Who knowing the judgment of God, that they which commit such things are worthy of death, not only do the same, but have pleasure in them that do them. Pp. 1. 28.
The sin of taking pleasure in other men’s sins is not only distinct from, but also much greater than all those others mentioned in the foregoing catalogue, 1. To arrive at which pitch of sinning there is a considerable difficulty, 6. because every man has naturally a distinguishing sense of good and evil, and an inward satisfaction or dissatisfaction after the doing of either, and cannot quickly or easily extinguish this principle, but by another inferior principle gratified with objects contrary to the former, 3. And consequently no man is quickly or easily brought to take pleasure in his own, much less in other men’s sins, 5. Of which sin,
I. The causes are, 1. The commission of the same sins in one’s own person, 7. 2. The commission of them against the full conviction of conscience, 9. 3. The continuance in them, 12. 4. The inseparable poor-spiritedness of guilt, which is less uneasy in company, 14. 5. A peculiar unaccountable malignity of nature, 17.
II. The reasons why the guilt of that sin is so great,
are, 1. That there is naturally no motive to tempt men to
it, 21 . 2. That the nature of this sin is boundless and unlimited,
III. The persons guilty of that sin are generally such as draw others to it, 29; particularly, 1. who teach doctrines, 29. which represent sinful actions either as not sinful, 30. or as less sinful than they really are, 32. Censure of some modern casuists, 34. 2. Who allure men to sin through formal persuasion or inflaming objects, 36. 3. Who affect the company of vicious persons, 38. 4. Who encourage others in their sins by commendation, 39. or preferment, 41.
Lastly, the effects of this sin are, 1. Upon particular persons; that it quite depraves the natural frame of the heart, 42: it indisposes a man to repent of it, 44; it grows the more as a man lives longer, 45; it will damn more surely, because many are damned who never arrived to this pitch, 47. 2. Upon communities of men; that it propagates the practice of any sin till it becomes national, 48; especially where great sinners make their dependents their proselytes, 49. and the follies of the young carry with them the approbation of the old, 50. This the reason of the late increase of vice, 51 .
So that they are without excuse. P. 53.
The apostle in this epistle addresses himself chiefly to the Jews; but in this first chapter he deals with the Greeks and Gentiles, 53. whom he charges with an inexcusable sinfulness, 53. And the charge contains in this, and in the precedent and subsequent verses,
I. The sin; [that knowing God, they did not glorify him
as God,
II. The persons guilty of this sin; [such as professed
III. The cause of that sin, [holding the truth in unrighteousness,
Were by them held in unrighteousness, 1 . By not acting up to what they knew, 62. 2. By not improving those known principles into proper consequences, 64. 3. By concealing what they knew, 66.
IV. The judgment passed upon them, [that they were
without excuse,
1. The freedom of the will, which they generally asserted, excluded them from the plea of unwillingness, 72. 2. The knowledge of their understanding excluded them from the plea of ignorance, 73.
From all these we may consider,
1. The great mercy of God in the revelation of the gospel, 75.
2. The deplorable condition of obstinate sinners under it, 77.
And he saith unto him, Friend, how earnest thou in hither, not having a wedding garment? P. 80.
The design of this parable, under the circumstantial passages
of a wedding’s royal solemnity, is to set forth the free offer of the gospel to
the Jews first, and upon their refusal, to the Gentiles, 80. But it may be more peculiarly
applied to the holy eucharist; which not only by analogy,
but with propriety of speech, and from the very ceremony
of breaking bread, may very well be called a wedding supper,
I. That the preparation be habitual, 90.
II. That it be also actual, 93; of which the principal ingredients are, 1. Self-examination, 96. 2. Repentance, 98. 3. Prayer, 100. 4. Fasting, 101. 5. Alms-giving, 103. 6. Charitable temper of mind, 104. 7. Reading and meditation, 106.
The reverend author seemed to have designed another discourse upon this text, because in this sermon he only despatches the first part, viz. the necessity of preparation; but proceeds not to the second, viz. that God is a severe animadverter upon such as partake without such a preparation, 84.
Woe unto them that call evil good, and good evil. P. 108.
[Vol. iv. p. 203. 235. 265.]
Here a woe is denounced against those, not only in particular, who judicially pronounce the guilty innocent, and the innocent guilty; but in general, who by abusing men’s minds with false notions, make evil pass for good, and good for evil, 108. And in the examination of this vile practice it will be necessary,
I. To examine the nature of good and evil, what they are, and upon what they are founded, viz. upon the conformity or unconformity to right reason, 111. Not upon the opinion, 113, or laws of men, 114; because then, 1. The same action under the same circumstances might be both morally good and morally evil, 117. 2. The laws could neither be morally good nor evil, 117. The same action might be in respect of the divine law commanding it, morally good; and of an human, forbidding it, morally evil, 118.
But that the nature of good and evil is founded upon a
II. To shew the way how good and evil operate upon men’s minds, viz. by their respective names or appellations, 121.
III. To shew the mischief arising from the misapplication of names, 122. For since, 1. the generality of men are absolutely governed by words and names, 122. and 2. chiefly in matters of good and evil, 128. which are commonly taken upon trust, by reason of the frequent affinity between vice and virtue, 129. and of most men’s inability to judge exactly of things, 130. Thence may be inferred the comprehensive mischief of this misapplication, by which man is either, 1. deceived, 133. or 2. misrepresented, 135.
Lastly, to assign several instances, wherein those mischievous effects do actually shew themselves. [Vol. iv. p. 203.]
I. In religion and church, 205. such as calling, 1. The religion of the church of England, popery, 206. which calumny is confuted from the carriage of the church of Rome towards the church of England, 208. and from the church of England’s denying the chief articles of the church of Rome, 209. 2. Schismatics, true protestants, 215. against whom it is proved, that they and the papists are not such irreconcileable enemies as they pretend to be, 215. 3. The last subversion of the church, reformation, 220. which mistaken word turned the monarchy into an anarchy, 220. 4. The execution of the laws, persecution, 222. by which sophistry the great disturbers of our church pass for innocent, and the laws are made the only malefactors, 223. 5. Base compliance and half-conformity, moderation, 224. both in church governors, 226. and civil magistrates, 227.
A terrible instance of pulpit impostors seducing the minds of men, 232.
II. In the civil government, 236, 241. (with an apology
for a clergyman’s treating upon this subject, 236.) such as
calling, 1. Monarchy, arbitrary power, 243. 2. The prince’s friends, evil counsellors, 247. 3. The enemies both of
The necessity of reflecting frequently upon the great long rebellion, 260.
III. In private interests of particular persons, 268. such as calling, 1. Revenge, a sense of honour, 269. 2. Bodily abstinence, with a demure, affected countenance, piety and mortification, 273. 3. Unalterable malice, constancy, 274. 4. A temper of mind resolved not to cringe and fawn, pride, and morosity, and ill nature, 276. and, on the contrary, flattery and easy simplicity, and good-fellowship, good nature, 280. 5. Pragmatical meddling with other men’s matters, fitness for business, 281. Add to these, the calling covetousness, good husbandry, 284. prodigality, liberality, 285. justice, cruelty; and cowardice, mercy, 285.
A general survey and recollection of all that has been said on this immense subject, 285,
And David said to Abigail, Blessed be the Lord God of Israel, which sent thee this day to meet me: and blessed be thy advice, and blessed be thou, which hast kept me this day from coming to shed blood, and from avenging myself with my own hand. P. 139.
This is David’s retractation of his revenge resolved upon an insolent wealthy rustic, who had most unthankfully rejected his request with railing at his person and messengers, 139. From which we may,
I. Observe the greatness of sin-preventing mercy, 141.
Which appears, 1. From the deplorable condition of the
sinner, before that mercy prevents him, 142. 2. From the
cause of that mercy, which is God’s free grace, 147. 3. From
the danger of sin unprevented, which will then be certainly
II. Make several useful applications, 155. As, l. To learn how vastly greater the pleasure is upon the forbearance, than in the commission of sin, 155. 2. To find out the disposition of one’s heart by this sure criterion, with what ecstasy he receives a spiritual blessing, 156. 3. To be content, and thankfully to acquiesce in any condition, and under the severest passages of Providence, 158. with relation to health, 158. reputation, 159. and wealth, 160.
Beloved, if our heart condemn us not, we have confidence toward God. Pp. 163. 194.
It is of great moment and difficulty to be rationally satisfied about the estate of one’s soul, 163: in which weighty concern we ought not to rely upon such uncertain rules, 164. as these: 1. The general esteem of the world, 164. 2. The judgment of any casuist, 166. 3. The absolution of any priest, 168. 4. The external profession even of a true religion, 170.
But a man’s own heart and conscience, above all other things, is able to give him confidence towards God, 173. In order to which we must know,
I. How the heart or conscience ought to be informed,
174. viz. by right reason and scripture, 175. and endeavouring to employ the utmost of our ability to get the clearest
knowledge of our duty; and thus to come to that confidence,
II. By what means we may get our heart thus informed, 179. viz. 1. By a careful attention to the dictates of reason and natural morality, 179. 2. By a tender regard to every pious motion of God’s Spirit, 181. 3. By a study of the revealed word of God, 184. 4. By keeping a frequent and impartial account with our conscience, 187.
With this caution, lest either, on the one side, every doubting may overthrow our confidence, 190. or, on the other, a bare silence of conscience raise it too much, 191.
III. Whence the testimony of conscience is so authentic, 195. viz. 1. Because it is commissioned to this office by God himself, 197. And there is examined the absurdity and impertinence, 199. the impudence and impiety of false pretences of conscience, 206; such particularly as those of schismatical dissenters, 201, 209. who oppose the solemn usages of our church; the necessity of which is founded upon sound reason, 204. 2. Because it is quicksighted, 211. tender and sensible, 213. exactly and severely impartial, 215.
IV. Some particular instances, wherein this confidence suggested by conscience exerts itself, 217. viz. 1. In our addresses to God by prayer, 217. 2. At the time of some notable sharp trial, 219. as poverty, 220. calumny and disgrace, 221. 3. Above all others at the time of death, 222.
Can a man be profitable to God? P. 231.
It is an impossible thing for man to merit of God, 231. And although,
I. Men are naturally prone to persuade themselves they can merit, 234. because,
1. They naturally place too high a value upon themselves and performances, 235.
2. They measure their apprehensions of God by what they observe of worldly princes, 236. yet,
II. Such a persuasion is false and absurd, 238. because the conditions required in merit are wanting; viz.
1. That the action be not due, 239. But man lies under an indispensable obligation of duty to God by the law of nature, as God’s creature, 240. and servant, 241. and by God’s positive law, 244.
2. That the action may add to the state of the person of whom it is to merit, 244. But God is a perfect being, wanting no supply, 245. and man is an inconsiderable creature, beholden for every thing to every part of the creation, 245.
3. That the action and reward may be of an equal value, 248. which cannot be in the best of our religious performances, 248. notwithstanding the popish distinction between merit of condignity and congruity, 249.
4. That the action be done by the man’s sole power, with out the help of him of whom he is to merit, 252. But God worketh in us not only to do, but also to will, 252. And,
III. This persuasion hath been the foundation of great corruptions in religion, 254. viz. Pelagianism, 256. and popery, 257.
But though we are not able to merit, yet,
IV. This ought not to discourage our obedience, 258. Since,
1. A beggar may ask an alms, which he cannot claim as his due, 259.
2. God’s immutable veracity and promise will oblige him to reward our sincere obedience, 259.
Take heed therefore that the light which is in thee be not darkness. P. 261.
The light within us, or right reason, is our conscience,
I. In general; every thing which either defiles the conscience, 268. or weakens it by putting a bias upon its judging faculty, 271.
II. In particular; every kind and degree of sin, considered,
1. In the act, 273. And thus every commission of any great sin darkens the conscience, 273.
2. In the habit, 272. And thus the repeated practice of sin puts out its light, 275.
3. In the principle, 272. And thus every vicious affection perverts the judging, and darkens the discerning power of conscience, 277. Such as, 1. Sensuality, 279. by the false pleasures of lust, 281. of intemperance, 283. 2. Covetousness, 285. 3. Ambition or pride, 286. And many others besides, 289.
Thence a man may learn what he is to avoid, that he may have a clear, impartial, and right-judging conscience, 290.
But I say unto you. Love your enemies. P. 293.
The duty here enjoined by Christ is not opposed to
the Mosaic law, but to the doctrine of the scribes and pharisees, 293. For the matter of all the commandments,
except the fourth, is of natural, moral right, 293. and there is
no addition of any new precepts, but only of some particular instances of duty,
295. with an answer to some objections concerning the commands of loving God with all
our heart, 298. and laying down our life for our brother,
299. Then it is proved, that Christ opposed not Moses’s law as faulty or imperfect, but only the comments of the
scribes and pharisees upon or rather against it, 300. Among
I. Negatively, 302. is not meant,
1. A fair deportment and amicable language, 302.
2. Fair promises, 305.
3. A few kind offices, 307. But,
II. Positively, 309. is meant,
1. A discharging the mind of all the leaven of malice, 309.
2. The doing all real offices of kindness, that opportunity shall lay in the way, 310.
3. The praying for them, 312.
All which are not inconsistent with a due care of defending and securing ourselves against them, 314.
III. This love of enemies may be enforced by many arguments drawn from,
1. Their condition; as they are joined with us in the community of the same nature, 315. or (as it may happen) of the same religion, 316. or as they may be capable, if not of being made friends, yet of being shamed and rendered in excusable, 317.
2. The excellency of the duty itself, 318.
3. The great example of our Saviour, 319. and that of a king, upon the commemoration of whose nativity and return this sermon was preached, 320.
Lastly, because this duty is so difficult, we ought to beg God’s assistance against the opposition which flesh and blood will make to it, 321.
And every one that heareth these sayings of mine, and doeth them not, shall be likened unto a foolish man, which built his house upon the sand:
And the rain descended, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and beat upon that house; and it fell: and great was the fall of it. P. 324.
Our Saviour teaches us not to build upon a deceitful
I. That is the best and surest foundation, 326. being,
1. The only thing that can mend our corrupt nature, 326.
2. The highest perfection of our nature, 328.
3. The main end of religion, 329. as the designs of it in this world are the honour of God, 329. and the advantage of society, 330.
II. All other foundations are false, 331. such as
1. A naked, unoperative faith, 332.
2. The goodness of the heart and honesty of intention,
3. Party and singularity, 335. because the piety of no party can sanctify its proselytes, 336. and such an adhesion to a party carries with it much of spiritual pride in men, who naturally have a desire of preeminence, and a spirit of opposition to such as are not of their own way, 337.
III. Such false foundations, upon trial, will be sure to fall, 338. which is shewed from,
1. The Devil’s force and opposition, 338. which is sudden and unexpected, 339. furious and impetuous, 340. restless and importunate, 341.
2. The impotence and non-resistance of the soul, 342. which is frequently unprepared, weak, and inconstant, 342.
IV. The fall will be very great, 344. being scandalous and diffusive, 344. hardly and very rarely recoverable, 345.
Therefore no man must venture to build his salvation upon false and sinking grounds, 346. but only upon such terms as God will deal with him, viz. a perfect obedience, 348.
But when ye sin so against the brethren, and wound their weak conscience, ye sin against Christ. P. 350.
The apostle treateth of a weak conscience in new converts
I. What a weak conscience is, 353. not that which is improperly called tender, 353. but the weakness here spoken of is opposed to faith, 354. and implies,
1. The ignorance of some action’s lawfulness, 356. not wilful, but such a one as is excusable, and the object of pity, 367. arising from the natural weakness of the under standing, or from the want of opportunity or means of knowledge, 357.
2. The suspicion of some action’s unlawfulness, 358.
3. A religious abstinence from the use of that thing, of the unlawfulness whereof it is ignorant or suspicious, 359.
II. How such a weak conscience is wounded, 360. viz.
1. By being grieved and robbed of its peace, 360.
2. By being emboldened to act against its present persuasion, 361. either through example, 361. or through a command, with the conjunction of some reward or penalty, 362. descending from a private or a public person, 363.
III. We may thence infer,
1. That none having been brought up and long continued in the communion of a true church, having withal the use of his reason, can justly plead weakness of conscience, 365.
2. That such a weakness can upon no sufficient ground be continued in, 369.
3. That the plea of it ought not to be admitted in prejudice of the laws, which are framed for the good, not of any particular persons, but of the community, 371. For the ill consequences would be, that there could be no limits as signed to this plea, 371. nor any evidence of its sincerity, 372. and this would absolutely bind the magistrate’s hands, 373.
Besides, such pleas are usually accompanied with partiality? 374. and hypocrisy, such as those of the dissenters, 375. which upon the foregoing reasons ought not to be al lowed, 376.
But we speak the wisdom of God in a mystery. P. 378.
The apostle’s design here is to set forth the transcendent worth of the gospel by two qualifications eminently be longing to it, 378. viz.
I. That it is the wisdom of God, 379. a wisdom respecting speculation, and here principally relating to practice, 379. a wisdom as irresistibly powerful as it is infallible, 380.
II. That this wisdom is in a mystery, 381.
1. In the nature of the things treated of in the Christian religion, 381. which are of difficult apprehension for their greatness, 382. spirituality, 384. strangeness, 385. as may be exemplified in two principal articles of it, regeneration, 387. and the resurrection, 387.
2. In the ends of it, 388. It is as much the design of religion to oblige men to believe the credenda as to practise the agenda; and there is as clear a reason for the belief of the one, as for the practice of the other, 389. But their mysteriousness, 1. Makes a greater impression of awe, 391. 2. Humbles the pride of men’s reason, 394. 3. Engages us in a more diligent search, 396. 4. Will, when fully revealed, make part of our happiness hereafter, 399.
Thence we may learn in such important points of religion,
1. To submit to the judgment of the whole church in general, and of our spiritual guides in particular, 401.
2. Not to conclude every thing impossible, which to our reason is unintelligible, 404.
3. Nor by a vain presumption to pretend to clear up all mysteries in religion, 405.
I am the root and the offspring of David, and the bright and morning star. P. 410.
In this book of mysteries, nothing is more mysterious than what is contained in these words, the union of the divinity and humanity in our Saviour’s person, 410. He is,
I. In his divinity, the root of David, having a being before him, 411. a being which had no beginning, equal to his Father: though his divinity is denied by the Arians: and his preexistence to his humanity by the Socinians, 411.
II. In his humanity, the offspring of David, 417. being in St. Matthew’s genealogy, naturally the son of David; and in that of St. Luke, legally the king of the Jews, 418.
III. The bright and morning star, 428. with relation,
1. To the nature of its substance; he was pure, without the least imperfection, 428.
2. To the manner of its appearance; he appeared small in his humanity, though he was the great almighty God. 430.
3. To the quality of its operation, 431. open and visible by his light, chasing away the heathenish false worship, the imperfect one of the Jews, and all pretended Messiahs, 431. secret and invisible by his influence, illuminating our judgment, bending our will, and at last changing the whole man, 435.
He came to his own, and his own received him not. P. 437.
No scripture has so directly and immoveably stood in the
way of the several opposers of the divinity of our Saviour,
I. Christ’s coming into the world, 439. who,
1. Was the second Person in the glorious Trinity, the ever blessed and eternal Son of God, 440.
2. Came from the bosom of his Father, and the incomprehensible glories of the Godhead, 444.
3. Came to the Jews, who were his own by right of consanguinity, 445.
4. When they were in their lowest estate, 448. national, 448. and ecclesiastical, 449. In which we may consider the invincible strength and the immoveable veracity of God’s promise, 450.
II. Christ rejected by his own, 452. For the Jews’
1. Exceptions were, 1. That he came not as a temporal prince, 453. 2. That he set himself against Moses’s law, 454.
2. The unreasonableness of which exceptions appears from this: 1. That the Messiah’s blessings were not to be temporal, 455. and he himself, according to all the prophecies of scripture, was to be of a low, despised estate, 457. 2. That Christ came not to destroy, but to fulfil and abrogate Moses’s law, 459.
3. The Jews had great reasons to induce them to receive him. For, 1. All the marks of the Messiah did most eminently appear in him, 460. 2. His whole behaviour among them was a continued act of mercy and charity, 462.
Lastly, the Jews are not the only persons concerned in this guilt, but also all vitious Christians, 463.
For the transgression of my people was he stricken. P. 468.
There are several opinions concerning the person here
spoken of by the prophet, 469. But setting aside those of
later interpreters, who differ even among themselves, 470. we
I. That he was stricken; his suffering, 474. in its latitude and extent, 475. in its intenseness and sharpness, 479. and in its author, which was God, 481.
II. That he was stricken for transgression; the quality of his suffering was penal and expiatory; he was punished for sins past, not to prevent sins for the future, 484. He bore our sins, his soul was made an offering for sin, 486. He was qualified to pay an equivalent compensation to the divine justice, by the infinite dignity and the perfect innocence of his person, 487.
III. That he was stricken for God’s people; the cause of his suffering, 488. Man’s redemption proceeds upon a twofold covenant; one of suretyship, the other of grace, 489. and, without any violation of the divine justice, Christ suffered for men; upon the account of his voluntary consent; and because of his relation to them, as he was their king and head, and their surety, 491.
Thence we should learn also to suffer for Christ,
1. By self-denial and mortification, 492.
2. By cheerfully undergoing troubles and afflictions in this world, 493.
Whom God hath raised up, having loosed the pains of death; because it was not possible that he should be holden of it. P. 496.
The necessary belief of a future state has been confirmed by revelation and exemplification, 497. chiefly in that of the resurrection of Christ, 499. whom
I. God hath raised up; such an action proclaiming an omnipotent cause, 500. And,
II. The manner of his being raised was by having loosed the pains of death, 501. with an explication of the word pains, 501. And,
III. The ground of his resurrection was the impossibility of his being holden of it, 505. which impossibility was founded upon,
1. The hypostatical union of Christ’s human nature to his divine, 505.
2. The immutability of God, in respect of his eternal decree, 507. and of his promise, 509.
3. The justice of God, 511.
4. The necessity of Christ’s being believed in as a Saviour, 512.
5. The nature of Christ’s priesthood, 51 4. The belief of Christ’s resurrection affords us,
1. The strongest dehortation from sin, 516.
2. The most sovereign consolation against death, 516.
Now there are diversities of gifts, but the same Spirit. P. 518.
The Holy Ghost, the design of whose mission was to confirm Christianity, did it by an effusion of miraculous gifts upon the first messengers of it, 518. In which we consider,
I. What those gifts were, 520. either,
1. Ordinary, conveyed to us by the mediation of our own endeavours, 520. or,
2. Extraordinary, immediately from God alone, 521. such as the gift of tongues, of healing the sick and raising the dead, of prophecy, 522. the continuation of which miraculous gifts in the church was but for a time, 523.
II. The diversity of those gifts, 528. which consisted,
1. In variety, 528.
2. Not in contrariety, 536.
III. The consequences of their emanation from one and the same Spirit, 537. which are,
1. That this Spirit is God, and hath a personal subsistence, 537.
2. That every one of us may learn humility under, and content with his own abilities, 539.
3. That it affords a touchstone for the trial of spirits, 541. as in the gift of prophecy, 541. of healing, 542. of discerning of spirits, 542. of divers tongues, 542. of interpreting, 543. By which trial we may discover some men’s false pretences to gifts of the Spirit, 543.
4. That knowledge and learning are not opposite to grace, 545.
It is he that giveth salvation unto kings. P. 547.
The relation between prince and subject involves in it obedience and protection; and the same relation is between princes and God, who gives salvation unto kings, 547. whose providence over them,
I. Is peculiar and extraordinary, 548. besides the usual operation of causes, 549. contrary to the design of expert persons, 550. beyond the power of the cause employed, 551.
II. Making use of extraordinary means, 552. as,
1. By endowing them with a more than ordinary sagacity, 552.
2. By giving them a singular courage and resolution, 554.
3. By a strange disposition of events for their preservation, 556.
4. By inclining the hearts of their people towards them, 558.
5. By rescuing them from unseen and unknown mischiefs, 560.
6. By imprinting an awe of their authority on the minds of their subjects, 562.
7. By disposing their hearts to virtue and piety, 564.
III. The reason of this particular providence is,
1. Because they are the greatest instruments to support government; to the ends of which monarchy is best adapted; and the greatness of which most depends upon their personal qualifications, 567.
2. Because they have the most powerful influence upon the concerns of religion, 571 .
IV. Hence, 1. Princes may learn their duty towards God, 573. And, 2. Subjects may learn theirs towards their prince, 573.
Who knowing the judgment of God, that they which commit such things are worthy of death , not only do the same, but have pleasure in them that do them.
FROM the beginning of the
Now the sense of the words may be fully and naturally cast into this one proposition, which shall be the subject of the following discourse; viz.
That the guilt arising from a man’s delighting or taking pleasure in other men’s sins, or (which is all one) in other men for their sins, is greater than he can possibly contract by a commission of the same sins in his own person.
For the handling of which, I cannot but think it
I. I shall shew what it is that brings a man to such a disposition of mind, as to take pleasure in other men’s sins.
II. I shall shew the reasons why a man’s being disposed to do so, comes to be attended with such an extraordinary guilt: and,
III. and lastly, I shall declare what kind of persons are to be reckoned under this character. Of each of which in their order.
And first, for the first of these, What it is that brings a man, &c.
In order to which, I shall premise these four considerations.
1. That every man naturally has a distinguishing sense of turpe et honestum; of what is honest, and what is dishonest; of what is fit, and what is not fit to be done. There are those practical principles and rules of action, treasured up in that part of man’s mind, called by the schools συντήρησις, that, like the candle of the Lord, set up by God himself in the heart of every man, discovers to him both what he is to do, and what to avoid: they are a light. lighting every man that cometh into the world.
And in respect of which principally it is, that
God is said not to have left himself without witness
2. The second thing to be considered is, That there is consequently upon this distinguishing principle an inward satisfaction or dissatisfaction arising in the heart of every man, after he has done a good or an evil action; an action agreeable to, or deviating from, this great rule. And this, no doubt, proceeds not only from the real unsuitableness that every thing sinful or dishonest bears to the nature of man, but also from a secret, inward, foreboding fear, that some evil or other will follow the doing of that which a man’s own conscience disallows him in. For no man naturally is or can be cheerful immediately upon the doing of a wicked action: there being something within him that presently gives sentence against him for it: which, no question, is the voice of God himself, speaking in the hearts of men, whether they understand it or no; and by secret intimations giving the sinner a foretaste of that direful cup, which he is like to drink more deeply of hereafter.
3. The third thing to be considered is, That this
distinguishing sense of good and evil, and this
satisfaction or dissatisfaction of mind consequent
upon a man’s acting suitably or unsuitably to it, is
a principle neither presently nor easily to be worn
out or extinguished. For besides that it is founded
in nature, (which kind of things are always most
durable and lasting,) the great important end that
God designs it for, (which is no less than the government of the noblest part of the world, mankind,)
sufficiently shews the necessity of its being rooted
4. The fourth and last thing to be considered is, That that which weakens, and directly tends to extinguish this principle, (so far as it is capable of being extinguished,) is an inferior, sensitive principle, which receives its gratifications from objects clean contrary to the former; and which affect a man in the state of this present life, much more warmly and vividly than those which affect only his nobler part, his mind. So that there being a contrariety between those things that conscience inclines to, and those that entertain the senses; and since the more quick and affecting pleasure still arises from these latter, it follows that the gratifications of these are more powerful to command the principles of action than the other, and consequently are, for the most part, too hard for, and victorious over, the dictates of right reason.
Now from these four considerations, thus premised, we naturally infer these two things:
First, That no man is quickly or easily brought
to take a full pleasure and delight in his own sins.
For though sin offers itself in never so pleasing and
alluring a dress at first, yet the remorse, and inward regrets of the soul, upon
the commission of it, infinitely overbalance those faint and transient
gratifications it affords the senses. So that, upon the whole matter, the
sinner, even at his highest pitch of enjoyment, is not pleased with it so much,
but he is afflicted more. And, as long as these inward rejolts and recoilings of the mind continue,
(which they will certainly do for a considerable part
of a man’s life,) the sinner will find his accounts of
Secondly, The other thing to be inferred is, that, as no man is quickly or easily brought to take a full pleasure or delight in his own sins, so much less easily can he be brought to take pleasure in those of other men. The reason is, because the chief motive, as we have observed, that induces a man to sin, which is the gratification of his sensitive part, by a sinful act, cannot be had from the sins of an other man; since naturally, and directly, they affect only the agent that commits them. For certainly another man’s intemperance cannot affect my sensuality, any more than the meat and drink that I take into my mouth can please his palate: but of this more fully in some of the following particulars.
In the mean time, it is evident from reason, that
there is a considerable difficulty in a man’s arriving
to such a disposition of mind, as shall make him take
pleasure in other men’s sins; and yet it is also as
evident from the text, and from experience too, that
some men are brought to do so, And therefore,
since there is no effect, of what kind soever, but is
resolvable into some cause; we will inquire into
the cause of this vile and preternatural temper of
mind, that should make a man please himself with
that which can no ways reach or affect those faculties and principles, which nature has made the proper seat and subject of pleasure. Now the causes
(or at least some of the causes) that debauch and
1. A commission of the same sins in a man’s own
person. This is imported in the very words of the
text; where it is said of such persons, that they not
only do the same things; which must therefore
imply that they do them. It is conversation and
acquaintance, that must give delight in things and
actions, as well as in persons: and it is trial that must begin the
acquaintance. It being hardly imaginable, that one should be delighted with a
sin at second hand, till he has known it at the first. De light is the natural
result of practice and experiment; and when it flows from any thing else, so
far it recedes from nature. None look with so
much pleasure upon the works of art, as those who
are artists themselves. They are therefore their
delight, because they were heretofore their employment; and they love to see such things, because
they once loved to do them. In like manner, a
man must sin himself into a love of other men’s sins;
for a bare notion or speculation of this black art
will not carry him so far. No sober, temperate
person in the world, (whatsoever other sins he may
be inclinable to, and guilty of,) can look with any
complacency upon the drunkenness and sottishness
of his neighbour; nor can any chaste person (be his
other failings what they will) reflect with any pleasure or delight upon the filthy, unclean conversation of another, though never so much in fashion,
and vouched, not by common use only, but applause.
No, he must be first an exercised, thorough-paced
practitioner of these vices himself, and they must
have endeared themselves to him by those personal
This therefore we may reckon upon, that scarce
any man passes to a liking of sin in others, but by
first practising it himself; and consequently may
take it for a shrewd indication and sign, whereby to
judge of the manners of those who have sinned with
too much art and caution to suffer the eye of the
world to charge some sins directly upon their conversation. For though such kind of men have lived
never so much upon the reserve, as to their personal
2dly, A second cause that brings a man to take
pleasure in other men’s sins is, not only a commission of those sins in his own person, but also a
commission of them against the full light and conviction
of his conscience. For this also is expressed in the
text; where the persons charged with this wretched
disposition of mind are said to have been such as
knew the judgment of God, that they who committed
such things were worthy of death. They knew that
there was a righteous and a searching law, directly
forbidding such practices; and they knew, that it
carried with it the divine stamp, that it was the law
of God; they knew also, that the sanction of it was
under the greatest and dreadfullest of all penalties,
death. And this surely, one would think, was knowledge enough to have opened both a man’s eyes, and
his heart too; his eyes to see, and his heart to consider,
the intolerable mischief that the commission of the
sin set before him must infallibly plunge him into.
Nevertheless, the persons here mentioned were resolved to venture, and to commit the sin, even while
conscience stood protesting against it. They were
such as broke through all mounds of law, such as
laughed at the sword of vengeance, which divine
justice brandished in their faces. For we must
know, that God has set a flaming sword, not only
The truth is, if we impartially consider the nature of these sins against conscience, we shall find them such strange paradoxes, that a man must balk all common principles, and act contrary to the natural way and motive of all human actions, in the commission of them. For that which naturally moves a man to do any thing, must be the apprehension and expectation of some good from the thing which he is about to do: and that which naturally keeps a man from doing of a thing must be the apprehension and fear of some mischief likely to ensue from that thing or action that he is ready to engage in. But now, for a man to do a thing, while his conscience, the best light that he has to judge by, assures him that he shall be infinitely, unsupportably miserable, if he does it; this is certainly unnatural and, one would imagine, impossible.
And therefore, so far as one may judge, while a
man acts against his conscience, he acts by a principle of direct infidelity, and does not really believe
that those things that God has thus threatened shall
ever come to pass. For, though he may yield a general,
For which reason it was, that I alleged sinning
against conscience for one of the causes of this vile
temper and habit of mind, which we are now discoursing of: not that it has any special productive
efficiency of this particular sort of sinning, more than
of any other, but that it is a general cause of this, as of
all other great vices; and that it is impossible but a
man must have first passed this notable stage, and got
his conscience throughly debauched and hardened,
3dly, A third cause of this villainous disposition of
mind, besides a man’s personal commission of such
and such sins, and his commission of them against
conscience, must be also his continuance in them.
For God forbid that every single commission of a sin,
though great for its kind, and withal acted against
conscience for its aggravation, should so far deprave
the soul, and bring it to such a reprobate sense
and condition, as to take pleasure in other men’s sins. For we know what a foul sin David committed, and what a crime St. Peter himself fell into;
both of them, no doubt, fully and clearly against the
dictates of their conscience; yet we do not find, that
either of them was thereby brought to such an impious frame of heart, as to delight in their own sins,
and much less in other men’s. And therefore it is
not every sinful violation of conscience, that can
quench the Spirit, to such a degree as we have been
speaking of; but it must be a long, inveterate course
and custom of sinning after this manner, that at
length produces and ends in such a cursed effect.
For this is so great a masterpiece in sin, that no man
begins with it: he must have passed his tyrocinium,
or novitiate, in sinning, before he can come to this,
be he never so quick a proficient. No man can
mount so fast, as to set his foot upon the highest
step of the ladder at first. Before a man can come
to be pleased with a sin, because he sees his neighbour commit it, he must have had such a long acquaintance with it himself, as to create a kind of
intimacy or friendship between him and that; and
Which considerations, joined with that of its imbecility, make it the proper season for a superannuated sinner to enjoy the delights of sin in the rebound; and to supply the impotence of practice by the airy, phantastic pleasure of memory and reflection. For all that can be allowed him now, is to refresh his decrepit effete sensuality with the transcript and history of his former life, recognised, and read over by him, in the vicious rants of the vigorous youthful debauches of the present time, whom (with an odd kind of passion, mixed of pleasure and envy too) he sees flourishing in all the bravery and prime of their age and vice. An old wrestler loves to look on, and to be near the lists, though feebleness will not let him offer at the prize. An old huntsman finds a music in the noise of hounds, though he cannot follow the chase. An old drunkard loves a tavern, though he cannot go to it, but as he is supported, and led by another, just as some are observed to come from thence. And an old wanton will be doating upon women, when he can scarce see them without spectacles. And to shew the true love and faithful allegiance that the old servants and subjects of vice ever after bear to it, nothing is more usual and frequent, than to hear that such as have been strumpets in their youth, turn procurers in their age. Their great concern is, that the vice may still go on.
4thly, A fourth cause of men’s taking pleasure in
the sins of others, is from that meanness and poor
spiritedness that naturally and inseparably accompanies
To be vicious amongst the virtuous, is a double disgrace and misery; but where the whole company is vicious and debauched, they presently like, or at least easily pardon one another. And as it is observed by some, that there is none so homely, but loves a looking-glass; so it is certain, that there is no man so vicious, but delights to see the image of his vice reflected upon him, from one who exceeds, or at least equals him in the same.
Sin in itself is not only shameful, but also weak;
But a vicious person, like the basest sort of beasts,
never enjoys himself but in the herd. Company,
he thinks, lessens the shame of vice, by sharing it;
and abates the torrent of a common odium, by deriving it into many channels; and therefore, if he
cannot wholly avoid the eye of the observer, he
hopes to distract it at least by a multiplicity of the
object. These, I confess, are poor shifts, and miserable shelters, for a sick and a self-upbraiding conscience to fly to; and yet they are some of the best
that the debauchee has to cheer up his spirits with
in this world. For if, after all, he must needs be
seen, and took notice of, with all his filth and noisomeness about him, he promises himself however,
that it will be some allay to his reproach, to be but
one of many, to march in a troop, and by a preposterous
5. The fifth and last cause, (that I shall mention,) inducing men to take pleasure in the sins of others, is a certain, peculiar, unaccountable malignity, that is in some natures and dispositions. I know no other name or word to express it by. But the thing itself is frequently seen in the temporal concerns of this world. For are there not some who find an inward, secret rejoicing in themselves, when they see or hear of the loss or calamity of their neighbour, though no imaginable interest or advantage of their own is or can be served thereby? But, it seems, there is a base, wolfish principle within, that is fed and gratified with another’s misery; and no other account or reason in the world can be given of its being so, but that it is the nature of the beast to delight in such things.
And as this occurs frequently in temporals, so
there is no doubt, but that with some few persons
it acts the same way also in spirituals. I say, with
some few persons; for, thanks be to God, the common, known corruption of human nature, upon the
bare stock of its original depravation, does not
usually proceed so far. Such an one, for instance,
was that wretch, who made a poor captive renounce
his religion, in order to the saving of his life; and
when he had so done, presently run him through,
glorying that he had thereby destroyed his enemy,
both body and soul. But more remarkably such,
was that monster of diabolical baseness here in Eng
land, who, some years since, in the reign of king
Charles the first, suffered death for crimes scarce
ever heard of before; having frequently boasted,
Now such a temper or principle as these and the like passages do import, I call a peculiar malignity of nature; since it is evident, that neither the inveterate love of vice, nor yet the long practice of it, and that even against the reluctancies and light of conscience, can of itself have this devilish effect upon the mind, but as it falls in with such a villainous preternatural disposition as I have mentioned. For to instance in the particular case of parents and children, let a father be never so vicious, yet, generally speaking, he would not have his child so. Nay, it is certain, that some, who have been as corrupt in their morals as vice could make them, have yet been infinitely solicitous to have their children soberly, virtuously, and piously brought up: so that, although they have begot sons after their own likeness, yet they are not willing to breed them so too.
Which, by the way, is the most pregnant demonstration in the world, of that self-condemning
sentence, that is perpetually sounding in every great sinner’s breast; and of that inward, grating dislike of the
very thing he practises, that he should abhor to see
the same in any one, whose good he nearly tenders, and whose person he wishes well to. But if
now, on the other side, we should chance to find a
father corrupting his son, or a mother debauching
her daughter, as (God knows such monsters have
been seen within the four seas) we must not charge
this barely upon an high predominance of vice in
these persons, but much more upon a peculiar anomaly and baseness of nature: if the name of nature
may be allowed to that which seems to be an utter
cashiering of it; a deviation from, and a contradiction to, the common principles of humanity. For
this is such a disposition, as strips the father of the
man; as makes him sacrifice his children to Moloch;
and as much outdo the cruelty of a cannibal or a
Saturn, as it is more barbarous and unhuman to
damn a child than to devour him. We sometimes
read and hear of monstrous births, but we may often
see a greater monstrosity in educations: thus when
a father has begot a man, he trains him up into a
beast, making even his own house a stews, a bordel,
and a school of lewdness, to instill the rudiments of
vice into the unwary, flexible years of his poor children, poisoning their tender minds with the
irresistible, authentic venom of his base example; so
that all the instruction they find within their father’s walls shall be only to be disciplined to an earlier
practice of sin, to be catechized into all the mysteries
of iniquity, and, at length, confirmed in a mature,
And thus I have despatched the first general thing proposed for the handling of the words, and shewn in five several particulars, what it is that brings a man to such a disposition of mind, as to take pleasure in other men’s sins. I proceed now to the
Second, which is, To shew the reasons why a man’s being disposed to do so, comes to be attended with
But now, from whence springs this pleasure? Is
it not from the gratification of some desire founded
in nature? An irregular gratification it is indeed
very often; yet still the foundation of it is, and must
be, something natural: so that the sum of all is this,
that the naturalness of a desire is the cause that the
satisfaction of it is pleasure, and pleasure importunes
the will; and that which importunes the will, puts
a difficulty in the will’s refusing or forbearing it.
Thus drunkenness is an irregular satisfaction of the
appetite of thirst; uncleanness an unlawful gratification of the appetite of procreation; and covetousness
But now, what principle, faculty, or desire, by
which nature projects either its own pleasure or preservation, is or can be gratified by another man’s personal pursuit of his own vice? It is evident, that
all the pleasure that naturally can be received from
a vicious action, can immediately and personally affect none but him who does it; for it is an application of the pleasing object
only to his own sense; and no man feels by another man’s senses. And therefore
the delight that a man takes from an other’s sin, can be nothing else but a
fantastical, preternatural complacency arising from that which he
has really no sense or feeling of. It is properly a
love of vice, as such; a delighting in sin for its own
sake; and is a direct imitation, or rather an exemplification of the malice of the devil; who delights
in seeing those sins committed, which the very condition of his nature renders him uncapable of
committing himself. For the devil can neither drink,
nor whore, nor play the epicure, though he enjoys
the pleasures of all these at a second hand, and by
malicious approbation. If a man plays the thief,
says Solomon, and steals to satisfy his hunger,
But when a man shall, with a sober, sedate, diabolical rancour, look upon and enjoy himself in the sight of his neighbour’s sin and shame, and secretly hug himself upon the ruins of his brother’s virtue, and the dishonours of his reason, can he plead the instigation of any appetite in nature inclining him to this; and that would otherwise render him uneasy to himself, should he not thus triumph in an other’s folly and confusion? No, certainly; this can not be so much as pretended. For he may as well carry his eyes in another man’s head, and run races with another man’s feet, as directly and naturally taste the pleasures that spring from the gratification of another man’s appetites.
Nor can that person, whosoever he is, who accounts it his recreation and diversion to see one man
wallowing in his filthy revels, and another made in
famous and noisome by his sensuality, be so impudent as to allege for a reason of his so doing, that
either all the enormous draughts of the one, do or
can leave the least relish upon the tip of his tongue;
or that all the fornications and whoredoms of the
other, do or can quench or cool the boilings of his
own lust. No, this is impossible. And if so, what
can we then assign for the cause of this monstrous
2. A second reason why a man’s taking pleasure
in the sins of others comes to be attended with such
an extraordinary guilt, is, from the boundless, unlimited nature of this way of sinning. For by this
a man contracts a kind of an universal guilt, and, as
it were, sins over the sins of all other men; so that
while the act is theirs, the guilt of it is equally his.
Consider any man as to his personal powers and opportunities of sinning, and comparatively they are
not great; for at greatest they must still be limited
by the measure of a man’s acting, and the term of
his duration. And a man’s active powers are but
weak, and his continuance in the world but short.
So that nature is not sufficient to keep pace with
For to instance in those two grand extravagances of lust and drunkenness: surely no man is of so general and diffusive a lust, as to prosecute his amours all the world over; and let it burn never so outrageously for the present, yet age will in time chill those heats; and the impure flame will either die of itself, or consume the body that harbours it. And so for intemperance in drinking; no man can be so much a swine, as to be always pouring in, but in the compass of some years he will drown his health and his strength in his own belly; and after all his drunken trophies, at length drink down himself too; and that certainly will and must put an end to the debauch.
But now, for the way of sinning which we have
been speaking of, it is neither confined by place, nor
weakened by age; but the bed-rid, the gouty, and
the lethargic, may, upon this account, equal the activity of the strongest and the most vegete sinner. Such
an one may take his brother by the throat, and act
the murderer, even while he can neither stir an
hand nor a foot; and he may invade his neighbour’s bed, while weakness has tied him down to his own.
He may sin over all the adulteries and debauches,
all the frauds and oppressions of the whole neighbourhood, and, as I may so speak, he may break
every command of God’s law by proxy, and it were
well for him if he could be damned by proxy too.
A man, by delight and fancy, may grasp in the sins
of all countries and ages, and by an inward liking of
them communicate in their guilt. He may take a
range all the world over, and draw in all that wide
From whence we see the infinitely fruitful and productive power of this way of sinning; how it can increase and multiply beyond all bounds and measures of actual commission, and how vastly it swells the sinner’s account in an instant. So that a man shall, out of all the various, and even numberless kinds of villainy, acted by all the people and nations round about him, as it were, extract one mighty, comprehensive guilt, and adopt it to himself; and so become chargeable with, and accountable for, a world of sin without a figure.
3. The third and last reason that I shall assign,
of the extraordinary guilt attending a man’s being disposed to take pleasure in other men’s sins, shall
be taken from the soul’s preparation and passage to
such a disposition. For that it presupposes and includes in it the guilt of many preceding sins. For,
as it has been shown, a man must have passed
In a word, it is the wickedness of a whole life, discharging all its filth and foulness into this one quality, as into a great sink or common shore. So that nothing is or can be so properly and significantly called the very sinfulness of sin, as this. And therefore no wonder, if, containing so many years guilt in the bowels of it, it stands here stigmatized by the apostle, as a temper of mind, rendering men so detestably bad, that the great enemy of mankind, the devil himself, neither can nor desires to make them worse. I cannot, I need not say any more of it. It is indeed a condition, not to be thought of (by persons serious enough to think and consider) without the utmost horror. But such as truly fear God, shall both be kept from it, and from those sins that lead to it.
To which God, infinitely wise, holt/, and just, be rendered and ascribed, as is most due, all praise, might, majesty, and dominion, both now and for evermore. Amen.
Who knowing the judgment of God, that they which commit such things are worthy of death, not only do the same, but have pleasure in them that do them.
THE sense of these words I shew, in the preceding discourse, fell naturally into this one proposition: viz.
That the guilt arising from a man’s delighting or taking pleasure in other men’s sins, or (which is all one) in other men for their sins, is greater than he can possibly contract by a commission of the same sins in his own person.
The prosecution of which I stated upon these three things.
First, To shew what it is that brings a man to such a disposition of mind, as to take pleasure in other men’s sins.
Secondly, To shew the reasons why a man’s being disposed to do so, comes to be attended with such an extraordinary guilt.
Thirdly and lastly, To declare what kind of persons are to be reckoned under this character.
The two first of which being despatched already,
I proceed now to the third and last. Concerning
which, I shall lay down this general assertion; That
1. First of all: Those are to be accounted to take
pleasure in other men’s sins, who teach doctrines
directly tending to engage such as believe them in
a sinful course. For there is none so compendious
and efficacious a way to prepare a man for all sin,
as this: this being properly to put out the eyes of
that which is to be his guide, by perverting his
judgment; and when that is once done, you may
carry him whither you will. Chance must be his
rule, and present appetite his director. A man’s judgment or conscience is the great spring of all his
actions; and consequently to corrupt or pervert
this, is to derive a contagion upon all that he does.
And therefore we see how high a guilt our Saviour
charges upon this in
Now these doctrines are of two sorts.
1. Such as represent actions, that are in themselves really wicked and sinful, as not so.
2. Such as represent them much less sinful as to their kind or degrees, than indeed they are.
For the first of which; to instance in one very
gross one, instead of many, take the doctrine of
those commonly called Antinomians, who assert positively, that believers, or persons regenerate, and
within the covenant of grace, cannot sin. Upon
which account, no wonder if some very liberally assume to themselves the condition and character of
believers; for then they know that other mighty
privilege belongs to them of course. But what?
may not these believers cheat and lie, commit adultery, steal, murder, and
rebel? Why, yes; they may, and nothing is more common than to see such believers do such things. But how then can they
escape the charge of all that guilt that naturally follows from such enormities? Why, thus; you must
in this case with great care and accuracy distinguish
between the act of lying and the sin of lying, the
act of stealing and the sin of stealing, and the act of
rebellion and the sin of rebellion. Now, though all
these acts are frequent and usual with such persons,
2. The other sort of doctrines tending to engage
such as believe them in a sinful course, are such as
represent many sins, much less, as to their kind or
degree, than indeed they are. Of which number is
that doctrine, that asserts all sins committed by believers, or persons in a state of grace, to be but infirmities. That there are such things as sins of infirmity, in contradistinction to those of presumption,
is a truth not to be questioned; but in hypothesi, to
state exactly which are sins of infirmity, and which
are not, is not so easy a work. This is certain, that
there is a vast difference between them; indeed, as
vast as between inadvertency and deliberation, between
And thus I have instanced in two notable doctrines, that may justly be looked upon as the general inlets, or two great gates, through which all vice and villainy rush in upon the manners of men professing religion. But the particulars, into which these generals diffuse themselves, you may look for and find in those well-furnished magazines and store-houses of all immorality and baseness, the books and writings of some modern casuists; who, like the devil’s amanuenses, and secretaries to the prince of darkness, have published to the world such notions and intrigues of sin out of his cabinet, as neither the wit or wickedness of man, upon the bare natural stock either of invention or corruption, could ever have found out.
The writings, both of the Old and New Testament, make it very difficult for a man to be saved;
but the writings of these men make it more difficult,
if not impossible, for any one to be damned: for
where there is no sin, there can be no damnation.
And as these men have obscured and confounded
So insufferably have these impostors poisoned the fountains of morality, perverted and embased the very standard and distinguishing rule of good and evil. So that all their books and writings are but debauchery upon record, and impiety registered and consigned over to posterity.
In every volume there is a nursery and plantation of vice, where it is sure to thrive, and from thence to be transplanted into men’s practice. For here it is manured with art and argument, sheltered with fallacy and distinction, and thereby enabled both to annoy others and to defend itself.
And to shew how far the malignity of this way
of sinning reaches; he, who has vented a pernicious doctrine, or published an ill book, must know
that his guilt and his life determine not together:
no, such an one, as the apostle says, being dead,
yet speaketh; he sins in his very grave, corrupts
others while he is rotting himself, and has a growing
account in the other world after he has paid nature’s last debt in this; and, in a word, quits this life like
a man carried off by the plague; who, though he
2. Such also are to be reckoned to take pleasure
in other men’s sins, as endeavour by all means to
allure men to sin; and that either by formal persuasion, importunity, or desire, as we find the harlot
described, enticing the young man, in
Now with great variety of such kind of traders
for hell as these, has the nation of late years abound
ed. Wretches who live upon the shark, and other
men’s sins, the common poisoners of youth, equally
desperate in their fortunes and their manners, and
getting their very bread by the damnation of souls.
So that if any inexperienced young novice happens
into the fatal neighbourhood of such pests, presently
they are upon him, plying his full purse and his
empty pate with addresses suitable to his vanity;
telling him, what pity it is, that one so accomplished
for parts and person should smother himself in the
country, where he can learn nothing of gallantry or
If this be not the guise and practice of the times, especially as to the principal cities of the kingdom, let any one judge; and whether for such a poor deluded wretch, instead of growing rusty in the country, (as some call it,) to be thus brought by a company of indigent, debauched, soul-and-body-destroying harpies, to lose his estate, family, and virtue, amongst them in the city, be not a much greater violation of the public weal and justice of any government, than most of those crimes that bring the committers of them to the gallows, we may at present easily see, and one day perhaps sadly feel.
Nor is this trade of corrupting the gentry and
nobility, and seasoning them with the vices of the
great town, as soon as they set foot into it, carried on secretly, and in a corner, but openly, and in
the face of the sun; by persons who have formed
themselves into companies, or rather corporations.
So that a man may as easily know where to find one
to teach him to debauch, whore, game, and blaspheme, as to teach him to write or cast accompt:
it is their support and business; nay, their very profession and livelihood; getting their living by those
Now these are another sort of men, who are justly charged with the guilt and character of delighting in other men’s sins: men, who are the devil’s setters; who contrive, study, and beat their brains how to draw in some poor, innocent, unguarded heir into their hellish net, learning his humour, prying into his circumstances, and observing his weak side; and all this to plant the snare and apply the temptation effectually and successfully; and when by such insinuations they have once got within him, and are able to drill him on from one lewdness to another, by the same arts corrupting and squeezing him as they please; no wonder if they rejoice to see him guilty of all sorts of villainy, and take pleasure in those sins in which they find their profit too.
3. Such as affect the company of infamous and vicious persons, are also to be reckoned in the number
of those who take pleasure in such men’s vices. For
otherwise, what is there in such men which they can
pretend to be pleased with? For generally such sots
have neither parts nor wit, ingenuity of discourse, nor
fineness of conversation, to entertain or delight any
one, that, coming into their company, brings but his
reason along with him. But, on the contrary, their
rude, impertinent loudness, their quarrels, their nastiness, their dull, obscene talk and ribaldry, (which
from them you must take for wit, or go without it,)
cannot but be very nauseous and offensive to any
one who does not balk his own reason, out of love
to their vice; and, for the sake of the sin itself, pardon the ugliness of its circumstances: as a father
will hug and embrace his beloved son, for all the dirt
One would think it should be no easy matter to bring any man of sense to love an alehouse; indeed of so much sense, as seeing and smelling amounts to; there being such strong encounters of both, as would quickly send him packing, did not the love of good fellowship reconcile him to these nuisances, and the deity he adored compound for the homelines of its shrine.
It is clear therefore, that where a man can like and love the conversation of lewd, debauched persons, amidst all the natural grounds and motives of loathing and dislike; it can proceed from nothing but the inward affection he bears to their lewd, debauched humour. It is this that he enjoys, and, for the sake of this, the rest he endures.
4thly and lastly, Such as encourage, countenance, and support men in their sins, are to be reckoned in the number of those who take pleasure in other men’s sins. Now this may be done two ways.
First, By commendation. Concerning which, we may take this for granted; that no man commends another any further than he likes him: for indeed to commend any one, is to vouch him to the world, to undertake for his worth, and, in a word, to own the thing which he is chiefly remarkable for. He who writes an encomium Neronis, if he does it heartily is himself but a transcript of Nero in his mind; and would, no doubt, gladly enough see such pranks, as he was famous for, acted again, though he dares not be the actor of them himself.
From whence we see the reason of some men’s
Though I doubt not (how much soever knaves
may abuse fools with words for a time) but there
will come a day, in which the most active Papists
will be found under the Puritan mask; in which
it will appear, that the conventicle has been the Jesuits safest kennel, and the Papists themselves, as
well as the fanatics, have been managers of all those
monstrous outcries against popery, to the ruin of
those Protestants whom they most hate, and whom
alone they fear. It being no unheard-of trick for a
thief, when he is closely pursued, to cry out, Stop the
thief, and thereby diverting the suspicion from himself,
2dly, The other way by which some men encourage others in their sins is, by preferment. As, when men shall be advanced to places of trust and honour for those qualities that render them unworthy of so much as sober and civil company. When a lord or master shall cast his favours and rewards upon such beasts and blemishes of society, as live only to the dishonour of Him who made them, and the reproach of him who maintains them. None certainly can love to see vice in power, but such as love to see it also in practice. Place and honour do of all things most misbecome it; and a goat or a swine in a chair of state, cannot be more odious than ridiculous.
It is reported of Caesar, that passing through a
certain town, and seeing all the women of it standing at their doors with monkeys in their arms, he
And thus I have finished the third and last general thing proposed, for the handling of the words, which was, to shew the several sorts or kinds of men, which fall under the charge and character of taking pleasure in other men’s sins.
Now the inferences from the foregoing particulars shall be twofold.
1. Such as concern particular persons; and,
2. Such as concern communities, or bodies of men.
And first for the malignity of such a disposition of mind, as induces a man to delight in other men’s sins, with reference to the effects of it upon particular persons. As,
1. It quite alters and depraves the natural frame
of a man’s heart: for there is that naturally in the
heart of man, which abhors sin, as sin; and consequently
Nevertheless, as unnatural as this effect of sin is,
there is one yet more so: for, that innate principle
of self-love, that very easily and often blinds a man,
as to any impartial reflection upon himself, yet, for
the most part, leaves his eyes open enough to judge
truly of the same thing in his neighbour, and to
hate that in others, which he allows and cherishes in
himself. And therefore, when it shall come to this,
that he also approves, embraces, and delights in sin,
as he observes it, even in the person and practice of
other men; this shews that the man is wholly trans
formed from the creature that God first made him;
nay, that he has consumed those poor remainders of
good that the sin of Adam left him; that he has
worn off the very remote dispositions and possibilities to virtue; and, in a word, turned grace first,
and afterwards nature itself, out of doors. No man
2dly, A second effect of this disposition of mind is, that it peculiarly indisposes a man to repent, and recover himself from it. For the first step to repentance is a man’s dislike of his sin: and how can we expect that a man should conceive any through dislike of that, which has took such an absolute possession of his heart and affections, that he likes and loves it, not only in his own practice, but also in other men s? Nay, that he is pleased with it, though he is past the practice of it. Such a temper of mind is a downright contradiction to repentance; as being founded in the destruction of those qualities which are the only dispositions and preparatives to it. For that natural tenderness of conscience, which must first create in the soul a sense of sin, and from thence produce a sorrow for it, and at length cause a relinquishment of it; that, I say, (we have already shewn,) is took away by a customary, repeated course of sinning against conscience: so that the very first foundation of virtue, which is the natural power of distinguishing between the moral good and evil of any action, is, in effect, plucked up and destroyed; and the Spirit of God finds nothing in the heart of such an one to apply the means of grace to. All taste, relish, and discernment of the suitableness of virtue, and the unsuitableness of vice, being utterly gone from it.
