Chapter I: FIRST, then, the sinner is much disposed to withhold his attention (1)

from _the evidence of moral truth_; and the way of ridicule favours this bad disposition.

When a moral lesson is addressed to us, it is but a common piece of respect we owe the teacher of it, and indeed ourselves, to see what the ideas are of which the doctrine is made up; to consider whether there be a proper coherence between those ideas; whether what is affirmed in the proposition be consonant to truth and reason, or not. If upon this enquiry we find that the affirmation is well founded, either from our immediate perception of the dependency between the ideas themselves, or from the evidence of some remoter principle, with which it is duly connected, we admit it thenceforth as a truth, and are obliged, if we would act in a reasonable manner, to pay it that regard which may be due to its importance. This is the duty of a rational hearer in the school of instruction: and this, the process of the mind, in discharging that duty. But this work of the understanding, it is plain, requires attention and seriousness; _attention_, to apprehend the meaning of the proposition delivered to us, and _seriousness_, to judge of its truth and moment.

Indeed, if the result of our enquiry be, that the proposition is unmeaning, or false, or frivolous, we of course reject it, and, perhaps, with some contempt: but then this contempt is subsequent to the inquiry, and would itself be ridiculous, if it went before it.

It is apparent, then, what reason demands in the case. But the precipitancy of the mind is such, that it often concludes before it understands, and, what is worse, contemns what it has not examined. This last folly is more especially chargeable on those who are under the influence of some inveterate prejudice, or prevailing passion. For, when the moral instruction pressed upon us, directly opposes a principle we will not part with, or contradicts an inclination we resolve to cherish, the very repugnancy of the doctrine to our notions or humours creates disgust: and then, to spare ourselves the trouble of inquiry, or to countenance the hasty persuasion that we have no need to inquire at all, we very naturally express that disgust in contempt and ridicule.

I explain myself by the instance in the text, Jesus had said, _Ye cannot serve God and mammon_. The Pharisees, who heard him say this, had taken their resolution, _to serve mammon_; and they had, it seems, a principle of their own, on which they presumed to satisfy themselves, that they, likewise, _served God_. Now, this aphorism of our Lord coming against these prejudices, they had not the patience to consider what truth there was in the assertion; what it was _to serve God_, and what it was _to serve mammon_; and what inconsistency there was between these two services. This way of inquiry, which reason prescribes, was too slow for these impatient spirits; and, besides, was contrary to their fixed purpose of adhering, to their old principles and practices. They therefore take a shorter method of setting aside the obnoxious proposition. They conclude hastily, that their service of mammon was, some how or other, made consistent with their service of God, by virtue of their _long prayers_. And, for the rest, they condescend not to reason upon the point at all: to get quit of this trouble, or rather, to conceal from themselves, if possible, the deformity of their practice, they slur an important lesson over with an air of negligent raillery, and think it sufficient to _deride_ the teacher of it.

Ye see then how naturally it comes to pass that the way of ridicule is taken up by the sinner, to avoid the trouble and confusion which must needs arise from a serious attention to the evidence of moral truth.

II. It serves equally in the next place, to sooth and flatter his corruption, by keeping him insensible, as he would chuse to be, to _the differences of moral sentiment_.

The divine wisdom has so wonderfully contrived human nature, that there needs little more in moral matters, than plainly and clearly to represent any instruction to the mind, in order to procure its assent to it. Whatever the instruction be, whether it affirm this conduct to be virtuous, or that vicious, if the mind be in its natural state, it more than sees, it feels, the truth or falshood of it. The appeal lies directly to the heart, and to certain corresponding sentiments of right and wrong, instantly and unavoidably excited by the moral proposition[156].

It is true, the vivacity of these sentiments may be much weakened by habits of vice; but they must grow into a great inveteracy indeed, before they can altogether extinguish the natural perception. The only way to prevent this sensibility from taking place in a mind, not perfectly abandoned, is to keep the moral truth itself out of sight; or, which comes to the same thing, to misrepresent it. For, being then not taken for what it is, but for something else, it is the same thing as if the truth itself had not been proposed to us. But now this power of misrepresentation is that faculty in which ridicule excells. Nothing is easier for it than to distort a reasonable proposition, or to throw some false light of the fancy upon it. The soberest truth is then travestied into an apparent falshood; and, instead of exciting the moral sentiment which properly belongs to it, only serves, under this disguise, to provoke the scorner’s mirth on a phantom of his own raising.

The instance in the text will again illustrate this observation.

Had the Pharisees seen, that, _to serve God_ implies an universal obedience to all his laws, and that, _to serve mammon_ implies an equal submission to all the maxims of the world, and that these laws and these maxims are, in numberless cases, directly contrary to each other, they would then have seen our Lord’s observation in its true light; and they could not have helped feeling the propriety of the conduct recommended to them. But the sentiments arising out of this truth, would have given no small disturbance to men, who were determined to act in defiance of them. To avoid this inconvenience, they had only to put a false gloss on the words of Jesus; to suppose, for instance, that by serving God was meant, to _make long prayers_, and by serving mammon, to make a _reasonable provision for their families_; and, then, where was the inconsistency of two such services? In this way of understanding the text, nothing is easier than _to serve God and mammon_. And thus, by substituting a proposition of their own, in the room of that which he had delivered, they escape from his reproof, and even find means to divert themselves with it.

