Chapter I: SUPPOSE, that we are all convinced of what the voice of nature so

loudly proclaims, that there is a God, a moral governor of the world; and that we are intimately related to him, and dependant upon him. The sum of our religious inquiries will then be

I. _What we are to do, in order to obtain the favour of that God: And_

II. _What that favour is, which, when we have done our best, we have reason to expect from him._

Now, it will be easy to shew, that the issue of our best reason, in the former of these enquiries, is suspense and doubt; and despair, or disappointment, in the latter. It will appear, that we cannot assure ourselves of the means, by which the favour of Heaven is to be obtained; and that the highest degree of favour, we have a right to claim, is not that to which we aspire. So fated are we, when trusting to the faint, delusive light of our own minds, on this great, this only important subject, _to lie down in sorrow_.

I. To begin with the consideration of _what we are to do, in order to obtain the favour of God_.

That we are to _worship_ God, will be allowed by all reasonable theists.

But in what way is he to be worshipped? By GIFTS AND OFFERINGS? So a great part of the world has believed. But, by _what_ gifts and offerings, _how_, and _when_, and _where_, and _by whom_ presented? Are _all_ indifferent to him, and is no preference due to some above others? or, may not my offering lose its value, unless made in a certain _manner_? Is it of no moment with what _rites_ I tender my gifts to God? Are all _seasons_ equally fit; are all _places_ equally pure; are all _persons_ equally hallowed, for the oblation of them?

Or, again, are gifts and offerings, to the lord of all things, impertinent and vain? And is my reverence of him to be expressed by acts of SELF-DENIAL, PENANCE, AND MORTIFICATION? So the pious of all times have very generally conceived. But by _what_ penance, to what _end_ referred, to what _degree_ carried, and how _long_ continued?

We may think of these questions, and of ourselves, what we will. But such questions, as these, have been asked by wise men, and, when those wise men had only to take council of their own reason, have rarely been answered to their satisfaction.

Or, let us advance a step further, and say that our dependance on God is to be signified, and his favour obtained, by PRAYER: that gifts are mercenary, and penance servile; both, a manifest affront to the all-sufficient and all-merciful Deity; and that the supplications of a devout mind are the only incense fit for heaven. Be it so: Good and wise men have at all times thought highly of prayer; and are generally agreed in recommending it as the most becoming expression of human piety. But here again, doubts and difficulties meet us. _How_ are we to pray, and for _what_?

Are all _forms_ of address equally acceptable to him, we adore? The Gentile world thought not: they were solicitous to petition their Gods in a certain style, and to gain their ear by some favourite appellation. Let this, again, pass for a scruple of superstition. Still, is it indifferent with what sentiments we approach the throne of God, and with what ideas of his nature and attributes we prostrate ourselves before him? If those sentiments or ideas be not suited, in some degree, to the majesty of that great being, is there no danger that we may dishonour, may injure, may insult him by our addresses? May not our very prayers become affronts, and our praises, blasphemies?

And is it so easy to think justly on this mysterious subject, as that reason, every man’s own reason, can instruct him? What if two or three divine men of the pagan world guessed right? Was their opinion any rule, was it even any authority, to the bulk of worshippers[94]?

But say, that it was their own fault to misconceive of the Deity: still, for _what_ shall they pray to him? For every thing, they want or wish? But thus, they would most commonly pray amiss, for what they should pray against, for what would corrupt and hurt them.

These difficulties, with regard both to the mode and matter of this duty, appeared so great to the old masters of wisdom, that some[95] of them thought it the highest effort of human wit, to form a reasonable prayer; and others supposed that none but God himself could instruct man how to do it[96].

There is a way, indeed, to cut these difficulties short; which is, by maintaining, as some[97] have done, that prayer is no duty at all; but a vain superfluous observance, justly ranked with the fancies of superstition: that God is not honoured by any external, no, nor by any mental, applications to him: that a good conscience[98] is true piety, and a spotless life, the only religion.

Admit this exalted idea of divine worship; yet, where shall we find, among the sons of Adam, one such worshipper? Who shall lay claim to that conscience, or this life? Where is the man, that passes a single day, an hour almost, without doing that which he ought not to do, or omitting somewhat he ought to have done? And what multitudes are there, who cover themselves with infamy, and with crimes?

