Chapter I: WHOEVER hath read the foregoing chapters with attention, is, I hope, (1)

sufficiently instructed in the knowledge of Christian perfection. He hath seen that it requireth us to _devote_ ourselves _wholly_ unto God; to make the ends and designs of religion, the ends and designs of all our actions; that it calleth us to be _born again of_ God; to live by the light of his Holy Spirit; to _renounce the world_, and all _worldly tempers_; to practise a constant _universal self-denial_; to make daily war with the corruption of our nature; to shew the power of _divine grace_, by holiness of conversation; to avoid all pleasures and cares which _grieve the Holy Spirit_, and separate him from us; to live in a _daily, constant state_ of prayer and devotion; and, as the crown of all, to imitate the _life and Spirit_ of the Holy Jesus.

II. *It now only remains that I exhort the reader to labour after this perfection. Was I to exhort any one to the study of _poetry_ or _eloquence_, to labour to be _rich_ and _great_, or to spend his time in _mathematics_, or other learning, I could only produce such reasons as are fit to delude the vanity of men, who are ready to be taken with any appearance of excellence. For if the same person was to ask me, what it signifies to be a _poet_ or _eloquent_, what advantage it would be to him, to be a great _mathematician_, or a great _statesman_, I must be forced to answer, that these things would signify just as much to him, as they now signify to those poets, orators, mathematicians, and statesmen, whose bodies have been a long while lost among common dust. For if a man will be so thoughtful as to put the question to every human enjoyment, and ask what real good it would bring along with it, he would soon find, that every success in the things of this life, leaves us just in the same state of want and emptiness in which it found us. If a man asks why he should labour to be the first _mathematician_, _orator_, or _statesman_, the answer is easily given, because of the _fame_ and _honour_ of such a distinction; but if he was to ask again, why he should thirst after fame and honour, or what good they would do him, he must stay long enough for an answer. For when we are at the _top_ of all human attainments, we are still at the _bottom_ of all human misery, and have made no farther advancement towards true happiness, than those whom we see in the want of all these excellencies. Whether a man die before he has writ _poems_, compiled _histories_, or raised an _estate_, signifies no more than whether he died an hundred or a thousand years ago.

III. On the contrary, when any one is exhorted to labour after Christian perfection, if he then asks what good it will do him, the answer is ready, that it would do him a good which eternity only can measure; that it will deliver him from a state of vanity and misery: that it will raise him from the poor enjoyments of an animal life; that it will give him a glorious body, carry him, in spite of death and the grave, to live with God, be glorious among angels and heavenly beings, and be full of an infinite happiness to all eternity. If therefore we could but make men so reasonable, as to make the shortest enquiry into the nature of things, we should have no occasion to exhort them to strive after Christian perfection. _Two questions_ we see put an end to all the vain projects of human life; they are all so empty and useless to our happiness, that they cannot stand the trial of a _second_ question. And, on the other hand, ’tis but asking, whether Christian perfection tends: and one single thought upon the eternal happiness it leads to, is sufficient to make people _saints_.

IV. This shews us how inexcusable all Christians are, who are devoted to the things of this life. It is not because they want _fine parts_, or are unable to make _deep reflections_; but it is because they reject the first principles of _common sense_; they won’t so much as ask what those things are which they are labouring after. Did they but use thus much reason, we need not desire them to be wiser, in order to seek only eternal happiness. As a shadow at the first trial of the hand appears to have no substance; so all human enjoyments sink away into nothing at the first approach of a _serious_ thought. We must not therefore complain of the deceitful appearances of worldly enjoyments, because the lowest degree of reason, if listened to, is sufficient to discover the cheat. If you will, you may _blindly_ do what the rest of the world are doing; you may follow the _cry_, and run yourself out of _breath_ for you know not what: but if you will but shew so much sense, as to ask why you should take such a chace, you will need no deeper a reflection than this to make you leave the broad way; and let the wise and learned, the rich and great, be mad by themselves. Thus much common sense will turn your eyes towards God, will separate you from all the appearances of worldly felicity, and fill you with one only ambition after eternal happiness.

V. Suppose _strict sobriety_ was the sole end of man, the necessary condition of happiness, what would you think of those people, who, knowing and believing this to be true, should yet spend their time in getting quantities of all sorts of the _strongest liquors_? What would you think if you saw them constantly enlarging their _cellars_, filling every room with _drams_, and contending who should have the largest quantities of the strongest liquors? Now this is the folly and madness of Christians; they are as wise and reasonable, as they are who are always providing strong liquors, in order to be _strictly sober_. For all the enjoyments of human life, which Christians so aspire after, whether of _riches_, _greatness_, _honours_, or _pleasures_, are as much the dangers and temptations of a Christian, as strong and pleasant liquors are the temptations of a man that is to drink only water. Now if you was to ask such a man, why he is continually increasing his stock of liquors, when he is to abstain from them all, and only to drink water, he can give you as good a reason, as those Christians, who spare no pains to acquire riches, greatness, and pleasures, at the same time that their salvation depends upon their renouncing them all, upon their heavenly-mindedness, humility, and constant self-denial.

