Tl
Henry D. Bacon,
St. Louis, Mo,
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA.
G-IFT OF
HENRY DOUGLASS BACOX.
1877.
Accessions No. __ /*_4* _?_<?. Shelf No.
J
T II K
THE
WORKS
OF
WILLIAM PALEY, D.D.
H
ARCHDEACON OF CARLISLE.
CONTAINING
HIS LIFE, MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY, EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY
NATURAL THEOLOGY, TRACTS, HORJ2 PAULINA, CLERGYMAN'S
COMPANION, AND SERMONS,
PRINTED VERBATIM FROM THE ORIGINAL EDITIONS.
COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME.
THE
UNIVEESITY
PHILADELPHIA:
PUBLISHED BY J. J. WOODWARD, No. 13 MINOR STREET.
STEREOTYPED BY L. JOHNSON.
1831.
CONTENTS.
Page
LIFE OP THE AUTHOR Iz
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
DEDICATION
PREFACE
BOOK I.
PRELIMINARY CONSIDERATIONS.
CHAP. I. Definition and Use of the Science
II. The Law of Honour
III. The Law of the Land
IV. The Scriptures
V. The Moral Sense .
VI. Human Happiness
VII. Virtue . .
BOOK II.
MORAL OBLIGATIONS.
CHAP. I. The Question, Why am I obliged to keep
my word? considered . . .96
II. What we mean to say when a Man is
obliged to do a thing .... 37
III. The Question, Why am I obliged to keep
my word! resumed . . . . ib.
IV. The Will of God 38
V. The Divine Benevolence . . . ib.
VI. Utility 39
VII. The Necessity of General Rules ib.
VIII. The Consideration of General Con
sequences pursued ... 40
IX. Of Right 41
X. The Division of Rights ... 42
XI. The General Rights of Mankind . 43
BOOK III.
RELATIVE DUTIES.
PART L
Qf Relative Duties which are determinate.
CHAP. I. Of Property 45
II. The Use of the Institution of Property ib.
III. The History of Property ... 46
IV. In what the Right of Property is founded ib.
V. Promises 48
VI. Contracts 51
VII. Contracts of Sale . . . . ib.
VIII. Contracts of Hazard . . . .52
IX. Contracts of lending of inconsumable
Property 53
X. Contracts concerning the lending of
Money . . ib.
Page
CHAP. XI. Contracts of Labour Service . 55
XII. Contracts of Labour Commissions 56
XIII. Contracts of Labour Partnership 57
XIV. Contracts of Labour Offices . . ib.
XV. Lies 58
XVI. Oaths 59
XVII. Oath in Evidence .... 61
XVIII. Oath of Allegiance . . . ib.
XIX. Oath against Bribery in the Election
of Members of Parliament . . 62
XX. Oath against Simony . . . ib.
XXI. Oaths to observe Local Statutes . 63
XXII. Subscription to Articles of Religion ib.
XXIII. Wills 64
BOOK III.
PART II.
Of Relative Duties which are indeterminate.
CHAP. I. Charity . . .... 66
II. Charity The Treatment of our Domes-
tics and Dependants . . . . ib.
III. Slavery . . . ib.
IV. Charity Professional Assistance . 67
V. Charity Pecuniary Bounty . . .68
VI. Resentment 70
VII. Anger 71
VIII. Revenge ib.
IX. Duelling 73
X. Litigation 73
XI. Gratitude 74
XII. Slander 75
BOOK III.
PART III.
Of Relative Duties which result from the constitution of
the Sexes.
CHAP. I. Of the Public Use of Marriage InBtitu-
tions 75
II. Fornication 76
III. Seduction 77
IV. Adultery 78
V. Incest ' 79
VI. Polygamy 80
VII. Of Divorce 81
VIII. Marriage 83
IX. Of the Duty of Parents . . . 84
X. The Rights of Parents .... 88
XL The Duty of Children . . . . ib.
BOOK IV.
DUTIES TO OURSELVES.
CHAP. I. The Rights of Self-Defence
II. Drunkenness .
III. Suicide . .
iv
CONTENTS-
BOOK V.
DUTIES TOWARDS QOD.
Page
CHAP. I. Division of these Duties .... 94
II. Of the Duty and of the Efficacy of Prayer,
so far as the same appear from the
Light of Nature 95
III. Of the Duty and Efficacy of Prayer, as
represented in Scripture . . .96
IV. Of Private Prayer, Family Prayer, and
Public Worship 97
V. Of Forms of Prayer in Public Worship 99
VI. Of the Use of Sabbatical Institutions 101
VII. Of the Scripture Account of Sabbatical
Institutions 102
VIII. By what Acts and Omissions the
Duties of the Christian Sabbath is
violated 105
IX. Of Reverencing the Deity . .106
BOOK VI.
ELEMENTS OF POLITICAL KNOWLEDGE.
CHAP. I. Of the Origin of Civil Government
II. How Subjection to Civil Government is
maintained no
III. The Duty of Submission to Civil Go-
vernment explained .... Ill
IV. The Duty of Civil Obedience, as stated
in the Christian Scriptures . . .115
V. Of Civil Liberty in
VI. Of different Forms of Government . 119
VII. Of the British Constitution . .122
VIII. Of the Administration of Justice . 129
IX. Of Crimes and Punishments . .136
X. Of religious Establishments and of To-
leration 142
XI. Of Population and Provision ; and of
Agriculture and Commerce, as subser-
vient thereto 150
XII. Of War, and of Military Establish-
ments 160
HOR^E PAULENLE:
.OR,
THE TRUTH OF THE SCRIPTURE HISTORY OF ST. PAUL EVINCED.
CHAP. I. Exposition of the Argument .
II. The Epistle to the Romans .
III. The First Epistle to the Corinthians
IV. Second Epistle to the Corinthians
V. The Epistle to the Galatians
VI. The Epistle to the Ephesians
VII. The Epistle to the Philippians .
VIII. The Epistle to the Colossians .
Page
166
169
176
181
190
198
200
Page
CHAP. IX. The First Epistle to the Thessalonians 211
X. Second Epistle to the Thessalonians 214
XI. The First Epistle to Timothy
XII. The Second Epistle to Timothy .
XIII. The Epistle to Titus .
XIV. The Epistle to Philemon .
XV. The Subscriptions of the Epistles
XVI. The Conclusion .
216
218
221
223
224
THE CLERGYMAN'S COMPANION IN VISITING THE SICK.
THE MANNER OF VISITING THE SICK.
Page
SECT. I. The Assistance that is to be given to Sick
and Dying Persons by the Ministry of the Clergy 234
SECT. II. Rules for the Manner of visiting the Sick ib.
SECT. III. Of instructing the Sick Man in the Na-
ture of Repentance, and Confession of his Sins 235
Arguments and Exhortations to move the Sick
Man to Repentance and Confession of his Sins ib.
Arguments and general Heads of Discourse, by
way of Consideration, to awaken a stupid
Conscience, and the careless Sinner . .237
SECT. IV. Of applying spiritual Remedies to the
unreasonable Fears and Dejections of the Sick 238
Considerations to be offered to Persons under
Religious Melancholy 230
An Exercise against Despair .... 240
SECT. V. Considerations against Presumption . 241
The Order for the Visitation of the Sick . , 242
The Communion of the Sick . . . .244
Proper Collects that may be used with any of
the Prayers for the Sick 247
PRAYERS FOR THE SICK, VIZ.
A general Prayer for the Acceptance of our Devo-
tions for the Sick . 248
Particular Prayers for the Sick
A larger Form of Prayer for the Sick
Proper Psalms for the Sick
A Declaration of Forgiveness .
ib.
OCCASIONAL PRAYERS FOR THE SICK, VIZ,
A Prayer for a Person in the beginning of his Sick-
ness 250
For Thankfulness in Sickness . . . . ib.
For a blessing on the Means used for a Sick Per-
son's Recovery ib.
For a Sick Person, when there appears some Hope
of Recovery 251
In behalf of the Sick Person, when he finds any
Abatement of his Distemper . . . . ib.
For one who is dangerously ill .... ib.
For a Sick Person when Sickness continues long
upon him ........
For the Grace of Patience, and a suitable Behaviour
in a Sick Person to Friends and Attendants . 252
For Spiritual Improvement by Sickness . . ib.
For a Sick Person who is about to make his Will ib.
For a Sick Penitent ib
For a Sick Person who intends to receive the blsssed
Sacrament 253
For a Sick Person that wants Sleep . . .i.
ib.
CONTENTS.
To be said when the Sick Person grows light-headed 253
For a Person when Danger is apprehended by exces-
sive Sleep .254
For a Person lying insensible on a Sick-bed . ib.
For one who hath been a notoriously wicked Liver ib.
For one who is hardened and impenitent . 255
For a Sick Woman that is with Child . . ib.
For a Woman in the Time of her Travail . ib.
For a Woman who cannot be delivered without
Difficulty and Hazard 256
For Grace and Assistance for a Woman after De-
livery, but still in Danger ib.
For a Sick Child ib.
For a Person who, from a state of Health, is sud-
denly seized with the Symptoms of Death . . 257
For a Sick Person, when there appeareth small
Hope of Recovery ib.
A general Prayer for Preparation and Readiness
to die ib.
A commendatory Prayer for a Sick Person at the
point of Departure 258
A Litany for a Sick Person at the time of Departure ib.
Form of recommending the Soul to God, in her De-
parture from the Body ib.
A consolatory Form of Devotion that may be used
with the Friends or Relations of the Deceased . 259
OCCASIONAL PRAYERS AND DEVOTIONS FOR THE SICK AND
UNFORTUNATE IN EXTRAORDINARY CASES.
A Prayer for a Person whose Illness is chiefly
brought on him by some calamitous Disaster or
Loss, as of Estate, Relations, or Friends, &c. . 260
For a Person who, by any calamitous Disaster, hath
broken any of his Bones, or is very much bruised
and hurt in his body ib.
Paee
For a Person that is afflicted with grievous Pains
of his Body 260
For one who is troubled with acute Pains of the
Gout, Stone, Cholic, or any other bodily Dis-
temper 261
For a Person in the Small-Pox, or any such-like
raging infectious Disease ib.
For a Person in a Consumption, or any lingering
Disease ib.
For a Person who is lame in his Sickness . . ib.
For one that is Bed-ridden 262
For a Person troubled in Mind, or in Conscience . ib.
Another for the same, or for one under deep Melan-
choly and Dejection of Spirit . . . . ib.
For the same ib.
For one under fears and Doubts concerning his spi-
ritual Condition, or under perplexing Thoughts
and Scruples about his Duty .... 263
For one who is disturbed with wicked and blas-
phemous Thoughts ib.
For one who is afflicted with a profane Mistrust of
Divine Truths and blasphemous Thoughts . . ib.
For one under the dread of God's Wrath and ever-
lasting Damnation ib.
For a Lunatic ib.
For natural Fools or Madmen 264
Proper Psalms for a Sick Person at Sea . . . ib.
A Prayer for a Sick Seaman ib.
For a Sick Soldier or Seaman 265
A Prayer to be used by a Person afflicted with a
Distemper of long continuance . . . . ib.
A Prayer to be used on the Death of a Friend . 266
A Prayer to be used by a Person troubled in Mind ib.
A Prayer to be used by an Old Person . . . ib.
For a Person condemned to die . . . . ib.
A Prayer of Preparation for Death . . . .267
The Ministration of Public Baptism of Infants, to
be used in Churches . . ib.
The Ministration of Private Baptism of Children
in Houses . 269
A VIEW OF THE EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
Page
Preparatory Considerations. Of the antecedent
credibility of miracles 271
PART I.
Of THE DIRECT HISTORICAL EVIDENCE OF CHKISTIAlfIT7,
AND WHEREIN IT IS DISTINGUISHED FROM THE EVIDENCE
ALLEGED FOR OTHER MIRACLES.
Propositions stated 273
PROPOSITION I.
That there is satisfactory evidence that many, pro-
fessing to be original witnesses of the Christian
miracles, passed their lives in labours, dangers,
and sufferings, voluntarily undergone in attesta-
tion of the accounts which they delivered, and
solely in consequence of their belief of those ac-
counts; and that they also submitted, from the
same motives, to new rules of conduct . . 274
CHAP. I. Evidence of the sufferings of the first
propagators of Christianity, from the nature of the
case ib.
CHAP. II. Evidence of the sufferings of the first
propagators of Christianity, from Profane Testi-
mony 277
CHAP. III. Indirect evidence of the sufferings of
the first propagators of Christianity, from the
Scriptures and other ancient Christian writings . 279
CHAP. IV. Direct evidence of the same . . 280
Page
CHAP. V. Observations upon the preceding evi-
dence 284
CHAP. VI. That the story, for which the first pro-
pagators of Christianity suffered, was miraculous 286
CHAP. VII. That it was, in the main, the story
which we have now proved by indirect considera-
tions 287
CHAP. VIII. The same proved, from the authority
of our historical Scriptures 291
CHAP. IX. Of the authenticity of the historical
Scriptures, in eleven Sections . . . 295
SECT. I. Quotations of the historical Scriptures
by ancient Christian writers .... 297
SECT. II. Of the peculiar respect with which they
were quoted 304
SECT. III. The Scriptures were in very early times
collected into a distinct volume . . .306
SECT. IV. And distinguished by appropriate
names and titles of respect s . . . .307
SECT. V. Were publicly read and expounded in
the religious assemblies of the early Christians ib.
SECT. VI. Commentaries, &c. were anciently
written upon the Scriptures .... 308
SECT. VII. They were received by ancient Chris-
tians of different sects and persuasions . .310
SECT. VIII. The four Gospels, the Acts of the
Apostles, thirteen Epistles of St. Paul, the First
Epistle of John, and the first of Peter, were re-
ceived without doubt by those who doubted
concerning the other books of our present canon 312
SECT. IX. Our present Gospels were considered
by the adversaries of Christianity, a* contain-
CONTENTS.
Page
Ing the accounts upon which the religion was
founded 313
SECT. X. Formal catalogues of authentic Scrip-
tures were published, in all which our present
Sacred histories were included .... 315
SECT. XI The*' propositions cannot be predicated
of any of those books which are commonly call-
ed apocryphal books of the New Testament . ib.
CHAP. X. Recapitulation 317
Or THE DIRECT HISTORICAL EVIDENCE OP CHRISTIANITY.
PROPOSITION II.
CHAP. I. That there is NOT satisfactory evidence,
that personspretending to be original witnesses of
any other similar miracles, have acted in the same
manner, in attestation of the accounts which they
delivered, and solely in consequence of their be-
lief of the truth of those accounts . . .318
CHAP. II. Consideration of some specific instances 324
PART IT.
OF THE AUXILIARY EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
CHAP. I. Prophecy . . 326
CHAP. II. The Morality of the Gospel . . .329
CHAP. III. The Candour of the Writers of the New
Testament 338
Page
CHAP. IV. Identity of Christ's character . . 341
CHAP. V. Originality of our Saviour's character 345
CII.M 1 . VI. Conformity of the facts occasionally
mentioned or referred to in Scripture, with the
stati! of things in tliustj times. ;is represented by
foreign and independent accounts . . . ib.
CHAP. VII. Undesigned Coincidences . . .354
Cll.M'. VIII. Of the History of the Resurrection 355
CHAP. IX. The Propagation of Christianity . 356
SECT. II. Reflections upon the preceding Account 361
SECT. III. Of the religion of Mahomet . .363
PART III.
A BRIEF CONSIDERATION OF SOME POPULAR OBJECTIONS.
CHAP. I. The Discrepancies between the several
Gospels 367
CHAP. II. Erroneous Opinions imputed to the
Apostles . . . . . , . . .369
CHAP. III. The Connexion of Christianity with
the Jewish History 370
CHAP. IV. Rejection of Christianity . . .371
CHAP. V. That the Christian miracles are not re-
cited, or appealed to, by early Christian writers
themselves, so fully or frequently as might have
been expected 375
CHAP. VI. Want of universality in the knowledge
and reception of Christianity, and of greater
clearness in the evidence 377
CHAP. VII. The supposed Effects of Christianity 380
CHAP. VIII. The Conclusion 382
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
Pa
CHAP. 1. State of the Argument . . .
II. State of the Argument continued . . 389
III. Application of the Argument . .390
IV. Of the Succession of Plants and Ani-
mals ........ 396
V. Application of the Argument continued 397
VI. The Argument cumulative . . . 401
VII. Of the Mechanical and Immechanical
Parts and Functions of Animals and
Vegetables ...... ib.
VIII. Of Mechanical Arrangement in the
Human Frame ..... 404
Of the Bones .- . . . . ib.
Of the Joints ..... 407
IX. Of the Muscles ..... 410
X. Of the Vessels of Animal Bodies . .414
XL Of the Animal Structure regarded as a
Mass .... .421
CHAP. XII. Comparative Anatomy
XIII. Peculiar Organizations . . .431
XIV. Prospective Contrivances . . .433
XV. Relations 435
XVI. Compensation 438
XVII. The Relation of animated Bodies to
Inanimate Nature 440
XVIII. Of Instincts 442
XIX. Of Insects 446
XX. Of Plants 450
XXI. The Elements 455
XXII. Astronomy 456
XXIII. Of the Personality of the Deity . 462
XXIV. Of the Natural Attributes of the
Deity 468
XXV. Of the Unity of the Deity . . 469
XXVI. Of the Goodness of the Deity . . 470
XXVII. Conclusion 485
A DEFENCE OF THE CONSIDERATIONS ON THE PROPRIETY OF REQUIRING A
SUBSCRIPTION TO ARTICLES OF FAITH
REASONS FOR CONTENTMENT, ADDRESSED TO THE LABOURING PART OF THE
BRITISH PUBLIC . - 496
CONTENTS.
II
SERMONS ON PUBLIC OCCASIONS.
Page
8ERMON I. Caution recommended in the Use and
Application of Scriptural Language: A Ser-
mon, preached, July 17, 1777, in the Cathedral
Church of Carlisle, at the Visitation of the Right
Reverend Lord Bishop of Carlisle . . .500
ERMON II. Advice, addressed to the Young
Clergy of the Diocese of Carlisle, in a Sermon,
preached at a General Ordination, holden at Rose
Caftle, on Sunday, July 29, 1781 . . . .503
SERMON III. A Distinction of Orders in the
Church defended upon Principles of Public Uti-
lity, in a Sermon, preached in the Castle-Chapel,
Dublin, at the Consecration of John Law. D. D.
Lord Bishop of Clonfert and Kilmacdaugh, Sep-
tember 21, 1782 .507
SERMON IV. The Use and Propriety of local and * S *
occasional Preaching: A Charge, delivered to
the Clergy of the Diocese of Carlisle, in the year
1790 511
SERMON V. Dangers incidental to the Clerical
Character, stated, in a Sermon, preached before
the University of Cambridge, at Great St. Mary's
Church, on Sunday, July 5, being Commence-
ment Sunday 517
SERMON VI. A Sermon, preached at the Assizes,
at Durham, July 29, 1795; and published at the
request of the Lord Bishop, the Honourable the
Judges of Assize, and the Grand Jury . . . 521
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
Page
SERMON I. Seriousness in Religion indispensable
above all other Dispositions. Be ye therefore so-
ber, and watch unto prayer. 1 Pet. iv. 7. . . 5^5
SERMON II. Taste for Deootion.But the hour
cometh and now is, when the true worshippers
shall worship the Father in spirit and in truth;
for the Father seeketh such to worship him. God
is a spirit ; and they that worship him, must wor-
ship him in spirit and in truth. John iv. 23, 24. 530
SERMON III. The Loce of God. We love him, be-
cause he first loved us. John iv. 19. . . . 534
SERMON IV. Meditating upon Religion. Have I
not remembered thee in my bed; and thought
upon thee when I was waking? Psalm Ixiii. 7. 536
8EKMON V. Of the State after Death. Beloved,
now are we the sons of God; and it doth not yet
appear what we shall be; but we know that,
when he shall appear, we shall be like him ; for
we shall see him as he is. 1 John iii. 2. . . 538
SERMON VI. On Purity of the Heart and Affec-
tions. Beloved, now are we the sons of God ; and
it doth not yet appear what we shall be ; but we
know that, when he shall appear, we shall be like
him ; for we shall see him as he is. And every
man that hath this hope in him purifieth himself,
even as he is pure. 1 John iii. 2, 3. . . .540
SERMON VII. Of the Doctrine of Conversion. I
am not come to call the righteous, but sinners, to
repentance. Matthew ix. 13 542
SERMON VIII. Prayer in Imitation of Christ.
And he withdrew himself into the wilderness,
and prayed. Luke v. 16 546
SERMON IX. On Filial Piety. And Joseph nou-
rished his father, and his brethren, and all his
father's household, with bread, according to their
families. Genesis xlvii. 12. .... 547
SERMON X. (Part I) To think less of our Vir-
tues, and more of our Sins. My sin is ever before
me. Psalm li. 3 549
SERMON XI (Part II.) 552
SERMON XII. Salvation for Penitent Sinners.
Wherefore I say unto thee, Her sins, which are
many, are forgiven ; for she loved much. Luke
vii. 47 555
SERMON XIII. Sins of the Fathers upon the Chil-
dren. Thou shall not bow down thyself to them,
nor serve them ; for I the Lord thy God am a jea-
lous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon
the children unto the third and fourth generation
of them that hate me. Exodus xx. 5. . . .556
Page
SERMON XIV. How Virtue produces Belief, and
Vice Unbelief li any man will do His will, he
shall know of the doctrine, whether it be of God.
John vii. 17 558
SERMON XV. John's Message to Jesus. Now
when John had heard in prison the works of
Christ, he sent two of his disciples, and said unto
him, Art thou he that should come, or do we look
for another? Matt. xi. 2, 3 561
SERMON XVI. On Insensibility to Offences. Who
can tell how oft he offendeth ? O cleanse thou me
from my secret faults. Keep thy servant also
from presumptuous sins, lest they get the do-
minion over me. Psalm xix. 12, 13. . . .562
SERMON XVII. Serinusness of Heart as to Reli-
gion. But that on the good ground are they, who
in an honest and good heart, having heard the
word, keep it, and bring forth fruit with patience.
Luke viii. 15 564
SERMON XVIII. (Part I.) The Efficacy of the
death of Christ. Now once in the end of the
world hath he appeared to put away sin by the
sacrifice of himself. Hebrews ix. 26. . . .566
SERMON XIX. (Part II.) All stand in need of a
Redeemer 568
SERMON XX. The Efficacy of the Death of Christ
consistent with the necessity of a Good Life: the
one being the cause, the other the condition, of
Salvation. What shall we say then? shall we
continue in sin, that grace may abound? God
forbid. Romans vi. 1 570
SERMON XXI. Pure Religion. Pure religion and
undefiled before God and the Father is this, To
visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction,
and to keep himself unspotted from the world.
James i. 27. 572
SERMON XXII. The Agency of Jesus Christ since
his Ascension. Jesus Christ, the same yesterday,
to-day, and for ever. Hebrews xiii. 8. . . 574
SERMON XXIII. Of Spiritual Influence in gene-
ral. (Part I.) Know ye not that ye are the tem-
ple of God, and that the Spirit of God dwelleth in
you? ICor. iii. 16 578
SERMON XXIV. On the Influence of the Spirit.
(Part II.) 580
SERMON XXV. (Part III.) 582
SERMON XXVI. Sin encountered by Spiritual Aid.
(Part I.) O, wretched man that I am! who
shall deliver me from the body of this death ? Ro-
mans vii. 24 584
CONTENTS.
Page
BERMON XXVII. Eoil Propensities encountered by
theaidoftheSpirit.-(P3irtU.) . . . .586
SERMON XXVIII. The Mid of the Spirit to be
sought and preserved by Prayer. (Part III.) . 588
SERMON XXIX. The Destruction of the Canaan-
ites. So Joshua smote all the country of the
hills, and of the south, and of the vale, and of the
springs, and all their kings; he left none remain-
ing, but utterly destroyed all that breathed, as the
Lord God of Israel commanded. Joshua x. 40. 590
SERMON XXX. Neglect of Warnings Oh, that
they were wise, that they understood this, that
they would consider their latter end I Deut.
xxxii. 29 . 592
SERMON XXXI. The Terrors of the Lord. What
is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole
world, and lose his own soul ? or what shall a
man give in exchange for his soul ? Matt. xvi. 26. 594
45ERMON XXXII. Preservation and Recovery from
Page
Sin. For the grace of God, that bringeth salva-
tion, hath appeared unto all men, teaching us,
that denying ungodliness and worldly lusts, we
should live soberly, righteously, and godly, in
this present world. Titus ii. 11, 12. . . .596
SERMON XXXIII. This Life a State of Probation.
It is good for me that I have been afflicted,
that I might learn thy statutes. Psalm cxix. 71. 599
SERMON XXXIV. The Knowledge of one another
in a Future State. Whom we preach, warn-
ing every man, and teaching every man in all
wisdom, that we may present every man perfect
in Christ Jesus. Col. i. 28 601
SERMON XXXV. The General Resurrection.
The hour is coming, in the which all that are in
the graves shall hear his voice, and shall come
forth; they that have done good, unto the resur-
rection of life ; and they that have done evil, unto
the resurrection of damnation. John v. 28,29. 603
. =-9MT- .. .
THE
LIFE OF THE AUTHOR.
OP WILLIAM PALEY, whose writings have exerted no inconsiderable influence
on the moral and theological opinions of the more enlightened part of the
English community, no life has yet appeared that is worthy of the subject, or that
gives us a full and satisfactory insight into his character. Though he was known
to so many scholars, and had enjoyed a rather enlarged intercourse with the world,
but few particulars of his conduct, his manners, and habits, have been detailed,
and but few of his sayings recorded. Yet there are few men whose conversation
was more varied and instructive; and as he always expressed himself with
cogency and perspicuity, our regret is increased that we possess such scanty de-
tails of his familiar hours, when the internal state of his mind was exhibited with-
out disguise, when he spoke what he felt, and felt what he spoke.
The best account of Mr. Paley's life, with which we have been hitherto fa-
voured, is by Mr. Meadley, who had not known him till late in life ; and who,
if he had known him longer and earlier, was hardly capable of analysing his mind,
or of estimating his character. Mr. Meadley was a man neither of very enlarged
mind, very refined taste, nor very ample information. What he knew, he could
relate ; but he did not know enough to enable him to give much vivacity to his
narrative, or to exhibit in his memoirs the living identity of the writer to whom
we are indebted for some of the best moral and theological productions of the
last century.
But whatever may be the scantiness of Mr. Meadley's information, his narrative
is the most copious which we possess ; and as we are not likely soon to be fur-
nished with a richer store, we must he contented with taking his memoirs for
our principal guide in the present biographical sketch. We make no boast of
novelty. All that we can do is to give a new form to old materials.
William Paley was born at Petersborough, in July 1743. His father was a
minor canon in that cathedral ; but he relinquished this situation upon being ap-
pointeo^Tiea^-master of the grammar school at Giggleswick, in Craven, in the
West Riding of Yorkshire. Here the family had long resided on a small patri-
monial estate. His mother is described as a woman of strong and active mind.
At school young Paley soon surpassed the other boys of his age, by superior dili-
gence and abilities. A mind, like his, could not but profit of the opportunities
which he possessed for acquiring classical knowledge ; but he appears to have
been at all times more ambitious of enriching himself with knowledge of other
kinds. He was curious in making inquiries about mechanism, whenever an op-
portunity occurred. His mind was naturally contemplative ; and he mingled in-
tellectual activity with corporeal indolence. He never excelled in any of those
boyish pastimes which require much dexterity of hand or celerity of foot. But
B 9
THE LIFE OF THE AUTHOR.
he appears to have imbibed an early taste for the amusement of fishing ; and this
taste remained unimpaired, or rather invigorated, to a late period of his life. In
one of his portraits he is represented with a fishing rod and line. His cheerful-
ness and drollery are said to have made him a favourite with his school-fellows.
Before he left school he one year attended the assizes at Lancaster, where he is
said to have been so much interested by the judicial proceedings he had witness-
ed, that he introduced them into his juvenile games, and presided over the trials
of the other boys.
In November 1758, Paley was admitted a sizer of Christ's College, Cambridge.
He proceeded to the University on horseback, in company with his father ; and
in after-life he thus described the disasters that befell him on the way.
" I was never a good horseman," said he, " and when I followed my father on
a pony of my own, on my first journey to Cambridge, I fell off seven times : I was
lighter then than I am now ; and my falls were not likely to be serious : My fa-
ther, on hearing a thump, would turn his head half aside, and say Take care of
thy money, lad."
Young Paley did not become a resident member in the University till the Oc-
tober in the year after his matriculation. His father is said to have anticipated
his future eminence, and to have remarked, with parental delight, the force and
clearness of his intellectual operations.
Mr. Paley took with him to the University such a considerable share of mathe-
matical science, that the mathematical tutor, Mr. Shepherd, excused his atten-
dance at the college lectures with the students of his own year. But he was re-
gularly present at Mr. Backhouse's lectures in logic and metaphysics.
Whatever might be his assiduity in those studies which the discipline of the
University required, he had little of the appearance, and none of the affectation,
of a hard student. His room was the common resort of the juvenile loungers of
his time ; but it must be remembered that Mr. Paley possessed the highly desirable
power of concentrating his attention in the subject before him ; and that he could
read or meditate in the midst of noise and tumult with as much facility as if he
had been alone. During the first period of his undergraduateship, he was in the
habit of remaining in bed till a late hour in the morning, and as he was much in
company during the latter part of the day, many wondered how he found leisure
for making the requisite accession to his literary stores.
But the mind of Paley was so formed that, hi reading, he could rapidly select
the kernel and throw away the husk. By a certain quick and almost intuitive
process, he discriminated between the essential, and the extraneous matter that
were presented to his mind in the books that he perused ; and, if he did not read
BO much as many, he retained more of what he read.
The hilarity and drollery, which Mr. Paley had manifested at school, did not
desert him when he entered the University. Thus his company was much sought ;
and the cumbrousness of his manner, and the general slovenliness of his apparel,
perhaps contributed to increase the effect of his jocularity.
When he made his first appearance in the schools, he surprised the spectators
by a style of dress, very different from his ordinary habiliments. He exhibited
his hair full dressed, with a deep ruffled shirt, and new silk stockings.
When Paley kept his first act, one of the theses in support of which he pro-
posed to dispute was, that the eternity of punishments is contrary to the Divine
Attributes. But finding that this topic would give offence to the master of his
THE LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. xi
college, (Dr. Thomas,) he went to Dr. Watson, the moderator, to get it changed.
Dr. Watson told him that he might put in non before contradicit. Mr. Paley,
therefore, defended this position, that " JEternitas prenarum non contradicit Di-
vinis Attributis," or that the eternity of punishments is not contrary to the Divine
Attributes. As he had first proposed to argue against the eternity of future
punishments, we may suppose that that was his undissembled opinion ; and there-
fore, it would have been more honourable to his candour, to have taken an en-
tirely new question, rather than to have argued in opposition to his real senti-
ments. Through the whole course of his life, Dr. Paley seemed too willing to
support established doctrines ; and to find plausible reasons for existing institu-
tions ; even in cases in which he must have felt those doctrines to be at variance
with truth, and those institutions in opposition to the best interests of mankind.
His great and vigorous mind ought to have disdained the petty subterfuges of
disingenuous subtlety, and interested sophistication.
Mr. Paley acquired no small celebrity in the University by the ability which
he displayed in keeping his first act ; and the schools were afterward uniformly
crowded when he was expected to dispute. He took his degree of bachelor of
arts, in January 1763 ; and was the senior wrangler of the year.
After taking his bachelor's degree, he became second usher in an academy at
Greenwich. Here his office was to teach the Latin language. During his lei-
sure hours he often visited London, and rambled about the metropolis, which af-
fords such numerous opportunities for edifying contemplation to an active and
discriminating mind. He pursued knowledge and amusement with equal, or
nearly equal, eagerness and avidity. The mind cannot always be kept upon the
stretch ; and those minds which are capable of great intensity of exertion, seem
most to require proportionate relaxation. One of the characteristics of a great
mind, is flexibility of attention to a diversity of objects. Mr. Paley attended the
play-houses and the courts of justice with similar delight. Every scene furnish-
ed him with intellectual aliment.
In 1765, Mr. Paley obtained one of the prizes, which are annually given by
the members of the University for the two best dissertations in Latin prose. The
subject was, " A Comparison between the Stoic and Epicurean philosophy with
respect to the influence of each on the morals of the people." Mr. Paley vindi-
cated the Epicurean side of the question. He had afterward to read his disser-
tation in the senate-house before the University. His delivery is reported not
to have done justice to the merits of the composition.
In June 1766, Mr. Paley was elected fellow of Christ's College. This oc-
casioned his return to the University, where he soon became one of the tutors of
his college. Tuition was a province, in which his clear and vigorous under-
standing, the lucid perspicuity with which he could develope his ideas, and the
diversified modes in which he could illustrate his positions, combined with no
small share of hilarity and good-humour, rendered him peculiarly qualified to
excel. Mr. Law, son of the master of Peterhouse, was his coadjutor in the busi-
ness of tuition ; and the union of so much ability soon raised the fame of the
college to an unusual height. The intimacy which was thus cemented between
Mr. Paley and Mr. Law, contributed to promote the interest of our author by the
friendship to which it led with Mr. Law's father ; who, on his elevation to the
see of Carlisle, in 1769, made Mr. Paley his chaplain.
In his province of tutor to Christ's College, Mr. Paley lectured on metaphysics,
xii THE LIFE OF THE AUTHOR.
morals, the Greek Testament, and, subsequently, on divinity. The whole sub.
stance of his moral instructions is contained in his Principles of Moral and Po-
litical Philosophy ; and it is well known that hardly a single idea has found its
way into his subsequent publications, which he had not previously promulgated
in his lectures.
In his theological lectures, he very judiciously avoided, as much as possible
all matter of polemical strife or sectarian animosity. He used to consider the
thirty-nine articles of religion, as mere articles of peace, of which it was impossi-
ble that the framers could expect any one person to believe the whole, as they
contain altogether about two hundred and forty distinct, and many of them incon-
sistent, propositions.^
Notwithstanding the great liberality of opinion which Mr. Paley exhibited in
his lectures, and constantly inculcated upon his pupils, he refused to sign the
clerical petition to the House of Commons in 1772, for a relief from subscription
to articles of religion, though he approved the object of the petition, and wished
to see it accomplished. Ought he not then to have given the petition the sane-
tion of his name ? On this occasion he is reported to have said, " I cannot af-
ford to have a conscience /" but no serious stress ought to be laid on such effu-
sions of jocularity or inconsideration. If all a man's light, humorous, or inad-
vertent sayings were to be brought up in judgment against him, the purest virtue,
arid the brightest wisdom, would hardly be able to endure the ordeal. The best
and the wisest men are often remarkable for particular inconsistencies.
Though Mr. Paley refused to lend his name to the clerical petition, yet he ap-
pears afterward to have vindicated the object which it proposed to obtain, in the
defence of a pamphlet written by Bishop Law, entitled, " Considerations on the
propriety of requiring a subscription to Articles of Faith." The defence which
is just mentioned has been uniformly ascribed to Mr. Paley : and though it must
be reckoned among his more juvenile performances, yet it must be allowed, in
many instances, to have exhibited a display of ability, and a force of argument,
worthy of his more improved judgment, and his more matured abilities.
While Paley was engaged in the office of tuition at Christ's College, his cele-
brity induced the late Earl Camden to offer him the situation of private tutor to
his son. But this was incompatible with his other occupations, and was accord-
ingly declined.
In 1775, Mr. Paley began to receive solid proofs of Bishop Law's regard.
The ecclesiastical patronage, which is attached to the see of Carlisle, is very
scanty and poor ; but after providing for his son, Bishop Law conferred upon
Paley the best benefices which he had to bestow. He was collated to the rec-
tory of Musgrove in Westmoreland, which was at that time worth about 80
a-year. He was soon after presented to the vicarage of Dalston in Cumberland :
and on the 5th of September, 1777, he resigned the rectory of Musgrove upon
being inducted to the more valuable benefice of Appleby. Whilst he was in
possession of this benefice, he published a little work, denominated " The Clergy-
man's Companion in Visiting the Sick." Such a book was much wanted ; and as
it contains a judicious selection of prayers for different occasions, it has supplied
the clergy with a very useful auxiliary in their devotional occupations.
In 1780, Paley was preferred by his patron, Bishop Law, to a prebendal stall
in the cathedral of Carlisle, which was worth about four hundred pounds a-year.
And in August, 1782, he was appointed Archdeacon of Carlisle, a sort of sine-
\
THE LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. xiii
cure, but by which his clerical dignity was increased, and his temporal income
enlarged.
In 1785, the period arrived when Mr. Paley, who had hitherto published only
a pamphlet, or a few occasional sermons, was to appear as an author in a larger
and more substantial form. It was in this year that his Principles of Moral and
Political Philosophy issued from the press. This work soon experienced a de-
gree of success, not indeed greater than its general excellence deserves, but
greater than any work of merit, on its first appearance, usually receives. In this
most useful production Paley exhibits no dazzling novelties, and makes no parade
of new discoveries ; for what that is new, was likely to be said on such a subject,
of which the great principles are coeval with the existence of man upon the
habitable globe ? But though the matter, of which this work consists, is so old,
and has so often been fabricated into a diversity of forms by other writers, yet
the capacious mind of Paley has formed it anew into a system in which there is
so much clearness in the arrangement, so much cogency in the reasoning, and so
much precision in the language, that there is no moral treatise by which it is sur-
passed in the great merit of general usefulness. Mr. Paley did not make his
materials ; he found them already made ; but his own hands raised the fabric ;
and of that fabric the merit is all his own.
Some few parts of Mr. Paley's moral, and more of his political reasoning are
liable to objections ; but with all its defects, his " Moral and Political Philosophy'*
constitutes a valuable addition to that department of our literature. As it forms
one of the lecture books for the students in the University of Cambridge, this
circumstance must have tended greatly to augment its circulation, and to extend
its usefulness.
In addition to his other honours and emoluments in the see of Carlisle, Mr.
Paley was, at the end of the year 1785, appointed chancellor of that diocese. In
the year 1787, he lost his venerable friend and patron, the Bishop of Carlisle,
who died on the 14th of August, at the advanced age of eighty-four. Bishop Law
was an honest and intrepid inquirer after truth ; and though he was inferior to his
younger friend in intellectual energy, yet it would have made no small addition
to Paley's fame, if he had equalled his affectionate and revered patron in the fear-
less declaration of all his theological opinions.
It is highly honourable to Paley that he was among the first of those, who ex-
pressed a decided opinion against the iniquity of the slave-trade. What he wrote
on that subject, and particularly his unreserved reprobation of the abominable
traffic, in his Moral Philosophy, contributed very much to accelerate the abolition.
It was, for a long time, a mere question of interest with a considerable part of
the community ; but moral considerations, in unison with the amiable spirit of the
gospel, and the tender sympathies of humanity, at length triumphed over the sor-
did projects of avarice and cruelty.
Mr. Paley, much to his honour, suggested a plan for promoting the civiliza-
tion of Africa, and for making some restitution to that outraged continent, for
the cruelty, the injustice, and the oppression, which it had so long experienced.
He proposed to export from the United States of America several little colonies
of free Negroes, and t<J settle them in different parts of Africa, that they might
serve as patterns of more civilized life to the natives in their several vicinities.
In the year 1790, Mr. Paley published his Hora3 PaulinaB, in which he ap-
pears to have displayed more originality of thought, more sagacity of remark, and
2
xiv THE LIFE OF THE AUTHOR.
more delicacy of discrimination, than in any of his other works. The great ob-
ject of this volume is to illustrate and enforce the credibility of the Christian
revelation, by showing the numerous coincidences between the Epistles of Paul
and the Acts of the Apostles. These coincidences, which are often incorporated
or intertwined in references and allusions, in which no art can be discovered,
and no contrivance traced, furnish numerous proofs of the truth of both these
works, and consequently of that of Christianity. The Epistles of Paul and the
Acts of the Apostles mutually strengthen each other's credibility ; and Mr. Paley
has shown, in the clearest manner, how one borrows light from the other; and
how both conjunctively reflect the splendour of their united evidence on some
of the principal facts and most important truths in the memoirs of the Evan-
gelists.
Some of the coincidences which Mr. Paley discovers, seem too minute for com-
mon observation ; but his remarks show their importance, while they evince the
keenness of his intellectual sight. The merit of this performance, though it has
been generally acknowledged both at home and abroad, is even yet greater than
the celebrity it has acquired, or the praise it has received.
In 1790, Mr. Paley delivered an excellent charge to the clergy of the diocese
of Carlisle, in which he forcibly recommended them to imitate the example of
Christ, in the adaptation of their sermons to local circumstances, to times and
seasons, and to the general state of mind in their several congregations. Much
of the efficacy of preaching depends upon the observance of this rule.
In May 1791, Mr. Paley had the misfortune to be left a widower, with four sons
and four daughters. In the following year, the dean and chapter of Carlisle ad-
ded the vicarage of Addingham, near Great Salkeld, to his other ecclesiastical
preferments. In the same year he published his Reasons for Contentment, which
he addressed to the labouring classes of society. This work appeared at a time
when the principles of the French revolution had been widely disseminated, and
when the richer part of the community, terrified almost into idiocy by the wild
alarms of Burke, and the sonorous declamations of Pitt, trembled with a sort of
paralytic horror for the security of their property. They fondly imagined, that
it was the great object of the poorer class of reformers to divide the possessions
of the rich ; and thus to attempt not merely to establish a political equality of
rights, but a substantial equality of fortunes. Some few fanatics might have
cherished such a delusion, and might have entertained such a wish, without be-
ing aware that it was only one of those frantic chimeras of a distempered brain
which could never be accomplished. Inequality in the mental and physical pow-
ers of individuals is the order of nature, or rather the appointment of God ; and
consequently no equality of circumstances is ever possible to be realised. If it
could be established to-day, it would be altered to-morrow.
It is hardly to be supposed that Mr. Paley really believed that a large body of
the people ever designed to equalize, or had actually conspired to equalize, the
whole mass of private property, and thus subvert the foundations of the social
scheme by establishing a community of goods. But, whatever might be Mr.
Paley's real opinions on the political temper of the times, and on the perils to
which rank and property seemed exposed, this pamphlet, which he addressed to
the labouring classes, proves, that he had placed himself on the list of the alarm-
ists of that stormy period. Was Mr. Paley anxious to rest the permanence of
his future fame on his larger works, while he made use of this trivial pamphlet
THE LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. xv
to procure an ephemeral applause ? or, did he deliberately labour to accomplish
some secular project by seconding the wishes of the court, and promoting the
views of the minister 1 If the real object of Mr. Paley, in writing this two-penny
political pamphlet, which consists of some common-place truisms, clearly develop-
ed and forcibly expressed, were to place a mitre upon his brow, the attempt pro-
ved abortive, and the wish vain. Mr. Pitt was, no doubt, pleased in seeing a
great mind like that of Paley bending to act in subserviency to his will, and co-
operating in augmenting the delusion under which the nation was at that time
mistaking its bane for its good, and pursuing its ruin for its interest. But though
Mr. Pitt loved and rewarded flexibility of opinion, it is well known that he loved
and rewarded it most, where it was accompanied with mediocrity of talent. The
haughty premier, in his treatment both of Watson and Paley, showed, that he had
no fondness for intellectual superiority ; and he seems to have been particularly
studious not to elevate any mind that might wrestle with his own.
In 1793, Mr. Paley vacated the benefice of Dalston, and was inducted to that
of Stanwix, which was more in the vicinity of Carlisle. He assigned the follow-
ing reasons to a clerical friend for assenting to this change : " First, (said he,)
it saved me double housekeeping, as Stanwix was within twenty minutes' walk
of my house in Carlisle ; secondly, it was fifty pounds a year more in value ; and,
thirdly, I began to find my stock of sermons coming over again too fast."
The most popular of Mr. Paley's theological works appeared in the year 1794,
under the title of a " View of the Evidences of Christianity." The author show-
ed great wisdom in not mingling any controversial ingredients in the body of
this work, and in not connecting the facts of the Christian Scriptures with any
doctrinal matter of doubtful authority or ambiguous interpretation. He has thus
added very much to the usefulness of his labours, and has rendered them accept-
able to a greater number of readers. If he has not silenced every gainsayer, or
converted every infidel, he has at least established many in the faith, and has in-
duced some to study the evidences of revelation, who were previously disposed
to reject it without examination. Mr. Paley is less compressed than Grotius, and
less diffuse than Lardner ; but he is more convincing than either, and more lumin-
ous than both. His reasoning is every where remarkable for its cogency, and
his statement for its perspicuity. There are several works which evince more
research, but there are none so well calculated for general perusal, and, conse
quently, general utility.
Mr. Paley was, in a pecuniary point of view, better rewarded for his Evidences
of Christianity than for any of his other works. The minister of the day, indeed,
showed no willingness to put a mitre on his head, but three bishops seemed to
vie with each other in remunerating him for his labours in vindicating the truth
of the Scriptures, and serving the cause of the church. The then bishop of Lon-
don, Porteus, gave him a prebendal stall in St. Paul's. The bishop of Lincoln
made him the subdean of that diocese ; and the bishop of Durham presented him
with the valuable living of Bishop Wearmouth. These several pieces of prefer-
ment amounted to considerably more than two thousand pounds a-y ear. It would
be well for the church, if the episcopal patronage were always equally well be-
stowed, or if it were always made equally subservient to the remuneration of
learning, to the cause of piety, and the interests of truth. After being installed
as subdean of Lincoln, Mr. Paley proceeded to Cambridge to take his degree of
Doctor of Divinity. In the Concio ad clerum which he preached on the occasion,
xvi THE LIFE OF THE AUTHOR.
he unfortunately pronounced the word profugus, profugus, which was noticed by
one of the University wits in the following epigram :
Italiam fato profugus Lavinaque venit
Litora
Errat Virgilius, forte profugus erat.
Neither Paley nor Watson, both of whom had received their classical instruc-
tion at private schools in the country, ever attained to an accurate knowledge of
quantity, or to a familiar acquaintance with the rules of prosody. Watson says,
that it often cost him more pains to recollect the right quantity of a few Latin
words than to solve a difficult problem in mathematics. But both Paley and
Watson aspired to higher intellectual excellence than that of classical erudition.
Paley was, indeed, by no means deficient in Greek or Roman literature. He
had enough for his purpose, but he had no superfluity.
Of Mr. Paley's occasional sermons, not the least memorable is that which he
preached before the University of Cambridge, when he returned thither for the
purpose of completing the exercises for his doctor's degree. In this discourse he
expatiates with much force of expression and shrewdness of remark on the dan-
gers incidental to the clerical character. He shows how the constant repetition
of the same devotional labours is apt to diminish the sensibility to religious im-
pressions ; and he notices, with great truth, the moral perils to which even a
secluded and contemplative life is exposed. The clergy are earnestly admonish-
ed, that it is their duty to make their own devotion contribute to augment that
of their congregation, while it is instrumental in improving their own hearts, and
saving their own souls.
At Bishop Wearmouth, where Dr. Paley fixed his residence in 1795, he found
one of the best parsonage houses in the kingdom, and associated with every ac-
commodation which he could desire. In order to avoid all dissension with his
parishioners, he granted them a lease of the tithes for his life. In his Moral
Philosophy he had represented tithes as injurious to cultivation and improve-
ment ; and he now acted, as far as circumstances would permit, in conformity to
his opinions. As the produce of land was considerably augmented in price soon
after this period, and the value of landed property in general experienced an ex-
traordinary advance, Dr. Paley's tenants had reason to congratulate themselves on
the good bargains they had made, and to extol his forbearance and moderation.
The growing prosperity of his parishioners and his tenants was a source of un-
feigned satisfaction to Dr. Paley ; and he never regretted the opportunities of
gain which he had lost, or by which they had been enriched. It seems to mani-
fest a higher degree of virtue cordially to rejoice at the prosperity of others, than
to sympathise with their adversities and sufferings.
In December 1795, Dr. Paley took for his second wife a Miss Dobinson, of
Carlisle, whose friendship he had long enjoyed, and whose worth he had long
known. His office of subdean of Lincoln obliged him to reside in that city for
three months in the beginning of the year ; and he accordingly now divided his
time between Lincoln and Bishop Wearmouth. At both places he maintained
the relations of social intercourse with his neighbours without any affectation of
superiority ; and practised the rights of hospitality without any ostentation. He
did not disdain the amusement of the card-table, and was partial to a game at
THE LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. xvii
whist. When a lady once remarked to him, " that the only excuse for their play-
ing was, that it served to kill time :" " The best defence possible (replied he,)
though time will, in the end, kill us." Dr. Paley possessed as much of what the
French call " savoir vivre" as most men. He knew how to make the most 6f
life, with all its diversified concomitants ; and there were few even of its less
pleasurable accessories from which he knew not how to extract some lesson of
usefulness, or some particles of enjoyment.
In order to enlarge his sphere of doing good, and to comply with the wishes of
the Bishop of Durham, Dr. Paley consented to act in the commission of the
peace. Mr. Meadley has informed us, that in discharging these functions, he
was blamed for his irascibility and impatience. No ordinary tranquillity of mind
is requisite in investigating the wants, ascertaining the claims, or composing the
bickerings, of the poor.
Dr. Paley enjoyed the singular happiness of having his parents live to witness
his celebrity, and to rejoice at his success. His mother did not die till March
1796, at the age of eighty-three ; and his father survived her till September 1799,
when he reached the more advanced period of eighty-eight.
In 1800, Dr. Paley experienced a violent paroxysm of some nephralgic com-
plaint, which returned with increased exacerbations during the next and the fol-
lowing year, and by which he was agonised for longer or shorter intervals during
the remainder of his life. His last, and, perhaps, greatest work, entitled " Natu-
ral Theology," was principally composed during the period in which he was sub-
ject to attacks of this terrible malady. These attacks must occasionally have
impeded the progress of the work ; but it is probable that he had been long previ-
ously revolving the materials in his mind. In this, as well as in his other publica-
tions, he has made large use of the labours of others ; but he has illuminated
what they left obscure, enriched what was jejune, amplified what was scanty, in-
vigorated what was weak, and condensed what was diffuse. The proofs which
he adduces of the Divine Attributes, are clear and cogent, and calculated to carry
conviction to every capacity. These proofs are not so arranged as to distract by
the multiplicity of the parts, or to confound by the enormity of the mass. They
consist of a few simple expositions, but of such a nature as to interest every
reader, and to edify both the young and the old in the prosecution of the argu-
ment. Natural theology can never be dull or uninteresting when it is occupied
in illustrating the perfections of the Deity by his works, and does not diverge
into the subtleties of metaphysics, or lose itself in the labyrinths of interminable
speculation.
Dr. Paley was never more at home than in the composition of this work. The
materials, with which he was furnished by what he had read, and by what he had
observed, were so various and ample, that it was more difficult for him to select
than to amplify, to methodise than to vary, and to compress than to dilate.
Though the proofs of the Divine power and wisdom are so many, so vast, and so
luminous, that they hardly need any explanation, yet there is no one who can
peruse the demonstrative evidence which Dr. Paley has produced of these attri-
butes, without being more deeply impressed with the sentiment of their presence
than he was before.
The chapter on the Divine Goodness, though it evinces strong marks of the
same unclouded and powerful intellect that predominates in other parts of the
work, is perhaps upon the whole less copious and satisfactory than the rest. The
C 2*
xviii THE LIFE OF THE AUTHOR.
evidence in this division of the subject is, in fact, more perplexed by conflicting
arguments, and more exposed to contradictory conclusions. Dr. Paley has well
remarked, that when we consider the benevolence of the Deity, we can consider
it only in relation to sensitive beings. Without this reference the term has no
meaning; for it would .otherwise be without any medium through which it could
operate, by which its influence could be felt, or its presence ascertained. Gross
matter, as long as it remains inanimate and insentient, can never be an object of
good or evil, of pleasure or of pain. It is alike unconscious of the one and the
other. But, while the arguments for the power and wisdom of the Deity are so
completely satisfactory as not to leave a doubt upon the mind, yet there are vari-
ous appearances which seem hardly compatible with the idea of unlimited benevo-
lence, and which it is difficult to accord with that supposition, except by travel-
ling out of this visible diurnal sphere, and connecting the present life with a life
beyond the grave. That the plurality and the preponderance of sensations in all
the different classes of beings is in favour of happiness, cannot reasonably be
denied ; but if pain and misery are the lot of many, or only of a few, for a whole
life, or even for short intervals, the argument recurs, how is this partial or tem-
porary suffering to be reconciled to the theory of Infinite Benevolence? If pain
and misery exist in instances collectively numerous, or in portions however
minute, yet vast in the aggregate, how is this to be reconciled with the attribute
of Unbounded Goodness, unless we connect an eternity of existence with the
present transient scene ? If evil exists, it is hardly a satisfactory solution of the
difficulty to say, that it is not an object of contrivance, when the world is so con-
stituted that it is more or less one of the ingredients, or accessories, in the con-
dition of all sensitive beings. If the evil is not a part of the original intent, it
seems an adjunct that cannot be disjoined from the present scheme ; and if it be
an adjunct of the present scheme, that scheme cannot be said to be a proof of
Infinite Benevolence, unless we consider it only as part of a greater whole, and
infer that the present is only the commencement of our sensitive and reflective
existence.
In the works of human genius or industry, the object of the contrivance may
differ from the effect, owing to the imperfection of the human faculties ; but
when we consider the operations of the Divine Mind, we cannot separate the ob-
ject and the end ; or say that one thing was designed and another produced, with-
out impeaching the Supreme Power of weakness, or the Supreme Intellect of in-
consistency. If in any particular contrivances in the creation, good was the
object while evil is the result, can we reverentially affirm, that God willed one
thing, but that a different was produced ? If God is the author of all things, the
evil must be regarded as much his contrivance as the good. If God made the
teeth, he made them to ache as well as to masticate. The good of mastication
is the principal object of the contrivance, but is not the evil of aching the occa-
sional effect? In considering the sensitive works of the Great Creator in the
present world, all that we can truly say is, that good, or pleasure, is the PREDOMI-
NANT design, the primary object, but that evil, or pain, is one of the concomitant
effects, or subordinate accessories. There is too much good in the world to ad-
mit the supposition of malevolence in the Great Author of the scheme ; and there
is too much evil not to lead us to expect a state of future retribution. Those
phenomena in the present state of things, which militate against the theory of
Infinite Benevolence, appear to be only presages of the good that is to come. If
THE LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. xix
the good even here greatly predominates over the evil, it is reasonable to infer,
that in some future period the evil will disappear, and the Divine Benevolence
be resplendent, without any apparent spot or limitation, in the condition of every
individual.
In the commencement of the year 1805, while Dr. Paley was resident at
Lincoln, he experienced a violent paroxysm of his agonising malady, which
could not be appeased by the usual remedies ; and symptoms appeared that his
end was approaching. He languished, however, in a state of debility and dis-
ease, till the period of his return to Bishop Wearmouth, where he expired on the
25th of May. His mental faculties suffered little, if any, diminution to the last
moment of his existence ; but if his intellectual vision underwent no eclipse, his
corporeal sight is said to have failed for a few days before his death.
It cannot be said of Dr. Paley that he lived in vain ! His was a mind of great
powers ; and in general he employed it for the noblest ends. He was particular-
ly active in diffusing that knowledge which tends most to exalt the dignity, of
man ; and raise him highest in the scale of virtue and intelligence. His moral
and theological works reflect the highest honour on his memory ; and if he be-
trayed a little seeming political versatility in smaller and more ephemeral pro-
ductions, we may find some apology for his inconsistency in the times in which
he lived ; in his solicitude for the welfare of a large family ; and in circumstances
of which few have sufficient energy to control the agency or to resist the influ-
ence.
In person, Dr. Paley was above the middle size, and latterly inclined to corpu-
lence. The best likeness of him is by Romney, in which he is drawn with a
fishing-rod in his hand. As in his domestic arrangements, and in his general
habits of expense, he practised what may be called an enlightened economy, and
observed a due medium between parsimony and profusion, his income was more
than adequate to all his wants ; and he left his family in easy if not in affluent
circumstances.
A volume of sermons was published after the death of Dr. Paley, which he
left by his will to be distributed among his parishioners. In clearness of expres-
sion, in harmony of style, and in force of moral sentiment, some parts of these
sermons are equal if not superior to any of his other works. In the pulpit he
was one of those preachers who excelled in bringing the most important truths
home to men's interests and bosoms. Though a few will rejoice, yet the majority
of readers will lament, that in these sermons the author has abandoned his usual
reserve with respect to certain doctrinal matters, which it is more easy to find
in the liturgy and the articles of the church, than in the precepts of Christ, or
the writings of the Evangelists. Those doctrines which tend only to engender
strife and to produce vain logomachies, would always be better omitted in the
pulpit ; and it is greatly to be deplored that in these sermons Dr. Paley has sanc-
tioned their introduction. The great end of the commandment is charity ; but
can these doctrines conduce to that end ? If this question had been proposed to
Dr. Paley, it is not difficult to conjecture what would have been his reply, if that
reply had been in unison with his unsophisticated sentiments.
The reader will perhaps not be displeased, if we add to this biographical sketch
of Dr. Paley the following interesting anecdote, which he related to a friend at
Cambridge, in the year 1795, while they were conversing on the early part of his
academical life.
K THE LIFE OF THE AUTHOR.
" I spent the first two years of my undergraduateship," said he, " happily, but
unprofitably. I was constantly in society, where we were not immoral, but idle,
and rather expensive. At the commencement of my third year, however, after
having left the usual party at rather a late hour hi the evening, I was awakened
at five in the morning by one of my companions, who stood at my bed-side, and
said, ' Paley, I have been thinking what a d****d fool you are. I could do no-
thing, probably, were I to try, and can afford the life I lead : you could do every
thing, and cannot afford it. I have had no sleep during the whole night on ac-
count of these reflections, and am now come solemnly to inform you, that if you
persist in your indolence, I must renounce your society.' I was so struck," Dr.
Paley continued, " with the visit and the visitor, that I lay in bed great part of
the day and formed my plan. I ordered my bed-maker to prepare my fire every
evening, in order that it might be lighted by myself. I arose at five ; read dur-
ing the whole of the day, except during such hours as chapel and hall required,
alloting to each portion of time its peculiar branch of study ; and just before the
closing of gates (nine o'clock) I went to a neighbouring coffee-house, where I
constantly regaled upon a mutton chop and a dose of milk punch. And thus, on
taking my bachelor's degree, I became senior wrangler."
Anecdotes of this kind, which have something of the marvellous, are seldom
related with a punctilious adherence to truth : but if here be no erroneous state-
ment, or inaccurate representation, Mr. Meadley appears to ascribe too much to
the occurrence, when he attributes to it " not only his (Paley's) successful labours
as a college tutor, but the invaluable productions of his pen." A mind like that
of Paley could not have been long so indolent as is represented, without some
compunctious visitings of remorse. It is more than probable that when he first
received this friendly admonition, his bosom was a prey to some lurking pangs
of self-condemnation ; and he was consequently predisposed instantly to put in
force a plan of more systematic and more vigorous application. Where the mat-
ter of combustion already exists, a little spark will set it in a blaze.
PREFACE.
IN the treatises that I have met with upon the subject of morals, I appear to myself to have remarked
the following imperfections ; either that the principle was erroneous, or that it was indistinctly explained,
or that the rules deduced from it were not sufficiently adapted to real life and to actual situations. The
writings of Grotius, and the larger work of Puffendorff; are of too forensic a cast, too much mixed up
with the civil law and with the jurisprudence of Germany, to answer precisely the design of a system of
ethics, the direction of private consciences in the general conduct of human life. Perhaps, indeed, they
are not to be regarded as institutes of morality calculated to instruct an individual in his duty, so much as
a species of law books and law authorities, suited to the practice of those courts of justice, whose deci-
sions are regulated by general principles of natural equity, in conjunction with the maxims of the Roman
code ; of which kind, I understand, there are many upon the Continent To which may be added, con-
cerning both these authors, that they are more occupied in describing the rights and usages of indepen-
dent communities, than is necessary in a work which professes not to adjust the correspondence of
nations, but to delineate the offices of domestic life. The profusion also of classical quotations with
which many of their pages abound, seems to me a fault from which it will not be easy to excuse them.
If these extracts bo intended as decorations of style, the composition is overloaded with ornaments of one
kind. To any thing more than ornament they can make no claim. To propose them as serious argu-
ments, gravely to attempt to establish or fortify a moral duty by the testimony of a Greek or Roman poet,
is to trifle with the attention of the reader, or rather to take it off from all just principles of reasoning in
morals.
