Chapter I: FIRST, then, I say, That He, who at all adventures resolves to

obtain the honour of men, _cannot believe_, because the unrestrained exercise of his WIT, by which he would acquire that honour, is inconsistent with the genius and principles of our religion.

The fundamental articles of the Gospel are proposed to us, as objects of faith, not as subjects of inquiry. As they proceed from the source of light and truth, they are founded, no doubt, in the highest reason; but they are for the most part, at least in many respects, inscrutable to our reason. It is enough that we see cause to admit the revelation itself, upon the evidences given of it: it is not necessary that we should carry our researches any farther. It is not safe, or decent, or practicable, in many cases, to do it. The just and sober reasoner is careful to proceed on clear and distinct ideas, and to stop where these fail him. But how soon does he arrive at this point? For the sublime genius of Christianity reminds him, at almost every step, how impossible it is, with the scanty line of human reason, to fathom the _deep things of God_; and represses the sallies of his wit and fancy, with this reflexion—_how unsearchable are his judgments, and his ways past finding out!_ In a word, where he finds the subject too obscure for his understanding to penetrate, or too vast for his ideas to comprehend (and he presently finds this, when he attempts to reason on the mysteries of the Christian faith) he checks his inquiries, he believes, and adores in silence.

But now this silence, this adoration, is ill suited to the restless ambition of the human mind, when it aspires to the reputation of profound and extensive knowledge. The vain reasoner would signalize himself on all subjects, the most abstruse and mysterious, in preference to others; and fears not to carry his presumptuous inquiries to the seat and throne of God. He questions the revealed truths of the Gospel as freely as any other; and finding them many times inexplicable by the principles of human science, he triumphs in the discovery, applauds his own reach of thought, and dazzles the world into a high opinion of his wit and parts. The truth is, he decides on subjects, which he does not, and cannot understand: but the world sees, he decides upon them; and that is generally enough to attract its admiration and esteem.

Again: In such parts of revealed Religion, as lie more within the cognizance of human reason, an inquirer may find difficulties, and start objections, which the best instructed believer either does not attempt, or is not able to resolve. Here, the triumph of wit over faith is thought conspicuous, and is indeed seducing. For, while the believer has only to confess his own ignorance, the infidel shines in exposing and inforcing those difficulties and objections: And, when the ingenuity is all on one side, it is rarely suspected, that reason and good sense may be, with modesty, on the other.

Nay, where the point in question can be effectually cleared up, still their will generally seem to be more acuteness in discovering a difficulty, than in removing it: And thus the subtle caviller in religious controversy shall have the fortune to pass for a shrewder man, than the ablest apologist.

And that this advantage of reputation is, indeed, that which free and libertine reasoners propose to themselves, you will see by calling to mind the sort of subjects, which they are fondest to treat, and the sort of character, which they are most proud to assume.

In natural religion, the origin of evil, and God’s moral government, are their favourite topics: in revealed religion, the fall of human nature, its restoration by the death and sufferings of Christ, the incarnation of the Son of God, and the adorable Trinity. But why are these high subjects picked out to exercise their speculations upon? subjects, in which the sublimest understanding is absorbed and lost; subjects, which they well know (for I speak of the abler men in that party) we have no faculties to comprehend. Why, then, are these subjects preferred to all others? For an obvious cause: to shew how ingenious they can be in perplexing human reason, if any believer should be indiscreet enough to subject these mysterious truths to that test.

But the character, they assume, declares their purpose no less than the arguments they delight to treat. For their pride is to affect a sort of pyrrhonism, or universal doubt and hesitation, even on the plainest points of morals; to controvert the most received principles and opinions; and, as the sophists of old, _to make the worse appear the better reason_, in all questions which they undertake to discuss. Would you desire a stronger proof of the principle which actuates such men?

II. It appears, then, how the ostentation _of wit_ leads to infidelity. The affectation of COURAGE is another snare to those, who lie in wait for the honour of men.

The believer, it has been observed, presumes not to reason at all on some points of his Religion. In others, he is left at liberty; yet on these, he reasons, always with great reverence and circumspection. Now, though this conduct be highly fit and proper, it is not so likely to strike the observation of men, as a more forward and enterprizing behaviour. Not only his understanding is restrained, but his spirit, they say, is cramped and broken. The inconsiderate world, on the other hand, is taken with bold assertions, and hazardous positions; which it easily construes into a mark of high courage, as well as capacity. A fearless turn of mind is a dazzling quality, and we do not always distinguish between intrepidity and temerity. Thus it comes to pass, that as the Christian’s love of peace and charity in common life, so his cautious respect in religious matters, has been treated by libertine men, as pusillanimity. He is considered, in the fashionable world, as a tame and spiritless man; and in the learned world, as a tame and spiritless reasoner.

Hence, when we are bent, at any rate, upon _receiving honour one of another_, we are tempted to make a display, not of our wit only, but our courage: And, as nothing is thought a surer indication of this quality, than to make light of that which the rest of the world hold sacred, we easily see how a passion for this sort of fame betrays the unbalanced mind into all the extravagancies of infidelity.

The instances are frequent, and well-known. When the Philosopher of Malmsbury, in the last century, took upon him to resolve all morality and all religion into the will of the magistrate, whatever other end he might have in view, the bold singularity of this paradox was, no doubt, that which chiefly recommended it to himself, as well as surprized the world into an opinion of his bravery: though we know, from his story, that, in fact, he had no more of this virtue, than might well have consisted with faith, and the fear of God. But vain man oft affects to make a shew of that which he does not possess: and thus his defect in true courage, may be the true account of his pretending to so much of it.

Still, the heart of man is more deceitful, than we have hitherto seen, or can easily believe: For who,

III. In the last place, would suspect, that an admiration of INTEGRITY itself, as well as of _wit_ and _courage_, should seduce the unwary mind into irreligion? Yet so it is, that men, intoxicated with the love of fame, will sacrifice any virtue, the best quality they have, to the reputation of it.

The true believer admits, with a full and perfect assent, whatever he takes to be clearly revealed in the Gospel; the most impenetrable article of his creed, as well as the simplest proposition in morals. All stands with him on the same equal footing of divine authority: no matter, whether he can, or cannot, perceive the grounds of reason, on which the Revelation is founded.

But now this facility of belief, this entire resignation of the understanding to the dictates of Heaven, the world is ready to suspect, of disingenuity. And they who live only in the opinion of that world, would not be exposed to so dishonourable a suspicion.

The process of their vanity may be traced in this manner. They have observed, that some persons (of their acquaintance, it may be) pretend to more faith than they have. They suppose the same thing of many others; and they suppose too, the rest of the world, the more intelligent part of it at least, are in the same opinion. But they pique themselves on their honesty: they will give no man leave to call in question their good faith; the ornament of their lives, and the idol of their hearts. And thus, as many men are ill-bred, for fear of passing in the world for flatterers; so these men are unbelievers, that they may not be accounted hypocrites.

