Then said he unto them, Therefore every scribe which is instructed unto the kingdom of heaven is like unto a man that is an householder, which bringeth forth out of his treasure things new and old. P. 3.
Christ here gives the character of a preacher or evangelist, 3. in these words; where we are to consider,
1st, What is meant by the scribe among the Jews, either as a civil or a church-officer, 5.
2dly, What it is to be instructed for the kingdom of heaven, 7.
3dly, What it is to bring out of one’s treasure things new and old, 8.
And then, by applying all this to the minister of the gospel, we are to examine,
1st, His qualifications, 11. viz.
1. A natural ability of the faculties of his mind, 12. judgment, 12. memory, 13. invention, 14.
2. An habitual preparation by study, 15. in point of learning and knowledge, 17. of significant speech and expression, 21.
2dly, The reasons of their necessity, 24. viz. 1 . Because the preacher’s work is to persuade, 24.
2. Because God himself was at the expense of a miracle to endow the first preachers with them, 29.
3. Because the dignity of the subject, which is divinity, requires them, 30.
3dly, The inferences from these particulars, 32.
1. A reproof to such as discredit the ordinance of preaching, 32, 40. and the church itself, 41. either by light and comical, 32. or by dull and heavy discourses, 34.
2. An exhortation to such who design themselves for the ministry, to bestow a competent time in preparing for it, 42.
The prosperity of fools shall destroy them. P. 47.
The misery of all foolish or vicious persons is, that prosperity itself to them becomes destructive, 47. Because,
1st, They are ignorant or regardless of the ends where fore God sends it, 48.
1. To try and discover what is in a man, 49.
2. To encourage him in gratitude to his Maker, 51 .
3. To make him helpful to society, 52.
2dly, Prosperity is prone,
1. To abate men’s virtues, 53.
2. To heighten their corruptions, 57. such as pride, 58. luxury and uncleanness, 59. profaneness, 60.
3dly, It indisposes men to the means of their amendment, 62. rendering them,
1 . Averse to all counsel, 62.
%. Unfit for the sharp trials of adversity, under which they either despond or blaspheme, 63.
Therefore, that prosperity may not be destructive, a man ought,
1. To consider the uncertainty of it, 64. And
2. How little he is bettered by it, 65.
3. To use the severe duties of mortification, 66.
Were they ashamed when they had committed abomination? nay, they were not at all ashamed, neither could they blush: therefore they shall Jail among them that Jail: at the time that I visit them they shall be cast down, saith the Lord. P. 68.
Shamelessness in sin is the certain forerunner of destruction, 68. In the prosecution of which proposition we may observe,
1st, What shame is, 70. and how it is more effectual than law in its influence upon men, with respect to the evil threatened by it, 73. and to the extent of that evil, 74.
2dly, How men cast off that shame, 76.
1. By the commission of great sins, 77.
2. By a custom of sinning, 79.
3. By the examples of great persons, 80.
4. By the observation of the general practice, 81.
5. By having been once irrecoverably ashamed, 83. 3dly, The several degrees of shamelessness in sin, 84.
1. To shew respect to sinful persons, 84.
2. To defend sin, 85.
3. To glory in it, 87.
4thly, The reasons why shamelessness is so destructive, 88.
1. Because it presupposes those actions which God seldom lets go unpunished, 88. and,
2. It has a destructive influence upon the government of the world, 89.
5thly, The judgments, by which it procures the sinner’s ruin, 92.
1. A sudden and disastrous death, 92.
2. War and desolation, 92.
3. Captivity, 93.
Lastly, An application is made of the whole, 94.
Be sure your sin will find you out. P. 97.
These words reach the case of all sinners, 98.
1st, Sin upon a confidence of concealment, 98. For,
1. No man engages in sin, but as it bears some appearance of good, 98.
2. Shame and pain are by God made the consequents of sin, 99.
2dly, Take up that confidence, 103. upon,
1. Their own success, 103,
2. The success of others, 106.
3. An opinion of their own cunning, 108.
4. The hope of repentance, 110.
3dly, Are at last certainly defeated, 112. Because,
1. The very confidence of secrecy is the cause of the sinner’s discovery, 112.
2. There is sometimes a providential concurrence of unlikely accidents for a discovery, 113.
3. One sin sometimes is the means of discovering another, 115.
4. The sinner may discover himself through phrensy and distraction, 117. or be forced to it,
5. By his own conscience, 118.
6. He may be suddenly struck by some notable judgment, 119. Or,
Lastly, His guilt will follow him into another world, if he should chance to escape in this, 121.
By faith Moses, when he was come to years, refused to be
called the son of Pharaoh’s daughter; choosing rather
to suffer affliction with the people of God, than to enjoy
the pleasures of sin for a season; esteeming the reproach
A Christian is not bound to sequester his mind from respect to an ensuing reward, 125. For,
1st, Duty considered barely as duty is not sufficient to engage man’s will, 127. Because,
1. The soul has originally an averseness to duty, 128.
2. The affections of the soul are not at all gratified by any thing in duty, 130.
3. If duty of itself was a sufficient motive, then hope and fear would be needless, 135.
With an answer to some objections, 142.
2dly, A reward and a respect to it are necessary to engage man’s obedience, 149. not absolutely, but with respect to man’s present condition, 150. The proof whereof may be drawn from scripture, 151. and the practice of all law givers, 152.
Therefore it is every man’s infinite concern to fix to himself a principle to act by, which may bring him to his beatific end, 154.
Having hope towards God, (which they themselves also allow,) that there shall be a resurrection of the dead, both of the just and unjust. P. 157.
It is certain that there must be a general retribution, and, by consequence, a general resurrection, 157, 158.
The belief of which, though,
1st, It is exceeding difficult, 159. because,
1. Natural reason is averse to it, 160.
2. This averseness is grounded partly upon many improbabilities, 163. partly upon downright impossibilities charged upon it, 165. Yet,
2dly, Is founded upon sufficient and solid grounds, 168. which will appear,
1. By answering the objections of improbability and impossibility, 168.
2. By positive arguments, 176.
3dly, Gaineth much worth and excellency from all those difficulties, 185. For from hence,
1. We collect the utter insufficiency of bare natural religion, 185.
2. We infer the impiety of Socinian opinions concerning the resurrection, 188.
To the acknowledgment of the mystery of God, and of the Father, and of Christ. P. 194.
These words examined and explained prove the plurality of Persons in the divine nature a great mystery, to be acknowledged by all Christians, 194. which will appear by shewing,
1st, What conditions are required to denominate a thing a mystery, 198. viz.
1. That it be really true, and not contrary to reason, 198.
2. That it be above the reach of mere reason to find it out before it be revealed, 204.
3. That, being revealed, it be yet very difficult for, if not above finite reason fully to comprehend it, 209.
2dly, That all these conditions meet in the article of the Trinity, 198213.
With an account of the blasphemous expressions and assertions of the Socinians, 213.
Lastly, Since this article is of so great moment, it is fit to examine,
1. The causes which have unsettled and destroyed the belief of it, 219. Such as representing it in a figure, 219. expressing it by bold and insignificant terms, 220. building it on texts of scripture which will evince no such thing, 221.
2. The means how to fix and continue it in the mind, 221. by acquiescing in revelation, 222. and suppressing all over-curious inquiries into the nature of it, 222.
And for this cause God shall send them strong delusion, that they should believe a lie. P. 224.
A very severe judgment is here denounced against them who receive not the love of the truth, 224. which will be best understood by shewing,
1st, How the mind of man can believe a lie, either,
1. Through the remoteness of the faculty from its object, 230. or,
2. Through some weakness or disorder in it, 231.
2dly, What it is to receive the love of truth, 232. viz. to esteem, 232. and to choose it, 236. And consequently, what it is not to receive it, 237.
3dly, How the not receiving the love of truth into the will, disposes the understanding to delusion, 240.
1. By drawing the understanding from fixing its contemplation upon truth, 240.
2. By prejudicing it against it, 242.
3. By darkening the mind, which is the peculiar malignity of every vice, 244.
4thly, How God can properly be said to send men delusions, 246.
1. By withdrawing his enlightening influence from the understanding, 247.
2. By commissioning the spirit of falsehood to seduce the sinner, 250.
3. By providential disposing of men into such circumstances of life as have an efficacy to delude, 252.
4. By his permission of lying wonders, 255.
5thly, Wherein the greatness of this delusion consists, 259.
1. In itself; as it is spiritual, and directly annoys a man’s soul, 259. and more particularly blasts his understanding, 263.
2. In its consequences, 268. as it renders the conscience useless, 268. and ends in a total destruction, 270.
6thly, What deductions may be made from the whole, 272.
1. That it is not inconsistent with God’s holiness to punish one sin with another, 272.
2. That the best way to confirm our faith about the truths of religion is to love and acknowledge them, 277.
3. That hereby we may be able to find out the true cause of atheism, 281. and fanaticism, 283.
And he said unto them. Take heed, and beware of covetousness: for a man’s life consisteth not in the abundance of the things which he possesseth. P. 287.
It is natural for man to aim at happiness, the way to which seems to be an abundance of this world’s good things, and covetousness is supposed the means to acquire it. But our Saviour confutes this in these words, 287 288. which contains,
1st, A dehortation, 289. wherein we may observe,
1. The author of it, Christ himself, 290. the Lord of the universe, 292. depressed to the lowest estate of poverty, 292.
2. The thing we are dehorted from, covetousness, 293. by which is not meant a prudent forecast and parsimony, 294. but an anxious care about worldly things, attended with a distrust of Providence, 295. a rapacity in getting, 298. by all illegal ways, 301. a tenaciousness in keeping, 303.
3. The way how we are dehorted from it; Take heed and beware, 306. For it is very apt to prevail upon us, by its near resemblance to virtue, 307. the plausibility of its pleas, 308. the reputation it generally gives in the world, 311. And there is a great difficulty in removing it, 313.
2dly, The reason of that dehortation, 288, 318. that a man’s life consisteth not in the abundance of the things which he possesseth, 318. Because,
1. In the getting of them men are put upon the greatest toils and labours, 320. run the greatest dangers, 322. commit the greatest sins, 326. And,
2. When they are gotten, are attended with excessive cares, 328. with an insatiable desire of getting more, 331. are exposed to many temptations, 333. to the malice and envy of all about them, 335.
3. The possession of earthly riches is not able to remove those things which chiefly render men miserable, 337. such as affect his mind, 337. or his body, 338.
4. The greatest happiness this life is capable of, may be enjoyed without that abundance, 341.
For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also. P. 348.
These words concerning man’s heart’s being fixed upon his treasure or chief good, 348. may be considered,
1st, As an entire proposition in themselves, 349.
1. Supposing, that every man has something which he accounts his treasure, 350. which appears from the activity of his mind, 350. and the method of his acting, 352.
2. Declaring, that every man places his whole heart upon
that treasure, 353. by a restless endeavour to acquire it,
354. by a continual delight in it, 356. by supporting himself
2dly, As they enforce the foregoing precept in the 19th and 20th verses; wherein the things on earth and the things in heaven are represented as rivals for men’s affections, 361. and that the last ought to claim them in preference to the other will be proved,
1. By considering the world, how vastly inferior it is to the worth of man’s heart, 364.
2. By considering the world in itself, 367. how all its enjoyments are perishing, 367. and out of our power, 369. And on the contrary, heaven is the exchange God gives for man’s heart, 365. and the enjoyments above are indefectible, endless, 368. and not to be taken away, 370.
The improvement of these particulars is to convince us of the extreme vanity of most men’s pretences to religion, 371.
Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it. P. 379.
The rebellion of forty-one has had ever since a very pernicious influence upon this kingdom, 379. To hinder the mischief whereof, Solomon’s advice is best, to plant virtue in youth, in order to ensure the practice of it in a man’s mature or declining age, 383. For since every man is naturally disposed to evil, and this evil principle will (if not hindered) pass into action, and those vicious habits will, from personal, grow national; and no remedy against this can be had but by an early discipline; it is absolutely necessary that the minds of youth should be formed with a virtuous preventing education, 386. which is the business of
1. Parents, who ought to deserve that honour which their children must pay them; and to instil into their hearts early principles of their duty to God and their king, 390.
2. Schoolmasters; whose influence is more powerful than of preachers themselves, 395. and who ought to use great discretion in the management of that charge, 397.
3. The clergy; who should chiefly attend first upon catechising, 400. then confirmation, 402. and lastly, instructing them from the pulpit, not failing often to remind them of obedience and subjection to the government, 405.
Lastly, It is incumbent upon great men to suppress conventicling schools or academies, 409. and to countenance all legal free grammar-schools, 411.
And it was so, that all that saw it said, There was no such deed done nor seen from the day that the children of Israel came up out of the land of Egypt unto this day: consider of it, take advice, and speak your minds. P. 415.
These words were occasioned by a foul and detestable fact, which, for want of kingly government, happened in one of the tribes of Israel, 415. but may be applied to express the murder of king Charles the First, 418. The unparalleled strangeness of which deed will appear, if we consider,
1. The qualities, human accomplishments and personal virtues of the person murdered, 421.
2. The gradual preparations to such a murder, a factious ministry and a covenant, 426. and their rebellious catechism, 428.
3. The actors in this tragical scene, 431.
4. Their manner of procedure in it, 432. openly, 433. cruelly, 434. and with pretences of conscience, and protestations of religion, 439.
5. The fatal consequences of it, 440. such as were of a civil, 440. or a religious concern, 442.
Lastly, Hereupon we ought to take advice, 445. and consider, that our sins have been the cause of our calamities; and that the best way to avoid the same evil is to sin no more, 447.
And no marvel; for Satan himself is transformed into an angel of light. P. 450.
These words suppose that there is a Devil; and forewarn us against his deceitful disguises, 450. and the sense of the words may be prosecuted by shewing,
1st, What influence he has upon the soul, and how he conveys his fallacies, 454.
1. In moving, or sometimes altering the humours of the body, 454.
2. In suggesting the ideas of things to the imagination, 455.
3. In a personal possession of the man, 457.
2dly, Several instances, wherein he, under the mask of light, has imposed upon the Christian world, 459. making use,
1. Of the church’s abhorrence of polytheism, to bring in Arianism, 459.
2. Of the zealous adoration of Christ’s person, to introduce the superstitious worship of Popery, 461.
3. Of the shaking off of Popery, to bring in the two extremes of Socinianism, 471. and Enthusiasm, 479. with a comparison of this last with Popery, 480.
3dly, Certain principles, whereby he is like to repeat his cheats upon the world, 485.
1. By making faith and free grace undermine the necessity of a good life, 485.
2. By opposing the power of godliness irreconcilably to all forms, 487.
3. By making the kingdom of Christ oppose the kingdoms of the world, 489.
Therefore we ought not to cast the least pleasing look upon any of his insidious offers, 489. but encounter him with watchfulness and prayer, 494.
Jesus saith unto him, Thomas, because thou hast seen me, thou hast believed: blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed. P. 496.
The resurrection of a body before its total dissolution is easier to be believed than after it; and it was this last sort of resurrection, which puzzled Thomas’s reason, 496, 497. with various objections, 500. Which, after some preliminary considerations, 502. are severally proposed, and answered under eight heads, 502. together with a confutation of the lie invented by the Jews, 515. Then, all objections being removed, Christ’s resurrection is proposed to our belief upon certain and sufficient grounds, 517. viz.
1st, The constant, uniform affirmation of such persons, as had sufficient means to be informed of the truth, 520. and were of an unquestionable sincerity, 521.
2dly, The miracles which confirmed the apostle’s words, 523.
Lastly, That such tradition has greater reason for its belief, than can be suggested for its disbelief, 525.
Thence we ought to admire the commanding excellency of faith, which can force its way through the opposition of carnal reason, with an entire submission to divine revelation, 526.
Wherefore ye must needs be subject, not only for wrath, but also for conscience sake. P. 531.
In these words there is,
1st, A duty enjoined, viz. subjection, 531. which the believers of the church of Rome are commanded to pay Nero, 532.
2dly, The ground of this duty, for conscience sake, 534. In which we are to consider,
1. The absolute unlawfulness of resistance, 537. notwithstanding the doctrine of the sons both of Rome, 538. and of Geneva, 543. of the Scotch, 546. and English puritans, 548. With an account, how far human laws bind the conscience, 550.
2. The scandal which resistance casts upon Christianity, 553.
This refers to the twelve sermons next following.
The Scribe instructed, &c.
Being the time of the King’s commissioners meeting there, soon after the Restoration, for the visitation of that University.
Then said he unto them. Therefore every scribe which is instructed unto the kingdom of heaven is like unto a man that is an householder, which bringeth forth out of his treasure things new and old.
IN this chapter we have a large discourse from the great preacher of righteousness; a discourse fraught with all the commending excellencies of speech; delightful for its variety, admirable for its convincing quickness and argumentative closeness, and (which is seldom an excellency in other sermons) excellent for its length.
For that which is carried on with a continued, unflagging vigour of expression can never be thought
tedious, nor consequently long. And Christ, who
was not only the preacher, but himself also the
word, was undoubtedly furnished with a strain of
heavenly oratory far above the heights of all human
Accordingly, our Saviour having in the verse here pitched upon for my text, finished his foregoing discourse, he now closes up all with the character of a preacher, or evangelist; still addressing himself to his disciples, as to a designed seminary of preachers; or rather indeed, as to a kind of little itinerant academy, if I may so call it, of such as were to take his heavenly doctrines for the sole rule of their practice, and his excellent way of preaching for the standing pattern of their imitation; thus lying at the feet of their blessed Lord, with the humblest attention of scholars, and the lowest prostration of subjects. The very name and notion of a disciple implying, and the nature of the thing itself requiring both these qualifications.
Now the discussion of the words before us shall He in these following particulars:
1st, To shew, What is here meant by the scribe
2dly, What by being instructed unto the kingdom of heaven. And,
3dly and lastly, What by bringing out of his treasure things new and old; and how upon this account he stands compared to an householder.
And I. Concerning the word scribe. It was a name, which amongst the Jews was applied to two sorts of officers.
1. To a civil; and so it signifies a notary, or in a
large sense any one employed to draw up deeds or
writings: whether in an higher station or degree,
as we read in the
2. This name scribe signifies a church-officer, one
skilful and conversant in the law, to interpret and
explain it. For still we find the scribes reckoned
with the great doctors of the Jewish church, and
for the most part joined with the Pharisees in the
writings of the evangelists, and by St. Paul with the
disputer of this world,
2. As for the meaning of that expression, of being instructed unto the kingdom of heaven. By the kingdom of heaven is here signified to us, only the preaching of the gospel, or the condition and state of the Church under the gospel; as, Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand, that is, the gospel is shortly to be preached: now we are to take notice, that it was the way of Christ, in his preaching to the Jews, to express the offices, and things belonging to his church under the gospel, by alluding to those of the Jewish church under the law, as being known, and familiar to them. Hence he calls a minister, or preacher of the gospel, a scribe: and this from the analogy of what the scribe did in the explication of the Mosaic law, with what the gospel minister was to do, in preaching and pressing home the doctrines of Christianity upon the heart and conscience; much the harder work, God knows, of the two.
Now the word which we here render instructed,
in the Greek is μαθητευθεὶς, one who was taught,
schooled, or disciplined to the work by long exercise
and study. He was not to be inspired, or blown
into the ministry, but to come to it by mature study
and labour. He was to fetch his preparations from
3d thing proposed, which was to shew what is to
be understood by bringing out of his treasure things
new and old. By treasure is here signified that
which in Latin is called penus, a storehouse, or
repository; and the bringing out thence things new
and old was (as some are of opinion) a kind of proverb, or proverbial speech
amongst the Hebrews, expressing a man’s giving a plentiful or liberal entertainment to his friends, and such as came about
him. And accordingly, as here borrowed from the
householder, and applied to the gospel-scribe in the
text, it makes the drift and import of the whole
parable to amount to this: that as the former, if a
man of substance and sufficiency, of a large stock,
and as large a mind, will entertain his friends and
guests with plenty and variety of provision, answerable to the difference of men’s palates, as well
as to the difference of the season; not confining
them to the same standing common fare, but, as occasion requires, adding something of more cost and
This, I conceive, is the genuine and full sense of
the words we are now upon, and which I shall yet
further strengthen with this observation: “That we
shall find that Christ’s design all along the evangelists was to place the economy of the church
under the gospel, above that of the Jewish church
under the law, as more excellent in every particular.” Now it was the way of the scribes then, to
dwell wholly upon the letter of the law, and what
Moses said; shewing the construction, the coherence,
Thus, I hope, I have made out the full import of the words, and the design of our Saviour in them, which I shall now more throughly prosecute in this proposition, naturally resulting from them so explained, viz.
That the greatest advantages, both as to largeness
of natural, and exquisiteness of acquired abilities, are
not only consistent with, but required to the due
Not that I affirm, that every one, who has not such a furniture of parts and knowledge, is therefore wholly unfit or forbidden to be a preacher; for then most of us might for ever sit down and adore, but not venture upon this work. But in giving a rule for any thing or action, we must assign the utmost perfection which either of them is capable of, and to which men ought to aspire; not to which they of necessity must or can attain. We know the copy always falls short of the original, and the performance of the precept. But still the rule must be absolute, and highly perfect; otherwise, we should never look upon our improvement as our duty, or our imperfections as our defects.
In the handling of the proposition drawn forth, I shall shew,
1st, What qualifications are required as necessary to a minister of the word, from the force of the comparison between him and the scribe mentioned in the text.
2dly, I shall shew the reasons to evince and prove their necessity: and
3dly, I shall draw some inferences from the whole.
And first, concerning the qualifications required, &c.
I shall bring them under these two.
1. An ability and strength of the powers and faculties of the mind. And,
2. An habitual preparation of the same, by study, exercise, and improvement.
Which two, I conceive, contain all that both nature and art can do in this matter.
And first, for the first of these two.
1. A natural ability and strength of the powers and faculties of the mind. And what these are is apparent, viz. judgment, memory, and invention.
Now, whether these three are three distinct things both in being distinguished from one another, and likewise from the substance of the soul itself considered without any such faculties, but only receiving these several denominations from the several respects arising from the several actions exerted immediately by itself upon several objects, or several qualities of the same object; I say, whether of these two it is, is not easy to decide; and it is well, that it is not necessary. Aquinas and most with him affirm the former, and Scotus with his followers the latter. But yet to assert with him, that in a created nature essence and power are the same, seems too near and bold a step to the incommunicable simplicity of the divine; and according to the received way of arguing will pass for a great absurdity. However, not to insist further upon a point merely philosophical, but supposing (at least probably) that (according to the common opinion) the soul acts or works by powers and faculties, as well as habits, distinct from its own substance; I proceed to shew the necessity of the three forementioned faculties in the business of the ministry. And,
1st, For that great leading one, the judgment:
without which, how can any controversy in philosophy or divinity be duly managed, stated, or
determined? How can that which is ambiguous be
2dly, For memory. This may be reckoned twofold.
1. That which serves to treasure up our reading, or
observations. And 2. That which serves to suggest
to us, in our reciting or repeating of any thing,
which we had endeavoured to commit to our memory before. I distinguish them, because one may be,
and often is excellent, where the other is deficient.
But now, were this never so large, yet theology is
of that vast compass, as to employ and exhaust it.
For what volumes are thereof antiquity, church-history, and other divine learning, which well
deserve reading; and to what purpose do we read, if
we cannot remember? But then also, for the reciting or repeating part of memory, that is so necessary, Primo libro de Oratore.
Third faculty, which is invention: a faculty acting chiefly in the strength of what is offered it by
the imagination. This is so far from being admitted
by many as necessary, that it is decried by them as
utterly unlawful; such grand exemplars, I mean, as
make their own abilities the sole measure of what is
fit or unfit, lawful or unlawful; so that what they
themselves cannot reach, others, forsooth, ought not
to attempt. But I see not why divinity should suffer
for their narrowness, and be deprived of the service of
a most useful and excellent endowment of the mind,
and which gives a gloss and a shine to all the rest.
For I reckon upon this as a great truth, that there
can be no endowment in the soul of man, which God
himself is the cause and giver of, but may even in its
highest and choicest operations be sanctified and employed in the work of the ministry. And there is
also another principle, which I account altogether as
true as the former; namely, that piety engages no
man to be dull; though lately, I confess, it passed
with some for a mark of regeneration. And when I
shall see these principles disproved, I shall be ready
to grant all exercise of the fancy or invention, in the
handling things sacred, to be unlawful. As fancy,
And thus much for the first of the two qualifications of our evangelical scribe; to wit, a tolerable ability or strength of the powers and faculties of the mind; particularly of those three, judgment, memory, and invention. I proceed now to the other, and
Second qualification: which was an habitual preparation by
study, exercise, and due improvement of the same. Powers act but weakly and
irregularly, till they are heightened and perfected by their ha bits. A well
radicated habit, in a lively, vegete faculty, is like an apple of gold in a
picture of silver;
1. In respect of the generality of knowledge required to it. The truth is, if we consider that great
multitude of things to be known, and the labour and
time required to the knowledge of each particular,
it is enough to discourage and dash all attempt, and
cause a careless despair. What Hippocrates said of
the cure of the body, is much truer of the cure of
the soul, “that life is short, and art long.” And I
might add also, that the mind is weak and narrow,
and the business difficult and large. And should I
say, that preaching was the least part of a divine, it
would, I believe, be thought a bold word, and look
like a paradox, (as the world goes,) but perhaps, for
all that, never the further from being a great truth.
For is it not a greater thing to untie the knots of
many intricate and perplexing controversies; and Sir Edwyn Sandys in his
Europae Speculum.
But some perhaps will reply, What needs all this?
we are resolved to preach only, and look no further,
and for this much reading cannot be requisite, except only for the delivery of our sermons: for we
will preach our own experiences. To which I answer, that be this as it may; but yet, if these men
preach their own experiences, as they call them,
without some other sort of reading and knowledge,
both their hearers, and themselves too, will quickly
have more than sufficient experience of their confidence and ridiculous impertinence. But as there
are certain mountebanks and quacks in physic, so
there are much the same also in divinity, such as
have only two or three little experiments and popular harangues to entertain and amuse the vulgar
Second place, the like preparation as to significant
speech and expression. For as I shew, that by knowledge a man informs himself, so by expression he conveys that knowledge to others; and as bare words
convey, so the propriety and elegancy of them gives
force and facility to the conveyance. But because
this is like to have more opposers, especially such as
call a speaking coherently upon any sacred subject, a
blending of man’s wisdom with the word, an offering
of strange fire; and account the being pertinent, even
the next door to the being profane, I say, for their
sakes, I shall prove a thing clear in itself by scripture, and that not by arguments, or consequences
drawn from thence, but by downright instances occurring in it, and those so very plain, that even such
as themselves cannot be ignorant of them. For in
God’s word we have not only a body of religion, but
also a system of the best rhetoric: and as the highest things require the highest expressions, so we
shall find nothing in scripture so sublime in itself,
but it is reached, and sometimes overtopped by
the sublimity of the expression. And first, where
did majesty ever ride in more splendour, than in
those descriptions of the divine power in Job,
in the Politian.
And thus much for the first of the three general heads proposed by us for the handling these words; which was to shew the qualifications necessary for a gospel scribe instructed unto the kingdom of heaven. And these were two; first, habitual preparation, in point of learning or knowledge; and secondly, the other in point of significant speech or expression: I proceed now to the
Second general head proposed; which was, to as sign the reasons of this their necessity; and these shall be three.
1. Because the preacher works upon men’s minds
only as a moral agent, and as one who can do no
more than persuade, and not by any physical efficiency. And herein I do not say, that conversion
is caused only by moral suasion: for if we consider
the strength of our corruption, and how it has insinuated itself into the very principles of nature,
and seized upon those powers which are but very
little under the command of the intellectual part, I
think it cannot be subdued by mere suasion, which
But you will say then, If conversion be the sole,
immediate work of God, what need is thereof a
preacher? and how can he be said to be, as usually he is, God’s instrument in the work of a man’s
conversion? To which I answer, 1st, That God’s institution of preaching is a sufficient reason for it,
though we knew no other. 2dly, That when the
preacher is said to be an instrument in the conversion of a sinner, it is not meant, that he is such, by
a properly physical efficiency, but only morally, and
by persuasion. I explain my meaning thus. A
physical instrument, or such as is found in natural
efficient productions, is that, which, partaking of the
power, force, and causality of the principal agent
from thence derived to it, produces a suitable effect.
As when I cut or divide a thing, the force of my
hand is conveyed to the knife, by virtue of which,
the knife cuts or divides. And thus, I say, the
preacher cannot be the instrument of conversion, for
the reason above mentioned; because that infinite
power, which does convert, cannot be conveyed to
any finite being whatsoever. But a moral instrument is quite of another nature; and is that, as I
2. A second reason for the necessity of these preparations for the ministry shall be taken from this
consideration; that at the first promulgation of the
gospel, God was pleased to furnish the apostles and
preachers of it with abilities proper for that great
work, after a supernatural and miraculous way. For
still we find, that the scripture represents the apostles as ignorant and illiterate men, and that the
chief priests and elders of the Jews took particular
notice of them, as such, in
3. The third and last reason for the necessity of
such preparations for the ministry, shall be drawn
from the dignity of the subject of it, which is divinity. And what is divinity, but a doctrine treating
of the nature, attributes, and works of the great
And thus much for the second general head at first proposed, for the handling of the words; which was to shew, the reasons of the necessity of the preparations spoken of to the study of divinity. Of which we have assigned three.
And so we pass at length to the third and last general head proposed, which was, to shew what useful inferences may be drawn from the foregoing particulars. And the first shall be a just and severe reproof to two sorts of men.
1st, To such as disparage and detract from the grandeur of the gospel, by a puerile and indecent levity in their discourses of it to the people.
2dly, To such as depreciate, and (as much as in them lies) debase the same, by a coarse, careless, rude, and insipid way of handling the great and in valuable truths of it.
Both of them certainly objects of the most deserved reproof. And
1. For those who disparage and detract from the gospel, by a
puerile and indecent sort of levity in their discourses upon it, so extremely
below the subject discoursed of. All vain, luxuriant allegories,
rhyming cadencies of similary words, are such pitiful
embellishments of speech, as serve for nothing but
to embase divinity; and the use of them, but like
the plastering of marble, or the painting of gold,
the glory of which is to be seen, and to shine by no
other lustre but their own. What Quintilian most
discreetly says of Seneca’s handling philosophy, that
he did rerum pondera minutissimis sententiis frangere,
2. Is the contrary of it to be at all more endured
in those who cry up their mean, heavy, careless, and
insipid way of handling things sacred, as the only
spiritual and evangelical way of preaching, while
they charge all their crude incoherences, saucy familiarities with God, and nauseous tautologies, upon
the Spirit prompting such things to them, and that
as the most elevated and seraphic heights of religion.
Both these sorts, as I have said, are absolutely to be
exploded; and it is hard to judge which of them deserves it most. It is indeed no ways decent for a
grave matron to be attired in the gaudy, flaunting
dress of youth; but it is not at all uncomely for such
an one to be clothed in the richest and most costly
silk, if black or grave: for it is not the richness of
the piece, but the gaudiness of the colour, which exposes to censure. And therefore, as I shew before,
that the ὅτι’s
and the διότι’s, the Deus dixit, and the
Deus benedixit, could not be accounted wit; so neither can the whimsical cant of Terms often and much used by one J. O. a great leader and
oracle in those times.
And thus, having considered the two different, or rather contrary ways of handling the word, and most justly rejected them both, I shall now briefly give the reasons of our rejection of them; and these shall be two.
1. Because both these ways, to wit, the light and comical, and the dull and heavy, extremely expose and discredit the ordinance of preaching: and,
2. Because they no less disgrace the church itself.
1. And, first, we shall find how much both of them expose and discredit the ordinance of preaching; even that ordinance which was originally
designed for the two greatest things in the world, the
honour of God, and the conversion of souls. For if
to convert a soul, even by the word itself, and the
strongest arguments which the reason of man can
bring, (as being no more than instruments, or rather
mere conditions in the case,) if, I say, this be reckoned a work above nature, (as it really is,) then
surely to convert one by a jest would be a reach be
yond a miracle. In short, it is this unhallowed way
of preaching which turns the pulpit into a stage, and
the most sovereign remedy against sin, and preservative of the soul, into the sacrifice of fools; making
it a matter of sport to the light and vain, of pity to
the sober and devout, and of scorn and loathing to
all; and I believe never yet drew a tear or a sigh
from any judicious and well-disposed auditor, unless
perhaps for the sin and vanity of the speaker: so
sad a thing it is, when sermons shall be such, that
the most serious hearer of them shall not be able to
command or keep fixed his attention and his countenance too. For can it be imagined excusable, or
indeed tolerable, for one who owns himself for God’s
2. As the two forementioned ways of handling
the word, viz. the light and comical, and the heavy
and dull, do mightily discredit the great ordinance
of preaching, so they equally discredit the church itself. It is the unhappy fate of the clergy, above all
men, that their failures and defects never terminate
in their own persons, but still redound upon their
function; a manifest injustice certainly; where one
is the criminal, and another must be the sufferer:
but yet as bad as it is, from the practice of some
persons, to take occasion to reproach the church; so,
on the other side, to give the occasion, is undoubtedly
much worse. And therefore, whatsoever relation to,
or whatsoever interest in, or affection to the church,
such may or do pretend to, they are really greater
enemies and fouler blots to her excellent constitution,
than the most avowed opposers and maligners of it;
and consequently would have disobliged her infinitely less, had they fallen in with the schismatics
and fanatics in their bitterest invectives against her;
and that even to the renouncing her orders, (as some
And thus having finished the first of the two general inferences from the foregoing particulars, which was for the reproof of two contrary sorts of dispensers of the word, and given reasons against them both, I shall now, in the
Second place, pass to the other and concluding inference from this whole discourse; and that shall be,
to exhort and advise those who have already heard
what preparations are required to a gospel scribe instructed to the kingdom of heaven, and who withal
design themselves for the same employment, with Dr. H. W. violently thrust in canon of
Christ Church, Oxon, by the parliament visitors, in the
year 1647.
In fine, therefore, both to relieve your patience and close up this whole discourse, since Providence, by a wonder of mercy, has now opened a way for the return of our laws and our religion, it will concern us all seriously to consider, that as the work before us is the greatest and most important, both with reference to this world and the next, so likewise to remember and lay to heart, that this is the place of preparation, and now the time of it: and consequently, that the more time and care shall be taken by us to go from hence prepared for our great business, the better, no doubt, will be our work, and the larger our reward.
Now to God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost, be rendered and ascribed, as is most due, all praise, might, majesty, and dominion, both now and for evermore. Amen,
The prosperity of fools shall destroy them.
IT is a thing partly worth our wonder, partly our compassion, that what the greatest part of men are most passionately desirous of, that they are generally most unfit for: for they look upon things absolutely in themselves, without examining the suitableness of them to their own conditions; and so, at a distance, court that as an enjoyment, which upon experience they find a plague, and a great calamity. And this peculiar ill property has folly, that it widens and enlarges men’s desires, while it lessens their capacities. Like a dropsy, which still calls for drink, but not affording strength to digest it, puts an end to the drinker, but not the thirst.
As for the explication of the text, to tell you, that
in the dialect of scripture, but especially of this book
of the Proverbs, wicked men are called fools, and
wickedness folly, as on the contrary, that piety is
still graced with the name of wisdom, would be as
superfluous as to attempt the proof of a self-evident
and first principle, or to light a candle to the sun.
By fools therefore are here represented all wicked
The misery of which persons is from hence most manifest, that, when God gives them what they most love, they perish in the embraces of it, are crushed to death under heaps of gold, stifled with an over coming plenty: like a ship fetching rich commodities from a far country, but sinking by the weight of them in its return. Since therefore wicked men are so strangely out in the calculating of their own interest, and account nothing happiness, but what brings up death and destruction in the rear of it; and since prosperity is yet, in itself, a real blessing, though to them it becomes a mischief, and determines in a curse; it concerns us to look into the reason of this strange event, and to examine how it comes to pass, that the prosperity of fools destroys them.
The reasons of it, I conceive, may be these three.
I. Because every foolish or vicious person is either ignorant or regardless of the proper ends and uses, for which God designs the prosperity of those to whom he sends it.
II. Because prosperity (as the nature of man now stands) has a peculiar force and fitness to abate men’s virtues, and to heighten their corruptions. And,
III. and lastly, because it directly indisposes them to the proper means of amendment and recovery.
I. And first for the first of these. One reason why
vicious persons miscarry by prosperity, is, because
1. To try and discover what is in a man. All trial is properly inquiry, and inquiry is an endeavour after the knowledge of a thing as yet unknown; and consequently, in strictness of speech, God, who knows all things, and can be ignorant of nothing, cannot be said to try, any more than he can be said to inquire. But God, while he speaks to men, is often pleased to speak after the manner of men; and the reason of this is not only his condescension to our capacities, but because in many actions God behaves himself with some analogy and proportion to the actings of men. And therefore, because God sometimes sets those things before men, that have in them a fitness to draw forth and discover what is in their heart, as inquisitive persons do, who have a mind to pry into the thoughts and actions of their neighbour, he is upon this account said to try or to inquire, though, in truth, by so doing, God designs not to inform himself, but the person whom he tries, and to give both him and the world a view of his temper and disposition.
For the world is ignorant of men, till occasion
gives them power to turn their inside outward, and
to shew themselves. So that what is said of an
office, may be also said of prosperity, and a fortune,
that it does indicare virum, discover what the man
is, and what metal his heart is made of. We see a
slave perhaps cringe, and sneak, and humble himself; but do we therefore presently think that we see
his nature in his behaviour? No, we may find ourselves much mistaken; for nobody knows, in case
Nor is this a mystery hid only from the eyes of the world round about a man, but sometimes also even from himself; for he seldom knows his own heart so perfectly, as to be able to give a certain account of the future disposition and inclination of it, when placed under different states and conditions of life. He that has been bred poor, and grown up in a cottage, knows not how his spirits would move, and his blood rise, should he come to handle full bags, to see splendid attendances, and to eat, drink, and sleep in state. Yet no doubt, but by such great unlikely changes, as also by lower degrees of affluence and fruition, Providence designs to sift, and search, and give the world some experience of the make and bent of men’s minds.
But now the vicious person flies only upon the
bulk and matter of the gift, and considers not that
the giver has a plot and a design upon him; the
consideration of which would naturally make men
cautious and circumspect in their behaviour: for
surely it is not an ordinary degree of intemperance,
that would prompt a man to drink in temperately before those, who, he knows, gave him his freedom,
only to try whether he would use it to excess or no.
God gave Saul a rich booty upon the conquest of
Amalek, to try whether he would prefer real obedience before pretended sacrifice, and the performing
of a command before flying upon the spoil: but his
ignorance of the use to which God designed that
2. The second end and design of God in giving prosperity, and of which all wicked persons are either ignorant or regardless, is to encourage them in a constant, humble expression of their gratitude to the bounty of their Maker, who deals forth such rich and plentiful provisions to his undeserving creatures. God would have every temporal blessing raise that question in the heart; Lord, what is man, that thou visitest him? or the son of man, that thou so regardest him? He never sends the pleasures of the spring nor the plenties of harvest to surfeit, but to oblige the sons of men; and the very fruits of the earth are intended as arguments to carry their thoughts to heaven.
But the wicked and sensual part of the world are
only concerned to find scope and room enough to
wallow in; if they can but have it, whence they
have it troubles not their thoughts; saying grace is
no part of their meal; they feed and grovel like
swine under an oak, filling themselves with the mast,
but never so much as looking up, either to the boughs
that bore, or the hands that shook it down. This is
their temper and deportment in the midst of all their
enjoyments. But it is far from reaching the purposes of the great governor of the world; who makes
it not his care to gratify the brutishness and stupidity
3. The third end that God gives men prosperity for, and of which wicked persons take no notice, is to make them helpful to society. No man holds the abundance of wealth, power, and honour, that Heaven has blessed him with, as a proprietor, but as a steward, as the trustee of Providence to use and dispense it for the good of those whom he converses with. For does any one think, that the divine Providence concerns itself to lift him up to a station of power, only to insult and domineer over those who are round about him; and to shew the world how able he is to do a mischief, or a shrewd turn? No, God deposits (and he does but deposit) a power in his hand to encourage virtue, and to relieve op pressed innocence; and in a word, to act as his deputy, and as God himself would do, should he be pleased to act immediately in affairs here below.
God bids a great and rich person rise and shine, as he bids the sun; that is, not for himself, but for the necessities of the world: and none is so honourable in his own person, as he who is helpful to others. When God makes a man wealthy and potent, he passes a double obligation upon him; one, that he gives him riches; the other, that he gives him an opportunity of exercising a great virtue; for surely, if God shall be pleased to make me his almoner, and the conduit by which his goodness may descend upon my distressed neighbour, though the charity be personally mine, yet both of us have cause to thank God for it, I that I can be virtuous, and he that he is relieved.
But the wicked, worldly person looks no further than himself; his charity ends at home, where it should only begin. He thinks that Providence fills his purse and his barns only to pamper his own carcass, to invite him to take his ease and his fill, that is, to serve his base appetites with all the occasions of sin. It is not his business to do good, but only to enjoy it, and to enjoy it so, as to lessen it, by monopolizing and confining it. Whereupon being ignorant of the purpose, it is no wonder, if he also abuses the bounty of Providence, and so perverts it to his own destruction.
II. The second general reason, why the prosperity of fools proves destructive to them, is, because prosperity (as the nature of man now stands) has a peculiar force and fitness to abate men’s virtues, and to heighten their corruptions.
1. And first for its abating their virtues. Virtue, of any sort whatsoever, is a plant that grows upon no ground, but such an one as is frequently tilled and cultivated with the severest labour. But what a stranger is toil and labour to a great fortune! Persons possessed of this, judge themselves to have actually all that, for which labour can be rational. For men usually labour to be rich, great, and eminent. And these are born to all this, as to an in heritance. They are at the top of the hill already; so that while others are climbing and panting to get up, they have nothing else to do, but to lie down and sun themselves, and at their own ease be spectators of other men’s labours.
But it is poverty and hardship that has made the
most famed commanders, the fittest persons for business, the most expert statesmen, and the greatest
But would the young effeminate gallant, that never knew what it was to want his will, that every day clothes himself with the riches, and swims in the delights of the world; would he, I say, choose to rise out of his soft bed at midnight, to begin an hard and a long march, to engage in a crabbed study, or to follow some tedious perplexed business? No; he will have his servants, and the sun itself rise before him; when his breakfast is ready, he will make himself ready too; unless perhaps sometimes his hounds and his huntsmen break his sleep, and so make him early in order to his being idle.
Hence we observe so many great families to decay and moulder away through the debauchery and sottishness of the heir: the reason of which is, that the possession of an estate does not prompt men to those severe and virtuous practices, by which it was first acquired. The grandchild perhaps comes, and drinks and whores himself out of those fair lands, manors, and mansions, which his glorious ancestors had fought or studied themselves into, which they had got by preserving their country against an invasion, by facing the enemy in the field, hungry and thirsty, early and late, by preferring a brave action before a sound sleep, though nature might never so much require it.
When the success and courage of the Romans had made them masters of the wealth and pleasures of all the conquered nations round about them, we see how quickly the edge of their valour was dulled, and the rigorous honesty of their morals dissolved and melted away with those delights, which too too easily circumvent and overcome the hearts of men. So that instead of the Camilli, the Fabricii, the Scipio’s, and such like propagators of the growing greatness of the Roman empire, who lived as high things as they performed; as soon as the bulk of it grew vast and unlimited upon the reign of Augustus Caesar, we find a degenerous race of Caligula’s, Nero’s, and Vitellius’s; and of other inferior sycophants and flatterers, who neither knew nor affected any other way of making themselves considerable, but by a servile adoring of the vices and follies of great ones above them, and a base treacherous informing against virtuous and brave persons about them.
The whole business that was carried on with
such noise and eagerness in that great city, then the
empress of the western world, was nothing else but
to build magnificently, to feed luxuriously, to frequent sports and theatres, to run for the
sportula, and
in a word, to flatter and to be flattered; the effects
of a too full and unwieldy prosperity. But surely
they could not have had leisure to think upon their
sumens, their mullets, their Lucrinian oysters, their
phenicopters, and the like; they could not have
made a rendezvous of all the elements at their table
every day, in such a prodigious variety of meats and
drinks; they could not, I say, have thus intended
these things, had the Gauls been besieging their
Nor is this strange, if we consider man’s nature,
and reflect upon the great impotence and difficulty
that it finds in advancing into the ways of virtue
merely by itself, without some collateral aids and assistances; and such helps as shall smooth the way
before it, by removing all hinderances and impediments. For virtue, as it first lies in the heart of
man, is but as a little spark; which may indeed be
blown into a flame; it has that innate force in it,
that, being cherished and furthered in its course, the
least particle falling from a candle may climb the
top of palaces, waste a city, and consume a neighbourhood. But then the suitableness of the fuel,
and the wind and the air must conspire with its endeavours: this is the breath that must enliven and
fan, and bear it up, till it becomes mighty and victorious. Otherwise do we think, that that little
thing, that, falling upon a thatch, or a stack of corn,
prevails so marvellously, could exert its strength and
In like manner let us suppose a man, according to his natural frame and temper, addicted to modesty and temperance, to virtuous and sober courses. Here is indeed something improvable into a bright and a noble perfection; nature has kindled the spark, sown the seed, and we see the rude draught and first lineaments of a Joseph, a Cato, or a Fabricius. But now has this little embryo strength enough to thrust itself into the world? to hold up its head, and to maintain its course to a perfect maturity, against all the assaults and batteries of intemperance; all the snares and trepans that common life lays in its way to extinguish and suppress it? Can it abstain, in the midst of all the importunities and opportunities of sensuality, without being confirmed and disciplined by long hardships, severe abridgments, and the rules of virtue, frequently inculcated and carefully pressed? No, we shall quickly find those hopeful beginnings dashed and swallowed up by such ruining delights. Prosperity is but a bad nurse to virtue; a nurse which is like to starve it in its infancy, and to spoil it in its growth.
I come now in the next place to shew, that as it has such an aptness to lessen and abate virtue, so it has a peculiar force also to heighten and inflame men’s corruptions.
Nothing shall more effectually betray the heart
into a love of sin, and a loathing of holiness, than
an ill managed prosperity. It is like some meats,
Which will appear the better, by considering those vices, which more particularly receive improvement by prosperity.
1. And the first is pride. Who almost is there, whose heart does not swell with his bags? and whose thoughts do not follow the proportions of his condition? What difference has been seen in the same man poor and preferred? his mind, like a mushroom, has shot up in a night: his business is first to forget himself, and then his friends. When the sun shines, then the peacock displays his train.
We know when Hezekiah’s treasuries were full,
his armories replenished, and the pomp of his court
2. Another sin, that is apt to receive increase and
growth from prosperity, is luxury and uncleanness.
Sodom was a place watered like the garden of God,
As Solomon says of a man surprised with surfeit and intemperance, we may say of every foolish man immersed in prosperity, that his eyes shall look upon strange women, and his heart shall utter perverse things. It is a tempting thing for the fool to be gadding abroad in a fair day. But Dinah knows not, but the snare may be laid for her, and she return with a rape upon her honour, baffled and defloured, and robbed of the crown of her virginity. Lot’s daughters revelled and banqueted their father into incest.