Of our own writers in this branch of philosophy, 1 find none that I think perfectly free from the three
objections which I have stated. There is likewise a fourth property observable almost in all of them,
namely, that they divide too much the law of Nature from the precepts of Revelation ; some authors
industriously declining the mention of Scripture authorities, as belonging to a different province; and
others reserving them for a separate volume ; which appears to me much the same defect, as if a com-
mentator on the laws of England should content himself with stating upon each head the common law
of the land, without taking any notice of acts of parliament; or should choose to give his readers the
common law in one book, and the statute law in another. " When the obligations of morality are taught,"
says a pious and celebrated writer, " let the sanctions of Christianity never be forgotten : by which it
will be shown that they give strength and lustre to each other ; religion will appear to be the voice of
reason, and morality will be the will of God."*
The manner also in which modern writers have treated of subjects of morality, is, in my judgment,
liable to much exception. It has become of late a fashion to deliver moral institutes in strings or series
of detached propositions, without subjoining a continued argument or regular dissertation to any of them.
The sententious apophthegmatizing style, by crowding propositions and paragraphs too fast upon the mind,
and by carrying the eye of the reader from subject to subject in too quick a succession, gains not a suffi-
cient hold upon the attention, to leave either the memory furnished, or the understanding satisfied. How-
ever useful a syllabus of topics or a series of propositions may be in the hands of a lecturer, or as a guide
to a student, who is supposed to consult other books, or to institute upon each subject researches of his
own, the method is by no means convenient for ordinary readers; because few readers are such thinkers
as to want only a hint to set their thoughts at work upon ; or such as will pause and tarry at every pro-
position, till they have traced out its dependency, proof, relation, and consequences, before they permit
themselves to step on to another. A respectable writer of this classt has comprised his doctrine of slavery
in the three following propositions :
" No one is born a slave ; because every one is born with all his original rights."
" No one can become a slave ; because no one from being a person can, in the language of the Roman
law, become a thing, or subject of property."
" The supposed property of the master in the slave, therefore, is matter of usurpation, not of right."
It may be possible to deduce from these few adages, such a theory of the primitive rights of human
nature, as will evince the illegality of slavery : but surely an author requires too much of his reader, when
he expects him to make these deductions for himself; or to supply, perhaps from some remote chapter of
the same treatise, the several proofs and explanations which are necessary to render the meaning and
truth of these assertions intelligible.
* Preface to " The Preceptor," by Dr. Johnson.
t Dr. Fergusson, author of " Institutes of Moral Philosophy." 1767.
nil PREFACE.
There is a fault, the opposite of this, which some moralists who have adopted a different, and I think a
better plan of composition, have not always been careful to avoid ; namely, the dwelling upon verbal and
elementary distinctions, with a labour and prolixity proportioned much more to the subtlety of the ques-
tion, than to its value and importance in the prosecution of the subject A writer upon the law of na-
ture,* whose explications in every part of philosophy, though always diffuse, are often very successful,
has employed three long sections in endeavouring to prove that " permissions are not laws." The dia-'
cussion of this controversy, however essential it might be to dialectic precision, was certainly not neces-
sary to the progress of a work designed to describe the duties and obligations of civil life. The readei
becomes impatient when he is detained by disquisitions which have no other object than the settling of
terms and phrases ; and, what is worse, they for whose use such books are chiefly intended, will not be
persuaded to read them at all.
I am led to propose these strictures, not by any propensity to depreciate the labours of my predecessors,
much less to invite a comparison between the merits of their performances and my own ; but solely by
the consideration, that when a writer offers a book to the public upon a subject on which the public are
already in possession of many others, he is bound, by a kind of literary justice, to inform his readers, dis-
tinctly and specifically, what it is he professes to supply, and what he expects to improve. The imper-
fections above enumerated, are those which I have endeavoured to avoid or remedy. Of the execution
the reader must judge ; but this was the design.
Concerning the principle of morals it would be premature to speak ; but concerning the manner of
unfolding and explaining that principle, I have somewhat which I wish to be remarked. An experience
of nine years in the office of a public tutor in one of the universities, and in that department of education
to which these chapters relate, afforded me frequent occasions to observe, that in discoursing to young
minds upon topics of morality, it required much more pains to make them perceive the difficulty, than to
understand the solution : that, unless the subject was so drawn up to a point, as to exhibit the full force
of an objection, or the exact place of a doubt, before any explanation was entered upon, in other words,
unless some curiosity was excited before it was attempted to be satisfied, the labour of the teacher was
lost When information was not desired, it was seldom, I found, retained. I have made this observation
my guide in the following work : that is, upon each occasion I have endeavoured, before I suffered my-
self to proceed in the disquisition, to put the reader in complete possession of the question ; and to do it
in the way that I thought most likely to stir up his own doubts and solicitude about it.
In pursuing the principle of morals through, the detail of rases to which it is applicable, I have had in
view to accommodate both the choice of the subjects and the manner of handling them, to the situations
which arise in the life of an inhabitant of this country in these times. This is the thing that I think to
be principally wanting in former treatises; and perhaps the chief advantage which will be found in mine.
I have examined no doubts, I have discussed no obscurities, I have encountered no errors, I have adverted
to no controversies, but what I have seen actually to exist. If some of the questions treated of, appear
to a more instructed reader minute or puerile, I desire such reader to be assured that I have found them
occasions of difficulty to young minds ; and what I have observed in young minds, I should expect to
meet with in all who approach these subjects for the first time. Upon each article of human duty, I have
combined with the conclusions of reason the declarations of Scripture, when they are to be had, as of co-
ordinate authority, and as both terminating in the same sanctions.
In the manner of the work, I have endeavoured so to attemper the opposite plans above animadverted
upon, as that the reader may not accuse me either of too much haste, or too much delay. I have be-
stowed upon each subject enough of dissertation to give a body and substance to the chapter in which it
is treated of, as well as coherence and perspicuity : on the other hand, I have seldom, I hope, exercised
the patience of the reader by the length and prolixity of my essays, or disappointed that patience at last
by the tenuity and unimportance of the conclusion.
There are two particulars in the following work, for which it may be thought necessary that I should
offer some excuse. The first of which is, that I have scarcely ever referred to any other book ; or men-
tioned the name of the author whose thoughts, and sometimes, possibly, whose very expressions I have
adopted. My method uf writing has constantly been this : to extract what I could from my own stores
and my own reflections in the first place ; to put down that, and afterwards to consult upon each subject
such readings as fell in my way : which order, I am convinced, is the only one whereby any person can
keep his thoughts from sliding into other men's trains. The effect of such a plan upon the production
itself will be, that, whilst some parts in matter or manner may be new, others will be little else than a
repetition of the old. I make no pretensions to perfect originality : I claim to be something more than a
mere compiler. Much, no doubt, is borrowed ; but the fact is, that the notes for this work having been
prepared for some years, and such things having been from time to time inserted in them as appeared to
me worth preserving, and such insertions made commonly without the name of the author from whom
they were taken, I should, at this time, have found a difficulty in recovering those names with sufficient
exactness to be able to render to every man his own. Nor, to speak the truth, did it appear to me worth
while to repeat the search merely for this purpose. When authorities are relied upon, names must be
produced ; when a discovery has been made in science, it may be unjust to borrow the invention without
acknowledging the author. But in an argumentative treatise, and upon a subject which allows no place
for discovery or invention, properly so called ; and in which all that can belong to a writer is his mode of
* Dr. Rutherforth, author of " Institutes of Natural Law.",
PREFACE. rriii
reasoning, or his judgment of probabilities ; I should have thought it superfluous, had it been easier to me
than it was, to have interrupted ray text, or crowded my margin, with references to every author whose
sentiments I have made use of. There is, however, one work to which I owe so much, that it would be
ungrateful not to confess the obligation: I mean the writings of the late Abraham Tucker, Esq. part of
which were published by himself, and the remainder since his death, under the title of " The Light of
Nature pursued, by Edward Search, Esq." I have found in this writer more original thinking and obser-
vation upon the several subjects that he has taken in hand, than in any other, not to say, than in all others
put together. His talent also for illustration is unrivalled. But his thoughts are diffused through a long,
various, and irregular work. I shall account it no mean praise, if I have been sometimes able to dispose
into method, to collect into heads and articles, or to exhibit in more compact and tangible masses, what
in that otherwise excellent performance, is spread over too much surface.
The next circumstance for which some apology may be expected, is the joining of moral and political
philosophy together, or the addition of a book of politics to a system of ethics. Against this objection, if
it be made one, I might defend myself by the example of many approved writers, who have treated de
officiis hominis et civis, or, as some choose to express it, " of the rights and obligations of man, in his indi-
vidual and social capacity," in the same book. I might allege, also, that the part a member of the com-
monwealth shall take in political contentions, the vote he shall give, the counsels he shall approve, the
support he shall afford, or the opposition he shall make, to any system of public measures, is as much a
question of personal duty, as much concerns the conscience of the individual who deliberates, as the de-
termination of any doubt which relates to the conduct of private life; that consequently political philo.
sophy is, properly speaking, a continuation of moral philosophy ; or rather indeed a part of it, supposing
moral philosophy to have for its aim the information of the human conscience in every deliberation that
is likely to come before it. I might avail myself of these excuses, if I wanted them ; but the vindication
upon which I rely is the following: In stating the principle of morals, the reader will observe that I
have employed some industry in explaining the theory, and showing the necessity of general rules ; with-
out the full and constant consideration of which, I am persuaded that no system of moral philosophy can
be satisfactory or consistent This foundation being laid, or rather this habit being formed, the discussion
of political subjects, to which, more than to almost any other, general rules are applicable, became clear
and easy. Whereas, had these topics been assigned to a distinct work, it would have been necessary to
have repeated the same rudiments, to have established over again the same principles, as those which we
had already exemplified, and rendered familiar to the reader, in the former parts of this. In a word, if
there appear to any one too great a diversity, or too wide a distance, between the subjects treated of in
tile course of the present volume, let him be reminded, that the doctrine of general rules, pervades and
connects the whole.
It may not be improper, however, to admonish the reader, that, under the name of politics, he is not to
look for those occasional controversies, which the occurrences of the present day, or any temporary situa-
tion of public affairs, may excite ; and most of which, if not beneath the dignity, it is beside the purpose,
of a philosophical institution to advert to. He will perceive that the several disquisitions are framed with
a reference to the condition of this country, and of this government ; but it seemed to me to belong to
the design of a work like the following, not so much to discuss each altercated point with the particularity
of a political pamphlet upon the subject, as to deliver those universal principles, and to exhibit that mode
and train of reasoning in politics, by the due application of which every man might be enabled to attain
to just conclusions of his own. I am not ignorant of an objection that has been advanced against all
abstract speculations concerning the origin, principle, or limitation of civil authority ; namely, that such
speculations possess little or no influence upon the conduct either of the state or of the subject, of the
governors or the governed ; nor are attended with any useful consequences to either : that in times of
tranquillity they are not wanted ; in times of confusion they are never heard. This representation, how-
ever, in my opinion, is not just Times of tumult, it is true, are not the times to learn ; but the choice
which men make of their side and party, in the most critical occasions of the commonwealth, may never-
theless depend upon the lessons they have received, the books they have read, and the opinions they
have imbibed, in seasons of leisure and quietness. Some judicious persons, who were present at Geneva,
during the troubles which lately convulsed that city, thought they perceived, in the contentions there
carrying on, the operation of that political theory, which the writings of Rosseau, and the unbounded
esteem in which these writings are holden by his countrymen, had diffused amongst the people. Through-
out the political disputes that have within these few years taken place in Great Britain, in her sister-
kingdom, and in her foreign dependencies, it was impossible not to observe, in the language of party, in
the resolutions of public meetings, in debate, in conversation, in the general strain of those fugitive and
diurnal addresses to the public which such occasions call forth, the prevalency of those ideas of civil
authority which are displayed in the works of Mr. Locke. The credit of that great name, the courage
and liberality of his principles, the skill and clearness with which his arguments are proposed, no less
than the weight of the arguments themselves, have given a reputation and currency to his opinions, of
which I am persuaded, in any unsettled state of public affairs, the influence would be felt. As this is
not a place for examining the truth or tendency of these doctrines, I would not be understood by what
I have said, to express any judgment concerning either. I mean only to remark, that such doctrines are
not without effect ; and that it is of practical importance to have the principles from which the obligations
of social union, and the extent of civil obediency, are derived, rightly explained, and well understood.
xxiv PREFACE.
Indeed, as far as I have observed, in political, beyond all other subjects, where men are without some
fundamental and scientific principles to resort to, they are liable to have their understandings played
upon by cant phrases and unmeaning terms, of which every party in every country possesses a vocabulary.
We appear astonished when we see the multitude led away by sounds ; but we should remember that,
if sounds work miracles, it is always upon ignorance. The influence of names is in exact proportion to
the want of knowledge.
These are the observations with which I have judged it expedient to prepare the attention of my reader.
Concerning the personal motives which engaged me in the following attempt, it is not necessary that I
say much ; the nature of my academical situation, a great deal of leisure since my retirement from it, the
recommendation of an honoured and excellent friend, the authority of the venerable prelate to whom
these labours are inscribed, the not perceiving in what way I could employ my time or talents better, and
my disapprobation, in literary men, of that fastidious indolence which sits still because it disdains to do
little, were the considerations that directed my thoughts to this design. Nor have I repented of the
undertaking. Whatever be the fate or reception of this work, it owes its author nothing. In sicknesB
and in health I have found in it that which can alone alleviate the one, or give enjoyment to the other,
occupation and engagement.
TO THE RIGHT REVEREND EDMUND LAW, D. D.
LORD BISHOP OF CARLISLE.
MY LORD, Had the obligations which I owe to your Lordship's kindness been much
less, or much fewer, than they are ; had personal gratitude left any place in my mind for
deliberation or for inquiry ; in selecting a name which every reader might confess to be
prefixed with propriety to a work, that, in many of its parts, bears no obscure relation to
the general principles of natural and revealed religion, I should have found myself directed
by many considerations, to that of the Bishop of Carlisle. A long life spent in the most inter-
esting of all human pursuits the investigation of moral and religious truth, in constant and
unwearied endeavours to advance the discovery, communication, and success of both ; a
life so occupied, and arrived at that period which renders every life venerable, commands
respect by a title which no virtuous mind will dispute, which no mind sensible of the im-
portance of these studies to the supreme concernments of mankind will not rejoice to see
acknowledged. Whatever difference, or whatever opposition, some who peruse your
Lordship's writings may perceive between your conclusions and their own, the good and
wise of all persuasions will revere that industry, which has for its object the illustration or
defence of our common Christianity. Your Lordship's researches have never lost sight of
one purpose, namely, to recover the simplicity of the Gospel from beneath that load of un-
authorized additions, which the ignorance of some ages, and the learning of others, the
superstition of weak, and the craft of designing men, have (unhappily for its interest)
heaped upon it. And this purpose, I am convinced, was dictated by the purest motive ;
by a firm, and I think a just opinion, that whatever renders religion more rational, renders
it more credible ; that he who, by a diligent and faithful examination of the original re-
cords, dismisses from the system one article which contradicts the apprehension, the ex-
perience, or the reasoning of mankind, does more towards recommending the belief, and,
with the belief, the influence of Christianity, to the understandings and consciences of
serious inquirers, and through them to universal reception and authority, than can be
effected by a thousand contenders for creeds and ordinances of human establishment.
When the doctrine of Transubstantiation had taken possession of the Christian world, it
was not without the industry of learned men, that it came at length to be discovered,
that no such doctrine was contained in the New Testament. But had those excellent
persons done nothing more by their discovery, than abolished an innocent superstition,
or changed some directions in the ceremonial of public worship, they had merited but little
of that veneration with which the gratitude of Protestant Churches remembers their ser-
vices. What they did for mankind, was this : they exonerated Christianity of a weight
which sunk it If indolence or timidity had checked these exertions, or suppressed the
fruit and publication of these inquiries, is it too much to affirm, that infidelity would at this
day have been universal ?
I do not mean, my Lord, by the mention of this example to insinuate, that any popular
opinion which your Lordship may have encountered, ought to be compared with Transub-
stantiation, or that the assurance with which we reject that extravagant absurdity, is
attainable hi the controversies in which your Lordship has been engaged ; but I mean, by
calling to mind those great reformers of the public faith, to observe, or rather to express
my own persuasion, that to restore the purity, is most effectually to promote the progress,
of Christianity ; and that the same virtuous motive which hath sanctified their labours,
suggested yours. At a time when some men appear not to perceive any good, and others
D 25 3
xxvi DEDICATION.
to suspect an evil tendency, in that spirit of examination and research which is gone forth
in Christian countries, this testimony is become due, not only to the probity of your
Lordship's views, but to the general cause of intellectual and religious liberty.
That your Lordship's life may be prolonged in health and honour ; that it may continue
to afford an instructive proof, how serene and easy old age can be made by the memory of
important and well-intended labours, by the possession of public and deserved esteem, by
the presence of many grateful relatives ; above all, by the resources of religion, by an un-
shaken confidence in the designs of a " faithful Creator," and a settled trust in the truth
and in the promises of Christianity ; is the fervent prayer of, my Lord, your Lordship's
dutiful, most obliged, and most devoted servant,
WILLIAM PALEY.
Carlisle, Feb. 10, 1785.
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
BOOK I.
PRELIMINARY CONSIDERATIONS.
CHAPTER I.
Definition and use of the Science.
MORAL PHILOSOPHY, Morality, Ethics, Casuis-
try, Natural Law, mean all the same thing;
namely, that science which teaches men their duty
and the reasons of it.
The use of such a study depends upon this,
that, without it, the rules of life, by which men
are ordinarily governed, oftentimes mislead them,
through a defect, either in the rule, or in the ap-
plication.
These rules are, the Law of Honour, the Law
of the Land, and the Scriptures.
CHAPTER II.
The Law of Honour.
THE Law of Honour is a system of rules con-
structed by people of fashion, and calculated to
facilitate their intercourse with one another ; and
for no other purpose.
Consequently, nothing is adverted to by the
Law of Honour, but what tends to incommode
this intercourse.
Hence this law only prescribes and regulates
the duties betwixt equals; omitting such as relate
to the Supreme Being, as well as those which we
owe to our inferiors. For which reason, profane-
ness, neglect of public worship or private devotion,
cruelty to servants, rigorous treatment of tenants
or other dependants, want of charity to the poor,
injuries done to tradesmen by insolvency, or delay
of payment, with numberless examples of the same
kind, are accounted no breaches of honour; be-
cause a man is not a less agreeable companion for
these vices, nor the worse to deal with, in those
concerns which are usually transacted between
one gentleman and another.
Again ; the Law of Honour, being constituted
by men occupied in the pursuit of pleasure, and
for the mutual conveniency of such men, will
be found, as might be expected from the character
and design of the law-makers, to be, in most in-
stances, favourable to the licentious indulgence of
natural passions. Thus it allows of fornica-
tion, adultery, drunkenness, prodigality, duelling,
and of revenge in the extreme ; and lays no stress
upon the virtues opposite to these.
CHAPTER III.
The Law of the Land.
THAT part of mankind, who are beneath the
Law of Honour, often make the Law of the Land
their rule of life ; that is, they are satisfied with
themselves, so long as they do or omit nothing,
for the doing or omitting of which the law can
punish them.
Whereas every system of human laws, con-
sidered as a rule of life, labours under the two
following defects ;
I. Human laws omit many duties, as not objects
of compulsion ; such as piety to God, bounty to
the poor, forgiveness of injuries, education of
children, gratitude to benefactors.
The law never speaks but to command, nor
commands but where it can compel : consequently,
those duties, which by their nature must be volun-
tary, are left out of the statute book, as lying be-
yond the reach of its operation and authority.
II. Human laws permit, or which is the same
thing, suffer to go unpunished, many crimes, be-
cause they are incapable of being defined by any
previous description. Of which nature are luxury,
prodigality, partiality in voting at those elections
in which the qualifications of the candidate ought
to determine the success, caprice in the disposition
of men's fortunes at their death, disrespect to
parents, and a multitude of similar examples.
For, this is the alternative : either the law must
define beforehand, and with precision, the offences
which it punishes ; or it must be left to the discre-
tion of the magistrate, to determine upon each
particular accusation, whether it constitute that
offence which the law designed to punish, or not ;
which is, in effect, leaving to the magistrate to
punish, or not to punish, at his pleasure, the in-
dividual who is brought before him ; which is just
so much tyranny. Where, therefore, as in the in-
stances above mentioned, the distinction between
right and wrong is of too subtile, or of too secret,
a nature, to be ascertained by any preconcerted
language, the law of most countries, especially of
free states, rather than commit the liberty of the
subject to the discretion of the magistrates, leaves
men in such cases to themselves.
27
28
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
CHAPTER IV.
The Scriptures.
WHOEVER expects to find in the Scriptures a
specific direction for every moral doubt that arises,
looks for more than he will meet with. And to
what a magnitude such a detail of particular pre-
cepts would have enlarged the sacred volume,
may be partly understood from the following con-
sideration : The laws of this country, including
the acts of the legislature, and the decisions of our
supreme courts of justice, are not contained in a
fewer than fifty folio volumes. And yet it is not
once in ten attempts that you can find the case
you look for, in any law book whatever: to say
nothing of those numerous points of conduct, con-
cerning which the law professes not to prescribe
or determine any thing. Had then the same par-
ticularity, which obtains in human laws so far as
they go, been attempted in the Scriptures, through-
out the whole extent of morality, it is manifest
they would have been by much too bulky to be
either read or circulated ; or rather, as St. John
says, " even the world itself could not contain the
books that should be written."
Morality is taught in Scripture in this wise.
General rules are laid down, of piety, justice,
benevolence, and purity : such as worshiping God
in spirit and in truth ; doing as we would be done
by; loving our neighbour as ourself; forgiving
others, as we expect forgiveness from God ; that
mercy is better than sacrifice ; that not that which
entereth into a man, (nor, by parity of reason,
any ceremonial pollutions,) but that which pro-
ceedeth from the heart, detileth him. These rules
are occasionally illustrated, either by Jictitious ex-
amples, as in the parable of the good Samaritan ;
and of the cruel servant, who refused to his fellow-
servant that indulgence and compassion which
his master had shown to him: or in instances
which actually presented themselves, as in Christ's
reproof of his disciples at the Samaritan village ;
his praise of the poor widow, who east in her last
mite ; his censure of the Pharisees, who chose out
the chief rooms, and of the tradition, whereby
they evaded the command to sustain their indigent
parents : or, lastly, in the resolution of questions,
which those who were about our Saviour proposed
to him; as his answer to the young man who
asked him, " What lack I yet V and to the honest
scribe, who had found out, even in that age and
country, that "to love God and his neighbour,
was more than all whole burnt-offerings and sacri-
fice."
And this is in truth the way in which all prac-
tical sciences are taught, as Arithmetic, Grammar,
Navigation, and the like. Rules are laid down,
and examples are subjoined : not that these ex-
amples are the cases, much less all the cases,
which will actually occur; but by way only of
explaining the principle of the rule, and as so
many specimens of the method of applying it.
The chief difference is, that the examples in
Scripture are not annexed to the rules with the
didactic regularity to which we are now-a-days
accustomed, but delivered dispersedly, as particular
occasions suggested them; which gave them,
however, (especially to those who heard them,
and were present to the occasions which produced
them,) an energy and persuasion, much beyond
what the same or any instances would have ap-
peared with, in their places in a system.
Besides this, the Scriptures commonly pre-sup-
pose in the person to whom they speak, a know-
ledge of the principles of natural justice ; and are
employed not so much to teach new rules of
morality, as to enforce the practice of it by new
sanctions, and by a greater certainty ; which last
seems to be the proper business of a revelation
from God, and what was most wanted.
Thus the " unjust, covenant-breakers, and ex-
tortioners," are condemned in Scripture, supposing
it known, or leaving it, where it admits of doubt,
to moralists to determine, what injustice, extortion,
or breach of covenant, are.
The above considerations are intended to prove
that the Scriptures do not supersede the use of the
science of which we profess to treat, and at the
same time to acquit them of any charge of imper-
fection or insufficiency on that account.
CHAPTER V.
The Moral Sense.
" The father of Caius Toranius had been pro-
scribed by the triumvirate. Caius Toranius
coming over to the interests of that party, dis-
covered to the officers, who were in pursuit of his
father's life, the place where he concealed himself,
and gave them withal a description, by which
they might distinguish his person, when they
found him. The old man, more anxious for the
safety and fortunes of his son, than about the little
that might remain of his own life, began imme-
diately to inquire of the officers who seized him,
whether his son was well, whether he had done
his duty to the satisfaction of his generals. ' That
son (replied one of the officers,) so dear to thy
affections, betrayed thee to us ; by his information
thou art apprehended, and diest.' The officer
with this, struck a poniard to his heart, and the
unhappy parent fell, not so much affected by his
fate, as by the means to which he owed it."*
Now the question is, whether, if this story were
related to the wild boy caught, some years ago. in
the woods of Hanover, or to a savage without
experience, and without instruction, cut off' in his
infancy from all intercourse with his species, and,
consequently, under no possible influence of ex-
ample, authority, education, sympathy or habit ;
whether, I say, such a one would feel, upon the
relation, any degree of that sentiment of disap-
probation of Toranius's conduct which we feel,
or not 1
They who maintain the existence of a moral
sense; of innate maxims ; of a natural conscience ;
;hat the love of virtue and hatred of vice are in-
stinctive ; or the perception of right and wrong
intuitive ; (all which are only different ways of
expressing the same opinion.) affirm that he
would.
*" Cains Toranius triumvirum partes secutus, pro-
scripti patris sui praetorii et. ornati viri latebras, a-tatem,
iiot;ts<|iie corporis, quibusagnosci posset, centurionibus
edidit, qui eum, persecuti sunt. Senex de filii magis vita
it increment!?, quam de reliquo spiritu sno sollicitus, an
ncolumis esset, et an imperatoribus satisfaceret, inter-
rogare eos coepit. E quibus tmus: ' Ab illo,' inquit,
' quern tantoperediligis,demonstratusnostrorninisterio,
filii indicio occideris:' protinusque pectus ejus gladio
trajecit. Collapsus itaque est infelix, anctore caddis,
quam ipsa caede, miserior." VALER. MAX. lib. ix.
cap. 11.
THE MORAL SENSE.
They who deny the existence of a moral sense,
&c. affirm that he would not.
And upon this, issue is joined.
As the experiment has never been made, and,
from the difficulty of procuring a subject (not to
mention the impossibility of proposing the question
to him, if we had one,) is never likely to be made,
what would be the event, can only be judged of
from probable reasons.
They who contend for the affirmative, observe,
that we approve examples of generosity, gratitude,
fidelity, &c. and condemn the contrary, instantly,
without deliberation, without having any interest
of our own concerned in them, oft-times without
being conscious of, or able to give any reason for,
our approbation : that this approbation is uniform
and universal, the same sorts of conduct being ap-
proved and disapproved in all ages and countries of
the world; circumstances, say they , which strongly
indicate the operation of an instinct or moral sense.
On the other hand, answers have been given to
most of these arguments, by the patrons of the
opposite system : and,
First, as to the uniformity above alleged, they
controvert the fact. 'I 1 hey re mark, from authentic
accounts of historians and travellers, that there is
scarcely a single vice which, in some age or coun-
try of the world, has not been countenanced by
public opinion : that in one country, it is esteemed
an office of piety in children to sustain their aged
parents ; in another to dispatch them out of the
way : that suicide, in one age of the world, has
been heroism, is in another felony: that theft,
which is punished by most laws, by the laws of
Sparta was not unfrequently rewarded : that the
Sromiscuous commerce of the sexes, although con-
emned by the regulations and censure of all
civilized nations, is practised by the savages of the
tropical regions without reserve, compunction, or
disgrace : that crimes, of which it is no longer
permitted us even to speak, have had their advo-
cates amongst the sages of very renowned times :
that, if an inhabitant of the polished nations of
Europe be delighted with the appearance, wher-
ever lie meets with it, of happiness, tranquillity,
and comfort, a wild American is no less diverted
with the writhings and contortions of a victim at
the stake: that even amongst ourselves, and in
the present improved state of moral knowledge,
we are far from a perfect consent in our opin-
ions or feelings: that you shall hear duelling
alternately reprobated and applauded, according
to the sex, age or station, of the person you con-
verse with : that the forgiveness of injuries and
insults is accounted by one sort of people magna-
nimity, by another meanness : that in the above
instances, and perhaps in most others, moral ap-
probation follows the fashions and institutions of
the country we live in ; which fashions also, and
institutions themselves, have grown out of the
exigences, the climate, situation, or local circum-
stances of the country ; or have been set up by
the authority of an arbitrary chieftain, or the un-
accountable caprice of the multitude : all which,
they observe, looks very little like the steady hand
and indelible characters of Nature. But,
Secondly, because, after these exceptions and
abatements, it cannot be denied but that some
sorts of actions command and receive the esteem
of mankind more than others ; and that the appro-
bation of them is general though not universal :
as to this they say. that the general approbation
of virtue, even in instances where we have no
interest of our own to induce us to it, may be
accounted for without the assistance of a moral
sense; thus:
" Having experienced, in some instances, a par-
ticular conduct to be beneficial to ourselves, or
observed that it would be so, a sentiment of ap-
probation rises up in our minds ; which sentiment
afterwards accompanies the idea or mention of the
same conduct, although the private advantage
which first excited it no longer exist."
And this continuance of the passion, after the
reason of it has ceased, is nothing more, say they,
than what happens in other cases ; especially in
the love of money, which is in no person so eager,
as it is oftentimes found to be in a rich old miser,
withouf family to provide for, or friend to oblige
by it, and to whom, consequently, it is no longer
(and he may be sensible of it too) of any real use
or value ; yet is this man as much overjoyed with
gain, and mortified by losses, as he was the first
day he opened his shop, and when his very sub-
sistence depended upon his success in it.
By these means the custom of approving certain
actions commenced : and when once such a cus-
tom hath got footing in the world, it is no diffi-
cult thing to explain how it is transmitted and
continued; for then the greatest part of those who
approve of virtue, approve of it from authority, by
imitation, and from a habit of approving such and
such actions, inculcated in early youth, and re-
ceiving, as men grow up, continual accessions of
strength and vigour, from censure and encourage-
ment, from the Books they read, the conversations
they hear, the current application of epithets, the
general turn of language, and the various other
causes by which it universally comes to pass, that
a society of men, touched in the feeblest degree
with the same passion, soon communicate to one
another a great degree of it.* This is the case
with most of us at present ; and is the cause also,
that the process of association, described in the
last paragraph but one, is little now either per-
ceived or wanted.
Amongst the causes assigned for the continu-
ance and diffusion of the same moral sentiments
amongst mankind, we have mentioned imitation.
The efficacy of this principle is most observable
in children : indeed, if there be any thing in them,
which deserves the name of an instinct, it is their
propensity to imitation. Now there is nothing
which children imitate or apply more readily than
expressions of affection and aversion, of approba-
tion, hatred, resentment, and the like ; and when
these passions and expressions are once connected,
which they soon will be by the same association
which unites words with their ideas, the passion
will follow the expression, and attach upon the
object to which the child has been accustomed to
apply the epithet. In a word, when almost every
thing else is learned by imitation, can we wonder
* " From instances of popular tumults, seditions, fac-
tions panics, and of all passions which are shared with
a muititude, we may learn the influence of society, in
exciting and supporting any emotion ; while the most
ungovernable disorders are raised, we find, by that
means, from the slightest and most frivolous occasions.
He must be more or less than man, who kindles not in
the common blaze. What wonder then, that moral
sentiments are found of such influence in life, though
springing from principles, which may appear, at first
sight, somewhat small and delicate T'Hum^s Inquiry
concemine the Principles of Morals, Suet. ix. p. 320.
3*
30
MORAL AND. POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
to find the same cause concerned in the generation
of our moral sentiments 1
Another considerable objection to the system of
moral instincts is this, that there are no maxims
in the science which can well be deemed innate,
as none perhaps can be assigned, which arc abso-
lutely and universally true ; in other words, which
do not bend to circumstances. Veracity, which
seems, if any be, a natural duty, is excused in
many cases towards an enemy, a thief, or a mad-
man. The obligation of promises, which is a first
principle in morality, depends upon the circum-
stances under which they were made ; they may
have been unlawful, or become so since, or incon-
sistent with former promises, or erroneous, or
extorted; under all which cases, instances may
be suggested, where the obligation to perform the
promise would be very dubious ; and so of most
other general rules, when they come to be actually
applied.
An argument has been also proposed on the
same side of the question, of this kind. Together
will the instinct, there must have been implanted,
it is said, a clear and precise idea of the object
upon which it was to attach. The instinct and
the idea of the object are inseparable even in ima-
gination, and as necessarily accompany each other
as any correlative ideas whatever: that is, in
plainer terms, if we be prompted by nature to the
approbation of particular actions, we must have
received also from nature a distinct conception of
the action we are thus prompted to approve;
which we certainly have not received.
But as this argument bears alike against all
instincts, and against their existence in brutes as
well as in men, it will hardly, I suppose, produce
conviction, though it may be difficult to find an
answer to it.
Upon the whole, it seems to me, either that
there exist no such instincts as compose what is
called the moral sense, or that they are not now
to be distinguished from prejudices and habits;
on which account they cannot be depended upon
in moral reasoning : I mean that it is not a safe
way of arguing, to assume certain principles as so
many dictates, impulses, and instincts of nature,
and then to draw conclusions from these princi-
ples, as to the rectitude or wrongness of actions,
independent of the tendency of such actions, or of
any other consideration whatever.
Aristotle lays down, as a fundamental and self-
evident maxim, that nature intended barbarians to
be slaves; and proceeds to deduce from this maxim
a train of conclusions, calculated to justify the
policy which then prevailed. And I question
whether the same maxim be not still self-evident
to the company of merchants trading to the coast
of Africa.
Nothing is so soon made, as a maxim ; and it
appears from the example of Aristotle, that au-
thority and convenience, education, prejudice, and
general practice, have no small share in the mak-
ing of them; and that the laws of custom are
very apt to be mistaken for the order of nature.
For which reason, I suspect, that a system of
morality, built upon instincts,, will only find out
reasons and excuses for opinions and practices
already established,- will seldom correct or reform
either."
But further, suppose we admit the existence of
these instincts ; what, it may br asked, is their
authority 7 No man, you say, cnu act in deliber-
ate opposition to them, without a secret remorse
of conscience. But this remorse may be borne
with : and if the sinner choose to bear with it, for
the sake of the pleasure or the profit which he
expects from his wickedness ; or finds the plea-
sure of sin toexcecd the remorse of conscience, of
which he alone is the judge, and concerning which,
when he feels them both together, he can hardly
be mistaken, the moral-instinct man, so far as
I can understand, has nothing more to oiler.
For if he allege that these instincts are so many
indications of the will of God, and consequently
presages of what we are to look for hereafter;
this, I answer, is to resort to a rule and a motive
ulterior to the instincts themselves, and at which
rule and motive we shall by-and-by arrive by a
surer road : I say surer, so long as there remains
a controversy whether there be any instinctive
maxims at all; or any difficulty in ascertaining
what maxims are instinctive.
This celebrated question therefore becomes in
our system a question of pure curiosity ; and as
such, we dismiss it to the determination of those
who are more inquisitive, than we are concerned
to be, about the natural history and constitution
of the human species.
CHAPTER VI.
Human Happiness.
TUB word happy is a relative term ; that is,
when we call a man happy, we mean that he is
happier than some others, with whom we com-
pare him ; than the generality of others ; or than
he himself was in some other situation: thus,
pared, that is, with the general lot of mankind, we
call a man happy who possesses health and com-
petency.
In strictness, any condition may be denominated
happy, in which the amount or aggregate of plea-
sure exceeds that of pain; and the degree of
happiness depends upon the quantity of this
excess.
And the greatest quantity of it ordinarily at-
tainable in human life, is what we mean by hap-
piness, when we inquire or pronounce what
human happiness consists in.*
* If any positive signification, distinct from what we
mean by pleasure, can l>e affixed to the term "happi-
nem," I "should take it to denote n certnin state of the
nervous system in that part of the human frame in
which we feel joy and rief, passions and affections.
Whether this part be the heart, which the turn of most
lanirunires would l^ad us to believe, or the diaphragm,
as Burton, or the upper orifice of the stomach, as Van
llehnont thouirht; or rather be a kind of fine net-work,
lining the whole region of the pnvcordia, as others have
imagined; it is pn^-ible, not only that each painful
sensation may violently shake and disturb the fibres
at the time, bitt that a Bttltet of such may at length so
derange the very texture of the system, as to produce a
perpetual irritation, which will show itself by fretful-
ness, imp.itience. and restlessness. It is possible also,
on the other band, that a succession of pleasurable sen-
sations may have such an effect upon this subtile orga-
nization, ns to cause the fibres to relax, and return into
their place and order, and thereby to recover, or, if not
Ics.t, to preserve, that harmonious conformation which
irises to the mind its sense of complacency and satis-
faction. This state may be denominated happiness,
and is so far distinguishable from pleasure, that it does
HUMAN HAPPINESS.
31
In which inquiry I will omit much usual
declamation on the dignity and capacity of our
nature ; the superiority of the soul to the body, of
the rational to the animal part of our constitution ;
upon the worthiness, refinement, and delicacy, of
some satisfactions, or the meanness, grossness,
and sensuality, of others ; because I hold that
pleasures difler in nothing, but in continuance
and intensity : from a just computation of which,
confirmed by what we observe of the apparent
cheerfulness, tranquillity, and contentment, of
men of different tastes, tempers, stations, and pur-
suits, every question concerning human happiness
must receive its decision.
It will be our business to show, if we can,
I. What Human Happiness does not consist in:
II. What it does consist in.
FIRST, then, Happiness does not consist in the
pleasures of sense, in whatever profusion or va-
riety they be enjoyed. By the pleasures of sense,
I mean, as well as the animal gratifications of
eating, drinking, and that by which the species is
continued, as the more refined pleasures of music,
painting, architecture, gardening, splendid shows,
theatric exhibitions ; and the pleasures, lastly, of
active sports, as of hunting, shooting, fishing, &c.
For,
1st, These pleasures continue but a little while
at a time. This is true of them all, especially of
the grosser sort of them. Laying aside the pre-
paration and the expectation, and computing
strictly the actual sensation, we shall be surprised
to find how inconsiderable a portion of our time
they occupy, how few hours in the fbur-and-twenty
they are able to fill up.
2dly, These pleasures, by repetition, lose their
relish. It is a property of the machine, for which
we know no remedy, that the organs, by which
we perceive pleasure, are blunted and benumbed
by being frequently exercised in the same way.
There is hardly any one who has not found the
difference between a gratification, when new, and
when familiar ; or any pleasure which does not
become indifferent as it grows habitual.
3dly, The eagerness lor high and intense de-
lights takes away the relish from all others; and
as such delights fall rarely in our way, the greater
part of our time becomes, from this cause, empty
and uneasy.
There is hardly any delusion by which men are
greater sufferers in their happiness, than by their
expecting too much from what is called pleasure ;
that is, from those intense delights, which vulgarly
engross the name of pleasure. The very expec-
tation spoils them. When they do come, we are
often engaged in taking pains to persuade our-
selves how much we are pleased, rather than en-
joying any pleasure which springs naturally out
of the object. And whenever we depend upon
being vastly delighted, we always go home secretly
grieved at missing our ami. Likewise, as has
been observed just now, when this humour of
being prodigiously delighted has once taken hold
not refer to any particular object of enjoyment, or con-
sist, like pleasure, in gratification of one or more of the
senses, but is rather the secondary effect which such
objects and gratifications produce upon the nervous
system, or the state in which they leave it. These con-
jectures belong not, however, to our province. The
comparative sense, in which we have explained the
term Happiness, is more popular, and is sufficient for
the purpose of the present chapter.
of the imagination, it hinders us from providing 1
for, or acquiescing in, those gently soothing en-
gagements, the due variety and succession of
which are the only things that supply a vein or
continued stream of happiness.
What I have been able to observe of that part
of mankind, whose professed pursuit is pleasure,
and who are withheld in the pursuit by no re-
straints of fortune, or scruples of conscience, cor-
responds sufficiently with this account. I have
commonly remarked in such men, a restless and
inextinguishable passion for variety ; a great part
of their time to be vacant, and so much of it irk-
some; and that, with whatever eagerness and
expectation they set out, they become, by de-
grees, fastidious in their choice of pleasure, lan-
guid in the enjoyment, yet miserable under the
want of it.
The truth seems to be, that there is a limit at
which these pleasures soon arrive, and from which
they ever afterwards decline. They are by ne-
cessity of short duration, as the organs cannot
hold on their emotions beyond a certain length of
time ; and if you endeavour to compensate ibr this
imperfection in their nature by the frequency with
which you repeat them, you suffer more than you
gain, by the fatigue of the faculties, and the dimi-
nution of sensibility.
We have said nothing in this account, of the
loss of opportunities, or the decay of faculties,
which, whenever they happen, leave the voluptu-
ary destitute and desperate ; teased by desires that
can never be gratified, and the memory of pleasures
which must return no more.
It will also be allowed by those who have ex-
perienced it, and perhaps by those alone, that
pleasure which is purchased by the encumbrance
of our fortune, is purchased too dear ; the pleasure
never compensating for the perpetual irritation of
embarrassed circumstances.
These pleasures, after all, have their value : and
as the young are always too eager in their pursuit
of them, the old are sometimes too remiss, that is,
too studious of their ease, to be at the pains for
them which they really deserve.
SECONDLY, Neither does happiness consist in
an exemption from pain, labour, care, business,
suspense, molestation, and "those evils which are
without ;" such a state being usually attended, not
with ease, but with depression of spirits, a taste-
lessness in all our ideas, imaginary anxieties, and
the whole train of hypochondriacal affections.
For which reason, the expectations of those,
who retire from their shops and counting-houses,
to enjoy the remainder of their days in leisure and
tranquillity, are seldom answered by the effect;
much less of such, as, in a fit of chagrin, shut
themselves up in cloisters and hermitages, or quit
the world, and their stations in it, for solitude and
repose.
Where there exists a known external cause of
uneasiness, the cause may be removed, and the
uneasiness will cease. But those imaginary dis-
tresses which men feel for want of real ones (and
which are equally tormenting, and so far equally
real) as they depend upon no single or assignable
subject of uneasiness, admit oftentimes of no ap-
plication of relief.
Hence, a moderate pain, upon which the atten-
tion may fasten and spend itself, is to many a
refreshment ; as a fit of the gout will sometimes
cure the spleen. And the same of any less violent
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
agitation of the mind, as a literary controversy, a
law-suit, a contested election, and, above all, gam-
ing ; the passion for which, in men of fortune and
literal minds, is only to be accounted for on this
principle.
THIRDLY: Neither does happiness consist in
greatness, rank, or elevated station.
Were it true that all superiority afforded plea-
sure, it would follow, that by how much we were
the greater, that is, the more persons we were
superior to, in the same proportion, so far as de-
pended upon this cause, we should be the happier ;
but so it is, that no superiority yields any satisfac-
tion, save that which we possess or obtain over
those with whom we immediately compare our-
selves. The shepherd perceives no pleasure in
his superiority over his dog; the farmer, in his
superiority over the shepherd; the lord, in his
superiority over the farmer ; nor the king, lastly,
in his superiority over the lord. Superiority,
where there is no competition, is seldom contem-
plated ; what most men are quite unconscious of.
But if the same shepherd can run, fight, or
wrestle better than the peasants of his village ; if
the farmer can show better cattle, if he keep a
better horse, or be supposed to have a longer purse,
than any farmer in the hundred ; if the lord have
more interest in an election, greater favour at
court, a better house, or a larger estate than any
nobleman in the country ; if the king possess a
more extensive territory, a more powerful fleet or
army, a more splendid establishment, more loyal
subjects, or more weight and authority in adjust-
ing the affairs of nations, than any prince in
Europe; in all these cases, the parties feel an
actual satisfaction in their superiority.
Now the conclusion that follows from hence is
this ; that the pleasures of ambition, which are
supposed to be peculiar to high stations, are in
reality common to all conditions. The farrier
who shoes a horse better, and who is in greater
request for his skill, than any man within ten
miles of him, possesses, for all that I can see, the
delight of distinction and of excelling, as truly and
substantially as the statesman, the soldier, and the
scholar, who have filled Europe with the reputa-
tion of their wisdom, their valour, or their know-
ledge.
No superiority appears to be of any account, but
superiority over a rival. This, it is manifest, may
exist wherever rivalships do ; and rivalships fall
out amongst men of all ranks and degrees. The
object of emulation, the dignity or magnitude of
this object, makes no difference ; as it is not what
either possesses that constitutes the pleasure, but
what one possesses more than the other.
Philosophy smiles at the contempt with which
the rich and great speak of the petty strifes and
competitions of the poor ; not reflecting that these
strifes and competitions are just as reasonable as
their own, and the pleasure, which success affords,
the same.
Our position is, that happiness does not consist
in greatness. And this position we make out by
showing, that even wliat are supposed to be pecu-
liar advantages of greatness, the pleasures of am-
bition and superiority, are in reality common to
all conditions. But whether the pursuits of am-
bition be ever wise, whether they contribute more
to the happiness or misery of the pursuers, is a
different question; and a question concerning
which we may be allowed to entertain great doubt.
The pleasure of success is exquisite ; so also is
the anxiety of the pursuit, arid the pain of disap-
pointment; and what is the worst part of the
account, the pleasure is short-lived. We soon
cease to look back upon those whom we have left
behind ; new contests are engaged in ; new pros-
pects unfold themselves ; a succession of struggles
is kept up, whilst there is a rival left within the
compass of our views and profession ; and when
there is none, the pleasure with the pursuit is at
an end.
II. We have seen what happiness does not
consist in. We are next to consider in what it
does consist.
In the conduct of life, the great matter is, to
know beforehand, what will please us, and what
pleasure will hold out. So far as we know this,
our choice will be justified by the event. And
this knowledge is more scarce and difficult than
at first sight it may seem to be : for sometimes,
pleasures, which are wonderfully alluring and
flattering in the prospect, turn out in the possession
extremely insipid ; or do not hold out as we ex-
pected : at other times, pleasures start up which
never entered into our calculation ; and which we
might have missed of by not foreseeing : whence
we have reason to believe, that we actually do miss
of many pleasures from the same cause. I say, to
know " beforehand ;" for, after the experiment is
tried, it is commonly impracticable to retreat or
change; beside that shifting and changing is apt
to generate a habit of restlessness, which is de-
structive of the happiness of every condition.
By the reason of the original diversity of taste,
capacity, and constitution, observable in the human
species, and the still greater variety, which habit
and fashion have introduced in these particulars,
it is impossible to propose any plan of happiness,
which will succeed to all, or any method of life
which is universally eligible or practicable.
All that can be said is, that there remains a
presumption in favour of those conditions of life,
in which men generally appear most cheerful and
contented. For though the apparent happiness
of mankind be not always a true measure of their
real happiness, it is the best measure we have.
Taking this for my guide, I am inclined to be-
lieve that happiness consists,
I. In the exercise of the social affections.
Those persons commonly possess good spirits,
who have about them many objects of aflection
and endearment, as wife, children, kindred, friends.
And to the want of these may be imputed the
peevishness of monks, and of such as lead a mo-
nastic life.
Of the same nature with the indulgence of our
domestic affections, and equally refreshing to the
spirits, is the pleasure which results from acts of
bounty and beneficence, exercised either in giving
money, or imparting to those who want it, the
assistance of our skill and profession.
Another main article of human happiness is,
II. The exercise of our faculties, either of body
or mind, in the pursuit of some engaging end.
It seems to be true, that no plenitude of present
gratifications can make the possessor happy for a
continuance, unless he have something in reserve,
something to hope for, and look forward to.
This I conclude to be the case, from comparing
the alacrity and spirits of men who are engaged
in any pursuit which interests them, with the de-
jection and ennui of almost all, who are either
HUMAN HAPPINESS.
33
born to so much that they want nothing more, or
who have used up their satisfactions too soon, and
drained the sources of them.
It is this intolerable vacuity of mind, which
carries the rich and great to the horse-course and
the gaming-table; and often engages them in
contests and pursuits, of which the success bears
no proportion to the solicitude and expense with
which it is sought. An election for a disputed
borough shall cost the parties twenty or thirty
thousand pounds each, to say nothing of the
anxiety, humiliation, and fatigue, of the canvass ;
when, a seat in the house of commons, of exactly
the same value, may be had for a tenth part of the
money, and with no trouble. I do not mention
this, to blame the rich and great (perhaps they
cannot do better,) but in confirmation of what I
have advanced.
Hope, which thus appears to be of so much
importance to our happiness, is of two kinds ;
where there is something to be done towards at-
taining the object of our hope, and where there is
nothing to be done. The first alone is of any
value ; the latter being apt to corrupt into impa-
tience, having no power but to sit still and wait,
which soon grows tiresome.
The doctrine delivered under this head, may be
readily admitted ; but how to provide ourselves
with a succession of pleasurable engagements, is
the difficulty. This requires two things : judg-
Ein the choice of c/?</.>- adapted to our op-
nities ; and a command of imagination, so as
able, when the judgment has made choice of
an end, to transfer a pleasure to the means:
after which, the end may be forgotten as soon as
we will.
Hence those pleasures arc most valuable, not
which are most exquisite in the fruition, but which
are most productive of engagement and activity in
the pursuit.
A man who is in earnest in his endeavours
after the happiness of a future state, has, in this
respect, an advantage over all the world : for, he
has constantly before his eyes an object of supreme
importance, productive of perpetual engagement
and activity, and of which the pursuit (which can
be said of no pursuit besides) lasts him to his life's
end. Yet even he must have many ends, besides
the far end : but then they will conduct to that,
be subordinate, and in some way or other capable
of being referred to that, and derive their satisfac-
tion, or an addition of satisfaction, from that.
Engagement is every thing : the more signifi-
cant, however, our engagements are, the better :
such as the planning of laws, institutions, manu-
factures, charities, improvements, public works;
and the endeavouring, by our interest, address,
solicitations, and activity, to carry them into effect ;
or, upon a smaller scale, the procuring of a main-
tenance and fortune for our families by a course
of industry and application to our callings, which
forms and gives motion to the common occupations
of life : ; training up a child ; prosecuting a scheme
for his future establishment; making ourselves
masters of a language or a science ; improving or
managing an estate ; labouring after a piece of
preferment ; and, lastly, any engagement, which
is innocent, is better than none ; as the writing of
a book, the building of a house, the laying out of
a garden, the digging of a fish-pond, even the
raising of a cucumber or a tulip.
Whilst our minds are taken up with the objects
or business before us, we are commonly happy,
whatever the object or business be; when the
mind is absent, and the thoughts are wandering
to something else than what is passing in the
place in wliich we are, we are often miserable.
III. Happiness depends upon the prudent con-
stitution of the habits. *
The art in which the secret of human happiness
in a great measure consists, is to set the habits in
such a manner, that every change may be a change
for the better. The habits themselves are much
the same ; for, whatever is made habitual, becomes
smooth, and easy, and nearly indifferent. The
return to an old habit is likewise easy, whatever
the habit be. Therefore the advantage is with
those habits which allow of an indulgence in the
deviation from them. The luxurious receive no
greater pleasures from their dainties, than the
peasant does from his bread and cheese: but the
peasant, whenever he goes abroad, finds a feast ;
whereas the epicure must be well entertained, to
escape disgust. Those who spend every day at
cards, and those who go every day to plough,
pass their time much alike: intent upon what
they are about, wanting nothing, regretting
nothing, they are both for the time in a state of
ease : but then, whatever suspends the occupation
of the card-player, distresses him ; whereas to the
labourer, every interruption is a refreshment : and
this appears m the different effects that Sunday
produces upon the two, which proves a day of
recreation to the one, Imt a lamentable burthen to
the other. The man who has learned to live
alone, feels his spirits enlivened whenever he en-
ters into company, and takes his leave without
regret ; another, who has long been accustomed
to a crowd, or continual successsion of company,
experiences in company no elevation of spirits,
nor any greater satisfaction, than what the man
of a retired life finds in his chimney-corner. So
far their conditions are equal ; but let a change of
place, fortune, or situation, separate the companion
from his circle, his visitors, his club, common-room,
or coffee-house ; and the difference and advantage
in the choice and constitution of the two habits
will show itself. Solitude comes to the one, cloth-
ed with melancholy; to the other, it brings liberty
and quiet. You will see the one fretful and rest-
less, at a loss how to dispose of his tune, till the
hour come round when he may forget himself in
bed ; the other easy and satisfied, taking up his
book or his pipe, as scon as he finds himself alone ;
ready to admit any little amusement that casts
up, or to turn his hands and attention to the first
business that presents itself; or content, without
either, to sit still, and let his train of thought glide
indolently through his brain, without much use,
perhaps, or pleasure, but without hankering after
any thing better, and without irritation. A reader,
who has inured himself to books of science and
argumentation, if a novel, a well-written pam-
phlet, an article of news, a narrative of a curious
voyage, or a journal of a traveller, fall in his way,
sits down to the repast with relish; enjoys his
entertainment while it lasts, and can return, when
it is over, to his graver reading, without distaste.
Another, with whom nothing will go down but
works of humour and pleasantry, or whose curi-
osity must be interested by perpetual novelty, will
consume a bookseller's window in half a forenoon ;
during which time he is rather in search of diver-
sion than diverted ; and as books to his taste aie
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
few, and short, and rapidly read over, the stock is
soon exhausted, when he is left withbut resource
from his principal supply of harmless amuse-
ment.
So far as circumstances of fortune conduce to
happiness, it is not the income which any man
possesses, but the increase of income, that affords
the pleasure. Two persons, of whom one begins
with a hundred, and advances his income to a
thousand pounds a year, and the other sets off
with a thousand and dwindles down to a hundred,
may, in the course of their time, have the receipt
and spending of the same sum of money : yet their
satisfaction, so far as fortune is concerned in it,
will be very different ; the series and sum total of
their incomes being the same, it makes a wide
difference at which end they begin.
IV. Happiness consists in health.
By health I understand, as well freedom from
bodily distempers, as that tranquillity, firmness,
and alacrity of mind, which we call good spirits ;
and which may properly enough be included in
our notion of health, as depending commonly
upon the same causes, and yielding to the same
management, as our bodily constitution.
Health, in this sense, is the one thing needful.
Therefore no pains, expense, self-denial, or re-
straint, to which we subject ourselves for the sake
of health, is too much. Whether it require us
to relinquish lucrative situations, to abstain from
favourite indulgences, to control intemperate pas-
sions, or undergo tedious regimens ; whatever
difficulties it lays us under, a man, who pursues
his happiness rationally and resolutely, will be
content to submit.
When we are in perfect health and spirits, we
feel in ourselves a happiness independent of any
particular outward gratification whatever, and of
which we can give no account. This is an en-
joyment which the Deity has annexed to life;
and it probably constitutes, in a great measure,
. the happiness of infants and brutes, especially of
the lower and sedentary orders of animals, as of
oysters, periwinkles, and the like; for which I
have sometimes been at a loss to find out amuse-
ment.
The above account of human happiness will
justify the two following conclusions, which, al-
though found in most oooks of morality, have
seldom, I think, been supported by any sufficient
reasons :
FIRST, That happiness is pretty equally dis-
tributed amongst the different orders of civil
society :
SECONDLY, That vice has no advantage over
virtue, even with respect to this world's happi-
CHAPTER VII.
Virtue.
VIRTUE is " the doing good to mankind, in
obedience to the 'will of God, and for the sake of
everlasting happiness."
According to which definition, "the good of
mankind" is the subject; the "will of God," the
rule ; and " everlasting happiness," the motive, of
human virtue.
Virtue has been divided by some moralists into
benevolence, prudence, fortitude t and temperance.
Benevolence proposes good ends ; prudence sug-
gests the best means of attaining them ; fortitude
enables us to encounter the difficulties, dangers,
and discouragements, which stand in our way in
the pursuit of these ends ; temperance repels and
overcomes the passions that obstruct it. benevo-
lence, for instance, prompts us to undertake the
cause of an oppressed orphan; prudence suggests
the best means of going about it ; fortitude enables
us to confront the danger, and bear up against the
loss, disgrace, or repulse, that may attend our
undertaking; and temperance keeps under the
love of money, of ease, or amusement, which might
divert us from it.
Virtue is distinguished by others into two
branches only, prudence and benevolence : pru-
dence, attention to our own interest ; benevolence,
to that of our fellow-creatures : both directed to
the same end, the increase of happiness in nature ;
and taking equal concern in the future as in the
present.
The four CARDINAL virtues are, prudence, for-
titude, temperance and justice.
But the division of virtue, to which we are in
modern times most accustomed, is into duties ;-r
Towards God ; as piety, reverence, resignation,
gratitude, &c.
Towards other men (or relative duties ;) as jus-
tice, charity, fidelity, loyalty, &c.
Towards ourselves ; as chastity, sobriety, tem-
perance, preservation of life, care of health, &c.
More of these distinctions have been proposed,
which it is not worth while to set down.
I shall proceed to state a few observations, which
relate to the general regulation of human conduct ;
unconnected indeed with each other, but very
worthy of attention ; and which fall as properly
under the title of this chapter as of any future
one. -x i
I. Mankind act more from habit than refiec- )
tion.
It is on few only and great occasions that men
deliberate at all ; on fewer still, that they institute
any thing like a regular inquiry into the moral
rectitude or depravity of what they are about to
do ; or wait for the result of it. We are for the
most part determined at once ; and by an impulse,
which is the effect and energy of pre-established
habit. And this constitution seems well adapted
to the exigences of human life, and to the imbe-
cility of our moral principle. In the current oc-
casions and rapid opportunities of life, there is
oftentimes little leisure for reflection; and were
there more, a man, who has to reason about his
duty, when the temptation to transgress it is
upon him, is almost sure to reason himself into an
error.
If we are in so great a degree passive under our
habits ; Where, it is asked, is the exercise of \
virtue, the guilt of vice, or any use of moral and
religious knowledge 1 I answer, in the forming- .'/
and contracting of these habits.
And hence results a rule of life of considerable
importance, viz. that many things are to be done
and abstained from, solely for the sake of habit.
We will explain ourselves by an example or two :
A beggar, with the appearance of extreme dis-
tress, asks our charity. If we come to argue the
matter, whether the distress be real, whether it be
VIRTUE.
35
not brought upon himself, whether it be of public
advantage to admit such application, whether it be
not to encourage idleness and vagrancy, whether
it may not invite impostors to our doors, whether
the money can be well spared, or might not be
better applied ; when these considerations are put
together, it may appear very doubtful, whether we
ought or ought not to give any thing. But when
we reflect, that the misery before our eyes excites
our pity, whether we will or not ; that it is of the
utmost consequence to us to cultivate this tender-
ness of mind ; that it is a quality, cherished by
indulgence, and soon stifled by opposition ; when
this, f say, is considered, a wise man will do that
for his own sake, which he would have hesitated
to do for the petitioner's ; he will give way to his
compassion, rather than offer violence to a habit
of so much general usr.
A man of confirmed good habits, will act in
the same manner without any consideration at all.
This may serve for one instance ; another is the
following : A man has been brought up from his
infancy with a dread of lying. An occasion pre-
sents itself where, at the expense of a little vera-
city, he may divert his company, set off his own
wit with advantage, attract the notice and engage
the partiality of all about him. This is not a
small temptation. And when he looks at the
other side of the question, he sees no mischief that
can ensue from this liberty, no slander of any
man's reputation, no prejudice likely to arise to
any man s interest. Were there nothing further
to be considered, it would be difficult to show why
a man under such circumstances might not in-
dulge his humour. But when he reflects that his
scruples about lying have hitherto preserved him
free from this vice ; that occasions like the present
will return, where the inducement may be equally
strong, but the indulgence much less innocent;
that his scruples will wear away by a few trans-
gressions, and leave him subject to one of the
meanest and most pernicious of all bad habits, a
habit of lying, whenever it will serve his turn :
when all this, I say, is considered, a wise man will
forego the present, or a much greater pleasure,
rather than lay the foundation of a character so
vicious and contemptible.
From what has been said, may be explained
also the nature of habitual virtue. By the defi-
nition of virtue, placed at the beginning of this
chapter, it appears, that the good of mankind is
the subject, the will of God the rule, and everlast-
ing happiness the motive and end, of all virtue.
Yet, in fact, a man shall perform many an act of
virtue without having either the good of mankind,
the will of God, or everlasting happiness in his
thought. How is this to be understood 1 In the
same manner as that a man may be a very good
servant, without being conscious, at every turn, of
a particular regard to his master's will, or of an
express attention to his master's interest : indeed,
your best old servants are of this sort : but then
he must have served for a length of time under
the actual direction of these motives, to bring it
to this: in which service, his merit and virtue
consist.