And as this is a direct bar to that part of repentance, which looks back with sorrow and indignation
3dly, A third effect of this disposition of mind
(which also naturally follows from the former) is,
that the longer a man lives the wickeder he grows,
and his last days are certainly his worst. It has
been observed, that to delight in other men’s sins
was most properly the vice of old age; and we shall
also find, that it may be as truly and properly called
the old age of vice. For, as first, old age necessarily
implies a man’s having lived so many years before it
comes upon him; and withal, this sort of viciousness
supposes the precedent commission of many sins, by
which a man arrives to it; so it has this further
property of old age: that, as when a man comes
once to be old, he never retreats, but still goes on, and
grows every day older and older; so when a man comes once to such a degree of
wickedness, as to delight in the wickedness of other men, it is more than ten
thousand to one odds, if he ever returns to a better mind, but grows every day
worse and worse. For he has nothing else to take up his thoughts, and nothing to
entertain his desires with;
A notable instance of which we have in Tiberius Caesar, who was bad enough in his youth, but superlatively and monstrously so in his old age: and the reason of this was, because he took a particular pleasure in seeing other men do vile and odious things. So that all his diversion at his beloved Capreae, was to be a spectator of the devil’s actors, representing the worst of vices upon that infamous stage.
And therefore let not men flatter themselves, (as no
doubt some do,) that though they find it difficult at
present to combat and stand out against an ill practice, and upon that account give way to a continuance in it; yet that old age shall do that for them,
which they in their youth could never find in their
heart to do for themselves; I say, let not such persons mock and abuse themselves with such false and
absurd presumptions. For they must know that an
habit may continue, when it is no longer able to
act; or rather the elicit, internal acts of it may be
quick and vigorous, when the external, imperate acts
of the same habit utterly cease: and let men but
reflect upon their own observation, and consider impartially with themselves, how few in the world
they have known made better by age. Generally
they will see, that such leave not their vice, but
their vice leaves them; or rather retreats from their
practices, and retires into their fancy; and that,
we know, is boundless and infinite: and when vice
has once settled itself there, it finds a vaster and a
wider compass to act in, than ever it had before. I
4thly and lastly, We need no other argument of
the malign effects of this disposition of mind, than
this one consideration, that many perish eternally,
who never arrived to such a pitch of wickedness as
to take any pleasure in, or indeed to be at all concerned about, the sins of other men. But they
perish in the pursuit of .their own lusts, and the
obedience they personally yield to their own sinful
appetites: and that, questionless, very often not
without a considerable mixture of inward dislike of
themselves for what they do: yet for all that, their
sin, we see, proving too hard for them, the over
powering stream carries them away, and down they
sink into the bottomless pit, though under the
weight of a guilt, by vast degrees inferior to that
which we have been discoursing of. For doubtless
many men are finally lost, who yet have no men’s sins to answer for, but their own: who never enticed
But that other devilish way of sinning, hitherto spoken of, is so far beyond this, that this is a kind of innocence, or rather a kind of charity, compared to it. For this is a solitary, single; that a complicated, multiplied guilt. And indeed, if we consider at what a rate some men sin nowadays; that man sins charitably, who damns nobody but himself. But the other sort of sinners, who may properly enough be said to people hell, and, in a very ill sense, to bear the sins of many; as they have a guilt made up of many guilts, so what can they reasonably expect, but a damnation equivalent to many damnations?
And thus much for the first general inference, from the foregoing discourse, shewing the malignity of such a disposition of mind as induces a man to delight in other men’s sins, with reference to particular persons.
2dly, The other inference shall be with reference
to communities, or bodies of men; and so such a
disposition has a most direct and efficacious influence to propagate, multiply, and spread the practice
of any sin, till it becomes general and national. For
this is most certain, that some men’s taking pleasure
in other men’s sins, will cause many men to sin, to
do them a pleasure; and this will appear upon these
three accounts. 1. That it is seldom or never that
any man comes to such a degree of impiety, as to
take pleasure in other men’s sins, but he also shews
Now from these three things put together, it is
not only easy, but necessary to infer, that since the
generality of men are wholly acted by their present
interest, if they find those who can best serve them
in this their interest, most likely also to be gained
over so to do by the sinful and vile practices of those
who address to them; no doubt such practices shall
be pursued by such persons, in order to the compassing their desired ends. Where greatness takes no
delight in goodness, we may be sure there shall be
but little goodness seen in the lives of those who
have an interest to serve by such an one’s greatness.
For take any illustrious, potent sinner, whose power
is wholly employed to serve his pleasure, and whose
chief pleasure is to see others as bad and wicked as
himself; and there is no question but in a little time
he will also make them so; and his dependants shall
quickly become his proselytes. They shall sacrifice
their virtue to his humour, spend their credit and
good name, nay, and their very souls too, to serve
him; and that by the worst and basest of services,
which is, by making themselves like him. It is but
too notorious how long vice has reigned, or rather
raged amongst us; and with what a bare face and a
brazen forehead it walks about the nation, as it were,
elato capite, and looking down with scorn upon virtue
as a contemptible and a mean thing. Vice could not
For, in respect of vice, nothing is more usual nowadays, than for boys illico nasci senes. They see their betters delight in ill things; they observe reputation and countenance to attend the practice of them; and this carries them on furiously to that, which, of themselves, they are but too much inclined to; and which laws were purposely made by wise men to keep them from. They are glad, you may be sure, to please and prefer themselves at once, and to serve their interest and their sensuality together.
And as they are come to this height and rampancy of vice, in a great measure, from the
countenance of their betters and superiors; so they have
took some steps higher in the same from this, That
the follies and extravagances of the young too frequently carry with them the suffrage and approbation of the old. For age, which naturally and
unavoidably is but one remove from death, and consequently should have nothing about it but what looks
like a decent preparation for it, scarce ever appears
of late days but in the high mode, the flaunting
garb, and utmost gaudery of youth; with clothes as
ridiculously, and as much in the fashion, as the person that wears them is usually grown out of it. The
eldest equal the youngest in the vanity of their dress,
The sad and apparent truth of which makes it very superfluous to inquire after any further cause of that monstrous increase of vice, that like a torrent, or rather a breaking in of the sea upon us, has of late years overflowed and victoriously carried all before it. Both the honourable and the aged have contributed all they could to the promotion of it; and, so far as they are able, to give the best colour to the worst of things. This they have endeavoured, and thus much they have effected, that men now see that vice makes them acceptable to those who are able to make them considerable. It is the key that lets them into their very heart, and enables them to command all that is there. And if this be the price of favour, and the market of honour, no doubt where the trade is so quick, and withal so certain, multitudes will be sure to follow it.
This is too manifestly our present case. All men
see it; and wise and good men lament it: and
where vice, pushed on with such mighty advantages,
will stop its progress, it is hard to judge: it is certainly above all human remedies to control the prevailing course of it; unless the great Governor of
the world, who quells the rage and swelling of the
sea, and sets bars and doors to it, beyond which the
proudest of its waves cannot pass, shall, in his infinite
To whom be rendered and ascribed, as is most due, all praise, might, majesty, and dominion, both now and for evermore. Amen.
Natural Religion, without Revelation, shewn
only sufficient to render a Sinner
inexcusable:
—So that they are without excuse.
THIS excellent epistle, though in the front of it
it bears a particular inscription, yet, in the drift and
purpose of it, is universal; as designing to convince
all mankind (whom it supposes in pursuit of true
happiness) of the necessity of seeking for it in the
Gospel, and the impossibility of finding it elsewhere.
All without the church, at that time, were comprehended under the division of Jews and Gentiles,
called here by the apostle, Greeks; the nobler and
more noted part being used for the whole. Accordingly, from the second chapter, down along, he addresses himself to the Jews, shewing the insufficiency of their law to justify, or make them happy,
how much soever they doated upon it. But here,
in this first chapter, he deals with the Greeks, or
I. The sin here followed upon a certain sort of
men, with this so severe a judgment; namely, that
knowing God, they did not glorify him as God,
II. The persons guilty of this sin; they were
such as professed themselves wise,
III. The cause or reason of their falling into this
sin; which was their holding the truth in unrighteousness,
IV. and lastly, The judgment, or rather the state
and condition, penally consequent upon these sinners;
namely, that they were without excuse,
Of each of which in their order: and first, for the first of them.
The sin here followed with so severe a judgment,
and so highly aggravated, and condemned by the
apostle, is, by the united testimony of most divines
upon this place, the sin of idolatry: which the apostle affirms to consist in this;
That the Gentiles
The ground and reason of all worship is, an opinion of power and will in the person worshipped to answer and supply our desires; which he cannot possibly do, unless he first apprehend them. But can any man, who is master of sense himself, believe the rational heathens so void of it, as to think that those images could fulfil the petitions which they could not hear, pity the wants they could not see, do all things when they could not stir an hand or a foot? It is impossible they should; but it is also certain, that they were idolaters.
And therefore it is clear that their idolatry consisted in
something else, and the history of it would demonstrate so much, were it proper
to turn a sermon into an history. So that we see here, that the
sin condemned in the text, was the worshipping of
the true God by images. For the defence of which,
there is no doubt but they might have pleaded, and
did plead for those images, that they used them not
as objects, but only as means and instruments of
divine worship, not as what they worshipped, but
as that, by which they directed their worship to
2. The second is the persons charged with this sin.
And they were not the Gnosticks, as some whimsically imagine, who can never meet with the words
γινώσκοντες, γινώσκειν, γνῶσις, or
γνωστὸν, but presently
the Gnosticks must be drawn .in by the head and
shoulders; but the persons here meant were plainly
and manifestly the old heathen philosophers; such
as not only in the apostles, but also in their own
phrase, professed themselves to be wise. Their
great title was σοφοὶ, and the word of applause still
given to their lectures was σοφῶς. And Pythagoras
was the first who abated of the invidiousness of
These were the men here intended by St. Paul;
men famous in their respective ages; the great favourites of nature, and the top and masterpiece of
art; men, whose aspiring intellectuals had raised
them above the common level, and made them
higher by the head than the world round about
them. Men of a polite reason, and a notion refined
and enlarged by meditation. Such, as with all
these advantages of parts and study, had been toiling and plodding many years, to outwit and
deceive themselves; sat up many nights, and spent
many days to impose a fallacy upon their reason;
and, in a word, ran the round of all the arts and sciences to arrive, at length, at a glorious and elaborate
folly; even these, I say, these grandees and giants
in knowledge, who thus looked down, as it were,
upon the rest of mankind, and laughed at all besides
themselves, as barbarous and insignificant, (as quick
and sagacious as they were to look into the little
intrigues of matter and motion, which a man might salva scientia, or at least,
salva anima ignorare,)
yet blundered and stumbled about their grand and
principal concern, the knowledge of their duty to
God, sinking into the meanest and most ridiculous
instances of idolatry; even so far, as to worship the
great God under the form of beasts and creeping
things; to adore eternity and immensity in a brute
or a plant, or some viler thing; bowing down, in
their adoration, to such things as they would scarce
otherwise have bowed down to take up. Nay, and
to rear temples, and make altars to fear, lust, and
Had the poor vulgar rout only, who were held under the prejudices and prepossessions of education, been abused into such idolatrous superstitions, as to adore a marble or a golden deity, it might have been detested indeed, or pitied, but not so much to be wondered at: but for the stoa, the academy, or the peripaton to own such a paradox; for an Aristotle or a Plato to think their Νοῦς ἀΐδιος, their eternal mind or universal spirit, to be found in, or served by, the images of fourfooted beasts; for the Stagirite to recognise his gods in his own book de Animalibus; this, as the apostle says, was without excuse: and how will these men answer for their sins, who stand thus condemned for their devotions? And thus, from the persons here charged by the apostle with the sin of idolatry, pass we now to the
3d thing proposed; namely, the cause or reason
1. What was the truth here spoken of.
2. How they held it in unrighteousness.
For the first of them; there were these six great truths, the knowledge of which the Gentile philosophers stood accountable for: as,
1. That there was a God; a being distinct from this visible, material world; infinitely perfect, omniscient, omnipotent, eternal, transcendently good and holy. For all this is included in the very notion of a God. And this was a truth wrote with a sun beam, clear and legible to all mankind, and received by universal consent.
2. That this God was the maker and governor of
this visible world. The first of which was evident
from the very order of causes; the great argument,
by which natural reason evinces a God. It being
necessary, in such an order or chain of causes, to ascend to, and terminate in, some first: which should
be the original of motion, and the cause of all other
things, but itself be caused by none. And then,
that God also governed the world, this followed
from the other; for that a creature should not depend upon its Creator in all respects, in which it is
capable of depending upon him, (amongst which, to
be governed by him, is certainly one,) is contrary to
the common order and nature of things, and those
essential relations which (by virtue thereof) they
bear to one another; and consequently absurd and
impossible. So that upon a bare principle of reason,
creation must needs infer providence; and God’s
3dly, That this God, or supreme Being, was to be worshipped. For this was founded upon his omni potence, and his providence. Since he, who could preserve or destroy as he pleased, and withal governed the world, ought surely to be depended upon by those who were thus obnoxious to his power, and subject to his government; which dependence could not manifest itself but by acts of worship, homage, and address to the person thus depended upon.
4thly, That this God was to be worshipped, or addressed to, by virtuous and pious practices. For so much his essential holiness required, and those innate notions of turpe et honestum, wrote in the consciences of all men, and joined with the apprehensions they had of the infinite purity of the divine nature, could not but suggest.
5thly, That upon any deviation from virtue and
piety, it was the duty of every rational creature so
deviating, to condemn, renounce, and be sorry for
every such deviation: that is, in other words, to repent of it. What indeed the issue or effect of such
a repentance might be, bare reason could not of itself discover, but that a peccant creature should disapprove, and repent of every violation of, and declination
6thly and lastly, That every such deviation from duty rendered the person so deviating liable and obnoxious to punishment. I do not say, that it made punishment necessary, but that it made the person so transgressing worthy of it; so that it might justly be inflicted on him, and consequently ought rationally to be feared and expected by him. And upon this notion, universally fixed in the minds of men, were grounded all their sacrifices, and rites of expiation, and lustration. The use of which has been so general, both as to times and places, that there is no age or nation of the world in which they have not been used as principal parts of religious worship.
Now these six grand truths were the talent en trusted, and deposited by God in the hands of the Gentiles for them to traffick with, to his honour, and their own happiness. But what little improvement they made of this noble talent, shall now be shewn in the next particular; namely, their holding of it in unrighteousness: which they did several ways. As,
1. By not acting up to what they knew. As in
many things their knowledge was short of the truth,
so, almost in all things, their practice fell short of
their knowledge. The principles by which they
walked, were as much below those by which they
judged, as their feet were below their head. By the
And then, for the duties of morality; surely they
never wanted so much knowledge as to inform and
convince them of the unlawfulness of a man’s being
a murderer, an hater of God, a covenant-breaker,
without natural affection, implacable, unmerciful.
These were enormities branded and condemned by
the first and most natural verdict of common humanity;
2dly, These men held the truth in unrighteousness, by not
improving those known principles into the proper consequences deducible from
them. For surely had they discoursed rightly but upon this one principle, that
God was a being infinitely perfect, they could never have been brought to assert
or own a multiplicity of gods. For can one god include in him all perfection,
and another god include in him all perfection too? Can there be any
more than all? and if this all be in one, can it be
also in another? Or, if they allot and parcel out
several perfections to several deities, do they not, by
this, assert contradictions, making a deity only to
such a measure perfect; whereas a deity, as such,
implies perfection beyond all measure or limitation?
Nor could they, in the next place, have slid into
those brutish immoralities of life, had they duly manured
It holds in all operative principles whatsoever, but especially in such as relate to morality; in which, not to proceed, is certainly to go backward; there being no third estate between not advancing and retreating in a virtuous course. Growth is of the very essence and nature of some things. To be, and to thrive, is all one with them; and they know no middle season between their spring and their fall.
And therefore, as it is said in
3dly, These men held the truth in unrighteousness, by concealing what they knew. For how rightly soever they might conceive of God and of virtue, yet the illiterate multitude, who, in such things, must see with better eyes than their own, or see not at all, were never the wiser for it. Whatsoever the inward sentiments of those sophisters were, they kept them wholly to themselves; hiding all those important truths, all those useful notions from the people, and teaching the world much otherwise from what they judged themselves. Though I think a greater truth than this cannot well be uttered; That never any thing or person was really good, which was good only to itself. But from hence it was, that, even in a literal sense, sin came to be established by a law. For amongst the Gentiles, the laws themselves were the greatest offenders. They made little or no provision for virtue, but very much for vice: for the early and universal practice of sin had turned it into a custom, and custom, especially in sin, quickly passed into common law.
Socrates was the only martyr for the testimony of
any truth that we read of amongst the heathens, who
chose rather to be condemned, and to die, than either
to renounce or conceal his judgment touching the
But it has been always the practice of the governing cheats of all religions, to keep the people in
as gross ignorance as possibly they could; for, we
see, the heathen impostors used it before the Christian impostors took it up and improved it.
Si populus decipi vult, decipiatur, was ever a gold and
silver rule amongst them all; though the pope’s legate first turned it into a benediction: and a very
strange one it was, and enough, one would think,
to have made all that heard it look about them, and
begin to bless themselves. For as Demetrius, a great
master in such arts, told his fellow-artists,
And thus I have shewn three notable ways, by
which the philosophers and learned men amongst the
Gentiles held the truth in unrighteousness: as first,
That they did not practise up to it: 2dly, That they
did not improve it: and 3dly and lastly, That they
concealed and dissembled it. And this was that
which prepared and disposed them to greater enormities:
The consideration of which, one would think,
should make men cautious, and fearful, how they
suppress or debauch that spark of natural light,
which God has set up in their souls. When nature
is in the dark, it will venture to do any thing. And
God knows how far the spirit of infatuation may
prevail upon the heart, when it comes once to court
and love a delusion. Some men hug an error, because it gratifies them in a freer enjoyment of their
sensuality: and for that reason, God in judgment
suffers them to be plunged into fouler and grosser
errors; such as even unman, and strip them of the
very principles of reason and sober discourse. For
surely it could be no ordinary declension of nature,
that could bring some men, after an ingenuous education in arts and philosophy, to place their
summum bonum upon their trenchers, and their utmost
felicity in wine and women, and those lusts and
Yet this was the custom, this the known voice of most of the Gentiles; Dum vivimus vivamus; Let us eat and drink to-day, for to-morrow we must die. That soul which God had given them comprehensive of both worlds, and capable of looking into the great mysteries of nature, of diving into the depths beneath, and of understanding the motions and influences of the stars above; even this glorious, active thing did they confine within the pitiful compass of the present fruition; forbidding it to take a prospect, so far as into the morrow; as if to think, to contemplate, or be serious, had been high treason against the empire and prerogative of sense, usurping the throne of their baffled and deposed reason.
And how comes it to pass, that even nowadays
there is often seen such a vast difference between the
former and the latter part of some men’s lives? that
those who first stepped forth into the world with
high and promising abilities, vigorous intellectuals,
and clear morals, come at length to grow sots and
epicures, mean in their discourses, and dirty in their
practices; but that, as by degrees, they remitted of
their industry, loathed their business, and gave way
to their pleasures, they let fall those generous principles, which, in their youthful days, had borne
them upon the wing, and raised them to worthy
and great thoughts; which thoughts and principles
not being kept up and cherished, but smothered in
sensual delights, God, for that cause, suffered them
to flag and sink into low and inglorious satisfactions, and to enjoy themselves more in a revel or a
And therefore I could heartily wish, that such young persons as hear me now, would lodge this one observation deep in their minds; viz. that God and nature have joined wisdom and virtue by such a near cognation, or rather such an inseparable connection, that a wise, a prudent, and an honourable old age, is seldom or never found, but as the reward and effect of a sober, a virtuous, and a well-spent youth.
4. I descend now to the fourth and last thing proposed; namely, The judgment, or rather the state and condition penally consequent upon the persons here charged by the apostle with idolatry; which is, That they were without excuse.
After the commission of sin, it is natural for the
sinner to apprehend himself in danger, and, upon such
apprehension, to provide for his safety and defence;
and that must be one of these two ways: viz. either
by pleading his innocence, or by using his power.
But since it would be infinitely in vain for a finite
power to contend with an infinite; innocence, if any
thing, must be his plea; and that must be, either
by an absolute denial, or, at least, by an extenuation
or diminution of his sin. Though indeed this course
will be found altogether as absurd as the other could
be; it being every whit as irrational for a sinner to
plead his innocence before omniscience, as it would
Now an excuse, in the nature of it, imports these two things.
1. The supposition of a sin.
2. The extenuation of its guilt.
As for the sin itself, we have already heard what that was, and we will now see how able they are to acquit themselves in point of its extenuation. In which, according to the two grand principles of human actions which determine their morality, the understanding and the will, the excuse must derive either from ignorance or unwillingness.
As for unwillingness, (to speak of this last first,) the heathen philosophers generally asserted the freedom of the will, and its inviolable dominion over its own actions; so that no force or coaction from without could entrench upon the absolute empire of this faculty.
It must be confessed indeed, that it hath been something lamed in this its freedom by original sin; of which defect the heathens themselves were not wholly ignorant, though they were of its cause. So that hereupon, the will is not able to carry a man out to a choice so perfectly, and in all respects good, but that still there is some adherent circumstance of imperfection, which, in strictness of morality, renders every action of it evil; according to that known and most true rule, Malum ex quolibet defectu.
Nevertheless, the will has still so much freedom left, as to enable it to choose any act in its kind good, whether it be an act of temperance, justice, or the like; as also to refuse any act in its kind evil, whether of intemperance, injustice, or the like; though yet it neither chooses one, nor refuses the other, with such a perfect concurrence of all due ingredients of action, but that still, in the sight of God, judging according to the rigid measures of the law, every such choice or refusal is indeed sinful and imperfect. This is most certain, whatsoever Pelagius and his brethren assert to the contrary.
But however, that measure of freedom which the will still retains, of being able to choose any act materially, and in its kind good, and to refuse the contrary, was enough to cut off all excuse from the heathen, who never duly improved the utmost of such a power, but gave themselves up to all the filthiness and licentiousness of life imaginable. In all which it is certain, that they acted willingly, and without compulsion; or rather indeed greedily, and without control.
The only persons amongst the heathens who sophisticated nature and philosophy in this particular,
The only remaining plea therefore, which these
men can take sanctuary in, must be that of ignorance; since there could be no pretence for unwillingness. But the apostle divests them even of
this also: for he says expressly, in
The plea of ignorance therefore is also taken out of their hands; forasmuch as they knew that there was a God; and that this God made and governed the world; and upon that account was to be worshipped and addressed to; and that with such a worship as should be agreeable to his nature, both in respect of the piety and virtue of the worshipper, and also of the means of the worship itself. So that he was neither to be worshipped with impious and immoral practices, nor with corporeal resemblances, For how could an image help men in directing their thoughts to a Being which bore no similitude or cog nation to that image at all? And what resemblance could wood or stone bear to a spirit void of all sensible qualities and bodily dimensions? How could they put men in mind of infinite power, wisdom, and holiness, and such other attributes, of which they had not the least mark or character?
But now, if these things could not possibly resemble any perfection of the Deity, what use could
they be of to men in their addresses to God? For
can a man’s devotions be helped by that which
brings an error upon his thoughts? And certain it
is, that it is natural for a man, by directing his
prayers to an image, to suppose the Being he prays
to represented by that image. Which how injurious,
how contumelious it must needs be to the glorious,
incomprehensible nature of God, by begetting such
false and low apprehensions of him in the minds of
And now, after all, I cannot but take notice, that all that I have said of the heathen idolatry is so exactly applicable to the idolatry of another sort of men in the world, that one would think this first chapter of the Epistle to the Romans were not so much an address to the ancient Romans, as a description of the modern.
But to draw towards a close. The use and improvement of the foregoing discourse shall be briefly to inform us of these two things.
1st, The signally great and peculiar mercy of God to those to whom he has revealed the gospel, since there was nothing that could have obliged him to it upon the account of his justice: for if there had, the heathens, to whom he revealed it not, could not have been thus without excuse, but might very rationally have expostulated the case with their great Judge, and demurred to the equity of the sentence, had they been condemned by him. But it appears from hence, that what was sufficient to render men inexcusable, was not therefore sufficient to save them.
It is not said by the apostle, nor can it be proved
by any one else, that God vouchsafed to the heathens
the means of salvation, if so be the gospel be the
only means of it. And yet I will not, I dare not affirm,
For that these things could be read in the book
of nature, or the common works of God’s providence,
or be learned by the sun and moon’s preaching the
gospel, as some have fondly (not to say profanely)
It is clear therefore, that the heathens had no knowledge of that way by which alone we expect salvation. So that all the hope which we can have for them is, that the gospel may not be the utmost limit of the divine mercy; but that the merits of Christ may overflow, and run over the pale of the church, so as to reach even many of those who lived and died invincibly ignorant of him.
But whether this shall be so, or no, God alone knows, who only is privy to the great counsels of his own will. It is a secret hid from us; and therefore, though we may hope compassionately, yet I am sure we can pronounce nothing certainly: it is enough for us, that God has asserted his justice, even in his dealing with those whom he treats not upon terms of evangelical mercy. So that such persons can neither excuse themselves, nor yet accuse him; who, in the severest sentence that he can pronounce upon the sinner, will (as the Psalmist tells us) be justified when he speaks, and clear when he is judged.
2dly, In the next place, we gather hence the unspeakably wretched and deplorable condition of obstinate sinners under the gospel. The sun of mercy has shined too long and too bright upon such, to leave them any shadow of excuse. For, let them argue over all the topics of divine goodness and human weakness, and whatsoever other pretences poor sinking sinners are apt to catch at, to support and save themselves by; yet how trifling must be their plea! how impertinent their defence!
For admit an impenitent heathen to plead, that, albeit his conscience told him that he had sinned, yet it could not tell him that there was any provision of mercy for him upon his repentance. He knew not whether amendment of life would be accepted, after the law was once broke; or that there was any other righteousness to atone or merit for him, but his own.
But no Christian, who has been taken into the arms of a better covenant, and grown up in the knowledge of a Saviour, and the doctrine of faith and repentance from dead works, can speak so much as one plausible word for his impenitence. And therefore it was said of him who came to the marriage-feast without a wedding-garment, that, being charged, and apprehended for it, ἐφιμώθη, he was speechless, struck with shame and silence, the proper effects of an overpowering guilt, too manifest to be denied, and too gross to be defended. His reason deserted, and his voice failed him, finding himself arraigned, convicted, and condemned in the court of his own conscience.
So that if, after all this, his great Judge had freely
asked him, what he could allege or say for himself,
why he should not have judgment to die eternally,
and sentence to be awarded according to the utmost
rigours of the law, he could not, in this forlorn case,
have made use of the very last plea of a cast
criminal: nor so much as have cried, Mercy, Lord,
mercy. For still his conscience would have replied
upon him, that mercy had been offered and abused;
and that the time of mercy was now past. And so,
under this overwhelming conviction, every gospel-sinner must pass to his eternal execution, taking the
To whom, therefore, be rendered and ascribed, as is most due, all praise, might, majesty, and dominion, both now and for evermore. Amen.
Sacramental Preparation:
And he saith unto him, Friend, how camest thou in hither, not having a wedding-garment?
THE whole scheme of these words is figurative, as being a parabolical description of God’s vouchsafing to the world the invaluable blessing of the gospel, by the similitude of a king, with great magnificence, solemnizing his son’s marriage, and with equal bounty bidding and inviting all about him to that royal solemnity; together with his severe animadversion, both upon those who would not come, and upon one who did come in a very unbeseeming manner.
For the better understanding of which words, we must observe, that in all parables, two things are to be considered.
First, The scope and design of the parable; and, Secondly, The circumstantial passages, serving only to complete and make up the narration.
Accordingly, in our application of any parable to the thing designed and set forth by it, we must not look for an absolute and exact correspondence of all the circumstantial or subservient passages of the metaphorical part of it, with just so many of the same, or the like passages in the thing intended by it; but it is sufficient, that there be a certain analogy, or agreement between them, as to the principal scope and design of both.
As for the design of this parable, it is, no doubt, to set forth the free offer of the gospel, with all its rich privileges, to the Jewish church and nation, in the first place; and upon their refusal of it, and God’s rejection of them for that refusal, to declare the calling of the gentiles in their room, by a free, unlimited tender of the gospel to all nations whatsoever; adding withal a very dreadful and severe sentence upon those, who, being so freely invited, and so generously admitted, to such high and undeserved privileges, should nevertheless abuse and despise them by an unworthy, wicked, and ungrateful deportment under them.
For men must not think that the gospel is all made up of privilege and promise, but that there is something of duty to be performed, as well as of privilege to be enjoyed. No welcome to a wedding supper without a wedding garment; and no coming by a wedding garment for nothing. In all the trans actions between God and the souls of men, some thing is expected on both sides; there being a fixed, indissoluble, and (in the language of the parable) a kind of marriage-tie between duty and privilege, which renders them inseparable.
Now, though I question not but that this parable
1 . Because the foundation of all parables is, as we have shewn, some analogy or similitude between the tropical or allusive part of the parable, and the thing couched under it, and intended by it. But now, of all the benefits, privileges, or ordinances of the gospel, which of them is there that carries so natural a resemblance to a wedding supper as that, which every one of a very ordinary, discerning faculty may observe in the sacrament of the eucharist? For, surely, neither the preaching of the word, nor yet the sacrament of baptism, bears any such resemblance or affinity to it. But, on the other side, this sacrament of the eucharist so lively resembles, and so happily falls in with it, that it is indeed itself a supper, and is called a supper, and that by a genuine, proper, as well as a common and received appellation.
2t. This sacrament is not only with great propriety
of speech called a supper; but moreover, as it is the
grand and prime means of the nearest and most intimate union and conjunction of the soul with Christ,
it may, with a peculiar significancy, be called also a
3dly and lastly, The very manner of celebrating this sacrament, which is by the breaking of bread, was the way and manner of transacting marriages in some of the eastern countries. Thus Q. Curtius reports, that when Alexander the Great married the Persian Roxana, the ceremony they used was no other but this; panem gladio divisum uterque libabat; he divided a piece of bread with his sword, of which each of them took a part, and so thereby the nuptial rites were performed. Besides, that this ceremony of feasting belongs most properly both to marriage and to the eucharist, as both of them have the nature of a covenant. And all covenants were, in old times, solemnized and accompanied with festival eating and drinking; the persons newly confederate always thereupon feasting together in token of their full and perfect accord, both as to interest and affection.
And now these three considerations together, so
exactly suiting the parable of the wedding supper to
this spiritual, divine banquet of the gospel, if it does
not primarily, and in its first design, intend it; yet,
Upon the warrant of which so very particular and extraordinary a cognation between them, I shall, at present, treat of the words wholly with reference to this sacred and divine solemnity, observing and gathering from them, as they lie in coherence with the foregoing and following parts of the parable, these two propositions.
1. That to a worthy participation of the holy mysteries and great privileges of the gospel, and particularly that of the Lord’s supper, there is indispensably required a suitable preparation.
2. That God is a strict observer of, and a severe animadverter upon, such as presume to partake of those mysteries, without such a preparation.
And first, for the first of these; viz. That to a worthy participation of the holy mysteries, &c. Now this proposition imports in it two things:
1. That to a right discharge of this duty, a preparation is necessary.
2. That every preparation is not sufficient. And first, for the
First of these: That a preparation is necessary.
And this, I confess, is a subject which I am heartily
sorry that any preacher should find it needful to
speak so much as one word upon. For would any
man in his wits venture to die without preparation?
And if not, let me tell you, that nothing less than
that which will fit a man for death, can fit him for
the sacrament. The truth is, there is nothing great
or considerable in the world, which ought to be
done, or ventured upon, without preparation: but,
None but the careless and the confident (and few are confident, but what are first careless) would rush rudely into the presence of a great man: and shall we, in our applications to the great God, take that to be religion, which the common reason of mankind will not allow to be manners? The very rules of worldly civility might instruct men how to order their addresses to God. For who, that is to appear before his prince or patron, would not view and review himself over and over, with all imaginable care and solicitude, that there be nothing justly offensive in his habit, language, or behaviour? But especially, if he be vouchsafed the honour of his table, it would be infinitely more absurd and shameful to appear foul and sordid there; and in the dress of the kitchen, receive the entertainments of the parlour.
What previous cleansings and consecrations, and
what peculiar vestments were the priests, under the
law, enjoined to use, when they were to appear
before God in the sanctuary! And all this upon
no less a penalty than death. This and this they
were to do, lest they died, lest God should strike
them dead upon the spot; as we read in
Nay, and the heathens, (many of them at least,) when they were to sacrifice to their greatest and most revered deities, used, on the evening before, to have a certain preparative rite or ceremony, called by them coena pura; that is, a supper, consisting of some peculiar meats, in which they imagined a kind of holiness: and, by eating of which, they thought themselves sanctified, and fitted to officiate about the mysteries of the ensuing festival. And what were all their lustrations, but so many solemn purifyings, to render both themselves and their sacrifices acceptable to their gods?
So that we see here a concurrence both of the Jews and heathens in this practice, before Christianity ever appeared: which to me is a kind of demonstration, that the necessity of men’s preparing themselves for the sacred offices of religion was a lesson which the mere light and dictates of common reason, without the help of revelation, taught all the knowing and intelligent part of the world.
I will wash my hands in innocency, says David,
and so will I compass thine altar,
And for what concerns ourselves; he that shall throughly consider what the heart of man is, what sin and the world is, and what it is to approve one’s self to an all-searching eye, in so sublime a duty as the sacrament, must acknowledge that a man may as well go about it without a soul, as without preparation.
For the holiest man living, by conversing with the world, insensibly draws something of soil and taint from it: the very air and mien, the way and business of the world, still, as it were, rubbing some thing upon the soul, which must be fetched off again, before it can be able heartily to converse with God. Many secret indispositions, coldnesses, and aversions to duty, will undiscernibly steal upon it; and it will require both time and close application of mind, to recover it to such a frame as shall dispose and fit it for the spiritualities of religion.
And such as have made trial, find it neither so easy nor so ready a passage from the noise, the din, and hurry of business, to the retirements of devotion, from the exchange to the closet, and from the freedoms of conversation, to the recollections and disciplines of the spirit.
The Jews, as soon as they came from markets, or any other such promiscuous resorts, would be sure to use accurate, and more than ordinary washings. And had their washings soaked through the body into the soul, and had not their inside reproached their outside, I see nothing in this custom, but what was allowable enough, and (in a people which needed washing so much) very commendable. Nevertheless, whatsoever it might have in it peculiar to the genius of that nation, the spiritual use and improvement of it, I am sure, may very well reach the best of us. So that if the Jews thought this practice requisite before they sat down to their own tables, let us Christians think it absolutely necessary, when we come to God’s table, not to eat till we have washed. And when I have said so, I suppose I need not add, that our washing is to be like our eating, both of them spiritual; that we are to carry it from the hand to the heart, to improve a ceremonial nicety into a substantial duty, and the modes of civility into the realities of religion.
And thus much for the first thing, that a preparation in general is necessary. But then, 2dly, the other thing imported in the proposition is, That every preparation is not sufficient. It must be a suitable preparation; none but a wedding garment will serve the turn; a garment, as much fitted to the solemnity, as to the body itself that wears it.
Now all fitness lies in a particular commensuration, or proportion of one thing to another; and
that such an one as is founded in the very nature of
things themselves, and not in the opinions of men
concerning them. And for this cause it is, that the
soul, no less than the body, must have its several
There is a great festival now drawing on; a festival, designed chiefly for the acts of a joyful piety, but generally made only an occasion of bravery. I shall say no more of it at present, but this; that God expects from men something more than ordinary at such times, and that it were much to be wished, for the credit of their religion, as well as the satisfaction of their consciences, that their Easter devotions would, in some measure, come up to their Easter dress.
Now that our preparation may answer the important work and duty which we are to engage in, these two conditions, or qualifications, are required in it.
1. That it be habitual.
2. That it be also actual.
For it is certain, that there may both be acts which proceed not from any preexisting habits; and, on the other side, habits which lie for a time dormant, and do not at all exert themselves in action. But in the case now before us, there must be a conjunction of both; and one without the other can never be effectual for that purpose, for which both together are but sufficient. And,
First, For habitual preparation. This consists in a standing, permanent habit, or principle of holiness, wrought chiefly by God’s Spirit, and instrumentally by his word, in the heart or soul of man: such a principle as is called, both by our Saviour and his apostles, the new birth, the new man, the immortal seed, and the like; and by which a man is so universally changed and transformed in the whole frame and temper of his soul, as to have a new judgment and sense of things, new desires, new appetites and inclinations.
And this is first produced in him by that mighty
spiritual change which we call conversion: which,
being so rarely and seldom found in the hearts of
men, (even where it is most pretended to,) is but
too full and sad a demonstration of the truth of
that terrible saying; That few are chosen; and consequently, but few saved. For who almost is
there, of whom we can with any rational assurance,
or perhaps so much as likelihood, affirm. Here is a
man, whose nature is renewed, whose heart is
changed, and the stream of whose appetites is so
turned, that he does with as high and quick a relish
taste the ways of duty, holiness, and strict living, as
others, or as he himself before this, grasped at the
most enamouring proposals of sin; who almost, I
say, is there, who can reach and verify the height
of this character? and yet, without which, the
scripture absolutely affirms, that a man cannot see
the kingdom of God,
And now, that this is required as the ground
work of all our preparations for the sacrament, is
evident from hence; because this sacrament is not
first designed to make us holy, but rather supposes
us to be so; it is not a converting, but a confirming
ordinance: it is properly our spiritual food. And,
as all food presupposes a principle of life in him
who receives it, which life is, by this means, to be
continued and supported; so the sacrament of the
Lord’s supper is originally intended to preserve and
maintain that spiritual life, which we do or should
receive in baptism, or at least by a through conversion after it. Upon which account, according to the
Let men therefore consider, before they come hither, whether they have any thing besides the name
they received in baptism to prove their Christianity
by. Let them consider, whether, as by their baptism, they formerly washed away their original
guilt, so they have not since, by their actual sins,
washed away their baptism. And, if so, whether
the converting grace of God has set them upon their
legs again, by forming in them a new nature. And
that, such an one, as exerts and shews itself by the
sure, infallible effects of a good life: such an one, as
enables them to reject and trample upon all the al
luring offers of the world, the flesh, and the devil, so
as not to be conquered or enslaved by them; and
to choose the hard and rugged paths of duty, rather
than the easy and voluptuous ways of sin: which
every Christian, by the very nature of his religion,
as well as by his baptismal vow, is strictly obliged
to do: and if, upon an impartial survey of themselves, men find that no such change has passed
upon them, either let them prove that they may be
Christians upon easier terms, or have a care how
they intrude upon so great and holy an ordinance,
2dly, Over and above this, there is required also an actual preparation; which is, as it were, the furbishing or rubbing up of the former habitual principle.
We have both of them excellently described in
Nor is it at all strange, if we look into the reason of things, that a man habitually good and pious, should, at some certain turns and times of his life, be at a loss how to exert the highest acts of that habitual principle. For no creature is perfect and pure act; especially a creature so compounded of soul and body, that body seems much the stronger part in the composition.
Common experience shews that the wisest of men are not always fit and disposed to act wisely, nor the most admired speakers to speak eloquently and exactly. They have indeed an acquired, standing ability of wisdom and eloquence within them, which gives them an habitual sufficiency for such performances. But, for all that, if the deepest statesman should presume to go to council immediately from his cups, or the ablest preacher think himself fitted to preach, only by stepping up to the pulpit; not withstanding the policy of the one, and the eloquence of the other, they may chance to get the just character of bold fools for venturing, whatsoever good for tune may bring them off.
And therefore the most active powers and faculties of the mind require something besides themselves,
But the case is much the same in spirituals: for grace in the soul, while the soul is in the body, will always have the ill neighbourhood of some remainders of corruption; which, though they do not conquer and extinguish, yet will be sure to slacken and allay the vigour and briskness of the renewed principle; so that when this principle is to engage in any great duty, it will need the actual intention, the particular stress and application of the whole soul, to disencumber and set it free, to scour off its rust, and remove those hinderances which would otherwise clog and check the freedom of its operations.
And thus having shewn, that to fit us for a due access to the holy sacrament, we must add actual preparation to habitual, I shall now endeavour to shew the several parts or ingredients, of which this actual preparation must consist.
And here I shall not pretend to give an account
First, Let a man apply himself to the great and
difficult work of self-examination by a strict scrutiny into, and survey of, the whole estate of his soul,
according to that known and excellent rule of the
apostle, in the very case now before us;
For, as there are some sins which require a particular and distinct repentance by themselves, and cannot be accounted for in the general heap of sins known and unknown; so, how is it possible for a man to repent rightly of such sins, unless, by a thorough search into the nature, number, and distinguishing circumstances of them, he comes to see how, and in what degree, they are to be repented of?
But the sovereign excellency and necessity of this
duty needs no other nor greater proof of it, than
this one consideration, That nothing in nature can
be more grievous and offensive to a sinner, than to
look into himself; and generally what grace requires,
nature is most averse to. It is indeed as offensive
as to rake into a dunghill; as grievous, as for one to
read over his debts, when he is not able to pay
But as irksome as the work is, it is absolutely necessary. Nothing can well be imagined more painful, than to probe and search a purulent old sore to the bottom; but for all that, the pain must be endured, or no cure expected. And men certainly have sunk their reason to very gross, low, and absurd conceptions of God, when in the matter of sin they can make such false and short reckonings with him and their own hearts; for can they imagine, that God has therefore forgot their sins, because they are not willing to remember them? or will they measure his pardon by their own oblivion? What pitiful fig-leaves, what senseless and ridiculous shifts are these, not able to silence, and much less satisfy, an accusing conscience!
But now for the better management of this examination of our past lives, we must throughly canvass them with these and the like questions.
As for instance; let a man inquire what sins he
has committed, and what breaches he has made
upon those two great standing rules of duty, the
decalogue, and our Saviour’s divine sermon upon
the mount. Let him inquire also what particular
aggravations lie upon his sins; as, whether they
have not been committed against strong reluctancy
and light of conscience? after many winning calls
of mercy to reclaim, and many terrible warnings of
judgment to affright him? Whether resolutions,
vows, and protestations have not been made against
them? Whether they have not been repeated frequently,
How important these considerations and heads of inquiry are, all who understand any thing will easily perceive. For this we must know, that the very same sin, as to the nature of it, stamped with any one of these aggravations, is, in effect, not the same. And he who has sinned the same great sin, after several times receiving the sacrament, must not think that God will accept him under ten times greater repentance and contrition for it, than he brought with him to that duty formerly. Whether God, by his grace, will enable him to rise up to such a pitch, or no, is uncertain; but most certain, that both his work is harder, and his danger greater, than it was or could be at the first.
Secondly, When a man has, by such a close and
rigorous examination of himself, found out the accursed thing, and discovered his sin; the next thing
in order must be, to work up his heart to the utmost
hatred of it, and the bitterest sorrow and remorse
for it. For self-examination having first presented
it to the thoughts, these naturally transmit and hand
it over to the passions. And this introduces the next
ingredient of our sacramental preparations, to wit,
repentance. Which arduous work I will suppose not
now to begin, but to be renewed; and that with special reference to sins not repented of before; and yet
more especially to those new scores which we still
run ourselves upon, since the last preceding sacrament. Which method, faithfully and constantly
observed, must needs have an admirable and mighty
But, because this is a duty of such high consequence, I would by all means warn men of one very common, and yet very dangerous mistake about it; and that is, the taking of mere sorrow for sin for repentance. It is indeed a good introduction to it; but the porch, though never so fair and spacious, is not the house itself. Nothing passes in the accounts of God for repentance, but change of life: ceasing to do evil, and doing good, are the two great integral parts that complete this duty. For not to do evil is much better than the sharpest sorrow for having done it; and to do good is better and more valuable than both.
When a man has found out sin in his actions, let him resolutely arrest it there; but let him also pursue it home to his inclinations, and dislodge it thence; otherwise it will be all to little purpose; for the root being still left behind, it is odds but in time it will shoot out again.
Men befool themselves infinitely, when, by venting a few sighs or groans, putting the finger in the eye, and whimpering out a few melancholy words; and lastly, concluding all with, “I wish I had never done so, and I am resolved never to do so more;” they will needs persuade themselves that they have repented; though perhaps in this very thing their heart all the while deceives them, and they neither really wish the one, nor resolve the other.
But whether they do or no, all true penitential
sorrow will and must proceed much further. It must
Thirdly, When self-examination has both shewn us our sin, and repentance has disowned and cast it out, the next thing naturally consequent upon this is, with the highest importunity to supplicate God’s pardon for the guilt, and his grace against the power of it. And this brings in prayer as the third preparative for the sacrament: a duty, upon which all the blessings of both worlds are entailed; a duty, ap pointed by God himself as the great conduit and noble instrument of commerce between heaven and earth; a duty, founded on man’s essential dependence upon God; and so, in the ground and reason of it, perpetual, and consequently, in the practice of it, indispensable.
But I shall speak of it now only with reference to
the sacrament. And so, whatsoever other graces
may furnish us with a wedding garment, it is certain
that prayer must put it on. Prayer is that by which
a man engages all the auxiliaries of omnipotence it
self against his sin; and is so utterly contrary to, and
inconsistent with it, that the same heart cannot long
hold them both, but one must soon quit possession of
Every real act of hatred of sin is, in the very nature of the thing, a partial mortification of it; and it is hardly possible for a man to pray heartily against his sin, but he must at the same time hate it too. I know a man may think that he hates his sin, when indeed he does not; but then it is also as true, that he does not sincerely pray against it, whatsoever he may imagine.
Besides, since the very life and spirit of prayer consists in an ardent, vehement desire of the thing prayed for; and since the nature of the soul is such, that it strangely symbolizes with the thing it mightily desires, it is evident, that if a man would have a devout, humble, sin-abhorring, self-denying frame of spirit, he cannot take a more efficacious course to attain it, than by praying himself into it. And so close a connection has this duty with the sacrament, that whatsoever we receive in the sacrament is properly in answer to our prayers. And consequently we may with great assurance conclude, that he who is not frequently upon his knees before he comes to that holy table, kneels to very little purpose when he is there. But then,
Fourthly, Because prayer is not only one of the
highest and hardest duties in itself, but ought to be
more than ordinarily fervent and vigorous before the
sacrament; let the body be also called in as an assistant to the soul, and abstinence and fasting added
to promote and heighten her devotions. Prayer is a
kind of wrestling with God; and he who would win
The truth is, fasting was ever acknowledged by
the church, in all ages, as a singular instrument of
religion, and a particular preparative to the sacrament. And hardly was there ever any thing great or
heroic either done or attempted in religion without
it. Thus, when Moses received the law from God,
it was with fasting,
Bodily abstinence is certainly a great help to the spirit; and the experience of all wise and good men has ever found it so. The ways of nature and the methods of grace are vastly different. Good men themselves are never so surprised, as in the midst of their jollities; nor so fatally overtaken and caught, as when their table is made the snare. Even our first parents ate themselves out of paradise; and Job’s children junketed and feasted together often, but the reckoning cost them dear at last. The heart of the wise, says Solomon, is in the house of mourning; and the house of fasting adjoins to it.
In a word, fasting is the diet of angels, the food and refection of souls, and the richest and highest aliment of grace. And he who fasts for the sake of religion, hungers and thirsts after righteousness, without a metaphor.
Fifthly, Since every devout prayer is designed to
ascend and fly up to heaven; as fasting (according to
St. Austin’s allusion) has given it one wing, so let
almsgiving to the poor supply it with another. And
both these together will not only carry it up triumphant to heaven, but, if need require, bring heaven itself down to the devout person who sends it
thither; as, while Cornelius was fasting and praying,
(to which he still joined giving alms,) an angel from
heaven was despatched to him with this happy
message,
But so far are some from considering the poor before the sacrament, that they have been observed to give nothing to the poor, even at the sacrament: and those such, that if rich clothes might pass for a wed ding garment, none could appear better fitted for such a solemnity than themselves; yet some such, I say, I myself have seen at a communion, drop nothing into the poor’s bason.
But, good God! what is the heart of such world
lings made of, and what a mind do they bring with
From such indeed as have nothing, God expects nothing; but where God has given, as I may say, with both hands, and men return with none, such must know, that the poor have an action of debt against them, and that God himself will undertake and prosecute their suit for them: and if he does, since they could not find in their hearts to proportion their charity to their estates; nothing can be more just, than for God to proportion their estates to their charity; and by so doing, he cannot well give them a shrewder and a shorter cut.
In the mean time, let such know further, that whosoever dares, upon so sacred and solemn an occasion, approach the altar with bowels so shut up, as to leave nothing behind him there for the poor, shall be sure to carry something away with him from thence, which will do him but little good.
Sixthly, Since the charity of the hand signifies
but little, unless it springs from the heart, and flows
through the mouth, let the pious communicant, both in
heart and tongue, thoughts and speech, put on a charitable, friendly, Christian temper of mind and carriage
towards all. Wrath and envy, malice and backbiting,
and the like, are direct contradictions to the very
spirit of Christianity, and fit a man for the sacrament, just as much as a stomach overflowed with
gall would help him to digest his meat. St. Paul
often rebukes and schools such disturbers of the
world very sharply, correcting a base humour by a
very generous rule,
Nevertheless, as custom in sin makes people
Seventhly and lastly; As it is to be supposed that the pious communicant has all along carried on, so let him likewise in the issue close his preparatory work with reading and meditation. Of which, since the time will not serve me to speak more now, I shall only remark this, that they are duties of so near an import to the well-being of the soul, that the proper office of reading is, to take in its spiritual food, and of meditation, to digest it.
And now, I hope, that whosoever shall in the sincerity of his heart acquit himself as to all the foregoing duties, and thereby prepare and adorn himself to meet and converse with his Saviour at this divine feast, shall never be accosted with the thunder of that dreadful increpation from him, Friend, how camest thou in hither, not having a wedding garment?
But because I am very sensible that all the particular instances of duty, which may one way or
other contribute to the fitting of men for this great
one, can hardly be assigned, and much less equally
and universally applied, where the conditions of men
are so very different, I shall gather them all into
And this is a solid and sure rule; a rule that will never deceive or lurch the sincere communicant; a rule, that by adding discretion to devotion, will both keep him from being humoursome, singular, and phantastic in his preparations before the sacrament, and (which is worse, and must fatally unravel all again) from being, as most are, loose and remiss after it; and thinking, that as soon as the sacrament is over, their great business is done, whereas indeed it is but begun.
And now I fear, that as I have been too long upon the whole, so I have been but too brief upon so many, and those such weighty particulars. But I hope you will supply this defect, by enlarging upon them in your practice; and make up the omissions of the pulpit, by the meditations of the closet. And God direct and assist us all in so concerning a work.
To whom be rendered and ascribed, as is most due, all praise, might, majesty, and dominion, both now and for evermore. Amen.
The fatal Imposture and Force of Words:
Wo unto them that call evil good, and good evil, &c.
THESE words contain in them two things:
1. A wo denounced; and,
2. The sin for which it is denounced; to wit, the calling evil good, and good evil: which expression may be taken two ways:
First, In a judicial and more restrained sense; as it signifies the pronouncing of a guilty person innocent, and an innocent,, guilty, in the course of judgment. But this I take to be too particular to reach the design of the words here.
Secondly, It may be taken in a general and more
enlarged sense; as it imports a misrepresentation of
the qualities of things and actions to the common
apprehensions of men, abusing their minds with
false notions, and so by this artifice making evil pass
for good, and good for evil, in all the great concerns
of life. Where, by good, I question not, but good
It is wonderful to consider, that, since good is the natural and proper object, which all human choice is carried out to; and evil, that which with all its might it shuns and flies from; and since withal there is that controlling worth and beauty in goodness, that, as such, the will cannot but like and desire it; and, on the other side, that odious deformity in vice, that it never so much as offers itself to the affections or practice of mankind, but under the disguise and colours of the other; and since all this is easily discernible by the ordinary discourses of the understanding; and lastly, since nothing passes into the choice of the will, but as it comes conveyed and warranted by the understanding, as worthy of its choice; I say, it is wonderful to consider, that, notwithstanding all this, the lives and practices of the generality of men (in which men certainly should be most in earnest) are almost wholly took up in a passionate pursuit of what is evil, and in an equal neglect, if not also an abhorrence, of what is good. This is certainly so; and experience, which is neither to be confuted nor denied, does every minute prove the sad truth of this assertion.
But now, what should be the cause of all this?
For so great, so constant, and so general a practice
must needs have, not only a cause, but also a great,
a constant, and a general cause; a cause every way
commensurate to such an effect: and this cause
Nevertheless it is but too manifest, that things evil, extremely evil, are both readily chosen, and eagerly pursued and practised by it. And therefore this must needs be from that other governing faculty of the soul, the understanding, which represents to the will things really evil, under the notion and character of good. And this, this is the true source and original of this great mischief. The will chooses, follows, and embraces things evil and destructive; but it is because the understanding first tells it that they are good and wholesome, and fit to be chosen by it. One man gives another a cup of poison, a thing as terrible as death; but at the same time he tells him that it is a cordial; and so he drinks it off, and dies.
From the beginning of the world to this day,
there was never any great villainy acted by men, but
it was in the strength of some great fallacy put
upon their minds by a false representation of evil
for good, or good for evil. In the day that thou eatest thereof thou shalt surely die, says God to
Adam; and so long as Adam believed this, he did
not eat. But,, says the devil, in the day that thou eatest thereof, thou shalt be so far from
surely dying,
that thou shalt be immortal, and from a man grow
into an angel; and upon this different account of
And now, can there be a wo or curse in all the stores and magazines of vengeance, equal to the malignity of such a practice; of which one single in stance could involve all mankind, past, present, and to come, in one universal and irreparable confusion? God commanded and told man what was good, but the devil surnamed it evil, and thereby baffled the command, turned the world topsyturvy, and brought a new chaos upon the whole creation.
But that I may give you a more full discussion of the sense and design of the words, I shall do it under these following particulars: as,
First, I shall give you some general account of the nature of good and evil, and the reason upon which they are founded.
Secondly, I shall shew that the way by which good and evil commonly operate upon the mind of man, is by those respective names or appellations by which they are notified and conveyed to the mind. And,
Thirdly and lastly, I shall shew the mischief, directly, naturally, and unavoidably following from the misapplication and confusion of those names.
And, I hope, by going over all these particulars, you may receive some tolerable satisfaction about this great subject which we have now before us.
1. And first for the nature of good and evil, what
they are, and upon what they are founded. The
knowledge of this I look upon as the foundation and
groundwork of all those rules, that either moral philosophy or divinity can give for the direction of
Now good, in the general nature and notion of it,
over and above the bare being of a thing, connotes
also a certain suitableness or agreeableness of it to
some other thing: according to which general notion of good, applied to the particular nature of
moral goodness, (upon which only we now insist,) a
thing or action is said to be morally good or evil, as
it is agreeable or disagreeable to right reason, or to
a rational nature; and as right reason is nothing
else but the understanding or mind of man, discoursing and judging of things truly, and as they are in
themselves; and as all truth is unchangeably the
same; (that proposition which is true at any time
being so for ever;) so it must follow, that the moral
goodness or evil of men’s actions, which consist in
their conformity or unconformity to right reason,
must be also eternal, necessary, and unchangeable.
So that, as that which is right reason at any time,
or in any case, is always right reason with relation
to the same time and case; in like manner, that
which is morally good or evil, at any time, or in any
case, (since it takes its whole measure from right
reason,) must be also eternally and unchangeably a
moral good or evil, with relation to that time and
to that case. For propositions concerning the goodness,
But you will say, may not the same action, as for instance, the killing of a man, be sometimes morally good, and sometimes morally evil? to wit, good, when it is the execution of justice upon a malefactor; and evil, when it is the taking away the life of an innocent person?