And what shall the trembling mind do, when it looks up, as at times it cannot help doing, to that God, who _is of purer eyes, than to behold iniquity_?

_Repent_, it will be said: that species of piety is all-powerful with Heaven; it can efface sin, and restore tranquillity.

Here, again, the general sense of mankind runs another way. For, if it be so clear, that repentance alone has this virtue, how came the idea of atonement and expiation into the world? and whence the almost universal practice of _propitiatory sacrifices_?

It is easy, no doubt, to brand this disposition of the human mind, as so many others, with the opprobrious name of superstition. Let us see, then, what the merits and claims are, of _Repentance itself_.

A man offends against God, and the sense of his own mind. On reflexion (what can he do less?) he repents; and (if it please God) is forgiven. But passion revives; he offends again, and repents again; and so goes on, through his whole life, in a course of alternate transgression, and repentance. And is this all the claim he has to be received, at length, into the favour of God, that he never sinned, though he did it every day, but he was sorry for it?

Yes, you will say, _If my brother trespass against me seven times in a day, and seven times in a day turn again and repent_, I am bound by the law of Christ himself to forgive him[99]. And will God be less placable, than his creature man is required to be[100]?

This rule of conduct is very fit to be observed by one offender towards another: but is it past a doubt that it will, that it must take place between God and man? WE are bound to this repeated, this continual forgiveness of others, by a sense of our common infirmities. HE has a government to support; of what extent, over what worlds, and how connected with this, no man may say: And what would become of government in this world, if every convict was to be pardoned on repentance?

Nor is it enough to reply, that human governors cannot pronounce on the sincerity of such repentance. If they could, they would certainly not regulate their proceedings by that consideration. The law has denounced a penalty on such a crime: And the public interest requires that the penalty, for example-sake, be inflicted.

Something, like this, may be true of God’s moral government. No man can say, it is not. And therefore repentance, as plausible as its plea may appear, can never free the guilty mind from all apprehension.

But another dreadful circumstance attends this matter. We often satisfy ourselves, that we repent of a past crime: Yet we commit that crime again; perhaps the very next hour. Can we call that repentance sincere? Or, have we a right to conclude that God, who sees through all the prevarication and duplicity of our hearts, must accept such repentance, on our profession of it? Let what virtue there will be in repentance, when seen by the unerring eye of God to be true and unfeigned, how shall man reckon on the efficacy of it, when he may so easily mistake, and cannot certainly know the real worth and character of what he calls repentance?

Here then, whether we consider what the moral attributes of the Deity, and his righteous government, may demand; or whether we regard the weakness and inefficacy of our best purposes; there is room enough for the terrors of religion to invade and possess the mind, in spite of all that Reason can do to repell, or dislodge them from it.

After all, in contemplation of that infinite mercy which surrounds the throne of God, and of the infirmity incident to frail man, I am willing to suppose (as it is our common interest to do) that _repentance_, at all times, and how oft soever renewed, is a ground, on which he may reasonably build fair hopes and chearful expectations. To repent, is always the best thing we can do: It is always a conduct right in itself; and, as such, is intitled, we will say, on the principles of natural religion, to the divine acceptance.

But what does that ACCEPTANCE import? _The reward of eternal life? A remission of all punishment? or, only an abatement of it?_ Here, again, fresh difficulties start up, and come to be considered,

II. Under the second general head of this discourse; in which it was proposed to inquire, _What that favour is, which, when we have done our best to recommend ourselves to God, we have reason to expect at his hands?_

1. If presumptuous man could learn to estimate himself at his true worth, he might perhaps see reason to conclude, that his highest moral merit can pretend to no more, than to some _abatement_ of present or future punishment.

Let him calculate how oft, how knowingly, how willfully he hath offended; and, on the other hand, when he did his duty, how coldly, how remissly, how reluctantly he did it: with what a gust of passion he disobeyed; and with what indifference he repented: with how full a consent of his mind, with what deliberation, and against what conviction, he sinned; and then, again, with what hesitation, by what degrees, in what circumstances, and upon what motives, he recovered himself from any bad habit: In a word, how full and complete and contagious his vices have been; and how faint and partial and ineffective, his best virtues: Let him, I say, calculate all this, and then tell us where is the stock of merit, on the balance of the account, that should encourage him to do more than hope that some part of the punishment, he hath justly incurred, may by a merciful judge be struck off, in consideration of his virtues? If such a man recovered his health, when he left his intemperance; or his credit in the world, when he shook hands with his injustice; or, if his penitence could avail so far as to shorten the term, or qualify the rigour, of his sufferings in some other state of being, would he not have reason to think he had all the recompense he deserved? Could most men, at least, on a strict scrutiny of their hearts and lives, carry their pretensions higher? But,