VI. But it may be you are not devoted to these things; you have a greater soul than to be taken with _riches_, _equipage_, or the _pageantry_ of state; you are deeply engaged in _learning_ and _sciences_.

You are squaring the _circle_, or settling the distances of the _stars_, or busy in the study of _exotic plants_.

You are comparing the ancient languages, have made deep discoveries in the change of _letters_, and perhaps know how to write an _inscription_ in as obscure characters as if you had lived above two thousand years ago: or, perhaps you are meditating upon the _Heathen theology_, collecting the history of their _Gods_ and _Goddesses_; or, you are scanning some ancient _Greek_ or _Roman_ poet, and making an exact collection of their _scattered_ remains, _scraps_ of sentences, and _broken_ words.

You are not exposing your life in the field like a mad _Alexander_ or _Cæsar_; but you are fighting over all their battles in your _study_; you are collecting the names of their _generals_, the number of their troops, the manner of their arms, and can give the world a more exact account of the times, places, and circumstances of their battles, than has yet been seen.

VII. You will perhaps ask, whether these are not very commendable enquiries? An excellent use of our time and parts? Whether people may not be very reasonably exhorted to these kind of studies? It may be answered, that all enquiries (however learned they may be reckoned) which do not improve the mind in some useful knowledge, that do not make us wise in _religious wisdom_, are to be reckoned amongst our greatest vanities and follies. All speculations that will not stand this trial, are to be looked upon as the wanderings and impertinencies of a _disordered understanding_.

It is strange want of thought to imagine, that an enquiry is ever the better, because it is taken up in _Greek_ and _Latin_. Why is it not as wise and reasonable for a _scholar_ to dwell in the _kitchen_ and converse with _cooks_, as to go into his study, to meditate upon the _Roman_ art of _cookery_, and learn their variety of _sauces_?

*A grave _doctor_ in divinity would perhaps think his time very ill employed, that he was acting below his character, if he was to be an _amanuensis_ to some _modern poet_. Why then does he think it suitable with the weight of his calling, to have been a _drudge_ to some _ancient poet_, counting his syllables for several years, only to help the world to read what some _irreligious_, _wanton_, or _epicurean_ poet has wrote?

It is certainly a much more reasonable employment to be making _cloaths_, than to spend one’s time in reading or writing volumes upon the _Grecian_ or _Roman_ garments.

VIII. If you can shew me a learning that makes man truly sensible of his duty, that fills the mind with _true light_, that reforms the heart, that disposes it right towards God, that makes us more _reasonable_ in all our actions; that inspires us with _fortitude_, _humility_, _devotion_, and contempt of the _world_: that gives us right notions of the _greatness_ of religion, the _sanctity_ of morality, the _littleness_ of every thing but God, the _vanity_ of our passions, and the misery and corruption of our nature, I will own myself an advocate for such learning. But to think that time is well employed, because it is spent in such speculations as the vulgar cannot reach, or because they are fetched from antiquity, or found in _Greek_ or _Latin_, is a folly that may be called as great as any in human life.

They who think that these enquiries are consistent with a heart _entirely devoted_ to God, have not enough considered human nature; they would do well to consult our Saviour’s rebuke of _Martha_. She did not seem to have wandered far from her proper business; she was not busy in the history of _house-wifery_, or enquiring into the _original of the distaff_; she was only taken up with present affairs, and _cumbered about much serving_: but our blessed Saviour said unto her, _Martha, Martha, thou art careful and troubled about many things. But one thing is needful._

Now if _scholars_ and _divines_ can shew, that they only apply to such studies as are serviceable to the _one thing needful_; if they are busy in a philosophy and learning that have a necessary connection with the devotion of the heart to God, such learning becomes the followers of Christ; but, if they trifle in _Greek_ and _Latin_, and only assist other people to follow them in the same impertinence, such learning may be reckoned amongst the corruptions of the age. For all the arguments against _pride_, _covetousness_, and _vanity_, are as good arguments against _such learning_; it being the same irreligion to be devoted to any false _learning_, as to be devoted to any other _false good_.

A satisfaction in any vain ornaments of the body, whether of _cloaths_ or _paint_, is no greater a mistake, than a satisfaction in the _vain accomplishments_ of the mind.

IX. A man that is eager and laborious in the search and study of that which does him _no good_, is the same poor, little soul, as the _miser_ who is happy in his _bags_ that are laid by in dust. A ridiculous application of our _money_, _time_, and _understanding_, is the same fault, whether it be found amongst the finery of _fops_, the hoards of _misers_, or the trinkets of _virtuoso_’s. It is the same false turn of mind, the same mistake of the use of things, the same ignorance of the state of man, and the same offence against religion.