There are habits, not only of drinking, swear-
ing, and lying, and of some other things, which
are commonly acknowledged to be habits, and
called so: but of every modification of action,
speech, and thought. Man is a bundle of habits.
There are habits of industry, attention, vigilance,
advertency; of a prompt obedience to the judg-
ment occurring, or of yielding to the first impulse
of passion ; of extending our views to the future,
or of resting upon the present ; of apprehending,
methodising, reasoning ; of indolence and dilaton-
ness ; of vanity, self-conceit, melancholy, partiality;
of fretfulness, suspicion, captiousness ; censorious-
ness ; of pride, ambition, covetousness ; of over-
reaching, intriguing, projecting ; in a word, there
is not a quality or function, either of body or mind,
which does not feel the influence of this great law
of animated nature.
II.
the precise quantity of virtue necessary to salva-
tion.
This lias been made an objection to Christianity;
but without reason. For as all revelation, how-
ever imparted originally, must be transmitted by
the ordinary vehicle of language, it behoves those
who make the objection, to show that any form of
words could be devised, that might express this
quantity; or that it is possible to constitute a
standard of moral attainments, accommodated to
the almost infinite diversity which subsists in the
capacities and opportunities of different men.
It seems most agreeable to our conceptions of
justice, and is consonant enough to the language
of scripture,* to suppose, that there are prepared
for us rewards and punishments, of all possible
degrees, from the most exalted happiness down to
extreme misery ; so that "our labour is never in
vain ;" whatever advancement we make in virtue,
we procure a proportionable accession of future
happiness ; as, on the other hand, every accumu-
lation of vice is the " treasuring up so much wrath
against the day of wrath." It has been said, that
it can never be a just economy of Providence, to
admit one part cf mankind into heaven, and con-
demn the other to hell; since there must be very
little to choose, between the worst man who is
received into heaven, and the best who is excluded.
And how know we, it might be answered, but that
there may be as little to choose in the conditions 1
Without entering into a detail of Scripture
morality, which would anticipate our subject, the
following general positions may be advanced, I
think, with safety.
1. That a state of happiness is not to be expect-
ed by those who are conscious of no moral or
religious rule: I mean those who cannot with
truth say, that they have been prompted to one
action, or withholden from one gratification, by
any regard to virtue or religion, either immediate
or habitual
There needs no other proof of this, than the
consideration, that a brute would be as proper an
object of reward as such a -man, and that, if the
case were so, the penal sanctions of religion could
*" He which sowetn sparingly, shall reap also spar
ingly ; and he which soweth bountifully, shall reap also
bountifully;" 2 Cor. ix. 6. "And that servant which
knew his Lord's will, and prepared not himself, neither
did according to his will, shall be beaten with many
stripes ; but he that knew not. shall be beaten with few
stripes." Luke xii. 47, 48." Whosoever shall give you
a cup of water to drink in my name, because ye belong
to Christ ; verily I say unto you, he shall not lose his
reward;" to wit, intimating that there is in reserve a
proportionable reward for even the smallest act of
virtue. Mark i x. 41. See also the parable of the pounds,
Luke xix. 16, &c.; where he whose pound had gained
ten pounds, was placed over ten cities ; and he whose
pound had gained five pounds, was placed over five
cities,
36
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
have no place. For, whom would you punish, if
J you make such a one as this happy 'J or rather
indeed, religion itself, both natural and revealed
would cease to have either use or authority.
2. That a state of happiness is not to be ex-
pected by those, who reserve to themselves the
habitual practice of any one sin, or neglect of one
known duty. .
Because, no obedience can proceed upon proper
motives, which is not universal, that is, which is
not directed to every command of God alike, as
they all stand upon the same authority.
Because such an allowance would, in effect,
amount to a toleration of every vice in the world.
And because the strain of Scripture language
excludes any such hope. When our duties are
recited, they are put collectively, that is, as all and
very one of them required in the Christian cha-
racter. " Add to your faith virtue, and to virtue
knowledge, and to knowledge temperance, and to
temperance patience, and to patience godliness,
and to godliness brotherly kindness, and to
brotherly Kindness charity."* On the other hand,
when vices are enumerated, they are put disjunc-
tively, that is, as separately and severally exclud-
ing the sinner from heaven. " Neither fornicators,
nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor effeminate, nor
abusers of themselves with mankind, nor thieves,
nor covetous, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor ex-
tortioners, shall inherit the kingdom of heaven."t
Those texts of Scripture, which seem to lean
a contrary way, as that " charity shall cover
the multitude of sins ;"t that " he which con-
verteth a sinner from the error of his way,
shall hide a multitude of sins;" cannot, I
think, for the reasons above mentioned, be ex-
tended to sins deliberately, habitually, and ob-
stinately persisted in.
3. That a state of mere unprofitableness will
not go unpunished.
This is expressly laid down by Christ, in the
parable of the talents, which supersedes all further
reasoning upon the subject. " Then he which
had received one talent, came and said, Lord, I
knew thee that thou art an austere man, reaping
where thou hast not sown, and gathering where
thouxhast not strawed : and I was afraid, and hid
thy talent in the earth ; lo, there tfibu hast that is
thine. His lord answered and said unto him,
Thou wicked and slothful servant, thou knewest,
(or, kneweet thou 7) that I reap where I sowed
not, and gather where I have not strawed ; thou
oughtest therefore to have put my money to the
exchangers, and then at my coming I should have
received mine own with usury. Take therefore the
talent from him, and give it unto him which hath
ten tajents ; for unto every one that hath shall be
given, and he shall have abundance; but from
Kim that hath not, shall be taken away even that
which he hath : and cast ye. the unprofitable ser-
vant into outer darkness, there shall be weeping
and gnashing of teeth ."II
till. In every question of conduct, where one
side is doubtful, and the other safe ; we are bound
to take the safe side.
4 This is best explained by an instance ; and I
know of none more to our purpose than that of
suicide. Suppose, for example's sake, that it ap-
* 2 Pet. i. 5, ti, 7. 1 1 Cor. vi. 9, 10.
f 1 Pet. iv. 8. James v. 20.
|| Matt. xxv. 24, &c.
peared doubtful to a reasoner upon the subject,
whether he may lawfully destroy himself. He
can have no doubt, that it is lawful for him to let
it alone. Here therefore is a case, in which one
side is doubtful, and the other side safe. By
virtue therefore of our rule, he is bound to pursue
the safe side, that is, to forbear from offering
violence to himself, whilst a doubt remains upon
his rnind concerning the lawfulness of suicide.
It is prudent, you allow, to take the safe side.
But our observation means something more. We
assert that the action concerning which we doubt,
whatever it may be in itself, or to another, would,
in us, whilst this doubt remains upon our minds,
be certainly sinful. The case is expressly so
adjudged by St. Paul, with whose authority we
will for the present rest contented. " I know and
am persuaded by the Lord Jesus, that there is
nothing unclean of itself; but to him that esteemeth
any thing to be unclean, to him it is unclean.
Happy is he that condernneth not himself in that
thing which he alloweth ; and he that doubteth,
is damned (condemned) if he eat ; for whatsoever
is not of faith (i. e. not done with a full persuasion
of the lawfulness of it) is sin."*
BOOK II.
MORAL OBLIGATIONS.
CHAPTER I.
The question l Why am I obliged to keep my
word ?' considered.
WHY am I obliged to keep my word ?
Because it is right, says one. Because it is
agreeable to the fitness of things, says another.
Because it is conformable to reason and nature,
says a third. Because it is conformable to truth,
says a fourth. Because it promotes the public
good, says a fifth. Because it is required by the
will of God, concludes a sixth.
Upon which different accounts, two things are
observable :
FIRST, that they all ultimately coincide.
The fitness of things, means their fitness to
produce happiness : the nature of things, means
that actual constitution of the world, by which
some things, as such and such actions, for ex-
ample, produce happiness, and others misery;
reason is the principle by which we discover or
judge of this constitution: truth is this judgment,
expressed or drawn out into propositions. So
that it necessarily comes to pass, that what pro-
motes the public happiness, or happiness on the
whole, is agreeable to the fitness of things, to
nature, to reason, and to truth ; and such (as will
appear by and bye,) is the Divine character, that
what promotes the general happiness, is required
by the will of God ; and what has all the above
properties, must needs be right ; for, right means
no more than conformity to the rule we go by,
whatever that rule be.
And this is the reason that moralists, from
whatever different principles they set out, com-
* Rom. xiv. 14, 22, 23.
MORAL OBLIGATIONS.
37
monly meet in their conclusions ; that is, they
enjoin the same conduct, prescribe the same rules
of duty, and, with a few exceptions, deliver upon
dubious cases the same determinations.
SECONDLY, it is to be observed, that these an-
swers all leave the matter short ; for the inquirer
may turn round upon his teacher with a second
question, in which he will expect to be satisfied,
'namely, Why am I obliged to do what is right;
; to act agreeably to the fitness of things ; to con-
form to reason, nature, or truth ; to promote the
public good, or to obey the will of God.
The proper method of conducting the inquiry
is, FIRST, to examine what we mean, when we
say a man is obliged to do any thing ; and THEN'
to show why he is obliged to do the thing which
we have proposed as an example, namely, "to
keep his word."
CHAPTER II.
What we mean to say when a man is obliged to
do a thing.
A MAN is said to be obliged, "when he is ur-
ged by a violent motite resulting from the com-
mand of another."
FIRST, " The motive must be violent." If a
person, who has done me so little service, or has
a small place in his disposal, ask me upon some
occasion for my vote, I may possibly give it him,
from a motive of gratitude or expectation : but I
should hardly say that I was obliged to give it
him ; because the inducement does not rise high
enough. Whereas, if a father or a master, any
great benefactor, or one on whom my fortune de-
pends, require my vote, I give it him of course :
and my answer to all who asked me why I voted
so and so, is, that my father or my master obliged
me ; that I had received so many favours from, or
had so great a dependence upon, such a one, that
I was obliged to vote as he directed me.
SECONDLY, " It must result from the command
of another." Offer a man a gratuity for doing
any thing, for seizing, for example, an offender,
he is not obliged by your offer to do it ; nor would
he say he is; though he may be induced, per-
suaded, prevailed upon, tempted. If a magistrate
or the man's immediate superior command it, he
considers himself as obliged to comply, though
possibly he would lose less by a refusal in this
case, than in the former.
I will not undertake to say that the words
obligation and obliged are used uniformly in this
sense, or always with this distinction : nor is it
possible to tie down popular phrases to any con-
stant signification: but wherever the motive is
violent enough, and coupled with the idea of com-
mand, authority, law, or the will of a superior,
there, I take it, we always reckon ourselves to be
obliged.
And from this account of obligation, it follows,
that we can be obliged to nothing, but what we
ourselves are to gain or lose something by; for
nothing else can be a " violent motive" to us.
As we should not be obliged to obey the laws, or
the magistrate, unless rewards or punishments,
pleasure, or pain, somehow or other, depended
upon our obedience ; so neither should we, without
the same reason, be obliged to do what is right, to
practise virtue, or to obey the commands of God.
CHAPTER III.
The question, ' Why am I obliged to keep my
word?' resumed.
LET it be remembered, that to be obliged, is " to
be urged by a violent motive, resulting from the
command of another."
And then let it be asked, Why am I obliged to
keep my word ? and the answer will be, Because
I am " urged to do so by a violent motive" (name-
ly, the expectation of being after this life rewarded,
if I do, or punished for it, if I do not,) " resulting
from the command of another" (namely of God.)
This solution goes to the bottom of the subject,
as no further question can reasonably be asked.
Therefore, private happiness is our motive, and
the will of God our rule.
When I first turned my thoughts to moral spe-
culations, an air of mystery seemed to hang over the
whole subject ; which arose, I believe, from hence.
that I supposed, with many authors whom I
had read, that to be obliged to do a thing, was
very different from being induced only to do it ;
and that the obligation to practise virtue, to do
what is right, just, &c. was quite another thing,
and of another kind, than the obligation which a
soldier is under to obey his officer, a servant his
master ; or any of the civil and ordinary obliga-
tions of human life. Whereas, from what has
been said, it appears that moral obligation is like
all other obligations ; and that obligation is nothing
more than an inducement of sufficient strength,
and resulting, in some way, from the command of
another.
There is always understood to be a difference
between an act of prudence and an act of duty.
Thus, if I distrust a man who owed me a sum of
money, I should reckon it an act of prudence to
get another person bound with him ; but I should
hardly call it an act of duty. On the other hand,
it would be thought a very unusual and loose kind
of language, to say, that as I had made such a
promise, it was prudent to perform it ; or that, as
my friend, when he went abroad, placed a box of
jewels in my hands, it would be prudent in me to
preserve it for him till he returned.
Npw, in what, you will ask, does the difference
consist 1 inasmuch, as, according to our account
of the matter, both in the one case and the other,
in acts of duty as well as acts of prudence, we
consider solely what we ourselves shall gain or lose
by the act.
The difference, and the only difference, is this ;
that in the one case, we consider what we shall
gain or lose in the present world; in the other
case, we consider also what we shall gain or lose
in the world to come.
They who would establish a system of morality,
independent of a future state, must look out for
some different idea of moral obligation; unless
they can show that virtue conducts the possessor
to certain happiness in this life, or to a much
greater share of it than he could attain by a dif-
ferent behaviour.
To us there are two great questions :
I. Will there be after this life any distribution
of rewards and punishments at all 1
II. If there be, what actions will be rewarded,
and what will be punished 1
The first question comprises the credibility of
the Christian Religion, together with the presump-
tive proofs of a future retribution from the light of
i
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
nature. The second question comprises the pro-
vince of morality. Both questions are too much
for one work. The affirmative therefore of the
first, although we confess that it is the foundation
upon which the whole fabric rests, must in this
treatise be taken for granted.
CHAPTER IV.
The will of God.
As the will of God is our rule ; to inquire what
is our duty, or what we are obliged to do, in any
instance, is, in effect, to inquire what is the will
of God in that instance 1 which consequently be-
comes the whole business of morality.
Now there are two methods of coming at the
will of God on any point :
I. By his express declarations, when they are
to be had, and which must be sought for in
Scripture.
IL By what we can discover of his designs and
disposition from his works 5 or, as we usually call
it, the light of nature.
And here we may observe the absurdity of
separating natural and revealed religion from each
other. The object of both is the same, to dis-
cover the will of God, and, provided we do but
discover it, it matters nothing by what means.
An ambassador, judging by what he knows of
his sovereign's disposition, and arguing from what
he has observed of his conduct, or is acquainted
with of his designs, may take his measures in
many cases with safety, and presume with great
probability how his master would have him act on
most occasions that arise : but if he have his com-
mission and instructions in his pocket, it would
be strange not to look into them. He will be
directed by both rules : when his instructions are
clear and positive, there is an end to all further
deliberation (unless indeed he suspect their authen-
ticity:) where his instructions are silent or du-
bious, he will endeavour to supply or explain them
by what he has been able to collect from other
quarters of his master's general inclination or
intentions.
Mr. Hume, in his fourth Appendix to his
Principles of Morals, has been pleased to complain
of the modern scheme of uniting Ethics with the
Christian Theology. They who find themselves
disposed to join in this complaint, will do well to
observe what Mr. Hume himself has been able to
make of morality without this union. And for
that purpose, let them read the second part of the
ninth section of the above Essay; which part
contains the practical application of the whole
treatise, a treatise which Mr. Hume declares to
be " incomparably the best he ever wrote." When
they have read it over, let them consider, whether
any motives there proposed are likely to be found
sufficient to withhold men from the gratification
of lust, revenge, envy, ambition, avarice ; or to pre-
vent the existence of these passions. Unless they
rise up from this celebrated essay with stronger
impressions upon their minds than it ever left
upon mine, they will acknowledge the necessity
of additional sanctions. But the necessity of these
sanctions is not now the question. If they be in
fact established, if the rewards and punishments
held forth in the Gospel will actually come to pass,
they must be considered. Such as reject the
Christian Religion, are to make the best shift
they can to build up a system, and lay the foun-
dation of morality without it. But it appears to
me a great inconsistency in those who receive
Christianity, and expect something to come of it,
to endeavour to keep all such expectations out of
sight in their reasonings concerning human duty.
The method of coming at the will of God, con-
cerning any action, by the light of nature, is to ,
inquire into " the tendency of the action to pro-
mote or diminish the general happiness." This '
rule proceeds upon the presumption, that God
Almighty wills and wishes the happiness of his
creatures; and, consequently, that those actions,
which promote that will and wish, must be agree-
able to him; and the contrary.
As this presumption is the foundation of our
whole system, it becomes necessary to explain the
reasons upon which it rests.
CHAPTER V.
The Divine Benevolence.
WHEN God created the human species, either
he wished their happiness, or he wished their
misery, or he was indifferent and unconcerned
about both.
If he had wished our misery, he might have
made sure of his purpose, by forming our senses
to be so many sores and pains to us, as they are
now instruments of gratification and enjoyment :
or by placing us amidst objects so ill-suited to our
perceptions, as to have continually offended us,
instead of ministering to our refreshment and -
delight. He might have made, for example, every
thing we tasted, bitter ; every thing we saw, loath-
some; every thing we touched, a sting; every
smell a stench ; and every sound a discord.
If iie had been indifferent about our happiness
or misery, we must impute to our good fortune
(as all design by this supposition is excluded) both
the capacity of our senses to receive pleasure, and
the supply of external objects fitted to produce it.
But either of these (and still more both of them)
being too much to be attributed to accident, no-
thing remains but the first supposition, that God,
when he created the human species, wished their
happiness; and made for them the provision
which he has made, with that view, and for that
purpose.
The same argument may be proposed in dif-
ferent terms, thus: Contrivance proves design:
and the predominant tendency of the contrivance
indicates the disposition of the designer. The
world abounds with contrivances; and all the
contrivances which we are acquainted with,
are directed to beneficial purposes. Evil, no
doubt, exists ; but is never, that we can perceive,
the object of contrivance. Teeth are contrived to
eat, not to ache ; their aching now and then, is
incidental to the contrivance, perhaps inseparable
from it; or even, if you will, let it be called a
defect in the contrivance ; but it is not the object
of it. This is a distinction which well deserves
to be attended to. In describing implements of
husbandry, you would hardly say of the sickle,
that it is made to cut the reaper's fingers, though,
from the construction of the instrument, and the
NECESSITY OF GENERAL RULES.
manner of using it, this mischief often happens.
But if you had occasion to describe instruments of
torture or execution, This engine, you would say,
is to extend the sinews ; this to dislocate the joints;
this to break the bones ; this to scorch the soles of
the feet. Here, pain and misery are the very
objects of the contrivance. Now, nothing of this
sort is to be found in the works of nature. We
never discover a train of contrivance to bring about
an evil purpose. No anatomist ever discovered a
system of organization calculated to produce pain
and disease ; or, in explaining the parts of the
human body, ever said ; This is to irritate, this to
inflame ; this duct is to convey the gravel to the
kidneys; this gland to secrete the humour which
forms the gout : if by chance he come at a part
of which he knows not the use, the most that he
can say is, that it is useless : no one ever suspects
that it is put there to incommode, to annoy, or to
torment. Since then God hath called forth his
consummate wisdom to contrive and provide for
our happiness, and the world appears to have been
constituted with this design at first ; so long as
this constitution is upholden by him, we must in
reason suppose the same design to continue.
The contemplation of universal nature rather
bewilders the mind than affects it. There is
always a bright spot in the prospect, upon which
the eye rests ; a single example, perhaps, by which
each man finds himself more convinced than by
all others put together. I seem, for my own part,
j to see the benevolence of the Deity more clearly
in the pleasures of very young children, than in
' any thing in the world. The pleasures of grown
persons may be reckoned partly of their own pro-
curing ; especially if there has been any industry,
or contrivance, or pursuit, to come at them ; or if
they are founded, like music, painting, &c. upon
any qualification of their own acquiring. But
the pleasures of a healthy infant are so manifestly
provided for it by another, and the benevolence of
the provision is so unquestionable, that every child
I see at its sport, affords to my mind a kind of
sensible evidence of the finger of God, and of the
disposition which directs it.
But the example, which strikes each man most
strongly, is the true example for him : and hardly
two minds hit upon the same ; which shows the
abundance of such examples about us.
We conclude, therefore, that God wills and
wishes the happiness of his creatures. And this
conclusion being once established, we are at liberty
to go on with the rule built upon it, namely,
" that the method of coming at the will of God,
concerning any action, by the light of nature, is
to inquire into the tendency of that action to pro-
mote or diminish the general happiness."
CHAPTER VI.
Utility.
So then actions are to be estimated by their
tendency*. Whatever is expedient, is right. It
* Actions in the abstract are right or wrong, accord-
ing to their tendency ; the agent is virtuous or vicious,
according to his design. Thus, if the question be, Whe-
ther relieving common beggars be right or wrong ? we
inquire into the tendency of such a conduct to the public
advantage or inconvenience. If the question be, Whe-
ther a man remarkable for this sort of bounty is to be
is the utility of any moral rule alone, which con-
stitutes the obligation of it.
But to all this there seems a plain objection,
viz. that many actions are useful, which no man
in his senses will allow to be right. There are
occasions, in which the hand of the assassin would
be very useful. The present possessor of some
great estate employs his influence and fortune, to
annoy, corrupt, or oppress, all about him. His
estate would devolve, by his death, to a successor
of an opposite character. It is useful, therefore,
to despatch such a one as soon as possible out of the
way ; as the neighbourhood will exchange thereby
a pernicious tyrant for a wise and generous bene-
factor. It might be useful to rob a miser, and
give the money to the poor; as the money, no
doubt, would produce more happiness, by being
laid out in food and clothing for half a dozen dis-
tressed families, than by continuing locked up in
a miser's chest. It may be useful to get possession
of a place, a piece of preferment, or of a seat in
parliament, by bribery or false swearing: as by
means of them we may serve the public more
effectually than in our private station. What
then shall we say 1 Must we admit these actions
to be right, which would be to justify assassination,
plunder, and perjury ; or must we give up our
principle, that the criterion of right is utility.
It is not necessary to do either.
The true answer is this; that these actions,
after all, are not useful, and for that reason, and
that alone, are not right.
To see this point perfectly, it must be observed,
that the bad consequences of actions, are twofold,
particular and general.
The particular bad consequence of an action, is
the mischief which that single action directly and
immediately occasions.
The general bad consequence is, the violation
of some necessary or useful general rule.
Thus, the particular bad consequences of the
assassination above described, is the fright and
pain which the deceased underwent ; the loss he
suffered of life, which is as valuable to a bad man,
as to a good one, or more so; the prejudice and
affliction, of which his death was the occasion to
his family, friends, and dependants.
The general bad consequence is the violation
of this necessary general rule, that no man be put
to death for his crimes but by public authority.
Although, therefore, such an action have no
particular bad consequences, or greater particular
good consequences, yet it is not useful, by reason
of the general consequence, which is of more im-
portance, and which is evil. And the same of the
other two instances, and of a million more which
might be mentioned.
But as this solution supposes, that the moral
government of the world must proceed by general
rules, it remains that we show the necessity of this.
CHAPTER VII.
The necessity of general rules.
You cannot permit one action and forbid another,
without showing a difference between them.
Consequently, the same sort of actions must be
esteemed virtuous for that reason ? we inquire into his
design, whether his liberality sprang from charity or
from ostentation ? It is evident that our concern is
with actions in the abstract.
40
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
generally permitted or generally forbidden.
Where, therefore, the general permission of them
would be pernicious, it becomes necessary to lay
down and support the rule Which generally forbids
them.
Thus to return once more to the case of the
.assassin. The assassin knocked the rich villain
,bn the head, because he thought him better out of
'the way than in it. If you allow this excuse in
the present instance, you must allow it to all who
$ct in the same manner, and from the said motive ;
ihat is, you must allow every man to kill any one
he meets, whom he thinks noxious or useless;
which, in the event, would be to commit every
man's life and safety to the spleen, fury, and
fanaticism, of his neighbour; a disposition of
affairs which would soon fill the world with misery
and confusion ; and ere long put an end to human
society, if not to the human species.
The necessity of general rules in human govern-
ment is apparent ; but whether the same necessity
subsists in the Divine economy, in that distribu-
tion of rewards and punishments to which a
moralist looks forward, may be doubted.
I answer, that general rules are necessary
to every moral government : and by moral govern-
ment I mean any dispensation, whose object is to
influence the conduct of reasonable creatures.
For if, of two actions perfectly similar, one be
punished, and the other be rewarded or forgiven,
which is the consequence of rejecting general
rules, the subjects of such a dispensation would
no longer know, either what to expect or how to
act. Rewards and punishments would cease to
be such, would become accidents. Like the
stroke of a thunderbolt, or the discovery of a mine,
like a blank or a benefit-ticket in a lottery, they
would occasion pain or pleasure when they hap-
pened; but, following in no known order, from
any particular course of action, tb^ey could have
no previous influence or effect upon the conduct.
An attention to general rules, therefore, is in-
cluded in the very idea of reward and punishment.
Consequently, whatever reason there is to expect
future reward and punishment at the hand of
God, there is the same reason to believe, that he
will proceed in the distribution of it by general
rules.
Before we prosecute the consideration of general
consequences any further, it may be proper to an-
ticipate a reflection, which will be apt enough to
suggest itself, in the progress of our argument.
As the general consequence of an action, upon
which so much of the guilt of a bad action de-
pends, consists in the example ; it should seem,
that if the action be done with perfect secrecy, so
as to furnish no bad example, that part of the
guilt drops off. In the case of suicide, for instance,
if a man can so manage matters, as to take away
his own life, without being known or suspected
to have done so, he is not chargeable with any
mischief from the example ; nor does his punish-
ment seem necessary, in order to save the au-
thority of any general rule.
In the first place, those who reason in this
manner do not observe, that they are setting up a
general rule, of all others the least to be endured;
namely, that secrecy, whenever secrecy is prac-
ticable, will justify any action.
I Wore such a rule admitted, for instance, in
the case above produced; is there not reason
to fear that people would be disappearing per-
petually 1
In the next place, I would wish them to be well
satisfied about the points proposed in the following
.queries;
1. Whether the Scriptures do not teach us
to expect that, at the general judgment of the
world, the most secret actions will be brought to
light 1*
2. For what purpose can this be, but to
make them the objects of reward and punish-
ment.
3. Whether, being so brought to light, they
will not fall under the operation of those equal
and impartial rules, by which God will deal with
his creatures 1
They will then become examples, whatever
they be now; and require the same treatment
from the judge and governor of the moral world,
as if they had been detected from the first.
CHAPTER VIII.
The Consideration of General Consequences
I pursued.
THE general consequence of any action may be
estimated, by asking what would be the conse-
quence, if the same sort of actions were generally
permitted. But suppose they were, and a thou-
sand such actions perpetrated under this permis-
sion; is it just to charge a single action with the
collected guilt and mischief of the whole thousand 1
I answer, that the reason for prohibiting and
punishing an action (and this reason may be
called the guilt of the action, if you please) will
always be in proportion to the whole mischief
that would arise from the general impunity and
toleration of actions of the same sort.
" Whatever is expedient is right." But then
it must be expedient on the whole, at the long
run, in all its effects collateral and remote, as wefl
as in those which are immediate and direct ; as it
is obvious, that, in computing consequences, it
makes no difference in what way or at what dis-
tance they ensue.
To impress this doctrine on the minds of young
readers, and to teach them to extend their views
beyond the immediate mischief of a crime, I shall
tiere subjoin a string of instances, in which the
particular consequence is comparatively insigni-
ficant ; and where the malignity of the crime,
and the severity with which human laws pursue
it, is almost entirely founded upon the general
consequence.
The particular consequence of coining is, the
loss of a guinea, or of half a guinea, to the person
who receives the counterfeit money : the general
consequence (by which I mean the consequence
damage of twenty or thirty pounds to the man
* " In the clay when God shall judge the secrets of men
by Jesus Christ." Rom. xi. 16. " Judge nothing before
the time, until the Lord come, who will bring to light
the hidden things of darkness, and will make manifest
the counsels of the heart." 1 Cor. iv. 5.
OF RIGHT.
41
who accepts the forged bill : the general conse-
quence is. the stoppage of paper-currency.
The particular consequence of sheep-stealing,
or horse-stealing, is a loss to the owner, to the
amount of the value of the sheep or horse stolen :
the general consequence is, that the land could
not be occupied, nor the market supplied, with
this kind of stock.
The particular consequence of breaking into a
house empty of inhabitants, is, the loss ot a pair
of silver candlesticks, or a few spoons : the gene-
ral consequence is, that nobody could leave the
house empty.
The particular consequence of smuggling may
be a deduction from the national fund too minute
for computation : the general consequence is, the
destruction of one entire branch of public revenue ;
a proportionable increase of the burthen upon
other branches ; and the ruin of all fair and open
trade in the article smuggled.
The particular consequence of an officer's
breaking his parole is, the loss of a prisoner, who
was possibly not worth keeping : the general con-
sequence is, that this mitigation of captivity would
be refused to all others.
And what proves incontestably the superior
importance of general consequence is, that crimes
are the same, and treated in the same manner,
though the particular consequence be very ditler-
ent. The crime and fate of the house-breaker is
the same, whether his booty be five pounds or
fifty. And the reason is, that the general con-
sequence is the same.
The want of this distinction between particular
and general consequences, or rather, the not suf-
ficiently attending to the latter, is the cause of that
perplexity which we meet with in ancient mo-
ralists. On the one hand, they were sensible of
the absurdity of pronouncing actions good or evil,
without regard to the good or evil they produced.
On the other hand, they were startled at the con-
clusions to which a steady adherence to conse-
quences seemed sometimes to conduct them. To
relieve this difficulty, they contrived the TO jrpurov
or the honestum, by which terms they meant to
constitute a measure of right, distinct from utility.
Whilst the utile served them, that is, whilst it
corresponded with their habitual notions of the
rectitude of actions, they went by it. When they
fell in with such cases as those mentioned in the
sixth chapter, they took leave of their guide, and
resorted to the honestam. The only account they
could give of the matter was. that these actions
might be useful ; but, because they were not at
the same time honesta, they were by rip means to
be deemed just or right.
From the principles delivered in this and the
two preceding chapters, a maxim may be explained,
which is in every man's mouth, and in most men's
without meaning, viz. " not to do evil, that good
may come :" that is, let us not violate a general
rule, for the sake of any particular good conse-
quence we may expect. Which is for the most
part a salutary caution, the advantage seldom
compensating for the violation of the rule. Strictly
speaking, that cannot be " evil," from which " good
comes ;' but in this way, ami with a view to the
distinction between particular and general conse-
quences, it may.
We will conclude this subject of consequences
with the following reflection. A man may imagine,
that any action of his, with respect to the public,
must be inconsiderable ; so also is the agent. If
his crime produce but a small effect upon the
universal interest, his punishment or destruction
bears a small proportion to the sum of happiness
and misery in the creation.
CH'PTER IX.
Of Right.
RIGHT and obligation are reciprocal ; that is, I Z.
wherever there is a right in one person, there is a
corresponding obligation upon others. If one man
has " a right to an estate, others are " obliged"
to abstain from it: If parents have a "righ?' to
reverence from their children, children are " oblig-
ed" to reverence their parents : and so in all other
instances.
Now, because moral obligation depends, as we
ii, upon the will of God ; right, which is
correlative to it, must depend upon the same.
Right, therefore, signifies, consistency -with the will
of God.
But if the Divine will determine the distinction
of right and wrong, what else is it but an identical
proposition, to say of God, that he acts right ? or
how is it possible to conceive even that he should
act wrong ? YeLJhesc assertions are intelligible
iiinl significant. {The case is this: By virtue of
the two principles, that God wills the happiness
of his creatures, and that the will of God is the
measure of right and wrong, we arrive at certain
conclusions ; which conclusions become rules ; and
we soon learn to pronounce actions right or wrong,
according as they agree or disagree with our
rules, without looking any further: and when
the habit is once established of stopping at the
rules, we can go back and compare with these
rules even the Divine conduct itself; and yet it
may be true (only not observed by us at the time)
that the rules themselves are deduced from the
Divine will.
Right is a quality of persons or of actions.
Of persons ; as when we say, such a one has a
"right" to this estate ; parents have a " right" to
reverence from their children; the king to alle-
giance from his subjects; masters have "right"
to their servants' labour ; a man has not a " right"
over his own life.
Of actions ; as in such expressions as the fol-
lowing: it is "right" to punish murder with
death ; his behaviour on that occasion was "right;"
it is not " right" to send an unfortunate debtor to
jail; he did or acted "right," who gave up his
place, rather than vote against his judgment.
In this latter set of expressions, you may sub-
stitute the definition of right above given, for the
term itself: e.g. it is" consistent with the will of
God to punish murder with death ; his behaviour
on that occasion was " consistent with the will of
God ;" it is not " consistent with the will of God"
to send an unfortunate debtor to jail ; he did, or
acted, " consistently with the will of God," who
gave up his place, rather than vote against his
judgment.
In the former set, you must vary the construc-
tion a little, when you introduce the definition
instead of the term. Such a one has a " right" to
this estate, that is, it is " consistent with the will
of God" that such a one should have it ; parents
have a " right" to reverence from their children^
43
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
that is, it is :{ consistent with the will of God"
that children should reverence their parents j and
the same of the rest.
CHAPTER X.
The Division of Rights.
RIGHTS, when applied to persons, are
Natural or adventitious :
Alienable or unalienable:
Perfect or imperfect.
I. Rights are natural or adventitious.
Natural rights are such as would belong to a
man, although there subsisted in the world no
civil government whatever.
Adventitious rights are such as would not.
Natural rights are, a man's right to his life,
limbs, and liberty ; his right to the produce of his
personal labour ; to the use, in common with others,
of air, light, water. If a thousand different persons,
from a thousand different corners of the world,
were cast together upon a desert island, they would
from the first be every one entitled to these rights.
Adventitious rights are, the right of a king
over his subjects ; of a general over his soldiers ;
of a judge over the life and liberty of a prisoner ;
a right to elect or appoint magistrates, to impose
taxes, decide disputes, direct the descent or dispo-
sition of property ; a right, in a word, in any one
man, or particular body of men, to make laws and
regulations for the rest. For none of these rights
would exist in the newly inhabited island.
And here it will be asked, how adventitious
rights are created ; or, which is the same thing,
how any new rights can accrue from the estab-
lishment of civil society ; as rights of all kinds, we
remember, depend upon the will of God, and ci-
vil society is but the ordinance and institution of
man 7 For the solution of this difficulty, we must
return to our first principles. God wills the hap-
piness of mankind ; and the existence of civil so-
ciety, as conducive to that happiness. Conse-
V quently, many things, which are useful for the
support of civil society in general, or for the con-
duct and conversation of particular societies al-
ready established, are, for that reason, " consistent
with the will of God," or " right," which, without
that reason, i. e. without the establishment of ci-
vil society, would not have been so.
From whence also it appears, that adventitious
rights, though immediately derived from human
appointment, are not, for that reason, less sacred
than natural rights, nor the obligation to respect
them less cogent. They both ultimately rely
upon the same authority, the will of God. Such
a man claims a right to a particular estate. He
can show, it is true, nothing for his right, but a
rule of the civil community to which he belongs ;
and this rule may be arbitrary, capricious, and
absurd. Notwithstanding all this, there would
be the same sin in dispossessing the man of his
estate by craft or violence, as if it had been as-
signed to him, like the partition of the country
amongst the twelve tribes, by the immediate desig-
nation and appointment of Heaven.
II. Rights are alienable or unalienable.
Which terms explain themselves.
The right we have to most of those things
which we call property, as houses, lands, money,
&c. is alienable.
The right of a prince over his people, of a hu-'
band over his wile, of a master over his servant,;
is generally and naturally unalienable.
The distinction depends upon the mode of ac-\
quiring the right. If the right originate from a con-
tract, and be limited to the person, by the express
terms of the contract, or by the common interpre-
tation of such contracts (which is equivalent to
an express stipulation,) or by a personal condition
annexed to the right ; then it is unalienable. In
all other cases it is alienable.
/ The right to civil liberty is alienable ; though
in the vehemence of men's zeal for it, and the
language of some political remonstrances, it has
often been pronounced to be an unalienable right^
The true reason why mankind hold in detestation
the memory of those who have sold their liberty
to a tyrant, is, that, together with their own, they
sold commonly, or endangered, the liberty of others j
which certainly they had no right to dispose of.
III. Rights are perfect or imperfect.
Perfect rights may be asserted by force, or, what
in civil society comes into the place of private force,
by course of law.
Imperfect rights may not.
Examples of perfect rights. A man's right to
his life, person, house ; for, if these be attacked,
he may repel the attack by instant violence, or
punish the aggressor by law : a man's right to his
estate, furniture, clothes, money, and to all ordi-
nary articles of property ; for, if they be injurious-
ly taken from him, he may compel the author of
the injury to make restitution or satisfaction.
Examples of imperfect rights. In elections or "
appointments to offices, where the qualifications
are prescribed, the best qualified candidate has a
right to success; yet, if he be rejected, he has no
remedy. He can neither seize the office by force,
nor obtain redress at law ; his right therefore is
imperfect. A poor neighbour has a right to re-
lief; yet, if it be refused him, he must not extort
it. A benefactor has a, right to returns of gra-
titude from the person he has obliged ; yet, if he
meet with none, he must acquiesce. Children
have a right to affection and education from their
parents ; and parents, on their part, to duty and
reverence from their children ; yet, if these rights
be on either side withholden, there is no compul-
sion by which they can be enforced.
It may be at first view difficult to apprehend
how a person should have a right to a thing, and
yet have no right to use the means necessary to
obtain it. This difficulty, like most others in mo-
rality, is resolvable into the necessity of general
rules. The reader recollects, that a person is said
to have a " right" to a thing, when it is " consistent
with the will of God" that he should possess it. So
that the question is reduced to this : How it conies to
pass that it should be consistent with the will of God
that a person should possess a thing, and yet not be
consistent with the same will that he should use
force to obtain it? The answer is, that by reason of
the indeterminateness either of the object, or of
the circumstances of the right, the permission of
force in this case would, in its consequence, lead
to the permission of force in other cases, where
there existed no right at all. The candidate above
described has, no doubt, a right to success ; but
his right depends upon his qualifications, for in-
stance, upon his comparative virtue, learning, &c.
there must be some body therefore to compare
them. The existence, degree, and respective im-
GENERAL RIGHTS OF MANKIND.
43
portance, of these qualifications, are all indeter-
minate : there must be somebody therefore to deter-
mine them. To allow the candidate to demand suc-
cess by force, is to make him the judge of his own
qualifications. You cannot do this, but you must
make all other candidates the same; which would
open a door to demands without number, reason,
or right. In like manner, a poor man has a right
to relief from the rich ; but the mode, season, and
quantum of that relief, who shall contribute to it,
or how much, are not ascertained. Yet these points
must be ascertained, before a claim to relief can be
prosecuted by force. For, to allow the poor to ascer-
tain them for themselves, would be to expose pro
perty to so many of these claims, that it would lose
its value, or rather its nature, that ie. cease indeed
to be property. The same observation holds of all
other cases of imperfect rights ; not to mention, that
in the instances of gratitude, affection, reverence,
and the like, force is ex eluded by the very idea of the
duty, which must be voluntary, or cannot exist at all.
Wherever the right is imperfect, the correspond-
ing obligation is so too. I am obliged to prefer
the best candidate, to relieve the poor, be grateful
to my benefactors, take care of my children, and
reverence my parents ; but in all these cases, my
obligation, like their right, is imperfect.
I call these obligations " imperfect" in conform-
ity to the eslal dished language of writers upon
the subject. The term, however, seems ill chosen
on this account, that it leads many to imagine,
that there is less guilt in the violation of an im-
perfect obligation, than of a perfect one: which is
a groundless notion. For an obligation being per-
fect or imperfect, determines only whether violence
may or may not be employed to enforce it ; and
determines nothing else. The degree of guilt
incurred by violating the obligation, is a different
thing, and is determined by circumstances alto-
gether independent of this distinction. A man
who, by a partial, prejudiced, or corrupt vote, dis-
appoints a worthy candidate of a station in life,
upon which his hopes, possibly, or livelihood, de-
pended, and who thereby grievously discourages
merit and emulation in others, commits, I am per-
suaded, a much greater crime, than if he filched
a book out of a library, or picked a pocket of a
handkerchief; though in the one case he violates
only an imperfect right, in the other a perfect one.
As positive precepts are often indeterminate in
their extent, and as the indeterminateness of an ob-
ligation is that which makes it imperfect ; it comes
to pass, that positive precepts commonly produce
an imperfect obligation.
Negative precepts or prohibitions, being general-
ly precise, constitute accordingly perfect obliga-
tions.
The fifth commandment is positive, and the
duty which results from it is imperfect.
The sixth commandment is negative, and im-
poses a perfect obligation.
Religion and virtue find their principal exercise
among the imperfect obligations ; the laws of ci-
vil society taking pretty good care of the rest.
CHAPTER XI.
T7ie General Rights of Mankind.
BY the General rights of Mankind, I mean the
rights which belong to the species collectively ;
the original stock, as I may say, which they have
since distributed among themselves.
These are,
1. A right to the fruits or vegetable produce of ts
the earth.
The insensible parts of the creation are inca-
pable of injury ; and it is nugatory to inquire in-
to the right, where the use can be attended with
no injury. But it may be worth observing, for
the sake of an inference which will appear below,
that, as God had created us with a want *nd de-
sire of food, and provided things suited by their
nature to sustain and satisfy us, we may fairly pre-
sume, that he intended we should apply these
things to that purpose.
2. A right to the flesh of animals. \/
This is a very different claim from the former.
Some excuse seems necessary for the pain and
loss which we occasion to brutes, by restraining
them of their liberty, mutilating their IxxUes, and,
at last,putting an end to their lives (which we sup-
pose to be the whole of their existence,) for our
pleasure or conveniency.
The reasons alleged in vindication of this prac-
tice, are the following : that the several species of
brutes being created to prey upon one another,
affords a kind of analogy to prove that the human
species were intended to feed upon them ; that, if
let alone, they would over-run the earth, and ex-
clude mankind from the .occupation of it ; that
they are requited for what they suffer at our hands,
by our care and protection.
Upon which reasons I would observe, that the
analogy contended for is extremely lame ; since
brutes have no power to support life by any other
means, and since we have ; tor the whole human
species might subsist entirely upon fruit, pulse,
herbs, ana roots, as many tribes of Hindoos ac-
tually do. The two other reasons may bfe valid
reasons, as far as they go ; for, no doubt, if man
had been supported entirely by vegetable food, a
great part of those animals which die to furnish
his table, would never have lived : but they by no
means justify our right over the lives of brutes
to the extent in which we exercise it. What
danger is there, for instance, of fish interfering
with us, in the occupation of their element 1 or
what do we contribute to their support or preser-
vation 7
It seems to me, that it would be difficult to de-
fend this right by any arguments which the
light and order of nature afford ; and that we are
beholden for it to the permission recorded in Scrip-
ture, Gen. ix. 1, 2, 3 : " And God blessed Noah
and his sons, and said unto them, Be fruitful, and
multiply, and replenish the earth : and the fear of
you, and the dread of you, shall be upon every
beast of the earth, and upon every fowl of the air,
and upon all that moveth upon the earth, and
upon all the fishes of the sea ; into your hand
are they delivered ; every moving thing shall be
meat for you ; even as the green herb, have I
given you all things." To Adam and his pos-
terity had been granted, at the creation, "every
green herb for meat," and nothing more. In the
last clause of the passage now produced, the old
grant is recited, and extended to the flesh of ani-
mals ; " even as the green herb, have I given you
all things." But this was not till after the flood ;
the inhabitants of the antediluvian world had
therefore no such permission, that we know of.
Whether they actually refrained from the fleah
11
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
of animals, is another question. Abel, we read,
was a keeper of sheep ; and for what purpose he
kept them, except for food, is difficult to say, (un-
less it were sacrifices :) might not, however, some
of the stricter sects among the antediluvians be
scrupulous as to this point '< and might not Noah
and his family be of -this- description { for it is not
probable that God would publish a permission, to
authorise a practice, which had never been dis-
puted.
Wanton; and, what is worse, studied cruelty
to brutes, is certainly wrong, as coming within one
of these reasons.
From reason then, or revelation, or from both
together, it appears to be God Almighty's inten-
tion, that the productions of the earth, should be
applied to the sustentation of human life. Con-
sequently all waste and misapplication of these pro-
ductions, is contrary to the Divine intention and
will ; and therefore wrong, for the same reason
that any other crime is so. Such as, what is re-
lated of William the Conqueror, the converting
of twenty manors into a forest tor hunting ; or,
which is not much better, suffering them to con-
tinue in that state ; or the letting of large tracts of
land lie barren, because the owner cannot cultivate
them, nor will part with them to those who can ;
or destroying, or suffering to perish, great part of
an article of human provision, in order to enhance
the price of the remainder, (which is said to have
been, till lately, the case with fish caught upon
the English coast ;) or diminishing the breed of
animals, by a wanton, or improvident, consump-
tion of the young, as of the spawn of shell-fish, or
the fry of salmon, by the use of unlawful nets, or
at improper seasons : to this head may also be re-
ferred, what is the same evil in a smaller way,
the expending of human food on superfluous dogs
or horses; and, lastly, the reducing of the quanti-
ty, in order to alter the quality, and to alter it ge-
nerally for the worse ; as the distillation of spirits
from bread-corn, the boiling down of solid meat
for sauces, essence^*, &c.
This seems to be the lesson which our Saviour,
after his manner, inculcates, when he bids his
disciples " gather up the fragments that nothing
be lost." And it opens indeed a new field of
duty. Schemes of wealth or profit, prompt the ac-
tive part of mankind to cast about, how they may
convert their property to the most advantage ; and
their own advantage, and that of the public, com-
monly concur. But it has not as yet entered into the
minds of mankind to reflect that it is a duty, to add
what we can to the common stock of provision, by
extracting out of our estates the most they will yield;
or that it is any sin to neglect this.
From the same intention of God Almighty, we
also deduce another conclusion, namely " that no-
thing ought to be made exclusive property, which
can be conveniently enjoyed in common."
It is the general intention of God Almighty, that
the produce of the earth be applied to the use of
man. This appears from the constitution of na-
ture ; or, if you will, from his ex press declaration ;
and this is all that appears at first. Under this
general donation, one man has the same right as
another. You pluck an apple from a tree, or
take a lamb from a flock, for your immediate use
and nourishment, and 1 do the same ; and we both
plead for what we do, the general intention of the
Supreme Proprietor. So far all is right : but you
cannot claim the whole tree, or the whole flock,
and exclude me from any share of them, and
plead this general intention for what you do. The
plea will not serve you ; you must show something
more. You must show, by probable arguments at
least, that it is God's intention, that these tilings
should be parcelled out to individuals ; and that
the established distribution, under which you
claim, should be upholden. Show me this, and I
am satisfied.
But until this be shown, the general intention,
which has been made appear, and which is all
that does appear, must prevail ; and, under that,
my title is as good as yours. Now there is no ar-
gument to induce such a presumption, but one ;
that the thing cannot be enjoyed at all, or enjoy-
ed with the same, or with nearly the same advan-
tage, while it continues in common, as when ap-
propriated. This is true, where there is not
enough for all, or where the article in question
requires care or labour in the production or pre-
servation : but where no such reason obtains, and
the thing is in its nature capable of being enjoyed
by as many as will, it seems an arbitrary usurpation
upon the rights of mankind, to confine the use of
it to any.
If a medicinal spring were discovered in a piece
of ground which was private property, copious
enough for every purpose to which it could be ap-
plied, I would award a compensation to the owner
of the field, and a liberal profit to the author of the
discovery, especially if he had bestowed pains or ex-
pense upon the search : but I question whether any
human laws would be justified, or would justify the
owner, in prohibiting mankind from the use of the
water, or setting such a price upon it as would almost
amount to a prohibition.
If there be fisheries, which are inexhaustible,
as the cod-fishery upon the Banks of Newfound-
land, and the herring-fishery in the British seas,
are said to be ; then all those conventions, by which
one or two nations claim to themselves, and gua-
ranty to each other, the exclusive enjoyment of
these fisheries, are so many encroachments upon
the general rights of mankind.
Upon the same principle may be determined a
question, which makes a great figure in books of
natural law, utrum mare sit liber urn ? that is, as I
understand it, whether the exclusive right of navi-
gating particular seas, or a control over the naviga-
tion of these seas, can be claimed, consistently
with the law of nature, by any nation 7 What is
necessary for each nation's safety, we allow : as
their own bays, creeks, and harbours, the sea con-
tiguous to, that is within cannon shot, or three
mark to the Baltic Sea, and of Great Britain, to the
seas which invest the island. But, when Spain
asserts a right to the Pacific Ocean, or Portugal
to the Indian Seas, or when any nation extends
its pretensions much beyond the limits of its own
' territories, they erect a claim which interferes with
the benevolent designs of Providence, and which
no human authority can justify.
3. Another right, which may be called a gene-f
ral right, as it is incidental to every man who is : - !
a situation to claim it, is the right of extreme n
ce^sity ; by which is meant, a right to use or des
troy another's property when it is necessary *'~
RELATIVE DUTIES.
45
our o*m preservation to do so ; as a right to take,
without or against the owner's leave, the first food,
clothes, or shelter, we meet with, when we are in
danger of perishing through want of them ; a right
to throw goods overboard to save the ship ; or to
pull down a house, in order to stop the progress of
a fire ; and a few other instances of the same kind.
Of which right the foundation seems to be this:
that when property was first instituted, the insti-
tution was not intended to operate to the destruc-
tion of any ; therefore when such consequences
would follow, ail regard to it is superseded. Or
rather, perhaps, these are the few cases, where the
particular consequence exceeds the general con-
sequence; where the remote mischief resulting
from the violation of the general rule, is overba-
lanced by the immediate advantage.
Restitution, however, is due, when in our power ;
because the laws of property are to be adhered to.
so far as consists with safety ; and because restitu-
tion, which is one of those laws, supposes the dan-
ger to be over. But what is to be restored 1 Not the
full value of the property destroyed, but what it
was worth at the time of destroying it ; which,
considering the danger it was in of perishing, might
be very little.
BOOK III.
RELATIVE DUTIES.
PART I.
OF RELATIVE DUTIES WHICH ARE DETER-
MINATE.
CHAPTER I.
Of Properly.
I IP you should see a flock of pigeons in a field of
corn : and if (instead of each picking where and
what it liked, taking just as much as it wanted,
and no more) you should see ninety-nine of them
gathering all they got, into a heap; resrr\in^
nothing for themselves, but the chaff and the refuse ;
keeping this heap for one, and that the weakest,
perhaps worst, pigeon of the flock ; sitting round,
and looking on, all the winter, whilst this one was
devouring, throwing about, and wasting it; and if a
pigeon more hardy or hungry than the rest, touched
a grain of the hoard, all the others flying upon it
and tearing it to pieces; if you should see this, you
would see nothing more than what is every day
practised and established among men. Among
men, you see the ninety-and-nine toiling and scrap-
ing together a heap of superfluities for one (ant
this one too, oftentimes the feeblest and worst of
the whole set, a child, a woman, a madman, or a
fool ;) getting nothing for themselves all the while
but a little of the coarsest of the provision, which
their own industry produces ; looking quietly on
while they see the fruits of all their labour spent
or spoiled ; and if one of the number take or touch
a particle of the hoard, the others joining against
him, and hanging him for the theft.
CHAPTER II.
The Useof the Institution of Property.
THERE must be some very important advantages
o account for an institution, which, in the view of
t above given, is so paradoxical and unnatural.
The principal of these advantages are the fol-
owing :
I. It increases the produce of the earth.
The earth, in climates like ours, produces little
without cultivation : and none would be found wil-
ing to cultivate the ground, if others were to be ad-
mitted to an equal share of the produce. The same
s true of the care of flocks and herds of tame animals.
Crabs and acorns, red deer, rabbits, game, and
fish, are all which we should have to subsist upon
n this country, if we trusted to the spontaneous
>roductions oi the soil : and it fares not much bet-
.er with other countries. A nation of North
American savages, consisting of two or three hun-
dred, will take up, and be half starved upon, a
ract of land, which in Europe, and with European
management, would be sufficient for the mainte-
nance of as many thousands.
In some fertile soils, together with great abun-
dance of fish upon their coasts, and in regions,
where clothes are unnecessary, a considerable de-
rree of population may subsist without property
n land ; which is the case in the islands of Otaheite ;
>ut in less favoured situations, as in the country
of New Zealand, though this sort of property ob-
tain in a small degree, the inhabitants, for want
of a more secure and regular establishment of it,
are driven oftentimes by the scarcity of provision
to devour one another.
II. It preserves the produce of the earth to ma-
turity.
We may judge what would be the effects of a
community of right to the productions of the earth,
from the trifling specimens which we see of it at
present. A cherry-tree in a hedge-row, nuts in a
wood, the grass of an unstinted pasture, are sel-
dom of much advantage to any body, because peo-
ple do not wait for the proper season of reaping
them. Corn, if any were sown, would never ripen ;
lambs and calves would never grow up to sheep
and cows, because the first person that met them
would reflect, that he had better take them as they
are, than leave them for inother.
III. It prevents contests.
War and waste, tumult and confusion, must be
unavoidable and eternal, where there is not enough
for all, and where there are no rules to adjust the
division.
IV. It improves the conveniency of living.
This it does two ways. It enables mankind to
divide themselves into distinct professions ; which
is impossible, unless a man can exchange the pro-
ductions of his own art for what he wants from
others ; and exchange implies property. Much
of the advantage of civilized over savage life, de-
pends upon this. When a man is from necessity
his own tailor, tent-maker, carpenter, cook, hunts-
man, and fisherman, it is not probable that he will
be expert at any of his callings. Hence the rude
habitations, furniture, clothing, and implements
of savages ; and the tedious length of time which
all their operations require.
It likewise encourages those arts, by which the
accommodations of human life are supplied, by
appropriating to the artist the benefit of his dis-
coveries and improvements ; without which appro-
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
priation, ingenuity will never be exerted with ef-
fect.
Upon these several accounts we may venture,
with a few exceptions, to pronounce, that ever
the poorest and the worst provided, in countries
where property and the consequences of property
prevail, are in a better situation, with respect to
food, raiment, houses, and what are called the ne-
cessaries of life, than any are in places where most
things remain in common.
The balance, therefore, upon the whole, must
preponderate in favour of property with a manifest
and great excess.
Inequality of property, in the degree in which
it exists in most countries of Europe, abstractedly
considered, is an evil : but it is an evil which flows
from those rules concerning the acquisition and
disposal of property, by which men are incited to
industry, and by which the object of their indus-
try, is rendered secure and valuable. If there be
any great inequality unconnected with this origin,
it ought to be corrected.
CHAPTER III.
The History of Property.
THE first objects of property were the fruits
which a man gathered, and the wild animals he
caught ; next to these, the tents or houses which
he built, the tools he made use of to catch or pre-
pare his food ; and afterwards weapons of war
and offence. Many of the savage tribes in North
America have advanced no further than this yet ;
for they are said to reap their harvest, and return
the produce of their market with foreigners, into
the common hoard or treasury of the tribe. Flocks
and herds of tame animals soon became property ;
Abel, the second from Adam, was a keeper of
sheep ; sheep and oxen, camels and asses, composed
the wealth of the Jewish patriarchs, as they do
still of the modern Arabs. As the world was first
peopled in the East, where there existed a great
scarcity of water, wells probably were next made
property; as we learn from the frequent and
serious mention of them in the Old Testament ;
the contentions and treaties about them ;* and from
its being recorded, among the most memorable
achievements of very em; nent men, that they dug,
or discovered a well. Land, which is now so im-
portant a part of property, which alone our laws
call real property, and regard upon all occasions
with such peculiar attention, was probably not
made property in any country, till long after the
institution of many other species of property, that
is, till the country became populous, and tillage
began to be thought of. The first partition of an
estate which we read of, was that which took
place between Abrara and Lot, and was one of the
simplest imaginable : "Ifthou wilt take the left
hand, then I will go to the right; or if thou depart to
the right hand, then I will go to the left." There
are no traces of property in land in Caesar's ac-
count of Britain ; little of it in the history of the
Jewish patriarchs ; none of it found amongst the
nations of North America ; the Scythians are ex-
pressly said to have appropriated their cattle and
nouses, but to have left their land in common.
Property in immoveables continued at first no
longer than the occupation : that is, so long as a
* Genesis xxi. 25 ; xxvi. 18.
man's family continued in possession of a cave or
whilst his flocks depastured upon a neighbouring
hill, no one attempted, or thought he had a right to
disturb or drive them out: but when the man quitted
his cave, or changed his pasture, the first who found
them unoccupied, entered upon them, by the same
title as his predecessors ; and made way in his turn
for any one that happened to succeed him. All more
permanent property in land was probably poste-
rior to civil government and to laws; and therefore
settled by these, or according to the will of the reign-
ing chief.
CHAPTER IV.
In what the Right of Property is Founded,
WE now speak of Property in Land : and there
is a difficulty in explaining the origin of tliis pro-
perty, consistently with the law of nature ; for the
land was once, no doubt, common ; and the ques-
tion is, how any particular part of it could justly
be taken out of the common, and so appropriated
to the first owner, as to give him a better right to
it than others ; and, what is more, a right to ex-
clude all others from it.
Moralists have given many different accounts
of this matter ; which diversity alone, perhaps, is
a proof that none of them are satisfactory.
One tells us that mankind, when they suffered
a particular person to occupy a piece of ground, by
tacit consent relinquished their right to it ; and as
the piece of ground, they say, belonged to man-
kind collectively, and mankind thus gave up their
right to the first peaceable occupier, it thencefor-
ward became his property, and no one afterwards
had a right to molest him in it.
The objection to this account is, that consent ctn
never be presumed from silence, where the person
whose consent is required knows nothing about
the matter ; which must have been the case with all
mankind, except the neighbourhood of the place
where the appropriation was made. And to suppose
hat the piece of ground previously belonged to the
leighbourhood, and that they had a just power of
conferring a right to it upon whom they pleased, is
to suppose the question resolved, and a partition of
and to have already taken place.
Another says, that each man's limbs and labour
are his own exclusively ; that, by occupying a piece
of ground, a man inseparably mixes his labour
with it ; by which means the piece of ground be-
jomes thenceforward his own, as you cannot take
t from him without depriving him at the same
ime of something which is indisputably his.
This is Mr. Locke's solution ; and seems in-
deed a fair reason, where the value of the labour
bears a considerable proportion to the value of the
hing ; or where the thing derives its chief use
and value from the labour. Thus game and fish,
hough they be common whilst at large in the
woods or water, instantly Income the property of
he person that catches them ; because an animal,
when caught, is much more valuable than when
at liberty ; and this increase of value, which is in-
separable from, and makes a great part of, the
whole value, is strictly the property of the fowler
r fisherman, being the produce of his personal
abour. For the same reason, wood or iron,
manufactured into utensils, becomes the property
of the manufacturer; because the value of the
workmanship far exceeds that of the materials
PROPERTY IN LAND.
47
round
And upon a similar principle, a parcel of unap-
propriated ground, which a man should pare, burn,
plough, harrow, and sow, for the production of
corn, would justly enough be thereby made his
own. But this will hardly hold, in the manner
it has been applied, of taking a ceremonious pos-
session of a tract of land, as navigators do of new-
discovered islands, by erecting a standard, en-
graving an inscription, or publishing a proclama-
tion to the birds and beasts; or of turning your
cattle into a piece of ground, setting up a '
mark, digging a ditch, or planting a hedge i
it. Nor will even the clearing, manuring, and
ploughing of a field, give the first occupier a right
to it in perpetuity, and after this cultivation and
all effects of it are ceased.
Another, and in my opinion a better, account
of the first right of ownership, is the following :
that, as God has provided these tilings for the use
of all, he has of consequence given each leave to
take of them what he wants ; by virtue therefore
of this leave, a man may appropriate what he
stands in need of to his own use, without asking,
or waiting for, the consent of others ; in like man-
ner as, when an entertainment is provided for the
freeholders of a county, each freeholder goes, and
eats and drinks what he wants or chooses, without
having or waiting for the consent of the other
guests.
But then this reason justifies property, as far as
necessaries alone, or, at the most, as far as a com-
petent provision for our natural exigences. For,
in the entertainment we speak of (allowing the
comparison to hold in all points,) although every
particular freeholder may sit down and eat till he
be satisfied, without any other leave than that of
the master of the feast, or any other proof of that
leave, than the general invitation, or the manifest
design with which the entertainment is provided ;
yet you would hardly permit any one to fill his
pockets or his walletj or to carry away with him
a quantity of provision to be hoarded up, or
wasted, or given to his dogs, or stewed down into
sauces, or converted into articles of superfluous
luxury ; especially if, by so doing, he pinched the
guests at the lower end of the table.