III. But, lastly, a vicious man is not more concerned to obscure the evidence of moral truth, and to suppress in himself the differences of moral sentiment, than he is to keep out of sight _the consequences of moral action_: and what so likely as ridicule to befriend him also in this project.

When the sinner looks forward into the effects of a vicious life, he sees so much misery springing up before him, even in this world, and so dreadful a recompence reserved for him in another, that the prospect must needs be painful to him. He has his choice, indeed, whether to stop, or proceed, in his evil course; but, if he resolve to proceed, one cannot think it strange that he should strive to forget, both what he is about, and whither he is going. And, if other expedients fail him, he very naturally takes refuge in a forced intemperate pleasantry. For the very effort to be witty occupies his attention, and gratifies his vanity. A little crackling mirth, besides, diverts and entertains him; and, though his case will not bear reasoning upon, yet a lively jest shall pass upon others, and sometimes upon himself, for the soundest reason.

This is the true account of that disposition to ridicule, which the world so commonly observes in bad men, and sometimes mistakes for an argument of their tranquillity, when it is, in truth, an evident symptom of their distress. For they would forget themselves, in this noisy mirth; just as children laugh out, to keep up their spirits in the dark.

Let me alledge the case in the text once more, to exemplify this remark.

When our Lord reproved the Pharisees for their covetousness, and admonished them how impossible it was _to serve God and mammon_, the weight of this remonstrance should, in all reason, have engaged their serious attention: and then they would have seen how criminal their conduct was, in _devouring widows houses_, while yet they pretended a zeal for _the house of God_; and being led by the principles of their sect to admit a future existence, it was natural for them, under this conviction, to expect the just vengeance of their crimes.

But vice had made them ingenious, and taught them how to elude this dreadful conclusion. They represented to themselves their reprover in a ridiculous light; probably as one of those moralists, who know nothing of the world, and outrage truth and reason in their censures of it: or, they affected to see him in this light, in order to break the force of his remonstrance, and insinuate to the by-standers, that it merited no other confutation than that of neglect. They did, then, as vicious men are wont to do; they resolved not to consider the consequences of their own conduct; and supported themselves in this resolution by _deriding_ the person, who, in charity, would have led them to their duty.

Thus it appears how naturally the way of ridicule is employed by those who determine not to comply with the rules of reason and religion. They are solicitous to keep _the evidence of moral truth_ from pressing too closely upon them: they would confound and obliterate, if they could, _the differences of moral sentiment_: they would overlook, if possible, the _consequences of moral action_: and nothing promises so fair to set them at ease, in these three respects, as to cultivate that turn of mind, which obscures truth, hardens the heart, and stupifies the understanding. For such is the proper effect of dissolute mirth; the mortal foe to reason, virtue, and to common prudence.

I have shewn you this very clearly in the case of one vice, the vice of avarice, as exemplified by the Pharisees in the text. But, as I said, every other vice is equally disingenuous, and for the same reason. Tell the ambitious man, in the language of Solomon, that _by humility and the fear of the Lord, cometh honour_[157]; and he will loudly deride his instructor: or, tell the voluptuous man, in the language of St. Paul, _that he, who liveth in pleasure, is dead while he liveth_[158]; and you may certainly expect the same treatment.

It is not, that vague and general invectives against vice will always be thus received: but let the reproof, as that in the text, be pressing and poignant, let it _come home to men’s bosoms_, and penetrate, by its force and truth, the inmost foldings and recesses of conscience, and see if the man, who is touched by your reproof, and yet will not be reclaimed by it; see, I say, if he be not carried, by a sort of instinct, to repel your charitable pains with scorn and mockery. Had Jesus instructed the Pharisees _to pray and fast often_; or had he exhorted them, in general terms, to keep the law and to serve God; they had probably given him the hearing with much apparent composure: but when he spoke against _serving mammon_, whom they idolized: and still more, when he told these hypocritical worldlings, that their service of mammon did not, and could not consist with God’s service, to which they so much pretended; then it was that they betook themselves to their arms: they _heared these things_, and because _they were covetous_, they _derided_ their teacher.

If this be a just picture of human nature, it may let us see how poor a talent that of ridicule is, both in its origin, and application. For, when employed in moral and religious matters, we may certainly pronounce of it, That it springs from vice, and means nothing else but the support of it. Should not the scorner himself, then, reflect of what every other man sees, “That his mirth implies guilt, and that he only laughs, because he dares not be serious?”

But Solomon[159] has long since read the destiny of him, who would reprove men of this character. It will be to better purpose, therefore, to warn the young and unexperienced against the contagion of vicious scorn; by which many have been corrupted, on whom vice itself, in its own proper form, would have made no impression. For the modesty of virtue too easily concludes, that what is much ridiculed must, itself, be ridiculous: and, when this conclusion is taken up, reflexion many times comes too late to correct the mischiefs of it. Let those, then, who have not yet seated themselves _in the chair of the scorner_, consider, that ridicule is but the last effort of baffled vice to keep itself in countenance; that it betrays a corrupt turn of mind, and only serves to promote that corruption. Let them understand, that this faculty is no argument of superior sense, rarely of superior wit; and that it proves nothing but the profligacy, or the folly of him, who affects to be distinguished by it. Let them, in a word, reflect, that virtue and reason love to be, and can afford to be, serious: but that vice and folly are undone, if they let go their favourite habit of scorn and derision.