As extravagant as this turn of mind appears, it cannot be thought incredible; especially when united, as it may be, with that pride of understanding, and courage, before mentioned. “It is not for _me_, (says a presuming inquirer to himself) who am distinguished by a reach of thought and penetration from the vulgar, to admit, without scruple, so extraordinary a system, as that of Revelation. I must doubt and disbelieve, where others see nothing to stop at. Nor is it for a man of my spirit to endure those shackles of reserve and respect, which oppress the timid and servile believer. Above all, it becomes the honesty, I profess, to take no part of my religion upon trust; an easy submission to what is called authority, is, with discerning men, but another name for insincerity. As I tender, then, the reputation of my _wit_, my _courage_, and my _integrity_, it concerns me to take heed how I entertain a belief; which may, at once, shake the credit of all these virtues.”

This train of sophistry, you see, is not ill laid; and one conceives how a mind, transported with the love of false honour, may be caught by it.

At first, perhaps, the disbelief is _pretended_, only. But pretences[127], continued for any time, become _realities_. And thus, what was assumed, to give us the credit of certain virtues with the world, or with that part of it to which we desire to recommend ourselves, is at length embraced with a sort of good faith; and we are, what we have seemed to be, at the instance indeed of our vanity, but, as we flatter ourselves, for the sake of those very virtues.

Something like this, which I have here described, may have been the case of a well-known philosopher, who would be thought to crown his other parts of ingenuity and courage, with the purest probity[128]. This unhappy man, having published to the world an offensive system of infidelity, and being called to account for it, replies to his censurer in these words—_The world may calumniate me, as it sees fit; but it shall never take from me the honour of being the only author of this age, and of many others, who hath written with good faith_[129].

What shall we say of this strange boast? Was it enthusiasm, or the pride of virtue, that drew it from him? This _honest_ man, we will say, might believe himself, when he talked at this rate: but then we must conclude, that nothing but the most intemperate love of praise could have wrought him up to so frantic a persuasion.

I suppose, it may now appear how easily we become the dupes of any favourite passion; and how perfect an insight our Lord had into the nature of man, when he asserted in the text—_that we cannot believe, if we will receive honour one of another_. _We cannot_, you see, _believe_; because, if that honour be the ultimate end and scope of our ambition, the best faculties we possess, the fairest virtues of our hearts, will pervert, and, in a manner, force us into infidelity.

Let this humiliating consideration have its full effect upon us. Above all, let it check, or rather regulate that ardent desire of fame, which is so predominant in young and ingenuous minds. Let such learn from it to mistrust their passions, even the most refined and generous, when they would inquire into the evidences of their religion. Let them remember that _reason_, pure impartial reason, is to direct them in this search; that the passion for honour is in all cases, but particularly in this (where it is so seducing) an unsafe and treacherous guide; and that, to escape the illusions of infidelity and a thousand other illusions, to which they will otherwise be exposed in common life, one certain method will be, To controul their love of fame, by the love of truth; which is, in other words, _to seek the honour, that cometh of God, only_.

SERMON XVIII.

PREACHED APRIL 23, 1769.

JOHN, ix. 41.

_Jesus saith to them, If ye were blind, ye should have no sin; but
now ye say we see, therefore your sin remaineth._

These words were spoken by our Lord on occasion of a great miracle performed by him, in restoring a man _born blind_ to his sight. This wonderful display of power had its natural effect on the man himself, in converting him to the faith of Jesus; while the Pharisees, who had the fullest evidence laid before them of the _fact_, persisted obstinately in their infidelity. Yet the _blind_ man, on whom this miracle had been wrought, was one of those whom the Pharisees accounted _blind_ in understanding, also; in other words, he was a plain unlettered man; whereas they themselves were _guides to the blind_, that is, they pretended to a more than ordinary knowledge of the law and the prophets, by which they were enabled to conduct and enlighten others.

Jesus, therefore, respecting at once his late restoration of the blind man’s _sight_, and the different effects of that miracle on the _minds_ of the two parties, applies, with singular elegance, to himself, the famous prediction of Isaiah—_For judgment_, says he, _am I come into this world, that they, which see not, might see; and that they who see, might be made blind_. The Pharisees were, indeed, sharp-sighted enough to perceive the drift of this application, and therefore said to him, in the same figurative language, _Are we blind also?_ To whom Jesus replied in the words of the text, _If ye were blind, ye should have no sin; but now ye say we see, therefore your sin remaineth_. As if he had said, “If ye were indeed ignorant of the law and the prophets, as ye account this poor man to be, ye might have some excuse for not believing in _me_, who appeal to that law and those prophets for the proof of my mission; but being so skilled in them, as ye are, and profess yourselves to be, ye are clearly convicted of a willful, and therefore criminal, infidelity.”

It is implied, we see, in this severe reproof of the Pharisees, that knowledge and faith very well consist together, or rather that, where _knowledge_ is, there _faith_ must needs be, unless a very perverse use be made of that knowledge.

But to this decision of our Lord, the unbelieving world is ready to oppose its own maxims. “It sees so little connexion between _faith_ and _knowledge_, that it rather concludes them to be incompatible: It allows the ignorant, indeed, who cannot _walk by sight_, to _walk by faith_; but, as for the knowing and intelligent, the men of science and understanding, it presumes, that _faith_ cannot be required of these; and that, BECAUSE _they see_, it is too much to expect of them, _to believe in Jesus_.”

It is true, the persons, who speak thus slightly of _faith_, are not the most distinguished in the world by their own parts, or knowledge. But a certain mediocrity of _both_, inflated by vanity, and countenanced by fashion, is forward to indulge in this free language; and the mischief done by it to Religion, is so great, that it may not be amiss to expose, in few words, the indecency and folly of it.

FAITH AND KNOWLEDGE, then, it is said, are at variance with each other. Why? The answer, I suppose, will be, Because _faith_ is in itself _unreasonable_; in other words, it will be said, That the _evidences_ of our religion are not convincing, and that the _doctrines_ of it are not credible.

One word, then, on _each_ of these bold insinuations.

I. The EVIDENCES of _revealed religion_ are so many and various; they lye so deep, or extend so wide; and consequently the difficulty of collecting them into one view is so great, that few men have, perhaps, comprehended the full force and effect of them. At least, none but persons of very superior industry, as well as understanding, have a right to pronounce on the total amount of such evidence.

But the _chief_ evidences of the _Christian Religion_ are drawn from PROPHECIES, and MIRACLES; and who are they who tell us, that these methods of proof are unreasonable or unsatisfactory?