The unclean devil haunts the families of the rich, the gallant, and the high livers; and there is nothing but the wisdom from above, which descends upon strict, humble, and praying persons, that can preserve the soul pure and sound in the killing neighbourhood of such a contagion.
3. A third sin that prosperity inclines the corrupt heart of man to, is great profaneness, and neglect of God in the duties of religion. Those who lie
soft and warm in a rich estate, seldom come to heat
themselves at the altar. It is a poor fervour that
arises from devotion, in comparison of that which
sparkles from the generous draughts, and the festival fare which attend the tables of the wealthy and
the great. Such men are, as they think, so happy,
that they have no leisure to be holy. They look
upon prayer as the work of the poor and the solitary,
and such as have nothing to spend but their time
And now, I suppose, a reflection upon the premises cannot but press every serious person with a consideration of the ticklish estate he stands in, while the favours of Providence are pleased to breathe upon him in these gentle gales. No man is wholly out of the danger which we have been discoursing of: for every man has so much of folly in him as he has of sin; and therefore he must know, that his foot is not so steady, but it may slip and slide in the oily paths of prosperity.
The treachery and weakness of his own heart may betray and insensibly bewitch him into the love and liking of a fawning vice. What the prophet says of wine and music may be also said of prosperity, whose intoxications are not at all less, that it steals away the heart. The man shall find that his heart is gone, though he perceives not when it goes.
And the reason of all this is, because it is natural
for the soul in time of prosperity to be more careless
and unbent; and consequently not keeping so narrow
a watch over itself, is more exposed to the invasions
and arts of its industrious enemy. Upon which account, the wise and the cautious will look upon the,
most promising season of prosperity with a doubtful
and a suspicious eye; as bewaring, lest, while it
offers a kiss to the lips, it brings a javelin for the
side; many hearts have been thus melted, that could
never have been broke. This also may be a full,
though a sad argument to allay the foolish envy,
with which some are apt to look upon men of great
and flourishing estates at a distance: for how do
they know, that what they make the object of their
And thus much for the second general reason, why the prosperity of fools proves fatal and destructive to them. I come now to the third and last, which is, because prosperity directly indisposes men to the proper means of their amendment and recovery.
1. As first, it renders them utterly averse from
receiving counsel and admonition,
But besides, prosperity does not only shut the ear against counsel, by reason of the dulness that it leaves upon the senses; but also upon the account of that arrogance and untutored haughtiness that it brings upon the mind; which of all other qualities chiefly stops the entrance of advice, by making a man look upon himself as too great and too wise to admit of the assistances of another’s wisdom. The richest man will still think himself the wisest man. And where there is fortune, there needs no advice.
2. Much prosperity utterly unfits such persons for the sharp trials of adversity: which yet God uses as the most proper and sovereign means to correct and reduce a soul grown vain and extravagant, by a long, uninterrupted felicity. But an unsanctified, unregenerate person, passing into so great an alteration of estate, is like a man in a sweat entering into a river, or throwing himself into the snow; he is presently struck to the heart; he languishes, and meets with certain death in the change. His heart is too effeminate and weak to contest with want and hardship, and the killing misery of having been happy heretofore: for in this condition he certainly misbehaves himself one of these two ways.
1. He either faints and desponds, and parts with
his hope together with his possessions. He has neither confidence in Providence, nor substance in
himself, to bear him out, and buoy up his sinking spirit,
when the storms and showers of an adverse fortune
shall descend, and beat upon him, and shake in pieces
2. Such a person, if he does not faint and sink in adversity, then on the contrary he will murmur and tumultuate, and blaspheme the God that afflicts him. A bold and a stubborn spirit naturally throws out its malignity this way. It will make a man die cursing and raving, and even breathe his last in a blasphemy. No man knows how high the corruption of some natures will work and foam, being provoked and exasperated by affliction.
Having thus shewn the reasons why prosperity becomes destructive to some persons; surely it is now but rational, in some brief directions, to shew how it may become otherwise; and that is, in one word, by altering the quality of the subject. Prosperity, I shew, was destructive to fools; and therefore, the only way for a man not to find it destructive, is for him not to be a fool; and this he may avoid by a pious observance of these following rules. As,
1. Let him seriously consider upon what weak
hinges his prosperity and felicity hangs. Perhaps
the cross falling of a little accident, the omission of
a ceremony, or the misplacing of a circumstance,
may determine all his fortunes for ever. Or perhaps his whole interest, his possessions, and his
hopes too, may live by the breath of another, who
may breathe his last to-morrow. And shall a man
forget God and eternity for that which cannot se
cure him the reversion of a day’s happiness? Can
2. Let a man consider, how little he is bettered by prosperity, as to those perfections which are chiefly valuable. All the wealth of both the Indies cannot add one cubit to the stature either of his body or his mind. It can neither better his health, advance his intellectuals, or refine his morals. We see those languish and die, who command the physic and physicians of a whole kingdom. And some are dunces in the midst of libraries, dull and sottish in the very bosom of Athens; and far from wisdom, though they lord it over the wise.
For does he, who was once both poor and ignorant, find his notions or his manners any thing improved, because perhaps his friend or father died,
and left him rich? Did his ignorance expire with
the other’s life? Or does he understand one proposition in philosophy, one mystery in his profession
at all the more for his keeping a bailiff or a steward?
great and as good a landlord as he is, may he
3dly and lastly, Let a man correct the gayeties and wanderings of his spirit, by the severe duties of mortification. Let him, as David says, mingle his drink with weeping, and dash his wine with such water. Let him effect that upon himself by fasting and abstinence, which God would bring others to by penury and want. And by so doing, he shall disenslave and redeem his soul from a captivity to the things he enjoys, and so make himself lord, as well as possessor of what he has. For repentance supplies the disciplines of adversity; and abstinence makes affliction needless, by really compassing the design of it upon the nobler accounts of choice: the scarceness of some meals will sanctify the plenty of others. And they are the quadragesimal fasts which fit both body and soul for the festivals of Easter.
The wisest persons in the world have often abridged themselves in the midst of their greatest affluence; and given bounds to their appetites, while they felt none in their fortunes. And that prince who wore sackcloth under his purple, wore the livery of virtue, as well as the badge of sovereignty; and was resolved to be good, in spite of all his greatness.
Many other considerations may be added, and these farther
improved. But to sum up all in short; since folly is so bound up in the heart of
man, and since the fool in his best, that is, in his most prosperous
To whom therefore be rendered and ascribed, as is most due, all praise, might, majesty, and dominion, both now and for evermore. Amen.
Shamelessness in sin, the certain forerunner of destruction:
Be sure your sin will find you out.
OF all the ways to be taken for the prevention of that great plague of mankind, sin, there is none so rational and efficacious, as to confute and baffle those motives, by which men are induced to venture upon it; and amongst all such motives, the heart of man seems chiefly to be overpowered and prevailed upon by two; to wit, secrecy in committing sin, and impunity consequent upon it.
Accordingly, Moses, in this chapter, having to deal with a company of men suspected guilty of a base and fraudulent design, though couched under a very fair pretence, (as most such designs use to be;) he endeavours to dash it in its very conception, by particularly applying himself to encounter those secret ratiocinations and arguments, which he knew were the most likely to encourage them in it; and this he does very briefly, but effectually, by assuring them, that how covertly and artificially soever they might carry on their dark project, yet their sin should infallibly find them out.
The subject and occasion of the words is indeed
particular, but the design of them is manifestly of
First, I shall shew, that men generally, if not always, proceed to the commission of sin, upon a secret confidence of concealment or impunity.
Secondly, I shall shew the grounds and reasons upon which men take up such a confidence. And
Thirdly and lastly, I shall shew the vanity of this confidence, by declaring those several ways, by which, in the issue, it comes certainly to be defeated.
Of each of which in their order.
First. And first for the first of them; to wit, that men generally, if not always, proceed to the commission of sin, upon a secret confidence of concealment or impunity.
For the better handling of which proposition, I shall lay down these two assertions.
1. That no man is induced to sin, considered in
itself, as a thing absolutely or merely evil, but as it
bears some resemblance or appearance of good, in
the apprehensions of him who commits it. Certain
it is, that there can be no real good in sin; but if it
had no shadow, no shew of good, it could not possibly be made the object of an human choice; the
will of man never choosing or embracing any thing
under the proper notion of evil. But then, as to
the kind of this good; if we would know what that
is, it is also as certain, that no man can be so far
deluded, or rather besotted in his judgment, as to
2. The other assertion to be laid down is, that
God has annexed two great evils to every sin, in
opposition to the pleasure and profit of it; to wit,
shame and pain. He has by an eternal and most
righteous decree, made these two the inseparable
effects and consequents of sin. They are the wages
assigned it by the laws of Heaven; so that whosoever commits it, ought to account shame and
punishment to belong to him, as his rightful inheritance. For it is God who has
joined them together by an irreversible sentence; and it is not in the power or
art of man to put them asunder. And now, as God has made these two evils the
sure consequents of sin, so there is nothing which the nature of man does so
peculiarly dread and abhor as these; they being indeed the most directly and
absolutely destructive of all its enjoyments; forasmuch as they reach and
confound it in the adequate subject
And now, if we put these two assertions, laid down by us, together; as first, That no man ever engages in sin, but as he apprehends in it some thing of pleasure or advantage; and secondly, That shame and pain are by God himself made the assured consequents of sin; which are utterly inconsistent with and destructive of all such pleasure or advantage: it must needs follow from hence, that the will cannot possibly choose sin, so long as the understanding is under a full conviction or persuasion, that shame and punishment shall certainly follow the commission of it. For no man, doubtless, is so furiously bent upon his lust, or any other infamous passion, as to attempt the satisfaction of it in the marketplace, or in the face of the sun and of the world, or with the sword of the avenger applied to his heart.
Covetousness, we all know, is a blinding, as well
as a pressing and a bold vice; yet certainly it could
never blind nor infatuate any one to that degree,
as to make a judge take a bribe upon the bench, or
in the open sight of the court. No; no man is so
far able to conquer and cast off those innate fears,
which nature has thought fit to bridle and govern
the fury of his affections by, as to bid defiance to an
evil which his best and strongest reasonings assure
Secondly, We shall now, under our next head, endeavour to give some account of those fallacious grounds, upon which the sinner is apt to take up such a confidence, as to believe that he shall be able to carry off his sin clear, without either discovery or retribution. And, no doubt, weak and shallow enough we shall find them all; and such as could never persuade any man to sin, did not his own love to sin persuade him much more forcibly than all such considerations; some of which are these that follow. As,
1. First, men consider the success which they have actually had in the commission of many sins; and this proves an encouraging argument to them to commit the same for the future; as naturally suggesting this to their thoughts, that what they have done so often, without either discovery or punishment, may be so done by them again. For nothing does so much confirm a man in the continuance of any practice, as frequent experience of success in what he does; the proper genuine result of this being confidence.
Some men indeed stumble in their very first entrance upon a sinful course; and this their disappointment frequently proves their cure, by making
them to retreat and draw off timely, as being disheartened with so unfortunate a beginning. And
it is, no doubt, the singular mercy and indulgence
of God to such, thus to cross and turn them out of
the paths of destruction; which had they found
smooth, safe, and pleasurable, the corruption of their
hearts would have infallibly engaged them in them
to their lives end. That traveller, surely, has but
little cause to complain, who by breaking a leg or
Such an one the Devil accounts he has fast
enough; and for that cause, none shall so studiously
And while the sinner can do so, such is the proneness of man by nature to deceive himself in a thing
which he passionately desires, that having thus acquitted himself to himself, he takes it for granted,
that God will acquit him too; and like our late
sanctified, and since justified rebels, concludes, that
God and he, forsooth, are still of a mind: in
2. A second ground upon which men are apt to
persuade themselves, that they shall escape the
stroke of divine justice for their sins, is their observation of the great and flourishing condition of some
of the topping sinners of the world. They have
seen perjury and murder nestle themselves into a
throne, live triumphant, and die peaceably; and this
For could we hear the secret language of most
men’s thoughts, we should hear them making such
kind of answers and replies to the checks of conscience dissuading them from sin, and laying the
danger of it before them, as these: Pray, what mischief befell such an oppressor, such a tyrant, or such
a rebel? And who passed his life with more affluence and jollity, than such an epicure, such a money-monger, such a tally-broker, and cheater of the
public? And have not some dexterous accomptants
got estates, and made their fortunes, by a clever
stroke or two of their pen? and by a skilful mistake, wrote themselves forty or fifty thousand pounds
richer than they were before, in a trice? And did
not that discreet Roman, Verres, lighting into a
wealthy province, plunder and carry off from thence
enough to serve himself, his friends, and his judges
too? And why may not others, whose parts lie the
same way, follow such lucky examples? and the
thriving hypocrites of the present age find as fair
quarter from God and man, as any of the former?
With such considerations as these, (if they may be
called so,) men commonly arm themselves against all
the threatenings of the divine judgments; and think
Flourishing sinners are indeed plausible arguments to induce men to sin: but, thanks be to God, that for a sinner to spend and end his days flourishing, is a privilege allowed by him to very few; and those only such, as are likely to be much lower in the other world, than ever they were high in this. But,
3. As we have shewn how mightily men are
heartened on to their sins by the successful examples of others, as bad as themselves, or perhaps
worse; so the next ground, upon which such are
wont to promise themselves security, both from the
discovery and punishment of their sins, is the opinion
which they have of their own singular art and cunning to conceal them from the knowledge, or, at
least; of their power to rescue them from the jurisdiction of any earthly judge. The eye of man, they
know, is but of a weak sight and a short reach; so
that he neither sees in the dark, nor pierces into the
cabinet-council and corner-practices of his neighbours; and therefore these sons of darkness, who
love to work as well as walk in the dark, doubt not,
but to contrive and cast the commission of their villainies under such sure coverts of secrecy, that they
shall be able to laugh at all judges and witnesses,
and defy the inspection of the most curious and exact inquirers. And this makes them proceed to sin
with such bravadoes in their hearts as these: Who
shall ever see, or hear, or know what I do? The sun
itself, the eye of the world, shall never be conscious
to my actions; even the light and the day shall be
But now, what if such strange things as these
should sometimes come to pass? And it should so
fall out, (as it will appear by and by,) that even these
dumb, inanimate things are sometimes unaccountably enabled to clamour and depose against the
guilty wretch; so that, to the amazement of the
world, he is drawn forth into public view, out of all
his lurking holes and pavilions of darkness? Why
then, upon such surprising accidents as these, some
have yet a further asylum to fly to, and reckon that
their power and interest shall protect them; and so
secure the sinner, notwithstanding the discovery of
the sin. And the truth is, if matters stand so with
them, that the height of their condition equals the height of their crimes, what care such ungodly great
ones, whether or no their sins are known, so long as
their persons must not be touched? No, so far are
such from excusing or covering their lawless practices, that they choose rather to own and wear them
in the eye of the world, as badges of their power,
and marks of such a greatness, as has set itself above the reach of either shame or fear: even treason itself
dreads not a discovery, if the overgrown traitor be
but mighty enough to bear it out; but it shall walk
abroad openly, and look the world in the face undauntedly, with all the consciousness of a clamourous guilt, and yet with the confidence of innocence
itself. For we must know, that it is not mere guilt,
4. The fourth and last ground (which I shall mention) of men’s promising themselves security from
the punishment of their sins, is a strong presumption, that they shall be able to repent, and make
their peace with God when they please; and this,
they fully reckon, will keep them safe, and effectually shut the door against their utmost fears, as
being a reach beyond them all. For let a man be
never so deeply possessed with a belief of God’s sin-revenging justice, never so much persuaded, that all
the wrath which the curse of the law can threaten
or inflict, is most certainly entailed, not upon sin
only in general, but also upon his own sin in particular; nay, let damnation be
always present to his thoughts, and the fire of hell continually flaming in his
apprehensions; yet all this shall not be able to take him off from his
resolution to sin, and his confidence of escape, because he has an argument in
reserve, which he thinks will answer all, to wit, an after-repentance. For if
this shall interpose between
And as he thus reckons that repentance will se cure him, so he doubts not but he can command that when he will; as, according to the doctrine of Pelagius, and his modern admired followers, he certainly may; repentance, in their divinity, being a work entirely in the power of the sinner’s will. So that now the sinner’s main business must be to time his repentance artificially, and to retreat opportunely, before the hand of vengeance be actually upon him: and if he can but prevent, and be too nimble for that; why then, he comes off clear and successful, with flying colours, having enjoyed the pleasures and advantages of his sin, without enduring any thing of the smart or sad consequences of the same.
But now, how wretched an inference this is, for
any man to form to himself, and thereby to mock
and defy Heaven! and yet how deep it lies in the
hearts of most sinners, may easily be observed by
men of sense; and will be sadly rued by such as are
not so, when it is too late. For this is manifestly
the great fort and castle, the citadel and strong
tower, which the soul has built to itself, to repair to,
whensoever it has a mind to sin both with delight
and security too. And were it not for this, it would
be impossible for any considering man to satisfy himself in his continuance in any known sin for one moment. For he could not, with any consistence with
And thus having shewn some of those fallacious grounds, upon which men use to build their confidence of the concealment, or at least of the impunity of their sins, I proceed now to the
Third and last general head, at first proposed by us: which was, to shew the vanity of such a confidence, by declaring those several ways, by which, in the issue, it comes certainly to be defeated; and that both with reference to this world and the next.
And first for this world; there are various ways by which it comes to be disappointed here: as,
1. The very confidence itself of secrecy is a direct and natural cause of the sinner’s discovery.
For confidence in such cases causes a frequent repetition of the same action; and if a man does a thing
frequently, it is odds, but some time or other he is
discovered: for by this he subjects himself to so
many more accidents, every one of which may possibly betray him. He who has escaped in many
battles, has yet been killed in the issue; and by
Add to this, that confidence makes a man venturous, and venturousness casts him into the high road of danger, and the very arms of destruction. For while a man ventures, he properly shuts the eyes of his reason. And he who shuts his own eyes, lies so much the more open to those of other men.
2. There is sometimes a strange, providential concurrence of unusual, unlikely accidents, for the discovery of great sins; a villainy committed perhaps but once in an age, comes sometimes to be found out also by such an accident, as scarce happens above once in an age. For there are some sins more immediately invading the great interests of society, government, and religion; which Providence sets itself in a more peculiar manner to detect and bring to light, in spite of all the coverings which art or power can cast over them: such as are murder, perjury, and sacrilege, (all of them accounted sins of the foulest guilt before forty-one, but marks of regeneration with many ever since:) and more particularly for murder; in what a strange, stupendous manner does Providence oftentimes trace it out, though concealed with all the closeness which guilt and skill, and the legerdemain of a well packed and paid jury can secure it by!
Such small, such contemptible, and almost unobservable hints have sometimes unravelled and thrown open the mysterious contexture of the deepest laid villainies, and delivered the murderer into the hands of justice, by means which seemed almost as much above nature, as the sin committed was against it.
And the like instances might be given in many
For let a criminal seem never so safe in his own
thoughts, and in the thoughts of all about him, yet
still he must know, that the justice of God has him
in chace, and will one day shew, that it never hunts
surer, than when the politicians of the world think
it upon a cold scent. For how many strange, intricate, and perplexed villainies have been ript up, and
spread far and near, which the subtle actors of them,
both before, and in, and after the commission, fully
believed could not possibly be discovered? Whereas,
on the contrary, it is most certain, that no man,
though never so crafty and sagacious, can propose
And therefore the psalmist, most appositely to
our present purpose, observes,
For whosoever flatters himself, cheats and be trays himself by false reasonings; and by not dealing clearly and impartially with himself, but grounding his presumption of secrecy upon arguments represented to him much firmer and stronger, than his own experience, severely judging, would allow them to be. For, if such an one finds an accident highly improbable, he will presently screw it up, from thence, to impossible, and then conclude, that in so vast a number of contingencies, one of a million shall never hit his case. And very probably it may not. But what if it should? why then, one such unlucky event will fully pay the reckoning for all former escapes; and one treason or felony discovered, will as certainly bring his neck to the block or the halter, as a thousand, were they all of them crowded together into one and the same indictment against him.
3. God sometimes makes one sin the means of
discovering another: it often falling out with two
vices, as with two thieves or rogues; of whom it is
hard to say which is worse, and yet one of them
may serve well enough to betray and find out the
other. How many have by their drunkenness disclosed their thefts, their lusts, and murders, which
And how does the confident sinner know, but the grace of God, which he has so often affronted and abused, may some time or other desert, and give him up to the sordid temptations of the jug and the bottle, which shall make the doors of his heart fly open, and cause his own tongue to give in evidence against him, for all the villainies which had lain so long heaped up and concealed in his guilty breast? For let no man think that he has the secrets of his own mind in his own power, while he has not himself so; as it is most certain that he has not who is actually under a debauch: for this confounds, and turns all the faculties of the soul topsy-turvy; like a storm tossing and troubling the sea, till it makes all the foul, black stuff, which lay at the bottom, to swim, and roll upon the top.
In like manner, the drunken man’s heart floats upon his lips,
and his inmost thoughts proclaim and write themselves upon his forehead; and
therefore, as it is an usual, and indeed a very rational saying, that a liar
ought to have a good memory; so upon the like account, a person of great guilt
ought to be also a person of great sobriety; lest otherwise his very soul
should, some time or other, chance to be poured out with his liquor: for
commonly
4. God sometimes infatuates, and strikes the sinner with phrensy, and such a distraction, as causes
him to reveal all his hidden baseness, and to blab
out such truths, as will be sure to be revenged upon
him who speaks them. In a word, God blasts and
takes away his understanding, for having used it so
much to the dishonour of him who gave it; and delivers him over to a sort of
madness, too black and criminal to be allowed any refuge in bedlam. And for
this, there have been several fearful instances of such wretched contemners of
Heaven, as having, for many years, outfaced all the world, both about them and
above them too, with a solemn look and a demure countenance, have yet, at
length, had their loathsome inside turned outwards, and been made an abhorred
spectacle to men and angels. For it is but just with God, when men have debauched their consciences, to bereave them of their
senses also; and to disturb and disarm their reason,
so as to disable it from standing upon its guard,
even by that last and lowest sort of self-defence,
the keeping of its own counsel; for no chains will
hold a madman’s tongue, no fetters can restrain the
ramble of his discourse, nor bind any one faculty of
his soul or body to its good behaviour: but all that
is within him is promiscuously thrown out; and his
credit, with all that is dear to him, is at the mercy
of this unruly member, as St. James calls it, which,
in the present case, has no mercy upon him whom
it belongs to; nor any thing to govern it, but a
5. God sometimes lets loose the sinner’s conscience upon him, filling it with such horror for sin, as renders it utterly unable to bear the burden it labours under, without publishing, or rather proclaiming it to the world.
For some sorts of sin there are, which will lie burning and boiling in the sinner’s breast, like a kind of Vesuvius, or fire pent up in the bowels of the earth; which yet must, and will, in spite of all obstacles, force its way out of it at length; and thus, in some cases of sin, the anguish of the mind grows so exceeding fierce and intolerable, that it finds no rest within itself, but is even ready to burst, till it is delivered of the swelling secret it labours with: such kind of guilt being to the conscience, like some offensive meats to the stomach, which no sooner takes them in, but it is in pain and travail, till it throws them out again.
Who knows the force, the power, and the remorseless rage of conscience, when God commissions
it to call the sinner to an account? how strangely
it will sift and winnow all his retirements? how
terribly it will wring and torture him, till it has
bolted out the hidden guilt which it was in search
of? All which is so mighty an argument of the prerogative of God over men’s hearts, that no malefactor can be accounted free, though in his own keeping,
nor any one concealed, though never so much out of
sight; for still God has his sergeant or officer in
the sinner’s breast; who will be sure to attack him,
as soon as ever the great Judge shall but give the
And this also shews the great importance and wisdom of that advice of Pythagoras, namely, that every man, when he is about to do a wicked action, should, above all things in the world, stand in awe of himself, and dread the witness within him: who sits there as a spy over all his actions; and will be sure, one day or other, to accuse him to himself, and perhaps put him upon such a rack, as shall make him accuse himself to others too.
For this is no new thing, but an old experimented case; there having been several in the world, whose conscience has been so much too hard for them, that it has compelled them to disclose a villainous fact, even with the gibbet and the halter set before their eyes; and to confess their guilt, though they saw certain and immediate death the reward of that confession.
But most commonly has conscience this dismal effect upon great sinners, at their departure out of this world; at which time some feel themselves so horribly stung with the guilty sense of some frightful sin, that they cannot die with any tolerable peace till they have revealed it; finding it some small relief, it seems, and easement of their load, to leave the knowledge of their sin behind them, though they carry the guilt of it along with them.
6. And lastly, God sometimes takes the work of
vengeance upon himself, and immediately, with his
Justice, we know, uses to be pictured blind, and therefore it finds out the sinner, not with its eyes, but with its hands; not by seeing, but by striking: and it is the honour of the great attribute of God’s justice, which he thinks so much concerned, to give some pledge or specimen of itself upon bold sinners in this world; and so to assure them of a full payment hereafter, by paying them something in the way of earnest here.
And the truth is, many and marvellous have been
the instances of God’s dealing in this manner, both
with cities and whole nations. For when a guilt
has spread itself so far as to become national, and
grown to such a bulk as to be too big for all control
of law, so that there seems to be a dispute whether
God or sin governs the world; surely it is then high
time for God to do his own work with his own hand,
and to assert his prerogative against the impudent
defiers of it, by something every whit as signal and
national as the provocation given; whether it be by
war, plague, or fire, (all which we have been visited
with, though neither corrected nor changed by;) and
to let the common nuisances of the age, the professed enemies of virtue and religion, and the very
And thus I have gone over several of those ways by which a man’s sin overtakes and finds him out in this world. As, first, the very confidence itself of secrecy is a direct and natural cause of the sinner’s discovery. Secondly, there is sometimes a strange, providential concurrence of unusual, unlikely accidents, for the bringing to light great villainies. Thirdly, God sometimes makes one great sin a means to detect and lay open another. Fourthly, God sometimes infatuates and strikes the sinner with phrensy, and such a distraction, as makes him reveal all his hidden guilt. Fifthly, God sometimes lets loose the sinner’s conscience upon him, so that he can find no rest within himself, till he has confessed and declared his sin. Sixthly and lastly, God sometimes smites and confounds him by some notable, immediate judgment from heaven.
These, I say, are some of the chief ways by which
God finds out the sinner in this life. But what now,
if none of all these should reach his case, but that
he carries his crimes all his life closely, and ends
that quietly, and, perhaps, in the eye of the world,
honourably too; and so has the good luck to have
his shame cast into and covered under the same
ground with his carcass? Why yet, for all this, the
man has not escaped; but his guilt still haunts and
follows him into the other world, where there can be
no longer a concealment of it, but it must inevitably
find him out: for, as it is in
For could he persuade the mountains to cover him, or could he hide himself in the bosom of the great deep, or could he wrap himself in the very darkness of hell; yet still his sin would fetch him out of all, and present him naked, open, and defenceless before that fiery tribunal, where he must receive the sentence of everlasting confusion, and where the Devil himself will be sure to do him justice, as never failing to be a most liberal rewarder of all his pimps and vassals, for the secret service done him in this world.
And now, what is the whole foregoing discourse,
but a kind of panegyric (such a mean one as it is)
upon that glorious thing innocence? I say innocence, which makes that man’s face shine in public,
whose actions and behaviour it governs in private.
For the innocent person lives not under the continual torment of doubts and fears, lest he should be
discovered; for the light is his friend, and to be seen
and looked upon is his advantage: the most retired
How poor a thing secrecy is to corrupt a rational man’s behaviour, has been sufficiently declared already, by the survey which we have taken of those several ways whereby the most wise and just Governor of the world is pleased to defeat and befool the confidence of the subtilest and the slyest sinners. We have seen also what paper walls such persons are apt to inclose themselves with; and how slight, thin, and transparent all their finest contrivances of secrecy are; while, notwithstanding all the private recesses and dark closets, which they so much trust in, the windows of heaven are still open over their heads: and now, what should the consideration of all this do, but every minute of our lives remind us so to behave ourselves as under the eye of that God, who sees in secret, and will reward us openly?
To whom be rendered and ascribed, as is most due, all praise, might, majesty, and dominion, both now and for evermore. Amen.
The recompence of the reward:
By faith Moses, when he was come to years, refused to be called the son of Pharaoh’s daughter; choosing rather to suffer affliction with the people of God, than to enjoy the pleasures of sin for a season; esteeming the reproach of Christ greater riches than the treasures in Egypt: for he had respect unto the recompence of the reward.
THIS chapter exhibits to us a noble and victorious
army of saints, together with an account of those
heroic actions and exploits, which they were renowned for in their several ages; and have been
since transmitted such to posterity: as, that they
subdued kingdoms, wrought wonders, stopped the
mouths of lions, quenched the violence of fire; and,
in a word, triumphed over the cruellest and bitterest
persecutions. And the great spring or principle,
which (in spite of all their enemy’s power and their
own weakness) bore them up to these high achievements, is not obscurely intimated in the person of
Moses, to have been a respect to the recommence of
A due consideration of which ground and motive of action, in so great a person and so authentic an example of sanctity as Moses was, may justly make us wonder at that strange proposition, or rather paradox, which has, for so long a time, passed current with too many, namely, that a Christian, in all acts of duty, ought to sequester his mind from all respect to an ensuing reward, and to commence his obedience wholly and entirely upon the love of duty itself, abstracted from all regard to any following advantages whatsoever: and that to do otherwise is to act as a slave, and not as a son; a temper of mind which will certainly embase and discommend all our services to the acceptance of Almighty God.
This is a glorious speech, I confess, and to the
angels, to the cherubims and seraphims, perhaps
practicable; whose natures being so different from
and so much superior to ours, may (for ought we
know) have as different and superior a way of acting
too. But then we are to consider, that even that
known and so much celebrated aphorism, which this
assertion is manifestly founded upon, to wit, that
virtue is its own reward, will, upon examination,
be found true only in a limited sense; that is to say,
in respect of a sufficiency of worth in it to deserve
our choice, but not in respect of a sufficiency of
power actually to engage our choice. For such a
sufficiency it has not; and consequently, if taken in
this sense, and applied to men in their natural estate,
though under any height or elevation of piety whatsoever, it is so far from being the true and refined
I. That the gospel, or doctrine of Christianity, does not change, and much less destroy or supersede the natural way of the soul’s acting.
II. That it is natural for the soul, in the way of inclination and appetite, to be moved only by such objects as are in themselves desirable.
III. That as it is natural for the soul to be thus moved only by things desirable, so it is equally natural to it to be moved by them only in that degree and proportion in which they are desirable: and consequently, in the
Fourth and last place, that whatsoever is proposed as a motive or inducement to any action, ought for that reason to be in an higher degree desirable, and to have in it a greater fitness to move and affect the will, than the action itself, which it is proposed as a motive to.
For otherwise it would be superfluous, and indeed no additional motive to it at all; forasmuch as the bare action, so considered, would be as strong an argument to a man to perform it, as such a motive (being but in the same degree desirable) could be to induce him to it.
Now these four propositions fully weighed and
put together, will amount to a clear proof of that
which I first intended to prove. For to be moved
But to bring things into a narrower compass, and so both to prosecute the subject more fully, and to represent it more clearly, I shall reduce what I have to say upon it into these two propositions.
I. That in the actions of duty, considered barely as duty, or as morally good, and fit to be done, there is not a sufficient motive to engage the will of man in a constant practice of them.
II. That the proposal of a reward on God’s part, and a respect had to it on man’s, are certainly necessary to engage men in such a course of duty and obedience.
This proposition naturally and unavoidably issues from the former; and accordingly we shall consider both of them in their order.
And first for the first of them, to wit, that duty, considered barely as duty, does not carry in it a sufficient motive to engage the will of man in the constant practice of it. And this I shall endeavour to make out by these following reasons: as, 1st, If in the soul of man its averseness to duty be much greater and stronger than its inclination to it, then duty, considered barely in itself, is not sufficient to determine the will of man to the constant performance of it; which, in my judgment, is an argument so forcible and clear, that one of greater force and clearness cannot well be desired. For unless hatred must pass for courtship, and hostility for allurement, certainly that from which the will is so averse cannot be a proper means to win upon it, or to get into its embraces. No; sooner may the fire be attracted by the centre of the earth, or the vine clasp about the bramble, than any faculty of the soul have its inclinations drawn forth by a contrary and distasteful object.
And then for the ground of this argument, to wit,
that the soul has originally such an averseness to
duty; this, I suppose, is but too evident to need any
further probation. For that horrid proneness of man’s
will to all vice, that inundation of lewdness, which
with such an unresisted facility, or rather such an uncontrolled predominance, has spread itself over the
whole world, is a sad, but full eviction of this fatal
truth. For what mean all those hard restraints and
shackles put upon us in our minority? What are those
And upon this account alone it is, that virtue
carries so high a price in the world, and that it at
tracts such a mighty esteem and value, both to itself
and to him who has it, and that even from those
who have it not. For if to lie abed, to fare deliciously, and to flow with all sorts of delight and
plenty, were to be virtuous, there could be no more
commendation due to a virtuous person, than to one
who had pleased his palate, fed lustily, and slept
well. But nothing easy ever did or will draw after
it either applause or admiration. No, these are things
which wait only upon the painful, the active, and
laborious; upon those who both do and undergo such
But now, if this be the natural complexion of virtue and duty, by such terrifying severities to raise in the soul a kind of horror of it and aversion to it, let this be the first reason, why duty, considered barely in itself, and abstracted from all reward, is not sufficient to engage men in the practice of it. Next to which,
2. The second reason, for the proof of the same
truth, is this, that those affections and appetites of
the soul, which have the strongest influence upon it,
to incline and bias it in all its choices, to wit, the ap
petites belonging properly to the sensitive part of
man’s nature, are not at all moved or gratified by
any thing in duty, considered barely as duty, and
therefore, as so considered, it is not a sufficient
motive to induce men to the practice of it. Now this
reason also, I conceive, carries its own evidence
with it. For the soul of man (as the present state of
nature is) generally moves as those forementioned
appetites and affections shall incline it; and therefore, if that which thus inclines it be not, some way
I shah 1 not here insist upon the division of the appetites of the soul into the rational and sensitive, the superior and inferior, and much less shall I trace them into any further subdivisions: but shall only observe, that there is one general, comprehensive ap petite, or rather ratio appetendi, common to all the particular appetites, and into which the several operations of each of them are resolved, and that is, the great appetite of jucundum, or tendency of the whole soul to that which pleases. For whether they be properly the desires of the rational part, or the desires and inclinations of the sensitive, they aU concur and meet in this, that they tend to and terminate in something that may please and delight them.
But now I have already shewn, that bare duty and virtue are rather attended with difficulty and hard ship, than seasoned and set off with pleasure; and for that cause are commonly looked upon but as dry things; and consequently such as need to have some thing of relish put into them by the assignation of a pleasing reward; which may so recommend and gild the bitter pill, as to reconcile it to this great ap petite, and thereby convey and slide it into the will, as a proper object of its choice.
Nay, and I shall proceed further, and add, that
duty, upon these grounds, is then most effectually
proposed, when it is not only seconded with a reward, but also with a reward sensibly represented;
and (so far as the nature of the thing will bear) with
all the conditions of allurement and delight; that so
And upon the same ground we may observe also,
that those virtues are the most generally and easily
So then, if this be the case, that the soul of man, in all its choices, is naturally apt to be determined by pleasure, and the sensitive, inferior appetites (which would draw it off from duty) are continually plying it with such suitable and taking pleasures; doubtless, there is no way for duty to prevail and get ground of them, but by bidding higher, and offering the soul greater gratifications wrapped up in a eternal reward. For when an adversary is ready to bribe the judge, and the judge is as ready to be bribed, assuredly there is no way so likely to carry the cause, as to outbribe him. The sensitive part or principle in all the pressing, enticing offers it makes to the soul, must either be gained and taken off from alluring, or be conquered and outdone in it. The former of which can never be effected; but the latter may, and that by no other means, than by representing duty as clothed with such great and taking rewards, that the soul shall stand convinced, that there will be really a greater and more satisfactory pleasure in the consequents of duty, (how hard soever it may appear at present,) than there can be in the freest and most unlimited fruition of the greatest sensual delights.
But now, should we proceed upon the contrary
principle, requiring obedience without recompence,
3. The third and last reason that I shall allege
for the same is this; that if duty, considered barely
in itself, ought to be the sole motive to duty, with
out any respect to a subsequent reward, then those
two grand affections of hope and fear ought to have
no influence upon men, so as to move or engage
them to the acts of duty at all. The consequence is
most clear; because the proper objects, upon which
these affections are to be employed, are future rewards and future punishments; and therefore, if no
regard ought to be had of these in matters of duty,
But now, should any one venture to own such an odd and absurd paradox, in any of those sober, rational parts of Christendom, which have not depraved their judging and discerning faculties with those strange, new-found, ecstatic notions of religion, which some (who call themselves Christians, and Christians of the highest form too) have, in the late super-reforming age, taken up amongst us; how unnatural, or rather indeed how romantic, would such divinity appear! For all the world acknowledges, that hope and fear are the two great handles, by which the will of man is to be taken hold of, when we would either draw it to duty or draw it off from sin. They are the strongest and most efficacious means to bring such things home to the will, as are principally apt to move and work upon it. And the greatest, the noblest, and most renowned actions, that were ever achieved upon the face of the earth, have first moved upon the spring of a projecting hope, carrying the mind above all present discouragements, by the prospect of some glorious and future good.
And therefore he, who, to bring men to do their
duty heartily and vigorously, and to the best advantages of Christianity, shall cut off all rewards from
it, and so remove the proper materials which hope
should exert itself upon, does just as if a man should
direct another to shoot right and true, by forbidding
Let us, therefore, here once again observe the
course taken by our Saviour himself, when he would
raise men up to something singular and extraordinary, and above the common pitch of duty: as in
And again, when our Saviour preached to the
world the grand evangelical duty of taking up the
cross, we do not find that he made the mere burden
of bearing it any argument for the taking it up; no,
certainly, such arguments might have pressed hard
upon their shoulders, but very little upon their reason. And therefore, in
But, above all, the example of the great author
and finisher of our faith himself will put the point
here before us past all dispute. For are not his enduring the cross and despising the shame (and
this latter as terrible a crucifixion to the mind as
the other could be to the body) both of them resolved into the joy that was set before him?
It has been observed, and that with great wit and reason, that in all encounters of dangerous and dreadful issue, it is still the eye which is first overcome; and being so, presently spreads a terror throughout the whole man: accordingly, on the contrary, where the eye is emboldened with the encouraging view of some vast enjoyment pressing close upon the heels of a present suffering, it diffuses such a noble bravery and courage into all the faculties, both of soul and body, as makes them overlook all dangers; and, by overlooking, conquer and get above them. In a word, let us so eye the great captain of our salvation, as to rest assured of this, that wheresoever he went before, it is both our privilege and our safety to follow; and that his example alone is enough both to justify and to glorify the imitation.
But to proceed. As we have shewn how our Saviour has sometimes thought fit to draw men to their
duty by their hopes, so let us see, in the next place,
how he sometimes also drives them to it by their
fears: Fear not those, says he, who can but kill
the body, but fear him who is able to destroy both
soul and body in hell,
But further, to descend from the method used by
Christ himself to that made use of by his apostles.
What means St. Peter, to put men upon passing the
time of their sojourning here in fear?
And now, lastly, to set off the foregoing authorities with the manifest reason of the thing itself. It
is doubtless one of the greatest absurdities that can
well fall within the thoughts of man, to imagine, that
God, who has cast the business of man’s salvation
into so large a compass, as to share out to every
I proceed to answer such objections, as may, with any colour of argument, be alleged in opposition to the doctrine hitherto laid down and defended by us, and so conclude this first proposition: as,
1. It may be argued, that there is a certain complacency and serenity of mind attending the
performance of actions pious and virtuous, and a kind
of horror or remorse that follows the neglect of them,
or the doing of the quite contrary; the consideration
of which alone, setting aside all further hopes of a
To this I answer, that this complacency of mind
upon a man’s doing his duty, on the one side, and
that remorse attending his neglect of it, or doing the
quite contrary, on the other, are so far from excluding a respect to a future recompence, or being a different motive from it, that they do really imply it,
and are principally founded in it; the said complacency flowing naturally from the assurance given a
man by his conscience, that the honesty and goodness of his actions sets him free and safe from all
that evil and punishment which the law of God
awards to the transgressors of it. And the contrary
remorse of mind proceeding chiefly from a dread of
those punishments, which a man’s conscience assures
him that the breach of the said law will render the
breakers of it obnoxious to. And that this is so, is
demonstrable by this one reason; that several men
are differently affected, either with this complacency
or remorse of mind, upon their doing the very same
action; and that, because some are verily persuaded,
that the said action is a sin, and so to be followed
with the penal consequents of sin; and others, on
the contrary, are as fully persuaded that it is no sin.
For the better illustration and proof of which, we
must observe, that men’s judgments concerning sin
have been, and in several parts of the world still are,
very different; so that what is sin with one people
or nation, is not always so with another: as for instance, some account drunkenness no sin, as many
of the Germans; and others have had the same
thoughts of theft, as the Spartans; and of fornication,
But now, upon these two so different, preconceived opinions, it will and must certainly follow, that those of the latter judgment cannot but feel that horror and remorse of mind upon the doing of these actions, which those of the contrary persuasion, to wit, that they are no sins, undoubtedly, upon the very same actions, do not feel. But now, from whence can this be? Surely, not from the bare action itself, nor from any thing naturally adherent to it; forasmuch as the action, with all that is natural to it, is the same in both those sorts of men, whose minds, after the doing of it, are so differently affected. And therefore it must needs be from the different infusions into, and prepossessions of men in their minority and first education; by which some have been taught, that a severe punishment and after-reckoning belongs to such and such actions; and by which others again have been taught, that they are actions in themselves indifferent, and to which no penalty at all is due.
I conclude, therefore, that the complacency which
men find upon the performance of their duty, and
the remorse which they feel upon the neglect of it,
taken abstractedly from all consideration of a future
reward, cannot be a sufficient motive to duty; because, indeed, so taken, they are but a mere fiction
2. Some again object and argue, that there is a different spirit required under the gospel from that which was either under or before the Mosaic dispensation; and therefore, though it might be lawful and allowable enough for the church in those days, living under an inferior economy, in all acts of duty to have respect to the recompence of reward; yet in times of higher and more spiritual attainments, and under a gospel state, men ought wholly to act, and to be acted by such a filial and free spirit, as never to enter upon any duty with the least regard to an after-compensation; this being servile, legal, and mercenary; as these sons of perfection do pretend.
But to this also I answer, that the Jewish church, and the church before it, may be considered under a double character or capacity. 1. As they sustained the peculiar formality of a church so or so constituted. And, 2dly, as they were men, or rational creatures, as the rest of mankind are.
Now it must be confessed, that what belonged to
them in the former capacity was undoubtedly proper and peculiar to them, and so neither does nor
ought to conclude the church nowadays, being cast
into a different form or constitution. Nevertheless,
what belonged to them, simply as they were men,
or moral agents, equally belongs to and concerns the
But now, for any one in the works of duty to proceed upon hopes of a reward, is (as I have already shewn) the result of a rational nature, endued with such faculties of mind, as, according to their natural way of acting, (especially as the state of nature now is,) will hardly or never be brought to apply heartily to duty, but in the strength of such motives; the very nature of man inclining him chiefly, if not solely, to act upon such terms and conditions; so that to do one’s duty with regard to a following recompence, concerns not men under any peculiar denomination of Jews or Christians, but simply as they are men. And to affirm the contrary, is a direct passing over to the heresy and dotage of the Sadducees, who, by mistaking and perverting that saying of Zadock, the author of their sect and name, to wit, that men ought to do virtuously without any thought of a following recompence, carried it to that height of irreligion, as to deny all rewards of happiness or misery in another world; and, consequently, a resurrection to another life after this. Such horrid and profane inferences were drawn, or rather dragged by these heretics, from one unwary and misunderstood expression.
Nevertheless, so much is and must be granted,
(and no doubt Zadock himself, if there was such an
one, never intended more,) that for a man, in the
practice of duty, to act solely and entirely from a
desire of a following recompence, exclusively to all
love of the work and duty itself, is indeed servile
and mercenary, and no ways suitable to that filial
But now, if we shall drive the matter so far, as to make it absolutely unchristian for a man, in the practice of duty, to have any design at all upon a future reward; why then (as I may speak with reverence) does not God, in the conversion of a sinner, new-model his very essence, cashier and lop off the natural affections of hope and fear? And why does he also promise us heaven and glory, if it be not lawful for us to pursue what he is pleased to promise? For are these promises made to quicken our endeavours, or to debase and spoil our performances? to be helps, or rather snares to our obedience? All which, if it be both absurd and impious for any one to imagine, then it will follow, that this and the like exceptions, from which such paradoxes are inferred, must needs also fall to the ground as false, and not to be defended.
But before I make an end of this first proposition,
it may not be amiss to consider a little the temper of
those seraphic pretenders to religion, who have presumed to refine upon it by such airy, impracticable
Second, which (as I shew before) was in a manner included in the first, and so scarce needs any prosecution distinct from it, is this;
That the proposal of a reward on God’s part, and a respect had to it on man’s, are undoubtedly necessary to engage men in a course of duty and obedience.
For the discussion of which, I shall briefly do these two things:
1st, I shall shew in what respect these are said to be necessary. And
2dly, I shall shew why, and upon what reasons, they ought to be accounted so.
1. And first for the necessity of them. A thing may be said to be necessary two ways. As,
1. When by the very essence or nature of it, it is
such, that it implies in it a contradiction, and consequently an impossibility, even by the power of God
himself, that (the said nature continuing) it should
be otherwise. And thus, I shall never presume to
affirm (though some I know do) that God cannot in
duce a man (being a free agent) to a course of duty
and obedience, without proposing a competent reward
to such obedience. For I question not, but God can
so qualify and determine the will of a rational agent,
Second place, a thing may be said to be necessary,
not absolutely, but with respect to that particular
state and condition in which it is. And thus, because God has actually so cast the present condition
of man, as to make his inclination to good but imperfect, and during this life to continue it so, and
And now, in the next place, for the proof of this necessity, (which was the other thing proposed by us,) these two general reasons may be offered.
The first taken from clear evidence of scripture. And the
Second, from the constant avowed practice of all the wise lawgivers of the world.
1. And first for scripture. It has been more than
sufficiently proved from thence already, how deplorably unable the heart of man is, not only to conquer,
but even to contend with the difficulties of a spiritual
course, without a steady view of such promises as
may supply new life, spirit, and vigour to its obedience. To all which, let it suffice, at present, to add
that full and notable declaration of St. Paul, in
Secondly, the other proof of the same assertion shall be taken from the practice of all the noted law givers of the world; who have still found it necessary to back and fortify their laws with rewards and punishments; these being the very strength and sinew of the law, as the law itself is of government.