These are the accounts that have been given of
the matter by the best writers upon the subject,
but were these accounts perfectly unexceptionable,
they would none of them, I fear, avail us in vin-
dicating our present claims of property in land,
unless it were more probable than it is, that our
estates were actually acquired at first, in some of
the ways which these accounts suppose ; and that
a regular regard had been paid to justice, in every
successive transmission of them since ; for, if one
link in the chain fail, every title posterior to it
f falls to the ground.
l\{ The real foundation of our right is, THE LAW
>.\\OF THE LAND.
It is the intention of God, that the produce of
the earth be applied to the use of man : this in-
tention cannot be fulfilled without establishing
property ; it is consistent, therefore, with Ms will,
that property be established. The land cannot
l>e divided into separate property, without leaving
it to the law of the country to regulate that divi-
sion : it is consistent therefore with the same will,
that the law should regulate the division; and,
consequently, " consistent with the will of God,"
or, " right," that I should possess that share which
these regulations assign me.
By whatever circuitous train of reasoning you
attempt to derive this right, it must terminate at
last in the will of God; the straightest there-
fore, and shortest way of arriving at this will, is
the best.
Hence it appears, that my right to an estate
does not at all depend upon the manner or justice
of the original acquisition ; nor upon the justice
of each subsequent change of possession. It is
not, for instance, the less, nor ought it to be im-
peached, because the estate was taken possession,
of at first by a family of aboriginal Britons, who
happened to be stronger than then* neighbours;
nor because the British possessor was turned out
by a Roman, or the Roman by a Saxon invader ;
nor because it was seized, without color of right
or reason, by a follower of the Norman adventurer ;
from whom, after many interruptions of fraud and
violence, it has at length devolved to me.
Nor does the owner's right depend upon the
expediency of the law which gives it to hun. On
one side of a brook, an estate descends to the eldest
son ; on the other side, to all the children alike.
The right of the claimants under both laws of
inheritance is equal; though the expediency of
such opposite rules must necessarily be different.
The principles we have laid down upon this
subject apparently tend to a conclusion of which
a bad use is apt to be made. As the right of pro- '
perty depends upon the law of the land, it seems
to follow, that a man has a right to keep and take
every thing which the law will allow him to keep
and take ; which in many cases will authorize the
most flagitious chicanery. If a creditor upon a
simple contract neglect to demand liis debt for six
years, the debtor may refuse to pay it ; would it
be right therefore to do so, where he is conscious .
of the justice of the debt ] If a person, who is !
under twenty -one years of age, contract a bargain
(other than for necessaries,) he may avoid it bj
pleading his minority: but would this be a fair
plea, where the bargain was originally just 1 The '
distinction to be taken in such cases is this : With t
the law, we acknowledge, resides the disposal of ,
property: so long, therefore, as we keep within '
the design and intention of a law, that law will
justify us as well in foro conscientice, as in foro
humano, whatever be the equity or expediency of
the law itself. But when we convert to one pur-
pose, a rule or expression of law, which is intended
for another purpose, then we plead in our justifi-
cation, not the intention of the law, but the words ;
that is, we plead a dead letter, which can signify
nothing ; for words without meaning or intention,
have no force or eflect in justice; much less,
words taken contrary to the meaning and inten-
tion of the speaker or writer To apply this dis-
tinction to the examples just now proposed : in
order to protect men against antiquatea demands,
from which it is not probable they should have
preserved the evidence of their discharge, the law
prescribes a limited time to certain species of pri-
vate securities, beyond which it will not enforce
them, or lend its assistance to the recovery of the
debt. If a man be ignorant or dubious of the
justice of the demand made upon him, he may
conscientiously plead this limitation ; because he
applies the rule of law to the purpose for which,
it was intended. But when he refuses to pay a
debt, of the reality of which he is conscious, he
cannot, as before, plead the intention of the statute,
and the supreme authority of law, unless he could
48
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
show, that the law intended to interpose its su-
preme authority, to acquit men of debts, of the
existence and justice of which they were them-
selves sensible. Again, to preserve youth from
the practices and impositions to which their inex-
perience exposes them, the law compels the pay-
ment of no debts incurred within a certain age,
nor the performance of any engagements, except
for such necessaries as are suited to their condition
and fortunes. If a young person therefore per-
ceive that he has been practised or imposed upon,
he may honestly avail himself of the privilege ol
his nonage, to defeat the circumvention. But, il
he shelter himself under this privilege, to avoid a
fair obligation, or an equitable contract, he extends
the privilege to a case, in which it is not allowed
by intention of law, and in which consequently it
does not, in natural justice, exist.
As property is the principal subject of justice,
or of " the determinate relative duties," we have
put down what we had to say upon it in the first
place : we now proceed to state these duties in the
best order we can.
CHAPTER V.
Promises.
I. From whence the obligation to perform pro-
mises arises.
II. In what sense promises are to be interpreted.
III. In what cases promises are not binding'.
I. From whence the obligation to perform pro-
mises arises.
They who argue from innate moral principles,
suppose a sense of the obligation of promises to be
one of them ; but without assuming this, or any
thing else, without proof, the obligation to perform
promises may be deduced from the necessity of
such a conduct to the well-being, or the existence
indeed, of human society.
Men act from Expectation. Expectation is in
most cases determined by the assurances and en-
gagements which we receive from others. If no
dependence could be placed upon these assurances,
it would be impossible to know what judgment to
form of many future events, or how to regulate
; our conduct with respect to them. Confidence
therefore in promises, is essential to the intercourse
of human life ; because, without it, the greatest
part of our conduct would proceed upon chance.
But there could be no confidence in promises, if
men were not obliged to perform them ; the obli-
gation therefore to perform promises, is essential
to the same ends, and in the same degree.
Some may imagine, that if this obligation were
suspended, a general caution and mutual distrust
would ensue, which might do as well : but this is
imagined, without considering how, every hour of
our lives, we trust to, and depend upon, others ;
and how impossible it is, to stir a step, or, what is
worse, to sit still a moment, without such trust
and dependence. I am now writing at my ease,
not doubting (or rather never distrusting, and
therefore never thinking about it) that the butcher
will send in the joint of meat which I ordered ;
that his servant will bring it ; that my cook will
dress it; that my footman will serve it up; that I
shall find it upon table at one o'clock. Yet have
1 nothing for all this, but the promise of the
butcher, and the implied promise of his servant
and mine. And the same holds of the most im-
j portant as well as the most familiar occurrences of
| social life. In the one, the intervention of pro-
mises is formal, and is seen and acknowledged;
our instance, therefore, is intended to show it in
the other, where it is not so distinctly observed.
II. In what sense promises are to be interpreted.
Where the terms of promise admit of more
senses than one, the promise is to be performed
" in that sense in which the promiser apprehended,
at the time that the promisee received it."
It is not the sense in which the promiser actually
intended it, that always governs the interpretation
of an equivocal promise; because, at that rate,
you might excite expectations, which you never
meant, nor would be obliged to satisfy. Much
less is it the sense, in which the promisee actually
received the promise ; for, according to that rule,
you might be drawn into engagements which you
never designed to undertake. It must, therefore,
be the sense (for there is no other remaining) in
which the promiser believed that the promisee
accepted his promise.
This will not differ from the actual intention of
the promiser, where the promise is given without
collusion or reserve : but we put the rule in the
above form, to exclude evasion in cases in which
the popular meaning of a phrase, and the strict
grammatical signification of the words differ ; or,
m general, wherever the promiser atlempts to
make his escape through some ambiguity in the
expressions which he used.
Temures promised the garrison of Sebastia,
that, if they would surrender, no blood should be
shed. The garrison surrendered; and Temures
buried them all alive. Now Temures fulfilled the
promise in one sense, and in the sense too in
which he intended it at the time; but not the
sense in which the garrison of Sebastia actually
received it, nor in the sense in which Temures
himself knew that the garrison received it : which
last sense, according to pur rule, was the sense in
which he was in conscience bound to have per-
formed it.
From the account we have given of the obliga-
tion of promises, it is evident, that this obligation de-
pends upon the expectations which we knowingly
and voluntarily excite. Consequently, any action
or conduct towards another, which we are sensible
excites expectations in that other, is as much a
promise, and creates as strict an obligation, as the
most express assurances. Taking, for instance,
a kinsman's child, and educating him for a liberal
profession, or in a manner suitable only for the
leir of a large fortune, as much obliges us to place
lim in that profession, or to leave him such a for-
tune, as if we had given him a promise to do so
under our hands and seals. In like manner, a
great man, who encourages an indigent retainer ;
or a minister of state, who distinguishes and
caresses at his levee one who is in a situation to
te obliged by his patronage; engages, by such
)ehaviour, to provide for him. This is the foun-
dation of tacit promises.
You may either simply declare your present
intention, or you may accompany your declaration
with an engagement to abide by it, which con-
stitutes a complete promise. In the first case, the
duty is satisfied, if you were sincere at the time,
that is if vou entertained at the time the intention
PROMISES.
49
ry wnn incm me rorce 01 ausoiuie promises.
:h as, "I intend you this place" " I design to
re, you this estate" " I purpose giving you my
3" "I mean to serve you." in which, al-
you expressed, however soon, or for whatever [
reason, you afterwards change it. In the latter
case, you have parted with the liberty of changing.
All this is plain: but it must be observed, that
most of those forms of speech, which, strictly taken,
amount to no more than declarations of present
intention, do yet, in the usual way of understand-
ing them, excite the expectation, and therefore
carry with them the force of absolute promises.
Such
leave
vote" " 1 mean to serve you
though the "intention,"' the "design," the "pur-
pose, the "meaning," be expressed in words of
the present time, yet you cannot afterwards recede
from them without a breach of good faith. It' you
choose therefore to make known your present
intention, and yet to reserve to yourself the liberty
of changing it, you must guard your expressions
by an auitiona! clause, as, " I intend at present"
"if I do not alter ," or the like. And after all,
as there can be no reason for communicating your
intention, but to excite some degree of expectation
or other, a wanton change of an intention which
is once disclosed, always disappoints somebody;
and is always, for that reason, wrong.
There is, in some men, an infirmity with regard
to promises, which often betrays them into great
distress. From the confusion, or hesitation, or
obscurity, with which they express themselves,
especially when overawed or taken by surprise,
they sometimes encourage expectations, and bring
upon themselves demands, which, possibly, they
never dreamed of. This is a want, not so much
of integrity, as of presence of mind.
III. In what cases promises are not binding,
y 1. Promises are not binding, where the perfor-
mance is impossible.
But observe, that the promiser is guilty of a
fraud, if he be secretly aware of the impossibility.
at the time of making the promise. For, when
any one promises a thing, he asserts his belief, at
least, of the possibility of performing it ; as no one
can accept or understand a promise under any
other supposition. Instances of this sort are the
following : The minister promises a place, which
he knows to be engaged, or not at his disposal :
A father, in settling marriage-articles, promises to
leave his daughter an estate, which he knows to
be entailed upon the heir male of his family: A
merchant promises a ship, or share of a ship,
which he is privately advised is lost at sea: An
incumbent promises to resign a living, being pre-
viously assured that his resignation will not be
accepted by the bishop. The promiser, as in these
cases, with knowledge of the impossibility, is
justly answerable in an equivalent ; but other-
wise not.
When the promiser himself occasions the im-
possibility, it is neither more nor less than a direct
breach of the promise ; as when a soldier maims,
or a servant disables himself, to get rid of his
, engagements.
* 2. Promises are not binding, where the per-
formance is unlawful.
There are two cases of this : one, where the
unlawfulness is known to the parties, at the time
of making the promise ; as where an assassin pro-
mises his employer to despatch his rival or his
enemy ; a servant to betray his master; a pimp to
procure a mistress ; or a friend to give his as-
sistance in a scheme of seduction. The parties in
these cases are not obliged to perform what the
promise requires, because they were under a prior
obligation to the contrary. From which prior
obligation what is there to discharge them 1 I 1 heir
promise, their own act and deed. But an obli-
gation, from which a man can discharge himself
by his own act, is no obligation at all. The guilt
therefore of such promises lies in the making, not
in the breaking of them ; and if, in the interval
betwixt the promise and the performance, a man
so far recover his reflection, as to repent of his
engagements, he ought certainly to break through
them.
The other case is, where the unlawfulness did
not exist, or was not known, at the time of making
the promise; as where a merchant promises his
correspondent abroad, to- send him a ship load of
corn at a time appointed, and before the time
arrive, an embargo is laid upon the exportation of
corn : A woman gives a promise of marriage ;
before the marriage, she discovers that her intended
husband is too nearly related to her, or that he has
a wife yet living. In all such cases, where the
contrary does not appear, it must be presumed
that the parties supposed what they promised to
be lawful, and that the promise proceeded entirely
upon this supposition. The lawfulness therefore
becomes a condition of the promise ; which con-
dition failing, the obligation ceases. Of the same
nature wife Herod's promise to his daughter-in-law,
" that he would give her whatever she asked, even
to the half of his kingdom." The promise was
not unlawful in the terms hi which Herod
delivered it ; and when it became so by the
daughter's choice, by her demanding " John the
Baptist's head," Herod was discharged from the
obligation of it, for the reason now laid down, as
welfas for that given in the last paragraph.
This rule, " that promises are void, where the
performance is unlawful," extends also to imper-
fect obligations : for, the reason of the rule holds
of all obligations. Thus, if you promise a man a
place, or your vote, and he afterwards render
himself unfit to receive either, you are absolved
from the obligation of your promise ; or, if a better
candidate appear, and it be a case in which you
are bound by oath, or otherwise, to govern yourself
by the qualification, the promise must be broken
through.
And here I would recommend, to young persons
especially, a caution, from the neglect of which
many involve themselves in embarrassment and
disgrace ; and that is, " never to give a promise,
which may interfere, in the event, with their
duty ;" for, if it do so interfere, their duty must
be discharged, though at the expense of their
promise, and not unusually of their good name.
The specific performance of promises is reck-
oned a perfect obligation. And many casuists
have laid down, in opposition to what has been
here asserted, that, where a perfect and an imper-
fect obligation clash, the perfect obligation is to be
preferred. For which opinion, however, there
seems to be no reason, but what arises from the
terms "perfect" and "imperfect/' the impropriety
of which has been remarked above. The truth
is, of two contradictory obligations, that ought to
prevail which is prior in point of time.
It is the performance being unlawful, and not
unlawfulness in the subjetet or motive of the pro-
mise, which destroys its validity : therefore a bribe,
after the vote is given ; the wages of prostitution j
5
50
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
the reward of any crime, after the crime is com-
mitted ; ought, if promised, to be paid. For the
sin and mischief, by this supposition, are over;
and will be neither more noHess for the perfor-
mance of the promise.
In like manner, a promise does not lose its
obligation merely because it proceeded from an
unlawful motive. A certain person, in the life-
time of his wife, who was then sick, had paid his
addresses, and promised marriage, to another
woman ; the wife died ; and the woman demanded
performance of the promise. The man, who, it
seems, had changed his mind, either felt or pre-
tended doubts concerning thje obligation of such a
promise, and referred his case to Bishop Sander-
son, the most eminent, in this kind of knowledge,
of his time. Bishop Sanderson, after writing a
dissertation upon the question, adjudged the pro-
mise to be void. In which, however, upon our
principles, he was wrong ; for, however criminal
the affection might be, which induced the promise,
the performance, when it was demanded, was
lawful ; which is the only lawfulness required.
A promise cannot be deemed unlawful, where
it produces, when performed, no effect, beyond
what would have taken place had the promise
never been made. And this is the single case, in
which the obligation of a promise will justify a
conduct, which, unless it had been promised,
would be unjust. A captive may lawfully recover
his liberty, by a promise of neutrality; for his
conqueror takes nothing by the promise, which he
might not have secured by his death or confine-
ment ; and neutrality would be innocent in him,
although criminal in another. It is manifest,
however, that promises which come into the place
of coercion, can extend no further than to passive
compliance ; for coercion itself could compel no
more. Upon the same principle, promises of
secrecy ought not to be violated, although the
public would derive advantage from the discovery.
Such promises contain no unlawfulness in them,
to destroy their obligation : for, as the information
would not have been imparted upon any other
condition, the public lose nothing by the promise,
s which they would have gained without it.
Y 3. Promises are not binding, where they con-
tradict a former promise.
Because the performance is then unlawful;
which resolves this case into the last.
\/~ 4. Promises are not binding before acceptance ;
that is, before notice given to the promisee ; for,
where the promise is beneficial, if notice be given,
acceptance may be presumed. Until the promise
be communicated to the promisee, it is tne same
only as a resolution in the mind of the promiser,
which may be altered at pleasure. For no ex-
pectation has been excited, therefore none can be
disappointed.
But suppose I declare my intention to a third
person, who, without any authority from me, con-
veys my declaration to the promisee ; is that such
a notice as will be binding upon me 1 It certainly
is not : for I have not done that which constitutes
the essence of a promise ; I have not voluntarily
excited expectation.
5. Promises are not binding which are released
by the promisee.
This is evident: but it may be sometimes
doubted who the promisee is. If I give a promise
to A, of a place or vote for B ; as to a father for
his son; to an uncle for his nephew ; to a friend
of mine, for a relation or friend of his ; then A is
the promisee, whose consent I must obtain, to be
released from the engagement.
If I 'promise a place or vote to B by A, that is,
if A be a messenger to convey the promise, as if
I should say, " You may tell B that he shall have
this place, or may depend upon my vote ;" or if
A be employed to introduce B's request, and I
answer in any terms which amount to a com-
pliance with it : then B is the promisee.
Promises to one person, for the benefit of
another, are not released by the death of the pro-
misee; for, his death neither makes the perfor-
mance impracticable, nor implies any consent to
release the promiser from it.
6. Erroneous promises are not binding in cer-
tain cases ; as
1. Where the error proceeds from the mistake
or misrepresentation 01 the promisee.
Because a promise evidently supposes the truth
of the account, which the promisee relates in ordei
to obtain it. A beggar solicits your charity, by a
story of the most pitiable distress ; you promise to
relieve him, if he will call again : In the interval
you discover his story to be made up of lies ; this
discovery, no doubt, releases you from your pro-
mise. One who wants your service, describes the
business or office for which he would engage you;
you promise to undertake it ; when you come
to enter upon it, you find the profits less, the
abour more, or some material circumstance dif-
ferent from the account he gave you: In such
case, you are not bound by your promise.
2. When the promise is understood by the pro-
misee to proceed upon a certain supposition, or
when the promiser .apprehended it to be so under-
stood, and that supposition turns out to be false ;
then the promise is not binding.
This intricate rule will be best explained by an
example. A father receives an account from
abroad, of the death of his only son ; soon after
which, he promises his fortune to his nephew.
The account turns out to be false. The father,
we say, is released from his promise ; not merely
Because he never would have made it, had he
mown the truth of the case, for that alone will
not do; but because the nephew also himself
understood the promise to proceed upon the sup-
)osition of his cousin's death: or, at least his
incle thought he so understood it ; and could not
hink otherwise. The promise proceeded upon
this supposition in the promiser's own apprehen-
sion, and, as he believed, in the apprehension of
K)th parties ; and this belief of his, is the precise
circumstance which sets him free. The founda-
tion of the rule is plainly this : a man is bound
only to satisfy the expectation which he intended
o excite ; whatever condition therefore he intended
o subject that expectation to, becomes an essential
condition of the promise.
Errors, which come not within this description,
do not annul the obligation of a promise. I pro-
mise a candidate my vote; presently another
candidate appears, for whom I certainly would
lave reserved it, had I been acquainted with his
design. Here therefore, as before, my promise
>roceeded from an error ; and I never should have
riven such a promise, had I been aware of the
;ruth of the case, as it has turned out. But the
promisee did not know this ; he did not receive
he promise, subject to any such condition, or as
>roceeding from any such supposition ; nor did I
CONTRACTS.
51
at the time imagine he so received it. This error,
therefore, of mine, must fall upon my own head,
and the promise be observed notwithstanding. A
father promises a certain fortune witli his daughter,
supposing himself to be worth so much his cir-
cumstances turn out, upon examination, worse
than he was aware of. Here again the promise
was erroneous, but, for the reason assigned in the
last case, will nevertheless be obligatory.
The case of erroneous promises, is attended
with some difficulty : for, to allow every mistake,
or change of circumstances, to dissolve the obliga-
tion of a promise, would be to allow a latitude,
which might evacuate the force of almost all
promises: and on the other hand, to gird the
obligation so tight, as to make no allowances for
manifest and fundamental errors, would, in many
instances, be productive of great hardship and
absurdity.
It has long been controverted amongst moralists,
whether promises be binding, which are extorted
by violence or fear. The obligation of all promises
results, we have seen, from the necessity or the
use of that confidence which mankind repose in
them. The question, therefore, whether these
promises are binding, will depend upon this;
whether mankind, upon the whole, are benefited
by the confidence placed on such promises 1 A
highwayman attacks you and being disappointed
ofhis booty, threatens or prepares to murder you ;
you promise, with many solemn asseverations,
that if he will spare your life, he shall find a purse
of money left for him, at a place appointed ; upon
the faith of this promise, he forbears from further
violence. Now, your life was saved by the con-
fidence reposed in a promise extorted by fearj
and the lives of many others may be saved by the
same. This is a good consequence. On the
other hand, confidence in promises like these,
greatly facilitates the perpetration of robberies:
they may be made the instruments of almost un-
limited extortion. This is a bad consequence:
and in the question between the importance of
these opposite consequences, resides the doubt
concerning the obligations of such promises.
There are other cases which are plainer; as
where a magistrate confines a disturber of the
public peace in jail, till he promise to behave
better ; or a prisoner of war promises, if set at
liberty, to return within a certain time. These
promises, say moralists, are binding, because the
violence or duress is just ; but, the truth is, be-
cause there is the same use of confidence in these
promises, as of confidence in the promises of a
person at perfect liberty.
Vows are promises to God. The obligation
cannot be made out upon the same principle as
that of other promises. The violation of them,
nevertheless, implies a want of reverence to the I
Supreme Being; which is enough to make it
sinful.
There appears no command or encouragement
in the Christian Scriptures to make, vows ; much
less any authority to break through them when
they are made. The few instances* of vows
* Acts xviii. 18. xxi. 23.
which we read of in the New Testament, were
religiously observed.
The rules we have laid down concerning pro-
mises, are applicable to vows. Thus Jephtha's
vow, taken in the sense in which that transaction
is commonly understood, was not binding ; because
the performance, in that contingency, became
unlawful.
CHAPTER VI.
Contracts.
A CONTRACT is a mutual promise. The obli-
gation therefore of contracts, the sense in which
they are to be interpreted, and the cases where
they are not binding, will be the same as of
promises.
From the principle established in the last chap-
ter, "that the obligation of promises is to be
measured by the expectation which the promiser
any how voluntarily and knowingly excites,"
results a rule, which governs the construction of
all contracts, and is capable, from its simplicity,
of being applied with great ease and certainty,
viz. That
Whatever is expected by one side, and known
to be so expected by the other, is to be deemed a
part or condition of the contract.
The several kinds of contracts, and the order
in which we propose to consider them, may be
exhibited at one view, thus
fSale.
{Hazard.
, ( Inconsumable Property.
Lending of / Mone y.
/ Service.
T ahrmr 3 Commissions.
Labour. < Partnership .
f Offices.
CHAPTER VII.
Contracts of Sale.
THE rule of justice, which wants with most
anxiety to be inculcated in the making of bargains,
is, that the seller is bound in conscience to disclose
the faults of what he offers to sale. Amongst
other methods of proving this, one may be the
following :
I suppose it will be allowed, that to advance a
direct falsehood, in recommendation of our wares,
by ascribing to them some quality which we know
that they have not, is dishonest. Now compare
with this the designed concealment of some fault,
which we know that they have. The motives
and the effects of actions are the only points of
comparison, in which their moral quality can
differ ; but the motive in these two cases is the
same, viz. to procure a higher price than we expect
otherwise to obtain : the effect, that is, the pre-
judice to the buyer, is also the same ; for he finds
himself equally out of pocket by his bargain,
whether the commodity, when he gets home with
it, turn out worse than he had supposed, by the
want of some quality which he expected, or the
discovery of some fault which he did not expect.
If therefore actions be the same, as to all moral
purposes, which proceed from the same motives,
5-2
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
and produce the same effects ; it is making a dis-
tinction without a difference, to esteem it a cheat
to magnify beyond the truth the virtues of what
we have to sell, but not to conceal its faults.
It adds to the value of this kind of honesty, that
the faults of many things are of a nature not to be
known by any, but by the persons who have used
them ; so that the buyer has no security from im-
position, but in the ingenuousness and integrity
of the seller.
There is one exception, however, to this rule ;
namely, where the silence of the seller implies
some fault in the thing to be sold, and where the
buyer has a compensation in the price for the risk
which he runs: as where a horse, in a London
repository, is sold by public auction, without war-
ranty ; the want of warranty is notice of some
unsoundness, and produces a proportionable abate-
ment in the price.
To this of concealing the faults of what we
want to put, off, may be referred the practice of
passing bad money. This practice we sometimes
near defended by a vulgar excuse, that we have
taken the money for good, and must therefore get
rid of it. Which excuse is much the same as if
one, who had been robbed upon the highway,
should allege that he had a right to reimburse
himself out of the pocket of the first traveller he
met; the justice of which reasoning, the traveller
possibly may not comprehend.
Where there exists no monopoly or combination,
the market-price is always a fair price; because
it will always be proportionable to the use and
scarcity of the article. Hence, there need be no
scruple about demanding or taking the market-
price ; and all those expressions, " provisions are
extravagantly dear," " corn bears an unreasonable
price," and the like, import no unfairness or un-
reasonableness in the seller.
If your tailor or your draper charge, or even ask
of you, more for a suit of clothes, than the market-
price, you complain that you are imposed upon ;
you pronounce the tradesman who makes such a
charge, dishonest; although, as the man's goods
were his own, and he had a right to prescribe the
terms upon which he would consent to part with
them, it may be questioned what dishonesty there
can be in the case, or wherein the imposition con-
sists. Whoever opens a shop, or in any manner
exposes goods to public sale, virtually engages to
deal with his customers at a market-price ; because
it is upon the faith and opinion of such an en-
gagement, that any one comes within his shop
doors, or offers to treat with him. This is ex-
pected by the buyer ; is known to be so expected
by the seller ; which is enough, according to the
rule delivered above, to make it a part of the con-
tract between them, though not a syllable be said
about it. The breach of this implied contract
constitutes the fraud inquired after.
Hence, if you disclaim any such engagement,
you may set what value you please upon your
property. If, upon being asked to sell a house,
you answer that the house suits your fancy or
conveniency, and that you will not turn yourself
out of it, under such a price ; the price fixed may
be double of what the house cost, or would fetch
at a public sale, without any imputation of injus-
tice or extortion upon you.
If the thing sold, be damaged, or perish, between
the sale and the delivery, ought the buyer to bear
the loss, or the seller 1 This will depend upon
the particular construction of the contract. If the
seller, either expressly, or by implication, or by
custom, engage to deliver the goods ; as if I buy
a set of china, and the china-man ask me to what
place he shall bring or send them, and they be
broken in the conveyance, the seller must abide
by the loss. If the thing sold, remain with the
seller, at the instance, or for the conveniency of
the buyer, then the buyer undertakes the risk ; as
if I buy a horse, and mention, that I will send for
it on such a day (which is in effect desiring that
it may continue with the seller tiU I do send for
it,) then, whatever misfortune befalls the horse in
the meantime, must be at my cost.
And here, once for all, 1 would observe, that
innumerable questions of this sort are determined
solely by custom ; not that custom possesses any
proper authority to alter or ascertain the nature of
right or wrong ; but because the contracting par-
ties are presumed to include in their stipulation,
all the conditions which custom has annexed to
contracts of the same sort : and when the usage is
notorious, and no exception made to it, this pre-
sumption is generally agreeable to the fact.*
If I order a pipe of port from a wine-merchant
abroad ; at what period the property passes from
the merchant to me; whether upon delivery of
the wine at the merchant's warehouse ; upon its
being put on shipboard at Oporto ; upon the ar-
rival of the ship in England at its destined port ;
or not till the wine be committed to my servants,
or deposited in my cellar; are all questions
which admit of no decision, but what custom
points out. Whence, in justice, as well as law,
what is called the custom of merchants, regulates
the construction of mercantile concerns.
CHAPTER VIII.
Contracts of Hazard.
BY Contracts of Hazard, I mean gaming and
insurance.
What some say of this kind of contracts, " that
one side ought not to have any advantage over
the other," is neither practicable nor true. It is
not practicable ; for that perfect equality of skill
and judgment, which this rule requires, is seldom
to be met with. I might not have it in my power,
to play with fairness a game at cards, billiards, or
tennis; lay a wager at a horse-race; or under-
write a policy of insurance, once in a twelvemonth,
if I must wait till I meet with a person, whose
art, skill, and judgment in these matters, is neither
greater nor less than my own. Nor is this equality
requisite to the justice of the contract. One party
may give to the other the whole of the stake, if he
please, and the other party may justly accept it,
if it be given him; much more therefore may
one give to the other a part of the stake ; or, what
"s exactly the same thing, an advantage in the
;hance of winning the whole.
* It happens here, as in many cases, that what the
parties ought to do, and what a judge or arbitrator
would award to be done, may be very different. What
he parties ought to do by virtue of their contract, de-
jends upon their consciousness at the time of making it ;
whereas a third person finds it necessary to found his
udgment upon presumptions, which presumptions may
x- false, although the most probable that he could pro-
ceed by.
LENDING OF MONEY.
53
The proper restriction is, that neither side have
an advantage by means of which the other is not
aware; for this is an advantage taken, without
being given. Although the event be still an
uncertainty, your advantage in the chance has a
certain value ; and so much of the stake, as that
value amounts to, is taken from your adversary
without his knowledge, and therefore without his
consent. If 1 sit down to a game at whist, and
have an advantage over the adversary, by means
of a better memory, closer attention, or a superior
knowledge of the rules and chances of the game,
the advantage is fair; because it is obtained by
means of which the adversary is aware : for he is
aware, when he sits down with me, that I shall
exert the skill that I possess to the utmost. But
if I gain an advantage by packing the cards,
glancing my eye into the adversaries' hands, or
by concerted signals with my partner, it is a dis-
honest advantage ; because it depends upon means
which the adversary never suspects that I make
use of.
The same distinction holds of all contracts into
which chance enters. If I lay a wager at a horse-
race, founded upon the conjecture I form from
the appearance, and character, and breed, of the
horses, I am justly entitled to any advantage which
my judgment gives mo : but, if I carry on a clan-
destine correspondence with the jockeys, and find
out from them, that a trial has been actually
made, or that it is settled beforehand which horse
shall win the race; all such information is so
much fraud, because derived from sources which
the other did not suspect, when he proposed or
accepted the wager.
In speculations in trade, or in the stocks, if 1
exercise my judgment upon the general aspect and
prospect of public affairs, and deal with a person
who conducts himself by the same sort of judg-
ment ; the contract has all the equality in it which
is necessary: but if I have access to secrets of
state at home, or private advice of some decisive
measure or event abroad, I cannot avail myself of
these advantages with justice, because they are
excluded by the contract, which proceeded upon
the supposition that I had no such advantage.
In insurances, in which the underwriter com-
putes his risk entirely from the account given by
the person insured, it is absolutely necessary to
the justice and validity of the contract, that this
account be exact and complete.
CHAPTER IX.
Contracts of Lending of Inconsumable Property.
WHEN the identical loan is to be returned, as a
book, a horse, a harpsichord, it is called inconsum-
able ; in opposition to corn, wine, money, and
those things which perish, or are parted with, in
the use, and can therefore only be restored in kind.
The questions under this head are few and
simple. The first is, if the thing lent be lost or
damaged, who ought to bear the loss or damage 1
If it be damaged by the use, or by accident in the
use, for which it was lent, the lender ought to
bear it ; as if I hire a job-coach, the wear, tear,
and soiling of the coach, must belong to the
lender; or a horse, to go a particular journey,
and in going the proposed journey, the horse die
or be lamed, the loss must be the lender's: on the
contrary, if the damage be occasioned by the
fault of the borrower, or by accident in some use
for which it was not lent, then the borrower must
make it good ; as if the coach be overturned or
broken to pieces by the carelessness of your coach-
man ; or the horse be hired to take a morning's
ride upon, and you go a-hunting with him, or
leap him over hedges, or put him into your cart
or carriage, and he be strained, or staked, or galled,
or accidentally hurt, or drop down dead, whilst
you are thus using him; you must make satis-
faction to the owner.
The two cases are distinguished by this cir-
cumstance : that in one case, the owner foresees
the damage or risk, and therefore consents to
undertake it ; in the other case he does not.
It is possible that an estate or a house may,
during the term of a lease, be so increased or
diminished in its value, as to become worth much
more or much less, than the rent agreed to be
paid for it. In some of which cases it may be
doubted, to whom, of natural right, the advantage
or disadvantage belongs. Toe rule of justice
seems to be this: If the alteration might be ex-
pected by the parties, the hirer must take the
consequence; if it could not, the owner. An
orchard, or a vineyard, or a mine, or a fishery, or
a decoy, may this year yield nothing, or next to
nothing, yet the tenant shall pay his rent ; and if
they next year produce tenfold, the usual profit,
no more shall be demanded ; because the produce
is in its nature precarious, and this variation
might be expected. If an estate in the fens of
Lincolnshire, or the isle of Ely, be overflowed
with water, so as to be incapable of occupation,
the tenant, notwithstanding, is bound by his lease ;
because he entered into it with a knowledge and
foresight of the danger. On the other hand,
if, by the irruption of the sea into a country
where it was never known to have come before,
by the change of the course of a river, the fall of a
rock, the breaking out of a volcano, the bursting
of a moss, the incursions of an enemy, or by a
mortal contagion amongst the cattle ; if, by means
like these, an estate change or lose its value, the
loss shall fall upon the owner ; that is, the tenant
shall either be discharged from his agreement, or
be entitled to an abatement of rent. A house in
London, by the building of a bridge, the opening
of a new road or street, may become of ten times
its former value ; and, by contrary causes, may be
as much reduced in value : here also, as before,
the owner, not the hirer, shall be affected by the
alteration. The reason upon which our deter-
mination proceeds is this ; that changes such as
these, being neither foreseen, nor provided for, by
the contracting parties, form no part or condition
of the contract ; and therefore ought to have the
same effect as if no contract at all had been made,
(for none was made with respect to them,) that is,
ought to fall upon the owner.
CHAPTER X.
Contracts concerning 1 the Lending of Money.
THERE exists no reason in the law of nature,
why a man should not be paid for the lending of
his money, as well as of any other property into
which the money might be converted.
The scruples that have been entertained upon
54
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
this head, and upon the foundation of which, the
receiving of interest or usury (for they formerly
meant the same thing) was once prohibited in al-
most all Christian countries,* arose from a pas-
sage in the law of MOSES, Deuteronomy, xxiii.
19, 20: " Thou shall not lend upon usury to thy
brother; usury of money, usury of victuals, usury
of any thing that is lent upon usury; unto a
stranger thou mayest lend upon usury; but unto
thy brother thou shall not lend upon usury."
This prohibition is now generally understood
to have been intended for the Jews alone, as part
of the civil or political law of that nalion, and cal-
culated to preserve amongst themselves that dis-
tribution of property, to which many of their in-
stitutions were subservient ; as the marriage of an
heiress within her own tribe; of a widow who
was left childless, to her husband's brother; the
year of jubilee, when alienated estates reverted to
the family of the original proprietor : regulations
which were never thought to be binding upon any
but the commonweallh of Israel.
This interrelation is confirmed, I think, be-
yond all controversy, by Ihe distinction made in
the law, between a Jew and a foreigner: "unto
a stranger Ihou mayest lend upon usury, but unlo
thy brother thou mayest not lend upon usury;" a
distinction which could hardly have been admitted
into a law, which the Divine Author intended to
be of moral and of universal obligation.
The rale of inleresl has in most countries been
regulated by law. The Roman law allowed of
twelve pounds per cent, which Justinian reduced
at one stroke to four pounds. A stalule of the
thirteenth year of dueen Elizabeth, which was
the first thai tolerated the receiving of inleresl in
England at all, restrained it to ten pounds per
cent. ; a statute of James the firsl, to eight pounds ;
of Charles the Second, to six pounds; of Glueen
Anne, to five pounds, on pain of forfeilure of Ire-
ble Ihe value of Ihe money lenl : at which rate
and penalty the matter now stands. The policy
of these regulations is, to check the power of ac-
cumulating wealth wilhoul induslry ; to give en-
couragement to trade, by enabling adventurers in
it to borrow money al a moderate price ; and of late
years to enable Ihe state to borrow the subject's
money itself.
Compound interest, though forbidden by the
law of England, is agreeable enough to nalural
equily; for inleresl detained after il is due, be-
comes, to all inlenls and purposes, part of the sum
lent.
It is a question which sometimes occurs, how
money borrowed in one country ought to be paid
in another, where Ihe relative value of Ihe pre-
cious melals is nol Ihe same. For example, sup-
pose I borrow a hundred guineas in London,
where each guinea is worth one-and-twenly shil-
lings, and meel my creditor in the East Indies
where a guinea is worth no more perhaps than
nineteen; is it a satisfaction of the debt to relurn
a hundred guineas, or must I make up so many
times one-and-twenly shillings'? I should think
the latter ; for it must be presumed, that my cre-
ditor, had he nol lenl me his guineas, would have
disposed of Ihem in such a manner, as to have
* By a statute of JAMES the First, interest above eight
pounds per cent, was prohibited, (and consequently un-
der that rate allowed,) with this sage provision : That
this statute shall not be construed or expounded to allow
the practice of usury in point of religion or conscience.
now had, in the place of them, so many one-and-
twenty shillings ; and the question supposes lhat
he neither intended, nor oughl to be a sufferer, by
parting wilh the possession of his money to me.
When the relative value of coin is altered
by an act of Ihe slate, if the alteration would have
extended to Ihe identical pieces which were lent,
it is enough to return an equal number of pieces
of the same denomination, or their present value
in any other. As, if guineas were reduced by acl
of parliament to twenly shillings, so many Iwenty
shillings, as I borrowed guineas, would be a just
repayment. It would be otherwise, if the reduc-
tion was owing to a debasemenl of Ihe coin ; for
Ihen respecl oughl to be had to the comparative
value of the old guinea and Ihe new.
Whoever borrows money, is bound in con-
science to repay it. This, every man can see ;
but every man cannot see, or does not however
reflect, that he is, hi consequence, also bound to
to use Ihe means necessary to enable himself to
repay it. " If he pay Ihe money when he has il,
or has il to spare, he does all lhal an honest man
can do," and all, he imagines, thai is required of
him ; whilsl the previous measures, which are ne-
cessary to furnish him with thai money, he makes
no part of his care, nor observes lo be as much
his duly as Ihe olher ; such as selling a family-
seal or a family eslale, contracting his plan of ex-
pense, laying down his equipage, reducing the
number of his servants, or any of those humiliating
sacrifices, which justice requires of a man in debt,
the momenl he perceives lhal he has no reasona-
ble prospecl of paying his debts without them.
An expectation which depends upon the con-
tinuance of his own life, will not satisfy an honest
man, if a belter provision be in his power ; for it is
a breach of faith to subject a creditor ; when we
can help it, to Ihe risk of our life, be Ihe event
whal il will ; lhal not being the security to which
credit was given.
I know few subjecls which have been more mis-
understood, lhan the law which authorises the
imprisonmenl of insolvenl debtors. Il has been
represented as a graluitous cruelty, which con-
Iribuled nolhing to the reparation of Ihe creditor's
loss, or to Ihe advantage of Ihe community. This
prejudice arises principally from considering Ihe
sending of a debtor to gaol, as an acl of private
satisfaction to the creditor, instead of a public pun-
ishment. As an acl of satisfaction or revenge, it
is always wrong in the motive, and often intem-
perate and undistinguishing in the exercise. Con-
sider it as a public punishment; founded upon
the same reason, and subjecl lo the same rules, as
other punishmenls ; and the justice of it, together
with the degree lo which it should be extended,
and the objecls upon whom it may be inflicted,
will be apparent. There are frauds relating lo
insolvency, againsl which it is as necessary to pro-
vide punishmenl, as for any public crimes whal-
ever : as where a man gels your money into his
possession, and forthwith runs away with it ; or,
what is lillle belter, squanders il in vicious ex-
penses ; or slakes it al the gaming-table ; in the
Alley ; or upon wild adventures in Irade ; or is
conscious al Ihe lime he borrows it, lhal he can
never repay il ; or wilfully puts it out of his pow-
er, by profuse living ; or conceals his effects, or
transfers them by collusion to another: not to
mention the obstinacy of some debtors, who had
rather rot in a gaol, than deliver up their estates j
SERVICE.
55
for, to say the truth, the first absurdity is in the
law itself, which leaves it in a debtor's power to
withhold any part of his property from the clain
of his creditors. The only question is, whether
the punishment be properly placed in the hands
of an exasperated creditor: for which it may be
said, that these frauds are so subtile and versatile
that nothing but a discretionary power can over-
take them ; and that no discretion is likely to be
so well informed, so vigilant, or so active, as that
of the creditor.
It must be remembered, however, that the con-
finement of a debtor in a jail is a. punishment ; and
that every punishment supposes a crime. To pur-
sue, therefore, with the extremity of legal rigour,
a sufferer, whom the fraud or failure of others, his
own want of capacity, or the disappointments and
miscarriages to which all human affairs are sub-
ject, have reduced to ruin, merely because we are
provoked by our loss, and seek to relieve the pain
we feel by that which we inflict, is repugnant not
only to humanity, but to justice: for it is to per-
vert a provision of law, designed for a different
and a salutary purpose, to the gratification of pri-
vate spleen and resentment. Any alteration in
these laws, which could distinguish the degrees of
guilt, or convert the service of the insolvent debtor
to some public profit, might be an improvement ;
but any considerable mitigation of their rigour,
under colour of relieving the poor, would increase
their hardships. For whatever deprives the cre-
ditor of his power of coercion, deprives him of his
security ; and as this must add greatly to the dif-
ficulty of obtaining credit, the poor, especially the
lower sort of tradesmen, are the first who would
suffer by such a regulation. As tradesmen must
buy before they sell, you would exclude from trade
two thirds of those who now carry it on, if none
were enabled to enter into it without a capital suf-
ficient for prompt payments. An advocate, there-
fore, for the interests of this important class of the
community, will deem it more eligible, that one
out of a thousand should be sent to jail by his
creditors, than that the nine hundred and ninety-
nine should be straitened and embarrassed, and
many of them lie idle by the want of credit.
CHAPTER XL
Contracts of labour.
SERVICE.
SERVICE in this country is, as it ought to be,
voluntary, and by contract ; and the master's au-
thority extends no further than the terms or
equitable construction of the contract will justify.
The treatment of servants, as to diet, disci-
pline, and accommodation, the kind and quantity
of work to be required of them, the intermission,
liberty, and indulgence to be allowed them, must
be determined in a great measure by custom ; for
where the contract involves so many particulars,
the contracting parties express a few perhaps of
the principal, and, by mutual understanding, re-
fer the rest to the known custom of the country
in like cases.
A servant is not bound to obey the unlawful
commands of his master ; to minister, for instance,
to his unlawful pleasures ; or to assist him by un-
lawful practices in his profession; as in smug-
gling or adulterating the articles in which he
deals. For the servant is bound by nothing but
his own promise ; and the obligation of a promise
extends not to things unlawful.
- For the same reason, the master's authority is
no justification of the servant in doing wrong;
for the servant's own promise, upon .which that
authority is founded, would be none.
Clerks and apprentices ought to be employed
entirely in the profession or trade which they are.
intended to learn. Instruction is their hire; and
to deprive them of the opportunities of instruc-
tion, by taking up their time with occupations
foreign to their business, is to defraud them of
their wages.
The master is responsible for what a servant
does in the ordinary course of his employment ;
for it is done under a general authority committed
to him, winch is in justice equivalent to a specific
direction. Thus, if I pay money to a banker's
clerk, the banker is accountable ; but not if I had
p:iid it to his butler or his footman, whose busi-
ness it is not to receive money. Upon the same
principle, if I once send a servant to take up
goods upon credit, whatever goods he afterwards
takes up at the same shop, so long as he con-
tinues in my service, are justly chargeable to my
account.
The law of this country goes great lengths in
intending a kind of,.^pncurrence in the master, so
as to charge him with the consequences of his
servant's conduct. If an inn-keeper's servant rob
his guests, the inn-keeper must make restitution ;
if a farrier's servant lame a horse, the farrier must
answer for the damage ; and still further, if your
coachman or carter drive over a passenger in the
road, the passenger may recover from you a satis-
faction for the hurt he suffers. But these deter-
minations stand, I think, rather upon the authority
of the law, than any principle of natural justice.
There is a carelessness and facility in " giving
characters," as it is called, of servants, especially
when given in writing, or according to some es-
tablished form, which /to speak plainly of it, is a
cheat upon those who accept them. They are
given with so little reserve and veracity, " that I
should as soon depend," says the author of the
Rambler, " upon an acquittal at the Old Bailey,
by way of recommendation of a servant's honesty,
as upon one of these characters." It is sometimes
carelessness ; and sometimes also to get rid of a
bad servant without the uneasiness of a dispute ;
for which nothing can be pleaded but the most
ungenerous of all excuses, that the person whom
we deceive is a stranger.
There is a conduct the reverse of this, but more
injurious, because the injury falls where there is
no remedy ; I mean the obstructing of a servant's
advancement, because you are unwilling to spare
his service. To stand ia the way of your servant's
interest, is a poor return for his fidelity ; and af-
fords slender encouragement for good behaviour,
in this numerous and therefore important part of
the community. It is a piece of injustice which,
if practiced towards an equal, the law of honour
would lay hold of; as it is, it is neither uncom-
mon nor disreputable.
A master of a family is culpable, if he permit
any vices among his domestics, which he might
restrain by due discipline, and a proper inter-
ference. This results from the general obligation
;o prevent misery when in our power ; and the
56
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
assurance which we have, that vice and misery at
the long run go together. Care to maintain in his
family a sense of virtue and religion, received the
Divine approbation in the person of ABRAHAM,
Gen. xviii. 19 : "I know him, that he will com-
mand his children, and his household after him ;
and they shall keep the way of the LORD, to do
justice and judgment." And indeed no authority
seems so well adapted to this purpose, as that of
masters of families ; because none operates upon
the subjects of it with an influence so immediate
and constant.
What the Christian Scriptures have delivered
concerning the relation and reciprocal duties of
masters and servants, breathes a spirit of liberality,
very little known in ages when servitude was
slavery ; and which flowed from a habit of con-
templating mankind under the common relation
in which they stand to their Creator, and with
respect to their interest in another existence;*
" Servants^ be obedient to them that are your
masters, according to the flesh, with fear and trem-
bling ; in singleness of your heart, as unto Christ ;
not with eye-service, as men-pleasers, but as the
servants of Christ, doing the will of God from the
heart; with good will, doing service as to the
Lord, and not to men ; knowing that whatsoever
good thing any man doeth, the same shall he re-
ceive of the LORD, whether he be bond or free.
And ye masters, do the saitie thing unto them,
forbearing threatening ; knowing that your Mas-
ter also is in heaven ; neither is there respect of
persons with him." The idea of referring their
service to God, of considering him as having ap-
pointed them their task, that they were doing his
will, and were to look to him for their reward, was
new ; and affords a greater security to the master
than any inferior principle, because it tends to pro-
duce a steady and cordial obedience, in the place
of that constrained service, which can never be
trusted out of sight, and which is justly enough
called eye-service. The exhortation to masters, to
keep in view their own subjection and accountable-
ness, was no less seasonable.
CHAPTER XII.
Contracts of Labour.
COMMISSIONS.
WHOEVER undertakes another man's business,
makes it his own, that is, promises to employ upon
it the same care, attention, and diligence, that he
would do if it were actually his own: for he
knows that the business was committed to him
with that expectation. And he promises nothing
more than this. Therefore an agent is not obliged
to wait, inquire, solicit, ride about the country.
toil, or study, whilst there remains a possibility of*
benefiting his employer. If he exert so much of
his activity, and use such caution, as the value of
the business, in his judgment, deserves; that is,
as he would have thought sufficient if the same
interest of his own had been at stake, he has dis-
charged his duty, although it should afterwards
turn out, that by more activity, and longer perse-
verance, he might have concluded the business
with greater advantage.
* Eph. vi. 59.
This rule defines the duty of factors, stewards,
attorneys, and advocates.
One of the chief difficulties of an agent's situa-
tion is, to know how far he may depart from his
instructions, when, from some change or disco-
very in the circumstances of his commission, he
sees reason to believe that his employer, if he
were present, would alter his intention. The
latitude allowed to agents in this respect, will be
different, according as the commission was con-
fidential or ministerial; and according as the
general rule and nature of the service require a
prompt and precise obedience to orders, or not.
An attorney, sent to treat for an estate, if he
found out a flaw in the title, would desist from
proposing the price he was directed to propose ;
and very properly. On the other hand, if the
commander-in-chief of an army detach an officer
under him upon a particular service, which ser-
vice turns out more difficult, or less expedient,
than was supposed ; insomuch that the officer is
convinced, that his commander, if he were ac-
quainted with the true state in which the affair is
found, would recall his orders; yet must this
officer, if he cannot wait for fresh directions with-
out prejudice to the expedition he is sent upon,
pursue at all hazards, those which he brought out
with him.
What is trusted to an agent, may be lost or
damaged in his hands by misfortune. An agent
who acts without pay, is clearly not answerable
for the loss ; for if he give his labour for nothing,
it cannot be presumed that he gave also his
security for the success of it. If the agent be
hired to the business, the question will depend
upon the apprehension of the parties at the time
of making the contract ; which apprehension of
theirs must be collected chiefly from custom, by
which probably it was guided. Whether a public
carrier ought to account for goods sent by him ;
the owner or master of a ship for the cargo ; the
post-office, for letters, or bills enclosed in let-
ters, where the loss is not imputed to any fault or
neglect of theirs ; are questions of this sort. Any
expression which by implication amounts to a
promise, will be binding upon the agent, without
custom ; as where the proprietors of a stage-coach
advertise that they will not be accountable for
money, plate or jewels, this makes them account-
able for every thing else ; or where the price is too
much for the labour, part of it may be considered
as a premium for insurance. On the other hand,
any caution on the part of the owner to guard
against danger, is evidence that he considers the
risk to be his : as cutting a bank-bill in two, to
send by the post at different times.
Universally, unless a promise, either express or
tacit, can be proved against the agent, tne loss
must fall upon the owner.
The agent may be a sufferer in his own person
or property by the business which he undertakes ;
as where one goes a journey for another, and
lames his horse, or is hurt himself by a fall upon
the road ; can the agent in such a case claim a
compensation for" the misfortune 1 Unless the
same be provided for by express stipulation, the
agent is not entitled to any compensation from
his employer on that account : for where the dan-
ger is not foreseen, there can be no reason to be-
lieve that the employer engaged to indemnify tho
agent against it: still less where it is foreseen:
for whoever knowingly undertakes a dangerous
OFFICES.
57
employment, in common construction, takes upon
himself the danger and the consequences; as
where a fireman undertakes for a reward to rescue
a box of writing from the flames; or a sailor to
bring oil" a passenger from a ship in a storm.
CHAPTER XIII.
Contracts of Labour.
PARTXKRSIIIP.
I KNOW nothing upon the subject of partnership
that requires explanation, but in what manner the
profits are to be divided, where one partner con-
tributes money, and the other labour; which is a
common case.
Rule, from the stock of the partnership deduct
the sum advanced, and divide the remainder be-
tween the monied partner and the labouring
partner, in the proportion of the interest of the
money to the wages of the labourer, allowing such
a rate of interest as money might be borrowed for
upon the same security, and such wages as a
journeyman would require for the same labour
and trust.
Example. A. advances a thousand pounds, but
knows nothing of the business; B. produces no
money, but has been brought up to the business.
and undertakes to conduct it. At the end of the
year, the stock and the effects of the partnership
amount to twelve hundred pounds; consequently
there are two hundred ]>ounds to be dhided.
Now, nobody would lend money upon the event
of the business succeeding, which is A's security,
under six per cent.; therefore A. must be allowed
sixty pounds lor the interest of his money. IJ.
before he engaged in the partnership, earned thirty
pounds a year in the same employment; his
lulxmr, then fore, ought to be valued at thirty
pounds: and the two hundred pounds must be
divided between 'the partners in the proportion of
sixty to thirty ; that is, A. must receive one hun-
dred and thirty-three pounds six shillings and
eight pence, and B. sixty-six pounds thirteen
shillings and four pence.
If there be nothing gained, A. loses his interest.
and B. his lalxmr ; which is right. If the original
stock be diminished, by this rule B. loses only his
labour, as before ; whereas A. loses his interest,
and part of the principal; for which eventual
disadvantage A. is compensated, by having the
interest of his money computed at six per cent, in
the division of the profits, when there are any.
It is true that the division of the profit is seldom
forgotten in the constitution of the partnership,
and is therefore commonly settled by express
agreements : but these agreements, to be equit-
able, should pursue the principle of the rule here
laid down.
All the partners are bound to what any one of
them does in the course of the business ; for,
quoad hoc, each partner is considered as an au-
thorised agent for the rest.
CHAPTER XIV.
Contracts of Labour.
OFFICES.
IN many offices, as schools, fellowships of col-
leges, professorships of universities, and tlio lik,-,
there is a two-fold contract ; one with the founder,
the other with the electors.
The contract with the founder obliges the in-
cumbent of the office to discharge every duty
appointed by the charter, statutes, deed of gift, or
will of the founder ; because the endowment was
ivcn. and consequently accepted, tor that purpose,
and upon those conditions.
The contract with the electors extends this
obligation to all duties that have been customarily
connected with and reckoned a part of the office,
though not prescribed by the founder ; for the
electors expect from the person they choose, all
the duties which his predecessors have discharged ;
and as the person elected cannot be ignorant of
their expectation, if he meant to have refused this
condition, he ought to have apprised them of his
objection.
And here let it be observed, that the electors
can excuse the. conscience of the person elected,
from this last class of duties alone; because this
class results from a contract to which the electors
and the person elected are the only parties.
The other class of duties results from a different
contract.
It is a question of some magnitude and diffi-
cult v. what offices may be conscientiously supplied
by a deputy.
We will state the several objections to the sub-
stitution of a deputy; and then it will be under-
stood, that a deputy' may be allowed in all cases
to which these objections do not apply.
An office may not be discharged by deputy,
1. Where a particular confidence is reposed in
the judgment and conduct of the person appoint-
ed to it ; as the office of a steward, guardian,
judge, commander-in-chief by land or sea.
2. Where the custom hinders ; as in the case
of schoolmasters, tutors, and of commissions in the
army or navy.
3. Where the duty cannot, from its nature, he
so well performed by a deputy; as the deputy-
governor of a province may not possess the legal
authority, or the actual influence, of his principal.
4. When some inconveniency would result to
the service in general from the permission of
deputies in such cases : for example, it is probable
that military merit would be much discouraged,
if the duties belonging- to commissions in the
army were generally allowed to be executed by
substitutes.
The non-residence of the parochial clergy, who
supply the duty of their benefices by curates, is
worthy of a more distinct consideration. And in
order to draw the question upon this case to a
point, we will suppose the officiating curate to
discharge every duty winch his principal, were he
present, would be bound to discharge, and in a
manner equally beneficial to the parish : under
which circumstances, the only objection to the
absence of the principal, at least the only one of
the foregoing objections, is the last.
And, in my judgment, the force of this objection
will be much diminished, if the absent rector or
vicar be. in the meantime, engaged in any function
or employment of equal, or of greater, importance
to the general interest of religion. For the whole
revenue, of the national church may properly
enough be considered as a common fund for the
support of the national religion ; and if a clergy-
man be serving the cause of < hristianity and pro-
testantism, it can make little dillerence, out of
58
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
what particular portion of this fund, that is, by
the tithes and glebe of what particular parish, his
service be requited; any more than it can pre-
judice the king's service that an officer who has
signalised his merit in America, should be re-
warded with the government of a fort or castle
in Ireland, which he never saw; but 'for the
custody of which, proper provision is made, and
care taken.
Upon the principle thus explained, this indul-
gence is due to none more than to those who are
occupied in cultivating or communicating re-
ligious knowledge, or the sciences subsidiary to
religion.
This way of considering the revenues of the
church as a common fund for the same purpose,
is the more equitable, as the value of particular
preferments bears no proportion to the particular
charge or labour.
But when a man draws upon this fund, whose
studies and employments bear no relation to the
object of it, and who is no further a minister of
the Christian religion than as a cockade makes a
soldier, it seems a misapplication little better than
a robbery.
And to those who have the management of
such matters I submit this question, whether the
impoverishment of the fund, by converting the
best share of it into annuities for the gay and
illiterate youth of great families, threatens not to
starve and stifle the little clerical merit that is left
amongst us 1
All legal dispensations from residence, proceed
upon the supposition, that the absentee is detained
from his living by some engagement of equal or of
greater public importance. Therefore, if, in a
case where no such reason can with truth be
pleaded, it be said that this question regards a
right of property, and that all right of property
awaits the disposition of law; that, therefore, if
the law which gives a man the emoluments of a
living, excuse him from residing upon it, he is
excused in conscience ; we answer that the law
does not excuse him by intention, and that all
other excuses are fraudulent.
CHAPTER XV.
Lies.
A LIE is a breach of promise: for whoever
seriously addresses his discourse to another, tacitly
promises to speak the truth, because he knows
that the truth is expected.
Or the obligation of veracity may be made out
from the direct ill consequences of lying to social
happiness. Which consequences consist, either
in some specific injury to particular individuals,
or in the destruction of that confidence which is
essential to the intercourse of human life; for
which latter reason, a lie may be pernicious in its
eral tendency, and therefore criminal, though
produce no particular or visible mischief to
any one.
There are falsehoods which are not lies ; that
is, which are not criminal : as,
1. Where no one is deceived ; which is the
case in parables, fables, novels, jests, tales to create
mirth, ludicrous embellishments of a story, where
the declared design of the speaker is not to inform,
but to divert ; compliments in the subscription of
a letter, a servant's denying' his master, a prison-
er's pleading not guilty, an advocate asserting the
justice, or his belief of the justice of his client's
cause. In such instances, no confidence is de-
stroyed, because none was reposed ; no promise
to speak the truth is violated, because none was
given, or understood to be given.
2. Where the person to whom you speak has
no right to know the truth, or, more properly,
where little or no inconveniency results from the
want of confidence in such cases ; as where you
tell a falsehood to a madman, for his own ad-
vantage ; to a robber, to conceal your property ;
to an assassin, to defeat or divert him from his
purpose. The particular consequence is by the
supposition beneficial ; and, as to the general con-
sequence, the worst that can happen is, that the
madman, the robber, the assassin, will not trust
you again ; which (beside that the first is incapable
of deducing regular conclusions from having been
once deceived, and the last two not likely to come
a second time in your way) is sufficiently com-
pensated by the immediate benefit which you
propose by the falsehood.
It is upon this principle, that, by the laws of
war, it is allowed to deceive an enemy by feints,
false colours,* spies, false intelligence, and the
like ; but by no means in treaties, truces, signals
of capitulation, or surrender : and the difference
is, that the former suppose hostilities to continue,
the latter are calculated to terminate or suspend
them. In the conduct of war, and whilst the war
continues, there is no use, or rather no place, for
confidence betwixt the contending parties ; but in
whatever relates to the termination of war, the
most religious fidelity is expected, because without
it wars could not cease, nor the victims be secure,
but J>y the entire destruction of the vanquished.
Many people indulge, in serious discourse, a
habit of fiction and exaggeration, in the accounts
they give of themselves, of their acquaintance, or
of the extraordinary things which they have seen
or heard : and so long as the facts they relate are
indifferent, and their narratives, though false, are
inoffensive, it may seem a superstitious regard to
truth to censure them merely for truth's sake.
In the first place, it is almost impossible to pro-
nounce beforehand, with certainty, concerning any
lie, that it is inoffensive. Volat irrevocabile ; and
collects sometimes accretions in its flight, which
entirely change its nature. It may owe possibly
its mischief to the officiousness or misrepresenta-
tion of those who circulate it ; but the mischief is,
nevertheless, in some degree chargeable upon the
original editor.