1. That the argument from PROPHECIES should not convince those, who have not considered the occasion, and design of them, the purposes they were intended to serve, and therefore the degree of light and clearness, with which it was proper they should be given; who have not studied the language in which those prophecies are conveyed, the state of the times in which they were delivered, the manners, the customs, the opinions of those to whom they were addressed; above all, who have not taken the pains to acquire a very exact and extensive knowledge of history, and so are not qualified to judge how far they have been accomplished; that to such persons as these, I say, the argument from prophecy should not appear to have all that evidence which believers ascribe to it, is very likely; but then this effect is to be accounted for, not from their knowledge, but their ignorance, not from their _seeing_ too clearly, but from their not seeing at all, or but imperfectly, into the merits of this argument. As for those, who have searched deepest, and inquired with most care into this kind of evidence, they depose unanimously in its favour, and profess themselves to have received conviction from it. So that, although there may be difficulties in explaining particular prophecies, and though the completion of some be questioned, or not fully apprehended, yet, on the whole, there is so much light arising out of this evidence, that it must be great presumption in any man to say that there is no strength at all in it. Indeed, if the appeal lie to authority (as it must do, if men will not, or cannot, inquire for themselves) we can scarce help concluding that the argument from prophecy carries with it a very considerable degree of evidence, since we find that such a man as Newton, not only submitted to this evidence himself, but thought it no misapplication of his great talents, to illustrate and enforce it. Yet, such is the judgment or temper of our leaders[130] in infidelity, that they had rather turn this very circumstance to the discredit of human nature itself (exhibited in its fairest form, and shining out with full lustre, in the virtues and accomplishments of that divine man) than allow it to do honour to that immortal object of their fear and spite, revealed religion.

2. The other great foundation of our faith is laid in MIRACLES; a sort of evidence, which may be estimated without that learning, or that sagacity, which is required in the case of _prophecies_; and which some men therefore, out of the abundance of their common sense, have taken the freedom to account of little weight or value. Yet, what opinion soever these persons may have of their own understandings, they will scarce be able to convince a reasonable man that this evidence is not conclusive, and even incontestible, if they will but place it in a fair and just light. For the question is not concerning the evidence of miracles in _general_, but of miracles so circumstanced and so attested as those of the _Gospel_. Now, when the Religion to which this attestation is given, has nothing in it which appears unworthy of the Deity; when the purpose for which the supposed miracles are wrought is such as must be allowed the most important of any that, in our ideas, could enter into the divine counsels with regard to mankind; when these miracles have further the advantage of being attested by the most unexceptionable characters, and of being recorded in books, written soon after they were _wrought_, and by those who _saw_ them wrought, and in books too, which have been transmitted, without any note of suspicion on them, to our times; when, lastly, these miracles have all the circumstances of public notoriety attending them, when no contemporary evidence discredits, and when many otherwise inexplicable facts and events, suppose and confirm them; when such miracles, I say, as these, and under such circumstances only, are alledged in support of the Christian Revelation, it must be a very extraordinary turn of mind that can reject, as nothing, the evidence resulting from them. With any other miracles, however numerous, however confidently asserted, or plausibly set forth, we have nothing to do. There may have been ten thousand impostures of this sort, in the world. But _these_ miracles speak their own credibility so strongly, that they are admitted, on human testimony, with the highest reason; and it must be more than a slender metaphysical argument, taken from their contrariety to what is called experience, which can prevent our belief of them, and overpower the natural sense of the human mind.

It seems then, even on this slight view of the subject, that, if these two capital arguments from _prophecies and miracles_, for the truth of Christianity, appear inconclusive to unbelievers, the cause must be some other than a want of that evidence, which may satisfy a reasonable man.

II. But, perhaps the DOCTRINES of Christianity are such as revolt the rational mind, and are not capable of being supported by any evidence.

Let us inquire then what truth there is in this _second_ allegation of unbelievers.

It is not possible, in a discourse of this nature, to enter into a detail on the subject; but the chief obstacles to a faith in Jesus, independently of the evidence on which it rests, are, I suppose, these TWO.

1. A confused idea that the law of nature is sufficient to the salvation of mankind;

2. The mysterious nature of the Christian revelation.

Reason, they say, is a sufficient guide in matters of Religion; therefore, Christianity is unnecessary: Again, Christianity is all over mysterious; therefore, it is unreasonable.

Now, it will not be presuming too much to say, that the greater advances any man makes in true knowledge, the more insignificant must these _two_ great stumbling-blocks of infidelity needs appear to him.

1. And, _first, for the sufficiency of nature in matters of religion_.

Whether _nature_ be a sufficient guide in _morals_, let the history of mankind declare. They who know most of that history, and have, besides, a philosophic knowledge of human nature, are the proper judges of the question; and to that tribunal I leave it: the _rather_, because, though it be very clear what its decision must be, I hold, that what is most essential to the Christian religion (which is a very different thing from _a republication of the law of nature_) is not at all concerned in it.

Let the law of nature be what it will, under this idea of a guide in morals, let Socrates, if you please, be as great a master of it, as Jesus, still the importance of Christianity remains, and is indeed very little affected by that concession.

Our religion teaches, that man is under the sentence of mortality, and that immortal life in happiness, (which is the true idea of Gospel-salvation) is the gift of God through Christ Jesus. These it relates as _two_ facts, which it requires us to believe on its own authority; _facts_, which could not otherwise have come to our knowledge, and on which the whole superstructure of Christianity is raised.

Now, let the men of reason, the men who say, WE SEE, tell us, whether they are sure that these facts are false; and, if they are not, whether they know of any natural means by which _that sentence of mortality_ can be reversed, or _that gift of immortality_ can be secured.

Yes, they will say, by _a moral and virtuous life_, and by a _religious trust_, which nature dictates, _in the goodness of the Deity_. What? Is any man so assured of his own virtue, as that he dares expect so great things from it? Does he think it so perfect and of such efficacy, as that it should remove a curse which lies on his nature, that it should redeem him from a general sentence, which is gone forth against all mankind? Is it not enough, that he does his duty (though where is the man that does that?) and thereby consults his own true interest in this world, without requiring that his merits should deliver him from the doom of death; or that, of force, they should compel the divine _goodness_ to deliver him from it?

But say, that the boundless mercy of God might so far consider the poor imperfect virtues of his lost creature, as to free him from the bondage of _death_, will he pretend that he has any claim, even upon infinite goodness itself, for _eternal life in glory_? All that reason suggests is, that, some way or other, either in this state or in one to come, he shall be no loser by his virtue: but so immense a reward is surely, not of _right_; and reason is too modest to entertain the least expectation, or even thought of it.