To this I answer, that this indeed is true of actions considered in their general nature or kind, but not considered in their particular individual in stances. For generally speaking, to take away the life of a -man, is neither morally good nor morally evil, but capable of being either, as the circumstances of things shall determine it; but every particular act of killing is of necessity accompanied with, and determined by, several circumstances , which actually and unavoidably constitute and denominate it either good or evil. And that which, being performed under such and such circumstances, is morally good, cannot possibly, under the same circumstances, ever be morally evil. And so on the contrary.
From whence we infer the villainous falsehood of two assertions, held and maintained by some persons, and too much countenanced by some others in the world. As,
First, That good and evil, honest and dishonest,
are not qualities existing or inherent in things
themselves; but only founded in the opinions of
men concerning things. So that any thing or action, that has gained the general approbation of any
people, or society of men, ought, in respect of those
persons, to be esteemed morally good, or honest; and
whatsoever falls under their general disapprobation,
Secondly, The second opinion, or position, is, that
This was the opinion heretofore of Epicurus, as it is represented by Gassendus; who understood his notions too well to misrepresent them. And lately of one amongst ourselves, a less philosopher, though the greater heathen of the two, the infamous author of the Leviathan. And the like lewd, scandalous, and immoral doctrine, or worse, if possible, may be found in some writers, of another kind of note and character; whom, one would have thought, not only religion, but shame of the world, might have taught better things.
Such as, for instance, Bellarmine himself; who,
in his 4th book and 5th chapter De Pontifice Romano, has this monstrous passage: “That if the pope should through error or mistake command
vices, and prohibit virtues, the church would be bound in conscience to believe vice to be good,
and virtue evil.” I shall give you the whole pas
sage in his own words to a tittle: “Fides catholica docet omnem virtutem esse bonam, omne vitium esse malum. Si autem erraret papa, praecipiendo vitia vel prohibendo virtutes, teneretur
ecclesia credere vitia esse bona et virtutes malas, nisi vellet
And, I must confess, I have often with great amazement wondered how it could possibly come from a person of so great a reputation, both for learning and virtue too, as the world allows Bellarmine to have been. But when men give themselves over to the defence of wicked interests and false propositions, it is just with God to smite the great est abilities with the greatest infatuations.
But as for these two positions or assertions; That
the moral good or evil, the honesty or dishonesty of
human actions, should depend either upon the opinions or upon the laws of men; they are certainly
false in themselves, because they are infinitely absurd
First, If the moral goodness or evil of men’s actions were originally founded in, and so proceeded wholly from the opinions or laws of men, then it would follow, that they must change and vary according to the change and difference of the opinions and laws of men: and consequently, that the same action, under exactly the same circumstances, may be morally good one day, and morally evil an other; and morally good in one place, and morally evil in another: forasmuch as the same sovereign authority may enact or make a law, commanding such or such an action to-day, and a quite contrary law forbidding the same action to-morrow; and the very same action, under the same circumstances, may be commanded by law in one country, and prohibited by law in another. Which being so, the consequence is manifest, and the absurdity of the consequent intolerable.
Secondly, If the moral goodness or evil of men’s actions depended originally upon human laws, then those laws themselves could neither be morally good nor evil: the consequence is evident; because those laws are not commanded or prohibited by any antecedent human laws; and consequently, if the moral goodness or evil of any act were to be derived only from a precedent human law, laws themselves, not supposing a dependance upon other precedent human laws, could have no moral goodness or evil in them. Which to assert of any human act (such as all human laws essentially are and must be) is certainly a very gross absurdity.
Thirdly, If the moral goodness or evil of men’s actions were sufficiently derived from human laws or constitutions, then, upon supposal that a divine law should (as it often does) command what is prohibited by human laws, and prohibit what is commanded by them, it would follow, that either such commands and prohibitions of the divine law do not at all affect the actions of men in point of their morality, so as to render them either good or evil; or that the same action, at the same time, may, in respect of the divine law commanding it, be morally good; and, in respect of an human law forbidding it, be morally evil. Than which consequence, nothing can be more clear, nor withal more absurd.
And many more of the like nature I could easily draw forth, and lay before you. Every false principle or proposition being sure to be attended with a numerous train of absurdities.
But, as to the subject-matter now in hand; so far is the morality of human actions, as to the goodness or evil of them, from being founded in any human law, that in very many, and those the principal in stances of human action, it is not originally founded in, or derived from, so much as any positive divine law. There being a jus naturale certainly antecedent to all jus positivum, either human or divine; and that such as results from the very nature and being of things, as they stand in such a certain habitude or relation to one another: to which relation whatsoever is done agreeably is morally and essentially good; and whatsoever is done otherwise is, at the same rate, morally evil.
And this I shall exemplify in those two grand,
And first, for his duty towards God; which is, to love and obey him with all his heart and all his soul. It is certain, that for a rational, intelligent creature to conform himself to the will of God in all things, carries in it a moral rectitude, or goodness; and to disobey or oppose his will in any thing, imports a moral obliquity, before God ever deals forth any particular law or command to such a creature; there being a general obligation upon man to obey all God’s laws, whensoever they shall be declared, before any particular instance of law comes actually to be declared. But now whence is this? Why, from that essential suitableness which obedience has to the relation which is between a rational creature and his Creator. Nothing in nature being more irrational and irregular, and consequently more immoral, than for an intelligent being to op pose or disobey that sovereign, supreme will, which gave him that being, and has withal the sole and absolute disposal of him in all his concerns. So that there needs no positive law or sanction of God to stamp an obliquity upon such a disobedience; since it cleaves to it essentially, and by way of natural result from it, upon the account of that utter unsuitableness which disobedience has to the relation which man naturally and necessarily stands in towards his Maker.
And then, in the next place, for his duty to his
neighbour. The whole of which is comprised in
that great rule, of doing as a man would be done
by. We may truly affirm, that the morality of this
Now, whatsoever one man has a right to keep or possess, no other man can have a right to take from him. So that no man has a right to expect that from or to do that to another, which that other has not an equal right to expect from and to do to him. Which parity of right, as to all things purely natural, being undoubtedly the result of nature itself, can any thing be inferred from thence more conformable to reason, and consequently of a greater moral rectitude, than that such an equality of right should also cause an equality of behaviour, between man and man, as to all those mutual offices and intercourses in which life and the happiness of life are concerned? Nothing certainly can shine out and shew itself by the mere light of reason, as an higher and more unquestionable piece of morality than this, nor as a more confessed deviation from morality than the contrary practice.
From all which discourse, I think we may with
out presumption conclude, that the rationes boni et
mali, the nature of good and evil, as to the principal
And thus I have done with the first thing proposed, and given you such an account of the nature of good and evil, as the measure of the present exercise and occasion would allow. Pass we now to the
2nd. Which is to shew, That the way by which
good and evil generally operate upon the mind of
man, is by those words or names by which they are
notified and conveyed to the mind. Words are the
signs and symbols of things; and as in accompts,
ciphers and figures pass for real sums; so in the
course of human affairs, words and names pass for
things themselves. For things, or objects, cannot
enter into the mind, as they subsist in themselves,
and by their own natural bulk pass into the apprehension; but they are taken in by their ideas, their
notions or resemblances; which imprinting themselves after a spiritual immaterial manner in the
imagination, and from thence, under a further refinement, passing into the intellect, are by that expressed by certain words or names, found out and
invented by the mind, for the communication of its
This therefore is certain, that in human life, or conversation, words stand for things; the common business of the world not being capable of being managed otherwise. For by these, men come to know one another’s minds. By these they covenant and confederate. By these they buy and sell, they deal and traffick. In short, words are the great instruments both of practice and design; which, for the most part, move wholly in the strength of them. Forasmuch as it is the nature of man both to will and to do, according to the persuasion he has of the good and evil of those things that come before him; and to take up his persuasions according to the representations made to him of those qualities, by their respective names or appellations.
This is the true and natural account of this mat ter; and it is all that I shall remark upon this second head. I proceed now to the
3rd. Which is, to shew the mischief which directly, naturally, and unavoidably follows from the misapplication and confusion of those names. And in order to this, I shall premise these two considerations.
1. That the generality of mankind is wholly and
absolutely governed by words or names; without,
And he who will set up for a skilful manager of the rabble, so long as they have but ears to hear, needs never inquire whether they have any under standing whereby to judge; but with two or three popular empty words, such as popery and superstition, right of the subject, liberty of conscience, Lord Jesus Christ, well tuned and humoured, may whistle them backwards and forwards, upwards and down wards, till he is weary; and get up upon their backs when he is so.
As for the meaning of the word itself, that may shift for itself: and as for the sense and reason of it, that has little or nothing to do here; only let it sound full and round, and chime right to the humour, which is at present agog, (just as a big, long, rattling name is said to command even adoration from a Spaniard,) and no doubt, with this powerful sense less engine, the rabble-driver shall be able to carry all before him, or to draw all after him, as he pleases. For a plausible, insignificant word, in the mouth of an expert demagogue, is a dangerous and a dreadful weapon.
You know, when Caesar’s army mutinied, and
grew troublesome, no argument from interest or
reason could satisfy or appease them: but as soon
as he gave them the appellation of Quirites, the tumult was immediately hushed; and all were quiet
and content, and took that one word in good payment for all. Such is the trivial slightness and levity
The truth is, he who shall duly consider these matters, will find that there is a certain bewitchery, or fascination in words, which makes them operate with a force beyond what we can naturally give an account of. For would not a man think ill deeds and shrewd turns should reach further and strike deeper than ill words? And yet many instances might be given, in which men have much more easily pardoned ill things done, than ill things said against them: such a peculiar rancour and venom do they leave behind them in men’s minds, and so much more poisonously and incurably does the serpent bite with his tongue than with his teeth.
Nor are men prevailed upon at this odd unaccountable rate, by bare words, only through a defect
of knowledge; but sometimes also do they suffer
themselves to be carried away with these puffs of
wind, even contrary to knowledge and experience
itself. For otherwise, how could men be brought to
surrender up their reason, their interest, and their
credit to flattery? gross, fulsome, abusive flattery;
indeed more abusive and reproachful, upon a true
estimate of things and persons, than the rudest scoffs
and the sharpest invectives. Yet so it is, that though
men know themselves utterly void of those qualities
and perfections, which the impudent sycophant, at
the same time, both ascribes to them, and in his
sleeve laughs at them for believing; nay, though
And therefore you shall seldom see, that such an one cares to have men of worth, honesty, and veracity about him; for such persons cannot fall down and worship stocks and stones, though they are placed never so high above them; but their yea is yea, and their nay, nay; and they cannot admire a fox for his sincerity, a wolf for his generosity, nor an ass for his wit and ingenuity; and therefore can never be acceptable to those whose whole credit, interest, and advantage lies in their not appearing to the world what they are really in themselves. None are or can be welcome to such, but those who speak paint and wash; for that is the thing they love; and no wonder, since it is the thing they need.
There is hardly any rank, order, or degree of men,
but, more or less, have been captivated and enslaved
by words. It is a weakness, or rather a fate, which
attends both high and low; the statesman who holds
the helm, as well as the peasant who holds the
plough. So that, if ever you find an ignoramus in
place and power, and can have so little conscience,
and so much confidence, as to tell him to his face,
that he has a wit and an understanding above all the
world besides; and “that what his own reason can” not suggest to him, neither can the united reason The words of a great self-opiniator, and a bitter reviler of the
clergy.
But to give you yet a grosser instance of the force of words, and of the extreme vanity of man’s nature in being influenced by them, hardly shall you meet with any person, man or woman, so aged or ill-favoured, but, if you will venture to commend them for their comeliness, nay, and for their youth too, though “time out of mind” is wrote upon every line of their face; yet they shall take it very well at your hands, and begin to think with themselves, that certainly they have some perfections which the generality of the world are not so happy as to be aware of.
But now, are not these, think we, strange self-delusions, and yet attested by common experience
almost every day? But whence, in the mean time,
can all this proceed, but from that besotting intoxication which this verbal magic, as I may so call it,
Accordingly, in the thirtieth of Isaiah, we find
some arrived to that pitch of sottishness, and so
much in love with their own ruin, as to own plainly
and roundly what they would be at; in the
And thus much for the first thing which I thought necessary to premise to the prosecution of our third particular.
2. The other thing to be premised is this; That as
the generality of men are wholly governed by names
and words; so there is nothing, in which they are so
First, The first of which shall be taken from that
similitude, neighbourhood, and affinity, which is between vice and virtue, good and evil, in several
notable instances of each. For though the general
natures and definitions of these qualities are sufficiently
Secondly, The other reason of the same shall be
taken from the great and natural inability of most
men to judge exactly of things; which makes it very
difficult for them to discern the real good and evil of
what comes before them; to consider and weigh
circumstances, to scatter and look through the mists
of error, and so separate appearances from realities.
For the greater part of mankind is but slow and
dull of apprehension; and therefore, in many cases,
To which their want of judging or discerning
abilities, we may add also their want of leisure and
opportunity to apply their minds to such a serious
and attent consideration, as may let them into a
full discovery of the true goodness and evil of things,
which are qualities which seldom display themselves
to the first view: for in most things good and evil
lie shuffled and thrust up together in a confused
heap; and it is study and intention of thought
which must draw them forth, and range them under
their distinct heads. But there can be no study
without time; and the mind must abide and dwell
upon things, or be always a stranger to the inside of
them. Through desire, says Solomon, a man having separated himself, seeketh and intermeddleth
with all wisdom,
These were the peculiar, extraordinary privileges of the late blessed times of light and inspiration: otherwise nature will still hold on in its old course, never doing any thing which is considerable, with out the assistance of its two great helps, art and industry. But above all, the knowledge of what is good and what is evil, what ought and what ought not to be done, in the several offices and relations of life, is a thing too large to be compassed, and too hard to be mastered, without brains and study, parts and contemplation; which providence never thought fit to make much the greatest part of mankind possessors of. And consequently those who are not so, must, for the knowledge of most things, depend upon those who are, and receive their information concerning good and evil from such verbal or nominal representations of each, as shall be imparted to them by those, whose ability and integrity they have cause to rely upon, for a faithful account of these matters.
And thus from these two great considerations premised; 1st, That the generality of the world are wholly
governed by words and names; and 2dly, That the
chief instance in which they are so, is in such words
and names as import the good or evil of things;
(which both the difficulty of things themselves, and
the very condition of human nature, constrains much
the greatest part of mankind to take wholly upon
trust;) I say, from these two considerations must
needs be inferred, what a fatal, devilish, and destructive effect the misapplication and confusion of
The first of which is by his being deceived, and the second by his being misrepresented. And first, for the first of these. I do not in the least doubt, but if a true and just computation could be made of all the miseries and misfortunes that befall men in this world, two thirds of them, at least, would be found resolvable into their being deceived by false appearances of good; first deluding their apprehensions, and then by natural consequence perverting their actions, from which are the great issues of life and death; since, according to the eternal sanction of God and nature, such as a man’s actions are for good or evil, such ought also his condition to be for happiness or misery.
Now all deception in the course of life is indeed nothing else but a lie reduced to practice, and false hood passing from words into things.
For is a man impoverished and undone by the purchase of an estate? Why, it is because he bought an imposture, paid down his money for a lie, and by the help of the best and ablest counsel, forsooth, that could be had, took a bad title for a good.
Is a man unfortunate in marriage? Still it is because he was deceived; and put his neck into the snare, before he put it into the yoke, and so took that for virtue and affection, which was nothing but vice in a disguise, and a devilish humour under a demure look.
Is he again unhappy and calamitous in his friend ships? Why, in this also, it is because he built upon the air, and trod upon a quicksand, and took that for kindness and sincerity, which was only malice and design, seeking an opportunity to ruin him effectually, and to overturn him in all his interests by the sure but fatal handle of his own good nature and credulity.
And lastly, is a man betrayed, lost, and blown by such agents and instruments as he employs in his greatest and nearest concerns? Why, still the cause of it is from this, that he misplaced his confidence, took hypocrisy for fidelity, and so relied upon the services of a pack of villains, who designed nothing but their own game, and to stake him, while they played for themselves.
But not to mention any more particulars, there is no estate, office, or condition of life whatsoever, but groans and labours under the killing truth of what we have asserted.
For it is this which supplants not only private
persons, but kingdoms and governments, by keeping
them ignorant of their own strengths and weaknesses; and it is evident that governments may be
equally destroyed by an ignorance of either. For the
weak, by thinking themselves strong, are induced to
venture and proclaim war against that which ruins
them: and the strong, by conceiting themselves
weak, are thereby rendered as unactive, and consequently as useless, as if they really were so. In
In short, it is this great plague of the world, deception, which takes wrong measures, and makes false musters almost in every thing; which sounds a retreat instead of a charge, and a charge instead of a retreat; which overthrows whole armies; and sometimes by one lying word treacherously cast out, turns the fate and fortune of states and empires, and lays the most flourishing monarchies in the dust. A blind guide is certainly a great mischief; but a guide that blinds those whom he should lead, is undoubtedly a much greater.
Secondly, The other great and undoing mischief
which befalls men upon the forementioned account
is, by their being misrepresented. Now as by calling
evil good, a man is misrepresented to himself in the
way of flattery; so by calling good evil, he is misrepresented to others in the way of slander and detraction. I say detraction, that killing, poisoned arrow drawn out of the devil’s quiver, which is always
flying abroad, and doing execution in the dark;
against which no virtue is a defence, no innocence
a security. For as by flattery a man is usually
brought to open his bosom to his mortal enemy; so
by detraction, and a slanderous misreport of persons,
he is often brought to shut the same even to his
best and truest friends. In both cases he receives
a fatal blow, since that which lays a man open to
The most direct and efficacious way to ruin any man, is to misrepresent him; and it often so falls out, that it wounds on both sides, and not only mauls the person misrepresented, but him also to whom he is misrepresented: for if he be great and powerful, (as spies and pickthanks seldom apply to any others,) it generally provokes him through mistake to persecute and tyrannise over; nay, and some times even to dip his hands in the blood of the innocent and the just, and thereby involve himself in such a guilt, as shall arm heaven and earth against him, the vengeance of God, and the indignation of men; who will both espouse the quarrel of a bleeding innocence, and heartily join forces against an insulting baseness, especially when backed with greatness, and set on by misinformation. Histories are full of such examples.
Besides that, it is rarely found, that men hold their greatness for term of life; though their baseness, for the most part, they do; and then, according to the common vicissitude and wheel of things, the proud and the insolent must take their turn too; and after long trampling upon others, come at length, plaudente et gaudente mundo, to be trampled upon themselves. For, as Tully has it in his oration for Milo, non semper viator a latrone, nonnunquam etiam latro a viatore occiditur.
But to pass from particulars to communities, nothing can be imagined more destructive to society
An unjust sentence from a tribunal may condemn
an innocent person, but misrepresentation condemns
innocence itself. For it is this which revives and imitates that unhuman barbarity of the old heathen persecutors, wrapping up Christians in the skins of wild
beasts, that so they might be worried and torn in
pieces by dogs. Do but paint an angel black, and
that is enough to make him pass for a devil. “Let us blacken him, let us blacken him what we can,”
said that miscreant Harrison A preaching colonel of the parliament-army,
and a chief actor in the murder of king Charles the First; notable before for
having killed several after quarter given them by others, and using these words in the doing it;
Cursed be he who does the work of the Lord
negligently. He was by extraction a butcher’s son; and
accordingly, in his practices all
along, more a butcher than his
father.
To which God, the fountain of all good, and the hater of all evil, be rendered and ascribed, as is most due, all praise, might, majesty, and do minion, both now and for evermore. Amen.
Prevention of Sin an unvaluable Mercy:
And David said to Abigail, Blessed be the Lord God of Israel, which sent thee this day to meet me:
And blessed be thy advice, and blessed be thou, which hast kept me this day from coming to shed blood, and from avenging myself with mine own hand.
THESE words are David’s retractation, or laying
down of a bloody and revengeful resolution; which,
for a while, his heart had swelled with, and carried
him on with the highest transport of rage to prose
cute. A resolution took up from the sense of a gross
indignity and affront passed upon him, in recompence of a signal favour and kindness received from
him. For during his exile and flight before Saul,
in which he was frequently put to all the hardships
which usually befall the weak flying before the
strong; there happening a great and solemn festivity,
such as the sheep-shearings used to be in those
eastern countries, he condescends, by an honourable
and kind message, to beg of a rich and great man
But in answer to this, (as nothing is so rude and insolent as a wealthy rustic,) all this his kindness is overlooked, his request rejected, and his person most unworthily railed at. Such being the nature of some base minds, that they can never do ill turns but they must double them with ill words too. And thus David’s messengers are sent back to him like so many sharks and runagates, only for endeavouring to compliment an ill nature out of itself; and seeking that by petition, which they might have commanded by their sword.
And now, who would not but think, that such
ungrateful usage, heightened with such reproachful
language, might warrant the justice of the sharpest
revenge; even of such a revenge as now began to
boil and burn in the breast of this great warrior?
For surely, if any thing may justly call up the utmost
Which words, together with those going before in the same verse, naturally afford us this doctrinal proposition, which shall be the subject of the following discourse: namely, That prevention of sin is one of the greatest mercies that God can vouchsafe a man in this world.
The prosecution of which shall lie in these two things: first, to prove the proposition; secondly, to apply it.
And first, for the proof of it: the transcendent greatness of this sin-preventing mercy is demonstrable from these four following considerations.
1. Of the condition which the sinner is in, when this mercy is vouchsafed him.
2. Of the principle or fountain from whence this prevention of sin does proceed.
3. Of the hazard a man runs, if the commission of sin be not prevented, whether ever it will come to be pardoned: and,
4thly and lastly, Of the advantages accruing to the soul from the prevention of sin, above what can be had from the bare pardon of it, in case it comes to be pardoned.
Of these in their order: and first, we are to take an estimate of the greatness of this mercy, from the condition it finds the sinner in, when God is pleased to vouchsafe it to him. It finds him in the direct way to death and destruction; and, which is worse, wholly unable to help himself. For he is actually under the power of a temptation, and the sway of an impetuous lust; both hurrying him on to satisfy the cravings of it by some wicked action. He is possessed and acted by a passion, which, for the present, absolutely overrules him; and so can no more recover himself, than a bowl rolling down a hill stop itself in the midst of its career. It is a maxim in the philosophy of some, that whatsoever is once in actual motion, will move for ever, if it be not hindered.
So a man, being under the drift of any passion, will still follow the impulse of it, till something interpose, and by a stronger impulse turn him another way: but in this case we can find no principle within him strong enough to counteract that principle, and to relieve him. For if it be any, it must be either, first, the judgment of his reason; or, secondly, the free choice of his will.
But from the first of these there can be no help
for him in his present condition. For while a man
is engaged in any sinful purpose, through the prevalence
From all which we see, that when a man has
took up a full purpose of sinning, he is hurried on
to it in the strength of all those principles which
nature has given him to act by: for sin having depraved his judgment, and got possession of his will,
there is no other principle left him naturally, by
which he can make head against it. Nor is this
all; but to these internal dispositions to sin, add
the external opportunities and occasions concurring
with them, and removing all lets and rubs out of
the way, and, as it were, making the path of destruction plain before the sinner’s face; so that he
may run his course freely, and without interruption.
Nay, when opportunities shall He so fair, as not
only to permit, but even to invite, and further a
progress in sin; so that the sinner shall set forth,
like a ship launched into the wide sea; not only
well built and rigged, but also carried on with full
wind and tide, to the port or place it is bound for:
surely, in this case, nothing under heaven can be
imagined able to stop or countermand a sinner,
Now under this deplorable necessity of ruin and destruction does God’s preventing grace find every sinner, when it snatches him like a brand out of the fire, and steps in between the purpose and the commission of his sin. It finds him going on resolutely in the high and broad way to perdition; which yet his perverted reason tells him is right, and his will, pleasant. And therefore he has no power of himself to leave, or turn out of it; but he is ruined jocundly and pleasantly, and damned according to his heart’s desire. And can there be a more wretched and woful spectacle of misery, than a man in such a condition? a man pleasing and destroying himself together? a man, as it were, doing violence to damnation, and taking hell by force? So that when the preventing goodness of God reaches out its arm, and pulls him out of this fatal path, it does by main force even wrest him from himself, and save him, as it were, against his will.
But neither is this his total inability to recover or
relieve himself the worst of his condition; but,
which is yet much worse, it puts him into a state
of actual hostility against, and defiance of, that al
mighty God, from whom alone, in this helpless and
forlorn condition, he is capable of receiving help.
For surely, while a man is going on in a full purpose
of sin, he is trampling upon all law, spitting in the
Second thing proposed; which was to shew, What
is the fountain or impulsive cause of this prevention
of sin. It is perfectly free grace. A man at best,
upon all principles of divinity and sound philosophy,
is uncapable of meriting any thing from God.
But surely, while he is under the dominion of sin,
and engaged in full design and purpose to commit
it, it is not imaginable what can be found in him to
oblige the divine grace in his behalf. For he is in
high and actual rebellion against the only giver of
such grace. And therefore it must needs flow from
a redundant, unaccountable fulness of compassion;
shewing mercy, because it will shew mercy; from a
compassion, which is and must be its own reason,
and can have no argument for its exercise, but it
self. No man in the strength of the first grace can
merit the second, (as some fondly speak, for reason
they do not,) unless a beggar, by receiving one alms,
can be said to merit another. It is not from what
a man is, or what he has done; from any virtue or
excellency, any preceding worth or desert in him,
that God is induced thus to interpose between him
and ruin, and so stop him in his full career to
damnation. No, says God, in
And thus much for the second thing proposed; which was to shew, What was the principle, or fountain, from whence this prevention of sin does proceed. Come we now to the
Third demonstration or proof of the greatness of this preventing mercy, taken from the hazard a man runs, if the commission of sin be not prevented, whether ever it will come to be pardoned.
In order to the clearing of which, I shall lay down these two considerations.
1. That if sin be not thus prevented, it will certainly be committed; and the reason is, because on
the sinner’s part there will be always a strong inclination to sin. So that, if other things concur,
and Providence cuts not off the opportunity, the act
of sin must needs follow. For an active principle,
2dly, The other consideration is, That in every sin deliberately committed, there are (generally speaking) many more degrees of probability, that that sin will never come to be pardoned, than that it will.
And this shall be made appear upon these three following accounts.
1. Because every commission of sin introduces into the soul a certain degree of hardness, and an aptness to continue in that sin. It is a known maxim, that it is much more difficult to throw out, than not to let in. Every degree of entrance is a degree of possession. Sin taken into the soul is like a liquor poured into a vessel; so much of it as it fills, it also seasons. The touch and tincture go together. So that although the body of the liquor should be poured out again, yet still it leaves that tang behind it, which makes the vessel fitter for that, than for any other. In like manner, every act of sin strangely transforms and works over the soul to its own likeness. Sin in this being to the soul like fire to combustible matter; it assimilates, before it destroys it.
2dly, A second reason is, because every commission
of sin imprints upon the soul a further disposition
and proneness to sin. As the second, third, and
fourth degrees of heat are more easily introduced,
than the first. Every one is both a preparative and
a step to the next. Drinking both quenches the
present thirst, and provokes it for the future. When
the soul is beaten from its first station, and the
mounds and outworks of virtue are once broken
3dly, The third and grand reason is, because the only thing that can entitle the sinner to pardon, which is repentance, is not in the sinner’s power: and he who goes about the work will find it so. It is the gift of God: and though God has certainly promised forgiveness of sin to every one who repents, yet he has not promised to any one to give him grace to repent. This is the sinner’s hard lot, that the same thing which makes him need repentance, makes him also in danger of not obtaining it. For it provokes and offends that holy Spirit which alone can bestow this grace: as the same treason which puts a traitor in need of his prince’s mercy, is a great and a just provocation to his prince to deny it him.
Now, let these three things be put together: First,
That every commission of sin, in some degree, hardens the soul in that sin. Secondly, That every commission of sin disposes the soul to proceed further
in sin. And, thirdly, That to repent, and turn from
sin, (without which all pardon is impossible,) is not in
the sinner’s power; and then, I suppose, there can
not but appear a greater likelihood, that a sin once
committed will in the issue not be pardoned, than
that it will. To all which, add the confirmation of
general experience, and the real event of things, that
where one man ever comes to repent, an hundred, I
All which considered, surely there cannot need a more pregnant argument of the greatness of this preventing mercy, if it did no more for a man than this; that his grand, immortal concern, more valuable to him than ten thousand worlds, is not thrown upon a critical point; that he is not brought to his last stake; that he is rescued from the first descents into hell, and the high probabilities of damnation.
For whatsoever the issue proves, it is certainly a miserable thing to be forced to cast lots for one’s life; yet in every sin, a man does the same for eternity. And therefore let the boldest sinner take this one consideration along with him, when he is going to sin, that, whether the sin he is about to act ever comes to be pardoned or no, yet, as soon as it is acted, it quite turns the balance, puts his salvation upon the venture, leaves him but one cast for all; and, which is yet much more dreadful, makes it ten to one odds against him.
But let us now alter the state of the matter, so as to leave no doubt in the case: but suppose, that the sin, which, upon non-prevention, comes to be committed, comes also to be repented of, and consequently to be pardoned. Yet, in the
Fourth and last place, The greatness of this preventing mercy is eminently proved from those ad vantages accruing to the soul from the prevention of sin, above what can be had from the bare pardon of it: and that, in these two great respects.
1. Of the clearness of a man’s condition.
2. Of the satisfaction of his mind. And,
First, For the clearness of his condition. If innocence
Now peradventure in this whole progress, preventing grace may sometimes come in to the poor sinner’s help, but
at the last hour of the day; and
having suffered him to run all the former risk and
Certain it is, that wheresoever it pleases God to stop the sinner on this side hell, how far soever he has been advanced in his way towards it, it is a vast, ineffable mercy; a mercy as great as life from the dead, and salvation to a man tottering with horror upon the very edge and brink of destruction. But if, more than all this, God shall be pleased by an early grace to prevent sin so soon, as to keep the soul in the virginity of its first innocence, not tainted with the desires, and much less defloured with the formed purpose of any thing vile and sinful; what an infinite goodness is this! It is not a converting, but a crowning grace; such an one as irradiates, and puts a circle of glory about the head of him upon whom it descends; it is the Holy Ghost coming down upon him in the form of a dove, and setting him triumphant above the necessity of tears and sorrow, mourning and repentance, the sad after-games of a lost innocence. And this brings in the consideration of that other great advantage accruing to the soul from the prevention of sin, above what can be had from the bare pardon of it; namely,
2. The satisfaction of a man’s mind. There is that true joy,
that solid and substantial comfort, conveyed to the heart by preventing grace,
which pardoning grace, at the best, very seldom, and, for the most part, never
gives. For since all joy passes into the heart through the understanding, the
object of it must be known by one, before it can affect the other. Now, when
grace keeps a man so within his bounds, that sin is prevented, he certainly
knows it to be so; and so rejoices upon the firm, infallible ground of sense and
assurance. But, on the other side, though grace may have reversed the condemning
sentence, and sealed the sinner’s pardon before God, yet it may have left no
transcript of that pardon in the sinner’s breast. The hand-writing against him
may be cancelled in the court of heaven, and yet the indictment run on in the
court of conscience. So that a man may be safe as to his condition, but in the
mean time dark and doubtful as to his apprehensions; secure in his pardon, but
miserable in the ignorance of it; and so, passing all his days in the
disconsolate, uneasy vicissitudes of hopes and fears, at length go out of the
world, not knowing whither he goes. And what is this, but a black cloud drawn
over all a man’s comforts? a cloud, which, though it cannot hinder the
supporting influence of heaven, yet will be sure to intercept the refreshing
light of it. The pardoned person must not think to stand upon the same vantage ground with the innocent. It is enough that
they are both equally safe; but it cannot be thought,
that, without a rare privilege, both can be equally
cheerful. And thus much for the advantageous effects
of preventing, above those of pardoning grace; which
was the fourth and last argument brought for the
2. Its application. Which, from the foregoing discourse, may afford us several useful deductions; but chiefly by way of information, in these three following particulars. As,
First, This may inform and convince us how vastly greater a pleasure is consequent upon the forbearance of sin, than can possibly accompany the commission of it; and how much higher a satisfaction is to be found from a conquered, than from a conquering passion. For the proof of which, we need look no further than the great example here before us. Revenge is certainly the most luscious morsel that the devil can put into the sinner’s mouth. But do we think that David could have found half that pleasure in the execution of his revenge, that he expresses here upon the disappointment of it? Possibly it might have pleased him in the present heat and hurry of his rage, but must have displeased him infinitely more in the cool, sedate reflections of his mind. For sin can please no longer, than for that pitiful space of time while it is committing; and surely the present pleasure of a sinful act is a poor countervail for the bitterness of the review, which begins where the action ends, and lasts for ever. There is no ill thing which a man does in his passion, but his memory will be revenged on him for it afterwards.
All pleasure springing from a gratified passion
(as most of the pleasure of sin does) must needs determine with that passion. It is short, violent, and
fallacious; and as soon as the imagination is disabused,
Secondly, We have here a sure, unfailing criterion, by which every man may discover and find out the gracious or ungracious disposition of his own heart. The temper of every man is to be judged of from the thing he most esteems; and the object of his esteem may be measured by the prime object of his thanks. What is it that opens thy mouth in praises, that fills thy heart, and lifts up thy hands in grateful acknowledgments to thy great Creator and Preserver? Is it that thy bags and thy barns are full, that thou hast escaped this sickness, or that danger? Alas, God may have done all this for thee in anger! All this fair sunshine may have been only to harden thee in thy sins. He may have given thee riches and honour, health and power with a curse; and if so, it will be found but a poor comfort, to have had never so great a share of God’s bounty without his blessing.
But has he at any time kept thee from thy sin?
stopped thee in the prosecution of thy lust? defeated the malicious arts and stratagems of thy mortal enemy the tempter? And does not the sense of
A truly pious mind has certainly another kind of
relish and taste of these things; and if it receives a
temporal blessing with gratitude, it receives a spiritual one with ecstasy and transport. David, an
heroic instance of such a temper, overlooks the rich
and seasonable present of Abigail, though pressed
with hunger and travel; but her advice, which disarmed his rage, and calmed his revenge, draws forth
those high and affectionate gratulations from him:
Blessed be thy advice, and blessed be thou, who
hast kept me this day from shedding blood, and
avenging myself with mine own hand. These
were his joyful and glorious trophies; not that he
triumphed over his enemy, but that he insulted over
his revenge; that he escaped from himself, and was
delivered from his own fury. And whosoever has
any thing of David’s piety, will be perpetually plying the throne of grace with
such like acknowledgments; as, “Blessed be that Providence, which delivered me from such a lewd company, and such a
vicious acquaintance, which was the bane of such and such a person. And, Blessed be that God
who cast rubs, and stops, and hinderances in my way, when I was attempting the commission of
such or such a sin; who took me out of such a course of life, such a place, or such an employment,
which was a continual snare and temptation to “me. And, Blessed be such a preacher, and such a
friend, whom God made use of to speak a word in
These are such things as a man shall remember with joy upon his deathbed; such as shall cheer and warm his heart even in that last and bitter agony, when many, from the very bottom of their souls, shall wish that they had never been rich, or great, or powerful; and reflect with anguish and remorse upon those splendid occasions of sin, which served them for little but to heighten their guilt, and at best to inflame their accounts, at that great tribunal which they are going to appear before.
In the third and last place. We learn from hence the great reasonableness of, not only a contented, but also a thankful acquiescence in any condition, and under the Grossest and severest passages of Providence which can possibly befall us: since there is none of all these but may be the instrument of preventing grace in the hands of a merciful God, to keep us from those courses which would otherwise assuredly end in our confusion. This is most certain, that there is no enjoyment which the nature of man is either desirous or capable of? but may be to him a direct inducement to sin, and consequently is big with mischief, and carries death in the bowels of it. But to make the assertion more particular, and thereby more convincing, let us take an account of it with reference to the three greatest and deservedly most valued enjoyments of this life.
1. Health; 2dly, Reputation; and 3dly, Wealth.
First, And first for health. Has God made a
breach upon that? Perhaps he is building up thy
soul upon the ruins of thy body. Has he bereaved
Secondly, Has God in his providence thought fit to drop a blot upon thy name, and to blast thy reputation? He saw perhaps that the breath of popular air was grown infectious, and would have derived a contagion upon thy better part. Pride and vain glory had mounted thee too high, and therefore it was necessary for mercy to take thee down, to prevent a greater fall. A good name is, indeed, better than life; but a sound mind is better than both. Praise and applause had swelled thee to a proportion ready to burst; it had vitiated all thy spiritual ap petites, and brought thee to feed upon the air, and to surfeit upon the wind, and, in a word, to starve thy soul, only to pamper thy imagination.
And now if God makes use of some poignant disgrace to prick this enormous bladder, and to let out
the poisonous vapour, is not the mercy greater than
the severity of the cure? Cover them with shame,
says the psalmist, that they may seek thy name.
Fame and glory transports a man out of himself;
Thirdly and lastly, Has God thought fit to cast
thy lot amongst the poor of this world, and that
either by denying thee any share of the plenties of
this life, which is something grievous; or by taking them away, which is much
more so? Yet still all this may be but the effect of preventing mercy. For so
much mischief as riches have done and may do to the souls of men, so much mercy
may there be in taking them away. For does not the wisest of men, next our
Saviour, tell us of riches kept to the hurt of the owners of them?
And now, if God will fit thee for this passage, by
taking off thy load, and emptying thy bags, and so
suit the narrowness of thy fortune to the narrowness
of the way thou art to pass, is there any thing but
Thou who repinest at the plenty and splendour of thy neighbour, at the greatness of his incomes, and the magnificence of his retinue; consider what are frequently the dismal, wretched consequences of all this, and thou wilt have little cause to envy this gaudy great one, or to wish thyself in his room.
For do we not often hear of this or that young heir newly come to his father’s vast estate? An happy man, no doubt! But does not the town presently ring of his debaucheries, his blasphemies, and his murders? Are not his riches and his lewdnesses talked of together? and the odiousness of one heightened and set off by the greatness of the other? Are not his oaths, his riots, and other villainies reckoned by as many thousands as his estate?
Now consider, had this grand debauchee, this glistering monster, been born to thy poverty and mean circumstances, he could not have contracted such a clamorous guilt, he could not have been so bad: nor, perhaps, had thy birth instated thee in the same wealth and greatness, wouldest thou have been at all better.
This God foresaw and knew, in the ordering both of his and thy condition: and which of the two now, can we think, is the greater debtor to his preventing mercy? Lordly sins require lordly estates to support them: and where Providence denies the latter, it cuts off all temptation to the former.
And thus I have shewn by particular instances,
what cause men have to acquiesce in and submit to
the harshest dispensations that Providence can mea
sure out to them in this life; and with what satisfaction,
To whom, therefore, be rendered and ascribed, as is most due, all praise, might, majesty, and dominion, both now and for evermore. Amen.
An Account of the Nature and Measures of Conscience:
The first preached on the 1st of Nov. 1691.
Beloved, if our heart condemn us not, we have confidence toward God.
AS nothing can be of more moment, so few things,
doubtless, are of more difficulty, than for men to be
rationally satisfied about the estate of their souls,
with reference to God and the great concerns of
eternity. In their judgment about which, if they
err finally, it is like a man’s missing his cast when
he throws dice for his life; his being, his happiness,
and all that he does or can enjoy in the world, is involved in the error of one throw. And therefore it
may very well deserve our best skill and care, to
inquire into those rules, by which we may guide our
judgment in so weighty an affair, both with safety
and success. And this, I think, cannot be better
done, than by separating the false and fallacious
from the true and certain. For if the rule we judge
First of all then: he who would pass such a judgment upon his condition, as shall be ratified in heaven, and confirmed at that great tribunal from which there lies no appeal, will find himself wofully deceived, if he judges of his spiritual estate by any of these four following measures: as,
1. The general esteem of the world concerning him. He who owes his piety to fame and hearsay, and the evidences of his salvation to popular voice and opinion, builds his house not only upon the sand, but, which is worse, upon the wind; and writes the deeds, by which he holds his estate, upon the face of a river. He makes a bodily eye the judge of things impossible to be seen; and humour and ignorance (which the generality of men both think and speak by) the great proofs of his justification. But surely no man has the estate of his soul drawn upon his face, nor the decree of his election wrote upon his forehead. He who would know a man throughly, must follow him into the closet of his heart, the door of which is kept shut to all the world besides, and the inspection of which is only the prerogative of omniscience.
The favourable opinion and good word of men,
(to some persons especially,) comes oftentimes at a
very easy rate: and by a few demure looks and
affected whines, set off with some odd, devotional
postures and grimaces, and such other little arts of
So that, for ought I see, though the Mosaical part of Judaism be abolished amongst Christians, the Pharisaical part of it never will. A grave, staunch, skilfully managed face, set upon a grasping, aspiring mind, having got many a sly formalist the reputation of a primitive and severe piety, forsooth, and made many such mountebanks pass admired, even for saints upon earth, (as the word is,) who are like to be so nowhere else.
But a man who had never seen the stately outside of a tomb, or
painted sepulchre, before, may very well be excused, if he takes it rather for
the repository of some rich treasure, than of a noisome corpse; but should he
but once open and rake into it, though he could not see, he would quickly smell
out his mistake. The greatest part of the world is nothing but appearance,
nothing but shew and surface; and many make it their business, their study, and
concern, that it should be so; who, having for many years together deceived all about them, are at last willing to
deceive themselves too; and by a long, immemorial
practice, and, as it were, prescription of an aged, thoroughpaced hypocrisy, come at length to believe
that for a reality, which, at the first practice of it,
they themselves knew to be a cheat. But if men love
to be deceived and fooled about so great an interest
as that of their spiritual estate, it must be confessed
that they cannot take a surer and more effectual
2. The judgment of any casuist, or learned divine, concerning the estate of a man’s soul, is not sufficient to give him confidence towards God. And the reason is, because no learning whatsoever can give a man the knowledge of another’s heart. Besides, that it is more than possible that the most profound and experienced casuist in the world may mistake in his judgment of a man’s spiritual condition; and if he does judge right, yet the man cannot be sure that he will declare that judgment sincerely and impartially, (the greatest clerks being not always the honestest, any more than the wisest men,) but may purposely sooth a man up for hope or fear, or the service of some sinister interest; and so shew him the face of a foul soul in a flattering glass: considering how much the raising in some men a false hope of another world, may, with others, serve a real interest in this.
There is a generation of men, who have framed
their casuistical divinity to a perfect compliance
with all the corrupt affections of a man’s nature; and
by that new-invented engine of the doctrine of probability, will undertake to warrant and quiet the
sinner’s conscience in the commission of any sin
whatsoever, provided there be but the opinion of one
learned man to vouch it. For this, they say, is a sufficient ground for the conscience of any unlearned
Such an ascendant have these Romish casuists over scripture, reason, and morality; much like what is said of the stupid, modern Jews, that they have subdued their sense and reason to such a sottish servitude to their rabbies, as to hold, that in case two rabbies should happen to contradict one another, they were yet bound to believe the contradictory assertions of both to be equally certain, and equally the word of God: such an iron-digesting faith have they, and such pity it is, that there should be no such thing in Judaism as transubstantiation to employ it upon.
But as for these casuists whom I have been speaking of; if the judgment of one doctor may authorize the practice of any action, I believe it will be hard to find any sort or degree of villainy which the corruption of man’s nature is capable of committing, which shall not meet with a defence. And of this I could give such an instance from something wrote by a certain prelate of theirs, cardinal and archbishop of Beneventum, as were enough, not only to astonish all pious ears, but almost to unconsecrate the very church I speak in.
But the truth is, the way by which these Romish casuists speak peace to the consciences of men, is either by teaching them that many actions are not sins, which yet really are so; or by suggesting some thing to them, which shall satisfy their minds, not withstanding a known, actual, avowed continuance in their sins: such as are their pardons and indulgences, and giving men a share in the saints merits, out of the common bank and treasury of the church, which the pope has the sole custody and disposal of, and is never kept shut to such as come with an open hand. So that according to these new evangelists, well may we pronounce, Blessed are the rich, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. But God deliver the world from such guides, or rather such hucksters of souls, the very shame of religion, and the shame less subverters of morality. And it is really matter both of wonder and indignation, that such impostors should at all concern themselves about rules or directions of conscience, who seem to have no consciences to apply them to.
3. The absolution pronounced by a priest, whether Papist or Protestant, is not a certain, infallible ground, to give the person so absolved confidence towards God; and the reason is, because, if absolution, as such, could of itself secure a man, as to the estate of his soul, then it would follow, that every person so absolved should, by virtue thereof, be ipso facto put into such a condition of safety, which is not imaginable.
For the absolution pronounced must be either conditional, as running upon the conditions of faith and
repentance; and then, if those conditions are not
found in the person so absolved, it is but a seal to a
But if it be asserted, that the very action of the priest absolving him has of itself this virtue; then we must grant also, that it is in the priest’s power to save a man who never repented, nor did one good work in all his life; forasmuch as it is in his power to perform this action upon him in full form, and with full intention to absolve him. But the horrible absurdity, blasphemy, and impiety of this assertion, sufficiently proclaims its falsity without any further confutation.
In a word, if a man be a penitent, his repentance
stamps his absolution effectual. If not, let the priest
repeat the same absolution to him ten thousand
times, yet for all his being absolved in this world,
God will condemn him in the other. And consequently, he who places his salvation upon this ground,
will find himself like an imprisoned and condemned
malefactor, who in the night dreams that he is released,
4thly and lastly, No advantages from external
church-membership, or profession of the true religion, can themselves give a man confidence
towards God. And yet perhaps, there is hardly any
one thing in the world, which men, in all ages, have
generally more cheated themselves with. The Jews
were an eminent instance of this: who, because they
were the sons of Abraham, as it is readily acknowledged by our Saviour,
And this made John the Baptist set himself with
so much acrimony and indignation to baffle this
senseless, arrogant conceit of theirs, which made
them huff at the doctrine of repentance, as a thing
below them, and not at all belonging to them, in
In like manner, how vainly do the Romanists pride and value themselves upon the name of Catholics, of the catholic religion, and of the catholic church! though a title no more applicable to the church of Rome, than a man’s finger, when it is swelled and putrefied, can be called his whole body: a church which allows salvation to none without it, nor awards damnation to almost any within it. And therefore, as the former empty plea served the sottish Jews; so, no wonder, if this equally serves these, to put them into a fool’s paradise, by feeding their hopes without changing their lives; and, as an excellent expedient, first to assure them of heaven, and then to bring them easily to it; and so, in a word, to save both their souls and their sins too.
And to shew how the same cheat runs through
all professions, though not in the same dress; none
are more powerfully and grossly under it than an
other sort of men, who, on the contrary, place their
whole acceptance with God, and indeed their whole
religion, upon a mighty zeal, or rather outcry,
against popery and superstition; verbally, indeed,
uttered against the church of Rome, but really
against the church of England. To which sort
of persons I shall say no more but this, and that
in the spirit of truth and meekness; namely, that
zeal and noise against popery, and real services
Nay, and I shall proceed yet further. It is not a man’s being of the church of England itself, (though undoubtedly the purest and best reformed church in the world; indeed so well reformed, that it will be found a much easier work to alter than to better its constitution;) I say, it is not a man’s being even of this excellent church, which can of itself clear accounts between God and his conscience. Since bare communion with a good church can never alone make a good man: for if it could, I am sure we should have no bad ones in ours; and much less such as would betray it.
So that we see here, that it is but too manifest, that men of all churches and persuasions are strangely apt to flatter and deceive themselves with what they believe, and what they profess; and if we throughly consider the matter, we shall find the fallacy to lie in this: that those religious institutions, which God designed only for means, helps, and advantages, to promote and further men in the practice of holiness, they look upon rather as a privilege to serve them instead of it, and really to commute for it. This is the very case, and a fatal self-imposture it is certainly, and such an one as defeats the design and destroys the force of all religion.
And thus I have shewn four several uncertain and deceitful rules, which men are prone to judge of their spiritual estate by.
But now, have we any better or more certain, to
substitute and recommend in the room of them?
Why, yes; if we believe the apostle, a man’s own
heart or conscience is that which, above all other
things, is able to give him confidence towards God.
And the reason is, because the heart knows that by
itself, which nothing in the world besides can give
it any knowledge of; and without the knowledge
of which, it can have no foundation to build any
true confidence upon. Conscience, under God, is
the only competent judge of what the soul has done,
and what it has not done; what guilt it has contracted, and what it has not; as it is in
Now for the further prosecution of the words, I shall do these four things.
1. I shall shew, how the heart or conscience ought to be informed, in order to its founding in us a rational confidence towards God.
2. I shall shew, how and by what means we may get it thus informed, and afterwards preserve and keep it so.
3. I shall shew, whence it is that the testimony of conscience thus informed, comes to be so authentic, and so much to be relied upon: and,
4thly and lastly, I shall assign some particular cases or instances, in which the confidence suggested by it does most eminently shew and exert itself.
1. And first for the first of these, how the heart
or conscience, &c. It is certain, that no man can
have any such confidence towards God, only because
his heart tells him a lie; and that it may do so, is
altogether as certain. For there is the erroneous,
as well as the rightly informed conscience; and if
the conscience happens to be deluded, and there
upon to give false directions to the will, so that by
virtue of those directions it is betrayed into a course
of sin: sin does not therefore cease to be sin, because a man committed it conscientiously. If conscience comes to be perverted so far, as to bring a
man under a persuasion, that it is either lawful, or
his duty, to resist the magistrate, to seize upon his
neighbour’s just rights or estate, to worship stocks
and stones, or to lie, equivocate, and the like, this
will not absolve him before God; since error, which
is in itself evil, can never make another thing good.
He who does an unwarrantable action through a
Conscience therefore must be rightly informed, before the testimony of it can be authentic in what it pronounces concerning the estate of the soul. It must proceed by the two grand rules of right reason and scripture; these are the compass which it must steer by. For conscience comes formally to oblige, only as it is the messenger of the mind of God to the soul of man; which he has revealed to him, partly by the impression of certain notions and maxims upon the practical understanding, and partly by the declared oracles of his word. So far therefore as conscience reports any thing agreeable to, or deducible from these, it is to be hearkened to as the great conveyer of truth to the soul; but when it reports any thing dissonant to these, it obliges no more than the falsehood reported by it.
But since there is none who follows an erroneous conscience, but does so because he thinks it true; and moreover thinks it true, because he is persuaded that it proceeds according to the two forementioned rules of scripture and right reason; how shall a man be able to satisfy himself, when his conscience is rightly informed, and when possessed with an error? For to affirm, that the sentence passed by a rightly informed conscience gives a man a rational confidence towards God; but, in the mean time, not to assign any means possible by which he may know when his conscience is thus rightly informed, and when not, it must equally bereave him of such a confidence, as placing the condition upon which it depends wholly out of his knowledge.
Here therefore is the knot, here the difficulty, how to state some rule of certainty, by which infallibly to distinguish when the conscience is right, and to be relied upon; when erroneous, and to be distrusted, in the testimony it gives about the sincerity and safety of a man’s spiritual condition.
For the resolution of which, I answer, that it is not necessary for a man to be assured of the rightness of his conscience, by such an infallible certainty of persuasion, as amounts to the clearness of a demonstration; but it is sufficient, if he knows it upon grounds of such a convincing probability, as shall exclude all rational grounds of doubting of it. For I cannot think, that the confidence here spoken of rises so high as to assurance. And the reason is, because it is manifestly such a confidence as is common to all sincere Christians; which yet, assurance, we all know, is not.
The truth is, the word in the original, which is παῤῥησία, signifies properly freedom or boldness of speech; though the Latin translation renders it by fiducia, and so corresponds with the English, which renders it confidence. But whether fiducia or confidence reaches the full sense of παῤῥησία, may very well be disputed. However it is certain, that neither the word in the original, nor yet in the translation, imports assurance. For freedom or boldness of speech, I am sure, does not; and fiducia, or confidence, signifies only a man’s being actually persuaded of a thing, upon better arguments for it, than any that he can see against it; which he may very well be, and yet not be assured of it.
From all which, I conclude; that the confidence
here mentioned in the text amounts to no more
And upon these terms, I affirm, that such a conscience, as has employed the utmost of its ability to give itself the best information and clearest knowledge of its duty that it can, is a rational ground for a man to build such an hope upon; and, consequently, for him to confide in.
There is an innate light in every man, discovering to him the first lines of duty, in the common notions of good and evil, which, by cultivation and improvement, may be advanced to higher and brighter discoveries. And from hence it is, that the schoolmen and moralists admit not of any ignorantia juris, speaking of natural moral right, to give excuse to sin. Since all such ignorance is voluntary, and therefore culpable, forasmuch as it was in every man’s power to have prevented it, by a due improvement of the light of nature, and the seeds of moral honesty sown in his heart.
If it be here demanded, whether a man may not
remain ignorant of his duty, after he has used the
utmost means to inform himself of it; I answer,
that so much of duty as is absolutely necessary to
save him, he shall upon the use of such a course
come to know; and that which he continues ignorant of, having done the utmost lying in his power
that he might not be ignorant of it, shall never
damn him. Which assertion is proved thus: The
gospel damns nobody for being ignorant of that
which he is not obliged to know; but that which
upon the improvement of a man’s utmost power he
cannot know, he is not obliged to know; for that
He therefore who exerts all the powers and faculties of his soul, and plies all means and opportunities in the search of truth, which God has vouchsafed him, may rest upon the judgment of his conscience so informed, as a warrantable guide of those actions, which he must account to God for. And if by following such a guide, he falls into the ditch, the ditch shall never drown him, or if it should, the man perishes not by his sin, but by his misfortune. In a word, he who endeavours to know the utmost of his duty that he can, and practises the utmost that he knows, has the equity and goodness of the great God to stand as a mighty wall or rampart between him and damnation, for any errors or infirmities, which the frailty of his condition has invincibly, and therefore inculpably, exposed him to.
And if a conscience thus qualified and informed, be not the measure by which a man may take a true estimate of his absolution before the tribunal of God, all the understanding of human nature cannot find out any ground for the sinner to pitch the sole of his foot upon, or rest his conscience with any assurance, but is left in the plunge of infinite doubts and uncertainties, suspicions and misgivings, both as to the measures of his present duty, and the final issues of his future reward.
Let this conclusion therefore stand as the firm
result of the foregoing discourse, and the foundation
of what is to follow; that such a conscience as has
not been wanting to itself, in endeavouring to get the
utmost and clearest information about the will of
In order to which, amongst many things that might be alleged as highly useful, and conducing to this great work, I shall insist upon these four: as,
1. Let a man carefully attend to the voice of his reason, and all the dictates of natural morality, so as by no means to do any thing contrary to them. For though reason is not to be relied upon, as a guide universally sufficient to direct us what to do, yet it is generally to be relied upon and obeyed, where it tells us what we are not to do. It is indeed but a weak and diminutive light, compared to revelation; but it ought to be no disparagement to a star, that it is not a sun. Nevertheless, as weak and as small as it is, it is a light always at hand, and though enclosed, as it were, in a dark lantern, may yet be of singular use to prevent many a foul step, and to keep us from many a dangerous fall. And every man brings such a degree of this light into the world with him, that though it cannot bring him to heaven, yet, if he be true to it, it will carry him a great way; indeed so far, that if he follows it faithfully, I doubt not but he shall meet with another light, which shall carry him quite through.
How far it may be improved, is evident from that
high and refined morality which shined forth both
in the lives and writings of some of the ancient
Which being so, ought not the light of reason to
be looked upon by us as a rich and a noble talent,
and such an one as we must account to God for?
for it is certainly from him. It is a ray of divinity
darted into the soul. It is the candle of the Lord,
as Solomon calls it, and God never lights us up a
candle either to put out or to sleep by. If it be
made conscious to a work of darkness, it will not
fail to discover and reprove it; and therefore the
checks of it are to be revered, as the echo of a
voice from heaven; for, whatsoever conscience binds
here on earth, will be certainly bound there too;
and it were a great vanity to hope or imagine, that
either law or gospel will absolve what natural conscience condemns. No man ever yet offended his
own conscience, but first or last it was revenged
upon him for it. So that it will concern a man to
treat this great principle awfully and warily, by still
observing what it commands, but especially what it
forbids: and if he would have it always a faithful
and sincere monitor to him, let him be sure never
On the contrary, if a man accustoms himself to slight or pass over these first motions to good, or shrinkings of his conscience from evil, which originally are as natural to the heart of man, as the appetites of hunger and thirst are to the stomach, conscience will by degrees grow dull and unconcerned, and, from not spying out motes, come at length to overlook beams; from carelessness it shall fall into a slumber, and from a slumber it shall settle into a deep and long sleep; till at last perhaps it sleeps itself into a lethargy, and that such an one, that nothing but hell and judgment shall be able to awaken it. For long disuse of any thing made for action will in time take away the very use of it. As I have read of one, who having for a disguise kept one of his eyes a long time covered, when he took off the covering, found his eye indeed where it was, but his sight was gone. He who would keep his conscience awake, must be careful to keep it stirring.