No wise ruler ever yet ventured the peace of society upon the goodness of men’s nature, or the virtuous inclination of their temper. Nor was any
thing truly great and extraordinary ever almost
achieved, but in the strength of some reward every
whit as great and extraordinary as the action which
it carried a man out to. Thus it was in the virtue
of Saul’s high promises that David encountered Goliah: the giant indeed was the mark he shot, or
rather slung at; but the king’s daughter and the
court preferments were the mark he most probably aimed at. For we read how inquisitive he was,
what should be done for him. And it is not unknown, how in the case of a scrupulous oath-sick
conscience also, promise of preferment has been
found the ablest casuist to resolve it; from which
and the like passages, both ancient and modern, if
And now, to close up all, and to relieve your patience, you have heard the point stated and argued, and the objections against it answered; after all which, what can we so naturally infer from this whole discourse, as the infinite concern, lying upon every man, to fix to himself such a principle to act by, as may effectually bring him to that great and beatific end, which he came into the world for?
This is most certain, that no man’s practice can rise higher than his hopes. It is observed in aqueducts, that no pipe or conduit can force the current of the water higher than the spring-head itself lies, from whence the water first descends. In like manner, it is impossible for a man, who designs to himself only the rewards of this world, to act in the strength thereof, at such a rate, as shall bring him to a better. And the reason of this is, because whosoever makes these present enjoyments his whole design, accounts them absolutely the best things he can have, and accordingly he looks no further, he expects no better; and if so, it is not to be imagined, that he should ever obtain what he never so much as looked for: for no man shall come to heaven by chance.
As for trials and temptations, (those fatal rocks which the souls of men are so apt to dash upon,) we may take this for an infallible rule concerning them; namely, that nothing in this world can support a man against such trials, as shall threaten him with the utter loss of this world. For the truth is, it would imply a contradiction to suppose that it could; and yet these are the trials which even wise men so much fear, and prepare for, and know that they shall sink under and perish by, unless borne up by something mightier and greater than the world; and therefore not to be found in it.
What further trials God may have in reserve for us, we cannot tell; only this we may reckon upon as a certain, though sad truth; that there has been a mighty growing guilt upon this nation for several years. And as great guilts naturally portend as well as provoke great judgments; so God knows how soon the black cloud, which has been so long gathering over us, may break, and pour down upon us; and how near we may be to times, in which he who will keep his conscience must expect to keep nothing else.
For nothing, certainly, can cast a more dreadful aspect upon us, than those monstrous crying immoralities lately broke in amongst us; by which, not only the English virtue, but the very English temper, seems utterly to have left us; while, to the terror of all pious minds, foreign vices have invaded us, which threaten us more than any foreign armies can.
As for our excellent church, which has been so
maligned and struck at on all hands, and we of this
place especially; and that by some whom we had See a virulent, insulting pamphlet,
entitled, A Letter to a Member of Parliament, &c. page 14 and 52, printed in the year 1697, and as like the author himself, W. W. as malice
can make it.
To which God be rendered and ascribed, as is most due, all praise, might, majesty, and do minion, both now and for evermore. Amen.
Having hope towards God, (which they themselves also allow,) that there shall be a resurrection of the dead, both of the just and unjust.
THE most wise Creator of the universe has so formed one world, that it is not to be governed without the help of another; nor the actions of the life here, to be kept in order, without the hopes and fears of one hereafter. The truth is, next to God himself, hopes and fears govern all things. They act by a kind of royal deputation under him, and are so without control, that they carry all before them, by an absolute, unlimited sway. For so long as God governs the world, (which will be as long as there is a world to govern,) law must govern under him, and the sanction of rewards and punishments must be that which enables the law itself to govern: human nature of itself being by no means so well disposed, as to make its duty the sole motive or measure of its obedience.
For as in other cases, so here, it is not so much
the hand which binds, as the bond or chain with
which it binds, which must make good its hold,
upon the thing or person so bound by it. Every
But whether it be from the nature or fate of man kind, it is no small matter of wonder, that man, of all creatures, should have such an averseness to obey, and such a proneness to disobey his Maker, that no thing under an eternity of happiness or misery (the first of them unspeakable, and the other of them in tolerable) should be the means appointed to engage him to the one, or deter him from the other. And it is yet a greater wonder, that not only such a method of dealing with men should be thought necessary, but that in such innumerable instances it should be found not sufficient; at least not effectual to the end it is intended for; as the event of things too fatally demonstrates it not to be.
Nevertheless, since Almighty God has pitched upon this method
of governing the world by rewards and punishments, a resurrection of the persons
so to be rewarded or punished must needs be granted absolutely and unavoidably
necessary: nothing in this life giving us a satisfactory account, that either
the good or the bad have been yet dealt with according to the strict and utmost
merit of their works: which yet, the justice of an infinitely wise judge and
governor
In my discourse upon which, I shall cast the whole prosecution of the subject here to be treated of by us, under these three propositions, viz.
I. That a belief of a resurrection from the dead, is a thing exceeding difficult, strange, and harsh to the discourses of natural reason.
II. That notwithstanding this great difficulty, there is yet sufficient reason and solid ground for the belief of it. And,
III. and lastly, That supposing a sufficiency of reason for
this belief, all difficulties, and seeming repugnancies
Now under these three propositions shall be taken in all that we shall or can say concerning the general resurrection at the last day. And accordingly, as to the first of the three propositions, importing the great difficulty, strangeness, and repugnancy of the article of the resurrection to the belief of natural reason, we find, moreover, in the text here pitched upon by us, that the main objection insisted upon by the principal of St. Paul’s opposers, the Sadducees, against the doctrine preached by him, was drawn from this controverted point of the resurrection, and of the incredibility of the same, founded upon the supposed impossibility thereof; which, as it was a point of incomparably the greatest moment in the practice of religion, and consequently with the firmest steadiness to be assented to, and with equal zeal to be contended for, by our apostle; so was it with no less heat and fierceness opposed and exploded by those his forementioned antagonists. In treating of which, I shall endeavour these two things.
1. To shew that there is such an extraordinary averseness in natural reason to the belief of a resurrection, as in the said proposition we have affirmed that there is.
2. To assign the causes from which this averseness proceeds.
And first, for the first of these. The surest and
readiest way, I should think, to learn the verdict of
reason in this matter, would be to proceed by the
rule and standard of their judgment, who were the
most acknowledged and renowned masters of reason
Now, in the first rank of these great and celebrated persons, Pythagoras (the earliest whom history reports to us to have been dignified with the title of philosopher) asserted and taught a metempsychosis, or transmigration of the same soul into several bodies; which is utterly inconsistent with a resurrection; the number of bodies, upon these terms, in so great a proportion exceeding the number of souls; one soul wearing out many bodies, as one body does many garments. So that the Pythagoric principle can admit of no resurrection, unless there could be as many souls as bodies to rejoin one another; which, upon this hypothesis, cannot be.
Plato indeed speaks much of the immortality of the soul; but by not so much as mentioning the rising of the body again after its dissolution, (when yet he treated of so cognate a subject,) we may rationally presume, that he knew nothing of it; and that amongst all his ideas, (as I may so express it,) he had none of such a resurrection.
Aristotle held an eternity of the world, viz. as to the heavens and the earth, the principal parts of it. But as to things mutable, he placed that eternity in the endless succession of individuals; which clearly shews, that he meant not, that those individuals should revive, and return to an endless duration. For since he asserted this succession only to immortalize the kind or species, the immortality of particulars would have rendered that succession wholly needless.
As for the Stoics and Epicureans, who, I am
sure, were reputed the subtilest and most acute of
all the sects of philosophers, we have them in
But to pass from heathens to those who had
their reason further improved by revelation, we
have in the Jewish church a great, a learned, and
considerable sect, called the Sadducees, wholly discarding this article from their creed; as St. Matthew
tells us, in
And lastly, even for some of those who professed
Christianity itself, and that in the famous city of
Corinth, where most of the gallantry, the wit, and
learned arts of Greece flourished, we find some
Christians themselves denying it, as appears from
that elaborate confutation which St. Paul bestowed
upon them in the
Which instances, amongst several others assign able to the same purpose, may suffice to shew, how hardly this article finds credit with those who are led by principles of mere natural reason; and indeed so strange and incredible does it appear to such, (and some others also, though professing higher principles,) that the same power which God exerted in raising Christ from the dead, seems necessary to raise such sons of infidelity to a firm and thorough belief of it. And so I come to the
Second thing proposed, viz. to assign the causes, why natural reason thus starts from the belief of a resurrection: and these may be reckoned of two sorts.
1. Such as are taken from the manifold improbabilities, rendering the matter so exceeding unlikely to the judgment of human reason, that it cannot frame itself to a belief, that there is really any such thing. And,
. Such as are drawn from the downright impossibility charged upon it. Both which are to be considered. And
1st. Those many great improbabilities and unlikelihoods alleged against the resurrection of the same
numerical body, are apt to give a mighty check to
And thus much for the first cause, which generally keeps men from a belief of the resurrection; namely, the great improbabilities and unlikelihoods attending it; but this is not all; there being yet another and a greater argument alleged against it, and that is, in the
Second and next place, the downright impossibilities charged upon it. And this from the seemingly
unanswerable contradictions and absurdities implied
in it; and, as some think, unavoidably consequent
upon it. Of which, the chief, and most hardly reconcileable to the discourses of human reason, is founded
in and derivable from the continual transmutation of
one thing into another. For how extravagant so
ever the forementioned Pythagorean hypothesis, of
the transmigration or metempsychosis of one soul
into several bodies, may be justly accounted to be,
yet the transmutation of one body into another
ought not to be accounted so. For the parts of
a body, we know, are in a continual flux, and the decays of nature are repaired by the daily substitution
of new matter derived from our nutriment; and
when, at length, this body comes to be dissolved by
death, it soon after returns to earth; and that earth
is animated into grass, and that grass turned into
the substance of the beast which eats it, and that
beast becomes food to man, and so, by a long percolation, is converted into his flesh and substance. So
that such matter or substance, which was once an
integral part of this man’s body, perhaps twenty
Now the foundation of this argument, taken from the vicissitude and mutual change of things into one another, is clear, from obvious and universally uncontested experience; and being so, the restitution of every soul to its own respective body, and to every integral part of it, is a thing to which all principles of natural reason seem a contradiction; and by consequence, if so, not within the power of omnipotence to effect. I say, it seems so; and I will not presume to say more.
The consideration of which drove the Socinians,
those known enemies to natural as well as revealed
religion, (whatsoever they pretend in contradiction
to what they assert in behalf of both,) together with
some others, peremptorily to deny that men shall be
And thus I have done with the first of the three
And this I shall endeavour to do, both by answering the foregoing objections brought against the resurrection; and withal offering something by way of argument, for the positive proof of it.
Now for the first of these. I shew that the resurrection was argued against upon two distinct heads, viz. The improbabilities attending it, and the impossibilities charged upon it. And,
1. Briefly, as to the objection from the improbabilities said to attend it, and to keep men off from
the belief of it; besides that the said objection runs
in a very loose and popular, rather than in a close
and argumentative way, and looks more like harangue than reasoning, (though yet the best that the
thing will bear,) we are to observe yet further, that
not every strange and unusual event ought always,
and under all circumstances, to be accounted improbable. For where a sufficient cause of any thing or
event may be assigned, though above and beyond
the common course of natural causes, I cannot
reckon that event or thing properly and strictly improbable. Forasmuch as it is no ways improbable,
that the supreme agent and governor of all things
should, for some great end or purpose, sometimes
step out of the ordinary road of his providence, (as
Second objection produced against this article of
the resurrection, from the utter impossibility thereof,
(as the objectors pretend) and that impossibility (as
we have shewn) founded upon the continual transmutation of one body into another. This, I say, was
the argument; and it seems to me to press the
hardest upon the resurrection of the same numerical
body, and to be the most difficult to be solved and answered of any other whatsoever. For as for those
commonly drawn from the seeming impossibility of
bringing together such an innumerable multitude of
minute particles, as from a body once dissolved must
needs be scattered all the world over into the several
To which therefore I answer, that the proposition or
assertion, upon which the said argument is grounded, is neither evident nor
certain; and that we have no assurance, that the transmutation of an human body
into other animated bodies, after its dissolution, is total, and extends to all
the parts thereof; but that there may be a considerable portion of matter in
every man’s body (for of such only we now dispute) which never passes by
transmutation into any other animated body, but sinks into and rests in the
common mass of matter, contained in the four elements, (according to the
respective nature of each particular element wherein it is lodged,) and there
continues unchanged by any new animation, till the last day. But what these
particular parts are, which admit of no such further change,
And whereas it is said in the objection, that such
a continual transmutation, as is here supposed, is
evident from a general, constant, uncontestable experience; I deny, that the just measures, bounds,
and compass of this transmutation can be exactly
known by or evident to common experience; forasmuch as it falls not under the cognizance of the out
ward senses; and yet it is only that, and the repeated observations made thereby, which experience
is or can be founded upon. For who can assure
himself, or any one else, upon his own personal
sight, hearing, or the report of any other of his
senses, that the whole matter of a dissolved body
passes successively into other living bodies? (though
a great portion of it may, and without question
does;) and if, on the other side, he cannot, upon his
own personal observation, give a full and exact account of this, can he pretend to tell how and where
the providence of God has disposed of the remaining
part of the said dissolved body, which has not under
gone any such change? This, I say, is not to be
known by us, either by any observation of sense, or
discourse of reason founded thereupon, and I know
of no revelation to adjust the matter. So that, although it should be supposed true, (which we do by
no means grant to be so,) that in the dissolution of
every human body the whole mass, and every part
of the said body, underwent such an entire transmutation as we have been speaking of; yet, since this
cannot certainly be known, it cannot come into argumentation,
The sum of all therefore is this; that every human body, upon its dissolution, sinks by degrees into the elementary mass of matter; whereof a great part passes by several animations into other bodies; and a great part likewise remains in the same elementary mass, without undergoing any further change. To which reserved portion, at the last day, the soul, as the prime, individuating principle, and the said reserved portion of matter, as an essential and radical part of the individuation, together with a sufficient supply of more matter (if requisite) from the general mass, shall, by the almighty power of God joining all those together, make up and restore the same individual person: and this cuts off all necessity of holding, that what was once an integral part of one body, should, at the same time, become an integral part of another, which, it is confessed, for the reason before given, would make the restitution of the same numerical portion of matter to both bodies utterly impossible.
But if it be here replied, that our assertion of a reserved
portion of matter never passing into other animated bodies by any further
transmutation, (albeit a considerable portion of the same dissolved body be
allowed so to do) is a thing merely gratis dictum, and that we have not yet
positively proved the same;
But if it be further argued, that the great addition of matter to be made at the last day, out of the
common mass, to those remainders of matter, which
(having belonged to the same man’s body formerly)
are then to be completed into a perfect body again,
seems inconsistent with the numerical identity of the
body which was before, and that which shall be after
wards at the resurrection; I answer, that this is no
more inconsistent with the numerical identity thereof, than the addition of so great a quantity of new
matter, as comes to be made to a man’s body, by a
continual augmentation of all the parts of it, from
his birth to his full stature, makes his body numerically another at his grown age, from that which the
same person had while he was yet an infant. In
both which ages, nevertheless, the body is still
reckoned but one and the same in number, though
in disparity of bulk and substance, twenty to one
greater in the latter than in the former. Accordingly,
suppose we further, that only so much matter as has
still continued in our bodies, from our coming into
the world to our going out of it, shall be reunited to
our soul at the resurrection, even that may and will
And therefore, the opinion of the Socinians, viz. That
the soul, at the resurrection, shall be clothed with another and quite different
body, from what it had in this life, (whether of ether or some such like
sublimated matter,) moved thereto by the forementioned objections, and the like,
ought not to be admitted: it being contrary to reason and all sound
philosophy, that the soul successively united to two
entirely distinct bodies, should make but one and the
same numerical person: since though the soul be indeed the prime and chief principle of the individuation of the person, yet it is not the sole and adequate principle thereof; but the soul, joined with
the body, makes the adequate, individuating principle of the person. Nor will any true philosophy
allow, that the body was ever intended for the mere
garment of the soul, but for an essential, constituent
part of the man, as really as the soul itself: and the
difference of an essential half in any composition
will be sure to make an essential difference in the
whole compound. Nor is this Socinian assertion
more contrary to the principles of philosophy, than
to the express words of scripture; which are not
more positive in affirming a resurrection, than in declaring a resurrection of the same numerical person.
And whereas, they say, that they grant, that the
same numerical person shall rise again, though not
the same body, (the soul, as they contend, still individuating any body which it shall be clothed with,) we
And thus much in answer to the objection brought to prove the impossibility of a resurrection of the same numerical body founded upon the continual transmutation of one body into another. The sum of all amounting to this, viz. that if the transmutation of human bodies after death, into other animate bodies successively, be total, the objection, founded upon such a transmutation, is not easy to be avoided; and if, on the other side, it be not total, I cannot see how it proves, that the restitution of the same numerical body carries in it any contradiction, nor, consequently, any impossibility at all. For the point now before us depending chiefly upon the due stating of the object of an infinite power, if the thing in dispute be but possible, it is sufficient to overthrow any argument that would pretend to prove, that an omnipotence cannot effect it. Which consideration having been thus offered by us, for the clearing of the forecited objection, we shall now proceed in the
Second place, to produce something, as we promised, by way of
positive proof for the evincing of a resurrection, notwithstanding all the
difficulties and repugnancies which seem to attend it. And here, since this is a
point of religion, knowable only by revelation, it cannot be positively proved,
or made out to us any other way than by revelation, that is to say, by what God
has declared in his written word concerning it: for natural reason and
philosophy will afford us but little assistance in a case so extremely above
both. Accordingly, since revelation is our only competent guide in this matter,
1. Such as appear immediately and self-evidently
so, from the very terms of the proposition wherein
they are expressed: the predicate implying in it a
direct negation of the subject, and the subject mutually of the predicate; so
that, upon the bare understanding
2. There is another sort of contradictions, which
may not improperly be termed consequential. That
is to say, such as shew themselves, not by the immediate self-evidence of the terms, but by consequences
and deductions drawn from some known principle
by human ratiocination or discourse, and the judgment which men use to pass upon things in the
strength and light thereof. In all which, since men
may be deceived, (nothing being more incident to
common humanity than mistake,) such contradictions cannot be so far relied upon, as to be taken for
a perfect and sure measure of what the divine power
can or cannot do. As for instance, if we should
say, “That for a body having been once destroyed,
and transmuted into other human bodies, or some
parts thereof successively, to be restored again,
with all the parts of it complete, and numerically
the same, is a contradiction;” it is certain, however, that the contradiction here charged does not
manifestly appear such from any evidence of the
terms, but is only gathered by such consequences
But now, with reference to the foregoing distinction of prime and consequential contradictions, if it
should be here asked, whether a contradiction of the
latter sort be not as really and as much a contradiction as one of the former; I grant that it is, (there
being no magis and minus in contradictions;) but
nevertheless, not so manifestly nor so evidently such,
nor consequently of so much force in argumentation,
nor equally capable of having a conclusion or inference drawn from it, as the other is. For we are
to observe, that, in the case now before us, a contradiction is not so much considered for what it is
barely in itself, as for its being a medium to prove
something else by it; and for that reason, we allow
not the same conclusive force (though the same
reality, could it be proved) to a consequential contradiction, which we allow to a prime and self-evident one, and such as shews itself to the very first
Upon the whole matter therefore, if by true and
sound reasoning I stand assured, that God has affirmed or declared a thing, all objections against the
same, though never so strong, (even reason itself,
upon the strictest principles of it, being judge,) must
of necessity fall to the ground. Forasmuch as reason itself cannot but acknowledge, that men of the
best wit, learning, and judgment, may sometimes
take that for a contradiction, which really is not so;
but still, on the other side, must own it utterly impossible for a being infinitely perfect, holy, and true,
either to deceive or be deceived in any thing affirmed or attested by it. And moreover, to carry
this point yet something further: if a proposition be
once settled upon a solid bottom, and sufficiently
proved, it will and must continue to be so, notwithstanding any after-arguments or objections brought
against it, whether we can answer and clear off the
said objections, or no; I say, it lessens not our obligation to believe such a proposition one jot. And if
the whole body of Christians, throughout all places
and ages, should with one voice declare, that they
could not solve the foregoing objection urged against
the resurrection, and taken from the continual transmutation of bodies into one another, or any other
such like arguments, it would not abate one degree
of duty lying upon them, to acknowledge and embrace the said article, as an indispensable part of
their Christian faith; nor would they be at all the
worse Christians, for not being able to give a philosophical account or solution thereof; so long as, with
And this, I hope, may suffice to have been spoken
upon the second proposition assigned for the prosecution of this subject, namely, That notwithstanding
all the difficulties and objections alleged against
the article of a general resurrection, there is yet
sufficient reason and solid ground for the belief of
it. From whence we should now proceed to treat
of the third and last proposition; to wit, That a sufficiency
But this, as I reckon, having been, in effect, done by us already; and the whole matter set in a full view, partly by clearing off the objections pretended to be brought against it, from natural reason, in the two foregoing propositions; and partly by establishing the proof thereof, upon the sure basis of those three great attributes of God, his omniscience, his omnipotence, and his essential veracity, all of them employed to warrant and engage our assent to it; we shall now at length come to consider the same more particularly in some of the consequences deducible from it. Such as are these two that follow. As,
1. We collect from hence the utter insufficiency of bare natural religion to answer the proper ends and purposes which God intended religion for. And,
2. We infer from hence also, the diabolical impiety of the Socinian opinions; and particularly of those relating to the resurrection. And here,
1. For the first of these, the insufficiency of natural religion to answer the proper ends which religion
was designed for. This is most certain, that natural religion exceeds not the
compass of natural reason; it neither looks higher nor reaches further, but both
of them are commensurate to one another; and it is every whit as certain, that
the soul of man, being the proper seat and subject of religion, must needs be
allowed to be immortal; and being withal both endued with and acted by the
affections of hope and fear, that it must be supplied with objects proper
2. The other thing, which we shall infer from the They deny the torments of hell, and give this reason for it.
“Quod
absurdum sit, Deum irasci in aeternum, et peccata creaturarum finita poenis infinitis mulctare, praesertim cum nulla hinc ipsius gloria illustretur.”
Compendiolum Doctrinae Ecclesiarum in Polonia.
Likewise Ernestus Sonnerus, a
noted Socinian, has wrote a just
treatise, with this title prefixed
to it, Demonstratio Theologica
et Philosophica, Quod aeterna
impiorum supplicia non arguant Dei justitiam, sed injustitiam. And if they be unjust,
we may be sure, (as Dr. Tillotson, in his sermon on
Now to God, the great Judge and Rewarder of men, according to the vileness of their principles, as well as the wickedness of their practices, be rendered and ascribed, as is most due, all praise, might, majesty, and dominion, both now and for evermore. Amen.
The doctrine of the blessed Trinity asserted, and proved not contrary to reason:
To the acknowledgment of the mystery of God, and of the Father, and of Christ.
Εἰς ἐπίγνωσιν τοῦ μυστηρίου τοῦ Θεοῦ, καὶ Πατρὸς, καὶ τοῦ Χριστοῦ.
IN the handling and asserting of the doctrine of
the Trinity, I do not remember any place so often
urged, and so much insisted upon by divines, as that
in
As for the Socinians, who hold with the Arians, so far as they oppose us, though not in all which the Arians assert themselves, they have a double refuge. And first, with them pretending the doubtfulness of the text, they would further evade it by a new interpretation of its sense, affirming, that this expression, these three are one, does not of necessity import an unity of nature, but only of consent: the Father, the Word, and the Holy Ghost, being therefore said to be one, because they jointly and indivisibly carry on one and the same design; all of them jointly concurring in the great work of man’s salvation.
Thus say they; but if this were indeed so, and if
no more than matter of consent were here intended,
where then (in God’s name) would be the mystery
which the universal Christian church have all along
acknowledged to be contained in these words? For
that the Father, the Word, and the Holy Spirit,
But further, if unity of consent only were here intended, why in all reason was it expressed by ἕν εἰσι, that is, they are one thing, being, or nature; and not rather by εἰς τὸ ἕν εἰσι, they agree in one? as in the very next verse to this, such an unity of concurrence in the spirit, the water, and the blood, is expressed by the same words, εἰς τὸ ἕν εἰσι, manifestly importing no identity or unity of nature or being, but only of agreement in some certain respect or other: and doubtless, in so very near a neighbour hood and conjunction of words, had the sense been perfectly the same, there can be no imaginable reason given, why the apostle should in the very same case thus have varied the expression.
But, for yet a further assertion of the great truth now insisted upon, this text out of the epistle to the Colossians will as effectually evince the same, as the place before mentioned, though perhaps not quite so plainly, nor wholly in the same way; that is to say, it will do it by solid inference and just consequence from the words, though not expressly in the very words themselves. And accordingly we may consider those words, Εἰς ἐπίγνωσιν τοῦ μυστηρίου τοῦ Θεοῦ, καὶ Πατρὸς, καὶ τοῦ Χριστοῦ., two different ways, viz.
1st, As the term τοῦ Θεοῦ may be taken personally,
as in scripture sometimes it is, and then it will here
signify the Holy Ghost, the third Person of the
blessed Trinity, though not indeed mentioned in this
place in the same order in which the three Persons
commonly use to be; but the order, I conceive, may
2dly, If the word τοῦ Θεοῦ be here taken essentially,
and for the divine nature only, then the particle καὶ
will import here properly a distribution of τοῦ Θεοῦ,
(signifying the divine nature,) as a term common to
those two, τοῦ Πατρὸς, καὶ τοῦ Χριστοῦ, as to two particular Persons, distinguished by their respective properties. And so taken, it must be confessed, that the term
τοῦ Θεοῦ here will not signify the Person of the Holy
Ghost. But granting all this, are there not, however, two other Persons in the divine nature manifestly signified thereby? forasmuch as the Godhead,
here imported by τοῦ Θεοῦ, is expressly applied both to
the Father and the Son, in those words, τοῦ
μυστηρίου τοῦ Θεοῦ, καὶ Πατρὸς, καὶ τοῦ Χριστοῦ. And that, I am
sure, (should it reach no further,) is a full and irrefragable confutation of the Socinians, the grand and
chief opposers of the doctrine now insisted upon.
For these men deny not a plurality of Persons in
the Godhead from any allegation or pretence of some
peculiar repugnancy of the number of three to the
same, more than of any other number; but because
they absolutely deny, that there can be any more
Persons in the Godhead than only one. And consequently, that a duality, or binary number of Persons
in it, would, in a Socinian’s account, pass for no less
in absurdity than even a Trinity itself, the grand
article controverted between us and them.
The words, therefore, being thus examined and
That a plurality of Persons, or personal subsistences in the divine nature, is a great mystery, and so to be acknowledged by all who really are and profess themselves Christians.
The discussion of which shall lie in these two things:
I. In shewing what conditions are required to denominate a thing properly a mystery. And,
II. In shewing that all these conditions meet in the article of the blessed Trinity.
I. And first for the first of these. The conditions required to constitute and denominate a thing properly a mystery, are these three:
1. That the thing so denominated be in itself really true, and not contrary to reason.
2. That it be a thing above the power and reach of mere reason to find it out before it be revealed. And,
3. That being revealed, it be yet very difficult for, if not above, finite reason fully to understand and comprehend it. And here,
1. For the first of these conditions: a mystery must be a
thing really true, and by no means contrary to reason. Where let me lay down
this rule or maxim, as the groundwork of all that is to follow; to wit, That as
nothing can be an article of faith, that is not true, so neither can any thing
be true, that is irrational. Some indeed lay this as their foundation, That men,
in matters of religion, are to deny and renounce their reason: but if so, then
let any one declare, why I am bound to embrace the Christian
In short, the ultimate object of faith is divine revelation; that is, I believe such a thing to be true, because it is revealed by God: but then my reason must prove to me that it is revealed; so that, this way, reason is that into which all religion is at last resolved.
And let me add a little further, that no one truth can possibly contradict another truth; for if two truths might contradict, then two contradictions might be true. And therefore, if it be true in Christian religion, that one nature may subsist in three persons, the same cannot be false in reason. Thus much I confess, that, take the thing abstract from divine revelation, there is nothing in reason able to prove that there is such a thing; but then this also is as true, that there is nothing in reason able to disprove it, and to evince it to be impossible.
But you will say, that for the same thing to be
three and one is a contradiction, and therefore reason cannot but conclude it impossible. I answer, that
for a thing to be one in that very respect in which
it is three, is a contradiction; but to assert, that
But you will reply, that the single nature of any person is uncommunicable to another, as the essence of Peter is circumscribed within the person of Peter, and so cannot be communicated to Paul.
In answer to this, let it be here observed, that this is the constant fallacy that runs through all the arguments of the Socinians in this dispute; and all that they urge against a triple subsistence of the divine nature is still from instances taken from created natures, and applied to the divine; and because they see this impossible, or at least never exemplified in them, they conclude hence, that it must be so also in this.
But this is a gross and apparent error in argumentation; it being a mere transition a genere ad genus, which is to conclude the same thing of different kinds; and because this holds true in things of this nature, to conclude hence, that therefore the same must be true also in things that are of a clean different nature; which is a manifest paralogism.
To all these arguments therefore, I oppose this
one, I think, not irrational consideration; that it is
a thing very agreeable even to the notions of bare
reason to imagine, that the divine nature has a way
of subsisting very different from the subsistence of
any created being. For inasmuch as nature and
subsistence go to the making up of a person, why
may not the way of their subsistence be quite as different as their natures are confessed to be? one nature being infinite, the other finite. And therefore,
though it be necessary in things created (as no one
instance appears to the contrary) for one single essence
But here, before I dismiss this particular, I shall observe this, that for a man to prove a thing clearly, is to bring it, by certain and apparent consequence, from some principle in itself known and evident, and granted by all: otherwise it would not be a demonstration, but an infinite progress.
Now this being supposed; in case any one shall so disprove the Trinity, as to shew that it really contradicts some such principle of reason evident in itself, and universally granted by the unprejudiced apprehensions of mankind, I should not be afraid to expunge this article out of my creed, and to discharge any man living from a necessity of believing it: for God cannot enjoin any thing absurd or impossible. But for any man to assent to two contradictory propositions, as true, while he perceives them to be contradictory, is the first-born of impossibilities.
Reason therefore is undeservedly and ignorantly
traduced, when it is set up and shot at, as the irreconcileable enemy of religion. It is indeed the
For ask such, upon what grounds they believe the truth of Christian religion, whereas others so much oppose it: and here, instead of rational inducements and solid arguments, we shall have long harangues of the kingdom of Jesus Christ; of rolling upon the promises; of the spirit of assurance; and the preciousness of gospel dispensations; with many other such like words, as shew that they have followed their own advice to others, and wholly renounced their reason themselves.
But I cannot think or persuade myself, that God
gave us eyes only that we may pluck them out, and
brought us into the world with reason, that being
born men, we might afterwards grow up and improve
into brutes, and become elaborately irrational. No,
surely: reason is both the gift and image of God; and
every degree of its improvement is a further degree
of likeness to him. And though I cannot judge it
a fit saying for a dying Christian to make, that
wish of Averroes, Sit anima mea cum philosophis;
yet, while he lives, I think no Christian ought to be
ashamed to wish, Sit anima mea cum philosophia.
And for all these boastings of new lights, inbeamings,
2. The second condition required to denominate a thing properly a mystery is, That it be above the reach of reason to find it out, and that it be first knowable only by revelation. This, I suppose, I shall not be called upon to prove; it being a thing clear in itself.
But we have been told by some, that there are some hints and traces of the article of the Trinity to be found in some heathen writers, as Trismegistus and Plato, who are said to make mention of it. To which I answer, first, that if there do occur such hints of a Trinity in such writers, yet it follows not hence, that they owed them to the invention of their own reason, but received them from others by tradition, who themselves first had them from revelation. But, secondly, to the case in hand, I answer more fully, that it cannot be denied, but that some Christians have endeavoured to defend the truth imprudently and unwarrantably, by bad arts, and falsifying of ancient writers; and that such places as speak of the Trinity are spurious, or at least suspicious; as the whole book that now goes under the name of Trismegistus, called his Paemander, may justly be supposed to be.
But that we may a little aid and help out our apprehensions in conceiving of this great mystery, let
us endeavour to see, whether, upon the grounds and
notions of reason, we can frame to ourselves any
thing that may carry in it some shadow and resemblance
Nay, I think that it was a thing, not only locked up from the researches of reason, amongst those that were led only by reason, I mean the gentiles, but that it was also concealed from, or at best but obscurely known by the Jewish church. And Peter Galatine assigns a reason, why God was not pleased to give the Jews any express revelation of this mystery; namely, that people’s great stupidity and grossness of apprehension, together with their exceeding proneness to idolatry; by reason of the former of which, they would have been apt to entertain very uncouth and mistaken conceptions of the Godhead and the three Persons, as if they had been three distinct Gods, and thereupon to have been easily induced to an idolatrous worship and opinion of them; and therefore, that the unfolding of this mystery was reserved till the days of the Messias, by which time the world should, by a long increase of knowledge, grow more and more refined, and prepared for the reception of this so sublime and mysterious an article.
This was his reason for God’s concealing it from
the Jews; for that God did so, the Old Testament,
which is the great ark and repository of the Jewish
religion, seems sufficiently to declare; there being no
text in it, that plainly and expressly holds forth a
Trinity of Persons in the Godhead. Several texts
are indeed urged for that purpose, though (whatever
they may allude to) they seem not yet to be of that
1. Those words in the first of Genesis, Bara Elohim; where Elohim signifying God, and being of the plural number, is joined with bara, creavit, a verb of the singular. Whence some collect, that the former word imports a plurality of persons, and the latter an unity of essence. But others deny, that any such peculiar meaning ought or can be gathered from that which is indeed no more than an idiom and propriety of the Hebrew language. So that Elohim, applied to others besides God, is often joined with a singular number.
2. Another place alleged for the same purpose is
that in
3. There is a third place also, in
As for the opinion of the modern Jews touching
I conclude therefore, that it is very probable, that the discovery of this mystery was a privilege reserved to bless the times of Christianity withal, and that the Jews had either none, or but a very weak and confused knowledge of it. It was the great arcanum for the receiving of which the world was to be many ages in preparing. As long as the veil of the temple remained, it was a secret not to be looked into; an holy of holies, into which even the high priest himself did not enter. And thus much for the second condition required to make or constitute a mystery; namely, that it be above the strength of bare reason to find it out before it is revealed.
3. The third and last is this; That after it is revealed, it be yet difficult to be understood. And he who thinks the contrary, let him make trial. For although there is nothing in reason to contradict, yet neither is there any thing to comprehend it. We may as well shut a mountain within a molehill, or take up the ocean in a cockle-shell, as reach the stupendous sacred intricacies of the divine subsistence, by the short and feeble notions of a created apprehension.
Reason indeed proves the revelation of it by God; but then, having done this, here it stops, and pretends not to understand and fathom the nature of the thing revealed.
If any one should plead a parity of the case, as to this article of the Trinity, and that about transubstantiation; and allege, that since we deny not a Trinity, though we understand it not, but account it a mystery, and so believe it; why may we not take transubstantiation also into the number of mysteries, and believe it, though it be intricate, and impossible to be understood?
To this I answer, 1st, in general, that no man discoursing or proceeding rationally upon this subject,
refuses to believe transubstantiation merely upon this
account, that it is impossible to be understood. 2dly,
I affirm, that the case between transubstantiation and
the Trinity is very different; the former being contradicted by the judgment of that faculty, of which
it is properly the object; the latter being not at all
contradicted, but only not comprehended by the faculty, to which the judgment and cognizance of it
does belong. To make which clear, we must observe,
that both the bread and the body of Christ, about
which transubstantiation is said to be effected, being
endued with quantity, colour, and the like, are the
proper objects of sense, and so fall under the cognizance of the sight and touch; which senses being entire, and acting as naturally they ought, they both
can and do certainly judge of their proper objects,
and upon such judgment find it to be a contradiction
for a small body retaining its own proper dimensions,
at the same time to have the dimensions of a body
forty times greater. For one body to be circumscribed,
But now, on the other side, the divine nature and the Trinity are not the objects of sense, and consequently sense passes no judgment upon them. But they are the objects of (and so only triable by) the mind and the understanding; taking in these things from the reports not of sense, but revelation. Which supreme faculty being thus informed by revelation, tendering these reports to its apprehension, and withal finding that none of those rules or principles, by which it judges of the truth or falsity of what it apprehends, do at all contradict what revelation thus speaks and reports of the divine nature and the Trinity; it rationally judges, that they may and ought to be assented to.
For the stress of the point lies here, and let all
the reason of mankind prove, if it can, that wheresoever the denomination of three is ascribed to any
nature, it must of necessity multiply the nature itself, and not only its relations. Which being so,
those that make the article of the Trinity parallel to
that of transubstantiation, in point of its contrariety
to reason, if they will speak and argue to the purpose,
must undertake to prove, that for one infinite being
or nature to be in any respect, or upon any account
whatsoever, three, without a triplication of that
nature, and so a loss of its unity, is as contrary and
repugnant to some known principle of reason discoursing
Let this, I say, be clearly and conclusively made out, and the business is done. But till then, they must give us leave to judge, that there is as much difference between the article of the Trinity as stated by us, and that of transubstantiation as stated by them, as there is between difficulty and contradiction.
And now, if there be any whose reason is so unruly and
over-curious, as to be still inquisitive and unsatisfied, such must remember,
that when we have made the utmost explications of this article, we pretend not
thereby to have altered the nature of the subject we have been treating of;
which, after all, is still a mystery; and they must know, moreover, that when
the sacred mysteries of religion are discoursed of, the business of a Christian
is sobriety and submission, and his duty to be satisfied, even though he were
not convinced. The Trinity is a fundamental article of the Christian religion;
and as he that denies it may lose his soul, so he that too much strives to
understand it may lose his wits. Know ledge is nice, intricate, and tedious; but
faith is easy; and what is more, it is safe. And why should I then unhinge my
brains, ruin my mind, and pursue distraction in the disquisition of that which a
little study would sufficiently convince me to be not intelligible? Or why
should I by chewing a pill make it useless, which swallowed whole might be
curing and restorative? A Christian, in these matters,
But here, having drawn the business so far, I can not but take notice of some of those blasphemous expressions which the Socinians use concerning the sacred mystery of the Trinity; their terms (as I have collected some out of many) are such as these: Deus tripersonatus. Idolum portentosum. Figmentum Satanae. Antichristi Cerberus. Triceps Geryon. Idolum trifrons. Monstrum triforme. Deus incognitus, adeoque procul rejiciendus, et Satanae conditori suo restituendus. Now, that the authors of these ugly appellations shew themselves not only bold and impious, but also (what by no means they would be thought) very unreasonable, will, I think, appear from these two considerations.
First, That the doctrine so broadly decried by them is at least very difficult, and hardly comprehensible; and therefore, though it could not be proved true, yet, upon the same score, it can as hardly be proved false. But now these expressions ought to proceed not only upon the supposition of its bare falsity, but also upon the evidence and undeniable clearness of its falsity; or they must needs be impudent and intolerable.
He that says, that it is clear that there can be no
such thing as the quadrature of the circle, makes an
impudent assertion; for, though possibly there can be
really no such thing, yet since there have been such
Secondly. The same charge of absurdity lies against these men upon this account, that they prefer their particular reason before the united reason of a much greater number than themselves; every one of which were of as great industry to search, and of as great abilities to understand the mysteries of divinity, as these men can be presumed to be.
Now, as this is much beside good manners, so indeed it is no less short of good reason; which will prove thus much at least; that when a few learned persons deny a proposition, and others forty times more numerous, and altogether as learned, do unanimously affirm it, it is very probable that the truth stands rather with the majority.
For if I should demand of these men, how they
come to judge the doctrine of the Trinity to be false?
they must tell me, that they have studied the point,
considered the text, examined it by the principles of
But to this I answer, that others who have studied the point as much, considered the text as exactly, and examined it by as strong principles of reason as their opposites could pretend to, and so standing upon equal ground with them in point of abilities, have much the advantage of them in point of number.
But you will say, Must I therefore conclude, that what is affirmed by such a majority of persons so qualified is certainly true? I answer, No; but this I assert; that it is great reason, though their assertion appear never so strange to me, that I should yet suspend my judgment, and not peremptorily conclude it false: since there is hardly any means nor way of ratiocination used by one to prove it a falsity, but by the very same way and means others persuade themselves, that they as strongly prove it to be a truth.
And thus I think, that these men’s exceptions against this great article are, to such as under stand reason, sufficiently proved irrational. But since these men reject the doctrine of the Trinity upon pretence both of its impiety and absurdity, it is but requisite, that they should acquit themselves in all their doctrine, from holding any thing either impious or absurd. But yet, that they cannot do so, these following positions maintained by them will, I believe, demonstrate:
1. To assert, as Volkelius, in his second book De Vera Religione, and the fourth chapter, not obscurely
does, the matter of the universe to be a passive principle eternally coexisting with God, the active, is impious,
2. To allow God’s power to be infinite, and yet his substance to be finite, is monstrously absurd; but to assert, as Crellius, in his book De Attributis Dei, in the 27th chapter, does, that his substance is circumscribed within the compass of the highest heaven, is clearly to make it finite.
3. To allow all God’s prophecies and predictions recorded in scripture, of future contingent passages, depending upon the free choice of man’s will, to have been certain and infallible, and yet his prescience or foreknowledge of the same contingent things not to be certain, but only conjectural, as Socinus, in the 8th chapter of his Prelections, does affirm, is out of measure absurd and ridiculous.
4. To affirm Christ to be a mere creature, and no more, and yet to contend, that he is to be invoked and worshipped with divine worship, is exceedingly absurd, and contrary to all the discourses of right reason; and withal, as offensive and scandalous to Jews and Turks, and such like, as the bare affirmation of his divine nature can be pretended to be. But Socinus, though he denies this, yet is so earnest for the divine adoration and invocation of Christ, that he affirms, that of the two, it is better to be a Trinitarian, than not to ascribe this to him.
5. To assert, that the people of God, under the Jewish
economy, lay under the obligation of no precept to pray to God, as Volkelius, in his 4th book
6. To assert, that it is lawful for a man to tell a He, to secure himself from some great danger or in convenience, as the same Volkelius, in the 4th book, and 19th chapter, does, is such a thing, as not only consists not with piety and sincerity, but tends to drive even common honesty and society out of the world.
7. To assert, that it is unlawful for Christians in
any case to wage war, as Socinus himself does in
his 2d epistle to Christophorus Morstinus, a Polonian commander, in which he allows him to bring
his army into the field in terrorem hostium, provided that he neither strikes a stroke, nor draws
blood, nor cuts off a limb: this, I say, is grossly ab
surd and unnatural, and contrary to the eternal
principle of self-preservation; as engaging men,
even for conscience sake, to surrender their lives
and fortunes to any thief or murderer, that shall
think fit to require them. Neither can Socinus, in
reason, so urge those words of our Saviour, (in Matt,
v. 39,) of not resisting evil, in this case, if he will
be but true to his own principle. For in his 3d
book De Christo Servatore, and the 6th chapter,
disputing against Christ’s satisfaction, he pleads, “that in regard it is,” as he says,
“contrary to reason,
though the scripture should never so often affirm
it, yet it ought not to be admitted or assented to.” Now, if this be his rule, I
demand of him, whether, for a man to preserve himself, and that even with the
destruction of the life of the person assailing him, supposing that he cannot
possibly do it otherwise,
But we need not recur to this, for the warranting men under the gospel to defend their lives, though with the destruction of those that would take them away. Only this I allege as an argument ad hominem, which sufficiently shews how slight and desultorious this man is in his principles and way of arguing, while at one time he frames to himself a principle for his present turn, and at another makes assertions, and raises discourses, which that principle most directly overthrows. Now all the forementioned absurdities (with many more that might be reckoned) are the tenets of those who deny the article of the Trinity, because, forsooth, it is impious and absurd; that is, who strain at one gnat, having already swallowed so many vast camels. And yet these are the persons, who in all their writings have the face to own themselves to the world for those heroes, whom God, by his special providence, has raised up to explain Christian religion, and to reform the doctrine of the church. I suppose, just in the same sense, that the school of Calvin was to reform her discipline.
And now in the last place; because this article is of so great moment, and stands, as it were, in the very front of our religion, so that it is of very high concernment to all to be sound and throughpaced in the belief of it; I shall shew,
1. What have been the causes that have first unsettled, and at the last destroyed the belief of it in some. And,
2. What may be the best means to settle and preserve the belief of it in ourselves and others.
For the first of these. There are three things, which I think have been the great causes that have took some off from the belief of this article. As,
1. That bold, profane, and absurd custom of
some persons, in attempting to paint and represent
it in figure. He who paints God, does a contradiction; for he attempts to make that visible, which he professes to be
invisible. The ministers of Transylvania and Sarmatia, rank assertors of the
Socinian heresy, in a certain book, See a Latin book in 4to, entitled,
Praemonitiones Christi et apostolorum, per ministros quosdam in Sarmatia et Transylvania, &c.
Mense trifrons isto Janum pater urbe bifrontem
Expulit, ut solus regnet in orbe trifrons;
that is to say, that the God having three faces had
driven, or, if you will, outfaced poor Janus out of
Jane biceps, anni tacite labentis origo;
Trifrontem pellas, ni miser esse velis.
Sometimes also they represent it by a ring set with three diamonds, in three equidistant places of it; and sometimes by the picture of three men of an equal pitch sitting together at one table, and upon one seat: and sometimes the same is expressed by the image of an old man, a child, and a dove; one signifying the Father, one the Son, and the third the Holy Ghost. All which things, being so contrary to the very natural notions which reason has of God, have brought many sober parts of the world to nauseate and abhor our whole religion, and to reject Christianity as only a new scheme of the old gentile idolatry; and withal have warranted the forementioned heretics to think they had cause for all those vile and wretched appellations, with which we shew how they bespattered this divine mystery: which blasphemies will, no doubt, be one day laid at the door, not of those only who denied, but of those also who painted the Trinity; and by so doing, made others to deny it. And indeed so far has the common sort of mankind took offence at these things, that if the belief of a God were not very deeply imprinted in man’s nature, such men’s cursed irrational boldness, in presuming to paint him, would go very near to bring all those about them, by degrees, to question the very Deity itself.
2. A second cause of the same evil, is the equally
bold and insignificant terms which some of the
schoolmen have expressed this great article by;
who, pursuing their own phenomena as undoubted
truths, speak as peremptorily and confidently of this
3. A third cause, which has much weakened
some men’s belief of this article, has been the imprudent building it upon some texts of scripture, which
indeed will evince no such thing. Such as those
places which I mentioned out of the Old Testament;
and such as one of the ancients once brought for a
proof of the eternal generation and deity of the
Word, from that expression of David, in
And thus having shewn some of the causes that undermine men’s
belief of the article of the Trinity, I shall now assign some means also to fix
and continue
1. To acquiesce in the bare revelation of the thing itself, and in those expressions under which it is revealed. As for the thing itself, God has expressly said, that there are three above the rank of created beings, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. And as for the words, in which he has conveyed this to us, they are few, easy, and intelligible, and to be believed just as they are proposed; that is, simply, and in general, and without entering too far into particulars.