You see then what the _sufficiency of nature_ comes to: It leaves us, for any thing we know, under the sentence of _death_; and, for any thing we can do, very much short of _eternal life_. And is this all we get by following _nature_, as our all-sufficient guide, and rejecting the assistance of _Revelation_? Are men satisfied to live, as they do here, and then to die for ever; and all this, rather than condescend to lay hold on the mercy of God through Jesus? If they are, their ambition is very moderate; but, surely, this is not a moderation of that sort which is prescribed by _reason_.

2. But they fly now (and it is their last resource) to the _mysterious nature of the dispensation itself_, which, they say, is perfectly irreconcileable with the principles of natural reason.

That Christianity is _mysterious_, that is, that it acquaints us with many things which our faculties could not have discovered, and which they cannot fully comprehend or satisfactorily explain, is an undoubted truth.—The pride of reason, when, from human sciences, where it saw much and thought it saw every thing, it turns to these divine studies, is something mortified to find a representation of things very different from what it should previously have conceived, and impenetrable in many respects by its utmost diligence and curiosity. But then, when further exercised and improved, the same reason presently checks this presumption, as seeing very clearly, that there are inexplicable difficulties every where, in the world of _nature_, as well as in that of _grace_, and as seeing too, that, if both systems be the product of infinite wisdom, it could not be otherwise. Next, a thinking man, as his knowledge extends, and his mind opens, easily apprehends, that, in such a scheme as that of Christianity, which runs up into the arcana of the divine councils in regard to man, there will be many particulars of a new and extraordinary nature; and that such a dispensation must partake of the obscurity in which its divine Author chuses to veil his own glory.

Thus, we see, how the objections to the mysterious nature of the Gospel spring out of pride and inconsideration, and are gradually removed, as the mind advances in the further knowledge of God and itself.

Now, suppose there had been no mysterious parts in this Revelation, and that every thing had lain clear and open to the comprehension of natural reason, what would the improved understanding of a wise man have thought of it? Would he not have said, that the whole was of mere human contrivance? since, if it were indeed of divine, it must needs have spoken its original by some marks of divinity, that is, by some signatures of incomprehensible wisdom, impressed upon it. Consider, I say, whether this judgment would not have been made of such a Revelation; and whether there be not more sense and reason in it, than in that _other_ conclusion which many have drawn from the mysterious nature of the Christian religion.

IT MAY APPEAR, from these cursory observations, that _faith and knowledge_ are no such enemies to each other, as they have been sometimes represented; and that neither the _evidences_ of Christianity, nor the _doctrines_ of it, need decline the scrutiny of the most improved reason. Conclude, therefore, when ye hear a certain language on this subject, that it is equally foolish, as it is indecent; and that ye may safely profess a _belief_ in Jesus, without risking the reputation of your _wisdom_.

Another conclusion is, that, when unbelievers lay claim to a more than ordinary share of sense and penetration, we may allow their claim, if we see fit, for other reasons, but NOT for their disdainful rejection of our divine religion. We must have better proofs of their sufficiency than this, before we subscribe to it. We may even be allowed to conclude, from this circumstance of their unbelief, that they either _see not_ so clearly as they pretend, or that the case is still worse with them, if they do. They are ready to ask us, indeed, in the prompt language of the Pharisees to our Lord, _Are we blind also?_ To which question, having such an answer at hand, we need look out for no other than that of Jesus, _If ye were blind, ye should have no sin; but now ye say we see_, THEREFORE _your sin remaineth_.

SERMON XIX.

PREACHED MAY 12, 1771.

1 COR. viii. 1.

_Knowledge puffeth up; but Charity edifieth._

There is none of our little accomplishments, or advantages, which we are not apt to make the foundation of pride and vanity. When, upon comparing ourselves with others, in any respect, we _entertain_ a higher opinion of ourselves than we ought, this sentiment is called PRIDE. And when we are forward to _express_ the good opinion, we have of ourselves, to others, in our words or actions, (even though such opinion be but proportioned to our desert) we give to this disposition the name of VANITY. Each of these affections of the mind is, a real vice: _Pride_, because it violates truth and reason; and _Vanity_, because it violates Christian charity.

But, of all the subjects of comparison which betray us into these vices, none is thought to produce them so easily, and to inflame them to that degree, as _learning or knowledge_. And we see the reason why it should be so. For knowledge arises from the exertion of our best and noblest faculties; those faculties which distinguish us to most advantage, not only from the inferior creatures, but from each other. Hence we are naturally led to place a higher value on this, than other acquisitions; and to make our pride and boast of that which is, indeed, the glory of our nature.

The observation then seems well founded; and the Apostle advances no more than what experience teaches, when he affirms in the text—THAT KNOWLEDGE PUFFETH UP. Where, however, we are to take notice, that the remedy for this vice is not ignorance (which, though for different reasons, is as apt to engender pride and self-conceit, as knowledge itself) but Christian love and charity. For, when the Apostle had brought this charge against _knowledge_, _that it puffeth up_, he does not say that _ignorance_ keeps men humble, but that _charity edifieth_. Whence it appears, that, to correct this excess of self-love, which we call pride, the Apostle would not have us renounce the way of learning and knowledge, but only increase our love and respect for mankind.

Charity, then, is the proper cure of LEARNED PRIDE; and of those unfriendly vices, which spring from it, _sufficiency_, _self-importance_, and _ostentation_: And it will be worth our while to consider, _in what_ RESPECTS, and _by what_ MEANS, this divine principle of charity contributes to that end. And this it does

1. By keeping men steady to that OBJECT, which they ought to propose to themselves in the cultivation of knowledge, I mean the _edification of each other—charity edifieth_.

One of the ancient sects of philosophy carried their admiration of _knowledge_ so far, that they made it _the supreme good_ of man, and built their whole _moral_ system (if it might be called such) on this extravagant idea. Whereas, common sense, as well as religion, teaches, that knowledge, like our other faculties and attainments, is only an instrument of doing good to others; not to be regarded by us, as the end of moral action, or a good simply in itself, but as one of those means by which we may express our moral character; and promote the common interest of society, which (in subordination to the will and glory of God) is the proper end of man. Now, if we keep this end in view, which Christian charity sets before us, we shall neither cultivate knowledge for its own sake (which is a strain of fanaticism, unsuited to our present condition); nor for the sake of that complacency, which may be apt to result from it; nor solely, for any other selfish purpose to which it may serve: but we shall chiefly and ultimately refer it to the use and edification of our brother; and shall therefore suppress that inordinate elation of heart and display of vain-glory, which tend so much to obstruct the success of our applications to him in this way.