2. Let a man be very tender and regardful of
every pious motion and suggestion made by the
Spirit of God to his heart. I do not hereby go about
to establish enthusiasm, or such fantastic pretences
of intercourse with God, as Papists and fanatics
(who in most things copy from one another, as well
For doubtless, there is something more in those expressions of being led by the Spirit, and being taught by the Spirit, and the like, than mere tropes and metaphors; and nothing less is or can be imported by them, than that God sometimes speaks to, and converses with, the hearts of men, immediately by himself; and happy those, who by thus hearing him speak in a still voice, shall prevent his speaking to them in thunder.
But you will here ask, perhaps, how we shall distinguish in such motions, which of them proceed
immediately from the Spirit of God, and which from
the conscience? In answer to which, I must confess, that I know no certain mark of discrimination
to distinguish them by; save only in general, that
such as proceed immediately from God, use to strike
the mind suddenly, and very powerfully. But then
Now the thing which I drive at, under this head of discourse, is to shew, that as God is sometimes pleased to address himself in this manner to the hearts of men; so, if the heart will receive and answer such motions, by a ready and obsequious compliance with them, there is no doubt but they will both return more frequently, and still more and more powerfully, till at length they produce such a degree of light in the conscience, as shall give a man both a clear sight of his duty, and a certain judgment of his condition.
On the contrary, as all resistance whatsoever of the dictates of conscience, even in the way of natural efficiency, brings a kind of hardness and stupefaction upon it; so the resistance of these peculiar suggestions of the Spirit will cause in it also a judicial hardness, which is yet worse than the other. So that God shall withdraw from such an heart, and the Spirit being grieved shall depart, and these blessed motions shall cease, and affect and visit it no more. The consequence of which is very terrible, as rendering a man past feeling: and then the less he feels in this world, the more he shall be sure to feel in the next. But,
3. Because the light of natural conscience is in many things defective and dim, and the internal voice of God’s Spirit not always distinguishable, above all, let a man attend to the mind of God, uttered in his revealed word. I say, his revealed word. By which I do not mean that mysterious, extraordinary (and of late so much studied) book called the Revelation, and which perhaps the more it is studied the less it is understood, as generally either finding a man cracked, or making him so: but I mean those other writings of the prophets and apostles, which exhibit to us a plain, sure, perfect, and intelligible rule; a rule that will neither fail nor distract such as make use of it. A rule to judge of the two former rules by: for nothing that contradicts the revealed word of God, is either the voice of right reason or of the Spirit of God: nor is it possible that it should be so, without God’s contradicting himself.
And therefore we see what high elogies are
given to the written word by the inspired penmen
of both Testaments. It giveth understanding to
the simple, says David, in
It is able to make the man of God perfect, says
St. Paul,
Wherefore since the light and energy of the writ ten word is so mighty, let a man bring and hold his conscience to this steady rule; the unalterable rectitude of which, will infallibly discover the rectitude or obliquity of whatsoever it is applied to. We shall find it a rule, both to instruct us what to do, and to assure us in what we have done. For though natural conscience ought to be listened to, yet it is revelation alone that is to be relied upon: as we may observe in the works of art, a judicious artist will indeed use his eye, but he will trust only to his rule.
There is not any one action whatsoever which a man ought to do or to forbear, but the scripture will give him a clear precept or prohibition for it.
So that if a man will commit such rules to his memory, and stock his mind with portions of scripture answerable to all the heads of duty and practice, his conscience can never be at a loss, either for a direction of his actions, or an answer to a temptation: it was the very course which our Saviour himself took, when the devil plied him with temptation upon temptation. Still he had a suitable scripture ready to repel and baffle them all, one after another: every pertinent text urged home, being a direct stab to a temptation.
Let a man therefore consider and recount with
himself the several duties and virtues of a Christian.
Such as temperance, meekness, charity, purity of
heart, pardoning of enemies, patience. (I had almost said passive obedience too, but that such old-fashioned
Accordingly, men must know, that without taking the forementioned course, all that they do in this matter is but lost labour; and that they read the scriptures to as little purpose as some use to quote them; much reading being like much eating, wholly useless without digestion; and it is impossible for a man to digest his meat, without also retaining it.
Till men get what they read into their minds,
and fix it in their memories, they keep their religion
as they use to do their Bibles, only in their closet, or
carry it in their pocket; and that, you may imagine,
must improve and affect the soul, just as much as a
man’s having plenty of provision only in his stores,
will nourish and support his body. When men forget
4. The fourth and last way that I shall mention for the getting of the conscience rightly informed, and afterwards keeping it so, is frequently and impartially to account with it. It is with a man and his conscience, as with one man and another; amongst whom we use to say, that even reckoning makes lasting friends; and the way to make reckonings even, I am sure, is to make them often. Delays in accounts are always suspicious; and bad enough in themselves, but commonly much worse in their cause. For to defer an account, is the ready way to perplex it; and when it comes to be perplexed and intricate, no man, either as to his temporal or spiritual estate, can know of himself what he is, or what he has, or upon what bottom he stands. But the amazing difficulty and greatness of his account will rather terrify than inform him; and keep him from setting heartily about such a task as he despairs ever to go through with. For no man willingly begins what he has no hope to finish.
But let a man apply to this work by frequent returns and short intervals, while the heap is small,
and the particulars few, and he will find it easy and
conquerable; and his conscience, like a faithful
steward, shall give him in a plain, open, and entire
And for this cause some judge it advisable for a man to account with his heart every day; and this, no doubt, is the best and surest course; for still the oftener the better. And some prescribe accounting once a week; longer than which it is by no means safe to delay it: for a man shall find his heart deceitful, and his memory weak, and nature extremely averse from seeking narrowly after that which it is unwilling to find; and being found, will assuredly disturb it.
So that upon the whole matter it is infinitely absurd to think, that conscience can be kept in order without frequent examination. If a man would have his conscience deal clearly with him, he must deal severely with that. Often scouring and cleansing it will make it bright; and when it is so, he may see himself in it: and if he sees any thing amiss, let this satisfy him, that no man is or can be the worse for knowing the very worst of himself.
On the contrary, if conscience, by a long neglect
of, and disacquaintance with itself, comes to contract
an inveterate rust or soil, a man may as well expect
to see his face in a mud-wall, as that such a conscience should give him a true report of his
condition; no, it leaves him wholly in the dark, as to
the greatest concern he has in both worlds. He can
And now, what a wretched condition must that man needs be in, whose heart is in such a confusion, such darkness, and such a settled blindness, that it shall not be able to tell him so much as one true word of himself! Flatter him it may, I confess, (as those are generally good at flattering, who are good for nothing else,) but, in the mean time, the poor man is left under the fatal necessity of a remediless delusion: for in judging of a man’s self, if conscience either cannot or will not inform him, there is a certain thing called self-love that will be sure to deceive him. And thus I have shewn, in four several particulars, what is to be done, both for the getting and keeping of the conscience so informed, as that it may be able to give us a rational confidence towards God. As,
1. That the voice of reason, in all the dictates of natural morality, ought carefully to be attended to by a strict observance of what it commands, but especially of what it forbids.
2. That every pious motion from the Spirit of God ought tenderly to be cherished, and by no means checked or quenched either by resistance or neglect.
3. That conscience is to be kept close to the rule of the written word.
4thly and lastly, That it is frequently to be examined, and severely accounted with.
And I doubt not but a conscience thus disciplined, shall give a man such a faithful account of himself, as shall never shame nor lurch the confidence which he shall take up from it.
Nevertheless, to prevent all mistakes in so critical a case, and so high a concern, I shall close up the foregoing particulars with this twofold caution.
First, Let no man think that every doubting or
misgiving about the safety of his spiritual estate,
overthrows the confidence hitherto spoken of. For,
as I shewed before, the confidence mentioned in the
text, is not properly assurance, but only a rational,
well-grounded hope; and therefore may very well
consist with some returns of doubting. For we
know, in that pious and excellent confession and
prayer, made by the poor man to our Saviour, in
And one great reason of this is, because such a
faith or confidence as we have been treating of, resides in the soul or conscience as an habit. And
habits, we know, are by no means either inconsistent
with, or destroyed by, every contrary act. But especially in the case now before us, where the truth and
strength of our confidence towards God does not
consist so much in the present act, by which it
exerts itself, no, nor yet in the habit producing this
act, as it does in the ground or reason which this
2. The other caution, with reference to the fore
going discourse, is this; Let no man, from what has
been said, reckon a bare silence of conscience in not
accusing or disturbing him, a sufficient argument
for confidence towards God. For such a silence is
so far from being always so, that it is usually worse
than the fiercest and loudest accusations; since it
may, and for the most part does, proceed from a kind
of numbness or stupidity of conscience, and an absolute dominion obtained by sin over the soul; so
that it shall not so much as dare to complain or
make a stir. For, as our Saviour says,
And now, how vastly does it concern all those
who shall think it worth their while to be in earnest
To which God, who only can speak such peace to us, as neither the world nor the devil shall be able to take from us, be rendered and ascribed, as is most due, all praise, might, majesty, and dominion, both now and for ever more. Amen.
A further Account of the Nature and Measures of Conscience:
Beloved, if our heart condemn us not, we have confidence toward God.
I HAVE discoursed once already upon these words in this place. In which discourse, after I had set down four several false grounds upon which men, in judging of the safety of their spiritual estate, were apt to found a wrong confidence towards God, and shewn the falsity of them all; and that there was nothing but a man’s own heart or conscience, which, in this great concern, he could with any safety rely upon; I did, in the next place, cast the further prosecution of the words under these four following particulars.
1. To shew, How the heart or conscience ought to be informed, in order to its founding in us a rational confidence towards God.
2. To shew, How, and by what means, we may
3. To shew, Whence it is, that the testimony of conscience, thus informed, comes to be so authentic, and so much to be relied upon. And,
4thly and lastly, To assign some particular cases or instances, in which the confidence suggested by it, does most eminently shew and exert itself.
Upon the first of which heads, to wit, How the heart or conscience ought to be informed, in order to its founding in us a rational confidence towards God, after I had premised something about an erroneous conscience, and shewn both what influence that ought to have upon us, and what regard we ought to have to that in this matter, I gathered the result of all into this one conclusion; namely, That such a conscience as has not been wanting to itself, in endeavouring the utmost knowledge of its duty, and the clearest information about the will of God, that its power, advantages, and opportunities could afford it, is that great internal judge, whose absolution is a rational and sure ground of confidence towards God. This I then insisted upon at large, and from thence proceeded to the
Second particular, which was to shew, How, and by what means, we might get our conscience thus informed, and afterwards preserve and keep it so.
Where, amongst those many ways and methods which might, no doubt, have been assigned as highly conducing to this purpose, I singled out and insisted upon only these four. As,
1st, That the voice of reason, in all the dictates of
natural morality a was still carefully to be attended to
2dly, That every pious motion from the Spirit of God was tenderly to be cherished, and by no means quenched or checked, either by resistance or neglect.
3dly, That conscience was still to be kept close to the rule of God’s written word; and,
4thly and lastly, That it was frequently to be examined, and severely accounted with.
These things also I then more fully enlarged upon; and so closed up all with a double caution, and that of no small importance as to the case then before us: as,
First, That no man should reckon every doubting or misgiving of his heart, about the safety of his spiritual estate, inconsistent with that confidence towards God which is here spoken of in the text: and secondly, That no man should account a bare silence of conscience in not accusing or disturbing him, a sufficient ground for such a confidence. Of both which I then shew the fatal consequence. And so, not to trouble you with any more repetitions than these, which were just and necessary to lay before you the coherence of one thing with another, I shall now proceed to the third of those four particulars first proposed; which was to shew, Whence it is that the testimony of conscience (concerning a man’s spiritual estate) comes to be so authentic, and so much to be relied upon.
Now the force and credit of its testimony stands upon this double ground.
1st, The high office which it holds immediately from God himself, in the soul of man; and,
2dly, Those properties or qualities which peculiarly fit it for the discharge of this high office, in all things relating to the soul.
1. And first, for its office. It is no less than God’s vicegerent or deputy, doing all things by immediate commission from him. It commands and dictates every thing in God’s name, and stamps every word with an almighty authority. So that it is, as it were, a kind of copy or transcript of the divine sentence, and an interpreter of the sense of Heaven. And from hence it is, that sins against conscience (as all sins against light and conviction are, by way of eminence, so called) are of so peculiar and transcendent a guilt. For that every such sin is a daring and direct defiance of the divine authority, as it is signified and reported to a man by his conscience, and thereby ultimately terminates in God himself.
Nay, and this vicegerent of God has one prerogative above all God’s other earthly vicegerents; to wit, that it can never be deposed. Such a strange, sacred, and inviolable majesty has God imprinted upon this faculty; not indeed as upon an absolute, independent sovereign, but yet with so great a communication of something next to sovereignty, that while it keeps within its proper compass, it is controllable by no mortal power upon earth. For not the great est monarch in the world can countermand conscience so far, as to make it condemn where it would otherwise acquit, or acquit where it would otherwise condemn; no, neither sword nor sceptre can come at it; but it is above and beyond the reach of both.
And if it were not for this awful and majestic
character which it bears, whence could it be, that
the stoutest and bravest hearts droop and sneak
Now from this principle, that the authority of conscience stands founded upon its vicegerency and deputation under God, several very important inferences may, or rather indeed unavoidably must, ensue. Two of which I shall single out and speak of; as,
First, We collect from hence the absurdity and impertinence; and,
Secondly, The impudence and impiety of most of
those pretences of conscience, which have borne such
1. And first, for the absurdity and impertinence of them. What a rattle and a noise has this word conscience made! How many battles has it fought! How many churches has it robbed, ruined, and reformed to ashes! How many laws has it trampled upon, dispensed with, and addressed against! And, in a word, how many governments has it over turned! Such is the mischievous force of a plausible word, applied to a detestable thing.
The allegation or plea of conscience ought never to be admitted barely for itself: for when a thing obliges only by a borrowed authority, it is ridiculous to allege it for its own. Take a lieutenant, a commissioner, or ambassador of any prince; and, so far as he represents his prince, all that he does or declares under that capacity has the same force and validity, as if actually done or declared by the prince himself in person. But then how far does this reach? Why, just so far as he keeps close to his instructions: but when he once balks them, though what he does may be indeed a public crime or a national mischief, yet it is but a private act; and the doer of it may chance to pay his head for the presumption. For still, as great as the authority of such kind of persons is, it is not founded upon their own will, nor upon their own judgment, but upon their commission.
In like manner, every dictate of this vicegerent of
God, where it has a divine word or precept to back
it, carries a divine authority with it. But if no such
word can be produced, it may indeed be a strong
opinion or persuasion, but it is not conscience: and
Conscience is a Latin word, (though with an English termination,) and, according to the very notation of it, imports a double or joint knowledge; to wit, one of a divine law or rule, and the other of a man’s own action: and so is properly the application of a general law to a particular instance of practice. The law of God, for example, says, Thou shall not steal; and the mind of man tells him, that the taking of such or such a thing from a person lawfully possessed of it is stealing. Whereupon the conscience, joining the knowledge of both these together, pronounces in the name of God, that such a particular action ought not to be done. And this is the true procedure of conscience, always supposing a law from God, before it pretends to lay any obligation upon man: for still I aver, that conscience neither is nor ought to be its own rule.
I question not, I confess, but mere opinion or persuasion may be every whit as strong, and have as
forcible an influence upon a man’s actions as conscience itself. But then, we know, strength or force
is one thing, and authority quite another. As a rogue
upon the highway may have as strong an arm, and
take off a man’s head as cleverly as the executioner.
But then there is a vast disparity in the two actions,
when one of them is murder, and the other justice:
nay, and our Saviour himself told his disciples, that
men should both kill them, and think that in so
doing they did God service. So that here, we see,
was a full opinion and persuasion, and a very zealous
Now the notion of conscience thus stated, if firmly kept to, and thoroughly driven home, would effectually baffle and confound all those senseless, though clamorous pretences of the schismatical opposers of the constitutions of our church. In defence of which, I shall not speak so much as one syllable against the indulgence and toleration granted to these men. No, since they have it, let them, in God’s name, enjoy it, and the government make the best of it. But since I cannot find that the law which tolerates them in their way of worship (and it does no more) does at all forbid us to defend ours, it were earnestly to be wished, that all hearty lovers of the church of Eng land would assert its excellent constitution more vigorously now than ever: and especially in such congregations as this; in which there are so many young persons, upon the well or ill principling of whom, next under God, depends the happiness or misery of this church and state. For if such should be generally prevailed upon by hopes or fears, by base examples, by trimming and time-serving (which are but two words for the same thing) to abandon and betray the church of England, by nauseating her pious, prudent, and wholesome orders, (of which I have seen some scurvy instances,) we may rest assured, that this will certainly produce confusion, and that confusion will as certainly end in popery.
And therefore, since the Liturgy, rites, and ceremonies of our church have been, and still are so much
cavilled and struck at, and all upon a plea of conscience,
Very well; and is this the case then, that it is all
pure conscience that keeps you from complying with
the rule and order of the church in these matters?
If so, then produce me some word or law of God for
bidding these things. For conscience never commands or forbids any thing authentically, but there
is some law of God which commands or forbids it
first. Conscience (as might be easily shewn) being
no distinct power or faculty from the mind of man,
but the mind of man itself applying the general rule
of God’s law to particular cases and actions. This is
truly and properly conscience. And therefore shew
me such a law; and that, either as a necessary dictate
of right reason, or a positive injunction in God’s revealed word: (for these two are all the ways by
which God speaks to men nowadays:) I say, shew
me something from hence, which countermands or
condemns all or any of the forementioned ceremonies
of our church, and then I will yield the cause. But if
no such reason, no such scripture can be brought to
appear in their behalf against us, but that with screwed face and doleful whine they only ply you with
senseless harangues of conscience against carnal ordinances,
Well, but if these mighty men at chapter and
verse can produce you no scripture to overthrow our
church ceremonies, I will undertake to produce scripture enough to warrant them; even all those places
which absolutely enjoin obedience and submission to
lawful governors in all not unlawful things: particularly that in
But some will here say perhaps, If this be all
that you require of us, we both can and do bring
you scripture against your church ceremonies; even
that which condemns all will worship,
Now the consequence in both these cases is perfectly parallel: and if so, you may rest satisfied, that what is nonsense upon a principle of reason, will never be sense upon a principle of religion. But as touching the necessity of the aforesaid usages in the church of England, I shall lay down these four propositions.
1. That circumstantials in the worship of God (as well as in all other human actions) are so necessary to it, that it cannot possibly be performed with out them.
2. That decency in the circumstantials of God’s worship is absolutely necessary.
3. That the general rule and precept of decency is not capable of being reduced to practice, but as it is exemplified in, and determined to, particular instances. And,
4thly and lastly, That there is more of the general nature of decency in those particular usages and ceremonies which the church of England has pitched upon, than is or can be shewn in any other whatsoever.
These things I affirm; and when you have put
them all together, let any one give me a solid and
And thus I have shewn the absurdity, folly,
and impertinence of alleging the obligation of conscience, where there is no law or command of God
mediate or immediate to found that obligation upon.
And yet, as bad as this is, it were well if the bare
absurdity of these pretences were the worst thing
which we had to charge them with. But it is not
so. For our second and next inference from the
foregoing principle of the vicegerency of conscience under God, will shew us also the daring
impudence and downright impiety of many of those
fulsome pleas of conscience, which the world has
been too often and too scandalously abused by. For
a man to sin against his conscience, is doubtless a
great wickedness. But to make God himself a party
And are not the principles of those wretches still owned, and their persons sainted by a race of men of the same stamp, risen up in their stead, the sworn mortal enemies of our church? And yet, for whose sake some projectors amongst us have been turning every stone to transform, mangle, and degrade its noble constitution to the homely, mechanic model of those republican, imperfect churches abroad; which, instead of being any rule or pattern to us, ought in all reason to receive one from us. Nay, and so short sighted are some in their politics, as not to discern all this while, that it is not the service but the revenue of our church which is struck at; and not any passages of our Liturgy, but the property of our lands which these reformers would have altered.
For I am sure no other alteration will satisfy
dissenting consciences; no, nor this neither very
long, without an utter abolition of all that looks like
order or government in the church. And this we
Which one detestable tenet or proposition, carrying in it the very quintessence and vital spirit of all nonconformity, absolutely cashiers and cuts off all church government at one stroke; and is withal such an insolent, audacious defiance of Almighty God, under the mask of conscience, as perhaps none in former ages, who so much as wore the name of Christians, ever arrived to or made profession of.
For to resume the scriptures afore quoted by us;
and particularly that in
Again, in the forementioned
And now, I beseech you, consider with yourselves;
(for it is no slight matter that I am treating of;) I say,
consider what you ought to judge of those insolent,
unaccountable boasts of conscience, which, like so
many fireballs or mouth-granadoes, as I may so term
them, are every day thrown at our church. The
apostle bids us prove all things. And will you
then take conscience at every turn, upon its own
word? upon the forlorn credit of every bold imposter
But you will say then, What course must be taken to fence against this imposture? Why truly, the best that I know of, I have told you before; namely, that whensoever you hear any of these sly, sanctified sycophants, with turned up eye and shrug of shoulder, pleading conscience for or against any thing or practice, you would forthwith ask them, what word of God they have to bottom that judgment of their conscience upon? Forasmuch as conscience, being God’s vicegerent, was never commissioned by him to govern us in its own name; but must still have some divine word or law to support and warrant it. And therefore call for such a word; and that, either from scripture or from manifest universal reason, and insist upon it, so as not to be put off without it. And if they can produce you no such thing from either of them, (as they never can,) then rest assured that they are errant cheats and hypocrites; and that, for all their big words, the conscience of such men is so far from being able to give them any true confidence towards God, that it cannot so much as give them confidence towards a wise and good man, no, nor yet towards themselves, who are far from being either.
And thus I have shewn you the first ground upon
which the testimony of conscience (concerning a man’s spiritual estate) comes to be so authentic, and so much
Proceed we now to the second ground, from which conscience derives the credit of its testimony in judging of our spiritual estate; and that consists in those properties and qualities which so peculiarly fit it for the discharge of its forementioned office, in all things relating to the soul. And these are three.
First, The quickness of its sight.
Secondly, The tenderness of its sense; and,
Thirdly and lastly, Its rigorous and impartial way of giving sentence.
Of each of which in their order. And first for the extraordinary quickness and sagacity of its sight, in spying out every thing which can any way concern the estate of the soul. As the voice of it, I shew, was as loud as thunder; so the sight of it is as piercing and quick as lightning. It presently sees the guilt, and looks through all the flaws and blemishes of a sinful action; and on the other side, observes the candidness of a man’s very principles, the sincerity of his intentions, and the whole carriage of every circumstance in a virtuous performance. So strict and accurate is this spiritual inquisition.
Upon which account it is, that there is no such
It is confessed indeed, that a long and a bold
course of sinning may (as we have shewn elsewhere)
very much dim and darken the discerning faculty of
conscience. For so the apostle assures us it did with
those in
2dly, Another property or quality of conscience, enabling it to judge so truly of our spiritual estate, is the tenderness of its sense. For as, by the quickness of its sight, it directs us what to do, or not to do; so, by this tenderness of its sense, it excuses or accuses us, as we have done or not done according to those directions. And it is altogether as nice, delicate, and tender in feeling, as it can be perspicacious and quick in seeing. For conscience, you know, is still called and accounted the eye of the soul: and how troublesome is the least mote or dust falling into the eye! and how quickly does it weep and water, upon the least grievance that afflicts it!
And no less exact is the sense which conscience, preserved in its native purity, has of the least sin. For as great sins waste, so small ones are enough to wound it; and every wound, you know, is painful, till it festers beyond recovery. As soon as ever sin gives the blow, conscience is the first thing that feels the smart. No sooner does the poisoned arrow enter, but that begins to bleed inwardly; sin and sorrow, the venom of one and the anguish of the other, being things inseparable.
Conscience, if truly tender, never complains with
out a cause; though, I confess, there is a new-fashioned sort of tenderness of conscience, which always
does so: but that is like the tenderness of a bog or
quagmire; and it is very dangerous coming near it,
for fear of being swallowed up by it. For when
conscience has once acquired this artificial tenderness, it will strangely enlarge or contract its swallow, as it pleases; so that sometimes a camel shall
slide down with ease, where, at other times, even a
gnat may chance to stick by the way. It is indeed
In the mean time, let no man deceive himself, or think, that true tenderness of conscience is any thing else but an awful and exact sense of the rule which should direct, and of the law which should govern it. And while it steers by this compass, and is sensible of every declination from it, so long it is truly and properly tender, and fit to be relied upon, whether it checks or approves a man for what he does. For from hence alone springs its excusing or accusing power: all accusation, in the very nature of the thing, still supposing, and being founded upon, some law: for where there is no law, there can be no transgression: and where there can be no transgression, I am sure there ought to be no accusation.
And here, when I speak of law, I mean both the law of God, and of man too. For where the matter of a law is a thing not evil, every law of man is virtually, and at a second hand, the law of God also: forasmuch as it binds in the strength of the divine law, commanding obedience to every ordinance of man, as we have already shewn. And therefore all tenderness of conscience against such laws is hypocrisy, and patronized by none but men of design, who look upon it as the fittest engine to get into power by; which, by the way, when they are once possessed of, they generally manage with as little tenderness as they do with conscience: of which we have had but too much experience already, and it would be but ill venturing upon more.
In a word, conscience, not acting by and under a law, is a boundless, daring, and presumptuous thing: and for any one, by virtue thereof, to challenge to himself a privilege of doing what he will, and of being unaccountable for what he does, is in all reason too much either for man or angel to pretend to.
3dly, The third and last property of conscience which I shall mention, and which makes the verdict of it so authentic, is its great and rigorous impartiality. For as its wonderful apprehensiveness made that it could not easily be deceived, so this makes that it will by no means deceive. A judge, you know, may be skilful in understanding a cause, and yet partial in giving sentence. But it is much otherwise with conscience; no artifice can induce it to accuse the innocent, or to absolve the guilty. No; we may as well bribe the light and the day to represent white things black, or black white.
What pitiful things are power, rhetoric, or riches, when they would terrify, dissuade, or buy off conscience from pronouncing sentence according to the merit of a man’s actions! For still, as we have shewn, conscience is a copy of the divine law; and though judges may be bribed or frightened, yet laws cannot. The law is impartial and inflexible; it has no passions or affections, and consequently never accepts persons, nor dispenses with itself.
For let the most potent sinner upon earth speak
out, and tell us, whether he can command down the
clamours and revilings of a guilty conscience, and
impose silence upon that bold reprover. He may
perhaps for a while put on an high and a big look;
but can he, for all that, look conscience out of countenance? And he may also dissemble a little forced
On the contrary, if we consider the virtuous person, let him declare freely, whether ever his conscience checked him for his innocence, or upbraided him for an action of duty; did it ever bestow any of its hidden lashes or concealed bites on a mind severely pure, chaste, and religious?
But when conscience shall complain, cry out, and recoil, let a man descend into himself with too just a suspicion that all is not right within. For surely that hue and cry was not raised upon him for nothing. The spoils of a rifled innocence are borne away, and the man has stolen something from his own soul, for which he ought to be pursued, and will at last certainly be overtook.
Let every one therefore attend the sentence of his conscience: for he may be sure it will not daub nor flatter. It is as severe as law, as impartial as truth. It will neither conceal nor pervert what it knows.
And thus I have done with the third of those four particulars
at first proposed, and shewn whence, and upon what account it is, that the
testimony of conscience, concerning our spiritual estate, comes to be so
authentic, and so much to be relied upon:
I shall mention three.
1. In our addresses to God by prayer. When a
man shall presume to come and place himself in the
presence of the great searcher of hearts, and to ask
something of him, while his conscience is all the
while smiting him on the face, and telling him
what a rebel and a traitor he is to the majesty which
he supplicates; surely such an one should think
with himself, that the God whom he prays to is
greater than his conscience, and pierces into all the
filth and baseness of his heart with a much clearer
and more severe inspection. And if so, will he not
likewise resent the provocation more deeply, and revenge it upon him more terribly, if repentance does
not divert the blow? Every such prayer is big with
impiety and contradiction, and makes as odious a
noise in the ears of God, as the harangues of one of
those rebel fasts, or humiliations in the year forty-one; invoking the blessings of Heaven upon such
One of the most peculiar qualifications of an heart
rightly disposed for prayer is, a well grounded confidence of a man’s fitness for that duty. In
And now, if prayer be the great conduit of mercy, by which the blessings of heaven are derived upon the creature, and the noble instrument of converse between God and the soul, then surely that which renders it ineffectual and loathsome to God, must needs be of the most mischievous and destructive consequence to mankind imaginable; and consequently to be removed with all that earnestness and concern, with which a man would rid himself of a plague or a mortal infection. For it taints and pollutes every prayer; it turns an oblation into an affront; and the odours of a sacrifice into the exhalations of a carcass. And, in a word, makes the heavens over us brass, denying all passage, either to descending mercies or ascending petitions.
But on the other side, when a man’s breast is
clear, and the same heart which indites does also
encourage his prayer, when his innocence pushes on
the attempt, and vouches the success; such an one
goes boldly to the throne of grace, and his boldness
is not greater than his welcome. God recognises
2dly, A second instance, in which this confidence towards God does so remarkably shew itself, is at the time of some notable trial or sharp affliction. When a man’s friends shall desert him, his relations disown him, and all dependencies fail him, and, in a word, the whole world frown upon him; certainly it will then be of some moment to have a friend in the court of conscience, which shall, as it were, buoy up his sinking spirits, and speak greater things for him than all these together can declaim against him.
For as it is most certain, that no height of honour, nor affluence of fortune, can keep a man from being miserable, nor indeed contemptible, when an enraged conscience shall fly at him, and take him by the throat; so it is also as certain, that no temporal adversities can cut off those inward, secret, invincible supplies of comfort, which conscience shall pour in upon distressed innocence, in spite and in defiance of all worldly calamities.
Naturalists observe, that when the frost seizes
upon wine, they are only the slighter and more
waterish parts of it that are subject to be congealed;
but still there is a mighty spirit, which can retreat
into itself, and there within its own compass lie secure from the freezing impression of the element
round about it. And just so it is with the spirit of
a man, while a good conscience makes it firm and
impenetrable. An outward affliction can no more
benumb or quell it, than a blast of wind can freeze
up the blood in a man’s veins, or a little shower of
Take the two greatest instances of misery, which, I think, are incident to human nature; to wit, poverty and shame, and I dare oppose conscience to them both.
And first for poverty. Suppose a man stripped of all, driven out of house and home, and perhaps out of his country too, (which having, within our memory, happened to so many, may too easily, God knows, be supposed again,) yet if his conscience shall tell him, that it was not for any failure in his own duty, but from the success of another’s villainy, that all this befell him; why then, his banishment becomes his preferment, his rags his trophies, his nakedness his ornament; and so long as his innocence is his repast, he feasts and banquets upon bread and water. He has disarmed his afflictions, unstung his miseries; and though he has not the proper happiness of the world, yet he has the greatest that is to be enjoyed in it.
And for this, we might appeal to the experience of those great and good men, who, in the late times of rebellion and confusion, were forced into foreign countries, for their unshaken firmness and fidelity to the oppressed cause of majesty and religion, whether their conscience did not, like a fidus Achates, still bear them company, stick close to them, and suggest comfort, even when the causes of comfort were invisible; and, in a word, verify that great saying of the apostle in their mouths; We have nothing, and yet we possess all things.
For it is not barely a man’s abridgment in his external
accommodations which makes him miserable;
2dly, Let us consider also the case of calumny and disgrace; doubtless, the sting of every reproachful speech is the truth of it; and to be conscious, is that which gives an edge and keenness to the invective. Otherwise, when conscience shall plead not guilty to the charge, a man entertains it not as an indictment, but as a libel. He hears all such calumnies with a generous unconcernment; and receiving them at one ear, gives them a free and easy passage through the other: they fall upon him like rain or hail upon an oiled garment; they may make a noise indeed, but can find no entrance. The very whispers of an acquitting conscience will drown the voice of the loudest slander.
What a long charge of hypocrisy, and many other
base things, did Job’s friends draw up against him!
but he regarded it no more than the dunghill which
And did not Joseph lie under as black an infamy, as the charge of the highest ingratitude and the lewdest villainy could fasten upon him? Yet his conscience raised him so much above it, that he scorned so much as to clear himself, or to recriminate the strumpet by a true narrative of the matter. For we read nothing of that in the whole story: such confidence, such greatness of spirit, does a clear conscience give a man; always making him more solicitous to preserve his innocence, than concerned to prove it. And so we come now to the
Third, and last instance, in which, above all others,
this confidence towards God does most eminently
shew and exert itself; and that 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 sprightful 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;
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 conscience, 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 his soul, and close his eyes with that blessed sentence, Well done, thou good and faithful servant, enter thou into the joy of thy Lord!
For he, whose conscience enables him to look
Which God of his mercy grant to us all; to whom be rendered and ascribed, as is most due, all praise, might, majesty, and dominion, both now and for evermore. Amen.
This dedication refers to the twelve sermons next following.
My Lord,
THE particular acquaintance and friendship which your Grace was pleased to honour me with while you lived at Oxford, have emboldened me to address myself to your Lordship at this great distance of place, and greater of condition; in hopes that by your Grace’s advancement to so high a station in the church, that, which before was only friendship, may now improve into patronage and protection. And yet, as ambitious as I am of so ennobling a patronage, and as singular a value as I have for your Grace’s favour, I must needs own, that the design of my present application to your Grace, is not so much to crave a favour, as to pay a debt; and, in answer to the many obligations I lie under, to congratulate your Grace on that height of dignity and greatness to which Providence has so happily raised you, and your own worth so justly entitled you; and so, without your seeking (and much less sneaking) for it, made you, to your great honour, to be sought for by it: there being (as from my heart I believe) few examples in the world of so much merit and so much modesty in conjunction.
It is indeed no small infelicity to the church of England,
to have parted with so extraordinary a member; but none
at all, I conceive, to your Grace, that you are placed where
Never certainly were the fundamental articles of our faith
so boldly impugned, nor the honour of our church so foully
blemished, as they have been of late years; while the Socinians have had their full uncontrolled fling at both; and the
Tritheists have injured and exposed them more by pretending to defend them against the Socinians, than the Socinians
themselves did or could do by opposing them. For surely
But at length happily steps in the royal authority to the churches 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 themselves as privileged persons, and so above those ordinances which others were to be subject to, resolved not to be silent themselves; but renewing the contest, partly by throwing Muggleton and Rigaltius, with some other foul stuff, in their adversaries 1 faces; and partly by a shameless reprinting (without the least reinforcing) the same exploded tritheistic notions again and again, they quite broke through the royal prohibitions, and soon after began to take as great a liberty in venting their innovations and invectives, as ever they had done before; . so that he, who shall impartially consider the course taken by these men with reference to those engaged on the other side of this controversy about the Trinity, will find that their whole proceeding in it resembles nothing so much, as a thief’s binding the hands of an honest man with a cord, much fitter for his own neck.
But, blessed be God, matters stand not so with you in
Ireland; the climate there being not more impatient of poisonous
The truth is, such things as these make the case with us
here in England come too near that of Poland about a
hundred and twenty or a hundred and thirty years ago, See a learned tract in 8vo. entitled, The Growth of Error, &c. sect.
8.
printed in the year 1697.
But on the contrary, amongst you, when a certain Mahometan Christian, (no new thing of late,) notorious for his
blasphemous denial of the mysteries of our religion, and his
insufferable virulence against the whole Christian priest
hood, thought to have found shelter amongst you, the parliament, to their immortal honour, presently sent him packing, and without the help of a fagot soon made the kingdom too hot for him: a
sufficient argument, doubtless, how
far we are from needing those savage executions used by
the Papists to rid the church of heretics and blasphemers,
And now, my Lord, may that God by whom princes and prelates govern, and churches stand, long preserve your Grace, and that excellent church which you are so eminent a pillar of, and ornament to; and which, by her incomparable courage and faithfulness lately shewn in preserving that great depositum, the holy religion committed to her trust, has gotten herself a name which will never die; and such a solid well-founded reputation, as no bending this way or that way, no trimming or tricking it, ever could or can give so ample and so considerable a body: for it is lead only that bends to almost every thing, which the nobler metals cannot do, and the nobler sort of minds will not.
But I fear I trespass too far upon your Grace’s time and business; and therefore humbly imploring your Grace’s blessing, I lay these poor papers at your feet, infinitely unworthy, I confess, of the acceptance of so great a person, and the perusal of so judicious an eye; but yet at present the best pledges I can give your Grace of those sincere respects and services, which your Grace ought always to claim, and shall never fail to receive from,
My Lord,
Your Grace’s ever faithful
and most obedient servant,
ROBERT SOUTH.
Westminster,
April 30, 1698.
The Doctrine of Merit stated, and the Impossibility of Man’s meriting of God asserted, in
Can a man be profitable to God?
IT is a matter of no small moment certainly for a man to be rightly informed upon what terms and conditions he is to transact with God, and God with him, in the great business of his salvation. For by knowing upon what terms he must obtain eternal happiness hereafter, he will know also upon what grounds he is to hope for and expect it here; and so be able to govern both his actions and expectations according to the nature of the thing he is in pursuit of; lest otherwise he should chance to fail of the prize he runs for, by mistaking the way he should run in.
St. Paul, as plainly as words can express a thing,
tells us, that eternal life is the gift of God; and consequently to be expected by us only as such: nay,
he asserts it to be a gift in the very same verse in
Nevertheless, such is the extreme folly, or rather sottishness of man’s corrupt nature, that this does by no means satisfy him. For though indeed he would fain be happy, yet fain would he also thank none for it but himself. And though he finds, that not only his duty, but his necessity brings him every day upon his knees to Almighty God for the very bread he eats; yet when he comes to deal with him about spirituals, (things of infinitely greater value,) he ap pears and acts, not as a suppliant, but as a merchant; not as one who comes to be relieved, but to traffick. For something he would receive of God, and some thing he would give him; and nothing will content this insolent, yet impotent creature, unless he may seem to buy the very thing he begs. Such being the pride and baseness of some spirits, that where they receive a benefit too big for them to requite, they will even deny the kindness, and disown the obligation.
Now this great self-delusion, so prevalent upon
most minds, is the thing here encountered in the
text. The words of which (by an usual way of
speech) under an interrogation couching a positive
assertion, are a declaration of the impossibility of
man’s being profitable to God, or (which is all
one) of his meriting of God; according to the true,
proper, and strict sense of merit. Nor does this interrogative way of expression import only a bare
negation of the thing, as in itself impossible, but also
And that no other thing is here meant by a man’s being profitable to God, but his meriting of God,
will appear from a true state and account of the nature of merit; which we may not improperly
define, a right to receive some good upon the score of
some good done, together with an equivalence or parity of worth between the good to be received and the
good done. So that although according to the common division of justice into commutative and
distributive, that which is called commutative be employed
only about the strict value of things, according to an
arithmetical proportion, (as the schools speak,) which
admits of no degrees; and the other species of justice, called distributive, (as consisting in the distribution of rewards and punishments,) admits of some latitude and degrees in the dispensation of it; yet, in
truth, even this distribution itself must so far follow
the rules of commutation, that the good to be dispensed by way of reward, ought in justice to be equivalent to the work or action which it is designed as
a compensation of; so as by no means to sink below
it, or fall short of the full value of it. From all
which (upon a just estimate of the matter) it follows,
Thus much therefore being premised, as an explication of the drift or design of the words, (the words themselves being too plain and easy to need any further exposition,) we shall observe and draw from them these four particulars.
First, Something supposed or implied in them, viz. That men are naturally very prone to entertain an opinion or persuasion, that they are able to merit of God, or be profitable to him.
Secondly, Something expressed, namely, That such an opinion or persuasion is utterly false and absurd; and that it is impossible for man to merit of God, or to be profitable to him.
Thirdly, Something inferred from both the former, to wit, That the forementioned opinion or persuasion is the very source or foundation of two of the great est corruptions that have infested the Christian church and religion. And,
Fourthly and lastly, Something objected against the particulars discoursed of, which I shall endeavour to answer and remove; and so conclude this discourse.
Of each of which in their order: and,
First, for the first of them. The thing supposed or implied in the words, namely, That men are naturally very prone to entertain an opinion or persuasion, that they are able to merit of God, or be profitable to him.
The truth of which will appear from these two considerations.
First, That it is natural for them to place too high a value both upon themselves and their own performances. And that this is so, is evident from that universal experience, which proves it no less natural to them to bear a more than ordinary love to themselves; and all love, we know, is founded in, and results from, a proportionable esteem of the object loved: so that, look in what degree any man loves himself, in the same degree it will follow, that he must esteem himself too. Upon which account it is, that every man will be sure to set his own price upon what he is, and what he does, whether the world will come up to it or no; as it seldom does.
That speech of St. Peter to our Saviour is very remarkable, in
Secondly, A second consideration, from whence we
infer this proneness in men to think themselves able
to merit of God, or to be profitable to him, is their
natural aptness to form and measure their apprehensions of the supreme Lord of all things, by what
they apprehend and observe of the princes and potentates of this world, with reference to such as are
under their dominion. And this is certainly a very
prevailing fallacy, and steals too easily upon men’s minds, as being founded in the unhappy predominance
I proceed now to the
Second particular, in which we have something
expressed, namely, That such a persuasion is utterly
false and absurd, and that it is impossible for men
to merit of God, or be profitable to him. And this
I shall evince by shewing the several ingredients of
merit, and the conditions necessary to render an action
First, That an action be not due; that is to say,
it must not be such as a man stands obliged to the
doing of, but such as he is free either to do, or not
to do, without being chargeable with the guilt of
any sinful omission in case he does it not. It being no
ill account given of merit by Spanhemius, Dub. Evang. parte iii. pag. 782.
Besides, that in all the benefactions passing from
Almighty God upon such as serve him the best they
can, there could be no such thing as liberality;
which can never take place but where something is
given, which the receiver cannot challenge: nay,
very hardly could there be any such thing as gift.
For if there be first a claim, then, in strictness of
speech, it is not so properly gift as payment. Yea,
so vast would be the comprehension of justice, that
it would scarce leave any object for favour. But
God’s grace and bounty being so prevented by merit,
would be spectators rather than actors in the whole
work of man’s salvation. Nor would our obedience
to God’s positive precepts only, but also to his negative, sometimes strike in for their share of merit and
claim to a reward. And any one who could plead
such a negative righteousness, might come and demand a recompence of God for not drinking or
whoring, swearing or blaspheming; just as the
Pharisee did, for not being as the very dregs of sinners;
But now, that all that any man alive is capable of doing, is but an indispensable homage to God, and not a free oblation; and that also such an homage, as makes his obligation to what he does much earlier than his doing of it, will appear both from the law of nature, and that of God’s positive command: of each of which a word or two, and
First, for the law of nature. There is nothing
that nature proclaims with a louder and more intelligible voice, than that he who gives a being, and
afterwards preserves and supports it, has an indefeasible claim to whatsoever the said being, so given
and supported by him, either is, or has, or can possibly do. But this is a point which I must be more
particular upon, and thereby lay a foundation for
what I shall argue, a fortiori, concerning God him
self, from what is to be observed amongst men.
Now the right which one man has to the actions of
another, is generally derived from one or both of
these two great originals, production or possession.
The first of which gives a parent right over the actions
First, for production. By the purest and most en tire communication of being, God did not only produce, but create man. He gave him an existence out of nothing, and while he was yet but a mere idea or possibility in the mind of his eternal Maker. That one expression of the Psalmist, It is he who hath made us, and not we ourselves, being both a full account, and an irrefragable demonstration of his absolute sovereignty over our persons, and in contestable claim to all our services: nor is this the utmost measure of our obligation to him, but as he first drew us out of nothing and non-existence, so he ever since keeps us from relapsing into it; his power brought us forth, and his providence maintains us. And thus has this poor impotent creature been perpetually hanging upon the bounty of his great Creator, and by a daily preservation of his precarious being, stands obliged to him under the growing renewed title of a continual creation. But this is not all. There is yet,
Secondly, another title; whereby one person obtains a right to all that another can do; and that is
possession. A title, every whit as transcendently
in God as the former; as being founded in, and
resulting from, his forementioned prerogative of
a Creator. Nothing being more unquestionable,
than that the earth is the Lord’s, and the fullness thereof; as the Psalmist declares,
The civil law tells us, that servants have not properly a
jus, a right or title, to any thing, by virtue
whereof they can implead or bring an action against
their lord, upon any account whatsoever; every such
servant, as the law here speaks of, being not only his
master’s vassal, but also part of his possessions. And
this right our Saviour himself owns, and sets forth
to us by an elegant parable, couching under it as
strong an argument,
Secondly, Not only the law of nature, and the
reason of the thing itself, (as we have sufficiently
shewn,) excludes a man from all plea of merit; but
also that further obligation lying upon him and all
his services from the positive law and command of
God, equally cuts him off from the same: the known
voice of that law being, Thou shalt worship the
Lord thy God, and him only shalt thou serve,
Second condition required to render an action meritorious; and that is, That it should really add to,
and better the state of the person of whom it is to
merit. The reason of which is, because all merit (as
we have shewn before) consists properly in a right
to receive some benefit, on the account of some benefit first done: the natural order of things requiring,
that where a considerable advantage has been received, something of the like nature should be
returned. For that otherwise, if one part of the world
should be always upon the receiving hand, and never
upon the restoring, that part would be a kind of
monstrous dead weight upon the other, and all that
But, to bring the forementioned condition of merit home to our present purpose, and thereby to shew how far God is capable of receiving from man, and man of giving to God, it may not be amiss briefly to represent to ourselves what God is, and what man is; and, by consequence, how the case of giving and receiving must stand on God’s part, and how on man’s. And here, in the
1st place, God offers himself to our consideration as a being infinitely perfect, infinitely happy, and self-sufficient; depending upon no supply or revenue from abroad, but (as I may so express it) retreating wholly into himself, and there living for ever upon the inexhaustible stock of his own essential fulness; and as a fountain owes not its streams to any poor, adventitious infusions from without, but to the internal, unfailing plenties of its own springs; so this mighty, all-comprehending being, which we call God, needs no other happiness, but to contemplate upon that which he actually is, and ever was, and shall be possessed of. From all which it follows, that the divine nature and beatitude can no more admit of any addition to it, than we can add degrees to infinity, new measures to immensity, and further improvements to a boundless, absolute, unimprovable perfection: for such a being is the great God, who is one of the parties whom we are now discoursing of. Nevertheless, to carry the case a little further; supposing for the present, that the divine nature and felicity were capable of some further addition and increase, let us, in the
2nd place, cast our eye upon the other party concerned,
And is this now the person who is to oblige his
Maker? to indent and drive bargains with the Almighty? Those, I am sure, who in their several
ages have been reputed most eminent for their knowledge of God and of themselves too, used to speak
at much another rate concerning both. My goodness, says David, extendeth not to thee,
Nevertheless it must be confessed, that some have
found out such an exposition of it, as, if admitted,
renders it of no force at all against this doctrine of
merit. For first, they absolutely cashier the literal,
express sense of the words, and in the room of it introduce a figure called by the Greeks μείωσις, which,
to diminish or degrade a thing, expresses it in terms
representing it much less than indeed it is; as when
we say a thing is smaller than an atom, less than nothing, and the like; such words are not to be under
stood literally, but import only, that the thing spoken
of is very inconsiderable. Accordingly, when Christ
bids his disciples, after their best and most exact performances, acknowledge themselves
unprofitable
servants, we are not, say these expositors, to conclude
from hence, that really they were so, but that Christ
only read them a lecture of humility and self-abasement towards God, in speaking but meanly and
lowly of their own piety, how differently soever it
might deserve to be valued, according to the strict
estimate of the thing itself. So that by all this, it
seems, our Saviour was only teaching those about
him how to pass compliments upon Almighty God.
Their professing of themselves unprofitable servants
amounting to no more than if they had told him, they
were his humble servants; the meaning of which
words, (if they have any meaning at all,) the fashion
able custom of genteel lying will much better account
for, than the language of scripture (the word of
truth) is able to do. But in the mean time, what an
Third condition required to render an action meritorious; and that is, That there be an equal proportion of value between the action and the reward.
This being evident from the foundation already laid
by us; to wit, That the nature of merit consists properly in exchange; and that, we know, must
proceed according to a parity of worth on both sides;
commutation being most properly between things
equivalent. But now the prize we run for in all our
religious performances, is no less a thing than life
eternal, and a beatific enjoyment of God himself for
ever; and can any man, not quite abandoned by his
reason, imagine a few, weak, broken actions, a competent price for heaven and immortality? and fit to
be laid in the balance with an exceeding and eternal
weight of glory? Is there any thing in dust and
ashes that can deserve to dwell with God, and to
converse with angels? Or can we, who live by sense
and act by sense do any thing worthy of those joys
which not only exceed our senses, but also transcend
our intellectuals? Can we do beyond what we can
think, and deserve beyond what we can do? For
let us rate our best and most exact services according to the strict rules of morality, and what man is
able to carry so steady an hand in any religious performance, as to observe all those conditions that are
The Papists, we know, in their disputes upon this subject, distinguish merit into that which is de condigno, which merits a reward upon terms of justice, and by reason of the inherent worth and value of the work done; and that on the other side to be de congruo, which, though it cannot claim a reward upon those terms, and from the precise worth and value of the work itself, yet is such, that God would not act suitably and congruously to the equity and goodness of his nature, if he should not reward it. These two sorts of merit, I say, they hold, but are not yet agreed which of the two they should state the merit of their good works upon. For some boldly assert, that they merit the, former way; to wit, by their own inherent worth and value; and some, that they merit only the latter way, that is, by being such as the equity and goodness of God cannot but reward; and lastly, others (as particularly Bellarmine) hold, that they merit both ways; to wit, partly by condignity, and partly by congruity.
In answer to which, without disputing any thing
against their merit of condignity, (since it more than sufficiently confutes itself,) I utterly deny the whole
foundation of their merit de congruo, as to any obligation on God’s part to reward our religious services
upon the score of equity; since upon that account
God can be under no obligation to do any thing:
forasmuch as there is no such thing as equity in God,
distinct from his justice and mercy; and the exercise of his mercy must on all hands needs be granted
Amongst men, I confess, there is such an obligation as that of equity; and the reason is, because men stand obliged by a superior law to exercise mercy as well as justice; which God does not: and therefore, though there may be such a thing as a meritum de congruo between man and man, yet between God and man (since God is under no obligation to shew mercy, where his own word has not first obliged him) no such merit can take place.
But, besides, this is not the point, whether or no it
be congruous to the goodness of God, for him to reward such or such actions: for there be many
thousands of things and actions very congruous for
God to do, which yet by his nature he is not
obliged to do, nor ever will do; so that the bare congruity of any thing or action to the divine nature
lays no obligation upon God to do it at all. But the
point lies here; to wit, whether it be so congruous
to God to reward the obedience and good actions of
men, that it is incongruous to his nature not to do
it; and this I utterly deny. For if it were incongruous to his nature not to reward them, it would
be necessary for him to reward them; and then indeed merit must upon equal necessity take place.
But if God be not bound to reward every act, which
it may be suitable or congruous for him to reward,
(as we have shewn that he is not,) then meritum de
congruo is but merit equivocally so called; and the
forementioned division of merit is not a division of
a genus into two several species, but only a distribution of an equivocal term into its several significations; and
consequently to give the name of merit
with respect to God, to that which is so only de congruo,
From all which it follows, that the third condition
required to make an action meritorious, is here failing also. Which is, That the excellency of the work
Fourth and last condition or ingredient of merit. And that is, That he who does a work whereby he would merit of another, does it solely by his own strength, and not by the strength or power of him from whom he is to merit. The reason of which is, because otherwise the work would not be entirely a man’s own. And where there is no property, there can be no exchange; all exchange being the alienation of one property or title for another. And I have all along shewn, that the nature of merit is founded in commutation.
But now, how great an hand, or rather what a
total influence, God has in all our actions, that
known maxim, jointly received both by heathens
and Christians, sufficiently demonstrates; namely,
that in him we live, and move, and have our being.
And so intimately and inseparably does this influence join itself with all the motions of the creature,
that it puzzles the deepest and most acute philosophers to distinguish between the actions of second
causes and the concurrence of the first, so as to rescue
them from a downright identity. Accordingly, in
In all the actions of men, though we naturally fix
our eye only upon some visible agent, yet still there
is a secret, invisible spring, which is the first mover
of, and conveys an activity to, every power and faculty
And thus I have distinctly gone over the several conditions of merit. As first, That the meritorious act be not due. Secondly, That it really add to, and better the condition of, him from whom it merits. Thirdly, That there be a parity of value between the work and the reward. And fourthly and lastly, That it be done by the sole strength of him who merits, and not by the help and strength of him from whom he merits. These four, I say, are the essential ingredients and indispensable conditions of merit. And yet not one of them all agrees to the very best of man’s actions with reference to Almighty God. Nevertheless, in despite of all these deplorable impotences, we see what a towering principle of pride works in the hearts of men, and how mightily it makes them affect to be their own saviours, and even while they live upon God, to depend upon themselves: to be poor and proud being the truest character of man ever since the pride of our first parents threw us into this forlorn condition. And thus I have finished the second and main particular proposed from these words, and expressed in them; namely, That it is impossible for men, by their best services, to merit of God, or be profitable to him. I proceed now to the
Third particular, which exhibits to us something by way of inference from the two former; to wit, That this persuasion of man’s being able to merit of God, is the source and foundation of two of the greatest corruptions of religion that have infested the Christian church; and those are Pelagianism and Popery. And,
First for Pelagianism. It chiefly springs from,
In the mean time, throughout all this Pelagian
scheme, we have not so much as one word of man’s natural impotency to spiritual things, (though inculcated and wrote in both Testaments with a sun
beam,) nor consequently of the necessity of some
powerful divine energy to bend, incline, and effectually draw man’s will to such objects as it naturally
resists and is averse to: not a word, I say, of this,
or any thing like it; (for those men used to explode
and deny it all, as their modern offspring amongst
us also do;) and yet this passed for sound and good
divinity in the church in St. Austin’s time; and within less than an hundred
years since, in our church too, till Pelagianism and Socinianism, deism,
tritheism, atheism, and a spirit of innovation, the root of all, and worse than
all, broke in upon us, and by false schemes and models countenanced and
encouraged, have given quite a new face to things;
Secondly, To proceed to another sort of men famous for corrupting Christianity more ways than
one; to wit, those of the church of Rome. We shall
find, that this doctrine of man’s being able to merit
of God is one of the chief foundations of Popery also:
even the great Diana, which some of the most experienced craftsmen in the world do with so much
zeal sacrifice to and make shrines for; and by so
doing get their living, and that a very plentiful and
splendid one too; as knowing full well, that without
it the grandeur of their church (which is all their religion) would quickly fall to the ground. For if there
be no merit of good works, then no supererogation;
and if no supererogation, no indulgences; and if no
indulgences, then it is to be feared that the silver
smith’s trade will run low, and the credit of the pontifical bank begin to fail. So that the very marrow,
the life and spirit of Popery lies in a stiff adherence
to this doctrine: the grand question still insisted
upon by these merchants being, Quid dabitis? and
the great commodity set to sale by them being merit.
For can any one think, that the Pope and his cardinals, and the rest of their ecclesiastical grandees,
care a rush whether the will of man be free, or no,
(as the Jesuits state the freedom of it on the one
side, and Dominicans and Jansenists on the other,)
or that they at all concern themselves about justification and free grace, but only as the artificial stating
of such points may sometimes serve them in their
spiritual traffick, and now and then help them to turn
the penny. No; they value not their schools any
Fourth and last particular, proposed at first from the words; which was, to remove an objection naturally apt to issue from the foregoing particulars. The objection is obvious, and the answer to it needs not be long. It proceeds thus.