*When we see a man brooding over _bags_ of wealth, and labouring to die _rich_, we do not only accuse him of a poor littleness of mind; but we charge him with great guilt; we do not allow such a one to be in a state of religion. Let us therefore suppose that this covetous man was on a sudden changed into another temper; that he was grown _polite_ and _curious_; that he was fond and eager after the most useless things, if they were but _ancient_ and _scarce_; let us suppose that he is now as greedy of _original paintings_, as he was before of _money_; that he will give more for a _dog’s head_, or a _snuff_ of a candle done by a good _hand_, than he ever gave in charity all his life; is he a wiser man, or a better Christian than he was before? Has he more overcome the world, or is he more devoted to God, than when his soul was locked up with his money? Alas! his heart is in the same false satisfaction; he is in the same state of ignorance, is as far from the true good, as much separated from God, as he whose soul is cleaving to the dust; he lives in the same vanity, and must die in the same misery, as he that lives and dies in _foppery_ or covetousness.

X. Here therefore I place my argument for _Christian perfection_. I exhort thee to labour after it, because there is nothing else for thee to labour after; there is nothing else that the reason of man can exhort thee to. The whole world has nothing to offer thee in its stead; chuse what other way thou wilt, thou hast chosen nothing but vanity and misery; for all the different ways of the world are only different ways of deluding thyself: this only excells that as one vanity can excel another. If thou wilt make thyself more happy than those who pursue their own destruction, if thou wilt shew thyself wiser than _fops_, more reasonable than _sordid misers_, thou must pursue that happiness, and study that wisdom which leads to God; for every other pursuit, every other way of life, however _polite_ or _plausible_ in the opinion of the world, has a folly and stupidity in it that is equal to the folly and stupidity of _fops_ and _misers_.

For awhile shut thine eyes, and think of the _silliest creature_ in human life; imagine to thyself something that thou thinkest the most _poor_ and _vain_ in the way of the world. Now thou art thyself that poor and vain creature, unless thou art devoted to God, and labouring after Christian perfection; unless this be thy difference from the world, thou canst not think of any creature more silly than thyself. For it is not any _post_, or condition, or figure in life, that makes one man wiser or better than another; if thou art a proud _scholar_, a worldly _priest_, an indevout _philosopher_, a crafty _politician_, an ambitious _statesman_, thy imagination cannot invent a way of life that has more of vanity or folly than thine own.

XI. Every one has wisdom enough to see what variety of fools and madmen there are in the world.

Now perhaps we cannot do better, than to find out the true reason of the folly and madness of any sort of life. Ask thyself therefore wherein consists the folly of any sort of life, which is most condemned in thy judgment.

*Is a drunken _fox-hunter_ leading a foolish life? Wherein consists the folly of it? Is it because he is not getting money upon the _exchange_? Or because he is not wrangling at the _bar_? Or not waiting at _court_? No; the folly of it consists in this, that he is not living like a _reasonable creature_; that he is not acting like a being that has a salvation to work out with _fear and trembling_; that he is throwing away his time amongst _dogs_, and noise, and intemperance, which he should devote to watching and prayer, and the improvement of his soul in all holy tempers. Now, if this is the folly (as it most certainly is) of an intemperate _fox-hunter_, it shews us an equal folly in every other way of life, where the same great ends of living are neglected. Tho’ we are shining at the _bar_, making a figure at _court_, great at the _exchange_, or famous in the _schools_ of _philosophy_, we are yet the same despicable creatures as the intemperate _fox-hunter_, if these things keep us as far from holiness and heavenly affections. There is nothing greater in any way of life than _fox-hunting_: it is all the same folly, unless religion be the beginning and ending, the rule and measure of it all. For it is as _noble_ a _wisdom_, and shews as _great_ a _soul_, to die less holy and heavenly for the sake of _hunting_ and _noise_, as for the sake of any thing that the world can give us.

XII. Another motive to induce you to aspire after _Christian perfection_, may be taken from the double advantage of it in this life, and that which is to come.

The apostle thus exhorts the _Corinthians_, _Wherefore, my beloved brethren, be ye stedfast, immoveable, always abounding in the work of the Lord; for as much as ye know that your labour will not be in vain in the Lord_¹.

¹ 1 Cor. xv. 58.

This is an exhortation founded upon solid reason: for what can be so reasonable, as to be always abounding in _that work_ which will never be _in vain_? Whilst we are pleased with ourselves, or pleased with the world, we are pleased with vanity: and our most prosperous labours of this kind are but _vanity of vanities_: but whilst we are labouring after Christian perfection, we are labouring for eternity, and building to ourselves higher stations in the joys of heaven. _As one star differeth from another star in glory, so also is the resurrection of the dead._ We shall surely rise to different degrees of glory, of joy and happiness in God, according to our different advancements in holiness, and good works.