2. To suppress all nice and over-curious inquiries into the peculiar nature, reason, and manner of
this mystery. For God having not thought fit to
reveal this to us any further, than he has yet actually done, sufficiently declares it to have been his
intent, that it should indeed be no further known,
nor indeed searched into by us; and perhaps so far
as it is yet unknown, it may, to a created reason,
be also unknowable. For when we are once assured
that the thing itself is; for us to amuse ourselves,
and others, with bold perplexing questions, (as they
can be no better,) how, and which way it comes to
be so, especially in matters relating to Almighty
God, must needs be equally irreverent and impertinent. Those words of an ancient commentator upon
St. John contain in them an excellent rule, and always to be attended to,
Firmam fidem, says he,
mysterio adhibentes, nunquam, in tam sublimibus, illud quomodo aut cogitemus, aut proferamus.
Which rule, had it been well observed, both in this
and some other articles of our religion, not only the
peace of particular churches and consciences, but
Let this therefore be fixed upon, that there is no
obedience comparable to that of the understanding;
no temperance, which so much commends the soul
to God, as that which shews itself in the restraint
of our curiosity. Besides which two important considerations, let us consider also, that an over-anxious
scrutiny into such mysteries is utterly useless, as to
all purposes of a rational inquiry. It wearies the
mind, but not informs the judgment. It makes us
conceited and fantastical in our notions, instead of
being sober and wise to salvation. It may provoke
God also, by our pressing too much into the secrets
of heaven, and the concealed glories of his nature,
to desert and give us over to strange delusions.
For they are only things revealed, (as Moses told
the Israelites, in
To which God, incomprehensible in his nature, and wonderful in his works, be rendered and ascribed, as is most due, all praise, might, majesty, and dominion, both now and for ever more. Amen.
Ill-disposed affections, both naturally and penally the cause of darkness and error in the judgment.
And for this cause God shall send them strong delusion, that they should believe a lie.
OF all the fatal effects of sin, none looks so dread
fully, none strikes so just an horror into considering
minds, as that every sinful action a man does naturally disposes him to another; and that it is hardly
possible for him to do any thing so ill, but that it
proves a preparative and introduction to the doing of
something worse. Upon which account, that notable
imprecation of the Psalmist, upon his own and the
Church’s enemies, in
Now in the words I have here pitched upon, as they stand in coherence with the precedent and subsequent verse, there are these two things to be considered.
First, A severe judgment denounced against a certain sort of men; namely, that God would send them such strong delusion, that they should believe a lie. And,
Secondly, The meritorious procuring cause of this judgment in the foregoing verse; to wit, their not receiving the love of the truth.
Where it is manifest, that by the words truth and
a lie, are not to be here meant all truth and falsehood
generally or indefinitely speaking, nor yet more particularly all that is true or false upon a philosophical
Which being thus premised, if we would bring the entire sense of the words into one proposition, it may, I conceive, not unfitly be comprehended in this, viz.
That the not entertaining a sincere love and affection for the duties of religion, does both naturally, and by the just judgment of God besides, dispose men to errors and deceptions about the great truths of religion.
This, I say, seems to me to take in the main, if not whole design of the words; for the better prosecution of which, I shall cast what I have to say upon them under these following particulars: as,
I. I shall shew, how the mind of man can believe a lie.
II. I shall shew, what it is to receive the love of the truth.
III. I shall shew, how the not receiving the love of the truth comes to have such an influence upon the understanding or judgment, as to dispose it to error and delusion.
IV. I shall shew, how God can be properly said to send such delusions.
V. Since his sending them is here mentioned as a judgment, (and that a very great one too,) I shall shew wherein the greatness of it consists. And,
VI. and lastly, I shall improve the point into some useful consequences and deductions from the whole.
Of each of which in their order. And,
I. For the first of them; to shew, how the mind
of man can believe a lie. There is certainly so great
a suitableness between truth and an human understanding, that the understanding of itself can no more
believe a lie, than the taste rightly disposed can pronounce a bitter thing
sweet. The formal cause of all assent is the appearance of truth; and if a lie
is believed, it can be so no further, than as it carries in it
the appearance of truth. But then, what and whence
are these appearances? Appearance, no doubt, is a
relative term, and must be between two; for one thing
could not be said to appear, if there were not another
for it to appear to. So that there must be both an
object and a faculty, before there can be an appearance;
and consequently, from one of these two must spring
all falsehood at any time belonging to it. But the
question is, from which of them? And in answer to
it, it is certain, that the object itself cannot cause a
false appearance of itself. For if so, when the mind
has conceived a false apprehension of God, God, who
is the object, would be the cause of that false apprehension. But it is certain, that objects operate not
efficiently upon the faculties; for if they should,
since the object is the same to all, viz. both those
who entertain true, and those who entertain false
apprehensions of it, it would be impossible for the
same thing, so far as it is the same, to produce such
contrary effects. It is the same body which appears
to one of such a shape, and to another of a quite different. And therefore the difference must needs be
Well then; since a lie cannot be believed, but under the appearance of truth, and since a lie cannot give itself any such appearance, it is evident, that if any man believes a lie, it is from something in himself that he does so. There are lies, errors, and heresies about the world, both plausible and infinite, but then they naturally appear what they are; and if truth be naked to the skin, error is and must be so to the bone; and the fairest falsehood can no more oblige assent, than the best dressed evil can oblige the choice.
And thus having given both falsehood, and the Devil, the
father of it, their due, and cleared even the grossest He from being the cause
that it is believed, and thereby left it wholly at the door of him who believes
it; let us in the next place inquire, what may be the causes on the believer’s
part, which make any object, and particularly a lie, appear otherwise
1. An undue distance between the faculty and its proper object.
2. An indisposition in the faculty itself. And,
1. For the first of these. As approximation is one
necessary condition of perception; so, too much distance prevents and hinders it, by setting the object
too far out of our reach: and if the apprehensive faculty offers at an object so placed, and falls short of
the apprehension of it, the fault is not in the object,
but in that. And here, by distance, I mean not only
an interval in point of local position, which, if too
great, certainly hinders all corporeal perception; but
likewise a distance, or rather disparity, of natures;
such as is between finite and infinite, material and
spiritual beings, consisting in the great disproportion
there is between one and the other. And from
hence it is, that the mind of man is uncapable of apprehending any thing almost of God, or indeed of
angels; the distance between their natures being so
exceeding great. For though God, as the evangelist
St. Luke tells us in
2. The other cause, which makes any object, and particularly a lie, appear otherwise than really it is, is the indisposition of the intellectual faculty; which indisposition, in some degree or other, is sure to follow from sin, both original and actual. For so much as there is of deviation from the eternal rules of right reason or morality in the soul, so much there will of necessity be of darkness in it too; and so much of darkness as there is in it, so far must it be unavoidably subject to pass a false judgment upon most things that come before it. Otherwise there is nothing in reason, considered purely and simply as such, which is or can be unsuitable to religion, or indeed to the nature of any thing; but so much the contrary, that if we could imagine a man all reason, without any bias from his sensitive part, it were impossible but that, upon the first sufficient offer, he should, as we may so express it, with both arms embrace religion. But the case has been much altered since the fall of our first parents, and the fatal blow thereby given to all the powers of men’s mind; besides the further debilitation and distemper brought upon it by many actual and gross sins. So that now the understandings of men are become like some bodily eyes, disabled from an exact discernment of their proper object, both by a natural weakness and a supervening soreness too.
And thus I have accounted for the true cause
which sometimes prostitutes the noble understanding of man to the lowest of dishonours, the belief
of a lie; namely, either the remoteness of the faculty (whether in point of distance or difference)
Second particular proposed, viz. to shew what it is to receive the love of the truth.
And this we shall find implies in it these two things.
1. An high esteem and valuation of the real worth
and excellency of it; this is the first and leading
act of the mind. Truth must be first enthroned in
our judgment, before it can reign in our desires;
and as it is the leading faculty, so it is the measure
of the rest: for no man’s love of any thing can rise
above his esteem of it, nor can his appetites exert
themselves upon any object, not first vouched by his
apprehensions. For which cause, the Holy Ghost
in scripture, the better to advance religion in our
thoughts, represents it by things of all others the
most highly accounted of in the world, as crowns,
thrones, kingdoms, hidden treasure, and the like;
all which expressions, though far from being intended according to the strict and philosophical
truth of things, but rather as allusions to them, yet
still were founded in the universally acknowledged
course of nature, which ever was and will be, for
men to be first allured by the worth of things, before they can desire the property or possession of
them; and to consider the value, before they design
the purchase. But, be the matter as it may, our affections, to be sure, will bid nothing for any thing,
till our judgment has set the price. Thus St. Paul
Second place, the other thing implied in and
intended by the receiving the love of the truth, is
the choice of it, as of a thing transcendently good,
and particularly agreeable to our condition. Generals, we commonly say, are
fallacious; but it is certain that they are always faint. And therefore it is
not merely what is good, as to the general notion of it, (which can minister to
little more than bare theory and discourse,) but particularly what is good for
me, which must engage my practice. To esteem a thing, we have shewn, is properly
an act of the understanding; but to choose it, is the part and office of the
will. And choosing is a considerable advance beyond bare esteem; forasmuch as it
is the end of it, and consequently perfects it, as the end does every action
which is directed to it. It is the most proper, genuine, and finishing act of
love. For the great effect of love is to unite us to the thing we love; and the
will is properly the uniting faculty, and choice the uniting act, which brings
the soul and its beloved object together. Judgment and esteem, indeed, is that
which offers and recommends it to the soul; but it is choice which makes the
match. For the truth is, the soul of man can do no more, nor reach further, than
first to esteem an object, and then to choose it. And therefore, till we have
made religion our fixed choice, it only floats in the imagination, and is but
the business of talk and fancy. But it is the heart, after all, which must
appropriate
And thus having shewn what is meant by and
implied in the receiving the love of the truth, it
may, I conceive, help us to an easy and natural account of its opposite or contrary; to wit, the rejecting, or not receiving the same; the great sin, as we
before observed, for which the persons here in the
text stand concluded under so severe a doom. For
the further explication of which, we may very rationally suppose the condition of those men to have
been this, viz. that upon the preaching of Christianity, the truth of it quickly overpowered their as
sent, and broke in upon their apprehensions with
the highest evidence and conviction; but the searching purity and spirituality of the same doctrines
equally encountering their worldly interests and
Third particular proposed by us; which was to shew, how the not receiving the love of the truth into the will and affections, comes to dispose the understanding to error and delusion. Now, I conceive, it may do it these following ways.
1. By drawing off the understanding from fixing
its contemplation upon a disgusted offensive truth.
For though it is not in the power of the will, when
the understanding apprehends a truth clearly and
distinctly, to countermand its assent to it; yet it
has so great an influence upon it, that it is able antecedently to hinder it from taking that truth into a
full and thorough consideration. And while the
mind is not taken up with an actual attention to the
truth proposed to it, so long it is obnoxious to the
offers and impressions of the contrary error. For
the first adherencies, or rather applications of the
soul to truth, are very weak and imperfect, till they
are furthered and confirmed by a frequent converse
with it, and so by degrees come to have the general
notions of reason endeared and made familiar to the
mind by renewed acts of attention and speculation;
which ceasing, if a falsehood comes recommended to
the soul with any advantage, that is to say, with
agreeableness, though without argument, it is ten to
one but it enters, and takes possession. And then
the poison is infused; let the man get it out again
as he can. He who will not insist attentively and
closely upon the examination of any truth, is never
like to have his mind either clearly informed of it,
2. A will vitiated, and grown out of love with the
truth, disposes the understanding to error and delusion, by causing in it a prejudice and partiality in
all its reflections upon and discourses about it. He
who considers of a thing with prejudice, has judged
the cause before he hears it, and decided the matter,
not as really it is, but as it either crosses or comports with the principles which he is already
prepossessed with: the understanding, in such a case,
being like the eye of the body, viewing a white thing
through a red glass; it forms a judgment of the co
lour, not according to the thing it sees, but according to that by which it sees. And upon the like
account it is, that the will and the affections never
pitch upon any thing as odious, but that sooner or
later they bribe the judgment to represent it to them
as ugly too. We know the miracles, the astonishing works, and excellent discourses of our Saviour
could not strike the hearts of those whom he preached to, through the mighty prejudice they had conceived against his person and country. But that
they still opposed all, even the most cogent and demonstrative arguments he could bring for his
doctrine, with that silly exception, Is not this the carpenter’s son? And that one ridiculous proverb,
that
no good could come out of Galilee, (as slight as it
was,) yet proved strong enough to obstruct their as
sent, and arm their minds against that high conviction and mighty sway of evidence, which shined
forth in all his miraculous works; so that this senseless saying alone fully answered, or (which was as
The third and last reason which I shall assign The reader may please to cast his eye upon a sermon in
the second volume, p. 261-292, where this subject is more
professedly and largely treated
of.
Shew me so much as one wise counsel or action of Marcus Antonius, a person otherwise both valiant and eloquent, after that he had subdued his understanding to his affections, and his affections to Cleopatra. How great was Lucullus in the field, and how great in the academy! But, abandoning himself to ease and luxury, Plutarch tells us that he survived the use of his reason, grew infatuated, and doted long before he died, though he died before he was old.
All which tends to demonstrate, that such is the nature of vice, that the love thereof entering into the will, and thrusting out the love of truth, it is no wonder, if the understanding comes to sink into infatuation and delusion; the ferment of a vicious inclination lodged in the affections, being like an intoxicating liquor received into the stomach, from whence it will be continually sending thick clouds and noisome steams up to the brain. Filth and foulness in the one will be sure to cause darkness in the other. Was ever any one almost observed to come out of a tavern, an alehouse, or a jolly meeting, fit for his study, or indeed for any thing else, requiring stress or exactness of thought? The morning, we know, is commonly said to be a friend to the muses, but a morning’s draught was never so. And thus having done with the third particular proposed from the text, come we now to the
Fourth; viz. to shew, how God can be properly
said to send men delusions. God, says the apostle,
This principle therefore being thus removed, let
us see how it can comport with the goodness and
absolute purity of the divine nature, to have such
effects ascribed to it, and how, without any derogation to the glorious attribute of God’s holiness, he
1. First by withdrawing his enlightening influence from the understanding. This, I confess, may seem at first an obscure, enthusiastic notion to some; but give me leave to shew, that there is sufficient ground for it in reason. And for this purpose, I shall observe to you, that it was the opinion of some philosophers, particularly of Aristotle, and since him of Averroes, Avicenna, and some others, that there was one universal soul belonging to the whole species, or race of mankind, and indeed to all things else according to their capacity: which universal soul, by its respective existence in, and communication of itself to each particular man, did exert in him those noble acts of understanding and ratiocination proper to his nature; and those also in a different degree and measure of perfection, according as the different crasis or disposition of the organs of the body made it more or less fit to receive the communication of that universal soul; which soul only (by the way) they held to be immortal; and that every particular man, both in respect of body and spirit, was mortal; his spirit being nothing else but a more refined disposition and elevation of matter.
Others, detesting the impiety of this opinion, did
allow to every individual person a distinct immortal
soul, and that also endued with the power and faculty of understanding and discourse inherent in it.
But then, as to the soul’s use and actual exercise of
this faculty, upon their observing the great difference between the same object, as it was sensible, and
affected the sense, and as it was intelligible, and moved
The result and application of which discourse to
my present purpose is this; that certainly For it is ascribed to no less
persons than to Plato, and Aristotle after him, (as borrowing
it from him,) and that by several of the most eminent interpreters of the latter, both
ancient and modern; all of them
proceeding upon this ground,
that in order to the actual intellection of any object, there is
a spiritual, intellectual light necessary to enable the object to
move or affect the intellective
faculty, which yet the object
cannot give to itself, nor yet
strike or move the said faculty
without it. And therefore they
say, that there is required an intellectus agens, or being distinct both from the object and the
faculty too, which may so advance and spiritualize the object, by casting an higher light
upon it, as to render it fit and
prepared thereby for an intellectual perception. And forasmuch as every thing which is
such or such secondarily, and
by participation from another,
supposes some other to be so
primarily and originally by and
from itself; and since God is
the primum intelligibile in the
intellectual world, as the sun is
the primum visibile in the sensible and material world; they
affirm the same necessity of a
superior and intellectual light issuing from God, in order to
move the intellect, and form in
it an intellectual apprehension
of things, which there is of a
light beaming from the sun, for
the causing an act of vision in
the visive faculty. And this
they insist upon, not only as a
similitude for illustration, but
as a kind of parallel case, as to
this particular instance, how
widely soever the things compared may differ from one another upon many other accounts.
This, I say, was held by several
of the most noted of the Peripatetic tribe; though others, I
know, who are professedly of
the same, do yet in this matter
go quite another way; allowing indeed that there is and
must be an intellectus agens, but that it is no more than a different faculty of the same soul, or
a different function of the same
faculty; but by no means an
agent, or intelligent being distinct from it. This, I confess,
is of very nice speculation, and
made so by the arguments producible on both sides, and consequently not so proper to make
a part in such a popular discourse as I am here engaged
in; nor should I have ever
mentioned it barely as a philosophical point, but as I conceived it improvable into a
theological use, as I have endeavoured to improve it in the discourse itself; to which therefore
I have chose rather to annex
this by way of annotation, than
to insert it into the body thereof.
2. God may be said to do the same, by giving commission
How the Devil conveys his fallacies to the minds
of men, and by what ways and arts he befools their
understandings, I shall not here dispute; nor, being
sure of the thing itself, from the word of God, that
it is so, shall I be much solicitous about the manner
how. But thus much we may truly, and, by consequence, safely say, that since it is too evident that
the Devil can make false resemblances and representations of things pass before our bodily eyes, so
that we shall be induced to believe that we see that,
which physically and indeed we do not see; why
may he not also suggest false images of things both
to the imagination and to the intellectual eye of the
mind, (as different as they are from one another,)
For how dreadfully did God consign over the heathen world to a perpetual slavery to his deceits! They worshipped him, they consulted with him, and so absolutely were they sealed up under the ruling cheat, that they took all his tricks and impostures for oracle and instruction. And the truth is, when men, under the powerful preaching of the gospel, (such as the church of England has constantly afforded,) will grow heathens in the viciousness of their practices, it is but just with God to suffer them (by a very natural transition) to grow heathens too in the grossness of their delusions.
3. A third way by which God may be said to
send men delusions is, by a providential disposing
of them into such circumstances of life, as, through
a peculiar suitableness to their corruption, have in
them a strange efficacy to delude and impose upon
them. God, by a secret, unobserved trace of his providence, may cast men under an heterodox, seducing
ministry, or he may order their business and affairs
so, that they shall light into atheistical company,
grow acquainted with heretics, or possibly meet with
pestilent books, and with arguments subtilly and
speciously urged against the truth: all which falling
And therefore, as we find it expressed of him who
kills a man unwillingly, and by some undesigned
Let this therefore pass for a third way by which
God delivers over a sinner to error and circumvention. Which point I shall conclude with those
exclamatory words of St. Paul, so full of wonder and
astonishment, in
Fourth and last place; we are not to omit another notable way
of God’s delivering sinners to delusion, which is mentioned in the ninth verse of the
chapter from whence our text is taken; namely, his
permitting lying wonders to be done before them.
A miracle, in a large and general sense, is no more
but effectus aliquis manifestus, cujus causa ignoratur; a manifest effect, of which the cause is not
understood: but, in a more restrained and proper
sense, it is denned a work or effect evident to sense,
and exceeding the force of natural agents. Now,
whether such an one can be done to confirm and
give credit to a falsehood proposed to men’s belief,
God lending his power for the trial of men, to see, or
rather to let the world see, whether they will be
drawn off from the truth or no, may well be disputed; though that place in
But as for that former sort of miracles, which indeed are only strange things causing wonder, and so
may proceed from mere natural causes applying
activa passivis, there is no question, but such as
these may be done to confirm a false doctrine or assertion. Thus, when Pharaoh hardened his heart
against the express command and declared will of
God, God permitted him to be confirmed in his delusion by the enchantments and lying wonders of the
magicians; all which were done only by the power
the Devil. Forasmuch as angels, both good and
The church of Rome has, in this respect, sufficiently declared the little value she has for the old Christian truth, by the new, upstart articles she has superadded to it; and besides this, to confirm one error with another, she further professes a power of doing miracles. So that, laying aside the writings of the apostles, we must, it seems, resolve our faith into legends; and old wives fables must take place of the histories of the evangelists. And the truth is, if non sense may pass for miracle, transubstantiation has carried her miracle-working gift far above all the miracles that were ever yet wrought in the world. But as for the many other miraculous feats which she and her sons pretend to and boast of, I shall only say thus much of them, that though I doubt not but most of them are the impudent cheats of daring, designing persons, set afoot and practised by them to defy God, as well as to delude men; yet it is no ways improbable, but that God may suffer the Devil to do many of them above what a bare human power is able to do, and that in a judicial and penal way, thereby to fix and rivet both the deceivers and deceived in a belief of those lies and fopperies, which, in opposition to the light of reason and conscience, they had so industriously enslaved their understandings to.
And now, I think, it is of as high concernment to
Which God, the great Fountain of truth, and Father of lights, of his infinite compassion prevent. To whom be rendered and ascribed, as is most due, all praise, might, majesty, and do minion, both now and for evermore. Amen,
Ill-disposed affections both naturally and penally the cause of darkness and error in the judgment.
And far this cause God shall send them strong delusion, that they should believe a lie.
WHEN I first made an entrance upon these words, I gathered the full sense and design of them, as I judged, into this one proposition, viz.
That the not entertaining a sincere love and affection for the duties of religion naturally, and by the just judgment of God also, disposes men to error and deceptions about the great truths of religion.
Which to me seeming to take in and comprehend the full sense and drift of the words, I then cast what I had to say upon them into these following particulars,
I. To shew, how the mind of man can believe a lie.
II. To shew, what it is to receive the love of the truth.
III. To shew, how the not receiving the love of the truth comes to have such a malign influence upon the understanding, as to dispose it to error and delusion.
IV. To shew, how God can be properly said to send men delusions. And,
V. Since his sending them is here mentioned as a
Sixthly and lastly, to improve the point into some useful consequences and deductions from the whole.
The four first of these I have already despatched in the preceding discourse upon this text and subject, and so shall now proceed to the
Fifth, which was to shew, wherein the extraordinary and distinguishing greatness of this judgment did consist. For it is certain, that the text here accounts and represents it above the ordinary rate of judgments commonly sent by God.
And this, I conceive, will remarkably shew itself to such as shall consider it these two ways,
1. Absolutely in itself.
2. In the consequents of it.
Under the first of which two considerations, the peculiar dreadfulness of this judgment will more than sufficiently appear, upon these two accounts: as,
1. That it is spiritual; and so directly affects and
annoys the prime and most commanding part of
man’s nature, his soul; that noble copy and resemblance of its Maker, in small indeed, but nevertheless one of the liveliest representations of him, that
the God of nature ever drew; and that in some of
his greatest and most amiable perfections. And if
so, can any thing be imagined to come so like a
killing blast upon it, as that which shall at once strip
it of this glorious image, and stamp the black portraiture of the foulest of beings in the room of it?
Besides, since nothing can either please or afflict to
any considerable degree, but by a close and intimate
Every judgment of God has a force more or less
destructive, according to the quality and reception
of the thing which it falls upon. If it seizes the
body, which is but of a mortal and frail make, and
so, as it were, crumbles away under the pressure,
why then the judgment itself expires through the
failure of a sufficient subject or recipient, and ceases
to be predatory, as having nothing to prey upon.
But that which comes out of its Creator’s hands,
immaterial and immortal, endures and continues
under the heaviest stroke of his wrath; and so is
able to keep pace with the infliction (as I may so
express it) both by the largeness of its perception
and the measure of its duration. He who has a
soul to suffer in, has something by which God may
take full hold of him, and upon which he may exert
his anger to the utmost. Whereas, if he levels the
blow at that which is weak and mortal, the very
weakness of the thing stricken at will elude the
violence of the stroke: as when a sharp, corroding
rheum falls upon the lungs, that part being but of
a spongy nature, and of no hard substance, little or
no pain is caused by the distillation; but the same
falling upon a nerve fastened to the jaw, or to a joint, (the consistency and
firmness of which shall force to the impression,) it presently causes the quickest pain and anguish, and becomes intolerable,
cannon bullet will do terrible execution upon
The judgments which God inflicts upon men are of several sorts, and intended for several ends, and those very different. Some are only probative, and designed to try and stir up those virtues which before lay dormant in the soul. Some again are preventive, and sent to pull back the unwary sinner from the unperceived snares of death, which he is ignorantly approaching to. And some, in the last place, are of a punitive or vindictive nature, and intended only to recompense or revenge the guilt of past sins; as part of the sinner’s payment in hand, and as so many foretastes of death, and earnests of damnation.
Accordingly, we are to observe, that the malignity of spiritual judgments consists chiefly in this, that their end, most commonly, is neither trial nor prevention, but vengeance and retribution. They are corrosives, made not to heal, but to consume. And surely, such an one is the judgment of being sealed up under a delusion. Sampson, we read, endured many hardships and affronts, and yet sunk under none of them; but when an universal sottishness was fallen upon all his faculties, and God’s wonted presence had forsook him, he presently be came, as to all the generous purposes of life and action, an useless and a ruined person.
Whereas, on the other side, suppose, that God
should visit a man with extreme poverty; yet still,
he, who is as poor as Job, may be as humble, as patient, and as pious as Job too; and such qualities
will be always accounted pearls and treasures, though
found upon the vilest dunghill: or what if God
2. The greatness of the judgment of being brought
under the power of a delusion, consists not only in
the spirituality of it, whereby it possesses and perverts the whole soul in all the powers and offices of
it, but more particularly, that it blasts a man in
that peculiar, topping perfection of his nature, his
understanding: for ignorance and deception are the
very bane of the intellect, the disease of the mind,
and the utmost dishonour of reason: there being no
In the mean time, if slavery be that which all
generous and brave spirits abhor; and to lose the
choicest of nature’s freeholds, and that in the most
valuable of things, their reason, be the worst of slaveries; then surely it must be the most inglorious
condition that can befall a rational creature, to be
possessed, rid, and governed by a delusion. For
still (as our Saviour has told us in
But besides all this, there is yet something further, which adds to the misery of this kind of slavery and captivity of the mind under error; and that is, that it has a peculiar malignity to bind the shackles faster upon it, by a strange, unaccountable love, which it begets of itself, in a man’s affections. For no man entertains an error, but, for the time that he does so, he is highly pleased and enamoured with it, and has a more particular tenderness and fondness for a false notion than for a true, (as some for a bastard, more than for a son;) for error and deception, by all (who are not actually under them) are accounted really the madness of the mind. And madness, it must be owned, naturally keeps off melancholy, (though often caused by it.) For it makes men wonderfully pleased with their own extravagancies; and few, how much soever out of their wits, are out of humour too in bedlam.
Now the reason of this different acceptableness of
truth and error in the first offers of them to the
mind, and the advantage which the latter too often
gets over the former, is, I conceive, from this, that
it is natural for error to paint and daub, to trim,
and use more of art and dress to set it off to the
mind, than truth is observed to do. Which, trusting in its own native and substantial worth, scorns
all meretricious ornaments, and knowing the right
But now, to close this point, by shewing how
vastly the understanding differs from itself, when
informed by truth, and when abused by error; let
us observe how the scripture words the case, while
it expresses the former by a state of light, and the
latter by a state of darkness. Concerning both
which, as it is evident that nothing can be more
amiable, suitable, and universally subservient both
to the needs and to the refreshments of the creature, than light: so nothing is deservedly accounted
so dismal, hateful, and dispiriting, as darkness is;
darkness, I say, which the scripture makes only
I come now to consider the distinguishing greatness of the judgment of God’s sending men strong delusion, by taking a view of the effects and consequents of it; and we need cast our eyes no further than these two. As,
1. That it renders the conscience utterly useless, as
to the great office to be discharged by it in the regulation and supervisal of the whole course of a
man’s life. A blind watchman (all must grant) is
equally a nuisance and an impertinence. And such
a paradox, both in reason and practice, is a deluded
conscience, viz. a counsellor who cannot advise, and
a guide not able to direct. Nothing can be more
close and proper to the point now before us, than
that remark of our Saviour in
As for the will and the affections, they are made
to follow and obey, not to lead or to direct. Their
office is not apprehension, but appetite; and therefore the schools rightly affirm, that the will, strictly
and precisely considered, is caeca potentia, a
blind faculty. And therefore, if error has perverted the order and disturbed the
original economy of our faculties, and a blind will thereupon comes to be led by
a blind understanding, there is no remedy, but it must trip and stumble, and
sometimes fall into the noisome ditch of the foulest enormities and
immoralities. But now, whether this be not one of the highest instances of God’s
vindictive justice, thus to confound a man with an erroneous, deceived
conscience, a little reflection upon the miseries of one in such a condition
will easily demonstrate. For see the tumult and anarchy of his mind; having done
a good and a lawful action, his conscience alarms him with scruples, with false
judgments and anxious reflections; and perhaps, on the other hand, having done
an act in itself evil and unlawful, the same conscience excuses and acquits him,
and sooths him into such complacencies in his sin, as shall prevent his
repentance,
2. Final perdition mentioned by the Apostle in the verse
immediately following the text. God, says he, shall send them strong delusion,
that they should believe a lie; that they all might be damned who believed not the truth. This is the utmost period to which
I must confess, I cannot imagine that those heretics who err fundamentally, and by consequence
damnably, took their first rise, and began to set up
with a fundamental error, but grew into it by insensible encroaches and gradual insinuations, inuring,
and as it were training up their belief to lesser essays
of falsehood, and proceeding from propositions only
suspicious, to such as were false, from false to dangerous, and at length from dangerous to downright
destructive. Hell is a deep place, and there are many
steps of descent to the bottom of it; many obscure
vaults to be passed through before we come to
utter darkness. But still the way of error is the
way to it. And as surely and naturally as the first
dusk and gloom of the evening tends to, and at
last ends in the thickest darkness of midnight, so
every delusion, sinfully cherished and persisted in,
(how easily soever it may sit upon the conscience for
Sixth and last thing proposed for the handling of the words; and that was, to draw some useful consequences and deductions from the five foregoing particulars. As,
First of all. Since the belief of a lie is here undoubtedly noted for a sin; and since Almighty God in the way of judgment delivers men to it for not receiving the love of the truth; it follows, by most clear and undeniable consequence, that it is no ways in consistent with the divine holiness to affirm, that he may punish one sin with another. Though the manner how God does so is not so generally agreed upon by all. For some here affirm that sin is said to be the punishment of sin, because in most sinful actions the committer of them is really a sufferer in and by the very sin which he commits. As for instance, the envious man at the same time contracts the guilt and feels the torment of his sin; the same thing defiles and afflicts too; merits an hell hereafter, and withal anticipates one here. The like may be said of theft, perjury, uncleanness, and intemperance; the infamy and other calamities inseparably attending them, render them their own scourges, and make the sinner the minister of God’s justice in acting a full revenge upon himself. All this, I must confess, is true, but it reaches not the matter in question; which compares not the same sin with itself, where of the consequences may undoubtedly be afflictive, but compares two distinct sins together, and in quires concerning these, whether one can properly be the punishment of the other?
Besides, if we weigh and distinguish things exactly, when the envious man groans under the gnawings and convulsions of his base sin, and the lewd person suffers the brand and disrepute of his vice; in all this, sin is not properly punished with sin; but the evil of envy is punished with the trouble of envy, and the sin of intemperance with the infamy of in temperance; but neither is a state of trouble nor a state of disgrace or infamy properly a state of sin; these are natural, not moral evils; and opposed to the quiet and tranquillity, not to the virtue of the soul; for a man may be virtuous without either ease or reputation. This way therefore is short of resolving the problem inquired into; which precisely moves upon this point, viz. Whether for the guilt of one sin God can, by way of penalty, bring the sinner under the guilt of another?
Some seem to prove that he cannot, and that in the strength of this argument, that every punishment proceeding from God, as the author of it, is just and good; but no sin is or can be so; and therefore no sin can be made by God the punishment of another.
But nevertheless, the contrary is held forth in
scripture, and that as expressly as words can well
declare a thing; for besides the clear proof thereof,
which the very text carries with it, it is yet further
proved by those two irrefragable places in
To the argument therefore alleged, I answer thus; that it is very consonant both to scripture and reason, to distinguish in one and the same thing several respects; and accordingly in sin, we may consider the moral irregularity of it; and so being in the very nature of it evil, it is impossible that there should be any good in it; or we may consider sin, as to the penal application of it to the person who committed it, and as a means to bring the just judgment of God upon him for what he had done; and so some good may be said to belong to it, though there be none at all in it.
Or to express the same thing otherwise, and perhaps more clearly and agreeably to vulgar apprehensions. Sin may be considered either, 1st, With reference to the proper cause of it, the will of man committing or producing it, and so it is absolutely and
entirely evil. Or, 2dly, It may be considered as it relates to the supreme Judge and Governor of the
world, permitting, ordering, disposing, and overruling the existence and event of it, to the honour of
his wisdom and justice; and so far it may be called
good, and consequently sustain the nature of a punishment
Now these distinctions, rightly weighed and ap plied, will fully and clearly accord the doctrine laid down by us both with the notions of human reason, and the holiness of the divine nature; and consequently render all objections and popular exclamations against either of them empty and insignificant.
Nor indeed is it very difficult, and much less impossible, to
give some tolerable account, how God delivers a sinner over to further sins. For
it may be very rationally said, that he does it partly by withholding
But now, of all the punishments which the great
and just God in his anger inflicts, or brings upon a
man for sin, there is none comparable to sin itself.
Men are apt to go on securely, pleasing themselves
in the repeated gratifications of their vice; and they
feel not God strike, and so are encouraged in the
progress of their impiety. But let them not, for all
that, be too confident; for God may strike, though
they feel not his stroke, and perhaps the more terribly for their not feeling it. Forasmuch as in judgments of this nature, insensibility always goes deep
est; and the wrath of God seldom does such killing
execution when it thunders, as when it blasts. He
has certainly some dreadful design carrying on against
the sinner, while he suffers him to go on in a smooth,
uninterrupted course of sinning; and what that design is, and the dreadfulness of it, probably will not be
2. The second great consequence from the doctrine hitherto treated of by us, of the naturalness of men’s going off from the love of the truth to a disbelief of the same, shall be to inform us of the surest and most effectual way to confirm our faith about the sacred and important truths of religion; and that is, to love them for their transcendent worth and purity; to fix our inclinations and affections upon them; and, in a word, not only to confess, own, and acknowledge them to be truths, but also to be willing that they should be so; and to rejoice with the greatest complacency, that there should be such things prepared for us, as the scripture tells us there are. For we shall find, that truth is not so much upon terms of courtesy with the understanding, (which upon a clear discovery of itself it naturally commands,) as it is with the will and the affections, which (though never so clearly discovered to them) it is always almost forced to woo and make suit to.
I have been ever prone to take this for a principle,
and a very safe one too, viz. that there is no opinion
really good, (I mean good in the natural, beneficent sequences thereof,) which
can be false. And accordingly, when religion, even natural, tells us, that
there is a God, and that he is a rewarder of every
And now, before we come to acknowledge the
truth of them, let us seriously and in good earnest
examine them, and consider how good, how expedient, and how suitable to all the ends and uses of
human life it is, that there should be such things;
how unable society would be to subsist without them;
how the whole world would sink into another chaos
and confusion, did not the awe and belief of these
things (or something like them) regulate and control the exorbitances of men’s headstrong and
unruly wills. Upon a thorough consideration of all
which, I am confident, that there is no truly wise
and thinking person, who, could he suppose that
the forecited dictates of religion should not prove
really true, would not however wish at least that
And this one consideration (were there no further arguments
for it, either from faith or philosophy) is to me an irrefragable proof of the
truth of the doctrines
But our Saviour prescribes men an excellent and
unfailing method to assure themselves of the truth
of his doctrine,
Third and last of the consequences deducible from the doctrine first proposed by us; and this shall be to give some account of the true cause and original of those two great evils which of late have so disturbed these parts of the world; to wit, atheism and fanaticism. And,
1. For atheism. Most sure it is, that no doctrine or opinion can generally gain upon men’s minds, but (let it be never so silly and fantastical) it must yet proceed from some real cause; and more particularly either from the seeming evidence of the thing forcing a belief of itself upon a weak intellect, or from some strange, unaccountable inclination of the will and the affections to such an hypothesis. For the first of these, I would fain see some of those co gent, convincing arguments, by which any one will own himself persuaded that there is no God, or that he does not govern the affairs of the world so as to take a particular cognizance of men’s actions, in designing to them a future retribution, according to the nature and quality of them here: it being all one to the world, whether there be no God, or none who governs it.
But how pitiful and ridiculous are the grounds
upon which such men pretend to account for the
very lowest and commonest phenomena of nature,
without recurring to a God and Providence! Such
as, either the fortuitous concourse of infinite little
bodies of themselves, and by their own impulse
(since no other nature or spirit is allowed by these
But if this be the case, why then is it made a
badge of wit, and an argument of parts, for a man
to commence atheist, and to cast off all belief of
Providence, all awe and reverence of religion? Assuredly, in this matter, men’s conviction begins not
at their understandings, but at their wills, or rather
at their brutish appetites; which being immersed in
2. The next great evil which has of late infested the Christian church, and that part of it in our nation more especially, is fanaticism; that is to say, a pretence to and profession of a greater purity in religion, and a more spiritual, perfect way of worshipping Almighty God, than the national established church affords to those in communion with it. This, I say, was and is the pretence; but a pretence so utterly false and shamefully groundless, that in comparison of the principle which makes it, hypocrisy may worthily pass for sincerity, and Pharisaism for the truest and most refined Christianity.
But as for those who own and abet such separations, to the infinite disturbance both of church and
In the mean time, to give a true but short account of the proceedings and temper of these separatists. It was nothing but a kind of spiritual pride
which first made them disdain to submit to the discipline, and from thence brought them to despise
and turn their backs upon the established worship
of our church; the sober, grave, and primitive plainness of which began to be loathed by such brainsick,
And for this cause, no doubt, God, in his just and severe judgment, delivered them over to their own sanctified and adored nonsense, to confound and lose themselves in an endless maze of error and seduction: so that, as soon as they had broke off from the church, (through the encouragement given them by a company of men which had overturned all that was settled in the nation,) they first ran into presbyterian classes, from thence into independent congregations: from independents they improved into anabaptists; from anabaptists into quakers: from whence being able to advance no further, they are in a fair way to wheel about to the other extreme of popery: a religion and interest the most loudly decried, and most effectually served by these men, of any other in the world besides.
But whosoever, in the great concerns of his soul,
would pitch his foot upon sure ground, let him be
ware of these whirlpools, and of turning round and
round, till he comes to be seized with such a giddiness, as shall make him fall finally and irrecoverably,
not from the church only, but even from God himself, and all sense of religion. And therefore, to prevent such a fatal issue of things, let a man, in the
next place, consider, that the way to obtain a settled
persuasion of the truth of religion, is to bring an ho
nest, humble, and unbiassed mind, open to the embraces of it; and to know withal, that if he chooses
To which God, the Father of lights, and the Fountain of all truth, be rendered and ascribed, as is most due, all praise, might, majesty, and dominion, both now and for ever more. Amen.
Covetousness proved no less an absurdity in reason,
than a contradiction to religion, nor a more
unsure way to riches, than riches
themselves to happiness.
And he said unto them, Take heed, and beware of covetousness: for a man’s life consisteth not in the abundance of the things which he possesseth.
IN these words our Saviour cautions his disciples,
and the rest of his hearers, against covetousness;
a vice, which, by striking in with some of the most
active principles of our nature, and at the same
time perverting them too, has ever yet been, and
will no doubt ever be too hard for all the rules and
arguments brought against it from bare morality.
So that as a grammarian once answered his prince,
offering to enter into a dispute with him upon a
grammatical point, “that he would by no means
dispute with one who had twenty legions at his
command;” so as little success is like to be found
in managing a dispute against covetousness, which
sways and carries all before it in the strength of
The words contain in them these two general parts.
I. A dehortation or dissuasive from covetousness. Take heed, and beware of covetousness.
II. A reason enforcing it, and coupling the latter part of the text with the former, by the causal particle for; for a man’s life consisteth not in the abundance of the things which he possesseth.
If we take the whole complex of the dehortation and the reason of it together, as they are joined in the text, we shall find that they are intended as an answer to a tacit argumentation apt to be formed by the minds of men in the behalf of covetousness, and founded upon these three principles.
1. That it is natural (and I may add also, allowable)
2. That to abound with the good things of this world seems the direct and ready way to procure this happiness. And,
3. That covetousness is the proper and effectual means to acquire to a man this abundance.
Upon these three principles, I say, is built that plea or discourse, with which the heart of every worldling, upon the face of the earth, endeavours to satisfy itself of the reasonableness of covetousness. It being impossible, without some pretence of reason, for a rational agent to maintain a quiet mind in any ill course or practice whatsoever: no man ever doing any thing, which, at the time of his doing it, he does not actually judge that he has reason to do the same, whether that judgment be right or wrong, true or false. And therefore, since our Saviour, in the text we are upon, first supposes, and then sets himself to confute this plea, by overthrowing some of those sophistical, or sophistically applied principles, upon which it leaned, the particular knowledge of them was regularly to be premised by us, as the basis and groundwork of the whole prosecution of the subject now before us. In which we shall begin with the first general part of the text, to wit, the dehortation itself; and so confining our discourse wholly to this at present, we will consider in it these three following particulars.
1. The author of this dehortation, who was Christ himself; the great instructor, as well as Saviour of the world.
2. The thing he dehorts us from; to wit, the
3dly and lastly, The way prescribed by him, as the most sovereign and effectual preservative from it; to wit, a constant guard and a watchful eye over it. Take heed, says he, and beware of it; the present danger and the consequent mischief making the utmost caution against it no more than sufficient.
All which particulars put together, viz. the quality of the person dehorting us, the nature of the thing he dehorts us from, and the certainty of the remedy he advises us to, make it disputable, whether we are to take the words of the text as the absolute command of a legislator, or the endearing counsel of a friend. I think we have great reason to account them both, and that the text will sufficiently justify the assigning a double ground of the precept, where the doubling of that must needs also double our obligation to the practice; while as a counsel we ought to follow it, and as a command we are bound to obey it.
To proceed therefore upon the forementioned particulars; we shall treat of each of them in their order. And,
1. For the great author of the dehortation or dissuasion here set down, who was Christ himself.
He
said unto them, Beware of covetousness. That is,
he emphatically, he with a peculiar significance. For in all
persuasions to, or dissuasions from any thing, the arguments enforcing both,
must be either founded upon the authority of the person proposing them, or the
reason and evidence of the thing proposed.
1. As he was Lord of the universe. And,
2. As he was depressed to the lowest estate of poverty.
By the former of which he possessed the fulness
of the Godhead bodily; by the latter, he humbled,
and (according to the apostle’s phrase) even emptied
himself to the abject estate of a servant. For he
who was the first, or rather only begotten of the
Almighty, and consequently, by all rights, heir of all
things, and so had an universal, unlimited claim to all
that was great or glorious within the whole compass
of nature, yet had so little of this claim in possession, that he tells us he was in a poorer and more
forlorn condition than the very foxes of the field or
the fowls of the air, as to the common accommodations of life. It was a saying in the Jewish church,
Second thing to be considered in it, to wit, the
thing we are dehorted from, which is covetousness. And here, one would think, it might well be
supposed, that there needed no great pains to explain
what this is, if we may rationally conclude, that men
know the things they practise, or (in other words)
understand what they do; yet since the very nearness of the object sometimes hinders the sight of it,
and nothing is more usual than for men to be
most of all strangers at home, and to overlook the
darling sin lying in their own bosoms, where they
think they can never sufficiently hide it, (especially
1. Negatively, by shewing what it is not. And
2. Positively, by declaring what it is, and wherein it does consist; for there is often a fallacy on both sides. And
1. For the negative. Covetousness is not that
prudent forecast, parsimony, and exactness, by which
men bound their expenses according to the proportion of their fortunes. When the river is shallow,
surely it is concerned to keep within its own banks.
No man is bound to make himself a beggar, that
fools or flatterers may account him generous; nor to
spend his estate, to gratify the humour of such as are
like to be the first who shall despise and slight him,
when it is spent. If God bestows upon us a blessing,
we may be confident that he looks upon it as worth
our keeping. And he only values the good providence of God for giving him an estate, who uses
some providence himself in the management of it;
and by so doing, puts it into his power to relieve the
poverty of the distressed, and to recover a sinking
friend, when the circumstances of things shall stamp
his liberality with the name of charity and religion.
For indeed he only is in a true sense charitable, who
can sacrifice that to duty, which otherwise he knows
well enough both how to prize and make use of himself; and he alone can be said to love his friend really,
who can make his own convenience bow to his friend’s
necessity, and thereby shews that he values his friend
ship more than any thing that his friend can receive
from him. But he who with a promiscuous undistinguishing profuseness does not so much dispense, as
throw away what he has, proclaims himself a fool to
We never find the scripture commending any prodigal but one, and him too only for his ceasing to be so. Whose courses if we reflect upon, we shall see his prodigality bringing him from his revelling companions and his riotous meats, to the swine and to the trough; and from imitating their sensuality, by a natural consequence, to take up with their diet too. Prodigality is the devil’s steward and purse-bearer, ministering to all sorts of vice; and it is hard, if not impossible, for a prodigal person to be guilty of no other vice but prodigality. For men generally are prodigal, because they are first intemperate, luxurious, or ambitious. And these, we know, are vices too brave and costly to be kept and maintained at an easy rate; they must have large pensions, and be fed with both hands, though the man who feeds them starves for his pains. From whence it is evident, that that which only retrenches, and cuts off the supplies of these gaping, boundless appetites, is so far from deserving the ugly name of avarice, that it is a noble instrument of virtue, a step to grace, and a great preparation of nature for religion. In a word, so far as parsimony is a part of prudence, it can be no part of covetousness.
And thus having shewn negatively what the covetousness here condemned by our Saviour is not, let us now shew positively what it is, and wherein it does consist. And we shall find that it consists in these following things.
1. An anxious, carking care about the things of
2. Covetousness implies in it also a rapacity in
getting. When men, as it were, with open mouth
fly upon the prey, and catch with that eagerness, as
if they could never open their hands wide enough,
nor reach them out far enough to compass the objects of their boundless desires. So that, had they
(as the fable goes of Briareus) each of them an hundred hands, they would all of them be employed in
grasping and gathering, and hardly one of them in
giving or laying out; but all in receiving, and none
in restoring; a thing in itself so monstrous, that
nothing in nature besides is like it, except it be
death and the grave, the only things I know which
are always robbing and carrying off the spoils of the
world, and never making restitution. For otherwise, all the parts of the universe, as they borrow of
one another, so they still pay what they borrow, and
that by so just and well-balanced an equality, that
their payments always keep pace with their receipts.
