontrollably, and to clear off all obstructions before their ambition, to have directly procured their utter downfall, and to have broke their necks from that very ladder, by which they had thought to have climbed as high as their father Lucifer; and there from the top of all their greatness to have looked down with scorn upon all below them?
Such persons are the proper and lawful objects of derision, forasmuch as God himself laughs at them.
Haman wanted nothing to complete his greatness but a gallows upon which to hang Mordecai; but it mattered not for whom he provided the gallows, when Providence designed the rope for him.
With what contempt does the apostle here, in the
It is clear therefore, that the charge of this second sort of foolishness is made good upon worldly wisdom; for that having made men pitch upon an end unfit for their condition, it also makes them pitch upon means unfit to attain that end. And that both by reason of their inability for, and frequent contrariety to, the bringing about such designs.
This, I say, has been made good in the general; but since particulars convince with greater life and evidence, we will resume the forementioned principles of the politician, and shew severally in each of them, how little efficacy they have to advance the practisers of them, to the things they aspire to by them.
1. And first, for his first principle, That the politician must maintain a constant, habitual dissimulation. Concerning which I shall lay down this as
certain; that dissimulation can be no further useful,
than it is concealed; forasmuch as no man will trust
a known cheat: and it is also as certain, that as
some men use dissimulation for their interest, so
others have an interest as strongly engaging them, Cromwell.
2. The politician’s second principle was, That conscience, or religion, ought never to stand between any man and his temporal advantage. Which in deed is properly atheism; and, so far as it is practised, tends to the dissolution of society, the bond of which is religion. Forasmuch as a man’s happiness or misery in his converse with other men depends chiefly upon their doing or not doing those things which human laws can take no cognizance of: such as are all actions capable of being done in secret, and out of the view of mankind, which yet have the greatest influence upon our neighbour, even in his nearest and dearest concerns. And if there be no inward sense of religion to awe men from the doing unjust actions, provided they can do them without discovery; it is impossible for any man to sit secure or happy in the possession of any thing that he enjoys. And this inconvenience the politician must expect from others, as well as they have felt from him, unless he thinks that he can engross this principle to his own practice, and that -others cannot be as false and atheistical as himself, especially having had the advantage of his copy to write after.
3. The third principle was, That the politician ought to make himself, and not the public, the chief, if not the sole end of all that he does.
But here we shall quickly find that the private spirit will prove as pernicious in temporals, as ever it did in spirituals. For while every particular member of the public provides singly and solely for itself, the several joints of the body politic do thereby separate and disunite, and so become unable to sup port the whole; and when the public interest once fails, let private interests subsist if they can, and prevent an universal ruin from involving in it particulars. It is not a man’s wealth that can be sure to save him, if the enemy be wise enough to refuse part of it tendered as a ransom, when it is as easy for him to destroy the owner, and to take the whole. When the hand finds itself well warmed and covered, let it refuse the trouble. of feeding the mouth or guarding the head, till the body be starved or killed, and then we shall see how it will fare with the hand. The Athenians, the Romans, and all other nations that grew great out of little or nothing, did so merely by the public-mindedness of particular persons; and the same courses that first raised nations and governments must support them. So that, were there no such thing as religion, prudence were enough to enforce this upon all.
For our own parts, let us reflect upon our glorious and renowned English ancestors, men eminent in church and state, and we shall find, that this was the method by which they preserved both.
We have succeeded into their labours, and the
fruits of them: and it will both concern and become
us to succeed also into their principles. For it is no
4. The fourth and last principle mentioned was, That the politician must not, in doing kindnesses, consider his friends, but only gratify rich men or enemies. Which principle (as to that branch of it relating to enemies) was certainly first borrowed and fetched up from the very bottom of hell; and uttered (no doubt) by particular and immediate inspiration of the devil. And yet (as much of the devil as it carries in it) it neither is nor can be more villainous and detestable, than it is really silly, senseless, and impolitic.
But to go over the several parts of this principle; and to begin with the supposed policy of gratifying only the rich and opulent. Does our wise man think, that the grandee, whom he so courts, does not see through all the little plots of his courtship, as well as he himself? And so, at the same time, while he accepts the gift, laugh in his sleeve at the design, and despise the giver?
But, for the neglect of friends, as it is the height
of baseness, so it can never be proved rational, till
we prove the person using it omnipotent and self-sufficient, and such as can never need any mortal assistance. But if he be a man, that is, a poor, weak
creature, subject to change and misery, let him
know, that it is the friend only that God has made
for the day of adversity, as the most suitable and
sovereign help that humanity is capable of. And
those (though in highest place) who slight and disoblige
That prince that maintains the reputation of a true, fast, generous friend, has an army always ready to fight for him, maintained to his hand without pay.
As for the other part of this principle, that concerns the gratifying of enemies; it is (to say no more) an absurdity parallel to the former. For when a man shall have done all he can, given all he has, to oblige an enemy, he shall find, that he has armed him indeed, but not at all altered him.
The scripture bids us pray for our enemies, and
love our enemies, but no where does it bid us trust
our enemies; nay, it strictly cautions us against it,
There is a noted story of Hector and Ajax, who having combated one another, ended that combat in a reconcilement, and testified that reconcilement by mutual presents: Hector giving Ajax a sword, and Ajax presenting Hector with a belt. The consequence of which was, that Ajax slew himself with the sword given him by Hector, and Hector was dragged about the walls of Troy by the belt given him by Ajax. Such are the gifts, such are the killing kindnesses of reconciled enemies.
Confident men may try what conclusions they please, at their own peril; but let history be consulted, reason heard, and experience called in to speak impartially what it has found, and I believe they will all with one voice declare, that whatsoever the grace of God may do in the miraculous change of men’s hearts; yet, according to the common methods of the world, a man may as well expect to make the devil himself his friend, as an enemy that has given him the first blow.
And thus I have gone over the two general heads proposed from the words, and shewn both what those principles are, upon which this wisdom of the world does proceed; and also wherein the folly and absurdity of them does consist.
And now into what can we more naturally improve the whole foregoing discourse, than into that
practical inference of our apostle, in the verse before
Let us not be ashamed of the folly of being sincere, and without guile; without traps and snares in our converse; of being fearful to build our estates upon the ruin of our consciences; of preferring the public good before our own private emolument; and lastly, of being true to all the offices of friendship, the obligations of which are sacred, and will certainly be exacted of us by the great judge of all our actions. I say, let us not blush to be found guilty of all these follies, (as some account them,) rather than to be expert in that kind of wisdom, that God himself, the great fountain of wisdom, has pronounced to be earthly, sensual, devilish; and of the wretched absurdity of which, all histories, both ecclesiastical and civil, have given us such pregnant and convincing examples.
Reflect upon Ahithophel, Haman, Sejanus, Caesar Borgia, and other such masters of the arts of policy, who thought they had fixed themselves upon so sure a bottom, that they might even defy and dare Providence to the face; and yet how did God bring an absolute disappointment, like one great blot, over all their fine, artificial contrivances!
Every one of those mighty and profound sages coming to a miserable and disastrous end.
The consideration of which, and the like passages,
one would think, should make men grow weary of
dodging and shewing tricks with God in their own
crooked ways: and even force them to acknowledge
it for the surest and most unfailing prudence, wholly
Who, we may be confident, is more tenderly concerned for the good of those that truly fear and serve him, than it is possible for the most selfish of men to be concerned for themselves: and who, in all the troubles and disturbances, all the cross, difficult, and perplexing passages that can fall out, will be sure to guide all to this happy issue; that all things shall work together for good to those that love God.
To which God, infinitely wise, holy, and just, be rendered and ascribed, as is most due, all praise, might, majesty, and dominion, both now and for evermore. Amen.
For if there be first a willing mind, it is accepted according to that a man hath, and not according to that he hath not.
IN dealing with men’s consciences, for the taking them off from sin, I know nothing of so direct and efficacious an influence, as the right stating of those general rules and principles of action, that men are apt to guide their lives and consciences by: for if these be true, and withal rightly applied, men must needs proceed upon firm and safe grounds; but if either false in themselves, or not right in their particular application, the whole course that men are thereby engaged in, being founded in sin and error, must needs lead to, and at length end in, death and confusion: there being (as the wise man tells us) a way that may seem right in a man’s own eyes, when, nevertheless, the end of that way is death.
Now as amongst these principles or rules of action, the
pretences of the Spirit, and of tenderness of conscience, and the like, have been the late grand
And this I shall endeavour to search into, and lay open, in the following discourse.
The words hold forth a general rule or proposition
delivered upon a particular occasion: which was the
apostle’s exhorting the Corinthians to an holy and
generous emulation of the charity of the Macedonians, in contributing freely to the relief of the poor
saints at Jerusalem: upon this great encouragement, that in all such works of charity, it is the
will that gives worth to the oblation, and, as to God’s acceptance, sets the poorest giver upon the same
level with the richest. Nor is this all; but so perfectly does the value of all charitable acts take its
measure and proportion from the will, and from the
fulness of the heart, rather than that of the hand,
that a lesser supply may be oftentimes a greater charity; and the widow’s mite, in the balance of the
sanctuary, outweigh the shekels, and perhaps the
talents of the most opulent and wealthy: the all
and utmost of the one, being certainly a nobler alms,
than the superfluities of the other: and all this upon
the account of the great rule here set down in the
text: That, in all transactions between God and
man, wheresoever there is a full resolution, drift, and
I. The first of them expressed in the words; to wit, that God accepts the will, where there is no power to perform.
II. The other of them implied; namely, that where there is a power to perform, God does not accept the will.
Of all the spiritual tricks and legerdemain, by which men are apt to shift off their duty, and to impose upon their own souls, there is none so common, and of so fatal an import, as these two; the plea of a good intention, and the plea of a good will.
One or both of them being used by men, almost at every turn, to elude the precept, to put God off with something instead of obedience, and so, in effect, to outwit him whom they are called to obey. They are certainly two of the most effectual instruments and engines in the devil’s hands, to wind and turn the souls of men by, to whatsoever he pleases. For,
1. The plea of a good intention will serve to sanctify and authorize the very worst of actions. The
proof of which is but too full and manifest, from
that lewd and scandalous doctrine of the Jesuits
concerning the direction of the intention, and likewise from the whole manage of the late accursed rebellion. In which, it was this insolent and impudent
pretence, that emboldened the worst of men to wade
through the blood of the best of kings, and the loyalest of subjects; namely, that in all that risk of villainy,
But such persons consider not, that though an ill intention is certainly sufficient to spoil and corrupt an act in itself materially good; yet no good intention whatsoever can rectify or infuse a moral goodness into an act otherwise evil. To come to church, is, no doubt, an act in itself materially good; yet he who does it with an ill intention, comes to God’s house upon the devil’s errand; and the whole act is thereby rendered absolutely evil and detestable before God. But on the other side; if it were possible for a man to intend well, while he does ill; yet no such intention, though never so good, can make that man steal, lie, or murder with a good conscience; or convert a wicked action into a good.
For these things are against the nature of morality; in which, nothing is or can be really good, with out an universal concurrence of all the principles and ingredients requisite to a moral action; though the failure of any one of them will imprint a malignity upon that act, which, in spite of all the other requisite ingredients, shall stamp it absolutely evil, and corrupt it past the cure of a good intention.
And thus, as I have shewn, that the plea of a
good intention is used by men to warrant and patronize the most villainous and wicked actions; so,
in the next place, the plea of a good will will be
found equally efficacious to supersede and take off
But then in comes the benign latitude of the doc trine of good will, and cuts asunder all these hard, pinching cords; and tells you, that if this be but piously and well inclined, if the bent of the spirit (as some call it) be towards God and goodness, God accepts of this above, nay, instead of all external works; those being but the shell, or husk, this the kernel, the quintessence, and the very soul of duty. But for all this, these bents and propensities and inclinations will not do the business: the bare bending of the bow will not hit the mark without shooting the arrow; and men are not called to will, but to work out their salvation.
But what then? Is it not as certain from the
In order to the clearing of which, I shall lay down these two assertions.
(1.) That every law of God commands the obedience of the whole man.
(2.) That the will is never accepted by God, but as it is the obedience of the whole man.
So that the allowance or acceptance of the will, mentioned in the text, takes off nothing from the obligation of those laws, in which the deed is so plainly and positively enjoined; but is only an interpretation or declaration of the true sense of those laws, shewing the equity of them: which is as really essential to every law, and gives it its obliging force as much as the justice of it; and indeed, is not an other, or a distinct thing from the justice of it, any more than a particular case is from an universal rule.
But you will say, how can the obedience of the will ever be proved to be the obedience of the whole man?
For answer to which, we are first to consider every man as a moral, and consequently as a rational agent; and then to consider, what is the office and influence of the will in every moral action. Now the morality of an action is founded in the freedom of that principle, by virtue of which, it is in the agent’s power, having all things ready and requisite to the performance of an action, either to perform or not to perform it. And as the will is endued with this freedom, so is it also endued with a power to command all the other faculties, both of soul and body, to execute what it has so willed or decreed, and that without resistance; so that upon the last dictate of the will for the doing of such or such a thing, all the other faculties proceed immediately to act according to their respective offices. By which it is manifest, that in point of action, the will is virtually the whole man; as containing in it all that, which by virtue of his other faculties he is able to do: just as the spring of a watch is virtually the whole motion of the watch; forasmuch as it imparts a motion to all the wheels of it.
Thus as to the soul. If the will bids the understanding think, study, and consider; it will accordingly apply itself to thought, study, and consideration. If it bids the affections love, rejoice, or be angry; an act of love, joy, or anger will follow. And then for the body; if the will bids the leg go, it goes; if it bids the hand do this, it does it. So that a man is a moral agent only, as he is endued with, and acts by a free and commanding principle of will.
And therefore, when God says, My son, give me
thy heart, (which there signifies the will,) it is as
But you will say, if the prerogative of the will be
such, that where it commands the hand to give an
alms, the leg to kneel, or to go to church, or the
tongue to utter a prayer, all these things will in
fallibly be done; suppose we now, a man be bound
hand and foot by some outward violence, or be laid
up with the gout, or disabled for any of these functions by a palsy; can the will, by its command,
make a man in such a condition utter a prayer, or
kneel, or go to church? No, it is manifest it cannot:
but then you are to know also, that neither is vocal
prayer, or bodily kneeling, or going to church, in
such a case, any part of the obedience required of
such a person: but that act of his will hitherto
spoken of, that would have put his body upon all
From all which discourse, this must naturally and directly be inferred, as a certain truth, and the chief foundation of all that can be said upon this subject: namely, that whosoever wills the doing of a thing, if the doing of it be in his power, he will certainly do it; and whosoever does not do that thing, which he has in his power to do, does not really and properly will it. For though the act of the will commanding, and the act of any other faculty of the soul or body executing that which is so commanded, be physically, and in the precise nature of things, distinct and several; yet morally, as they proceed in subordination, from one entire, free, moral agent, both in divinity and morality, they pass but for one and the same action.
Now, that from the foregoing particulars we may come to understand how far this rule of God’s accepting the will for the deed holds good in the sense of the apostle, we must consider in it these three things:
1. The original ground and reason of it.
2. The just measure and bounds of it: and,
3. The abuse or misapplication of it.
And first for the original ground and reason of
this rule; it is founded upon that great, self-evident,
and eternal truth, that the just, the wise, and good
God neither does nor can require of man any
thing that is impossible, or naturally beyond his
power to do: and therefore, in the second place, the
measure of this rule, by which the just extent and
1. That men do very often take that to be an act of the will, that really and truly is not so.
2. That they reckon many things impossible that indeed are not impossible.
And first, to begin with men’s mistakes about the will, and the acts of it; I shall note these three, by which men are extremely apt to impose upon themselves.
(1.) As first, the bare approbation of the worth
and goodness of a thing, is not properly the willing
of that thing; and yet men do very commonly account it so. But this is properly an act of the
understanding or judgment; a faculty wholly distinct from the will; and which makes a principal
part of that which in divinity we call natural conscience; and in the strength
of which a man may approve of things good and excellent, without ever willing or
intending the practice of them. And accordingly, the apostle,
No doubt, virtue is a beautiful and a glorious thing in the eyes of the most vicious person breathing; and all that he does or can hate in it, is the difficulty of its practice: for it is practice alone that divides the world into virtuous and vicious; but otherwise, as to the theory and speculation of virtue and vice, honest and dishonest, the generality of mankind are much the same; for men do not approve of virtue by choice and free election; but it is an homage which nature commands all understandings to pay to it, by necessary determination; and yet after all, it is but a faint, unactive thing; for in defiance of the judgment, the will may still remain as perverse, and as much a stranger to virtue, as it was before. In fine, there is as much difference between the approbation of the judgment, and the actual volitions of the will, with relation to the same object, as there is between a man’s viewing a desirable thing with his eye, and his reaching after it with his hand.
(2.) The wishing of a thing is not properly the
willing of it; though too often mistaken by men for
such: but it is that which is called by the schools
an imperfect velleity, and imports no more than an
idle unoperative complacency in, and desire of the
end, without any consideration of, nay, for the most
part, with a direct abhorrence of the means; of
The thing itself appeared desirable to him, and accordingly he could not but like and desire it; but then it was after a very irrational, absurd way, and contrary to all the methods and principles of a rational agent; which never wills a thing really and properly, but it applies to the means, by which it is to be acquired. But at that very time that Balaam desired to die the death of the righteous, he was actually following the wages of unrighteousness, and so thereby engaged in a course quite contrary to what he desired; and consequently such as could not possibly bring him to such an end. Much like the sot that cried, Utinam hoc esset laborare, while he lay lazing and lolling upon his couch.
But every true act of volition imports a respect to
the end, by and through the means; and wills a
thing only in that way, in which it is to be compassed or effected; which is the foundation of that
most true aphorism, That he who wills the end,
wills also the means. The truth of which is founded
in such a necessary connection of the terms, that I
look upon the proposition, not only as true, but as
convertible; and that, as a man cannot truly and
properly will the end, but he must also will the
means; so neither can he will the means, but he
must virtually, and by interpretation at least, will
the end. Which is so true, that in the account
of the divine law, a man is reckoned to will even
those things that naturally are not the object of desire; such as death itself,
To will a thing therefore, is certainly much another thing from what the generality of men, especially in their spiritual concerns, take it to be. I say, in their spiritual concerns; for in their temporal, it is manifest that they think and judge much otherwise; and in the things of this world, no man is allowed or believed to will any thing heartily, which he does not endeavour after proportionably. A wish is properly a man of desire, sitting, or lying still; but an act of the will, is a man of business vigorously going about his work: and certainly there is a great deal of difference between a man’s stretching out his arms to work, and his stretching them out only to yawn.
(3.) And lastly, a mere inclination to a thing is not properly a willing of that thing; and yet in matters of duty, no doubt, men frequently reckon it for such. For otherwise, why should they so often plead and rest in the goodness of their hearts, and the honest and well inclined disposition of their minds, when they are justly charged with an actual non-performance of what the law requires of them?
But that an inclination to a thing is not a willing
of that thing, is irrefragably proved by this one
argument, that a man may act virtuously against
his inclination, but not against his will. He may be
For a man may be naturally inclined to pride, lust, anger, and strongly inclined so too, (forasmuch as these inclinations are founded in a peculiar crasis and constitution of the blood and spirits,) and yet by a steady, frequent repetition of the contrary acts of humility, chastity, and meekness, carried thereto by his will, (a principle not to be controlled by the blood or spirits,) he may at length plant in his soul all those contrary habits of virtue: and therefore it is certain, that while inclination bends the soul one way, a well-disposed and resolved will may effectually draw it another. A sufficient demonstration, doubtless, that they are two very different things; for where there may be a contrariety, there is certainly a diversity. A good inclination is but the first rude draught of virtue; but the finishing strokes are from the will; which, if well-disposed, will by degrees perfect; if ill-disposed, will, by the super-induction of ill habits, quickly deface it.
God never accepts a good inclination, instead of a good action, where that action may be done; nay, so much the contrary, that if a good inclination be not seconded by a good action, the want of that action is thereby made so much the more criminal and in excusable.
A man may be naturally well and virtuously inclined, and yet never do one good or virtuous action
all his life. A bowl may lie still for all its bias;
but it is impossible for a man to will virtue and virtuous actions heartily, but he must in the same degree offer at the practice of them: forasmuch as the
dictates of the will are (as we have shewn) despotical,
And thus as to the first abuse or misapplication of the great rule mentioned in the text, about God’s accepting the will, I have shewn three notable mistakes, which men are apt to entertain concerning the ; and proved that neither a bare approbation of, nor a mere wishing, or unactive complacency in, nor lastly, a natural inclination things virtuous and good, can pass before God for a man’s willing of such things; and consequently, if men upon this account will needs take up and acquiesce in an airy, ungrounded persuasion, that they will those things which really they do not will, they fall thereby into a gross and fatal delusion: a delusion that must and will shut the door of salvation against them. They catch at heaven, but embrace a cloud; they mock God, who will not be mocked; and deceive their own souls, which, God knows, may too easily be both deceived and destroyed too.
2. Come we now in the next place to consider the other way, by which men are prone to abuse and pervert this important rule of God’s accounting the will for the deed ; and that is, by reckoning many things impossible, which in truth are not impossible.
And this I shall make appear by shewing some of the principal instances of duty, for the performance of which, men commonly plead want of power; and thereupon persuade themselves, that God and the law rest satisfied with their will.
Now these instances are four.
(1.) In duties of very great and hard labour. Labour
It is idleness that creates impossibilities; and, where men care not to do a thing, they shelter themselves under a persuasion, that it cannot be done. The shortest and the surest way to prove a work possible, is strenuously to set about it; and no wonder, if that proves it possible, that, for the most part, makes it so.