No degrees of mortification and self-denial, no private prayers, no secret mournings, no instances of charity, no labour of love, will ever be forgotten, but all treasured up to our everlasting comfort. For though the rewards of the other life are free gifts of God; yet since he has assured us, that every man shall be rewarded according to his works, it is certain that our rewards will be as different as our works have been.

XIII. Now stand still awhile, and ask yourself, whether you really believe this to be true, that the more perfect we are here, the more happy we shall be hereafter? If you do not believe this, you know nothing of God and religion. And if you do believe it, is it possible to be _awake_ and not aspiring after Christian perfection? What can you think of, what can the world shew you, that can make you any amends for the loss of _any degree_ of virtue? Can any way of life make it reasonable for you to die _less perfect_ than you might have done? But if you would now devote yourself to God, perhaps you must part with some friends; you must displease some relations, you must refrain from some pleasures, you must alter your life; nay, perhaps you must do more than this, you must expose yourself to the hatred of your friends, to the jest and ridicule of _wits_, and to the scorn and derision of worldly men. But had you not better do and suffer all this, than die _less perfect_, less prepared for eternal glory? And indeed the suffering all this is suffering nothing. For why should it signify any thing to you, what _fools_ and _madmen_ think of you? And surely it can be no wrong or rash judgment to think those both fools and mad, who condemn what God approves, and like that which God condemns: but if you think this too much to be done, to obtain eternal glory, think on the other hand, what can be gained instead of it.

*Fancy yourself living in all the ease and pleasure that the world can give you, esteemed by your friends, undisturbed by your enemies, and gratifying all your _natural tempers_. If you could _stand still_ in such a state, you might say that you had got _something_; but alas! every day that is _added_ to such a life, is the same thing as a day taken from it, and shews you that so much happiness is gone from you. For be as happy as you will, you must see it all sinking away from you; you must feel yourself _decline_; you must see that your time _shortens apace_; you must hear of _sudden deaths_; you must fear _sickness_; you must both dread and desire _old age_; you must fall into the hands of death; you must either die in the bitter sorrows of a deep repentance, or in sad gloomy despair, wishing for _mountains to fall upon you, and rocks to cover you_. And is this a happiness to be chosen? Is this all that you can gain by neglecting God, by following your own desires, and not labouring after Christian perfection? Is it worth your while to separate yourself from God, to lose your share in the realms of light, to be _thus happy_; or, I may better say, to be thus miserable even in this life? You may be so blind and foolish, as not to think of these things; but it is impossible to think of them, without labouring after _Christian perfection_.

XIV. It may be, you are too young, too happy, or too busy to be affected with these reflections; but let me tell you, that _all_ will be over before you are aware; your _day_ will be spent, and leave you to such a _night_, as that which surprized the _foolish virgins_. _And at midnight there was a cry made, behold the bridegroom cometh, go ye out and meet him¹._

¹ Matt. xxv. 6.

*The _last hour_ will soon be with you, when you will have nothing to look for, but your _reward_ in another life; when you will stand with nothing but _eternity_ before you, and must begin to be something that will be your state for ever. I can no more _reach_ heaven with my hands, than I can describe the sentiments that you then will have; you will then feel motions of heart that you never felt before; all your thoughts and reflections will pierce your soul in a manner, that you never before experienced; and you will feel the immortality of your nature, by the depth and piercing vigour of your thoughts. You will then know what it is to die; you will then know that you never knew it before, that you never thought worthily of it; but that dying thoughts are as _new_ and _amazing_ as that state which follows them.

Let me therefore exhort you to come prepared to this time of trial; to look out for comfort, whilst the day is before you; to treasure up such a _fund_ of good and pious works, as may make you able to bear that state, which cannot be borne without them. Could I any way make you apprehend, how dying men feel the want of a pious life; how they lament time lost, health and strength squandered away in folly; how they look at eternity, and what they think of the rewards of another life, you would soon find yourself one of those, who desire to live in the highest state of piety and perfection, that by this means you may grow old in peace, and die in full hope of eternal glory.

XV. Consider again, that besides the rewards of the other life, the devoting yourself wholly to God has a great reward even in this life, as it makes religion _doubly_ pleasant to you. Whilst you are divided betwixt God and the world, you have neither the pleasures of religion, nor the pleasures of the world; but are always in the uneasiness of a divided state of heart. You have only so much religion as serves to disquiet you; to check your enjoyments; to shew you a _hand-writing upon the wall_; to interrupt your pleasures; to reproach you with your follies; and to appear as a _death’s head_ at all your feasts; but not religion enough to give you a taste and feeling of its proper pleasures and satisfactions. You dare not wholly neglect religion; but then, you take no more of it than is just sufficient to keep you from being a terror to yourself; and you are as loath to be _very good_, as you are fearful to be _very bad_. So that you are just as happy as the _slave_, that dares not run away from his master, and yet always serves him against his will. Instead of having a religion that is your comfort in all troubles, your religion is itself a _trouble_, under which you want to be comforted; and those days and times hang heaviest on your hands, which leave you only to the offices and duties of religion. _Sunday_ would be very dull and tiresome, but that it is but one day in _seven_, and is made a day of _dressing_ and _visiting_, as well as of divine service. You don’t care to keep away from the public worship, but are always glad when it is over. This is the state of half _piety_; thus they live who add religion to a worldly life; all their religion is mere _yoke_ and _burden_, and is only made tolerable by having but little of their time.