But, on the contrary, so great and so voracious a
prodigy is covetousness, that it will not allow a man
to set bounds to his appetites, though he feels himself stinted in his capacities; but impetuously pushes
him on to get more, while he is at a loss for room to
bestow, and an heart to enjoy what he has already.
This ravenous, vulture-like disposition the wise man
expresses by making haste to be rich,
Upon the whole matter, the greedy getter is like the greedy eater; it is possible that by taking in too fast he may choke or surfeit, but he will hardly nourish and strengthen himself, or serve any of the noble purposes of nature, which rather intends the security of his health, than the gratification of his appetite.
And in this respect covetousness, a thing of itself
bad enough, is heightened by the conjunction of another every whit as bad, which is impatience; a
quality sudden, eager, and insatiable, which grasps
But certainly, in this business of growing rich,
poor men (though never so poor) should slack their
pace, (how open soever they found the way before
them,) and (as we may so express it) join something
of the cripple to the beggar, and not think to fly or
run forthwith to a total and immediate change of
their condition, but to consider, that both nature and
religion love to proceed leisurely and gradually, and
still to place a middle state between two extremes.
And therefore, when God calls needy, hungry persons
to places and opportunities of raising their fortunes,
(a thing which of late has happened very often,) it
concerns them to think seriously of the greatness of
the temptation which is before them, and to consider the danger of a full table to a person ready to
starve. But generally such as in this manner step
immediately out of poverty into power know no
bounds, but are infinite and intolerable in their exactions. So that, in
3. Covetousness implies in it all sinister and illegal
ways of getting. And if we dwell fully upon this, we
shall find, that it is not for nothing that covetousness
is called by the apostle,
The truth is, covetousness is a vice of such a general influence and superintendency over all other
vices, that it will serve its turn even by those which,
at first view, seem most contrary to it. So that it
will command votaries to itself even out of the tribe
of Epicurus, and make uncleanness, drunkenness,
and intemperance itself minister to its designs; for
let a man be but rich and great, and there shall be
enough to humour him in his lusts, that they may go
sharers with him in his wealth; enough to drink,
and sot, and carouse with him, if, by drinking with
him, they may come also to eat, and drink, and live
upon him, and, by creeping into his bosom, to get
into his pocket too: so that we need not go to the
cozening, lying, perjured shopkeeper, who will curse
himself into hell forty times over, to gain twopence
In short, the covetous person puts on all forms and shapes, runs through all trades and professions, haunts all places, and makes himself expert in the mystery of all vices, that he may the better pay his devotions to his god Mammon. And so, in a quite different way from that of the blessed apostle, he becomes all things to all men, that he may by any means gain something; for he cares not much for gaining persons, where he can gain nothing else.
4thly and lastly, Covetousness implies in it a tenaciousness in keeping. Hitherto we have seen it
filling its bags, and in this property we find it sealing them up. In the former, we have seen how eagerly it can catch; and in this latter, it shews us
how fast it can gripe. And we need no other proof
of the peculiar baseness of this vice, than this. For
as the prime and more essential property of goodness
is to communicate and diffuse itself; so, in the same
degree that any thing incloses and shuts up its
Creditor and debtor divide the world; and he
who is not one, is certainly the other. But the covetous wretch does not only shut his hand to the
poor in point of relief, but to others also in point of
debt. Upon which account the apostle James up
braids the rich men, in
The truth is, the covetous person is so bad a pay master, that he lives and dies as much a debtor to himself as to any one else: his own back and belly having an action of debt against him; while he pines, and pinches, and denies himself, not only in the accommodations, but also in the very necessities of nature; with the greatest nonsense imaginable, living a beggar, that he may die rich, and leave behind him a mass of money, valuable upon no other account in the world, but as it is an instrument to command and procure to a man those conveniencies of life, which such an one voluntarily and by full choice deprives himself of.
Nor does this vice stop here; but, as I verily believe, one great reason which keeps some persons
from the blessed sacrament, may be resolved into
their covetousness. For God, in that duty, certainly
calls for a remembrance of the poor; and therefore
And thus much for the second thing considerable in the dehortation; namely, the thing we are therein dehorted from, which is that mean, sordid, and degrading vice of covetousness: the nature of which I have been endeavouring to make out, both negatively, by shewing what it is not; and positively, by shewing what it is, and wherein it consists. I proceed now to the
Third and last thing to be considered in the dehortation; which is, the way and means whereby we are taught to avoid the thing we are thus dehorted from. And that is, by using a constant care and vigilance against it; Take heed, and beware of covetousness. Concerning which we must observe, that as every thing to be avoided is properly an evil or mischief, so such an evil as is to be avoided by a singular and more than ordinary caution, is always attended with one or both of these two qualifications.
1. An exceeding aptness to prevail upon us.
2. An equal difficulty in removing it, when it has
once prevailed. In both which respects we are eminently cautioned against covetousness. And first, we
1. The near resemblance which it often bears to virtue.
2. The plausibility of its pleas and pretences. And,
3. The great reputation which riches generally give men in the world, by whatsoever ways or means they were gotten. And,
1. It insinuates, by the near resemblance it bears
to virtue. Virtue and vice dwell upon the confines
of each other; always most distant in their natures,
though the same too often in appearance, like the
borderers of two kingdoms or countries, the greatest
enemies, and yet the nearest neighbours: so that it
must needs require no small accuracy of judgment
(and such as few are masters of) to state the just
limits of both: and a man must go nearer than the
covetous person himself, to hit the dividing point,
and to shew exactly where the virtue ends and the
vice begins; a small accident or circumstance often
changing the whole quality of the action, and of
lawful or indifferent, rendering it culpable and unlawful. Covetousness is confessedly a vice, could we
but know where to find it. But when it is confronted with prodigality, it is so apt to take shelter
under the name and shew of good husbandry, that it
is hard to discern the reality from the pretence, and
to represent nature in its true shape. Parsimony
and saving, determined by due circumstances, are,
questionless, the dictates of right reason, and so
far not allowable only, but commendable also. For
surely there can be no immorality in sparing, where
2dly, Covetousness is apt to insinuate also by the
plausibility of its pleas. Amongst which, none more
usual and general, than the necessity of providing
for children and posterity; whom, all will grant, pa
rents should not be instrumental to bring into the
world, only to see them starve when they are here.
Nor are just the necessities of a bare subsistence to
be the only measure of their care for them; but some
consideration is to be had also of the quality and
condition to which they were born, and consequently
were brought into, not by choice, but by descent.
For it seems not But much different was the advice of a certain lawyer, a great confident of the rebels in
the time of their reign; who, upon a consult held amongst
them, how to dispose of the
duke of Gloucester, youngest
son of king Charles the first,
then in their hands, with great
gravity (forsooth) declared it
for his opinion, that they should
bind him out to some good
trade, that so he might eat his
bread honestly. These were his words, and very extraordinary ones they were indeed.
Nevertheless, they could not
hinder him from being made a
judge in the reign of king
Charles the Second. A practice
not unusual in the courts of
some princes, to encourage and
prefer their mortal enemies before their truest friends.
But then, if a man’s condition be such, that all
his cares are to terminate in his own person, and
that he has neither sons nor daughters to lay up for,
but that his whole family lives and dies with him,
and one grave is to receive them all, why then covetousness will urge to him the necessity of hoarding up against old age, against the days of weakness and infirmity, when the strength of his body
and the vigour of his mind shall fail him, and when
the world shall measure out their friendships and
respects to him only according to the dimensions
of his purse. Upon which account, one would
But the like and no less plausible a plea will this
vice also put in for providing against times of persecution, or public calamity; calling to a man’s mind
all the hardships of a civil war, all the plunders and
rapines, when nothing was safe above-ground; but
a man was forced to bury his bags, to keep himself
alive. And therefore, though, at present, there
should be peace, and all about us calm and quiet;
yet who knows how soon a storm may arise, and
the spirit of rebellion and fanaticism put it into
men’s heads once more to raise armies to plunder
and cut throats in the Lord; and then, believe it,
when the great work shall be thus carrying on, and
we shall see our friends and our neighbours reformed out of house and home as formerly, it
will be found worth while to have secured a friendly
penny in a corner, which may bid us eat, when
we should otherwise starve, and speak comfort
With these and such like reasonings, fallaciously applied, will covetousness persuade a man both of the necessity and lawfulness of his raising heap upon heap, and joining house to house, and putting no bounds to his gains, when his hand is once in. And it must be confessed, that there is some shew of reason for what has been alleged. But when again we shall consider, that the forementioned cases are all but future contingencies, which are by no means to be the rule of men’s actions, our duty is only to look to the precept, and the obligation of it, which is plain and present, and may be easily known; and for the rest, to commit ourselves to the good providence of God. For while we are solicitously providing against the miseries of age and persecution, how do we know, whether we shall ever live to be old? or to see the calamity of our country? or the persecution of our persons? But however, if God shall see it for his honour to try and humble us with the miseries of any of these conditions, it is not all our art and labour, all our parsimony and providence, which can prevent them. And therefore, how plausible soever the pleas of covetousness may seem, they are far from being ration ah But,
3dly and lastly, Covetousness is apt to prevail
upon the minds of men, by reason of the reputation
which riches generally give men in the world, by
whatsoever ways or means they were gotten. It is
a very great, though sad and scandalous truth, that
rich men are at the very same time esteemed and
honoured, while the ways by which they grew rich
are abhorred and detested: for how is griping and
Virtue, charity, and generosity, are indeed splendid names, and look bright in sermons and panegyrics, (which few regard:) but when we come to practice and common life, virtue, if poor, is but a sneaking thing, looked upon disdainfully, and treated coldly; and when charity brings a man to need charity, he must be content with the scraps from the table of the rich miser or the great oppressor. For no invitations are now made, like that in the gospel, where messengers are sent, with tickets, to bring in guests from the hedges and highways. No, it is not the way in our days to spread tables or furnish out banquets for the poor and the blind, the hungry and the indigent. For in our times, (to the just shame of the fops our ancestors, as some call them,) full bellies are still oftenest feasted; and to them who have shall be given, and they shall have more abundantly. This is the way of the world; be the discourse of it what it will.
And as this is the general practice of the world,
so it must needs be the general observation of the
world too; for while men reproach vice, and caress
the vicious; upbraid the guilt of an action, but adore
its success; they must not think, that all about
them are so without eyes or common sense, as not
2. The other general reason is, the exceeding
great difficulty of removing it, when it has once prevailed. In which and the like cases, one would
think it argument sufficient to caution any man
against a disease, if we can but convince him of the
great likelihood of his falling into it; and not only
of that, but, in case he should fall into it, of the extreme difficulty (sometimes next to an impossibility)
of his recovering, and getting out of it. Both which
considerations together, certainly should add some
thing more than ordinary to the caution of every
wise man, and make him double his guards against
so threatening a mischief. And as for covetousness,
we may truly say of it, that it makes both the alpha
and omega in the Devil’s alphabet, and that it is
the first vice in corrupt nature which moves, and
the last which dies. For look upon any infant, and
as soon as it can but move an hand, we shall see it
reaching out after something or other which it
should not have; and he who does not know it to
be the proper and peculiar sin of old age, seems
If we should insist upon the reason of things, no thing seems more a prodigy, than to observe, how catching and griping those are, who are utterly void of all power and capacity of enjoying any of these things which they so eagerly catch at. All which shews, how fast this vice rivets itself into the heart, which it once gets hold of; how it even grows into a part of nature, and scarce ever leaves the man, who has been enslaved by it, till he leaves the world.
Now, if we inquire into the reason of the difficult
removal of this vice, we shall find, that all those
causes, which promoted its first insinuation and entrance into men’s affections, contribute also to its
settlement and continuance in the same; as the
same sword which enables to conquer, enables also
to reign and rule after the conquest. Covetousness,
we shew, prevailed by its likeness and resemblance
to virtue, by the plausibility of its pleas, and by the
reputation of its effects. All which, as they were so
many arguments to the soul, first to admit and take
in the vice, so they are as potent persuasives not to
part with it. But the grand reason, I conceive,
which ties the knot so fast, that it is hardly to be
untied, is this; that covetousness is founded upon
that great and predominant principle of nature,
which is self-preservation. It is indeed an ill-built
superstructure, but yet it is raised upon that lawful
Men dread want, misery, and contempt, and
therefore think they can never be enough provided
with the means of keeping off these evils: so that,
if want, misery, and contempt were not manifestly
enemies to, and destructive of the enjoyments of nature; and nature were not infinitely concerned to
secure and make good these enjoyments; and riches
and plenty were not thought the direct instruments
to effect this; there could be no such thing as covetousness in the world. But even money (the desire of all nations) would sink in its value, and gold
itself lose its weight, though it kept its lustre. For
to what rational purpose should men prowl and labour for that, without which nature could continue
in its full, entire fruition of whatsoever was either
needful for its support, or desirable for its pleasure?
But it is evident, that men live and act under this
persuasion, that unless they have wealth and plenty
enough, they shall be needy, miserable, and despised,
and that the way to have enough, is to let nothing,
if possible, go beside them. So that herein lies the
strength of covetousness, that it acts in the strength
of nature, that it strikes in with its first and most
In short therefore, to recapitulate the foregoing particulars. If caution and vigilance be ever necessary for the prevention of any evil, it must be of such an one as insinuates itself easily, grows upon a man insensibly, and sticks to him immovably; and in a word, scarce ever loses its hold where it has once got it. So that a man must be continually watching and fencing against it, or he shall be sure to fall by it.
And thus much for the first general part of the
text, to wit, the dehortation from covetousness, expressed in these words, Take heed, and beware of
covetousness. A vice, which no character can reach
the compass, or fully express the baseness of, holding
fast all it can get in one hand, and reaching at all
it can desire with the other. A vice which may
but too significantly be called the Viz. Insatiabilis edendi cupiditas; sive morbus, quo laborantes, etiam post cibum esuriunt.
Tusanus.
To which God (who so graciously warns us here, that he may not condemn us hereafter) be rendered and ascribed, as is most due, all praise, might, majesty, and dominion, both now and for evermore. Amen.
Covetousness proved no less an absurdity in reason,
than a contradiction to religion, nor a more
unsure way to riches, than riches
themselves to happiness.
And he said unto them, Take heed, and beware of covetousness: for a man’s life consisteth not in the abundance of the things which he possesseth.
WHEN I entered upon the prosecution of these words, I observed in them these two general parts.
I. A dehortation, or dissuasive from covetousness in these words; Take heed, and beware of covetousness.
II. A reason enforcing it, and joining the latter part of the text with the former by the causal particle for; for a man’s life consisteth not in the abundance of the things which he possesseth.
As for the first of these two, viz. the dehortation, or dissuasion from covetousness; I have already despatched that in a discourse by itself, and so proceed now to the
Second general part, to wit, the reason enforcing the said dehortation, and expressed in these words; for a man’s life consisteth not in the abundance of the things which he possesseth.
In the foregoing discourse I shew, that these
The ground of which arguments, namely, that every man may design to himself as much happiness in this life, as by all lawful means he can compass, our Saviour allows, and contradicts not in the least; as being indeed the first and most native result of those principles which every man brings into the world with him. But as for the two consequences drawn from thence; the first of them, viz. that riches were the direct and proper means to acquire happiness, our Saviour denies, as absolutely false; and the second, viz. that covetousness is the proper way to obtain riches, he does by no means allow for certainly true; though he does not, I confess, directly set himself to disprove it here; but in the text now before us insists only upon the falsehood of the former consequence, as we, in the following discourse, shall likewise do; though even the latter of these consequences also shall not be passed over in its due place.
Accordingly, our Saviour here makes it the chief,
if not sole business of his present sermon, (and that
in defiance of the common sentiments of the world,)
to demonstrate the inability of riches for the attainment of true happiness, and thereby to make good
the grand point insisted upon, viz. that a man’s life
Now, that riches, wealth, and abundance (the things which swell so big in the fancies of men, promising them mountains, but producing only a mouse) are not, as they persuade themselves, such sure, unfailing causes of that felicity, which the grand desires of their nature so eagerly press after, will appear from these following considerations.
1. That no man, generally speaking, acquires, or
takes possession of the riches of this world, but with
great toil and labour, and that very frequently even
to the utmost fatigue. The first and leading curse,
which God pronounced upon mankind in Adam, was,
that in the sweat of his brows he should eat his
bread,
Now certain it is, that the general, stated way of
gathering riches must be by labour and travail, by
serving other men’s needs, and prosecuting their business, and thereby doing our own. For there is a
general commutation of these two, which circulates
and goes about the world, and governs all the affairs
of it; one man’s labour being the stated price of another man’s money; that is to say, let my neighbour
help me with his art, skill, or strength, and I will
help him in proportion with what I possess. And
this is the original cause and reason, why riches
come not without toil and labour, and a man’s exhausting himself to fill his purse. This, I say, is the
original cause; for I know, that, the world being
once settled, estates come to be transmitted to many
by inheritance; and such need nothing else to render
them wealthy, but only to be born into the world.
Sometimes also riches fall into men’s hands by favour or fortune; but this is but seldom, and those
who are thus the favourites of Providence make but
a small number in comparison of those who get what
they have by dint of labour and severe travail. And
therefore, (as I said at first,) this is the common,
But now, can any man reconcile temporal happiness to perpetual toil? Or can he enjoy any thing truly who never enjoys his ease? I mean that lawful ease, which God allows and nature calls for, upon the vicissitudes of rest and labour. But he who will be vastly rich must bid adieu to his rest, and resolve to be a slave and a drudge all his days. And at last, when his time is spent in heaping up, and the heap is grown big, and calls upon the man to enjoy it, his years of enjoyment are past, and he must quit the world, and die like a fool, only to leave his son or his heir a rich man; who perhaps will be one of the first who shall laugh at him for what he left him, and complain, if not also curse him, for having left him no more. For such things have happened in the world; and I do not find that the world much mends upon our hands. But if this be the way of it, (as we see it is,) what happiness a man can reap from hence, even upon a temporal account, needs a more than ordinary invention to find out. The truth is, the absurdity of the practice is so very gross, that it seems to carry in it a direct contrariety to those common notions and maxims which nature would govern the actions of mankind by.
2. Men are usually forced to encounter and pass
through very great dangers, before they can attain to
any considerable degrees of wealth. And no man,
surely, can rationally account himself happy in the
midst of danger. For while he walks upon the very
edge and brink of ruin, it is but an equal cast,
whether he shall succeed or sink, live or die, in the
attempt he makes. He who (for instance) designs
But some again (the natural violence of their temper so disposing them) are for advancing and enriching themselves (if possible) by war: a course
certainly, of all others, the most unaccountable and preposterous. For is it not highly irrational for a man
to sacrifice the end to the means? to hazard his life
for the pursuit of that, which for the sake and support of life only can be valuable? Well indeed may
the man who has been bred up in, and accustomed
to camps, battles, and sieges, look death and danger
boldly in the face; but yet, let him not think to look
them out of countenance too; these being evils, no
Thus, I say, it often fares with those soldiers of
fortune, or field-adventurers, (as we may call them,)
from whom, if we cast our eye a little further, upon
another sort of men, no less eager after gain and grandeur from their management of state-affairs, shall
we find their condition at all more secure? their
happiness more firmly fixed? and less at a venture
than that of those of the forementioned tribe? No
surely, no less hazards meet the statesman at the
council-board, than accost the soldier in the field;
and one had need be as good a fencer, as the other
ought to be a fighter, to defend himself: the oppositions he is to contest with being altogether as terrible and fatal, though not in the same dress. For
he has the changeable will of his prince or superiors,
the competition of his equals, and the popular rage
of his inferiors, to guard and secure himself against.
And he must walk with a wary eye and a steady
foot indeed, who never trips nor stumbles at any of
these cross blocks, which, sometime or other, will assuredly be cast before him; and it is well if he carries not only his foot, but his head too, so sure, as to
fall by neither of them: many wise men, I am sure,
have fallen so. For it is not wisdom, but fortune
Which being truly his case, I cannot judge that man happy, who is in danger to be ruined every moment, and who can neither bring the causes of his ruin within the reach of his prospect, nor the avoidance of them within the compass of his power; but, notwithstanding all his art, wit, and cunning, lies perpetually open to a thousand invisible, and, upon that account, inevitable mischiefs. And thus I have shewn the dangers which attend the several ways and passages by which men aspire to wealth and greatness; the things upon which the abused reason of mankind so much dotes, and in which it places so much felicity, and finds so little. But,
3. Men are frequently forced to make their way
to great possessions, by the commission of great sins,
and therefore the happiness of life cannot possibly
consist in them. It has been a saying, and a remarkable one it is, that there is no man very rich,
but is either an unjust person himself, or the heir of
one or other who was so. I dare not pronounce so
severe a sentence universally: for I question not, but,
through the good providence of God, some are as innocently, and with as good a conscience rich, as
others can be poor: but the general baseness and
corruption of men’s practices has verified this harsh
saying of too many; and it is every day seen, how
many serve the god of this world to obtain the riches
of it. It is true, the full reward of a man’s unjust
dealing never reaches him in this life; but if he has
not sinned away all the sense, tenderness, and apprehensiveness of his conscience, the grudges and
regrets of it will be still like death in the pot, and give
One man, perhaps, has been an oppressor and an
extortioner, and waded to all his wealth through the
tears of widows and orphans. Another with blood
and perjury, falsehood and lying, has borne down all
before him, and now lords it in the midst of a great
estate; and the like may be said of others, who, by
other kinds of baseness, have done the same. But
now, can any of these thriving miscreants be esteemed or called happy in such a condition? Is their
mind clear, their conscience calm and quiet, and
their thoughts generally undisturbed? For there
can be no true happiness, unless they are so; forasmuch as all happiness must pass through the mind
and the apprehension. But God has not left himself so without witness, even in the hearts of the
most profligate sinners, as to suffer great guilt and
profound peace to cohabit in the same breast. Jonah
must not think to disobey, and then to sleep securely and unmolested. No, the storm will quickly be
about his ears, and the terrible remembrancer within
will be rubbing up old stories, and breaking in upon
his false repose with secret intimations of an impending wrath. So that, if the tempter, at any time, be
And thus much for the first general argument, proving, that true happiness consists not in any earthly abundance, taken from the consideration of those evils through which men commonly pass into the possession of it. The
Second general argument shall be taken from the consideration of such evils as attend men, when they come to be actually possessed of this abundance. As,
1. Excessive, immoderate cares. The very management of a great estate is a greater and more
perplexing trouble than any that a poor man can be
subject to. Great riches superinduce new necessities; necessities added to those of nature, but
accounted much above them; to wit, the necessities of
pomp, grandeur, and a suitable port in the world.
For he who is vastly rich, must live like one who is
so; and whosoever does that, makes himself thereby
a great host, and his house a great inn; where the
noise, the trouble, and the charge is sure to be his,
but the enjoyment (if there be any) descends upon
the persons entertained by him; nay, and upon the
2. The second evil which attends the possession
of riches is an insatiable desire of getting more,
There cannot be a greater plague, than to be always baited with the importunities of a growing ap petite. Beggars are troublesome, even in the streets, as we pass through them; but how much more, when a man shall carry a perpetually clamorous beggar in his own breast, which shall never leave off crying, Give, give, whether the man has any thing to give or no? Such an one, though never so rich, is like a man with a numerous charge of children, with a great many hungry mouths about him to be fed, and little or nothing to feed them with. For he creates to himself a kind of new nature, by bringing himself under the power of new necessities and desires. Whereas nature, considered in itself, and as true to its own rules, is contented with little, and reason and religion enables us to take up with less, and so adds to its strength, by contracting its appetites, and retrenching its occasions.
There is no condition so full and affluent, but content is and will be a necessary supplement to make a man happy in it; and to compose the mind in the want of something or other, which it would be otherwise hankering after. And if so, how wretched must that man needs be, who is perpetually impoverishing himself by new indigences founded upon new desires and imaginary emptiness, still disposing him to seek for new reliefs and accessions to that plenty, which is already become too big for consumption and the just measures of nature; which never finds any real pleasure, but in the satisfaction of some real want!
But as for the unsatiable miser, whom we are now
3. The third evil which attends men in the pos
session of the abundance of this world is, that such
a condition is the proper scene of temptation. It
brings men, as the apostle tells us in the forecited
Whence it is, that many hopeful young men debauch and drown themselves in sensuality, and come
at length to lose both their souls and their wits too;
and that only because it was their lot to be born to
great estates, and thereby to have money enough to
4. The fourth evil attending men in the possession of this earthly abundance is, the malice and
envy of the world round about them. The bounties
of Providence are generally looked upon with an evil
eye by such as are not the objects of them themselves. And some have no other fault so much as
objected against them, to provoke the invectives and
satires of foul mouths, but only that they thrive in
the world, that they have fair estates, and so need
And thus much for the second general argument,
The third general argument for the proof of the same, shall be taken from the utter inability of the greatest earthly riches to remove those things which chiefly render men miserable. And this will appear to us, if we reflect,
1. Upon what affects the mind. And,
2. Upon what affects the body. And here,
1. First for that which affects a man’s spiritual
part, his mind. Suppose that to be grieved, and labouring under the most pressing and unsupportable
of all griefs, trouble of conscience; and what can
riches, power, or honour contribute to its removal?
Can they pluck out any of those poisoned arrows,
which the apprehension of God’s wrath fastens in
the soul? Can they heal the wounds and assuage
the anguish of a conscience groaning and even gasping under the terrors of the Almighty? Nay, let the grief arise but from a
temporal cause, as suppose the death and loss of a dear friend, the diminution
of a man’s honour, or the like, and what miserable comforters, in any of these cases, are the heaviest bags
and the fullest coffers? The pleasure arising from
all other temporal enjoyments cannot equal the
smart which the mind endures from the loss of any
one of them. For what pleasure did David find in
his crown and sceptre, and all his royal greatness,
when his dear (though sottishly beloved) Absalom
was torn from him? What enjoyment had Haman
in all his court-preferments, his grandeur, and interest in his royal master’s affection, when Mordecai,
Second place, let us consider the miseries which
affect the body; and we shall find, that the greatest
pleasure, arising from any degree of wealth or plenty
whatsoever, is so far from reaching the soul, that it
scarce pierces the skin. What would a man give to
purchase a release, nay, but a small respite from the
extreme pains of the gout or stone? And yet, if he
We know how God reproved the foolish world
ling, (as our Saviour tells us,) in
But now, if riches are thus wholly unable of themselves to effect any thing towards a man’s relief
under a corporal malady, how can they, as such, deserve the name of felicity? For what are they good
for? What can they do for him? The man is sick,
and his disease torments, and death threatens him;
and can they either remove the one, or keep off the
other? Nothing less. But it will be answered perhaps, that when a man is well and healthy, they
may serve him for many conveniences of life. They
may do so, I confess; but then this also is as true,
that he who is healthy and well, may enjoy all the
necessary satisfactions which his nature calls for,
though he has no other riches in the world but those
poor incomes which he daily earns with the labour
Fourth and last argument, to prove, that man’s
happiness consists not in any earthly abundance,
taken from this consideration; that the greatest happiness which this life is capable of, may be, and actually has been enjoyed without this abundance; and
consequently cannot depend upon it. Now that undoubtedly is the chief happiness of life, for the attainment of which all other things are designed but
as the means and subservient instruments. And
what else can this be, but the content, quiet, and
inward satisfaction of a man’s mind? For why,
or for what other imaginable reason, are riches,
power, and honour so much valued by men, but
because they promise themselves that content and
satisfaction of mind from them, which, they fully believe, cannot otherwise be had? This, no doubt, is
the inward reasoning of men’s minds in the present
case. But the experience of thousands (against
which all arguments signify nothing) irrefragably
evinces the contrary. For was there not a sort of
men, whom we read of in the former ages of the
world, called the ancient philosophers, who, even
while they lived in the world, lived above it, and in
Content is the gift of Heaven, and not the certain effect of any thing upon earth; and it is as
easy for Providence to convey it without wealth
as with it; it being the undeniable prerogative of the
first cause, that whatsoever it does by the mediation of second causes, it can do immediately by
itself without them. The heavens can and do every
day derive water and refreshment upon the earth
without either pipes or conduits, though the weakness of human industry is forced to fly to these
little assistances to compass the same effects. Happiness and comfort stream immediately from God
himself, as light issues from the sun, and sometimes
looks and darts itself into the meanest corners,
while it forbears to visit the largest and the noblest
rooms. Every man is happy or miserable, as the
And now, in the last place, having finished the
subject before us, in the several particulars proposed
to be discoursed of by us; let us sum up, and recapitulate all in a few words, viz.
that since it is natural for men to design to make their lives as happy as they
can; and since they promise themselves this happiness from riches, and
thereupon use covetousness as the surest means to attain these riches; and yet,
upon all the foregoing accounts, it is manifest, that neither can covetousness
certainly procure riches, nor riches certainly procure a man this happiness; it
must follow, by an unavoidable inference, that covetousness must needs be in the
same degree irrational, in which riches are to this
great end ineffectual; and consequently, that there
is as little reason for avarice, as there is religion in
it. And therefore that the covetous person (whatsoever he may seem, either in his own or the world’s
opinion, is in truth neither rich, reasonable, nor religious; but chargeable with all that folly, and liable
to all that misery, which is justly the shame and
To whom (as the sole giver of all happiness, whether with or without riches) be rendered and ascribed, as is most due, all praise, might, majesty, and dominion, both now and for ever more. Amen.
For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.
AS man is naturally a creature of great want and weakness, so he does as naturally carry a most intimate and inseparable sense of that want and weakness about him: and because a state of want must needs be also a state of uneasiness, there is nothing which nature puts a man with so much force and earnestness upon, as to attempt a supply and relief of the wants which he is so sensible of, and so incommoded by. Insomuch that the whole course of his actings, from first to last, proceeds in this method. First, that every action which a man does, is in order to his compassing or obtaining to himself some good thereby. And secondly, that he endeavours to compass or obtain this good, because he desires it. And thirdly and lastly, that he desires it, because he wants it; or at least thinks that he does so. So that the first spring, which sets all the wheels and faculties of the soul agoing, is a man’s apprehension of. some good wanting to complete the happiness of his condition.
But as every good is not in the same degree contributive to this happiness, so neither is it in the
Now the words of the text may be considered two ways.
I. As they are an entire proposition in themselves. And,
II. As they are an argument relating to and enforcing of a foregoing precept, in the
And first, if we take them, as they are an entire proposition in themselves, so they offer us these two things.
1. Something supposed, which is, that every man has something or other which he accounts his treasure, or chief good. And,
2. Something expressly declared, namely, that whatsoever a man accounts his treasure, or chief good, upon that he places his heart, his whole desires and affections. And,
1. For the thing supposed or implied in the words; to wit, that every man has something or other which he accounts his treasure, or chief good. The truth and certainty of which proposition will appear founded upon these two things.
1 . The activity of man’s mind. And,
2. The method of his acting. And,
1. For the first of these. The mind of man is
of that spirituous, stirring nature, that it is perpetually at work. Something it is still in pursuit of,
either by contemplation or desire: the foundation
of which latter, I shew, was want; and consequently,
as man will be always wanting something or other,
so he will be always sending forth his desires to
hunt after, and bring that thing in, which he wants:
which is so true, that some men having compassed
the greatest and noblest objects of their desires, (so
that desire could no longer ascend, as being already
at the top,) they have betook themselves to inferior
and ignoble exercises; so that amongst the Roman
emperors, (then lords of a great part of the world,)
we find Nero at his harp, Domitian killing flies, and
Commodus playing the fencer; and all this only to
But now, there is not any thing (though never so mean and trivial) which a man does, but he antecedently designs himself some satisfaction by the doing of it; so that he advances to every action as to a degree of happiness, as to something which, according to its measure and proportion, will gratify or please him, and without which he would be in that degree uneasy and troublesome to himself. The spirit of a man, like a flame, being of such an operative, and withal of such a catching quality, that it is still closing in with some desirable, suit able good, as the food that nourishes, and the subject that supports it; so impossible is it, that desire should wholly lie still. For though the soul had actually all that it could enjoy, yet then desire would run out into the future, and from the present fruition project the continuance and preservation of its beloved object. In short, what blood is to the body, that desire is to the soul; and as the blood will circulate while the body lives, so desire will act and range about while the soul subsists; and no thing but the annihilation of one can supersede or stop the motion of the other.
And the truth is, this innate restlessness of desire
implanted in the soul of man, is the great engine
by which God would draw it to himself: and if men
would be so far true to themselves, and to the most
ruling principles of their nature, as to keep desire
still upon the advance, till it fixed upon something
which would absolutely and fully satisfy it, it were
impossible but that, in the issue, it should terminate
Secondly, the second argument to prove, that every man has something or other which he accounts his treasure, his peculiar, or chief good, shall be taken from the method of his actings, which still proceeds by a direction of means to one great and last end. For as an infinite progress is exploded in all matters of ratiocination, as absurd and impossible, so it is equally absurd in matters of practice; it being not more necessary to assign and fix some first principle of discourse, than to state some last end of acting: all a man’s practicks hanging loose and uncertain, unless they are governed and knit together by the prospect of some certain end.
Now it is the same thing which sustains these
several denominations of last end, chief good, or
treasure; all and every one of them signifying
neither more nor less than the grand and ultimate
term, to which a rational agent directs all his actions
For though a man has not continually and actually the prospect of that end in every one of his actions, yet he has it habitually and virtually; forasmuch as, being once designed by him, all his actions tend to and promote the compassing of it: as it is not necessary that a traveller should have his journey’s end in his thoughts every step that he takes; but it is enough that he first designs it, and in the strength of that design is by every step carried nearer and nearer to it: every man has some prime, paramount object, which employs his head, and fills his heart, rules his thoughts, and, as it were, lies in his bosom; and is to him above and instead of ail other enjoyments whatsoever. And thus much for the thing supposed or implied in the words, namely, that every man has some peculiarly valued thing, which he accounts his treasure, or chief good. But,
2. The other thing to be considered by us is
that which is expressly declared in the text, namely,
that whatsoever a man places his treasure or his
chief good in, upon that he places his heart also.
Where, according to the language of scripture, the
word heart compendiously denotes to us all the
powers and faculties of man’s soul, together with
their respective motions and operations. And since
the word treasure is a metaphorical term for a man’s
prime or chief good, we are to take an account how
a man prosecutes this good, from the analogy of
1. A restless and laborious endeavour to acquire
and possess himself of it. There is no man, who
heartily and in good earnest desires to be rich, or
great, or learned, who can be idle. For desire is
the spring of diligence, and the heart infallibly sets
both head and hands, and every thing else on work.
Great desire is like a great fire, and all difficulties
before it are like stubble; it will certainly make its
way through them, and devour them. From whence
it is, that it generally proves so dangerous, and too
often fatal, to stand between a man (especially if
in place and power) and that which he most desires;
and many innocent and brave persons have to their
cost found it so. For dangers and death itself shall
be nothing; conscience and religion nothing; nay,
the very hopes of heaven and the fears of hell shall
be accounted as nothing, when a furious, headstrong
desire shall resolve to break through them all; and,
like Hannibal in his march, cut through rocks and
mountains, till it either finds or makes a way to its
beloved object. What made Jacob think those
seven years of hard service for Rachel but a few
days, as it is said in
What is it that a man more naturally affects than
society and converse? (it being a kind of multiplication of himself into every person of the company
he converses with.) And what, by consequence,
can be more uneasy to this ζῶον πολιτικὸν, this sociable creature, than the dry, pensive retirements of
solitude? Nevertheless, when a nobler thing shall
have seized his imagination, and his desires have
took a flight above the first inclinations of his nature, by inspiring him with the diviner love of
knowledge, or being serviceable to his country; why
then, he can with delight retreat into his cell,
dwell with himself, and converse with his own
thoughts, and, in those higher speculations, forget all
his merry-meetings and companions; nay, and his
very food and rest, and live not only above the pleasures, but almost above the wants of nature too. In
What high and vast achievements does the apostle, in the
2. Whatsoever a man accounts his treasure, that
he places his whole delight in; it entertains his eye,
refreshes his fancy, feeds his thoughts, and, next to
Nothing has so strong and fast an hold upon the nature and mind of man, as that which delights it: for whatsoever a man delights to do, by his good will he would be always doing: delight being that which perpetuates the union between the will and the object, and brings them together, by the surest, the most voluntary and constant returns. And from hence, by the way, we may affirm it as a certain, unfailing truth, that no man ever was or can be considerable in any art or profession whatsoever, which he does not take a particular delight in; for that otherwise he will never heartily and assiduously apply himself to it; nor is it morally possible that he should.
Men indeed, in the course of this world, are
brought to do many things, mere necessity enforcing
them, and the want and weakness of their condition
creating that necessity. But still, in all such cases,
the man goes one way, and his desires another; for
he acts but as a slave under the eye of a severe master; the dread of some greater suffering making
him submit to the disciplines of a less. But unshackle his nature, and turn his desires loose, and
then you shall see what he will choose in order to
3. Whatsoever a man accounts his treasure, from that he derives the last support of his mind in all his troubles. Let an ambitious man lose his friends, his health, or his estate; yet, if the darling of his thoughts, his honour and his fame, continue entire, his spirit will still bear up. And let a voluptuous man be stripped of his credit and good name, his pleasures and sensuality, in the midst of all his disgrace, shall relieve him. And lastly, to name no more, let a covetous miser have both pleasure and honour taken from him, yet so long as his bags are full, and the golden heaps glister in his eyes, his heart will be at ease, and other losses shall affect him little; they may possibly raze the surface, but they descend not into the vitals of his comforts.
The reason of all which is, because an ambitious
person values honour, a voluptuous man pleasure,
and a covetous wretch wealth, above any other enjoyment in the world; all other things being but
tasteless and insipid to them, in comparison of that
4thly and lastly, Whatsoever a man accounts his
treasure, for the preservation of that he will part
with all other things, if he cannot enjoy that and
them together. See a merchant in a storm at sea,
It is possible indeed, that a man himself may not
always perfectly know what he loves most, till some
notable trial comes, which shall separate between him
and what he has, and call for all his enjoyments one
after another; and then presently his eyes shall be
opened, and he shall plainly find, that the garment
which sits nearest to him, shall by his good-will be
last torn from him. Bring a man under persecution, and that shall tell him, whether the peace of
his conscience, or the security of his fortune, be the
thing which he prefers and values most. That shall
tell him, whether he had rather be plundered or perjured; and whether the guilt of rebellion and sacrilege does not strike a greater horror into him, than
all the miseries of an ejectment or sequestration.
But if, at the critical time of trial, such an one shall
surrender up his conscience, that he may continue
Skin for skin, and all that a man has will he give for his life, (commonly speaking;) but let a man love any thing better than his life, and life itself shall be given for it. And the world has seen the experiment; for some have loved their country better than their lives, and accordingly have died for it: and some their parents, some their honour, to that degree, as to sacrifice their dearest blood for the preservation of one, and vindication of the other. But still, this is the sure, infallible test of love, that the measure of its strength is to be taken by the fastness of its hold. Benjamin was apparently dearest to his father, because he was still kept with him, while the rest of his brethren were sent from him. He was to him as the apple of his eye; and therefore no wonder if he could not endure to have him out of it.
And thus I have done with the first consideration of the words; namely, as they are an entire proposition in themselves. I come now to the
Second; to wit, as they are an argument relating
to, and enforcing of the foregoing precept in
This, I say, is the sum and force of our Saviour’s
argument: in pursuit of which, we are to observe,
that there are two things which offer themselves to
mankind, as rivals for their affections; to wit, God
and the world; the things of this present life and
of the future. And the whole strength of our Saviour’s discourse bears upon this supposition, that it
is impossible for a man to fix his heart upon both.
No man can make religion his business, and the
world too: no man can have two chief goods. It is
indeed more impossible than to serve two masters;
forasmuch as the heart is more laid out upon what a
man loves, than upon what he serves. Besides that
the soul is but of a stinted operation; and cannot exert
its full force and vigour upon two diverse, and much
less contrary objects. For that one of them will be
perpetually counterworking the other; and so far
as the soul inclines to one, it must in proportion
leave, and go off from the other; so that an equal
adhesion to them both implies in it a perfect contradiction. For why else should the word of truth so
Whereupon Abraham speaking to the rich man in
the gospel, who had flourished in his purple and
fine linen, and fared deliciously every day, tells
him, that he, in his lifetime, had received his good
things. His they are called emphatically, his by peculiar choice. They were the things he chiefly valued and pitched upon, as the most likely to make
him happy; and consequently, having actually enjoyed them, and thereby compassed the utmost of his
desires, his happiness was at an end: he had his option; and there was no further provision for him in
the other world: nor indeed was it possible that he
should find any, where he had laid up none. Those
words of our Saviour being most assuredly true,
whether applied to men’s endeavours after the things
It being clear therefore, that a man cannot set his heart both upon God and the world too, as his treasure, or chief good; let us, in the next place, see which of these two bids highest for this great prize, the heart of man. And since there are but these two, there cannot be a more expedite way to evince that it belongs to God, than by proving the absurdity of placing it upon the world. And that will appear upon a double account.
1. If we consider the world in comparison with the heart or mind of man. And,
2. If we consider it absolutely in itself. And,
1. If we consider it in comparison with the heart
of man, we shall find that the heart has a superlative
worth and excellency above any thing in this world
besides; and therefore ought by no means to be bestowed or laid out upon things so vastly inferior to
And therefore the great and good God, who gave us our very being, and so can need nothing that we either are or have, yet vouchsafes to solicit, and even court our affections; and sets no other price upon heaven, glory, and immortality, nay, and upon himself too, but our love; there being nothing truly great and glorious, which a creature is capable of enjoying, but God is ready to give it a man in exchange for his heart.
How high is reason, and how strong is love! and
The heart of man is intimately conscious to itself of its own worth and prerogative; and therefore is never put to search for any thing of enjoyment here below, but it does it with a secret regret and disdain, scorn and indignation; like a prince imprisoned, and forced to be ruled and fed by his own subjects: for so it is with that divine being, the soul, while depressed by the body to a condition so much below itself.
But God sent not man into the world with such
mighty endowments, so much to enjoy it, as to have
the honour of despising it; and, upon a full experience
2. We are to consider the world absolutely in itself; and so we shall find the most valued enjoyments of it embased by these two qualifications. 1. That they are perishing. And, 2. That they are out of our power. One of them expressed by moths and rust corrupting them, and the other by thieves breaking through, and stealing them. The first representing them as subject to decay from a principle within; the second, as liable to be forced from us by a violence from without; and so upon both accounts utterly unable to make men happy, and consequently unworthy to take possession of their hearts.
1 . And first for the perishing state and quality of all these worldly enjoyments: a thing so evident, or rather obvious to common sense and experience, that no man in his right wits can really doubt of it, and yet so universally contradicted by men’s practice, that scarce any man seems to believe it. No, though the Spirit of God in scripture is as full and home in the character it gives of these things, as experience itself can be; sometimes expressing them by fashions, which, we know, are always changing; and sometimes by shadows, which no man can take any hold of; and sometimes by dreams, which are all mockery and delusion: thus degrading the most admired grandeurs of the world from realities to bare appearances, and from appearances to mere nothings.
Nor do they fail only, and lose that little worth
But now, on the other side, the enjoyments above, and the
treasures proposed to us by our Saviour, are indefectible in their nature, and
endless in their du ration. They are still full, fresh, and entire, like the
stars and orbs above, which shine with the same undiminished lustre, and move
with the same unwearied motion, with which they did from the first date of their
creation. Nay, the joys of heaven will abide when these lights of heaven shall
be put out; and when sun and moon, and nature itself shall be discharged their
stations, and be employed by Providence no more, the righteous shall then appear
in their full glory; and, being fixed in the divine presence,
2. The other degrading qualification of these worldly enjoyments is, that they are out of our power. And surely that is very unfit for a man to account his treasure, which he cannot so much as call his own; nor extend his title to, so far as the very next minute; as having no command nor hold of it at all beyond the present actual possession; and the compass of the present, all know, is but one remove from nothing. A rich man to-day, and a beggar to-morrow, is neither new nor wonderful in the experience of the world: for he who is rich now, must ask the rapacity of thieves, pirates, and tyrants, how long he shall continue so; and rest content to be happy for just so much time as the pride and violence, the cruelty and avarice of the worst of men shall permit him to be so; a comfort able tenure, doubtless, for a man to hold his chief happiness by.
But now, on the contrary, nothing is so absolutely
and essentially necessary to render any thing a man’s
treasure or chief good, as that he have a property in
it and a power over it; without which, it will be
impossible for him to be sure of any relief from it
when he shall most need it. For how can he be
sure of that, of which he has no command? And
how can he command that, which a greater force
than his own shall lay claim to? For let those puny
things, called law and right, say what they will to
the contrary, if the matter comes once to a dispute,
all the good things a man has of this world will be
Nor has the providence of God thought it worth
while to secure and protect the very best of men in
their rights to any enjoyment under heaven; and
all this to depress and vilify these things in their
thoughts; that so they may every day find a necessity of placing them above, and of bestowing their
pains upon that which, if they pursue, they shall
certainly obtain; and if they obtain, they shall impregnably keep. My peace I leave with you, my
peace I give unto you, says our Saviour; not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Why? What was
the difference? He tells us in
But God has promised and engaged to mankind,
that whosoever shall faithfully and constantly persevere in the duties of a pious, Christian life, shall
obtain an eternal crown of glory, and an inheritance that fadeth not away. A man cannot indeed by all his piety secure his estate, but he may
make his calling and election sure; which is infinitely
Now the use and improvement of the foregoing particulars shall be briefly to convince us of the extreme vanity of most men’s pretences to religion. A man’s religion is all the claim he has to the felicities of another world. But can we think it possible in nature, for a man to place his greatest happiness where he does not place his strongest affections? How little is the other world in most men’s thoughts, and yet they can have the confidence to pretend it to be the grand object of their desires. But why should men, in their greatest concern, be so false to their own experience, and those constant observations which they make of themselves in other matters? For let any man consult and ask his own heart, whether, having once fixed his love upon any thing or person, his thoughts are not always running after it? Strong love is a bias upon the thoughts; and for a man to love earnestly, and not to think almost continually of what he loves, is as impossible, as for him to live, and not to breathe.
But besides this, we have shewn several other
marks and properties, by which men may infallibly
judge of the truth and firmness of their love to God
and to religion; as for instance, can they affirm religion to be that which has got such hold of their
hearts, that no time, cost, or labour, shall be thought
But the lives of men (unanswerable arguments in this case) are a sad demonstration how few they are who come up to these terms. Men may indeed now and then bestow some scattering thoughts upon their souls and their future estate, provided they be at full leisure from their business and their sports, (which they seldom or never are;) and if at any time they should be so, this could amount to no more than their being religious when they have nothing else to do. Likewise, when the solemn returns of God’s public worship, and the law and custom of the nation shall call them off from their daily employments to better things, they may perhaps, by a few devout looks and words, put on something of an holy day dress for the present; which yet, like their Sunday clothes, they are sure to lay aside again for the whole week after. All which, and a great deal more, is far short of making religion a man’s business, though yet, if it be not so, it is in effect nothing.