2. Charity, estimating the value of knowledge by the good it _actually_ does to others, finds the very foundation of pride and vanity, in the application of it, in a great measure taken away. For, how divine a thing soever knowledge may appear to the mind, when heated by speculation, we shall find, in practice, that it falls very much short of those glorious ideas we had formed of it; that the _real service_, we are enabled to do to mankind by our most improved faculties, affords but little occasion to the gratulations of self-esteem (which, when resulting from such service, are, no doubt, more pardonable than in any other case whatsoever); and that, if such gratulations arise in us from some slight and partial services done to others, they are sufficiently checked and mortified by the general ill success of our most strenuous endeavours, and best concerted designs. The philosopher and divine, after many studious days and sleepless nights, are ready to promise to themselves great effects from their systems and apologies. Alas, the world is little bettered or improved by them. Its amusements, its follies, its vices, take their usual course. Reason and knowledge are found but feeble instruments of its conversion. It attends so little, or so negligently to its instructors, that it remains almost as uninformed, and as corrupt as before.

Such is too commonly the issue of our best pains in the cultivation of moral and religious truth! Or, if in some rare cases it be otherwise, and some sensible, some considerable, benefit result from them, still it will be far less than the good man wishes and intends. For, burning with this holy zeal of love to mankind, the charitable instructor of the ignorant is in the condition of HIM, whose ambitious zeal the poet so well describes: His successes do but inflame his desires; and _he reckons he has done nothing, so long as there remains any thing for him to do_[131].

So certainly does charity, in this work of learned instruction, disconcert and subdue all the projects and emotions of pride!

3. Charity takes a sure way to counteract those movements of vanity and self-applause, which the pursuits of knowledge are apt to excite, _by confining our attention to solid and important subjects_. For, when the mind is thus employed, it naturally refers its acquisitions to _use_, not vanity; or, if vanity should still find room to spring up with this crop of useful knowledge, its growth would be much checked by this benevolent and social attention: It would either die away amidst these higher regards of duty and public spirit, or would lose at least very much of its malignant nature, and of those qualities which render it so offensive to mankind. Whereas, when we employ ourselves on frivolous or unimportant subjects, which offer nothing to our view besides the ingenuity of the speculation, and the distinction of the pursuit, these ideas are so present to the mind, and engross it so much, that vanity and self-esteem almost necessarily spring from them, luxuriant and unrestrained.

Besides, the mind, which loves to justify itself in all its operations, finding but little real use or worth in these disquisitions, strives to make itself amends by placing an imaginary value upon them; and grows so much the more enamoured of them, as it foresees and expects the neglect and indifference of other men.

Hence, the sufficiency of such persons as wholly employ their time and pains in the more abstract studies, in the minuter parts of learning, and universally in such inquiries as terminate only or chiefly in curiosity and amusement, is more than ordinarily glaring and offensive. Their minds are _puffed up_ with immoderate conceptions of their own importance; and this unnatural tumour they are neither able, nor willing, to conceal from others. The secret is, they would persuade themselves first, and then the world, that their studies and occupations are less frivolous, than they in earnest believe or suspect them, at least, to be.

Now, Charity, indisposing us to these fruitless speculations, and delighting to cultivate such parts of knowledge as have a real dignity in them, and are productive of light and use, tends directly to keep us modest, by taking away this so natural temptation to pride and self-conceit.

4. Further, we may observe that, of the more important studies themselves, such as we call _practical_, are less liable to this perversion of vanity, than the speculative, to what important ends soever they may ultimately be referred. And the reason of the difference is, that, in the former case, the calls of charity upon us are more instant. We cannot stir a step in practical meditations without considering what use and benefit may result from them: while the speculative seem to terminate in themselves; are pursued, for the time at least, for their own sakes; and so, by keeping the ultimate end out of sight, do not divert the mind enough from that complacent attention to its own ingenious researches, whence the passion of pride is apt to take its rise.

Not but there are some parts of knowledge, which, though called practical, and referring indeed to practice, have a different effect. But these are such, as are in their own nature boastful and ostentatious; calculated not so much for use, as pleasure; or, at most, terminating in some private and selfish end. The proficients in these popular arts and studies are tempted to regard, not the good _simply_, which their knowledge might do to others, but the general influence of it, and the consideration, which, by means of such influence, whether to a good or bad purpose, they may draw to themselves.

Of this sort was, too commonly, the study of eloquence in the ancient, and sometimes, I doubt, in the modern world. Vanity is apt to mix itself with these practical studies, and to result from them; the question generally being, not how the greatest good may be effected by them, but how the greatest impression may be made.

Divine and moral subjects, _practically_ considered (though vanity may creep in here), are more secure from this abuse. For, respecting the spiritual and moral good of men, distinctly and exclusively, a regard to the end must correct and purify the means. And thus we are not surprised to find, that, while a vain rhetorician[132] is said to have boasted, in the hearing of all Greece, that _he knew every thing_, the sober moralist of Athens[133] readily confessed, _he knew nothing_.

5. Another way, in which _charity_ operates to the suppression of _pride_, is, _by increasing our good opinion of other men_. _Pride_ is an elation of mind upon comparing ourselves with others, and observing how much we excel them in any respect; and, in the present instance, how much we excel them in point of _knowledge_. When the mind is wholly occupied by _self-love_, it easily magnifies its own attainments, and as easily diminishes those of others: whence the advantage, on a comparison, must needs be to _itself_. But when _charity_, or the love of others, prevails in us to any degree, we are willing to do them _justice_ at least, and _but_ justice to ourselves: nay, our affection to others makes us willing to see their good qualities in the fairest light, to magnify to ourselves their excellencies, and to lessen or overlook their defects; while on the other hand, it inclines us readily to forego any undue claims of pre-eminence, and even to abate something of what we might strictly claim to ourselves: whence the comparison must be more favourable to _others_; and our pride, if not entirely prevented, must be considerably reduced. Increase this charity, and the pride still lessens; till, at length, it is almost literally true, as the Apostle divinely expresses it, that, _in lowliness of mind, each esteems other better than himself_; _better_, in respect to _knowledge_, as to every thing else.

6. Lastly, charity, not only by its qualities, but in the _very nature of things_, is destructive of all _pride_. For what is pride, but an immoderate _love_ of ourselves? And what is charity, but a fervent _love_ of other men? It is the same passion of love, only directed to different objects. When it is concentred in a man’s self, it naturally grows abundant and excessive: divert some part of it upon others, and the selfish love is proportionably restrained. Just as seas and rivers would overflow their shores and banks, if they had no outlet or circulation: but issuing forth in useful streams or vapours to refresh the land, they are kept in due proportion, and neither deluge the rest of the globe, nor drain themselves. Thus the affection of _love_, if too much confined, would overflow in _pride and arrogance_; but, when part of it is diffused on others, the rest is innoxious and even salutary, as supplying the mind only with a _just and moderate self-esteem_.

Hence we see that charity, by its very operation, corrects the excesses of self-love; and therefore of learned pride (which is _one_ of those excesses) as well as any other vice, which the confined and inordinate exercise of that passion is apt to produce.