SERMON XXV.

PREACHED JUNE 25, 1775.

ECCLESIASTES v. 10.

_He that loveth silver, shall not be satisfied with silver._

If a preacher on these words should set himself to declaim against silver, he would probably be but ill-heared, and would certainly go beside the meaning of his text.

SILVER (or gold) is only an instrument of exchange; a sign of the price which things bear in the commerce of life. This instrument is of the most necessary use in society. Without it, there would be no convenience of living, no supply of our mutual wants, no industry, no civility, I had almost said, no virtue among men.

The author of the text was clearly of this mind; since, on many occasions, he makes wealth the reward of wisdom, and poverty, of folly; and since he laboured all his life, and with suitable success, to multiply gold and silver in his dominions, beyond the example of all former, and indeed succeeding, kings of the Jewish state.

The precious metals, then, (both for the reason of the thing, and the authority of Solomon) shall preserve their lustre unsullied, and their honours unimpaired by me. Poets and satirists have, indeed, execrated those, who tore the entrails of the earth for them; and, provoked by the general abuse of them, have seemed willing that they should be sent back to their beds again. But sober moralists hold no such language; and are content that they remain above ground, and shine out in the face of the sun.

Still (for I come now to the true meaning of my text) good and useful things may be OVER-RATED, or MISAPPLIED; and, in either way, may become hurtful to us. _He, that_, in the emphatic language of the preacher, LOVETH _silver_, certainly offends in one of these ways, and probably in both: and, when he does so, it will be easy to make good the royal denunciation—that _he shall not be_ SATISFIED _with it_.

1. Now, wealth is surely over-rated, when, instead of regarding it only as the means of procuring a reasonable enjoyment of our lives, we dote upon it for its own sake, and make it the end, or chief object of our pursuits: when we sacrifice, not only ease and leisure, (which, though valuable things, are often well recompensed by the pleasures of industry and activity), but health and life to it: when we _grieve nature_[160], to gratify this fantastic passion; and give up the social pleasures, the true pleasures of humanity, for the sordid satisfaction of seeing ourselves possessed of an abundance, which we never mean to enjoy: above all, when we purchase wealth at the expence of our innocence; when we prefer it to a good name, and a clear conscience; when we suffer it to interfere with our most important concerns, those of piety and religion; and when, for the sake of it, we are contented to forego the noblest hopes, the support and glory of our nature, the hopes of happiness in a future state.

When the false glitter of _silver_ (_of which the owner_, as Solomon says, _has_, and proposes to himself, _no other good, but that of beholding it with his eyes_[161]) imposes upon us at this rate, how should our reasonable nature find any true or solid _satisfaction_ in it!

“But the mere act of acquiring and accumulating wealth is, it will be said, the miser’s pleasure, of which himself, and no other, is the proper judge; and a certain confused notion of the uses, to which it may serve, though he never actually puts it to any, is enough to justify his pursuit of it.”

Be it so, then: But is there no better pleasure for him to aim at, and which he loses by following this; and although _a man’s ways_, we are told, _be right in his own eyes_[162]; yet, is there no difference in them, and do not some of them lead through much trouble to disappointment and _death_? And is there not a presumption, a certainty, that the way of the _miser_ is of this sort? when his very name may admonish him of the light in which the common sense of mankind regards his pursuit of untasted opulence; and when he finds, by experience, that his unnatural appetite for it is always encreasing, be the plenty never so great which is set before him. But,

2. Wealth may be MISAPPLIED, as well as over-rated, and generally is so, in the most offensive manner, by those, who think there are no pleasures, which it cannot command. For, although the miser has the worse name in the world, yet the spendthrift (since a certain alliance, which has taken place between luxury and avarice) possibly deserves our indignation more.

But ye shall judge for yourselves. Are not riches, let me ask, sadly misapplied, when, after having been pursued and seized upon, with more than a miser’s fury, they are suddenly let go again, on all the wings[163] of prodigality and folly? which scatter their precious load, not on modest merit, or virtuous industry, or suffering innocence, but on the flatterers of pride, the retainers of pomp, the panders of pleasure; in a word, on those miscreants, who imped these harpies, and sent them forth, for the annoyance of mankind.

And well are these spendthrifts repaid for their good service. For this profusion brings on more pains and penalties, than I am able to express; disappointment, regret, disgust, and infamy; and not uncommonly, in the train of these, that tremendous spectre to a voluptuous man, _Poverty_: or, if the source, which feeds this whirlpool of riotous expence, be yet unexhausted, and flow copiously, these waters have that baleful quality, that they inflame, instead of quenching, the drinker’s thirst. All his natural appetites grow nice and delicate; and ten thousand artificial ones are created, and become more vexatious to him, than any that are of nature’s growth. The idolater of riches, the infatuated lover of _silver_, now finds, that the power he serves, the mistress he adores, yields him no other fruit of all his assiduity, but self-abhorrence and distraction; the loss of all virtuous feelings; and numberless clamorous desires, which give him no truce of their importunity, and are incapable, by any gratification, of being quieted and assuaged.