Dig, says the unjust steward, I cannot. But why? Did either his legs or his arms fail him? No; but day-labour was but an hard and a dry kind of livelihood to a man that could get an estate with two or three strokes of his pen; and find so great a treasure as he did, without digging for it.
But such excuses will not pass muster with God,
who will allow no man’s humour or idleness to be
the measure of possible or impossible. And to
manifest the wretched hypocrisy of such pretences,
those very things, which upon the bare obligation of
duty are declined by men as impossible, presently
become not only possible, but readily practicable too,
in a case of extreme necessity. As no doubt that
forementioned instance of fraud and laziness, the
unjust steward, who pleaded that he could neither
dig nor beg, would quickly have been brought both
to dig and to beg too, rather than starve. And if
so, what reason could such an one produce before
(2.) The second instance shall be in duties of great and apparent danger. Danger (as the world goes) generally absolves from duty: this being a case in which most men, according to a very ill sense, will needs be a law to themselves. And where it is not safe for them to be religious, their religion shall be to be safe. But Christianity teaches us a very different lesson: for if fear of suffering could take off the necessity of obeying, the doctrine of the cross would certainly be a very idle and a senseless thing; and Christ would never have prayed, Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me, had the bitterness of the draught made it impossible to be drunk of. If death and danger are things that really cannot be endured, no man could ever be obliged to suffer for his conscience, or to die for his religion; it being altogether as absurd, to imagine a man obliged to suffer, as to do impossibilities.
But those primitive heroes of the Christian church
could not so easily blow off the doctrine of passive
obedience, as to make the fear of being passive a
discharge from being obedient. No, they found
martyrdom not only possible, but in many cases a
duty also; a duty dressed up indeed with all that
But to prove the possibility of a thing, there is no argument like to that which looks backwards; for what has been done or suffered, may certainly be done or suffered again. And to prove that men may be martyrs, there needs no other demonstration, than to shew that many have been so. Besides that the grace of God has not so far abandoned the Christian world, but that those high primitive in stances of passive fortitude in the case of duty and danger rivalling one another, have been exemplified and (as it were) revived by several glorious copies of them in the succeeding ages of the church.
And (thanks be to God) we need not look very
far backward for some of them, even amongst our
selves. For when a violent, victorious faction and
rebellion had overrun all, and made loyalty to the
king and conformity to the church crimes unpardonable, and of a guilt not to be expiated, but at
the price of life or estate; when men were put to
swear away all interest in the next world, to secure a very poor one in this; (for they had then
oaths to murder souls, as well as sword and pistol
for the body; nay,) when the persecution ran so
high, that that execrable monster Cromwell made
and published that barbarous, heathenish, or rather
But they, good men, had another and more artificial sort of conscience, and a way to interpret off a command, where they found it dangerous or unprofitable to do it.
“God knows my heart, (says one,) I love the king cordially: and I wish well to the church, (says another,) but you see the state of things is altered; and we cannot do what we would do. Our will is good, and the king gracious, and we hope he “will accept of this, and dispense with the rest.” A goodly present, doubtless, as they meant it; and such as they might freely give, and yet part with nothing; and the king, on the other hand, receive, and gain just as much.
But now, had the whole nation mocked God and
their king at this shuffling, hypocritical rate, what
an odious, infamous people must that rebellion have
And, upon my conscience, if we may assign any other reason or motive of the late mercies of God to these poor kingdoms, besides his own proneness to shew mercy, it was for the sake of the old, suffering cavaliers, and for the sake of none else whatsoever, that God delivered us from the two late accursed conspiracies. For they were the brats and off spring of two contrary factions, both of them equally mortal and inveterate enemies of our church; which they have been, and still are, perpetually pecking and striking at, with the same malice, though with different methods.
In a word: the old, tried church of England royalists were the men, who, in the darkest and foulest day of persecution that ever befell England, never pleaded the will in excuse of the deed, but proved the integrity and loyalty of their wills, both by their deeds and their sufferings too.
But, on the contrary, when duty and danger stand confronting one another, and when the law of God says, Obey and assist your king; and the faction says, Do if you dare: for men, in such a case, to think to divide themselves, and to pretend that their will obeys that law, while all besides their will obeys and serves the faction; what is this but a gross fulsome juggling with their duty, and a kind of trimming it between God and the devil?
These things I thought fit to remark to you, not
And the rather do I think such remarks as these necessary of late years, because of the vile arts and restless endeavours used by some sly and venomous factors for the old republican cause, to poison and debauch men from their allegiance; sometimes creeping into houses, and sometimes creeping into studies; but in both equally pimping for the faction, and stealing away as many hearts from the son, as they had formerly employed hands against the father. And this with such success, that it cannot but be matter of very sad and melancholy reflection to all sober and loyal minds, to consider, that several who had stood it out, and persevered firm and unalterable royalists in the late storm, have since (I know not by what unhappy fate) turned trimmers in the calm.
(3.) The third instance, in which men use to plead
Let a business of expensive charity be proposed; and then, as I shewed before, that, in matters of labour, the lazy person could find no hands where with to work; so neither, in this case, can the religious miser find any hands wherewith to give. It is wonderful to consider, how a command, or call to be liberal, either upon a civil or religious account, all of a sudden impoverishes the rich, breaks the merchant, shuts up every private man’s exchequer, and makes those men in a minute have nothing at all to give, who, at the very same instant, want nothing to spend. So that instead of relieving the poor, such a command strangely increases their number, and transforms rich men into beggars presently. For, let the danger of their prince and country knock at their purses, and call upon them to contribute against a public enemy or calamity; then immediately they have nothing, and their riches upon such occasions (as Solomon expresses it) never fail to make themselves wings, and to fly away. ,
Thus, at the siege of Constantinople, then the wealthiest city in the world, the citizens had nothing to give their emperor for the defence of the place, though he begged a supply of them with tears; but, when by that means the Turks took and sacked it, then those who before had nothing to give, had more than enough to lose. And in like manner, those who would not support the necessities of the old blessed king, against his villainous enemies, found that plunder could take, where disloyalty would not give; and rapine open those chests, that avarice had shut.
But to descend to matters of daily and common occurrence; what is more usual in conversation, than for men to express their unwillingness to do a thing, by saying they cannot do it; and for a covetous man, being asked a little money in charity, to answer that he has none? Which, as it is, if true, a sufficient answer to God and man; so, if false, it is intolerable hypocrisy towards both.
But do men in good earnest think that God will be put off so? or can they imagine, that the law of God will be baffled with a lie clothed in a scoff?
For such pretences are no better, as appears from
that notable account given us by the apostle of this
windy, insignificant charity of the will, and of the
worthlessness of it, not enlivened by deeds,
And thus much for men’s pretences of the will, when they are called upon to give upon a religious account; according to which, a man may be well enough said (as the common word is) to be all heart, and yet the arrantest miser in the world.
But come we now to this old rich pretender to
godliness, in another case, and tell him, that there
Ah thou hypocrite! when thy brother has lost all that ever he had, and lies languishing, and even gasping under the utmost extremities of poverty and distress, dost thou think thus to lick him whole again, only with thy tongue? Just like that old formal hocus, who denied a beggar a farthing, and put him off with his blessing.
Why, what are the prayers of a covetous wretch
worth? What will thy blessing go for? What will
it buy? Is this the charity that the apostle here, in
the text, presses upon the Corinthians? This the
case, in which God accepts the willingness of the
mind, instead of the liberality of the purse? No assuredly, but the measures that God marks out to
thy charity are these: thy superfluities must give
place to thy neighbour’s great convenience: thy convenience
This is the gradual process that must be thy rule; and he that pretends a disability to give short of this, prevaricates with his duty, and evacuates the precept. God sometimes calls upon thee to relieve the needs of thy poor brother, sometimes the necessities of thy country, and sometimes the urgent wants of thy prince: now, before thou fliest to the old, stale, usual pretence, that thou canst do none of all these things, consider with thyself, that there is a God, who is not to be flammed off with lies, who knows exactly what thou canst do, and what thou canst not; and consider in the next place, that it is not the best husbandry in the world, to be damned to save charges.
(4.) The fourth and last duty that I shall mention, in which men use to plead want of power to do the thing they have a will to, is the conquering of a long, inveterate, ill habit or custom.
And the truth is, there is nothing that leaves a
man less power to good than this does. Nevertheless, that which weakens the hand, does not
therefore cut it off. Some power to good, no doubt,
a man has left him for all this. And therefore, God
will not take the drunkard’s excuse, that he has so
long accustomed himself to intemperate drinking,
that now he cannot leave it off; nor admit of the
passionate man’s apology, that he has so long given
his unruly passions their head, that he cannot now
govern or control them. For these things are not
so: since no man is guilty of an act of intemperance
of any sort, but he might have forborn it; not without
But you will say, Does not the scripture itself acknowledge it as a thing impossible for a man, brought
under a custom of sin, to forbear sinning? In
To this I answer, that the words mentioned are
In vain therefore do men take sanctuary in such
misunderstood expressions as these; and from a false
persuasion, that they cannot reform their lives, break
off their ill customs, and root out their old, vicious
habits, never so much as attempt, endeavour, or go
about it. For, admit that such an habit, seated in
the soul, be, as our Saviour calls it, a strong man
armed, got into possession; yet still he may be dispossessed, and thrown out by a stronger,
These reasonings, I know, He deep in the minds
of most men, and relieve and support their hearts,
In the neglect of all which, men relieve their consciences by this one great fallacy running through them all, that they mistake difficulties for impossibilities. A pernicious mistake certainly; and the more pernicious, for that men are seldom convinced of it, till their conviction can do them no good. There cannot be a weightier or more important case of conscience for men to be resolved in, than to know certainly how far God accepts the will for the deed, and how far he does not: and withal, to be informed truly when men do really will a thing, and when they have really no power to do what they have willed.
For surely, it cannot but be matter of very dreadful and terrifying consideration to any one sober,
and in his wits, to think seriously with himself,
what horror and confusion must needs surprise that
man, at the last and great day of account, who had
led his whole life and governed all his actions by
To which God, the great searcher and judge of hearts, and rewarder of men according to their deeds, be rendered and ascribed, as is most due, all praise, might, majesty, and dominion, both now and for evermore. Amen.
And the children of Israel remembered not the Lord their God, who had delivered them out of the hands of all their enemies on every side: neither shewed they kindness to the house of Jerubbaal, namely, Gideon, according to all the goodness which he had shewed unto Israel.
THESE words, being a result or judgment given
upon matter of fact, naturally direct us to the fore
going story, to inform us of their occasion. The
subject of which story was that heroic and victorious judge of Israel, Gideon; who, by the greatness of his achievments, had merited the offer of a
crown and kingdom, and, by the greatness of his
mind, refused it. The whole narrative is contained
and set before us in the 6th, 7th, 8th, and 9th
chapters of this book. Where we read, that when
the children of Israel, according to their usual method
of sinning after mercies and deliverances, and there
upon returning to a fresh enslavement to their enemies, had now passed seven years in cruel subjection
to the Midianites, a potent and insulting enemy;
and who oppressed them to that degree, that they
had scarce bread to fill their mouths, or houses to
Thus far then we see the workings of a just gratitude in the Israelites; and goodness on the one
side nobly answered with greatness on the other.
And now, after so vast an obligation, owned by so
free an acknowledgment, could any thing be expected,
The truth is, they were all along a cross, odd, untoward sort of people, and such as God seems to have chosen, and (as the prophets sometimes phrase it) to have espoused to himself, upon the very same account that Socrates espoused Xantippe, only for her extreme ill conditions, above all that he could possibly find or pick out of that sex; and so the fittest argument both to exercise and declare his admirable patience to the world.
The words of the text are a charge given in
against the Israelites; a charge of that foul and
odious sin of ingratitude; and that both towards
God and towards man: towards God in the
My purpose is, from this remarkable subject and occasion, to treat of ingratitude, and that chiefly in this latter sense; and from the case of the Israelites towards Gideon, to traverse the nature, principles, and properties of this detestable vice; and so drawing before your eyes the several lineaments and parts of it, from the ugly aspect of the picture, to leave it to your own hearts to judge of the original. For the effecting of which, I shall do these following things:
I. I shall shew what gratitude is, and upon what the obligation to it is grounded.
II. I shall give some account of the nature and baseness of ingratitude.
III. I shall shew the principle from which ingratitude proceeds.
IV. I shall shew those ill qualities that inseparably attend it, and are never disjoined from it. And,
V. and lastly, I shall draw some useful inferences, by way of application, from the premises.
And first for the first of these: What gratitude is, and upon what the obligation to it is grounded.
“Gratitude is properly a virtue, disposing the mind to an inward sense and an outward acknowledgment
This, to me, seems to contain a full description, or rather definition, of this virtue; from which it appears, that gratitude includes in it these three parts.
1. A particular observation, or taking notice of a kindness received, and consequently of the good will and affection of the person who did that kindness. For still, in this case, the mind of the giver is more to be attended to, than the matter of the gift; it being this that stamps it properly a favour, and gives it the noble and endearing denomination of a kindness.
2. The second part of gratitude is that which brings it from the heart into the mouth, and makes a man express the sense he has of the benefit done him, by thanks, acknowledgments, and gratulations; and where the heart is full of the one, it will certainly overflow, and run over in the other.
3. The third and last is, an endeavour to recompense our benefactor, and to do something that may
redound to his advantage, in consideration of what
he has done towards ours. I state it upon endeavour, and not upon effect; for this latter may be
often impossible. But it is in the power of every
one to do as much as he can; to make some essay
at least, some offer and attempt this way; so as to
shew, that there is a spring of motion within, and
that the heart is not idle or insensible, but that it is
full and big, and knows itself to be so, though it
wants strength to bring forth. Having thus shewn
As for the obligation, I know no moralists or casuists, that treat scholastically of justice, but treat of gratitude under that general head, as a part or species of it. And the nature and office of justice being to dispose the mind to a constant and perpetual readiness to render to every man his due, suum cuique tribuere, it is evident, that if gratitude be a part of justice, it must be conversant about some thing that is due to another. And whatsoever is so, must be so by the force of some law. Now, all law that a man is capable of being obliged by, is reducible to one of these three:
1. The law of nature. 2. The positive law of God revealed in his word. 3. The law of man, enacted by the civil power, for the preservation and good of society.
1 . And first for the law of nature, which I take to be nothing else but the mind of God signified to a rational agent, by the bare discourse of his reason, and dictating to him, that he ought to act suitably to the principles of his nature; and to those relations that he stands under. For every thing sustains both an absolute and a relative capacity. An absolute, as it is such a thing endued with such a nature; and a relative, as it is a part of the universe, and so stands in such an order and relation both to the whole and to the rest of the parts.
After which, the next consideration immediately
subsequent to the being of a thing, is what agrees or
disagrees with that thing; what is suitable or unsuitable to it; and from this springs the notion of
But I shall, from other and nearer principles, and
those the unquestionable documents and dictates of
(1.) That according to the rule of natural justice, one man may merit and deserve of another. (2.) That whosoever deserves of another, makes some thing due to him from the person of whom he deserves. (3.) That one man’s deserving of another is founded upon his conferring on him some good, to which that other had no right or claim. (4.) That no man has any antecedent right or claim to that which comes to him by free-gift. (5.) And lastly, that all desert imports an equality between the good conferred, and the good deserved, or made due. From whence it follows, that he who confers a good upon another, deserves, and consequently has a claim to an equal good from the person upon whom it was conferred. So that from hence, by the law of nature, springs a debt; the acknowledging and repaying of which debt (as a man shall be able) is the proper office and work of gratitude.
As certain therefore as by the law of nature
there may be, and often is, such a thing as merit
and desert from one man to another; and as desert gives the person deserving a right or claim to
some good from the person of whom he deserves;
and as a right in one to claim this good, infers a
debt and obligation in the other to pay it; so certain it is, by a direct gradation of consequences
from this principle of merit, that the obligation to
gratitude flows from, and is enjoined by, the first
dictates of nature. And the truth is, the greatest
and most sacred ties of duty, that man is capable of,
And thus much for the first ground, enforcing the obligations of gratitude; namely, the law of nature. In the next place,
2. As for the positive law of God revealed in his
word, it is evident, that gratitude must needs be enjoined, and made necessary by all those scriptures
that upbraid or forbid ingratitude; as in
3. In the third and last place; as for the laws of men,
enacted by the civil power, it must be confessed, that gratitude is not enforced by them; I say,
Though in the Roman law indeed there is this
particular provision against the breach of this duty
in case of slaves; that if a lord manumits, and makes
free his slave, gross ingratitude in the person so
made free, forfeits his freedom, and re-asserts him to
his former condition of slavery; though perhaps even this also, upon an accurate
consideration, will be found not a provision against ingratitude, properly and formally as such, but as it is the ingratitude
of slaves, which, if left unpunished in a commonwealth, where it was the custom for men to
be served by slaves, as in Rome it was, would quickly have been a public nuisance and disturbance; for
such is the peculiar insolence of this sort of men,
such the incorrigible vileness of all slavish spirits,
that though freedom may rid them of the baseness
And now, having shewn both what gratitude is, and the ground and reason of men’s obligation to it, we have a full account of the proper and particular nature of this virtue, as consisting adequately in these two things: first, that it is a debt; and secondly, that it is such a debt as is left to every man’s ingenuity, (in respect of any legal coaction,) whether he will pay or no; for there lies no action of debt against him, if he will not. He is in danger of no arrest, bound over to no assize, nor forced to hold up his unworthy hand (the instrument of his ingratitude) at any bar.
And this it is, that shews the rare and distinguishing excellency of gratitude, and sets it as a
crown upon the head of all other virtues, that it
should plant such an overruling generosity in the
heart of man, as shall more effectually incline him
to what is brave and becoming, than the terror of
any penal law whatsoever. So that he shall feel a
greater force upon himself from within, and from
the control of his own principles, to engage him
to do worthily, than all threatenings and punishments, racks and tortures can have upon a low
and servile mind, that never acts virtuously, but as
it is acted; that knows no principle of doing well,
but fear; no conscience, but constraint. On the
contrary, the grateful person fears no court or
judge, no sentence or executioner, but what he carries about him in his own breast: and being still
the most severe exactor of himself, not only confesses, but proclaims his debts; his ingenuity is his
bond, and his conscience a thousand witnesses: so
that the debt must needs be sure, yet he scorns to be
I cannot warrant or defend the first part of this saying; but surely he that employs his greatness in the latter, be he never so great, it must and will make him still greater.
And thus much for the first general thing proposed,
Which is to give some account of the nature and baseness of ingratitude.
There is not any one vice or ill quality incident to the mind of man, against which the world has raised such a loud and universal outcry, as against ingratitude: a vice never mentioned by any heathen writer, but with a particular height of detestation; and of such a malignity, that human nature must be stripped of humanity itself, before it can be guilty of it. It is instead of all other vices; and, in the balance of morality, a counterpoise to them all. In the charge of ingratitude, omnia dixeris: it is one great blot upon all morality: it is all in a word: it says Amen to the black roll of sins: it gives completion and confirmation to them all.
If we would state the nature of it, recourse must be had to what has been already said of its contrary; and so it is properly an insensibility of kindnesses received, without any endeavour either to acknowledge or repay them.
To repay them, indeed, by a return equivalent, is not in every one’s power, and consequently cannot be his duty; but thanks are a tribute payable by the poorest; the most forlorn widow has her two mites; and there is none so indigent, but has an heart to be sensible of, and a tongue to express its sense of a benefit received.
For surely, nature gives no man a mouth to be
always eating, and never saying grace; nor an
hand only to grasp and to receive: but as it is furnished with teeth for the one, so it should have a
If you consider the universe as one body, you
shall find society and conversation to supply the
office of the blood and spirits; and it is gratitude
that makes them circulate: look over the whole
creation, and you shall see, that the band or cement
that holds together all the parts of this great and
glorious fabric is gratitude, or something like it: you
may observe it in all the elements; for does not the
air feed the flame? and does not the flame at the
same time warm and enlighten the air? Is not the
sea always sending forth as well as taking in? And
does not the earth quit scores with all the elements,
in the noble fruits and productions that issue from it?
And in all the light and influence that the heavens
bestow upon this lower world, though the lower
world cannot equal their benefaction, yet, with a
kind of grateful return, it reflects those rays, that it
cannot recompense: so that there is some return
however, though there can be no requital. He who
has a soul wholly void of gratitude, should do well
to set his soul to learn of his body; for all the parts
of that minister to one another. The hands, and all
the other limbs, labour to bring in food and provision to the stomach, and the stomach returns what
it has received from them in strength and nutriment,
diffused into all the parts and members of the body.
It would be endless to pursue the like allusions: in
short, gratitude is the great spring that sets all the
And now, thou ungrateful brute, thou blemish to mankind, and reproach to thy creation; what shall we say of thee, or to what shall we compare thee? For thou art an exception from all the visible world; neither the heavens above, nor the earth beneath, afford any thing like thee: and therefore, if thou wouldest find thy parallel, go to hell, which is both the region and the emblem of ingratitude; for, besides thyself, there is nothing but hell that is always receiving and never restoring.
And thus much for the nature and baseness of in gratitude, as it has been represented in the description given of it. Come we now to the
Third thing proposed, which is to shew the principle from which it proceeds. And to give you this in one word, it proceeds from that which we call ill-nature. Which being a word that occurs frequently in discourse, and in the characters given of persons, it will not be amiss to inquire into the proper sense and signification of this expression. In order to which we must observe, that according to the doctrine of the philosopher, man being a creature designed and framed by nature for society and conversation; such a temper or disposition of mind, as inclines him to those actions that promote society and mutual fellowship, is properly called good-nature: which actions, though almost innumerable in their particulars, yet seem reducible in general to these two principles of action.
1. A proneness to do good to others.
2. A ready sense of any good done by others.
And where these two meet together, as they are scarce ever found asunder, it is impossible for that person not to be kind, beneficial, and obliging to all whom he converses with. On the contrary, ill-nature is such a disposition, as inclines a man to those actions that thwart, and sour, and disturb conversation between man and man; and accordingly consists of two qualities directly contrary to the former.