And this men know well enough, when they are
to deal in matters of this world; in which no pains
nor importunity shall be thought too great, no attendance too servile, nothing (in a word) too hard to
be done or suffered, either to recruit a broken for
tune, or to regain a disgusted friend; though, after
In fine, this we may with great boldness venture to affirm, that if men would be at half the pains to provide themselves treasures in heaven, which they are generally at to get estates here on earth, it were impossible for any man to be damned. But when we come to earthly matters, we do; when to heavenly, we only discourse: heaven has our tongue and talk; but the earth our whole man besides.
Nevertheless, let men rest assured of this, that God has so ordered the great business of their eternal happiness, that their affections must still be the fore runners of their persons, the constant harbingers ap pointed by God to go and take possession of those glorious mansions for them; and consequently, that no man shall ever come to heaven himself, who has not sent his heart thither before him. For where this leads the way, the other will be sure to follow.
Now to him who alone is the great Judge of hearts, and Rewarder of persons, be rendered and ascribed, as is most due, all praise, might, majesty, and dominion, both now and for ever more. Amen.
This refers to the twelve sermons next following.
WHOSOEVER shall judge it worth his time to peruse
the following discourse, (if it meets with any such,) he is desired to take notice, that it was penned and prepared to have
been preached at Westminster abbey, at a solemn meeting
of such as had been bred at Westminster school. But the
death of king Charles II. happening in the mean time, the
design of this solemnity fell to the ground together with
him, and was never resumed since; though what the reason
of this might be, I neither know, nor ever thought it worth
while to inquire: it being abundantly enough for me, that I
can with great truth affirm, that I never offered myself to
this service, nor so much as thought of appearing in a
post so manifestly above me; but that a very great person The lord Jefferys.
Nevertheless, out of an earnest (and I hope very justifiable) desire, partly to pass a due encomium (or such an one at least as I am able) upon so noble a seat of the Muses as this renowned school has been always accounted hitherto, and partly to own the obligation and debt lying upon me to the place of my education, I have here at length presumed to publish it. So that although neither at the time appointed for that solemn meeting, nor ever since, have I had any opportunity given me to preach this sermon myself, yet, how that it is printed, possibly some other may condescend to do it, as before in several such cases the like has been too well known to have been done.
The virtuous education of youth the surest, if not sole way to an happy and honourable old age.
Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it.
WHEN I look back upon the old infamous rebellion
and civil war of forty-one, which, like an irresistible
torrent, broke in upon and bore down the whole
frame of our government both in church and state,
together with the principal concerns of private families, and the personal interests of particular men,
(as it is not imaginable, that where a deluge overtops
the mountains it should spare the valleys;) and when
I consider also, how fresh all this is in the remembrance
of many, and how frequent in the discourse of most,
and in both carrying the same face of horror, (as in
separable from such reflections;) I have wondered
with myself, and that even to astonishment, how it
should be possible, that in the turn of so few years
there should be so numerous a party of men in these
kingdoms, who (as if the remembrance of all those
dismal days between forty and sixty were utterly
erased out of the minds of men, and struck out of
the annals of time) are still prepared and ready,
nay, eager, and impetuously bent to act over the
same tragical scene again. Witness, first of all, the
many virulent and base libels spread over the R. C. said he had tossed up the ball, and his
successor P. W. said he would keep it up. That is to say, Extortion began the
dance, and Perjury would carry
it on.
But since nothing can happen without some cause
or other, I have been further considering with myself
what the cause of this terrible evil, which still looks
so grim upon the government, should be. And to
me it seems to be this; that as the forementioned
rebellion and civil war brought upon the nation a
general dissolution of order, and a corruption and
debauchment of men’s manners, so the greatest part
of the nation by much now alive has been born, or
at least bred, since that fatal rebellion. For surely
those who are now about or under fifty years of age
make a much greater number in the kingdom than
those who are above it; especially so much above
For this is certain, that wise and thinking men observe with
sorrow that the change is so very great and bad, that there is no relation in
society or common life but has suffered and been the worse for it. For look into
families, and you will find parents complaining, that their children pay them
not that duty and reverence, which they have heard and read that children used
to shew their parents heretofore. Masters also complain, that servants are
neither so obedient nor so trusty as in former times. And lastly, for the
conjugal relation, (a thing of the greatest and most direct influence upon the
weal or woe of societies of any other thing in the world besides,) it is but
too frequent a complaint, that neither are men so good husbands, nor women so
good wives, as they were before that accursed rebellion had made that fatal
leading breach in the conjugal tie between the best of kings and the happiest of
people. But now, how comes all this to pass? why, from the exorbitant licence of men’s education. They were bred
in lawless, ungoverned times, and conventicle, fanatic academies, in defiance of the universities, and
when all things were turned topsyturvy, and the
bonds of government quite loosed or broken asunder.
So that, as soon as they were able to observe any
thing, the first thing which they actually did observe,
were inferiors trampling upon their superiors; servants called by vote of parliament out of their masters service to fight against their prince, and so to
Well, but if it be our unhappiness that the mischief is become almost general, let us at least prevent the next degree of it, and keep it from being perpetual. And this is not to be done but by a remedy which shall reach as far and deep as the distemper: for that began early, and therefore the cure must do so too, even from the childhood of the patient, and the infancy of the disease. There must be one instauratio magna of the methods and principles of education, and the youth of the nation, as it were, new cast into another and a better mould.
And for this we have the counsel and conduct of
the wisest of men, Solomon himself, who knew no
other course to insure a growing flourishing practice
of virtue in a man’s mature or declining age, but by
planting it in his youth; as he that would have his
grounds covered and loaded with fruit in autumn,
must manure and dress them in the spring. Train
up a child, says he, in the way that he should go:
the way, non qua itur, sed qua eundum est. Man
is of an active nature, and must have a way to walk
in, as necessarily as a place to breathe in. And several ways will be sure to offer themselves to his
choice; and he will be as sure to choose one of them.
It is, in my opinion, very remarkable, that not
withstanding all the rewards which confessedly be
long to virtue in both worlds, yet Solomon, in the
text, alleges no other argument for or motive to the
course here recommended to us, but the end of it:
nor enjoins us the pursuit of virtue in our youth,
upon any other reason mentioned in the words, but
that we may practise it in our age. And no doubt it
is an excellent one, and will have many others fall
For can any thing in nature be more odious and despicable, than a wicked old man; a man, who, after threescore or fourscore years spent in the world, after so many sacraments, sermons, and other means of grace, taken in, digested, and defeated, shall continue as errant an hypocrite, dissembler, and masquerader in religion as ever, still dodging and doubling with God and man, and never speaking his mind, nor so much as opening his mouth in earnest, but when he eats or breathes.
Again, can any thing be so vile and forlorn, as an old, broken, and decrepit sensualist, creeping (as it were) to the Devil upon all four? Can there be a greater indecency than an old drunkard? or any thing more noisome and unnatural, than an aged, silver-haired wanton, with frost in his bones, and snow upon his head, following his lewd, senseless amours? a wretch so scorned, so despised, and so abandoned by all, that his very vices forsake him.
And yet, as youth leaves a man, so age generally finds him. If he passes his youth juggling, shuffling, and dissembling, it is odds but you will have him at the same legerdemain, and shewing tricks in his age also: and if he spends his young days whoring and drinking, it is ten to one but age will find him in the same filthy drudgery still, or at least wishing himself so. And lastly, if death (which cannot be far off from age) finds him so too, his game is then certainly at the best, and his condition (which is the sting of all) never possible to be better.
And therefore, whosoever thou art, who hast enslaved thyself to the paltry, bewitching pleasures of
The proposition then before us is this.
That a strict and virtuous education of youth is absolutely necessary to a man’s attainment of that inestimable blessing, that unspeakable felicity of being serviceable to his God, easy to himself, and useful to others, in the whole course of his following life.
In order to the proof of which, I shall lay down these six propositions.
I. That in the present state of nature there is in
every man a certain propensity to vice, or a corrupt
principle more or less disposing him to evil: which
principle is sometimes called the flesh, sometimes concupiscence, and sometimes
sensuality, and makes
one part of that which we call original sin. A principle, which, though it both proceeds from sin, and
disposes to sin, yet, till it comes to act, the doctors
of the Romish church deny to be in itself sinful.
And the Pelagians deny that there is any such thing
at all; especially our modern, orthodox, and more
II. The second proposition is this, That the forementioned propensity of the sensual part, or principle, to vice, being left to itself, will certainly proceed to work, and to exert itself in action; and, if not hindered and counteracted, will continue so to do, till practice passes into custom or habit, and so by use and frequency comes to acquire a domineering strength in a man’s conversation.
III. The third proposition is, That all the disorders of the world, and the confusions that disturb
persons, families, and whole societies or corporations,
proceed from this natural propensity to vice in particular persons, which being thus heightened by habitual practice, runs forth into those several sorts of
vice which corrupt and spoil the manners of men.
Whence come wars and fightings? says the apostle,
IV. The fourth proposition is, That when the
corruption of men’s manners, by the habitual improvement of this vicious principle, comes from personal to be general and universal, so as to diffuse
and spread itself over a whole community; it naturally
V. The fifth proposition is, That this ill principle, which being thus habitually improved, and from personal corruptions spreading into general and national, is the cause of all the mischiefs and disorders, public and private, which trouble and infest the world, is to be altered and corrected only by discipline, and the infusion of such principles into the rational and spiritual part of man, as may power fully sway his will and affections, by convincing his understanding that the practice of virtue is prefer able to that of vice; and that there is a real happiness as well as honesty in the one, and a real misery as well as a turpitude in the other; there being no mending or working upon the sensual part, but by well principling the intellectual.
VI. The sixth and last proposition is, That this
discipline and infusion of good principles into the
mind, which only can and must work this great and
happy change upon a man’s morals, by counterworking that other sensual and vicious principle, which
Now the sum of these six propositions in short is this: That there is in every man naturally (as nature now stands) a sensual principle disposing him to evil. That this principle will be sure, more or less, to pass into action; and, if not hindered, to produce vicious habits and customs. That these vicious habits are the direct causes of all the miseries and calamities that afflict and disturb mankind. That when they come to spread so far, as from personal to grow national, they will weaken, and at length destroy governments. That this ill principle is controllable and conquerable only by discipline, and the infusion of good and contrary principles into the mind. And lastly, that this discipline or infusion of good principles is never like to have its full force, efficacy, and success upon the minds of men, but during their youth.
Which whole deduction or chain of propositions, proceeding
upon so firm and natural, and withal so clear and evident a connection of each
proposition with the other, I suppose there can need no further demonstration to
prove it as absolutely necessary, as the peace of mankind, public and private,
can be, that the minds of youth should be formed and seasoned
Let us now, in the next place, see who they are whose province it is to be so great a blessing to society, so vast a benefit to the world, as to be the managers of this important trust.
And we shall find that it rests upon three sorts of men, viz.
1. Parents. 2. Schoolmasters. And, 3, the clergy; such especially as have cure of souls.
1. And first for parents. Let them endeavour to
deserve that honour which God has commanded their
children to pay them; and believe it, that must be
by greater and better offices than barely bringing
them into this world; which of itself puts them only
in danger of passing into a worse. And as the good
old sentence tells us, that it is better a great deal to
be unborn, than either unbred, or bred amiss; so it
cannot but be matter of very sad reflection to any
parent, to think with himself, that he should be instrumental to give his child a body only to damn his
soul. And therefore, let parents remember, that as
the paternal is the most honourable relation, so it is
also the greatest trust in the world, and that God
will be a certain and severe exacter of it; and the
more so, because they have such mighty opportunities to discharge it, and that with almost infallible
success. Forasmuch as a parent receives his child,
from the hand of God and nature, a perfect blank, a
mere rasa tabula, as to any guilt actually contracted
by him, and consequently may write upon him what
he pleases, having the unvaluable advantage of making the first impressions, which are of so strong and
so prevailing an influence to determine the practice
Now these and the like considerations (one would
think) should remind parents what a dreadful account lies upon them for their children; and that,
as their children, by the laws of God and man, owe
them the greatest reverence, so there is a sort of reverence also that they as much owe their children;
a reverence, that should make them not dare to speak
a filthy word, or to do a base or an undecent action
before them. What says our Saviour to this point?
And therefore, with all imaginable concern of conscience, let parents make it their business to infuse
into their children’s hearts early and good principles
of morality. Let them teach them from their very
cradle to think and speak awfully of the great God,
reverently of religion, and respectfully of the dispensers
For this was the method which God himself prescribed to his own people, to perpetuate the remembrance of any great and notable providence towards
them; and particularly in the institution of the prime
instance of their religion, the passover, Sir Orlando Bridgman, lord chief baron.
These things, I say, and a thousand more, they
are to be perpetually inculcating into the minds of
their children, according to that strict injunction of
God himself to the Israelites,
But some perhaps may here very sagely object.
Is not this the way to sour and spoil the minds of
children, by keeping the remembrance of the late rebellion always fresh upon them? I answer, No; no
more than to warn them against poisons, pits, and
precipices is likely to endanger their lives; or to tell
them by what ill courses men come to the gallows is
the ready way to bring them thither. No; nothing
can be too much hated by children, which cannot be
too much avoided by men. And since vice never
In short, let parents prevent and seize the very first notions and affections of their children, by engaging them, from the very first, in an hatred of rebellion; and that, if possible, as strong as nature, as irreconcileable as antipathy; and so early, that they themselves may not remember when it began, but that, for ought they know, it was even born with them. Let them, I say, be made almost from their very cradle to hate it, name and thing; so that their blood may rise, and their heart may swell at the very mention of it. In a word, let them by a kind of preventing instinct abhor it, even in their minority, and they will be sure to find sufficient reason for that abhorrence when they shall come to maturity. And so much for parents.
2. The second sort of persons intrusted with the
training up of youth are schoolmasters. I know not
how it comes to pass, that this honourable employment should find so little respect (as experience shews
it does) from too many in the world. For there is
no profession which has, or can have, a greater influence upon the public. Schoolmasters have a negative upon the peace and welfare of the kingdom.
They are indeed the great depositories and trustees
of the peace of it, as having the growing hopes and
fears of the nation in their hands. For generally,
subjects are and will be such as they breed them. So
Nay, I take schoolmasters to have a more powerful influence upon the spirits of men than preachers themselves. Forasmuch as they have to deal with younger and tenderer minds, and consequently have the advantage of making the first and deepest impressions upon them. It being seldom found that the pulpit mends what the school has marred, any more than a fault in the first concoction is ever corrected by the second.
But now, if their power is so great and their influence so strong, surely it concerns them to use it
to the utmost for the benefit of their country. And
for this purpose let them fix this as an eternal rule
or principle in the instruction of youth; that care is
to be had of their manners in the first place, and of
their learning in the next. And here, as the foundation and groundwork of all morality, let youth be
taught betimes to obey, and to know that the very
relation between teacher and learner imports superiority and subjection. And therefore, let masters be
sure to inure young minds to an early awe and reverence of government, by making the first instance
of it in themselves, and maintaining the authority
of a master over them sacred and inviolable; still
remembering, that none is or can be fit to be a
teacher, who understands not how to be a master.
For every degree of obstinacy in youth is one step to
rebellion. And the very same restive humour which
makes a young man slight his master in the school,
There is a principle of pride universally wrapt up in the corrupt nature of man. And pride is naturally refractory, and impatient of rule; and (which is most material to our present case) it is a vice which works and puts forth betimes; and consequently must be encountered so too, or it will quickly carry too high an head, or too stiff a neck to be controlled. It is the certain companion of folly; and both of them the proper qualifications of youth; it being the inseparable property of that age to be proud and ignorant, and to despise instruction the more it needs it. But both of them are nuisances which education must remove, or the person is lost.
And it were to be wished, I confess, that the constitution of man’s nature were such, that this might be done only by the mild addresses of reason and the gentle arts of persuasion, and that the studies of humanity might be carried on only by the ways of humanity; but unless youth were all made up of goodness and ingenuity, this is a felicity not to be hoped for. And therefore it is certain, that in some cases, and with some natures, austerity must be used; there being too frequently such a mixture in the composition of youth, that while the man is to be instructed, there is something of the brute also to be chastised.
But how to do this discreetly, and to the benefit
of him who is so unhappy as to need it, requires, in
my poor opinion, a greater skill, judgment, and experience, than the world generally imagines, and
Nevertheless, since (as I have shewn) there are some cases and tempers which make these boisterous applications necessary, give me leave, for once, to step out of my profession so far, (though still keeping strictly within my subject,) as to lay before the educators of youth these few following considerations; for I shall not, in modesty, call them instructions.
1. As first, let them remember that excellent and never to be forgotten advice, that boys will be men; and that the memory of all base usage will sink so deep into, and grow up so inseparably with them, that it will not be so much as in their own power ever to forget it. For though indeed schoolmasters are a sort of kings, yet they cannot always pass such acts of oblivion as shall operate upon their scholars, or perhaps, in all things, indemnify themselves.
2. Where they find a youth of spirit, let them endeavour to govern that spirit without extinguishing it; to bend it, without breaking it; for when it comes once to be extinguished, and broken, and lost, it is not in the power or art of man to recover it: and then (believe it) no knowledge of nouns and pronouns, syntaxis and prosodia, can ever compensate or make amends for such a loss. The French, they say, are extremely happy at this, who will instruct a youth of spirit to a decent boldness, tempered with a due modesty; which two qualities, in conjunction, do above all others fit a man both for business and address. But for want of this art, some schools have ruined more good wits than they have improved; and even those which they have sent away with some tolerable improvement, like men escaped from a shipwreck, carry off only the remainder of those natural advantages, which in much greater plenty they first brought with them.
3. Let not the chastisement of the body be managed so as to make a wound which shall rankle and
fester in the very soul. That is, let not children,
whom nature itself would bear up by an innate,
generous principle of emulation, be exposed, cowed,
and depressed with scoffs and contumelies, (founded
perhaps upon the master’s own guilt,) to the scorn and
contempt of their equals and emulators. For this is,
instead of rods, to chastise them with scorpions; and
is the most direct way to stupify and besot, and
make them utterly regardless of themselves, and of
all that is praiseworthy; besides that it will be sure to leave in their minds
such inward regrets, as are never to be qualified or worn off. It is very
undecent for a master to jest or play with his scholars;
4. And lastly; let it appear in all acts of penal animadversion, that the person is loved while his fault is punished; nay, that one is punished only out of love to the other. And (believe it) there is hardly any one so much a child, but has sagacity enough to perceive this. Let not melancholy fumes and spites, and secret animosities pass for discipline. Let the master be as angry for the boy’s fault as reason will allow him; but let not the boy be in fault only because the master has a mind to be angry. In a word, let not the master have the spleen, and the scholars be troubled with it. But above all, let not the sins, or faults, or wants of the parents be punished upon the children; for that is a prerogative which God has reserved to himself.
These things I thought fit to remark about the education and educators of youth in general, not that I have any thoughts or desires of invading their province; but possibly a stander-by may sometimes look as far into the game as he who plays it; and perhaps with no less judgment, because with much less concern.
3. The third and last sort of persons concerned in
the great charge of instructing youth are the clergy.
For as parents deliver their children to the school
master, so the schoolmaster delivers them to the minister. And for my own part, I never thought a pulpit,
a cushion, and an hourglass, such necessary means of
salvation, but that much of the time and labour which
is spent about them might be much more profitably
bestowed in catechising youth from the desk; preaching being a kind of spiritual diet, upon which people
And how, for God’s sake, should it be otherwise? For to preach to people without principles, is to build where there is no foundation, or rather where there is not so much as ground to build upon. But people are not to be harangued, but catechised into principles; and this is not the proper work of the pulpit, any more than threshing can pass for sowing. Young minds are to be leisurely formed and fashioned with the first plain, simple, and substantial rudiments of religion. And to expect that this should be done by preaching, or force of lungs, is just as if a smith, or artist who works in metal, should think to frame and shape out his work only with his bellows.
It is want of catechising which has been the true
cause of those numerous sects, schisms, and wild
opinions, which have so disturbed the peace, and bid
fair to destroy the religion of the nation. For the
consciences of men have been filled with wind and
noise, empty notions and pulpit-tattle. So that
amongst the most seraphical illuminati, and the
highest Puritan perfectionists, you shall find people
of fifty, threescore, or fourscore years old, not able
to give that account of their faith, which you might
have had heretofore from a boy of nine or ten. Thus
far had the pulpit, by accident, disordered the
church, and the desk must restore it. For you
know the main business of the pulpit in the late
times (which we are not throughly recovered from
yet, and perhaps never shall) was to please and pamper a proud, senseless humour, or rather a kind of
spiritual itch, which had then seized the greatest
Well; but when they are thus catechised, what is to be done next? Why then let them be brought to the bishop of the diocese to be confirmed by him, since none else, no not all the presbyters of a diocese, (nor Presbyterians neither,) can perform this apostolical act and office upon them. For though indeed a bishop may be installed, and visit, and receive his revenues too, by deputation or proxy; yet I am sure he can no more confirm than ordain by proxy: these being acts purely and incommunicably episcopal.
The church of Rome makes confirmation a sacrament; and though the church of England does not
affirm it to be such, yet it owns it of divine and
apostolical institution. And as to the necessity of
it, I look upon it as no less than a completion of
baptism in such as outlive their childhood; and for
that cause called by the ancients τελείωσις. It is
It is also expressly instituted for the collation of
those peculiar assistances and gifts of the Spirit, by
the imposition of episcopal hands, which the rubric
represents as requisite to bear him through his
Christian course and conflict with comfort and success. For till a person be confirmed, he cannot
regularly and ordinarily partake of that high and
soul-supporting ordinance, the sacrament of the
Lord’s supper. And these are the considerations
which render the confirmation of children necessary,
and the neglect of it scandalous, unchristian, and
utterly unjustifiable upon any account whatsoever.
For is there so much as the least shadow of excuse
allegeable for parents not bringing their children to
the bishop to be confirmed by him? or for the bishop not to confirm them when
duly brought? The chief and general failure in this duty is no doubt chargeable
upon the former; the grand rebellion of forty-one, and the dissolution of all
church-order thereupon, absolutely unhinging the minds of most of the nation, as
to all concern about religion; nevertheless, if, on the other side also, both the high
importance of the ordinance itself, and the vast numbers of the persons whom it ought to pass upon, be
duly pondered, it will be found next, at least, to a
necessity, (if at all short of it,) that there should be
episcopal visitations more than once in three years,
if it were only for the sake of confirmations; especially since the judges of the land think it not too
much for them to go two circuits yearly. And some
Besides that nothing can be imagined more for
the episcopal dignity and preeminence, than that
after Christ has thus prepared this heavenly feast for
us, he yet leaves it to his bishops (by lodging this
confirming power in their hands) to qualify, and put
us into a regular capacity of appearing at that divine banquet, and of being welcome when we are
there. And therefore, in short, since the power of
confirming, no less than that of ordaining itself, is,
as we have shewn, so peculiar to the episcopal character, as to be also personal and incommunicable;
all wellwishers to the happy estate of the church
must needs wish, that as the laws of it have put a
considerable restraint upon unlimited ordinations, so
they would equally enforce the frequency of confirmations;
But to proceed; as the minister, having sufficiently catechised the youth of his parish, ought to tender them to the bishop, to be confirmed by him; and the bishop, for his part, to give his clergy as frequent opportunities of doing so as possibly he can; so after they are thus confirmed, he is to take them into the further instructions of his ministry, and acquaint them with what they have been confirmed in. And here, the better to acquit himself in this important trust, let him take a measure of what good the pulpit may do, by the mischief which it has already done. For in the late times of confusion, it was the pulpit which supplied the field with swordmen, and the parliament house with incendiaries. And let every churchman consider, that it is one of the principal duties of the clergy to make the king’s government easy to him, and to prepare him a willing and obedient people. For which purpose, the canons of our church enjoin every minister of it to preach obedience, and subjection to the government, four times a year at least. And this I am sure cannot be better and more effectually done, than by representing the faction, which troubles and undermines it, as odious, ridiculous, and unexcusable, as with truth he can; and by exposing those villainous tricks and intrigues by which they supplanted and overturned the monarchy under king Charles I. and would have done the same again under king Charles II. though he had obliged them by a mercy not to be paralleled, and an oblivion never to be forgot.
Let every faithful minister, therefore, of the church of England, in a conscientious observance of the laws laid upon him by the said church, make it his business to undeceive and disabuse the people committed to his charge, by giving them to understand, that most of that noise which they have so often heard ringing in their ears, about grievances and arbitrary power, popery and tyranny, persecution and oppression of tender consciences, court-pensioners, and the like, has been generally nothing else but mere flam and romance, and that there is no kingdom or government in Christendom less chargeable with any of these odious things and practices than the English government, under his present majesty, both is and ever has been; and consequently, that all these clamours are only the artifices of some malecontents and ambitious demagogues, to fright their prince to compound with them, by taking them off (as the word is) with great and gainful places; and therefore, that they bark so loud, and open their mouths so wide, for no other cause than that some preferment may stop them; the common method, I own, by which weak governors and governments use to deal with such as oppose them; till in the issue, by strengthening their enemies, they come to ruin themselves, and to be laughed at for their pains. For that governor, whosoever he is, who prefers his enemy, makes him thereby not at all the less an enemy, but much more formidably so, than he was before.
And whereas yet further, there have been such
vehement invectives against court-pensioners; let
the people, who have been so warmly plied with
this stuff, be carefully informed, that those very
And then, as for the next clamour, about the persecution and oppression of tender consciences. Let
every conscientious preacher throughly and impartially instruct his congregation, that there is no such
thing; that from the very restoration of the king,
they have been all along allowed (and that by a law
made for that purpose) to worship God after their
own way in their own families with five more persons besides: so that all the oppression and persecution of these men amounts but to this, that the government will not suffer them to meet in troops,
regiments, and brigades; and so form themselves
into an army, and under colour of worshipping God,
to muster their forces, and shew the government
how ready they are, when occasion serves, for a
battle: so that, in truth, it is not so much liberty of
conscience, as liberty from conscience, which these
men contend for. Likewise, let the faithful minister
teach his people, that as the main body of the nation hates and abhors popery with the utmost aversion; so that old stale pretence of the danger of its
being every day ready to return and break in upon
us, while this general aversion to it continues, and
the laws against it stand in full force, (as at present
they certainly do,) is all of it, from top to bottom,
nothing else but an arrant trick and term of art,
and a republican engine to rob the church, and run
down the clergy, (the surest bulwark against popery;)
as the very same plea had effectually served them
All which and the like important heads of discourse, so nearly affecting not only the common
interest, but the very vitals of the government, had
And now I must draw towards a close, though I have not despatched the tenth part of what I had to say upon this useful, copious, and indeed inexhaustible subject. And therefore for a conclusion, I have only two things more to add, and by way of request to you, great men; you who are persons of honour, power, and interest in the government; and, I hope, will shew to what great and good purposes you are so.
1. And the first is, that you would employ the
utmost of this your power and interest, both with
the king and parliament, to suppress, utterly to suppress and extinguish, those private, blind, conventicling schools or academies of grammar and
philosophy, set up and taught secretly by fanatics, here
and there all the kingdom over. A practice which,
I will undertake to prove, looks with a more threatening aspect upon the government, than any one fanatical or republican encroachment made upon it
besides. For this is the direct and certain way to
bring up and perpetuate a race of mortal enemies
both to church and state. To derive, propagate, and
immortalize the principles and practices of forty-one The reader is desired to cast
his eye upon a printed piece, entitled, A Letter from a Country Divine to his
Friend in London, concerning the education of the dissenters, in their private
academies, in several parts of this nation; humbly offered
to the consideration of the grand committee of parliament
for religion, now sitting. Printed at London for Robert Clavell in St. Paul’s Church-yard, 1703.
2. My other request to you, great men, is, that you would, in your respective stations, countenance all legal, allowed, free grammar-schools, by causing (as much as in you lies) the youth of the nation to be bred up there, and no where else; there being sometimes, and in some respects, as much reason why parents should not breed, as why they should not baptize their children at home.
But chiefly, and in the first place, let your kind
and generous influences upon all occasions descend
upon this royal and illustrious school, the happy
place of your education. A school, which neither
disposes men to division in church, nor sedition in
state; though too often found the readiest way (for
churchmen especially) to thrive by; but trains up
her sons and scholars to an invincible loyalty to their
prince, and a strict, impartial conformity to the church. Dr. John Owen.
For though, indeed, we had some of those fellows
for our governors, (as they called themselves,) yet,
thanks be to God, they were never our teachers; no, Mr. William Strong. Viz. Westminster-abbey, where this sermon was appointed
to have been preached.
And therefore, as Alexander the Great admonished one of his soldiers (of the same name with
himself) still to remember that his name was Alexander, and to behave himself accordingly; so, I
hope, our school has all along behaved itself suitably
to the royal name and title which it bears; and that
it will make the same august name the standing
rule of all its actings and proceedings for ever; still
remembering with itself, that it is called the king’s
school, and therefore let nothing arbitrary or tyrannical be practised in it, whatsoever has been practised against it. Again, it is the king’s school, and
therefore let nothing but what is loyal come out of
it, or be found in it; let it not be so much as tinctured with any thing which is either republican or
fanatical; that so the whole nation may have cause
to wish, that the king may never want such a school,
nor the nation may ever want such a king. A prince,
To which God, the great King of kings and Lord of lords, be rendered and ascribed, as is most due, all praise, might, majesty, and dominion, both now and for evermore. Amen.
Causelessly rebelled against, unhumanly imprisoned, and at length barbarously murdered before the gates of his own palace, by the worst of men, and the most obliged of subjects.
And it was so, that all that saw it said, There was no such deed done nor seen from the day that the children of Israel came up out of the land of Egypt unto this day: consider of it, take advice, and speak your minds.
THE occasion of these words was a foul and detestable fact, which had happened in one of the
tribes of Israel; and the occasion of that fact was
(as the text not obscurely intimates) the want of
kingly government amongst the Israelites at that
As for the infamous actors in this tragical scene, we have them boldly owning their shameless fact in open field, avowing it with sword in hand, and for some time defending the same with victory and success against their brethren, then the peculiar people and church of God, twice routed and slaughtered before them in a righteous cause; a cause managed by all the rest of the tribes engaged in it, and that not more with the proper arms of war in one hand, than with a commission from God himself in the other. In which and the like respects, so great a resemblance must needs be acknowledged between this and the late civil war amongst ourselves here in England, that the proceedings of forty-one, and some of the following years, may well pass for the Devil’s works in a second edition, or a foul and odious copy, much exceeding the foulness of the original.
I profess not myself either skilled or delighted in
mystical interpretations of scripture; nor am I for
forcing or wiredrawing the sense of the text, so as
to make it designedly foretell the king’s death and
murder; nor to make England, Scotland, and Ire
land (as some enthusiasts have done) the adequate
The crime here set off with such high aggravations, was an injury done to one single Levite, in
the villainous rape of his concubine; a surprising
passage, I confess, to us, who have lived in times
enlightening men to the utmost hatred and contempt
of the ministry, as a principal part (or rather whole)
of their religion: nevertheless we see how, even in
those dark times of the law, (as our late saints used
to call them,) the resentment of the wrong done to
this poor Levite rose so high, that it was looked
upon as a sufficient ground for a civil war; and accordingly made the concern of all Israel to revenge
this quarrel upon the whole tribe of Benjamin, for
abetting the villainy. This was the unanimous judgment of the eleven tribes, and a war was hereupon
declared; in which the conduct and preeminence
was by divine designation appointed to the royal
But now, to come to the counterpart of the story, or the application of it to our present case. He who dates the murder of king Charles the First from the fatal blow given upon the scaffold, judges like him who thinks, that it is only the last stroke which fells the tree. No; the killing of his person was but the consummation of the murder first begun in his prerogative: and Pym, and some like him, did as really give a stroke towards the cutting down this royal oak, as Ireton or Cromwell himself. Few, I believe, but have heard of that superfine, applauded invention of theirs, of a double capacity in the king, personal and politic: and, I suppose, the two noted factions, which then carried all before them, distinguished in him these two, that so, to keep pace with one another, each of them might destroy him under one.
For as for those The presbyterian faction.
Well, then, when a long sunshine of mercy had ripened the sins of the nation, so that it was now ready for the shakings of divine vengeance, the seeds of faction and rebellion having for a long time been studiously sowed by seditious libels, and well watered with schismatical lectures; the first assault was made against the clergy, by a pack of inveterate avowed enemies to the church, the fury of whose lust and ambition nothing could allay, but a full power and liberty (which they quickly got) to seize her privileges, prostitute her honours, and ravish her revenues; till at length, being thus mangled, divided, and broke in pieces, (as the Levite’s concubine was before her,) she became a ghastly spectacle to all be holders, to all the Israel of God.
Such, therefore, was then the woful condition of
our church and clergy, upon the Puritans invasion
of their rights, at the breaking out of the late civil
war: in which, as we hinted before in the Levite’s
case, so amongst ourselves also, the cause of our
oppressed church was owned and sheltered by the
royal standard, and the defence of the ministry (as
most properly it should be) managed by the defender of the faith. But, alas! the
same angry Providence still pursuing the best of kings and causes
with defeat after defeat, the lion falling before the
wolf, as Judah (the royal tribe) sometimes did before
Benjamin, the king himself came to be in effect first
unkinged, and all his royalties torn from him, before the year forty-five; and
then at last, to complete
And this is the black subject and occasion of this day’s solemnity. In my reflections upon which, if a just indignation, or indeed even a due apprehension of the blackest fact which the sun ever saw since he hid his face upon the crucifixion of our Saviour, chance to give an edge to some of my expressions, let all such know, the guilt of whose actions has made the very strictest truths look like satires or sarcasms, and bare descriptions sharper than invectives; I say, let such censurers (whose innocence lies only in their indemnity) know, that to drop the blackest ink and the bitterest gall upon this fact, is not satire, but propriety.
And now, since the text here represents the whole matter set forth in it, in these most significant and remarkable words, that there was no such deed done or seen for many ages before; and with which words I shall clothe the sad subject before us; I conceive the most proper prosecution thereof, as ap plied to this occasion, will be to shew wherein the unparalleled strangeness of this deed consists. And for this, since the nature is not to be accounted for, but from a due consideration of the agent, the object, and all that retinue of circumstances which do attend and specify it under a certain denomination, I shall accordingly distribute my discourse into these materials.
I. I shall consider the person that suffered.
II. I shall shew the preparation and introduction to his suffering.
III. Shew the quality of the agents who acted in it.
V. Describe the circumstances and manner of the fact. And,
V. Point out the dismal and destructive consequences of it.
Of all which in their order; and,
I. For the first of them; the person suffering. He was a king; and, what is more, such a king, not chosen, but born to be so; that is, not owing his kingdom to the vogue of the populace, but to the suffrage of nature. He was a David, a saint, a king, but never a shepherd. Some of all the royal blood in Christendom ran in his veins, that is to say, many kings went to the making of this one.
And his improvements and education fell no ways below his extraction. He was accurate in all the recommending excellencies of human accomplishments, able to deserve, had he not inherited a kingdom; of so controlling a genius, that in every science he attempted, he did not so much study as reign; and appeared not only a proficient, but a prince. And to go no further for a testimony, let his own writings witness so much, which speak him no less an author than a monarch; composed with such an unfailing accuracy, such a commanding majestic pathos, as if they had been writ, not with a pen, but with a sceptre. And for those whose virulent and ridiculous calumnies ascribe that incomparable piece to others, I say, it is a sufficient argument that those did not write it, because they could not write it. It is hard to counterfeit the spirit of majesty, and the unimitable peculiarities of an incommunicable genius and condition.
At the council-board he had the ability still to give himself
the best counsel, but the unhappy modesty
Look we next upon his piety and unparalleled virtues; though without an absurdity I may affirm, that his very endowments of nature were supernatural. So pious was he, that had others measured their obedience to him by his obedience to God, he had been the most absolute monarch in the world; as eminent for frequenting the temple, as Solomon for building one. No occasions ever interfered with his devotions, nor business of state ate out his times of attendance in the church. So firm to the protestant cause, though he conversed in the midst of temptation, in the very bosom of Spain, and though France lay in his, yet nothing could alter him, but that he espoused the cause of religion even more than his beloved queen.
He every way filled the title under which we prayed for him. He could defend his religion as a king, dispute for it as a divine, and die for it as a martyr. I think I shall speak a great truth, if I say, that the only thing that makes protestantism considerable in Christendom is the church of England; and the great thing that does now cement and confirm the church of England is the blood of this blessed saint.
He was so skilled in all controversies, that we may well style him in all causes ecclesiastical, not only supreme governor, but moderator, nor more fit to fill the throne than the chair; and withal so exact an observer and royal a rewarder of all such performances, that it was an encouragement to a man to be a divine under such a prince.
Which eminent piety of his was set off with the whole train of moral virtues. His temperance was so great and impregnable, amidst all those allurements with which the courts of kings are apt to melt even the most stoical and resolved minds, that he did at the same time both teach and upbraid the court; so that it was not so much their own vice, as his example, that rendered their debauchery unexcusable. Look over the whole list of our kings, and take in the kings of Israel to boot, and who ever kept the bond of conjugal affection so inviolate? David was chiefly eminent for repenting in this matter, Charles for not needing repentance. None ever of greater fortitude of mind, which was more resplendent in the conquest of himself, and in those miraculous instances of passive valour, than if he had strewed the field with all the rebels armies, and to the justness of his own cause joined the success of theirs. And yet withal so meek, so gentle, so merciful, and that even to a cruelty to himself, that if ever the lion and the lamb dwelt together, if ever courage and meekness united, it was in the breast of this royal person.
And, which makes the rebellion more ugly and
intolerable, there was scarce any person of note
amongst his enemies, who, even fighting against him,
did not wear his colours, i.e. carry some peculiar
mark of his former favours and obligations. Some
were his own menial servants, and ate bread at his
table, before they lifted up their heel against him.
Some received from him honours, some offices and
employments. I could mention particulars of each
kind, did I think their names fit to be heard in a
And these his personal virtues shed a suitable influence upon his government. For the space of seventeen years, the peace, plenty, and honour of the English, spread itself even to the envy of all neighbour nations. And when that plenty had pampered them into such an unruliness and rebellion as soon followed it, yet still the justness of his government left them at a loss for an occasion; till at length ship-money was pitched upon, as fit to be reformed into excise and taxes, and the burden of the subject to be took off by plunders and sequestrations.
The king, now, to scatter that cloud which began to gather and look black both upon church
and state, made those condescensions to their impudent petitions, that they had scarce any thing to
make war for, but what was granted them already;
and having thus stript himself of his prerogative, he
made it clear to the world, that there was nothing
left them to fight for, but only his life. Afterwards,
in the prosecution of this unnatural war, what overtures did he make for peace! Nay, when he had his
sword in his hand, his armies about him, and a cause
to justify him before God and man, how did he
choose to compound himself into nothing, to depose
and unking himself, by their hard, unconscionable,
unhuman conditions! But all was nothing; he
might as well compliment a mastiff, or court a tiger,
as think to win those who were now hardened in
blood, and thoroughpaced in rebellion. The truth
is, his conscience uncrowned him, as having a mind
Having thus, with a new, unheard of sort of loyalty, fought against, and conquered him, they commit him to prison; and then the king himself notes, that it has been always observed, that there is but little distance from the prisons of kings to their graves. To which I further subjoin, that where the observation is constant, there must needs be some certain standing cause of the connexion of the things observed. And indeed it is a direct transition from the prison to the grave, a carceribus ad metam, the difference between them being only this; that he who is buried is imprisoned under ground, and he who is imprisoned is buried above it. And I could wish, that as they thus slew and buried his body, so we had not also buried his funeral.
But to finish this poor imperfect description, though it is of a person so renowned, that he neither needs the best, nor can be injured by the worst; yet in short, he was a prince whose virtues were as prodigious as his sufferings, a true pater patriae, a father of his country, if but for this only, that he was the father of such a son.
And yet, this the most innocent of men, and the
best of kings, so pious and virtuous, so learned and
judicious, so merciful and obliging, was rebelled
against, driven out of his own house, pursued like a
partridge upon the mountains, and like an exile in
his own dominions, unhumanly imprisoned, and at
length, for a catastrophe of all, barbarously murdered; though in this his murder was the less of
II. Having thus seen the quality and condition of the person who suffered, let us in the next place see the engines and preparations by which they gradually ascended to the perpetration of this bloody fact. And indeed it would be but a poor, preposterous discourse, to insist only upon the consequent, without taking notice of the antecedent.
It were too long to dig to the spring of this rebellion, and to lead you to the secrecies of its first contrivance. But, as David’s phrase is upon another occasion, it was framed and fashioned in the lowest parts of the earth, and there it was fearfully and wonderfully made, a work of darkness and retirement, removed from the eye of all witnesses, even that of conscience also; for conscience was not admitted to their councils.
But the first design was to procure a Levite to consecrate their idol, that is to say, a factious ministry to christen it the cause of God. They still owned their party for God’s true Israel; and being so, it must needs be their duty to come out of Egypt, though they provided themselves a red sea for their passage. .
And then for their assistance they repair to the
northern steel; This is no reflection upon the Scotch nation, nor intended
for such, there having been persons as eminent for their loyalty, piety, and
virtue, of that country as of any other: but it
reflects upon that Scotch faction, which invaded England with an army, in assistance of the rebels, and together with them made a shift to destroy the monarchy and the church in both kingdoms.
Now, to endear and unite these into one interest, they invented a covenant, much like those who are said to have made a covenant with hell, and an agreement with death. It was the most solemn piece of perjury, the most fatal engine against the church, and bane of monarchy, the greatest snare of souls, and mystery of iniquity, that ever was hammered by the wit and wickedness of man. I shall not, as they do, abuse scripture language, and call it the blood of the covenant, but give it its proper title, it was the covenant of blood. Such an one as the brethren Simeon and Levi made, when they were going about the like design. Their very posture of taking it was an ominous mark of its intent, and their holding up their hands was a sign that they were ready to strike.
It was such an oglio of treason and tyranny, that
one of their assembly, Mr. Philip Nye.
But that I may not accuse in general, without a particular charge, read it over as it stands before their synod’s works, I mean their catechism; to which it is prefixed, as if, without it, their system of divinity were not complete, nor their children like to be well instructed, unless they were schooled to treason, and catechised to rebellion. I say, in the covenant, as it stands there, in the third article of it. After they had first promised to defend the privileges of parliament, and the liberties of the kingdoms, at length they promise also a defence of the king; but only thus, “that they will defend his person in the preservation and defence of the true religion and liberties of the kingdoms.” In which it is evident, that their promise of loyalty to him is not absolute, but conditional; bound hand and foot with this limitation, “so far as he preserved the true religion and liberties of the kingdoms.”
From which I observe these two things.
1. That those who promise obedience to their king, only so far as he preserves the true religion, and the kingdoms liberties; withal reserving to themselves the judgment of what religion is true, what false, and when these liberties are invaded, when not; do by this put it within their power to judge religion false, and liberty invaded, as they think convenient, and then, upon such judgment, to absolve themselves from their allegiance.
2. That those very persons, who thus covenant, had already,
from pulpit and press, declared the religion
And for a further demonstration of what has been
said, read the speech of that worthy knight, Sir Henry Vane.
We see here the doctrine of the covenant; see
the use of this doctrine, as it was charged home
with a suitable application in a war raised against
the king, in the cruel usage and imprisonment, killing, sequestering, undoing all who adhered to him,
voting no addresses to himself; all which horrid
And therefore, for those persons who now clamour and cry out that they are persecuted, because they are no longer permitted to persecute; and who choose rather to quit their ministry, than to disown the obligation of the covenant; I leave it to all understanding, impartial minds to judge, whether they do not by this openly declare to the world, that they hold themselves obliged by oath, as they shall be able, to act over again all that has been hitherto acted by virtue of that covenant; and consequently, that they relinquish their places, not for being non conformists to the church, but for being virtually rebels to the crown. Which makes them just as worthy to be indulged, as for a man to indulge a dropsy or a malignant fever, which is exasperated by mitigations, and inflamed by every cooling infusion.
But to draw the premises closer to the purpose. Thus I argue. That which was the proper means, that enabled the king’s mortal enemies to make a war against him, and upon that war to conquer, and upon that conquest to imprison him; and lastly, upon that imprisonment inevitably put the power into the hands of those, who by that power in the end murdered him; that, according to the genuine consequences of reason, was the natural cause of his murder. This is the proposition that I assert, and I shall not trouble myself to make the assumption.
And indeed those who wipe their mouths and
lick themselves innocent, by clapping this act upon
the army, make just the same plea that Pilate did
I conclude therefore, that this was the gradual process to this horrid fact; this the train laid, to blow up monarchy; this the step by which the king ascended the scaffold.
III. Come we now in the third place to shew, who
were the actors in this tragical scene: when, through
the anger of Providence, a thriving army of rebels
had worsted justice, cleared the field, subdued all
opposition and risings, even to the very insurrections
of conscience itself; so that impunity grew at length
into the reputation of piety, and success gave rebellion the varnish of religion; that they might consummate their villainy, the gown was called in to
complete the execution of the sword; and, to make
Westminster-hall a place for taking away lives, as
well as estates, a new court was set up, and judges
packed, who had nothing to do with justice, but so
far as they were fit to be the objects of it. In which,
they first of all begin with a confutation of the civilians notion of justice and jurisdiction, it being with
them no longer an act of the supreme power, as it
was ever before defined to be. Such an inferior
crew, such a mechanic rabble were they, having not
so much as any arms to shew the world, but what
they wore and used in the rebellion, that when I
survey the list of the king’s judges, and the witnesses
against him, I seem to have before me a catalogue
of all trades, and such as might better have filled
the shops in Westminster-hall, than sat upon the
Now, that a king, that such a king, should be murdered by such, the basest of his subjects, and not like a Nimrod, (as some sanctified, railing preachers have called him,) but, like an Actaeon, be torn by a pack of bloodhounds; that the steam of a dunghill should thus obscure the sun; this so much enhances the calamity of this royal person, and makes his death as different from his who is conquered and slain by another king, as it is between being torn by a lion, and being eaten up with vermin: an expression too proper, I am sure, as coarse as it is; for where we are speaking of beggars, nothing can be more natural than to think of vermin too.
For that the feet should trample upon, nay, kick off the head, who would not look upon it as a monster? But indeed, of all others, these were the fittest instruments for such a work: for base descent and poor education disposes the mind to imperiousness and cruelty; as the most savage beasts are bred in dens, and have their extraction from under ground. These therefore were the worthy judges and condemners of a great king, even the refuse of the people, and the very scum of the nation; that is, at that time both the uppermost and the basest part of it.
4. Pass we now, in the fourth place, to the circumstances and manner of procedure in the management of this ugly fact. And circumstances, we know,
First of all then, it was not done, like other works of darkness, in secret, nor (as they used to preach) in a corner, but publicly, coloured with the face of justice, managed with openness and solemnity, as solemn as the league and covenant itself. History indeed affords us many examples of princes who have been clandestinely murdered; which, though it be villainous, yet is in itself more excusable; for he who does such a thing in secret, by the very manner of his doing it, confesses himself ashamed of the thing he does: but he who acts it in the face of the sun, vouches his action for laudable, glorious, and heroic.