In the next place, this liberty in conversation
defeats its own end. Much of the pleasure, and
all the benefit, of conversation, depends upon our
opinion of the speaker's veracity ; for which this
rule leaves no foundation. The faith indeed of a
hearer must be extremely perplexed, who con-
siders the speaker, or believes that the speaker
considers himself as under no obligation to adhere
* There have been two or three instances of late, of
English ships decoying an enemy into their power, by
counterfeiting signals of distress ; an artifice which
ought to be reprobated by the common indignation of
mankind ! for a few examples of captures effected by
this stratagem, would put an end to that promptitude
in affording assistance to ships in distress, which is the
best virtue in a seafaring character, and by which the
perils of navigation are diminished to all. A. D. 1775.
OATHS.
to truth, but according to the particular impor-
tance of what he relates.
But beside and above both these reasons, white
lies always introduce others of a darker com-
plexion. I have seldom known any one who de-
serted truth in trifles, that could be trusted in
matters of importance. Nice distinctions are out
of the question, upon occasions which, like those
of speech, return every hour. The habit, there-
fore, of lying, when once formed, is easily ex-
tended, to serve the designs of malice or interest ;
like all habits, it spreads indeed of itself.
Pious frauds, as they are improperly enough
called, pretended inspirations, forged books, coun-
terfeit miracles, are impositions of a more serious
nature. It is possible that they may sometimes,
though seldom, have been set up and encouraged,
with a design to do good : but the good they aim
at, requires that the belief of them should be per-
petual, which is hardly possible ; and the detec-
tion of the fraud is sure to disparage the credit of
all pretensions of the same nature. Christianity
has suffered more injury from this cause, than
from all other causes put together.
As there may be falsehoods which are not lies,
so there may be lies without literal or direct false-
hood. An opening is always left for this species
of prevarication, when the literal and grammati-
cal signification of a sentence is different from
the popular and customary meaning. It is the
wilful deceit that makes the lie ; and we wilfully
deceive, when our expressions are not true in the
sense in which we believe the hearer to appre-
hend them; lx>si<les that it is absurd to contend
for any sense of words, in opposition to usage;
for all senses of all words are founded upon usage,
and ujxm nothing else.
Or a man may act a lie; as by pointing his fin-
ger in a wrong direction, when a traveller inquires
of him his road; or when a tradesman shuts up
his windows, to induce his creditors to believe
that he is abroad : for, to all moral purposes, and
therefore as to veracity, speech and action are the
same ; speech being only a mode of action.
Or, lastly, there may be lies of omission. A
writer of English history, who in his account of
the reign of Charles the First, should wilfully
suppress any evidence of that prince's despotic
measures and designs, might be said to lie ; for,
by entitling his book a History of England, he
engages to relate the whole truth of the history,
or, at least, all that he knows of it.
CHAPTER XVI.
Oaths.
I. Forms of Oaths.
II. Signification.
III. Lawfulness.
IV. Obligation.
V. What Oaths do not bind.
VI. In what sense Oaths are to be interpreted.
I. The forms of oaths, like other religious cere-
monies, have in all ages been various ; consisting
however, for the most part, of some bodily action,
* It is commonly thought that oaths are denominated
corporal oaths from the bodily action which accompa-
nies them, of layinj; the rij,'ht hand upon a book con-
taining the four Gospels. This opinion, however, ap-
and of a prescribed form of words. Amongst the
Jews, the iuror held up his right hand towards
heaven, which explains a passage in the 144th
Psalm; "Whose mouth speaketh vanity, and
their right hand is a right hand of falseliood"
The same form is retained in Scotland still.
Amongst the same Jews, an oath of fidelity was
taken, by the servant's putting his hand under
the thigh of his lord, as Eliezer did to Abraham,
Gen. xxiv. 2. ; from whence, with no great varia-
tion, is derived perhaps the form of doing homage
at this day, by putting the hands between the
knees, and within the hands, of the liege.
Amongst the Greeks and Romans, the form
varied with the subject and occasion of the oath.
In private contracts, the parties took hold of each
other's hand, whilst they swore to the perform-
ance ; or they touched the altar of the god by
whose divinity they swore. Upon more solemn
occasions, it was the custom to slay a victim ; and
the beast being struck down with certain ceremo-
nies and invocations, gave birth to the expressions
TI/UVI.V oficov, ferire pactum; and to our English
phrase, translated from these, of " striking a bar-
gain."
The forms of oaths in Christian countries are
also very different ; but in no country in the world,
I believe, worse contrived, either to convey the
meaning, or impress the obligation of an oath,
than in our own. The juror with us, after re-
peating the promise or affirmation which the oath
is intended to confirm, adds, " So help me God :"
or more frequently the substance of the oath is
repeated to the juror by the officer or magistrate
who administers it, adding in the conclusion, " So
help you God." The energy of the sentence re-
sides in the particle so ; so, that is, hoc lege, upon
condition of my speaking the truth, or performing
this promise, and not otherwise, may God help
me. The juror, whilst he hears or repeats the
words of the oath, holds his right hand upon a
Bible, or other book containing the four Gospels.
The conclusion of the oath sometimes runs, " Ita
me Deus adjuvet, et hsec sancta evangelia," or
" So help me God, and the contents of this book ;"
which last clause forms a connexion between the
words and action of the juror, that before was
wanting. The juror then kisses the book: the
kiss, however, seems rather an act of reverence
to the contents of the book, (as, in the popish
ritual, the priest kisses the Gospel before he reads
it,) than any part of the oath.
This obscure and elliptical form, together with
the levity and frequency with which it is adminis-
tered, has brought about a general inadvertency
to the obligation of oaths : which, both in a re-
ligious and political view, is much to be lamented :
and it merits public consideration, whether the
requiring of oaths on so many frivolous occasions,
especially in the Customs, and in the qualification
for petty offices, has any other effect, than to
make them cheap in the minds of the people. A
pound of tea cannot travel regularly from the
ship to the consumer, without costing half a dozen
oaths at the least ; and the same security for the
due discharge of their office, namely, that of an
oath, is required from a churchwarden and an
pears to be a mistake ; for the term is borrowed from
the ancient usage of touching, on these occasions, th
corporate, or cloth which covered the consecrated de-
ments.
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
archbishop, from a petty constable and the chief
justice of England. Let the law continue its own
sanctions, if they be thought requisite ; but let it
spare the solemnity of an oath. And where, from
the want of something better to depend upon, it
\s necessary to accept men's own word or own
account, let it annex to prevarication penal-
ties proportioned to the public mischief of the of-
fence.
II. But whatever be the form of an path, the
signification is the same. It is " the calling upon
God to witness, i. e. to take notice of, what we
say;" and it is "invoking his vengeance, or re-
nouncing his favour, if what we say be false, or
what we promise be not performed."
III. Gluakers and Moravians refuse to swear
upon any occasion ; founding their scruples con-
cerning the lawfulness of oaths upon our Sa-
viour's prohibition, Matt. v. 34. " I say unto you,
Swear not at all."
The answer which we give to this objection
cannot be understood, without first stating the
whole passage ; "Ye have heard that it hath been
said by them of old time, Thou shalt not forswear
thyself, but shalt perform unto the Lord thine
oaths. But I say unto you, Swear not at all ;
neither by heaven, for it is God's throne ; nor by
the earth, for it is his footstool ; neither by Jeru-
salem, for it is the city of the great King. Nei-
ther shalt thou swear by thy head, because thou
canst not make one hair white or black. But let
your communication be, Yea, yea ; Nay, nay : for
whatsoever is more than these, cometh of evil."
To reconcile with this passage of Scripture the
practice of swearing, or of taking oaths, when re-
quired by law, the following observations must be
attended to:
1. It does not appear that swearing " by hea-
ven," " by the earth," " by Jerusalem," or " by
their own head," was a form of swearing' ever
made use of amongst the Jews in judicial oaths :
and consequently, it is not probable that they
were judicial oaths, which Christ had in his mind
when he mentioned those instances.
2. As to the seeming universality of the prohi-
bition, " Swear not at all," the emphatic clause
" not at all" is to be read in connexion with what
follows; "not at all," i. e. neither "by the hea-
ven," nor " by the earth," nor " by Jerusalem,"
nor " by thy head ;" " not at all," does not mean
upon no occasion, but, by none of these forms.
Our Saviour's argument seems to suppose, that
the people to whom he spake, made a distinction
between swearing directly by the "name of God,"
and swearing by those inferior objects of venera-
tion, " the heavens," " the earth," " Jerusalem,"
or "their own head." In opposition to which
distinction, he tells them, that on account of the
relation which these things bore to the Supreme
Being, to swear by any of them, was in effect and
substance to swear by him ; "by heaven, for it is
his throne ; by the earth, for it is his footstool ; by
Jerusalem, for it is the- city of > the great King ; by
thy head, for it is his workmanship, not thine,
thou canst not make one hair white or black;" for
which reason he says, " Swear not at all," that is,
neither directly by God, nor indirectly by any thing
related to him. This interpretation is greatly con-
firmed by a passage in the twenty-third chapter
of the same Gospel, where a similar distinction,
made by the Scribes and Pharisees, is replied to
in the same manner.
3. Our Saviour himself being "adjured by the
living God," to declare whether lie was the Christ,
the Son of God, or not, condescended to answer the
high-priest, without making any objection to the
oath (for such it was) upon which lie examined
him." God is my witness" says St. Paul to tiie
Romans, " that without ceasing I make mention
of you in my prayers :" and to the Corinthians
still more strongly. " / call God for a record
upon my soul, that to spare you, 1 came not as
yet to Corinth." Both these expressions contain
the nature of oaths. The Epistle to the Hebrews
speaks of the custom of swearing judicially, without
any mark of censure or disapprobation; "Men
verily swear by the greater : and an oath, for con-
firmation, is to them an end of all strife."
Upon the strength of these reasons, we explain
our Saviour's words to relate, not to judicial oaths,
but to the practice of vain, wanton, and unau-
thorised swearing, in common discourse. St.
James's words, chap. v. 12. are not so strong as
our Saviour's, and therefore admit the same ex-
planation with more ease.
IV. Oaths are nugatory, that is, carry with
them no proper force or obligation, unless we
believe that God will punish false swearing with
more severity than a simple lie, or breach of pro-
mise ; for which belief there are the following
reasons :
1. Perjury is a sin of greater deliberation. The
juror has the thought of God and of religion upon
his mind at the time ; at least there are very few
who can shake them off entirely. He offends,
therefore, if he do offend, with a high hand; in
the face, that is, and in defiance of the sanctions
of religion. His offence implies a disbelief or
contempt of God's knowledge, power, and justice ;
which cannot be said of a he, where there is
nothing to carry the mind to any reflection upon
the Deity, or the Divine Attributes at all
2. Perjury violates a superior confidence.
Mankind must trust to one another: and they
have nothing letter to trust to than one another's
oath. Hence legal ad j udications, which govern and
affect every right and interest on this side of the
grave, of necessity proceed and depend upon oaths.
Perjury, therefore, in its general consequence
strikes at the security of reputation, property, and
even of life itself. A lie cannot do the same mis-
chief, because the same credit is not given to it.*
3. God directed the Israelites to swear by his
name;t and was pleased, " in order to show the
immutability of his own counsel,"? to confirm his
covenant with that people by an oath : neither of
which it is probable he would have done, had he
not intended to represent oaths as having some
meaning and effect beyond the obligation of a bare
promise; which effect must be owing to the
severer punishment with which he will vindicate
the authority of oaths.
V. Promissory oaths are not binding where the
promise itself would not be so : for the several
cases of which, see the Chapter of Promises.
VI. As oaths are designed for the security of
the imposer, it is manifest that they must be in-
terpreted and performed in the sense in which the
imposer intends them; otherwise, they afford no
* Except, indeed, where a Quaker's or Moravian's
affirmation is accepted in the place of an oath; in
which case, a lie partakes, so far as this reason extends,
of the nature and guilt of perjury.
t Deut. v. 13. x. 20. J Heb. vi. 17.
OATH OF ALLEGIANCE.
61
security to him. And this is the meaning and
reason of the rule, " jurare in animum imponen-
tis;" which rule the reader is desired to carry
along with him. whilst we proceed to consider
certain particular oaths, which are either of greater
importance, or more likely to fall in our way,
than others.
CHAPTER XVII.
Oath in Evidence.
THE witness swears " to speak the truth, the
whole truth, and nothing hut the truth, touching
the matter in question."
Upon which it may be observed, that the de-
signed concealment of any truth, which relates to
the matter in agitation, is as much a violation of
the oath, as to testify a positive falsehood ; and
this, whether the witness be interrogated as to
that particular point or not. For when the per-
son to be examined is sworn upon a roir dire,
that is, in order to inquire whether he ought to be
admitted to give evidence in the cause at all, the
form runs thus : " You shall true answer make to
all such questions as shall be asked you:" but
when he comes to be sworn in chief, he swears
" to speak the whole truth," without restraining
it, as before, to the questions that shall be asknl :
which difference shows, that the law intends, in
this latter case, to require of the witness, that he
give a complete and unreserved account of what
he knows of the subject of the trial, whether the
questions proposed to him reach the extent of his
knowledge or not. So that if it be inquired of the
witness afterwards, why he did not inform the
court so and so, it is not a sufficient, though a
very common answer, to say, "because it was
never asked me."
I know but one exception to this rule ; which
is, when a full discovery of the truth tends to
accuse the witness himself of some legal crime.
The law of England constrains no man to become
his own accuser ; consequently imposes the oath
of testimony with this tacit reservation. But the
exception must be confined to legal crimes. A
point of honour, of delicacy, or of reputation, may
make a witness backward to disclose some circum-
stance with which he is acquainted ; but will in
no wise justify his concealment of the truth, unless
it could be shown, that the law which imposes the
oath, intended to allow this indulgence to such
motives. The exception of which we are speak-
ing, is also withdrawn by a compact between the
magistrate and the witness, when an accomplice
is admitted to give evidence against the partners
of his crime.
Tenderness to the prisoner, although a specious
for concealment, is no just excuse: for
if this plea be thought sufficient, it takes the ad-
ministration of penal justice out of the hands of
judges and juries, and makes it depend upon the
temper of prosecutors and witnesses.
Questions may be asked, which are irrelative
to the cause, which affect the witness himself, or
some third person; in which, and in all cases
where the witness doubts of the pertinency and
propriety of the question, he ought to refer his
doubts to the court. The answer of the court, in
relaxation of the oath, is authority enough to the
witness j for the law which imposes the oath, may
remit what it will of the obligation : and it be-
longs to the court to declare what the mind of the
law is. Nevertheless, it cannot be said universally,
that the answer of the court is conclusive upon the
conscience of the witness ; for his obligation, de-
pends upon what he apprehended, at the time of
taking the oath, to be the design of the law in
imposing it, and no after- requisition or explana-
tion by the court can carry the obligation beyond
that.
CHAPTER XVIII.
Oath of Allegiance.
" I BO sincerely promise and swear, that I will
be faithful, and bear true allegiance to his Ma-
jesty KING GEORGE." Formerly the oath of al-
legiance ran thus : " I do promise to be true and
faithful, to the king and his heirs, and truth and
faith to bear, of life, and limb, and terrene honour;
and not to know or hear of any .ill or damage in-
tended him, witho.ut defending him therefrom :"
and was altered at the Revolution to the present
form. So that the present oath is a relaxation of
the old one. And as the oath was intended to
ascertain, not so much the extent of the subject's
obedience, as the person to whom it was due, the
legislature seems to have wrapped up its meaning
upon the former point, in a word purposely made
choice of for its general and indeterminate sig-
nification.
It will be most convenient to consider, first,
what the oath excludes as inconsistent with itj
secondly, what it permits.
1. The oath excludes all intention to support
the claim or pretensions of any other person or
persons to the crown and government, than the
reigning sovereign. A Jacobite, who is persuaded
of the Pretender's rig^ht to the crown, and who
moreover designs to join with the adherents to
that cause to assert this right, whenever a proper
opportunity, with a reasonable prospect of suc-
cess, presents itself, cannot take the oath of al-
legiance; or, if he could, the oath of abjuration
follows, which contains an express renunciation
of all opinions in favour of the claim of the exiled
family.
2. The oath excludes all design, at the time,
of attempting to depose the reigning prince, for
any reason whatever. Let the justice of the
Revolution be what it would, no honest man
could have taken even the present oath of alle-
giance to James the Second, who entertained, at
the time of taking it, a 'design of joining in the
measures which were entered into to dethrone him.
3. The oath forbids the taking up of arms
against the reigning prince, with views of private
advancement, or from motives of personal resent-
ment or dislike. It is possible to happen in this,
what frequently happens in despotic governments,
that an ambitious general, at the head of the mili-
tary force of the nation, might, by a conjuncture
of fortunate circumstances, and a great ascendency
over the minds of the soldiery, depose the prince
upon the throne, and make way to it for himself,
or for some creature of his qwn. A person in this
situation would be withhblderi from such an at-
tempt by the oath of allegiance, if he paid regard
to it. If there were any who engaged in the re-
bellion of the year forty-five, with the expectation
of titles, estates, or preferment ; or because they
6
62
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
were disappointed, and thought themselves ne-
glected and ill-used at court ; or because they
entertained a family animosity, or personal resent-
ment, against the king, the favourite, or the minis-
ter; if any were induced to take up arms by
these motives, they added to the many crimes of
an unprovoked rebellion, that of wilful and cor-
rupt perjury. If, in the late American war, the
same motives determined others to connect them-
selves with that opposition, their part in it was
chargeable with perfidy and falsehood to their oath,
whatever was the justice of the opposition itself,
or however well-founded their own complaints
might be of private injury.
We are next to consider what the oath of al-
legiance permits, or does not require.
1. It permits resistance to the king, when his
ill behaviour or imbecility is such, as to make re-
sistance beneficial to the community. It may fairly
be presumed that the Convention Parliament,
which introduced the oath in its present form, did
not intend, by imposing it, to exclude all resist-
ance, since the members of that legislature had,
many of them, recently taken up arms against
James the Second, and the very authority by
which they sat together was itself the effect of a
successful opposition to an acknowledged sove-
reign. Some resistance, therefore, was meant to
be allowed ; and, if any, it must be that which
has the public interest for its object.
2. The oath does not require obedience to such
commands of the king as are unauthorized by law.
No such obedience is implied by the terms of the
oath ; the fidelity there promised, is intended of
fidelity in opposition to his enemies, and not in
opposition to law ; and allegiance, at the utmost,
can only signify obedience to lawful commands.
Therefore, if the king should issue a proclama-
tion, levying money, or imposing any service or
restraint upon the subject beyond what the crown
is empowered by law to enjoin, there would exist no
sort of obligation to obey such a proclamation, in
consequence of having taken the oath of allegiance.
3. The oath does not require that we should
continue our allegiance to the king, after he is
actually and absolutely deposed, driven into exile,
carried away captive, or otherwise rendered in-
capable of exercising the regal office, whether by
his fault or without it. The promise of allegiance
implies, and is understood by all parties to sun-
pose, that the person to whom the promise is
made, continues king ; continues, that is, to ex-
ercise the power, and afford the protection which
belongs to the office of king : for, it is the pos-
session of this power, which makes such a par-
ticular person the object of the oath ; without it,
why should I swear allegiance to this man, ra-
ther than to any man in the kingdom 1 Beside
which, the contrary doctrine is burthened with
this consequence, that every conquest, revolution
of government, or disaster which befals the per-
son of the prince, must be followed by perpetual
and irremediable anarchy.
CHAPTER XIX.
Oath against JKribery in the Election of Mem-
bers of Parliament.
'.' I DO swear, 1 have not received, or had, I my-
self, or any person whatsoever, in trust for me, or
for my use and benefit, directly or indirectly, any
sum or sums of money, office, place, or employ-
ment, gift or reward, or any promise or security,
for any money, office, employment, or gift, in or-
der to give my vote at this election."
The several contrivances to evade this oath,
such as the electors accepting money under colour
of borrowing it, and giving a promissory note, or
other security, for it, which is cancelled after the
election; receiving money from a stranger, or a
person in disguise, or out of a drawer, or purse,
left open for the purpose ; or promises of money
to be paid after the election ; or stipulating for a
place, living, or other private advantage of any
kind ; if they escape the legal penalties of perjury,
incur the moral guilt; for they are manifestly
within the mischief and design of the statute
which imposes the oath, and within the terms in-
deed of the oath itself; for the word "indirectly"
is inserted on purpose to comprehend such cases
as these.
CHAPTER XX.
Oath against Simony.
FROM an imaginary resemblance between
the purchase of a benefice, and Simon Magus's
attempt to purchase the gift of the Holy Ghost,
(Acts viii. 19,) the obtaining of ecclesiastical pre-
ferment by pecuniary considerations has been
termed Simony.
The sale of advowsons is inseparable from
the allowance of private patronage ; as patronage
would otherwise devolve to the most indigent, and
for that reason the most improper hands it could
be placed in. Nor did the law ever intend to pro-
hibit the passing of advowsons from one patron
to another ; but to restrain the patron, who pos-
sesses the right of presenting at the vacancy,
from being influenced, in the choice of his presen-
tee, by a bribe, or benefit to himself. It is the same
distinction with that which obtains in a free-
holder's vote for his representative in parliament.
The right of voting, that is, the freehold to which
the rignt pertains, may be bought and sold as
freely as any other property; but the exercise
of that right, the vote itself, may not be pur-
chased, or influenced by money.
For this purpose, the law imposes upon the
presentee, who is generally concerned in the si-
mony, if there be any, the following oath : " I do
swear, that I have made no simoniacal payment,
contract, or promise, directly or indirectly, by my-
self, or by any other to my knowledge, or with my
consent, to any person or persons whatsoever, for
or concerning the procuring and obtaining of this
ecclesiastical place, &c. ; nor will, at any time here-
after, perform, or satisfy, any such kind of pay-
ment, contract, or promise, made by any other
without my knowledge or consent: so help me
God, through Jesus Christ !"
It is extraordinary that Bishop Gibson should
have thought this oath to be against all promises
whatsoever, when the terms of the oath expressly
restrain it to simoniacal promises; and the law
alone must pronounce what promises, as well as
what payments and contracts, are simoniacal, and
consequently come within the oath ; and what do
not so.
Now the law adjudges to be simony,
SUBSCRIPTION TO ARTICLES OF RELIGION,
03
scension in
for it tends
the clergy
to introuui
1. All payments, contracts, or promises, made
by any person for a benefice already vacant.
The advowson of a void turn, by law, cannot be
transferred from one patron to another ; there-
fore, if the -void turn be procured by money, it
must l>e by a pecuniary influence upon the then
subsisting patron in the choice of his presonUr,
which is the very practice the law condemns.
2. A clergyman's purchasing of the next turn
for a benefice/or himself, " directly or indirectly,"
that is, by himself, or by another person with his
money. It does not appear that the law prohibits
a clergyman from purchasing the perpetuity of
a patronage, more than any other person: but pur-
chasing the perpetuity, and forthwith selling it
again with the reservation of the next turn, and
with no other design than to possess himself of
the next turn, is infraudem legis, and inconsis-
tent with the oath.
3. The procuring of a piece of preferment, by
ceding to the patron any rights, or probable rights,
Mousing to it. This is simony of the worst kind ;
for it is not only buying preferment, but robbing
the succession to pay for it.
4. Promises to the patron of a portion of the
profit, of a remission of tithes and dues, or other
advantage out of the produce of the benefice;
which kind of compact is a pernicious conde-
;y, independent of the oath ;
uce a practice, which may
very soon become general, of giving the revenue
of churches to the lay patrons, and supplying the
duty by indigent stipendiaries.
5. General bonds of resignation, that is, bonds
to resign upon demand.
I doubt not but that the oath against simony is
binding upon the consciences of those who take
it, though I question much the expediency of re-
quiring it. It is very fit to debar public patrons,
such as the king, the lord chancellor, bishops, ec-
clesiastical corporations, and the like, from tliis
kind of traffic: because from them may be ex-
pected some regard to the qualifications of the
persons whom they promote. But the oath lays
a snare for the integrity of- the clergy ; and I do
not perceive, that the requiring of it in cases of
private patronage, produces any good effect suf-
ficient to compensate for this danger.
Where advowsons are holden along with ma-
nors, or other principal estates, it would be an easy
regulation to forbid that they should ever hereafter
l)e separated ; and would, at least, keep church-
preferment out of the hands of brokers.
CHAPTER XXI.
Oaths to Observe Local Statutes.
MEMBERS of colleges in the Universities, and
of other ancient foundations, are required to swear
to the observance of their respective statutes;
which observance is become in some cases un-
lawful, in others impracticable, in others useless,
in others inconvenient.
Unlawful directions are countermanded by the
authority which made them unlawful.
Impracticable directions are dispensed with by
the necessity of the case.
The only question is, how far the members of
these societies may take upon themselves to judge
of the inconvenicncy of any particular direction,
and make that a reason for laying aside the ob-
servation of it. \
The animus imponentis, which is the mea-
sure of the juror's duty, seems to be satisfied,
when nothing is omitted, but what, from some
change in the circumstances under which it was
prescribed, it may fairly be presumed that the
founder himself would have dispensed with.
To bring a case within this rule, the inconve-
niency must
1. Be manifest; concerning which there is no
doubt.
2. It must arise from some change in the cir-
cumstances of the institution : for, let the incon-
veniency be what it will, if it existed at the time
of the foundation, it must be presumed that the
founder did not deem the avoiding of it of suf-
ficient importance to alter his plan.
3. The direction of the statute must not only
be inconvenient in the general (for so may the
institution itself be,) but prejudicial to the particu-
lar end proposed by the institution: for, it is this
last circumstance which proves that the founder
would have dispensed with it in pursuance of his
own purpose.
The statutes of some colleges forbid the speak-
ing of any language but Latin, within the walla
of the college ; direct that a certain number, and
not fewer than that number, be allowed the use of
an apartment amongst them ; that so many hours
of each day be employed in public exercises, lec-
tures, or disputations ; and some other articles of
discipline adapted to the tender years of the stu-
dents who in former tunes resorted to universi-
ties. Were colleges to retain such rules, nobody
now-a-days would come near them. They are
laid aside therefore, though parts of the statutes,
and as such included within the oath, not merely
because they are inconvenient, but because there
is sufficient reason to believe, that the founders
themselves would have dispensed with them, as
subversive of their own designs.
CHAPTER XXII.
Subscription to Articles of Religion.
SUBSCRIPTION to articles of religion, though no
morerthan a declaration of ihe subscriber's assent,
may properly enough be considered in connexion
with the subject of oaths, because it is governed
by the same rule of interpretation :
Which rule is the animus imponentis.
The inquiry, therefore, concerning subscription,
will be, quis imposuit, et quo animo ?
The bishop who receives the subscription, is
not the imposer, any more than the crier of a court,
who administers the oath to the jury and wit-
nesses, is the person that imposes it ; nor, conse-
quently, is the private opinion or interpretation of
the bishop of any signification to the subscriber
one way or other.
The compilers~of the Thirty-nine Articles are
not to be considered as the imposers of subscrip-
tion, any more than the framer or drawer up of a
law is the person that enacts it.
The legislature of the 13th Eliz. is the im-
poser, whose intention the subscriber is bound to
satisfy.
They who contend, that nothing less can ius-
tify subscription to the Thirty-nine Articles, than
Gi
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
the actual belief of each and every separate pro-
position contained in them, must suppose, tin) the
legislature expected the consent of ten thousand
inni, and that, ill perpetual succession, not to one
controverted proposition, but to many hundreds.
It is difficult to conceive how this could he ex-
pected by any, who observed the incurable diver-
sity of human opinion upon all subjects short of
demonstration.
If the authors of the law did not intend this,
what did they intend 1
They intended to exclude from offices in the
church,
1. All abettors of popery :
2. Anabaptists ; who were at that time a pow-
erful party on the Continent.
3. The puritans; who were hostile to an epis-
copal constitution: and in general the members
of such' leading sects or foreign establishments as
threatened to overthrow our own.
Whoever finds himself comprehended within
these descriptions, ought not to subscribe. Nor
csni a subscriber to the Articles take advantage of
any latitude which our rule may seem to allow,
who is not first convinced that he is truly and
substantially satisfying the intention of the legis-
lature.
During the present state of ecclesiastical pa-
tronage, in which private individuals are per-
mitted to impose teachers upon parishes with
which they are often little or not at all connected,
some limitation of the patron's choice may be ne-
cessary to prevent Unedifying contentions between
neighbouring teachers, or between the teachers,
and their respective congregations. But this
danger, if it exist, may be provided against with
equal effect, by converting the articles of faith
into articles of peace.
CHAPTER XXIII.
Wills.
THE fundamental question upon this subject is,
whether Wills are of natural or of adventitious
right 1 that is, whether the right of directing the
disposition of property after his death belongs to
a man in a state of nature, and by the law of na-
ture, or whether it be given him entirely by the
positive regulations of the country he lives in 1
The immediate produce of each man's personal
labour, as the tools, weapons, and utensils, which
he manufactures, the tent or hut that he builds,
and perhaps the flocks and herds which he breeds
and rears, are as much his own as the labour was
which he employed upon them; that is, are his
property naturally and absolutely; and conse-
quently he may give or leave them to whom he
pleases, there being nothing to limit the con-
tinuance of his right, or to restrain the alienation
of it.
But every other species of property, especially
property in land, stands upon a different founda-
tion.
We have seen, in the Chapter upon Property,
that, in a state of nature, a man's right to a par-
ticular spot .flf ground arises from his using it and
his wanting it; consequently ceases with the use
and want: so that at his death the. estate reverts
to the community, without any regard to the last
owner's will, or even any preference of his family,
further than as they become the first occupier*
after him, and succeed to the s;ime want and use.
Moreover, as natural rights cannot, like rights
created by act of parliament, expire at the end of
a certain number of years: if the testator have a
right, by the law of nature, to dispose of his
property one moment after his death, be has the.
same right to direct the disposition of it for a mil-
lion of ages after him ; which is absurd.
The ancient apprehensions of mankind upon
the subject were conformable to this account of it:
for, wills have been introduced into most coun-
tries by a positive act of the state: as by the 1 .awn
of Solon into Greece; by the Twelve Tables
into Rome; and that not till after a considerable
progress had been made in legislation, and in
the economy of civil life. Tacitus relates, that
amongst the Germans they were disallowed ; and
what is more remarkable, in this country, since
the Conquest, lands could not be devised by will,
till within little more than two hundred years
ago, when this privilege was restored to the
subject, by an act of parliament, in the latter end
of the reign of Henry the Kighth.
No doubt, many beneficial purposes are at-
tained by extending the owner s power over his
property beyond his life, nd beyond his natural
right. It invites to industry ; it encourages mar-
riage; it secures the dutifulness and dependency
of children : but a limit must be assigned to the
duration of this power. The utmost extent to
which, in any case, entails are allowed bv the
laws of England to operate, is during the lives in
existence at the death of the testator, and one-and-
wenty years beyond these; after which, there
are ways and means of setting them aside.
From the consideration that wills are the crea-
tures of the municipal law which gives them their
'ffieacy, may be deduced a determination of the,
juestion, whether the intention of the testator in
an informal will, be binding upon the conscience
of those, who, by operation of law, succeed to his
estate. By an informal will, I mean a will void in
aw for want of some requisite formality, though
no doubt be entertained of its meaning <>r authen-
ticity: as, suppose a man make his will, devising
lis freehold estate to his sister's son, and the
will be attested by two only, instead of three, sub-
scribing witnesses; would the brother's son, who
is heir at law to the testator, be bound in con-
science to resign his claim to the estate, out of
lefcrencc to his uncle's intention ? or, on the con-
trary, would not the devisee under the will be
.)ound, upon discovery of this flaw in it, to sur-
render the estate, suppose lie had gained posses-
sion of it, to the heir at law !
Generally speaking, the heir at law is not bound
by the intention of the testator: for the intention
can signify nothing, unless the person intending
have a right to govern the descent of the estate.
That is the first <]uestion. Now this right the
testator can only derive from the law of the land:
but the law comen the right upon certain con-
ditions, with which conditions lie has not. com-
plied; therefore, the testator can lay no claim to
:!ie power which lie pretends to exercise, as be
hath not entitled himself to the hem lit of that
law, by virtue of which alone the estate ouirht to
ittend' his disposal. < 'onse<]uenlly, the devisee,
under the will, who, by concealing this flaw in it,
keeps possession of the estate, is in the situation
of any other person who avails himself of his
WILLS.
65
neighbour's ignorance to detain from him his pro-
perty. The will is so much waste paper, from the
defect of right in the person who made it. Nor is
this catching at an expression of law to pervert the
substantial design of it : for I apprehend it to be
the deliberate mind of the legislature, that no will
should take effect upon real estates, unless au-
thenticated in the precise manner which the sta-
tute descrilx?s. Had testamentary dispositions
been founded in any natural right, independent
of {Mtsitive constitutions 1 should have thought
differently of this question : for then I should have
considered the law rather as refusing its assistance
to enforce the right of the devisee, than as ex-
tinguishing or working any alteration in the right
itself.
And after all, I should choose to propose a
case, where no consideration of pity to distress,
of duty to a parent, or of gratitude to a benefactor,
interfered with the general rule of justice.
The regard due to kindred in the disposal of
our fortune (except the case of lineal kindred,
which is different) arises either from the respect
we owe to the presumed intention of the ancestor
from whom we received our fortunes, or from the
expectations wliich we have encouraged. The
intention of the ancestor is presumed with greater
certainty, as well as entitled to more respect, the
fewer degrees he is removed from us ; which
makes the difference in the different degrees of
kindred. For instance, it may be presumed to be
a father's intention and desire, that the inheritance
which he leaves, after it has served the turn and
generation of one son, should remain a provision
for the families of his other children, equally re-
lated and dear to him as the oldest. Whoever,
therefore, without cause, gives away his patrimony
from his brother's or sister's family, is guilty not
so much of an injury to them, as of ingratitude
to his parent. The deference due from the pos-
sessor of a fortune to the presumed desire of his
ancestor, will also vary with this circumstance :
whether the ancestor earned the fortune by his'
personal industry, acquired it by accidental suc-
cesses, or only transmitted the inheritance which
he received.
Where a man's fortune is acquired by himself,
and he has done nothing to excite expectation,
but rather has refrained from those particular
attentions which tend to cherish expectation, he
is perfectly disengaged from the force of the above
reasons, and at liberty to leave his fortune to his
friends, to charitable or public purposes, or to
whom he will : the same bloodj proximity of
blood, and the like, are merely modes of speech,
implying nothing real, nor any obligation of them-
selves.
There is always, however, a reason for pro-
viding for our poor relations, in preference to
others who may be equally necessitous, which ie,
that if we dp not, no one else will; mankind,
by an established consent, leaving the reduced
branches of good families to the bounty of their
wealthy alliances.
The not making a will, is a very culpable
omission, where it is attended with the following
effects: where it leaves daughters, or younger
children, at the mercy of the oldest son ; where it
distributes a personal 'fortune equally amongst the
children, although there be no equality in their
exigences or situations ; where it leaves an open-
ing for litigation ; or lastly, and principally, where
it defrauds creditors ; for, by a defect in our laws,
which has been long and strangely overlooked,
real estates are not subject to the payment of
debts by simple contract, unless made so by will;
although credit is, in fact, generally given to the
.possession of such estates : he, therefore, who ne-
glects to niake the necessary appointments for the
payment of his debts, as far as his effects extend,
sins, as it has been justly said, in his grave ; and
if he omits tliis on purpose to defeat the demands
of his creditors, he dies with a deliberate fraud in
his heart.
Anciently, when any one died without a will,
the bishop of the diocese took possession of his
personal fortune r in order to dispose of it for the
benefit of his soul, that is, to pious or charitable
uses. It became necessary, therefore, that the
bishop should be satisfied of the authenticity of
the will, when there was anv, In- lore he resigned
the right which he had to take possession of the
dead man's fortune in case of intestacy. In this
way wills and controversies relating to wills, came
within the cognizance of ecclesiastical courts ; un-
der the jurisdiction of wliich, wills of personals
(the only wills that were made formerly) still con-
tinue, though in truth, no more now-a-days con-
nected with religion, than any other instruments
of conveyance. Tliis is a peculiarity in the En-
glish laws.
Succession to intestates must be regulated by
positive rules of law, there being no principle of
natural justice whereby to ascertain the propor-
tion of the different claimants : not to mention
that the claim itself, especially of collateral kin-
ilrnl. seems to have little foundation in the laws
of nature.
These regulations should be guided by the duty
and presumed inclination of the deceased, so far as
these considerations can be consulted by general
rules. The statutes of Charles the Second, com;
monly called the Statutes of Distribution, which
adopt the rules of the Roman law in the dis-
tribution of personals, are sufficiently equitable.
They assign one-third to the widow, and two-
thirds to the children ; in case of no children, one
half to the widow, and the other half to the next of
kin ; where neither widow nor lineal descendants
survive, the"" whol^ to the next of kin, and to be
equally divided amongst kindred of equal degree,
without distinction of whole.blood and half blood,
or of consanguinity by the father's or mother's
side.
The descent of real estates, of houses, that is,
and land, having been settled in more remote and
in ruder times, is less reasonable. There never
can be much to complain of in a rule which every
person may avoid, by so easy a provision as that
of making his will : otherwise, our law in this re-
spect is chargeable with some flagrant absurdities;
such as, that an estate shall in no wise go to the
brother or sister of the half blood, though it came
to the deceased from the common parent ; that it
shall go to the remotest relation the intestate has
in the world, rather than to his own father or
mother; or even be forfeited for want of an heir,
though both parents survive ; that the most dis-
tant paternal relation shall be preferred to an un-
cle, or own cousin, by the mother's side, notwith-
standing the estate was purchased and acquired
by the intestate himself.
Land not being so -divisible as money, may be a
reason for making a difference in the course of
6*
GG
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
inheritance : but there ought to be no difference
but what is founded upon that reason. The Ro-
man law made none. >
BOOK III.
PART II. .
OF RELATIVE DUTIES WHICH ARE INDETER-
MINATE.
CHAPTER I.
Charity.
I USE the term Charity neither in the common
eense of bounty to the poor, nor in St. Paul's
sense of benevolence to all mankind : but I apply
it at present, in a sense more Commodious to my
purpose, to signify the promoting the happiness
of our inferiors.
Charity, in this sense, I take to be the princi-
pal province of virtue and religion : for, whilst
worldly prudence will direct our behaviour to-
wards our superiors, and politeness towards our
equals, there is little beside the consideration of
duty, or an habitual humanity which comes into
the place of consideration, to produce a proper
conduct towards those who are beneath us, and
dependant upon us.
There are three principal methods of promoting
the happiness of our inferiors.
1. By the treatment of our domestics and de-
pendants.
2. By professional assistance,
3. By pecuniary bounty.
CHAPTER II.
. Charity.
THE TREATMENT OP OUR DOMESTICS AND DE-
PENDANTS.
A PARTY of friends setting out together upon
a journey, soon find it to be the best for all sides,
that while they are upon the road, one of the com-
pany should wait upon the rest ; another ride for-
ward to seek out lodging and entertainment ; a
third carry the portmanteau ; a fourth take charge
of the horses ; a fifth bear the purse, conduct and
direct the route ; not forgetting, however, that, as
they were equal and independent when they set
out, so they are all to return to a level again at
, their journey's end. The same regard and re-
spect; the same forbearance, lenity, and reserve
in using their service ; the same mildness in de-
livering commands ; the same study to make their
Journey comfortable and pleasant, which he whose
jlot it was to direct the rest, would in common
decency think himself bound to observe towards
them; ought 'we to show to those who, in the
casting of the parts of human society, happen to
be placed within our power, or to depend upon us.
Another reflection of a Like tendency with the
former is, that our obligation to them is mnch
greater than theirs to us. It is a mistake to sup-
pose, that the rich man maintains lu's servants,
tradesmen, tenants, and. labourers : the truth is,
they maintain him. It is their industry which
supplies his table, furnishes his wardrobe, builds
his houses, adorns his equipage, provides his
amusements. It is not the estate, but,thc labour
employed upon it, that pays his rent. All that he
does, is to distribute wliat others produce j which
is the least part of the business.
Nor do I perceive any foundation for an opinion,
which is often handed round in genteel company,
that good usage is thrown away upon low and
ordinary minus ; that they are insensible of kind-
ness, and incapable of gratitude. If by " low and
ordinary minds" are meant the minds of men in
low and ordinary stations, they seem to be affect-
ed by benefits in the same way that all others are,
and to be no less ready 'to requite them: and it
would be a very unaccountable law of nature if it
were otherwise.
Whatever uneasiness we occasion to our domes-
tics^ w,hich neither promotes our service, nor an-
swers the just ends of punishment, is manifestly
wrong ; were it only upon the general principle
of diminishing the sum of human happiness.
By which rule we are forbidden,
1. To enjoin unnecessary labour or confine-
merit from the mere love and wantonness of domi-
nation.
2. To insult our servants by harsh, scornful, or
opprobrious language.
3. To refuse them any harmless pleasures.
And, by the same principle, are also forbidden
causeless or immoderate anger, habitual peevish-
ness, and groundless suspicion..
CHAPTER III.
Slavery.
THE prohibitions of the last chapter extend to
the treatment of slaves, being founded upon a
principle independent of the contract between
masters and servants.
I define slavery to .be " an obligation to labour
for the benefit of the master, without the contract
or consent of the servant."
This obligation may arise, consistently with the
[aw of nature, from three causes :
1 . From crimes.
2. From captivity.
3. From debt.
In the first case, the continuance of the slavery,
as of any other punishment, owjht to l>e propor-
tioned to the crime; in the second and third nisr^
it ought to cease, as soon as the demand of the in-
jured nation, or private creditor, is satisfied.
The slave-trade upon the coast of Africa is not
xcused by these principles. When slaves in that
country are brought to market, no questions, I
believe, are asked about the origin or justice of the
vendor's- title. It may be presumed, therefore,
that this title is not always, if it be ever, founded
in any of the causes above assigned.
But defect of right in the first purchase, is the
least crime with which this traffic is chargeable.
The natives are excited to war and mutual depre-
dation, for the sake of supplying their contracts,
or furnishing the market with slaves. With this
CHARITY.
the wickedness begins. The slaves, torn away
from parents, wives, children, from their friends
and companions, their fields and flocks, their
home and country, are transported to the Eu-
ropean settlements in America, with no other ac-
commodation on shipboard than what is provided
for brutes. This is the second stage of cruelty ;
from which the miserable exiles are delivered,
only to be placed, and that for life, in subjection
to a dominion and system of laws, the most mer-
ciless and tyrannical that ever were tolerated upon
the face of the earth ; and from all that can be
learned by the accounts of the people upon the
spot, the inordinate authority which the planta-
tion-laws confer UJKHI the slave-holder is exercised,
by the English slave-holder especially, with rigour
and brutality.
But necessity is pretended; the name under
which every enormity is attempted to be justified.
And, after all. what is the necessity'? It has never
been proved that the land could not be cultivated
there, as it is here, by lured servants. It is said
that it could not lie cultivated with quite the same
convenieuey and cheapness, as by the lal>our of
slaves : by which means, a pound of sugar, which
the planter now sells lor sixpence, could not .be
aflbrded under sixpence-halfpenny ; and this is
the necessity.
The great revolution which has taken place in
the Western work!, may probably conduce (and
who knows but that it was designed ?) to accele-
rate the fall of this ajxmii liable tyranny : and now
that this contest, and the pas-ion's which attend it,
are no more, there may succeed perhaps a season
for reflecting, whether a legislature which had so
lonn lent its assistance to the support of an insti-
tution replete with human miserv, was fit to be
trusted with an empire the most' extensive that
ever obtained in any age or quarter of the world.
Slavery was a part of the civil constitution of
most countries, when Christianity appeared ; yet
no passage is to be found in the Christian Scrip-
tures, by which it is condemned or prohibited.
This is true ; for Christianity, soliciting admis-
sion into all nations of the world, abstained, as
behoved it, from intermeddling with the civil in-
stitutions of any. But does it follow, from the
silence of Scripture concerning them, that all the
civil institutions which then prevailed were right 1
or that the bad should not be exchanged for bet-
ter 1
Besides this, the discharging of slaves from all
obligation to obey their masters, which is the con-
sequence of pronouncing slavery to be unlawful,
would have had no better effect than to let loose
one half of mankind upon the other. Slaves
would have been tempted to embrace a religion,
which asserted their right to freedom; masters
would hardly have been persuaded to consent to
claims founded upon such authority; the most
calamitous of all contests, a bellum servile, might
probably have ensued, to the reproach, if not the 1
extinction, of the Christian name.
\ The truth is, the emancipation of slaves should
.. !be gradual and be carried on by provisions of law,
and under the protection of civil government.
Christianity can only operate as an alterative. By
the mild diffusion of its light and influence, the
minds of men are insensibly prepared to perceive
and correct the enormities, which folly, or wicked-
ness, or accident, have introduced into their public
establishments. In this way the Greek and Ro-
man slavery, and since these, the feudal tyranny,
has declined before it. And we trust that, as the
knowledge and authority of the same religion ad-
vance in the world, they will banish what remains
of this odious institution.
CHAPTER IV.
Charity.
PROFESSIONAL ASSISTANCE.
THIS kind of beneficence is chiefly to be ex-
pected from members of the legislature, magis-
trates, medical, legal, and sacerdotal professions.
1. The care of the poor ought to be the prin-
cipal object of all laws', for this plain reason,
that the rich are able to take care of themselves.
Much has- been, and more might be; done by
the laws of this country, towards the relief of the
impotent, and the protection and encouragement
of the industrious poor. Whoever applies him-
self to collect observations upon the state and
ojx?ration of tb.Q poor laws, and to contrive reme-
dies for the imperfections and abuses which he
o!'-erves, and digests these remedies into acts of
parliament ; and conducts them, by argument or
influence, through the two branches of the legisla-
ture, or communicates his ideas to those who are
more likely to carry them into effect, deserves
well of a class of the community so numerous,
that their happiness forms a principal part of the
whole. The study and activity thus employed,
is charity, in the most meritorious sense of the
word.
2. The application of parochial relief is in-
trusted, in the first instance, to overseers and con-
tractors, who have an interest in opposition to
that of the poor, inasmuch as whatever they allow
them comes in part out of their own pockp t. For
this reason, the law has deposited with justices of
the peace a power of superintendence and con-
trol; and the judicious interposition of this power
is a most useful exertion, of charity, and oft-times
within the ability of those who have no other way
of serving their generation. A country gentle-
man of very moderate education, and who has little
to spare from his fortune, by learning so much of
the poor-law as is to be found in Dr. Burn's Jus-
tice, and by furnishing himself with a knowledge
of the prices of labour and provision, so as to be
able to estimate the exigencies of a family, and
what is to be expected from their industry, may,
in this way, place out the one talent committed to
him, to great account.
3. Of all private professions, that of medicine
puts it in a man's power to do the most good at
the least expense. Health, which is precious to
all, is to the poor invaluable : and their complaints,
as agues, rheumatisms, &c. are often such as yield
to medicine. And, with respect to the expense,
drugs at first hand cost little, and advice costs no-
thing, where it is only bestowed upon those who
could not afford to pay for it.
4. The rights of the ]>oor are not so important
or intricate, as- their contentions are violent and
ruinous. A lawyer or attorney, of tolerable
knowledge in his profession, has commonly judg-
ment enough to adjust these disputes, with all the
effect, and without the expense, of a law-suit ; and
he may be said to give a poor man twenty pounds
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
who prevents his throwing it away upon law. A
legal man, whether of the profession or not, who,
together with a spirit of conciliation, possesses the
confidence of his neighbourhood, will l>e much
resorted to for this purpose, especially since the
great increase of costs has produced a general
dread of going to law.
Nor is this line of beneficence confined to arbi-
tration. Seasonable counsel, coming with the
weight which the reputation of the adviser gives
it, will often keep or extricate the rash and unin-
formed out of great difficulties.
Lastly, I know not a more exalted charity than
that which presents a shield against the rapacity
or persecution of a tyrant.
5. Betwixt argument and authority (I mean
that authority which flows from voluntary respect,
and attends upon sanctity and disinterestedness
of character) something may be done, amongst the
lower orders of mankind, towards the regulation
of their conduct, and the satisfaction of their
thoughts. This office belongs to the ministers of
religion; or rather, whoever undertakes it, be-
comes a minister of religion. The inferior clergy,
who are nearly upon a level with the common sort
of their parishioners, and who on that account
gain an easier admission to their society and con-
fidence, have in this respect more in their power
than their superiors : the discreet use of this power
constitutes one of the most respectable functions
of human nature.
CHAPTER V.
Charity.
PECUNIARY BOUNTY.
1. The obligation to bestow relief upon the poor.
II. The manner of bestowing it.
III. The pretences by which men excuse tliem-
selvesfrom it.
1. The obligation to bestow relief upon the poor.
THEY who rank pity amongst the original im-
pulses of our nature, rightly contend, that, when
this principle prompts us to the relief of human
misery, it indicates the Divine indention, and our
duty. Indeed, the same conclusion is deducible
from the existence of the passion, whatever ac-
count be given of its origin. Whether it be an-
instinct or a habit, it is in fact a property of our
nature, which God appointed : and the final cause
for which it was appointed, is, to afford to the
miserable, in the compassion of their fellow-crea-
tures, a remedy for those inequalities and distress-
es which God foresaw that many must be exposed
to, under every general rule for the distribution of
property.
Beside this, the poor have a claim founded in
the law of nature, which maybe thus explained :
All things were originally common. No one be-
ing able to produce a charter from Heaven, had
any better title to a particular possession than his
next neighbour. There were reasons for man-
kind's agreeing upon a separation of this common
fund ; and God for these reasons is presumed to
have ratified it. But this separation was made and
consented to, upon the expectation and condition
that every one should have left a sufficiency for
his subsistence, or the means of procuring it : and
as no fixed laws for the regulation of property
can be so contrived, as to provide for the relief of
every case and distress which may arise, these
discs and distresses, when their right and- share
in the common stock were given up or taken from
them, were supposed to be left to the voluntary
bounty of those who might be acquainted with the
exigencies of their situation, and in the way of
affording assistance. And, therefore, when the
partition of property is rigidly maintained against
the claims of indigence and distress, it is main-
tained in opposition to the intention of those who
made it, and to his, who is the Supreme Proprietor
of every thing, and who has filled the world with
plenteousness, for the sustentatiori and comfort of
all whom he sends into it.
The Christian Scriptures are more copious and
explicit upon this duty than upon almost any
other. The description which Christ hath left
us of the proceedings of the last day, establishes
the obligation of bounty beyond controversy ;
"AVhen the son of man shall come in his glory,
and all the holy angels with him, then shall he sit
upon the throne of his glory, and before him shall
be gathered all nations; and he shall separate
them one from another. Then shall the King
say unto them on his right hand, Come, ye blessed
of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you
from the foundation of the world : For I was an
hungered, and ye gave me meat : I was thirsty,
and ye gave me drink : I was a stranger, and ye
took me in: naked, and ye clothed me: I was
sick, and ye visited me : I was in prison, and ye
came unto me. And inasmuch as ye have done
it to one of the least of these my brethren, ye have
done it unto me."* It is not necessary to under-
stand this passage as a literal account of what will
actually pass on that day. Supposing it only a
scenical description of the rules and principles, by
which the Supreme Arbiter of our destiny will
regulate his decisions, it conveys the same lesson
to us ; it equally demonstrates of how great value
and importance these duties in the sight of God
are, and what stress will be laid upon them. The
apostles also describe this virtue as propitiating
the Divine favour in an eminent degree. And
these recommendations have produced their etiect.
It does not appear that, before the times of Chris-
tianity, an infirmary, hospital, or public charity
of any kind, existed in the world ; whereas most
countries in Christendom, have long abounded
with these institutions. To which may be added,
that a spirit of private liberality seems to flourish
amidst the decay of many other virtues ; not to
mention the legal provision for the poor, which
obtains in this country, and which was unknown
and unthought of by the most humanised nations
of antiquity.
St. Paul adds upon the subject an excellent
direction, and which is practicable by all who
liave any thing to give : " Upon the first day of
the week (or any other stated time) let every one
of you lay by in store, as God hath prospered
iim." By which I understand St. Paul to re-
commend what is the very thing wanting with
mos.t men, the being charitable upon a plan ; that
is, upon a deliberate comparison of our fortunes
with the reasonable expenses and expectation of
our families, to compute what we can spare, and
* Matthew, xxv. 31.
PECUNIARY BOUNTY.
69
to lay by so much for charitable purposes in some
mode or other. The mode will be a consideration
afterwards.
The effect which Christianity produced upon
some of its first converts, was such as might be
looked for from a divine religion, coming with full
force and miraculous evidence upon the con-
sciences of mankind. It overwhelmed all worldly
considerations in the expectation of a more im-
portant existence : " And the multitude of them
that believed, were of one heart and of one soul ;
neither said any of them that aught of the tilings
which he possessed was his own ; but they had
all things in common. Neither was there any
among them that lacked; for as many as were
possessors of lands or houses, sold them, and
brought the prices of the tilings th;rt were sold,
and laid them down at the apostles' feet ; and dis-
tribution was made unto every man according as
he had need." Acts iv. 32.
Nevertheless, this community of goods, 'how-
ever it manifested the sincere zeal of the primitive
Christians, is no precedent for our imitation. It
was confined to the church at Jerusalem; con-
tinued not long there ; was never enjoined upon
any (Acts v. 4. ;) and although it might suit with
the particular circumstances of a small and select
society, is altogether impracticable in a large and
mixea community.
The conduct of the apostles upon the occasion,
deserves to be noticed. Their followers laid down
their fortunes at their feet : but so far were they
from taking advantage of this unlimited confidence.
to enrich themselves, or to establish their own au-
thority, that they soon after got rid of this business,
as inconsistent with the main object of their mis-
sion, and transferred the custody and management
of the public fund to deacons elected to that office
by the people at large. (Acts vi.)
II. The manner of bestowing bounty ; or the
different kinds of charity.
Every question between the different kinds
of charity, supposes the sum bestowed to be the
same.
There are three kinds of charity which prefer a
claim to attention.
The first, and in my judgment one of the best,
is to give stated and considerable sums, by way
of pension or annuity, to individuals or families,
with whose behaviour and distress we ourselves
are acquainted. When I speak of considerable
sums, 1 mean only that five pounds, or any other
sum, given at once, or divided amongst five or
fewer families, will do more good than the same
sum distributed amongst a greater number in shil-
lings or half-crowns ; and mat, because it is more
likely to be properly applied by the persons who
receive it. A poor fellow, who can find no bet-
ter use for a shilling than to drink his benefactor's
health, and purchase half an hour's recreation -for
himself, would hardly break into a guinea for any
such a purpose, or be so improvident as not to lay
it by for an occasion of importance, e. g. for his
rent, his clothing, fuel, or stock of winter's pro-
vision. It is a still greater recommendatioixof this
kind of charity, that pensions and annuities, which
are paid regularly, and can be expected at the
time, are the only way by which we can prevent
one part of a poor man's sufferings, the dread
of want.
2. But as this kind of charity supposes that
proper objects of such expensive benefactions fall
within our private knowledge "and observation,
which does not happen to all, a second method of
doing good, which is in every one's power who
has the money to spare, is by subscription to pub-
lic charities. Public charities admit of this ar-
gument in their favour, that your money goes
farther towards attaining the end for which it is
given, than it can do by any private and separate
beneficence. A guinea, for example, contributed
to an infirmary, becomes the means of providing
one patient at least with a physician, surgeon,
apothecary, with medicine, diet, lodging, and suit-
able attendance ; which is not the tenth part of
what the same assistance, if it could be procured
at all, would cost to a sick person or family in any
other situation.
3. The last, and, compared with the former,
the lowest exertion of benevolence, is in the re-
lief of beggars. Nevertheless, I by no means
approve the indiscriminate rejection of all who
implore our alms in this way. Some may perish
h\ such a conduct. Men are sometimes overtaken
by distress, for which all other relief would come
too late. Beside which, resolutions of this kind
compel us to offer such violence to our humanjty,
as may go near, in a little while, to suffocate the
principle itself; which is a very serious considera-
tion. A good man, if he do not surrender himself
to his feedings without reserve, will at least lend an
ear to importunities which come accompanied with
outward attestations of distress ; and after a pa-
tient audience of the complaint, will direct him-
self, not so much by any previous resolution which
he may have formed upon the subject, as by the
circumstances and credibility of the account that
he receives.
There are other species of charity well con-
trived to make the money expended go far: such
as keeping down the price of fuel or provision, in
case of monopoly or temporary scarcity, by pur-
chasing the articles at the best market, and retail-
ing them at prime cost, or at a small loss; or the
adding of a bounty to particular species of labour,
when the price is accidentally depressed.
The proprietors of large estates have it in their
power to facilitate the maintenance, and thereby
to encourage the establishment, of families, (which
is one of tne noblest purposes to which the rich
and great can convert their endeavours,) by build-
ing cottages, splitting farms, erectjng manufacto-
ries, cultivating wastes, embanking the sea, drain-
ing marshes, and other expedients which the
situation of each estate points out. If the profits
of these undertakings do not repay the expense,
let the authors of them place the difference to the
account of charity. It is true of almost all such
projects, that the public is a gainer by them, what-
ever the owner be. And where the loss can be
spared, this consideration is sufficient.
It is become a question of some importance,
under what circumstances works of chanty ought
to be done in private, and when they may be made
public without detracting from the merit of the
action, if indeed they ever may ; the Author of our
religion having delivered a rule upon this sub-
ject which seems to enjoin universal secrecy :
" When thou doest alms, let not thy left hand
know what thy right hand doeth ; that thy alms
may be in secret, and thy Father, .which seeth in
secret, himself shall reward thee openly." (Mat.
vi. 3, 4.) From the preamble to this prohibition
I think it, however, plain, that our Saviour's sole
70
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
design was to forbid ostentation, and all publish-
ing of good works which proceeds from that mo-
tive. " Take heed that ye do not your alms be-
fore men, to be seen of them ; otherwise ye have
no reward of your Father which is in heaven ;
therefore, when thou doest thine alms, do not
sound a trumpet before thee, as the hypocrites do,
in the synagogues and in the streets, that they may
have glory of men. Verily I say unto you, they
have their reward." ver. 1, 2. There are motives
for the doing our alms in public, beside those of
ostentation, with which therefore bur Saviour's
rule has no concern : such as to testify our ap-
probation of some particular species of charity,
and to recommend it to others ; to take off the
prejudice which the want, or, which is the same
thing, the suppression, of our name in the list of
contributors might excite against the charity, or
against ourselves. And, so 'long as these motives
are free from any mixture of vanity, they are in
no danger of invading our Saviour's prohibition;
they rather seem to comply with another direction
which he has left us: "Let your light so shine
before men, that they may see your good works,
and glorify your Father which is in heaven." If
it be necessary to propose a precise distinction
upon the subject, I can think of none better than
the following : When our boun*y is beyond our
fortune and station, that is, when it is more than
could be expected from us, our charity should be
private, if privacy be practicable : when it is not
more than might be expected, it may be public:
for we cannot nope to influence others to the imi-
tation of extraordinary generosity, and therefore
want, in the former case, the only justifiable rea-
son for making it public.
Having thus described several different exer-
tions of charity, it may not be improper to take
notice of a species of liberality, which is not
charity, in any sense of the word : I mean the
giving of entertainments or liquor, for the sake
of popularity; or the rewarding, treating, and
maintaining, the companions of our diversions,
as hunters, shooters, fishers, and the like. I do
not say that this is criminal ; I only say that it is
not charity; and that we are not to suppose, be-
cause we give, and give to the poor, that it will
stand in the place,' or supersede the obligation, of
more meritorious and disinterested bounty.
III. The pretences by which men excuse them-
selves from giving to the poor.
1. " That they have nothing to spare," i. e.
nothing for which they have not provided some
other use ; nothing which their plan or expense,
together with the savings they have resolved to
lay by, will not exhaust: never reflecting whether
it be in their power, or that it is their duty, to
retrench their expenses, and contract their plan,
" that they may have to give to them that need:"
or, rather, that this ought to have been part of
their plan originally.
2. " That they have families of their own, and
that charity begins at home." The extent of this
plea will be considered, when we come to explain
the duty of parents.
3. "That charity docs not consist in giving
money, but in benevolence, philanthropy, love to
all mankind, goodness of heart," &c. Hear St.
James : " If a brother or mister be naked, and
destitute of daily food, and one of you say unto
them, depart in peace ; be ye warmed and filled;
notwithstanding ye give tliem not those things
which arc needful to the body; what doth it
profit'?" (James ii. 15, 16.)