1. A proneness to do ill turns, attended with a complacency, or secret joy of mind, upon the sight of any mischief that befalls another. And,
2. An utter insensibility of any good or kindness done him by others. I mean not that he is insensible of the good itself; but that, although he finds, feels, and enjoys the good that is done him, yet he is wholly insensible, and unconcerned to value, or take notice of the benignity of him that does it.
Now either of these ill qualities, and much more
both of them together, denominate a person ill-natured; they being such as make him grievous and
uneasy to all whom he deals and associates himself
with. For from the former of these proceed envy,
an aptness to slander and revile, to cross and hinder
a man in his lawful advantages. For these and
such like actions feed and gratify that base humour
of mind, which gives a man a delight in making, at
least in seeing, his neighbour miserable: and from
the latter issues that vile thing which we have been
hitherto speaking of, to wit, ingratitude: into which
all kindnesses and good turns fall, as into a kind of
dead sea. It being a quality that confines and, as
it were, shuts up a man wholly within himself, leaving him void of that principle, which alone should
dispose him to communicate and impart those redundancies
Now this surely, if any thing, is an effect of ill-nature. And what is ill-nature, but a pitch beyond original corruption? It is corruptio pessimi. A further depravation of that, which was stark naught before. But, so certainly does it shoot forth and shew itself in this vice, that wheresoever you see in gratitude, you may as infallibly conclude, that there is a growing stock of ill-nature in that breast, as you may know that man to have the plague, upon whom you see the tokens.
Having thus shewn you from whence this ill quality proceeds, pass we now to the
Fourth thing proposed, which is to shew, those other ill qualities that inseparably attend ingratitude, and are never disjoined from it.
It is a saying common in use, and true in observation, that the disposition and temper of a man may be gathered as well from his companion or associate as from himself. And it holds in qualities as it does in persons: it being seldom or never known, that any great virtue or vice went alone; for greatness in every thing will still be attended on.
How black and base a vice ingratitude is, we have
seen by considering it both in its own nature, and
in the principle from which it springs; and we may
see the same yet more fully in those vices which it
is always in combination with. Two of which I
shall mention, as being of near cognation to it, and
1. And first for pride. This is of such intimate, and even essential connection with ingratitude, that the actings of ingratitude seem directly resolvable into pride, as the principal reason and cause of them. The original ground of man’s obligation to gratitude was, as I have hinted, from this, that each man has but a limited right to the good things of the world; and, that the natural allowed way, by which he is to compass the possession of these things, is, by his own industrious acquisition of them; and consequently, when any good is dealt forth to him any other way than by his own labour, he is accountable to the person who dealt it to him, as for a thing to which he had no right or claim, by any action of his own entitling him to it.
But now, pride shuts a man’s eyes against all this,
and so fills him with an opinion of his own transcendent worth, that he imagines himself to have a
right to all things, as well those that are the effects
and fruits of other men’s labours, as of his own. So
that, if any advantage accrues to him, by the liberality and donation of his neighbour, he looks not
upon it as matter of free undeserved gift, but rather
as a just homage to that worth and merit which he
conceives to be in himself, and to which all the world
ought to become tributary. Upon which thought,
no wonder, if he reckons himself wholly unconcerned
to acknowledge or repay any good that he receives.
For while the courteous person thinks that he is
obliging and doing such an one a kindness, the
proud person, on the other side, accounts him to be
Now this is the true account of the most inward movings and reasonings of the very heart and soul of an ungrateful person. So that you may rest upon this as a proposition of an eternal, unfailing truth; that there neither is nor ever was any person remarkably ungrateful, who was not also insufferably proud; nor, convertibly, any one proud, who was not equally ungrateful. For, as snakes breed in dunghills not singly, but in knots, so in such base, noisome hearts, you shall ever see pride and in gratitude indivisibly wreathed and twisted together. Ingratitude overlooks all kindnesses, but it is be cause pride makes it carry its head so high.
See the greatest examples of ingratitude equally
notorious for their pride and ambition. And to begin
with the top and father of them all, the devil himself. That excellent and glorious nature which
God had obliged him with, could not prevent his in
gratitude and apostasy, when his pride bid him
aspire to an equality with his maker, and say, I will
ascend, and be like the Most High. And did not
our first parents write exactly after his copy? in gratitude making them to
trample upon the command, because pride made them desire to be as gods,
and to brave omniscience itself in the knowledge of
good and evil. What made that ungrateful wretch,
Absalom, kick at all the kindnesses of his indulgent
father, but because his ambition would needs be fingering
In a word, ingratitude is too base to return a kindness, and too proud to regard it; much like the tops of mountains, barren indeed, but yet lofty; they produce nothing, they feed nobody, they clothe no body, yet are high and stately, and look down upon all the world about them.
2. The other concomitant of ingratitude is hardheartedness, or want of compassion. This, at first, may seem to have no great cognation with ingratitude; but upon a due inspection into the nature of that ill quality, it will be found directly to follow it, if not also to result from it.
For the nature of ingratitude being founded in
such a disposition, as incloses all a man’s concerns
within himself, and consequently gives him a perfect
unconcernedness in all things not judged by him immediately to relate to his own interest; it is no wonder if the same temper of mind, which makes a man
unapprehensive of any good done him by others,
makes him equally unapprehensive and insensible of
any evil or misery suffered by others. No such
thought ever strikes his marble, obdurate heart, but
it presently flies off and rebounds from it. And the
truth is, it is impossible for a man to be perfect and
thoroughpaced in ingratitude, till he has shook off
all fetters of pity and compassion. For all relenting
and tenderness of heart makes a man but a puny
Ingratitude, indeed, put the poniard into Brutus’s hand; but it was want of compassion which thrust
it into Caesar’s heart. When some fond, easy fathers think fit to strip themselves before they lie
down to their long sleep, and to settle their whole
estates upon their sons, has it not been too frequently
seen, that the father has been requited with want
and beggary, scorn and contempt? But now, could
bare ingratitude, think we, ever have made any one
so unnatural and diabolical, had not cruelty and want
of pity come in as a second to its assistance, and
cleared the villain’s breast of all remainders of humanity? Is it not this which has made so many miserable parents even curse their own bowels, for
bringing forth children that seem to have none?
Did not this make Agrippina, Nero’s mother, cry
out to the assassinate sent by her son to murder her,
to direct his sword to her belly, as being the only criminal for having brought forth such a monster of in
gratitude into the world? And to give you yet an
higher instance of the conjunction of these two vices;
since nothing could transcend the ingratitude and
cruelty of Nero, but the ingratitude and cruelty of
an imperious woman; when Tullia, daughter of Servius Tullius, sixth king of Rome, having married
Tarquinius Superbus, and put him first upon killing her father, and then invading his throne, came
through the street where the body of her father lay
newly murdered and wallowing in his blood, she
commanded her trembling coachman to drive her cha
riot and horses over the body of her king and father
triumphantly, in the face of all Rome looking upon
And then for instances out of sacred story; to go no further than this of Gideon; did not ingratitude first make the Israelites forget the kindness of the father, and then cruelty make them imbrue their hands in the blood of his sons? Could Pharaoh’s butler so quickly have forgot Joseph, had not want of gratitude to him as his friend, met with an equal want of compassion to him as his fellow-prisoner? A poor, innocent, forlorn stranger languishing in durance, upon the false accusations of a lying, insolent, whorish woman!
I might even weary you with examples of the like nature, both sacred and civil, all of them representing ingratitude, as it were, sitting in its throne, with pride at its right hand, and cruelty at its left; worthy supporters of such a stately quality, such a reigning impiety.
And it has been sometimes observed, that persons signally and eminently obliged, yet missing of the utmost of their greedy designs in swallowing both gifts and giver too, instead of thanks for received kindnesses, have betook themselves to barbarous threatenings for defeat of their insatiable expectations.
Upon the whole matter we may firmly conclude,
that ingratitude and compassion never cohabit in the
same breast. Which remark I do here so much insist upon, to shew the superlative malignity of this
vice, and the baseness of the mind in which it
dwells; for we may with great confidence and equal
truth affirm, that since there was such a thing as
mankind in the world, there never was any heart
And thus I have done with the fourth thing proposed, and shewn the two vices that inseparably at tend ingratitude; and now, if falsehood also should chance to strike in as the third, and make up the triumvirate of its attendants, so that ingratitude, pride, cruelty, and falsehood should all meet together, and join forces in the same person; as not only very often, but for the most part they do; in this case, if the devils themselves should take bodies, and come and live amongst us, they could not be greater plagues and grievances to society, than such persons.
From what has been said, let no man ever think
to meet ingratitude single and alone. It is one of
those grapes of gall mentioned by Moses,
Fifth and last thing proposed, which is, to draw some useful consequences, by way of application, from the premises. As,
1. Never enter into a league of friendship with an ungrateful person. That is, plant not thy friend ship upon a dunghill. It is too noble a plant for so base a soil.
Friendship consists properly in mutual offices, and a generous strife in alternate acts of kindness. But lie, who does a kindness to an ungrateful person, sets his seal to a flint, and sows his seed upon the sand: upon the former he makes no impression, and from the latter he finds no production.
The only voice of ingratitude is, Give, give; but when the gift is once received, then, like the swine at his trough, it is silent and insatiable. In a word, the ungrateful person is a monster, which is all throat and belly; a kind of thoroughfare, or common-shore, for the good things of the world to pass into; and of whom, in respect of all kindnesses conferred on him, may be verified that observation of the lion’s den; before which appeared the footsteps of many that had gone in thither, but no prints of any that ever came out thence. The ungrateful person is the only thing in nature, for which nobody living is the better. He lives to himself, and subsists by the good-nature of others, of which he himself has not the least grain. He is a mere encroachment upon society, and, consequently, ought to be thrust out of the world as a pest, and a prodigy, and a creature of the devil’s making, and not of God’s.
2. As a man tolerably discreet ought by no means to attempt the making of such an one his friend; so neither is he, in the next place, to presume to think that he shall be able, so much as to alter or meliorate the humour of an ungrateful person, by any acts of kindness, though never so frequent, never so obliging.
Philosophy will teach the learned, and experience may teach all, that it is a thing hardly feasible. For love such an one, and he shall depise you: commend him, and, as occasion serves, he shall revile you: give to him, and he shall but laugh at your easiness: save his life; but when you have done, look to your own.
The greatest favours to such an one are but like the motion of a ship upon the waves; they leave no trace, no sign behind them; they neither soften nor win upon him; they neither melt nor endear him, but leave him as hard, as rugged, and as unconcerned as ever. All kindnesses descend upon such a temper, as showers of rain or rivers of fresh water falling into the main sea: the sea swallows them all, but is not at all changed or sweetened by them. I may truly say of the mind of an ungrateful person, that it is kindness-proof. It is impenetrable, unconquerable; unconquerable by that which conquers all things else, even by love itself. Flints may be melted, (we see it daily,) but an ungrateful heart cannot; no, not by the strongest and the noblest flame. After all your attempts, all your experiments, for any thing that man can do, he that is ungrateful, will be ungrateful still. And the reason is manifest; for you may remember, that I told you, that ingratitude sprang from a principle of ill-nature; which being a thing founded in such a certain constitution of blood and spirit, as being born with a man into the world, and upon that account called nature, shall prevent all remedies that can be applied by education, and leaves such a bias upon the mind, as is beforehand with all instruction.
So that you shall seldom or never meet with an
ungrateful person, but if you look backward, and
trace him up to his original, you will find that he
was born so; and if you could look forward enough,
it is a thousand to one, but you will find, that he
also dies so; for you shall never light upon an ill-natured man, who was not also
an ill-natured child;
The thread that nature spins, is seldom broken off by any thing but death. I do not by this limit the operation of God’s grace; for that may do wonders: but humanly speaking, and according to the method of the world, and the little correctives supplied by art and discipline, it seldom fails; but an ill principle has its course, and nature makes good its blow. And therefore, where ingratitude begins remarkably to shew itself, he surely judges most wisely, who takes the alarm betimes; and arguing the fountain from the stream, concludes that there is ill-nature at the bottom; and so reducing his judgment into practice, timely withdraws his frustraneous, baffled kindnesses, and sees the folly of endeavouring to stroke a tiger into a lamb, or to court an Ethiopian out of his colour.
3. In the third and last place. Wheresoever you
see a man notoriously ungrateful, rest assured, that
there is no true sense of religion in that person.
You know the apostle’s argument, in
But the thing is too evident to need any proof. For shall that man pass for a proficient in Christ’s school, who would have been exploded in the school of Zeno or Epictetus? Or shall he pretend to religious attainments, who is defective and short in moral? which yet are but the rudiments, the beginnings, and first draught of religion, as religion is the perfection, the refinement, and the sublimation of morality; so that it still presupposes it, it builds upon it, and grace never adds the superstructure, where virtue has not laid the foundation. There may be virtue indeed, and yet no grace; but grace is never without virtue: and therefore, though gratitude does not infer grace, it is certain that ingratitude does exclude it.
Think not to put God off by frequenting prayers, and sermons, and sacraments, while thy brother has an action against thee in the court of heaven; an action of debt, of that clamorous and great debt of gratitude. Rather, as our Saviour commands, leave thy gift upon the altar, and first go and clear accounts with thy brother. God scorns a gift from him who has not paid his debts. Every ungrateful person, in the sight of God and man, is a thief, and let him not make the altar his receiver. Where there is no charity, it is certain there can be no religion; and can that man be charitable, who is not so much as just?
In every benefaction between man and man, man
is only the dispenser, but God the benefactor; and
therefore let all ungrateful ones know, that where
To which God, the great searcher and judge of hearts, and rewarder of men according to their deeds, he rendered and ascribed, as is most due, all praise, might, majesty, and dominion, both now and for evermore. Amen.
Lying lips are abomination to the Lord.
I AM very sensible, that by discoursing of lies and
falsehood, which I have pitched upon for my present
subject, I must needs fall into a very large common
place; though yet, not by half so large and common
as the practice: nothing in nature being so universally decried, and withal so universally practised, as
falsehood. So that most of those things, that have
the mightiest and most controlling influence upon
the affairs and course of the world, are neither bet
ter nor worse than downright lies. For what is
common fame, which sounds from all quarters of the
world, and resounds back to them again, but generally a loud, rattling, impudent, overbearing lie?
What are most of the histories of the world, but
lies? lies immortalized, and consigned over as a
perpetual abuse and flam upon posterity? What are
most of the promises of the world, but lies? of
which we need no other proof, but our own experience. And what are most of the oaths in the
Thus a mighty, governing lie goes round the world, and has almost banished truth out of it; and so reigning triumphantly in its stead, is the true source of most of those confusions and dire calamities that infest and plague the universe. For look over them all, and you shall find, that the greatest annoyance and disturbance of mankind has been from one of these two things, force or fraud. Of which, as boisterous and violent a thing as force is, yet it rarely achieves any thing considerable, but under the conduct of fraud. Slight of hand has done that, which force of hand could never do.
But why do we speak of hands? It is the tongue that drives the world before it. The tongue, and the lying lip, which there is no fence against: for when that is the weapon, a man may strike where he cannot reach; and a word shall do execution, both further and deeper, than the mightiest blow. For the hand can hardly lift up itself high enough to strike, but it must be seen; so that it warns, while it threatens; but a false, insidious tongue may whisper a He so close and low, that though you have ears to hear, yet you shall not hear; and indeed we generally come to know it, not by hearing, but by feeling what it says.
A man, perhaps, casts his eye this way and that
Upon the whole matter, it is hard to assign any one thing, but lying, which God and man so unanimously join in the hatred of; and it is as hard to tell, whether it does a greater dishonour to God, or mischief to man: it is certainly an abomination to both; and I hope to make it appear such in the following discourse. Though I must confess myself very unable to speak to the utmost latitude of this subject; and I thank God that I am so.
Now the words of the text are a plain, entire, categorical proposition; and therefore I shall not go about to darken them by any needless explication, but shall immediately cast the prosecution of them under these three following particulars. As,
I. I shall inquire into the nature of a lie, and the proper essential malignity of all falsehood.
II. I shall shew the pernicious effects of it. And,
III. and lastly, I shall lay before you the rewards and punishments that will certainly attend, or at least follow it.
Every one of which, I suppose, and much more
all of them together, will afford arguments, more
And first, for the first of these.
I. What a lie is, and wherein the nature of it does consist. A lie is properly an outward signification of something contrary to, or, at least, beside the inward sense of the mind; so that when one thing is signified or expressed, and the same thing not meant or intended, that is properly a lie.
And forasmuch as God has endued man with a power or faculty to institute or appoint signs of his thoughts; and that, by virtue hereof, he can appoint, not only words, but also things, actions, and gestures to be signs of the inward thoughts and conceptions of his mind, it is evident, that he may as really lie and deceive by actions and gestures, as he can by words; forasmuch as, in the nature of them, they are as capable of being made signs; and consequently of being as much abused and misapplied, as the other: though, for distinction sake, a deceiving by words is commonly called a lie, and a deceiving by actions, gestures, or behaviour, is called simulation, or hypocrisy.
The nature of a lie, therefore, consists in this,
that it is a false signification knowingly and voluntarily used; in which the sign expressing is no ways
agreeing with the thought or conception of the
mind pretended to be thereby expressed. For words
signify not immediately and primely things themselves, but the conceptions of the mind concerning things; and therefore, if there be an agreement
between our words and our thoughts, we do not
speak falsely, though it sometimes so falls out, that
And thus having shewn what a lie is, and where in it does consist, the next consideration is, of the lawfulness or unlawfulness of it. And in this, we have but too sad and scandalous an instance, both of the corruption and weakness of man’s reason, and of the strange bias that it still receives from interest, that such a case as this, both with philosophers and divines, heathens and Christians, should be held disputable.
Plato accounted it lawful for statesmen and governors; and so did Cicero and Plutarch; and the Stoics, as some say, reckoned it amongst the arts and perfections of a wise man, to lie dexterously, in due time and place. And for some of the ancient doctors of the Christian church; such as Origen, Clemens Alexandrinus, Tertullian, Lactantius, and Chrysostom; and generally, all before St. Austin, several passages have fallen from them, that speak but too favourably of this ill thing. So that Paul Layman, a Romish casuist, says, that it is a truth but lately known, and received in the world, that a lie is absolutely sinful and unlawful; I suppose he means, that part of the world, where the scriptures are not read, and where men care not to know what they are not willing to practise.
But then, for the mitigation of what has proceeded
1. The pernicious lie, uttered for the hurt or disadvantage of our neighbour.
2. The officious lie, uttered for our own or our neighbour’s advantage: and
3. And lastly, The ludicrous and jocose lie, uttered by way of jest, and only for mirth’s sake, in common converse. Now for the first of these, which is the pernicious lie; it was and is universally condemned by all; but the other two have found some patronage from the writings of those forementioned authors. The reason of which seems to be, that those persons did not estimate the lawfulness or unlawfulness of a lie, from the intrinsic nature of the thing itself, but either from those external effects that it produced, or from those ends to which it was directed; which accordingly as they proved either helpful or hurtful, innocent or offensive, so the lie was reputed either lawful or unlawful. And therefore, since a man was helped by an officious lie, and not hurt by a jocose, both of these came to be esteemed lawful, and in some cases laudable.
But the schoolmen and casuists having too much
philosophy to go about to clear a lie from that intrinsic inordination and deviation from right reason
inherent in the nature of it, and yet withal unwilling to rob the world, and themselves especially, of so
sweet a morsel of liberty, held that a lie was indeed
absolutely and universally sinful; but then they held
also, that only the pernicious He was a mortal sin,
and the other two were only venial. It can be no
part of my business here to overthrow this distinction,
Let us now, in the next place, inquire from whence this unlawfulness springs, and upon what it is grounded: to which I answer; that upon the principles of natural reason, the unlawfulness of lying is grounded upon this, that a He is properly a sort or species of injustice, and a violation of the right of that person to whom the false speech is directed: for all speaking, or signification of one’s mind, implies, in the nature of it, an act or address of one man to another: it being evident, that no man, though he does speak false, can be said to lie to himself.
Now to shew what this right is, we must know,
that in the beginnings and first establishments of
speech, there was an implicit compact amongst men,
founded upon common use and consent, that such
and such words or voices, actions or gestures, should
be means or signs, whereby they would express or
convey their thoughts one to another; and that men
should be obliged to use them for that purpose;
forasmuch as, without such an obligation, those
signs could not be effectual for such an end. From
which compact there arising an obligation upon
every one so to convey his meaning, there accrues
From hence therefore we see, that the original reason of the unlawfulness of lying or deceiving, is, that it carries with it an act of injustice, and a violation of the right of him, to whom we were obliged to signify or impart our minds, if we spoke to him at all.
But then we must observe also, (which I noted
at first,) that as it is in man’s power to institute, not
only words, but also things, actions, or gestures, to
be the means whereby he would signify and express
his mind; so, on the other side, those voices, actions,
or gestures, which men have not by any compact
agreed to make the instruments of conveying their
thoughts one to another, are not the proper instruments of deceiving, so as to denominate the person
using them a liar or deceiver, though the person,
to whom they are addressed, takes occasion from
thence to form in his mind a false apprehension or
belief of the thoughts of those, who use such voices,
actions, or gestures towards him. I say, in this
case, the person using these things cannot be said to
deceive; since all deception is a misapplying of those
signs, which, by compact or institution, were made
But yet this I do and must grant, that though it be not against strict justice or truth for a man to do those things which he might otherwise lawfully do, albeit his neighbour does take occasion from thence to conceive in his mind a false belief, and so to deceive himself; yet Christian charity will, in many cases, restrain a man here too, and prohibit him to use his own right and liberty, where it may turn considerably to his neighbour’s prejudice. For here in is the excellency of charity seen, that the charitable man not only does no evil himself, but that, to the utmost of his power, he also hinders any evil from being done even by another.