So true is the observation, that _he, who, loveth silver, shall not be satisfied with silver_! For, either the passion grows upon us, when the object is not enjoyed; or, if it be, a new force is given to it, and a legion of other passions, as impatient and unmanageable as the original one, start up out of the enjoyment itself.

I know the lovers of money are not easily made sensible of this fatal alternative. They think, that this, or that sum, will fill[164] all their wishes, and make them as rich, and as happy, as they desire to be. But they presently feel their mistake; and yet rarely find out, that the way to content lies through self-command, and that to have enough of any thing which this world affords, we must be careful not to grasp at too much of it.

On the entrance into life, higher and more generous motives usually excite the better part of mankind to labour in those professions, that are accounted liberal. But, as they proceed in their course, interest, which was always one spur to their industry, infixes itself deeply into their minds, and stimulates them more sensibly than any other. It can scarce be otherwise, considering the influence of example; the experience they have, or think they have, of the advantages, that attend encreasing wealth; the fashion of the times, which indulges, or, as we easily persuade ourselves, requires refined, and therefore expensive, pleasures; and, above all, the selfishness of the human mind, which is, and, for wise reasons, was intended to be a powerful spring of action in us.

Thus there are several adventitious, shall we call them? or natural inclinations, which prompt us to the pursuit of riches; and I would not be so rigid, as to insist on the total suppression of them.

Let then the fortune, or the honour (for both are included in the magical word _silver_) which eminent worth may propose to itself, be among the inducements which erect the hopes, and quicken the application, of a virtuous man. But let him know withal (and I am in no pain for the effect, which this premature knowledge may have upon him) that the application, and not the object, is that in which he will find his account; just as the pursuit, and not the game, is the true reward of the chace. He who thinks otherwise, and reckons that affluence is content, or grandeur, happiness, will have leisure, if he attain to either, to rectify his opinion, and to see that he had made a very false estimate of human life.

And, now, having thus far commented on my text, I will take leave, for once, to step beyond it, and shew you, in few words (for many cannot be necessary on so plain a subject) _where_ and _how_ satisfaction may be found.

In the abundance of _silver_, it does not, and cannot lie; nor yet in a cynical contempt of it: but, in few and moderate desires; in a correct taste of life, which consults nature more than fancy in the choice of its pleasures; in rejecting imaginary wants, and keeping a strict hand on those that are real; in a sober use of what we possess, and no further concern about more than what may engage us, by honest means, to acquire it; in considering who, and what we are[165]; that we are creatures of a day, to whom long desires and immeasurable projects are very ill suited; that we are reasonable creatures, who should make a wide difference between what seems to be, and what is important; that we are accountable creatures, and should be more concerned to make a right use of what we possess, than to enlarge our possessions; that, above all, we are Christians, who are expected to sit loose to a transitory world, to extend our hopes to another life, and to qualify ourselves for it.

In this way, and with these reflections, we shall see things in a true light, and shall either not desire abundant wealth, or shall understand its true value. The strictest morality, and even our divine religion, lays no obligation upon us to profess poverty. We are even required to be industrious in our several callings and stations, and are, of course, allowed to reap the fruits, whatever they be, of an honest industry. Yet it deserves our consideration, that wealth is always a snare, and therefore too often a curse; that, if virtuously obtained, it affords but a moderate satisfaction at best; and that, if we WILL be rich, that is, resolve by any means, and at all events, to be so, we _pierce ourselves through with many sorrows_[166]; that it even requires more virtue to manage, as we ought, a great estate, than to acquire it, in the most reputable manner; that affluent, and, still more, enormous wealth secularizes the heart of a Christian too much, indisposes him for the offices of piety, and too often (though it may seem strange) for those of humanity; that it inspires a sufficiency and self-dependance, which was not designed for mortal man; an impatience of complying with the rules of reason, and the commands of religion; a forgetfulness of our highest duties, or an extreme reluctance to observe them.

In a word, when we have computed all the advantages, which a flowing prosperity brings with it, it will be our wisdom to remember, that its disadvantages are also great[167]; greater than surely we are aware of, if it be true, as our Lord himself assures us it is; _that a rich man shall hardly enter into the kingdom of Heaven_[168].

Yet, _with God_ (our gracious Master adds) _all things are possible_. I return, therefore, to the doctrine with which I set out, and conclude; that riches are not evil in themselves; that the moderate desire of them is not unlawful; that a right use of them is even meritorious. But then you will reflect on what the nature of things, as well as the voice of Solomon, loudly declares, that _he who loveth silver, shall not be satisfied with silver_; that the capacity of the human mind is not filled with it; that, if we pursue it with ardour, and make it the sole or the chief object of our pursuit, it never did, and never can yield a true and permanent satisfaction; that, if _riches encrease_, it is our interest, as well as duty, _not to set our hearts upon them_[169]; and that, finally, we are so to employ the riches, we any of us have, with temperance and sobriety, with mercy and charity, as to _make ourselves friends of the mammon of unrighteousness_ (of the mammon, which usually deserves to be so called) that, _when we fail_ (when our lives come, as they soon will do, to an end) _they may receive us into everlasting habitations_[170].

SERMON XXVI.

PREACHED FEBRUARY 21, 1773.