Having thus brought him to their high court of justice, (so called, I conceive, because justice was there arraigned and condemned; or perhaps therefore called a court of justice, because it never shewed any mercy, whether the cause needed it or no,) there, by a way of trial as unheard of as their court, they permit him not so much as to speak in his own defence, but with the innocence and silence of a lamb condemn him to the slaughter. And it had been well for them, if they could as easily have imposed silence upon his blood as upon himself.
Being condemned, they spit in his face, and deliver
him to the mockery and affronts of soldiers. So
that I wonder where the blasphemy lies, which some
charge upon those who make the king’s sufferings
something to resemble our Saviour’s. But is it blasphemy to compare the king to Christ in that respect
in which Christ himself was made like him? or can
he be like us in all things, and we not like him?
Let us now follow him from their mock tribunal to the place of
his residence till execution. Nothing remains to a person condemned, and
presently to leave the world, but these two things. 1. To take leave of his
friends, a thing not denied to the vilest malefactors; which sufficiently
appears, in that it has not been denied to themselves. Yet no entreaties from
him or his royal consort could prevail with the murderers to let her take the
last farewell and commands of a dying husband; he was permitted to
make no farewell, but to the world. Thus was he
treated, and stript of all, even from the prerogative of a prince to the privilege of a malefactor.
2. The next thing desired by all dying persons is
freedom to converse with God, and to prepare themselves to meet him at his great tribunal: but with
an Italian cruelty to the soul as well as the body,
they debar him of this freedom also; and even solitude, his former punishment,
is now too great an enjoyment. But that they might shew themselves no
less enemies to private, than they had been to public
prayer, they disturb his retirements, and with scoffs
and contumelies upbraid those devotions which were
With these preludiums is he brought to the last scene of mockery and cruelty, to a stage erected before his own palace; and for the greater affront of majesty, before that part of it in which he was wont to display his royalty, and to give audience to ambassadors, where now he could not obtain audience himself in his last addresses to his abused subjects. There he receives the fatal blow, there he dies, conquering and pardoning his enemies; and at length finds that faithfully performed upon the scaffold, which was at first so frequently and solemnly promised him in the parliament, and perhaps in the same sense, that he should be made a glorious king.
But even this death was the mercy of murderers, considering what kinds of death several proposed, when they sat in consultation about the manner of it; even no less than the gibbet and the halter; no less than to execute him in his robes, and afterwards drive a stake through his head and body, to stand as a monument upon his grave. In short, all those kinds of death were proposed, which either their malice could suggest, or their own guilt deserve.
And could these men now find in their hearts, or have the face
to desire to live, and to plead a pardon from the son, who had thus murdered the
father? I speak not only of those wretches who openly imbrued their hands in the
bloody sentence, but of those more considerable traitors who had the villainy to
manage the contrivance, and yet the cunning to disappear in the execution, and
perhaps the good luck to be preferred
But to return to this sacred martyr. We have
seen him murdered; and is there now any other
scene for cruelty to act? Is not death the end of
In the very embalming his body, and taking out
those bowels, (which, had they not relented to his
enemies, had not been so handled,) they gave order to
those to whom that work was committed diligently
to search and see (I speak it with horror and indignation) whether his body were not infected with
some loathsome disease. Gregory Clement knew what the disease was.
Now every one must easily see, that for them to intimate the inquiry was, in effect, to enjoin the report. And here let any one judge, whether the remorseless malice of embittered rebels ever rose to such a height of tyranny, that the very embalming of his body must needs be a means to corrupt his name; as if his murder was not complete, unless, together with his life, they did also assassinate his fame and butcher his reputation.
But the body of that prince, innocent and virtuous
to a miracle, had none of the ruins and gentile rottenness of our modern debauchery. It was firm and
clear, like his conscience; he fell like a cedar, no
less fragrant than tall and stately. Rottenness of
heart and rottenness of bones are the badges of some
of his Clement, Peters, &c.
But the last grand, comprehensive circumstance of this fact, which is, as it were, the very form and spirit which did actuate and run through all the rest, is, that it was done with the pretences of conscience and the protestations of religion; with eyes lift up to heaven, and expostulations with God, pleas of providence and inward instigations; till at length, with much labour and many groans, they were delivered of their conceived mischief.
And certainly we have cause to deplore this murder with fasting, if it were but for this reason, that it
was contrived and committed with fasting. Every
fast portended some villainy, as still a famine ushers
in a plague. But as hunger serves only for appetite,
so they never ordained an humiliation, but for the
doing of something, which, being done, might dine
them at a thanksgiving. And such a fury did ab
surd piety inspire into this church militant upon
these exercises, that we might as well meet an hungry bear as a preaching colonel after a fast; whose
murderous humiliations strangely verified that apposite prophecy in
But was there any thing in the whole book of God
to warrant this rebellion? any thing which, instead
of obedience, taught them to sacrifice him whom
they were to obey? Why yes: Daniel dreamed a
dream; and there is also something in the Revelation, concerning a beast, a
little horn, and the fifth
vial, and therefore the king undoubtedly ought to
But others, more knowing, though not less wicked,
insist not so much upon the warrant of scripture, but
plead providential dispensations: and then God’s
works, it seems, must be regarded before his words.
And the Latin advocate, Mr. Milton. In Praefat. ad Defensionem pro Populo Anglicano, (as his Latin is.)
But still, conscience, conscience is pleaded as a
covering for all enormities, an answer to all questions and accusations. Ask what made them fight
against, imprison, and murder their lawful sovereign? Why, conscience. What made them extirpate the government, and pocket the revenue of the
church? Conscience. What made them perjure
themselves with contrary oaths? what makes swearing a sin, and yet forswearing to be none? what
made them lay hold on God’s promises, and break
their own? Conscience. What made them sequester, persecute, and undo their brethren, rape their
estates, ruin their families, get into their places, and
then say, they only robbed the Egyptians? Why
still this large capacious thing, their conscience;
But, O blessed God, to what an height can prosperous, audacious impiety arise! Was it not enough that men once crucified Christ, but that there should be a generation of men who should also crucify Christianity itself? Must he who taught no defence but patience, allowed no armour but submission, and never warranted any man to shed any other blood but his own, be now again mocked with soldiers, and vouched the patron and author of all those hideous murders and rebellions, which an ordinary impiety would stand amazed at the hearing of? and which in this world he has so plainly condemned by his word, and will hereafter as severely sentence in his own person? Certainly, these monsters are not only the spots of Christianity, but so many standing exceptions from humanity and nature: and since most of them are Anabaptists, it is pity that, in repeating their baptism, they did not baptize themselves into another religion.
V. For the fifth and last place, let us view the horridness of the fact in the fatal consequences which did attend it. Every great villainy is like a great absurdity, drawing after it a numerous train of homogeneous consequences; and none ever spread itself into more than this. But I shall endeavour to reduce them all to these two sorts.
1. Such as were of a civil,
2. Such as were of a religious concern.
1. And first for the civil, political consequences of it.
There immediately followed a change of government, of a government whose praise had been proclaimed for many centuries, and enrolled in the large fair characters of the subject’s enjoyment and experience. It was now shred into a democracy; and the stream of government being cut into many channels, ran thin and shallow: whereupon the subject having many masters, every servant had so many distinct servitudes.
But the wheel of Providence, which only they
looked upon, and that even to a giddiness, did not
stop here; but by a fatal, ridiculous vicissitude, both
the power and wickedness of those many was again
revolved, and compacted into one: from that one Cromwell. King Charles II.
Nor was the government only, but also the glory
of the English nation changed; distinction of orders
confounded, the gentry outbraved, and the nobility,
who voted the bishops out of their dignities in parliament, by the just judgment of God thrust out themselves, and brought under the scorn and imperious
lash of a beggar on horseback; “learning discountenanced, and the universities threatened, their
revenues to be sold, their colleges to be demolished;
the law to be reformed after the same model; the
records of the nation to be burnt.” All this was Sir Henry Vane’s villainous and monstrous advice.
2. The other sort of consequences were of a religious concernment. I speak not of the contempt,
rebuke, and discouragement lying upon the divines,
or rather the preachers Presbyterians and Independents. Baxter in his book dedicated
to Richard Cromwell did so.
I speak not therefore of these. But the great destructive consequence of this fact was, that it has left a lasting slur upon the protestant religion. Tell it not in Gath, publish it not in Askelon, lest the daughters of the Philistines triumph, lest the Papacy laugh us to scorn: as, if they had no other sort of Protestants to deal with, I am sure they well might.
I confess, the seditious writings of some who called
themselves Protestants, have sufficiently bespattered
their religion. See Calvin warranting the three estates to oppose their prince, 4 Instit. ch. 20. sect.
31. See master Knox’s Appeal, and in that his arguments for resisting the civil magistrate. Read Mr.
Buchanan’s discourse de jure regni apud Scotos. Burnt by the common hangman in Oxon, by command of
King James the First.
But these principles, like sleeping lions, lay still a great while, and were never completely actuate, nor appeared in the field, till the French holy league and the English rebellion.
Let the powder-plot be as bad as it will or can, yet still there is as much difference between the king’s murder and that, as there is between an action and an attempt. What the papal bulls and anathemas could not do, factious sermons have brought about. What was then contrived against the parliament house, has been since done by it. What the papists powder intended, the soldiers’ match has effected. I say, let the powder-treason be looked upon (as indeed it is) as the product of hell, as black as the souls and principles that hatched it; yet still this reformation-murder will preponderate; and January, in villainy, always have the precedency of November.
And thus I have traced this accursed fact through
For my own part, my apprehension of it overbears
my expression; and how to set it off, I know not;
for black receives no other colour. But when I call
together all the ideas of horror, rake all the records
of the Roman, Grecian, and barbarian wonders, together with new-fancied instances and unheard of
possibilities, yet I find no parallel; and therefore
have this only to say of the king’s murder, that it is
a thing, than which nothing can be imagined more
strange, amazing, and astonishing, except its pardon. This was far from
being intended as a reflection upon the act of indemnity itself, and much less
upon the royal author of it, but only as a rhetorical attempt for expressing the
transcendent height of one thing by an equally transcendent height of another; viz. by that of the mercy pardoning, and by that of the crime pardoned; both of them, in their several kinds,
superlative.
And now, having done with the first part of the text, does it not naturally engage me in the duty of the second? Must such a deed, as was neither seen nor heard of, be also neither spoken of? or must it be stroked with smooth, mollifying expressions? Is this the way to cure the wound, by pouring oil upon those that made it? And must Absalom be therefore dealt with gently, because he was an unnatural and a sturdy rebel?
If, as the text bids, we consider of the fact, and take advice, (that is, advise with reason and conscience,) we cannot but obey it in the following words, and speak our minds. For could Croesus’s dumb son speak at the very attempt of a murder upon his prince and father? and shall a preacher be dumb, when such a murder is actually committed?
Or do we think it is enough to make long doleful harangues against murder and cruelty, and concerning the prerogative of kings, without ripping up the particular, mysterious, diabolical arts of its first contrivance? Can things peculiar and unheard of be treated with the toothless generalities of a common place?
I will not be so uncharitable as to charge a consent in this particular wheresoever I find a silence: I will only conclude such to be wiser than others, and to wait for another turn; and from their behaviour rationally collect their expectation. But whosoever is so sage, so prudential, or (to speak more significantly) so much a politicus, as to fit himself for every change, he will find, that if ever another turn befalls the nation, it will be the wrong side outwards, the lowest uppermost. And therefore, for these silent candidates of future preferment, I wish them no other punishment for the treason of their desire, than to be preferred under another change.
But I have not yet finished my text, nor, according to the command of it, spoke all my mind. I have one thing more to propose, and with that to conclude.
Would you be willing to see this scene acted over
again? to see that restless, plotting humour, which
now boils and ferments in many traitorous breasts,
And to mention the greatest last; would you have the king, with his father’s kingdoms, inherit also his fortune? Would you see the crown trampled upon, majesty haled from prison to prison; and at length with the vilest circumstances of spite and cruelty, bleeding and dying at the feet of bloody, unhuman miscreants? Would you, now Providence has cast out the destructive interest from the parliament, and the house is pretty well swept and cleansed, have the old unclean spirit return, and take to itself seven spirits, seven other interests worse than itself, and dwell there, and so make our latter end worse than our beginning?
We hear of plots and combinations, parties joining
and agreeing; and let us not trust too much in their
opposition amongst themselves. The elements can
fight, and yet unite into one body. Ephraim against
Manasseh, and Manasseh against Ephraim; but both
equally against the royal tribe of Judah. Now, if we
And now, since I have slid into a mention of the
church of England, which at this time is so much
struck and railed at, and in danger (like its first
head) to be crucified between two thieves, I shall
say thus much of it; that it is the only church in
Christendom we read of, whose avowed principles
and practices disown all resistance of the civil power;
and which the saddest experience and the truest
policy and reason will evince to be the only one that
is durably consistent with the English monarchy.
Let men look both into its doctrine and into its history, and they will find neither the Calvins, the
Knoxes, the Junius Brutuses, the synods, nor the
holy commonwealths of the one side; nor yet the
Bellarmines, the Escobars, nor the Marianas of the
other. It has no fault but its revenues; and those
too but the remainders of a potent, surfeited sacrilege. And therefore, if God in his anger to this
kingdom should suffer it to be run down, either by
For when I hear of conspiracies, seditious designs, covenants, and plots, they do not much move or affright me. But when I see the same covetousness, the same drunkenness and profaneness, that was first punished in ourselves, and then in our sanctified enemies; when I see joy turned into a revel, and debauchery proclaim itself louder than it can be proclaimed against; these, I must confess, stagger and astonish me; and I cannot persuade myself, that we were delivered to do all these abominations.
But, if we have not the grace of Christians, have we not the hearts of men? Have we no bowels, no relentings? If the blood and banishment of our kings cannot move us, if the miseries of our common mother the church, ready to fall back into the jaws of purchasers and reformers, cannot work upon us, yet shall we not at least pity our posterity? Shall we commit sins, and breed up children to inherit the curse? Shall the infants now unborn have cause to say hereafter, in the bitterness of their souls, Our fathers have eaten the sour grapes of disobedience, and our teeth are set on edge by rebellions and confusions?
How does any man know, but the very oath he is
swearing, the lewdness he is committing, may be
scored up by God as one item for a new rebellion?
But at present we are made whole: God has by a miracle healed the breaches, cured the maladies, and bound up the wounds of a bleeding nation: what remains now, but that we take the counsel that seconded a like miraculous cure; Go, sin no more, lest a worse evil come unto thee. But since our evil has been so superlative as not to acknowledge a worse; since our calamities, having reached the highest, give us rather cause to fear a repetition, than any possibility of gradation; I shall dismiss you with the like though something altered advice, Go, sin no more, lest the same evil befall you.
Which God of his infinite mercy prevent, even that God by whom kings reign and princes decree justice; by whom their thrones are established, and by whom their blood will assuredly be revenged. To whom therefore be rendered and ascribed, as is most due, all praise, might, majesty, and dominion, both now and for evermore. Amen,
And no marvel; for Satan himself is transformed into an angel of light.
HE who has arrived to that pitch of infidelity as
to deny that there is a Devil, gives a shrewd proof
that he is deluded by him; and so by this very denial does unawares infer the thing which he would
deny. There have indeed been some in all ages,
sects, and religions, who have promoted the Devil’s
interests by arguing against his being. For that
which men generally most desire, is to go on in their
sin without control; and it cannot be more their desire, than the Devil accounts it his interest, that they
should do so. But when they are told withal, that
he who tempts to sin now, is to execute God’s wrath
for our sin hereafter, the belief of a, spirit, appointed
to so terrible an office, standing so directly between
them and their sins, they can never proceed smoothly in them, till such a belief be first taken out of the
Nevertheless, on the other side, it must be considered, that the proving of spirits and immaterial substances from the common discourses of the world
upon this subject, has not hitherto proved so successful as might be wished. For that there are such
finite, incorporeal beings, as we call spirits, I take to
be a point of that moment, that the belief of it ought
to be established upon much surer proofs than such
as are commonly taken from visions, and apparitions, and the reports which use to go of them; it
having never hitherto been held for solid reasoning,
to argue from what seems to what exists; or, in
other words, from appearances to things; especially
since it has been found so frequent, for the working
of a strong fancy and a weak judgment to pass with
many for apparitions. Nor yet can I think the same
sufficiently proved from several strange effects,
chances, and alterations, which (as historians tell
us) having sometimes happened in the world, and
carrying in them the marks of a rational efficiency,
(but manifestly above all human power,) have therefore by some been ascribed to spirits, as the proper
and immediate causes thereof. For such a conclusion, I conceive, cannot be certainly drawn from
thence, unless we were able to comprehend the full
force and activity of all corporeal substances, especially
And therefore in the present case, allowing the forementioned common arguments all the advantage of probability they can justly lay claim to; yet if we would have a certain proof of the existence of finite spirits, good or bad, we ought, no doubt, to fetch it from that infallible word of revelation, held forth to us in the scriptures; and so employ faith to piece up the shortness and defects of science; which, as no thing but faith can do, so that man must by no means pretend to faith, who will not sell his assent under a demonstration; nor indeed to so much as prudence, who will be convinced by nothing but experience, when perhaps the experiment may prove his, destruction. He who believes that there is a Devil, puts himself into the ready way to escape him. But as for those modern Sadducees, who will believe neither angel nor spirit, because they cannot see them; and with whom invisible and incredible pass for terms perfectly equipollent; they would do wisely to consider, that as the fowler would certainly spoil his own game, should he not, as much as possible, keep out of sight; so the Devil never plants his snares so skilfully and successfully, as when he conceals his person; nor tempts so dangerously, as when he can persuade men that there is no tempter.
But I fear I have argued too far upon this point
already; since it may seem something inartificial for
the sermon to prove what the text had supposed.
But since the infidelity of the present age has made
the proof of that necessary, which former ages took
Now the Devil, I conceive, is represented to us thus transformed in the text, not so much in respect of what he is in his person, as in his practice upon men; for none ever dissembles or conceals himself, but he has a design upon another. And therefore, to prosecute the sense of the words by as full a representation of his frauds as I am able to give, I shall discourse of him in this method.
I. I shall endeavour to shew the way of his operation upon the soul, in conveying his fallacies into the minds of men.
II. I shall shew the grand instances in which he has played an angel of light, in the several ages of the church successively. And
III. and lastly, give caution against some principles, by which he is like to repeat the same cheat upon the world, if not prevented in time to come.
And first, for the influence he has upon the soul.
To lay open here all the ways whereby this spiritual engineer works upon us, to trace the serpent in all his windings and turnings, is a thing, I believe, as much above a mere human understanding, as that is below an angelical; but so far as the ducture of common reason, scripture, and experience will direct our inquiries, we shall find that there are three ways by which he powerfully reaches and operates upon the minds of men. As,
1. By moving, stirring, and sometimes altering
2. The Devil can act upon the soul, by suggesting
the ideas and spiritual pictures of things (as they
may be not unfitly called) to the imagination. For
this is the grand repository of all the ideas and representations which the mind of man can work Such persons, principles, and
practices, can want nothing to enable them to overthrow any government, but to be
countenanced by it.
3. The Devil can work upon the soul, by an actual ingress into and personal possession of the man,
so as to move and act him; and like a kind of vicarious soul, use his body, and the several faculties and
members thereof, as instruments of the several operations which he exerts by them. Upon which account persons so possessed were heretofore called
πνευματόφοροι, and ἐνεργούμενοι. And if any one here should
doubt, that a spirit can move and impel a body,
since without quantity and dimensions on both sides
there can be no contact, and since without contact
some think all impulsions impossible, this maxim, if
too far insisted upon, would bear as hard upon the
soul itself, as to its moving the body, (allowing it to
be a spiritual immaterial substance; which, I hope,
in a Christian auditory, needs not to be proved.)
And now, the premises thus supposed, how easy
must it be for this spirit to cast any person possessed by him into a kind of prophetic ecstasy, and,
with other amazing extravagancies, to utter through
him certain sentences and opinions, and in the utterance thereof to intermix
some things pious and good, to take off the suspicion, and qualify the poison
Of which words, the Quakers amongst us (as little
as they deal in Latin) have yet been the best and
fullest interpreters, by being the liveliest instances
of the thing described in them of any that I know.
And so likewise in the case of the person possessed,
These, I say, are the physical ways of operation which the Devil can employ, so as to insinuate there by his impostures in a clever unsuspected manner: which three general ways doubtless may be improved by so experienced a craftsman into myriads of particulars. But I shall confine myself to his dealings with the church, and that only within the times of Christianity; and so pass to the second general head proposed.
II. Which was to shew the grand instances in which the Devil, under this mask of light, has imposed upon the Christian world. And here we must premise this general observation, as the basis of all the ensuing particulars; viz. that it has been the Devil’s constant method to accommodate his impostures to the most received and prevailing notions, and the peculiar proper improvements of each particular age. And, accordingly, let us take a survey of the several periods of them. As,
1. The grand ruling principle of the first ages of the church, then chiefly consisting of the gentile converts, was an extraordinarily zealous devotion and concern for the honour and worship of one only God, having been so newly converted from the worship of many: which great truth, since the Devil could neither seasonably nor successfully oppose then, he saw it his interest to swim with the stream, which he could not stem, and, by a dexterous turn of hand, to make use of one truth to supplant another. Accordingly, having met with a fit instrument for his purpose, he sets up in Arianism, and with a bold stroke strikes at no lower an article than the god head of the Son of God; and so manages this mighty and universal hatred of polytheism, to the rejection of a trinity of divine coequal Persons, as no ways consistent with the unity of the divine essence. The blasphemy of which opinion needed, no doubt, a more than ordinary artist to give it the best gloss and colour he could, and therefore was not to be introduced and ushered into the world, but by very plausible and seemingly pious pleas.
As for instance, that the ascribing of a deity or
divine nature to Christ, was not so much a removal
These, I say, were the Arian objections against
the deity of our Saviour; all of them extremely sophistical and slight, and such as the heathen philosophers had urged all along against the Christian
religion, for near three hundred years before Arius
was born: and we shall find them grounded only
upon their not distinguishing between perfection absolute and relative, and their absurd arguing from
finite and created beings to a being infinite and uncreate; as might easily be
shewn in each of the foregoing
2. As the Arian ages had chiefly set themselves
to run down, or rather quite take away our Saviour’s
divinity; so the following ages, by an ἀμετρία τῆς ἀνθολκῆς, a kind of contrary stretch, were no less
intent upon paying a boundless and exorbitant devotion to every thing belonging to his humanity; and
in a very particular and more than ordinary manner, to those who had eminently done and suffered
(especially to the degree of martyrdom) for his person and religion. And this was the course all along
taken by the papal heresy, from the very first that
it got footing in the church; touching which, let
none think it strange, that I make an immediate
step from the times of Arianism to those of Popery,
as if there ought to be a greater interval put between them. For though it must be confessed, that
Arianism received its mortal wound by the first council of Nice, pretty early in the fourth century; yet
these following heresies of Macedonianism, Nestorianism, Eutychianism, Monotheletism, &c. (which,
as different as they were amongst themselves, were
By all which particulars put together, you may
And here, I think, it may be further worth our considering,
that since the aspects and influences in heaven (which are some of the chief instruments
whereby Providence governs this lower world) must
needs work considerably upon the tempers, humours,
and constitutions of men, under their several positions and revolutions; it cannot but follow, that the
same must work very powerfully about the affairs of
religion also, so far as the tempers and dispositions
of men are apt to mingle and strike in with them.
And accordingly, as I have observed that Satan
played his papal game chiefly in the times of ignorance, and sowed his tares while the world was
asleep; cum Augustmus haberetur inexpugnabilis
dialecticus, quod legisset categorias Aristotelis.
Cum qui Graece sciret, suspectus; qui autem Hebraice, plane magicus putaretur; when the words
haereticum devita were looked upon as sufficient
to warrant the taking away the life of an heretic:
so on the other side, when this mist of ignorance
1. For the first extreme, Socinianism. Faustus Socinus seems to have been a person so qualified by Providence with a competent stock of parts and measure of reason, (for the man was no miracle, either in divinity or philosophy,) to shew, how wofully such an one (being left to himself) might blunder, and fall short of the right notions of religion, even in the plainest and most important points of it. He was indeed so bred and principled by his uncle Lelius, that Satan thought him a fit instrument for the advancement of the light of reason above that of revelation, by making (as he notoriously did) the former the sole judge of the latter. Socinus’s main design (or pretence at least) was to bring all the mysteries of Christianity to a full accommodation with the general notions of man’s reason; and so far the design was no doubt fair and laudable enough, had it kept within the bounds of a sober prosecution. For that which is contrary to reason cannot be true in religion; nor can God contradict that in the book of his revealed word, which he had writ before in the book of nature: so much, I say, is certain, and cannot be denied. Nevertheless, a little reason will prove also, that many things may seem contrary to reason, which yet really are not so; and where this seeming contrariety is, the question will be, whether revelation ought to control reason, or reason prescribe to revelation; which indeed is the very hinge upon which the whole Socinian controversy turns.
But to proceed, and shew that even Socinianism
But in answer to it; by his favour, the contrariety of the notions here excepted against to the
maxims of natural reason (as confidently as it has
been all along supposed by him) was never yet proved; and as for the offence taken at it by Jews and
Turks, he might have remembered, that the doctrines preached by St. Paul himself found no better
acceptance, as being to the Jews a stumblingblock,
and to the Greeks foolishness; but neither by him
who preached it, nor by those who received it, at all
the less valued for its being so: and certainly the
Christian church would make but an ill bargain, to
barter away any one article of her faith, to gain
either Turk or Jew: and I shrewdly guess, that the
1. That this doctrine asserts Christ to be a mere
creature, and yet ascribes to him divine worship,
and that both as to adoration and invocation; and
this upon absolute and indispensable necessity. See Socinus in his catechism,
discoursing of those who allow not of the adoration and invocation of Christ.
“Quid censes,” says he, “de iis, qui ista Christo non tribuunt?”
To which he answers: “Censeo illos non esse Christianos; quippe qui revera
Christum non habeant: et Jesum esse Christum licet fortasse aperte verbis non audeant, re tamen ipsa omnino negent.”
And elsewhere: “Praestat Trinitarium esse, quam asserere Christum non esse adorandum.”
. This doctrine asserts also, that God cannot
certainly foreknow future contingents; as Socinus
positively concludes in the eleventh chapter of his
Prelections; “Cum igitur nulla ratio, nullus sacrarum literarum locus sit, ex quo aperte colligi possit, Deum omnia, quae fiunt, scivisse, antequam fierent, concludendum
est minime asserendam esse a nobis istam Dei praescientiam,”
&c. Socinus, Praelectionum capite 11mo. In stating of which point,
the heretic indeed grants, that where God has peremptorily purposed or decreed
to do a thing, he infallibly knows, that the thing so decreed shall certainly
come to pass, and accordingly may as infallibly fore tell it. A great matter, no
doubt. But, by his favour; what is this to God’s foretelling of sinful actions,
together with many passages of great moment depending thereupon (all of them
declared by the prophets, many ages before the event of them?) For these things,
as bad as they are, have their events, as well as the best that happen; and yet
cannot be ascribed to God, as the cause or producer of them. Where upon, since
such events, according to Socinus, proceed wholly from the free will of the
immediate agents, he denies God to have any certain prescience of them; for that
he will not so much as allow them to be in the number of things in their nature
knowable, nor consequently to fall within the object of omniscience itself.
Which though it extends to all that is knowable, yet reaches not beyond it. In
answer to which I grant, that such future contingents as depend wholly upon the
free turn of man’s will, are not antecedently knowable to a finite
understanding; but that they are simply and absolutely in the very nature of
them not knowable, this I utterly deny; and on the contrary affirm, that to an
infinite understanding they are both knowable, and actually known too. And the
reason of this difference is, because an infinite understanding never looks upon
a future contingent, but it looks beyond it too; that is to say, by one single
act of knowledge God sees it, both in the instant of nature before its
production, and in the instant of nature after it: which is the true account of
this matter, as being founded in the comprehensiveness of God’s knowledge,
taking in past, present, and future, by one single view. “Scientia Dei ad omnia praesentialiter se habet.” And how
difficult soever, if at all possible,
it may be for human reason, to
form to itself a clear notion of
the immanent acts of God; yet
all that is or can be excepted
against the account now given
by us, will be found but mere
cavil, and not worth an answer.
As for several others of the Socinian errors; to
wit, about the nature of the sacraments, the divine
covenants, the ministry, and the church, with sundry
other parts of divinity, I purposely omit them; and
mention only these two, as being in themselves not
grosser errors in divinity, than inconsistencies in philosophy. So that upon this turn at least we may
worthily use that remark of Grotius, in his book
concerning the satisfaction of Christ; Mirum esse,
toties a Socino ostentari rectam rationem, ostendi
nusquam. But to shew compendiously how he
stabs, not only the Christian, but also all religions, by
one assertion; we must know, that the chief corner
stone laid by him in this supposed rational (and by
some so much adored) doctrine, is his affirming, that
But on the contrary, and in opposition to these
new notions, I shall proceed further, and venture to
affirm, that to believe that there is a God, only because God says so, is a mere
petitio principii, and
manifestly circular and ridiculous; as supposing,
and taking for granted, the very thing, which as
yet is under inquiry, and ought to be proved. For
the being of a God is the thing here to be proved;
and the testimony of God, whereby it is to be
proved, must presuppose, or rather imply the antecedent being of him whose testimony it is. Supposing therefore, that the first revelation made to
man of the being of God, (for it is of that only we
now speak,) was by an express, audible declaration
of himself to be God; yet this bare affirmation could
not of itself, and in the way of a testimony, oblige a
man to believe or assent to the thing affirmed, while
he was yet ignorant who or what he was, from
whom it proceeded. For surely, in order of nature,
I must know that it is God who says a thing, before I can believe it true, because God says it.
Otherwise, suppose some angel had affirmed himself
to be God, as the Devil in effect did, when he challenged to himself the
dominion and disposal of all the kingdoms of the world, and required divine
worship of our Saviour thereupon; none certainly will pretend that such a
declaration could oblige our assent. But when God affirmed or declared himself
to be God, in the first age or ages of the world, no doubt this declaration was
made in such a transcendent and supernatural way, and with circumstances so wonderfully glorious and extraordinary,
And thus much for the first extreme mentioned; by which Satan has poisoned the principles and theoretick part of religion; though the poison will be found of that spreading malignity, as to influence the practick too. And so we come to the
Second extreme mentioned; under which, as an angel of light,
he more directly strikes at the practice of religion; and that is enthusiasm. A
thing not more detestable in its effects, than plausible in its occasion. For
men being enraged at the magisterial imposing of traditions upon them, as a rule
of faith equal to the written word, and being commanded
And now, after this short view of Popery and enthusiasm, I hope I shall not incur the suspicion of any bias to the former, if (as bad as it is) I prefer it to the latter, and allow it the poor commendation of being the less evil of the two. I confess, that under both, the great enemy of truth strikes at our church and state; and that whether he acts by the fanatic illuminati or by Vaux’s lantern, the mischief projected by him is the same; there being in both a light (and something else) within, for the blowing up of churches and kingdoms too. Nevertheless, if we consider and compare these two extremes together, we shall find enthusiasm the more untractable, furious, and pernicious of the two, and that in a double respect.
1. That the evils of Popery are really the same in enthusiasm. And
2. That the little good which is in Popery is not in this.
And first; that the evils of both are equal, may appear upon these two accounts.
1. That the enthusiasts challenge the same in fallibility which the papal church does, but are more intolerable in their claim; for Popery places it only in one person, the pretended head of the church, the pope; but enthusiasm claims it, as be longing to every Christian amongst them, every particular member of their church. So that upon a full estimate of the matter, the papacy is only enthusiasm contracted, and enthusiasm the papacy dif fused; the evil is the same in both, with the advantage of multiplication in the latter. But
2. Both of them equally take men off from the scriptures, and supplant their authority. For as one does it by traditions, making them equal to the written word; so the other does it by pretending the immediate guidance of the Spirit, without the rule of the said word. For see with what contempt the father of the Familists, Henry Nicholas, casts off the use and authority of it. See also the Quakers, (who may pass for the very elixir, the ultimum quod sic, and hitherto the highest form of enthusiasts amongst us.) See, I say, how they recur only to the light within them; a broad hint to men of sense and experience, how they intend to dispose of the scriptures, when the angel of this light within them shall think fit to screw them up to an higher dispensation; for then no doubt they will judge it convenient to bury this dead letter out of their sight. But,
2. As for the other proposition mentioned by us, viz. that the little good which is in Popery is not in enthusiasm; this will appear upon these grounds.
1. Upon a political account. The design of the
popish religion is, in the several parts and circumstances of it, to reach and accommodate itself, as
much as possible, to all the humours and dispositions of men: and I know no argument like this
universal compliance, to prove it catholic by. So
that a learned person, Sir Edwin Sandys.
And as for the doctrinal part of the Christian religion, Escobar, with his fellow casuists, has so pared off all the roughness of that, and suited the strictest precepts to the largest and loosest consciences, that it will be a much harder matter to prove a man a sinner, than to condemn him for his being so; so carefully and powerfully do these men step in between sin and sorrow; so that if conscience should at any time become troublesome, and guilt begin to lift up its voice, and grow clamorous, it is but to go and disgorge all in confession, and then absolution issuing of course, eases the mind, and takes off all that anguish and despair, which (should it lie pent up, without vent) might overwhelm, or, as Ovid expresses it, even choke or strangle a man, and either send him to an halter, or prove itself instead of one.
And thus these spiritual sinks receive and divert
But on the contrary, where the quicksilver or rather gunpowder of enthusiasm (for the fifth of November must not claim it all) has once insinuated itself into the veins and bowels of a kingdom, it presently rallies together all the distempers, all the humours, all the popular heats and discontents, till it kicks down crowns and sceptres, tramples upon thrones, much like those boisterous vapours shut up within the caverns of the earth, which no sooner in spire it into a quaking fit, (as I may express it,) but it overturns houses and towns, swallows up whole cities, and, in a word, writes its history in ruins and desolations, or in something more terrible than all, called a further reformation. But,
2. Popery is likewise preferable to enthusiasm, in respect of the nature, quality, and complexion of the subjects in which it dwells.
The popish religion has not been of that poisonous
3. Popery is likewise much more tolerable than
enthusiasm, upon a religious account. The great
basis and foundation upon which the whole body
of Christianity rests, is the divinity of Christ’s person, the history of his nativity, life, and death, his
actions and sufferings, and his resurrection and ascension concluding all. But though the popish
church has presumed to make several bold additions
to, and some detractions from, the old system of our
faith, yet it always acknowledged and held sacred
Add to this, that the corruptions in a church are not of so destructive an influence as schisms and divisions from it, the constant effects of enthusiasm. It being much in the body spiritual as in the natural; where that which severs and dissolves the continuity of parts tends more to the destruction of the whole, than that which corrupts them. You may cure a throat when it is sore, but not when it is cut.
And so I have done with this parallel; after which,
give me leave to recapitulate to you, in short, some
of Satan’s principal and most specious abuses of religion, hitherto discoursed of by us. As first, how he
made use of the church’s abhorrence of polytheism,
for the introducing of Arianism, in the denial of our
Saviour’s divinity; and next, how, upon the declension and fall of that heresy,
he took occasion, from the zealous adoration of Christ’s person, to bring in a
superstitious worship of the virgin Mary his mother, and of his picture in
crucifixes, and the like;
1. The stating of the doctrine of faith and free
grace so as to make them undermine the necessity
of a good life. God’s mercy is indeed the crown and
beauty of all his attributes, and his grace the emanation of his mercy; and
whosoever goes about in the least to derogate from it, may he (for me) find no
share in it. But, after all, has not the Devil endeavoured to supplant the gospel in a considerable
part of it, by the very plea of grace; while some
place an irreconcileable opposition between the efficacy of that and all freedom of man’s will, and thereby make those things
inconsistent, which the admirable wisdom of God had made so fairly subordinate.
But to state (as some do) the nature of justifying faith in this, that he who is confident his sins are forgiven him, is by that act of confidence completely justified, and beyond the danger of a final apostasy, so that all sins must for ever after be surnamed infirmities; what is this, but to give a man a licence to sin boldly and safely too, and so to write a perpetual divorce between faith and good works? The church of England owns and maintains free grace as much as any. But still let God be free of it, and not men; who, when he gives it, never makes a bare Crede quod habes the only title to it, or character of it.
Antinomianism, as both experience and the nature
of .the thing has sufficiently taught us, seldom ends
but in Familism. And the sum and substance of that
doctrine is, that it makes men justified from eternity; and faith not to be the
instrument, but only the evidence of our justification, as no more than barely
declaring to the conscience of the believer what is already done and transacted
in heaven. Now let us see whether the former definition of faith can stand upon
any other or better bottom than this of Antinomianism. For if the faith which
justifies me be a firm belief and persuasion that my sins
are remitted, it must follow, that my sins are remitted antecedently to that act of belief; forasmuch
as the object must needs precede the act: assent or
belief being such an act as does not produce, but
presuppose its object. But if my sins are not actually
2. A second principle, by which in all likelihood
the Devil may and will (as opportunity serves) impose upon the church, is by opposing
the power of
godliness irreconcileably to all forms. And what is
this, but in another instance to confront subordinates, and to destroy the body, because the soul can
subsist without it? But thus to sequester the divine worship from all external
assistances, that by this means, forsooth, it may become wholly mental, and all
spirit, is, no doubt, a notable fetch of the Devil, who, we know, is all spirit
himself, but never the less a Devil for being so. On the contrary, we have
rather cause to fear, that, in the strength of this pretence the worship of Christ may be treated as Christ
himself once was; that is, first be stripped, and then
crucified. For would you know what the Devil drives
at in all this seemingly seraphic plea? Why, first he
3. The third and last principle which I shall mention, whereby Satan has so much disturbed and abused the world, and may (for ought appears to the contrary) do so again, is the ascribing such a kingdom to Christ, as shall oppose and interfere with the kingdoms and governments of the world. Christ is indeed our king, and it is our honour and happiness to be his subjects; but where a zealous rebellion destroys monarchy, it renders his greatest prerogative, which is to be King of kings, impossible. There cannot, one would think, be a better design, or a more unexceptionable pretence, than to advance the sceptre of Christ in promoting the due authority of his church: and yet even upon this the Devil can forge such blessed maxims and conclusions as these.
1. That since Christ has two kingdoms in the world, one his
providential over all things, as he is God; the other his mediatorial, belonging
to him as head of his church, with a full subordination of the former to this
latter, during this world; men are apt to reckon of kings as his vicegerents
only in the administration
2. That these ecclesiastical deputies of Christ, by virtue of a power immediately derived from him, may meet together, and consult about church affairs, when and where they shall think fit, in any part or place of their prince’s dominions without his consent, and, if they shall judge it requisite, excommunicate him too. And then Buchanan tells the world, “that he who is thrown out of the church by excommunication is not worthy to live.” And he might, if he had pleased, have told us also, in what soil such doctrines root deepest and thrive best.
3. That these ecclesiastical deputies of Christ have the sole cognizance and decisive power in all spiritual causes, and in all civil also in ordine ad spiritualia.
4. That a minister of Christ uttering any thing, though sedition or treason, in the execution of his ministerial office, and in the pulpit, is not to be accountable for it to any civil court, but only to the tribunal of Christ; to wit, the church, (or, in other words, to those who call themselves so;) forasmuch as the spirit of the prophets, they tell us, is to be subject to, and judged by, only the prophets.
5. That when religion is in danger, (of which they
themselves are to be the sole judges,) they may engage in an oath or confederacy against the standing
laws of the country which they are actually of and
And now, if this be the grand charter and these the fundamental laws of Christ’s kingdom, and the execution thereof be committed wholly to a sort of ecclesiastics, (and those made such by none but themselves,) it will in good earnest behove kings and princes to turn their thrones into stools of repentance; for, upon these terms, I know not where else they can expect to sit safe. As for the late troubles and confusions caused in these poor kingdoms by the same rebellious ferment, and carried on much more by black coats than by red, we shall find that they all moved by the spring of a few specious, abused words; such as the Spirit, Christian liberty, the power of godliness, the sceptre and kingdom of Jesus Christ, and the like. Touching which, it will be found no such strange or new thing for Satan to teach rebellion, as well as to manage a temptation, in scripture phrase. He can trapan a Jephthah into a vow and solemn oath, and then bind him, under fear of perjury, to perform it by an horrid and unhuman murder. And, in a word, by a bold and shameless pretence of God’s cause, he can baffle and break through any of his commands.
And thus, at length, I have upon the matter des patched what I
had to say upon this text and subject; a subject of such vast importance, that it would
be but to upbraid any hearer, to enforce it by any
further argument than itself. For can we have an
higher concern at stake, than our happiness in both
worlds, or a subtler gamester to win it from us, than
Still his way is to amuse the world with shews and shadows, surface and outside; and thereby to make good that old maxim in philosophy, that in all that occurs to the eye, it is not substance, but only colour and figure, which we see. This has been his practice from the beginning, from the very infancy and nonage of the world to this day; but whatsoever it was then in those early times, shall we, whose lot has cast us upon these latter ages, and thereby set us upon their shoulders, giving us all the advantages of warning, and observations made to our hands, all the benefits of example, and the assurances of a long and various experience; shall we, I say, after all this, suffer ourselves to be fooled with the wretched, thin, transparent artifices of modern dissimulation? with eyes turned up in prayer to God, but swelling with spite and envy towards men? with a purity above mortal pitch, professed (or rather proclaimed) in words, without so much as common honesty seen in actions? with reformation so loudly and speciously pretended, but nothing but sacrilege and rapine practised?
This was the just and true character of the blessed
times of forty-one; and one would think it a great
pity, that the same cheat should pass upon the same
nation twice. For nothing but the utter subversion
of church and state was driven at by Satan and his
It is indeed no small degree of impudence, (as
common as it is,) for men to dare to own pretences
contrary to what they actually and visibly practise;
and yet, to shew how much “the world is made for
the bold,” (as the saying is,) this has been the
constant course of it, with an unfailing success at
tending it. For as long as knaves will pretend, and
fools believe, (as it is seldom but they keep pace with
one another,) the Devil’s interest is sure to be served
by both. And therefore if, after all this long scene
of fallacy and imposture, (so infinitely dishonourable
to our very nature,) we would effectually obviate the
same for the future, let us, in God’s name, and in
the first place, resolve once with ourselves to act as
rational creatures; that is to say, let us carry an
open, steady, and impartial eye upon what men do,
in spite of any thing which they shall or can say.
And in the next place, let us, as Christians, encounter our grand enemy the tempter with these two best
of weapons put into our hands by the great Captain
of our salvation, watchfulness and prayer: and if, by
these blessed means, God shall discover and lay open
To which God, the great Fountain and Father of light, who alone can scatter all those mists and defeat those stratagems which the prince of darkness has hitherto blinded and abused the world by, be rendered and ascribed, as is most due, all praise, might, majesty, and dominion, both now and for evermore. Amen.
Jesus saith unto him, Thomas, because thou hast seen me, thou hast believed: blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed.
CHRIST, the great Sun of righteousness and Saviour of the world, having by a glorious rising, after a red and a bloody setting, proclaimed his deity to men and angels, and by a complete triumph over the two grand enemies of mankind, sin and death, set up the everlasting gospel in the room of all false religions, has now, as it were, changed the Persian superstition into the Christian devotion; and, with out the least approach to the idolatry of the former, made it henceforth the duty of all nations, Jews and Gentiles, to worship the rising sun.
But as the sun does not display his rising to all
parts of the world together, nor to the same region
shews his whole light at the same instant; but by
weaker glimmerings at the first, gradually ascends
to clearer and clearer discoveries, and at length
beams it forth with a full diffusion; so Christ here
discovered himself after his rising, not to all his
apostles at once, nor to any of them with the same
evidence at first, but by several ascending instances
Thomas we have one of the last in this chorus, resolving to tie his understanding close to his senses; to believe no further than he could see, nor to venture himself but where he could feel his way. He would not, it seems, take a miracle upon hearsay, nor resolve his creed into report, nor, in a word, see with any eyes but his own. No; he must trace the print of the nails, follow the spear into our Saviour’s side, till he even touched the miracle, and felt the article of the resurrection.
But as in the too inquisitive beholder, who is not content to behold the sun by reflection, but by a direct intuition of his glorious body, there comes such a light, as at the same time both informs and chastises the over-curious eye; so Christ here, in his discovering himself to this doubting apostle, condescends indeed to convince him in his own way; but so, that while he complies with his infirmity, he also upbraids his infidelity; humouring his patient, but not sparing his distemper: and yet all this with so gentle an hand, and such an allay of sweetness, that the reproof is only collateral or consequential, not directly reproaching him for his unbelief, but implicitly reflecting upon it, by commending the belief of others: nothing in the mean time sharp or corrosive dropping from his healing lips, even in passing such a reprehension upon his disciple. He only shews him his blind side in an opposite instance, and so leaves him to read his own case in an antithesis, and to shame himself by a comparison.
Now, inasmuch as the distinguishing eminency of
Besides which, there have, as to this latter sort of
resurrection from the dead, been several instances of persons so raised again,
both before and in our Saviour’s time. And in truth, as to the very notion of
the thing itself, there appears not the least contradiction in it to any known
principle of reason: no, nor yet (which is more) does there seem any greater
difficulty to conceive how God should remand a departed soul into its former
body, while remaining entire and undissolved, than that after he had formed
So that St. Paul’s question, in
But, on the contrary, if we consider that other sort of resurrection of a body raised after an utter dissolution of it into its first materials; neither has the world yet, as to matter of fact, ever seen any example thereof; nor, as to the theory of the same, does the reason of man well comprehend how it can be done. So that the belief of this must needs have been exceedingly more difficult than that of the former.
Which observations having been thus premised, I
shall now proceed to close them all with something
more direct to the main subject of the text, our blessed Saviour’s resurrection: touching which, though
(as it has been already noted) his short continuance
under death fully rescued his sacred body from all putrefaction, and consequently rendered his resurrection a thing of much easier speculation, and liable
to fewer objections, as well as attended with lesser
difficulties, than the resurrection of men’s bodies,
after a total dissolution of them, can be imagined to
be: nevertheless, it being a thing so confessedly
above all the powers of nature, and so much an exception from the common lot of mortality, it could
not but offer itself to the apprehensions of bare reason
And probably Thomas’s reason, arguing from the common topics of the world, might suggest to his unbelief such kind of doubts and objections about his master’s resurrection as these. “Jesus of Nazareth was put to death upon the cross, and being dead, was laid and sealed up in his sepulchre, strictly watched with a guard of soldiers. But I am told, and required to believe, that, notwithstanding all this, he is risen, and is indeed alive. Now surely things suitable to the stated course of nature should be believed before such as are quite beside it; and for a dead man to return to life is preternatural; but that those who report this may be mistaken, is very natural and usual. Dead I saw him; but that he is risen, I only hear: in what I see with my eyes, I cannot easily be deceived; but in what I only hear, I may, and often am.