And as we have shewn and proved that lying and deceiving stand condemned, upon the principles of natural justice, and the eternal law of right reason; so are the same much more condemned, and that with the sanction of the highest penalties, by the law of Christianity, which is eminently and transcendently called the truth, and the word of truth; and in nothing more surpasses all the doctrines and religions in the world, than in this, that it enjoins the clearest, the openest, and the sincerest dealing, both in words and actions; and is the rigidest exacter of truth in all our behaviour, of any other doc trine or institution whatsoever.
And thus much for the first general thing proposed,
Second, which is to shew the pernicious effects of it. Some of the chief and most remarkable of which are these that follow: as,
First of all, it was this that introduced sin into the world. For how came our first parents to sin, and to lose their primitive innocence? Why, they were deceived, and by the subtilty of the devil brought to believe a lie. And, indeed, deceit is of the very essence and nature of sin, there being no sinful action, but there is a lie wrapt up in the bowels of it. For sin prevails upon the soul by representing that as suitable and desirable, that really is not so. And no man is ever induced to sin, but by a persuasion, that he shall find some good and happiness in it, which he had not before. The wages that sin bargains with the sinner to serve it for, are life, pleasure, and profit; but the wages it pays him with, are death, torment, and destruction. He that would understand the falsehood and deceit of sin throughly, must compare its promises and its payments together.
And as the devil first brought sin into the world
by a lie, (being equally the base original of both,) so
he still propagates and promotes it by the same.
The devil reigns over none but those whom he first
deceives. Geographers and historians dividing the
habitable world into thirty parts, give us this account of them: that but five of those thirty are
Christian; and for the rest, six of them are Jew
and Mahometan, and the remaining nineteen perfectly heathen: all which he holds and governs by
2. A second effect of lying and falsehood is all that misery and calamity that befalls mankind. For the proof of which, we need go no further than the former consideration: for sorrow being the natural and direct effect of sin, that which first brought sin into the world must by necessary consequence bring in sorrow too. Shame and pain, poverty and sickness, yea, death and hell itself, are all of them but the trophies of those fatal conquests, got by that grand impostor, the devil, over the deluded sons of men. And hardly can any example be produced of a man in extreme misery, who was not one way or other first deceived into it. For have not the greatest slaughters of armies been effected by stratagem? And have not the fairest estates been destroyed by suretyship? In both of which there is a fallacy, and the man is overreached, before he is overthrown.
What betrayed and delivered the poor old prophet
into the lion’s mouth, Of which last, see an instance in the 13th session of
this council, in which it decrees,
with a non-obstante to Christ’s express institution of the blessed eucharist in both kinds, that
the contrary custom and practice of receiving it only in one
kind ought to be accounted
and observed as a law; and
that, if the priest should administer it otherwise, he was to
be excommunicated.
And how came so many bonfires to be made in Queen Mary’s days? Why, she had abused and deceived her people with lies, promising them the free exercise of their religion before she got into the throne; and when she was once in, she performed her promise to them at the stake. And I know no security we had from seeing the same again in our days, but one or two proclamations forbidding bon fires. Some sort of promises are edged tools, and it is dangerous laying hold on them.
But to pass from hence to fanatic treachery, that
is, from one twin to the other; how came such multitudes of our own nation, at the beginning of that
monstrous (but still surviving and successful) rebel
lion, in the year 1641, to be spunged of their plate
and money, their rings and jewels, for the carrying
on of the schismatical, dissenting, king-killing cause?
Why, next to their own love of being cheated, it
was the public, or rather prostitute faith of a company of faithless miscreants that drew them in, and
deceived them. And how came so many thousands
to fight and die in the same rebellion? Why, they Colonel Axtell. He particularly mentioned those of Brooks
and Calamy.
Infinite would it be to pursue all instances of this
nature: but, consider those grand agents and lieu
tenants of the devil, by whom he scourges and
plagues the world under him, to wit, tyrants; and
was there ever any tyrant since the creation, who
was not also false and perfidious? Do not the
bloody and the deceitful man still go hand in hand
together, in the language of the scripture?
No man that designs to rob another of his estate
or life, will be so impudent or ignorant, as in plain
terms to tell him so. But if it be his estate that he
drives at, he will dazzle his eyes, and bait him in
with the luscious proposal of some gainful purchase,
In a word, I verily believe, that no sad disaster ever yet befell any person or people, nor any villainy or flagitious action was ever yet committed, but upon a due inquiry into the causes of it, it will be found, that a He was first or last the principal engine to effect it: and that, whether pride, lust, or cruelty brought it forth, it was falsehood that begot it; this gave it being, whatsoever other vice might give it birth.
3. As we have seen how much lying and falsehood disturbs; so, in the next place, we shall see also how it tends utterly to dissolve society. There is no doubt, but all the safety, happiness, and convenience that men enjoy in this life, is from the combination of particular persons into societies or corporations: the cause of which is compact; and the band that knits together and supports all compacts, is truth and faithfulness. So that the soul and spirit that animates and keeps up society, is mutual trust, and the foundation of trust is truth, either known, or at leas t supposed in the persons so trusted.
But now, where fraud and falsehood, like a plague or canker, comes once to invade society, the band, which held together the parts compounding it, presently breaks; and men are thereby put to a loss, where to league, and to fasten their dependences; and so are forced to scatter, and shift every one for himself. Upon which account, every notoriously false person ought to be looked upon and detested, as a public enemy, and to be pursued as a wolf or a mad dog, and a disturber of the common peace and welfare of mankind. There being no particular person whatsoever, but has his private interest concerned and endangered in the mischief that such a wretch does to the public.
For look into great families, and you shall find
some one false, paltry talebearer, who, by carrying
stories from one to another, shall inflame the minds
and discompose the quiet of the whole family. And
from families pass to towns or cities; and two or
three pragmatical, intriguing, meddling fellows, (men
of business some call them,) by the venom of their
And this is so evident, that without trusting,
there could not only be no happiness, but indeed no
living in this world. For in those very things that
minister to the daily necessities of common life, how
can any one be assured, that the very meat and
drink that he is to take into his body, and the
clothes he is to put on, are not poisoned, and made
unwholesome for him, before ever they are brought
to him. Nay, in some places, (with horror be it
spoke,) how can a man be secure in taking the very
sacrament itself? For there have been those who
have found something in this spiritual food, that has
proved very fatal to their bodies, and more than
prepared them for another world. I say, how can
any one warrant himself in the use of these things
against such suspicions, but in the trust he has in
the common honesty and truth of men in general,
which ought and uses to keep them from such villainies? Nevertheless, know this certainly before hand he cannot, forasmuch as
such things have been done, and consequently may be done again. And therefore,
as for any infallible assurance to the contrary, he can have none; but, in the
great concerns of life and health, every man must be forced to proceed upon trust, there being no knowing the intention of the cook or baker, any more than of the
Now this shews the high malignity of fraud and falsehood, that, in the direct and natural course of it, tends to the destruction of common life, by destroying that trust and mutual confidence that men should have in one another; by which the common intercourse of the world must be carried on, and without which, men must first distrust, and then divide, separate, and stand upon their guard, with their hand against every one, and every one’s hand against them.
The felicity of societies and bodies politic consists in this, that all relations in them do regularly
discharge their respective duties and offices. Such
as are the relation between prince and subject, master and servant, a man and his friend, husband and
wife, parent and child, buyer and seller, and the
like. But now, where fraud and falsehood take
place, there is not one of all these that is not perverted, and that does not, from an help of society,
directly become an hinderance. For first, it turns
all above us into tyranny and barbarity; and all of
the same religion and level with us, into discord
and confusion. It is this alone that poisons that
sovereign and divine thing called friendship; so
that when a man thinks that he leans upon a breast
as loving and true to him as his own, he finds that
he relies upon a broken reed, that not only basely
fails, but also cruelly pierces the hand that rests
In a word: he that has to do with a liar, knows not where he is, nor what he does, nor with whom he deals. He walks upon bogs and whirlpools; wheresoever he treads he sinks, and converses with a bottomless pit, where it is impossible for him to fix, or to be at any certainty. In fine, he catches at an apple of Sodom, which, though it may entertain his eye with a florid, jolly white and red, yet, upon the touch, it shall fill his hand only with stench and foulness; fair in look and rotten at heart; as the gayest and most taking things and persons in the world generally are.
4. And lastly: deceit and falsehood do, of all
other ill qualities, most peculiarly indispose the
hearts of men to the impressions of religion. For
these are sins perfectly spiritual, and so prepossess
the proper seat and place of religion, which is the
soul or spirit: and, when that is once filled and
taken up with a lie, there will hardly be admission
or room for truth. Christianity is known in scripture
And if so, does it not look like the greatest paradox and prodigy in nature, for any one to pretend it lawful to equivocate, or lie for it? To face God and outface man, with the sacrament and a lie in one’s mouth together? Can a good intention, or rather a very wicked one, so miscalled, sanctify and transform perjury and hypocrisy into merit and perfection? Or can there be a greater blot cast upon any church or religion (whatsoever it be) than by such a practice? For will not the world be induced to look upon my religion as a lie, if I allow myself to lie for my religion?
The very life and soul of all religion is sincerity.
And therefore the good ground, in which alone the
immortal seed of the word sprang up to perfection,
is said, in St.
Such sins, indeed, as are acted by the body, do
quickly shew and proclaim themselves; and it is no
such hard matter to convince or run down a drunkard, or an unclean person, and to stop their mouths,
and to answer any pretences that they can allege for
their sin. But deceit is such a sin as a Pharisee
may be guilty of, and yet stand fair for the reputation
But such sons of Abraham, how highly soever
they may have the luck to be thought of, are far
from being Israelites indeed; for the character that
our Saviour gives us of such, in the person of Nathanael, in
And thus much for the second general thing proposed, which was, to shew the pernicious effects of lying and falsehood. Come we now to the
Third and last, which is, to lay before you the rewards or punishments that will assuredly attend, or at least follow, this base practice.
I shall mention three: as,
1. An utter loss of all credit and belief with sober
and discreet persons; and consequently, of all capacity of being useful in the
prime and noblest concerns of life. For there cannot be imagined in nature a more forlorn, useless, and contemptible tool,
or more unfit for any thing, than a discovered cheat.
And let men rest assured of this, that there will be
always some as able to discover and find out deceitful tricks, as others can be to contrive them. For
God forbid, that all the wit and cunning of the
world should still run on the deceiver’s side; and
when such little shifts and shuffling arts come once
to be ripped up and laid open, how poorly and
wretchedly must that man needs sneak, who finds
himself both guilty and baffled too! a knave with
out luck is certainly the worst trade in the world.
But truth makes the face of that person shine who
speaks and owns it: while a lie is like a vizard, that
may cover the face indeed, but can never become it;
nor yet does it cover it so but that it leaves it open
enough for shame. It brands a man with a lasting,
indelible character of ignominy and reproach, and
that indeed so foul and odious, that those usurping
For what place can that man fill in a common wealth, whom nobody will either believe or employ? And no man can be considerable in himself, who has not made himself useful to others: nor can any man be so, who is uncapable of a trust. He is neither fit for counsel or friendship, for service or command, to be in office or in honour, but, like salt that has lost its savour, fit only to rot and perish upon a dunghill.
For no man can rely upon such an one, either with safety to his affairs, or without a slur to his reputation,; since he that trusts a knave has no other recompence, but to be accounted a fool for his pains. And if he trusts himself into ruin and beggary, he falls unpitied, a sacrifice to his own folly and credulity; for he that suffers himself to be imposed upon by a known deceiver, goes partner in the cheat, and deceives himself. He is despised, and laughed at as a soft and easy person, and as unfit to be relied upon for his weakness, as the other can be for his falseness.
It is really a great misery not to know whom to trust, but a much greater to behave one’s self so as not to be trusted. But this is the liar’s lot; he is accounted a pest and a nuisance; a person marked out for infamy and scorn, and abandoned by all men of sense and worth, and such as will not abandon themselves.
2. The second reward or punishment that attends
the lying and deceitful person, is the hatred of all
For whosoever deceives a man, does not only do all that he can to ruin him, but, which is yet worse, to make him ruin himself; and by causing an error in the great guide of all his actions, his judgment, to cause an error in his choice too; the misguidance of which must naturally engage him in those courses that directly tend to his destruction. Loss of sight is the misery of life, and usually the forerunner of death; when the malefactor comes once to be muffled, and the fatal cloth drawn over his eyes, we know that he is not far from his execution.
And this is so true, that whosoever sees a man
who would have beguiled and imposed upon him, by
making him believe a lie, he may truly say of that
person, That’s the man who would have ruined
me, who would have stripped me of the dignity
of my nature, and put out the eyes of my reason,
to make himself sport with my calamity, my folly,
and my dishonour. For so the Philistines used
Sampson, and every man in this sad case has enough
of Sampson to be his own executioner. Accordingly, if ever it comes to this, that a man can say
of his confident, he would have deceived me, he has
said enough to annihilate and abolish all pretences
What says the most wise author of that excellent
book of Ecclesiasticus,
And the reason of the difference is manifest; for
hasty words or blows may be only the effects of a
sudden passion, during which a man is not perfectly
himself: but no man goes about to deceive, or ensnare,
But for all these masks and vizards, nothing certainly can be thought of or imagined more base, inhuman, or diabolical, than for one to abuse the generous confidence and hearty freedom of his friend, and to undermine and ruin him in those very concerns, which nothing but too great a respect to, and too good an opinion of the traitor, made the poor man deposit in his hollow and fallacious breast. Such an one, perhaps, thinks to find some support and shelter in my friendship, and I take that opportunity to betray him to his mortal enemies. He comes to me for counsel, and I shew him a trick. He opens his bosom to me, and I stab him to the heart.
These are the practices of the world we live in; especially since the year sixty, the grand epoch of falsehood, as well as debauchery. But God, who is the great guarantee for the peace, order, and good behaviour of mankind, where laws cannot secure it, may, some time or other, think it the concern of his justice and providence too, to revenge the affronts put upon them, by such impudent defiers of both, as neither believe a God, nor ought to be believed by man.
In the mean time, let such perfidious wretches know, that though they believe a devil no more than they do a God, yet in all this scene of refined treachery, they are really doing the devil’s journeywork, who was a liar and a murderer from the beginning, and therefore a liar, that he might be a murderer: and the truth is, such an one does all towards his brother’s ruin that the devil himself could do. For the devil can but tempt and deceive, and if he cannot destroy a man that way, his power is at an end.
But I cannot dismiss this head without one further note, as very material in the case now before us. Namely, that since this false, wily, doubling disposition of mind is so intolerably mischievous to society, God is sometimes pleased, in mere pity and compassion to men, to give them warning of it, by setting some odd mark upon such Cains. So that, if a man will be but so true to himself, as to observe such persons exactly, he shall generally spy such false lines, and such a sly, treacherous fleer upon their face, that he shall be sure to have a cast of their eye to warn him, before they give him a cast of their nature to betray him. And in such cases, a man may see more and better by another’s eye, than he can by his own.
Let this, therefore, be the second reward of the lying and deceitful person, that he is the object of a just hatred and abhorrence. For as the devil is both a liar himself and the father of liars; so I think, that the same cause, that has drawn the hatred of God and man upon the father, may justly entail it upon his offspring too; and it is pity that such an entail should ever be cut off. But,
3. And lastly, The last and utmost reward, that shall
infallibly reach the fraudulent and deceitful, (as it will
all other obstinate and impenitent sinners,) is a final
and eternal separation from God, who is truth itself,
and with whom no shadow of falsehood can dwell.
He that telleth lies, says David, in
And, on the other side, how emphatically is hell
described in the two last chapters of the Revelation;
by being the great receptacle and mansion-house of
liars, whom we shall find there ranged with the
vilest and most detestable of all sinners, appointed
to have their portion in that horrid place,
Now let those consider this, whose tongue and
heart hold no correspondence: who look upon it as
a piece of art and wisdom, and the masterpiece of
And now to sum up all in short; I have shewn what a lie is, and wherein the nature of falsehood does consist; that it is a thing absolutely and intrinsically evil; that it is an act of injustice, and a violation of our neighbour’s right.
And that the vileness of its nature is equalled by
the malignity of its effects. It being this that first
brought sin into the world, and is since the cause of
all those miseries and calamities that disturb it; and
further, that it tends utterly to dissolve and over
throw society, which is the greatest temporal blessing and support of mankind: and, which is yet worst
And lastly, that it is as dreadful in its punishments, as it has been pernicious in its effects. Forasmuch as it deprives a man of all credit and belief, and consequently, of all capacity of being useful in any station or condition of life whatsoever; and next, that it draws upon him the just and universal hatred and abhorrence of all men here; and finally, subjects him to the wrath of God and eternal dam nation hereafter.
And now, if none of all these considerations can recommend and endear truth to the words and practices of men, and work upon their double hearts, so far as to convince and make them sensible of the baseness of the sin, and greatness of the guilt, that fraud and falsehood leaves upon the soul; let them lie and cheat on, till they receive a fuller and more effectual conviction of all these things, in that place of torment and confusion, prepared for the devil and his angels, and all his lying retinue, by the decree and sentence of that God, who, in his threatenings as well as in his promises, will be true to his word, and cannot lie.
To whom be rendered and ascribed, as is most due, all praise, might, majesty, and dominion, both now and for evermore. Amen.
The practice of religion enforced by reason:
This dedication refers to the twelve sermons next following.
Reverend and learned Sirs,
THESE discourses (most of them at least) having by the favour of your patience had the honour of your audience, and being now published in another and more lasting way, do here humbly cast themselves at your feet, imploring the yet greater favour and honour of your patronage, or at least the benevolence of your pardon.
Amongst which, the chief design of some of them is, to assert the rights and constitutions of our excellently reformed church, which of late we so often hear reproached (in the modish dialect of the present times) by the name of little things; and that in order to their being laid aside, not only as little, but superfluous. But for my own part, I can account nothing little in any church, which has the stamp of undoubted authority, and the practice of primitive antiquity, as well as the reason and decency of the thing it self, to warrant and support it. Though, if the supposed littleness of these matters should be a sufficient reason for the laying them aside, I fear our church will be found to have more little men to spare, than little things.
But I have observed all along, that while this innovating
We are not so dull, but we perceive who are the prime
designers, as well as the professed actors against our church,
and from what quarter the blow chiefly threatens us. We
know the spring as well as we observe the motion, and
scent the foot which pursues, as well as see the hand which
is lifted up against us. The pope is an experienced work
man; he knows his tools, and knows them to be but tools,
and knows withal how to use them, and that so, that they
shall neither know who it is that uses them, or what he
uses them for; and we cannot in reason presume his skill
now in ninety-three, to be at all less than it was in forty-one. But God, who has even to a miracle protected the
church of England hitherto, against all the power and
spite both of her open and concealed enemies, will, we
hope, continue to protect so pure and rational, so innocent
and self-denying a constitution still. And next, under
Innovations about religion are certainly the most efficacious, as well as the most plausible way of compassing a total abolition of it. One of the best and strongest arguments we have against popery is, that it is an innovation upon the Christian church; and if so, I cannot see why that, which we explode in the popish church, should pass for such a piece of perfection in a reformed one. The papists I am sure (our shrewdest and most designing enemies) desire and push on this to their utmost; and for that very reason one would think, that we (if we are not besotted) should oppose it to our utmost too. However, let us but have our liturgy continued to us as it is, till the persons are born who shall be able to mend it, or make a better, and we desire no greater security against either the altering this, or introducing another.
The truth is, such as would new model the church of
England ought not only to have a new religion, (which
some have been so long driving at,) but a new reason likewise, to proceed by: since experience (which was ever yet
accounted one of the surest and best improvements of reason) has been always for acquiescing in things settled with
sober and mature advice, (and, in the present case also, with
the very blood and martyrdom of the advisers themselves,)
without running the risk of new experiments; which, though
in philosophy they may be commendable, yet in religion and
religious matters are generally fatal and pernicious. The
church is a royal society for settling old things, and not
for finding out new. In a word, we serve a wise and unchangeable God, and we desire to do it by a religion and
And now, as in so important a matter, I would interest both universities, so I do it with the same honour and deference to both; as abhorring from my heart the pedantic partiality of preferring one before the other: since (if my relation to one should never so much incline me so to do) I must sincerely declare, that I cannot see how to place a preference, where I can find no preeminence. And therefore, as they are both equal in fame, and learning, and all that is great and excellent, so I hope to see them always one in judgment and design, heart and affection; without any strife, emulation, or contest between them except this one, (which I wish may be perpetual,) viz. which of the two best universities in the world shall be most serviceable to the best church in the world, by their learning, constancy, and integrity.
But to conclude, there remains no more for me to do, but to beg pardon of that august body to which I belong, if I have offended in assuming to myself the honour of mentioning my relation to a society, which I could never reflect the least honour upon, nor contribute the least advantage to.
All that I can add is, that as it was my fortune to serve this noble seat of learning for many years, as her public, though unworthy orator; so upon that, and other innumerable accounts, I ought for ever to be, and to acknowledge myself,
Her most faithful, obedient,
and devoted servant,
ROBERT SOUTH.
Westminster Abbey,
Novemb. 17, 1693.
He that walketh uprightly walketh surely.