4. "That giving to the poor is not mentioned
in St. Paul's description .of charity, in the thir-
teenth chapter of his First Epistle to the Corin-
thians." This is not a description of charity, but
of good-nature ; and it is necessary that every
duty be mentioned in every place.
5. " That they pay the poor-rates." They
might as well allege that they pay their debts :
for the poor have the same right to that portion
of a man's property which the laws assign to
them, that the man himself has to the remainder.
6. " That they employ many poor persons;"
for their own sake, not the poor's otherwise it
is a good plea.
7. " That the poor do not suffer so much as
we imagine; that, education and habit have re-
conciled them to the evils of their condition, and
make them easy under it." Habit can never
reconcile human nature" to the extremities of cold,
hunger, and thirst, any more than it can reconcile
the hand to the touch of a red-hot iron: besides,
the question is not, how unhappy any one is, but
how much more happy we can make him.
8. "That these people, give them what you
will, will never thank you, or think of you for it."
In the first place, this is not true : in the second
place, it was not for the sake of their thanks that
you relieved them.
9. " That we are liable to be imposed upon."
If a due inquiry be made, our merit is the same :
beside that the distress is generally real, although
the cause be untruly stated.
10. " That they should ajrply to their parishes."
This is not always practicable : to which we may
add, that there are many requisites to a comfort-
able subsistence, which parish relief dors not sup-
ply ; and that there are some, who would suffer
almost as much from receiving parish relief as by
the want of it ; and, lastly, that there are many
modes of charity to which this answer does not
relate at all.
11. " That giving money, encourages idleness
and vagrancy.^ This is true only of injudicious
and indiscriminate generosity.
12. " That we have too many objects of charity
at home, to bestow any thing upon strangers; or,
that there are other charities, which are more use-
ful, or stand in greater need." The value of this
excuse depends entirely upon the fact, whether
we actually relieve those neighbouring objects,
and contribute to those other charities.
Beside all these excuses, pride, or prudery, or
delicacy, or -love of ease, keep one half of the
world out of the way of observing what the other
half suffer.
CHAPTER VI.
Resentment.
RESENTMENT may be distinguished into anger
arid revenge.
By anger, I mean the pain we suffer upon the
receipt of an injury or affront, with the usual ef-
fects of that pain upon ourselves.
By revenge, the inflicting of pain upon the
person who has injured or offended us, farther
than the just enda of punishment or reparation
require.
REVENGE,
71
Anger prompts to revenge ; but it is possible
to suspend the effect, when we cannot altogether
quell the principle. We are bound also to en-
deavour to qualify and correct the principle itself.
So that our duty requires two different applica-
tions of the mind ; and, for that reason, anger aud
revenge may be considered separately.
CHAPTER VII.
Anger.
" BE ye angry, and sin not ;" therefore all an^cr
is not sinful; I suppose, because some degree of it.
and u]K>n some occasions, is inevitable.
It becomes sinful, or contradicts, however, the
rule of Scripture, when it is conceived upon
slight and inadequate provocations, and, when it
continues louir.
1. When it- is conceived upon slight provoca-
tions : for, " charity suffered! long, is not easily
provoked." " Let every man be slow to anger."
Peace, lone-suflering, gentleness, meekness, are
enumerated among the fruits of the Spirit, Gal.
v. ^3. and compose the true Christian temper, as
to this article of duty.
2. When it continues long : for, " let not the
sun go down upon your wrath."
These precepts, and all reasoning indeed on
the subject, suppose the passion of anger to be
within our power ; and this power consists not so
much in any faculty we possess of appeasing our
wrath at the time, (for we are passive under the
smart which an injury or affront occasions, and
all we can then do, is to prevent its breaking out
into action,) as in so mollifying our minus by
habits of just reflection, as to be less irritated by
impressions of injury, and to be sooner pacified.
Reflections proper for this purpose, and which
may be called the sedatives of ani^er, are the fol-
lowing : the possibility of mistaking the motives
from which the conduct that offends us proceeded ;
how often our offences have been the effect of
inadvertency, when they were construed into in-
dications of malice ; the inducement which prompt-
ed our adversary to act as he did, and how power-
fully the same inducement has, at one time or
other, operated upon ourselves: that he is suf-
fering perhaps under a contrition, which he is
ashamed or wants opportunity to confess; and
how ungenerous it is to triumph by coldness or
insult over a spirit already humbled in secret;
that the returns of kindness are sweet, and that
there is neither honour, nor virtue, nor use, in re-
sisting them: for, some persons -think them-
selves bound to cherish and keep alive their in-
dignation, when they find it dying away of itself.
We may remember that others have their pas-
sions, their prejudices, their favourite aims, their
fears, their cautions, their interests, their sudden
impulses, their varieties of apprehension, as well
as we: we may recollect what hath sometimes
passed in our minds, when we have gotten on the
wrong side of a quarrel, and imagine the same to
be passing in our adversary's mind now ; when
we became sensible of our misbehaviour, what
palliations we perceived in it, and expected others
to perceive ; how we were affected by the kind-
ness, and felt the superiority, of a generous re-
ception and ready forgiveness ; how persecution
revived our spirits wjta our enmity, and seemed
to justify the conduct in ourselves which we be-
fore blamed. Add to this, the indecency of ex-
travagant anger ; how it renders us, whilst it lasts,
the scorn and sport of all about us, of which it
leaves us, when it ceases, sensible and ashamed ;
the inconveniences and irretrievable misconduct
into which our irascibility has sometimes betrayed
us ; the friendships it has lost us j the distresses and
embarrassments in which we have been involved
by it ; and the sore repentance which, on one ac-
count or other, it always cost us.
But the reflection calculated above all others
to allay the haughtiness of temper which is ever
finding out provocations, and which renders anger
so impetuous, is that which the Gospel proposes ;
namely, that we ourselves are, or shortly shall be,
suppliants for mercy and pardon at the judgment-
seat of God. Imagine our secret sins disclosed and
brought to light ; imagine us thus humbled and
exposed; trembling under the hand of God; cast-
ing ourselves on his compassion ; crying out for
mercy ; imagine such a creature to talk of satis-
faction and revenge; refusing to be entreated,
disdaining to forgive; extreme to mark and to
resent what is done amiss; imagine, I say, this,
and you can hardly frame to yourself an instance
of more impious and unnatural arrogance.
The point is, to habituate ourselves to these
reflections, till they rise up of their own accord
when they are wanted, that is, instantly upon the
receipt of an injury or affront, and with such force
and colouring, as both to mitigate the paroxysms
of our anger at the time, and at length to produce
an alteration in the temper and disposition itself.
CHAPTER VIII.
Rerenge.
ALL pain occasioned to another in consequence
of an offence or injury received from him, further
than what is calculated to procure reparation, or
promote the just ends of punishment, is so much
revenge.
There can be no difficulty in knowing when
we occasion pain to another ; nor much in dis-
tinguishing whether we do so, with a view only
to the ends of punishment, or from revenge ; for,
in the one case we proceed with reluctance, in
the other with pleasure.
It is highly probable, from the light of nature,
that a passion, which seeks its gratification im-
mediately and expressly in giving pain, is dis-
agreeable to the benevolent will and counsels of
the Creator. Other passions and pleasures may,
and often do, produce pain to some one : but then
pain is not, as it is here, the object of the passion,
and the direct cause of the pleasure. This pro-
bability is converted into certainty, if we give
credit to the authority which dictated the several
passages of the Christian Scriptures that condemn
revenge, or, what is the same tiling, which enjoin
forgiveness.
We will set down the principal of these pas-
sages ; and endeavour to collect from them, what
conduct upon the whole is allowed towards an
enemy, and what is forbidden.
" If ye forgive men their trespasses, your hea-
venly Father will also forgive you ; but if ye forgive
not men their trespasses, neither will your Father
forgive your trespasses."" And hia lord was
72
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
wroth, and delivered him to the tormentors, till
he should pay all that was due unto him : so like-
wise shall my heavenly Father do also unto you,
if ye from your hearts forgive not every one his
brother their trespasses." "Put on bowels of
mercy, kindness, humbleness of mind, meekness,
long-suffering ; forbearing one another, forgiving
one another, if any man have a quarrel against
any, even as Christ forgave you, so also do ye."
"Be patient towards all men; see that none
render evil for evil to any man." " Avenge not
yourselves, but rather give place unto wrath : for
it is written, Vengeance is mine ; I will repay,
saith the Lord. Therefore, if thine enemy hunger,
feed him; if he thirst, give him drink: for, in
so doing, thou shalt heap coals of fire on his head.
Be not overcome of evil, but overcome evil with
good."*
I think it evident, from some of these passages
taken separately, and still more so from all of
them together, that revenge, as described in the
beginning of this chapter, is forbidden in every
degree, under all forms, and upon every occasion.
We are likewise forbidden to refuse to an enemy
even the most imperfect right: "if he hunger,
feed him ; if he thirst, give him drink ;"t which
are examples of imperfect rights. If one who has
offended us, solicit from us a vote to which his
qualifications entitle him, we may not refuse it
from motives of resentment, or the remembrance
of what we have suffered at his hands. His right,
and our obligation which follows the right, are
not altered by his enmity to us, or by ours to him.
On the other hand, I do not conceive that these
prohibitions were intended to interfere with the
punishment or prosecution of public offenders.
In the eighteenth chapter of St. Matthew, our Sa-
viour tells his disciples, " If thy brother who has
trespassed against thee neglect to hear the church,
let him be unto thee as an heathen man, and a
publican." Immediately after this, when St. Pe-
ter asked him, " How oft shall my brother sin
against me, and I forgive him 1 till seven times 1"
Christ replied, " I say not unto thee until seven
times, but until seventy times seven ;" that is, as
often as he repeats the offence. From these two
adjoining passages compared together, we are au-
thorised to conclude that the forgiveness of an
enemy is not inconsistent with the proceedings
against him as a public offender ; and that the dis-
cipline established in religious or civil societies, for
the restraint or punishment of criminals, ought to
be upholden.
If the magistrate be not tied down with these
prohibitions from the execution of his office, nei-
ther is the prosecutor ; for the office of the prose-
cutor is as necessary as that of the magistrate.
Nor, by parity of reason, are private persons
withholden from the correction of vice, when it is
in their power to exercise it ; provided they be as-
sured that it is the guilt which provokes them, and
not the injury ; and that their motives are pure
from all mixture and every particle of that spirit
which delights and, triumphs in the humiliation of
an adversary.
* Matt. vi. 14, 15: xviii. 34, 35. Col. iii. 12, 13.
1 Thes. v. 14, 15. Rom. xii. 19, 20, 21.
t See also Exodus, xxiii. 4. " If thou meet thine ene-
my's ox, or his ass, going astray, thou, shalt surely bring
it back to him again ; if thou see the ass of him that
hateth thee, lying under his burden, and wouldst for-
bear to heip him, thou shalt surely help with him."
Thus it is no breach of Christian charity, lo
withdraw our company or civility when the same
tends to discountenance any vicious practice.
This is one branch of that extrajudicial discipline,
which supplies the defects and the remissness of
law; and is expressly authorised by St. Paul (1
Cor. v. 11.) " But now I have written unto you
not to keep company, if any man that is called a
brother be a fornicator, or covetous, or an idolater,
or a railer, or a drunkard, or an extortioner ; with
such an one, no not to eat." The use of this as-
sociation against vice continues to be experienced
in one remarkable instance, and might be extend-
ed with good effect to others. The confederacy
amongst women of character, to exclude from their
society kept-mistresses and ' prostitutes, contri-
butes more perhaps to discourage that condition
of life, and prevents greater numbers from enter-
ing into it, than all the considerations of prudence
and religion put together.
We are likewise allowed to practise so much
caution as not to put ourselves in the way of inju-
ry, or invite the repetition of it. If a servant or
tradesman has cheated us, we are not bound to
trust him again ; for this is to encourage him in
his dishonest practices, which is doing him much
harm.
Where a benefit can be conferred only upon
one or few, and the choice of the person upon
whom it is conferred is a proper object of favour,
we are at liberty to prefer those who have not of-
fended us to those who have; the contrary being
no where required.
Christ, who, as hath been well demonstrated,*
estimated virtues by their solid utility, and not by
their fashion or popularity, prefers this of the for-
giveness of injuries to every other. He enjoins
it oftener ; with more earnestness ; under a great-
er variety of forms ; and with this weighty and pe-
culiar circumstance, that the forgiveness of others
is the condition upon which alone we are to ex-
pect, or even ask, from God, forgiveness for our-
selves. And this preference is justified by the
superior importance of the virtue itself. The
feuds and animosities in families, and between
neighbours, which disturb the intercourse of hu-
man life, arid collectively compose half the misery
of it, have their foundation in the want of a for-
giving temper ; and can never cease, but by the
exercise of this "virtue, on one side, or on both.
CHAPTER IX.
Duelling.
DUELLING as a punishment is absurd ; because
it is an equal chance, whether the punishment fall
upon the offender, or the person offended. Nor
is it much better as a reparation: it being difficult
to explain in what the satisfaction consists, or
how it fends to undo the injury, or to afford a
compensation for the damage already sustained.
The truth is it is not considered as either. A
law of honour having annexed the imputation of
cowardice to patience under an affront, challenges
are given and accepted with no other design than
to prevent or wipe off this suspicion ; without
malice against the adversary, generally without a
* See a View of the Internal Evidence of the Chris-
tian Religion.
LITIGATION.
73
wish to destroy him, or any other concern than to
preserve the duellist's own reputation and recep-
tion in the world.
' The unreasonahleness of this rule of manners
is one consideration ; the duty and conduct of in-
dividuals, while such a rule exists, is another.
As to which, the proper and single question is
this, whether a regard tor our own reputation is,
or is not, sufficient to justify the taking away the
life of another ?
Murder is forbidden; and wherever human life
is deliberately taken away, otherwise than b\ pu!-
lic authority j there is murder. The value and se-
curity of human life make this rule necessary; for
I do not see what other idea or definition of mur-
der can le admitted, which will not let in so much
private violence, as to render society a scene of
peril and bloodshed.
If unauthorised laws of honour be allowed to
create exceptions to divine prohibitions, there is
an end of all morality, as founded in the.will of
the Deity; and the obligation of cve.ry,duty may.
at one time or other, be discharged by the caprice
and fluctuations of fashion.
" But a sense of shame is so much torture ;~and
no relief presents itself otherwise than by an at-
tempt upon the life of our adversary." What then ?
The distress which men -sutler by the waht^-of
money is oftentimes extreme, and no resource c tn
be discovered but that of removing a life which'
stands between the distressed person and his in-
heritance. The motive in this case is as urgent,
and the means much the same, us in the former:
yet this case finds no advocate.
Take away the circumstance of the duellist's
exposing his own life, and it becomes assassina-
tion; add this circumstance, and what difference
does it make? IS'one but this, that the fewer JK r-
haps will imitate the example, and human life
will be somewhat more safe, when it cannot he
attacked without equal danger to the aggressor's
own. Experience, however, proves that there is
fortitude enough in mo>t men to undertake this
hazard; and were it otherwise, the defence, at
best, would be only that which a highwayman or
housebreaker might plead,' whose attempt had
been so daring and desperate, that few were likely
to repeat the same.
In expostulating with the duellist, I all along
suppose his adversary to fall. Which supposition"
I am at liberty to make, because, if he have n, (
right to kill his adversary, he- has none toaUempt it.
In return, I forbear from applying to the case
of duelling the Christian principle of the forgive-
ness of injuries; because it is j>ossihle to suppose
the injury robe forgiven, and the duellist to act
entirely from a concern for his own reputation:
where this is not the case, the guilt of duelling
is manifest, and is greater.
In this view it seems unnecessary to distinguish
between him who gives, and him who accepts, a
challenge: for, on the one hand, they incur an
equal hazard of destroying life ; and on the other,
both act upon the same persuasion, that what they
do is necessary, in order ,to recover or preserve the
good opinion of the world.
Public opinion is not easily controlled by civil
institutions : for which reason' I question whether
any regulations can be contrived, of sufficient
force to suppress or change the rule of honour,
which stigmatises all scruples about duelling with
the reproach of cowardice.
The insufficiency of the redress which the law
of the land atibrds, tor those injuries which chiefly
aflect a man in his sensibility and reputation,
tempts many to redress themselves. Prosecutions
for such" offences, by the trirling damages that are
recovered, serve only^to make the sufferer more
ridiculous. This ought to be remedied.
For the army, where the point of honour is
cultivated with exquisite attention and refinement,
I would establish a Court of Honour, with a power
.of awarding those submissions and acknowledg-
ments, which it is generally the purpose of a
challenge to obtain ; and it might grow into a
fashion, with persons of rank of all professions, to
refer their quarrels to this tribunal.
Duelling, as the law now stands, can seldom be
overtaken by legal punishment. The challenge,
appointment, ant} other previous circumstances,
which indicate- the intention with which the com-
batants met, being suppressed, nothing appears
to,a court, of justioe, but the actual rencounter;
and if a person be slain when actually fighting
with his adversary, the la_w deems his death no-
thing more than manslaughter.
CHAPTER X.
Litigation.
"!F it l>e possible, live peaceably with all men;"
which precept contains an indirect confession that
this is not always possible.
The instances * in the fifth chapter of Sahit
Matthett are rather to be understood as proverbial
methods of describing the general duties of for-
giveness and benevolence, and the temper which
we ought to aim at acquiring, than as directions
to be specifically pbserved ; or of themselves of any
great importance to be observed. The first of these
is. If thine enemy smite thee on thy right cheek,
turn to him the other also ;" yet, when one of the
officers struck Jesus with the palm of his hand,
we find Jesus rebuking him for the outrage with
becoming indignation ; /" If I have spoken evil,
bear witness ott he evil; but if well, why smitest
thou me 7" (John xviii. 43.) It may be observed,
likewise, .that the several examples are drawn
from instances of small and tolerable injuries. A
rule which forbade all opposition to injury, or de-
fence.against it. could have no other effect, than
to put the gcKxf in subjection to the bad, and de-
liver one half of mankind to the depredations of
the other half; which must be the case, so long as
some considered themselves as bound by such a
rule, whilst others despised it. Saint Paul, though
no one inculcated forgiveness and forl>earance with
a deeper sense of the value and obligation of these
virtuesj did^not interpret either of them to require
an unresisting submission to every contumely, or
a neglect of trie means of safety and self-defence.
He took refuge in the laws of his country, and in
the privileges of a Roman citizen, from the con-
spiracy of the Jews .(Acts xxv. 11:) and from
the clandestine violence of the chief captain (Acts
xxii. 25.) And yet this is the same apostle who
* " Whosoever shall smite thee on tby rijrht cheek,
turn to him the other also: and if any man will sue thee
at the law, 'and take awjly thy coat, let him have thy
cloak also ; and whosoever shall compel thee to go a
mile, go witfi him twain."
74
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
reproved the litigiousness of his Corinthian con-
verts with so much severity. " Now, therefore,
there is utterly a fault among you, because ye go
to law one with another. Why do ye not rather
take wrong ? why do ye not rather suffer your-
selves to be defrauded"?
On the one hand, therefore, Christianity ex-
cludes all vindictive motives, and all frivolous
causes, of prosecution ; so that where the injury
is small, where no good purpose of public example
is answered, where forbearance is not likely to
invite a repetition of the injury, or where the ex-
pense of an action becomes a punishment too se-
vere for the offence ; there the Christian is with-
holden by the authority of his religion from going
to law.
On the other hand, a law-suit is inconsistent
with no rule of the Gospel, when it is instituted,
1. For the establishing of some important right.
2. For the procuring a compensation for some
considerable damage. -
3. For the preventing of future injury.
But since it is supposed to be undertaken sim-
ply with a view to the ends of justice and safety,
the prosecutor of the action is bound to confine
himself to the cheapest process which will ac-
complish these ends, as well as to consent to any
peaceable expedient for the same purpose; as to a
reference, in which the arbitrators can do, what
the law cannot, divide the damage, when the fault
is mutual ; or to a compounding of the dispute,
by accepting a compensation in the gross, without
entering into articles and items, which it is often
very difficult to adjust separately.
As to the rest, the duty of the contending par-
ties may be expressed in the following directions :
Not by appeals to prolong a suit against your
own conviction.
Not to undertake or defend a suit against a
poor adversary, or render it more dilatory or ex-
pensive than necessary, with the hope of intimi-
dating or wearing him out by the expense.
Not to influence evidence by authority or ex-
pectation ;
Nor to stifle any in your possession, although
it make against you.
Hitherto we have treated of civil actions. In
criminal prosecutions, the private injury should be
forgotten, and the prosecutor proceed with the
same temper, and upon the same motives, as the
magistrate ; the one being a necessary minister of
justice as well as the other, and both bound to di-
rect their conduct by a dispassionate care of the
public welfare.
In whatever degree the punishment of an of-
fender is conducive, or his escape dangerous, to
the interest of the community, in the same degree
is the party against whom the crime was com-
mitted bound to prosecute ; because such prosecu-
tions must in their nature originate from the suf-
ferer.
Therefore great public crimes, as robberies,
forgeries, and the like, ought not to be spared,
from an apprehension of trouble or expense in
carrying on the prosecution, from false shame, or
misplaced compassion.
There are many offences, such as nuisances,
neglect of public roads, forestalling, engrossing,
smuggling, sabbath-breaking, profaneness, drunk-
enness, prostitution, the keeping of lewd or dis-
orderly houses, the writing, publishing, or expos-
ing to sale, lascivious books or pictures, with some
others, the prosecution of which, being of equal
concern to the whole neighbourhood, cannot be
charged as a peculiar obligation upon any.
Nevertheless, there is great merit in the person
who undertakes such prosecutions upon proper
motives ; which" amounts to the same thing.
The character of an informer is in this country
undeservedly odious. Ihit where any public ad-
vantage is likely to be attained by information, or
other activity in promoting the execution of the
laws, a good man will despise a prejudice founded
in no just reason, or will acquit himself of the
imputation of interested designs by giving away
his share of the penalty.
On the other hand, prosecutions for the sake
of the reward, or for the gratification of private
enmity, where the offence produces no public
mischief, or where it arises from ignorance or in-
advertency, are reprobated under the general de-
scription of applying a rule of law to a purpose
for which it was not intended. Under winch
description may be ranked an officious revival of
the laws against Popish priests, and dissenting
teachers.
CHAPTER XL
Gratitude.
EXAMPLES .of ingratitude check and discourage
voluntary beneficence : and in this, the mischief
of ingratitude consists. Nor is the mischief small ;
for after all is done that can be done, towards pro-
viding for the public happiness, by prescribing
rules of justice, and enforcing the observation ot
them by penalties or compulsion, much must be
left to those offices of kindness, which men remain
at liberty to exert or withhold. Now not only the
choice of the objects, but the quantity and even
the existence of this sort of kindness in the world,
depends, in a great measure, upon the return
which it receives : and this is a consideration of
general importance.
A second reason for cultivating a grateful tem-
per in ourselves, is the following: The same
principle, which is touched with the kindness of
human benefactor, is capable of being affected
by the divine goodness, and of becoming, under
the influence of that affection, a source of the
purest and most exalted virtue. The love of God
is the subljmest gratitude. It is a mistake, there-
fore, to imagine, that this virtue is omitted in
the Christian Scriptures ; for every precept which
commands us " to love God, because he first loved
us," .presupposes the principle of gratitude, and
directs it, to, its proper object,
It is impossible to particularise the several ex-
pressions ol gratitude, inasmuch as they vary with
the character and situation of the benefactor, and
with the opportunities of the person obliged-,
which variety admits of no bounds.
It may be observed, however, that gratitude can
never oblige a man to do what is wrong, and
what by consequence he is previously obliged not
to do. It is no ingratitude to refuse to do, what
we cannot reconcile to any apprehensions of our
duty ; but it is ingratitude and hypocrisy together,
to pretend this reason, when it is not the real one:
and the frequency 6f such pretences has brought
this apology for non-compliance with the will of a
benefactor into unmerited disgrace.
PUBLIC USE OF MARRIAGE INSTITUTIONS.
75
It has long been accounted a violation of delica-
cy and generosity to upbraid men with the favours
they have received : but it argues a total \lestitu-
tion of both these qualities,, as well as of moral
probity, to take advantage of that ascendency
which the conferring of benefits justly creates, to
draw or drive those whom we have obliged into
mean or dishonest compliances.
CHAPTER XII.
Slander.
SPEAKING is acting, both in philosophical strict-
ness, and as to all moral purposes : < for if the mis-
chief and motive of our conduct be the same, the
means which we use make no difference.
And this is in effect what our Saviour declares,
Matt. xii. 37: "By thy words thou shall be
justified, and by thy words thou shall be condemn-
ed:" by thy words, as well, that is, as by thy
actions; the one shall bte taken into the account
as well as the other, for they bolh possess the same
property of voluntarily producing ;;ood or evil.
Slander mav be distinguished into two kinds:
malicious slander, and inconsiderate slander.
Malicious slander is the relating of either truth
or falsehood, for the. purpose of creating misery.
I acknowledge that the truth or falsehood of
what is related, varies the decree of guilt con sider-
ably; and that slander, in the ordinary accepta-
tion of the lenn, signifies the circulation of mis-
chievous falsehood: but truth may be made instru-
mental to the success of malicious designs as well
as falsehood ; and if the end be bad, the means
cannot be innocent.
I think the idea of slander ought to be confined
to the production of gratuitous mischief. When
we have an end or interest of our own to serve,
if we attempt to compass it by falsehood, it is
fraud ; if by a publication of the truth, it is not
without some additional circumstance of breach
of promise, betraying of confidence, or the like, to
be deemed criminal.
Sometimes the pain is intended for the person
to whom we are shaking ; at other times, an en-
mity is to be gratified by the prejudice or disquiet
of a third person. To infuse suspicions, to kindle
or continue disputes, to avert the fevour and es-
teem of benefactors from their dependents, to ren-
der some one whom we dislike contemptible or
obnoxious in the public opinion, are all offices of
slander ; of which the guilt must be measured by
the intensity and extent of the misery produced.
The disguises under which slander is conveyed,
whether in a whisper, with injunctions of secrecy
by way of caution, or with affected reluctance, are
all so many aggravations of the offence, as they
indicale more deliberation and design.
Inconsiderate slander is a different offence, al-
though the same mischief actually follow, and al-
though the mischief might have been foreseen.
The not being conscious of that design which we
have hitherto attributed to the slanderer, makes
the difference.
The guilt here consists in the want of that re-
gard to the consequences of our conduct, which a
just affection for human happiness, and concern
for our duty would not have failed to have pro-
duced in us. And it is no answer to this crimina-
tion to say, that we entertained no evil design. A
servant may be a very bad servant, and yet seldom
or never design to act in opposition to his mas-
ter's interest or will : and his master may justly
punish such servant for a thoughtlessness and
neglect nearly as prejudicial as deliberate disobe-
dience. I accuse you not, he may say, of any
express intention to hurt me ; bul had not the
fear of my displeasure, the care of my interest,
and indeed all the qualities which constitute the
merit of a good servant, been wanting in you,
they would not only have excluded every direct
purpose of giving me uneasiness, bul have been
so iar present to your thoughts, as to have checked
that unguarded licentiousness by which I have
suffered so much, and inspired you in its place
with an habitual solicitude about the effects and
tendency of what you did or said. This very
much resembles the ease of all sins of inconsidera-
tion; and, amongst the : foremosl of Ihese, lhat of
inconsiderate slander.
Information communicated for the real purpose
of warning, or cautioning, is not slander.
Indiscriminate praise is the opposite of slander,
but it is the opposite extreme ; and, however it
may affect to be thought to be excess of candour,
is commonly the effusion of a frivolous under-
standing, or proceeds from a settled contempt of
all moral distinctions. '
BOOK III.
PART III.
OF RELATIVE DtJTlES WHICH RESULT FROM
THE CONSTITUTION OF THE SEXES.
THE constitution of the sexes is the foundation
of marriage.
Collateral to the subject of marriage, are for-
nication, seduction, adultery, incest, polygamy,
divorce.
Consequential to marriage, is the relation and
reciprocal duty of parent and child.
We will treat of these subjecls in the following
order : first, of the public use of marriage institu-
tions ; secondly, of the subjects collateral to mar-
riage, in the order in which we have here pro-
posed them ; thirdly, of marriage itself; and,
lastly, of the relation and reciprocal duties of pa-
renls and children.
CHAPTER I. '
Of the Public Use of Marriage Institutions.
THE public use of marriage institutions con-
sists in their promoting the following beneficial
effects.
1 . The private comfort of individuals, especially
of the female sex. Il may be true, that all are not
interested in this reason ; nevertheless, it is a rea-
son to all for abstaining from any conduct which
tends in its general consequence to obstruct mar-
riage : for whatever promotes the happiness of the
majority, is binding upon the whole.
2. The production of the greatest number of
76
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
healthy children, their better education, and the
making of due provision for their settlement in life.
3. The peace of human society, in cutting off' a
principal source of contention, by assigning one
or more women to one man," and protecting his
exclusive right by sanctions of morality and law.
4. The better government of society, by dis-
tributing the community into separate families,
and appointing over each the authority of a mas-
ter of a family, which has more actual influence
than all civil authority put together.
5. The same end, in the additional security
which the state receives for the good behaviour of
its citizens, from the solicitude they -feel for the
welfare of their children, and from their being
confined to permanent habitations.
6. The encouragement of industry.
Some ancient nations appear to have been more
sensible of the importance of marriage institutions
than we are. The Spartans obliged their citizens
to marry by penalties, and the Romans encouraged
theirs by the jus trium liberoricm. A man who
had no child, was entitled ny the Roman law only
to one half of any legacy that should be left him,
that is, at the most, could only receive one half of
the testator's fortune.
CHAPTER II.
Fornication.
THE first and great mischief, and by conse-
quence the guilt, of promiscuous concubinage,
consists in its tendency to diminish marriages,
and thereby to defeat the several beneficial pur-
poses enumerated in the preceding chapter.
Promiscuous concubinage discourages marriage,
by abating the chief temptation to it. The male
part of the species will not undertake the en-
cumbrance, expense, and restraint of married life,
if they can gratify their passions "at a- cheaper
price ; and they will undertake any thing, rather
than not gratify them.
The reader will learn to comprehend the mag-
nitude of this mischief, by attending to the im-
portance and variety of the uses to which mar-
riage is subservient ; and by recollecting withal,
that the malignity and moral quality of each crime
is not to be estimated by the particular effect of
one offence, or of one person's offending, but by
the general tendency and consequence of crimes
of the same nature. The libertine may not be
conscious that these irregularities hinder his own
marriage, from which he is deterred, he may al-
lege, by different considerations ; much less does
he perceive how his indulgences can hinder other
men from marrying; but what will he say would
be the consequence, if the same licentiousness
were universal 7 or what should hinder its be-
coming universal, if it be innocent or allowable in
him 7
2. Fornication supposes prostitution ; and pros-
titution brings and leaves the victims of it to al-
most certain misery. It is no small quantity of
misery in the aggregate, which, between want,
disease, and insult, is suffered by those outcasts
of human society, who infest populous cities ; the
whole of which is a general consequence of for-
nication, and to the increase and continuance of
which, every act and instance of fornication con-
tributes.
3. Fornication* produces habits of ungovernable
lewdness, which introduces the more aggravated
crimes of seduction, - adultery, violation, &c. Like-
wise, however it be accounted ibr, the criminal
commerce .of the sexes corrupts and depraves the
'mind and moral character more than any single
species of vice whatsoever. That ready percep-
tion of guilt, that prompt and decisive resolution
against it, which constitutes a virtuous character,
is seldom found in persons'- addicted to thes'e in-
dulgences. .They prepare'an easy admission for
every, sin that seeks it ; are, in low life, usually the
first stage in men's, progress to the most desperate
villanies ; and, in high life, to that lamented disso-
luteness <>f principle, which manifests itself in a
profligacy of public conduct, and a contempt of the
obligations of religion and of moral probity. Add
to this, that habits of libertinism incapacitate and
indispose the mind lor all intellectual, moral, and
religious -pleasures ; which is a great U>ss to any
man's happiness.
4. Fornication perpetuates a disease, which
may be accounted one of the sorest maladies of
human nature ; and the effects of which are said
to visit the constitution of even distant genera-
tions.
. The passion being natural, proves that it was
intended to be gratified : but under what restric-.
tions, or whether without any, must be collected
from different considerations.
The Christian Scriptures condemn fornication
absolutely and peremptorily. " Out of the heart,"
says our. Saviour, " proceed evil thoughts, mur-
ders, adulteries, fornication, thefts, false 'witness,
blasphemies ; |hese are the things which defile a
man." These are Christ's own words : and one
word from him upon the subject, is final. It may
be observed with what society fornication is class-
ed ; with murders, thefts, false witness, blasphe-
mies. I do not mean that these crimes are all
equal, because they are all mentioned together ;
but it proves that they are all crimes. The apos-
,tles are more full upon this topic. One well-known
passage in the Epistle to the Hebrews, may stand
in the place of all others ; because, admitting the
^authority by which the apostles of Christ spake
and wrote, it is decisive : " Marriage and the bed
undefiled is honourable amongst all men : but
whoremongers and adulterers God will judge ;"
which was a great deal to say, at a time when it
was not agreed, even amongst philosophers them-
selves, that fornication was a crime.
The 'Scriptures give no sanction to those aus-
terities, which have been since imposed upon the
world under the name of Christ's religion ; as the
celibacy of the clergy, the praise of perpetual vir-
ginity, the prohibitio concubitus cum gramda
uxore ; but with a just knowledge of, and regard
to, the condition and interest of the human sj>e-
cies, have provided, in the marriage of one man
with one woman, an adequate gratification for the
propensities of their nature, and have restricted
them to that gratification.
The avowed toleration, and in some countries
the licensing, taxing, and regulating of public
brothels, has appeared to the people an authorising
of fornication; and has contributed, with other
* Of tliis passion it 1ms been truly said, that " irregu-
larity has no limits; that one excess draws on another;
that the most easy, therefore, as well as the most excel-
lent way of being virtuous, is to be so entirely." Ogden,
Serin, xvi.
SEDUCTION.
77
Causes, so far to vitiate the public opinion, that
there is no practice of which the immorality is so
little thought of or acknowledged, although there
are few in which it can more plainly be made out.
The legislators who have patronised receptacles
of prostitution, ought to have foreseen this- effect,
as well as considered, that whatever facilitates for-
nication, diminishes marriages. And, as to the
usual apology for this relaxed discipline, the
danger of greater enormities, if access to prosti-
tutes were too strictly watched and prohibited, it
will be time enough to look to that, when the laws
and the magistrates have done their Utmost. The
greatest vigilance of both will do no more, than
oppose some bounds and some difficulties to this
intercourse. And, after all, these pretended fears
are without foundation in exjK'rience. The men
are in all resjH-cts the most \irtuous, in countries
where the women are most chaste.
There is a species of colm) illation, distinguish-
able, no doubt, from vtfgrant concubinage, and
which, by reason of its resemblance to marriage^
inay be thought U> participate' of the sanctity and
innocence of that estate ; I mean the case of kept
mistresses, under the favourable circumstance of
mutual fidelity. This case 1 have heard defended
by some such apology as the following :
" That the marriage-rite being different in dif-
ferent countries, and in the same country amongst
different sects, and with some scarce any thing ;
and, moreover, not being preseril>ed or even men-
tioned in Scripture, can be accounted for only as
of a form and ceremony of human invention:
that, consequently, if a man and woman betroth
and confine themselves to each other, their inter-
course must be the same, as to all moral purposes,
as if they were legally married ; for the addition or
omission of that which is a mere form and cere-
nr.ony, can make no difference in the sight of God,
or in the actual nature of right and wrong."
To all which it may IM* replied,
1. If the situation of the parties be the same
thing as marriage, why do they not marry 1
2. If the man choose to hu\e it in his power to
dismiss the woman at his pleasure, or to retain
her in a state of humiliation and dependence in-
consistent with the rights wliich marriage Would
confer upon her, it is not the same thing.
It is not at any rate the same thing to the
children.
Again, as to the marriage-rite being a more
form, and that also variable, the same may be
said of signing and sealing of bonds, wills, deeds
of conveyance, and the like, which yet make a
great difference in the rights and obligations of
the parties concerned in them.
And with respect to the rite not being appoint-
ed in Scripture; the Scriptures forbid fornica-
tion, that is, cohabitation without marriage, leaving
it to the law of each country to pronounce what'
is, or what makes, a marriage ; in like manner
as they forbid thefts, that is, the taking away of
another's property, leaving it to the municipal
law to fix what makes the thing property, or
whose it is ; which also, as well as marriage, de-
pend upon arbitrary and mutable forms.
Laying aside the injunctions of Scripture, the
plain account of the question seems to be this : It
is immoral, because it is pernicious, that men and
women should cohabit, without undertaking cer-
tain irrevocable obligations, and mutually con-
ferring certain civil rights; if, therefore, the law
has annexed these rights and obligations to cer-
tain forms, so that they cannot be secured or un-
dertaken by any other means, which is the case
here (for, whatever the parties may promise to
^each other, nothing but the marriage-ceremony
can make their promise irrevocable,) it becomes in
the same degree inunoral, that men and women
should cohabit without the interposition of these
forms. v
If fornication be crimkial, all those incentives
Which lead to it are accessaries to the crime ;- as
lascivious conversation, whether expressed in ob-
scene, or disguised under modest phrases; also
wanton songs, pictures, books ; the writing, pub-
lishing, and circulating of which, whether out of
frolic, or for some pitiful profit, is productive of so
extensive a mischief from so mean a temptation,
that few crimes, within the reach of private wick-
edness, have more to answer for, or less to pjead
in their excuse.
Indecent conversation, and by parity of reason
all the rest, are forbidden by Saint Paul, Eph. iv.
29. " Let no corrupt communication proceed out
ef your mouth ;" and .again, Col. iii. "8. " Put off
lilthy communication out of your mouth."
The invitation, or voluntary admission, of im-
pure thoughts, or the suffering them to get pos-
session of the imagination^falls within the same
:1 -.-= -ription, and is condemned by Christ, Matt. v.
28. " Whosoever looketh on a woman to lust after
her, hath committed adultery with her already in
liis heart." Christ, by thus enjoining a regulation
of the thoughts, strikps at the root of the evil.
CHAPTER III.
Seduction.
THE seducer practises the same stratagems to
draw a woman's person into his power, that a
windier does to get possession of your goods, or
money : yet the law of honour, which abhors de-
ceit, am 1 ' ' '
so much is this capricious rule guided by names,
and with such facility does it accommodate itself
to the pleasures and conveni^ncy of higher life !
Seduction is seldom accomplished without fraud ;
and the fraud is by so much more criminal than
other frauds, as the injury effected by it is greater,
continues longer, and less admits reparation.
This injury is threefold : to the woman, to her
family, and to the public.
I. The injury to the woman is made up of the
pain she surfers from shame, or the loss she sustains
in her reputation and prospects of marriage, and
of the depravation of her moral principle.
1 . This pain must be extreme, if we may judge
of it from those barbarous endeavours to conceal
their disgrace, to which women, under such cir-
cumstances, sometimes have recourse ; comparing
also this barbarity with their passionate fondness
for their offspring in other cases. Nothing but an
agony of mind the most insupportable can induce
a woman to forget her nature, and the pity which
even a stranger would show to a helpless and im-
ploring infant. It is true, that all are not urged
to this extremity ; but if any are, it affords an in-
dication of how much all suffer from the same
cause. What shall we say to the authors of such
mischief? <
78
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
2. The loss which a woman sustains by the ruin
of her reputation, almost exceeds computation.
Every person's happiness depends in part upon
the respect and reception which they meet with
in the world ; and it is no inconsiderable mortifi-
cation, even to the firmest tempers, to be rejected
from the society of their equals, or received there
with neglect and disdain. But this is not all, nor
the worst. By a rule of life, which it is not easy
to blame, and which it is impossible to alter, a
woman loses with her chastity the chance of mar-
rying at all, or in any manner equal to the hopes
she had been accustomed to entertain. Now mar-
riage, whatever it be to a man, is that from which
every woman expects her chief happiness. And
this is still more true in. low life, of which con-
dition the women are who are most exposed to
solicitations of this sort. Add to this, that where
a woman's maintenance depends upon her cha-
racter (as it does, in a great measure, with those
who are to support themselves by service,) little
sometimes is left to the forsaken sufferer, but to
starve for want of employment, or to have re-
course to prostitution for food and raiment.
3. As a woman collects her virtue into this
point, the loss of her chastity is generally the
destruction of her moral principle ; and this con-
sequence is to be apprehended, whether the cri-
minal intercourse be discovered or not. '
II. The injury to the family may be understood,
by the application of that infallible rule, "of do-
ing to others, what ice would that others should
do unto us." l,et a father or a brother say, for
what consideration they Would suffer this injury
to a daughter or a sister ; and whether any, or
even a total, loss of fortune, could create equal
affliction and distress. And when they reflect
upon this, let them distinguish, if they can, be-
tween a robbery, committed upon their property
by fraud or forgery, and the ruin of their happiness
by the treachery of a seducer.
III. The public at large lose the benefit of the
woman's service in her proper place and destina-
tion, as a wife and parent. This, to the whole
community, may be little ; but it is often more
than all the good which the seducer does to the
community can recompense. Moreover, prostitu-
tion is supplied by seduction ; and in proportion
to the danger there is of the woman's betaking
herself, after her first sacrifice, to a life of public
lewdness, the seducer is answerable for the mul-
tiplied evils to which his crime gives birth.
Upon the whole, if we pursue the effects of se-
duction through the complicated misery which it
occasions, ana if it be right to estimate crimes by
the mischief they knowingly produce, it will ap-
pear something more than mere invective to as-
sert, that not one half of the crimes, for which
men suffer death by the laws of England, are so
flagitious as this.*
CHAPTER IV.
Adultery.
A NEW sufferer is introduced, the injured
husband, who receives a wound in his sensibility
* Yet the law has provided no punishment for this
offence beyond a pecuniary satisfaction to the injured
family ; and this can only be come at, by one of the
quaintest fictions in the world : by the father's bringing
his action against the seducer, for the loss of his
daughter's service, during her pregnancy and nurturing.
and affections, the most painful and incurable
that human nature knows. In all other respects,
adultery on the part of the man who solicits the
chastity of a married woman, includes the crime
of seduction, and is attended with the same mis-
chief.
The infidelity of the woman is aggravated by
cruelty to her children, who are generally in-
volved in their parents' shame, and always made
unhappy by their quarrel.
If it be said that these consequences are charge-
able not so much upon the crime, as the discovery,
we answer, first, that the crime could not be dis-
covered unless it were committed, and' that the
commission is never secure from discovery ; and
secondly, that if we excuse adulterous connexions,
whenever they can hope to escape detection,
which is the conclusion to which this argument
conducts us, we leave the husband no other se-
curity for his wife's chastity, than in her want of
opportunity or temptation ; which would probably
either deter men from marrying, or render mar-
riage a state of such jealousy and alarm to the
husband, as must end in the slavery and confine-
ment of the wife.
The vow, by which married persons mutually
engage their fidelity, " is witnessed before God,"
and accompanied with circumstances of solemnity
and religion, which approach to the nature of an
oath. The married offender therefore incurs a
crime little short of perj ury , and the seduction of
u married woman is little less than subornation
of perjury ; and this guilt is independent of the
discovery.
All behaviour which is designed, or which
knowingly tends, to captivate the affection of a
married woman, is a barbarous intrusion upon
the peace and virtue of a family, though it fall
short of adultery.
The usual and only apology for adultery is, the
prior transgression of the other party. There are
degrees, no doubt, in this, as in other crimes:
and so far as the bad effects of adultery are anti-
cipated by the conduct of the husband or wife
who offends first, the guilt of the second offender
is less. But this falls very far short of a justifica-
tion ; unless it could be shown that the obligation
of the marriage-vow depends upon the condition
of reciprocal fidelity ; for which construction there
appears no foundation, either in expediency, or in
the terms of the promise, or in the design of the
legislature which prescribed the marriage-rite.
Moreover, the rule contended for by this plea, has
a manifest tendency to multiply the offence, but
none to reclaim the offender.
The way of considering the offence of one
party as a provocation to the other, and the other
as only retaliating the injury by repeating the
crime, is a childish trifling with words.
"Thou shalt not commit adultery," was an
interdict delivered by God himself. By the Jew-
ish law, adultery was capital to both parties in
the crime: "Even he that committeth adultery
with his neighbour's wife, the adulterer and adul-
teress shall surely be put to death." Levit. xx. 10.
Which passages prove, that the Divine Legis-
lator placed a great difference between adultery
and fornication. And with this agree the Chris-
tian Scriptures : for, in almost all the catalogues
they have left us of crimes and criminals, they
enumerate "fornication, adultery, whoremongers,
adulterers." (Matthew xv. 19. 1 Cor. vi. 9. Gal,
INCEST.
79
v. 9. Heb. viii. 4.) by which mention of both, they
show that they did not consider them as the same :
but that the crime of attultery was, in their ap-
prehension, distinct from, and accumulated upon
that of fornication.
The history cf the woman taken in adultery,
recorded in the eighth chapter of St. John's Gos-
pel, has been thought by some to give countenance
to that crime. As Christ told the woman, "Neither
do I condemn thee," we must believe, it is .said,
that he deemed her conduct either not criminal,
or not a crime, however, of the heinous nature
which we represent it to be. A more attentive
examination of the case will, I think, convince us,
that from it nothing can be concluded as to Christ's
opinion concerning adultery, either one way or
the other. The transaction is thus related : "Early
in the morning Jesus came again into the temple,
and all the people came unto him: and he sat
down and taught them. And the Scribes and
Pharisees brought unto him a woman taki n in
adultery: when they had set her in the midst.
they say unto him, Master, this woman was taken
in adultery, in the very act : now Moses in the law
commanded that such should be stoned ; but what
sayestthou? This they said tempting him, that
they might have to accuse him. But Jesus stoop-
ed down, and with Ms linger wrote on the ground,
as though he heard them not. So when they
continued asking him, he lift up himself, and said
unto them, He that is without sin amongst you,
let him first cast a stone at her; and again he
stooped down and wrote on the ground : and tlujy
which heard it. being convicted by their own con-
science, went out one by one, l>eginning at the
eldest even unto the last ; and Jesus was left alone,
and the woman standing in the midst. When
Jesus had lift up himselt, and saw none but the
woman, he said unto her, Woman, where are
those thine accusers'? hath no man condemned
thee 1 She said unto him, No man, Lord. And
he said unto her, Neither do I condemn thee; go,
and sin no more."
"This they said tempting him, that they might
have to accuse him;" to draw him, that is, into an
exercise of judicial authority, that they might have
to accuse him before the Roman governor, of usurp-
ing or intermeddling with the civil govern men t.
Tnis was their design; and Christ s behaviour
throughout the whole affair proceeded from a
knowledge of this design, and a determination to
defeat it. He gives them at first a cold and sullen
reception, well suited to the insidious intention
with which they came: "He stooped down, and
with his finger wrote on the ground, as though
he heard them not." "When they continued ask-
ing him," when they teased him to speak, he dis-
missed them with a rebuke, which the impertinent
malice of their errand, as well as the sacred cha-
racter of many of them, deserved : "He that is with-
out sin (that is, this sin) among you, let him first
cast a stone at her." This had its effect. Stung
with the reproof, and disappointed of their aim,
they stole away one by one, and left Jesus- and
the woman alone. And then follows the con-
versation, which is the part of the narrative most
material to our present subject. "Jesus said unto
her, Woman, where are those thine accusers'?
hath no man condemned thee 1 She said, No man,
Lord. And Jesus said unto her, Neither do I
condemn thee ; go, and sin no more." Now, when
Christ asked the woman, "Hath no man con-
demned thee?" he certainly spoke, and was un-
derstood by the woman to speak, of a legal and
judicial condemnation; otherwise, her answer,
"No man, Lord," was not true. In every other
sense of condemnation, as blame, censure, reproof,
private judgment, and the like, many had con-
demned her; all those indeed who had brought
her to Jesus. If then a judicial sentence was what
Christ meant by condemning in the question, the
common use ol language requires us' to suppose
that he meant the same in his reply, "Neither do
I condemn thee," t. e. I pretend to no judicial
character or authority over thee ; it is no office or
business of mine to pronounce or execute the sen-
tence of the law.
When Christ adds, "Go, and sin no more," he
in effect tells her, that she had sinned already :
but as to the degree or quality of the sin, or
Christ s opinion concerning it, nothing is declared,
or can be inferred, either way.
Adultery, which was punished with death dur-
ing the Usurpation, is now regarded by.- the law
of England only as a civil injury ; for which the
imperfect satisfaction that money can afford, may
be recovered by the husband.
CHAPTER V.
Incest.
IN order to preserve chastity in families, and
between persons of different sexes, brought up
and living together in a state of unreserved in-
timacy, it is necessary, by every method possible,
to inculeate an abhorrence of incestuous conjunc-
tions ; which abhorrence can only be upholden by
the absolute reprobation of all commerce of the
sexes l>etween near relations. Upon this prin-
ciple, the marriage as well as other cohabitations
of brothers and sisters, of lineal kindred, and of
all who usually live in the same family, may be
said to be forbidden by the law of nature.
Restrictions which extend to remoter degrees
of kindred than what this reason makes it neces-
sary to prohibit from intermarriage, are founded
in the authority of the positive law which ordains
them, and can only be justified by their tendency
to diffuse wealth, to connect families, or to pro-
mote some political advantage.
The Levitical law, which is received in this
country, and from which the rule of the Roman
law differs very little, prohibits* marriage between
relation?, within three degrees of kindred ;. com-
puting the generations, not from, but through the
common ancestor, and accounting .affinity the
same as consanguinity. The issue, however, of
such marriages, are not bastardised, unless the
parents he divorced during their life-time.
The Egyptians are said to have allowed of the
marriage of brothers and sisters. Amongst the
Athenians, a very singular regulation prevailed ;
brothers and sisters of the half-blood, if related by
the father's side, might marry ; if by the mother s
side, they "were prohibited from marrying. The
same custom also probably obtained in Chaldea so
early as the age in which Abraham left it ; for he
and Sarah his wife stood in this relation to each
* The Roman law continued the prohibition to the
descendants of brothers and sisters without limits. In
the Levitical and English law, there is nothing to hin-
der a man from marrying his great-niece.
80
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
other: "And yet, indeed, she is my sister; she is
the daughter of my father, but not of my mother ;
and she became my wife." Gen. xx. 12.
CHAPTER VI.
Polygamy.
THE equality* in the number of males and fe-
males born into the world, intimates the intention
of God, that one woman should be assigned to one
man : for if to one man be allowed an exclusive
right to five or more women, four or more men
must be deprived of the exclusive possession of.
any : which could never be the order intended.
It seems also a significant indication of the di-
vine will, that he at first created only one -woman
to one man-. Had God intended polygamy for the
species, it is probable he would have begun with
it ; especially as, "by giving to Adam more wives
than one, the multiplication of the human race
would have proceeded with a quicker progress.
Polygamy not only violates the constitution of
nature, and the apparent design of the Deity, but
produces to the parties themselves, and to the pub-
lic, the following bad effects ; contests and jealou-
sies amongst the wives of the same husband ; dis-
tracted affections, or the loss of all affection, in the
husband himself: a voluptuousness in the rich,
which dissolves the vigour of their intellectual as
well as active faculties, producing that indolence,
and imbecility both of mind and body, which have
long characterised the nations of the East ; the
abasement of one half of the human species, who,
in countries where polygamy obtains, are degraded
into mere instruments of physical pleasure to the
other half; neglect of children ; and the mani-
fold, and sometimes unnatur-al mischiefs, which
arise from a scarcity of women. To compensate
for these evils, polygamy does not offer a single
advantage. In. the article of population, which it
has been thought to promote, the cbmmunity gain
nothing :t for the question is nbt, whether one
man will have more children by five or more wives
than by one ; but whether these five wives would
not bear the same or a greater number of children
to five separate husbands. And as to the care of
the children, when produced, and the sending of
them into the world in situations in which they
may be likely to form and bring up families of
*. This equality is not exact. The number of male
infants exceeds that of females in the proportion of
nineteen to eighteen, or thereabouts: which excess pro-
vides for the greater consumption of males by war, sea-
faring, and other dangerous or u'nhealthyoccupations.
t Nothing, I mean, compared with a state in which
marriage is nearly universal. Where marriages are less
general, and many women unfruitful from the want of
husbands, polygamy might at first-add a little to popula-
tion, and but a little ; for, as a variety of wives would
be sought chiefly from temptations of voluptuousness, it
would rather increase the demand for female beauty,
than for the F;;X at large. And this littls would soon be
made less by many deductions. For, first, as nofteTSut
the opulent can maintain a plurality of wives, where
polygamy obtains, the rich indulge in it while the* rest
take up with a vague and barren incontinency. And,
secohdly, women would grow less jealous of their vir-
tue, when they had nothing for which to' reserve it, but
a chamber in the haram; when their chastity was no
longer to be rewarded with the rights and happiness of
a wife, as enjoyed under the marriage of one woman to
one man. These considerations may be added to what
is mentioned in the text, concerning the easy and early
settlement of children in the world.
their own, upon which the increase and succes-
sion of the human species in a great degree
depend ; this is less provided for, and less practi-
cable, where twenty or thirty children are to be
supported by the attention and fortunes of one
father, than if they were "divided into five or six
families, to each of which were assigned the indus-
try and inheritance of two parents.
Whether simultaneous polygamy wps permit-
ted by the law of . Moses, seems doubtful ;*
but whether permitted- or not, it was certainly
practised by the Jewish patriarchs, both before
that law, and under it. The permission, if there
were any, might be like that of divorce, " for the
hardness of their heart," in condescension to their
established indulgences, rather than from the
general rectitude or propriety of the thing itself.
The state of manners in Judea had probably
undergone a reformation in this respect before the
time of Christ; for in the New Testament we
meet with no trace or mention of any such prac-
tice being tolerated.
For which reason, -and because it was likewise
forbidden amongst the Greeks and Romans, we
cannot expect to find any express law upon the
sXibject in the Christian' code. The words of
Christ t (Matt. xix. 9.) may be construed, by an
easy implication, to prohibit polygamy: for, if
whoever putteth away his wife, and marrieth
another, committeth adultery," he who marrieth
another without putting away the first, is no less
guilty of adultery : because the adultery does not
consist in the repudiation of the first wife (for,
however unjust or cruel that may be, it is not
adultery,) but in entering into a second marriage
during the legal existence and obligation of the
first. The several passages in St. Paul's writings,
which speak of marriage, always suppose it to
signify the union of one man with one woman.
Upon this supposition he argues, Rom. vii. 1, 2,
3. " Know ye not, brethren, (for I speak to them
that know the law,) how that the law hath
dominion over a man, as long as he liveth 1 For
the woman which hath an husband, is bound by
the law to her husband so long as he liveth ; but if
the husband be dead, she is loosed from the law
of her husband : so then, if while her husband
liveth she be married to another man, she shall be
called -an adulteress." When the same apostle
permits marriage to his Corinthian converts,
(which, " for the present distress," he judges to be
inconvenient,) he restrains the permission to the
marriage of one husband with one wife : " It is
good for a man not to touch a woman ; neverthe-
less, to avoid fornication, let every man have his
own wife, and let every woman have her own
husband."
The manners of different countries have varied
in ripthing more than in their domestic constitu-
tions. Less polished and more luxurious nations
have either not perceived the bad effects of poly-
gamy, or, if they did perceive them, they who in
such countries possessed the power of reforming
the hrws have been unwilling to resign their own
gratifications. Polygamy is retained at this day
among the Turks, and throughout every part of
Asiam which Christianity is not professed. In
Christian countries, it. is universally prohibited.
*SeeDeut. xvii. 17 ; xxi. 15.
f I say unto you. Whosoever shall put away his wife,
except it be for fornication, and shall marry another,
committeth adultery.
DIVORCE.
81
In Sweden, it is punished with death. In Eng-
land, besides the nullity of the second marriage,
it subjects the offender to transportation, or im-
prisonment and branding, for the first offence,
and to capital punishment for the second. And
whatever may be said in behalf of polygamy when
it is authorised by the law of the land, the mar-
riage of a second wife during the life-tune of the
first, in countries where such a second marriage
is void, must be ranked with the most dangerous
and cruel of those frauds, by which a woman is
cheated out of her fortune, her person, and her
happiness. The ancient Medcs compelled their
citizens, in one canton, to take seven wives ; in
another, each woman to receive five husbands :
according as war had made, in one quarter of their
country, an extraordinary havoc among the men,
or the women had been carried away by an enemy
from another. This regulation, so far as it was
adapted to the projx)rtion which subsisted between
the number of males and females, was founded in
the reason upon which the most approved nations
of Europe proceed at present.
Caesar found amongst the inhabitants of this
island a species of polygamy, if it may be so called,
which was perfectly singular. Uxores, says he,
habent dent duodenique inter se communes ; et
maxime fratres cum fratribus, parentesque cum
liberis ; sed si qui sint ex his nati, eorum kabcn-
tur liberi, quo primum virgo qaccquc dcductaest.
CHAPTER VII.
Of Divorce.
BY divorce, I mean a dissolution of the mar-
riage-contract, by the act, and at the will, of the
husband.
This power was allowed to the husband, among
the Jews, the Greeks, and latter Romans ; and
is at this day exercised by the Turks and Per-
sians.
The congruity of such a right with the law of
nature, is the question before us.
And, in the first place, it is manifestly incon-
sistent with the duty which the parents owe to
their children ; which duty can never be so well
fulfilled as by their cohabitation and united care.
It is also incompatible with the right which the
mother possesses, as well as the father, to the
gratitude of her children, and the comfort of their
society ; of both which she is almost necessarily
deprived, by her dismission from her husband's
family.
Where this objection does not interfere, I know
of no principle of the law of nature applicable to
the question, beside that of general expediency.
For, if we say that arbitrary divorces are ex-
cluded by the terms of the marriage-contract, it
may be answered, that the contract might be so
framed as to admit of this condition.
If we argue, with some moralists, that the
obligation of a contract naturally continues, so
loner as the purpose, which the contracting parties
had in view, requires its continuance ; it will be
difficult to show what purpose of the contract (the
care of children excepted,) should confine a man
to a woman, from whom he seeks to be loose.
If we contend, with others, that a contract can-
not, by the law of nature, be dissolved, unless the
parties be replaced in the situation which each
| possessed before the contract was entered into;
we shall be called upon to prove this to be an
universal or indispensable property of contracts.
I confess myself unable to assign any circum-
stance in the marriage-contract, which essentially
distinguishes it from other contracts, or which
proves that it contains, what many have ascribed
to it, a natural incapacity of being dissolved by
the consent of the parties, at the option of one of
them, or either of them. But if we trace the
effects of such a rule upon the general happiness
of married life, we shall perceive reasons of expe-
diency, that abundantly justify the policy of those
laws which refuse to the husband the power of
divorce, or restrain it to a few extreme and spe-
cific provocations : and our principles teach us to
pronounce that to be contrary to the law of na-
ture, which can be proved to be detrimental to the
common happiness of the human species.
A lawgiver, whose counsels are directed by
views of general utility, and obstructed by no local
impediment, woukl make the marriage contract
indissoluble during the joint lives of the parties,
for the sake of the following advantages :
I. Because this tends to preserve peace and
concord between married persons, by perpetuating
their common interest, and by inducing a neces-
sity of mutual compliance.
There is great weight and substance in both
these considerations. An earlier termination of
the union would produce a separate interest. The
wife would naturally look forward to the dissolu-
tion of the partnership, and endeavour to draw
to herself a fund against the time when she
was no longer to have access to the same re-
sources. This would beget peculation on one side,
and mistrust on the other ; -evils which at present
very little disturb the confidence of a married life.
The second effect of making the union detcrmin-
able only by death, is not less beneficial. It ne-
cessarily happens that adverse tempers, habits,
and tastes, oftentimes meet in marriage. In which
case, each party must take pains to give up what
offends, and practise what may gratify the other.
A man and woman in love with each other, do
this insensibly ; but love is neither general nor
durable ; and where that is wanting, no lessons of
duty, no delicacy of sentiment, will go half so far
with the generality of mankind and womankind
as this one intelligible reflection, that they must
each make the best of their bargain ; and that,
seeing they must either both be miserable, or both
share the same happiness, neither can find their
own comfort but in promoting the pleasure of the
other. These compliances, though at first ex-
torted by necessity, become in time easy and mu-
tual ; and, though less endearing than assiduities
which take their rise from affection, generally pro-
cure to the married pair a repose and satisfaction
sufficient for their happiness.