1 COR. vi. 20.

_Therefore glorify God in your body, and in your spirit, which are God’s._

The words, as the expression shews, are an inference from the preceding part of the Apostle’s discourse. The occasion was this. He had been reasoning, towards the close of this chapter, against fornication, or the vice of impurity; to which the Gentiles, in their unbelieving state, had been notoriously addicted; and for which the Corinthians (to whom he writes) were, even among the Gentiles themselves, branded to a proverb.

The topics, he chiefly insists upon, are taken, not from nature, but the principles of our holy religion, from the right and property, which God hath in Christians. By virtue of their profession, their bodies and souls are appropriated to him. THEREFORE, says he, _glorify God in your body, and in your spirit, which are God’s_.

To apprehend all the force of this conclusion, it will be proper to look back to the arguments themselves; to consider distinctly the substance of them, and the manner in which they are conducted.

This double attention will give us cause to admire, not the logick only, but the address, of the learned Apostle. I say, the _address_; which the occasion required: for, notwithstanding that no sin is more opposite to our holy religion, and that therefore St. Paul, in his epistles to the Gentile converts, gives it no quarter, yet, as became the wisdom and sanctity of his character, he forgets not of what, and to whom, he writes.

The vice itself is of no easy reprehension: not, for want of arguments against it, which are innumerable and irresistible; but from the reverence which is due to one’s self and others. An Apostle, especially, was to respect his own dignity. He was, besides, neither to offend the innocent, nor the guilty. Unhappily, these last, who needed his plainest reproof, had more than the delicacy of innocence about them, and were, of all men, the readiest to take offence. For so it is, the licentious of all times have seared consciences, and tender apprehensions. It alarms them to hear what they have no scruple to commit.

The persons addressed were, especially, to be considered. These were Corinthians: that is, a rich commercial people, voluptuous and dissolute. They were, besides, wits and reasoners, rhetoricians and philosophers: for under these characters they are represented to us. And all these characters required the Apostle’s attention. As a people addicted to pleasure, and supported in the habits of it by abounding wealth, they were to be awakened out of their lethargy, by an earnest and vehement expostulation: as pretending to be expert in the arts of reasoning, they were to be convinced by strict argument: and, as men of quick rhetorical fancies, a reasoner would find his account in presenting his argument to them through some apt and lively image.

Let us see, then, how the Apostle acquits himself in these nice circumstances.

After observing that the sin he had warned the Corinthians to avoid, was _a sin against their own body_; that is, was an abuse and defilement of it, he proceeds, “_What! know ye not that your body is the temple of the Holy Ghost, which is in you, which ye have of God? And ye are not your own; for ye are bought with a price; therefore, glorify God in your body, and in your spirit, which are God’s._”

The address, we see, is poignant; the reasoning, close; and the expression, oratorical. The vehemence of his manner could not but take their attention: his argumentation, as being founded on Christian principles and ideas, must be conclusive to the persons addressed; and, as conveyed in remote and decent figures, the delicacy of their imaginations is respected by it.

The whole deserves to be opened and explained at large. Such an explanation, will be the best discourse I can frame on this subject.

I. First, then, the Apostle asks, _What! know ye not that your body is the temple of the Holy Ghost?_—This question refers to that great Christian principle, that we live _in the communion of the Holy Ghost_[171]; not, in the sense in which we _all live and move and have our being in God_; but in a special and more exalted sense; the Gospel teaching, that _God hath given to us Christians the Holy Spirit_[172], to be with us, and in us; to purify and comfort us: that we are _baptized by this spirit_[173], sanctified, _sealed by it to the day of redemption_[174].

Now this being the case, the _body_ of a Christian, which the Holy Ghost inhabits and sanctifies by his presence, is no longer to be considered as a worthless fabrick, to be put to sordid uses, but as the receptacle of God’s spirit, as the place of his residence; in a word, as his TEMPLE and sanctuary.

The figure, you see, presents an idea the most august and venerable. It carried this impression with it both to the Gentile and Jewish Christians. It did so to the Gentiles, whose superstitious reverence for their idol-temples is well known: and though many an abominable rite was done in them, yet the nature of the Deity, occupying this temple, which was the Holy Ghost, put an infinite difference between him and their impure deities, the impurest of which had engrossed the Corinthian worship. So that this contrast of the object could not but raise their ideas, and impress the reverence, which the Apostle would excite in them for such a temple, with full effect on their minds[175]. And then to Jews, the allusion must be singularly striking: for their supreme pride and boast was, the temple at Jerusalem, _the tabernacle of the most high, dwelling between the cherubims, and the place of the habitation of God’s glory_[176].

To both Jew and Gentile, the notion of a temple implied these two things, 1. That the divinity was in a more especial manner present in it: and, 2. That it was a place peculiarly set apart for his service. Whence the effect of this representation would be, That the body, having the Holy Spirit lodged within it, was to be kept pure and clean for this cælestial inhabitant: and, as being dedicated to his own use, it was not to be prophaned by any indecencies, much less by a gross sin, which is, emphatically, _a sin against the body_, and by heathens themselves accounted a _pollution_[177] of it.