As it were easy to evince, both from reason and experience, that there is a strange, restless activity in the soul of man, continually disposing it to operate, and exert its faculties; so the phrase of scripture still expresses the life of man by walking; that is, it represents an active principle in an active posture. And because the nature of man carries him thus out to action, it is no wonder if the same nature equally renders him solicitous about the issue and event of his actions: for every one, by reflecting upon the way and method of his own workings, will find that he is still determined in them by a respect to the consequence of what he does; always proceeding upon this argumentation; If I do such a thing, such an advantage will follow from it, and therefore I will do it. And if I do this, such a mischief will ensue thereupon, and therefore I will for bear. Every one, I say, is concluded by this practical discourse; and for a man to bring his actions to the event proposed and designed by him, is to walk surely. But since the event of an action usually follows the nature or quality of it, and the quality follows the rule directing it, it concerns a man, by all means, in the framing of his actions, not to be deceived in the rule which he proposes for the mea sure of them; which, without great and exact caution, he may be these two ways:
1. By laying false and deceitful principles.
2. In case he lays right principles, yet by mistaking
An error in either of which is equally dangerous; for if a man is to draw a line, it is all one whether he does it by a crooked rule, or by a straight one misapplied. He who fixes upon false principles treads upon infirm ground, and so sinks; and he who fails in his deductions from right principles, stumbles upon firm ground, and so falls; the disaster is not of the same kind, but of the same mischief in both.
It must be confessed, that it is sometimes very hard to judge of the truth or goodness of principles, considered barely in themselves, and abstracted from their consequences. But certainly he acts upon the surest and most prudential grounds in the world, who, whether the principles which he acts upon prove true or false, yet secures an happy issue to his actions.
Now he who guides his actions by the rules of piety and religion, lays these two principles as the great ground of all that he does:
1. That there is an infinite, eternal, all-wise mind governing the affairs of the world, and taking such an account of the actions of men, as, according to the quality of them, to punish or reward them.
2dly, That there is an estate of happiness or
misery after this life, allotted to every man, according to the quality of his actions here. These, I say,
are the principles which every religious man proposes to himself; and the deduction which he makes
from them is this: That it is his grand interest and
concern so to act and behave himself in this world,
And to demonstrate this, I shall consider the said principles under a threefold supposition:
1st, As certainly true;
2dly, As probable; and,
3dly, As false.
And if the pious man brings his actions to an happy end, which soever of these suppositions his principles, fall under, then certainly, there is none who walks so surely, and upon such irrefragable grounds of prudence, as he who is religious.
1. First of all therefore we will take these principles (as we may very well do) under the hypothesis of certainly true: where, though the method of the ratiocination which I have cast the present discourse into, does not naturally engage me to prove them so, but only to shew what directly and necessarily follows upon a supposal that they are so; yet to give the greater perspicuity and clearness to the prosecution of the subject in hand, I shall briefly demonstrate them thus.
It is necessary, that there should be some first
mover; and, if so, a first being; and the first being
must infer an infinite, unlimited perfection in the
said being: forasmuch as if it were finite or limited,
that limitation must have been either from itself or
from something else. But not from itself, since it is
contrary to reason and nature, that any being should
And thus I have given a brief proof of the certainty of these principles; namely, that there is a
supreme governor of the world; and that there is a
future estate of happiness or misery for men after
this life: which principles, while a man steers his
course by, if he acts piously, soberly, and temperately, I suppose there needs no further arguments
But for a man to believe it as the most undoubted certainty in the world, that he shall be judged according to the quality of his actions here, and after judgment receive an eternal recompence, and yet to take his full swing in all the pleasures of sin, is it not a greater phrensy, than for a man to take a purse at Tyburn, while he is actually seeing another hanged for the same fact? It is really to dare and defy the justice of Heaven, to laugh at right-aiming thunderbolts, to puff at damnation, and, in a word, to bid Omnipotence do its worst. He indeed who thus walks, walks surely; but it is because he is sure to be damned.
I confess it is hard to reconcile such a stupid
course to the natural way of the soul’s acting; according
I could wish that every bold sinner, when he is about to
engage in the commission of any known sin, would arrest his confidence, and for
a while stop the execution of his purpose, with this short question, Do I
believe that it is really true, that God has denounced death to such a practice, or do I not? If he
does not, let him renounce his Christianity, and surrender back his baptism, the water of which might
better serve him to cool his tongue in hell, than only to consign him over to the capacity of so black
an apostasy. But if he does believe it, how will he
acquit himself upon the accounts of bare reason?
For does he think, that if he pursues the means of
death, they will not bring him to that fatal end? Or
does he think that he can grapple with divine vengeance, and endure the everlasting burnings, or arm
1. That God is merciful, and will not be so severe
as his word; and that his threatenings of eternal torments are not so decretory and absolute, but that
there is a very comfortable latitude left in them for
men of skill to creep out at. And here it must in
deed be confessed, that Origen, and some others, not
long since, who have been so officious as to furbish
up and reprint his old errors, hold, that the sufferings
of the damned are not to be, in a strict sense, eternal; but that, after a certain revolution and period
of time, there shall be a general gaol-delivery of the
souls in prison, and that not for a further execution,
but a final release. And it must be further acknowledged, that some of the ancients, like kind-hearted
men, have talked much of annual refrigeriums, respites, or intervals of punishment to the damned, as
particularly on the great festivals of the resurrection,
ascension, pentecost, and the like. In which, as these
good men are more to be commended for their kindness and compassion, than to be followed in their
opinion; (which may be much better argued by
wishes than demonstrations;) so, admitting that it
were true, yet what a pitiful, slender comfort would
this amount to! much like the Jews abating the punishment of malefactors from forty stripes to forty
save one. A great indulgence indeed, even as great
as the difference between forty and thirty-nine; and
yet much less considerable would that indulgence be
of a few holydays in the measures of eternity, of
Supposing therefore, that few sinners relieve themselves with such groundless, trifling considerations as these, yet may they not however fasten a rational hope upon the boundless mercy of God, that this may induce him to spare his poor creature, though by sin become obnoxious to his wrath? To this I answer, that the divine mercy is indeed large, and far surpassing all created measures, yet nevertheless it has its proper time; and after this life it is the time of justice; and to hope for the favours of mercy then, is to expect an harvest in the dead of winter. God has cast all his works into a certain, inviolable order; according to which, there is a time to pardon and a time to punish; and the time of one is not the time of the other. When corn has once felt the sickle, it has no more benefit from the sunshine. But,
2dly, If the conscience be too apprehensive (as
for the most part it is) to venture the final issue of
things upon a fond persuasion, that the great Judge
of the world will relent, and not execute the sentence
pronounced by him; as if he had threatened men
with hell rather to fright them from sin, than with
an intent to punish them for it; I say, if the conscience cannot find any
satisfaction or support from such reasonings as these, yet may it not, at least,
relieve itself with the purposes of a future repentance,
notwithstanding its present actual violations of the
law? I answer, that this certainly is a confidence of
all others the most ungrounded and irrational. For
upon what ground can a man promise himself a future repentance, who cannot promise himself a futurity? whose life depends upon his breath, and is so
But how dares sinful dust and ashes invade the prerogative of Providence, and carve out to himself the seasons and issues of life and death, which the Father keeps wholly within his own power? How does that man, who thinks he sins securely under the shelter of some remote purposes of amendment, know, but that the decree above may be already passed against him, and his allowance of mercy spent; so that the bow in the clouds is now drawn, and the arrow levelled at his head: and not many days like to pass, but perhaps an apoplexy, or an imposthume, or some sudden, disaster, may stop his breath, and reap him down as a sinner ripe for destruction.
I conclude therefore, that, upon supposition of the certain truth of the principles of religion, he who walks not uprightly has neither from the presumption of God’s mercy reversing the decree of his justice, nor from his own purposes of future repentance, any sure ground to set his foot upon; but in this whole course acts as directly in contradiction to nature, as he does in defiance of grace. In a word, he is besotted, and has lost his reason; and what then can there be for religion to take hold of him by? Come we now to the
2d supposition, under which we shew, That the principles of religion laid clown by us might be considered, and that is, as only probable.
Where we
But now, if there are really no such things, but
all is a mere lie and a fable, contrived only to chain
up the liberty of man’s nature from a freer enjoyment of those things, which otherwise it would have
as full a right to enjoy as to breathe, I demand
whence this persuasion could thus come to be universal? For was it ever known, in any other instance,
that the whole world was brought to conspire in
the belief of a lie? Nay, and of such a lie, as should
lay upon men such unpleasing abridgments, tying
them up from a full gratification of those lusts and
appetites which they so impatiently desire to satisfy,
and consequently, by all means, to remove those impediments
And this is that which I here contend for, That it is not necessary to the obliging men to believe religion to be true, that this truth be made out to their reason by arguments demonstratively certain; but that it is sufficient to render their unbelief unexcusable, even upon the account of bare reason, if so be the truth of religion carry in it a much greater probability, than any of those ratiocinations that pretend the contrary: and this I prove in the strength of these two considerations.
1st, That no man, in matters of this life, requires
an assurance either of the good which he designs, or
of the evil which he avoids, from arguments demonstratively
2d consideration or argument, viz. That bare reason, discoursing upon a principle of self-preservation, (which surely is the fundamental principle which nature proceeds by,) will oblige a man voluntarily and by choice to undergo any less evil to secure himself but from the probability of an evil incomparably greater, and that also such an one, as, if that probability passes into a certain event, admits of no reparation by any after-remedy that can be applied to it.
Now, that religion, teaching a future estate of souls, is a probability, and that its contrary cannot with equal probability be proved, we have already evinced. This therefore being supposed, we will suppose yet further, that for a man to abridge himself in the full satisfaction of his appetites and inclinations, is an evil, because a present pain and trouble: but then it must likewise be granted, that nature must needs abhor a state of eternal pain and misery much more; and that if a man does not undergo the former less evil, it is highly probable that such an eternal estate of misery will be his portion; and if so, I would fain know whether that man takes a rational course to preserve himself, who refuses the endurance of these lesser troubles, to secure himself from a condition infinitely and inconceivably more miserable.
But since probability, in the nature of it, supposes
that a thing may or may not be so, for any thing
1st, That it is one way possible, that there may be no such thing as a future estate of happiness or misery for those who have lived well or ill here; and then he who, upon the strength of a contrary belief, abridged himself in the gratification of his appetites, sustains only this evil; viz. That he did not please his senses and unbounded desires, so much as otherwise he might and would have done, had he not lived under the captivity and check of such a belief. This is the utmost which he suffers: but whether this be a real evil or no, (whatsoever vulgar minds may commonly think it,) shall be discoursed of afterwards.
2. But then again, on the other side, it is probable
that there will be such a future estate; and then
how miserably is the voluptuous, sensual unbeliever
left in the lurch! For there can be no retreat for
him then, no mending of his choice in the other
world, no after-game to be played in hell. It fares
with men, in reference to their future estate, and the
condition upon which they must pass to it, much
as it does with a merchant having a vessel richly
fraught at sea in a storm: the storm grows higher
and higher, and threatens the utter loss of the ship:
but there is one, and but one certain way to save
it, which is, by throwing its rich lading overboard; yet still, for all this,
the man knows not but possibly the storm may cease, and so all be preserved.
However, in the mean time, there is little or no
probability that it will do so; and in case it should
not, he is then assured, that he must lay his life, as
For a man, while he lives here in the world, to doubt whether there be any hell or no; and there upon to live so, as if absolutely there were none; but when he dies, to find himself confuted in the flames; this, surely, must be the height of woe and disappointment, and a bitter conviction of an irrational venture and an absurd choice. In doubtful cases, reason still determines for the safer side; especially if the case be not only doubtful, but also highly concerning, and the venture be of a soul and an eternity.
He who sat at a table, richly and deliciously
furnished, but with a sword hanging over his head
by one single thread or hair, surely had enough to
check his appetite, even against all the ragings of
hunger and temptations of sensuality. The only
argument that could any way encourage his appetite
was, that possibly the sword might not fall; but
when his reason should encounter it with another
question, What if it should fall? and moreover,
that pitiful stay by which it hung should oppose
the likelihood that it would, to a mere possibility
that it might not; what could the man enjoy or
Though a man’s condition should be really in itself never so safe, yet an apprehension and surmise that it is not safe, is enough to make a quick and a tender reason sufficiently miserable. Let the most acute and learned unbeliever demonstrate that there is no hell: and if he can, he sins so much the more rationally; otherwise, if he cannot, the case remains doubtful at least: but he who sins obstinately, does not act as if it were so much as doubtful; for if it were certain and evident to sense, he could do no more; but for a man to found a confident practice upon a disputable principle, is brutishly to outrun his reason, and to build ten times wider than his foundation. In a word, I look upon this one short consideration, were there no more, as a sufficient ground for any rational man to take up his religion upon, and which I defy the subtlest atheist in the world solidly to answer or confute; namely, That it is good to be sure. And so I proceed to the
Third and last supposition, under which the principles of religion may, for argument sake, be considered; and that is, as false; which surely must reach the utmost thoughts of any atheist whatsoever. Nevertheless even upon this account also, I doubt not but to evince, that he who walks up rightly walks much more surely than the wicked and profane liver; and that with reference to the most valued temporal enjoyments, such as are reputation, quietness, health, and the like, which are the greatest which this life affords, or is desirable for. And,
1st, For reputation or credit. Is any one had in
greater esteem than the just person; who has given
On the other side, is there any thing that more embitters all the enjoyments of this life than shame and reproach? Yet this is generally the lot and portion of the impious and irreligious; and of some of them more especially.
For how infamous, in the first place, is the false,
fraudulent, and unconscionable person! and how
quickly is his character known! For hardly ever
did any man of no conscience continue a man of any
credit long. Likewise, how odious, as well as infamous, is such an one! Especially if he be arrived at
that consummate and robust degree of falsehood, as
to play in and out, and shew tricks with oaths, the
sacredest bonds which the conscience of man can
be bound with; how is such an one shunned and
dreaded, like a walking pest! What volleys of
In like manner for the drinker and debauched person: is any thing more the object of scorn and contempt than such an one? His company is justly looked upon as a disgrace: and nobody can own a friendship for him without being an enemy to himself. A drunkard is, as it were, outlawed from all worthy and creditable converse. Men abhor, loathe, and despise him, and would even spit at him as they meet him, were it not for fear that a stomach so charged should something more than spit at them.
But not to go over all the several kinds of vice
and wickedness, should we set aside the consideration of the glories of a better world, and allow this
life for the only place and scene of man’s happiness,
yet surely Cato will be always more honourable
than Clodius, and Cicero than Catiline. Fidelity,
justice, and temperance will always draw their own
reward after them, or rather carry it with them, in
those marks of honour which they fix upon the persons who practise and pursue them. It is said of
David in
2d place, The virtuous and religious person walks
upon surer grounds than the vicious and irreligious,
in respect of the ease, peace, and quietness which he
The service of sin is perfect slavery; and he who will pay obedience to the commands of it shall find it an unreasonable taskmaster, and an unmeasurable exactor.
And to represent the case in some particulars. The ambitious person must rise early and sit up late, and pursue his design with a constant, indefatigable attendance; he must be infinitely patient and servile, and obnoxious to all the cross humours of those whom he expects to rise by; he must endure and digest all sorts of affronts; adore the foot that kicks him, and kiss the hand that strikes him: while, in the mean time, the humble and contented man is virtuous at a much easier rate: his virtue bids him sleep, and take his rest, while the other’s restless sin bids him sit up and watch. He pleases himself innocently and easily, while the ambitious man at tempts to please others sinfully and difficultly, and perhaps in the issue unsuccessfully too.
The robber, and man of rapine, must run, and ride, and use all the dangerous and even desperate ways of escape; and probably, after all, his sin be trays him to a gaol, and from thence advances him to the gibbet: but let him carry off his booty with as much safety and success as he can wish, yet the innocent person, with never so little of his own, envies him not, and, if he has nothing, fears him not.
Likewise the cheat and fraudulent person is put
And here again to bring in the man of luxury
and intemperance for his share in the pain and trouble, as well as in the forementioned shame and infamy of his vice. Can any toil or day-labour equal
the fatigue or drudgery which such an one under
goes, while he is continually pouring in draught
after draught, and cramming in morsel after morsel,
and that in spite of appetite and nature, till he be
comes a burden to the very earth that bears him; though not so great an one to
that, but that (if possible) he is yet a greater to himself? See above, p. 19, 20.
And now, in the last place, to mention one sinner
more, and him a notable, leading sinner indeed, to
wit, the rebel. Can any thing have more of trouble,
hazard, and anxiety in it, than the course which he
takes? For, in the first place, all the evils of war
must unavoidably be endured, as the necessary
means and instruments to compass and give success to his traitorous designs. In which, if it is his
lot to be conquered, he must expect that vengeance
But in the mean time, the labour of obedience, loyalty, and subjection, is no more, but for a man honestly and discreetly to sit still, and to enjoy what he has, under the protection of the laws. And when such an one is in his lowest condition, he is yet high and happy enough to despise and pity the most prosperous rebel in the world: even those famous ones of forty-one (with all due respect to their flourishing relations be it spoke) not excepted. In the
Third and last place, the religious person walks
upon surer grounds than the irreligious, in respect of
the very health of his body. Virtue is a friend and
an help to nature; but it is vice and luxury that destroys it, and the diseases of intemperance are the
natural product of the sins of intemperance. Where
as, on the other side, a temperate, innocent use of
the creature, never casts any one into a fever or a
surfeit. Chastity makes no work for a chirurgeon, nor
ever ends in rottenness of bones. Sin is the fruitful
parent of distempers, and ill lives occasion good physicians. Seldom shall one see in cities, courts, and
rich families, (where men live plentifully, and eat and
Nor is excess the only thing by which sin mauls
and breaks men in their health, and the comfortable
enjoyment of themselves thereby, but many are also
brought to a very ill and languishing habit of body,
by mere idleness; and idleness is both itself a great
sin, and the cause of many more. The husband
man returns from the field, and from manuring
his ground, strong and healthy, because innocent
and laborious; you will find no diet-drinks, no
boxes of pills, nor galley-pots, amongst his provisions; no, he neither speaks nor lives French, he is
not so much a gentleman, forsooth. His meals are
coarse and short, his employment warrantable, his
sleep certain and refreshing, neither interrupted
with the lashes of a guilty mind, nor the aches of a
crazy body. And when old age comes upon him, it
comes alone, bringing no other evil with it but itself:
but when it comes to wait upon a great and worshipful sinner, (who for many years together has had
the reputation of eating well and doing ill,) it comes
(as it ought to do, to a person of such quality) attended
And thus I have shewn the fruits and effects of sin upon men in this world. But peradventure it will be replied, that there are many sinners who escape all these calamities, and neither labour under any shame or disrepute, any unquietness of condition, or more than ordinary distemper of body, but pass their days with as great a portion of honour, ease, and health, as any other men whatsoever. But to this I answer,
First, That those sinners who are in such a temporally happy condition, owe it not to their sins, but wholly to their luck, and a benign chance that they are so. Providence often disposes of things by a method beside and above the discourses of man’s reason.
Secondly, That the number of those sinners, who by their sins have been directly plunged into all the forementioned evils, is incomparably greater than the number of those, who, by the singular favour of providence, have escaped them. And,
Thirdly and lastly, That notwithstanding all this,
sin has yet in itself a natural tendency to bring men
under all these evils; and, if persisted in, will infallibly
And so, I suppose, that religion cannot possibly be enforced (even in the judgment of its best friends and most professed enemies) by any further arguments than what have been produced, (how much better soever the said arguments may be managed by abler hands.) For I have shewn and proved, that whether the principles of it be certain, or but probable, nay, though supposed absolutely false; yet a man is sure of that happiness in the practice, which he cannot be in the neglect of it; and consequently, that though he were really a speculative atheist, (which there is great reason to believe that none perfectly are,) yet if he would but proceed rationally, that is, if (according to his own measures of reason) he would but love himself, he could not however be a practical atheist; nor live without God in this world, whether or no he expected to be rewarded by him in another.
And now, to make some application of the foregoing
First, That that profane, atheistical, epicurean rabble, whom the whole nation so rings of, and who
have lived so much to the defiance of God, the dishonour of mankind, and the disgrace of the age
which they are cast upon, are not indeed (what they
are pleased to think and vote themselves) the wisest
men in the world; for in matters of choice, no man
can be wise in any course or practice, in which he is
not safe too. But can these high assumers, and
pretenders to reason, prove themselves so, amidst all
those liberties and latitudes of practice which they
take? Can they make it out against the common
sense and opinion of all mankind, that there is no
such thing as a future estate of misery for such as
have lived ill here? Or can they persuade themselves, that their own particular reason, denying or
doubting of it, ought to be relied upon as a surer
argument of truth, than the universal, united reason of all the world besides affirming it? Every
fool may believe and pronounce confidently; but
wise men will, in matters of discourse, conclude
firmly, and, in matters of practice, act surely: and
if these will do so too in the case now before us,
they must prove it, not only probable, (which yet
they can never do,) but also certain, and past all
doubt, that there is no hell, nor place of torment for
the wicked; or at least, that they themselves, not
withstanding all their villainous and licentious practices, are not to be reckoned of that number and
character, but, that with a non obstante to all their
revels, their profaneness, and scandalous debaucheries of all sorts, they continue virtuosoes still; and
In the meantime, it cannot but be matter of just
indignation to all knowing and good men, to see a
company of lewd, shallow-brained huffs, making
atheism and contempt of religion, the sole badge and
character of wit, gallantry, and true discretion; and
then over their pots and pipes, claiming and engrossing all these wholly to themselves; magisterially censuring the wisdom of all antiquity, scoffing at
all piety, and, as it were, new modelling the whole
world. When yet, such as have had opportunity to
sound these braggers throughly, by having some
times endured the penance of their sottish company,
have found them in converse so empty and insipid,
in discourse so trifling and contemptible, that it is
impossible but that they should give a credit and an
honour to whatsoever and whomsoever they speak
against: they are indeed such as seem wholly incapable of entertaining any design above the present
gratification of their palates, and whose very souls
and thoughts rise no higher than their throats; but
yet withal, of such a clamorous and provoking impiety, that they are enough to make the nation like
Sodom and Gomorrah in their punishment, as they
have already made it too like them in their sins.