II. Because new objects of desire would be con-
tinually sought after, if men could, at will, be re-
leased from their subsisting engagements. Sup-
pose the husband to have once preferred his wife
to all other women, the duration of this preference
cannot be trusted to. Possession makes a great
difference : and there is no other security against
the invitations of novelty, than the known impos-
sibility of obtaining the object. Did the cause
which brings the sexes together, hold them
together by the same force with which it first
attracted them to each other; or could the woman
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
be restored to her personal integrity, and to all the
advantages of her virgin estate ; the power of
divorce might be deposited in the hands of the
husband, with less danger of abuse or inconve-
niency. But constituted as mankind are, and
injured as the repudiated wife generally must be,
it is necessary to add a stability to the condition
of married women, more secure than the con-
tinuance of their husbands' affection; and to
supply to both sides, by a sense of. duty and of
obligation, what satiety has impaired of passion
and of personal attachment. Upon the whole, the
power of divorce is evidently and greatly to the
disadvantage of the woman : and the only question
appears to be whether the real and permanent
happiness of one half of the species should be sur-
rendered to the caprice and voluptuousness of the
other?
We have considered divorces as depending
upon the will of the husband, because that is the
way in which they have actually obtained in
many parts of the world : but the same objections
apply, in a great degree, to divorces by mutual
consent; especially when we consider the indeli-
cate situation and small prospect of happiness,
which remains to the party who opposed his or
her dissent to the liberty and desire of the other.
The law of nature admits of an exception in
favour of the injured party, in cases of adultery,
of obstinate desertion, of attempts upon life, of
outrageous cruelty, of incurable madness, and
perhaps of personal imbecility ; but by no means
indulges the same privilege to mere dislike, to op-
position of humours and inclination, to contrariety
of taste and temper, to complaints of coldness,
neglect, severity, peevishness, jealousy : not that
these reasons are trivial, but because such objec-
tions may always be alleged, and are impossible
by testimony to be ascertained ; so that to allow
implicit credit to them, and to dissolve marriages
whenever either party thought fit to pretend
them, would lead in its effect to all the licentious-
ness of arbitrary divorces.
Milton's story is well known. Upon a quar-
rel with his wife, he paid his addresses to another
woman, and set forth a public vindication of his
conduct, by attempting to prove, that confirmed
dislike was as just a foundation for dissolving the
marriage-contract, as adultery : to which position,
and to all the arguments by which it can be sup-
ported, the above consideration affords a sufficient
answer. And if a married pair, in actual and ir-
reconcileable discord, complain that their happi-
ness would be better consulted, by permitting
them to determine a connexion which is become
odious to both, it may be told them, that the same
permission, as a general rule, would produce liber-
tinism, dissension, and misery, amongst thousands,
who are now virtuous, and quiet, and happy in
their condition : and it ought to satisfy them to
reflect, that when their happiness is sacrificed to
the operation of an unrelenting rule, it is sacri-
ficed to the happiness of the community.
The Scriptures seem to have drawn the obliga-
tion tighter than the law of nature left it. " Who-
soever," saith Christ, " shall put away his wife, ex-
cept it be for fornication, and shall marry another,
committeth adultery; and whoso marrieth her
which is put away, doth commit adultery."
Matt. xix. 9. The law of Moses, for reasons of
local expediency, permitted the Jewish husband
to put away his wife: but whether for every
cause, or for what causes, appears to have been
controverted amongst the interpreters of those
times. Christ, the precepts of whose religion
were calculated for more general use and observa-
tion, revokes this permission (as given to the
Jews, " for the hardness of their hearts,") and
promulges a law which was thenceforward to
confine divorces to the single case of adultery in
the wife. And I see no sufficient reason to de-
part from the plain and strict meaning of Christ's
words. The rule was new. It both surprised and
offended his disciples ; yet Christ added nothing
to relax or explain it.
Inferior causes may mstify the separation of
husband and wife, although they will not au-
thorise such a dissolution of the marriage con-
tract as would leave either party at liberty to
marry again : for it is that liberty, in which the
danger and mischief of divorces principally con-
sist. If the care of children does not require that
they should live together, and it is become, in the
serious judgment of both, necessary for their mu-
tual happiness that they should separate, let them
separate by consent. Nevertheless, this necessity
can hardly exist, without guilt and misconduct on
one side or both. Moreover, cruelty, ill-usage, ex-
treme violence, or moroseness of temper, or other
great and continued provocations, make it lawful
for the party aggrieved to withdraw from the so-
ciety of the offender without his or her consent.
The law which imposes the marriage-vow, where-
by the parties promise to " keep to each other," or
in other words, to live together, must be under-
stood to impose it with a silent reservation of these
cases ; because the same law has constituted a ju-
dicial relief from the tyranny of the husband, by
the divorce a mensa et toro, and by the provision
which it makes for the separate maintenance of
the injured wife. St. Paul likewise distinguishes
between a wife's merely separating herself from
the family of her husband, and her marrying
again: "Let not the wife depart from her hus-
band : but and if she do depart, let her remain
unmarried."
The law of this country, in conformity to our
Saviour's injunction, confines the dissolution of
the marriage-contract to the single case of adul-
tery in the wife ; and a divorce, even in that case,
can only be brought about by the operation of an
act of parliament, founded upon a previous sen-
tence in the ecclesiastical court, and a verdict
against the adulterer at common law : which pro-
ceedings taken together, compose as complete an
investigation of the complaint as a cause can re-
ceive. It has lately been proposed to the legisla-
ture to annex a clause to these acts, restraining
the offending party from marrying with the com-
panion of her crime, who, by the course of pro-
ceeding, is always known and convicted : for there
is reason to fear, that adulterous connexions are
often formed with the prospect of bringing them
to this conclusion ; at least, when the seducer has
once captivated the affection of a married woman,
he may avail himself of this tempting argument
to subdue her scruples, and complete his victory ;
and the legislature, as the business is managed at
present, assists by its interposition the criminal
design of the offenders, and confers a privilege
where it ought to inflict a punishment. The pro-
posal deserved an experiment: but something
more penal will, I apprehend, be found necessary
to check the progress of this alarming depravity.
MARRIAGE.
83
Whether a law might not be framed directing
the fortune of the adulteress to descend as I'M
case of tier natural death ; reserving, however,
a certain proportion of the produce of it, by way
of annuity, for her subsistence (such annuity, in
no case, to exceed a fixed sum,) and also so far
suspending the estate in the hands of the heir as
to preserve the inheritance to any children she
might bear to a second marriage, in case there
was none to succeed in the place of their mother
by the first ; whether, I say, such a law would not
render female virtue in higher life less vincible, as
well as the seducers of that virtue less urgent in
their suit, we recommend to the deliberation of
those who are willing to attempt the reformation
of this important, but most incorrigible, class of
the community. A passion for splendor, for ex-
pensive amusements and distinction, is commonly
found, in that description of women who would
become the objects of such a law, not less inordi-
nate than their other appetites. A severity of the
kind we propose, applies immediately to that pas-
sion. And there is no room for any complaint of
injustice, since the provisions above stated, with
others which might be contrived, confine the
punishment, so far as it is possible, to the person
of the offender; suffering the estate to remain to
the heir, or within the family, of the ancestor
from whom it came, or to attend the appointments
of his will.
Sentences of the ecclesiastical courts, which
release the parties a rinculo matrimonii by rea-
son of impulxrty, frigidity, consanguinity within
the prohibited dr^nvs. prior marriage, or want of
the requisite consent of parents and guardians,
are not dissolutions of the marriage-contract, but
judicial declarations that there never was any
marriage ; such impediment subsisting at the time,
as rendered the celebration of the marriage-rite a
mere nullity. And the rite itself contains an ex-
ception of these impediments. The man and wo-
man to be married are charged, " if they know any
impediment why they may not be lawfully joined
together, to confess it;" and assured "that so
many as are coupled together, otherwise than God's
wordi doth allow, are not joined together by God,
neither is their matrimony lawful ;" all which is
intended by way of solemn notice to the parties,
that the vow they are about to make will bind
their consciences and authorise their cohabitation,
only upon the supposition that no legal impedi-
ment exists.
CHAPTER VIII.
Marriage.
WHETHER it hath grown out of some tradition
of the Divine appointment of marriage in the
persons of our first parents, or merely from a de-
sign to impress the obligation of the marriage-con-
tract with a solemnity suited to its importance,
the marriage-rite, in almost all countries of the
world, has been made a religious ceremony ;* al-
* It was not, however, in Christian countries re-
quired that marriages should be celebrated in churches
till the thirteenth century of the Christian aera. Mar-
riages in England during the Usurpation, were so-
lemnized before justices of'the peace : but for what pur-
pose this novelty was introduced, except to degrade the
clergy, does not appear.
though marriage, in its own nature; and abstract-
ed from the rules and declarations which the Jew-
ish and Christian Scriptures deliver concerning
it, be properly a civil contract, and nothing more.
With respect to one main article in matrimonial
alliances, a total alteration has taken place in the
fashion of the world ; the wife now brings money
to her husband, whereas anciently the husband
paid money to the family of the wife ; as was the
case among the Jewish patriarchs, the Greeks,
and the old inhabitants of Germany* This al-
teration has proved of no small advantage to the
female sex : for their importance in point of for-
tune procures to them, in modern times, that as-
siduity and respect, whicn are always wanted to
compensate for the inferiority of their strength ;
but which their personal attractions would not
always secure.
Our business is with marriage, as it is esta-
blished in this country. And in treating thereof,
it will be necessary to state the terms of the mar-
riage vow, in order to discover :
1. What duties this vow creates.
2. What a situation of mind at the time is in-
consistent with it.
3. By what subsequent behaviour it is violated.
The husband promises on his part, " to love,
comfort, honour, and keep, his wife :" the wife on
hors, " to obey, serve, love, honour, and keep, her
husband;" in every variety of health, fortune, and
condition : and both stipulate " to forsake all
others, and to keep only unto one another, so long
as they both shall live." This promise is called
the marriage vow ; is witnessed before God and
the congregation ; accompanied with prayers to
Almighty God for his blessing upon it ; and at-
t cm led with such circumstances of devotion and
solemnity as place the obligation of it, and the
guilt of violating it, nearly upon the same foun-
dation with that of oaths.
The parties by this vow engage their personal
fidelity expressly and specifically; they engage
likewise to consult and promote each other's hap-
piness ; the wife, moreover, promises obedience to
her husband. Nature may have made and left the
sexes of the human species nearly equal in their
faculties, and perfectly so in their rights ; but to
guard against those competitions which equality, or
a contested superiority, is almost sure to produce,
the Christian Scriptures enjoin upon the wife
that obedience which she here promises, and in
terms so peremptory and absolute, that it seems
to extend to every thing not criminal, or not en-
tirely inconsistent with the woman's happiness.
" Let the wife," says St. Paul, " be subject to her
husband in every thing." " The ornament of a
meek and quiet spirit/' says the same apostle,
speaking of the duty of wives, "is, in the sight
of God, of great price." No words ever expressed
the true merit of the female character so well as
these.
The condition of human life will not permit us
to say, that no one can conscientiously marry,
who does not prefer the person at the altar to all
other men or women in the world : but we can
have no difficulty in pronouncing (whether we
respect the end of the institution, or the plain
* The ancient Assyrians sold their beauties by an an-
nual auction. The prices were applied by way of por-
tions to the more homely. By this contrivance, all of
both sorts were disposed of in marriage.
84
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
terms in which the contract is conceived,) that
whoever is conscious, at the time of his marriage,
of such a dislike to the woman he is about to mar-
ry, or of such a subsisting atta.chment to some
other Woman, that he cannot reasonably, nor does
in fact, expect ever to entertain an affection for
his future wife, is guilty, when he pronounces the
marriage vow, of a direct and deliberate prevarica-
tion ; and -that, too, aggravated by the presence of
those ideas of religion, and of the Supreme Being,
which the place, the ritual, and the solemnity of tne
occasion, cannot fail of bringing to his thoughts.
The same likewise of the woman. This charge
must be imputed to all who, from mercenary mo-
tives, marry the objects of their aversion and dis-
gust ; and likewise to those who desert, from any
motive whatever, the object of their affection, and,
without being able to subdue that affection, marry
another.
The crime of falsehood is also incurred by the
man who intends, at the tune of his marriage, to
commence, renew, or continue a personal com-
merce with any other woman. And the parity of
reason, if a wile be capable of so much guilt, ex-
tends to her.
The marriage-vow is violated,
I. By adultery.
II. By any behaviour which, knowingly, ren-
ders the life of the other miserable ; as desertion,
neglect, prodigality, drunkenness, peevishness,
penuriousness, jealousy, or any levity of conduct
which administers occasion of jealousy.
A late regulation in the law of marriages, in
this country, has made the consent of the father,
if he be living, of the mother, if she survive the
father, and remain unmarried, or of guardians, if
both parents be dead, necessary to the marriage of
a person under twenty-one years of age. By the
Roman law, the consent et avi et patris was re-
quired so long as they lived. In France, the con-
sent of parents is necessary to the marriage of
sons, until they attain to thirty years of age ; of
daughters, until twenty-five. In Holland, for sons
till twenty-five; for daughters till twenty. And
this distinction between the sexes appears to be
well founded; for a woman is usually as properly
qualified for the domestic and interior duties of a
wife or mother at eighteen, as a man is for the
business of the world, and the more arduous care
of providing for a family, at twenty-one.
The constitution also of the human species in-
dicates the same distinction.*
CHAPTER IX.
Of the Duty of Parents.
THAT virtue, which confines its beneficence
within the walls of a man's own house, we have
been acettstomed to consider as little better than
a more refined selfishness ; and yet it will be con-
fessed, that the subject and matter of this class
of duties are inferior to none in utility and im-
portance : and where, it may be asked, is virtue,
the most valuable, but where it does the most
good 1 What duty is the most obligatory, but that
on which the most depends 1 And where have we
* Cum vis prolem procreandi diutius heereat in mare
quam in fcemina populi numerus nequaquam minuetur,
si seriua venerem colere inceperint viri.
happiness and misery so much in our power, or
liable to be so affected by our conduct, as in our
own families 1 It will also be acknowledged that
the good order and happiness of the world are bet-
ter upholden whilst each man applies himself to
his own concerns and the care of his own
family, to which he is present, than if every man,
from an excess of mistaken generosity, should
leave his own business, to undertake his neigh-
bour's, which he must always manage with less
knowledge, conveniency, and success. If there-
fore, the low estimation of these virtues be well
founded, it must be owing, not to their inferior
importance, but to some defect or impurity in the
motive. And indeed it cannot be denied, that it
is in the power of association so to unite our
children's interest with our own. as that we shall
often pursue both from the same motive, place
both in the same object, and with as little sense
of duty in one pursuit as in the other. Where
this is the case, the judgment above stated is not
far from the truth. And so often as we find a so-
licitous care of a man's own family, in a total ab-
sence or extreme penury of every other virtue, or
interfering with other duties, or directing its
operation solely to the temporal happiness of the
children, placing that happiness in amusement
and indulgence whilst they are young, or in ad-
vancement of fortune when they grow up, there
is reason to believe that this is the case. In this
way, the common opinion concerning these duties
may be accounted for and defended. If we look to
the subject of them, we perceive them to be in-
dispensable. If we regard the motive, we find
them often not very meritorious. Wherefore, al-
though a man seldom rises high in our esteem who
has nothing to recommend him beside the care of
his own family, yet we always condemn the ne-
glect of this duty with the utmost severity ; both
by reason of the manifest and immediate mischief
which we see arising from this neglect, and be-
cause it argues a want not only of parental af-
fection, but of those moral principles which ought
to come in aid of that affection where it is want-
ing. And if, on the other hand, our praise and
esteem of these duties be not proportioned to the
good they produce, or to the indignation with
which we resent the absence of them, it is for
this reason, that virtue is the most valuable, not
where it produces the most good, but where it is
the most wanted : which is not the case here ; be-
cause its place is often supplied by instincts, or in-
voluntary associations. Nevertheless, the offices
of a parent may be discharged from a conscious-
ness of their obligation, as well as other duties ;
and a sense of this obligation is sometimes neces-
sary to assist the stimulus of parental affection ;
especially in stations of life in which the wants of
a family cannot be supplied without the continual
hard labour of the father, and without his re-
fraining from many indulgences and recreations
which unmarried men of like condition are able to
purchase. Where the parental allection is suf-
ficiently strong, or has fewer difficulties to sur-
mount, a principle of duty may still be wanted to
direct and regulate its exertions : for otherwise it
is apt to spend and waste itself in a womanish
fondness for the person of the child; an impro-
vident attention to his present ease and gratifica-
tion; a pernicious facility and compliance with
his humours ; an excessive and superfluous care
to provide the externals of happiness, with little
DUTY OP PARENTS.
85
OT no attention to the internal sources of virtue
and satisfaction. Universally , wherever a parent's
conduct is prompted or directed by a sense of duty,
there is so much virtue.
Having premised thus much concerning the
place which parental duties hold in the scale of
human virtues, we proceed to state and explain
the duties themselves.
When moralists tell us, that parents are bound
to do all they can for their children, they tell us
more than is true ; for, at that rate, every expense
which might have been spared, and every profit
omitted which might have been made, would be
criminal.
The duty of parents has its limits, like other
duties ; and admits, if not of perfect precision, at
least of rules definite enough for application.
These rules may be explained under the several
heads of maintenance, education, and a reasonable
provision for the child's happiness in respect of
outward condition.
I. Maintenance.
The wants of children make it necessary that
some person maintain them: and, as no one has
a right to burthen others by liis act, it follows,
that the parents are bound to undertake this
charge themselves. Beside this plain inference,
the affection of parents to their children, if it he
instinctive, and the provision which nature has
prepared in the person of the mother for the sus-
tentation of the infant, concerning the existence
and design of which there can be no doubt, are
manifest indications of the Divine will.
Hence we learn the guilt of those who run
away from their families, or (what is much the
same,) in consequence of idleness or drunkenness,
throw them upon a parish ; or who leave them
destitute at their death, when, by diligence and
frugality, they might have laid up a provision for
their support : also of those who refuse or neglect
the care of their bastard offspring, abandoning
them to a condition in which they must either
perish or become burthensome to others ; for the
duty of maintenance, like the reason upon which
it is founded, extends to bastards, as well as to
legitimate children.
The Christian Scriptures, although they con-
cern themselves little with maxims of prudence
or economy, and much less authorize worldly-
mindedness or avarice, have yet declared in ex-
plicit terms their judgment of the obligation of this
duty : " If any provide not for his own, especially
for those of his own household, he hath denied the
faith, and is worse than an infidel," (1 Tim. v. 8. ;)
he hath disgraced the Christian profession, and
fallen short in a duty which even infidels acknow-
ledge.
ft. Education.
Education, in the most extensive sense of the
word, may comprehend every preparation that is
made in our youth for the sequel of our lives; and
in this sense I use it. Some such preparation is
necessary for children of all conditions, because
without it they must be miserable, and probably
will be vicious, when they grow up, either from
want of the means of subsistence, or from want of
rational and inoffensive occupation. In civilized
life, every thing is effected by art and skill.
Whence a person who is provided with neither
and neither can be acquired without exercise and
instruction) will be useless ; and he that is useless,
will generally be at the same time mischievous to
the community. So that to send an uneducated
child into the world, is injurious to the rest of
mankind ; it is little better than to turn out a
mad dog or a wild beast into the streets.
In the inferior classes of the community, this
principle condemns the neglect of parents, who
do not inure their children betimes to labour and
restraint, by providing them with apprenticeships,
services, or other regular employment, but who
suffer them to waste their youth in idleness and
vagrancy, or to betake themselves to some lazy,
trifling, and precarious calling: for the conse-
quence of having thus tasted the sweets of na-
tural liberty, at an age when their passion and
relish for it are at the liighest, is, that they become
incapable, for the remainder of their lives, of con-
tinued industry, or of persevering attention to any
thing ; spend their time in a miserable struggle
between the importunity of want, and the irk-
someness of regular application; and are pre-
pared to embrace every expedient, which presents
a hope of supplying their necessities without con-
fining them to the plough, the loom, the shop, or
the counting-house.
In the middle orders of society, those parents
are most reprehensible, who neither qualify their
children for a profession, nor enable them to live
without one ;* and those in the highest, who, from
indolence, indulgence, or avarice, omit to procure
their children those liberal attainments which are
necessary to make them useful in the stations to
which they are destined. A man of fortune, who
permits his son to consume the season of educa-
tion in hunting, shooting, or in frequenting horse-
races, assemblies, or other unedifying, if not vi-
cious, diversions, defrauds the community of a
benefactor, and bequeaths them a nuisance.
Some, though not the same, preparation for the
sequel of their lives, is necessary for youth of every
description ; and therefore for bastards, as well as
for children of better expectations. Consequently,
they who leave the education of their bastards to
chance, contenting themselves with- making pro-
vision for their subsistence, desert half their duty.
III. A reasonable provision for the happiness
of a child, in respect of outward condition, re-
quires three things : a situation suited to his ha-
bits and reasonable expectations; a competent
provision for the exigencies of that situation ; and
a probable security for his virtue.
The first two articles will vary with the con-
dition of the parent. A situation somewhat ap-
proaching in rank and condition to the parent's
own ; or, where that is not practicable, similar to
what other parents of like condition provide for
their children ; bounds the reasonable, as well as
(generally speaking) the actual, expectations of
the child, and therefore contains the extent of the
parent's obligation.
Hence, a peasant satisfies his duty, who sends
out his children, properly instructed for their oc-
cupation, to husbandry or to any branch of manu-
facture. Clergymen, lawyers, physicians, officers
in the army or* navy, gentlemen possessing mo-
derate fortunes of inheritance, or exercising trade
in a large or liberal way, are required by the same
rule to provide their sons with learned professions,
* Amongst the Athenians, if the parent did not put
his child into a way of getting a livelihood, the child
was not bound to make provision for the parent when
old and necessitous.
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
commissions in the army or navy, places in public
offices, or reputable branches of merchandise.
Providing a child with a situation, includes a
competent supply for the expenses of that situa-
tion, until the profits of it enables the child to sup-
port himself. Noblemen and gentlemen of high
rank and fortune may be bound to transmit an
inheritance to the representatives of their family,
sufficient for their support without the aid of a
trade or profession, to which there is little hope
that a youth, who has been nattered with other
expectations, will apply himself with diligence or
success. In these parts of the world, public opinion
has assorted the members of the community into
four or five general classes, each class comprising
a great variety of employments and professions,
the choice of which must be committed to the
private discretion of the parent.* All that can be
expected from parents as a duty, and therefore
the only rule which a moralist can deliver upon
the subject, is, that they endeavour to preserve
their children in the class in which they are born,
that is to say, in which others of similar expectaT
tions are accustomed to be placed ; and that they
be careful to confine their hopes and habits of in-
dulgence to objects which will continue to be at-
tainable.
It is an ill-judged thrift, in some rich parents,
to bring up their sons to mean employments, for
the sake of saving the charge of a more expensive
education : for these sons, when they become mas-
ters of their liberty and fortune, will hardly con-
tinue in occupations by which they think them-
selves degraded, and are seldom qualified for any
thing better.
An attention, in the first place, to the exigen-
cies of the children's respective conditions in the
world ; and a regard, in the second place, to their
reasonable expectations, always postponing the
expectations to the exigencies when both cannot
be satisfied, ought to guide parents in the disposal
of their fortunes after their death. And these
exigencies and expectations must be measured by
* The health and virtue of a child's future life are
considerations so superior to all others, that whatever
is likely to have the smallest influence upon these, de-
serves the parent's first attention. In respect of health,
agriculture, and all active, rural, and out-of-door em-
ployments, are to be preferred to manufactures and se-
dentary occupations. In respect of virtue, a course of
dealings in which the advantage is mutual, in which
the profit on one side is connected with the benefit of
the other (which is the case in trade, and all serviceable
art or labour,) is more favourable to the moral charac-
ter, than callings in which one man's gain is another
man's loss; in which what you acquire, is acquired
without equivalent, and parted with in distress ; as in
gaming, and whatever partakes of gaming, and in the
predatory profits of war. The following distinctions
also deserve notice : A business, like a retail trade, in
which the profits are small and frequent, and accruing
from the employment, furnishes a moderate and con-
stant engagement of the mind, and, so far, suits better
with the general disposition of mankind, than profes-
sions which are supported by fixed salaries, as stations
in the church, army, navy, revenue, public offices, &c.
or wherein the profits are made in large sums, by a few
great concerns, or fortunate adventures ; as in many
branches of wholesale and foreign merchandise, in
which the occupation is neither so constant, nor the
activity so kept alive by immediate encouragement.
For security, manual arts exceed merchandise, and
such as supply the wants of mankind are better than
those which minister to their pleasure. Situations
which promise an early settlement in marriage, are on
many accounts to be chosen before thoae which require
a longer waiting for a larger establishment.
the standard which custom has established : for
there is a certain appearance, attendance, estab-
lishment, and mode of living, which custom has
annexed to the several ranks and orders of civil
life (and which compose what is called decency,)
together with a certain society, and particular
pleasures, belonging to each class : and a young
person who is withheld from sharing in these for
want of fortune, can scarcely be said to have a
fair chance for happiness; the indignity and mor-
tification of such a seclusion being what few
tempers can bear, or bear with contentment. And
as to the second consideration, of what a child may
reasonably expect from his parent, he will expect
what he sees all or most others in similar circum-
stances receive ; and we can hardly call expecta-
tions unreasonable, which it is impossible to sup-
press.
By virtue of this rule, a parent is justified in
making a difference between his children accord-
ing as they stand in greater or less need of the
assistance of his fortune, in consequence of the
difference of their age or sex, or of the situations
in which they are placed, or the various success
which they have met with.
On account of the few lucrative employments
which are left to the female sex, and by conse-
quence the little opportunity they have of adding
to their income, daughters ought to be the par-
ticular objects of a parent's care and foresight ;
and as an option of marriage, from which they
can reasonably expect happiness, is not presented
to every woman who deserves it, especially in
times in which a licentious celibacy is in fashion
with the men, a father should endeavour to enable
his daughters to lead a single life with independence
and decorum, even though he subtract more for
that purpose from the portions of his sons than is
agreeable to modern usage, or than they expect.
But when the exigencies of their several situa-
tions are provided tor, and not before, a parent
ought to admit the second consideration, the satis-
faction of his children's expectations ; and upon
that principle to prefer the eldest son to the rest,
and sons to daughters : which constitutes the right,
and the whole right, of primogeniture, as weS as
the only reason for the preference of one sex to
the other. The preference, indeed, of the first-
born, has one public good effect, that if the estate
were divided equally amongst the sons, it would
probably make them all idle; whereas, by the
present rule of descent, it makes only one so;
which is the less evil of the two. And it must
further be observed on the part of the sons, that
if the rest of the community make it a rule to pre-
fer sons to daughters, an individual of that com-
munity ought to guide himself by the same rule,
upon principles of mere equality. For, as the son
suffers by the rule, in the fortune he may expect
in marriage, it is but reasonable that he should
receive the advantage of it in his own inheritance.
Indeed, whatever the rule be, as to the preference
of one sex to the ether, marriage restores the
equality. And as money is generally more con-
vertible to profit, and more likely to promote in-
dustry, in the hands of men than of women, the
custom of this country may properly be complied
with, when it does not interfere with the weightier
reason explained in the last paragraph.
The point of the children's actual expectations,
together with the expediency of subjecting the il-
licit commerce of the sexes to every discourage-
DUTY OF PARENTS.
87
ment which it can receive, makes the difference
between the claims of legitimate children and
of bastards. But neither reason will in any case
justify the leaving of bastards to the world with-
out provision, education, or profession ; or, what
is more cruel, without the means of continuing
in the situation to which the parent has intro-
duced them ; which last is, to leave them to in-
evitable misery.
After the first requisite, namely, a provision for
the exigencies of his situation, is satisfied, a parent
may diminish a child's portion, in order to punish
any flagrant crime, or to punish contumacy and
want of filial duty in instances not otherwise
criminal : for a child who is conscious of bad be-
haviour, or of contempt of his parent's will and
happiness, cannot reasonably expect the same in-
stances of his munificence.
A child's vices may be of that sort, and his
vicious habits so incorrigible, as to afford much
the same reason for believing that he will waste
or misemploy the fortune put into liis power, as if
he were mad or idiotish, in which case a parent
may treat him as a madman or an idiot ; tfiat is,
may deem it sufficient to provide for his support,
by an annuity equal to his wants and innocent
enjoyments, and which he maybe restrained from
alienating. This seems to be the only case in
which a disinherison, nearly absolute, is jus-
tifiable.
Let not a father hope to excuse an inofficious
disposition of his fortune, by alleging, that " every
man may do what he will with his own." All the
truth which this expression contains is, that this
discretion is under no control of law; and that
his will, however capricious, will be valid. This
by no means absolves his conscience from the ob-
ligations of a parent, or imports that he may ne-
glect, without injustice, the several wants and ex-
pectations of his family, in order to gratify a
whim or pique, or indulge a preference founded
in no reasonable distinction of merit or situation.
Although in his intercourse with his family, and
in the lesser endearments of domestic life, a pa-
rent may not always resist his partiality to a fa-
vourite child (which, however, should be both
avoided and concealed, as oftentimes productive
of lasting jealousies and discontents;) yet, when
he sits down to make his will, these tendernesses
must give place to more manly deliberations.
A father of a family is bound to adjust his
economy with a view to these demands upon his
fortune ; and until a sufficiency for these ends is
acquired, or in due time probably will be acquired
(for, in human affairs, probability ought to con-
tent us,) frugality and exertions of industry are
duties. He is also justified in the declining ex-
pensive liberality : for, to take from those who
want, in order to give to those who want, adds
nothing to the stock of public happiness. Thus
far, therefore, and no farther, the plea of "children,"
of " large families," " charity begins at home," &c.
is an excuse for parsimony, and an answer to
those who solicit our bounty. Beyond this point,
as the use of riches becomes less, the desire of
laying up should abate proportionably. The
truth is, our children gain not so much as we
imagine, in the chance of this world's happiness,
or even of its external prosperity, by setting out
in it with large capitals. Of those who have died
rich, a great part began with little. And in re-
spect of enjoyment, there is no comparison between
a fortune which a man acquires by well-applied
industry, or by a series of success in his business,
and one found in his possession, or received from
another.
A principal part of a parent's duty is still be-
hind, viz : the using of proper precautions and
expedients, in order to form and preserve his
children's virtue.
To us, who believe that, in one stage or other
of our existence, \irtue will conduct to nappiness,
and vice terminate in misery ; and who observe
withal, that men's virtues and vices are, to a cer-
tain degree, produced or affected by the manage-
ment of their youth, and the situations in which
they are placed ; to all who attend to these reasons,
the obligation to consult a child's virtue will ap-
pear to differ in nothing from that by which the
parent is bound to provide for his maintenance or
fortune. The child's interest is concerned in the
one means of happiness as well as in the other ;
and both means are equally, and almost exclu-
sively, in the parent's power.
For this purpose, the first point to be endeav-
oured after is, to impress upon children the idea of
accountableness, that is, to accustom them to look
forward to the consequences of their actions in
another world ; which can only be brought about
by the parents visibly acting with a view to these
consequences themselves. Parents, to do them
justice, are seldom sparing of lessons of virtue and
'religion: in admonitions which cost little, and
which profit less ; whilst their example exhibits a
continual contradiction of what they teach. A
father, for instance, will, with much solemnity
and apparent earnestness, warn his son against
idleness, excess in drinking, debauchery, and ex-
travagance, who himself loiters about all day
without employment; comes home every night
drunk ; is made infamous in his neighbourhood by
some profligate connexion ; and wastes the for-
tune which should support, or remain a provision
for his family, in riot, or luxury, or ostentation.
Or he will discourse gravely before his children
of the obligation and importance of revealed re-
lioion, whilst they see the most frivolous and
oftentimes feigned excuses detain him from its
reasonable and solemn ordinances. Or he will
set before them, perhaps, the supreme and tre-
mendous authority of Almighty God ; that such
a Being ought not to be named, or even thought
upon, without sentiments of profound awe and
veneration. This may be the lecture he delivers
to his family one hour; when the next, if an
occasion arise to excite his anger, his mirth or his
surprise, they will hear him treat the name of the
Deity with the most irreverent profanation, and
sport with the terms and denunciations of the
Christian religion, as if they were the language of
some ridiculous and long exploded superstition.
Now, even a child is not to be imposed upon by
such mockery. He sees through the grimace of
this counterfeited concern ,for virtue. He dis-
covers that his parent is acting a part ; and re-
ceives his admonitions as he would hear the same
maxims from the mouth of a player. And when
once this opinion has taken possession of the
child's mind, it has a fatal effect upon the parent's
influence in all subjects; even those, in which he
himself may be sincere and convinced. Whereas
a silent, but observable, regard to the duties of re-
ligion, in the parent's own behaviour, will take a
sure and gradual hold of the child's disposition;
88
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
much beyond formal reproofs and eludings, which,
being generally prompted by some present provo-
cation, discover* more of anger than of principle,
and are always received with a temporary alien-
ation and disgust.
A good parent's first care is, to be virtuous
himself ; a second, to make his virtues as easy and
engaging to those about him as their nature will
admit. Virtue itself offends, when coupled with
forbidding manners. And some virtues may be
urged to such excess, or brought forward so un-
seasonably, as to discourage and repel those who
observe and who are acted upon by them, instead
of exciting an inclination to imitate and adopt
them. Young minds are particularly liable to
these unfortunate impressions. For instance, if
a father's economy degenerate into a minute and
teasing parsimony, it is odds but that the son,
who has suffered under it, sets out a sworn enemy
to all rules of order and frugality. If a father s
piety be morose, rigorous, and tinged with melan-
choly, perpetually breaking in upon the recreation
of his family, and surfeiting them with the lan-
guage of religion on all occasions, there is danger
lest the son carry from home with him a settled
prejudice against seriousness and religion, as in-
consistent with every plan of a pleasureable life ;
and turn out, when he mixes with the world, a
character of levity or dissoluteness.
Something likewise may be done towards the
correcting or improving of those early inclinations
which children discover, by disposing them into
situations the least dangerous to their particular
characters. Thus, I would make choice of a
retired life for young persons addicted to licen-
tious pleasures ; of private stations for the proud
and passionate ; of liberal professions, and a town
life, for the mercenary and sottish : and not,
according to the general practice of parents, send
dissolute youths into the army ; penurious tem-
pers to trade ; or make a crafty lad an attorney ;
or flatter a vain and haughty temper with ele-
vated names, or situations, or callings, to which
the fashion of the world has annexed precedency
and distinction, but in which his disposition, with-
out at all promoting his success, will serve both to
multiply and exasperate his disappointments. In
the same way, that is, with a view to the particu-
lar frame and tendency of the pupil's character, I
would make choice of a public or private education.
The reserved, timid, and indolent, will have their
faculties called forth, and their nerves invigorated,
by a public education. Youths of strong spirits
and passions will be safer in a private education.
At our public schools, as far as I have observed,
more literature is acquired, and more vice ; quick
parts are cultivated, slow ones are neglected.
Under private tuition, a moderate proficiency in
juvenile learning is seldom exceeded, but with
more certainty attained.
CHAPTER X.
The Rights of Parents.
THE rights of parents result from their duties.
If it be the duty of a parent to educate his chil-
dren, to form them for a life of usefulness and vir-
tue, to provide for them situations needful for
their subsistence, and suited to their circumstances,
and to prepare them for those situations ; he has
a right to such authority, and in support of that
authority to exercise such discipline as may be
necessary for these purposes. The law of nature
acknowledges no other foundation of a parent's
right over his children, besides his duty towards
them. (I speak now of such rights as may be
enforced by coercion.) This relation confers no
property in their persons, or natural dominion
over them, as is commonly supposed.
Since it is, in general, necessary to determine
the destination of children, before they are capa-
ble of judging of their own happiness, parents
have a right to elect professions for them.
As the mother herself owes obedience to the
father, her authority must submit to his. In a
competition, therefore, of commands, the father is
to be obeyed. In case of the death of either, the
authority, as well as duty, of both parents, de-
volves upon the survivor.
These rights, always following the duty, be-
long likewise to guardians ; and so much of them
as is delegated by the parents to guardians, be-
longs to tutors, school-masters, &c.
From this principle, "that the rights of parents
result from their duty," it follows, that parents
have no natural right over the lives of their chil-
dren, as was absurdly allowed to Roman fathers ;
nor any to exercise unprofitable severities ; nor to
command the commission of crimes : for these
rights can never be wanted for the purpose of a
parent's duty.
Nor, for the same reason, have parents any
right to sell their children into slavery. Upon
which, by the way, we may observe, that the
children of slaves, are not, by the law of nature
born slaves : for, as the master's right is derived
to him through the parent, it can never be greater
than the parent's own.
Hence also it appears, that parents not only
pervert, but exceed their just authority, when
they consult their own ambition, interest, or pre-
judice, at the manifest expense of their children's
happiness. Of which abuse of parental power,
the following are instances: the shutting up of
daughters and younger sons in nunneries, and
monasteries, in order to preserve entire the estate
and dignity of the family ; or the using of any arts,
either of kindness or unkindness, to induce them
to make choice of this way of life themselves;
or, in countries where the clergy are prohibited
from marriage, putting sons into the church for
the same end, who are never likely to do or
receive any good in it, sufficient to compensate
for this sacrifice ; the urging of children to mar-
riages from which they are averse, with the view
of exalting or enriching the family, or for the sake
of connecting estates, parties, or interests ; or the
opposing of a marriage, in which the child would
probably find his happiness, from a motive of pride
or avarice, of family hostility, or personal pique.
CHAPTER XI.
The Duty of Children.
THE duty of children may be considered,
I. During childhood.
II. After they have attained to manhood, but
continue in their father's family.
III. After they have attained to manhood, and
have left their father's family.
DUTY OF CHILDREN.
J. During childhood.
Children must l>e supposed to have attained to
Borne degree of discretion before they are capable
of any duty. There is an interval of eight or nine
years between the dawning and the maturity of
reason, in which it is necessary to subject the in-
clination of children to many restraints, and di-
rect their application to many employments, of the
tendency and use of which they cannot judge ; for
which cause, the submission of children during
this period must be ready and implicit, with an
exception, however, of any manifest crime wliich
may be commanded them.
II. After they Jtarc attained to manJioad, but
continue in their father's family.
If children, when they are grown up, volun-
tarily continue members of their father's family,
they are bound, beside the general duty of grati-
tude to their parents, to observe such regulations
of the family as the father shall appoint ; con-
tribute their labour to its support, if required ; and
confine themselves to such expenses as lie shall
allow. The obligation would be the same, if they
were admitted into any other family, or received
support from any other hand.
III. After they have attained to manJtood, and
have left their father's family.
In this state of the relation, the duty to parents
is simply the duty of gratitude; not different
in kind, from that which we owe to any other
benefactor; in degree, just so much exceeding
other obligations, by how much a parent has been
a greater benefactor than any other friend. The
services and attentions, by which filial gratitude
may be testified, can be comprised within no enu-
meration. It will show itself in compliances with
the will of the parents, however contrary to the
child's own taste or judgment, provided it lx> nei-
ther criminal, nor totally inconsistent with his
happiness; in a constant endeavour to promote
their enjoyments, prevent their wishes, and soften
their anxieties, in small matters as well as in
great : in assisting them in tlieir business ; in con-
tributing to their support, ease, or better accom-
modation, when their circumstances require it;
in affording them our company, in preference to
more amusing engagements; in waiting upon
their sickness or decrepitude ; in bearing with
the infirmities of their health or temper, with the
peevishness and complaints, the unfashionable,
negligent, austere manners, and offensive habits,
which often attend upon advanced years : for where
must old age find indulgence, if it do not meet
with it in the piety and partiality of children 1
The most serious contentions between parents
and their children are those commonly which re-
late to marriage, or to the choice of a profession.
A parent has, in no case, a right to destroy his
child's happiness. If it be true, therefore, that
there exist such personal and exclusive attach-
ments between individuals of different sexes, that
the jxjssession of a particular man or woman in
marriage be really necessary for the child's hap-
piness ; or, if it be true, that an aversion to a par-
ticular profession may be involuntary and uncon-
querable ; then it will follow, that parents, wherd
this is the case, ought not to urge their authority,
and that the child is not bound to obey it.
The point is, to discover how far, in any par-
ticular instance, this is the case. Whether the
fondness of lovers ever continues with such in-
tensity, and so long, that the success of their de-
M
sires constitutes, or the disappointment affects
any considerable portion of their happiness, com-
pared with that of their whole hie, it is difficult to
determine ; but there can be no difficulty in pro-
nouncing, that not one half of those attachments,
which young people conceive with so much haste
and passion, are of tliis sort. I believe it also to
be true, that there are few aversions to a profes-
sion, which resolution, perseverance, activity in
going about the duty of it, and, above all, despair
of changing, will not subdue : yet there are some
such. Wherefore, a child who respects his pa-
rents' judgment, and is, as he ought to be, tender
of their happiness, owes, at least, so much de-
ference to their will, as to try fairly and faithfully,
in one case, whether time and absence will not
cool an affection which they disapprove; and, in
the other, whether a longer continuance in the
profession which they have chosen for him may
not reconcile him to it. The whole depends upon
the experiment being made on the child's part
with sincerity, and not merely with a design of
compassing his purj>ose at last, by means of a
simulated and temporary compliance. It is the
nature of love and hatred, and of all violent af-
fections, to delude the mind with a persuasion t^iat
we shall always continue to feel them as we feel
them at present; we cannot conceive that they
will either change or cease. Experience of similar
or greater changes in ourselves, or a habit of
giving credit to what our parents, or tutors, or
books, teach us, may control this persuasion,
otherwise it renders youth very untractablc : for
they see clearly and truly that it is impossible
they should be happy under the circumstances
proposed to them, in tlieir present state of mind.
After a sincere but ineffectual endeavour, by the
child, to accommodate his inclination to his pa-
rent's pleasure, he ought not to suffer in his pa-
rent's affection, or in his fortunes. The parent,
when he has reasonable proof of this should ac-
quiesce ; at all events, the child is then at liberty
to provide for his own happiness.
Parents have no right to urge their children
upon marriages to which they are averse : nor
ought, in any sha^pe, to resent the children's dis-
obedience to such commands. This is a different
case from opjx>sing a match of inclination, because
the child's misery is a much more probable con-
sequence ; it being easier to live without a person
that we love, than with one whom we hate. Add
to this, that compulsion in marriage necessarily
leads to prevarication ; as the reluctant party pro-
mises an affection, which neither exists, nor is ex-
pected to take place : and parental, like all humaa
authority, ceases at the point where obedience be-
comes criminal.
In the above-mentioned, and in all contests be-
tween parents and children, it is the parent's duty
to represent to the child the consequences of his
conduct ; and it will be found his best policy to
represent them with fidelity. It is usual for pa-
rents to exaggerate these descriptions beyond pro-
bability, and by exaggeration to lose all credit with
their children ; thus, in a great measure, defeating
their own end.
Parents are forbidden to interfere, where a trust
is reposed personally in the son ; and where, con-
sequently, the son was expected, and by virtue
of that expectation is obliged, to pursue his own
judgment, and not that of any other: as is the
case with judicial magistrates hi the execution of
90
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
their office ; with members of the legislature in
their votes ; with electors where preference is to
be given to certain prescribed qualifications.- The
son may assist his own judgment by the advice of
his father, or of any one whom he chooses to con-
sult : but his own judgment, whether it proceed
upon knowledge or authority, ought finally to de-
termine his conduct.
The duty of children to their parents was
thought worthy to be made the subject of one of
the Ten Commandments ; and, as such, is re-
cognised by Christ, together with the rest of the
moral precepts of the Decalogue, in various places
of the Gospel.
The same divine Teacher's sentiments con-
cerning the relief of indigent parents, appear
sufficiently from that manly and deserved indig-
nation with which he reprehended the wretched
casuistry of the Jewish expositors, who, under the
name of a tradition, had contrived a method of
evading this duty, -by converting, or pretending to
convert, to the treasury of the temple, so' much of
their property as their distressed parent might be
entitled by their law to demand.
Agreeably to this law of Nature and Chris-
tianity, children are, by the law of England, bound
to support, as well their immediate parents, as
their grandfather and grandmother, or remoter
ancestors, who stand in need of support.
Obedience to parents is enjoined by St. Paul to
the Ephesians : " Children obey your parents in
the Lord, for this is right;" and to the Colossians :
" Children, obey your .parents in all things, for
this is well-pleasing unto the Lord."*
By the Jewish law, disobedience to parents
was in some extreme cases capital : Deut. xxi. 18.
BOOK IV.
DUTIES TO OURSELVES.
THIS division of the subject is retained merely
for the sake of method, by which the writer and
the reader are equally assisted. To the subject
itself it imports nothing; for, the obligation of all
duties being fundamentally the same, it matters
little under what class or title any of them are
considered. In strictness, there are few duties or
crimes which terminate in a man's self; and so
far as others are affected by their operation, they
have been treated of in some article of the pre-
ceding book. We have reserved, however, to this
head, the rights of self-defence ; also the con-
sideration of drunkenness and suicide, as offences
against that care of our faculties, and preservation
of our persons, which we account duties, and call
duties to ourselves.
CHAPTER I.
The Rights of Self -Defence.
IT has been asserted, that in a state of nature
we might lawfully defend the most insignificant
* Upon which two phrases, " this is right/' and, " for
this is well-pleasin? unto the Lord," beinsr used by St.
Paul in a sense perfectly parallel, we may observe, that
moral rectitude, and conformity to tUe Divine will, were
in his apprehension the same.
right, provided it were a perfect determinate right,
by any extremities which the obstinacy of the
aggressor rendered necessary. Of this I doubt;
Because I doubt whether the general rule be worth
sustaining at such an expense ; and because, apart
from the general consequence of yielding to the
attempt, it cannot be contended to l>e for the aug-
mentation of human happiness, that one man
should lose his life, or a limb, rather than another
a pennyworth of his property. Nevertheless,
perfect rights can only be distinguished by their
value ; and it is impossible to ascertain the value
at which the liberty of using extreme violence be-
gins. The person attached, must balance, as well
as he can, between the general consequence of
yielding, and the particular effect of resistance.
However, this right, if it exist in a state of na-
ture, is suspended by the establishment of civil
society : because thereby other remedies are pro-
vided against attacks upon our property, and be-
cause it is necessary to the peace and safety of the
community, that the prevention, punishment,
and redress of injuries, be adjusted by public laws.
Moreover, as the individual is assisted in the re-
covery of his right, or of a compensation for his
right, by the public strength, it is no less equitable
than expedient, that he should submit to public
arbitration the kind, as well as the measure of
the satisfaction which he is to obtain.
There is one case in which all extremities arc
justifiable ; namely, when our life is assaulted, and
it becomes necessary for our preservation to kill the
assailant. This is evident in a state of nature ;
unless it can be shown, that we are bound to pre-
fer the aggressor's life to our own, that is to say,
to love our enemy better than ourselves, which
can never be a debt of justice, nor any where ap-
pears to be a duty of charity. Nor is the case
altered by pur living in civil society ; because, by
the supposition, the laws of society cannot inter-
pose to protect us, nor, by the nature of the case,
compel restitution. This liberty is restrained to
cases in which no other probable means of pre-
serving our life remain, as flight, calling for assist-
ance, disarming the adversary, &c. The rule
holds, whether the danger proceed from a volun-
tary attack, as by an enemy, robber, or assassin ;
or from an involuntary one, as by a madman, or
person sinking in the water, and dragging us after
him ; or where two persons are reduced to a situa-
tion hi which one or both of them must perish : as
in a shipwreck, where two seize upon a plank,
which will support only one : although, to say the
truth, these extreme cases, which happen seldom,
and hardly, when they do happen, admit of moral
agency, are scarcely worth mentioning, much less
discussing at length.
The instance which approaches the nearest to
the preservation of life, and which seems to justify
the same extremities, is the defence of chastity.
In all other cases, it appears to me the safest to
consider the taking away of life as authorised by
the law of the land ; and the person who takes it
away, as in the situation of a minister or execu-
tioner of the kw.
In which view, homicide, in England, is justi-
fiable :
1. To prevent the commission of a crime, which,
when committed, would be punishable with death.
Thus, it is lawful to shoot a highwayman, or one
attempting to break into a house by night ; but
not so if the attempt be made in the day-time;
DRUNKENNESS.
which particular distinction, by a consent of le-
gislation that is remarkable, obtained also in the
Jewish law, as well as in the laws both of Greece
and Rome.
2. In necessary endeavours to carry the law
into execution, as in suppressing riots, apprehend-
ing malefactors, preventing escapes, &c.
1 do not know that the law holds forth its au-
thority to any cases besides those which fall within
one or other of the above descriptions ; or, that,
after the exception of immediate danger to life or
chastity, the destmction of a human being can be
innocent without an authority.
The rights of war are not here taken into the
account.
CHAPTER II.
Drunkenness.
DRUXKKN T NESS is either actual or habitual ;
just as it is oni- thing to be drunk, and another to
be a drunkard. What we shall delivrr upon the
subject must principally be understood of a Inihit
of intemi>erance ; although part of the guilt and
danger described, may bo applicable to casual ex-
cesses ; and all of it in a certain degree, forasmuch
as every habit is only a repetition of single in-
stances.
The mischief of drunkenness, from which we
are to compute the guilt of it, consists in following
the bad effects :
1. It betrays most constitutions either to extra-
vagances of anger, or sins of lewdness.
. It disqualilies men for the duties of their
station, both by the temporary disorder of their
faculties, and at length by a constant incapacity
and stupefaction.
3. It is attended with expenses, which can often
be ill spared.
4. It is sure to occasion uneasiness to the family
of the drunkard.
5. It shortens life.
To these consequences of drunkenness must
be added the peculiar danger and mischief of the
example. Drunkenness is a social festive vice ;
apt, beyond any vice that can be mentioned,
to draw in others by the example. The drinker
collects Iris circle ; the circle naturally spreads ; of
those who are drawn within it, many become the
corrupters and centres of sets and circles of their
own ; every one countenancing, and perhaps emu-
lating the rest, till a whole neighbourhood be in-
fected from the contagion of a single example.
This account is confirmed by what we often ob-
serve of drunkenness, that it is a local vice ; found
to prevail in certain countries, in certain districts
of a country, or in particular towns, without any
reason to be given for the fashion, but that it had
been introduced by some popular examples. With
this observation upon the spreading quality of
drunkenness, let us connect a remark which be-
longs to the several evil effects above recited. The
consequences of a vice, like the symptoms of a dis-
ease, though they be all enumerated in the de-
scription, seldom all meet in the same subject.
In the instance under consideration, the age and
temperature of one drunkard may have little to
fear from inflammations of lust or anger ; the for-
tune of a second may not be injured by the ex-
pense j a third may have no family to be disquieted
| by his irregularities ; and a fourth may possess
a constitution fortified against the poison of
strong liquors. But if, as we always ought to do,
we comprehend within the consequences of our
conduct the mischief and tendency of the exam-
ple, the above circumstances, however fortunate
for the individual, will be found to vary the guilt
of his intemperance less, probably, than he sup-
poses. The moralist may expostulate with him
thus : Although the waste of time and of money
be of small importance to you, it may be of the
utmost to some one or other whom your society
corrupts. Repeated or long-continued excesses,
which hurt not your health, may be fatal to your
companion. Although you have neither wife or
child, nor parent, to lament your absence from
home, or expect your return to it with terror : other
families, in which husbands and fathers have been
invited to share in your ebriety, or encouraged to
imitate it, may justly lay their misery or ruin at
your door. '.This vvill hold good whether the per-
son seduced be seduced immediately by you, or
the vice be propagated from you to nim through
several intermediate examples. All these consid-
erations it is necessary to assemble, to judge truly
of a \L-t- which usually meets with milder names
and more indulgence than it deserves.
I omit those outrages upon one another, and
upon the peace and safety of the neighbourhood,
in which drunken revels often end ; and also those
deleterious and maniacal effects which strong li-
quors produce upon particular constitutions : be-
cause, in general propositions concerning drunk-
rnnrss. no consequences should be included, but
what are constant enough to be generally ex-
pected.
Drunkenness is repeatedly forbidden by St.
Paul : " Be not drunk with wine, wherein is ex-
cess." " Let us walk honestly as in the day, not
in rioting and drunkenness." " Be not deceived;
neither lornicators, nor drunkards, nor revilers.
nor extortioners, shall inherit the kingdom of God.
Ephes. v. 18; Romans xiii. 13; 1 Cor.vi. 9, 10.
The same apostle likewise condemns drunkenness,
as peculiarly inconsistent with the Christian pro-
fession : " They that be drunken, are drunken
in the night : but let us, who are of the day, be
sober." I Thess. v. 7, 8. We are not concerned
with the argument: the words amount to a pro-
hibition of drunkenness, and the authority is con-
clusive.
It is a question of some importance, how far
drunkenness is an excuse for the crimes which the
drunken person commits.
In the solution of this question, we will first
suppose the drunken person to be altogether de-
prived of moral agency, that is to say, of all re-
flection and foresight. In this condition, it is evi-
dent that he is no more capable of guilt than a
madman ; although, like him, he may be extreme-
ly mischievous. The only guilt with which he is
chargeable, was incurred at the time when he vo-
luntarily brought himself into tins-situation. And
as every man is responsible for the consequences
which he foresaw, or might have foreseen, and for
no other, this guilt will be in proportion to the
probability of such consequences ensuing. From
which principle results the following rule, viz. that
the guilt of any action in a drunken man, bears
the same proportion to the guilt of the like action
in a sober man, that the probability of its being
the consequence of drunkenness, bears to absolute
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
certainty. By virtue of this rule, those vices which
are the known effects of drunkenness, either in
general or upon particular constitutions, are in all, or
in men of such constitutions, nearly as crimina
as if committed with all their faculties and senses
about them.
If the privati6n of reason be only partial, the
guilt will be of a mixed nature. For so much of
his self-government as the drunkard retains, he is
as responsible then as at any other time. He is
entitled to no abatement beyond the strict propor-
tion in which his moral faculties are impaired.
Now I call the guilt of the crime, if a sober man
had committed it, the whole guilt. A person in
the condition we describe, incurs part of this at
the instant of perpetration ; and by bringing him-
self into such a condition, he incurred that fraction
of the remaining part, which the danger of this
consequence was of an integral certainty. For
the sake of illustration, we are at liberty to sup-
pose, that a man loses half his moral faculties by
drunkenness; this leaving him but half his re-
sponsibility, he incurs, when he commits the action,
half of the whole guilt. We will also suppose
that it was known beforehandj that it was an even
chance, or half a certainty, that this crime would
follow his getting drunk. This makes him charge-
able with half of the remainder; so that alto-
gether, he is responsible in three-fourths of the
guilt which a sober man would have incurred by
the same action.
I do not mean that any real case can be reduced
to numbers, or the calculation be ever made with
arithmetical precision ; but these are the ' princi-
ples, and this the rule by which our general ad-
measurement of the guilt of such offences should
be regulated.
The appetite for intoxicating liquors appears to
me to be almost always acquired. One proof of
which is, that it is apt to return only at particular
tunes and places : as- after dinner, in the evening,
on the market-day, at the market-town, in such a
company, at such a tavern. And this may be the
reason that, if a habit of drunkenness be ever over-
come, it is upon some change of place, situation,
company, or profession. A man sunk deep in a
habit of drunkenness will, upon such occasions
as these, when he finds himself loosened from the
associations which held him fast, sometimes make a
plunge, and get out. In a matter of so great im-
portance, it is well worth while, where it is in any
degree practicable, to change our habitation and
society, for the sake of the experiment.
Habits of drunkenness commonly take their rise
either from a fondness for, and connexion with,
some company, or some companion, already ad-
dicted to this practice; which affords an almost
irresistible invitation to take a share in the indul-
gences which those about us are enjoying with so
much apparent relish and delight ; or from want
of regular employment, which is sure to let in
many superfluous-cravings and customs, and often
this among the rest ; or, lastly, from grief, or fa-
tigue, both which strongly solicit that relief which
inebriating liquors administer, and also furnish a
specious excuse for complying with the incli-
nation. But the habit, when once set in, is con-
tinued by different motives from those to which
it owes its origin. Persons addicted to excessive
drinking, suffer in the intervals of sobriety, and
near the return of their accustomed indulgence, a
faintncss and oppression circa pr(Ecordia } which
it exceeds the ordinary patience of human nature
to endure. This is usually relieved for a short
time, by a repetition of the same excess ; and to
this relief, as to the removal of every long contin-
ued pain, they who have once experienced it, are
urged almost beyond the power of resistance.
This is not all : as the liquor loses its stimulus,
the dose must be increased, to reach the same
pitch of elevation or ease ; which increase propor-
tionably accelerates the progress of all the mala-
dies that drunkenness brings on. Whoever re-
flects upon the violence of the craving in the
advanced stages of the habit, and the fatal termi-
nation to wliich the gratification of it leads, will,
the moment he perceives in himself the first
symptoms of a growing inclination to intem-
perance, collect his resolution to this point; or
(what perhaps, he will find his best security,)
arm himself with some peremptory rule, as to the
times and quantity of his indulgences. 1 own
myself a friend to the laying down of rules to
ourselves of this sort, and rigidly abiding by them.
They may be exclaimed against as stiff, but they
are often salutary. Indefinite resolutions of ab-
stemiousness are apt to yield to extraordinary
occasions ; and' extraordinary occasions' to occur
perpetually. Whereas, the stricter the rule is,
the more tenacious we grow of it ; and many a
man will abstain rather than break his rule, who
would not easily be brought to exercise the same
mortification from higher motives. Not to men-
tion, that when our rule is once known, we are
provided with an answer to every importunity.
There is a difference, no doubt, between con-
vivial intemperance, and that solitary sottishness
which waits neither for company nor invitation.
But the one, I am afraid, commonly ends in the
other: and this last, in the basest degradation
to which the faculties and dignity of human na-
ture can be reduced.
CHAPTER III.
Suicide.
THERE is no subject in morality in which the
consideration of general consequences is more
necessary than in this of Suicide. Particular and
extreme cases of suicide may be imagined, and
may arise, of which it would be difficult to
assign the particular mischief, or from that con-
sideration alone to demonstrate the guilt; and
these cases have been the chief occasion of con-
fusion and doubtfulness in the question: albeit,
;his is no more than what is sometimes true of
;he most acknowledged vices. I could propose
many possible cases even of murder, which, if
;hey were detached from the general rule, and
governed by their own particular consequences
alone, it would be no easy undertaking to prove
crimipal.
^The true question in this argument is no other
than this : May every man who chooses to de-
stroy his life, innocently do so? Limit and dis-
inguish the subject as you can, it will come at
ast to this question.
- For, shall we say, that we are then at liberty
;o commit suicide when we find our continuance
;n life become useless to mankind ? Any one who
pleases, may make himself useless ; and melan-
choly minds are prone to think themselves use-
SUICIDE.
less, when they really are not so. Supposing a
law were promulgated, allowing each private per-
son to destroy every man he met, whose longer
continuance in the world he judged to be useless ;
who would not condemn the latitude of such a
rule 1 who does not perceive that it amounts to a
permission to commit murder at pleasure 1 A
similar rule, regulating the right over our own
lives, would be capable of the same extension.
Beside which, no one is useless for the purpose of
this plea, but he who has lost every capacity and
opportunity of being useful, together with the pos-
sibility of recovering any degree of either ; which
is a state of such complete destitution and despair,
as cannot, I believe, be predicated of any man
living.
Or rather, shall we say that to depart volunta-
rily out of life, is lawful for those alone who leave
none to lament their death ? If this consideration
is to be taken into the account at all, the subject
of debute will be, not whether there are- any to
sorrow for us, but whether their sorrow for our
death will exceed that which we should suffer by
continuing to live. Now this is a comparison of
things so indeterminate in their nature, capable
of so different a judgment, and concerning which
the judgment will differ so much according to the
state of the spirits, or the pressure of any present
anxiety, that it would vary little, in hypochon-
driacal constitutions, from an unqualified license
to commit suicide, whenever the distresses which
men felt, or fancied, rose high enough to over-
come the pain and dread of death. Men are
never tempted to destroy themselves but when
under the oppression of some grievous uneasi-
ness : the restrictions of the rule therefore ought
to apply to these cases. But what effect can we
look for from a rule which proposes to weigh our
pain against that of another ; the misery that is
Felt, against that which is only conceived ; and in
so corrupt a balance as the party's own distempered
imagination 1
In like manner, whatever other rule vou assign,
it will ultimately bring us to an indiscriminate
toleration of suicide, in all cases in which there is
danger of its being committed. It remains, there-
fore, to inquire what would be the effect of such
a toleration : evidently, the loss of many lives to
the community, of which some might be useful or
important; the affliction of many families, and
the consternation of all : for mankind must live
in continual alarm for the fate of their friends and
dearest relations, when the restraints of religion
and morality are withdrawn ; when every disgust
which is powerful enough to tempt men to suicide,
shall be deemed sufficient to justify it ; and when
the follies and vices, as well as the inevitable ca-
lamities, of human life, so often make existence a
burthen.