2. But let us be indulgent to human virtue, and suppose it pure and active enough to work out all the guilt, which vice had contracted, could it do more than cancel the punishment due to vice, and should we be authorized to expect more than a _full remission_ of it? Suppose, that after a long life, checquered with good and bad actions, but in such sort as that the good equalled the bad, and perfectly atoned for them (and which of us will say, that this is not a favourable supposition?); suppose, I say, that after such a life, as this, the whole man were suffered to fall into a state of insensibility, that all his powers and faculties were suspended, or the man himself utterly extinguished, could we complain of this allotment, or could reason pretend that it was not according to the rules of strict justice?

3. Still I agree to make a further concession to the pride of Virtue. Let the moral qualities of some men be so excellent, and the tenour of their lives so pure, as to entitle them to a _positive reward_ from the great searcher of hearts and inspector of human actions: would not the daily blessings of this life be a suitable recompense for such desert; would not health, and prosperity, and reputation, and peace of mind, be an adequate return for their best services? Or, if all this did not satisfy their claims, could they require more than such a portion of happiness in a future state, as should correspond to their merits, and make them full amends for all the sacrifices they here made to Conscience and to Virtue? And might not a small degree of such happiness, and for a short term, be an equivalent for such sacrifices? Could they dream of living _for ever_, and of living _happily_ for ever in heaven; and call such a reward, as this, a debt, a claim of right, which could not justly be withheld from them? Could any man in his senses pretend, even to himself, that a Virtue of sixty or seventy years, though ever so perfect, ever so constant, deserved immortal life in bliss and glory? Incredible: impossible: the merit and the recompense are too widely disjoined, the disproportion between them is too vast, to give the least colour of reason to such expectations. A Saint, or a Martyr, has no claim of right to so immense a reward, so transcendant a felicity.

’Tis true, Christianity gives us these hopes, which Reason forwardly assumes, and makes her own; forgetting at the same time, or unthankfully slighting, the only grounds on which they are founded. For, though eternal life be promised to favoured man in the Gospel, it is there promised to him, not as a debt, but as a free gift; and that, not in consideration of his good works, but of his faith in Jesus.

See then, to what the hopes of nature, the conclusions of reason and philosophy, amount, on this interesting subject. We are in the hands of an all-wise and all-righteous God, and are undone without his favour. Yet how that favour is to be obtained, we know not; or, if we do know, we are unable of ourselves to obtain it in the degree, we wish, and to the ends, for which we aspire to it. Our best speculations on the _means_ of propitiating Heaven, are mixed with uncertainty; and our best _hopes_ dashed with mistrust and suspicion. For what man is so righteous as to have perfect confidence in his good works; or, so sanguine, as to think heaven the due reward of them? And yet will any thing, short of this, content our impatient desires? Should our virtues merit no more than some abatement of future misery, so justly due to our innumerable ill deserts, how sad a prospect have we before us? or, if they do but free us from punishment, what man is so abject as not to shudder at the thought of extinction or insensibility? or, lastly, if they supply some faint hope of future reward, what generous man but wishes more to himself, than a slight, a precarious, and short-lived happiness; beyond which, as we have seen, he has no right to extend his expectations?

If the Gentiles, who had only the light of Nature to conduct them, had no way to get quit of these doubts and fears, their condition was certainly unhappy, but would bespeak the mercy of God: their disadvantages and distresses would be allowed for, and considered by him. But for those, who have now the light of Heaven shining about them, and yet chuse to walk in the dim, disastrous twilight of their own reason, what must be their folly, as well as misery? I say, their _misery_. For this last is no secret to observing men, notwithstanding the airs of gaiety and satisfaction, they sometimes assume; and indeed deserves the tenderest pity, though their perverse _folly_ be apt to excite a different passion.

But to conclude: It is enough to have shewn, in justification of the sacred text, that they who _walk in the light of their own fire, and in the sparks which they have kindled_, have this recompense of their choice, allotted to them by the hand of God, and the nature of things, _That they_ do and must _lie down in sorrow_.