If the doctrine hitherto advanced be true, can
there be a greater discouragement to men in their
Christian course, than to consider, that all their obedience, all their duties and choicest performances, are
nothing worth in the sight of God? and that they
themselves, after they have done their best, their utmost, and their very all in his service, are still, for
all that, useless and unprofitable, and such as can
First, That it neither ought nor uses to be any discouragement to a beggar (as we all are in respect of Almighty God) to continue asking an alms, and doing all that he can to obtain it, though he knows he can do nothing to claim it. But,
Secondly, I deny, that our disavowing this doctrine of merit cuts us off from all plea to a recompence
for our Christian obedience at the hands of God. It
cuts us off indeed from all plea to it upon the score of
condignity and strict justice: but then should we not,
on the other side, consider, whether God’s justice be
the only thing that can oblige him in his transactings
with men? For does not his, veracity and his promise oblige him as much as his justice can? And
has he not positively promised to reward our sincere
obedience? Which promise, though his mere grace
and goodness induced him to make, yet his essential
truth stands obliged to see performed. For though
some have ventured so far as to declare God under
no obligation to inflict the eternal torments of hell
(how peremptorily soever threatened by him) upon
men dying in their sins; yet I suppose none will be
so hardy, or rather shameless, as to affirm it free
for God to perform or not perform his promise; the
obligation of which being so absolute and unalterable,
I do here further affirm, that, upon the truest and
most assured principles of practical reason, there is
as strong and as enforcing a motive from the immutable truth of God’s promise, to raise men to the
highest and most heroic acts of a Christian life, as if
every such single act could by its own intrinsic
worth merit a glorious eternity. For, to speak the
And therefore, though we have all the reason in the world to blush at the worthless emptiness of our best duties, and to be ashamed of the poorness and shortness of our most complete actions, and, in a word, to think as meanly of them, and of ourselves for them, as God himself does, yet still let us build both our practice and our comfort upon this one conclusion, as upon a rock; that though, after we have done all, we are still unprofitable servants, yet because we have done all, God has engaged himself to be a gracious master.
To whom therefore be rendered and ascribed, as is most due, all praise, might, majesty, and dominion, both now and for evermore. Amen.
Take heed therefore that the light which is in thee be not darkness.
As light is certainly one of the most glorious and useful creatures that ever issued from the wisdom and power of the great Creator of the world; so, were the eye of the soul as little weakened by the fall as the eye of the body, no doubt the light within us would appear as much more glorious than the light without us, as the spiritual, intellectual part of the creation exceeds the glories of the sensible and corporeal. As to the nature of which light, to give some account of it before I proceed further, and that without entering into those various notions of it which some have amused the world with; it is, in short, that which philosophers in their discourses about the mind of man, and the first origins of knowledge, do so much magnify by the name of recta ratio; that great source and principle (as they would have it) both of their philosophy and religion.
For the better explication of which, I must, according to a common but necessary distinction, (and elsewhere made use of by me,) observe, that this recta ratio may be taken in a double sense.
First, For those maxims or general truths, which, being collected by the observations of reason, and formed thereby into certain propositions, are the grounds and principles by which men govern both their discourse and practice, according to the nature of the objects that come before them: or,
Secondly, It may be taken for that faculty or power of the soul, by which it forms these maxims or propositions, and afterwards discourses upon them. And so no doubt it is to be taken here.
For propositions themselves, as to the truth of them, are neither capable of increase or decrease, improvement or diminution; but the powers and faculties of the soul are capable of both; that is, of becoming stronger or weaker, according as men shall use or abuse, cultivate or neglect them. Upon which account this recta ratio can be nothing else but that intellectual power or faculty of the soul which every one is naturally endowed with.
To which faculty, as there belong two grand and
principal offices; to wit, one to inform or direct, and
the other to command or oblige; so the said faculty
sustains a different σχέσις or denomination, according
to each of them. For as it serves to inform the soul,
by discovering things to it, so it is called the light
of nature; but as it obliges the soul to do this, or
forbear that, (which it does, as it is actuated or in
formed with those forementioned general truths or
maxims,) so it is called the law of nature: which
two offices, though belonging to one and the same
Nevertheless, since the word conscience takes in
both, and signifies as well a light to inform, as it imports and carries with it also a
law to oblige us, I
shall indifferently express this light by the name of
conscience (as a term equivalent to it) in all the following particulars; but still this shall be with respect to its informing, rather than to its obliging
office. Forasmuch as it is the former of these only
which is the proper effect of light, and not the latter. For though conscience be both a light and (as
it commands under God) a law too; yet as it is a
light, it is not formally a law. For if it were, then
whatsoever it discovered to us, it would also oblige
us to. But this is not so; since it both may and
does discover to us the indifferent nature of many
And thus much I thought fit to premise concerning the nature of the light here spoken of by our Saviour, and intended for the subject of the present discourse. Which light, as it is certainly the great and sovereign gift of God to mankind, for the guidance and government of their actions, in all that concerns them with reference to this life or a bet ter; so it is also as certain, that it is capable of being turned into darkness, and thereby made wholly useless for so noble a purpose.
For so much the words of the text import; nor do they import only a bare possibility that it may be so, but also a very high probability that, without an extraordinary prevention, it will be so. Forasmuch as all warning, in the very reason of the thing, and according to the natural force of such expressions, implies in it these two things. First, some very considerable evil or mischief warned against; and secondly, an equal danger of falling into it: without which all warning would be not only superfluous, but ridiculous.
Now both these, in the present case, are very great; as will appear by a distinct consideration of each of them. And
First, For the evil which we are warned or cautioned against; to wit, the turning of this light
within us into darkness. An evil so unconceivably
great and comprehensive, that to give an account of
These, I say, are some of those fatal mischiefs,
which corporal blindness and insensibility expose
the body to: and are not those of a spiritual blindness unexpressibly greater? For must not a man
labouring under this be utterly at a loss, how to distinguish between the two grand governing concerns
of life, good and evil? And may not the ignorance
of these cost us as dear as the knowledge of them
did our first parents? Life and death, vice and virtue, come alike to such an one; as all things are of
the same colour to him who cannot see. His whole
A man destitute of this directing and distinguishing light within him, is and must be at the mercy of every thing in nature, that would impose or serve a turn upon him. So that whatsoever the devil will have him do, that he must do. Whithersoever any exorbitant desire or design hurries him, thither he must go. Whatsoever any base interest shall prescribe, that he must set his hand to, whether his heart goes along with it, or no. If he be a states man, he must be as willing to sell, as the enemy of his country can be to buy. If a churchman, he must be ready to surrender and give up the church, and make a sacrifice of the altar itself, though he lives by it; and, in a word, take that for a full discharge from all his subscriptions and obligations to it, to do as he is bid. Which being the case of such as steer by a false light, certainly no slave in the galleys is or can be in such a wretched condition of slavery, as a man thus abandoned by conscience, and bereft of all inward principles that should either guide or control him in the course of his conversation. So that we see here the transcendent greatness of the evil which we stand cautioned against. But then,
Secondly, If it were an evil that seldom happened,
that very hardly and rarely befell a man, this might
in a great measure supersede the strictness of the
For this must be acknowledged, that no man living, in respect of conscience, is born blind, but makes himself so. None can strike out the eye of his conscience but himself: for nothing can put it out, but that which sins it out. And upon this account it must be confessed, that a man may love his sin so enormously much, as, by a very ill application of the apostle’s expression, even to pluck out his own eyes, and give them to it; as indeed every obstinate sinner in the world does.
Our present business therefore shall be (and that as a completion of what I discoursed formerly upon conscience in this place) to shew how and by what courses this divine light, this candle of the Lord, comes first to burn faint and dim, and so by a gradual decay fainter and fainter, till at length by a total extinction it quite sinks to nothing, and so dies away. And this I shall do, first, in general, and secondly, in particular.
And first in general, I shall lay down these two observations.
First, that whatsoever defiles the conscience, in the same degree also darkens it.
As to the philosophy of which, how and by what
way this is done, it is hard to conceive, and much
harder to explain. Our great unacquaintance with
the nature of spiritual, immaterial beings leaving us
wholly in the dark as to any explicit knowledge,
cither how they work, or how they are worked upon.
Yet thus much we find, that there is something in sin analogous to blackness, as innocence is frequently in scripture expressed and set forth to us by whiteness. All guilt blackens (or does something equivalent to the blackening of) the soul; as where pitch cleaves to any thing, it is sure to leave upon it both its foulness and its blackness together: and then we know, that blackness and darkness are inseparable.
Some of the ablest of the Peripatetic school (not without countenance from Aristotle himself, in the fifth chapter of his third book, περὶ ψυχῆς) hold, that besides the native, inherent light of the intellect, (which is essential to it, as it is a faculty made to apprehend, and take in its object after a spiritual way,) there is also another light, in the nature of a medium, beaming in upon it by a continual efflux and emanation from the great fountain of light, and irradiating this intellectual faculty, together with the species or representations of things imprinted thereupon. According to which doctrine it seems with great reason to follow, that whatsoever interposes between the mind and those irradiations from God, (as all sin more or less certainly does,) must needs hinder the entrance and admission of them into the mind; and then darkness must by necessary consequence ensue, as being nothing else but the absence or privation of light.
For the further illustration of which notion, we
may observe, that the understanding, the mind, or
In like manner every act of sin, every degree of
guilt, does in its proportion cast a kind of soil or
foulness upon the intellectual part of the soul, and
thereby intercepts those blessed irradiations which the
divine nature is continually darting in upon it. Nor
is this all, but there are also some certain sorts and
degrees of guilt, so very black and foul, that they fall
like an huge thick blot upon this faculty; and so
sinking into it, and settling within it, utterly exclude
all those illuminations which would otherwise flow
into it, and rest upon it from the great Father of
lights; and this not from any failure or defect in the
I will not affirm this to be a perfect exemplification of the case before us, but I am sure it is a lively illustration of it, and may be of no small use to such as shall throughly consider it. But however (as I shewed before) the thing itself is certain and unquestionable, guilt and darkness being always so united, that you shall never find darkness mentioned in scripture in a moral sense, but you shall also find it derived from sin, as its direct cause, and joined with it as its constant companion: for, by a mutual production, sin both causes darkness, and is caused by it. Let this therefore be our first general observation; That whatsoever pollutes or fouls the conscience, in the same degree also darkens it.
Secondly, Our other general observation shall be this; That whatsoever puts a bias upon the judging faculty of conscience, weakens, and, by consequence, darkens the light of it. A clear and a right judging conscience must be always impartial; and that it may be so, it must be perfectly indifferent: that is to say, it must be free and disencumbered from every thing which may in the least sway or incline it one way rather than another, beyond what the sole and mere evidence of things would naturally lead it to. In a word, it must judge all by evidence, and nothing by inclination.
And this our blessed Saviour, with admirable emphasis and significance of expression, calls the
singleness of the eye, in the verse immediately before the
text. If thine eye, says he, be single, thy whole
body shall be full of light. That is, nothing extraneous
In short, whatsoever bends or puts a bias upon the judging faculty of conscience, represents things to it by a false light; and whatsoever does so, causes in it a false and erroneous judgment of things. And all error or falsehood is, in the very nature of it, a real, intellectual darkness; and consequently must diffuse a darkness upon the mind, so far as it is affected and possessed with it. And thus much for our second general observation.
From whence we shall now pass to particulars. In the assigning and stating of which, as I shewed before, that sin in general was the general cause of this darkness, so the particular causes of it must be fetched from the particular kinds and degrees of sin.
Now sin may be considered three ways.
First, In the act.
Secondly, In the habit or custom.
Thirdly, In the affection, or productive principle of it.
In all which we shall shew what a darkening and malign influence sin has upon the conscience or mind of man; and consequently with what extreme care and severe vigilance the conscience ought to be guarded and watched over in all these respects. And,
First, For sin considered in the single act. Every particular commission of any great sin, such as are, for instance, the sins of perjury, of murder, of uncleanness, of drunkenness, of theft, and, above all, of undutifulness to parents, (which being a thing so much against nature, nothing in nature can be said for it;) these, I say, and the like capital, soul-wasting sins, even in any one single act or commission of them, have a strangely efficacious power to cloud and darken the conscience. Some of the schoolmen are of opinion, that one single act, if great and extraordinary, has in it the force of many ordinary and lesser acts, and so may produce a habit: which opinion, how true soever it may be of an act of demonstration producing a habit of science in the intellect, yet I cannot think it true of any moral habits what soever. For it is not to be thought that St. Peter’s denying and forswearing his Lord left behind it a ha bit of unbelief; nor that David’s murder and adultery rendered him habitually murderous and adulterous. For no doubt it was not so.
But this I say, that every single gross act of sin
is much the same thing to the conscience, that a
great blow or fall is to the head; it stuns and bereaves it of all use of its senses for a time. Thus in
the two forementioned sins of David, they so mazed
and even stupified his conscience, that it lay as it
were in a swoon, and void of all spiritual sense for
For this is most certain, and worth our best observation; that whatsoever carries a man off from
God, will, in the natural course and tendency of it,
carry him still further and further, till at length
it leaves him neither will nor power to return. For
repentance is neither the design nor work of mere
nature, which, immediately after the commission of
Secondly, The frequent and repeated practice of
sin has also a mighty power in it to obscure and
darken the natural light of conscience. Nothing being more certainly true, nor more universally
acknowledged, than that custom of sinning takes away
the sense of sin; and we may add, the sight of it
too. For though the darkness consequent upon any
one gross act of sin be, as we have shewed, very
great, yet that which is caused by custom of sinning
is much greater, and more hardly curable. Particular acts of sin do, as it were, cast a mist before the
eye of conscience, but customary sinning brings a
kind of film upon it, and it is not an ordinary skill
which can take off that. The former only closes the
eye, but this latter puts it out; as leaving upon the
soul a wretched impotence, either to judge or to do
well; much like the spots of the leopard, not to be
changed, or the blackness of an Ethiopian, not to be
washed off. For by these very things the Spirit of
God, in
Now the reason, I conceive, that such a custom
brings such a darkness upon the mind or conscience,
is this: that a man naturally designs to please him
self in all that he does; and that it is impossible for
The truth is, such an habitual frequency of sinning, does, as it were, bar and bolt up the conscience
against the sharpest reproofs and the most convincing instructions; so that when
God, by the thunder of his judgments and the voice of his ministers, has been
ringing hell and vengeance into the ears of such a sinner, perhaps, like Felix,
he may tremble a little for the present, and seem to yield and fall down before
the overpowering evidence of the conviction; but after a while, custom overcoming
conscience, the man goes his way, and though he is convinced and satisfied what
he ought to do, yet he actually does what he uses to do: and all this, because,
For this is certain, that nature has placed all human choice in such an essential dependence upon the judgment, that no man does any thing, though never so vile, wicked, and inexcusable, but, all circum stances considered, he judges it, pro hic et nunc, absolutely better for him to do it, than not to do it. And what a darkness and delusion must conscience needs be under, while it makes a man judge that really best for him, which directly tends to, and generally ends in, his utter ruin and damnation! Custom is said to be a second nature, and if by the first we are already so bad, by the second, to be sure, we shall be much worse.
Thirdly, Every corrupt passion or affection of the
mind will certainly pervert the judging, and obscure
and darken the discerning power of conscience. The
affections, which the Greeks call πάθη, and the Latins
affectus animi, are of much the same use to the soul?
which the members are of to the body; serving as
the proper instruments of most of its actions; and
are always attended with a certain preternatural motion of the blood and spirits peculiar to each passion
or affection. And as for the seat or fountain of them,
philosophers both place them in and derive them
from the heart. But not to insist upon mere speculations: the passions or affections are, as I may so
call them, the mighty flights and sallyings out of the
soul upon such objects as come before it; and are
generally accompanied with such vehemence, that
the Stoics reckoned them, in their very nature and
essence, as so many irregularities and deviations
But though better philosophy has long since exploded this opinion, and Christianity, which is the
greatest and the best, has taught us, that we may be
angry, and yet not sin,
When the affections are once engaged, the judgment is always partial and concerned. There is a strong bent or bias upon it, it is possessed and gained over, and as it were feed and retained in their cause, and thereby made utterly unable to carry such an equal regard to the object, as to consider truth nakedly, and stripped of all foreign respects; and as such to make it the rigid, inflexible rule, which it is to judge by; especially where duty is the thing to be judged of. For a man will hardly be brought to judge right and true, when by such a judgment he is sure to condemn himself.
But this being a point of such high and practical importance, I will be yet more particular about it, and shew severally, in several corrupt and vicious affections, how impossible it is for a man to keep his conscience rightly informed, and fit to guide and direct him in all the arduous perplexing cases of sin and duty, while he is actually under the power of any of them. This, I know, men generally are not apt to believe, or to think, that the flaws or failures of their morals can at all affect their intellectuals. But I doubt not but to make it not only credible, but undeniable.
Now the vicious affections which I shall single and cull out of those vast numbers, which the heart of man, that great storehouse of the devil, abounds with, as some of the principal, which thus darken and debauch the conscience, shall be these three.
First, Sensuality. Secondly, Covetousness. Thirdly, Ambition.
Of each of which I shall speak particularly: and,
First, for sensuality, or a vehement delight in and pursuit of bodily pleasures. We may truly say of the body, with reference to the soul, what was said by the poet of an ill neighbour, Nemo tam prope tam proculque: None so nearly joined in point of vicinity, and yet so widely distant in point of interest and inclinations.
The ancient philosophers generally holding the
soul of man to be a spiritual, immaterial substance,
could give no account of the several failures and defects in the operations of it, (which they were
sufficiently sensible of,) but from its immersion into, and
intimate conjunction with matter, called by the
Greeks ὕλη. And accordingly all their complaints
But whether the fault be in the spiritual or corporeal part of our nature, or rather in both, certain
it is, that no two things in the world do more rise
and grow upon the fall of each other, than the flesh
and the spirit: they being like a kind of balance in
the hand of nature, so that as one mounts up, the
other still sinks down; and the high estate of the
body seldom or never fails to be the low, declining
estate of the soul. Which great contrariety and
discord between them, the apostle describes, as well
as words can do,
Of each of which severally: and
First, for lust. Nothing does or can darken the mind or conscience of man more: nay, it has a peculiar efficacy this way, and for that cause may justly be ranked amongst the very powers of darkness: it being that which, as naturalists observe, strikes at the proper seat of the understanding, the brain: something of that blackness of darkness mentioned in the thirteenth of St. Jude, seeming to be of the very nature as well as punishment of this vice.
Nor does only the reason of the thing itself, but also the examples of such as have been possessed with it, demonstrate as much.
For had not Samson, think we, an intolerable
darkness and confusion upon his understanding,
while he ran roving after every strumpet in that
brutish manner that he did? Was it not the eye of
his conscience which his Delilah first put out, and so
of a judge of Israel rendered himself really a judgment upon them? And when the two angels (as we
read in
Second place, holds equally in that other branch
of sensuality, intemperance; whereupon we find
them both joined together by the prophet
But gluttony, and all excess, either in eating or
drinking, strangely clouds and dulls the intellectual
powers; and then it is not to be expected that the
conscience should bear up, when the understanding
is drunk down. An epicure’s practice naturally disposes a man to an epicure’s principles; that is, to an
equal looseness and dissolution in both: and he who
makes his belly his business will quickly come to
have a conscience of as large a swallow as his throat;
of which there wants not several scandalous and deplorable instances. Loads of meat and drink are fit
for none but a beast of burden to bear; and he is
much the greater beast of the two, who carries his
burden in his belly, than he who carries it upon his
back. On the contrary, nothing is so great a friend
to the mind of man, as abstinence; it strengthens
the memory, clears the apprehension, and sharpens
the judgment; and, in a word, gives reason its full
Secondly, Another vicious affection, which clouds
and darkens the conscience, is covetousness; concerning
How mightily this vice darkens and debases the
mind, scripture instances do abundantly shew. When
Moses would assign the proper qualifications of a
judge, (which office certainly calls for the quickest apprehension and the solidest judgment that the mind
of man is well capable of,)
For the truth is, preach to the conscience of a covetous person (if he may be said to have any) with the tongue of men and angels, and tell him of the vanity of the world, of treasure in heaven, and of the necessity of being rich toward God, and liberal to his poor brother; and it is all but flat, insipid, and ridiculous stuff to him, who neither sees, nor feels, nor suffers any thing to pass into his heart, but through his hands. You must preach to such an one of bargain and sale, profits and perquisites, principal and interest, use upon use; and if you can persuade him that godliness is gain in his own sense, perhaps you may do something with him: otherwise, though you edge every word you speak with reason and religion, evidence and demonstration, you shall never affect, nor touch, nor so much as reach his conscience; for it is kept sealed up in a bag under lock and key, and you cannot come at it.
And thus much for the second base affection that blinds the mind of man, which is covetousness: a thing directly contrary to the very spirit of Christianity, which is a free, a large, and an open spirit; a spirit open to God and man, and always carrying charity in one hand and generosity in the other.
Thirdly, The third and last vile affection which I
shall mention, (as having the same darkening effect
upon the mind or conscience,) is ambition. For as
covetousness dulls the mind by pressing it down too
much below itself, so ambition dazzles it by lifting
Pride, we know, (which is always cousin-german to ambition,) is commonly reckoned the forerunner of a fall. It was the devil’s sin and the devil’s ruin, and has been ever since the devil’s stratagem; who, like an expert wrestler, usually gives a man a lift before he gives him a throw. But how does he do this? Why; by first blinding him with ambition; and when a man either cannot or will not mind the ground he stands upon, as a thing, forsooth, too much be low him, he is then easily justled down, and thrust headlong into the next ditch. The truth is, in this case men seem to ascend to an high station, just as they use to leap down a very great steep: in both cases they shut their eyes first; for in both the danger is very dreadful, and the way to venture upon it is not to see it.
Yea, so fatally does this towering, aspiring humour
intoxicate and impose upon men’s minds, that when
But as for these ambitious animals, who could
thus sell their credit and their conscience, wade
through thick and thin, and break through all that
is sacred and civil, only to make themselves high
and great, I shall say no more of them but this, that,
instead of being advanced to what they so much desired, it is well for them that they have not been advanced to what they so highly deserved. For this
I am sure of, that neither Papists nor fanatics (both
of them our mortal, implacable enemies) can conceive a prayer more fully and effectually for their
own interest, than this, That the church of England
may never want store of ambitious, time-serving
men. And if God should, in his anger to this poor
church and nation, grant them this, they doubt not
but in a little time to grant, or rather give themselves
the rest. Let this therefore be fixed upon as a certain
I know there are many more irregular and corrupt affections belonging to the mind of man, and all
of them in their degree apt to darken and obscure
the light of conscience. Such as are wrath and revenge, envy and malice, fear and despair, with many
such others, even too many a great deal to be
crowded into one hour’s discourse. But the three
forementioned (which we have been treating of) are,
doubtless, the most predominant, the most potent
in their influence, and most pernicious in their effect: as answering to those three principal objects
which, of all others, do the most absolutely command
and domineer over the desires of men; to wit, the
pleasures of the world working upon their sensuality; the profits of the world upon their covetousness; and lastly, the honours of it upon their ambition. Which three powerful incentives, meeting
with these three violent affections, are, as it were,
the great trident in the tempter’s hand, by which he
strikes through the very hearts and souls of men;
or as a mighty threefold cord, by which he first
hampers, and then draws the whole world after him,
and that with such a rapid swing, such an irresistible
fascination upon the understandings, as well as appetites of men, that as God said heretofore,
Let there
be light, and there was light; so this proud rival of
his Creator, and overturner of the creation, is still
saying, in defiance of him, Let there be darkness, and
accordingly there is darkness; darkness upon the
mind and reason; darkness upon the judgment and
conscience of all mankind. So that hell itself seems
And now, to sum up briefly the foregoing particulars; you have heard of what vast and infinite moment it is, to have a clear, impartial, and right-judging conscience; such an one as a man may reckon himself safe in the directions of, as of a guide that will always tell him truth, and truth with authority: and that the eye of conscience may be always thus quick and lively, let constant use be sure to keep it constantly open; and thereby ready and prepared to admit and let in those heavenly beams, which are always streaming forth from God upon minds fitted to receive them.
And to this purpose, let a man fly from every
thing which may leave either a foulness or a bias
upon it; for the first will blacken, and the other
will distort it, and both be sure to darken it. Particularly let him dread every gross act of sin; for one
great stab may as certainly and speedily destroy life
as forty lesser wounds. Let him also carry a jealous
eye over every growing habit of sin; for custom is
an overmatch to nature, and seldom conquered by
grace; and, above all, let him keep aloof from all
commerce or fellowship with any vicious and base
affection; especially from all sensuality, which is not
only the dirt, but the black dirt, which the devil
throws upon the souls of men; accordingly let him
keep himself untouched with the hellish, unhallowed
heats of lust, and the noisome steams and exhalations of intemperance, which never fail to leave a
brutish dulness and infatuation behind them. Likewise,
If the light that is in thee be darkness, says our
Saviour, how great must that darkness needs be!
That is, how fatal, how destructive! And therefore I
shall close up all with those other words of our Saviour,
Which God, the great author of both, of his infinite mercy vouchsafe to us all; to whom be rendered and ascribed, as is most due, all praise, might, majesty, and dominion, both now and for evermore. Amen.
But I say unto you, Love your enemies.
BEFORE we descend to the prosecution of the duty enjoined in these words, it is requisite that we consider the scheme and form of them as they stand in relation to the context. They are ushered in with the adversative particle but, which stands as a note of opposition to something going before: and that we have in the immediately preceding verse, Ye have heard that it hath been said, Thou shalt love thy neighbour, and hate thine enemy. But I say unto you, Love your enemies. Which way of speaking has given occasion to an inquiry, whether the duty here enjoined by Christ be opposed to the Mosaic law, or only to the doctrine of the scribes and Pharisees, and their corrupt glosses thereupon; some having made this and the next chapter, not only a fuller explication and vindication of the Mosaic law, but an addition of higher and perfecter rules of piety and morality to it.
For the better clearing of which point, I conceive
that the matter of all the commandments (the fourth
only, as it determines the time of God’s solemn worship
For we must not think, that when the law, either
by precept or prohibition, takes notice only of the
outward act, and the gospel afterwards directs itself
to the thoughts and desires, the motives and causes
of the said act; or again, when the law gives only a
general precept, and the gospel assigns several particular instances reducible to the same general in
junction, that therefore the gospel gives so many new
precepts corrective or perfective of the aforesaid
precepts of the law. No, by no means; for it is a
rule which ever was and ever ought to be allowed in
interpreting the divine precepts, that every such precept does virtually and implicitly, and by a parity of
reason, contain in it more than it expressly declares;
which is so true, that those persons, who impugn the
perfection of the old moral precepts, and upon that
account oppose the precepts of Christ to them, do yet
find it necessary to maintain, that even the precepts
of our Saviour himself ought to extend their obligation to many more particulars than are mentioned in
them, and yet are not to be looked upon, as at all
the less perfect upon that account. Which rule of
interpreting being admitted, and made use of as to
the precepts of the New Testament, why ought it
not to take place in those of the Old also? And if it
ought, (as there can be no shadow of reason to the
contrary,) I dare undertake, that there will be no
And now, all that has been here alleged by us
against the necessity of holding any new precepts
added to the old moral law, as it obliged all man
kind, (whether notified to them by the light of nature only, or by revelation too,) I reckon may as
truly be affirmed of the law of Moses also; (still sup
posing it a true and perfect transcript of the said moral
law, as we have all the reason in the world to believe it was;) for were it otherwise, it would be hard
to shew, what advantage it could be to the Jewish
church to have that law delivered to them; but on
the contrary, it must needs have been rather a snare
For though indeed the moral law as a covenant
promising life upon condition of absolute indefective
obedience, be now of no use to justify, (sin having
disabled it for that use through the incapacity of the
subject,) yet as it is a rule directing our obedience,
and a law binding to it, it still continues in full force,
and will do as long as human nature endures. And
as for the absolute perfection of it in the quality of
a rule directing, and a law obliging, can that be
more amply declared, and irrefragably proved, than
as it stands stated and represented to us in the vast
latitude of that injunction,
Nevertheless there are some artists, I must confess, who can draw any thing out of any thing, who answer, that these words are not to be understood of absolutely all that a man can do; but of all that he can be engaged to do by the law as proposed under such an economy, namely, as enforced with temporal promises and threatenings; so that upon these terms, to love God with all the heart, &c. is to love him with the utmost of such an obedience, as laws, seconded with temporal blessings and curses, are able to produce. But to this I answer;
First, That the argument bears upon a supposition by no means to be admitted, to wit, that the law of Moses proceeded only upon temporal rewards and punishments: which is most false, and contrary to the constantly received doctrine of the Christian church; and particularly of the church of England, as it is declared in the sixth of her Articles. But,
Secondly, I add further, That the obliging power
of the law is neither founded in, nor to be measured
by, the rewards and punishments annexed to it; but
by the sole authority of the lawgiver springing from
the relation which he bears, of a creator and governor, to mankind, and consequently of the entire
dependance of mankind upon him; by virtue whereof
they owe him the utmost service that their nature
renders them capable of doing him. And that, I am
sure, is capable of serving him at an higher rate, than
the consideration of any temporal rewards or punishments can raise it to; since oftentimes the bare love
of virtue itself will carry a man further than these
can; but however it is certain that eternal rewards
To which I answer, That this is a precept by no
means absolute and universal, but always to be limited by these two conditions, viz. first, that
the glory of God, and, secondly, that the eternal welfare of the soul of our brother indispensably requires this of us; upon the supposal of either
of which I affirm, it was as really a duty from the
beginning of the world, as it was from that very
time that the apostle wrote these words; the very
common voice of reason upon these terms, and under
these circumstances, dictating and enjoining no less,
as founding itself upon these two self-evident and undeniable principles, viz. that the life of the creature ought, when necessity calls, to be sacrificed to
the glory of him who gave it; and secondly, that
we ought to prefer the eternal good of our neighbour
or brother, before the highest temporal good of our
selves. Which manifestly shews, that this high in
stance of charity (as extraordinary as it appears) did
And now to apply this general discourse to the particulars mentioned in this chapter: I affirm, that Christ does by no means here set himself against the law of Moses, as a law either faulty or imperfect, and upon those accounts needing either correction or addition, but only opposed the corrupt comments of the scribes and Pharisees upon the law, as really contradictions to it, rather than expositions of it; and that for these following reasons:
First, Because the words in this sermon mentioned and opposed by Christ, are manifestly, for the most part, not the words of the law itself, but of the scribes and Pharisees. As for instance, Whosoever shall kill., shall be in danger of the judgment. And again in the next verse, He shall be in danger of the council. They all refer to the Pharisees’ way of expressing themselves; which manifestly shews, that it was their doctrine and words which he was now disputing against, and not the law itself; which this is by no means the language of.
Secondly, That expression, That it was said by
those Some render it [to those.]
Thirdly, That passage in the
Fourthly, If Christ opposed his precepts to those of the Mosaic law, then God speaking by Christ must contradict himself as speaking by Moses. For whatsoever Moses spoke, he spoke as the immediate
Fifthly and lastly, Christ in all this discourse never calls any one of the doctrines opposed by him the words of Moses, or of the law, but only the righteousness of the scribes and Pharisees, which shews that they, and they only, were the persons with whom he managed this whole contest.
Let this therefore rest with us as a firm conclusion; that Moses and Christ were at perfect agreement, whatever the controversy was between him and the Pharisees. And so from the scheme and context of the words, I pass to the duty enjoined in them, which is to love our enemies; the discussion of which I shall cast under these three general heads:
First, I shall shew negatively what is not that love, which we are here commanded to shew our enemies.
Secondly, I shall shew positively wherein it does consist.
Thirdly, I shall produce arguments to enforce it.
And first, for the first of these; what is not that love, which we must shew our enemies: this we shall find to exclude several things which would fain wear this name.
1. As, first, to treat an enemy with a fair deportment
and amicable language, is not the love here enjoined
by Christ. Love is a thing that scorns to dwell any
where but in the heart. The tongue is a thing made
for words; but what reality is there in a voice, what
substance in a sound? and words are no more. The
kindness of the heart never kills, but that of the
tongue often does. And in an ill sense a soft answer
Was ever the hungry fed or the naked clothed with good looks or fair speeches? These are but thin garments to keep out the cold, and but a slender repast to conjure down the rage of a craving appetite. My enemy perhaps is ready to starve or perish through poverty, and I tell him I am heartily glad to see him, and should be very ready to serve him, but still my hand is close, and my purse shut; I neither bring him to my table, nor lodge him under my roof; he asks for bread, and I give him a compliment, a thing indeed not so hard as a stone, but altogether as dry. I treat him with art and outside: and lastly, at parting, with all the ceremonies of dearness, I shake him by the hand, but put nothing into it. In a word, I play with his distress, and dally with that which will not be dallied with, want and misery, and a clamorous necessity.
For will fair words and a courtly behaviour pay
debts and discharge scores? If they could, there is
a sort of men that would not be so much in debt as
they are. Can a man look and speak himself out of
his creditor’s hands? Surely then, if my words cannot
do this for myself, neither can they do it for my enemy. And therefore this has nothing of the love spoken
of in the text. It is but a scene, and a mere mockery,
for the receiving that, cannot make my enemy at all
the richer, the giving of which makes me not one
penny the poorer. It is indeed the fashion of the world
thus to amuse men with empty caresses, and to feast
them with words and air, looks and legs; nay, and
it has this peculiar privilege above all other fashions,
But we are not to rest here; fair speeches and looks are not only very insignificant as to the real effects of love, but are for the most part the instruments of hatred in the execution of the greatest mischiefs. Few men are to be ruined till they are made confident of the contrary: and this cannot be done by threats and roughness, and owning the mischief that a man designs; but the pitfall must be covered, to invite the man to venture over it; all things must be sweetened with professions of love, friendly looks, and embraces. For it is oil that whets the razor, and the smoothest edge is still the sharpest: they are the complacencies of an enemy that kill, the closest hugs that stifle, and love must be pretended before malice can be effectually practised. In a word, he must get into his heart with fair speeches and promises, before he can come at it with his dagger. For surely no man fishes with a bare hook, or thinks that the net itself can be any enticement to the bird.
But now, if these outward shews of fairness are
short of the love which we owe to our enemies;
what can we say of those who have not arrived
so far as these, and yet pretend to be friends? Disdain and distance, sour looks and sharp words, are
all the expressions of friendship that some natures
can manifest. I confess, where real kindnesses are
done, these circumstantial garnitures of love (as I
may so call them) may be dispensed with; and it is
better to have a rough friend than a fawning enemy:
but those who neither do good turns nor give good
2. Fair promises are not the love that our Saviour
here commands us to shew our enemies. And yet
these are one step and advance above the former:
for many fair speeches may be given, many courteous harangues uttered, and yet no promise made.
And it is worth observing how some great ones
often delude, and simple ones suffer themselves to
be deluded, by general discourses and expressions of
courtesy. As, “Take you no care, I will provide for you. I will never see you want. Leave your
business in my hands, and I will manage it with as much or more concern than you could yourself.
What need you insist so much upon this or that in particular? I design better things for you.” But
all this while there is no particular determinate
thing promised, so as to hold such an one by any
real, solid engagement, (supposing that his promise
were such,) but perhaps, when the next advantage
comes in the way, the man is forgot and balked:
yet still those general speeches hold as true as ever
they did, and so will continue, notwithstanding all
But now, as these empty glossing words are short of promises, so promises are equally short of performances. Concerning both which I shall say this, that there is no wise man, but had rather have had one promise than a thousand fair words, and one performance than ten thousand promises. For what trouble is it to promise, what charge is it to spend a little breath, for a man to give one his word, who never intends to give him any thing else? And yet, according to the measures of the world, this must sometimes pass for an high piece of love; and many poor unexperienced believing souls, who have more honesty than wit, think themselves wrapped up into the third heaven, and actually possessed of some no table preferment, when they can say, “I have such a great person’s promise for such or such a thing.” Have they so? Let them see if such a promise will pay rent, buy land, and maintain them like gentle men. It is at the best but a future contingent; for either the man may die, or his interest may fail, or his mind may change, or ten thousand accidents may intervene. Promises are a diet which none ever yet thrived by, and a man may feed upon them heartily, and never break his fast. In a word, I may say of human promises, what expositors say of divine prophecies, “that they are never understood till they come to be fulfilled.”
But how speaks the scripture of these matters?
Why, in
But bare promises are so far from answering Christ’s precept of loving our enemies, that if they are not realized in deeds, they become a plague and a great calamity. For they raise an expectation, which, unsatisfied or defeated, is the greatest of torments; they betray a man to a fallacious dependance, which bereaves him of the succours of his other endeavours, and in the issue leaves him to inherit the shame and misery of a disappointment, and unable to say any thing else for himself, but that he was credulous, and the promiser false.
3. But thirdly and lastly, to advance a degree yet higher, to do one or two kind offices for an enemy, is not to fulfil the precept of loving him. He who clothes a naked man with a pair of gloves, and ad ministers to one perishing with thirst a drop or two of water, reaches not the measure of his necessity, but, instead of relieving, only upbraids his want, and passes a jest upon his condition. It is like pardoning a man the debt of a penny, and in the mean time suing him fiercely for a talent. Love is then only of reality and value when it deals forth benefits in a full proportion to one’s need; and when it shews itself both in universality and constancy. Otherwise it is only a trick to serve a turn and carry on a design.
For he who would take a cleanly, unsuspected way to ruin his adversary, must pave the way to his destruction with some courtesies of a lighter sort, the sense of which shall take him off from his guard, his wariness, and suspicion, and so lay him open to such a blow as shall destroy him at once. The skilful rider strokes and pleases the unruly horse, only that he may come so near him, as to get the bit into his mouth, and then he rides, and rules, and domineers over him at his pleasure. So he who hates his enemy with a cunning equal to his malice, will not strain to do this or that good turn for him, so long as it does not thwart, but rather promote the main design of his utter subversion. For all this is but like the helping a man over the stile, who is going to be hanged, which surely is no very great or difficult piece of civility.
In the reign of queen Elizabeth, we read of one whom the grandees of the court procured to be made secretary of state, only to break his back in the business of the queen of Scots, whose death they were then projecting: like true courtiers, they first engage him in that fatal scene, and then desert him in it, using him only as a tool to do a present state job, and then to be reproached and ruined for what he had done. And a little observation of the world may shew us, that there is not only a course of beheading, or hanging, but also of preferring men out of the way. But this is not to love an enemy, but to hate him more artificially. He is ruined more speciously indeed, but not less efficaciously, than if he had been laid fast in a dungeon, or banished his country, or by a packed jury despatched into another world.
2. And thus having done with the negative, I come now to the second general thing proposed; namely, to shew positively what is included in the duty of loving our enemies.
It includes these three things.
1. A discharging the mind of all rancour and virulence towards an adversary. The scripture most significantly calls it the leaven of malice, and we know that is of a spreading and fermenting nature, and will in time diffuse a sourness upon a man’s whole behaviour: but we will suppose (which is yet seldom found) that a man has such an absolute empire and command over his heart, as for ever to stifle his disgusts, and to manage his actions in a constant contradiction to his affections, and to maintain a friendly converse, while he is hot with the rancour of an enemy; yet all this is but the mystery of dissimulation, and to act a part, instead of acting a friend.
Besides the trouble and anxiety to the very person who thus behaves himself. For enmity is a restless thing, and not to be dissembled without some torment to the mind that entertains it. It is more easily removed than covered. It is as if a man should endeavour to keep the sparks from flying out of a furnace, or as if a birth should be stopped when it is ripe and ready for delivery, which surely would be a pain greater than that of bringing forth.
He who is resolved to hate his enemy, and yet resolves not to shew it, has turned the edge of his hatred inwards, and becomes a tyrant and an enemy
to himself: he could not wish his mortal adversary
a greater misery, than thus to carry a mind always
But on the other side, it is no pain for a man to ap pear what he is, and to declare a real principle of love in sensible demonstrations. Does a man therefore find that both his duty and his interest require, that he should deport himself with all signs of love to his enemies? let him but take this easy course, as to entertain the thing in his heart which he would manifest in his converse, and then he will find that his work is as natural and easy, as it is for fire to cast abroad a flame. Art is difficult, but whatsoever is natural is easy too.
2. To love an enemy is to do him all the real offices of kindness, that opportunity shall lay in our way. Love is of too substantial a nature to be made up of mere negatives, and withal too operative to terminate in bare desires. Does Providence cast any of my enemies’ concernments under my power; as his health, his estate, preferment, or any thing conducing to the conveniences of his life? Why, in all this it gives me an opportunity to manifest, whether or no I can reach the sublimity of this precept of loving my enemies.
Is my enemy sick and languishing, and is it in my power to cure him as easily, or to kill him as safely, as if I were his physician? Christianity here commands me to be concerned for his weakness, to shew him a remedy, and to rescue him from the grave; and in a word, to preserve that life which perhaps would have once destroyed mine.
Do I see my enemy defrauded and circumvented,
and like to be undone in his estate? I must not sit
And lastly, does it lie in my way to put in a word to dash or promote my enemy’s business or interest? to give him a secret blow, such a one as shall strike his interest to the ground for ever, and he never know the hand from whence it came? Can I by my power obstruct his lawful advantage and preferments, and so reap the diabolical satisfaction of a close revenge? Can I do him all the mischief imaginable, and that easily, safely, and success fully; and so applaud myself in my power, my wit, and my subtile contrivances, for which the world shall court me as formidable and considerable? Yet all these wretched practices and accursed methods of growing great, and rising by the fall of an enemy, are to be detested, as infinitely opposite to that innocence and clearness of spirit, that openness and freedom from design, that becomes a professor of Christianity.
On the contrary, amidst all these opportunities of
doing mischief, I must espouse my enemy’s just cause,
as his advocate or solicitor. I must help it forward
by favourable speeches of his person, acknowledgment of his worth and merit, by a fair construction
of doubtful passages: and all this, if need be, in secret, where my enemy neither sees nor hears me do
3. The last and crowning instance of our love to
our enemies is to pray for them. For by this a man,
as it were, acknowledges himself unable to do enough
for his enemy; and therefore he calls in the assistance of Heaven, and engages omnipotence to complete the kindness. He would fain outdo himself,
and therefore, finding his own stores short and dry,
he repairs to infinity. Prayer for a man’s self is indeed a choice duty, yet it is but a kind of lawful and
pious selfishness. For who would not solicit for his
own happiness, and be importunate for his own concerns? But when I pray as heartily for my enemy as
I do for my daily bread; when I strive with prayers
and tears to make God his friend, who himself will
not be mine; when I reckon his felicity amongst my
own necessities; surely this is such a love as, in a
literal sense, may be said to reach up to heaven. For
nobody judges that a small and a trivial thing, for
which he dares to pray: no man comes into the presence of a king to beg pins. And therefore, if a man
did not look upon the good of his enemy, as a thing
that nearly affected himself, he could not own it as
a matter of a petition, and endeavour to concern God
about that with which he will not concern himself.
And upon the same ground also is inferred the necessity of a man’s personal endeavouring the good and
happiness of his enemy: for prayer without endeavour is but an affront to the throne of grace, and a
lazy throwing that which is our own duty upon God. See something upon the like subject, vol. i. p. 431.
And thus I have endeavoured to shew what it is to love our enemies; though I will not say that I have recounted all the instances in which this duty may exert itself. For love is infinite, and the methods of its acting various and innumerable. But I suppose that I have marked out those generals which all particulars may be fairly reduced to.
And now, before I proceed to the motives and arguments to enforce the duty, I shall, to prevent some
abuses of this doctrine, shew what is not inconsistent
with this loving our enemies: and that is, to defend
and secure ourselves against them. I am to love my
enemy, but not so as to hate myself: if my love to
him be a copy, I am sure the love to myself ought to
be the original. Charity is indeed to diffuse itself
abroad, but yet it may lawfully begin at home: for the
precept surely is not unnatural and irrational; nor
can it state the duty of Christians in opposition to
the privileges of men, and command us tamely to surrender up our lives and estates as often as the hands
of violence would wrest them from us. We may
love our enemies, but we are not therefore to be fond
of their enmity. And though I am commanded
when my enemy thirsts, to give him drink, yet it is
not when he thirsts for my blood. It is my duty to
give him an alms, but not to let him take my estate.
Princes and governors may very well secure themselves with laws and arms against implacable enemies,
for all this precept: they are not bound to leave
the state defenceless, against the projects, plots, and
insurrections of those who are pleased to think themselves
I come now to the third and last thing, viz. to as sign motives and arguments to enforce this love to our enemy; and they shall be taken,
1. From the condition of our enemy’s person.
2. From the excellency of the duty.
3. From the great examples that recommend it. And,
For the first of these, if we consider our enemy, we shall find that he sustains several capacities, which may give him a just claim to our charitable affection.
1. As, first, he is joined with us in the society and community of the same nature. He is a man; and so far bears the image and superscription of our heavenly Father. He may cease to be our friend, but he cannot cease to be our brother. For we all descended from the same loins, and though Esau hates Jacob, and Jacob supplants Esau, yet they once lay in the same womb: and therefore the saying of Moses may be extended to all men at variance; Why do ye wrong one to another, for ye are brethren? If my enemy were a snake or a viper, I could do no more than hate and trample upon him: but shall I hate the seed of the woman as much as I do that of the serpent? We hold that God loves the most sinful of his creatures so far as they are his creatures; and the very devils could not sin themselves out of an excel lent nature, though out of an happy condition.
Even war, which is the rage of mankind, and observes no laws but its own, yet offers quarter to an
And therefore those inhuman butcheries which some men have acted upon others, stand upon record, not only as the crimes of persons, but also as the reproach of our very nature, and excusable upon no other colour or account whatsoever, but that the persons who acted such cruelties upon other men first ceased to be men themselves; and were indeed to be reckoned as so many anomalies and exceptions from mankind; persons of another make or mould from the rest of the sons of Adam, and deriving their original, not from the dust, but rather from the stones of the earth.
2. An enemy, notwithstanding his enmity, may be
yet the proper object of our love, because it some
times so falls out, that he is of the same religion
with us, and the very business and design of religion
is to unite, and to put, as it were, a spiritual cognation and kindred between souls. I am sure this is
the great purpose of the Christian religion; which
never joins men to Christ but by first joining them
amongst themselves: and making them members
one of another, as well as knitting them all to the
same head. By how much the more intolerable
were our late zealots, in their pretences to a more
refined strain of purity and converse with God,
while in the mean time their hearts could serve them
to plunder, worry, and undo their poor brethren,
only for their loyal adherence to their sovereign; sequestering
3. An enemy may be the proper object of our lore, because, though perhaps he is not capable of being changed, and made a friend by it, (which, for any thing I know, is next to impossible,) yet he is capable of being shamed, and rendered inexcusable. And shame may smooth over his behaviour, though no kindness can change his disposition: upon which account it is, that, so far as a man shames his enemy, so far he also disarms him. For he leaves him stripped of the assistance and good opinion of the world round about him; without which, it is impossible for any man living to be considerable, either in his friendships or his enmities.
Love is the fire that must both heap and kindle
those coals upon our enemy’s head, that shall either
melt or consume him. For that man I account as
good as consumed and ruined, whom all people,
even upon the common concern of mankind, abhor
for his ingratitude, as a pest and a public enemy.
So that if my enemy is resolved to treat me spite
fully, notwithstanding all my endeavours to befriend
2. A second motive or argument to the same shall be taken from the excellency of the duty itself. It is the highest perfection that human nature can reach unto. It is an imitation of the divine goodness, which shines upon the heads, and rains upon the fields of the sinful and unjust; and heaps blessings upon those who are busy only to heap up wrath to themselves. To love an enemy is to stretch humanity as far as it will go. It is an heroic action, and such an one as grows not upon an ordinary plebeian spirit.
The excellency of the duty is sufficiently proclaimed by the difficulty of its practice. For how hard is it, when the passions are high, and the sense of an injury quick, and power ready, for a man to deny himself in that luscious morsel of revenge! to do violence to himself, instead of doing it to his enemy! and to command down the strongest principles and the greatest heats, that usually act the soul when it exerts itself upon such objects.
And the difficulty of such a behaviour is no less
declared by its being so rarely and seldom observed
3. The third motive or argument shall be drawn from the great examples which recommend this duty to us. And first of all from that of our blessed Saviour, whose footsteps in the paths of love we may trace out and follow by his own blood. He gave his life for sinners; that is, for enemies, yea, and enemies with the highest aggravation; for nothing can make one man so much an enemy to another, as sin makes him an enemy to God.
I say unto you, Love your enemies, says Christ,
that is, I emphatically, I who say it by my example
as much as by my precept. For Christ went about doing good,
And now, though, after such an example, this sort
of argument for the loving our enemies can be carried no higher, yet, blessed be God, that is not so
wholly exhausted by any one example, but that it
may be carried further; and that by several instances,
which, though they do by no means come up to a
just comparison with it, yet ought to be owned for
noble imitations of it. And such an one this happy
day affords us, a day consecrated to the solemn
commemoration of the nativity and return of a
prince, who having been most barbarously driven out
of his kingdoms, and afterwards as miraculously restored to them, brought with him the greatest, the
brightest, and most stupendous instance of this virtue,
Thus even to a prodigy merciful has he shewn
himself; merciful by inclination, and merciful by extraction; merciful in his example, and merciful in his
laws, and thereby expressing the utmost dutifulness
of a son, as well as the highest magnanimity and
clemency of a prince; while he is still making that
good upon the throne which the royal martyr his father had enjoined upon the scaffold; where he died
pardoning and praying for those whose malice he was
then falling a victim to: and this with a charity so
unparalleled, and a devotion so fervent, that the voice
of his prayers, it is to be hoped, drowned the very
cry of his blood. But I love not to dwell upon
such tragedies, save only to illustrate the height
But to draw to a close: we have here had the
highest and the hardest duty perhaps belonging to a
Christian, both recommended to our judgment by argument, and to our practice by example; and what
remains, but that we submit our judgment to the
one, and govern our practice by the other? And for
that purpose, that we beg of God an assistance
equal to the difficulty of the duty enjoined; for certainly it is not an ordinary measure of grace that can
conquer the opposition that flesh and blood, and
corrupt reason itself, after all its convictions, will be
sure to make to it. The greatest miseries that be
fall us in this world are from enemies; and so long
as men naturally desire to be happy, it will be naturally as hard to them to love those who they know
are the grand obstacles to their being so. The light
of nature will convince a man of many duties which
it will never enable him to perform. And if we
should look no further than bare nature, this seems
to be one cut out rather for our admiration than our
practice. It being not more difficult (where grace
does not interpose) to cut off a right hand, than to
reach it heartily to the relief of an inveterate implacable adversary. And yet God expects this from
us, and that so peremptorily, that he has made the
pardon of our enemies the indispensable condition of
our own. And therefore that wretch, (whosoever he
was,) who, being pressed hard upon his deathbed to
God preserve us from the one, or enable us to do the other. To whom be rendered and ascribed, as is most due, all praise, might, majesty, and dominion, both now and for evermore. Amen.
False Foundations removed, and true ones laid for such wise Builders as design to build for Eternity:
And every one that heareth these sayings of mine, and doeth them not, shall be likened unto a foolish man, which built his house upon the sand:
And the rain descended, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and beat upon that house; and it fell: and great was the fall of it.
IT seems to have been all along the prime art and
method of the great enemy of souls, not being able
to root the sense of religion out of men’s hearts, yet
by his sophistries and delusions to defeat the design
of it upon their lives; and, either by empty notions
or false persuasions, to take them off from the main
business of religion, which is duty and obedience, by
bribing the conscience to rest satisfied with something
less. A project extremely suitable to the corrupt nature of man; whose chief, or rather sole quarrel to
religion, is the severity of its precepts, and the difficulty of their practice. So that, although it is as natural
Accordingly our Saviour, who well knew all these
false hopes and fallacious reasonings of the heart of
man, (which is never so subtile as when it would deceive
The words of the text being too plain and easy to need any nice or large explication, I shall manage the discussion of them in these four particulars.
First, In shewing the reasons upon which I conclude practice or obedience, in the great business of a man’s eternal happiness, to be the best and surest foundation for him to build upon.
Secondly, In shewing the false foundations upon which many build, and accordingly in time of trial miscarry.
Thirdly, In shewing the causes why such miscarry and fall away in time of trial or temptation.
Fourthly and lastly, In shewing wherein the fatal greatness of their fall consists.
And first, for the first of these, viz. to shew the reasons why practice or obedience is the best and surest foundation (still supposing it bottomed upon the merits of Christ) for a man to build his designs for heaven and the hopes of his salvation upon, I shall mention three.
First, Because, according to the ordinary way
I confess, the habit of holiness, finding no principle of production in a nature wholly corrupt, must needs be produced by supernatural infusion, and consequently proceed, not from acquisition, but gift. It must be brought into the soul, it cannot grow or spring out of it. But then we must remember that most excellent and true rule of the schools, that habitus infusi obtinentur per modum acquisitorum. It is indeed a supernatural effect, but, as I may so speak, wrought in a natural way. The Spirit of God imitating the course of nature, even then when it works something above it.
A person in the state of nature, or unregeneracy,
cannot, by the sole strength of his most improved
performances, acquire an habit of true grace or holiness.
We have an illustration of this, though not a parallel instance, in natural actions, which by frequency imprint an habit or permanent facility of acting, upon the agent. Godliness is in some sense an art or mystery, and we all know that it is practice chiefly that makes the artist.
Secondly, A second reason for our assertion is,
because action is the highest perfection and drawing
forth of the utmost power, vigour, and activity of
man’s nature. God is pleased to vouchsafe the best
that he can give, only to the best that we can do.
And action is undoubtedly our best, because the
most difficult; for in such cases, worth and difficulty
are inseparable companions. The properest and
most raised conception that we have of God is, that
he is a pure act, a perpetual, incessant motion. And
next to him, in the rank of beings, are the angels,
as approaching nearest to him in this perfection;
being all flame and agility, ministering spirits, always
busy and upon the wing, for the execution of his
great commands about the government of the world.
And indeed doing is nothing else but the noblest
Thirdly, A third reason is, because the main end, drift, and design of religion is the active part of it. Profession is only the badge of a Christian, belief the beginning, but practice is the nature, and custom the perfection. For it is this which translates Christianity from a bare notion into a real business; from useless speculations into substantial duties; and from an idea in the brain into an existence in the life. An upright conversation is the bringing of the general theorems of religion into the particular instances of solid experience; and if it were not for this, religion would exist nowhere but in the Bible. The grand deciding question at the last day will be, not, What have you said? or, What have you believed? but, What have you done more than others?
But that the very life of religion consists in practice, will appear yet further from those subordinate ends to which it is designed in this world, and which are as really, though not as principally, the purpose of it, as the utmost attainment of the beatific vision, and the very last period of our salvation; and these are two.
First, The honouring of God before the world.
God will not have his worship, like his nature, invisible. Next to authority itself, is the pomp and manifestation of it; and to be acknowledged is some
thing more than to be obeyed. For what is sovereignty unknown, or majesty unobserved? What
glory were it for the sun to direct the affairs, if he
One great end of religion is to proclaim and publish God’s sovereignty; and there is no such way to cause men to glorify our heavenly Father, as by causing our light to shine before them; which I am sure it cannot do, but as it beams through our good works. When a man leads a pious and good life, every hour he lives is virtually an act of worship. But if inward grace is not exerted and drawn forth into outward practice, men have no inspection into our hearts, to discern it there. And let this be fixed upon as a standing principle, that it is not possible for us to honour God before men, but only by those acts of worship that are observable by men. It is our faith indeed that recognises him for our God, but it is our obedience only that declares him to be our Lord.
Secondly, The other end of religion in this world is, the good and mutual advantage of mankind in the way of society. And herein did the admirable wisdom and goodness of God appear, that he was pleased to calculate and contrive such an instrument to govern, as might also benefit the world. God planted religion amongst men as a tree of life; which, though it was to spring upwards directly to himself, yet it was to spread its branches to the benefit of all below.
There is hardly any necessity or convenience of mankind, but what is in a large measure served and provided for by this great blessing (as well as business) of the world, religion. And he who is a Christian, is not only a better man, but also a better neighbour, a better subject, and a truer friend, than he that is not so. For was ever any thing more for the good of mankind, than to forgive injuries, to love and caress our mortal adversaries, and, instead of our enemy, to hate only our revenge?