XVI. _Urbanus_ goes to church, but he hardly knows whether he goes out of a sense of duty, or to meet his friends. He wonders at those people who are _prophane_, and what pleasure they can find in irreligion; but then, he is in as great a wonder at those who would make every day a day of divine worship. He feels no more of the pleasures of piety, than of the pleasures of prophaneness. As religion has every thing from him but his _heart_, so he has every thing from religion but its _comforts_. _Urbanus_ likes religion, because it seems an _easy_ way of pleasing God; a _decent_ thing, that takes up but little of our time, and is a proper _mixture_ in life: but if he was reduced to take _comfort_ in it, he would be as much at a loss, as those who have lived without God in the world. When _Urbanus_ thinks of joy, and pleasure, and happiness, he does not think at all of religion. He has gone through a hundred misfortunes, fallen into variety of hardships; but never thought of making religion his _comfort_ in any of them. He makes himself quiet and happy in another manner. He is content with his Christianity, not because he is _pious_, but because he is not _prophane_. He continues in the same course of religion, not because of any real good he ever found in it, but because it does him no hurt.

*To such poor purposes as these do numbers of people profess Christianity. Let me therefore exhort you to a _solid piety_, to devote yourself wholly unto God; that entering deep into religion, you may enter deep into its comforts; that serving God with all your heart, you may have the peace and pleasure of a heart that is at unity with itself. When your conscience once bears you witness, that you are _stedfast_, _immoveable_, _and always abounding in the work of the Lord_, you will find that your reward is already begun, and that you could not be less devout, less holy, less charitable, or less humble, without lessening the most substantial pleasure that ever you felt in your life. So that to be content with any lower attainments in piety, is to rob ourselves of a present happiness, which nothing else can give us.

XVII. You would perhaps devote yourself to perfection, but for this or that _little difficulty_ that lies in your way; you are not in so convenient a state for the full practice of piety as you could wish: but consider that this is nonsense, because perfection consists in conquering difficulties. You could not be perfect as the present state of trial requires, had you not those difficulties and inconveniences to struggle with. These things therefore which you would have removed, are laid in your way, that you may make them so many steps to glory.

As you could not exercise your charity, unless you met with objects; so neither could you shew, that you had _overcome_ the world, unless you had many worldly engagements to overcome. If all your _friends_ and _acquaintance_ were devout, humble, heavenly-minded, and wholly intent upon the one end of life, it would be less perfection in you to be like them: But if you are _humble_ amongst those that delight in pride, _heavenly-minded_ amongst the worldly, _sober_ amongst the intemperate, _devout_ amongst the irreligious, and labouring after _perfection_ amongst those that despise and ridicule your labours, then are you truly devoted unto God. Consider therefore, that you can have no difficulty, but such as the world lays in your way; and that perfection is never to be had, but by parting with the world. To stay therefore to be perfect till it suits with your condition in the world, is like staying to be charitable till there were no objects of charity. It is as if a man should intend to be courageous some time or other, when there is nothing left to try his courage.

XVIII. Again, you perhaps turn your eyes upon the world; you see all orders of people full of other cares and pleasures; you see the generality of _clergy_ and _laity_, learned and unlearned, your friends and acquaintance, mostly living according to the spirit that reigneth in the world; you are therefore content with such a _piety_ as you think contents great _scholars_ and _famous_ men: and it may be you cannot think that God will reject such numbers of Christians. Now all this is amusing yourself with nothing; it is only losing yourself in vain imaginations; it is making that a _rule_ which is no rule, and cheating yourself into a false satisfaction. As you are not censoriously to damn other people; so neither are you to think your own salvation secure, because you are like the generality of the world.

*The _foolish virgins_ that had provided no oil in their lamps, and so were shut out of the marriage-feast, were only thus far _foolish_, that they trusted to the _assistance_ of those that were _wise_: but you are more foolish than they; for you trust to be saved by the folly of others; you imagine yourself safe in the _negligence_, _vanity_, and _irregularity_ of the world; you take confidence in the _broad way_, because it is _broad_; you are content with yourself, because you seem to be along with _the many_, though God himself has told you, that _narrow_ is the way that leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it.