In these several ways then, whether, by prescribing the proper _end_ of knowledge, _the edification of our neighbour_, an attention to which must needs lessen the temptation to pride; or, by suggesting how _imperfectly_ that end is attained by knowledge, which must mortify, rather than inflame our pride; or, by confining the candidates of knowledge _to solid and important subjects_, and, of _these_, rather to _practical_ subjects, than those of speculation, both which pursuits are unfavourable to the growth of pride; or, by increasing _our good opinion of others_, engaged in the same pursuits of knowledge, which must so far take from our fancied superiority over them; or, lastly, _by the necessary effect of its operation_, which is essentially destructive of that vicious self-love, which is the parent of such fancies—In _all_ these respects, I say, it is clearly seen how CHARITY, whose office it is to _edify_ others, is properly applied to the cure of that tumour of the mind, which knowledge generates, and which we know by the name of LEARNED PRIDE.

There are many other considerations, no doubt, which serve to mortify this pride; but nothing tends so immediately to remove it, as the increase of charity. It is therefore to be wished, that men, engaged in the pursuits of learning, would especially cultivate in themselves this divine principle. Knowledge, when tempered by humility, and directed to the ends of charity, is indeed a valuable acquisition; and, though no fit subject of vain-glory, is justly entitled to the esteem of mankind. It should further be remembered, that this virtue, which so much adorns knowledge, is the peculiar characteristic grace of our religion; without which, all our attainments, of whatever kind, are fruitless and vain. Let the man of Science, then, who has succeeded to his wish in rearing some mighty fabric of human knowledge, and from the top of it is tempted with a vain complacency to _look down_, as the phrase is, _on the ignorant vulgar_; let such an one not forget to say with HIM, who had been higher yet, even as high as _the third Heaven[134]_, “_Though I understand all mysteries, and all knowledge, and have not charity, I am nothing_[135].”

SERMON XX.

PREACHED NOVEMBER 19, 1769.

ACTS OF THE APOSTLES, xxvi. 9.

_I verily thought with myself, that I ought to do many things contrary to the name of Jesus of Nazareth._

The case of the Apostle, Paul, as represented by himself in these words, is so remarkable, that it cannot but deserve our attentive consideration.

The account of _those many things_, which he thought himself obliged _to do against the name of Jesus_, during his unbelieving state, he gives us in the chapter whence the text is taken. _These things_, continues he in his apology to king Agrippa, _I did in Jerusalem, and many of the Saints did I shut up in prison, having received authority from the chief-priests; and when they were put to death, I gave my voice against them. And punished them oft in every synagogue, and compelled them to blaspheme; and being exceedingly mad against them, I persecuted them, even to strange cities._ And then he proceeds to speak of his going, with the same authority, and the same zeal, to persecute the Christians that were at Damascus; when, in his journey thither, he was suddenly stopt in the career of his impiety by _a heavenly vision_, which had the effect to overturn his former persuasion, and to make a full convert of him to the Christian faith.

1. From this account of himself, we learn, that Paul, in his Jewish state, had been carried, by his zeal, into all the horrors of persecution. And _these things_, he says, _he verily believed he ought to do, contrary to the name of Jesus_.

“But what, you will ask, did this _belief_ then justify those crimes? And, are blasphemy, murder, and persecution, innocent things, from the time that a man persuades himself he ought to commit them? This would open a door to all the evils of the most outrageous fanaticism, and evacuate the whole moral law, under the pretence of conscience.”

In general, it would do so: and we shall presently find, that St. Paul does not pretend to justify _himself_, notwithstanding _he verily believed he ought to do these things_. But to see the degree of his crime, it will be convenient, and but just to the criminal, to call to mind, in the first place, the peculiar circumstances under which it was committed.

Paul was at that time a Jew; and, as a follower of this law, his conduct, supposing his conscience to have been rightly informed, had not been blameable; on the contrary, had been highly meritorious. For the law of Moses made the restraint of opinions, in matter of religion, lawful: Heterodoxy was to a Jew but another word for disloyalty; and a zeal to see the rigour of the law executed on that crime, was the honour of a Jewish subject. Paul, then, conceiving of Jesus as a false prophet, and the author of a new worship, contrary to that of the God of Israel, Paul, I say, regarding Jesus in this light, but conformed to the spirit of the law, when he joined in persecuting the Jewish Christians, and must esteem himself to have deserved well of it.

And this he, in fact, did. For, reckoning up the several merits, which, as a Jew, he might claim to himself, he mentions this zeal of persecution, as one, which did him honour, under that character—_Concerning zeal_, says he, PERSECUTING THE CHURCH[136].

The crime of Paul, then, as of the other Jews, in persecuting Christ and his religion, was not _simply_ the crime of persecution (for, had that religion been a false one, by the peculiar structure of the Jewish œconomy, there would have been no crime at all in punishing such of the Jews, as professed themselves of it); but his guilt was, and, in general, the guilt of the other Jews was, in misapplying the law to this particular case; in persecuting a just and divine person, whom their own prophets had foretold and pointed out, who came in no opposition to the Jewish law, nay, who came _not to destroy_, but _to fulfill_[137].

The conclusion is, that, though _persecution_ be on no pretence of conscience excusable in another man, yet in a Jew, and as directed against an apostate Jew, it had not this malignity, and was not the proper subject of his abhorrence[138].

To the question then, “Whether Paul’s belief justified his practice, in the case before us, that is, whether he did right _in doing that which he verily believed he ought to do_,” You may take his own answer—_This_, says he, _is a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners_, OF WHOM I AM CHIEF[139]. He owns himself, we see, to have been _the chief of sinners_, that is, making all allowance for the hyperbole and modesty of the expression, a very great sinner. And if you ask in what respect, he tells you that, too: for, in the immediately preceding verses, he declares the ground of this charge upon himself, _That he had been a blasphemer, and a persecutor, and injurious_. And in another place he says of himself, _I am the least of the Apostles; that am not meet to be called an Apostle, because I persecuted the church of God_[140].

You see, then, that, notwithstanding his former religion authorized him to persecute its enemies, notwithstanding he verily believed, that he ought to persecute Jesus as such, yet he now condemns himself, as having grievously sinned in giving way to that authority, and to that persuasion. How is this conduct to be accounted for and made consistent? plainly, by observing, that he had persecuted without warrant, even from his former religion; that he had culpably and rashly overlooked (what he might and ought to have seen) that Jesus was no fit object of this severity even to a Jew, that he was no enemy or subverter of the Jewish law, that he was no rebel to the God and king of Israel, but came indeed from him, acted by his commission, and displayed all the signs and credentials of the Messiah, in whom the law and the prophets were finally to be completed.