Certain it is, that blasphemy and irreligion have
grown to that daring height here of late years, that
had men in any sober civilized heathen nation spoke
or done half so much in contempt of their false gods
and religion, as some in our days and nation, wearing
the name of Christians, have spoke and done against
God and Christ, they would have been infallibly
The truth is, the persons here reflected upon are of such a peculiar stamp of impiety, that they seem to be a set of fellows got together, and formed into a kind of diabolical society, for the finding out new experiments in vice; and therefore they laugh at the dull, unexperienced, obsolete sinners of former times; and scorning to keep themselves within the common, beaten, broad way to hell, by being vicious only at the low rate of example and imitation, they are for searching out other ways and latitudes, and obliging posterity with unheard of inventions and discoveries in sin; resolving herein to admit of no other mea sure of good and evil, but the judgment of sensuality, as those who prepare matters to their hands, allow no other measure of the philosophy and truth of things, but the sole judgment of sense. And these, forsooth, are our great sages, and those who must pass for the only shrewd, thinking, and inquisitive men of the age; and such,, as by a long, severe, and profound speculation of nature, have redeemed themselves from the pedantry of being conscientious, and living virtuously, and from such old fashioned principles and creeds, as tie up the minds of some narrow-spirited, uncomprehensive zealots, who know not the world, nor understand that he only is the truly wise man, who, per fas et nefas, gets as much as he can.
But, for all this, let atheists and sensualists satisfy
themselves as they are able. The former of which
will find, that as long as reason keeps her ground,
religion neither can nor will lose hers. And for the
sensual epicure, he also will find, that there is a certain
2dly, The other thing deducible from the foregoing particulars, shall be to inform us of the way of attaining to that excellent privilege, so justly valued by those who have it, and so much talked of by those who have it not; which is assurance. Assurance is properly that persuasion or confidence, which a man takes up of the pardon of his sins, and his interest in God’s favour, upon such grounds and terms as the scripture lays down. But now. since the scripture promises eternal happiness and pardon of sin, upon the sole condition of faith and sincere obedience, it is evident, that he only can plead a title to such a pardon, whose conscience impartially tells him, that he has performed the required condition. And this is the only rational assurance, which a man can with any safety rely or rest himself upon.
He who in this case would believe surely, must
first walk surely; and to do so, is to walk uprightly. And what that is, we have
sufficiently marked out to us in those plain and legible lines of duty,
requiring us to demean ourselves to God humbly and devoutly;
It was indeed the way of many in the late times, to bolster up their crazy, doating consciences, with (I know not what) odd confidences, founded upon inward whispers of the Spirit, stories of something which they called conversion and marks of predestination: all of them (as they understood them) mere delusions, trifles, and fig-leaves; and such as would be sure to fall off and leave them naked, before that fiery tribunal, which knows no other way of judging men, but according to their works.
Obedience and upright walking are such substantial, vital parts of religion, as, if they be wanting, can never be made up, or commuted for, by any formalities of fantastic looks or language. And the great question when we come hereafter to be judged, will not be, How demurely have you looked? or. How boldly have you believed? With what length have you prayed? and, With what loudness and vehemence have you preached? But, How holily have you lived? and, How uprightly have you walked? For this, and this only (with the merits of Christ’s righteousness) will come into account before that great Judge, who will pass sentence upon every man according to what he has done here in the flesh, whether it be good, or whether it be evil; and there is no respect of persons with him.
To whom therefore be rendered and ascribed, as is most due, all praise, might, majesty, and dominion, both now and for evermore. Amen.
Henceforth I call you not servants; for the servant knoweth not what his lord doeth: but I have called you friends; for all things that I have heard of my Father I have made known unto you.
WE have here an account of Christ’s friendship to his disciples; that is, we have the best of things represented, in the greatest of examples. In other men we see the excellency, but in Christ the divinity of friendship. By our baptism and church-communion we are made one body with Christ; but by this we become one soul.
Love is the greatest of human affections, and friendship is the noblest and most refined improvement of love; a quality of the largest compass. And it is here admirable to observe the ascending gradation of the love which Christ bore to his disciples. The strange and superlative greatness of which will appear from those several degrees of kindness, that it has manifested to man, in the several periods of his condition. As,
1st, If we consider him antecedently to his creation, while he yet lay in the barren womb of nothing,
and only in the number of possibilities: and consequently
2dly, Let us take the love of Christ as directing itself to man actually created and brought into the world; and so all those glorious endowments of human nature in its original state and innocence, were so many demonstrations of the munificent goodness of him, by whom God first made, as well as afterwards redeemed the world. There was a consult of the whole Trinity for the making of man, that so he might shine as a master-piece, not only of the art, but also of the kindness of his Creator; with a noble and a clear understanding, a rightly disposed will, and a train of affections regular and obsequious, and perfectly conformable to the dictates of that high and divine principle, right reason. So that, upon the whole matter, he stepped forth, not only the work of God’s hands, but also the copy of his perfections; a kind of image or representation of the Deity in small. Infinity contracted into flesh and blood; and (as I may so speak) the preludium and first essay towards the incarnation of the divine nature. But,
3dly and lastly, Let us look upon man, not only
as created, and brought into the world, with all these
great advantages superadded to his being; but also,
While indeed man was yet uncreated and unborn, though he had no positive perfection to present and set him off to Christ’s view; yet he was at least negatively clear: and, like unwritten paper, though it has no draughts to entertain, yet neither has it any blots to offend the eye; but is white, and innocent, and fair for an after-inscription. But man, once fallen, was nothing but a great blur; nothing but a total universal pollution, and not to be reformed by any thing under a new creation.
Yet, see here the ascent and progress of Christ’s love. For first, if we consider man, in such a loath
some and provoking condition; was it not love
enough, that he was spared and permitted to enjoy
a being? since, not to put a traitor to death is a
singular mercy. But then, not only to continue his
being, but to adorn it with privilege, and from the
number of subjects, to take him into the retinue of
servants, this was yet a greater love. For every one
that may be fit to be tolerated in a prince’s dominions, is not therefore fit to be admitted into his
family; nor is any prince’s court to be commensurate
to his kingdom. But then further, to advance him
from a servant to a friend; from only living in his
house, to lying in his bosom; this is an instance of
favour above the rate of a created goodness, an act
The text speaks the winning behaviour and gracious condescension of Christ to his disciples, in owning them for his friends, who were more than sufficiently honoured by being his servants. For still these words of his must be understood, not according to the bare rigour of the letter, but according to the arts and allowances of expression: not as if the relation of friends had actually discharged them from that of servants; but that of the two relations, Christ was pleased to overlook the meaner, and with out any mention of that, to entitle and denominate them solely from the more honourable.
For the further illustration of which, we must
premise this, as a certain and fundamental truth,
that so far as service imports duty and subjection,
all created beings, whether men or angels, bear the
necessary and essential relation of servants to God,
and consequently to Christ, who is God blessed for
ever: and this relation is so necessary, that God
himself cannot dispense with it, nor discharge a rational creature from it: for although consequentially indeed he may do so, by the annihilation of
such a creature, and the taking away his being, yet
supposing the continuance of his being, God cannot
effect, that a creature which has his being from, and
his dependance upon, him, should not stand obliged
to do him the utmost service that his nature enables
him to do. For to suppose the contrary, would be
irregular, and opposite to the law of nature, which,
Nevertheless, since the name of servants has of
old been reckoned to imply a certain meanness of
mind, as well as lowness of condition, and the ill
qualities of many who served, have rendered the
condition itself not very creditable; especially in
those ages and places of the world, in which the
condition of servants was extremely different from
what it is now amongst us; they being generally
slaves, and such as were bought and sold for money,
and consequently reckoned but amongst the other
goods and chattels of their lord or master: it was
for this reason that Christ thought fit to wave the
appellation of servant here, as, according to the
common use of it amongst the Jews, (and at that
time most nations besides,) importing these three
1st, The first whereof is that here mentioned in the text; viz. an utter unacquaintance with his master’s designs, in these words; The servant knows not what his Lord doeth. For seldom does any man of sense make his servant his counsellor, for fear of making him his governor too. A master for the most part keeps his choicest goods locked up from his servant, but much more his mind. A servant is to know nothing but his master’s commands; and in these also, not to know the reason of them.
Neither is he to stand aloof off from his counsels only, but sometimes from his presence also; and so far as decency is duty, it is sometimes his duty to avoid him. But the voice of Christ in his gospel is, Come to me all ye that are heavy laden. The condition of a servant staves him off to a distance; but the gospel speaks nothing but allurement, attractives, and invitation. The magisterial law bids the person under it, Go, and he must go: but the gospel says to every believer, Come, and he cometh. A servant dwells remote from all knowledge of his lord’s purposes. He lives as a kind of foreigner under the same roof; a domestic, and yet a stranger too.
2dly, The name of servant imports a slavish and
degenerous awe of mind; as it is in
3dly, The appellation of servant imports a mercenary temper and disposition; and denotes such an one as makes his reward both the sole motive and measure of his obedience. He neither loves the thing commanded, nor the person who commands it, but is wholly and only intent upon his own emolument. All kindnesses done him, and all that is given him, over and above what is strictly just and his due, makes him rather worse than better. And this is an observation that never fails, where any one has so much bounty and so little wit, as to make the experiment. For a servant rarely or never ascribes what he receives to the mere liberality and generosity of the donor, but to his own worth and merit, and to the need which he supposes there is of him; which opinion alone will be sure to make any one of a mean servile spirit, insolent and intolerable.
And thus I have shewn what the qualities of a
servant usually are, (or at least were in that country
where our Saviour lived and conversed, when he
spake these words,) which, no doubt, were the cause
Come we therefore now, in the next place, to shew what is included in that great character and privilege which he was pleased to vouchsafe both to them, and to all believers, in calling and accounting them his friends. It includes in it, I conceive, these following things:
1. Freedom of access. House, and heart, and all, are open for the reception of a friend. The entrance is not beset with solemn excuses and lingering delays; but the passage is easy, and free from all obstruction, and not only admits, but even invites the comer. How different, for the most part, is the same man from himself, as he sustains the person of a magistrate, and as he sustains that of a friend! As a magistrate or great officer, he locks himself up from all approaches by the multiplied formalities of attendance, by the distance of ceremony and grandeur; so many hungry officers to be passed through, so many thresholds to be saluted, so many days to be spent in waiting for an opportunity of, perhaps, but half an hour’s converse.
But when he is to be entertained, whose friend
ship, not whose business, demands an entrance,
those formalities presently disappear, all impediments vanish, and the rigours of the magistrate
submit to the endearments of a friend. He opens and
yields himself to the man of business with difficulty
and reluctancy, but offers himself to the visits of a
friend with facility, and all the meeting readiness of
appetite and desire. The reception of one is as different from the admission of the other, as when the
It is confessed, that the vast distance that sin had put between the offending creature and the of fended Creator, required the help of some great umpire and intercessor, to open him a new way of access to God; and this Christ did for us as Mediator. But we read of no mediator to bring us to Christ; for though, being God by nature, he dwells in the height of majesty, and the inaccessible glories of a Deity; yet to keep off all strangeness between himself and the sons of men, he has condescended to a cognation and consanguinity with us, he has clothed himself with flesh and blood, that so he might subdue his glories to a possibility of human converse. And therefore he that denies himself an immediate access to Christ, affronts him in the great relation of a friend, and as opening himself both to our persons and to our wants, with the greatest tenderness and the freest invitation. There is none who acts a friend by a deputy, or can be familiar by proxy.
2. The second privilege of friendship is a favourable construction of all passages between friends,
that are not of so high and so malign a nature as to
dissolve the relation. Love covers a multitude of
sins, says the apostle,
It is the ennobling office of the understanding, to
correct the fallacious and mistaken reports of sense,
and to assure us that the staff in the water is
straight, though our eye would tell us it is crooked.
So it is the excellency of friendship to rectify, or at
least to qualify, the malignity of those surmises, that
would misrepresent a friend, and traduce him in our
thoughts. Am I told that my friend has done me
an injury, or that he has committed any undecent
action? Why, the first debt that I both owe to his friendship, and that he may
challenge from mine, is rather to question the truth of the report, than presently to believe my friend unworthy. Or, if matter
of fact breaks out and blazes with too great an evidence to be denied, or so much as doubted of, why
still there are other lenitives that friendship will
apply, before it will be brought to the decretory
rigours of a condemning sentence. A friend will be
We have seen here the demeanour of friendship
between man and man: but how is it, think we
now, between Christ and the soul that depends
upon him? Is he any ways short in these offices of
tenderness and mitigation? No, assuredly, but by
infinite degrees superior. For where our heart does
but relent, his melts; where our eye pities, his
bowels yearn. How many frowardnesses of ours
does he smother, how many indignities does he pass
by, and how many affronts does he put up at our
hands, because his love is invincible, and his friend
ship unchangeable? He rates every action, every
sinful infirmity, with the allowances of mercy; and
never weighs the sin, but together with it he weighs
Should we try men at that rate that we try Christ, we should quickly find, that the largest stock of human friendship would be too little for us to spend long upon. But his compassion follows us with an infinite supply. He is God in his friend ship, as well as in his nature, and therefore we sinful creatures are not took upon advantages, nor consumed in our provocations.
See this exemplified in his behaviour to his disciples, while he was yet upon earth: how ready was
he to excuse and cover their infirmities! At the last
and bitterest scene of his life, when he was so full of
agony and horror upon the approach of a dismal
death, and so had most need of the refreshments of
society, and the friendly assistances of his disciples;
and when also he desired no more of them, but only
for a while to sit up and pray with him: yet they,
like persons wholly untouched with his agonies, and
unmoved with his passionate entreaties, forget both
his and their own cares, and securely sleep away all
concern for him or themselves either. Now, what
a fierce and sarcastic reprehension may we imagine
this would have drawn from the friendships of the
world, that act but to an human pitch! and yet
what a gentle one did it receive from Christ! In
3. The third privilege of friendship is a sympathy in joy and grief. When a man shall have diffused his life, his self, and his whole concernments so far, that he can weep his sorrows with another’s eyes; when he has another heart besides his own, both to share and to support his griefs; and when, if his joys overflow, he can treasure up the overplus and redundancy of them in another breast; so that he can, as it were, shake off the solitude of a single nature, by dwelling in two bodies at once, and living by an other’s breath; this surely is the height, the very spirit and perfection of all human felicities.
It is a true and happy observation of that great philosopher the lord Verulam, that this is the benefit of communication of our minds to others, that sorrows by being communicated grow less, and joys greater. And indeed sorrow, like a stream, loses itself in many channels; and joy, like a ray of the sun, reflects with a greater ardour and quickness, when it rebounds upon a man from the breast of his friend.
Now friendship is the only scene, upon which the glorious truth of this great proposition can be fully acted and drawn forth. Which indeed is a summary description of the sweets of friendship: and the whole life of a friend, in the several parts and in stances of it, is only a more diffuse comment upon, and a plainer explication of, this divine aphorism. Friendship never restrains a pleasure to a single fruition. But such is the royal nature of this quality, that it still expresses itself in the style of kings, as we do this or that; and this is our happiness; and such or such a thing belongs to us; when the immediate possession of it is vested only in one No thing certainly in nature can so peculiarly gratify the noble dispositions of humanity, as for one man to see another so much himself, as to sigh his griefs, and groan his pains, to sing his joys, and, as it were, to do and feel every thing by sympathy and secret inexpressible communications. Thus it is upon an human account.
Let us now see how Christ sustains and makes
good this generous quality of a friend. And this we
shall find fully set forth to us in
4. The fourth privilege of friendship is that which
is here specified in the text, a communication of secrets. A bosom secret and a bosom friend are
usually put together. And this from Christ to the
soul, is not only kindness, but also honour and advancement; it is for him to vouch it one of his privy
Now it was of old a privilege, with which God
was pleased to honour such as served him at the
rate of an extraordinary obedience, thus to admit
them to a knowledge of many of his great counsels
locked up from the rest of the world. When God
had designed the destruction of Sodom, the scripture
represents him as unable to conceal that great purpose from Abraham, whom he always treated as his
friend and acquaintance; that is, not only with love,
but also with intimacy and familiarity, in
Now if God maintained such intimacies with
those whom he loved under the law, (which was a
dispensation of greater distance,) we may be sure
that under the gospel, (the very nature of which imports condescension and compliance,) there must
needs be the same, with much greater advantage.
And therefore when God had manifested himself in
the flesh, how sacredly did he preserve this privilege! How freely did Christ unbosom himself to his
disciples, in
5. The fifth advantage of friendship is counsel and
advice. A man will sometimes need not only an
other heart, but also another head besides his own.
In solitude there is not only discomfort, but weakness also. And that saying of the wise man,
Now Christ is not failing in this office of a friend
also. For in that illustrious prediction of
And therefore let every believer comfort himself
in this high privilege, that in the great things that
concern his eternal peace, he is not left to stand or
The inequality of the match between such an one and the subtilest of us, would quickly appear by a fatal circumvention: there must be a wisdom from above, to overreach and master this hellish wisdom from beneath. And this every sanctified person is sure of in his great friend, in whom all the treasures of wisdom dwell; treasures that flow out, and are imparted freely, both in direction and assistance, to all that belong to him. He never leaves any of his, perplexed, amazed, or bewildered, where the welfare of their souls requires a better judgment than their own, either to guide them in their duty, or to disentangle them from a temptation. Whosoever has Christ for his friend, shall be sure of counsel; and whosoever is his own friend, will be sure to obey it.
6. The last and crowning privilege, or rather property, of friendship is constancy. He only is a friend,
whose friendship lives as long as himself, and who
ceases to love and to breathe at the same instant. Not
that I yet state constancy in such an absurd, sense
less, and irrational continuance in friendship, as no
injuries or provocations whatsoever can break off.
For there are some injuries that extinguish the very
relation between friends. In which case, a man
ceases to be a friend, not from any inconstancy in
his friendship, but from defect of an object for his
friendship to exert itself upon. It is one thing for
Nobody is bound to look upon his backbiter or his underminer, his betrayer or his oppressor, as his friend. Nor indeed is it possible that he should do so, unless he could alter the constitution and order of things, and establish a new nature and a new morality in the world. For to remain unsensible of such provocations, is not constancy, but apathy. And therefore they discharge the person so treated from the proper obligations of a friend; though Christianity, I confess, binds him to the duties of a neighbour.
But to give you the true nature and measures of
constancy; it is such a stability and firmness of
friendship, as overlooks and passes by all those lesser
failures of kindness and respect, that, partly through
passion, partly through indiscretion, and such other
frailties incident to human nature, a man may be
sometimes guilty of, and yet still retain the same
habitual good-will and prevailing propensity of mind
to his friend, that he had before. And whose friend
ship soever is of that strength and duration as to
stand its ground against, and remain unshaken by,
such assaults, (which yet are strong enough to
But how few tempers in the world are of that magnanimous frame, as to reach the heights of so great a virtue: many offer at the effects of friend ship, but they do not last; they are promising in the beginning, but they fail, and jade, and tire in the prosecution. For most people in the world are acted by levity and humour, by strange and irrational changes. And how often may we meet with those who are one while courteous, civil, and obliging, (at least to their proportion,) but within a small time after are so supercilious, sharp, troublesome, fierce, and exceptions, that they are not only short of the true character of friendship, but become the very sores and burdens of society! Such low, such worth less dispositions, how easily are they discovered, how justly are they despised! But now, that we may pass from one contrary to another, Christ, who is the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever in his being, is so also in his affection. He is riot of the number or nature of those pitiful, mean pretenders to friend ship, who perhaps will love and smile upon you one day, and not so much as know you the next: many of which sort there are in the world, who are not so much courted outwardly, but that inwardly they are detested much more.
Friendship is a kind of covenant; and most covenants run upon mutual terms and conditions. And
therefore, so long as we are exact in fulfilling the
condition on our parts, (I mean, exact according to
Now, from the particulars hitherto discoursed of,
we may infer and learn these two things: 1. The excellency and value of friendship. Christ the Son of
the most high God, the second person in the glorious
Trinity, took upon him our nature, that he might
give a great instance and example of this virtue; and
condescended to be a man, only that he might be
a friend. Our Creator, our Lord and King, he was before; but he would needs come
down from all this, and in a sort become our equal, that he might partake of
that noble quality that is properly between equals. Christ took not upon him flesh and
blood, that he might conquer and rule nations, lead
armies, or possess palaces; but that he might have
the relenting, the tenderness, and the compassions
of human nature, which render it properly capable
of friendship; and, in a word, that he might have
our heart, and we have his. God himself sets
friendship above all considerations of kindred or
consanguinity, as the greatest ground and argument of mutual endearment, in
2. In the next place, we learn from hence the high
advantage of becoming truly pious and religious.
When we have said and done all, it is only the true
Christian and the religious person, who is or can be
sure of a friend; sure of obtaining, sure of keeping
him. But as for the friendship of the world; when
a man shall have done all that he can to make one
his friend, employed the utmost of his wit and labour,
beaten his brains, and emptied his purse, to create
an endearment between him and the person whose
friendship he desires, he may, in the end, upon all
these endeavours and attempts, be forced to write
vanity and frustration: for, by them all, he may at
last be no more able to get into the other’s heart,
than he is to thrust his hand into a pillar of brass.
The man’s affection, amidst all these kindnesses
done him, remaining wholly unconcerned and impregnable;
People at first, while they are young and raw, and soft-natured, are apt to think it an easy thing to gain love, and reckon their own friendship a sure price of another man’s. But when experience shall have once opened their eyes, and shewed them the hardness of most hearts, the hollowness of others, and the baseness and ingratitude of almost all, they will then find that a friend is the gift of God; and that he only, who made hearts, can unite them. For it is he who creates those sympathies and suitablenesses of nature, that are the foundation of all true friendship, and then by his providence brings persons so affected together.