XIX. One word more and I have done. Think with yourself, what a happiness it is, that you have it in your power to secure a share in the glories of heaven, and make yourself one of those blessed beings that are to live with God for ever. Reflect upon the glories of bright angels, that shine about the throne of heaven. Think upon that fulness of joy, which is the state of Christ at the right hand of God; and remember that it is this same state of glory and joy that lies open for you. You are less, it may be, in worldly distinctions than many others; but as to your relation to God, you have no superior upon earth. Let your condition be what it will, let your life be ever so mean, you may make the end of it the beginning of eternal glory. Be often therefore in these reflections, that they may fill you with a wise ambition of all that glory which God in Christ hath called you to. For it is impossible to understand and feel any thing of this, without feeling your heart affected with strong desires after it. There are many things in human life which it would be in vain for you to aspire after; but the happiness of the next, the sum of all happiness, is secure and safe to you against all accidents. Here no chances or misfortunes can prevent your success; neither can the treachery of friends, nor the malice of enemies disappoint you; it is only your own false heart that can rob you of this happiness. Be but your own true friend, and then you have nothing to fear from your enemies. Do but you sincerely labour in the Lord, and then neither heighth nor depth, neither life nor death, neither men or devils, can make your labour vain.

An Extract from Mr. LAW’s
SERIOUS CALL
TO A HOLY LIFE.

CHAP. I.

_Concerning the nature and extent of Christian devotion._

1. DEVOTION is neither _private_ nor _public_ prayer; but prayers, whether private or public, are particular parts or instances of devotion. Devotion signifies a life _devoted_ to God.

He therefore is the _devout_ man, who lives no longer to his own _will_, or the _way_ and _spirit_ of the world, but to the sole will of God; who considers God in every thing, who serves God in every thing, who makes all the parts of his _common_ life, parts of piety, by doing every thing in the name of God, and under such rules as are conformable to his glory.

2. *We readily acknowledge, that God alone is to be the rule and measure of our _prayers_; that in them we are to look _wholly_ unto him, and act _wholly_ for him; that we are only to pray in _such a manner_, for _such things_, and _such ends_, as are suitable to his glory.

Now let any one but find out the reason why he is to be thus strictly pious in his prayers, and he will find the same as strong a reason to be strictly pious in all the other parts of his life. For there is not the least reason why we should make God the _rule_ and _measure_ of our prayers, why we should then look _wholly_ unto him, and pray according to his will; but what equally proves it necessary for us to look _wholly_ unto God, and make him the rule and measure of all the other actions of our life. Were it not our strict duty to live by _reason_, to devote all the actions of our lives to God; were it not absolutely necessary to walk before him in wisdom and holiness, and all heavenly conversation, doing every thing in his name and for his glory, there would be no excellency or wisdom in the most _heavenly prayers_: nay, such prayers would be absurdities; they would be like prayers for _wings_, when it was no part of our duty to _fly_.

3. As sure therefore as there is any wisdom in praying for the Spirit of God, so sure is it, that we are to make that Spirit the rule of _all_ our actions; as sure as it is our duty to look _wholly_ unto God in our prayers, so sure is it, that it is our duty to live _wholly_ unto God in our lives. But we can no more be said to live unto God, unless we live unto him in all our _ordinary_ actions, unless he be the rule and measure of all our ways, than we can be said to pray unto God, unless our prayers look _wholly_ unto him. So that unreasonable and absurd ways of life, whether in _labour_ or _diversion_, whether they consume our _time_ or our _money_, are like unreasonable and absurd prayers, and are as truly an offence unto God.

4. ’Tis for want of knowing, or at least considering this, that we see such a _mixture_ of ridicule in the lives of many people. You see them strict as to some _times_ and _places_ of devotion; but when the service of the _church_ is over, they are but like those that seldom or never come there. In their way of life, their manner of spending their _time_ and _money_, in their _cares_ and _fears_, in their _pleasures_ and _indulgencies_, in their labour and diversions, they are like the rest of the world. This makes the world generally make a jest of those that are _devout_, because they see their devotion goes no farther than their _prayers_, and that they live no more unto God, till the time of prayer returns again; but live by the same _humour_ and _fancy_, and in as full an enjoyment of all the follies of life as other people. This is the reason why they are the jest of worldly people; not because they are really devoted to God, but because they appear to have no other devotion, but that of _occasional prayers_.

5. _Julius_ is very fearful of missing prayers; all the parish supposes _Julius_ to be sick, if he is not at _church_. But if you was to ask him, why he spends the rest of his time by _humour_ or _chance_? Why he is a companion of the silliest people in their most _silly pleasures_? Why he is ready for every impertinent entertainment and diversion? If you was to ask him why there is no amusement too trifling to please him? Why he gives himself up to an _idle_, _gossiping_ conversation? Why he lives in foolish friendships for particular persons, that neither want nor deserve any particular kindness? If you ask him why he never puts his _conversation_, his _time_, and _fortune_ under the rules of religion, _Julius_ has no more to say for himself than the most disorderly person. For the whole tenor of scripture lies as directly against such a life, as against _debauchery_ and _intemperance_. He that lives in such a course, lives no more according to the religion of Jesus Christ, than he that lives in gluttony and intemperance.