Without doubt, his being now of a religion, which forbad persecution, under all its forms, sharpened his sense of this crime, and may perhaps account for his calling himself the _chief_ of sinners; yet, that the persecution of Christians was to him a crime, and that he had sinned in committing it, he could not but know, and is clearly to be inferred from his expression. All the use he makes of his Jewish persuasion, is, but to palliate something what he knew was without excuse:—_I obtained mercy_, says he, _because I did it ignorantly in unbelief_: that is, because I persecuted in my _unbelieving_ state of a Jew, and was kept, by the genius of the Mosaic law, from _knowing_ and considering the general malignity of persecution. And that there may be some ground of mercy in this consideration, who can doubt, when we find the Son of God interceding for his very murderers on the same principle—_Father_, says he, _forgive them, for they know not what they do_.

There was this difference, you see, between a Jewish and a Gentile persecutor. The _Jew_ was answerable for his not seeing that Jesus was the Messiah: The _Gentile_ was to answer for that ignorance, and for his not seeing the general iniquity of persecution, on account of religion.

Paul, however, was certainly to blame; nay, he takes much blame on himself, for acting _ignorantly_ against the name of Jesus, though his ignorance was of the former kind only.

2. But now another question, and a very important one, arises out of this state of the case. Paul _verily thought_ that the religion of Jesus was an imposture. Yet he was _mistaken_ in thinking so; and, what is more, his mistake was highly _criminal_.

What then shall we say to those persons, who affirm, that, provided a man be _persuaded_ of the truth of his opinions, he is not answerable for his mistakes? or, in other words, what becomes of that notion which many have taken up, concerning _the innocency of error in matters of religion_?

I understand what is generally alledged in support of this candid and conciliating opinion. But the text says expressly, that Paul _verily believed he ought to do many things contrary to the name of Jesus_; and with all this firmness of belief Paul was _the chief of sinners_.

Men therefore conclude too hastily, when from the sole _persuasion_ of their sincerity they infer the innocence of their errors.

“But what then would you require of poor unhappy man, whose _reason_ is naturally so weak, and whose _prejudices_ are often so strong?” Why, to use the force he has; to consider well whether he be indeed sincere (for to be firmly, and to be _sincerely_ persuaded, is not always the same thing); to employ his reason, such as it is, with care, and to controul his prejudices, what he can, by an impartial examination.

All this, it will be answered, is already done. It may be so. Let me then have leave to interrogate the sincere rejecter of Christianity, and try his good faith, of which he is so well assured, by the following questions.

“Has he cultivated his mind, and furnished himself with the requisite helps for religious inquiry? Has he studied the sacred volumes with care? Has he considered their scope and end? their genius and character? Has he fixed the boundaries of reason and of faith? Does he know where the province of the former ends, and where that of the second commences? Has he studied himself, his faculties and powers, his wants and necessities? Has he weighed the importance of the search, he is making into the will and word of God? Has he made that search with a suitable diligence and sobriety? Has he accustomed himself to the investigation of moral evidence? Has he collected, compared, and estimated, what is brought in evidence for the truth of the Christian religion? Has he, in short, (for I address myself to capable inquirers only) omitted none of those means which reason requires, and employed all that industry, and thought, and application, which the sincere love of truth demands on so momentous an occasion?

“Still, I have other inquiries to make. Has he approached the sanctuary of religion with awe? Has he purged his mind from all gross, nay from all refined vices? Had he no interest to serve, no prejudice to sooth, no predominant passion to gratify, by a hasty conclusion concerning the truth of Christianity? Or, (not to suspect a philosophic mind of these vulgar illusions) had he no vanity to flatter, no capricious levity to indulge, by a short and disdainful rejection of it? Had he no spleen to divert, no regard of fashion, no partialities of acquaintance or education to mislead him, from conviction? Had he no secret wish or hope, which he scarcely durst tell to himself, that his inquiry would end in doubt at least, if not in infidelity? In a word, can he assure himself, that in these several respects, he had no bias on his mind, or did his best at least to have none, against a conclusion, to which an impartial love of truth might invite and compell him?”

Had St. Paul himself been questioned in this manner, concerning his sincere belief, that he _ought to do many things contrary to the name of Jesus_, he would hardly, I suppose, have said, that he had fulfilled all these conditions;—But we know what he did say, to himself and to the world: He said, He was THE CHIEF OF SINNERS.

So remote is persuasion from sincerity! and so little acquainted, many times, are _innocence and error_!

But ‘these questions, it will be said, may be retorted on the believer; who may be neither more diligent, nor more impartial in his inquiries, than the unbeliever.’

Allow that they may; yet observe the immense difference of the two cases, in regard both to the _danger_ incurred, and to the _crime_ committed.

If I _believe_, on insufficient grounds, what do I lose? only what I can well spare; my unbelief and my vices. And what do I gain? that, which of all things is most precious to me; peace of mind, and the hopes of heaven. On the other hand, if I _disbelieve_, I lose all that is valuable in both worlds, and gain nothing but the sad privilege of being set free from the restraints of this religion[141].

Consider, too, the difference of the _crime_, in the two cases. If the Christian errs in admitting the truth of his religion, he has only to answer for his ill judgment, at most: he could be drawn to this persuasion by no criminal motives: for, which of these could bias him to the belief of the holiest of all religions? If the error lies on the other side, in rejecting this religion, how shall he know, that, besides the blame of judging ill, some immoral purposes and dispositions may not have secretly concurred to pervert his judgment? The Christian may be unreasonable: but the unbeliever, I do not say, certainly, but, is too probably _vicious_.

Thus the danger, in all views, is on the unbelieving side. And if there be difficulty in knowing when I am sincere, there is none in knowing which of the two mistakes is safer and less criminal.

It will be said, perhaps, that an inquirer may be biassed in favour of Christianity by corrupt motives, that is, by views of _credit_ or _interest_, attending the profession of it, in countries where this religion is legally established. Without doubt. But such persons can hardly put themselves in the case of St. Paul, and say, They are _verily persuaded_, they ought to be Christians. For such gross motives can be no secret to their own hearts, and they cannot but know that Christianity condemns all such motives. I regard then such persons in the light of _hypocrites_ confessed, and by no means in that of _believers_. On the other hand, men may _affect_ to disbelieve from the like views of _credit_ or _interest_, in certain circumstances; and so become hypocrites of another kind; of which the number is, perhaps, not inconsiderable. But I am here speaking of such corrupt partialities as may consist with a firm belief, or disbelief of Christianity. And here it is plain, the criminality is likely to be much greater in him who without ground rejects, than in him who too hastily admits such a religion.

To conclude, then, with the case of St. Paul, which has given occasion to these reflexions.

No firmness of persuasion, it is plain, can justify a man in being led by it into the commission of gross and acknowledged crimes. And the reason is, that no persuasion of the truth of any principle can be greater than that which every man has that he ought not to commit such actions. If St. Paul’s persuasion saved him from this guilt, it was owing to the peculiar genius of the Jewish religion.