Further; the Apostle does not leave the Corinthians to collect all this from the image presented to them, but asserts it expressly; _What! know ye not, that your body is the temple of the Holy Ghost_, WHICH IS IN YOU: Implying, that what they would naturally infer from their idea of a temple, was true, in fact, _that the Holy Ghost was in them_; that his actual occupancy and possession of their bodies appropriated the use of them to himself, and excluded all sordid practices in them, as prophane and SACRILEGIOUS. Nay, he further adds; AND WHICH [Holy Ghost] YE HAVE OF GOD: ye have received this adorable spirit, _which is in you_, from God himself; and so are obliged to entertain this heavenly guest with all sanctity and reverence; not only for his own sake, and for the honour he does you in dwelling in you, but for his sake who sent him, and from whose hands ye have received him.

This first argument, then, against the sin of uncleanness, divested of its figure, stands thus. In consequence of your Christian profession, ye must acknowledge, that the Holy Spirit is given to inform and consecrate your mortal bodies; that he is actually _within_ you; and that he dwells and operates there, by the gracious appointment and commission of God. Ye are therefore to consider your body as the place of his more especial habitation; and as such, are bound to preserve it in such purity, as the nature of so sacred a presence demands.

This is the clear, obvious, and conclusive argument; liable to no objection, or even cavil, from a professor of Christianity. The figure of a temple is only employed to raise our apprehensions, and to convey the conclusion with more force and energy to our minds. But now,

II. The Apostle proceeds to another and distinct consideration, and shews that the Holy Ghost is not only the actual _occupier and possessor_ of the body of Christians, whom the Almighty had, as it were, forced upon them, and by his sovereign authority enjoined them to receive, but that he was the true and rightful PROPRIETOR of it. YE ARE NOT YOUR OWN, continues the Apostle; not merely, as “God hath, by his spirit, taken possession of you, and sealed you up, as his own proper goods[178];” but as he hath redeemed and purchased you, as he hath done that, by which the _property_ ye might before seem to have in your bodies, is actually made over and consigned to him. FOR YE ARE BOUGHT WITH A PRICE.

The expression is, again, figurative; and refers to the notions and usages that obtained among the heathens, the Greeks especially, in regard to _personal slavery_. As passionate admirers, as they were, of liberty, every government, even the most republican, abounded in slaves; every family had its share of them. The purchase of them, as of brute beasts, was a considerable part of their traffick. Men and women were bought and sold publicly in their markets: the wealth of states and of individuals, in great measure, consisted in them. Thus was human nature degraded by the Heathen, and I wish it might be said, by heathens only. But my present concern is with them. It is too sad a truth that human creatures sold themselves, or were sold by their masters, to be employed in the basest services, even those of luxury and of lust. This infamous practice was common through all Greece, but was more especially a chief branch of the Corinthian commerce. Their city was the head-quarters of prostitution, and the great market for the supply of it.

Now to this practice the Apostle alludes, but in such a manner as implies the severest reproof of it. His remonstrance is to this effect. “Ye Corinthians, in your former pagan state, made no scruple to consider your slaves as your own absolute property. Your pretence was, that _ye had bought them with a price_; that is, with a piece of money, which could be no equivalent for the natural inestimable liberty and dignity of a fellow-creature; yet ye claimed to yourselves their entire, unreserved service; and often condemned them to the vilest and most ignominious.

“To turn now, says the Apostle, from these horrors to a fairer scene; for I take advantage only of your ideas in this matter, to lead you to just notions of your present Christian condition. God, the sole rightful proprietor of the persons of men, left you in the state of nature, to the enjoyment of your own liberty, with no other restraint upon it than what was necessary to preserve so great a blessing, the restraint of reason. Now, indeed, but still for your own infinite benefit, he claims a stricter property in you, and demands your more peculiar service. He first made you men, but now Christians. Still he condescends to proceed with you in your own way, and according to your own ideas of right and justice. _He has bought you with a price_: but, merciful heaven, with _what_ price? With that, which exceeds all value and estimation, with the BLOOD of his only begotten Son; the least drop of which is of more virtue than all your hecatombs, and more precious than the treasures of the East. And for what was this price paid? Not to enslave, much less to insult and corrupt you (as ye wickedly served one another), but to _redeem you into the glorious liberty of the sons of God_: It was, to restore you from death to life, from servitude to freedom, from corruption to holiness, _to make to himself a peculiar people, zealous of good works_. Say, then, Is this ransom an equivalent for the purchase of you? And is the end for which ye are purchased, such as ye dare complain of, or have reason to refuse? Henceforth, then, _ye are not your own_: the property of your souls and bodies is freely, justly, equitably, with immense benefit to yourselves, and unspeakable mercy on the part of the purchaser, transferred to God. Your whole and best service is due to him, of strict right: what he demands of you is to serve him in all virtue and godliness of living, and particularly to respect and reverence yourselves; in a word, not to pollute yourselves with forbidden lusts. In this way ye are required to serve your new lord and master, who has the goodness to regard such service, as an honour and glory to himself. _Therefore_, do your part inviolably and conscientiously, _Glorify God in your body, and in your spirit, which are God’s_.”