Of such a double yet benign aspect is Christianity both to God and man; like incense, while it ascends to heaven, it perfumes all about it; at the same time both instrumental to God’s worship, and the worshipper’s refreshment: as it holds up one hand in supplication, so it reaches forth the other in benefaction.
But now, if it be one great end of religion, thus to contribute to the support and benefit of society, surely it must needs consist in the active piety of our lives, not in empty thoughts and fruitless persuasions. For what can one man be the better for what another thinks or believes? When a poor man begs an alms of me, can I believe my bread into his mouth, or my money into his hand? Believing with out doing is a very cheap and easy, but withal a very worthless way of being religious.
And thus having given the reasons, why the active part of religion is the only sure bottom for us
to build upon, I now proceed to the second thing
proposed, namely, to shew those false and sandy
foundations which many venture to build upon,
and are accordingly deceived by; which though
they are exceedingly various, and according to the
First of which is a naked, unoperative faith. Ask but some upon what grounds they look to be saved, and they will answer, “Because they firmly believe that through the merits of Christ their sins are forgiven them.” But since it is hard for a man in his right wits to be confident of a thing which he does not at all know; such as are more cautious will tell you further, “That to desire to believe is to believe, and to desire to repent is to repent.” But as this is absurd and impossible, since no act can be its own object without being not itself; forasmuch as the act and the object are distinct things; and consequently a desire to believe can no more be belief, than a desire to be saved can be salvation; so it is further intolerable upon this account, that it quite dispirits religion, by placing it in languid, abortive velleities, and so cuts the nerves of all endeavour, by rating glory at a bare desire, and eternity at a wish.
But because the poison of this opinion does so
easily enter, and so strangely intoxicate, I shall presume to give an antidote against it in this one observation, namely, that all along the scripture, where
justification is ascribed to faith alone, there the word
faith is still used by a metonymy of the antecedent
for the consequent, and does not signify abstractedly
a mere persuasion, but the obedience of an holy life
performed in the strength and virtue of such a persuasion.
But whether the obedience of a pious life, performed out of a belief or persuasion of the truth of the gospel, ought to pass for that faith which justifies, or only for the effect or consequent of it, yet certainly it is such an effect as issues by a kind of connatural, constant efficiency and result from it. So that how much soever they are distinguishable by their respective actions from one another, they are absolutely inseparable by a mutual and a necessary connection: it belonging no less to the faith which justifies to be operative, than to justify: indeed, upon an essential account, more; forasmuch as it is operative by its nature, but justifies only by institution.
Secondly, The second false ground which some build upon, is a
fond reliance upon the goodness of their heart, and the honesty of their
intention. A profitable, and therefore a very prevailing fallacy;
But in the discourses of reason, such is the weakness and shortness of its reach, that it seldom
suggests arguments a priori for any thing, but by a
low and humble gradation creeps from the effects up
to the cause, because these first strike and alarm the
senses; and therefore St. James speaks as good philosophy as divinity, when he says,
Only we must observe here, that good and evil actions bear a very different relation to their respective
principles. As it is between truth and falsehood in
argumentation, so it is between good and evil in matters of practice. For though from an artificial contrivance of false principles or premises may emerge
a true conclusion, yet from true premises cannot ensue a false: so, though an evil heart may frame itself
to the doing of an action in its kind or nature good,
yet a renewed, sanctified principle cannot of itself
design actions really vicious. The reason of which
is, because the former in such a case acts upon a
This therefore I affirm, that he who places his Christianity only in his heart, and his religion in his meaning, has fairly secured himself against a disco very in case he should have none; but yet, for all that, shall at the last find his portion with those who indeed have none. And the truth is, those who are thus intentionally pious, do in a very ill and untoward sense verify that philosophical maxim, that what they so much pretend to be chief and first in their intention, is always last, if at all, in the execution.
Thirdly, The third and last false ground that I
shall mention, upon which some men build to their
confusion, is party and singularity. If an implicit
faith be, as some say, the property of a Roman Catholic, then I am sure popery may be found where
the name of papist is abhorred. For what account
can some give of their religion, or of that assurance of their salvation, (which they so much boast
of,) but that they have wholly resigned themselves up
to the guidance and dictates of those who have the
See what St. Paul himself built upon before his
conversion to Christ, Φαρισαῖοι οἱ ἑρμηνευόμενοι ἀφωρισμένοι,
παρὰ τὸ μερίζειν καὶ ἀφορίζειν
ἑαυτοὺ τῶν ἄλλων ἁπάντων.
Suidas. Again, Φαροσαῖος ἀφωρισμένος, μεμερισμένος, καθαρός.
Hesych. So that the Pharisees properly were, and might be called the Jewish Cathari, or Puritans.
But singularity is not sincerity, though too often and mischievously mistaken for it; and as an house built upon the sand is likely to be ruined by storms, so an house built out of the road is exposed to the invasion of robbers, and wants both the convenience and assistance of society: Christ is not therefore called the corner stone in the spiritual building, as if he intended that his church should consist only of corners, or be driven into them. There is a by-path, as well as a broad-way, to destruction. And it both argues the nature, and portends the doom of chaff, upon agitation to separate and divide from the wheat. But to such as venture their eternal interest upon such a bottom, I shall only suggest these two words.
First, That admitting, but not granting, that the
No man’s righteousness but Christ’s alone can be imputed to another. To rate a man by the nature of his companions, is a rule frequent indeed, but not infallible. Judas was as much a wretch amongst the apostles, as amongst the priests: and therefore it is but a poor argument for a man to derive his saintship from the virtues of the society he belongs to, and to conclude himself no weed, only because he grows amongst the corn.
Secondly, Such an adhesion to a party carries in it a strong suspicion and tang of the rankest of all ill qualities, spiritual pride. There are two things natural almost to all men:
First, A desire of preeminence in any perfection,
but especially religious. Secondly, A spirit of opposition or contradiction to such as are not of their
own mind or way. Now both these are eminently
gratified by a man’s listing himself of a party in religion. And I doubt not but some are more really
proud of the affected sordidness of a pretended mortification, than others are of the greatest affluence
and splendour of life: and that many who call the
execution of law and justice persecution, do yet suffer it with an higher and more pleasing relish of
pride than others can inflict it. For it is not true
zeal rising from an hearty concernment for religion,
And thus I have discovered some of those false and deceiving grounds upon which many bottom their eternal state, and by which they think themselves in the direct way to life and happiness, while, God knows, they are in the high and broad road to perdition.
Pass we now to the third thing proposed, which is, to shew whence it is that such ill-founded structures are upon trial sure to fall. For the demonstration of which we must observe, that to the violent dissolution of any thing two things concur: first, an assault or impression from without; secondly, an inherent weakness within. One is the active, the other the passive principle of every change. For so much as there is of weakness, there is of nonresistance, and so far as any thing yields or not resists, the contrary impression enters, and by degrees weakens, and at length destroys the subsistence of the thing opposed.
As for the first of these, the force and opposition
First, The first is, that it is sudden and unexpected.
The devil usually comes upon the soul as he fell from
heaven, like lightning. And he shews no small art
and policy by his so doing: for quickness prevents
preparation, and so enervates opposition. It is observed of Caesar, that he did
plurima et maxima bella
sola celeritate conficere: so that almost in all his
expeditions he seldom came to any place, but his
coming was before the report of it. And we shall
find, that the Roman eagles owed most of their great
conquests as much to their swiftness as to their
force. And the same is here the devil’s method in
his warfare against souls. Upon which account also
the same character that Tully gave the forementioned Caesar in his Epistles to Atticus, may much
more fitly agree to him, that he is monstrum horribile celeritatis et vigilantiae. He flies to his prey,
he fetches his blow quick and sure; he can shoot
a temptation in a glance, and convey the poison of his
suggestions quicker than the agitation of thought, or
Thus St. Peter, that giant in faith, was shamefully
foiled by a sudden though weak assault. While he
sits in the high priest’s hall, warming himself and
thinking nothing, one confounds him with this quick
unexpected charge,
Secondly, His assaults are furious and impetuous. Temptations come very often, as the devil himself is said to do, in a storm. And a gust of wind, as it rises on a sudden, so it rushes with vehemence. And if the similitude does not yet speak high enough; to the violence of a storm, the text adds the prevailing rage of a flood. And we know the tyranny of this element when it once embodies into a torrent, and runs with the united force of many waters; it scorns all confinement, and tears down the proudest opposition, as Virgil fully describes it:
With a parallel encounter does the devil draw upon
the poor fortifications of outward civility, good
Thirdly, The devil in his assaults is restless and importunate. The wind is here said not only to blow, but emphatically to beat upon the house. And as in a tempest the blasts are both sudden and violent in their onset, so they are frequent in their returns. Importunity is the only coaction that the will knows. Where the devil cannot persuade, he will, if he can, even weary into a consent. It is often charging that wins the field. The tempter, if he is repulsed in a battle, will lengthen his assault into a siege. For the mind may have often a sudden heat of valour to repel the one, and yet not constancy to endure the other. A rejected proposal shall be reinforced with continual fresh supplies of more urgent and repeated persuasions.
See him thrice renewing the combat with our Saviour; and indeed after he has had the impudence to begin a temptation, it is always his prudence to pursue it. Otherwise, opposition only attempted, serves not for conquest, but admonition. His assaults are here said to come like the rain, and the rain never falls in one single drop; and yet if it did, even a drop would hollow and dig its way by frequency and assiduity.
It is observed by the learned Verulam, what advantage bold and importunate men have over others,
So when the tempter continues his importunity and siege about a soul, he has all these advantages over it: as, to view its strong holds, and to spy where they are least fortified; to observe the intervals and cessations of duty; when devotion ebbs, and the spiritual guards draw off; when the affections revel, and slide into a posture of security; and then to renew and bring on the assault afresh, and so to force a victorious entrance for his temptations.
It is here, as with the Greeks before Troy; it was not their armies, nor their Achilles, but their ten years siege that got the conquest. What a violent flame cannot presently melt down, a constant, though a gentle heat will at length exhale. It is our known duty to fight and resist the devil; and we shall find that scarce any temptation ever encounters the soul without its second.
So then, you see here the first cause of this great overthrow, namely, the assault and impression made from without by the tempter; which in the next place is rendered effectual by the impotence and nonresistance of the soul that is so opposed; which peculiarly answers his threefold opposition with three contrary qualifications.
First, As first, that it is frequently unprepared.
The soul, God knows, is but seldom upon the watch;
its spiritual armour is seldom buckled on. The business, the cares, and the pleasures of the world, draw
it off from its own defence: business employs, care
Secondly, As it is unprepared, so it is also weak and feeble. The spirit, says our Saviour, is willing, but the flesh is weak. And such is the condition of man in this world, that much more of flesh than spirit goes to his constitution. Nay, is not grace itself described under the weakness of smoking flax, or a bruised reed? Of which how quickly is one extinguished, and how easily is the other broke!
Thirdly, As it is both unprepared and weak, so
it is also inconstant. Peter will die for his Master
at one time, and not many hours after deny and for
swear him. Steadfastness is the result of strength,
and how then can constancy dwell with weakness?
The greatest strength of the mind is in its resolutions, and yet how often do they change! Even in
the weightiest concerns men too frequently put them
on and off with their clothes. They deceive when
they are most trusted: suddenly starting and flying
in pieces like a broken bow; and, like a bow again,
even when strongest they can hardly be kept always
bent. We see what fair and promising beginnings
some made,
Constancy is the crowning virtue.
And thus having shewn the threefold impotence of the soul, answerable to the threefold opposition made against it by the devil, what can we conclude, but that where unpreparedness is encountered with unexpected force, weakness with violence, inconstancy with importunity, there destruction must needs be, not the effect of chance, but nature, and, by the closest connection of causes, unavoidable?
It now remains that in the last place we shew wherein the greatness of this fall consists. The house fell, and great was the fall thereof. In short, it may appear upon these two accounts.
First, That it is scandalous, and diffuses a contagion to others, and a blot upon religion. A falling house is a bad neighbour. It is the property of evil as well as of good to be communicative. We still suppose the building here mentioned in the text to have had all the advantages of visible representment, all the pomp and flourish of external ornament, a stately superstructure, and a beautiful appearance; and therefore such an one must needs perish as remarkably as it stood. That which is seen afar off while it stands, is heard of much further when it falls.
An eminent professor is the concern of a whole profession; as to nonplus an Aristotle would look, not only like a slur to a particular philosopher, but like a baffle to philosophy itself.
The devil will let a man build and practise high,
that he may at length fetch him down with the
greater shame, and so make even a Christian an argument against Christianity. The subduing of any
Secondly, The greatness of the fall here spoken of appears also in this, that such an one is hardly and very rarely recovered. He whose house falls, has not usually either riches or heart to build another. It is the business of a life once to build.
God indeed can cement the ruins, and heal the breaches of an apostate soul, but usually a ship wrecked faith and a defloured conscience admit of no repair. Like the present time, which when once gone never returns.
What may be within the compass of omnipotence, the secret of a decree, or the unlimited strains of extraordinary grace, is not here disputed: but, as it would be arrogance for us men to define the power of grace, so it is the height of spiritual prudence to observe its methods. And upon such observation we shall find, that the recovery of such apostates is not the custom, but the prerogative of mercy.
A man is ruined but once. A miscarriage in the new birth is dangerous; and very fatal it generally proves to pass the critical seasons of a defeated conversion.
And thus I have at length despatched what I
at first proposed. Now the words themselves being,
as I said before, Christ’s application of his own
sermon, cannot be improved into a better, and consequently need not into another, except what
their own natural consequence does suggest; and
that is, what our Saviour himself intimates else
where, namely, that he who is about to build, would
first sit down and consider what it is like to cost
But it is a sad and mortifying consideration to think upon what false and sinking grounds, or rather upon what whirlpools and quicksands, many venture to build. Some you shall have amusing their consciences with a set of fantastical new-coined phrases, such as laying hold on Christ, getting into Christ, and rolling themselves upon Christ, and the like; by which, if they mean any thing else but obeying the precepts of Christ, and a rational hope of salvation thereupon, (which it is certain that generally they do not mean,) it is all but a jargon of empty, sense less metaphors; and though many venture their souls upon them, despising good works and strict living, as mere morality, and perhaps as popery, yet being throughly looked into and examined, after all their noise, they are really nothing but words and wind.
Another flatters himself that he has lived in full assurance of his salvation for ten, or twenty, or perhaps thirty years; that is, in other words, the man has been ignorant and confident very long.
Aye, but says another, I am a great hearer and
But then in comes a fourth, and tells us, that he is a saint of yet an higher class, as having got far above all their mean, beggarly, steeple-house dispensations, by an happy exchange of them for the purer and more refined ordinances of the conventicle; where he is sure to meet with powerful teaching indeed, and to hear will-worship and superstition run down, and the priests of Baal paid off, and the follies and fopperies of their great idol the Common Prayer laid open with a witness, (not without some edifying flings at the king and court too, some times,) by all which his faith is now grown so strong, that he can no more doubt of his going to heaven, than that there is such a place as heaven to go to.
So that if the conscience of such an one should at
any time offer to grumble at him, he would presently
stop its mouth with this, “that he is of such an one’s congregation;” and then,
“conscience say thy worst:” or if the guilt of some old perjuries or extortions should begin to look stern upon him, why
But ah! thou poor, blind, self-deluding, and deluded soul! are these the best evidences thou hast for heaven? these the grounds upon which thou hopest for salvation? Assure thyself that God will deal with thee upon very different terms.
For he absolutely enjoins thee to do whatsoever
Christ has commanded; and to avoid whatsoever he
has forbidden. And Christ has commanded thee to
be poor in spirit, and pure in heart; to subdue
thy unruly appetites, to curb thy lust, to restrain
thy anger, and to suppress thy revenge. And if any
thing proves an hinderance to thee in thy duty,
though it be as dear to thee as thy right eye, to
pluck it out; and as useful to thee as thy right
hand, to cut it off and cast it from thee. He will
have thee ready to endure persecutions, revilings,
and all manner of slanders, not only patiently, but
also cheerfully for the truth’s sake. He calls upon
thee to love thine enemies, and to do good for evil:
to bless those that curse thee, and to pray for those
that despitefully use thee. He commands thee in
all things, strictly to do as thou wouldest he done
by; and not to cheat, lie, or overreach thy neighbour, and then call it, “a fetching over the wicked, the better to enable thee to relieve the godly.” He
will not allow thee to resist evil, and much less to
resist thy governor. He commands thee to be
charitable without vain-glory, and devout without
This is the sum of those divine sayings of our Saviour, which he himself refers to in my text, and which if a man hears and does, all the powers of hell shall never shake him. And nothing but a constant, impartial, universal practice of these will or can speak peace to thy conscience here, and stand between thee and the wrath of God hereafter. As for all other pretences, they are nothing but death and damnation dressed up in fair words and false shews; nothing but gins, and snares, and trapans for souls, contrived by the devil, and managed by such as the devil sets on work.
But I have done, and the result of all that I have said or can say, is, that every spiritual builder would be persuaded to translate his foundation from the sand to the rock: and not presume upon Christ as his Saviour, till by a full obedience to his laws he has owned him for his sovereign. And this is properly to believe in him: this is truly to build upon a rock; even that rock of ages, upon which every one that wears the name of Christ must by an in evitable dilemma either build or split.
Now to God, who is able to build us up in our most holy faith, to establish us here, and to save us hereafter, be rendered and ascribed, as is most due, all praise, might, majesty, and dominion, both now and for evermore. Amen.
A true State and Account of the Plea of a tender Conscience:
But when ye sin so against the brethren, and wound their weak conscience, ye sin against Christ.
I SHALL, by God’s assistance, from these words debate the case of a weak, or (as some improperly enough call it) a tender conscience: and with what evidence I can, shew both what it is, and what privileges it may justly claim from this and such other places of scripture. One great one we have here set down, and that indeed so great, that it looks more like a prerogative than a privilege; namely, that to wound or sin against it, is no less a crime than to sin against Christ himself.
Our apostle in two places of his Epistles treats
professedly of this argument; to wit, in the
But in this 8th chapter of 1 Cor. St. Paul speaks
of persons newly converted from idolatry, and that
touching the lawfulness or unlawfulness of eating
meats offered to idols. Concerning which offerings
1. I shall shew what a weak conscience is.
2. What it is to wound or sin against it.
3. I shall lay down some conclusions or assertions, naturally resulting from the foregoing particulars.
And first, for the first of these, what a weak conscience is. I said at first, that such a conscience
was improperly called tender; which, in the sense it
commonly bears, is an expression of our own framing,
and nowhere to be met with in the scriptures; tenderness, applied to the conscience, properly imports
quickness and exactness of sense, which is the perfection of this faculty, whose duty it is to be a spiritual watch, to give us warning of whatsoever concerns us. It is indeed the eye of the soul; and
though the eye is naturally the most tender and delicate part of the body, yet it is not therefore called
weak, so long as its sight is quick and strong. Con
science, the more sensible it is to accuse or excuse,
And here let none think my insisting upon the distinction of these terms either nice or needless: for it is no small artifice of fraud to prepossess the minds of men, by representing a bad thing under a good name, and calling weakness of conscience, which is a defect, by the name of tenderness, which is a perfection. Words govern the generality of the world, who seldom go so deep as to look into things: and impostors well know how likely their cause is to succeed, if their terms can but once be admitted.
As for the place now before us, it is evident
that the weakness of conscience here spoken of is
opposed to faith: so that in
From whence it follows, that weakness of conscience implies in it these three things:
First, An ignorance of the lawfulness of some certain thing or action.
Secondly, A suspicion ensuing thereupon of its unlawfulness.
Thirdly, A religious fear to use or practise it, grounded upon that ignorance or suspicion.
And first, for the first of these ingredients, ignorance; which is indeed the chief and principal of all the three, as being the original of the other two. Concerning this we must (as the groundwork of all) observe, that it ought by all means to be such an ignorance as may, in propriety of speech and sense, bear the denomination of weakness; which it is certain that every sort of ignorance neither does nor can. For since weakness is properly the privation or absence of power, that ignorance only can receive this name, which is not founded upon any vicious action or omission of the will. I say action or omission: for a man may either positively design and will the ignorance of a thing, by studiously avoiding all means to inform himself of it; much like the shutting of one’s eyes against the light, or refusing to come to church: or it may be founded upon some omission; as when the will, though it does not designedly avoid and put from it the means of knowledge, yet neglects to look after them. Now the ignorance which is occasioned either of these ways is willing, and consequently sinful: though usually, for distinction sake, the former is with more emphasis termed, not only willing, but wilful; as being the direct object of an act of volition, and upon that account stamped with an higher aggravation.
That ignorance therefore that renders and denominates the conscience weak, must be such an one
First, Because it must be such an one as renders it in some degree excusable; but, so far as any defect is resolved into the will, it is in that degree inexcusable.
Secondly, Because it must be such an ignorance as renders the person having it the object of pity and compassion. But no man pities another for any evil lying upon him which he would not help, but which he could not. One is his burden, the other his choice; virtually at least, since he might have chosen its prevention. So that it must be such an ignorance as is not (all circumstances considered) under the present power of a man’s will to remedy. And consequently it must be resolved into one of these two causes:
First, The natural weakness of the understanding faculty.
Secondly, The want of opportunities or means of knowledge.
Either of which makes ignorance necessary; as it
is impossible for him to see who wants eyes, and
equally impossible for him who wants light; the
former being the organ, the other the means of
seeing. But as touching the natural weakness or
disability of the understanding faculty, we must observe, that this may be either total, as in case of
idiotism, phrensy, or the like, which wholly deprives a man of the use of his reason: but persons
in this condition fall not under the present consideration. Or secondly, this disability of the under
standing may be only in part, and as to a certain degree of its exercise. From whence it is, that one
But then this must be also confessed, that, by reason of this diversity in the quickness or slowness of men’s understandings, one man may be sooner in excusable for his ignorance of the same thing than another. For God will allow a man of slower parts to be ignorant of a thing longer than a person endued with more quick and pregnant sense. He expects from men only according to the proportions of his giving to them; still making an equality and commensuration between a man’s obligations and his powers. And thus much for the first and grand ingredient of weakness of conscience, which is ignorance.
Secondly, The second is a suspicion of the unlawfulness
Thirdly, The third and last thing that goes to
the making up of this weakness of conscience, is
a religious abstinence from the use of that thing, of
the lawfulness whereof it is thus ignorant or suspicious. It brings a man to that condition in the
Now from these three things put together, I conceive we may collect this full description of a weak conscience; namely, that it is such an one as obliges a man to forbear any thing or action, from a suspicion that it is unlawful, or at least an ignorance that it is lawful; which suspicion or ignorance was not caused or occasioned by his own will, but either by the natural weakness of his understanding, or the want of such means of knowledge as were absolutely necessary to inform him.
This description ought well to be observed and remembered in the several parts of it; as being that which must give light into all the following particulars.
And thus much for the first thing proposed, which was, to shew what this weak conscience is. I proceed now to the
Second, which is, to shew what it is to wound or sin against it. It implies, I conceive, these two things:
First, To grieve, afflict, or discompose it; or, in a word, to
rob it of its peace. For there is that concernment for God’s honour dwelling in
every truly pious heart, which makes it troubled at the sight of any action by
which it supposes God to be dishonoured. Rivers of tears, says David, run down
my eyes, because men keep not thy statutes;
Secondly, The other thing implied in the wounding of a weak conscience, is, to encourage or embolden it to act something against its present judgment or persuasion: which is, in other terms, to of fend, or cast a stumblingblock before it; that is, to do something which may administer to it an occasion of falling, or bringing itself under the guilt of sin. So that as the former was a breach upon the peace, this is properly a wound upon the purity of the conscience.
Now the conscience may be induced to act counter to its present persuasion two ways:
1st, By example. 2d, By command.
First. And first for example; which is the case
here expressly mentioned, and principally intended.
According to that of the apostle in the
So that here is the force of example to persuade, and thereby, in this case, to wound; in that it induces a man to act by an implicit faith in the private judgment of another, against the express dictates and persuasions of his own; a thing directly against the law of God and nature, which has ap pointed every man’s reason or conscience to be the immediate guide or governor of his actions.
Secondly. The second way by which the conscience may be induced to act contrary to its present persuasion, is by command; as when a person in power enjoins the doing something, of the lawfulness of which a man is not persuaded: but concerning this, these two things are to be observed:
First, That it is not so clear that a mere command
can wound the conscience this way; that is, by emboldening it to act against its present persuasion:
for so to embolden it, is to make it willing to act in
this manner; but a command as such, makes not a
man willing to do the thing commanded, but lays
only an obligation upon the action that is to be
done. Nevertheless, since a command seldom comes
proposed naked in itself, but with the conjunction
of reward upon performance of the thing commanded, or of penalties upon the omission; one whereof
Secondly, The other thing here to be observed is, that a command may be considered two ways:
First, As descending from one private person upon another, as from a father upon a son, from a master upon his servant, from a guardian upon his pupil, or the like. And I question not but the principal design of the apostle in this chapter extends not beyond private persons; but directly proposes rules only for the charitable and inoffensive deportment of one private person towards another. Nevertheless, since by manifest analogy of reason the case of magistrates or public persons may here come into consideration; therefore, in the
Second place, a command may be considered as
descending from a magistrate or public person upon
persons under his jurisdiction. And so I affirm that
the supreme magistrate, in the making of laws, or
giving out commands, stands not under any obligation from his office to frame those laws to the good
or advantage of any particular persons, but only of
the community or majority of the people, which are
The case is much alike here: however this indeed
must be confessed, that if the magistrate or supreme
power should make a law which he knew would be a
direct occasion of sin to the generality or majority of
his people, the making of such a law would be in
him a sin, and a breach of his trust; but still I affirm, that his office obliges him only to provide for the
And thus much concerning the second thing proposed, which was to shew what it is to wound or sin against a weak conscience; namely, that it is either to grieve it, or to embolden it to sin. And if it be now objected against this, that the text calls a sinning against a weak conscience, a sinning against Christ, to whom we can no ways properly be said to administer any occasion or inducement to sin; I answer, that this expression of [sinning against] being applied to Christ, imports only a grieving or disobeying him: though, as it is applied to the weak conscience, it signifies the other thing too; it being not unusual in scripture for the same word to be repeated in the very same sentence under a diverse signification. Having thus finished the two first things, I come now to the
Third and last, which is to set down those conclusions which, by way of consequence and deduction, naturally result from the foregoing particulars. Which conclusions are these:
1. That no man having been brought up, or for any length of time continued in the communion of a church teaching and professing the true religion, if he have but also the common use of his reason, can justly plead weakness of conscience in the sense in which it was here used by the apostle.
2. That as such weakness of conscience can upon no sufficient ground be actually pleaded, so upon much less can it be continued in.
3. That supposing it might be both pleaded and continued in, yet the plea of it ought by no means to be admitted by the civil magistrate in prejudice of any laws either actually made or to be made by him for the general good of his people. Of each of which in their order.
First. And first, for the first of these, That no man, &c. This conclusion is of so much force and use, rightly applied, that it is a wonder it has not been more insisted upon against those who disturb the church with this plea, forasmuch as it would wholly cashier and pluck it up by the very roots. And men mistake the method of disputing with these pretenders to weak consciences nowadays; not considering that the very supposition that they either have or can have a weak conscience ought by no means to be granted them; nor are we to debate with them how far and to what degree this their weakness ought to be yielded to, but absolutely to deny, that amongst us, and under our circumstances, there is any such thing.
St. Paul indeed speaks of such a conscience in
those first times of preaching the gospel, and accordingly urges a compliance with it; but where the
cases are wholly different, there the privileges applicable to both cannot be the same. In both these
places in which this apostle treats of this matter, I
shew that the persons to whom he addresses himself
were but new converts; some of which were just
converted and come off from Judaism, whose reverence
But what is all this to the case of those nowadays
amongst us? who from their cradle have or might
have had the principles of true religion instilled into
them; who have still grown up in a church which
protests against idolatry and superstition, and enjoins nothing that has any just appearance of such
things upon it, but offers to vindicate every thing
practised and enjoined by it from any such imputation: these men surely can have no reason to entertain those jealousies and prejudices which possessed
men who had been bred up all their days in Judaism
The sum of all therefore is this, that he only can plead weakness of conscience upon scripture grounds, who is excusably ignorant of some point of duty or privilege. He only is excusably ignorant, whose ignorance is not the effect of his will. That ignorance only is not so, which is caused either by want of ability, of understanding, or of opportunities and means of knowledge. But he who has the common use of reason has sufficient ability, and he who lives in a church professing the true religion has sufficient opportunity and means of knowing whatsoever concerns him either to know or do.
From a joint connexion and an unavoidable coherence of which propositions one with another, it
clearly appears, that it is not weakness, but want of
Secondly. The second assertion or conclusion was
this; That as such weakness of conscience can upon
no sufficient ground be actually pleaded, so upon
much less can it be continued in. This must needs
be confessed by all, that a weak conscience, in the
apostle’s sense, is an imperfection, and consequently
ought by all means to be removed or laid down.
For as certainly as growth and proficiency in knowledge under the means of grace is a duty, so certainly is it a duty not to persist in this weakness of
conscience, which has its foundation only in the defect of such knowledge. So that St. Paul himself,
who is here willing that for the present it should be
complied with, elsewhere upbraids and reprehends
men sharply for continuing under it. As in the
And it were worth the while, in our contest with the pretenders to weak or tender consciences amongst us, to inquire of them how long they think it fit for them to continue weak? And whether they look upon their weakness and ignorance as their freehold, and as that which they resolve to keep for term of life, and to live and die babes in the knowledge of the religion they profess, to grow up into childhood, and at length go out of the world infants and weaklings of threescore or fourscore years old?
This certainly they must intend; for so far are
they from looking upon that weakness or tenderness
of conscience which they plead, as an imperfection,
and consequently to be outgrown or removed by
them, that they own it as a badge of a more refined
and advanced piety, and of such a growth and attainment in the ways of God, that they look down upon
all others as Christians of a lower form, as moral men,
and ignorant of the mystery of the gospel: words
which I have often heard from these impostors,
and which infallibly shew, that the persons whom
St. Paul dealt with, and those whom we contend
with, are not the same kind of men; forasmuch as
they own not the same duty. But that, it seems,
which was the infancy and defect of those persons,
must pass for the perfection, and really is the design
of these. And whereas St. Paul said to the former,
I proceed now to the third and last conclusion, which is this: That supposing this weakness of conscience might be both pleaded and continued in, yet the plea of it ought by no means to be admitted by the civil magistrate in prejudice to any laws either actually made or to be made by him for the general good of his people. This was sufficiently manifest in what I laid down before; to wit, that the magistrate is no ways obliged to frame his laws to the good of any particular persons, where it stands separate from the good of the community or majority of the people: which consideration alone, though it be sufficient to discharge the magistrate from any obligation to admit of such pleas, yet there are other and more forcible reasons why they are by no means to be admitted. I shall assign two in general.
First. The first taken from the ill and fatal consequences which inevitably ensue upon their admission.
Secondly. The other taken from the qualification and temper of the persons who make these pleas.
As for the ill consequences springing from the ad mission of them, though according to the fertile nature of every absurd principle they are indeed innumerable, yet I shall insist only upon these three.
First. The first is, That there can be no bounds
or limits put to this plea, nor any possibility of defining the just number of particulars to which it
may extend. For it being founded in ignorance and
Secondly. The second ill consequence is this; that
as there can be no bounding of this plea in respect
of the particulars about which it may be made; so
when it is made, there can be no possible evidence of
the sincerity of it. For all the evidence producible
must be the word of him who makes this plea; forasmuch as he only can be judge of his own thoughts
and conscience, and tell whether they be really under
such a persuasion and dissatisfaction, or no. But
where men may pretend conscience in the behalf of
interest, I see no reason why their word should be
Third place, the admission of this plea absolutely
binds the hands of the magistrate, and subjects him
to the conscience of those whose duty it is to be subject to him. For let the civil power make what
laws it will, if conscience shall come and put in its
exception against them, it must be heard, and exempt
the person who makes the exception from the binding power of those laws. For since conscience
commands in the name of God, the issue of the question
must be, whether God or the magistrate is to be
obeyed, and then the decision is like to be very easy.
This consequence is so direct, and withal so strong,
that there is no bar against it. So that whereas
heretofore the magistrate passed for God’s vicegerent
here on earth, the weak conscience is now resolved
to keep that office for itself, and to prefer the magistrate to the dignity of being its under-officer: for
the magistrate must make only such laws as such
consciences will have made, and such laws only
must be obeyed as these consciences shall judge fit
to be obeyed. So that upon these terms, it is not
the king, but the tender conscience that has got the
I dare affirm, that it is as impossible for any government or politic body, without a standing force, to subsist or support itself in the allowance of this principle, as it is for the natural body to live and thrive with a dagger sticking in its vitals. Nor can any thing be fuller of contradiction and ridiculous paradox, than to think to reconcile the sovereignty of the magistrate, and the safety of government, with the sturdy pleas of dissenting consciences. It being all one, as if the sceptre should be put into the subject’s hand, in order to his being governed by it.
I could add yet further, that, considering things and persons barely in themselves, it is ten to one but God rather speaks in the conscience of a lawful Christian magistrate making a law, than in the conscience of any private persons whatsoever dissenting from it.
And thus much for the first general reason against admitting the pleas of weak, or, as some falsely call them, tender consciences. The
Second general reason shall be taken from those qualities which usually accompany the said pleas; of which there are two:
First, Partiality. Secondly, Hypocrisy.
First. And first, for partiality. Few make this
plea themselves, who, being once got into power, will
endure it in others. Consult history for the practices of such in Germany, and your own memories
for the practices of the late saints in England. In
their general comprehensive toleration, you know,
prelacy stood always joined with popery, and both
But those zealots were above that legal ordinance of doing as they would be done by; nor were their consciences any longer spiritually weak, when their interest was once grown temporally strong; and then, notwithstanding all their pleas of tenderness, and outcries against persecution, whoever came under them, and closed not with them, found them to be men whose bowels were brass, and whose hearts were as hard as their foreheads.
Secondly, The other qualification, which generally goes along with this plea, and so renders it not fit to be admitted, is hypocrisy. Divines generally agree upon this as a certain evidence of the sincerity of the heart, when it has an equal respect unto all God’s commands, and makes duty, as duty, one of the principal reasons of its obedience; the consequence of which is, that its obedience must needs be universal. Now upon the same ground, if conscience be really, even in their own sense, tender, and doubts of the lawfulness of such or such a practice, because it carries in it some appearance and semblance of evil, though yet it dare not positively affirm that it is so; surely, it must and will be equally afraid of every other practice which carries in it the same appearance of evil; and utterly abhor and fly from those practices which the universal consent of all nations and religions condemns as evidently wicked and unjust.
But the tenderness we have to deal with is quite of another nature, being such an one as makes men scruple at the lawfulness of a set form of divine worship, at the use of some solemn rites and ceremonies in the service of God; but makes them not stick at all at sacrilege, which St. Paul equals to idolatry; nor at rebellion, which the prophet makes as bad as witchcraft; nor at the murder of their king, and the robbing and undoing their fellow-subjects; villainies, which not only Christianity proscribes, but the common reason of mankind rises up against, and by the very light of nature condemns. And did not those who plead tenderness of conscience amongst us do all these things? Nay, did they not do them in the very strength of this plea?
In a word, are the particulars alleged true, or are they not? If not, then let shame and confusion, and a just judgment from God light upon those who make such charges where they are not due. But if all which has been alleged be true, then, in the name of the God of truth, let not those pass for weak, and much less for tender consciences, which can digest such horrid, clamorous impieties. Nor let them abuse the world nor disturb the Church by a false cry of superstition, and a causeless separation from her thereupon; especially if they will but calmly and seriously consider, whose ends by all this they certainly serve, whose work they do, and whose wages they have so much cause to dread.
In fine, the result of the whole discourse is this:
that since the weakness of conscience spoken of by
St. Paul is grounded upon some ignorance, for the
present excusable; and since none amongst us enjoying the means of knowledge daily held forth by
From all which it follows, that how much soever such pretenders may beguile factious and unstable minds, deceiving others and being deceived themselves; and how much soever they may mock the powers of this world, yet God is not mocked, who searches the heart, and looks through the pretence, and will reward every man according to his work, whatsoever may be his profession.
To which God be rendered and ascribed, as is most due, all praise, might, majesty, and dominion, both now and for evermore. Amen.
Christianity mysterious, and the Wisdom of God in making it so:
But we speak the wisdom of God in a mystery, &c.
THE two great works which God has been pleased
to signalize his infinite wisdom and power by, were
the creation of the world, and the redemption of
mankind; the first of them declared by Moses, and
the other by Christ himself bringing life and immortality to light through the gospel. But yet so,
that, as in the opening of the day, the appearance
of light does not presently and totally drive away all
darkness, but that some degrees remain and mingle
with it: so neither has this glorious revelation of
the gospel quite cleared off the obscurity of many
great things revealed in it; but that, as God has
hereby vouchsafed us light enough to inform and
guide our faith, so he has left darkness enough to
exercise it too. Upon which account the apostle
here designing to set forth the transcendent worth
First, that it is the wisdom of God; and, secondly, that it is the wisdom of God in a mystery.
As to the first of which, namely, the gospel’s being
the wisdom of God, that is to say, the grand instance
and product of it; if we would take a survey of the
nature of wisdom, according to the sense of the ancient philosophers, we shall find Aristotle, in the
sixth of his Ethics, and the seventh chapter, defining
it, νοῦς καὶ ἐπιστήμη τῶν τιμιωτάτων τῇ φύσει, that
is, the understanding and knowledge of things in their
nature the most excellent and valuable. Where,
though it ought to be supposed that Aristotle carried his notion no higher nor farther than the things
of nature, and that St. Paul pointed chiefly at things
revealed and supernatural; yet I cannot see but that
the terms made use of by that great philosopher in
the definition, or rather description of wisdom, laid
down by him, do with full propriety and fitness fall
in with the account here given of this divine wisdom
by our apostle in the text, and that, whether we
take it for a wisdom respecting speculation, or relating to practice; the things treated of in the gospel
(about which the said wisdom is employed) being
certainly the noblest and most excellent that can be,
upon both accounts: and though it be hard to determine whether of the two ought to have the
preeminence, yet I think we may rationally enough
conclude, that the wisdom here spoken of is principally of a practical import; as denoting to us God’s admirable and steady bringing about his great ends
and purposes, by means most suitable and proper to
Secondly, the power of God too; the first infallible, the other irresistible. In a word, the wisdom
here spoken of is a messenger which always goes as
far as sent; an instrument which never fails or
lurches the great agent who employs it, either in
reaching the end he directs it to, or in finishing the
work he intends it for: so that, in short, there
could not be an higher and a nobler elogy to express the gospel by, than by representing it to us as
the wisdom of God. For as wisdom in general is
the noblest and most sublime perfection of an intellectual nature, and particularly in God himself is
the leading, ruling attribute, prescribing to all the
rest; so a commendation drawn from thence must
needs be the most glorious that can possibly pass
upon any action or design proceeding from such an
And thus much for the first thing contained in the words, and proposed from them; namely, that the gospel is the wisdom of God. I proceed now to the second, which we shall chiefly insist upon, and that is, concerning the mysteriousness of it; as, that it is the wisdom of God in a mystery. For the prosecution of which we shall inquire into, and endeavour to give some account of the reasons, (so far as we may presume to judge of them,) why God should deliver to mankind a religion so full of mysteries as the Christian religion certainly is, and was ever accounted to be. Now the reasons of this in general, I conceive, may be stated upon these two grounds:
First, The nature and quality of the things treated of in the Christian religion. And,
Secondly, The ends to which all religion, both as to the general and particular nature of it, is designed, with relation to the influence which it ought to have upon the minds of men.
And, first of all, for the nature of the things themselves, which are the subject-matter of the Christian
religion. There are in them these three qualifications or properties, which do and must of necessity
First, Their surpassing greatness and inequality to the mind
of man. The Christian religion, as to a great part of it, is but a kind of
comment upon the divine nature; an instrument to convey right conceptions of God
into the soul of man, so far as it is capable of receiving them. But now God, we
know, is an infinite being, without any bounds or limitations of his essence,
wonderful in his actings, inconceivable in his purposes, and inexpressible in
his attributes; which yet, as great as they are, if severally taken, give us but an incomplete representation of him. He is another world in himself, too
high for our speculations, and too great for our descriptions. For how can such vast and mighty
things be crowded into a little, finite understanding?
Heaven, I confess, enters into us, as we must into
that, by a very narrow passage; but how shall the
King of glory, whom the heavens themselves cannot
contain, enter in by these doors? by a weak imagination, a slender notion, and a contracted intellect? How shall these poor short faculties measure
the lengths of his eternity, the breadth and expansions of his immensity, the heights of his
prescience, and the depths of his decrees? And, last of
all, that unutterable, incomprehensible mystery of
two natures united into one person, and again of
one and the same nature diffused into a triple personality? All which being some of the prime, fundamental matters treated of in our religion, how can
it be otherwise than a system of mysteries, and a
knot of dark, inexplicable propositions, since it exhibits
The Socinians, indeed, who would obtrude upon
the world (and of late more daringly than ever) a
new Christianity of their own inventing, will admit
of nothing mysterious in this religion, nothing which
the natural reason of man cannot have a clear and
comprehensive perception of: and this not only in
defiance of the express words of scripture, so frequently and fully affirming the contrary, but also of
the constant, universal sense of all antiquity, unanimously confessing an incomprehensibility in many of
the articles of the Christian faith. So that these
bold persons stand alone by themselves, upon a new
bottom, and an upstart principle, not much above
an hundred years old, spitting upon all antiquity
before them; and (as some who have wrote against
them have well observed of them) are the only sect
of men in the world who ever pretended to set up
or own a religion without either a mystery or a sacrifice belonging to it. For, as we have shewn that
they deny the first, so they equally explode the latter, by denying Christ to be properly a priest, or his
death to have been a propitiatory oblation for the
sins of the world. And now are not these blessed
new lights, think we, fit to be encouraged, courted,
and have panegyrics made upon their wonderful abilities, forsooth; whilst they on the other side are
employing the utmost of those abilities (such as they
are) in blaspheming our Saviour, and overturning
our religion? But this is their hour, and the power
of darkness. For it is a truth too manifest to be
denied, that there have been more innovations upon
Secondly. A second qualification of the chief things
treated of in our religion, and which must needs render them mysterious, is their spirituality and abstraction from all sensible and corporeal matter; of which
sort of things it is impossible for the understanding
of man to form to itself an exact idea or representation: so that when we hear or read that God is a
spirit, and that angels and the souls of men are spirits, our apprehensions are utterly at a loss how to
frame any notion or resemblance of them, but are
put to float and wander in an endless maze of guesses
and conjectures, and know not certainly what to fix
upon. For in this case we can fetch in no information or relief to our understandings from our senses;
no picture or draught of these things from the reports of the eye; but we are left entirely to the
uncertainties of fancy, to the flights and ventures of a
bold imagination. And here to illustrate the case a
little, let us imagine a man who was born blind, able
upon bare hearsay to conceive in his mind all the
varieties and curiosities of colour, to draw an exact
scheme of Constantinople, or a map of France; to
describe the towns, point out the rivers, and distinguish the situations of these and the like great and
extraordinary places: and when such an one is able
Thirdly. A third property of matters belonging to
Christianity, and which also renders them mysterious, is their strangeness and unreducibleness to the
common methods and observations of nature. I, for
my part, cannot look upon any thing (whatsoever
others can) as a more fundamental article of the
Christian religion, than Christ’s satisfaction for sin;
by which alone the lost sons of Adam are reconciled
to their offended God, and so put into new capacities
But there are also two other principal articles of
the Christian religion, which do as much transcend
the common notice and observation of mankind as
the former. One of which is the conversion and
change of a man’s sinful nature, commonly called
the work of regeneration, or the new birth; concerning which men are apt to wonder (and deservedly too) by what strange power and efficacy it
should come to pass, that ever any one should be
brought to conquer and shake off those inveterate
appetites and desires which are both so violent in
their actings, and so early in their original, (as being
born with him,) and to have other new ones, and
those absolutely contrary to the former, planted in
their room. So that when our Saviour, in
But, above all, the article of the resurrection
seems to lie marvellously cross to the common experience of mankind. For who ever was yet seen by
And thus much for the first ground of the gospel’s being delivered to the world in a mystery; namely, the nature and quality of the things treated of in the gospel. I come now to the
Second ground, which is stated upon some of the
principal ends and designs of religion. But before
I enter upon the discussion of this, may it not be
objected, that the grand design of religion is to en
gage men in the practice of such things as it commands; and that this must needs be so much the
more easily effected, by how much the more clearly
such things are represented to men’s understandings
without any mystery or obscurity in them: forasmuch as the way to obey a law is to know it; and
Now to this I answer, first, that it is as much the design of religion to oblige men to believe the credenda, as to practise the agenda of it: and, secondly, that notwithstanding the obscurity and mysteriousness of the credenda, considered in themselves, there is yet as clear a reason for the belief of these, as for the practice of the other. They exceed indeed the natural force of human reason to comprehend them scientifically, and are therefore proposed, not to our knowledge, but to our belief; forasmuch as belief supplies the want of knowledge, where knowledge is not to be had, and is properly the mind’s assent to a thing upon the credit of his testimony who shall report it to us. And thus we as sent to the great and mysterious points of our faith: for know and understand them throughly we can not; but since God has revealed and affirmed them to be true, we may with the highest reason, upon his bare word, believe and assent to them as such.
But then, as for those things that concern our practice, (upon which only the objection proceeds,) they indeed are of that clearness, that innate evidence and perspicuity, even in themselves, that they do, as it were, meet our understandings half way, and being once proposed to us, need not our study, but only our acceptance; as presenting themselves to our first, our easiest, and most early apprehensions. So that in some things it is much more difficult for a man, upon a very ordinary use of his judgment, to be ignorant of his duty than to learn it; as it would be much harder for him, while he is awake, to keep his eyes always shut, than open.
In sum, the articles of our faith are those depths in which the elephant may swim; and the rules of our practice those shallows in which the lamb may wade. But as both light and darkness make but one natural day; so here, both the clearness of the agenda, and the obscurity or mystery of the credenda of the gospel, constitute but one entire religion. And so much in answer to this objection; which being thus removed, I come now to shew, that the mysteriousness of those parts of the gospel called the credenda, or matters of our faith, is most subservient to the great, important ends of religion; and that upon these following accounts:
First, because religion, in the prime institution of it, was designed to make impressions of awe and reverential fear upon men’s minds. The mind of man is naturally licentious, and there is nothing which it is more averse from than duty; nothing which it more abhors than restraint. It would, if let alone, lash out, and wantonize in a boundless enjoyment and gratification of all its appetites and inclinations. And therefore God, who designed man to a supernatural end, thought fit also to en gage him to a way of living above the bare course of nature; and for that purpose to oblige him to a severe abridgment and control of his mere natural desires. And this can never be done, but by imprinting upon his judgment such apprehensions of dread and terror, as may stave off an eager and luxurious appetite from its desired satisfactions, which the infinite wisdom of God has thought fit in some measure to do, by nonplusing the world with certain new and unaccountable revelations of himself and the divine methods of a mysterious religion.
To protect which from the saucy encroachments of bold minds, he has hedged it in with a sacred and majestic obscurity, in some of the principal parts of it: which that it is the most effectual way to secure a reverence to it from such minds, is as certain as the universal experience of mankind can make it; it being .an observation too frequent and common to be at all doubted of, that familiarity breeds contempt; and it holds not more in point of converse, than in point of knowledge. For as easiness of access, frankness and openness of behaviour, does by degrees lay a man open to scorn and contempt, especially from some dispositions; so a full inspection and penetration into all the difficulties and secrets of any object is apt to make the mind insult over it, as over a conquered thing; for all knowledge is a kind of conquest over the thing we know.
Distance preserves respect, and we still imagine some transcendent worth in things above our reach. Moses was never more reverenced than when he wore his veil. Nay, the very sanctum sanctorum would not have had such a veneration from the Jews, had they been permitted to enter into it, and to gaze and stare upon it, as often as they did upon the other parts of the temple. The high priest him self, who alone was suffered to enter into it, yet was to do so but once a year; lest the frequency of the sight might insensibly lessen that adoration which so sacred a thing was still to maintain upon his thoughts.
Many men, who in their absence have been great,
and admired for their fame, find a diminution of
that respect upon their personal presence: even the
great apostle St. Paul himself found it so; as he
In all great respect or honour shewn, there is something of wonder; but a thing often seen, we know, be it never so excellent, yet ceasing thereby to be new, it ceases also to be wondered at. Forasmuch as it is not the worth or excellency, but the strangeness of a thing which draws the eyes and admiration of men after it; for can any thing in nature be imagined more glorious and beautiful than the sun shining in his full might, and yet how many more spectators and wonderers does the same sun find under an eclipse?
But to pursue this notion and observation yet
farther, I conceive it will not be amiss to consider,
how it has been the custom of all the sober and wise
nations of the world still to reserve the great rites
of their religion in occulto: thus, how studiously
did the Egyptians, those great masters of all learning, lock up their sacred things from all access and
knowledge of the vulgar! Whereupon their gods
were pictured and represented with their finger
upon their mouth, thereby, as it were, enjoining silence to their votaries, and forbidding all publication
of their mysteries. Nor was this all, but, for the
Now that the several religions of the forementioned nations of the gentiles were false and idolatrous, I readily own; but that their method of preserving the reverence of them (which is all that I here insist upon) was founded upon any persuasion they had of the falsehood and idolatry of the said religions, this I absolutely deny; since it is not imaginable, that any sort of men whatsoever could heartily own and profess any sort of religion which they themselves fully believed to be false; and therefore since it could not be but that they believed their several religions true, (though really and indeed they were not so,) yet the way which they took to keep up an awful esteem of them in the hearts of such as professed them, was no doubt founded upon an excellent philosophy and knowledge of the temper of man’s mind, in relation to sacred matters. So that, although their subject was bad, yet their argumentation and discourse upon it was highly rational.
Secondly. A second ground of the mysteriousness
of religion, (as it is delivered by God to mankind,)
is his most wise purpose thereby to humble the pride
and haughtiness of man’s reason: a quality so peculiarly odious to God, that it may be said, not so
much to imprint upon men the image, as to communicate to them the very essence of Lucifer. The
way by which man first fell from his original integrity and happiness was by pride, founded upon an
irregular desire of knowledge; and therefore it seems
to be a course most agreeable to the divine wisdom
Whereupon we find the gospel set up, as it were,
in triumph over all that wisdom and philosophy
which the learned and more refined parts of the
world so much boasted of, and valued themselves
upon; as we have it in the
The difficulty and strangeness of some of the chief articles of our religion, such as are those of the Trinity, and of the incarnation and satisfaction of Christ, are notable instruments in the hand of God, to keep the soul low and humble, and to check those self-complacencies which it is apt to grow into by an overweening conceit of its own opinions, more than by any other thing whatsoever. For man naturally is scarce so fond of the offspring of his body, as of that of his soul. His notions are his darlings; so that neither children nor self are half so dear to him as the only-begotten of his mind. And therefore, in the dispensations of religion, God will have this only-begotten, this best-beloved, this Isaac of our souls, (above all other offerings that a man can bring him,) to be sacrificed, and given up to him.
Thirdly, God in great wisdom has been pleased
to put a mysteriousness into the greatest articles of
We are commanded by Christ to search the scriptures, as the great repository of all the truths and mysteries of our religion; and whosoever shall apply himself to a through performance of this high command, shall find difficulty and abstruseness enough in the things searched into to perpetuate his search: for they are a rich mine, which the greatest wit and diligence may dig in for ever, and still find new matter to entertain the busiest contemplation with, even to the utmost period of the most extended life. For no man can outlive the reasons of inquiry, so long as he carries any thing of ignorance about him; and that every man must and shall do, while he is in this state of mortality: for he, who himself is but a part of nature, shall never compass or comprehend it all.
Truth, we are told, dwells low, and in a bottom;
and the most valued things of the creation are concealed and hidden by the great Creator of them
from the common view of the world. Gold and diamonds, with the most precious stones and metals, lie
couched and covered in the bowels of the earth; the
And then, as for what concerns the mind of man, God has, in his wise providence, cast things so as to make the business of men in this world improvement; that so the very work of their condition may still remind them of the imperfection of it. For surely, he who is still pressing forward, has not yet obtained the prize. Nor has he who is only growing in knowledge, yet arrived to the full stature of it. Growth is progress; and all progress designs and tends to the acquisition of something which the growing person is not yet possessed of.
Fourthly. The fourth and last reason which I shall
allege of the mysterious dispensation of the gospel
here is, that the full, entire knowledge of it may be
one principal part of our felicity and blessedness
hereafter. All those heights and depths which we
now stand so much amazed at, and which so confound and baffle the subtlest and most piercing apprehension, shall then be made clear, open, and familiar to us. God shall then display the hidden
glories of his nature, and withal fortify the eye of
the soul so that it shall be able to behold and take
them in, so far as the capacities of an human intellect
shall enable it to do. We shall then see the mysteries of the Trinity, and of the incarnation of Christ,
and of the resurrection of the dead unriddled and
made plain to us; all the knots of God’s decrees and
providence untied, and made fit for our understanding, as well as our admiration. We shall then be
transported with a nobler kind of wonder, not the
The happiness of heaven shall be an happiness of
vision and of knowledge; and we shall there pass
from the darkness of our native ignorance, from the
dusk and twilight of our former notions, into the broad
light of an everlasting day; a day which shall leave
nothing undiscovered to us which can be fit for us
to know: and therefore the apostle, comparing our
present with our future condition in respect of those
different measures of knowledge allotted to each of
them,
For as in that condition we shall enjoy the happiness, so we shall also imitate the perfection of an gels, who outshine the rest of the creation in nothing more than in a transcendent ability of knowing and judging, which is the very glory and crowning excellency of a created nature. Faith itself shall be then accounted too mean a thing to accompany us in that estate; for being only conversant about things not seen, it can have no admittance into that place, the peculiar privilege of which shall be to convey to us the knowledge of those things by sight, which before we took wholly upon trust. And thus I have given you some account, first of the mysteriousness of the gospel, and then of the reasons of it; and that both from the nature of the things themselves which are treated of in it, as also from those great ends and purposes which God in his infinite wisdom has designed it to.
From all which discourse several very weighty inferences might be drawn, but I shall collect and draw from thence only these three; as,
First, The high reasonableness of men’s relying
upon the judgment of the whole church in general,
and of their respective teachers and spiritual guides
in particular, rather than upon their own private
judgments, in such important and mysterious points
of religion as we have been hitherto discoursing of; I
say, upon the judgment of those who have made it
their constant business, as well as their avowed profession, to acquaint themselves with these mysteries,
But there is not only reason to persuade, but also
authority to oblige men in the present case. For see
in what notable words the prophet asserts this privilege to the priesthood under the Mosaic economy,
For which words, no doubt, this prophet would have passed for a man of heat, or high churchman, nowadays: for, in good earnest, they run very high, and look very severely upon our so much applauded, or rather doated upon liberty of conscience, and are so far from casting the least eye of favour upon it, that they are a more direct and mortal stab to it, than all the pleas, arguments, and apologies I could ever yet read or hear of, have been a defence of it.
Nor does the same privilege sink one jot lower
under the Christian constitution; for as we have already
An implicit faith indeed in our spiritual guides
(such as the church of Rome holds) I own to be a
great absurdity; but a due deference and submission
to the judgment of the said guides in the discharge of
their ministry, I affirm to be as great a duty. And I
state the measures of this submission, in a belief of,
and an obedience to, all that a man’s spiritual guide
shall in that capacity declare and enjoin, provided
that a man does not certainly know, or at least upon
very great and just grounds doubt, any thing to the
contrary: (which two conditions, I allow, ought
always to be supposed in this case:) and then, if no
objection from either of these shall interpose, I affirm,
that every man stands obliged, by the duty he owes
to his spiritual pastor, to believe and obey whatsoever his said pastor shall by virtue of his pastoral
office deliver to him. In a word, if men would but
seriously and impartially consider these three things;
first, that the gospel, or Christian religion, is, for the
most part of it, made up of mysteries; secondly, that
God has appointed a certain order of men to declare
and dispense these mysteries; and thirdly and lastly,
that it was his wisdom thus to order both these; certainly men would both treat the gospel itself more like
In fine, every one is apt to think himself able to be his own divine, his own priest, and his own teacher; and he should do well to be his own physician, and his own lawyer too: and then, as upon such a course he finds himself speed in the matters of this world, let him upon the same reckon of his success in the other.