But, further, St. Paul was blameable for taking up that _persuasion_, on which he acted. His mind had been corrupted by hasty prejudices, and ungoverned passion. He concluded too fast, then, when he thought his persuasion _sincere_, though it was indeed strong and violent. His persuasion did not exclude error, and that error implied insincerity, and so was not _innocent_.

It follows from the whole, that we ought never to _act_ wrong on the pretence of conscience; and that we should learn to suspect the possibility of guilt’s mixing itself even with what we call our speculative opinions. Error may be innocent; but not so long as truth lies before us, and we may, if we do our duty, discover it. Let our inquiries, then, in all matters of moment, above all in those of religion, be diligent, and strictly honest. Where these precautions are not observed, our mistakes are always blameable, because in some degree they are wilful and insincere.

SERMON XXI.

PREACHED MAY 10, 1767.

St. LUKE, vi. 26.

_Woe unto you, when all men speak well of you._

Among other _woes_ denounced in this chapter by our Saviour against different sorts of men, we have one in the text against _those, of whom all men speak well_.

The reason of this severe sentence may not appear at first sight: first, because it may not immediately occur to us, what hurt or inconvenience there can be in every man’s good word; and, secondly, because every man’s good word is not likely to be had.

As to this last particular, it is true, the praise of _all men_, in the full extent of the words, is not to be obtained. But the sense of the text requires, only, that we understand a very general praise; and this we see many men obtain: And if we only want to know, in what respects, the possession of this praise can be deemed a misfortune, we shall find them, I suppose, (without looking further) in the following considerations.

The WOE, of being _well spoken of by all men_, may be apprehended, if we reflect, That (taking the world as it is) its good word, so largely bestowed on any man, implies _a mediocrity of virtue, at the best_;—that it frequently implies, _a considerable degree of positive ill-desert_;—that it sometimes implies, _a thorough depravity and prostitution of the moral character_.

From these THREE considerations, I propose to illustrate the _woe_ of the text.—In moral discourses, it is scarce possible to avoid very general assertions. These may sometimes want to be restrained: but ye will do it for yourselves, as ye see cause; for the appeal lies, all along, to your own bosoms and experience.

I. I say then, _first_; that to be _well spoken of by all men_, implies A MEDIOCRITY OF VIRTUE AT THE BEST.

And the assertion is founded on many reasons. An eminent degree of virtue excites envy; is not generally understood; is unapt to accommodate itself to men’s views and expectations; and, lastly, is liable to some excesses, and connected with some infirmities, which are either peculiar to itself, or would less disgrace a virtue of the common stamp.

Let us weigh these several reasons.

1. The chapter of _envy_ is a common one, and has been exhausted by every moralist. When a man’s worth lifts him above the generality of his species, he is thought to depress those who feel themselves beneath him. Their pride is hurt, their self-love is mortified, by the acknowledged preference. And in this state of things, no wonder that much industry is employed to obscure a virtue, whose unclouded splendour would give pain.

2. But men sometimes detract from a superior character, with perfect good faith. It is not envy, but _inapprehension_, which sets them on work. For it is with some virtues, as with those sublimer graces in a work of art of genius: few, but such as could have set the example, have any idea or conception of them.

Thus, a disinterested goodness, when carried to a certain length; a generosity of mind, when stretched beyond certain bounds; a sense of honour, operating to a certain degree; in a word, temperance, justice, piety, humanity, any or all of these virtues, exalted to a certain pitch, are either not comprehended, or are perhaps traduced, as marks of folly and extravagance, by those who are not capable of ascending to these heights themselves. Of which, the instances are so frequent in all history, and even in common life, that no man wants to be reminded of them.

3. Still, if superior virtue were only envied, or ill-understood, the misfortune would not be so great. It is, besides, _active, enterprising, constant, and inflexible_. It contents not itself with being merely passive, innoxious, blameless: it would oblige, befriend, and merit of mankind. It would be distinguished by actual services, or at least by glorious attempts. And in prosecuting these, it consults no man’s occasions; bends to no man’s prejudices; leans to no partial interests or considerations; is simple, uniform, invariable, and holds on its course, steadily and directly, towards its main end and scope. There is a magnanimity in true worth and goodness, which scorns and rejects all disguises, and would appear and be itself.

A character of this stamp is too awful to be popular. There is something of terror in so sublime a virtue; and those who are distinguished by it, may be esteemed, perhaps, and revered, but are rarely applauded by the world. What difference between the divine integrity of Cato, and the specious temporizing virtues of Cæsar! Yet, if history had been silent, we should easily have known which of these men was destined to be the idol of the Roman people.

4. Nor is even this the worst. Virtue, in this exalted state, is not easily restrained from running, at times, into certain EXCESSES: _excesses_, which spring, as it were, from its very essence, and which the truly wise allow for, excuse, and almost admire; but which hurt the reputation more, with base and ordinary minds, than the virtue itself, under a due exertion, serves and promotes it.

When the virtuous Brutus, in the crisis of the Roman state, struggling for its last breath of liberty, chose rather to put everything to hazard, than _violate the strict forms of law and justice_[142]:—And again, when our virtuous Falkland was kept, by his nice sense of honour, from _taking some liberties_[143], which the duty of his place, the public service, and the practice of all times, might seem to authorize; when these great men, I say, erred from an excess of virtue, a thousand tongues were ready to blaspheme, and even ridicule their mistakes, while one or two only revered the honesty of mind, which gave birth to them.

These glorious excesses, which are frequent in a virtuous character, hardly deserve the name of infirmities: yet _infirmities_, in the common sense of the word, are the lot of human nature, in whatever state of perfection. That heat of mind, which nourishes heroic virtue, is apt to produce these; and, as the noblest genius sometimes lets fall inaccuracies, which moderate talents would correct; so the best man sometimes commits extravagancies, which a moderate virtue would avoid: and when this mischance happens, the infirmity is sure to be observed, and never pardoned. Or, let the weakness be such, as is incident to our common nature; still its effects are very different; it shall eclipse half the virtues of an excellent man, and, in a common character, be either not seen, or not regarded.

So true it is, that, to be _well spoken of by all men_, implies but an ordinary share of virtue, at best! For, consider these several circumstances, and see what a shade they cast on the reputation of extraordinary men. To shine out in the full lustre of a general flame, is reserved for those, _whose virtue is not of a size to give umbrage; whose merits are to the level of all eyes; who adapt themselves with dexterity to all occasions; and who are kept, by their very mediocrity, from any infirmity, or excess_.

And it would be well, if the _woe_ ended here; if the misfortune of these applauded men were negative only, and amounted to no more than the absence of vice, or the possession of virtue in the common degrees. But, I doubt, it amounts to much more: it frequently implies