If a man was to tell _Julius_, that there was no occasion for so much constancy at prayers, and that he might neglect the service of the church, as the generality of people do, _Julius_ would think such a one to be no Christian, and that he ought to avoid his company: but if a person only tell him, that he may live as the generality of the world does, that he may enjoy himself as others do, that he may spend his _time_ and _money_ as people of fashion do, that he may conform to the follies of the generality, and gratify his temper and passions as most people do, _Julius_ never suspects that man to want a Christian spirit, or that he is doing the devil’s work.

6. The short of the matter is this. Either reason and religion prescribe _rules_ and _ends_ to all the ordinary actions of our lives, or they do not: if they do, then it is as necessary to govern all our actions by those rules as it is necessary to worship God. For if religion teaches us any thing concerning _eating_ and _drinking_, or spending our _time_ and _money_; if it teaches us how we are to _use_ the world; if it tells us what tempers we are to have in _common_ life, how we are to be disposed towards all people, how we are to behave towards the _sick_, the _poor_, the _old_ and _destitute_; if it tells us whom we are to treat with a particular love, whom we are to regard with a particular esteem; if it tells us how we are to treat our enemies, and how we are to deny ourselves, he must be very weak that can think these parts of religion are not to be observed with as much _exactness_ as any doctrines that relate to prayers.

7. Our blessed Saviour and his apostles are wholly taken up in doctrines that relate to _common life_. They call us to differ in every _temper_ and _way_ of life from the spirit and way of the world: to renounce all its goods, to fear none of its evils, to reject its joys, and have no value for its happiness: to be as _new-born babes_, that are born into a new state of things; to live as pilgrims, in spiritual watching, in holy fear, aspiring after another life; to take up our daily cross; to deny ourselves; to profess the blessedness of mourning; to seek the blessedness of poverty of spirit; to forsake the pride and vanity of riches; to take no thought for the morrow; to live in the profoundest humility; to rejoice in sufferings; to reject the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life; to bear injuries; to forgive and bless our enemies, and to love mankind as God loveth them; to give up our whole hearts and affections to God; and strive to enter thro’ the strait gate into a life of eternal glory.

8. Thus it is in all virtues and holy tempers; they are not _ours_, unless they be the virtues and tempers of our _ordinary life_. So that Christianity is so far from leaving us to live in the common ways of life, conforming to the folly of customs, and gratifying the passions and tempers which the spirit of the world delights in: it is so far from indulging us in any of these things, that all its virtues, which it makes necessary to salvation, are only so many ways of living, contrary to the world in all the common actions of our life.

If our common life is not a course of _humility_, _self-denial_, _renunciation_ of the world, _poverty_ of spirit, and _heavenly_ affection, we don’t live the life of Christians.

9. But yet, tho’ it is thus plain, that this, and this alone, is Christianity, an uniform, open and visible practice of all these virtues; yet it is as plain, that there is little or nothing of this to be found, even among the better sort of people. You see them often at church; but look into their lives, and you see them just the same sort of people as others are. The difference that you find betwixt them is only the difference of their natural tempers. They have the same _taste_ of the world, the same worldly cares, fears, and joys; they have the same _turn_ of mind, are equally _vain_ in their desires. You see the same vanity of _dress_, the same _self-love_ and indulgence, the same foolish _friendships_ and groundless _hatreds_, the same _levity_ of mind and _trifling_ spirits, the same idle dispositions, and vain ways of spending their time in visiting and conversation, as in the rest of the world, that make no pretences to devotion.

10. I don’t mean this comparison betwixt people seemingly good and professed _rakes_ but betwixt people of sober lives. Let us take an instance in two modest women: let it be supposed that one of them is careful of times of devotion, thro’ a sense of duty; and that the other is at church seldom or often, just as it happens. Now it is a very easy thing to see this difference betwixt these persons. But, can you find any farther difference betwixt them? Can you find that their _common life_ is of a different kind? Are not the _tempers_, and _customs_, and _manners_, of the one, of the same kind as of the other? Do they live as if they belonged to different worlds, had different views in their heads, and different rules and measures of all their actions? Have not they the same _goods_ and _evils_? Are they not pleased and displeased in the _same manner_, and for the same things? Do they not live in the same course of life? Does one seem to be of this world, looking at the things that are temporal, and the other to be of another world, looking wholly at the things that are eternal? Does the one live in pleasure, delighting herself in _shew_ or _dress_, and the other live in _self-denial_, renouncing every thing that looks like vanity, either of _person_, _dress_, or _carriage_? Does the one trifle away her time? And does the other study all the arts of improving it, living in prayer and watching, and such good works as may make all her time turn to her advantage, and be placed to her account at the last day? Is the one careless of expence, and glad to adorn herself with every costly ornament of dress? And does the other consider her fortune as a talent given her by God, which is to be improved religiously, and no more to be spent in vain and needless ornaments than it is to be buried in the earth?