This is the the Apostle’s idea, when drawn out and explained at large. The reasoning is decisive, as in the former case: and the expression admirably adapted to the circumstances of the persons addressed. In plain words, the argument is this. God has provided, by the sacrifice of the death of Christ, for your redemption from all iniquity, both the service, and the wages of it. By your profession of Christianity, and free acceptance of this inestimable benefit, freely offered to you, ye are become in a more especial manner, his servants: ye are bound, therefore, by every motive of duty and self-interest to preserve yourselves in all that purity of mind and body, which his laws require of you; and for the sake of which ye were taken into this nearer relation to himself. The figure of being _bought with a price_, was at once the most natural cover of this reasoning, as addressed to the Corinthian Christians; and the most poignant reproof of their country’s inhuman practice of trafficking in the bodies and souls of men.

The force both of the _figure_ and the _reasoning_ is apparently much weakened by this minute comment upon the Apostle’s words, which yet seemed necessary to make them understood.

To draw to a point, then, the substance of what has been said, and to conclude.

The vice which the Apostle had been arguing against, is condemned by natural reason. But Christians are bound by additional and peculiar considerations to abstain from it. YE, says the Apostle, ARE THE TEMPLES OF THE HOLY GHOST. To defile yourselves with the sins of uncleanness is, then, to desecrate those bodies which the Holy Ghost sanctifies by his presence. It is, in the emphatic language of scripture, _to grieve the holy Spirit_, and _to do despite to the spirit of grace_. It is like, nay it is infinitely worse, than polluting the sanctuary: an abomination, which nature itself teaches all men to avoid and execrate. It is, in the highest sense of the words, PROPHANENESS, IMPIETY, SACRILEGE.

Again; YE ARE BOUGHT WITH A PRICE: ye are not your own, but God’s; having been ransomed by him, your souls and bodies, when both were lost, through the death of his Son: a price, of so immense, so inestimable a value, that worlds are not equal to it. To dispose of yourselves, then, in a way which he forbids and abhors: to corrupt by your impurities that which belongs to God, which is his right and property; to serve your lusts, when ye are redeemed at such a price to serve God only, through Jesus Christ; is an outrage which we poorly express, when language affords no other names for it, than those of INGRATITUDE, INFIDELITY, INJUSTICE.

Whatever excuses a poor heathen might alledge to palliate this sin, we Christians have none to offer. He, _who knew not God_, might be led by his pride, by his passions, and even by his religion, to conclude (as the idolatrous Corinthians seem to have done) that _his own body was for fornication_; or, at most, that he was only accountable to _his own soul_ (if his philosophy would give him leave to think he had one) for the misuse of it. But this language is now out of date. The souls and bodies of us Christians are not ours, but the _Lord’s_: they are _occupied_ by his spirit, and _appropriated_ to his service. The conclusion follows, and cannot be inforced in stronger terms than those of the text: THEREFORE GLORIFY GOD IN YOUR BODY, AND IN YOUR SPIRIT, WHICH ARE GOD’S.

SERMON XXVII.

PREACHED MARCH 13, 1774.

JOB xxiii. 26.

_Thou writest bitter things against me, and makest me to possess
the iniquities of my youth._

This is one of the complaints which Job makes in his expostulations with the Almighty. He thought it hard measure that he should suffer, now in his riper years, for the iniquities of his youth. He could charge himself with no other; and therefore he hoped that these had been forgotten.

Job is all along represented as an eminently virtuous person; so that the iniquities of his youth might not have been numerous or considerable: otherwise, he would not have thought it strange, that he was _made to possess_ his sins, long after they had been committed. Our experience is, in this respect, so constant and uniform, that there is no room for surprize or expostulation. All those who have passed their youth in sin and folly, may with reason express a very strong resentment against themselves; but have no ground of complaint against God, when they cry out, in the anguish of their souls: _Thou writest bitter things against me, and makest me to possess the iniquities of my youth_.

The words are peculiarly strong and energetic; and may be considered distinctly from the case of Job, as expressing this general proposition; “That, in the order of things, an ill-spent youth derives many lasting evils on the subsequent periods of life.” An alarming truth! which cannot be too much considered, and should especially be set before the young and unexperienced, in the strongest light.

The sins of _youth_, as distinguished from those of riper years, are chiefly such as are occasioned by an immoderate, or an irregular pursuit of pleasure; into which we are too easily carried in that careless part of life; and the ill effects of which are rarely apprehended by us, till they are severely felt.

Now, it may be said of us, that we are made to POSSESS these sins, “When _we continue under the constant sense and unrepented guilt of them_:” “When _we labour under tyrannous habits, which they have produced_:” And, “when _we groan under afflictions of various kinds, which they have entailed upon us_.”

In these three respects, I mean to shew how _bitter those things are, which God writeth_, that is, decreeth in his justice, _against the iniquities of our youth_.

I. The _first_, and bitterest effect of this indulgence in vicious pleasure, is the guilt and consequent remorse of conscience, we derive from it.

When the young mind has been tinctured in any degree with the principles of modesty and virtue, it is with reluctance and much apprehension, that it first ventures on the transgression of known duty. But the vivacity and thoughtless gaiety of that early season, encouraged by the hopes of new pleasure, and sollicited, as it commonly happens, by ill examples, is at length tempted to make the fatal experiment; by which guilt is contracted, and the sting of guilt first known. The ingenuous mind reflects with shame and compunction on this miscarriage but the passion revives; the temptation returns, and prevails a second time, and a third; still with growing guilt, but unhappily with something less horror; yet enough to admonish the offender of his fault, and to embitter his enjoyments.