“Neither can bare report of itself be a sufficient
“Moreover, as the reporters were but few, so they
were generally looked upon as persons of little
depth and great simplicity, and such qualifications
too frequently render men very credulous: they
were also frighted and disturbed, and therefore
the more likely to mistake; and might likewise
be very desirous, both for their master’s honour
and their own credit, that he should make good
his word and promise of rising from the dead by
an actual resurrection; and upon that account (as
great desire naturally disposes to a belief of the
thing desired) they might be so much the proner to believe that he actually did so. But, above all,
why did he not, after he was risen, shew himself
to the Sanhedrim, to the Scribes and Pharisees,
and to the unbelieving Jews, openly in the temple
or in the market-place? For this doubtless would
have been a much more effectual way of convincing the Jews, than the bare testimony of his own
disciples, which might be liable to many, and those
very plausible exceptions, (with the Jews at least,)
since nothing commonly more detracts from the
“Besides all which, there appears also something of inconsistency in the main report; for that some report him to have appeared in one shape, and some in another: whereas truth uses to be uniform, and one man naturally should have but one shape; all agreeing, that in the telling of any story, variety (especially as to the chief subject of it) is ever suspicious.”
These and the like objections, I say, might be, and no doubt actually were made, both by Thomas himself, and several others, against the resurrection of our blessed Saviour; and how little weight soever we may allow them in point of strict argument, they have so much however of plausibility and verisimilitude in them, as may well warrant that remark of Calvin upon this subject. Namely,
“That Christ, in manifesting his resurrection to
the world, proceeded after a very different way
from what mere human sense or reason would probably have suggested or looked for in such a case.” Quamquam aliterquam carnis nostrae sensus expeteret,
resurrectionem suam Christus patefecit; haec tamen quae illi placuit ratio, nobis quoque optima videri debet.
Calv. in Harm. Evangelistarum, p. 373.
1. That the truth of a proposition being once sufficiently
2. That our Saviour, having done so many miraculous works in the sight of his enemies, beyond all possibility of doubt concerning them, as to matter of fact, ought not, even by his enemies themselves, who had been witnesses of the said works, (upon the strictest terms of reason,) to be looked upon in this dispute about his resurrection, as a person confined to or acting by the bare measures of nature; and consequently, that all arguments against it, taken from these measures, (they themselves being judges,) are to be rejected, as inconclusive and impertinent.
3. That God intended not the gospel (of which most things relating to the person and works of our Saviour, no less than his doctrines, make an integral part) should be received by mankind upon the evidence of demonstration, but by the rational assent of faith.
4. That this faith ought to be so far under the influence of the will, as thereby to render it an act of choice, and consequently free; and on that account fit for a reward.
5. That in order to its being so, not all possibility, but only all just reason of doubting, ought to be excluded by it, and reckoned inconsistent with it. And,
6. And lastly, that such an irresistible, overpowering evidence of the object, as is conveyed to the
These considerations, I say, or some of them, duly applied, will account for every thing which is or may be objected against the resurrection of our Saviour. And accordingly, in answer to the first of the foregoing objections, to wit, that things, according to the common stated course of nature, ought to be believed before such as are beside it; and that it is beside, as well as above the course of nature, for a dead man to return to life: but that those, on the contrary, who report such strange things, may be deceived in what they report, is very natural and usual.
To this I say, that although I readily grant this
latter proposition to be true; yet the former, upon
which the objection chiefly bears, I cannot allow to be
universally so, but only caeteris paribus; that is to
say, supposing the ground of the arguments on both
sides to be equal; and that for this reason, that it
is not always the bare difference of nature, in the
things or objects proposed to our belief, which is the
cause that one of them should be believed by us
rather than another; but it is the disparity of the
grounds and motives, upon which the said things are
to be believed, which must determine our belief in
such a case. It must be confessed, that for a man
to be mistaken, or judge wrong of a thing, is but too
natural to mankind; and that on the other side, for
2. Whereas the next objection represents Thomas pleading, as a reason of his present unbelief, that he saw our Saviour dead and buried, but only hears that he is risen; and that he can hardly be deceived in what he sees, but in what he hears he easily may.
I answer, that as to the simple apprehensions of
these two senses, one takes in its respective object by
as sure a perception as the other, though perhaps
not so quick nor so refined. But the mistake in either of these is not from any failure in the bare simple perception of its proper object, but from the judgment passed by the understanding faculty upon the
said perceptions, in wrongly affirming or denying
something concerning them. Thus in the present
case, Thomas, on the one side, had seen his Lord
dead, and buried, with his own eyes; and on the
other, heard that he was risen from the dead, from
the mouth of several known witnesses unanimously
affirming it: in which argument the point turns not
upon this, that the sight represents and reports its
object more surely than the hearing, but upon the
qualifications of the witnesses attesting what had
passed concerning the objects of either. And this
being so much more advantageous, in point of credibility, on the disciples side than on Thomas’s, had
there really been an inconsistency between both
their testimonies, that of the disciples ought in
reason to have outweighed and took place of his.
But to render his unbelief so much the more inexcusable, there was no inconsistency at all between
what had been affirmed by Thomas himself, and
what was afterwards testified by his fellow-disciples. For as Thomas was an ocular witness of
Christ’s death and burial, so were the other disciples
of his resurrection, having actually seen him after he
was risen. And as he had no cause to doubt of their
veracity in what they told him, so neither had he
any reason to doubt of the credibility of the thing
3. It being above objected also, that several reports, found at last to be confessedly false, have yet for some time been as confidently vouched for true, as this now before us was or could be; and moreover, that there is hardly any report so false, strange, and unusual, but that some have been as positively affirmed by others to have been eyewitnesses of the same:
In answer to which, all this must be granted to be extremely true, but withal nothing to the purpose, since if it proves any thing, it must prove a great deal too much, viz. That there is no credit to be rationally given to any thing that we hear, how credible soever in itself. For certain it is, that many, even the grossest falsehoods, have been reported, received, and actually believed as true; and many stories certainly true have (for a considerable time at least) been absolutely rejected as false: and if this must pass for a sufficient reason to deny, or so much as to suspect and question every thing else reported to us to be so likewise, then farewell all rational belief, credit, and certainty, as being hereby quite sent packing out of the world. But
4. It is yet further argued, that as the united testimony and report of all places and ages will not gain
credence against so much as one particular experiment of sense; so, much less can the particular
To this I answer, that the account given by those few disciples, of our Saviour’s resurrection, was so far from being contrary to the universal experience and sense of mankind, especially those of the Jewish church and nation, that the Old Testament, as well as the New, has several examples upon record, of persons who had been raised from the dead; which being so well known to the Jews, might justly pass rather for so many proofs and confirmations of the credibility of our Saviour’s resurrection, than that our Saviour’s resurrection, after such preceding instances of so like a nature, should be supposed to carry any thing in it contradictory to the common sense and opinion of the world. Besides all which, those words of Herod, upon his hearing of the miracles of Christ, seem here very observable. It is John, says he, whom I beheaded; he is risen from the dead, &c.
These words, I say, so readily uttered by him, without any previous demur, or strain of thought, could not but shew, that the resurrection from the dead, of some particular persons, even as to this life, was no such strange, unheard of notion with him and the rest of the Jews, but that they were so far at least acquainted with it, as to account it neither impossible nor incredible. But
5. It is again alleged, for the invalidating of the
report made by the disciples concerning our Saviour,
that the fright and disturbance they were under,
upon our Saviour’s crucifixion, and the rage expressed by the Jews against his disciples, as well as
against himself, might naturally enough bring upon
them such a confusion of thought and aptness to
To which I answer, that fears or frights do not
so operate upon the outward senses, as to supersede
or hinder them in their first and simple apprehensions of their respective objects, which are also naturally the clearest and most impartial. I grant,
indeed, that fear, and some other passions, may so divert the steadiness and intention of the intellectual judging faculty for some
time, that it cannot presently form so exact a judgment upon the objects
tendered to it by the senses, as otherwise it might
do. But still this is only an interruption of the
acts, rather than any disablement of the faculty;
which, as soon as the present passion is over, comes
to debate and judge of all objects presented to it, as
perfectly as it did before. It is disputed, I know,
in natural philosophy, whether the sense being duly
qualified, and the object as duly proposed, and the
medium fitted to both, the sense can be deceived in
the apprehension of its object; and it is generally
held in the negative. But supposing that the sense
might be deceived, this would make nothing against
us in the present case; forasmuch as natural fallibility may very well consist with actual certainty;
nothing being more true, than that as a man is capable of being mistaken, so on the contrary he is
oftentimes actually not mistaken; and whosoever is
not mistaken, is, as to that particular act, and with
reference to that particular object, truly and properly certain. And this was the very case of the
disciples affirming Christ’s resurrection, from a full
conviction of their sight and other senses; a conviction
6. Some again argue, that since Christ had so
expressly and openly beforehand declared and fore
told his resurrection from the dead, that his adversaries, as well as his followers, had took particular
notice thereof; no doubt his disciples thereupon
could not but be highly concerned, that their master
To which I answer, that as the objection before this represented the disciples in this whole business as persons extremely weak, so this would represent them as equally wicked; the former, as men wretchedly deceived, and this latter, as designing to deceive others; and that by a vile, fraudulent intrigue, contrived and carried on by them, both for their master’s and their own reputation; an intrigue so very fraudulent, that the known, unblemished simplicity, integrity, and veracity of the persons concerned, and so remarkable throughout the whole course of their lives, makes it morally impossible, and consequently incredible, that persons of such a character should ever be guilty of so foul a practice and so base a collusion. And no more needs be said for their vindication from so impudent a calumny. But
7. Whereas it is suggested, that nothing could
be so powerful and effectual a means to cause and
propagate a belief of Christ’s resurrection, as to have
shewn himself, after he was risen, to the Scribes and
Pharisees, and the unbelieving Jews, openly in the
temple or the market-place, which yet he did not;
I answer, that supposing that Christ, after he was
8. It is moreover objected, that there is no small disagreement found in the main report about our Saviour’s resurrection; as, that some of his disciples relate him to have appeared in one form, or shape, and some in another, whereas one man naturally can be allowed but one form and shape: and with al, that he came in to his disciples while the doors were shut; which seems wholly inconsistent with the essential dimensions of an human body, which cannot possibly pass through crevices or keyholes; the nature of quantity making such a penetration confessedly impossible.
To which I answer, according to the second preliminary consideration above laid down by us, that
the bare measures of nature, after so many miracles
done by our Saviour on the one side, and attested
and owned by the Jews, as surpassing all power,
merely natural, on the other, ought by no means to
be a rule for us to proceed by in the present case.
And therefore, to give the objection its full force
and advantage, supposing it urged by some Jew
against the truth of Christ’s resurrection, may we
And thus, I hope, I have at length throughly examined and gone over all or most of those plausible arguments, which are or may be brought for the justification of this doubting disciple’s backwardness in believing his master’s resurrection; and trust, that I have given sufficient and satisfactory answers to them all. But as for that objection, or rather senseless lie, invented and made use of by the Jews, (as the evangelists record,) of Christ’s body being stolen and conveyed away by his disciples in the night, while the soldiers (set to guard it) slept; it is attended with so many improbabilities and absurdities, and those not more directly contrary to reason than to common sense and experience, that it hardly deserves a serious confutation.
For can any man of sense imagine that the soldiers, set to watch the sepulchre, and that with so
strict and severe an injunction of care and vigilance
from the priests and rulers of the Jews, should all of
them (and those no inconsiderable number doubtless)
fall asleep at one and the same time? No; it is wholly
improbable, and consequently upon no terms of reason supposable. Nevertheless, admitting on the other
side that so unlikely a thing had really happened,
and the soldiers had all fallen asleep, (as the story
pretends they did,) yet this could not have given the
least encouragement to the disciples (at that time
but a very few unarmed men) to venture upon such
an enterprise: forasmuch as they neither then did
nor could foresee this accident of the guards falling
asleep; nor if, when they came upon this design,
they had found all of them actually asleep, could
they have imagined otherwise, but that the putting
of the said design in execution would have raised
such a noise, as must needs have awakened some of
the watch; which if it had, the disciples assuredly
must and would have perished in their fool-hardy
undertaking; though yet all this while we may very
well imagine, that even they, as well as other men,
put too great a value upon their lives, to throw them
away in so obstinate and senseless a manner. Be
sides, had the whole matter succeeded as was desired, can we think it morally possible, that the
Jewish priests, who had so set their hearts upon exposing Christ to the people for an arrant impostor,
and particularly with reference to what he had fore
told of his resurrection, would not have used their
utmost interest with Pilate, for the inflicting some
very extraordinary and exemplary punishment upon
Nevertheless, not to rest here, but having thus answered and removed whatsoever could with any
colour, or so much as shadow of reason, be brought
for an objection against this great article of our Saviour’s resurrection, we shall now pass to such arguments as may positively prove the same; and in order
to it, shall premise this observation; namely, that to
constitute, or render an act of assent properly an act
of faith, this condition is absolutely necessary; to
Thus far therefore have we gone, having proved, that although the resurrection of our Saviour be a thing in itself inevident to us now, and not shewing itself at such a distance of time by any light either inherent in it, or personally and immediately perceivable by our senses or understandings; yet being proposed to our belief upon certain and sufficient grounds, it ought, according to the measure of the said certainties, to be believed and assented to by us. So that it remains now for us to demonstrate, that the ground or reason, upon which we are to believe our Saviour’s resurrection, is certain, and by consequence sufficient. And accordingly I shall state the belief of it upon these two arguments; common I confess, but never the less forcible for being so.
1. The constant, uniform affirmation and word
of those, who have transmitted the relation of it
down to posterity. For this being merely a matter
of fact, (the thing in dispute being, whether Christ
rose from the dead or no,) is by no means knowable
by us, who live at so great a distance from the time
when it came to pass, but by one of these two ways,
viz. either, 1. by immediate divine revelation; or, 2.
by human testimony or tradition. As to the first of
which, it is not nowadays, by any of the sober professors of Christianity, so much as pretended to; nor
if it were, ought such pretences to be allowed of.
And therefore we must fetch it from the other way,
to wit, tradition; to the rendering of which certain,
1. That the persons, who made it, and from whom it originally came, had sufficient means and opportunities to know, and to be informed of the truth of what they reported to the world. And
2. That they were of that unquestionable sincerity, as truly and impartially to report things as they knew them, and no otherwise.
Now for the
First of these two conditions, viz. that the reporters had sufficient opportunity to know the things
reported by them, this is undeniable; forasmuch as
they personally conversed with Christ, and were eye
and ear-witnesses of all that was done by him, or
happened to him, as it is in the
2. As for the other forementioned condition of a
competent witness, viz. that he be a person of such
unquestionable sincerity, as to report the naked
truth of what he knows. This, with respect to the
apostles in the present case, appears in a great mea
sure from the meanness of their parts, abilities, and
education, naturally disposing men to plainness and
But besides, admitting these persons to have been
as subtle and deeply knowing, as they were in truth
shallow and ignorant, yet still they were men, and
consequently of the same passions and desires with
other men; and being so, that they should relinquish
all the darling pleasures, profits, and accommodations of life, and voluntarily expose themselves to
scorn, tortures, persecutions, and even death itself,
only to propagate a story, which they themselves
knew to be a lie, and that an absurd, insipid, incredible lie, (if a lie at all,) this certainly was a thing
unnatural, and morally impossible. For can any
man, not abandoned by the native sense of man,
bring himself to be in love with a gibbet, or enamoured with a rack? Can these tortures, which are
even able to make a man abjure the truth, allure
him to own and assert, and even die for a lie?
Wherefore, there being no imaginable objection
2. The other argument shall be taken from those miraculous works, by which the apostles confirmed the testimony of their words. He who affirms a thing, and to prove the truth of it does a miracle, brings God as a voucher of the truth of what he says. And therefore he who shall affirm, that the apostles proclaimed to the world things false, must affirm also, that they did all those miracles by their own or the Devil’s power; or if they did them by God’s, then that God lent the exercise of his power to impostors, to confirm and ratify the publication of a lie, for the beguiling and deceiving of mankind; and that in a matter of the highest and most important concern to them that can possibly be. Which is so blasphemous for any one to assert, and so impossible for God to do, that the very thought of it is intolerable.
So that now the only thing remaining for our full
conviction, is to shew that there is sufficient reason
to persuade men, that such miracles were really
done by the apostles, to confirm the doctrines delivered by them. And for this we are to hear the
only proof which things of this nature are capable
of; to wit, the voice of general, long continued, and
uninterrupted antiquity; that is to say, the united
testimony of so many nations, for so many ages successively,
1. That no man of common sense or reason undertakes any action considerable, but for the obtaining to himself some good, or the serving some interest thereby, either in this world or in the next.
2. That our Saviour’s disciples, though they bore no character for political knowledge or depth of learning, yet shewed themselves, in the whole course of their behaviour, men of sense and reason, as well as integrity.
3. That being such, and so to be considered, had they known
Christ’s resurrection to have been a falsehood, they would never have preached
it to the world, to the certain bringing upon themselves thereby
4. That had the resurrection of our Saviour been indeed false and fabulous, his disciples could not but have known it to be so.
To which I shall add the
Fifth, that in things proposed to our belief, a man safely may, and rationally ought to yield his assent to that, which he finds supported with better and stronger arguments (though short of a demonstration) than any that he sees producible against it.
From all which it follows, that our Saviour’s resurrection having been attested by persons so unexceptionably qualified for that purpose, whether we
consider the opportunities they had of knowing
throughly the things testified by them, or their
known sincerity and veracity in reporting what
they knew, as likewise the miraculous works done
by them, in confirmation of what they delivered, and
all this brought down to us by unanimous, undisputed tradition; and moreover, since such tradition
has greater ground for its belief, than the discourse
of any man’s particular reason can suggest for its
disbelief, (universal tradition being less subject to
error and fallacy than such discourses or argumentations can pretend to be;) and lastly, since it is a
manifest absurdity in reasoning, to reject or disbelieve that, which a man has more ground and
reason to believe than to disbelieve; I conclude that the doctrine of the
apostles concerning our Saviour’s resurrection ought, upon the strictest terms
of reasoning, to be believed and assented to, as a most certain, irrefragable,
and uncontestable truth;
In fine, if I have brought the point hitherto disputed of, so far as to make it appear that there are greater and stronger arguments for the belief of our Saviour’s resurrection, than for the doubting of it, (as I hope I have effectually done,) I conceive this to be sufficient in reason to strip men of all justification of their unbelief of the same, and consequently to answer all the great ends of practical religion, the prime business and concern of mankind in this world. Albeit it must be still confessed, (as we have noted from Calvin before,) that there are several passages relating to this whole matter, neither so demonstrative, nor yet so demonstrable, as might be wished. Nevertheless, since it has pleased Almighty God to take this and no other method in this great transaction, I think it the greatest height of human wisdom, and the highest commendation that can be given of it, to acquiesce in what the divine wisdom has actually thought the most fit in this affair to make use of.
And now to close up the whole discourse; with what can we conclude it better, than with a due encomium of the superlative excellency of that mighty grace, which could and did enable the disciples so firmly to believe, and so undauntedly to own and attest their belief of their blessed master’s resurrection? and that in defiance of the utmost discouragements, which the power, malice, and barbarity of the bitterest enemies could either threaten or encounter human nature with.
And to advance the worth of this faith, if possible,
yet higher, we are to know, that it consists not (as
In the mean time we may here see and admire the commanding, and (I had almost said) the meritorious excellency of faith. That while carnal reason argues, sense is stubborn and resists, and many seeming impossibilities occur, it can yet force its way through all such obstacles, and like Lazarus, (though bound hand and foot, as it were,) break even through mortality and death itself.
But as for those whom nothing will satisfy but
such a faith as shall outvie omnipotence itself, by believing more than even
omnipotence can do, I mean contradictions, and especially that grand astonishing
He who would have a masculine, invincible faith indeed, must in many cases balk his sight, and the further he would leap, the shorter he must look. Christ wrought many of his miraculous cures upon such blind men as believed: and as their faith contributed not a little to the curing of their blindness, so their blindness seemed a no improper emblem of their faith.
For which reason, may not he who requires no
less than a sensible, irresistible evidence for all his
principles, and, not content with a sufficient certainty for the same, will be satisfied with nothing
under strict syllogism and demonstration for every
article of his creed; may not such an one, I say,
be very pertinently and justly replied to, in those
words of our Saviour to the Jews, What do you more
But a Christian should go a large step higher and further, read all his credenda in an αὐτὸς ἔφη, sacrifice even his Isaac, the first-begotten of his reason, and most beloved issue of his brain, whensoever God shall think fit to be honoured with such a victim. For such a belief, though it has not the evidence of sight, yet it has all which sight and evidence can be valued for; that is to say, it has something instead of it, and above it too; so that where sense and carnal reason oppose themselves, fly back, and will by no means yield, faith comes in with the demonstration of the Spirit and power, scatters the dark cloud, and clears up all.
And in nothing certainly is the heroic excellency of such an entire submission of our reason to divine revelation so eminently shewn, as in this, that a man hereby ventures himself and his eternal concerns wholly upon God’s bare word; and questionless nothing can so powerfully engage one of a generous spirit, even amongst men, as an absolute confidence in him, and an unreserved dependence upon him. And if there be any way possible for a creature to oblige his Creator, it must be this.
Wherefore let us, in this state of darkness and
mortality, rest content to see the great things of our
To which may He, of his infinite mercy, vouchsafe, in his good time, to bring us all; to whom be rendered and ascribed, as is most due, all praise, might, majesty, and dominion, both now and for evermore. Amen.
Wherefore ye must needs be subject, not only for wrath, but also for conscience sake.
THIS chapter is the great and noted repository of the most absolute and binding precepts of allegiance, and seems so fitted to this argument, that it ought to be always preached upon, as long as there is either such a thing as obedience to be enjoined, or such a thing as rebellion to be condemned.
In the words that I have pitched upon, there are these two parts.
1. A duty enjoined; ye must needs be subject.
2. The ground of motive of that duty; for conscience sake.
For the first of these. Since men are apt to draw arguments for or against obedience from the qualifications of the persons concerned in it, we will consider here,
1. The persons who are commanded to be subject.
2. The person to whom they are commanded this subjection.
1. For the persons commanded to be subject,
they were believers, the faithful, those who were the
But for the modern Roman saints, it is their powder, not their faith, that has made such a report in the world; a race much different from their primitive ancestors, whose piety could not cancel their loyalty. No religion could sanctify treason; Christian liberty was compatible with the strictest allegiance; they knew no such way as to put the sceptre into Christ’s hand, by pulling it out from their prince’s.
2. In the next place; the person to whom they were commanded to be subject was Nero; a person so prodigiously brutish, that, whether we consider him as a man or as a governor, we shall find him a Nero, that is, a monster, in both respects.
And first, if we consider his person; he was such
a mass of filth and impiety, such an oglio of all ill
qualities, that he stands the wonder and the disgrace
of mankind. For, to pass over his monstrous obscenity, he poisoned Britannicus for having a better
voice; he murdered his tutor Seneca; he kicked his
wife big with child to death; he killed his mother,
and ript her up in sport, to see the place where he
lay: so impious, that he would adore the statues of
his gods one day, and piss upon them another. But
He was one, who had united in himself the most different and unsociable qualities, namely, to be ridiculous and to be terrible; for what more ridiculous than a fiddling emperor, and more terrible than a bloody tyrant? In short, he was the plague of the world, the stain of majesty, and the very blush of nature. One, who seemed to be sent and prepared by Providence, to give the world an experiment, quid summa vitia in summa fortuna possint; and by a new way of confirmation, to seal to the truth of Christianity by his hatred of it.
And yet after all this, the believing Romans are
commanded subjection even to this Nero, the best of
saints to the worst of men: and indeed it was this
that gave a value to their obedience; for to be loyal
to a just, gentle, and virtuous prince, is rather privilege than patience. But the reason of the whole
matter is stated in these words,
2. I come now to the second part, viz. the ground
or motive upon which this duty is enforced; Ye must
needs be subject for conscience sake. A strange
argument, I must confess, if we were to transcribe
Christianity from the practice of modern Christians,
with whom it would proceed thus rather; Ye must
needs shake off all government, and rebel for conscience sake. No such instrument to carry on a
refined and well-woven rebellion, as a tender conscience and a sturdy heart. He who rebels
conscientiously, rebels heartily; such an one carries his
god in his scabbard, and his religion upon the point
of his sword. He strikes every stroke for salvation,
and wades deep in blood for eternity. But what
now must be said of those impostors, who, in the
name of God, and with pretended commissions from
Heaven, have bewitched men into such a religious
rage? Who have preached them out of the deadly
sin of allegiance into the angelical state of faction
and rebellion? Whose saints were never listed but
in the muster-roll for the field; and whose rubric is
But some may reply and argue, that conscience is to be obeyed, though erroneous; and therefore, if a saint (for with some all rebels are such) stands fully persuaded in his conscience, that his magistrate is an enemy to the gospel and the kingdom of Jesus Christ, and so ought to be resisted; is not such an one engaged to act according to the dictates of his conscience? And since God would punish him for going against it, is it not high tyranny for the magistrate to punish him for complying with it?
To this I answer, that he who looks well into this argument, looks into the great arcanum and the sanctum sanctorum of Puritanism; which indeed is only reformed Jesuitism, as Jesuitism is no thing else but popish Puritanism: and I could draw out such an exact parallel between them, both as to principles and practices, that it would quickly appear, that they are as truly brothers, as ever were Romulus and Remus; and that they sucked their principles from the same wolf.
But to encounter the main body of the argument,
The magistrate is to take no notice of any man’s erroneous conscience, but (if reason and religion will not set it right) to rectify or convince it with an axe or the gibbet. He who would without control disturb a government, because his erroneous conscience tells him he must, does all one as if he should say, that it is lawful for a man to commit murder, provided that he who does it be first drunk. It were a sad thing, if the laws should be at a stand, and the weal public suffer, because such and such persons are pleased to be in an error; (though, by the way, they are seldom or never seen to be so, but very beneficially to themselves.) He who brings down the law to the exceptions of any man’s conscience, does really place the legislative power in that man’s conscience; and by so doing, may at length bring down his own neck to the block. For certainly that subject is advanced to a strange degree of power, whose conscience has a prerogative to command the laws.
And I do not expect ever to speak a greater truth
than this, that the non-execution of the laws upon King Charles the First.
But because conscience is a relative term, and so must refer to something which it is to be conversant about, I shall shew, that men are commanded a subjection to, and dehorted from a resistance of the civil magistrate, by two things.
1. The absolute unlawfulness; and,
2. The scandal of such a resistance.
1. For the first of these, its absolute unlawfulness.
Rebellion surely is a mortal sin; mortal to the rebel,
and mortal to the prince rebelled against. It is the
violation of government, which is the very soul and
support of the universe, and the imitation of Providence. Every lawful ruler holds the government by
a certain deputation from God; and the commission
1. The sons of Rome: and,
. Their true offspring, the sons of Geneva.
1. For the first of these. It would be like the stirring of a great sink, which would be likelier to annoy than to instruct the auditory, to draw out from thence all the pestilential doctrines and practices against the royalty and supremacy of princes.
Gratian, in the Decrees, expressly says, Imperator potest a papa deponi. And Boniface VIII. in lib. 1. Extrav. Com. titulo de Majoritate et Obedientia, has declared the subjection, or rather the slavery of princes to the pope fully enough. 1. For first he tells us, that kings and secular powers have the temporal sword, but to be used ad nutum sacerdotis. 2. He adds, Porro subesse Romano pontifici omni humanae creaturae, declaramus, dicimus, definimus, et pronuntiamus omnino esse de necessitate salutis.
And how far princes are to be under him, we have
a further account. 1. They ought to kiss his feet.
2. He may depose them. 3. No prince may repeal
his sentence, but he may repeal the sentences of all
others. 4. He may absolve subjects from their allegiance. These, and some such other impious positions, they call
dictatus papae; and were published
and established by pope Gregory VII. in the Roman
And that we may see that he was not wanting to
execute, as much as he had the face to assert, Platina tells us in his Life how he deposed Henry IV.
emperor of Germany; and some of the words of his
bull are these: Henricum imperatoria administratione, regiaque dejicio. Et Christianos omnes imperio subjectos juramento absolvo. The whole bull
is extant in the bullery of Laertius Cherubinus, tom.
i. p. 12, printed at Rome 1617. And then at last,
with an equal affront to the majesty of scripture, as
well as to that of princes, he put his foot upon the
emperor’s neck, quoting that passage in the psalm,
Super aspidem et basiliscum; Thou shalt tread upon
the asp and the basilisk; a great encouragement
surely for princes to turn papists. But to contain
ourselves within our own country, where we are
most concerned. The pope, we know, deposed king
Henry VIII. and queen Elizabeth, as far as the words
and the bruta fulmina of his bulls could depose
them; absolving their subjects from their allegiance,
and exposing their dominions to the invasion of any
who could invade them. The words of Pius V. in
his bull against queen Elizabeth, are remarkable;
which, translated into English, run thus: “Christ,
who reigns on high, and to whom all power in
heaven and earth is given, has committed the government of the one catholic and apostolic church
only to Peter, and his successor the pope of Rome.
And him has he placed prince over all nations and
And is not this a bold preface, able to blast the prerogative of all kings at a breath? But it is well that cursed bulls have short horns. Yet all this is but the voice of his thunder; the bolt is to come afterwards. Let us see how he proceeds.
“Wherefore, (says he,) being upheld in the supreme throne of justice by Christ himself, who has placed us in it, we declare the aforesaid Elizabeth an heretic, and all who adhere to her to have incurred an anathema, and to be actually divided and cut off from the unity of Christ’s body. Moreover, we declare her to be deprived of all right to her kingdom, and of all dominion, dignity, and privilege belonging thereto. Withal, that the subjects of that kingdom, and all others, who have any ways swore obedience to her, are fully absolved from their oath, and from all debt of homage and allegiance to her; and accordingly by these presents we do absolve them. Furthermore, we charge and enjoin all her subjects to yield no obedience to her person, laws, or commands. Given at Rome, in the year 1575, in the fifth year of the pope’s reign, and the thirteenth of queen Elizabeth’s.”
It is possible now that some English and French
papists may dislike this doctrine of deposing kings;
but they owe this to their own good natures, or some
other principle; or indeed chiefly to this, that they
live under such kings as will not be deposed. But
Why then the fathers, or rather the lords of the council thus proceed: “If (say they) princes refuse to purge their dominions from heresy, let this be signified to the pope, that he may forthwith declare their subjects absolved from their allegiance, and expose their territories to be seized upon by catholics.”
This is the canon of that concilium Lateranum magnum, (for so they term it,) in which were above twelve hundred fathers, (so they tell us,) a council by them acknowledged to be general, and confirmed by the pope. Now I demand, is this council infallible, or is it not?
1. If not, then good night to their infallibility, if
2. If it be infallible, (as they all do and must say, unless they will deny a fundamental article of their faith,) then they must all believe it, and by consequence acknowledge, that the pope has power to excommunicate and depose kings, and to give away their kingdoms, in case of heresy; and what heresy is, they themselves are to be judges: this we may be sure of, that all protestant kings are heretics with them; and so the pope may, when he will, and undoubtedly will, when he can, give away their kingdoms. I think it concerns kings to consider this, and when they have a mind to submit to the pope’s tyranny, to subscribe to the pope’s religion.
Thus much for the Lateran council; and to place the argument above all exception, this very council is expressly confirmed by that of Trent, in the 24th Session of Reformation, chap. 5, p. 412; also in the 25th Session about Reformation, chap. 20, p. 624.
Now shew me any thoroughpaced catholic, who
dares refuse to subscribe to the council of Trent;
which being so, it is a matter of amazement to consider, that the men of this profession should be of
such prodigious impudence as to solicit any protestant prince for protection, nay indulgences to their
persons and religion; when, by virtue of this religion, they hold themselves bound, under pain of dam
nation, to believe those principles as articles of their
faith, which naturally undermine, ruin, and eat out
the very heart of all monarchy. But if any one
should plead favour for them, it is pity but these
bulls and decrees, and the Scotch covenant, were all
I could further add, that the popish religion, in the nature of it, is inconsistent with the just rights and supremacy of princes; and that upon this invincible reason, that it exempts all the clergy from subjection to them, so far that (be their crimes what they will) kings cannot punish them. For the proof of which, I shall bring that which is instar omnium, and which I am sure they must stand to, viz. the decree of the council of Trent, which in the 24th Session about Reformation, chap. 5, p. 412, determines thus: Causae criminales majores contra episcopos ab ipso tantum summo pontifice Romano cognoscantur et terminentur; minores vero in concilio tantum provinciali cognoscantur et terminentur. So that the king, for any thing that he has to do in these matters, may sit and blow his nails; for use them otherwise he cannot. He may indeed be plotted against, have barrels of powder laid, and poniards prepared for him: but to punish the sacred actors of these villainies, that is reserved only to him who gave the first command for the doing them.
These things, I say, I could prosecute much further, but that I am equally engaged by the exigence
of my subject to speak something of their true seed,
the sons of Geneva; who, though they seem to be
contrary to those of Rome, and, like Samson’s foxes,
to look opposite ways, yet, when they are to play the
In our account of these, we will begin with the father of the faithful; faithful, I mean, to their old antimonarchical doctrines and assertions; and that is, the great mufti of Geneva: who, in the fourth book of his Institutions, chap. 20. §. 31, has the face to own such doctrine to the world as this. “That it is not only not unlawful for the three estates to oppose their king in the exorbitances of his government, (of which they still are to be judges,) but that they basely and perfidiously desert the trust committed to them by God, if they connive at him, and do not to their utmost oppose and restrain him.”
Let us see this wholesome doctrine and institution further
amplified in his Commentaries upon
Upon this good foundation he proceeds further,
But that we may know when princes oppose
God, and so may bring his assertions together, he
tells us further,
Could any thing be with greater virulence thrown at all the princes of Christendom than this? And yet I believe there is never a puritan or dissenter in England, but would lick his spittle in every one of these assertions.
But let us now rally them together into one argument. When princes oppose God, we are not (in
Calvin’s judgment) to obey them, but to spit in their
faces. But now, to exclude God from his government of the world, and to corrupt his whole worship,
In the last place, to speak one word of his epistles, which were published by Beza; one who had been a long time licked by him into his own form, and so was likely to do him what advantage he could in their publication: he who shall diligently read them will find, that there was scarce any traitorous design on foot in Christendom, but there are some traces of correspondence with it extant in those epistles.
And so we dismiss him. Beza his disciple succeeds him both in place and doctrine; and to shew that he does so, he expressly owns and commends the French rebellion, in his epistle before his Annotations. And in the forty Articles of Berne, published in the year 1574, and drawn up by Beza, in the fortieth article he affirms, “that they were bound not to disarm, so long as their religion was persecuted by the king.”
If we would now see how this doctrine grew, being transplanted into Scotland; Knox, in his book to the nobility and people of Scotland, in the point of obedience to kings, instructs them thus: “Neither promise (says he) nor oath can oblige any man to obey or give assistance unto tyrants against God.” And what tyrants were in his sense, his practices against the queen regent sufficiently shew.
In the next place, Buchanan, who was once prolocutor of the Scotch assembly, that is to say, some thing greater than their king, is copious upon this subject, in his history of Scotland, and in his book de jure regni, &c. In the former of which, at the 372d page, he wonders that there is not some public reward appointed for those private men that should kill tyrants, as there is for those that kill wolves. And in his book de jure regni, he maintains an excellent dispute against such as defend kings. The royal advocates, says he, hold, that kings must be obeyed, good or bad. It is blasphemy to affirm that, says Buchanan. But God placeth oftentimes evil kings, say the royal advocates: so doth he often private men to kill them, says Buchanan. But in 1 Timothy we are commanded to pray for princes, say they: so are we commanded to pray for thieves, says he; but yet may hang them up, when we catch them. But, say the royal advocates, St. Paul strictly commands obedience to all princes: St. Paul wrote so, says Buchanan, in the infancy of the church, when they were not able to resist them; but if he had lived now, he would have wrote otherwise.
Now, if this be their prolocutor’s doctrine, I leave it to any one to judge, whether every king has not cause to take up those words of Jacob to Simeon and Levi, with a little change; O my soul, come not thou into their secret, and unto their general assembly, mine honour, be not thou united.
But that we may come home to the very place
of my text; I shall produce one more of them, and
that is Pareus; a German divine, but fully cast into
the Geneva mould. He in his comment upon Romans
And now last of all, as it is the nature of dregs,
and the worst part of things, to descend to the bottom, it were easy to bring up the rear with our
English Genevizers, and to shew how these doc
trines of disloyalty to princes have thriven amongst
them; were it not impertinent to think, that you
could be further instructed by hearing that for an
hour, that you have felt for twenty years. And
here by the way, it is a glorious justification of the
church of England, still to have had the same enemies with the monarchy of England. For an account of their tenets, I shall
not send you to their
papers, to their sermons, though some of the greatest
blots to Christianity, next to their authors; but I
shall send you rather to the field, to the high courts
of justice, where they stand writ to eternity in the
massacre of thousands, in the blood and banishment
However, as for puritanism, since it had so long deceived the world with a demure face, I have been often prone to think, that it was in some respect a favour of Providence, to let it have its late full scope and range, to convince and undeceive Christendom, and by an immortal experiment to demonstrate whither those principles tend, and what a savage monster puritanism, armed with power, would shew itself to the world.
So that if any Christian prince should hereafter forget the English rebellion, and himself, so far as to be deceived with those stale, threadbare, baffled pretences of conscience and reformation, he would fall in a great measure unpitied, as a martyr to his senseless fondness, and a sacrifice to his own credulity.
And for those amongst us, they are of that incorrigible, impregnable malice, that, forgetting all their treasons, they have made the king’s oblivion the chief subject of their own; and rewarding all his unparalleled mercies with continual murmurs, libels, plots, and conspiracies, seem only to be pardoned into fresh treasons, and indemnified into new rebellions.
We have seen here the adversaries, which this great duty of allegiance to kings has on both sides: which that we may enforce against all arts of evasion, which the papist and puritan, the mortal, sworn, covenanted enemies of all magistracy, but especially of monarchy, can invent, it will be expedient briefly to discuss this question;
Whether, and how far, human laws bind the conscience?
To the determination of which, if we would proceed clearly and rationally, we must first state, what it is to bind the conscience. To bind the conscience therefore, is so to oblige a man to the performance of a thing, that the nonperformance of it brings him under the guilt of sin, and liableness to punishment before God.
Now to proceed. Some are of opinion, that human laws oblige only to the penalty annexed to the violation of them; and that the conscience contracts the guilt of no sin before God; a man’s person being only subject to the outward penalties, which the civil magistrate shall inflict for the expiation of his offence.
But the confutation of this opinion I need fetch no further than from the text. For I demand of the most subtle expositor and acute logician in the world, what sense he will make here of the words, for conscience sake; if by conscience is not meant conscience of sin, but only of liableness to punishment before the magistrate.
For then the sense of the words will be this. You must needs be subject, not only for wrath, that is for fear of punishment; but also for conscience sake, that is, for fear of punishment too; since according to them, the term, for conscience sake, referred to the laws of the civil magistrate, can signify no more. But this is so broad a depravation of the rules of speaking, that it banishes all sense and reason from the whole scheme and construction of the words.
To the whole matter therefore I answer by a distinction.
1. That a law may bind the conscience, either
2. Mediately, in the strength of a superior law, owning and enforcing the obligation of the inferior.
This distinction premised, I affirm, that the laws of man neither do nor can thus immediately bind the conscience; that is, by themselves, or by any obliging power transfused into them from the human legislator. That this is so, I demonstrate upon these reasons.
1. No power can oblige any further than it can take cognizance of the offence, and inflict penalties, in case the person obliged does not answer the obligation, but offends against it. This proposition stands firm upon this eternal truth; that nothing can be an obligation that is absurd and irrational. But it is absurd for any power to give laws and obligations to that of which it can take no account, nor possibly know, whether it keeps or transgresses those laws, and which, upon its transgression of them, it cannot punish.
But what man alive, what judge or justice, what Minos or
Rhadamanthus, can carry his inspection into the conscience? What evidence, what
witness, or rack, can extort a discovery of that, which the conscience is
resolved to conceal, and keep within itself? Nay, admit that it were possible to
force it to such confessions against itself; yet what penalty could human force,
and the short reach of the secular arm, inflict upon a spiritual, immaterial
substance? which defies all our engines of torment and arts of cruelty; which
laughs at the hostilities and weak invasions of all the elements. Conscience is
neither scorched with the fire nor pricked with the sword;
2. A second reason is this. That if human laws, considered in themselves, immediately bind the conscience, then human laws, as such, carry in them as great an obligation as the divine. The consequence is most clear; for the divine law can do no more than bind the conscience; the nature of man not being capable of coming under greater obligation. But now a law can have no more force or power in it, than what it receives from the legislator; and since the obliging force of it follows the proportion of his power and prerogative; to affirm that any sanction of man has the same binding force and sacred validity that the laws of God have, amounts to a blasphemous equalling of him who is a worm and a pitiful nothing, to him who is God blessed for ever.
Let these arguments suffice to demonstrate, that human laws cannot of themselves, and by any power naturally inherent in them, immediately bind the conscience. But then, in the next place, I add, that it is as certain, that every human law, enjoining nothing sinful or wicked, really binds the conscience, by virtue of a superior obligation superadded to it, from the injunction and express mandate of the divine law, which commands subjection to the laws and ordinances of the civil magistrate; whether of the king as supreme, or of such as be his vicegerents and deputed officers.
And thus to assert, that human laws have the
same obligation with divine, is neither absurd nor
blasphemous; forasmuch as this is not affirmed to
Having thus therefore, by a due and impartial distribution, assigned to God the prerogative of God, and to Caesar the prerogative that is Caesar’s, and withal pitched the obligation of human laws upon so firm and so unshakeable a basis; we shall pass from the first ground, upon which obedience to the civil magistrate is inforced, namely, conscience of the unlawfulness of resisting it, and proceed to the
Second; with which I shall conclude. And that is,
conscience of the scandal of such a resistance; which
surely is an argument to such whose principles are
not scandalous. How tender does St. Paul in all
his epistles shew himself of the repute of Christianity,
and what stress does he still lay upon this one consideration?
How impossible had it been for the Christian religion to have made such a spread in the world, at
least ever to have gained any countenance from the
And very probable it is, that at this very day the most potent enemy it has in the world, which is the Mahometan, takes up his detestation of it, in a great measure, from his observance of those many rebel lions, wars, tumults, and confusions, that have so much and so particularly infested Christendom.
For may he not naturally argue, Can that religion be true or divine, that does not enforce obedience to the magistrate? Or can that do so, whose loudest professors are so rebellious? Is it not rational to imagine, that the religion men profess will have a suitable influence upon their practice? Are not actions the genuine offspring of principles? I wish that answer would satisfy the world that must satisfy us, because we have no better; that Christians live below Christianity, and by their lives contradict their profession.
In the mean time let those incendiaries, those spiritual Abaddons, whose doctrine, like a scab or le prosy, has overspread the face of Christianity, and whose tenets are red with the blood of princes; let such, I say, consider what account they will give to God for that scandal and prejudice, that they have brought upon so pure and noble a religion, that can have no other blemish upon it in the world, but that such persons as they profess it.
If they had but any true ingenuity, (a principle
much lower than that of grace,) surely it would tie
up their consciences from those infamous exorbitances that have given such deep gashes, such in
curable wounds to their religion. For shall Christ
Genesis
Exodus
Numbers
Deuteronomy
6:6 6:7 13:1 13:2 28:1-62 29:29 30:19 32:1-43
Judges
1 Samuel
2 Samuel
1 Kings
2 Kings
Ezra
Esther
Job
Psalms
1 10:3 36:2 45:1 50:21 69:27 77:1-20 91:6
Proverbs
1:32 1:32 18:1 22:6 22:6 23:5 28:3 28:20
Ecclesiastes
Song of Solomon
Isaiah
Jeremiah
4:6 6:15 6:15 22:21 48:10 50:3
Ezekiel
Daniel
Matthew
2:4 5:5-6 5:12 6:19-20 6:19-20 6:21 6:21 6:23 6:25-34 6:28 6:31 10:28 13:52 13:52 18:6 19:26 19:28 22:4 22:23 22:24 22:28 25:1-46 25:46 28:4
Mark
10:21 10:27 10:29 10:30 12:24 16:14
Luke
7:30 11:52 12:5 12:15 12:15 12:15 12:15 12:20 12:21 12:29 13:16 18:27 22:18 24:16
John
5:44 7:17 8:32 16:22 20:19 20:29 20:29
Acts
2:4 4:13 4:13 17:27 17:32 19 19:16 19:35 23:8 23:9 24:15 24:15 24:25 26:8
Romans
1:7 1:8 1:24 1:26 6:21 9:17 11:33 13:1 13:5 13:5
1 Corinthians
2 Corinthians
Ephesians
Philippians
Colossians
1 Thessalonians
2 Thessalonians
1 Timothy
2 Timothy
Titus
Hebrews
11:1-40 11:6 11:13 11:24-26 11:24-26 11:33-37 12:2
James
1 Peter
1 John
Revelation
i ii iii iv v vi vii viii ix x xi xii xiii xiv xv xvi 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 64 65 66 67 68 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128 129 130 131 132 133 134 135 136 137 138 139 140 141 142 143 144 145 146 147 148 149 150 151 152 153 154 155 156 157 158 159 160 161 162 163 164 165 166 167 168 169 170 171 172 173 174 175 176 177 178 179 180 181 182 183 184 185 186 187 188 189 190 191 192 193 194 195 196 197 198 199 200 201 202 203 204 205 206 207 208 209 210 211 212 213 214 215 216 217 218 219 220 221 222 223 224 225 226 227 228 229 230 231 232 233 234 235 236 237 238 239 240 241 242 243 244 245 246 247 248 249 250 251 252 253 254 255 256 257 258 259 260 261 262 263 264 265 266 267 268 269 270 271 272 273 274 275 276 277 278 279 280 281 282 283 284 285 286 287 288 289 290 291 292 293 294 295 296 297 298 299 300 301 302 303 304 305 306 307 308 309 310 311 312 313 314 315 316 317 318 319 320 321 322 323 324 325 326 327 328 329 330 331 332 333 334 335 336 337 338 339 340 341 342 343 344 345 346 347 348 349 350 351 352 353 354 355 356 357 358 359 360 361 362 363 364 365 366 367 368 369 370 371 372 373 374 375 376 377 378 379 380 381 382 383 384 385 386 387 388 389 390 391 392 393 394 395 396 397 398 399 400 401 402 403 404 405 406 407 408 409 410 411 412 413 414 415 416 417 418 419 420 421 422 423 424 425 426 427 428 429 430 431 432 433 434 435 436 437 438 439 440 441 442 443 444 445 446 447 448 449 450 451 452 453 454 455 456 457 458 459 460 461 462 463 464 465 466 467 468 469 470 471 472 473 474 475 476 477 478 479 480 481 482 483 484 485 486 487 488 489 490 491 492 493 494 495 496 497 498 499 500 501 502 503 504 505 506 507 508 509 510 511 512 513 514 515 516 517 518 519 520 521 522 523 524 525 526 527 528 529 530 531 532 533 534 535 536 537 538 539 540 541 542 543 544 545 546 547 548 549 550 551 552 553 554 555