Secondly. We learn also from the foregoing particulars, the gross unreasonableness and the manifest
sophistry of men’s making whatsoever they find by
themselves not intelligible, (that is to say, by human
reason not comprehensible,) the measure whereby
they would conclude the same also to be impossible.
This, I say, is a mere fallacy, and a wretched inconsequence: and yet nothing occurs more commonly
(and that as a principle taken for granted) in the
late writings of some heterodox, pert, unwary men;
and particularly it is the main hinge upon which all
the Socinian arguments against the mysteries of our
religion turn and depend; but withal so extremely
remote is it from all truth, that there is not the least
For who can comprehend, or throughly understand, how the soul is united to, and how it acts by and upon the body? Who can comprehend or give a full account how sensation is performed? or who can lay open to us the whole mechanism of motion in all the springs and wheels of it? Nay, who can resolve and clear off all the difficulties about the composition of a continued quantity, as whether it is compounded of parts divisible or indivisible? both of which are attended with insuperable objections. And yet all these things are not only possible, but also actually existent in nature. From all which therefore, and from a thousand more such instances, (which might easily be produced,) I conclude, that for any one to deny or reject the mysteries of our religion as impossible, because of the incomprehensibleness of them, is, upon all true principles, both of divinity and philosophy, utterly inconsequent and irrational.
Thirdly. In the third and last place, we learn also
Amongst which said difficulties perhaps there is
hardly a greater, and more undecidable problem in
natural theology, and which has not only exercised
but even crucified the greatest wits of all ages, than
the reconciling of the immutable certainty of God’s foreknowledge with the freedom and contingency of
all human acts, both good and evil, so foreknown by
him. Both parts of which problem are certainly
true; but how to explain and make out the accord
between them, without overthrowing one of them,
And now is not this, think we, a most profound
invention, and much like the discovery of some
New-found-land, some O Brazil in divinity? With so
much absurd confidence do some discourse, or rather
romance upon the most mysterious points of the
Christian faith, that any man of sense and sobriety
would be apt to think such persons not only beside
In the mean time, we may here observe the true way by which these great and adorable mysteries of our religion come first to be ridiculed and blasphemed, and at length totally laid aside by some; and that is, by their being first innovated upon, and new-modelled, by the bold, senseless, and absurd explications of others. For first of all such innovators break down those sacred mounds which antiquity had placed about these articles, and then heretics and blasphemers rush in upon them, trample them under foot, and quite throw them out of our creed. This course we have seen taken amongst us, and the church (God bless it, and those who are over it) has been hitherto profoundly silent at it; but how long God (whose honour is most concerned) will be so too, none can tell. For if some novelists may put what sense they please upon the writings of Moses, and others do the like with the articles of the Christian church also, (and the greatest encouragement attend both,) I cannot see (unless some extraordinary providence prevent it) but that both these religions are in a direct way to be run down amongst us, and that in a very short time too.
Let every sober, humble, and discreet Christian,
therefore, be advised to dread all tampering with the
mysteries of our faith, either by any new and unwarrantable explications of them, or descants upon
them. The great apostle of the gentiles, who, I am
To which God infinitely wise, holy, and great, be rendered and ascribed, as is most due, all praise, might, majesty, and dominion, both now and for evermore. Amen.
The lineal Descent of Jesus of Nazareth from David by his blessed Mother the Virgin Mary:
I am the root and the offspring of David, and the bright and morning star.
THE words here pitched upon by me are the
words of Christ now glorified in heaven, and seem,
as it were, by the union of a double festival, to represent to us both the Nativity and Epiphany, while
they lead us to the birth of Christ by the direction
of a star; though with this difference, I confess,
that both the means directing, and the term directed to, do in this place coincide; and Christ the
person speaking, as well as spoken of, is here the
only star to direct us to himself. The nativity of
Christ is certainly a compendium of the whole gospel, in that it thus both begins and ends it, reaching
from the first chapter of St. Matthew to this last of
the Revelation; which latter, though it be confessedly a book of mysteries, and a system of occult
divinity, yet surely it can contain nothing more
mysterious and stupendous than the mystery here
First, as the root; secondly, as the offspring of David; and thirdly, as he is here termed, the bright and morning star.
And first for the first of these:
Christ was the root of David; but how? Certainly in respect of something in him which had a
being before David. But his humanity had not so,
being of a much later date, and therefore, as a mere
man, he could not be the root of David; whereupon
it follows that he must have been so in respect of
some other nature: but what that nature was will
be the question. The Arians, who denied his divinity, but granted his preexistence to his humanity,
(which the Socinians absolutely deny,) held him to
be the first-born of the creation; the first and most
And therefore I have often wondered at the preposterous tenets of Socinus, and that, not so much
for his denying the natural deity of our Saviour, as
that he should do it after he had wrote a book for
the authority of the scripture. For upon the same
reasons that he and his sect deny the deity of Christ,
I should rather deny the scripture to be of divine
authority. They say, for Christ to be God is a thing
absurd and impossible: from which I should argue,
that that writing or doctrine which affirms a thing
absurd and impossible, cannot be true, and much
less the word of God. And that the gospel affirms
so much of Christ, we may appeal to the judgment
of any impartial heathen, who understands the language Tantum id mihi videtur statui posse, post hanc vitam, hominis animam sive animum non ita per se subsistere,
ut tilla praemia poenasve sentiat, vel etiam illa sentiendi sit capax. And again: In ipso primo homine totius immortalitatis rationem uni gratiae
Dei tribuo; nec in ipsa creatione quicquam immortalis vitae in homine agnosco.
Socin. Ep. 5. ad Joh. Volkelium. See more of the like nature, cited by the learned Dr. Ashwell, in his Dissertation
de Socino et Socinianismo, p. 187, 188, 189, &c.
I conclude, therefore, against the scoffs of the heathens, the disputations of the Jews, the impiety of
Having thus shewn how Christ was the root and original of David, pass we now to the next thing proposed, which is to shew,
Secondly, That he was his offspring too, and so, having asserted his divinity, to clear also his humanity. That the Christian religion be true, is the eternal concernment of all those who believe it, and look to be saved by it: and that it be so, depends upon Jesus Christ’s being the true promised Messias; (the grand and chief thing asserted by him in his gospel;) and lastly, Christ’s being the true Messias depends upon his being the son of David, and king of the Jews. So that unless this be evinced, the whole foundation of Christianity must totter and fall, as being a cheat, and an imposture upon the world. And therefore let us undertake to clear this great important truth, and to demonstrate that Jesus of Nazareth was the true seed of David, and rightful king of the Jews.
His pedigree is drawn down by two of the evangelists;
First, That these two evangelists disagree in deducing of his pedigree.
Secondly, That supposing they were proved to agree, yet both of their pedigrees terminate in Joseph, and therefore belong not to Jesus, who was not indeed the son of Joseph, but of Mary.
In answer to which we are to observe, that concerning this whole matter there are two opinions.
First, That both in St. Matthew and St. Luke only the pedigree of Joseph is recounted; in the first his natural, in the other his legal: for it being a known custom among the Jews, that a man dying without issue, his brother should marry his widow, and raise up seed to him, Eli hereupon dying with out any child, Jacob took his wife, and of her begat Joseph; who by this means was naturally the son of Jacob, as St. Matthew deduces it, and legally or reputedly the son of Eli, as St. Luke. And then to make Jacob and Eli brothers, who are there set down in different lines, it is said that Matthan, of the line of Solomon, and Melchi, of the line of Na than, successively married the same woman, (Estha by name,) of whom Matthan begat Jacob, and Melchi begat Eli: whereupon Jacob and Eli being brothers by the mother, though of different fathers, Eli dying without issue, Jacob was obliged by law to marry his relict, and so to raise up seed to his brother Eli.
Now all this is grounded upon an ancient story of
one Julius Africanus, recorded by Eusebius, in his
first book and seventh chapter. And of late Faustus
But of the authors and assertors of this opinion
we may well demand, that admitting Christ might
upon this account be called the son of David, in the
large and loose way of that denomination, yet how
could he for this only reason be called the seed of
David? nay, and, what is yet more full and express,
be said to be made of the seed of David, as it is in
Second opinion, which is, that both Joseph and Mary came from David by true and real descent, and that, as Joseph’s genealogy and pedigree is set down in that line which St. Matthew gives an account of, so the Virgin Mary’s lineage is recited in that which is recorded by St. Luke; which opinion, as it has been generally received by divines of the greatest note, and best answers those difficulties and objections which the other is beset with; so I shall endeavour fully to clear and set it down in these following propositions.
1. The first proposition is this, That the designs
of the two evangelists, in their respective deductions
of our Saviour’s pedigree, are very different. For
St. Matthew intends only to set down his political or
royal pedigree, by which he had right to the crown
of the Jews; but St. Luke shews his natural descent
through the several successions of those from whom
he took flesh and blood. And that this is so, besides
that natural reason taken from the impossibility of
one and the same person’s having two several fathers, as St. Matthew and St. Luke seem at first
sight to import; we have these farther arguments
for the said assertion; as, first, that St. Matthew
begins his reckoning only from Abraham, to whom
the first promise of the kingdom was made. As it stands rectified by Junius and Tremellius,
who place the comma after Assir, and not
between Jeconiah and that.
2. Note that those four sons of David by Bathsheba, mentioned in
3. The third proposition is this, That the crown of Judah being now come into the line of Nathan in Salathiel, (whose immediate son was Pedaiah, (though not mentioned in the succession, because he died before his father’s assumption to the crown,) and next to Salathiel, the great and renowned Zorobabel,) forasmuch as St. Matthew and Luke agree from Jeconiah to Zorobabel; (after whom they divide, each ascribing to him a different successor, viz. one of them Abiud, and the other Rhesa;) we are rationally to suppose, that these two were the sons of Zorobabel; and that from Abiud, the elder brother, (who only had right to the crown and kingdom,) lineally descended Joseph, according to the calculation of St. Matthew; and that from Rhesa, the younger brother, descended Mary, of whom Jesus was born, according to St. Luke’s description: for though in the above-mentioned third chapter of 1 Chron. (where there is an account given of Zorobabel’s sons,) there occur not the names of Abiud and Rhesa; yet it being common with the Jews for one man sometimes to have two names, there is ground enough for us, without any presumption, to believe and conclude that it so happened here.
4. The fourth proposition is this, That it was the custom of
the Jews not to reckon the woman by name in her pedigree, but to reckon the
husband in right of his wife. For which reason Joseph is twice reckoned, viz.
first in his own right by St. Matthew; Acts and Monuments of the Church, p. 522.
5. The fifth and last proposition is this, That
although Jesus of Nazareth naturally descended
only from Mary, yet he derives not his title to the
crown and kingdom of the Jews originally by the
line of Mary, (forasmuch as she sprang from the line
of Rhesa, the younger son of Zorobabel,) but received
that from Joseph, who was of the elder line by Abiud;
which line of Abiud failing in Joseph, as having no
And thus I have endeavoured to make out our
blessed Saviour’s descent from the line of David.
But as for that opinion which asserts him to have
been of the tribe of Levi, because his mother Mary
was cousin to Elizabeth who was of that tribe, it
is very weak and groundless. For no man asserts
Jesus to have been so of the house of David, as to
exclude all relation to other tribes and families, with
which by mutual marriages he might well contract
a kindred; it being prohibited to none but heiresses
to marry out of their own family. And as for an
other opinion, which (in order to the making of Christ
a priest) affirms Nathan the son of David, from
whom Christ descended, to have been a priest, as
Solomon was a king, and so to have founded a sacerdotal line as Solomon did a royal; this being a conceit both so groundless in itself, and withal so
expressly contradicted by the scripture, which in
Now to sum up all that has been delivered, it
briefly amounts to thus much, that the royal line of
And this to me seems a most clear, full, and manifest deduction of our Saviour’s pedigree from David, which yet I shall further confirm with this one
consideration; that whatsoever cavils the modern
Jews and others make nowadays against the genealogies recorded by the evangelists; yet the Jews their
contemporaries, who were most nice and exactly
skilful in things of this nature, and withal most maliciously bent against Christ and Christianity, never
offered to quarrel against or invalidate the accounts
they have given us of this particular; which, had
they been faulty, the Jews would most certainly
have done; this giving them so vast an advantage
against us. And this consideration alone, were we
now not able particularly to clear these matters, is
Having thus finished the second part of my text, which speaks Christ the offspring of David, according to his human nature, as the first declared him the root of David in respect of his divine, I shall descend now to that
Third and last part of the text, which represents him to us under the glorious denomination of the bright and morning star.
Three things there are considerable in a star.
First, The nature of its substance.
Secondly, The manner of its appearance.
Thirdly, The quality of its operation.
In every one of which respects Christ bears a lively resemblance to it.
First, and first for the nature of its substance. It
is commonly defined in philosophy the purest and
most refined part of its orb; by which it is distinguished from all those meteors and shining nothings
that ascend no further than the air, how high soever
the mistake and ignorance of vulgar eyes may place
them, as also from the other parts of the celestial
And to shew yet further of how pure a make he
was, we know him to have been wholly untouched
with any thing of that original stain, which has
universally sunk into the nature of all men besides.
He was a second Adam without any of the guilt
contracted by the first; he was born a man without
any human imperfections; a rose without thorns.
He was nothing but purity itself; virtue clothed in
a body, and innocence incarnate. So blameless and
free from all shadow of guilt, that the very Jews, his
bitter enemies, gave him this testimony, that he had
done all things well;
There are spots, they say, not in the moon only,
but also in the face of the sun itself: but this star
was of a greater and more unblemished lustre; for
not the least spot was ever discovered in it; though
malice and envy itself were the perspectives through
which most of the world beheld it. And as it is the
Secondly. The next thing considerable in a star is
the manner of its appearance. It appears but small,
and of a little compass: so that although our reason
assures us that it is bigger than the whole earth,
yet our sight would seem to persuade us that it is
not much bigger than a diamond sparkling upon
the circle of a little ring. And now how appositely does this consideration also suit the condition of our Saviour! who both in his rising and
shining upon the world seemed in the eyes of all
men but a small and a contemptible thing; a poor
helpless man; first living upon a trade, and then
upon something that was much meaner, namely,
upon alms. Whereupon, what slight thoughts had
they of his person! as if he had been no more than
an ordinary soul, joined to an ordinary body; and
so sent into the world to take his course in the common lot of mortality. They little dreamed of a
Deity, and of something greater than the world,
lodged in that little tabernacle of his flesh. So that
notwithstanding his being the great and almighty
Thirdly. The third and last thing to be considered in a star is, the quality of its operation, which is two fold. First, open and visible, by its light. Secondly, secret and invisible, by its influence. And,
First, This morning star operates by its brightness and lustre; in respect of which it is the first fruits of light, and, as it were, day in its minority; clearing the heavenly stage, and chasing away all other stars, till it reigns in the firmament alone. And now to make good the comparison between Christ and this, we shall shew how he by his appearance chased away many things much admired and gazed at by the world, and particularly these three.
First, Much of the heathenish worship and superstition, which not only like a cloud, but like a black
and a dark night, had for a long time covered the
Now upon the coming of Christ, very much, though not all, of this idolatrous trumpery and superstition was driven out of the world: so that many of the oracles (those great instruments of delusion) ceased about the time of our Saviour’s nativity. The divine powder then dispossessing the devil of his greater temples, as well as of his lesser, the bodies of men; and so casting down the throne of fallacy and superstition, by which he had so long enslaved the vassal world, and led it captive at his pleasure.
Secondly, As the heathenish false worship, so also
the Jewish imperfect worship began to be done away
by the coming of Christ. The Jews indeed drew
Thirdly and lastly, All pretended false Messiahs
vanished upon the appearance of Christ the true
one. A crown will not want pretenders to claim it,
Amongst those several false Messias’s, it is remark able that one called himself Barchocab, or the son of a star: but by his fall he quickly shewed himself of a nature far differing from this glorious morning star mentioned in the text, which even then was fixed in heaven while it shone upon the earth. It was not the transitory light of a comet, which shines and glares for a while, and then presently vanishes into nothing; but a light durable and immortal, and such an one as shall outlive the sun, and shine and burn when heaven and earth and the whole world shall be reduced to cinders.
Having thus shewn how Christ resembled a star
in respect of his external visible shinings to the
world, by which he drove away much of the heathenish idolatry, all the Jewish ceremonies, together
with the pretences of all counterfeit Messias’s, as the
Second place, to see how he resembles a star also
in respect of its internal, secret operation and influence upon all sublunary inferior beings. And indeed this is the noblest and the greatest part of the
resemblance. Stars are thought to operate power
fully even then when they do not appear; and are
felt by their effects, when they are not seen by their
light. In like manner, Christ often strikes the soul,
and darts a secret beam into the heart, without
alarming either the eye or ear of the person wrought
upon. And this is called, both properly and elegantly,
by St. Peter, 2
To which God of his mercy vouchsafe to bring us all; to whom be rendered and ascribed, as is most due, all honour, &c.
Jesus of Nazareth proved the true and only promised Messiah:
He came to his own, and his own received him not.
I CANNOT think it directly requisite to the prosecution of these words, (nor will the time allotted
for it permit,) to assert and vindicate the foregoing
verses from the perverse interpretations of that false
pretender to reason, and real subverter of all religion,
Socinus; who, in the exposition of this chapter, together with some part of the 8th, (both of them taken
from the posthumous papers of his uncle Lelius,)
laid the foundation of that great babel of blasphemies, with which he afterwards so amused and pestered the Christian world, and under colour of reforming and refining, forsooth, the best of religions,
has employed the utmost of his skill and art to bring
men indeed to believe none. And therefore no
small cause of grief must it needs be to all pious
minds, that such horrid opinions should find so ready
a reception and so fatal a welcome in so many parts
In the text we have these two parts.
First, Christ’s coming into the world, in those words, he came to his own.
Secondly, Christ’s entertainment, being come, in those other words, his own received him not.
In the former of which there being an account given us of one of the greatest and most stupendous actions that the world was ever yet witness of; there cannot, I suppose, be a truer measure taken of the nature of it, than by a distinct consideration of the several circumstances belonging to it, which are these.
First, The person who came.
Secondly, The condition from which he came.
Thirdly, The persons to whom he came. And,
Fourthly and lastly, The time of his coming.
Of all which in their order. And,
1. First for the person who came. It was the second Person in the glorious Trinity, the ever blessed
and eternal Son of God, concerning whom it is a miracle, and a kind of paradox to our reason, (considering the condition of his person,) how he could be said
to come at all: for since all coming is motion or
progression from a place in which we were, to a
place in which we were not before; and since infinity implies an actual comprehension of, and a presence to, all places, it is hard to conceive how he who
was God could be said to come any whither, whose
infinity had made all progression to, or acquisition
of a new place impossible. But Christ, who delighted to mingle every mercy with miracle and
wonder, took a finite nature into the society and
union of his person; whereupon what was impossible to a divine nature was rendered very possible
to a divine person; which could rightfully and properly entitle itself to all the respective actions and
properties of either nature comprehended within its
And thereupon some, who think it an imputation
upon their reason to believe any thing but what
they can demonstrate, (which is no thanks to them at
all,) have invented several strange hypotheses and
salvos to clear up these things to their apprehensions: as, that the divine nature was never person
ally united to the human, but only passed through it
in a kind of imaginary, phantastic way; that is, to
speak plainly, in some way or other, which neither
But this opinion, whatsoever ground it may have got in this latter age of the church, yet no sooner was it vented and defended by Photinus, bishop of Sirmium, but it was immediately crushed, and universally rejected by the church: so that although several other heresies had their course, and were but at length extinguished, and not without some difficulty, yet this, like an indigested meteor, appeared and disappeared almost at the same time. However, Socinus beginning where Photinus had long before left off, licked up his deserted forlorn opinion, and lighting upon worse times, has found much better success.
But is it true that Christ came into the world?
Then sure I am apt to think that this is a solid inference, that he had an existence and a being before
he came hither; since every motion or passage from
one place or condition to another, supposes the thing
or person so moving to have actually existed under
both terms; to wit, as well under that from which,
as that to which he passes. But if Christ had nothing but an human nature, which never existed till
it was in the world, how could that possibly be said
to come into the world? The fruit that grows upon
a tree, and so had the first moment of its existence
there, cannot with any propriety or truth of speech
be said to have come to that tree, since that must
But the men whom we contend with, seem hugely injurious to him, whom they call their Saviour,
while they even crucify him in his divinity, which
the Jews could never do; making his very kindness an argument against his prerogative. For
his condescending to be a man makes them infer
that he is no more; and faith must stop here, because sight can go no further. But if a prince shall
deign to be familiar, and to converse with those
upon whom he might trample, shall his condescension therefore unking him, and his familiarity rob
him of his royalty? The case is the same with
Christ. Men cannot persuade themselves that a
Deity and infinity should lie within so narrow a
compass as the contemptible dimensions of an human body: that omnipotence, omniscience, and omnipresence should be ever wrapt in swaddling clothes,
and abased to the homely usages of a stable and a
manger: that the glorious artificer of the whole
universe, who spread out the heavens like a curtain,
and laid the foundations of the earth, could ever
turn carpenter, and exercise an inglorious trade in a
little cell. They cannot imagine, that He who commands the cattle upon a thousand hills, and takes
up the ocean in the hollow of his hand, could be
subject to the meannesses of hunger and thirst, and
be afflicted in all his appetites: that he who once
created, and at present governs, and shall hereafter
2. The second thing to be considered is the state or condition from which Christ came; and that was from the bosom of his Father, from the incomprehensible, surpassing glories of the godhead, from an eternal enjoyment of an absolute, uninterrupted bliss and pleasure, in the mutual, ineffable intercourses between him and his Father. The heaven of heavens was his habitation, and legions of cherubims and seraphims his humble and constant attendants. Yet he was pleased to disrobe himself of all this magnificence, to lay aside his sceptres and his glories, and, in a word, to empty himself as far as the essential fulness of the Deity could be capable of such a dispensation.
And now, if by the poor measures and proportions of a man we may take an estimate of this
great action, we shall quickly find how irksome it is
to flesh and blood to have been happy, to descend
some steps lower, to exchange the estate of a prince
for that of a peasant, and to view our happiness only
by the help of memory and long reflections. For
how hard a task must obedience needs be to a spirit
3. The third is, the persons to whom he came,
expressed by that endearing term his own; and this
in a more peculiar, advanced sense of propriety.
For all the nations of the world were his own by
They were his own also by the right of churchship, as selected and enclosed by God from amidst all other nations, to be the seat of his worship, and the great conservatory of all the sacred oracles and means of salvation. The gentiles might be called God’s own, as a man calls his hall or his parlour his own, which yet others pass through and make use of; but the Jews were so, as a man accounts his closet or his cabinet his own; that is, by a peculiar, uncommunicable destination of it to his own use.
Those who have that hardy curiosity, as to examine the reason of God’s actions, (which men of
reason should still suppose,) wonder that, since the design
of Christ’s coming was universal, and extending to
all mankind, he should address himself to so inconsiderable a spot of the world as that of Palestine, confining the scene of all his life and actions to such
a small handful of men; whereas it would have
seemed much more suitable to the purposes of his
coming, to have made Rome, at that time the metropolis of the western world, and holding an intercourse with all nations, the place of his nativity and
abode: as when a prince would promulge a law, because he cannot with any convenience do it in all
places, therefore he does it in the most eminent
and conspicuous. To which argument, frequently
urged by the enemies of Christianity, he who would
And here I cannot but think it observable, that
all the passages of the whole work of man’s redemption carry in them the marks, not only of mercy,
but of mercy acting by an unaccountable sovereignty: and that for this very reason, as may be
supposed, to convince the world that it was purely
mercy on God’s part, without any thing of merit on
man’s, that did all. For when God reveals a Saviour to some few, but denies him to more; sends
him to a people despised, but passes over nations
victorious, honourable, and renowned; he thereby
gives the world to know, that his own will is the
reason of his proceedings. For it is worth remarking, that there is nothing that befalls men equally
and alike, but they are prone to ascribe it either to
nature or merit. But where the plea of the receivers is equal, and yet the dispensation of the benefits
vastly unequal, there men are taught, that the thing
received is grace; and that they have no claim to it,
but the courtesy of the dispenser, and the largess of
heaven; which cannot be questioned, because it
waters my field, while it scorches and dries up my
neighbour’s. If the sun is pleased to shine upon a
turf, and to gild a dunghill, when perhaps he never
looks into the bedchamber of a prince, we cannot
yet accuse him for partiality: that short, but most
significant saying in the evangelist, May I not do
4. The fourth and last circumstance of Christ’s coming related to the time of it: he came to the Jews, when they were in their lowest and worst condition, and that in a double respect, national and ecclesiastical.
1. And first upon a civil or national account. It was not then with them as in those triumphant days of Solomon, when for plenty, riches, and grandeur, they had little cause either to make friends or to fear enemies, but shone as the envy and terror of all the surrounding neighbourhood. At the best now they were but a remnant, and a piece of an often scattered, conquered, and captivated nation: but two tribes of twelve, and those under the Roman yoke, tributary and oppressed, and void of any other privilege but only to obey, and to be fleeced quietly by whosoever was appointed their governor. This was their condition: and could there be any inducement, upon the common principles and methods of kindness, to visit them in that estate? which could be nothing else but only to share with them in servitude, and to bear a part in their oppression.
The measure of men’s kindness and visits be
stowed upon one another, is usually the prosperity,
the greatness, and the interest of the persons whom
they visit; that is, because their favour is profitable,
and their ill-will formidable; in a word, men visit
others because they are kind to themselves. But
who ever saw coaches and liveries thronging at the
door of the orphan or the widow, (unless peradventure a rich one,) or before the house or prison of an
But it was another sort of love that warmed the breast of our Saviour. He visits his kindred, nay, he makes them so in the lowest ebb of all their outward enjoyments, when to be a Jew was a name of disgrace, and to be circumcised a mark of infamy: so that they might very well be a peculiar people, not only because God separated them from all other nations, but because all other nations separated themselves from them.
Secondly. Consider them upon an ecclesiastical
account, and so we shall find them as corrupted for a
church, as they were despised for a nation. Even in
the days of the prophet Isaiah,
Now the state of things being thus amongst the Jews at the time of Christ’s coming, it eminently offers to us the consideration of these two things.
First, The invincible strength of Christ’s love, that it should come leaping over such mountains of opposition, that it should triumph over so much Jewish baseness and villainy, and be gracious even in spite of malice itself. It did not knock at, but even break open their doors. Blessing and happiness was in a manner thrust upon them. Heaven would have took them by force, as they should have took heaven: so that they were fain to take pains to rid themselves of their happiness, and it cost them labour and violence to become miserable.
Secondly, It declares to us the immovable veracity of God’s promise. For surely, if any thing
could reverse a promise, and untie the bands of a
decree, it would have been that uncontrolled impiety
which then reigned in the Jewish church, and that
to such a degree, that the temple itself was profaned
into a den of thieves, a rendezvous of hagglers and
drovers, and a place not for the sacrificing, but for
the selling of sheep and oxen. So that God might
well have forgot his promise to his people, when
We have here finished the first part of the text, and took an account of Christ’s coming to his own, and his coming through so many obstacles: may we not therefore now expect to see him find a magnificent reception, and a welcome as extraordinary as his kindness? For where should any one expect a welcome, if not coming to his own? And coming also not to charge, but to enrich them; not to share what they had, but to recover what they had lost; and, in a word, to change their temporals into eternals, and bring an overflowing performance and fruition to those who had lived hitherto only upon promise and expectation; but it fell out much otherwise, his own received him not.
Nor indeed if we look further into the world shall
we find this usage so very strange or wonderful. For
kindred is not friendship, but only an opportunity of
nearer converse, which is the true cause of, and natural inducement to it. It is not to have the same
blood in one’s veins, to have lain in the same womb,
or to bend the knee to the same father, but to have
the same inclinations, the same affections, and the
same soul, that makes the friend. Otherwise Jacob
may supplant Esau, and Esau hate and design the
death of Jacob. And we constantly see the grand
seignior’s coronation purple dipped in the blood of his
murdered brethren, sacrificed to reason of state, or
at least to his own unreasonable fears and suspicions:
but friends strive not who shall kill, but who shall
die first. If then the love of kindred is so small,
surely the love of countrymen and neighbours can
And therefore the Jews in this followed but the common practice of men, whose emulation usually preys upon the next superior in the same family, company, or profession. The bitterest and the loud est scolding is for the most part amongst those of the same street. In short, there is a kind of ill disposition in most men, much resembling that of dogs; they bark at what is high and remote from them, and bite what is next.
Now, in this second part of the text, in which is represented the entertainment which Christ found in the world, expressed to us by those words, his own received him not, we shall consider these three things.
1. The grounds upon which the Jews rejected Christ.
2. The unreasonableness of those grounds. And,
3. The great arguments that they had to the contrary.
As to the first of these. To reckon up all the
pretences that the Jews allege for their not acknowledging of Christ, would be as endless as the tales
and fooleries of their rabbles; a sort of men noted
for nothing more than two very ill qualities, to wit,
that they are still given to invent and write lies,
and those such unlikely and incredible lies, that none
can believe them but such as write them. But the
First, That Christ came not as a temporal prince.
Secondly, That they looked upon him as an underminer and a destroyer of the law of Moses.
1. As for the first. It was a persuasion which
had sunk into their very veins and marrow; a persuasion which they built upon as the grand fundamental article of all their creed, that their Messiah
should be a temporal prince, nor can any thing beat
their posterity out of it to this day. They fancied
nothing but triumphs and trophies, and all the nations of the earth licking the dust before them under
the victorious conduct of their Messiah: they expected such an one as should disenslave them from
the Roman yoke; make the senate stoop to their sanhedrim; and the capitol do homage to their temple.
Nay, and we find the disciples themselves leavened
with the same conceit: their minds still ran upon the
grandeurs of an earthly sovereignty, upon sitting at
Christ’s right and left hand in his kingdom, banqueting and making merry at his table, and who
should have the greatest office and place under him.
So carnal were the thoughts even of those who
owned Christ for the Messiah; but how much more
of the rest of the Jews, who contemned and hated
him to the same degree! So that while they were
feeding themselves with such fancies and expectations, how can we suppose that they would receive
a person bearing himself for the Messiah, and yet in
the poor habit and profession of a mean mechanic,
as also preaching to them nothing but humility,
self-denial, and a contempt of those glories and temporal felicities, the enjoyment of which they had
And accordingly it did so: for they scorned, persecuted, and even spat upon him, long before his crucifixion; and no doubt, between rage and derision, a thousand flouts were thrown at him: as, What! shall we receive a threadbare Messiah, a fellow fitter to wield a saw or an hatchet, than a sceptre? For is not this the carpenter’s son? and have we not seen him in his shop and his cottage amongst his pitiful kindred? And can such an one be a fit person to step into the throne of David, to redeem Israel, and to cope with all the Roman power? No, it is absurd, unreasonable, and impossible: and to be in bondage to the Romans is nobler than to be freed by the hand of such a deliverer.
2. Their other grand exception against him was,
that he set himself against the law of Moses, their
reverence to which was so sacred, that they judged
it the unchangeable rule of all human actions; and
that their Messiah at his coming was to impose the
observation of it upon all nations, and so to establish
it for ever: nay, and they had an equal reverence
for all the parts of it, as well the judicial and ceremonial as the moral; and (being naturally of a gross
and a thick conception of things) perhaps a much
greater. For still we shall find them more zealous
in tything mint, and rue, and cummin , and washing pots and platters, (where chiefly their mind
was,) than in the prime duties of mercy and justice.
And as for their beloved sabbath, they placed the
We have seen here the two great exceptions which so blocked up the minds and hearts of the Jewish nation against Jesus Christ their true Messiah, that when he came to his own, his own rejected and threw him off. I come now in the next place,
2. To shew the weakness and unreasonableness of these exceptions. And,
First, For Christ’s being a temporal monarch, who should subdue and bring all nations under the Jewish sceptre. I answer, that it was so far from necessary, that it was absolutely impossible, that the Messiah should be such an one, and that upon the account of a double supposition, neither of which, I conceive, will be denied by the Jews themselves.
1. The first is the professed design of his coming,
Second. The other supposition upon which I disprove the Messiah’s being such a temporal prince, is
the unquestionable truth of all the prophecies recorded of him in scripture; many of which declare
only his sufferings, his humility, his low despised
estate; and so are utterly incompatible with such a
princely condition. Those two, the first, See more of this in the following discourse on
And therefore to return to the rabbies themselves,
the most learned of them, after all such fruitless at
tempts, understand those prophecies only of the Messiah: but then, being fond of his temporal reign and
greatness, some of them have invented the σοφὸν φάρμακον of two several Messiahs, Messiah Ben David,
and Messiah Ben Joseph: one whereof was to be
potent and victorious, the other low, afflicted, and
at length killed. A bold unheard of fiction, and
never known to the ancient Jewish church, till the
modern rabbies began to dote and blaspheme at all
adventures. But there is no shift so senseless and
groundless which an obstinate adherence to a desperate cause will not drive the defenders of it to. It
is clear, therefore, that all the pretences which the
Jews have for the temporal reign and greatness of
their Messiah, is sufficiently answered and cut off
by these two considerations: for to argue with them
further from the spirituality of the Messiah’s kingdom, as that the end of it was to abstract from all
carnal, earthly, sensual enjoyments, as the certain
hinderers of piety, and underminers of the spirit,
would be but a begging of the question, as to the
Jews, who would contend as positively that this was
Secondly. I come now to shew the unreasonableness of the other, grounded upon a pretence, that
Christ was a supplanter of the authority of Moses,
and an enemy to the law. And here for answer to
this, I grant that Christ designed the abrogation of
their ceremonial law, and yet for all this I affirm
that Christ made good that word of his to the utmost, that he came not to destroy the law, but to
fulfil it. For we must know, that to destroy a constitution, and to abrogate, or merely to put an end
to it, are very different. To destroy a thing, is to
cause it to cease from that use to which it is designed, and to which it ought to serve: but so did
not Christ to the ceremonial law; the design of
which was to fore-signify and point at the Messiah
who was to come. So that the Messiah being come,
and having finished the work for which he came, the
use of it continued no longer; for being only to relate to a thing future, when that thing was past,
and so ceased to be future, the relation, surely,
grounded upon that futurity, must needs cease also.
In a word, if to fulfil a prophecy be to destroy it,
then Christ by abrogating the ceremonial law may be
The third and last thing, which is to shew, that they had great reason for the contrary, high arguments to induce them to receive and embrace him for their Messias. It is not the business of an hour, nor of a day, to draw forth all those reasons which make for this purpose, and to urge them according to their full latitude and dignity: and therefore being to speak to those, who need not be convinced of that which they believe already, I shall mention but two, and those very briefly.
1. The first shall be taken from this; that all the
signs and marks of the Messias did most eminently
appear in Christ: of all which signs I shall fix upon
one as the most notable, which is the time of his
coming. It was exactly when the sceptre, or government, was departed from Judah, according to
that prophecy of Jacob: and at the end of Daniel’s
2. A second reason shall be taken from the whole course and tenor of Christ’s behaviour amongst the Jews. Every miracle that he did was an act of mercy and charity, and designed to cure as well as to convince. He went about doing good; he conversed amongst them like a walking balsam, breathing health and recovery wheresoever he came. Shew me so much as one miracle ever wrought by him to make a man lame or blind, to incommode an enemy, or to revenge himself; or shew me any one done by him to serve an earthly interest. As for gain and gold he renounced it. Poverty was his fee, and the only recompence of all his cures: and had he not been sold till he sold himself, the high priests might have kept their thirty pieces of silver for a better use. Nor was fame and honour the bait that al lured him: for he despised a kingship, and regarded not their hosannahs. He embraced a cross, and declined not the shame. And as for pleasure and softness of life, he was so far from the least approach to it, that he had not where to lay his head, while the foxes of the world had very warm places where to lay theirs. He lived as well as wrought miracles. Miracles of austerity, fasting, and praying, long journeys, and coarse receptions; so that if we compare his doctrine with his example, his very precepts were dispensations and indulgences, in comparison of the rigours he imposed upon himself.
Let the Jews, therefore, who shall except against
Christ as an impostor, (as they all do,) declare what
And thus I have at length finished what I first
proposed to be discoursed of from these words, He
came to his own, and his own received him not. In
which, that men may not run themselves into a dangerous mistake, by thinking the Jews the only persons
concerned in these words, and consequently that the
guilt here charged upon them could affect none else;
we must know, that although upon the score of the
natural cognation between Christ and the Jews, the
text calls them by that appropriating character his
own, and accordingly speaks of his coming to them
as such; yet that all the nations of the world, who
have had the gospel preached unto them, are as really
his own, as any of the race of Abraham could be, (if
those may be called his own whom he had so dearly
And now, if the passing of all these indignities
upon one who came into the world only to save it,
(and to redeem those very persons who used him
so,) is riot able to work upon our ingenuity, should
not the consequences of it at least work upon our
fears, and make us consider, whether, as we affect to sin like the Jews, it may not be our doom
to suffer like the Jews too? To which purpose, let
us but represent to ourselves the woful estate of
Jerusalem, bleeding under the rage and rapine of the
Roman armies; together with that face of horror
and confusion which then sat upon that wretched
people, when the casting off their Messias had turned
their advocate into their judge, their saviour into
their enemy; and, by a long refusal of his mercy,
made them ripe for the utmost executions of his justice. After which proceeding of the divine vengeance
In fine, Christ comes to us in his ordinances, with life in one hand, and death in the other. To such as receive him not, he brings the abiding wrath of God, a present curse, and a future damnation: but to as many as shall receive him, (according to the expression immediately after the text,) he gives power to become the sons of God. That is, in other words, to be as happy, both in this world and the next, as infinite goodness acting by infinite wisdom can make them.
To him therefore, who alone can do such great things for those who serve him, be rendered and ascribed, as is most due, all praise, might, majesty, and dominion, both now and for evermore. Amen.
—For the transgression of my people was he stricken.
THIS great and eloquent prophet, the evangelist of
the Jewish church, (as without any impropriety he
may be called,) from
First, The opinion of the ancient.
Secondly, The opinion of some later interpreters.
First, as for the ancient interpreters, I may boldly and truly say, that it was the general sense of all the old Jewish rabbies, that the person intended in this prophecy was the Messias. Take the affirmation of Rabbi Alschech, in his comment upon this prophecy, Rabbini nostri beatae memoriae uno ore statuunt juxta receptam traditionem hic de rege Messia sermonem esse. And though their opinion of the temporal greatness of their Messias might (if any thing) tempt them to draw this prophecy another way, (since it declares the low, abject, and oppressed condition of the person here treated of,) yet, to shew that a suffering Messias was no such paradox in the divinity of the ancient Jewish rabbies, it was a constant received speech among them, that, dividing all the afflictions of the people of God into three parts, one third was to fall upon the Messias.
And as for the doctors and fathers of the Christian
church, they do all, with one unanimous breath, declare
Second. The other opinion is of the later interpreters, amongst which I account the Jewish, that is, such as have wrote after a thousand years since Christ’s time; whose opinion in this matter will be found to have this eminent property of falsity, that it is very various. For having departed from the old received interpretation, they are no ways agreed what they shall substitute in the room of it. Some will have the subject of this prophecy to have been the people of Israel. Some indefinitely any just or righteous person. Some affirm it to have been Josiah; and one among the rest will needs have the person here spoken of to have been the prophet Jeremy. The authors of each of which opinions give us such insipid stories upon this chapter, as are fitter to be ushered in with the grave and solemn preface of once upon a time, than to be accounted interpretations of the word of God.
He who contends for the prophet Jeremy is
one Rabbi Saadias Haggaon, and he stands alone,
not being countenanced by any of his Jewish brethren, till one in the Christian church thought fit
to be his second, and out of his zeal, forsooth, to
the Christian faith, to wrest one of the strongest
arguments out of the hands of the Christian church,
which it has fought with against Judaism ever since
But how can this prophecy be made to agree to Jeremy? With what truth or propriety could he be said to have been exalted and extolled., and to have been very high; to have been stricken for our transgressions; and to have had the iniquity of us all laid upon him? How could it be said of him, Who shall declare his generation? and that he should see his seed, and prolong his days? and also that he should divide the spoil with the mighty? with the like expressions.
Why yes, says our expositor, he was exalted, and
very high, because the Chaldeans had him in admiration, which is yet more than we read of, and
thanks to a good invention for it: though it must be
confessed, that upon his being drawn out of the dungeon he was something higher and more exalted
than he was before. In the next place he was
stricken for transgression, and had our iniquities
laid upon him, because by the sin and injurious
dealing of the Jews he was cruelly and unworthily
used, as indeed all or most of the prophets were, both
before and after him. And then for that saying,
Who shall declare his generation? The meaning of
that, we are told, is, who shall reckon his years; for
So then we have here an interpretation, but as
for the sense of it, that, for ought I see, must shift
for itself. But whether thus to drag and hale words
both from sense and context, and then to squeeze
whatsoever meaning we please out of them, be not
(as I may speak with some change of the prophet’s phrase) to draw lies with
cords of blasphemy, and
nonsense as it were with a cart rope, let any sober
and impartial hearer or reader be judge. For whatsoever titles the itch of novelty and Socinianism has Having had the opportunity and happiness of a frequent converse with Dr. Pocock, (the late Hebrew and Arabick professor to the University of Oxon, and the greatest
master certainly of the eastern
languages, and learning, which
this or any other age or nation
has bred,) I asked him (more
than once, as I had occasion)
what he thought of Grotius’s exposition of
Well therefore, taking it for manifest, and that upon all the grounds of rational and unforced interpretation, that the person here spoken of was the Messias, and that this Messias could be no other than Jesus of Nazareth, the great mediator of the second covenant, very God, and very man, in whom every tittle of this prophecy is most exactly verified, and to whom it does most peculiarly and incommunicably agree; we shall proceed now to take an account of the several parts of the text, in which we have these three things considerable.
First, The suffering itself; he was stricken.
Secondly, The nature of the suffering, which was penal, and expiatory; he was stricken for transgression: and,
Thirdly, The ground and cause of this suffering, which was God’s propriety in, and relation to, the persons for whom Christ was stricken, implied in this word, my people: for the transgression of my people was he stricken.
Of each of which in their order: and,
First, For the suffering itself: he was stricken.
The very word imports violence and invasion from
without. It was not a suffering upon the stock of
the mere internal weaknesses of nature, which carries the seeds and causes of its dissolution in its own
bowels, and so by degrees withers and decays, and
at length dies, like a lamp that for want of oil can
burn no longer; but like a torch in its full flame beat
and ruffled, and at length blown out by the breath
First, Upon the account of the latitude and extent of it.
Secondly, Of the intenseness and sharpness of it: and,
Thirdly, Of the person inflicting it.
First, As for the latitude or extent of it. The
blow reached every part of his humanity, carrying
the grief all over, till, by an universal diffusion of
itself, it entered, according to the Psalmist’s expression, like water into his bowels, or like oil into his
bones. It spread itself into every part of his body,
as if it had been another soul. Nothing was free
from suffering that could suffer. Suffering seemed
to be his portion, his inheritance, nay, his very property. Even the religion that he came to propagate
and establish was a suffering religion, and by the
severest method of establishment, he gave the first
and the greatest instance of it in himself. He who
would recount every part of Christ that suffered,
must read a lecture of anatomy. From the crown
of the head to the sole of the foot, there was nothing
but the traces of pain and suffering: they made
long furrows upon his back, says the Psalmist; they
did, as it were, tear and plough up his innocent body.
In his person we might have seen grief in its height
and supremacy; grief triumphant, crowned, and arrayed in purple; grief reigning, and doing the utmost
And now after this his agony in the garden, I
need not much insist upon the wounds given his reputation by the sword of a blaspheming tongue, the
sharpest of all others, and which, like a poisoned
dagger, hurting both with edge and venom too, at
the same time both makes a wound and prevents its
cure. Even a guilty person feels the sting of a malicious
However, his church gains this great advantage
of comfort by it, that the worst of sufferings comes
sanctified to our hands by the person of our grand
example, who was reviled and slandered, and tossed
upon the tongues of men before us. A greater martyrdom questionless than to be cast, as the primitive
Christians were, to the mouths of lions, which are
tender and merciful compared to the mouths of
men; whether we look upon that bitter spirit which
acted in those Jews, or in some Christians nowadays worse than Jews; men, who seem to have out
done all before them in the arts of a more refined
malice and improved calumny. Qualities lately
sprung up out of the stock of a spreading atheism,
and a domineering, reigning sensuality; sins now
made national and authentic, and so much both
judgment and mercy-proof, that it is well if we can
be cured without being cut off. But to return to
Secondly. The next thing declaring its greatness
was the intenseness and sharpness of it. We have
seen already how far it went; we are now to consider how deep. It fell not on him like a dew or
mist, which only wets the surface of the ground, but
like a pouring soaking rain, which descends into the
very bowels of it. There was pain enough in every
single part to have been spread in lesser proportions
over the whole man. Christ suffered only the exquisiteness and heights of pain, without any of those
mitigations which God is pleased to temper and al
lay it with as it befalls other men; like a man who
drinks only the spirits of a liquor separated and extracted from the dull, unactive body of the liquor
itself. All the force and activity, the stings and
fierceness of that troublesome thing were, as it were,
drained and distilled, and abridged into that cup
which Christ drank of. There was something
sharper than vinegar, and bitterer than gall, which
that draught was prepared and made up with. We
cannot indeed say, that the sufferings of Christ were
long in duration; for to be violent and lasting too is
above the methods or measures of nature. But he
who lived at that rate, that he might be said to live
an age every hour, was able to suffer so too; and to
comprise the greatest torments in the shortest space;
which yet by their shortness lost nothing of their
force and keenness; as a penknife is as sharp as a
spear, though not so long. That which promotes
Thirdly. The third thing setting forth the greatness of this suffering, is the cause and author of it,
which was God himself. The measure of every passion is the operation of the agent. And then we
know what omnipotence can do; omnipotence employed, or rather inflamed by justice, in whose quarrel it was then engaged. We must not measure the
divine strokes by the proportion of those blows which
are inflicted by the greatest and most exasperated
mortal; the condition of whose nature sets bounds
to his power, when it cannot to his rage: so that,
in the utmost executions of it, he acts but like a
wasp; very angrily indeed, but very weakly. Every
blow inflicted by the fiercest tyrant can reach no
further than the body; and the body is but the
dwellingplace, not any part of the soul; and consequently can no more communicate its ruins to
that, than a man can be said to be wounded in his
person because a wall of his house was broken down.
Upon which account there have been some, whose
souls have been so fortified with philosophy and great
principles, as to enable them to laugh in Phalaris’s bull, to sing upon the rack, and to despise the flames.
For still, when God torments us by the instrumental
mediation of the creature, his anger can fall upon us
in no greater proportions than what can pass through
the narrow capacities of a created being. For be
And thus I have finished the first general thing proposed from the text, which was the suffering itself, expressed in these words, he was stricken, and that by considering the latitude, the intenseness, and also the cause of it: all of them so many arguments to demonstrate to us its unparalleled greatness.
2. The second general thing proposed was the nature and quality of this suffering; namely, that it was penal and expiatory; he was stricken for transgression. And to prove that it was penal, there needs no other argument to any clear, unbiassed understanding, than the natural, genuine, and unconstrained use of the word: for what other sense can there be of a man’s being stricken or suffering for sin, but his being punished for sin? And that I am sure is spoke so plain and loud by the universal voice of the whole book of God, that scripture must be crucified, as well as Christ, to give any other tolerable sense of it. But since heresy has made such bold invasions upon those sacred writings, we will consider both those senses which these words are asserted to be capable of.
1. First of all then, some assert, that to be stricken
for transgression imports not here a punishment for
sins past, but a prevention or taking away of sin for
the future. So that Christ is said to be stricken, to
suffer, and to die for sin, because by all this he confirmed to us an excellent and holy doctrine, the belief of which has in it a natural aptness to draw men
off from their sins. In a word, because Christianity
2. The other sense of these words, and which alone the catholic church receives for true, is, that Christ’s being stricken for sin, signifies his being punished for sin; the word for in this case denoting the antecedent meritorious cause of his suffering, and not the final, as the school of Socinus does assert; and consequently must directly relate to the removal of the guilt of sin, and not the power, as is also affirmed by the same persons. Now that Christ’s suffering and being stricken for transgression, imports that suffering to have been penal and expiatory, as it might with the highest evidence be demonstrated from several scriptures; so at this time I shall confine myself within the limits of the chapter from whence I took my text: and here I shall found the proof of it upon these two expressions.
First, That Christ is said to have borne our sins,
in the
Secondly, The other argument shall be taken from
that expression which declares Christ to have been
made a sacrifice or an offering for sin, in the
1. An infinite dignity in his person; for since the
evil and demerit of sin was infinite, and since Christ
was so to suffer for it, as not to remain under those
sufferings for an infinite duration, that infinity therefore was to be made up some other way; which could
not be, but by the infinite worth and dignity of his
2. The other qualification required was a perfect innocence in the person to suffer: for so much was specified by the paschal lamb, of which we still read in scripture, that it was to be a lamb without blemish. And there is no doubt but had Christ had any sin of his own to have satisfied for, he had been very unable to satisfy for other men’s. He who is going to gaol for his own debts, is very unfit to be a security for another’s.
But now this perfect innocence, which I affirm necessary to render Christ a fit and proper sacrifice, is urged by our adversaries to be the very reason why Christ’s sufferings could not be penal, since punishment, in the very nature and essence of it, imports a relation to sin. To this I answer, that punishment does indeed import an essential relation to sin, but not of necessity to the sin of the person upon whom it is inflicted; as might be evinced by innumerable instances, as well as undeniable reasons.
If it be replied, that God has declared that the soul that sins shall die;
I answer, that this is only a positive law, according to which God declares he will proceed in the ordinary course of his providence; but it is not of natural and eternal obligation, so as universally to bind God in all cases; but that he may, when he pleases, deal otherwise with his creature. But this will receive further light from the discussion of the third and last general head, to which we now proceed. Namely,
3. The ground and cause of this suffering, which
If it be here asked, upon what account the persons here spoken of were denominated and made God’s people? I answer, that they were so by an eternal covenant and transaction between the Father and the Son; by which the Father, upon certain conditions to be performed by the Son, consigned over some persons to him to be his people. For our better understanding of which we are to observe, that the business of man’s redemption proceeds upon a twofold covenant.
First, An eternal covenant made between the Father and the Son, by which the Father agreed to give both grace and glory to a certain number of sinners, upon condition that Christ would assume their nature, and pay down such a ransom to his justice, as should both satisfy for their sin, and withal merit such a measure of grace as should effectually work in them all things necessary to their salvation. And this covenant may be properly called a covenant of suretiship or redemption. Upon which alone, and not upon any covenant made between God and men in their own persons, is built the infallibility of the future believing, repenting, and finally persevering of such as Christ from all eternity undertook to make his people.
Secondly. The other is a covenant made in time,
and actually entered into by God and men, by which
God on his part promises to men eternal salvation,
upon condition of faith and repentance on theirs.
And this is called in scripture the second covenant,
Now, by that eternal compact or transaction between the Father and the Son, (of which alone we now speak,) was this donation of a certain determinate number of persons made to Christ to be his people, by virtue of which agreement or transaction he was, in the fulness of time, to suffer for them, and to accomplish the whole work of their redemption from first to last. For to affirm that Christ died only to verify a proposition, [that whosoever believed should be saved,] but in the mean time to leave the whole issue of things in reference to persons so loose and undetermined, that it was a question whether ever any one should actually believe, and very possible that none ever might, and consequently that after Christ had suffered, had been stricken, and died for transgression, yet, for any thing that he had done in all this, he might never have had a people; this certainly is a strange and new gospel, and such as the doctrine of our church seems utterly unacquainted with.
Having thus shewn the foundation upon which
the persons here spoken of are called by the prophet
God’s people; namely, an eternal covenant, in which
God the Father and the Son mutually agreed upon
the terms of their redemption, we are now to observe, that the same thing that thus denominates
and makes them God’s people, makes them under
the same relation to belong also to Christ, and that
not only upon the account of his nature that he was
God, but chiefly of his office, that he was their Mediator, which capacity made him equally concerned
First, An intimate conjunction between those persons; and that either natural, as between father and son, or political, as between king and people, and the like: or,
Secondly, The voluntary consent and will of an innocent person to undergo the punishment due to the nocent; as it is between a man and his surety.
Accordingly, from that covenant, by which the Father made over a certain number of persons to the Son to be his people, there arose this twofold relation of Christ to them.
1. Of a king to his people, or of a mystical head to his members, so that legally and politically they suffered as really in Christ, as the whole body suffers when the head is wounded or struck through with a dart.
2. The other relation is of a surety; so that the satisfaction paid down by Christ to God’s justice for sin, is, in estimation of law, as really accounted to be paid down by the saints, as if they had paid it in their own persons.
And this is a further, and withal a full answer to
In a word, the compact between Christ and his Father made him a king, a mystical head, and also a surety to some certain persons; and his being so, made them his people, and their being his people did, upon that account, make it both just and equitable for him to suffer, and to be stricken for their transgression, which is the result of the text, and the thing undertook by us to be proved.
I have now finished the several things proposed from the text; in which having set before you how much Christ has suffered, and all for our sakes, I hope it will kindle the workings of a pious ingenuity in every one of our breasts. For I am sure if Christ’s suffering for us were the doctrine, gratitude should make our readiness to suffer for him the application. Christianity, I shew, was a suffering religion; and there are two sorts of suffering to which it will certainly expose every genuine professor of it.
1. The first is from himself.
2. The second from the world.
1. And first, it will engage him in a suffering
from himself; even that grand suffering of self-denial
and mortification, the sharpest and most indispensable of all others, in which every Christian is not
only to be the sufferer, but himself also the executioner. He who is Christ’s, says the apostle,
has
crucified the flesh, with the affections and lusts.
2. The other kind of suffering in which Christianity will engage a man, is from the world. Such
is the genius and nature of the Christian religion,
that it must unavoidably bring him, who owns it, in
the power of it, under temporal troubles and afflictions. In the world, says Christ,
ye shall have tribulation. And he spoke it not so much by a spirit
Christ commands us nothing, but he enforces it with arguments from his person as well as from his word; and it is well if we can make a due use of them. For God knows how soon he may call us from our easy speculations and theories of suffering to the practical experience of it; how soon he may draw us forth for persecution and the fiery trial. Only this we may be sure of, that if these things be brought upon us for his honour, it will be for ours too to endure them. And be our distresses never so great, our calamities never so strange and unusual, yet we have both our Saviour’s example to direct, and his promise to support us, who has left it upon record in his everlasting gospel, that if we suffer with him, we shall also reign 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.
Ὃν ὁ θεὸς ἀωέστησε, λύσας τὰς ὠδῖνας τοῦ θανάτου, καθότι οὐκ ἦν δυνατὸν κρατεῖσθαι αὐτὸν ὑπ᾽ αὐτοῦ.
Whom God hath raised up, having loosed the pains of death: because it was not possible that he should be holden of it.
IT is of infinite concern to mankind, both as to
their welfare in this world and the next, to preserve
in their minds a full belief of a future estate of happiness or misery, into which, according to the quality
of their actions here, they must for ever be disposed
of hereafter; the experience of all ages having found
the insufficiency of bare human restraints to control
the audacious sinfulness of some tempers and dispositions, without holding them under the awe of this
persuasion. From which, though some by much and
long sinning, and perverse ratiocinations caused
thereby, have in a great measure disentangled their
consciences, yet these are but few and inconsiderable,
compared with the rest of the world, in whose minds
education and better principles, grafted upon the
very instincts of nature, have fixed this persuasion too
deep to be ever totally rooted out. And it is from
1. By revelation.
2. By exemplification.
First. As to the first whereof, it must needs be,
either by an immediate declaration of this great
truth (not discoverable by reason) by a voice from
heaven, or by God’s inspiring some certain select
persons with the knowledge of it, and afterwards enabling them to attest it to the world by miracles.