It is an expression frequent in scripture, but infinitely more significant than at first it is usually observed to be; namely, that God gave such or such
a person grace or favour in another’s eyes. As for
instance, in
That heart shall surrender itself and its friendship to one man, at first view, which another has in vain been laying siege to for many years, by all the repeated acts of kindness imaginable.
Nay, so far is friendship from being of any human
production, that, unless nature be predisposed to it
by its own propensity or inclination, no arts of obligation
But now, on the contrary, he who will give up his name to Christ in faith unfeigned, and a sincere obedience to all his righteous laws, shall be sure to find love for love, and friendship for friendship. The success is certain and infallible; and none ever yet miscarried in the attempt. For Christ freely offers his friendship to all, and sets no other rate upon so vast a purchase, but only that we would suffer him to be our friend. Thou perhaps spendest thy precious time in waiting upon such a great one, and thy estate in presenting him, and probably, after all, hast no other reward, but sometimes to be smiled upon, and always to be smiled at; and when thy greatest and most pressing occasions shall call for succour and relief, then to be deserted and cast off, and not known.
Now, I say, turn the stream of thy endeavours
another way, and bestow but half that hearty, sedulous attendance upon thy Saviour in the duties of
prayer and mortification, and be at half that expense
in charitable works, by relieving Christ in his poor
members; and, in a word, study as much to please
him who died for thee, as thou dost to court and humour thy great patron, who cares not for thee, and
To which God of his mercy vouchsafe to bring us all; to whom be rendered and ascribed, &c. Amen.
A Discourse against long extemporary Prayers:
Be not rash with thy mouth, and let not thine heart be hasty to utter any thing before God: for God is in heaven, and thou upon earth: therefore let thy words be few.
WE have here the wisest of men instructing us how to behave ourselves before God in his own house; and particularly when we address to him in the most important of all duties, which is prayer. Solomon had the honour to be spoken to by God himself, and therefore, in all likelihood, none more fit to teach us how to speak to God. A great privilege certainly for dust and ashes to be admitted to; and therefore it will concern us to manage it so, that in these our approaches to the King of heaven, his goodness may not cause us to forget his greatness, nor (as it is but too usual for subjects to use privilege against prerogative) his honour suffer by his condescension.
In the words we have these three things observable.
1st, That whosoever appears in the house of God,
2dly, That the vast and infinite distance between God and him, ought to create in him all imaginable awe and reverence in such his addresses to God.
3dly and lastly, That this reverence required of him, is to consist in a serious preparation of his thoughts, and a sober government of his expressions: neither is his mouth to be rash, nor his heart to be hasty, in uttering any thing before God.
These things are evidently contained in the words, and do as evidently contain the whole sense of them. But I shall gather them all into this one proposition; namely,
That premeditation of thought, and brevity of expression, are the great ingredients of that reverence that is required to a pious, acceptable, and devout prayer.
For the better handling of which, we will, in the first place, consider how, and by what way it is, that prayer works upon, or prevails with, God, for the obtaining of the things we pray for. Concerning which, I shall lay down this general rule, That the way, by which prayer prevails with God, is wholly different from that, by which it prevails with men. And to give you this more particularly.
1. First of all, it prevails not with God by way of
information or notification of the thing to him, which
we desire of him. With men indeed this is the
common, and with wise men the chief, and should
be the only way of obtaining what we ask of them.
We represent and lay before them our wants and
indigences, and the misery of our condition. Which
2dly, Neither does prayer prevail with God by way of persuasion, or working upon the affections, so as thereby to move him to pity or compassion. This indeed is the most usual and most effectual way to prevail with men; who, for the generality, are, one part reason, and nine parts affection. So that one of a voluble tongue, and a dexterous insinuation, may do what he will with vulgar minds, and with wise men too, at their weak times. But God, who is as void of passion or affection, as he is of quantity or corporeity, is not to be dealt with this way. He values not our rhetoric, nor our pathetical harangues. He who applies to God, applies to an infinite al mighty reason, a pure act, all intellect, the first mover, and therefore not to be moved or wrought upon himself. In all passion, the mind suffers, (as the very signification of the word imports,) but absolute, entire perfection cannot suffer; it is and must be immovable, and by consequence impassible. And therefore,
In the third and last place, much less is God to
be prevailed upon by importunity, and, as it were,
wearying him into a concession of what we beg
of him. Though with men we know this also is
not unusual. A notable instance of which we have
in
In like manner, how often are beggars relieved only for their eager and rude importunity; not that the person who relieves them is thereby informed or satisfied of their real want, nor yet moved to pity them by all their cry and cant, but to rid himself from their vexatious noise and din; so that to purchase his quiet by a little alms he gratifies the beggar, but indeed relieves himself. But now this way is further from prevailing with God than either of the former. For as omniscience is not to be in formed, so neither is omnipotence to be wearied. We may much more easily think to clamour the sun and stars out of their courses, than to word the great Creator of them out of the steady purposes of his own will, by all the vehemence and loudness of our petitions. Men may tire themselves with their own prayers, but God is not to be tired. The rapid motion and whirl of things here below, interrupts not the inviolable rest and calmness of the nobler beings above. While the winds roar and bluster here in the first and second regions of the air, there is a perfect serenity in the third. Men’s desires cannot control God’s decrees.
And thus I have shewn, that the three ways by which men prevail with men in their prayers and applications to them, have no place at all in giving any efficacy to their addresses to God.
But you will ask then, Upon what account is it that prayer becomes prevalent and efficacious with God, so as to procure us the good things we pray for? I answer, Upon this, that it is the fulfilling of that condition upon which God has freely promised to convey his blessings to men. God of his own absolute, unaccountable good-will and pleasure, has thought fit to appoint and fix upon this as the means by which he will supply and answer the wants of mankind. As for instance; suppose a prince should declare to any one of his subjects, that if he shall appear before him every morning in his bed-chamber, he shall receive of him a thousand talents. We must not here imagine, that the subject, by making this appearance, does either move or persuade his prince to give him such a sum of money: no, he only performs the condition of the promise, and thereby acquires a right to the thing promised. He does indeed hereby engage his prince to give him this sum, though he does by no means persuade him: or rather, to speak more strictly and properly, the prince’s own justice and veracity is an engagement upon the prince himself, to make good his promise to him who fulfills the conditions of it.
But you will say, that upon this ground it will follow, that when we obtain any thing of God by prayer, we have it upon claim of justice, and not by way of gift, as a free result of his bounty.
I answer, that both these are very well consistent; for though he who makes a promise upon a
In like manner, for prayer, in reference to the good things prayed for. He who prays for a thing as God has appointed him, gets thereby a right to the thing prayed for: but it is a right, not springing from any merit or condignity, either in the prayer itself, or the person who makes it, to the blessing which he prays for, but from God’s veracity, truth, and justice, who, having appointed prayer as the condition of that blessing, cannot but stand to what he himself had appointed; though that he did appoint it, was the free result and determination of his own will.
We have a full account of this whole matter from
God’s own mouth, in
Let this therefore be fixed upon, as the ground work of what we are to say upon this subject: that prayer prevails with God for the blessing that we pray for, neither by way of information, nor yet of persuasion, and much less by the importunity of him who prays, and least of all by any worth in the prayer itself, equal to the thing prayed for; but it prevails solely and entirely upon this account, that it is freely appointed by God, as the stated, allowed condition, upon which he will dispense his blessings to mankind.
But before I dismiss this consideration, it may be
inquired, whence it is that prayer, rather than any
other thing, comes to be appointed by God for this
condition. In answer to which; Though God’s sovereign will be a sufficient reason of its own counsels
and determinations, and consequently a more than
But some may reply, There is an universal dependance of all things upon God; forasmuch as he, being the great fountain and source of being, first created, and since supports them by the word of his power; and consequently that this dependance be longs indifferently to the wicked as well as to the just, whose prayer nevertheless is declared an abomination to God.
But to this the answer is obvious, That the dependance here spoken of is meant, not of a natural,
but of a moral dependance. The first is necessary,
the other voluntary. The first common to all, the
other proper to the pious. The first respects God
But still, there is one objection more against our
foregoing assertion, viz. That prayer obtains the
things prayed for, only as a condition, and not by
way of importunity or persuasion; for is not prayer said to prevail by
frequency,
To this I answer two things; 1. That wheresoever
God is said to answer prayers, either for their frequency or fervency, it is spoken of him only
ἀνθρωποπαθῶς, according to the manner of men; and consequently ought to be understood only of the effect or
issue of such prayers, in the success certainly attending them, and not of the manner of their efficiency,
that it is by persuading or working upon the passions:
And thus having shewn (and I hope fully and
clearly) how prayer operates towards the obtaining
of the divine blessings; namely, as a condition appointed by God for that purpose, and no otherwise:
and withal, for what reason it is singled out of all
other acts of a rational nature, to be this condition;
namely, because it is the grand instance of such a
nature’s dependance upon God: we shall now from the same principle infer also,
upon what account the highest reverence of God is so indispensably required of us in prayer, and all sort of irreverence so
diametrically opposite to, and destructive of, the very
nature of it. And it will appear to be upon this, that
in what degree any one lays aside his reverence of
God, in the same he also quits his dependance upon
him: forasmuch as in every irreverent act, a man
treats God as if he had indeed no need of him, and
behaves himself as if he stood upon his own bottom,
absolute and self-sufficient. This is the natural language,
Now in all addresses, either to God or man, by speech, our reverence to them must consist of, and shew itself in these two things.
First, A careful regulation of our thoughts, that are to dictate and to govern our words; which is done by premeditation: and secondly, a due ordering of our words, that are to proceed from, and to express our thoughts; which is done by pertinence and brevity of expression.
David, directing his prayer to God, joins these two
together as the two great integral parts of it, in
He who is to pray, would he seriously judge of the work that is before him, has more to consider of, than either his heart can hold, or his head well turn itself to. Prayer is one of the greatest and the hardest works that a man has to do in this world; and was ever any thing difficult or glorious achieved by a sudden cast of a thought? a flying stricture of the imagination? Presence of mind is indeed good, but haste is not so. And therefore, let this be concluded upon, that in the business of prayer, to pretend to reverence when there is no premeditation, is both impudence and contradiction.
Now this premeditation ought to respect these three things: 1. The person whom we pray to: 2. The matter of our prayers: and 3. The order and disposition of them.
1. And first, for the person whom we pray to. The
same is to employ, who must needs also nonplus and
astonish thy meditations, and be made the object of
thy thoughts, who infinitely transcends them. For
all the knowing and reasoning faculties of the soul
are utterly baffled and at a loss, when they offer at
any idea of the great God. Nevertheless, since it is
hard, if not impossible, to imprint an awe upon the
affections, without suitable notions first formed in
As first; consider with thyself, how great and glorious a Being that must needs be, that raised so vast and beautiful a fabric as this of the world out of nothing with the breath of his mouth, and can and will, with the same, reduce it to nothing again; and then consider, that this is that high, amazing, in comprehensible Being, whom thou addressest thy pitiful self to in prayer.
Consider next, his infinite, all-searching knowledge, which looks through and through the most
secret of our thoughts, ransacks every corner of the
heart, ponders the most inward designs and ends of
the soul in all a man’s actions. And then consider,
that this is the God whom thou hast to deal with in
prayer; the God who observes the postures, the
frame and motion of thy mind in all thy approaches
to him, and whose piercing eye it is impossible to
elude or escape by all the tricks and arts of the subtilest and most refined hypocrisy. And lastly,
consider the great, the fiery, and the implacable jealousy
that he has for his honour; and that he has no other
use of the whole creation, but to serve the ends of
it: and, above all, that he will, in a most peculiar
manner, be honoured of those who draw near to
him; and will by no means suffer himself to be
mocked and affronted, under a pretence of being
worshipped; nor endure that a wretched, contemptible, sinful creature, who is but a piece of living dirt
2. The second object of our premeditation is, the
matter of our prayers. For, as we are to consider
whom we are to pray to; so are we to consider also,
what we are to pray for; and this requires no ordinary application of thought to distinguish or judge
of. Men’s prayers are generally dictated by their
desires, and their desires are the issues of their affections; and their affections are, for the most part,
influenced by their corruptions. The first constituent principle of a well-conceived prayer is, to know
what not to pray for: which the scripture assures us
The things that we are to pray for are either, 1st, Things of absolute necessity: or, 2dly, Things
of unquestionable charity. Of the first sort are all spiritual graces required
in us, as the indispensable conditions of our salvation; such as are,
repentance, faith, hope, charity, temperance, and all other virtues that are
either the parts or principles of a pious life. These are to be the prime
subject-matter of our prayers; and we shall find, that nothing comes this
way so easily from heaven, as those things that will
assuredly bring us to it. The Spirit dictates all such
petitions, and God himself is first the author, and
In fine, to state the whole matter of our prayers in one word; Nothing can be fit for us to pray for, but what is fit and honourable for our great mediator and master of requests, Jesus Christ himself, to intercede for. This is to be the unchangeable rule and measure of all our petitions. And then, if Christ is to convey these our petitions to his Father, can any one dare to make him, who was holiness and purity itself, an advocate and solicitor for his lusts? Him, who was nothing but meekness, lowliness, and humility, his providetore for such things as can only feed his pride, and flush his ambition? No, certainly; when we come as suppliants to the throne of grace, where Christ sits as intercessor at God’s right hand, nothing can be fit to proceed out of our mouth, but what is fit to pass through his.
3dly, The third and last thing that calls for a previous meditation to our prayers is, the order and disposition of them; for though God does not command us to set off our prayers with dress and artifice, to flourish it in trope and metaphor, to beg our daily bread in blank verse, or to shew any thing of the poet in our devotions, but indigence and want; I say, though God is far from requiring such things of us in our prayers, yet he requires that we should manage them with sense and reason. Fineness is not expected, but decency is; and though we cannot declaim as orators, yet he will have us speak like men, and tender him the results of that understanding and judgment, that essentially constitute a rational nature.
But I shall briefly cast what I have to say upon this particular into these following assertions:
1st, That nothing can express our reverence to God in prayer, that would pass for irreverence towards a great man. Let any subject tender his prince a petition fraught with nonsense and incoherence, confusion and impertinence; and can he expect, that majesty should answer it with any thing but a deaf ear, a frowning eye, or, (at best,) vouchsafe it any other reward, but, by a gracious oblivion, to forgive the person, and forget the petition?
2dly, Nothing absurd and irrational, and such as a
wise man would despise, can be acceptable to God in
prayer. Solomon expressly tells us in
3dly and lastly, Nothing rude, slight, and care
less, or indeed less than the very best that a man
can offer, can be acceptable or pleasing to God in
prayer: If ye offer the blind for sacrifice, is it not
evil? If ye offer the lame and the sick, is it not
evil? Offer it now to thy governor, and see whether
he will be pleased with thee, or accept thy person,
saith the Lord of hosts.
And thus much for the order and disposition of our prayers, which certainly requires precedent thought and meditation. God has declared himself the God of order in all things; and will have it observed in what he commands others, as well as in what he does himself. Order is the great rule or art by which God made the world, and by which he still governs it: nay, the world itself is nothing else; and ah 1 this glorious system of things is but the chaos put into order: and how then can God, who has so eminently owned himself concerned for this excellent thing, brook such absurdity and confusion, as the slovenly and profane negligence of some treats him with in their most solemn addresses to him? All which is the natural, unavoidable consequent of unpreparedness and want of premeditation; without which, whosoever presumes to pray, cannot be so properly said to approach to, as to break in upon God. And surely he who is so hardy as to do so, has no reason in the earth to expect that the success which follows his prayers should be greater than the preparation that goes before them.
Now from what has been hitherto discoursed of,
this first and grand qualification of a pious and devout prayer, to wit, premeditation of thought, what
can be so naturally and so usefully inferred, as the
high expediency, or rather the absolute necessity of a set form of prayer to guide our devotions by?
We have lived in an age that has despised, contradicted, and counteracted all the principles and practices of the primitive Christians, in taking the measures of their duty both to God and man, and of
their behaviour both in matters civil and religious;
but in nothing more scandalously, than in their vile
That the praying by a set form, is not a stinting of the Spirit; and the praying extempore truly and properly is so.
For the proving and making out of which, we will first consider, what it is to pray by the Spirit: a thing much talked of, but not so convenient for the talkers of it, and pretenders to it, to have it rightly stated and understood, In short, it includes in it these two things;
1st, A praying with the heart, which is sometimes called the spirit, or inward man; and so it is properly opposed to hypocritical lip-devotions, in which the heart or spirit does not go along with a man’s words.
2dly, It includes in it also a praying according
to the rules prescribed by God’s holy Spirit, and
held forth to us in his revealed word, which word
These two things are certain, and I do particularly recommend them to your observation. One,
That this way of praying by the Spirit, as they call
it, was begun and first brought into use here in
England in queen Elizabeth’s days, by a Popish
priest and Dominican friar, one Faithful Commin by
name; who counterfeiting himself a protestant, and
a zealot of the highest form, set up this new spiritual way of praying, with a design to bring the Major John Weyer. See Ravaillac Rediviv.
1st, That the soul or mind of man is but of a limited nature in all its workings, and consequently cannot supply two distinct faculties at the same time, to the same height of operation.
2dly, That the finding words and expressions for prayer, is the proper business of the brain and the invention; and, that the finding devotion and affection to accompany and go along with those expressions, is properly the work and business of the heart.
3dly, That this devotion and affection is indispensably required in prayer, as the principal and most essential part of it, and that in which the spirituality of it does most properly consist.
Now from these three things put together, this
must naturally and necessarily follow; that as spiritual prayer, or praying by the Spirit, taken in the
right sense of the word, consists properly in that affection and devotion, that the heart exercises and
employs in the work of prayer; so, whatsoever gives
the soul scope and liberty to exercise and employ
this affection and devotion, that does most effectually
help and enlarge the spirit of prayer; and whatsoever diverts the soul from employing such affection and devotion, that does most directly stint and
hinder it. Accordingly let this now be our rule
whereby to judge of the efficacy of a set form, and
of the extemporary way in the present business. As
for a set form, in which the words are ready prepared to our hands, the soul has nothing to do but
to attend to the work of raising the affections and
devotions, to go along with those words; so that all
the powers of the soul are took up in applying the
heart to this great duty; and it is the exercise of
And first, for the minister who makes and utters such extempore prayers. He is wholly employing his invention, both to conceive matter, and to find words and expressions to clothe it in: this is certainly the work which takes up his mind in this exercise: and since the nature of man’s mind is such, that it cannot with the same vigour, at the same time, attend the work of invention, and that of raising the affections also; nor measure out the same supply of spirits and intention for the carrying on the operations of the head, and those of the heart too; it is certain, that while the head is so much employed, the heart must be idle and very little employed, and perhaps not at all: and consequently, if to pray by the Spirit, be to pray with the heart and the affections; it is also as certain, that while a man prays extempore, he does not pray by the Spirit: nay, the very truth of it is, that while he is so doing, he is not praying at all, but he is studying; he is beating his brain, while he should be drawing out his affections.
And then for the people that are to hear and
join with him in such prayers; it is manifest that
they, not knowing beforehand what the minister will
say, must, as soon as they do hear him, presently busy
and bestir their minds both to apprehend and understand the meaning of what they hear; and withal,
The sum of all this is; That since a set form of prayer leaves the soul wholly free to employ its affections and devotions, in which the spirit of prayer does most properly consist; it follows, that the spirit of prayer is thereby, in a singular manner, helped, promoted, and enlarged: and since, on the other hand, the extempore way withdraws and takes off the soul from employing its affections, and engages it chiefly, if not wholly, about the use of its invention; it as plainly follows, that the spirit of prayer is by this means unavoidably cramped and hindered, and (to use their own word) stinted: which was the proposition that I undertook to prove. But there are two things, I confess, that are extremely hindered and stinted by a set form of prayer, and equally furthered and enlarged by the extempore way; which, without all doubt, is the true cause why the former is so much decried, and the latter so much extolled, by the men whom we are now pleading with. The first of which is pride and ostentation; the other, faction and sedition.
1. And first for pride. I do not in the least question,
And now, can any sober person think it reason able, that the public devotions of a whole congregation should be under the conduct and at the mercy of a pert, empty, conceited holder-forth, whose chief (if not sole) intent is to vaunt his spiritual clack, and (as I may so speak) to pray prizes; whereas prayer is a duty that recommends itself to the acceptance of Almighty God, by no other qualification so much, as by the profoundest humility, and the lowest esteem that a man can possibly have of himself?
Certainly the extemporizing faculty is never more
out of its element, than in the pulpit; though even
2dly, The other thing that has been hitherto so little befriended by a set form of prayer, and so very much by the extempore way, is faction and sedition. It has been always found an excellent way of girding at the government in scripture phrase. And we all know the common dialect, in which the great masters of this art used to pray for the king, and which may justly pass for only a cleanlier and more refined kind of libelling him in the Lord. As, that God would turn his heart, and open his eyes: as if he were a pagan, yet to be converted to Christianity; with many other sly, virulent, and malicious insinuations, which we may every day hear of from (those mints of treason and rebellion) their conventicles; and for which, and a great deal less, some princes and governments would make them not only eat their words, but the tongue that spoke them too. In fine, let all their extempore harangues be considered and duly weighed, and you shall find a spirit of pride, faction, and sedition, predominant in them all; the only spirit which those impostors do really and indeed pray by.
I have been so much the longer and the earnester
And thus I have at length finished what I had to say of the first ingredient of a pious and reverential prayer, which was premeditation of thought, prescribed to us in these words, Let not thy mouth be rash, nor thy heart be hasty to utter any thing before God. Which excellent words and most wise advice of Solomon, whosoever can reconcile to the expediency, decency, or usefulness of extempore prayer, I shall acknowledge him a man of greater ability and parts of mind than Solomon himself.