To you, who have determined more wisely to govern yourselves by faith, and not by Reason only; who rejoice to walk in the clear sunshine of the blessed Gospel, and not in the malignant light of philosophical speculation, To you, I say, the reward of your better conduct, is, that ye know how to recommend yourselves to the favour of God; and ye know what to expect from that favour: Ye understand that, by FAITH AND REPENTANCE, ye have peace of mind in this transitory life, and assured hopes of immortal unspeakable felicity, reserved for you in the heavens.

SERMON XXXV.

PREACHED NOVEMBER 15, 1767.

2 COR. iv. 3.

_If our Gospel be hid, it is hid to them that are lost._

The text implies, that the evidence, with which Christianity is attended, may fail of convincing the minds of some men. And indeed from the time that _the Sun of righteousness_ rose upon the earth, there have always been those, who could not, or would not, be enlightened by Him.

Now it might be a question, whether this effect were owing to the nature of the evidence itself, or to some obscurity in the manner of proposing it. This, I say, might have been a question, even among Christians themselves, if the Apostle had not determined it to our hands. He who was fully instructed in the truths of the Gospel, knew the evidence, with which they were accompanied, was enlightened by the same spirit that had inspired them, and had great experience in the different tempers and capacities of men, roundly asserts that Infidelity has no countenance, either from within or without, neither from the sort or degree of evidence, by which the Christian Revelation is supported, nor from any mysterious conveyance of it; but that, universally, the fault lies in those, who do not receive it. _If the Gospel be hid, it is hid to them that are lost_: to those, who would not be convinced by any evidence whatsoever.

What the evidences of Christianity, in fact, are, and how abundantly sufficient for the conviction of all reasonable men, I shall not now enquire. The subject is fitter for a volume, than a discourse in this place. Let it be supposed, on St. Paul’s authority, that those evidences are sufficient; still ye may be curious to know, and it may tend to the establishment of your faith to understand, how it has come to pass, that so much light could be resisted.

To this question a pertinent answer has been given from the prejudices and passions, from the vices and corruptions of unbelievers; it being no new thing that men should _love darkness rather than light_, when _their deeds are_, and when they have resolved with themselves they shall be, _evil_[101]. _For_, as our Lord himself argues in this case, _Every one that doth evil, hateth the light, lest his deeds should be reproved: But he that doth the Truth, cometh to the light, that his deeds may be manifested, that they are wrought in God_[102].

But then it has been replied, that, though Vice may be many times the ground of infidelity, and the condemnation of such men be just, yet that some, too, have disbelieved from no such motives; that the Gospel has been rejected by persons, who appear to have been men of large and liberal minds, as free, as others, from all perverse prejudices, and as little subject to gross vice or passion: Nay, that, in the class of unbelievers, there have been those who have distinguished themselves as much by the purity of their lives, as the brightness of their understandings.

All this may be true; and yet our Saviour affirms, _that he, who believeth not, is condemned already_[103]; and St. Paul in the text, to the same purpose, _that if the Gospel be hid, it is hid to them that are lost_. There must needs, then, be some latent cause of this strange fact; some secret depravity lurking in the mind of those, who disbelieve the Gospel, thought appearances be thus fair and flattering. And, though Christian Charity be not forward _to think evil_ of his neighbour, yet in this case we have reason to suspect it: and what we suspect, we may perhaps find, in a VICE so secret and insinuating, that it creeps upon men unawares; so congenial, as it were, to our depraved nature, that hardly any man can be sure of his being wholly free from it; and so ingenious in disguising itself, as to pass upon others, nay upon the man possessed by it, for one of his best qualities.

By these characters, ye will easily see I speak of self-love, or rather the vicious exertion of it in what we call, PRIDE: A vice, which may as fatally obstruct our pursuit of Truth, as any the most vulgar immorality; and the rather, because it is not easily suspected or acknowledged by us.

This vice then it may be, that _hides the Gospel from those_ better sort of men, _to whom it is hid_. They had need examine themselves well, for it assumes, as I said, the most imposing forms. Who would look for it, in the cultivation of the mind, and the love of Virtue? Yet in either of these, it may lie concealed: and an inquirer into the truth of the most rational, and the purest of all religions, may be prejudiced against it by a double Pride, by the PRIDE OF REASON, and the PRIDE OF VIRTUE.