And as this is undoubtedly sufficient in itself for
such a purpose, so Providence has not been wanting,
partly by revelation, and partly by tradition there
upon, to keep alive amongst men some persuasion at
least of this important truth all along; as appears
even from those fabulous accounts and stories which
the heathen world still clothed, or rather corrupted
it with. Nevertheless, such has been the prevalence
of human corruption and infidelity, as in a great degree to frustrate all the impressions that bare revelation or tradition could make upon men’s minds,
while they chiefly governed their belief by the observation of their senses, which, from the daily occurring instances of mortality, shew them,
that as
Secondly. The other way therefore of convincing
the world of this momentous truth, (in comparison of
which all science and philosophy are but trifles,) must
be by exemplification; that is to say, by giving the
world an instance or example of it in some person or
persons, who having been confessedly dead, should revive, and return to life again. And this, one would
think, should be as full and unexceptionable a proof
that there may be a resurrection of men to a future
estate as could be desired; nothing striking the mind
of man so powerfully as instances and examples;
which make a truth not only intelligible, but even
palpable; sliding it into the understanding through
the windows of sense, and by the most familiar as
well as most unquestionable perceptions of the eye.
And accordingly this course God thought fit to take
in the resurrection of Christ, by which he condescended to give the world the greatest satisfaction,
that infidelity itself could rationally insist upon:
howbeit, notwithstanding so plain an address both
to men’s reason and sense too, neither has this
course proved so successful for convincing of the world
of a resurrection from the dead, and a future estate consequent thereupon, but that unbelief has been still
putting in its objections against it. For it is not, I
confess, the interest of such as live ill in this world
to believe that there shall be another; or that they
shall be sensible of any thing, after death has once
done its work upon them: and therefore let truth
In the text then we have these three things considerable.
First, Christ’s resurrection, and the cause of it, in these words, whom God hath raised up.
Secondly, The manner by which it was effected, which was, by loosing the pains of death. And,
Thirdly and lastly, The ground of it, which was its absolute necessity, expressed in these words, it was not possible that he should be holden of it. And,
1. For the first of these, the cause of the resurrection set forth in this expression,
whom God hath
raised up. It was such an action as proclaimed an
omnipotent agent, and carried the hand of God writ
upon it in broad characters, legible to the meanest
reason. Death is a disease which art cannot cure;
and the grave a prison which delivers back its captives upon no human summons. To restore life is
only the prerogative of him who gives it. Some indeed have pretended by art and physical applications
to recover the dead, but the success has sufficiently
upbraided the attempt. Physic may repair and piece
up nature, but not create it. Cordials, plasters, and
fomentations cannot always stay a life when it is
going, much less can they remand it when it is gone.
2. I come now to the second thing, which is to
shew the manner by which God wrought this resurrection, set forth in these words,
having loosed the
pains of death. An expression not altogether so
clear, but that it may well require a further explication. For it may be inquired, with what propriety
God could be said to loose the pains of death by
Christ’s resurrection, when those pains continued not
till the resurrection, but determined and expired in
the death of his body? Upon which ground it is,
that some have affirmed, that Christ descended into
the place of the damned; where during his body’s abode in the grave, they say, that in his soul he
really suffered the pains of hell; and this not unsuitably to some ancient copies, which read it not
ὠδῖνας θανάτου, the pains of death, but
ὠδῖνας ᾅδου, the
pains of hell: and this also with much seeming consonance
We are therefore in the next place to see, how we
can make out the reason of this expression upon
some other or better ground. In order to which, it
is very observable, that the same word which in the
Greek text is rendered by ὠδῖνας, and in the English
by pains, in the Hebrew signifies not only pain, but
also a See Dr. Hammond’s Annot. on the place.
Secondly, Because the evangelist St. Luke follows the translation of the Septuagint, (who, little minding the Hebrew pointings, rendered the word חֶבְלֵי not by σχοιωία, cords or bands, but ὠδῖνας pains,) we are therefore not to balk so great an authority, but to see how the scheme of the text may be made clear and agreeable even to this exposition.
To this therefore I answer,
First, That the words contain in them an Hebraism, viz. the pains of death, for
a painful death;
as it is said,
2. But secondly, I answer further, that though
the pains of death ceased long before the resurrection, so that this could not in strictness of sense be
said to remove them; yet, taking in a metonymy of
the cause for the effect, the pains of death might be
properly said to have been loosed in the resurrection,
because that estate of death into which Christ was
brought by those foregoing pains was then conquered
and completely triumphed over. Captivity under
death and the grave was the effect and consequent
of those pains; and therefore the same deliverance
which discharged Christ from the one, might not improperly be said to loose him from the other. And
thus Christ was no sooner bound, but within a little
time he was loosed again. He was not so much buried, as for a while deposited in the grave for a small
3. Come we now to the last and principal thing proposed; namely, the ground of Christ’s resurrection, which was its absolute necessity, expressed in these words, because it was not possible that he should be holden of it: and that according to the strictest and most received sense of the word possible. For it was not only par et aequum, that Christ should not always be detained under death, because of his innocence, (as Grotius precariously, and to serve an hypothesis, would have the word δυνατὸν here signify,) but it was absolutely necessary that he should not, and impossible that he should continue under the bands of death, from the peculiar condition of his person, as well as upon several other accounts. And accordingly this impossibility was founded upon these five things:
1. The union of Christ’s human nature to the divine.
2. God’s immutability.
3. His justice.
4. The necessity of Christ’s being believed in.
5. And lastly, the nature of his priesthood.
First of all then, the hypostatical union of Christ’s
It was possible indeed that the divine nature
might for a while suspend its supporting influence,
and so deliver over the human nature to pain and
death, but it was impossible for it to let go the relation it bore to it. A man may suffer his child to
fall to the ground, and yet not wholly quit his hold
of him, but still keep it in his power to recover and
lift him up at his pleasure. Thus the divine nature
of Christ did for a while hide itself from his humanity, but not desert it; put it into the chambers
of death, but not lock the everlasting doors upon it.
2. The second ground of the impossibility of
Christ’s continuance under death, was that great
and glorious attribute of God, his immutability.
Christ’s resurrection was founded upon the same
bottom with the consolation and salvation of believers,
First, In respect of his decree or purpose.
Secondly, In respect of his word or promise.
And first for his decree. God had from all eternity designed this, and sealed it by an irreversible
purpose. For can we imagine that Christ’s resurrection was not decreed as well as his death and
sufferings? and these in the
2. Let us consider God’s immutability in respect
of his word and promise; for these also were engaged
in this affair. In what a clear prophecy was this
foretold, and dictated by that Spirit, which could
not lie.
But when I say that the divine decree or promise
imprints a necessity upon things, it may, to prevent
misapprehension, be needful to explain what kind of
necessity this is, that so the liberty of second causes
be not thereby wholly cashiered and taken away.
For this therefore we are to observe, that the schools
distinguish of a twofold necessity, physical and logical, or causal and consequential; which terms are
commonly thus explained, viz. that physical or causal
necessity is when a thing by an efficient productive influence certainly and naturally causes such
an effect: and in this sense neither the divine
decree nor promise makes things necessary; for
neither the decree nor promise, by itself, produces or
effects the thing decreed or promised; nor exerts
any active influence upon second causes, so as to impel them to do any thing; but in point of action are
wholly ineffective. Secondly, logical or consequential necessity is, when a thing does not efficiently
cause an event, but yet by certain infallible consequence does infer it. Thus the foreknowledge of
any event, if it be true and certain, does certainly
The third reason of the impossibility of Christ’s detention under a state of death, was from the justice of God. God in the whole procedure of Christ’s sufferings must be considered as a judge exacting,
and Christ as a person paying down a recompence or
satisfaction for sin. For though Christ was as pure
and undefiled with the least spot of sin as purity
and innocence itself; yet he was pleased to make
himself the greatest sinner in the world by imputation, and rendering himself a surety responsible
for our debts. For, as it is said,
But now, as God was pleased so to comport with
his justice, as not to put up the injury done it by sin
without an equivalent compensation; so this being
once paid down, that proceeding was to cease. The
punishment due to sin was death, which being paid
by Christ, divine justice could not any longer detain
4. The fourth ground of the impossibility of
Christ’s perpetual continuance under death was the
necessity of his being believed in as a Saviour, and
the impossibility of his being so without rising from
the dead. As Christ by his death paid down a satisfaction for sin, so it was necessary that it should be
declared to the world by such arguments as might
5. The fifth and last ground of the impossibility
of Christ’s perpetual continuance under a state of
death, was the nature of the priesthood which he
had took upon him. The apostle,
1. The first is a dehortation from sin, and that indeed the strongest that can be. For can we imagine, that the second Person in the glorious Trinity would concern himself to take upon him our flesh, and to suffer, and die, and at length rise again, only to render us the more secure and confident in our sins? Would he neither see nor endure any corruption in his dead body, that we should harbour all the filth and corruption imaginable in our immortal souls? Did he conquer and triumph over death, that we should be the slaves and captives of that which is worse than death? Christ has declared that he will dwell in those whom he assumes into the society of his mystical body: but can we think, that he who passed from a clean new sepulchre into an heavenly mansion, will descend from thence to take up his habitation in the rotten sepulchre of an heart possessed and polluted with the love of that which he infinitely hates? It will little avail us, that Christ rose from a temporal death, unless we also rise from a spiritual. For those who do not imitate as well as believe Christ’s resurrection, must expect no benefit by it.
2. Christ’s resurrection is an high and sovereign
consolation against death. Death, we know, is the
To whom be rendered and ascribed, as is most due, all praise, might, majesty, and dominion, to eternal ages. Amen.
The Christian Pentecost: or the solemn effusion of the Holy Ghost; in the several miraculous gifts conferred by him upon the Apostles and first Christians;
Now there are diversities of gifts, but the same Spirit.
OUR blessed Saviour having newly changed his
crown of thorns for a crown of glory, and ascending
up on high took possession of his royal estate and
sovereignty, according to the custom of princes, is
here treating with this lower world (now at so great
a distance from him) by his ambassador. And, for
the greater splendour of the embassy, and authority
of the message, by an ambassador no ways inferior to
himself, even the Holy Ghost, the third Person in
the blessed Trinity, in glory equal, in majesty co-eternal; and therefore most peculiarly fit, not only
as a deputy, but as a kind of alter idem to supply
his place and presence here upon earth: and indeed
had he not been equal to him in the Godhead, he
could no more have supplied his place than he could
have filled it: which we know, in the accounts of the
Now the sum of this his glorious negotiation was to confirm and ratify Christ’s doctrine, to seal the new charter of the world’s blessedness given by Christ himself, and drawn up by his apostles: and certainly, it was not a greater work first to publish, than it was afterwards to confirm it. For Christianity being a religion made up of truth and miracle, could not receive its growth from any power less than that which first gave it its birth. And being withal a doctrine contrary to corrupt nature, and to those things which men most eagerly loved, to wit, their worldly interests and their carnal lusts, it must needs have quickly decayed, and withered, and died away, if not watered by the same hand of Omnipotence by which it was first planted.
Nothing could keep it up, but such a standing, mighty power, as should be able upon all occasions to countermand and control nature; such an one as should, at the same time, both instruct and astonish; and baffle the disputes of reason by the obvious overpowering convictions of sense.
And this was the design of the Spirit’s mission: that the same Holy Ghost, who had given
Christ his conception, might now give Christianity
its confirmation. And this he did by that wonderful and various effusion of his miraculous gifts upon
the first messengers and propagators of this divine
religion. For as our Saviour himself said,
This therefore was their rhetoric, this their method of persuasion. Their words were works: divinity and physic went together: they cured the body, and thereby convinced the soul: they conveyed and enforced all their exhortations, not by the arts of eloquence, but by the gift of tongues; these were the speakers, and miracle the interpreter.
Now in treating of these words, I shall consider these three things.
First, What those gifts were, which were conferred by the Spirit both upon the apostles and first professors of Christianity.
Secondly, What is imported and to be understood by their diversity. And,
Thirdly and lastly, What are the consequences of their emanation from one and the same Spirit.
First. And first, for the first of them. These gifts are called in the original χαρίσματα, that is to say, acts of grace or favour; and signify here certain qualities and perfections, which the Spirit of God freely bestowed upon men, for the better enabling them to preach the gospel, and to settle the Christian religion in the world: and accordingly we will consider them under that known dichotomy, or division, by which they stand divided into ordinary and extra ordinary.
And first for the ordinary gifts of the Spirit, these
he conveys to us by the mediation of our own endeavours. And as he, who both makes the watch, and
winds up the wheels of it, may not improperly be
said to be the author of its motion; so God, who
But God forbid, that I should determine God’s title to our actions barely in his giving us the power and faculty of acting. Durandus indeed, an eminent schoolman, held so, and so must Pelagius and his followers hold too, if they will be true to, and abide by their own principles.
But undoubtedly, God does not only give the power, but also vouchsafes an active influence and concurrence to the production of every particular action, so far as it has either a natural or a moral goodness in it.
And therefore, in all acquired gifts, or habits, such as are those of philosophy, oratory, or divinity, we are properly συνεργοὶ, co-workers with God. And God ordinarily gives them to none, but such as labour hard for them. They are so his gifts, that they are also our own acquisitions. His assistance and our own study are the joint and adequate cause of these perfections: and to imagine the contrary, is all one, as if a man should think to be a scholar, barely by his master’s teaching, without his own learning. In all these cases, God is ready to do his part, but not to do both his own and ours too.
Secondly. The other sort of the Spirit’s gifts are
extraordinary. Which are so absolutely and entirely from God, that the soul, into which they are conveyed,
Of which kind were the gift of miracles, the gift of healing, the gift of prophecy and of speaking with tongues; which great things might indeed be the object of men’s admiration, and sometimes also the motive of their envy, but never the effect or purchase of their own endeavours.
Now concerning these gifts we must observe also, that there was no small difference amongst them, as to the manner of their inexistence in the persons who had them.
For one of them, to wit, the gift of tongues, after its first infusion by the Spirit, might be in a man by habitual inherence, as a standing principle or power residing in the soul, and enabling it upon any occasion to express itself in several languages. There being no difference between the acquired and the supernatural knowledge of tongues, as to the nature and quality of the things themselves, but only in respect of their first obtainment, that one is by industrious acquisition, the other by divine infusion.
But then for the gifts of healing the sick, raising
the dead, and the like; inasmuch as these were immediate emanations from, and peculiar effects of an
infinite and divine power. Such a power could not
be made habitually to inhere and reside in the apostles; nor indeed in any created being whatsoever.
And then, lastly, for the gift of prophecy, and foretelling future events; neither was this in the soul by constant inhesion and habitual abode; but (as we may not unfitly express it) only by sudden strictures, by transient immissions, and representations of the ideas of things future, to the imagination. In a word, it was in the mind, not as an in habitant, but as a guest; that is, by intermittent returns and ecstasies, by occasional raptures and revelations; as is clear from what we read of the prophets in the Old Testament. And thus much I thought good to discourse of the nature of these gifts, and to shew what kind of things they were; how they qualified and affected the apostles and primitive Christians, in the exercise of them; that so we may not abuse our understandings by an empty notion of the word, without a clear and distinct apprehension of the thing.
And here, I doubt not, but some will be apt to
inquire, how long these extraordinary and miraculous gifts continued in the church: for the resolution of which, the very nature of the thing itself
will suggest thus much, that the conferring of these
gifts being in order to the establishment of a church,
Wherefore the use and purpose of miracles being
extraordinary, and to serve only for a time, they
were not by their continuance to thwart their design, nor to be made common by their being perpetual.
But however, certain it is, that now these extra
ordinary and miraculous powers are ceased, and that
upon as good reason as at first they began. For
when the spiritual building is consummate, and not
only the corner stone laid, but the superstructure
also finished, to what purpose should the scaffolds
any longer stand? which when they leave off to
The Papists indeed, who, having swallowed and digested the belief of so many monstrous contradictions, would do but very unwisely, and disagreeably to themselves, if, for ever after, they should stick at any advantageous absurdity; these, I say, hold, that the gift of miracles still continues ordinary in their church; and that the Christian religion has still the same need of such miraculous confirmations as it had at first.
Where, if by the Christian they mean their own
popish religion, I am so fully of their mind, that I
think there is need, not only of daily, but even of
hourly, or rather continual miracles, to confirm it;
if it were but in that one single article of transubstantiation. But then, we know whose badge and
character the scripture makes it, to come in lying
wonders; and we know also, that lying wonders are
true impostures: and theirs are of that nature, that
the fallacy is so gross, and the cheat so transparent
in them, that, as it hardens the Jews and Mahumetans with a desperate, invincible prejudice against
Christianity, as a thing as false as those miracles
which they see it recommended by; so, I am confident, that it causes many Christians also to nauseate their own religion, and to fall into secret atheism; being apt to think (as even these impostors
also pretend) that the very miracles of the apostles
But as, we know, it often falls out, that when a
man has once got the character of a liar, even truth
itself is suspected, if not absolutely disbelieved, when
it comes from the mouth of such an one; so these
miracle-mongers having alarmed the world round
about them to a discernment of their tricks, when
they came afterwards to preach Christianity, especially to infidels, and to press it upon men’s belief in
the strength of those miraculous works which were
truly and really done by Christ; yet, since they
pretend the same of their own works too, (which all
people see through, and know to be lies and impostures,) all that they preach of Christ is presently
looked upon as false and fictitious, and leaves the
minds of men locked up under a fixed, obstinate,
and impregnable infidelity. Such a fatal blow has
the legerdemain of those wretches given to the
Christian religion, and such jealousies have they
raised in some men’s thoughts against it, by their
false miracles and fabulous stories of the romantic
2. Pass we now to the second thing proposed, which is to shew what is meant by this diversity of gifts mentioned in the text. It imports, I conceive, these two things:
1. Something by way of affirmation, which is variety.
2. Something by way of negation, which is contrariety.
1. And first, for the first of them. It imports
variety; of which excellent qualification, it is hard
to say, whether it makes more for use or ornament.
It is the very beauty of providence, and the delight
of the world. It is that which keeps alive desire,
which would otherwise flag and tire, and be quickly
weary of any one single object. It both supplies
our affections and entertains our admiration; equally
serving the innocent pleasures and the important
occasions of life. And now all these advantages
God would have this desirable quality derive even
upon his church too. In which great body there
are and must be several members having their several uses, offices, and stations: as in the
But to proceed: God has use of all the several tempers and constitutions of men, to serve the occasions and exigences of his church by. Amongst which, some are of a sanguine, cheerful, and debonair disposition, having their imaginations, for the most part, filled and taken up with pleasing ideas and images of things; seldom or never troubling their thoughts, either by looking too deep into them, or dwelling too long upon them. And these are not properly framed to serve the church either in the knotty, dark, and less pleasing parts of religion, but are fitted rather for the airy, joyful offices of devotion; such as are praise and thanksgiving, jubilations and hallelujahs; which, though indeed not so difficult, are yet as pleasing a work to God as any other. For they are the noble employment of saints and angels; and a lively resemblance of the glorified and beatifick state; in which all that the blessed spirits do, is to rejoice in the God who made and saved them, to sing his praises, and to adore his perfections.
Again, there are others of a melancholy, reserved,
and severe temper, who think much, and speak little;
and these are the fittest to serve the church in the
pensive, afflictive parts of religion, in the austerities
of repentance and mortification, in a retirement from
the world, and a settled composure of their thoughts
to self-reflection and meditation. And such also are
the ablest to deal with troubled and distressed consciences, to meet with their doubts, and to answer
their objections, and to ransack every corner of their
shifting and fallacious hearts, and, in a word, to lay
But then again, there are others besides these,
who are of a warmer and more fervent spirit, having much of heat and fire in their constitution: and
God may and does serve his church even by such
kind of persons as these also, as being particularly
fitted to preach the terrifying rigours and curses of
the law to obstinate daring sinners; which is a work
as absolutely necessary, and of as high a consequence
to the good of souls, as it is that men should be
driven, if they cannot be drawn off from their sins;
that they should be cut and lanced, if they cannot
otherwise be cured; and that the terrible trump of
the last judgment should be always sounding in their
ears, if nothing else can awaken them. But then,
while such persons are thus busied in preaching of
judgment, it is much to be wished that they would
do it with judgment too; and not preach hell and
damnation to sinners so, as if they were pleased with
what they preached. No; let them rather take heed
that they mistake not their own fierce temper for
the mind of God; for some I have known to do so,
and that at such a rate, that it was easy enough to
distinguish the humour of the speaker from the nature of the thing he spoke. Let ministers threaten
death and destruction even to the very worst of men
in such a manner, that it may appear to all their
sober hearers that they do not desire, but fear that
these dreadful things should come to pass: let them
declare God’s wrath against the hardened and impenitent, as I have seen a judge condemn a malefactor, with tears in his eyes: for surely much more
should a dispenser of the word, while he is pronouncing
But then, on the contrary, there are others again
of a gentler, a softer, and more tender genius, and
these are full as serviceable for the work of the ministry as the former sort could be, though not in the
same way; as being much fitter to represent the
meekness of Moses, than to preach his law; to bind
up the broken-hearted, to speak comfort and refreshment to the weary, and to take off the burden from
the heavy laden. Nature itself seems peculiarly to
have fitted such for the dispensations of grace. And
when they are once put into the ministry, they are,
as it were, marked and singled out by Providence
to do those benign offices to the souls of men, which
persons of a rougher and more vehement disposition
are by no means so fit or able to do. These are the
men whom God pitches upon for the heralds of his
mercy, with a peculiar emphasis and felicity of address, to proclaim and issue out the pardons of the
gospel, to close up the wounds which the legal
preacher had made, to bathe and supple them with
the oil of gladness; and, in a word, to crown the
sorrows of repentance with the joys of assurance.
And thus we have seen how the gospel must have
both its Boanerges and its Barnabas, sons of thunder,
David had shewn himself but a mean psalmist, had
his skill reached no further than to one note: and
therefore,
Of which great variety, as we have hitherto observed the use, so it is intended also for the ornament of the church. I say
ornament: for I cannot
persuade myself that God ever designed his church
for a rude, naked, unbeautified lump, or to lay the
foundations of purity in the ruins of decency. The
entrance and gate of Solomon’s temple was called
beautiful: and as there were several orders of priests
and Levites belonging to it, so they had their several
offices, their several chambers and apartments in that
temple. It was a kind of representation of heaven;
in which, our Saviour tells us, there are many mansions.
Much might be spoken by way of analogy between the internal and external, the spiritual and the material ornaments of the church; but both of them serve to dress and set off the spouse of Christ; the first to recommend her to his own eyes, and the latter to the eyes of the world.
Where would be the beauty of the heavens themselves, if it were not for the multitude of the stars,
and the variety of their influences? And then for
the earth here below, and those who dwell therein,
certainly we might live without the plumes of peacocks, and the curious colours of flowers, without so
many different odours, so many several tastes, and
such an infinite diversity of airs and sounds. But
where would then be the glory and lustre of the universe, the flourish and gayety of nature, if our senses
were forced to be always poring upon the same things,
without the diversion of change, and the quickening
Secondly, as this diversity of the Spirit’s gifts imports variety, so it excludes contrariety: different they are, but they are not opposite. There is no jar, no combat or contest between them; but all are disposed of with mutual agreements, and a happy subordination: for as variety adorns, so opposition destroys; things most different in nature may yet be united in the same design; and the most distant lines may meet and clasp in the same centre.
As, for instance, one would think that the spirit
of meekness and the spirit of zeal stood at that distance of contrariety, as to defy all possibility either
of likeness or reconcilement; and yet (as we have
already shewn) they both may and do equally serve
and carry on the great end and business of religion.
And the same Spirit which baptizes with water,
baptizes also with fire. It is an art to attain the
Come we now to the third and last thing proposed from the words; which is to shew what are the consequences of this emanation of so many and different gifts from one and the same Spirit. I shall instance in four, directly and naturally deducible from it: as,
First, If the Spirit works such variety of gifts, and those in so vast a multitude, and for the most part above the force of nature, certainly it is but rational to conclude, that it is a Being superior to nature, and so may justly challenge to itself a deity. There have been several who have impugned the deity of the Holy Ghost, though not in the same manner; but the principal of them come within these two sorts:
1. Macedonius and his followers, who allowed him to be a person, but denied his deity; affirming him to be the chief angel, the supreme and most excel lent of those blessed spirits employed by God in administering the affairs of the church, and conveying good suggestions to the minds of men, and for that cause to be called the Holy Spirit; and sometimes simply and κατ᾽ ἑξοχὴν, or by way of eminence, the Spirit. And the same was held by one Biddle, an heretic of some note here in England, a little before the restoration; that is to say, while confusion and toleration gave countenance to almost all religions, except the true.
2. But secondly, Socinus and his school deny both
the deity of the Holy Ghost and his personal subsistence too; not granting him to be a person, but
only the power of God; to wit, that vis, or ἐνέργεια,
Now to draw forth and insist upon all the arguments and texts of scripture which use to be traversed on both sides in this controversy, would be a thing neither to be done within this compass of time, nor perhaps so proper for this exercise; and therefore let it suffice us, upon the warrant of express scripture, not sophisticated by nice and forced expositions, but plainly interpreted by the general tradition of the church, (to which all private reason ought in reason to give place,) to confess and adore the deity of the Holy Ghost.
Now this Holy Spirit is in the church, as the soul
in the natural body: for as the same soul does in
and by the several parts of the body exercise several
functions and operations; so the Holy Ghost, while
he animates the mystical body of Christ, causes in it
several gifts and powers, by which he enables it to
exert variety of actions. And as in the river Nilus,
it is the same fountain which supplies the seven
streams; so when we read of the seven spirits,
But now surely this glorious Person or Being, who
thus enlightens the minds of all men coming into
Secondly, This great diversity of the Spirit’s gifts
may read a lecture of humility to some, and of contentment to others. God indeed, in this great
scheme of the creation, has drawn some capital letters, set forth some masterpieces, and furnished
them with higher abilities than ordinary, and given
them gifts, as it were, with both hands: but for all
that, none can brag of a monopoly of them, none
has so absolutely engrossed them all, as to be that
thing of which we may say, Here we see, what and
how much God can do. No, God has wrote upon
no created being the utmost stint of his power, but
only the free issues and products of his pleasure.
God has made no man in opprobrium naturae, only
to overlook his fellow-creatures, to upbraid them
with their defects, and to discourage them with the
amazing distance of the comparison. He has filled
no man’s intellectuals so full, but he has left some
vacuities in them, that may sometimes send him for
supplies to minds of a much lower pitch. He has
And, as this may give some check to the presumption of the most raised understandings, so it
should prevent the despondency of the meanest: for
the apostle makes this very use of it in the
Thirdly, The foregoing doctrine affords us also a touchstone for the trial of spirits: for such as are the gifts, such must be also the spirit from which they flow: and since both of them have been so much pretended to, it is well for the church, that it has the rule of judgment, and a note of discrimination. There is none, who is not wilfully a stranger to the affairs of our Israel, but has had the noise and blusters of gifted brethren, and of persons pretending to the Spirit, ringing in his ears. Concerning which plea of theirs, since we all know that there are spirits both good and bad, it cannot be denied, but that in some sense they might have the spirit, such a spirit as it was, and that in a very large measure: but as for their gifts, we must examine them by the standard of those here mentioned by the apostle.
And first, for that of prophecy: these men were
once full of a prophecy that the world should be destroyed in the year 1656; because, forsooth, the
flood came upon the old world in that year reckoning from the creation. And again, that the downfal of Pope and Antichrist, together with that of
monarchy and episcopacy, (which they always accounted
And then, for the gift of healing, let a bleeding church and state shew, how notably they were gifted that way. They played the chirurgeons indeed with a witness, but we never yet heard that they acted the physician; all their practice upon the body politic was with powder and ball, sword and pistol. No saving of life with those men, but by purging away the estate.
And likewise for the gift of discerning of spirits: they had their triers, that is, a court appointed for the trial of ministers; but most properly called Cromwell’s inquisition; in which they would pretend to know men’s hearts, and inward bent of their spirits (as their word was) by their very looks. But the truth is, as the chief pretence of those triers was to inquire into men’s gifts; so if they found them but well gifted in the hand, they never looked any further; for a full and free hand was with them an abundant demonstration of a gracious heart; a word in great request in those times.
And moreover, for the gift of diverse tongues, it
is certain, that they scarce spake the same thing for
two days together. Though otherwise it must be
confessed, that they were none of the greatest linguists; their own mother tongue serving all their
And then, lastly, for the gift of interpreting; they thought themselves no ordinary men at expounding a chapter; if the turning of a few rational, significant words and sentences into a loose, tedious, impertinent harangue could be called an exposition. But above all, for their interpreting gift, you must take them upon Ezekiel, Daniel, and the Revelation; and from thence, as it were, out of a dark prophetic cloud, thundering against the old cavaliers and the Church of England, and (as I may but too appositely express it) breaking them upon the wheels in Ezekiel, casting them to the beasts in Daniel, and pouring upon them all the vials in the Revelation. After which let any one deny it who durst, that the black decree was absolutely passed upon those malignants, and that they were all of them, to a man, sons of reprobation.
And thus, I think, I have reckoned up most of the
extraordinary gifts of the Spirit, and compared them
with those of our late gifted brethren. Amongst
all which divine gifts, I must declare, that I cannot
find the gift of canting and whining, and making
faces; that is, of speaking bad sense with worse
looks; which yet those men used to call the language of Canaan. Nor can I find the gift of uttering
I cannot find the gift of exploding the mysteries, and peculiar credenda of the Gospel, in order to the turning Christianity into bare morality.
I cannot find the gift of accounting tenderness of conscience against law, as a thing sacred, but tenderness of conscience according to law, as a crime to be prosecuted almost to death.
In a word, I cannot find the gifts of Notwithstanding
the sanctified character they bear in the republicans’ new Gospel, viz.
Ludlow’s Memoirs; and in the judgment of those who like such practices, and
therefore publish such books, to the manifest affront of the monarchy they live under: a strange unaccountable way doubtless of
supporting it.
These things, I say, (whether it be through the weakness of my discerning faculties, or whatsoever else may be the cause,) I cannot, for my life, find amongst the primitive gifts of the Spirit.
And therefore, wheresoever I do find them, let
men talk never so much of inward motions and extraordinary calls of the Spirit, of the kingdom of
Jesus Christ, and of the public good, of moderation,
and of an healing spirit, and the like; yet, long and
sad experience having taught us the true meaning
of all these fine and fallacious terms, I must needs
say, both of them, and the spirit from which they
proceed, in those words of St.
Fourthly, In the fourth and last place, this emanation of gifts from the Spirit assures us that knowledge and learning are by no means opposite to grace; since we see gifts as well as graces conferred by the same Spirit. But amongst those of the late reforming age, (whom we have been speaking of,) all learning was utterly cried down. So that with them the best preachers were such as could not read, and the ablest divines such as could not write. In all their preachments they so highly pretended to the Spirit, that they could hardly so much as spell the letter. To be blind was with them the proper qualification of a spiritual guide, and to be book-learned, as they called it, and to be irreligious, were almost terms convertible. None were thought fit for the ministry but tradesmen and mechanics, because none else were allowed to have the Spirit. Those only were accounted like St. Paul, who could work with their hands, and in a literal sense drive the nail home, and be able to make a pulpit, before they preached in it.
But the Spirit in the primitive church took quite another method, being still as careful to furnish the head as to sanctify the heart; and as he wrought miracles to found and establish a church by these extraordinary gifts, so it would have been a greater miracle to have done it without them.
God, as he is the giver of grace, so he is the father of lights; he neither admits darkness in himself, nor approves it in others. And therefore those
who place all religion in the heats of a furious zeal,
without the due illuminations of knowledge, know
But certainly we shall one day find, that a religion so much resembling hell, neither was nor could be the readiest way to heaven. But on the contrary, that the Spirit always guides and instructs before he saves; and that, as he brings to happiness only by the ways of holiness, so he never leads to true holiness, but by the paths of knowledge.
To which Holy Spirit, together with the Father and the Son, 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.
The peculiar care and concern of Providence for the protection and defence of kings,
It is he that giveth salvation unto kings.
THE greatest and most magnificent title, by which God exhibits himself to the sons of men, is, that he is King of kings, and that the governors of the earth are his subjects, princes and emperors his vassals, and thrones his footstools; and consequently that there is no absolute monarch in the world but one. And from the same also it follows, that there is nothing, which subjects can justly expect from their prince, but princes may expect from God; and nothing which princes demand from their subjects, but God, in a higher manner and by a better claim, requires from them. Now the relation between prince and subject essentially involves in it these two things:
First, Obedience from the subject to all the laws
and just commands of his prince. And accordingly,
as kings themselves have a sovereign over them, so
they have laws over them too: laws which lay the
Secondly. The other thing imported in this relation, is protection vouchsafed from the sovereign to the subject. Upon which account it is. that as God with one hand gives a law, so with the other he defends the obedient. And this is the highest prerogative of worldly empire, and the brightest jewel in the diadems of princes, that by being God’s immediate subjects they are his immediate care, and entitled to his more especial protection; that they have both an omniscience, in a peculiar manner, to wake over them, and an omnipotence to support them; and that they are not the legions which they command, but the God whom they obey, who must both guard their persons and secure their regalia. For it is he, and he only, who giveth salvation unto kings.
The words of the text, with a little variation, run naturally into this one proposition, which, containing in it the full sense of them, shall be the subject of our following discourse, viz.
That God in the government of the world exercises a peculiar and extraordinary providence over the persons and lives of princes.
The prosecution of which proposition shall lie in these four things.
First, To shew upon what account any act of God’s providence may be said to be peculiar and extraordinary.
Secondly, To shew how and by what means God does after such an extraordinary manner save and deliver princes.
Thirdly, To shew the reasons why he does so. And,
Fourthly and lastly, To draw something by way of inference and conclusion from the whole.
Of all which in their order: and,
First, for the first of these; which is to shew upon what account any act of God’s providence may be said to be peculiar and extraordinary. Providence in the government of the world acts for the most part by the mediation of second causes: which, though they proceed according to a principle of nature, and a settled course and tenor of acting, (supposing still the same circumstances,) yet Providence acting by them may, in several instances of it, be said to be extraordinary, upon a threefold account: as,
First, When a thing falls out besides the common
and usual operation of its proper cause. As for in
stance, it is usual and natural for a man meeting his
enemy upon full advantage, to prosecute that advantage against him, and by no means to let him
escape: yet sometimes it falls out quite otherwise.
Esau had conceived a mortal grudge and enmity
against his brother Jacob; yet as soon as he meets
him, he falls upon him in a very different way from
that of enemies, and embraces him. Ahab having
upon conquest got Benhadad, his inveterate enemy,
into his hands, not only spares his life, but treats
him kindly, and lets him go. That a brother unprovoked should hate, and a stranger not obliged should
love, is against the usual actings of the heart of man.
Secondly. Providence may be said to act extraordinarily, when a thing falls out beside or contrary to the design of expert, politic, and shrewd persons, contriving or acting in it. As when a man by the utmost of his wit and skill projects the compassing of such or such a thing, fits means to his end, lays antecedents and consequents directly and appositely for the bringing about his purpose; but in the issue and result finds all broke a and baffled, and the event contrary to his intention; and the order of causes and counsels so studiously framed by him, to produce an effect opposite to, and destructive of, the design driven at by those means and arts. In this case also, I say, we may rationally acknowledge an extraordinary act of Providence: forasmuch as the man himself is made instrumental to the effecting of some thing perfectly against his own will and judgment, and that by those very ways and methods which in themselves were the most proper to prevent, and the most unlikely to bring to pass, such an event. The world all the while standing amazed at it, and the credit of the politician sinking: for that nothing seems to cast so just a reproach even upon reason itself, as for persons noted for it to act as notably against it.
Thirdly and lastly. Providence may be said to act in an extraordinary way, when a thing comes to pass visibly and apparently beyond the power of the cause immediately employed in it. As that a man dumb all his life before, should on the sudden speak: as it is said that the son of Croesus did, upon the sight of a murder ready to have been committed upon the person of his prince and father. That a small company should rout and scatter an army, or (in the language of scripture) that one should chase an hundred, and an hundred put ten thousand to flight. That persons of mean parts, and little or no experience, should frustrate and overreach the counsels of old, beaten, thoroughpaced politicians. These effects, I say, are manifestly above the ability and stated way of working belonging to the causes from whence they flow. Nevertheless such things are sometimes seen upon the great stage of the world, to the wonder and astonishment of the beholders, who are wholly unable, by the common method and discourses of reason, to give a satisfactory account of these strange phenomena, by resolving them into any thing visible in their immediate agents: in which case, therefore, I conceive, that the whole order and connection of these things one with another, may be reckoned an act of Providence extraordinary.
And thus much for the first general thing proposed, which was to shew upon what account the works of Providence come to be thus distinguished: which consideration it will be easy for every one to make application of to the ensuing particulars. I proceed now to the
Second general thing proposed; which is to shew,
I shall mention seven.
1. By endowing them with a more than ordinary sagacity and
quickness of understanding above other men. Kings, they say, have a long reach
with their arm, but they have a further with their mind. In
And there is nothing that both adorns and secures
a prince comparably to this discerning faculty: for
by this, as by a great light kindling many others, he
commands the use of the best understandings and
But now, it is the prince’s wisdom and discerning
spirit, that must be his rescue from the plots of this
friendly traitor. It is a most remarkable speech of
Solomon,
Nothing is so notable in the royal bird, the eagle, as the quickness of his eye. The sight is the sense of empire and command; that which is always first, and leads the way in every great action: for so far as a prince sees, so far properly he rules; and while he keeps his eye open, and his breast shut, he cannot be surprised.
And thus much for the first way by which Providence saves and delivers princes; namely, by endowing them with a more than ordinary sagacity and quickness of understanding above other men.
2. God saves and delivers sovereign princes by
giving them a singular courage and presence of mind
in cases of difficulty and danger. As soon as ever
the sacred oil had anointed Saul king, it is said,
Next to wisdom, the greatest gift of Heaven is resolution. It is that which gives and obtains kingdoms, that turns swords into sceptres, that crowns the valiant with victory, and the victorious often with a diadem. It was answered by a neighbouring prince to one alleging a flaw in the title of Henry VII. to the kingdom of England, that he had three of the best titles to his kingdom of any prince living; being the wisest prince, the valiantest prince, and the richest prince in Christendom.
Presence of mind to get out of a plunge, and upon
the sudden to unravel the knots and intricacies of a
perplexed business, argues a head and a heart made
3. God saves and delivers sovereign princes, by disposing of
events and accidents, in a strange concurrence for their advantage and
preservation. No thing indeed is or can be properly accidental to God; but
accidents are so called in respect of the intention or expectation of second
causes; when things fall out beside their knowledge or design. And there is
nothing in which Providence so much triumphs over, and, as I may so say, laughs
at the profoundest wisdom of men, as in the stable, certain knowledge and
disposal of all casual events. In respect of which, the clearest mortal
intellect is wholly in the dark. And upon this account, as loose as these events
seem to hang upon one another, yet they are all knit and linked together in a
firm chain,
Now nothing has so powerful an influence upon the great turns of affairs, and the lives and fortunes of great persons, as the little, unobserved, unprotected events of things. For could any thing be greater than the preservation of a great prince and his next heir to the crown, together with his nobles and the chief of his clergy, from certain, imminent, and prepared destruction? And was not all this effected by a pitiful small accident in the mistake of the superscription of a letter? Did not the oversight of one syllable preserve a church and a state too? And might it not be truly said of that contemptible paper, that it did Caesarem vehere et fortunam Caesaris, and that the fate of three kingdoms was wrapt and sealed up in it?
A little error of the eye, a misguidance of the
hand, a slip of the foot, a starting of an horse, a sudden mist, or a great shower, or a word undesignedly
cast forth in an army, has turned the stream of victory from one side to another, and thereby disposed
of the fortunes of empires and whole nations. No
prince ever returns safe out of a battle, but may remember how many blows and bullets See a late signal instance
of this in a prince, “who had his shoulder so kindly kissed by a cannon bullet,”
(as the late archbishop, by a peculiar strain of rhetoric, expresses this wonderful passage in his sermon at court, upon
Fourth, by which God saves and delivers sovereign
princes, is by wonderfully inclining the hearts and
wills of men to a benign affection towards them.
Hearts and wills are things that princes themselves
cannot command, and yet the only things in the
strength of which they do command. For the
heart is the grand spring of action, and he who governs that part, does by consequence command the
whole. But now this is the incommunicable prerogative of God; who, and who only, can either by
power or by knowledge reach the heart. For as it
is said,
Thus for instance, when David fled before Absalom, and was forced to leave the royal city, it was
the general affection of his people (God touching
their hearts) which brought him back, and resettled
him in his throne; so that, in
On the other side, when the greatest part of the
kingdom was rent from the house of David, and
transferred to Jeroboam, in
5. God saves and delivers sovereign princes by
rescuing them from unseen and unknown mischiefs
prepared against them. This is most evident: for if a
prince’s own observation can bear witness to many deliverances vouchsafed him by Providence, Providence
itself can certainly bear witness to many more which
he is wholly ignorant of. Forasmuch as in every man,
but especially in princes, their concerns reach further,
and carry a wider compass, than their knowledge
can: it being impossible that any man living should
know all that is spoken or done concerning him,
and consequently be aware of all the mischievous
blows levelled against him. How many secret cabals
and plots have been against the reputation, the interest, and sometimes the life also of every considerable
person in the world, which never yet came to their
eye or their ear, nor (thanks to the care of a
guardian Providence) ever troubled so much as a
thought, nor hurt so much as an hair of their head!
And yet the contrivers of them have wanted neither
And this is a way of deliverance so eminent for
the mercy of it, that if a prince or great person can
be obliged to Providence for any, it must be for this.
For when a man knows the danger he is in, all his
senses quickly take the alarm, call up the spirits,
and arm his courage to meet the approaching evil,
and to defend himself. But when he knows nothing
of the impending mischief, he lies open and defence
less, like a man bound, and naked, and sleeping,
while a dagger is directed to his breast. And for a
merciful tender Providence then to step in to his
assistance, to ward off the fatal blow, and to turn
the approaching edge from his unguarded heart, this
surely is the height of mercy, and engrosses the glory
of the deliverance wholly to the divine goodness,
without allowing any mortal wit or courage the
least share or concurrence in it. No prince can tell
what the discontents of ill subjects, the emulation of
neighbour states or princes have been designing, endeavouring, and projecting against him: all which
counsels, by a controlling power from above, have
from time to time been made abortive and frustraneous. Let princes, therefore, reckon upon this, and
know assuredly, that they stand indebted to Providence for more deliverances than they can know.
And if the protecting mercies of Heaven thus surpass
their knowledge, surely it is but reason that their
Sixthly. God saves and delivers sovereign princes by imprinting a certain awe and dread of their persons and authority upon the minds of their subjects. And there is not any one thing which seems so manifestly to prove government a thing perfectly divine, both as to its original and continuance in the world, as this. For what is there in any one mortal man that can strike a dread into, and command a subjection from, so many thousands as every prince almost has under his government, should things be rated according to the mere natural power of second causes? For the strength of one man can do nothing against so many; and his wisdom and counsel but little more: and those who are to obey him know so much; and yet for all that, they yield him absolute subjection, dread his threatenings, tremble at his frowns, and lay their necks under his feet. Now from whence can all this be, but from a secret work of the divine power, investing sovereign princes with certain marks and rays of that divine image, which overawes and controls the spirits of men they know not how nor why? But yet they feel themselves actually wrought upon and kept under by them, and that very frequently against their will.
And this is that properly which in kings we call
majesty, and which no doubt is a kind of shadow or
portraiture of the divine authority drawn upon the
looks and persons of princes, which makes them
commanders of men’s fears, and thereby capable of
governing them in all their concerns. Non fero
fulgur oculorum tuorum, is the language of every
subject’s heart, struck with the awful aspect of a resolute At the same time uttering these words, (so suitable to his
kingly mind and courage,) Jam scietis, et quantum sine rege valeat exercitus, et quid opis
in me uno sit. Quint. Curtius, lib. x.
7. In the seventh and last place. God saves and
delivers sovereign princes, by disposing their hearts
to such virtuous and pious courses, as he has promised a blessing to, and by restraining them from
those ways to which he has denounced a curse. And
this is the greatest deliverance of all; as having a
prospect upon the felicity of both worlds, and laying
a foundation for all other deliverances. For it is
this that qualifies and renders a man a subject capable of and fit for a deliverance. King Abimelech
was about to do an action that would certainly have
drawn death and confusion after it: Thou art but
a dead man, says God to him, in
Virtue entitles a prince to all the mercies of heaven, all the favours, all the endearments of Providence. It has a present and a future influence; one
upon his person, the other upon his posterity. So
that in
And thus much for the second general thing proposed, which was to shew the several ways and means by which God does, after such an extraordinary manner, save and deliver sovereign princes: all which, for memory’s sake, it may not be amiss to rehearse and sum up in short: as, namely, he delivers them,
1. By endowing them with a more than ordinary sagacity and quickness of understanding above other men.
2. By giving them a singular courage and presence of mind in cases of difficulty and danger.
3. By disposing of events and accidents in a strange concurrence for their advantage and preservation.
4. By wonderfully inclining the hearts and wills of men to a benign affection towards them.
5. By rescuing them from unseen and unknown mischiefs prepared against them.
6. By imprinting a certain awe and dread of their persons and authority upon the minds of the people.
7. Seventhly and lastly. By disposing their hearts to such virtuous and pious courses as God has promised a blessing to, and by restraining them from those ways to which he has denounced a curse. And these are the several ways by which Providence gives salvation unto kings.
I proceed now to the
Third general thing proposed, which is to shew
1. That they are the greatest instruments in the hand of Providence to support government and civil society in the world. And,
2. That they have the most powerful influence upon the concerns of religion and the preservation of the church, of all other persons whatsoever.
And first for the first of these; That kings are the greatest instruments in the hand of Providence to support government and civil society in the world: the proof of which, I conceive, will be fully made out by these two things.
1. By shewing that monarchy, or kingly government, is the most excellent and best adapted to the ends of government and the benefit of society. And,
2. That the greatness or strength of a monarchy depends chiefly upon the personal qualifications of the prince or monarch.
1. And first, let us shew that monarchy or kingly
government is the most excellent and best adapted
to the ends of government and the benefit of society.
This is too large and noble a subject to be fully managed in such a discourse. At present let it suffice
to say, that monarchy, in the kind of government,
is the first, and consequently the most perfect of all
And to shew the naturalness of monarchy, all other forms of
government insensibly partake of it, and slide into it. For look upon any
aristocracy or democracy, and still you shall find some one ruling active person
amongst the rest, who does every thing, and carries all before him. Was not De
Wit, amongst our neighbours, a kind of king in a commonwealth? And was not that
usurper here amongst ourselves a monarch in reality of fact, before he wore the
title or assumed the office? Moreover, when any commonwealth is forced to defend
itself by war, it finds it necessary to appoint one general over all,
Secondly, The next thing is to shew, that the
greatness or strength of a monarchy depends chiefly
upon the personal qualifications of the prince or monarch. It ebbs or flows according to the rising or
falling of his spirit. For still it is the person that
makes the place considerable, and not the place him.
And we shall find in every government, that the
activity and bravery of the prince is the soul politic
which animates and upholds all. When Alexander
But it is evident from reason, that the fate and
fortune of governments must naturally follow the
personal abilities of the governor: for what is there
else, that the strength of a kingdom can be supposed
to lean upon, but one of these three; its treasure,
its military power, or its laws? But now, none of
all these can signify any thing, where the prince is
not endued with that royal skill that is requisite to
the due management of them. For surely the bare
image of a prince upon the coin of any nation can
neither improve or employ the treasure of it; nor
can the military force of a kingdom do much to
strengthen it, should the prince either wear a pad
lock upon his sword, or draw it in defence of his
enemies. Nor lastly, can the laws much contribute
to the support of it, if the execution of them be either
Secondly, The other great reason is, because
princes have the most powerful influence upon the
concerns of religion, and the preservation of the
church, of all other persons whatsoever. Religion
is indeed an immortal seed, and the church is proof
against the very gates of hell, as being founded
upon a promise, and so standing fast in the eternal
strength of God’s veracity. Nevertheless, as to its
outward state and circumstances in this world, it
must clasp about the secular power, and as that
frowns or smiles upon it, so it must droop or flourish. Accordingly God has declared kings to be
nursing fathers of his church; and every prince, by
the essential inherent right of his crown, is or should
be a defender of the faith. He holds it by a charter
from heaven; long before the pope’s donation, who
never gives any thing to princes, but what was their
own before. Every Christian king is within his
own dominions the great pastor, both to rule Christ’s
We know how glorious a deliverance our church received this day; and it was by the wisdom of that head which wore the crown, that God vouchsafed it to her. King and church then, as it is seldom otherwise, were both designed to the same fate. But God preserved the king, and the king the church. And who knows but for such a day as this, God paved his way before him in such a peaceable entrance into the English throne, so much above and against the expectation of the world round about him, and of the court of Rome especially; which, it is well known, had other designs upon the anvil at that time. And as he then saved the church from perishing by one blow; so he afterwards supported it from dying gradually, either by the encroachments of superstition, or the attempts of innovation.
And it is observable, (which I speak not in flattery, but in a profound sense of a blessing which the whole kingdom can never be thankful enough for,) that none of the families that ever reigned over this nation, have to their power been so careful and tender of the church, kept their hands so clean from any thing that might look like sacrilege, been so zealous of its privileges, and so kind to its ministers, as the royal family that now sways the sceptre in the succession of three several princes. And I doubt not but as sacrilege has blasted the mightiest families with a curse, so the abhorrence of it will and must perpetuate a blessing upon this.
And thus having despatched the several heads at
first proposed, and shewn upon what accounts the
Fourth and last thing proposed: which is, to make some useful deductions from what has been delivered; and it shall be by way of information concerning two things.
First, The duty and behaviour of princes towards God.
Secondly, The duty and behaviour of subjects towards their prince.
First. And first for that of princes towards God. It shews them from whom, in their distress, they are to expect, and to whom, in their glory, they are to ascribe all their deliverances. David was as great a warrior and as valiant a prince as ever reigned. In all his wars success waited upon his courage, and victory did homage to his sword; yet he tells us, that he would neither trust in his sword nor in his bow, nor in the alliance of princes. All auxiliaries but those from above, he found weak, fickle, and fallacious. And as princes are to own their great Deliverer, so are they to shew the world that they do so, by setting a due estimate upon the deliverance; especially when it is shewn in so signal an instance as that which we now commemorate. And whosoever he is, who really and cordially values any notable deliverance vouchsafed him by God, surely above all things it will concern him, not to court the mischief from which he has been delivered. But,
Secondly, which most properly belongs to us,
As for our parts, when we reflect upon our prince,
signalized by so many strange unparalleled rescues,
ought they not both to endear him to our allegiance,
and in a manner consecrate him to our veneration?
For is not this he, whom in the loins of his royal
progenitor, God, by this day’s mercy, as I may so
say, delivered before he was born? he, for whose
sake God has since wrought so many miracles; covering his head in the day of battle, and, which is
more, securing it after battle, when such a price was
set upon it? Is not this he, whom the same Providence followed into banishment, and gave him safety
and honour, where he had not so much as to lay his
head, or to set his foot upon, that he could call his
own? Is not this he, whom God brought back again
by a miracle as great as that by which he brought
Israel out of Egypt, not dividing, but, as it were, drying up a Red sea before him? Is not this he, whom
neither the plots of his enemies at home, nor the
united strength of those abroad, have been able to
shake or supplant? And lastly, is not this he,
whom neither the barbarous injuries of his rebel
For all which glorious things done for him and by him, may the same God, who has hitherto delivered him, order his affairs so, that he may never need another deliverance, but that he may grow old in peace and honour; and be as great as the love of his friends and the fears of his enemies can make him; commanding the hearts of the one, in spite of the hearts of the other; and, in a word, continue to reign over us, till mortality shall be swallowed up of immortality, and a temporal crown changed into an eternal.
Which God of his infinite mercy grant; to whom be rendered and ascribed, as is most due, all praise, might, majesty, and dominion, both now and for evermore. Amen.
Genesis
Exodus
Leviticus
Deuteronomy
1 Samuel
10:9 11:6 12:3 25:32-33 25:32-33 25:32-33
2 Samuel
1 Kings
4:29 11 11:32 11:34 12:24 22 22:7
2 Kings
1 Chronicles
2 Chronicles
Job
Psalms
16:2 16:10 22 24:1 26:6 101:1 119:130 144:10 144:10
Proverbs
2:13-22 6:30 7 14:14 16:4 18:1 20:8 21:1 23:29 25:3
Ecclesiastes
Song of Solomon
Isaiah
1:21 5:20 5:20 5:20 30:10 52:13-53:12 53 53 53:8 53:8 53:8 53:10 53:12 55:8
Jeremiah
Ezekiel
Daniel
Hosea
Malachi
Matthew
1:1-17 3:9 4:2 4:10 5:19 5:43 5:44 5:44 7:12 7:26-27 7:26-27 10:22 13:12 15:5 15:6 19:27 20:15 22:12 22:12 23:30 24:15 25:1-13 26:69
Mark
Luke
3:23-38 6:46 8:12 8:13 10:28 11:21 11:35 11:35 14:31 16:31 17:7 17:8 17:9 17:10 24:21
John
1:3 1:11 1:11 3:3 3:3 4:48 8:37 8:58 8:58 10:25 12:35 12:39 12:40 13:2 14:11 15:24 17:5 18:38
Acts
2:24 2:24 2:30 5:3 10:4 10:38 13:2 19:25 23:23 26:5 26:9
Romans
1:3 1:18 1:18 1:18-31 1:19 1:20 1:20 1:20 1:20 1:20 1:21 1:21 1:21 1:21 1:21 1:22 1:22 1:32 1:32 1:32 3:2 5:5 6:23 9:4 11:33 11:35 12:20 14:1 14:1 14:1-23 14:2
1 Corinthians
1:17-31 2:7 2:7 2:11 3:1-3 4:1 4:7 8:7 8:10 8:10 8:12 8:12 8:12 9:27 10:20 11:28 12:4 12:4 12:8 12:8 12:10 12:21-22 12:28 13:13 14:40
2 Corinthians
2:16 5:21 7:10 10:10 11:27 13:4
Galatians
Ephesians
Philippians
Colossians
1 Timothy
2 Timothy
Hebrews
4:12 5:12 5:14 7:13 7:25 8:4 10:22 13:10 13:17 13:17
James
1 Peter
1 John
Revelation
i ii iii iv v vi vii viii ix x xi xii xiii xiv xv xvi xvii xviii xix xx xxi xxii 1 2 3 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 31 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 65 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 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128 129 130 131 132 133 134 135 136 137 138 139 140 141 142 143 144 145 146 147 148 149 150 151 152 153 154 155 156 157 158 159 160 161 162 163 164 165 166 167 168 169 170 171 172 173 174 175 176 177 178 179 180 181 182 183 184 185 186 187 188 189 190 191 192 193 194 195 196 197 198 199 200 201 202 203 204 205 206 207 208 209 210 211 212 213 214 215 216 217 218 219 220 221 222 223 224 225 226 227 228 229 231 232 233 234 235 236 237 238 239 240 241 212 243 244 245 246 247 248 249 250 251 252 253 254 255 256 257 258 259 260 261 262 263 264 265 266 267 268 269 270 271 272 273 274 275 276 277 278 279 280 281 282 283 284 285 286 287 288 289 290 291 292 293 294 295 296 297 298 299 300 301 302 303 304 305 306 307 308 309 310 311 312 313 314 315 316 317 318 319 320 321 322 323 324 325 326 327 328 329 330 331 332 333 334 335 336 337 338 339 340 341 342 343 344 345 349 347 348 349 350 351 352 353 354 355 356 357 358 359 360 361 362 363 364 365 366 367 368 369 370 371 372 373 374 375 376 377 378 379 380 381 382 383 384 385 386 387 388 389 390 391 392 393 394 395 396 397 398 399 400 401 402 403 404 405 406 407 408 409 410 411 412 413 414 415 416 417 418 419 420 421 422 423 424 425 426 427 428 429 430 431 432 433 434 435 436 437 438 439 440 441 442 443 444 445 446 447 448 449 450 451 452 453 454 455 456 457 458 459 460 461 462 463 464 465 466 467 468 469 470 471 472 473 474 475 476 477 478 479 480 481 482 483 484 485 486 487 488 489 490 491 492 493 494 495 496 497 498 499 500 501 502 503 504 505 506 507 508 509 510 511 512 513 514 515 516 517 518 519 520 521 522 523 524 525 526 527 528 529 530 531 532 533 534 535 536 537 538 539 540 541 542 543 544 545 546 547 548 549 550 551 552 553 554 555 556 557 558 559 560 561 562 563 564 565 566 567 568 569 570 571 572 573 574 575