As no instant mischief, perhaps, is felt from this indulgence, but the pain of remorse, he, by degrees, imputes this effect to an over-timorous apprehension, to his too delicate self-esteem, or to the prejudice of education. He next confirms himself in these sentiments, by observing the practice of the world, by listening to the libertine talk of his companions, and by forming, perhaps, a sort of system to himself, by which he pretends to vindicate his own conduct: till, at length, his shame and his fears subside; he grows intrepid in vice, and riots in all the intemperance to which youth invites, and high spirits transport him.

In this delirious state he continues for some time. But presently the scene changes. Although the habit continue, the enjoyment is not the same: the keenness of appetite abates, and the cares of life succeed to this run of pleasure.

But neither the cares nor the pleasures of life can now keep him from reflexion. He cannot help giving way, at times, to a serious turn of thought; and some unwelcome event or other will strike in to promote it. Either the loss of a friend makes him grave; or a fit of illness sinks his spirits; or it may be sufficient, that the companions of his idle hours are withdrawn, and that he is left to himself in longer intervals than he would chuse, of solitude and recollection.

By some or other of these means CONSCIENCE revives in him, and with a quick resentment of the outrage she has suffered. Attempts to suppress her indignant reproaches, are no longer effectual: she _will_ be heared; and her voice carries terror and consternation with it.

“She upbraids him, first, with his loss of virtue, and of that which died with it, her own favour and approbation. She then sets before him the indignity of having renounced all self-command, and of having served ingloriously under every idle, every sordid appetite. She next rises in her remonstrance; represents to him the baseness of having attempted unsuspecting innocence; the cruelty of having alarmed, perhaps destroyed, the honour of deserving families; the fraud, the perfidy, the perjury, he has possibly committed in carrying on his iniquitous purposes. The mischiefs he has done to others are perhaps not to be repaired; and his own personal crimes remain to be accounted for; and, if at all, can only be expiated by the bitterest repentance. And what then, concludes this severe monitor in the awful words of the Apostle, _What fruit had ye then in those things whereof ye are now ashamed? for the end of those things is death_[179].”

Suppose now this remonstrance to take effect, and that the sinner is at length (for what I have here represented in few words, takes much time in doing; but suppose, I say, that the sinner is at length) wrought upon by this remonstrance to entertain some serious thoughts of amendment, still the consciousness of his ill desert will attend him through every stage of life, and corrupt the sincerity of all his enjoyments; while he knows not what will be the issue of his crimes, or whether, indeed, he shall ever be able truly and effectually to repent of them. For we cannot get quit of our sins, the moment we resolve to do so: But, as I proposed to shew,

II. _In the second place_, we are still made to possess the iniquities of our youth, _while we labour under any remains of those tyrannous habits, which they have produced in us_.

There is scarce an object of greater compassion, than the man who is duly sensible of his past misconduct, earnestly repents of it, and strives to reform it, but yet is continually drawn back into his former miscarriages, by the very habit of having so frequently fallen into them. Such a man’s life is a perpetual scene of contradiction; a discordant mixture of good resolutions, and weak performances; of virtuous purposes, and shameful relapses; in a word, of sin and sorrow. And, were he only to consult his present ease, an uninterrupted course of vice might almost seem preferable to this intermitting state of virtue. But the misery of this condition comes from himself, and must be endured, for the sake of avoiding, if it may be, one that is much worse. In the mean time, he feels most sensibly what it is to _possess_ the iniquities of his youth. The temptation, perhaps, to persevere in them, is not great; he condemns, and laments his own weakness. Still the habit prevails, and his repentance, though constantly renewed, is unable to disengage him from the power of it.

Thus he struggles with himself, perhaps for many years, perhaps for a great part of his life; and in all that time is distracted by the very inconsistency of his own conduct, and tortured by the bitterest pains of compunction and self-abhorrence.

But let it be supposed, that the grace of God at length prevails over the tyranny of his inveterate habits; that his repentance is efficacious, and his virtue established. Yet the memory of his former weakness fills him with fears and apprehensions: he finds his mind weakened, as well as polluted, by his past sins; he has to strive against the returning influence of them; and thus, when penitence and tears have washed away his guilt, he still thinks himself insecure, and trembles at the possible danger of being involved again in it.

Add to all this, the compunction which such a man feels, when he is obliged to discountenance in others, perhaps, by his station, to punish those crimes in which he had so long and so freely indulged himself: and how uneasy the very discharge of his duty is thus rendered to him.

To say all upon this head: his acquired habits, if not corrected in due time, may push him into crimes the most atrocious and shocking; and, if subdued at length, will agitate his mind with long dissatisfaction and disquiet. Repentance, if it comes at all, will come late; and will never reinstate him fully in the serenity and composure of his lost innocence. But,

III. Lastly, when all this is done (and more to do is not in our power) we may still possess the iniquities of our youth, in another sense, I mean, _when we groan under the temporal afflictions of many kinds, which they entail upon us_.

So close do these sad _possessions_ cleave to us, and so difficult it is, contrary to what we observe of all other possessions, to divest ourselves of them!