The other ingredient of a reverential and duly
qualified prayer is, a pertinent brevity of expression,
mentioned and recommended in that part of the
text, Therefore let thy words be few. But this I
Now to God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost, three Persons and one God, be rendered and ascribed, as is most due, all praise, might, majesty, and dominion, both now and for evermore. Amen.
A Discourse against long and extempore Prayers:
Be not rash with thy mouth, and let not thine heart be hasty to utter any thing before God: for God is in heaven, and thou upon earth: therefore let thy words be few.
I FORMERLY began a discourse upon these words, and observed in them these three things:
1st, That whosoever appears in the house of God, and particularly in the way of prayer, ought to reckon himself, in a more especial manner, placed in the sight and presence of God: and,
2dly, That the vast and infinite distance between God and him, ought to create in him all imaginable awe and reverence in such his addresses to God.
3dly and lastly, That this reverence required of him, is to consist in a serious preparation of his thoughts, and a sober government of his expressions: neither is his mouth to be rash, nor his heart to be hasty in uttering any thing before God.
These three things I shew, were evidently contained in the words, and did as evidently contain the
That premeditation of thought, and brevity of expression, are the great ingredients of that reverence that is required to a pious, acceptable, and devout prayer.
The first of these, which is premeditation of thought, I then fully treated of, and despatched; and shall now proceed to the other, which is a pertinent brevity of expression; therefore let thy words be few.
Concerning which we shall observe, first, in general, that to be able to express our minds briefly, and fully too, is absolutely the greatest perfection and commendation that speech is capable of; such a mutual communication of our thoughts being (as I may so speak) the next approach to intuition, and the nearest imitation of the converse of blessed spirits made perfect, that our condition in this world can possibly raise us to. Certainly the greatest and the wisest conceptions that ever issued from the mind of man, have been couched under, and delivered in, a few, close, home, and significant words.
But, to derive the credit of this way of speaking much higher,
and from an example infinitely greater, than the greatest human wisdom, was it
not authorized and ennobled by God himself in his making
of the world? Was not the work of all the six days
transacted in so many words? There was no circumlocution or amplification in the case; which makes
the rhetorician Longinus, in his book of the Loftiness
of Speech, so much admire the height and grandeur
of Moses’s style in his first chapter of Genesis:
Ὁ τῶν Ἰουδαίων θεσμοθέτης οὐχ ὁ τυχὼν
ἀνήρ. “The lawgiver of
This was God’s way of speaking in his first forming of the universe: and was it not so in the next
grand instance of his power, his governing of it too?
For are not the great instruments of government,
his laws, drawn up and digested into a few sentences; the whole body of them containing but
ten commandments, and some of those commandments not so many words? Nay, and have we not
these also brought into yet a narrower compass by
And thus having shewn how the Almighty utters
himself when he speaks, and that upon the greatest
occasions; let us now descend from heaven to earth,
from God to man, and shew, that it is no presumption for us to conform our words, as well as our actions, to the supreme pattern, and, according to our
poor measures, to imitate the wisdom that we adore.
And for this, has it not been noted by the best observers and the ablest judges both of things and
persons, that the wisdom of any people or nation has
been most seen in the proverbs and short sayings
commonly received amongst them? And what is a
proverb, but the experience and observation of several
ages, gathered and summed up into one expression?
The scripture vouches Solomon for the wisest of men:
and they are his Proverbs that prove him so. The
seven wise men of Greece, so famous for their wisdom all the world over, acquired all that fame each
of them by a single sentence, consisting of two or
three words: and γνῶθι σεαυτὸν still lives and flourishes
in the .mouths of all, while many vast volumes are
In fine, brevity and succinctness of speech is that, which, in philosophy or speculation, we call maxim, and first principle; in the counsels and resolves of practical wisdom, and the deep mysteries of religion, oracle; and lastly, in matters of wit, and the finenesses of imagination, epigram. All of them, severally and in their kinds, the greatest and the noblest things that the mind of man can shew the force and dexterity of its faculties in.
And now, if this be the highest excellency and
perfection of speech in all other things, can we as
sign any true, solid reason why it should not be so
likewise in prayer? Nay, is there not rather the
clearest reason imaginable why it should be much
more so; since most of the forementioned things are
but addresses to an human understanding, which
may need as many words as may fill a volume, to
make it understand the truth of one line? whereas
prayer is an address to that eternal mind, which, as
we have shewn before, such as rationally invocate
pretend not to inform. Nevertheless, since the nature
of man is such, that, while we are yet in the body,
our reverence and worship of God must of necessity
proceed in some analogy to the reverence that we
shew to the grandees of this world, we will here see
what the judgment of all wise men is concerning
fewness of words, when we appear as suppliants before our earthly superiors; and we shall find, that they generally allow it to
import these three things:
2dly, The second thing that naturally shews it
self in paucity of words is, discretion; and particularly that prime and eminent
part of it, that consists in a care of offending: which Solomon assures
us, that in much speaking it is hardly possible for
us to avoid; in
3dly, The third thing that brevity of speech commends itself by in all petitionary addresses is, a peculiar respect to the person addressed to: for who soever petitions his superior in such a manner, does, by his very so doing, confess him better able to understand, than he himself can be to express his own case. He owns him as a patron of a preventing judgment and goodness, and, upon that account, able, not only to answer, but also to anticipate his requests. For, according to the most natural interpretation of things, this is to ascribe to him a sagacity so quick and piercing, that it were presumption to inform; and a benignity so great, that it were needless to importune him. And can there be a greater and more winning deference to a superior, than to treat him under such a character? Or can any thing be imagined so naturally fit and efficacious, both to enforce the petition, and to endear the petitioner? A short petition to a great man is not only a suit to him for his favour, but also a panegyric upon his parts.
And thus I have given you the three commendatory qualifications of brevity of speech in our applications to the great ones of the world. Concerning
which, as I shewed before, that it was impossible
But to argue more immediately and directly to the point before us, I shall now produce five arguments, enforcing brevity, and cashiering all prolixity of speech, with peculiar reference to our addresses to God.
1. And the first argument shall be taken from
this consideration, That there is no reason allegeable
for the use of length or prolixity of speech, that is
at all applicable to prayer. For whosoever uses
multiplicity of words, or length of discourse, must of
necessity do it for one of these three purposes;
either to inform, or persuade; or, lastly, to weary
and overcome the person whom he directs his discourse to. But the very first
foundation of what I had to say upon this subject was laid by me, in demonstrating, that prayer could not possibly prevail
with God any of these three ways. For as much
as, being omniscient, he could not be informed; and,
being void of passion or affections, he could not be
persuaded; and, lastly, being omnipotent, and infinitely great, he could not, by any importunity, be
This is the state and condition of human nature; and prolixity or importunity of speech is still the great engine to attack it by, either in its blind or weak side: and I think I may venture to affirm, that it is seldom that any man is prevailed upon by words; but, upon a true and philosophical estimate of the whole matter, he is either deceived or wearied before he is so, and parts with the thing desired of him upon the very same terms that either a child parts with a jewel for an apple, or a man parts with his sword, when it is forceably wrested or took from him. And that he who obtains what he has been rhetorically or importunately begging for, goes away really a conqueror, and triumphantly carrying off the spoils of his neighbour’s understanding, or his will; baffling the former, or wearying the latter into a grant of his restless petitions.
And now, if this be the case, when any one comes
with a tedious, long-winded harangue to God, may
not God properly answer him with those words in
To which I answer, first by concession, That, if
the sole use of words or speech were, to inform the
person whom we speak to, the consequence would be
firm and good, and equally conclude against the use
of any words at all in prayer. But therefore, in the
second place, I deny information to be the sole and
adequate use of words or speech, or indeed any use
of them at all, when either the person spoken to needs
not to be informed, and withal is known not to need
it, as sometimes it falls out with men; or, when he
is uncapable of being informed, as it is always with God. But the proper use of
words, whensoever we speak to God in prayer, is thereby to pay him honour and
obedience. God having, by an express precept, enjoined us the use of words in
prayer, commanding us in
And so much for the clearing of this objection;
and, in the whole, for the first argument produced by
us for brevity, and against prolixity of prayer; namely,
2dly, The second argument for paucity of words in prayer, shall be taken from the paucity of those things that are necessary to be prayed for. And surely, where few things are necessary, few words should be sufficient. For where the matter is not commensurate to the words, all speaking is but tautology; that being truly and really tautology, where the same thing is repeated, though under never so much variety of expression; as it is but the same man still, though he appears every day or every hour in a new and different suit of clothes.
The adequate subject of our prayers (I shewed at
first) comprehended in it things of necessity and
things of charity. As to the first of which, I know no
thing absolutely necessary, but grace here, and glory
hereafter. And for the other, we know what the Apostle says,
In brevity of speech, a man does not so much
And now, why should not this be both decency
and devotion too, when we come to plead for our
poor souls before the great tribunal of heaven? It
was the saying of Solomon, A word to the wise; and
if so, certainly there can be no necessity of many
words to Him who is wisdom itself. For can any
man think, that God delights to hear him make
speeches, and to shew his parts, (as the word is,) or
to jumble a multitude of misapplied scripture-sentences together, interlarded with a frequent, nauseous repetition of
“Ah Lord!” which some call exercising their gifts, but with a greater exercise of their
hearers patience? Nay, does not he present his
Maker, not only with a more decent, but also a more
free and liberal oblation, who tenders him much in a
little, and brings him his whole heart and soul wrapt
up in three or four words, than he who, with full
mouth and loud lungs, sends up whole volleys of articulate breath to the throne of grace? For neither
in the esteem of God or man ought multitude of
words to pass for any more. In the present case, no
doubt, God accounts and accepts of the former, as
infinitely a more valuable offering than the latter.
3dly, The third argument for brevity, or contractedness of speech in prayer, shall be taken from the very nature and condition of the person who prays; which makes it impossible for him to keep up the same fervour and attention in a long prayer, that he may in a short. For as I first observed, that the mind of man cannot with the same force and vigour attend to several objects at the same time, so neither can it with the same force and earnestness exert itself upon one and the same object for any long time: great intention of mind spending the spirits too fast, to continue its first freshness and agility long. For while the soul is a retainer to the elements, and a sojourner in the body, it must be content to submit its own quickness and spirituality to the dulness of its vehicle, and to comply with the pace of its inferior companion. Just like a man shut up in a coach, who, while he is so, must be willing to go no faster than the motion of the coach will carry him. He who does all by the help of those subtile, refined parts of matter, called spirits, must not think to persevere at the same pitch of acting, while those principles of activity flag. No man begins and ends a long journey with the same pace.
But now, when prayer has lost its due fervour
and attention, (which indeed are the very vitals of
it,) it is but the carcase of a prayer, and consequently
must needs be loathsome and offensive to God: nay,
though the greatest part of it should be enlivened
4thly, The fourth argument for shortness or conciseness of speech in prayer shall be drawn from
this, That it is the most natural and lively way of
expressing the utmost agonies and outcries of the
soul to God upon a quick, pungent sense, either of
It is a common saying, “If a man does not know how to pray, let him go to sea, and that will teach
him.” And we have a notable instance of what kind
of prayers men are taught in that school, even in the
disciples themselves, when a storm arose, and the sea
raged, and the ship was ready to be cast away, in the
eighth of Matthew. In which case, we do not find
that they fell presently to harangue it about seas
and winds, and that dismal face of things that must
needs appear all over the devouring element at such
a time: all which, and the like, might no doubt have
been very plentiful topics of eloquence to a man
who should have looked upon these things from the
shore, or discoursed of wrecks and tempests safe and
warm in his parlour. But these poor wretches, who
were now entering, as they thought, into the very
jaws of death, struggling with the last efforts of
nature upon the sense of a departing life, and consequently could neither speak nor think any thing low
or ordinary in such a condition, presently rallied up,
5thly. The fifth and last argument that I shall produce for brevity of speech, or fewness of words in prayer, shall be taken from the examples which we find in scripture, of such as have been remark able for brevity, and of such as have been noted for prolixity of speech, in the discharge of this duty.
1. And first for brevity. To omit all those notable examples which the Old Testament affords us of
it, and to confine ourselves only to the New, in
which we are undoubtedly most concerned; was not
this way of praying, not only warranted, but sanctified, and set above all that the wit of man could
possibly except against it, by that infinitely exact
form of prayer, prescribed by the greatest, the holiest, and the wisest man that ever lived, even Christ
himself, the Son of God, and Saviour of the world?
Was it not an instance both of the truest devotion,
and the fullest and most comprehensive reason, that
ever proceeded from the mouth of man? and yet,
withal, the shortest and most succinct model that
ever grasped all the needs and occasions of man
kind, both spiritual and temporal, into so small a
compass? Doubtless, had our Saviour thought fit
So then we see here brevity in the rule or pat
tern; let us see it next in the practice; and, after
that, in the success of prayer. And first, we have
the practice, as well as the pattern of it, in our Saviour himself; and that in the most signal passage
of his whole life, even his preparation for his approaching death. In which dolorous scene, when
his whole soul was nothing but sorrow, (that great
moving spring of invention and elocution,) and when
nature was put to its last and utmost stretch, and
so had no refuge or relief but in prayer; yet even
then all this horror, agony, and distress of spirit,
delivers itself but in two very short sentences, in
And then, in the last place, for the success of such
brief prayers, I shall give you but three instances
of this; but they shall be of persons praying under
the pressure of as great miseries as human nature
could well be afflicted with. And the first shall be
of the leper,
The third and last instance shall be of the publican, in the same chapter of St. Luke, praying
under a lively sense of as great a leprosy and
blindness of soul, as the other two could have of
body: in the
First, for that excellent body of prayers contained in our liturgy, and both compiled and
enjoined by public authority. Have we not here a
great instance of brevity and fulness together, cast
into several short significant collects, each containing a distinct, entire, and well-managed petition?
the whole set of them being like a string of pearls,
exceeding rich in conjunction; and therefore of no
small price or value, even single and by themselves.
Nothing could have been composed with greater
judgment; every prayer being so short, that it is
And the reason assigned by some learned men for the preference of many short prayers before a continued long one, is unanswerable; namely, that by the former there is a more frequently repeated mention made of the name, and some great attribute of God, as the encouraging ground of our praying to him; and withal, of the merits and mediation of Christ, as the only thing that can promise us success in what we pray for: every distinct petition beginning with the former, and ending with the latter: by thus annexing of which to each particular thing that we ask for, we do manifestly confess and declare, that we cannot expect to obtain any one thing at the hands of God, but with a particular renewed respect to the merits of a Mediator; and withal, remind the congregation of the same, by making it their part to renew a distinct Amen to every distinct petition.
Add to this the excellent contrivance of a great
part of our liturgy, into alternate responses; by
which means, the people are put to bear a consider
able share in the whole service: which makes it al
most impossible for them to be only idle hearers, or,
which is worse, mere lookers on: as they are very
often, and may be always, (if they can but keep their
eyes open,) at the long tedious prayers of the non
conformists. And this indeed is that which makes
As for those long prayers so frequently used by
some before their sermons; the constitution and
canons of our church are not at all responsible for
them, having provided us better things, and with
And thus having accounted for the prayers of our
church, according to the great rule prescribed in the
text, Let thy words be few; let us now, according
to the same, consider also the way of praying, so
much used and applauded by such as have renounced
I should not have thus troubled either you or myself, by raking into the dirt and dunghill of these
men’s devotions, upon the account of any thing either done or said by them in the late times of
confusion; for as they have the king’s, so I wish them
God’s pardon also, whom, I am sure, they have
offended much more than they have both kings
put together. But that which has provoked me
thus to rip up and expose to you their nauseous and
ridiculous way of addressing to God, even upon the
most solemn occasions, is, that intolerably rude and
unprovoked insolence and scurrility, with which they
are every day reproaching and scoffing at our liturgy,
and the users of it, and thereby alienating the minds
of the people from it, to such a degree, that many
thousands are drawn by them into a fatal schism; a
schism, that, unrepented of, and continued in, will as
infallibly ruin their souls, as theft, whoredom, murder, or any other of the most crying, damning sins
whatsoever. But leaving this to the justice of the
government, to which it belongs to protect us in
our spiritual as well as in our temporal concerns, I
shall only say this, that nothing can be more for the
In the mean time, for ourselves of the church of England, who, without pretending to any new lights, think it equally a duty and commendation to be wise, and to be devout only to sobriety, and who judge it no dishonour to God himself to be worshipped according to law and rule. If the directions of Solomon, the precept and example of our Saviour, and lastly, the piety and experience of those excellent men and martyrs, who first composed, and afterwards owned our liturgy with their dearest blood, may be looked upon as safe and sufficient guides to us in our public worship of God; then, upon the joint authority of all these, we may pronounce our liturgy the greatest treasure of rational devotion in the Christian world. And I know no prayer necessary, that is not in the liturgy, but one, which is this; That God would vouchsafe to continue the liturgy itself in use, honour, and veneration in this church for ever. And I doubt not but all wise, sober, and good Christians, will, with equal judgment and affection, give it their Amen.
Now to God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost, three Persons and one God 9 be rendered and ascribed, as is most due, all praise, might, majesty, and dominion, both now and for evermore. Amen.
Genesis
1:27 1:27 18:17 22:2 39:21 41:45
Exodus
Numbers
Deuteronomy
Judges
6:2 8:3-4 8:22 8:23 8:34 8:34-35 8:35 18:24 18:34-35 19
1 Samuel
1 Kings
3:4 10:5 12:27 13 13:4 13:33-34 13:33-34 14:26 18
2 Kings
1 Chronicles
2 Chronicles
Psalms
15:1 15:2 19:14 25:14 30:7-8 50:15 50:15 50:21 55:23 63:1-2 77:13 87:2 87:2 101:7 103:14 116:12 119:100 139:2
Proverbs
3:17 3:17 10:8 10:9 10:19 12:22 12:22 12:32 16:33 16:33 26:25 29:26
Ecclesiastes
4:10 5:2 5:2 5:2 5:4 6:11 7:29 9:14 9:15 9:15
Isaiah
9:6 24:2 44:14 44:16 44:17 63:9
Jeremiah
Lamentations
Ezekiel
Daniel
Hosea
Amos
Malachi
Matthew
6:5 6:7 7:21 8:2 8:25 8:52 10:16 10:16 10:16-26 10:23 10:33 10:33 10:33 10:33 12:24 13:17 26:39 26:40
Mark
Luke
8:10 8:15 10:28 11:21 11:21 11:22 13:27 16 16:14 16:31 18:4 18:5 18:7 18:10 18:11 18:13 18:38 20:46-47
John
1:47 4:20 5:43 5:44 7:17 7:17 9:24 13:17 15:15 15:15
Acts
Romans
1 Corinthians
1:21 1:30 3:19 3:19 3:19 3:20 10:10 11:22 12:4
2 Corinthians
Philippians
Colossians
1 Timothy
2 Timothy
Titus
Hebrews
James
1 Peter
1 John
Revelation
1 Maccabees
Sirach
Ai Aii Aiii i ii iii iv v vi vii viii ix x xi xii xiii xiv xv xvi xvii xviii xix xx xxi xxii xxiii xxiv xxv xxvi xxvii xxviii xxix xxx xxxi xxxii xxxiii xxxiv xxxv xxxvi xxxvii xxxviii xxxix xl xli xlii xliii xliv xlv xlvi xlvii xlviii xlix l li lii liii liv lv lvi lvii lviii lix lx lxi lxii lxiii lxiv lxv lxvi lxvii lxviii lxix lxx lxxi lxxii lxxiii lxxiv lxxv lxxvi lxxvii lxxviii lxxix lxxx lxxxi lxxxii lxxxiii lxxxiv lxxxv lxxxvi lxxxvii lxxxviii lxxxix xc xci xcii xciii xciv xcv xcvi xcvii xcviii xcix c ci cii ciii civ cv cvi cvii cviii cix cx cxi cxii cxiii cxiv cxv cxvi cxvii cxviii cxix cxx cxxi cxxii cxxiii cxxiv cxxv cxxvi cxxvii cxxviii cxxix cxxx cxxxi cxxxii cxxxiii cxxxiv cxxxv cxxxvi cxxxvii cxxxviii 1 2 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 30 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128 129 130 131 132 133 134 135 136 137 138 139 140 141 142 143 144 145 146 147 148 149 150 151 152 153 154 155 156 157 158 159 160 161 162 163 164 165 166 167 168 169 170 171 172 173 174 175 176 177 178 179 180 181 182 183 184 185 186 187 188 189 190 191 192 193 194 195 196 197 198 199 200 201 202 203 204 205 206 207 208 209 210 211 212 213 214 215 216 217 218 219 220 221 222 223 224 225 226 227 228 229 230 231 232 233 234 235 236 237 238 239 240 241 242 243 244 245 246 247 248 249 250 251 252 253 254 255 256 257 258 259 260 261 262 263 265 265 266 267 268 269 270 271 272 273 274 275 276 277 278 279 280 281 282 283 284 285 286 287 288 289 290 291 292 293 294 295 296 297 298 299 300 301 302 303 304 305 306 307 308 309 310 311 312 313 314 315 316 317 318 319 320 321 322 323 324 325 326 327 328 329 330 331 332 333 334 335 336 337 338 339 340 341 342 343 344 345 346 347 348 349 350 351 352 353 354 355 356 357 358 359 360 361 362 363 364 365 366 367 368 369 370 371 372 373 374 375 376 377 378 379 380 381 382 383 384 385 386 387 388 389 390 391 392 393 394 395 396 397 398 399 400 401 402 403 404 405 406 407 408 409 410 411 412 413 414 415 416 417 418 419 420 421 422 423 424 425 426 427 428 429 430 431 432 433 434 435 436 437 438 439 440 441 442 443 444 445 446 447 448 449 450 451 452 453 454 455 456 457 458 459 460 461 462 463