Where must you look, to find one person of religion differing in this manner from another that has none? And yet if they do not differ in these things, can it with any sense be said, the one is a _good_ Christian, and the other not?

11. Take another instance among the men. _Leo_ has a great deal of good nature, has kept what they call _good_ company, hates every thing that is _false_ and _base_, is very generous to his friends; but has concerned himself so little with religion, that he hardly knows the difference betwixt a _Jew_ and a _Christian_.

_Eusebius_, on the other hand, has had early impressions of religion, and buys books of devotion. He can talk of all the _feasts_ and _fasts_ of the church, and knows the _names_ of most men that have been eminent for piety. You never hear him swear, and when he talks of religion, he talks of it as a matter of great concern.

Here you see, that one person has religion enough, to be reckoned a _pious Christian_; and the other is so far from all appearance of religion, that he may fairly be reckoned a _Heathen_. And yet, if you look into their _common life_, if you examine their _ruling_ tempers in the greatest _articles_ of life, you will find the least difference imaginable. Consider them with regard to the use of the world, because that is what every body can see. Now, to have right _notions_ and _tempers_, with regard to the world, is as essential to religion, as to have right notions of God. And it is as possible for a man to worship a _Crocodile_, and yet be a _pious man_, as to have his affections set upon this world, and yet be a _good Christian_.

But now, if you consider _Leo_ and _Eusebius_ in this respect, you will find them exactly alike; seeking, using, and enjoying all that can be got in this world, in the same manner. You will find, _riches_, _prosperity_, _pleasures_, and _honour_, are just as much the happiness of _Eusebius_ as they are of _Leo_. And yet, if Christianity has not changed a man’s temper, with relation to these things, what has it done for him?

12. Every one capable of reflection, must have observed, that this is generally the state, even of devout people, whether _men_ or _women_. You may see them different from other people, as to _times_ and _places_ of prayer, but like the rest of the world in all the other parts of their lives; that is, adding _Christian_ devotion to an _Heathen_ life. I have the authority of our blessed Saviour for this remark, where he says, _Take no thought, saying, what shall we eat, or what shall we drink, or wherewithal shall we be cloathed? For after all these things do the Gentiles seek._ But if to be thus affected even with the necessary things of this life, shews that we are not of a _Christian spirit_, but an _Heathen_; surely, to enjoy the vanity of the world as they did, to be like them in the main tempers of our lives, in sensual pleasures and diversions, in the vanity of dress, the love of shew and greatness, or any other gaudy distinctions of fortune, is a much greater sign of an Heathen temper; and consequently, they who add devotion to such a life, must be said to _pray_ as _Christians_, but live as _Heathens_.

CHAP. II.

_An enquiry into the reason why the generality of |Christians|
fall so short of the holiness of Christianity._

1. IT may now be reasonably enquired, how it is, that the lives, even of the better sort of people, are thus strangely contrary to the principles of Christianity?

Before I give a direct answer, I desire it may be enquired, how it is, that _swearing_ is so common amongst Christians? It is indeed yet not so common amongst _women_, as amongst _men_; but among men this sin is so common, that perhaps there are more than two in three that are guilty of it through the whole course of their lives; swearing _more_ or _less_, just as it happens; some constantly, others only now and then. Now I ask how comes it, that two in three of men are guilty of so gross a sin as this is? There is neither ignorance nor human infirmity to plead for it: it is against an express commandment, and the most plain doctrine of our blessed Saviour.

Do but find the reason why the generality of men live in this notorious vice, and you will have found the reason, why the generality even of the better sort of people, live so contrary to Christianity.

2. *Now the reason of common swearing is this; it is because men have not so much as the _intention to please God in all their actions_. For, let a man but have so much piety as to _intend to please God in all the actions of his life, as the happiest and best thing in the world_, and then he will never swear more. It will be as impossible for him to swear, whilst he feels _this intention_ within himself, as it is impossible for a man that intends to please his prince, to go up and abuse him to his face.

3. It is but a small part of piety to have such an _intention_ as this; and he has no reason to look upon himself as a disciple of Christ, who is not this far advanced. And yet it is purely for want of this degree of piety, that you see such a mixture of sin and folly in the lives even of the better sort of people. It is for want of this _intention_, that you see men that profess religion, yet live in _swearing_ and _sensuality_; that you see _clergymen_ given to pride and covetousness, and worldly enjoyments. It is for want of this _intention_, that you see _women_ that profess devotion yet living in all the vanity and folly of _dress_, and wasting their time in _idleness_ and _pleasures_, in all such instances as their estates will reach. For, let but a woman feel her heart full of _this intention_, and she will find it as impossible to _patch_ or _paint_, as to curse or swear; she will no more desire to shine at _balls_ and _assemblies_, or make a figure amongst those that are most finely dressed, than she will desire to dance upon a _rope_ to please spectators: she will know, that the one is as far from the _wisdom_ and _excellency_ of the Christian spirit as the other.