A second consideration, and perfectly distinct
from the former, is this : by continuing in the
world, and in the exercise of those virtues which
remain within our power, we retain the oppor-
tunity of meliorating our condition in a future
state. This argument, it is true, does not in strict-
ness prove suicide to be a crime ; but if it supply
a motive to dissuade us from committing it, it
amounts to much the same thing. Now there is
no condition in human life which is not capable
of some virtue, active or passive. Even piety and
resignation under the sufferings to which we are
called, testify a trust and acquiescence in the Di- ,
vine counsels, more acceptable perhaps, than the
most prostrate devotion; afford an edifying ex-
ample to all who observe them ; and may hope for
a recompense among the most arduous of human
virtues. These qualities are always in the power
of the miserable ; indeed of none but the miserable.
The two considerations above stated, belong
to all cases of suicide whatever. Beside which
general reasons, each case will be aggravated by
its own proper and particular consequences ; by
the duties that are deserted ; by the claims that
are defrauded ; by the loss, affliction , or disgrace,
which our death, or the manner of it, causes our
family, kindred, or friends; by the occasion we
give to many to suspect the sincerity of our moral
and religious professions, and, together with ours,
those of all others ; by the reproach we draw upon
our order, calling, or sect; in a word, by a great
variety of evil consequences attending upon pe-
culiar situations, with some or other of which every
actual case of suicide is chargeable.
I refrain from the common topics of " deserting
our post," " throwing up our trust," " rushing
uncalled into the presence of our Maker," with
some others of the same sort, not because they are
common, (for that rather affords a presumption
in their favour,) but because I do not perceive in
them much argument to which an answer may
nut easily be given.
Hitherto we have pursued upon the subject the
light of nature alone ; taking however into the
account, the expectation of a future existence,
without which our reasoning upon this, as indeed
all reasoning upon moral questions, is vain: we
proceed to inquire, whether any thing is to be met
with in Scripture, which may add to the proba-
bility of the conclusions we have been endeavour-
ing to support. And here I acknowledge, that
there is to be found neither any express determi-
nation of the question, nor sufficient evidence to
prove that the case of suicide was in the contem-
plation of the law which prohibited murder. Any
inference, therefore, which we deduce from Scrip-
ture, can be sustained only by construction and
implication : that is to say, although they who
were authorised to instruct mankind, have not
decided a question which never, so.far as appears
to us, came before them ; yet I think, they have
[eft enough to constitute a presumption how they
would have decided it, had it been proposed or
thought of.
What occurs to this purpose, is contained in
the following observations :
1. Human life is spoken of as a term assigned
or prescribed to us : "Let us run with patience
the race that is set before us." " I have finished
my course." " That I may finish my course with
ioy." " Ye have need of patience, that, after ye
have done the will of God, ye might receive the
promise." These expressions appear to me in-
consistent with the opinion, that we are at lil>erty
to determine the duration of our lives for ourselves,
[f this were the case, with what propriety could
life be called a race that is set before us ; or,
which is the same thing, "our course;" that is,
the course set out or appointed to us 1 The re-
maining quotation is equally strong: "That af-
ter ye have done the will of God, ye might receive
the promise." The most natural meaning that
can be given to the words, " after ye have done
the will of God," is, after ye have discharged the
duties of life BO long as God is pleased to continue
91
MORAL AND POLITTCAL PHILOSOPHY.
you in it. According to which interpretation, the
text militates strongly against suicide: and they
who reject this paraphrase, will please to propose
a better.
2. There is not one quality which Christ and
his apostles inculcate upon their followers so often,
or so earnestly, aa that of patience under affliction.
Now this virtue would have been in a great mea-
sure superseded, and the exhortations to it might
have been spared, if the disciples of his religion
had been tt liberty to quit the world as soon as
they grew weary of the ill usa^e which they re-
ceived in it. When the evils ot life pressed sore,
they were to look forward to a " far more exceed-
ing and eternal weight of glory ;" they were to
receive them, "as chastenings of the Lord," as
intimations of his care and love : by these and the
like reflections they were to support and improve
themselves under their sufferings ; but not a hint
has any where escaped of seeking relief in a volun-
tary death. The following text in particular
strongly combats all impatience of distress, of
which the greatest is that which prompts to acts
of suicide : " Consider Him that endured such
contradiction of sinners against himself, lest ye be
wearied and faint in your minds." I would offer
my comment upon this passage, in these two
queries : first, Whether a Christian convert, who
had been impelled by the continuance and urgency
of his sufferings to destroy his own life, would not
have been thought by the author of this text " to
have been weary," to have " fainted in his mind,"
td have fallen off' from that example which is here
proposed to the meditation of Christians in dis-
tress 1 And yet, secondly, Whether such an act
would not have been attended with all the circum-
stances of mitigation which can excuse or extenu-
ate suicide at this day 1
3. The conduct of the apostles, and of the
Christains of the apostolic age, affords no obscure
indication of their sentiments upon this point.
They lived, we are sure, in a confirmed persuasion
of the existence, as well as of the happiness, of a
future state. They experienced in this world every
extremity of external injury and distress. To die,
was gain. The change which death brought
with it was, in their expectation, infinitely bene-
ficial. Yet it never, that we can find, entered into
the intention of one of them to hasten this change
by an act of suicide ; from which it is difficult to
say what motive could have so universally with-
held them, except an apprehension of some un-
lawfulness in the expedient.
Having stated what we have been able to collect
in opposition to the lawfulness of suicide, by way of
direct proof, it seems unnecessary to open a sepa-
rate controversy with all the arguments which
are made use of to defend it ; which would only
lead us into a repetition of what has been offered
already. The following argument, however, being
somewhat more artificial and imposing than the
rest, as well as distinct from the general consider-
ation of the subject, cannot so properly be passed
over. If we deny to the individual a right over
his own life, it seems impossible, it is said, to re-
concile with the law of nature that right which the
state claims and exercises over the lives of its sub-
jects, when it ordains or inflicts capital punish-
ments. For this right, -like all other just authority
in the state, can only be derived from the compact
and virtual consent of the citizens which compose
the state ; and it seems self-evident, if any prin-
ciple in morality be so, that no one, by his consent,
can transfer to another a right which he does not
possess himself. It will be equally difficult to ac-
count for the power of, the state to commit its
subjects to the dangers of war, and to expose their
lives without scruple in the field of battle ; espe-
cially in offensive hostilities, in which the privi-
leges of self-defence cannot be pleaded with any
appearance of jtruth : and still more difficult to ex-
plain, how in such, or in any circumstances, pro-
digality of life can be a virtue, if the preservation
of it be a duty of our nature.
This whole reasoning sets out from one error,
namely, that the state acquires its right over the
life of the subject from the subject's own consent,
as a part of what originally and personally belong-
ed to himself, and which he has made over to his
governors. The truth is, the state derives this
right neither from the consent of the subject, nor
through the medium of that consent ; but, as I
may say, immediately from the donation of the
Deity. Finding that such a power in the sove-
reign of the community is expedient, if not ne-
cessary, for the community itself, it is justly pre-
sumed to be the will of God, that the sovereign
should possess and exercise it. It is this presump-
tion which constitutes the right ; it is the same
indeed which constitutes every other : and if there
were the like reasons to authorise the presumption
in the case of private persons, suicide would be as
justifiable as war, or capital executions. But un-
til it can be shown that the power over human
life may be converted to the same advantage in
the hands of individuals over their own, as in
those of the state over the lives of its subjects,
and that it may be entrusted with equal safety to
both, there is no room for arguing, from the exist-
ence of such a right in the latter, to the toleration
of it in the former.
BOOK V.
DUTIES TOWARDS GOD.
CHAPTER I.
Division of these Duties.
IN one sense, every duty is a duty towards God,
since it is his will which makes it a duty: but
there are some duties of which God is the object,
as well as the author; and these are peculiarly,
and in a more appropriated sense, called duties
towards God.
That silent piety, which consists in a habit of
tracing out the Creator's wisdom and goodness in
the objects around us, or in the history of his
dispensations ; of referring the blessings we enjoy
to his bounty, and of resorting in our distresses to
his succour ; may possibly be more acceptable to
the Deity than any visible expressions of devotion
whatever. Yet these latter, (which, although they
may be excelled, arc not superseded, by the for-
mer,) compose the only part of the subject which
admits of direction or disquisition from a moralist.
I Our duty towards God, so far as it is external;
Is divided into worship and rtrerence. God is j
fee immediate object of both ; and the difference
DUTY AND EFFICACY OF PRAYER.
95
between them is, that the one consists in action,
the other in forbearance. When we go to church
on the Lord's day, led thither by a sense of duty
towards God, we perform an act of worship :
when, from the same motive, we restin a journey
upon that day, we discharge a duty of rev.
Divine worship is made up of adoration, thanks-
giving, and prayer. But, as what we have to
offer concerning the two former may be observed
of prayer, we shall make that the title of the fol-
lowing" chapters, and the direct subject of our
consideration.
CHAPTER II.
Of the Duty and of the Efficacy of Prayer, so far
as the same appear from tlieJUigitt of Mature.
WHEN one man desires to obtain any. thing of
another, he betakes himself to entreaty ; and this
may be observed of mankind in all ages and coun-
tries of the world. Now, what is universal, may
be called natural ; and it seems probable that God,
as our supreme governor, should expect that to-
wards himself, which, by a natural imjwlse, or by
the irresistible order of our constitution, he has
prompted us to pay to every other being on whom
we drpend.
The same may l>e said of thanksgiving.
Prayer likewise is necessary to keep up in the
minds of mankind a sense of God's agency in the
uimi-rse, and of their own dependency upon him.
Yet, atler all, the duty of prayer depends upon
its efficacy : for I confess myself unable to con-
rt'i\e, how any man can pray, or be obliged to
pray, who expects nothing from his prayers ; but
who is persuaded, at the time he utters lus request,
that it cannot possibly produce the smallest im-
pression upon the being to whom it is addressed,
or advantage to himself. Now, the efficacy of
prayer imports, that we obtain something in con-
sequence of praying, which we should not have
received without prayer ; against all expectation
of which, the following objection has been often
and seriously alleged :" If it be most agreeable to
perfect wisdom and justice that we should receive
what we desire, God, as perfectly wise and just,
will give it to us without asking ; if it be not
agreeable to these attributes of his nature, pur en-
treaties cannot move him to give it us, and it were
impious to expect that they should." In fewer
words, thus : " If what we request be fit for us, we
shall have it without praying; if it be not fit for us,
we cannot obtain it by praying." This objection
admits but of one answer, namely, that it may be
agreeable to perfect wisdom to grant that to our
prayers, which it would not have been agreeable
to the same wisdom to have given us without
praying for. But what virtue, you will ask, is
there in prayer, which should make a favour con-
sistent with wisdom, which would not have been
so without it 7 To this question, which contains
the whole difficulty attending the subject, the fol-
lowing possibilities are offered in reply :
1. A favour granted to prayer may be more apt,
on that very account, to produce good effects upon
the person obliged. It may hold in the Divine
bounty, what experience has raised into a proverb
in the collation of human benefits, that what is
obtained without asking, is oftentimes received
without gratitude.
2. It may be consistent with the wisdom of the
Deity to withhold his favours till they be asked
for, as an expedient to encourage devotion in his
rational creation, hi order thereby to keep up and
circulate a knowledge and sense of their depen-
dency upon him.
3. Prayer has a natural tendency to amend the
petitioner himself; and thus to bring him within
the rules :s r hich the wisdom of the Deity has pre-
scribed to the dispensation of his favours.
If these, or any other assignable suppositions,
serve to remove the apparant repugnancy between
the success of prayer and the character of the
Deity, it is enough ; for the question with the pe-
titioner is not from which, out of many motives,
God may grant his petition, or in what particular
manner he is moved by the supplications of his
creatures; but whether it be consistent with his
nature to be moved at all, and whether there be
any conceivable motives which may dispose the
Divine Will to grant the petitioner what he wants,
in consequence of his praying for it. It is suffi-
cient for the petitioner, that he gain his end. It
is not necessary to devotion, perhaps not very
consistent with it, that the circuit of causes, by
which his prayers prevail, should be known to the
petitioner, much less that they should be present
to his imagination at the time. All that is neces-
sary is, that there be no impossibility apprehended
in the matter.
Thus much must be conceded to the objection:
that prayer cannot reasonably be offered to God
with all the same views, with which we often-
times address our entreaties to men (views which
are not commonly or easily separated from it,)
viz. to inform them of our wants and desires ; to
tease them out by importunity ; to work upon
tlu-ir indolence or compassion, in order to per-
suade them to do what they ought to have done
before, or ought not to do at all.
But suppose there existed a prince, who was
known by his subjects to act, of his own accord,
always and invariably for the best ; the situation
of a petitioner, who solicited a favour or pardon
from such a prince, would sufficiently resemble
ours: and the question with him, as with us,
would be, whether, the character of the prince
being considered, there remained any chance that
he should obtain from him by prayer, what he
would not have received without it. I do not con-
ceive that the character of such a prince would
necessarily exclude the effect of his subject's
prayers ; for when that prince reflected that the
earnestness and humility of the supplication had
generated in the suppliant a frame of mind, upon
which the pardon or favour asked would produce
a permanent and active sense of gratitude; that
the granting of it to prayer would put others upon
praying to him, and by that means preserve the
the love and submission of his subjects, upon
which love and submission their own happiness,
as well as his glory, depended ; that, beside that
the memory of the particular kindness would be
heightened and prolonged by the anxiety with
which it had been sued for, prayer had in other
respects so disposed and prepared the mind of the
petitioner, as to render capable of future services
him who before was unqualified for any: might
not that prince, I say, although he proceeded upon
no other considerations than the strict rectitude
and expediency of the measure, grant a favour or
pardon to this man, which he did not grant to
96
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
another, who was too proud, too lazy, or too busy,
too indifferent whether he received it or not, or
too insensible of the sovereign's absolute power to
give or to withhold it, ever to ask for it 1 or even
to the philosopher, who, from ari opinion of the
fruitlessness of all addresses to a prince of the cha-
racter which he had formed to himself, refused in
his own example, and discouraged in others, all
outward returns of gratitude, acknowledgment of
duty, or application to the sovereign's mercy or
bounty ; the disuse of which, (seeing affections do
not long subsist which are never expressed) was
followed by a decay of loyalty and zeal amongst
his subjects, and threatened to end in a forgetful-
ness of his rights, and a contempt of his authority 1
These, together with other assignable considera-
tions, and some perhaps inscrutable, and even in-
conceivable, by the persons -upon whom his will
was to be exercised, might pass in the mind of the
prince^ and move his counsels ; whilst nothing, in
the mean time, dwelt in the petitioner's thoughts,
but a sense of his own grief and wants ; of the
power and goodness from which alone he was to
look for relief; and of his obligation to endeavour,
by^ future obedience, to render that person pro-
pitious to his happiness, in whose hands, and at
the disposal of whose mercy, he found himself
to be.
The objection to prayer supposes, that a per-
fectly wise being must necessarily be inexorable :
but where is the proof, that inexorability is any
part of perfect wisdom ; especially of that wisdom
which is explained to consist in bringing about
the most beneficial ends by the wisest means 7
The objection likewise assumes another prin-
ciple, which is attended with considerable difficulty
and obscurity, namely, that upon every occasion
there is one, and only one, mode of acting < /br the
best ; and that the Divine Will is necessarily de-
termined and confined to that mode : both which
positions presume a knowledge of universal na-
ture, much beyond what we are capable of at-
taining. Indeed, when we apply to the Divine
Nature such expressions as these, "God must
always do what is right," " God cannot, from the
moral perfection and necessity of his nature, act
otherwise than for the best," we ought to apply
them with much indetcrminateness and reserve ;
or rather, we ought to confess, that there is some-
thing in the subject out of the reach of our appre-
hension; for, in our apprehension, to be under a
necessity of acting according to any rule, is in-
consistent with free agency; and it makes no
difference which we can understand, whether the
necessity be internal or external, or that 'the rule
is the rule of perfect rectitude.
But efficacy is ascribed to prayer without the
proof, we are told, which can alone in such a sub-
ject produce conviction, the confirmation of ex-
perience. Concerning the appeal to experience,
1 shall content myself with this remark, that if
prayer were suffered to disturb the order of second
causes appointed in the universe, too much, or to
produce its effects with the same regularity that
they do, it would introduce a change into human
affairs, which, in some important respects, would
be evidently for the worse. Who, for example,
would labour, if his necessities could be supplied
with equal certainty by prayer 1 How few would
contain within any bounds of moderation those
passions and pleasures, which at present are
checked only by disease, or the dread of it, if
prayer would infallibly restore health 1 In short,
if the efficacy of prayer were so constant and ob-
servable as to be relied upon beforehand, it is easy
to foresee that the conduct of mankind would, hi
proportion to that reliance, become careless and
disorderly. It is possible, in {lie nature of things,
that our prayers may, in many instances, be ef-
ficacious, and yet our experience of their efficacy
be dubious and obscure. Therefore, if the light of
nature instruct us by any other arguments to hope
for effect from prayer; still more, if the Scriptures
authorise these hopes by promises of acceptance j
it seems not a sufficient reason for calling in ques-
tion the reality of such effects, that our observa-
tions of them are ambiguous ; especially since it
appears probable, that this very ambiguity is ne-
cessary to the happiness and safety of human life.
But some, whose objections do not exclude all
prayer, are offended with the mode of prayer in
use amongst us, and with many of the subjects
which are almost universally introduced into pub-
lic worship, and recommended to private devotion.
To pray for particular favours by name, is to dic-
tate, it has been said, to Divine wisdom and good-
ness : to intercede for others, especially for whole
nations and empires, is still worse ; it is to presume
that we possess such an interest with the Deity, as
to be able, by our applications, to bend the most
important of his counsels ; and that the happiness
of others, and even the prosperity of communities,
is to depend upon this interes't, and upon our
choice. Now, how unequal soever our knowledge
of the Divine economy may be to the solution of
this difficulty, which requires perhaps a compre-
hension of the entire plan, and of all the ends of
God's moral government, to explain satisfactorily,
we can understand one thing concerning it: that
it is, after all, nothing more than the making of
one man the instrument of happiness and misery
to another ; which is perfectly of a piece with the
course and order that obtain, and which we must
believe were intended to obtain, in human affairs.
Why may we not be assisted by the prayers of
other men, who are beholden for our support to
their labour 1 Why may not our happiness be
made in some cases to depend upon the interces-
sion, as it certainly does in many upon the good
offices, of our neighbours? The happiness and
misery of great numbers we see oftentimes at the
disposal of one man's choice, or liable to be much
affected by his conduct : what greater difficulty is
there in supposing, that the prayers of an in-
dividual may avert a calamity from multitudes, or
be accepted to the benefit of whole communities 1
CHAPTER III.
Of the Duty and Efficacy of Prayer as Re-
presented in Scripture.
THE reader will have observed, that the reflec-
tions stated in the preceding chapter, whatever
truth and weight they may be allowed to contain,
rise many of them no higher than to negative ar-
guments in favour of the propriety of addressing
prayer to God. To prove that the efficacy of
prayers is not inconsistent with the attributes of
the Deity, does not prove that prayers are actually
efficacious: and in the want of that unequivocal
testimony, which experience alone could afford to
this point, (but which we do not possess, and have
DUTY AND EFFICACY OF PRAYER.
97
seen good reason why we are not to expect,) the
light of nature leaves us to. controverted proba-
bilities, drawn from the impulse by which man-
kind have been almost universally prompted to
devotion, and from some beneficial purposes,
which, it is conceived, may be better answered by
the audience of prayer than by any other mode of
communicating the same blessings. The revela-
tions which wexleem authentic, completely supply
this defect of 'natural religion. They require
prayer to God as a duty; and they contain posi-
tive assurance of its efficacy a ml acceptance. We
could have no reasonable motive for the exercise
of prayer, without believing that it may avail to
the relief of oiir wants. This belief can only be
founded, either in a sensible experience o the ef-
fect of prayer, -or in promises of acceptance sig-
nified by Divine authority. Our knowledge would
have come to us in the i'onurr way, less capable
indeed of doubt, but subjected to the abuses and
inconveniences briefly described above; in the
latter way, that is, by authorized significations of
God's general disposition to hear and answer the
devout supplications of his creatures, we are en-
couraged to pray, but not place such a dependence
upon prayer as might relax other obligations, or
confound the order of events and of human ex-
pectations.
The Scriptures not only affirm the propriety
of prayer in general, but furnish precepts or ex-
amples which justify some topics and some modes
of prayer that have been thought exceptionable,
And as the whole subject rests so much upon the
foundation of Scripture, 1 shall put down at length
texts applicable to the live following heads : to the
duty and efficacy of praver in general ; of prayer
for particular favours by name ; for public national
blessings; of intercession for others; of the repe-
tition of unsuccessful prayers.
1 . Texts enjoying prayer in general : " Ask, and
it shall be given you ; seek, and ye shall find : If
ye, being evil, know how to give good gifts Unto
your children, how much more shall your Father,
which is in heaven, give good things to them that
ask him 1" " Watch ye, therefore, and pray al-
ways, that ye may be accounted worthy to escape
all those things that shall come to pass, and to
stand before the Son of man." " Serving the
Lord, rejoicing in hope, patient in tribulation,
continuing instant in prayer." {< Be carefuj for
nothing, but in every thing, by prayer and sup-
plication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be
made known unto God." " I will, therefore, that
men pray every where, lifting up holy hands
without wrath and doubting." " Pray without
ceasing." Matt. vii. 7. 11; Luke xxi. 36; Rom.
xii. 12 ; Phil. iv. 6 ; 1 Thess. v. 17; 1 Tiin. ii. 8.
Add to these, that Christ's reproof of the ostenta-
tion and prolixity of pharisaical prayers, and his
recommendation to his disciples, of retirement and
simplicity in theirs, together with his dictating a
particular form of prayer, all presuppose prayer
to be an acceptable and availing service.
2. Examples of prayer for particular favours
by name :. " For this thing" (to wit, some bodily
infirmity, which he calls 'a thorn given him in the
flesh') " I besought the Lord thrice, that it might,
depart from me."" Night and day praying ex-
ceedingly, that we might see your face, and per-
fect that which is lacking in your faith " 2 Cor
xii. 8; 1 Thess. iii. 10.
3. Directions to pray for national or public
blessings : " Pray for the peace of Jerusalem"
" Ask ye of the Lord rain,-in the time of the latter
rain; so the Lord shall make- bright clouds, and
give them showers of rain, to every one grass in
the field."" I exliqrt, therefore, that first of all,
supplications, prayers, intercessions,"and giving of
thanks, be inade for all men ; for kings, and for
all that are in authority, that we may lead a quiet
and peaceable life, in all' godliness and honesty;
lor this is good and acceptable in the sight of God
our Saviour." Psalm cxxii: t> ; Zech. x.J ; 1 Tim.
ii. 1, 2, 3.
4. Examples of intercession, and exhortations
to intercede for others : " And Moses besought
the Lord his God, and said, 'Lord, why doth thy
wrath wax hot against thy people 1 / Rememoer
Abraham, Isaac,- and v Israel, thy servants. And
the Lord repented of the evil which he thought
to .do unto his people." " Peter, therefore, was
kept in prison, but prayer was made without ceas-
ing of the church unto God for him." : " For God
is my witness, that without ceasing / make men-
tion of you (tiways in~~vny prayers." "Now I
ivseeeh you, bretheren, for the Lord Jesus Christ's
sake, and for the love of the Spirit, that ye strive
together with me, in your prayers for me"-^
" Confess your faults one to another, and pray
one for another, that ye may be healed : the ef-
fectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth
much,." Exod. xxxii. 11 ; Acts xii, 5; Rom. i. 9.
xv. 30 ; James \ M 10.
5. Declarations and examples authorising the
repetition of unsuccessful prayer : " A^nd he spake
a parable unto them, to this end, that men ought
always to pray; and not to faint."" And he left
them, and went away again, and prayed the third
time; saying the same words." " For this thing
I besought the Lord thrice, that it might depart
from me." Luke xviii. 1 ; Matt. xxvi. 44 ; 2 Cor.
xii. 8.*
CHAPTER IV.
Of Private Prayer, Family Prayer, and
Public Worship.
CONCERNING these three descriptions of de-
vetion, it is first of all to bo observed, that each
has its separate and peculiar use; and therefore,
"that the exercise of one species of worship, how-
ever regular it be, does not supersede, or dispense
with, the obligation of either of the other two.
1. Private Prayer is recommended for the sake
of the following advantages :
Private wants cannot always be made the sub-
ject of public prayer : but whatever reason there
is for praying at all, there is the same fof making
the sore and grief of each man's, own heart the
business of his application to God. This must be
the office of private exercises of devotion, being
imperfectly, if at all, practicable in afly other.
* The reformed Churches of Christendom, sticking
close in this article, to thfir guide, have laid aside pray-
ers tor the dead, as authorised by no precept or precedent
found in Scripture. For the same reason they properly
reject the invocation of sairits ; as also because such in-
vocations suppose;, in the saints whom they address, a
knowlpfippwhichcan perceive_vvhat passes in different
regions of the earth at the same time. And they deem
it too much to take for granted, without the smallest in-
timation of such a thing in Scripture, that any created
being possesses a faculty little short of that omniscience
and omnipresence which they ascribe to the Deity,
9
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
Private prayer is generally more devout and
earnest than the share we are capable of taking
in joint acts of worship ; because it affords leisure
and opportunity for the circumstantial recollection
of those personal wants, by the remembrance and
ideas of which the warmth and earnestness of
prayer are chiefly exeited.
Private prayer, in proportion as it is "usually ac-
companied with more actual thought and reflection
of the petitioner's own, has a greater tendency than
other modes of devotion to revive and fasteij upon
the mind the general impressions of religion. 'So-
litude powerfully assists this effect. When a^man
finds himself alone in communication with his
Creator, his imagination becomes filled with' a
conflux of awful ideas concerning the universal
agency, and invisible presence, \>f that Being;
concerning what is likely to become of himself:
and of the superlative importance of providing for
the happiness of his future existence by endea-
vours to please him who is the arbiter of his des-
tiny : reflections which, whenever they gain ad-
mittance, for a season overwhelm all others ; and
leave, when they depart, a solemnity upon the
thoughts, that will seldom fail, in some degree, to
affect the conduct of life.
Private prayer, thus recommended by its own
propriety and by advantages not attainable in any
form of religious communion, receives a superior
sanction from the authority and example of Christ :
" When thou prayest, enter into thy closet ; and
when thou hast shut the door,j>ray to thy Father,
which is in secret ; and thy Father, which seeth in
secret, shall reward thee openly." " And when
he had sent the multitudes , away, he went up
into a mountain apart to pray." Matt. vi. 6;
xiv. 23.
II. Family Prayer.
The peculiar use of family piety consists in its
influence upon servants, and the young members
of a family, who want ^ sufficient seriousness and
reflection to retire of their own accord to the- ex-
ercise of private devotion, and whose attention you
cannot easily command in public worship. The
example also and authority of a father and master
act in this way with the greatest force ; for his
private prayers, to which his children and servants
are not witnesses, aet not at all upon them as ex-
amples ; and his attendance upon public worship
they will readily impute to fashion, to a care to
preserve appearances, to a concern for decency, and
character, and to many motives besides a sense of
duty to God. Add to this, that forms of public
worship, in proportion as they are more compre-
hensive, are always less interesting, .than family
prayers ; and that the ardour of devotion, is better
supported, and the sympathy more easily propaga-
ted, through a small assembly, connected by the
affections of domestic society, than in the presence
of a mixed congregation. .
III. Public Worship.
If the worship of God be a duty of religion,
public worship is a necessary institution ; foras-
much as without it, the greater part of mankind
would exercise no religious .worship at all..
These assemblies a-ffbrd also, at the same time,
opportunities for moral and religious instruction to
those who otherwise would receive none. In all
protestant, and in -most Christian countries, the
elements of natural religion, and the important
parts of the Evangelic history, are familiar to the
lowest of the people. This competent degree and
general diffusion of religious knowledge amongst
all orders of Christians, which will appear a great
thing when compared'withthe intellectual condition
of barbarous nations, can fairly, I think, be ascrib-
ed to no other ca use tlisui the regular establishment
of assemblies for divine worship ; in which, either
portions of Scripture are recited ;md explalned^er
the principles of Christian erudition are so cen-
stantly taught in sermons, incorporated with li-
turgies, or expressed in extempore prayer, as to
imprint, by the very repetition, some knowledge
and memory of these subjects upon the most un-
qualified and careless hearer.
The two reasons above stated, bind all the mem-
bers of a community to uphold public worship, by
their presence and example, although the helps and
opportunities which it affords may not be necessary
to the devotion or edification of all ; and to some
may be useless : for it is easily foreseen, how soon
religious assemblies would fall into contempt and
disuse, if that class of mankind who are alwve
seeking instruction in them, and want not that
their own piety should be assisted -by either forms
or society in- devotion, were to withdraw their at-
tendance ; especially wheu it is considered, that
all who please, are at liberty to rank themselves
of this class. This argument meets the only se-
rious apology that can be made for the absenting
of ourselves from public worship. " Surely (some
will say) I may be excused from going to church,
so long as I pray at home : and have no reason to
doubt that my prayers are as acceptable and effi-
oicious in my closet, as in a cathedral ; still less can
I think myself obliged to sit out a tedious sermon,
in order to hear what is known already, what is
better learnt from books, or suggested by medita-
tion." They, whose, qualifications and habits
best supply to themselves, all the effect of public
ordinances^ will be the last to prefer this excuse,
when they advert /to the general consequence of
setting up such an exemption, as well as when
they consider the turn which is sure to be given
in the neighbourhood to their absence from public
worship. You stay from church, to employ the
Sabbath at home iu exercises and studies suited to
its proper business : your next neighbour stays
from church to spend the seventh day less reli-
giously than he passed any of the six, in a sleepy,
stupid rest, or at some rendezvous of drunkenness
and debauchery, and yet thinks that lie is only
imitating you, because you both agree in not going
to church. The same consideration should over-
rule many small scruples concerning the rigorous
propriety of some things, which maybe contained
in the forms, or admitted into the administration,
of the public worship of our communion: for it
seems impossibly that even " two or three should
be gathered together" in any act of social worship,
if each one require from the rest an implicit sub-
mission to his objections, and, if no man will at-
tend upon a religious service Which in any. point
contradicts his opinion of truth ? or falls short of
his ideas of perfection.
Beside the direct necessity of public jvorship to
the greater part of every Christian community,
(supposing worship at all to be a Christian duty,)
there are other valuable advantages growing out
of the use of religious assemblies, without being
designed in the institution or thought of by the
individuals who compose them.
1^ Joining in ; prayer and praises to their com-
mon Creator and Governor, has a sensible ten-
OF FORMS OF PRAYER.
99
dcncy to unite mankind together, and to cherish
and enlarge the generous affections.
So many pathetic reflections are awakened by
every exercise ef social devotion, that most men, 'I
believe, carry away from public worship a better
temper towards the rest of mankind, than they
brought with them. Sprung from the sama ex-
traction, preparing together for the period of all
worldly distinctions, reminded of their mutual in-
firmities and common dependency, imploring and
receiving- support and supplies from the same great
source of power and bounty, having all one in-
terest to secure, one Lord to'serve, one-judgment,
the supreme object to all of their hopes and fears,
to look towards; it is hardly possible, in this po-
sition, to behold mankind us Btrengen, pofDpetitoani.
or enemies; or not to regard them as children of
the same family, assembled In-tore their common
parent, and with some portion of the tenderness
which Wongs to the most endearing of our do-
mestic relations. It is not to be expected, that any
single effect of this kind should IM> considerable or
lasting ; but the frequent return of such sentiments
as the 3 presence of a devout congregation naturally
suggests, will gradually melt down the rugged-
ness of many unkind passions, and may generate,
in time, a permanent and productive benevolence.
2. Assemblies for the purjKwe of divine wor-
ship, placing men under impressions by which
they are taught to consider their relation to the
Deity, and to contemplate those around them with
a view to that relation, force upon their thoughts
the natural equality of the human species, and
thereby promote humility and condescension in
the highest orders of the community, and in-
spire the lowest with a sense of their rights. The
distinctions of civil IH'e are almost always insisted
npon too much, and urged too far. Whatever,,
therefore, conduces to restore the level, by quali-
fying the dispositions which grew out of -great
elevation or depression of rank, improves the cha-
racter on both sides. Now Quag* are made to
appear little, by^being placed beside what i
In which manner, su|>eriorities, that, occupy the
whole field of imagination, will vanish or shrink
to their proper dhninutiveness, when compared
with the distance by which even the highest of
men are removed from the Supreme Bting; and
this comparison is naturally introduced by all acts
of joint worship. If ever the poor man holds up
his head, it is at church: if ever the rich man
views him with respect, it is there .: and both will
be the better, and the public profited, the oftener
they meet in a situation, in wnich the conscious-
ness of dignity in the one is tempered and miti-
gated, and the spirit of the other erected and con-
firmed. We recommend nothing adverse to sub-
ordinations which are established and necessary :
but then it should be remembered, that subordi-
nation itself is an evil, being an evil to the sub-
ordinate, who are the majority, and therefore
ought not to be carried a tittle beyond what the
greater good, the peaceable government of the
community, requin
The public worship of Christians is a duty of
Divine appointment "Where two or three/'
says Christ, " are gathered together in my name,
there am I in the midst of them."* This invita-
tion will want nothing of the force of a command
with those who respect the person and authority
from which it proceeds. Again, in the Epistle to
the Hebrews ; " not forsaking the assembling of
ourselves together, as the manner of some is ;"*
which reproof seems as applicable to the desertion
of our public worship at this day, as to the for-
saking the religious assemblies of Christians in
the age of the apostle. Independently of these
passages of Scripture, a disciple of Christianity
will hardly think himself at liberty to dispute a
practice set on foot by the inspired preachers of
his religion, coeval -with its institution, and re-
tained by every sect into which it has been since
divided.
CHAPTER V.
Qf Forms of Prayer in Public Worship.
LITURGIES, or preconcerted forms of public de-
votion, being neither enjoined in Scripture, nor
forbidden, there can be no good reason for either
receiving or rejecting them,' but that of expe-
diency ; which expediency is to be gathered from
a comparison of the advantages and disadvantages
attending upon this mode of worship, with those
which usually accompany, extemporary prayer.
The advantages of a liturgy are these :
I. That it prevents absurd, extravagant, or im-
pious addresses to God, which, in an order of
men so numerous as the sacerdo,tal, the folly and
enthusiasm of many must always be in danger of.
producing, where the conduct of the public wor-
ship is entrusted, without restraint or assistance,
to the discretion and abilities of the officiating
minister.
II. That it prevents the confusion of extem-
porary /prayer, in which" the congregation, being
ignorant of each petition before they hear it, and
having little or no time to join in it after they have
heard it, are^ confounded between their attention
to the minister, and to their own devotion. The
devotion of the hearer is necessarily suspended,
until a petition be concluded; and before he can
assent to it, or properly adopt it, that is., before he
can address the same request to God for himself,
and from himself, his attention is called off to keep
pace with what succeeds. Add to this, that the
mind of the hearer is held in continual expecta-
tion, and detained from its proper business, by the
very novelty with which it is gratified. A con-
gregation may be pleased and affected with the
prayers and devotion of their minister, -without
joining in them ; in like manner as an audience
oftentimes are with the representation of devotion
upon the stage, who, nevertheless, come away
without being conscious of having exercised any
act of devotion themselves. Joint prayer, which
amongst #11 denominations of Christians is the
declared design of "coming together," is prayer
in which.all-jtnn ; and not that which one alone
in the congregation conceives and delivers, and of
which the rest are merely hearersv This objection
seems fundamental, and holds even where the
minister's office is discharged with every possible
advantage and accomplishment. The labouring
recollection, and embarrassed or tumultuous de-
livery, of many extempore speakers, form an ad-
ditional objection to this mode of -public worship;
for these imperfections are very general, and give
* Matt, xviii. 20.
* Heb. x. 25.
100
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
great pain to the serious part of a congregation, as
well as afford a profane diversion to the levity of
the other part.
These advantages of a liturgy are connected
with two principal inconveniences : first, that
forms of prayer com}>osed in one age become unlit
for another, by the unavoidable change of lan-
guage, circumstances, and opinions : secondly, that
the perpetual repetition of me same form of wo'rds
produces weariness and inattSntiveness in the
congregation. However, both these inconveniences
are m their nature vincible. Occasional revisions
of a liturgy may obviate the first, and devotion
will supply a remedy for the second : or they may
both subsist in a considerable degree, and yet be
out- weighed by the objections which are insepara-
ble from extemporary prayer.
The Lord's Prayer is a precedent, as well as a
pattern, for forms of prayer. Our Lord appears,
if not to hare prescribed, at least to have au-
thorized, the use of fixed forms, when he com-
plied with the ^request of the disciple, who said
unto him, " Lord, teach us to pray, as John also
taught his disciples." Luke xi. I.
The properties required in a public liturgy are,
that it be compendious ; that it express just con-
ceptions of the Divine Attributes; that it recite
such wants as a congregation are likely to feel,
and no other-; and that it contain as few contro-
verted propositions as possible.
I. That it be compendious.
It were no difficult task to contract the liturgies
of most churches into half their present compass,
and yet retain every distinct petition, as well as
the substance of every sentiment which can be
found in them. But brevity may be studied too
much. The composer of a liturgy must not sit
down to his work With the hope, that the devotion
of the congregation will be uniformly sustained
throughout, or that every part will be attended to
by every hearer. If this could be depended- upon,
a very short service would be sufficient for every
purpose that can be answered or designed by so-
cial worship : but seeing the attention of most men
is apt to wander and return at intervals, and by
starts, he will admit a certain degree-of amplifica-
tion and repetition, of diversity of expression upon
the same subject, and variety of phrase and form
with little addition to the sense, to the end that
the attention, which has been slumbering or ab-
sent during one part ef the service, may be ex-
cited and recalled by anotherj and the assembly
kept together until it may reasonably be presumed,
that the most heedless and inadvertent have per-
formed some act of devotion, and the most de-
sultory attention been, caught by some part or
other of the public service. ^On the other hand,
the too great length of church-services is more
unfavourable to piety, than almost any fault of
composition can be. It -begets, in many, an early
and unconquerable dislike to the public worship
of their country or communion. They come to
church seldom, and enter the doors, when they
do come, under the apprehension of a tedious
attendance, which they prepare for at first, or
soon after relieve, by composing themselves to a
drowsy forgetfulness of the place and duty, or by
sending abroad their thoughts in search of more
amusing occupation. Altnough there may -be
some few of a disposition not to be wearied with
religious exercises ; yet, where a ritual is prolix,
and the celebration of divine service long, no ef-
fect is in general to be looked for, but that in-
dolence will find in it an excuse, and piety be dis-
concerted by impatience.
The length and repetitions complained of in
our liturgy, are not so much the fault of the com-
pilers;- as the effect of uniting into one service
what was originally, but with very little regard to
the conyeniency of the people, distributed into
three. Notwithstanding, that dread of innov ations
in religion, which seems to ha vebecomeithe panic
of the age, -few, I should suppose, would be dis-
pleased with such omissions, abridgements, or
change in the arrangement, as the combination
of separate services must necessarily require, even
supposing each to have been faultless in itself.
If, together with these alterations, the Epistles
and Gospels, and Collects which precede them,
were composed and selected wkh more regard to
unity of subject and design ; and the Psalms and
Lessons either left to the choi.ce of the minister,
or better accommodated to the capacity of the au-
dience, and the edification, of modern life; the
church of England would be in possession of a
liturgy, in which those who assent to her doctrines
would have little to blame, and the most dis-
satisfied must acknowledge many beauties. The
style throughout is excellent'; calm, without cold-
ness ; and, though every where sedate, oftentimes
affecting. The pauses in the service are disposed
at proper intervals. The transitions from one
office of devotion to another, from confession to
prayejr, from prayer to thanksgiving, from thanks-
giving to "hearing of the word," are contrived
like scenes in the drama, to supply the mind with
a succession of diversified engagements. As much
variety is introduced also in the form of praying,
as this kind of composition seems capable of ad-
mitting. The prayer at one time is continued ;
at another, broken by responses, or cast into short
articulate ejaculations : and sometimes the con-
gregation is called upon. to take its share in the
service, by being left to complete a sentence
which the minister had begun. The enumeration
of human wants -and sufferings in the Litany, is
almost complete. A Christian petitioner can have
few things to ask of God, or to deprecate, which
he will not find there expressed, and for the most
part with inimitable 'tenderness and simplicity.
II. That it express just conceptions of the Di-
vine Attributes.
Tin's is aa article in which no care can be too
great.- The po'pular notions of God are formed,
n a great measure, from the accounts which the
people receive of his nature and character in their
religious assemblies. An error here becomes the
error of multitudes : and as it is a subject in which
almost every opinion leads the way to some prac-
tical' consequence, the purity or depravation of
public manners will be , affected, amongst other
causes, by the truth or corruption of the public
forms ef worship.
III. That it recite such wants as the congrega-
tion are likely to feel, and no other.
Of forms of prayer which, offend not egregiously
against truth and decency, that has the most
merit, which is best calculated "to keep alive the
devotion of the assembly. It were to be wished,
therefore, that every part of a liturgy were per-
sonally applicable to every individual in the con-
gregation; and that nothing were introduced to
interrupt the passion, or damp the flame, which it
is not easy to rekindle. Upon this principle, the
USE OF SABBATICAL INSTITUTIONS.
101
state prayers in our liturgy should be fewer and
shorter. Whatever may be pretended, the con-
gregation do not feel that concern in the subject
of these prayers, which must be felt, ere ever
prayers be made to God -with earnestness. The
state style likewise seems unseasonably introduced
into these prayers, as ill according with that
annihilation of human greatness, of which every
act that carries the mind to God, presents the idea.
IV. That it contain as few controverted pro-
positions as possible.
We allow to each church the truth of its pe-
culiar tenets, and all the importance which zeal
can ascribe to them. We dispute not here the
right or the expediency of framing creeds, or of
imposing subscriptions. But why should every
position which a church maintains, be \vo\di
with so much industry into her forms of public
worship 1 Some are offended, and some are ex-
cluded j this is an evil of itself, at least to them :
and what advantage or satisfaction can be derived
to the rest, from the separation of their brethren,
it is difficult to imagine ; unless it were a duty to
publish our system of polemic divinity, under the
name of making confession of our faith, every
time we worship God ; or a sin to agree in re-
ligious exercises with those from whom wo ditier
in some religious opinions. Indeed, where one
man thinks it his duty constantly to worship a
being, whom another cannot, with the assent of
his conscience, permit himself to worship at all^
there seems to be no place for comprehension, or
any expedient left but a quiet secession. All other
differences may be compromised by silence. If
sects and schisms he an evil,*thoy are as much to
be avoided by one side as the other. If sectaries
are blamed for taking unnecessary offence, es-
tablished churches are no less culpable for unne-
cessarily giving it; they are bound at least to
produce a command, or a reason of equivalent
utility, for shutting out any from their communion,
by mixing with divine worship doctrines, which,
whether true or false, are unconnected in their
nature with devotion.
CHAPTER VI.
Of the Use of Sabbatical Institutions.
Ax assembly cannot be collected, unless the
time of assembling be fixed and known before-
hand : and if the design of the assembly require
that it be holden frequently, it is easiest that it
should return at stated intervals. This produces
a^ necessity of appropriating set seasons to the so-
cial offices of religion. It is also highly convenient
that the same seasons be observed throughout the
country, that all may be employed, or all at leisure,
together; for if the recess from worldly occupation
be not general, one man's business will perpetually
interfere with another man's devotion ; the buyer
will be calling at the shop when the seller is gone
to church. This part, therefore, of the religious
distinction of seasons, namely, a general inter-
mission of labour and business during times pre-
viously set apart for the exercise of public wor-
ship, is founded in the reasons which make public
worship itself a duty. But the celebration of di-
vine service never occupies the whole day. What
remains, therefore, of Sunday, beside the part of
it employed at church, must be considered as a
mere rest /rom the ordinary occupations of civil
life: and he who would defend the institution, as
it is required by law to be observed in Christian
countries, unless he pan produce a command for
a Christian Sabbath, must point out the uses of
it in that view.
first] then, that interval of relaxation which
Sunday affords to the laborious part of mankind,
contributes greatly to the comfort and satisfaction
of their lives, both as it refreshes them for the
time, and as it relieves their six days' labour by
the prospect of a day of rest always approaching ;
which could not be said of casual indulgences of
leisure and rest, even were they more frequent
than there is reason to expect they would be if
left to the discretion or humanity of interested
task- masters. To this difference it may be added,
that holy-days which come seldom and unexpected,
are unprovided, when they do come, with any
duty or employment; and the manner of spending
them being regulated by no public decency er es-
tablished usage, they are commonly consumed in
rude, if not criminal pastimes, in stupid sloth, or
brutish intemperance. - Whoever considers how
much sabbatical institutions conduce, in this re-
spect, to the happiness and civilization of the la-
bouring classes of mankind, and reflects how great
a majority of the human species these classes com-
pose, will acknowledge the utility, whatever he
may believe. of the origin, of this distinction; and
will consequently perceive it to be every man's
duty to uphold the observation of Sunday when
once established, let the establishment have pro-
ceeded from whom or from what authority it will.
Nor is there any thing lost to the community
by the intermission of public industry one day in
the week. For, in countries tolerably advanced in
population and the arts of civil life, there is al-
ways enough of human labour, and to spare. The
difficulty is not so much to procure, as to employ
it. The addition of the seventh day's labour to
that of the other six, would have no other effect
than to reduce the price. The labourer himself,
who deserved and suffered most by the change,
would gain nothing.
2. Sunday, by suspending many public diver-
sions, and the ordinary rotation of employment,
leaves to men of all ranks and professions suf-
ficient leisure, and not more than what is suf-
ficient, both for the external offices of ..Christianity,
and the retired, but equally necessary duties of
religious meditation and inquiry. It is true, that
many do not convert their leisure to this purpose ;
but it is of moment, and is all which a public con-
stitution can effect, that to every one be allowed
the opportunity. .
3. They, whose humanity embraces the whole
sensitive creation, will esteem it no inconsiderable
recommendation of a weekly return of public rest,
that it affords a respite to the toil of brutes. Nor
can w omit to recount this among the uses which
the Divine Founder of the Jewish Sabbath ex-
pressly appointed a law of the institution.
We admit, that none of these reasons show
why Sunday should be preferred to any other day
in the week, or one day in seven to one day in six,
or eight : but .these points, which in their nature
are of arbitrary determination, being established to
our hands, our obligation applies to the subsisting
establishment, so long as we confess that some such
institution is necessary, and are neither able nor
attempt to substitute any other in its place.
102
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
CHAPTER VII.
Of the Scripture Account of Sabbatical Institu-
tions, j
THE subject, so far as it makes any part of
Christian morality, is contained in two questions :
I. Whether the command, by which the Jew-
ish Sabbath was instituted, extends to Christians '\
II. Whether any new command was delivered
by Christ; or any other day substituted in the
place of the Jewish Sabbath by the authority or
example of his apostles.?
In treating of the first question, it will be ne-
cessary to collect the accounts which are pr.e-
served of the institution, in the Jewish history :
for the seeing these accounts together, and in
one point of view, will be the best preparation for
the discussing or judging of any arguments on
one side or the other.
In the second chapter of Genesis, the historian,
having concluded his account of the six^days'
creation, proceeds thus: "And on the seventh
day God ended his work which he had made ; and
he rested on the seventh day from all his work
which he had made; and God blessed the seventh"
day and sanctified it, because that in it he had
rested from all his work which God created and
made." After this, we hear no more of the Sab-
bath, or of the seventh day, as in any manner
distinguished from the other six, until the history
brings us down to the sojourning of the Jews in
the wilderness, when the following remarkable
passage occurs. Upon the complaint of the peo-
ple for want of food, God was pleased to provide,
for their relief by a miraculeus supply of manna,
which was found every morning upon the ground
about the camp: "and they gathered it every
morning, every man according to his eating ; and
when the sun waxed hot, it melted : and it came
to pass, that on the sixth day they gathered twice
as much bread, two omers for one man; and all
the rulers of the congregation came and told
Moses : and he said unto them, this is that which
the Lord hath said, To-morrow is the rest of the
Holy-Sabbath unto the Lord:, bake, that which
ye will bake to-day, and seethe that ye will seethe ;
and that which remaineth over, lay up for you, to be
kept until the morning. And they laid it up till the
morning, as Moses bade ; and it did not stink [as
it had done before, when some of them left it till
the morning,] neither was there any worm therein.
And Moses said, Eat that to-day : for. to-day is a
Sabbath unto the Lord; to-day ye shall not find
it in the field. Six days ye shall gather it, but on
the seventh day, which is the Sabbath, in it there
shall be none. And it came to pass, that there
went out some of the people on the seventh da,y
for to gather, and they found none. And the Lord
said unto Moses, How long refuse ye to keep my
commandments and my laws 1 See, for that the
Lord hath given you the Sabbath, therefore he-
giveth you on the sixth day the bread of two days:
abide ye every man in his place : let no man go
out of his place on the seventh day. So the peo-
ple rested on the seventh day." Exodus xvi.
Not long after this, the Sabbath, as is well
known, was established with great solemnity, in
the fourth commandment.
Now, in my opinion, the transaction in the
wilderness above recited, was the first actual in-
stitution of the Sabbath. For if the Sabbath had
been instituted at the time of the creation, as the
words in Genesis may seem at first sight to im-
port ; and if it had been observed all along from
that time to the departure of the Jews 'out of
Egypt, a period of about two thousand five hun-
dred years ; it appears unaccountable that no men-
tion of it, no occasion of even the obscurest allu-
sion to it, should occur, either in the general
history of the world before the call of Abraham,
which contains, we admit, only a few memoirs of
its early ages, and those extremely abridged ; or,
which is more to be wondered at, in that of the
lives of the first three Jewish patriarchs, which,
in many parts of the account, is sufficiently cir-
cumstantial and domestic. Nor is there, in the
passage above quoted from the sixteenth chaMer
of Exodus, any intimation that the Sabbath, wnen
appointed to be observed, was only the revival of
an ancient institution, which had been neglected,
forgotten, or suspended ; nor is any such neglect
imputed either to the inhabitants of the old world,
or to any part of the family of Noah; nor, lastly,
is any permission recorded to dispense with the
institution during the captivity of the Jews in
Egypt, or on any other public emergency.
The passage in the secund chapter of Genesis,
which creates the whole controversy upon the
subject, 'is not inconsistent with this opinion : for
as the seventh day was erected into a Sabbath, on
account of God's resting upon that day from the
-work of the creation, it was natural in the histo-
rian, when he had related the history of the crea-
tion, and of God's ceasing from it on the seventh
day, to add ; " And God blessed the seventh day,
and sanctified it, because that on it he had rested
from all his work which God created and made ;"
although the blessing and sanctification, i. e. the
religious distinction and appropriation of that day,
were not actually made till many ages afterwards.
The words do not assert that God then " blessed"
and "sanctified'- the seventh day, but that he
blessed and sanctified it for that reason ; and if
any ask, why the Sabbath, or sanctification of the
seventh day, was then mentioned, if it was not
then appointed, the answer is at hand : the order
of connexion, and not of time, introduced the
mention of the Sabbath, in the history of the sub-
ject which it was ordained to commemorate.
This interpretation is strongly supported by a
passage in the prophet Ezekiel, where the Sab-
bath is plainly spoken of as given, (and what
else can that -mean, but as first instituted ?) in
the wilderness. " Wherefore I caused them to
go forth out of the land of Egypt, and brought
them into the wilderness : and I gave them my
statutes and showed them my judgments, which
if a man do, he shall even live in them : moreover
also I gave them my Sabbaths, to be a sign between
me and them, that they might 'know that I am the
Lord that sanctify them." Ezek. xx. 10, 11, 19.
Nehemiah also recounts the promulgation of
the sabbatical law amongst the transactions in the
wilderness; which supplies another considerable
argument in aid of our opinion : " Moreover thou
leddest them in the day by a cloudy pillar, and in
the night by a pillar of fire, to give them light' in
the way wherein they should go. Thou earnest
down also upon mount Sinai, and spakcst with
thdm from heaven, and gavest them right judg-
ments and true laws, good statutes and com-
mandments, and madest known unto them thy
holy Sabbath, and commandedst them precepts,
SABBATICAL INSTITUTIONS.
103
Statutes, and laws, by the hand of Moses thy ser-
vant, and gavcst them bread from heaven for their
hunger, and broughte&t forth water for them out
of the rock.'!* jNehem. ix. 12.
If it be inquired what duties were appointed
for the Jewish Sabbath, and under what penalties
and in what manner it was observed amongst the
ancient Jews ; we lind that, by the fourth com-
mandment, a strict cessation from work was en-
joined, not only upon Jews by birth, or religious
profession, but upon all who resided within the
limits of the Jewish state ; that the same was to
be permitted to their slaves and their cattle ; that
this rest was not to lx> violated, under pain of
death : " Whosoever doeth any work in the Sab-
bath-day, he shall surely be put to death." Exod.
xxxi. 15. Beside which, the seventh day was to.
be solemnized by double sacrifices in the temple:
" And on the Sabbat h-dav tiro lambs of the first
year without spot, and two tenth-deals of Hour for
a meat-offering, mingled with oil, and the drink-
offering thereof; this is the burnt-offering of c\ery
SabbaUi, beside the continual burnt-ollering and
his drink-offering:" Numb, xxviii. 9, 10. Also
holy convocations, which mean, we pre.-ume., as
semblies for the purpose of public wdrship or re-
ligious instruction, were directed to 1* holden on
the Sabbath-day: "the seventh day is a sal >bath
of rest, an holy convocation." Levit. xxiii. 3.
And accordingly we read, that the Sabbath was
in fact observed amongst the Jews by a scrupulous
abstinence from every tiling which, by any pos-
sible construction, could be deemed labour; as
from dressing meat, from- travelling beyond a
Sabbath-day's journey, or about a single mile. In
the Maccabeu) wars.'they suffered a thousand of
their numU-r to lx> slain, rather than do any thing
in their own defence on the Sabbath-day. In the
final siege of Jerusalem, alter they iiad so far
overcome their scruples as to defend their persons
when attacked, they refused any oj>eration on the
Sabbath-day, by which they might have inter-
rupted the enemy in filling up the trench. Afler
the establishment of synagogues, (of the oriuin of
which we have no account,) it was the custom to
assemble in them on the" Sabbath-day, for the
purpose of hearing the law rehearsed and ex-
plained, and for the exercise, it Is probable, of
public devotion: "For Moses of old time hath in
every city them that preach him, being read in
the syiHitfux-iu'x cccry Sabbath-day." The seventh
day is f^alurday; and, agreeably to the Jewish
way of computing the day, the Sabbath held, from
six o'clock on the Friday evening, to six o'clock
on Saturday evening. These observations In-ing
premised, we approach the main question, Whe-
ther the command by which the Jewish Sabbath
was instituted, extend to us 1
If the Divine command was actually delivered
at the creation, it was addressed, no doubt, to the
whole human species alike, and continues, unless
* From the mention of the Sabbath in so lose a con-
nexion with tlio descent of God upon mount Sinai, and
the delivery of the law from thence, one would be in-
clined to believe that Nehemiah referred solely to the
fourth commandment Hut the fourth commandment
certainly did not first make known the Sabbat Ir. And
it is apparent, that Neliciniali observed not the onl.-r of
events; for he speaks of what passed upon mount Sinai
before he mentions the miraculous supplies of bread
and water, though the Jews did not arrive at mount
Sinai, till some time after both tlwsc miracles were
wrought.
repealed by some subsequent revelation, binding
uppn all who come to the knowledge of it. If the
command was published for the first time in the
wilderness, then it was immediately directed to
the Jewish people alone; and something .further,
either in the subject or circumstances ot the com-
mand, will be necessary to show, that it was de-
signed for any other. It is on this account that
the question concerning the date of the institution
was first to be considered. The former opinion
precludes all debate about the extent of the ob-
ligation : the latter admits, and, prima facie in-
duces a belief 1 that the Sabbath ought to be con-
sidered as part^of the peculiar law of the Jewish
policv. - .
Which belief receives great confirmation from
the following arguments:
The Sabbath is described as a sign between
God and the people of Israel:" Wherefore the
children of Israel shall keep the Sabbath, to ob-
serve the Sabbath throughout their generations,
for a perpetual covenant ; it is a sign between me
and the children of Israel for ever." Exodus
xxxi. 16,- 17. ' , Ajrain : " And I gave them my
statutes, and showed them my judgments, which
if a man do he shall'even live in them ; moreover
also I gave them my Sabbaths, to be a sign be-
tween me and them, that they might know that I
amtheLordthatt>anctifythem."E/ek.xx. 12.NoW
it does not seem easy to understand how the Sab-
bat h could l>e a sign between God and the people
of Israel, unless the observance of it was pecuhar
to that ]>eople, and designed to be so.
The distinction of the Sabbath is, in its nature,
as much a positive ceremonial institution, as that
of many other seasons, which were appointed by
the Levitical law to" -be kept holy, and to be ob-
scru-d by a strict rest; as the first and seventh
days of unleavened bread ; the feast of Pentecost :
the feast of tabernacles ; and in the twenty-third
chapter of Exodus, the Sabbath and these are re-
cited together.
If the command by which the Sabbath was. in-
stituted be binding upon Christians, i^ must be
binding as to the day, the duties, and the penalty;
in none of which it is received.
The observance of the Sabbath was not one of.
the articles enjoined by the Apostles, in the fif-
teenth chapter of Acts, upon them" which, from
%mong-the Gentiles, were turned unto God."
St. Paul evidently appears to have considered
the Sabbath as part of the Jewish ritual, and not
obligatory upon Christians as such: "Let no
man therefore judge you in meat or in drink, or
in respect of an. holy day, or of the new moon, or
of the Sabbath days, which are .a shadow of
things to come, but the body is of Christ." Col.
ii. 16, 17.
I am aware of only two objections which,can be
opposed to the force of these 'arguments; one is,
that the reason assigned in the fourth command-
ment for hallowing the^-seventb, day, namely,
" because God rested on the seventh day from the
work bf tlfe creation,", is a reason which pertains
to all mankind: the other, that "the command
which enjoins the observance of the Sabbath is
inserted in the Decalogue, of which all the other
precepts and prohibitions are of moral and univer-
sal obligation.
Upon tlie first objection it may t>e remarked,
that although in Exodus the commandment is
founded upon God's rest from the creation, in
104
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
Deuteronomy the commandment is repeated with
a reference to a different event : " Six days shal
thou labour, and do all thy work 5 but the seventl
day is the Sabbath of the Lord thy God;. in i
thou shalt not do any work ; thou, nor thy son
nor thy daughter, nor thy man-servant/nor thy
maid-servant, nor thine ox, nor thine ass, nor any
of thy cattle, nor the stranger that is within thy
gates ; that thy man-servant and thy maid-servaot
may rest as well as thou : and remember that thou
wast a servant in the land of Egypt, arid that the
Lord 'thy God brought thee out thence; through a
mighty hand, and by a stretched-out arm ; there-
fore the Lord thy God commanded thee to keep
the Sabbath-day." It is farther observable, that
God's rest- from the, creation is proposed as the
reason of the institution, even where- the institu-
tion itself is spoken of as peculiar to the Jews :
t( Wherefore the children of Israel shall keep the
Sabbath, to observe the Sabbath throughout their
generationSjlfor a perpetuar covenant : it is a sign
between me and the children of Israel for ever :
for in six days the Lord made heaven and earth,
and on the seventh day he rested and was re-
freshed." The truth is, these different reasons
were assigned, to account for different circum-
stances in the command. If a Jew inquired, why
the. seventh day was sanctified rather than the
sixth or eighth, his law told him~ because God
rested on the seventh day from the creation. If
he asked, why was the same rest indulged to
slaves? his law bade him remember, that he also
was a slave in the land of Egypt, and " that the
Lord his God brought him out thence." In this
view, the two reasons are perfectly compatible
with each other, and with a third end of the -in-
stitution, its being a sign between God and the
people of Israel ; but in this view they determine
nothing concerning the extent of the obligation.
If the reason by its proper energy had constituted
a natural obligation,' or if it had been mentioned
with a view to the extent of the obligation, we
should submit to the conclusion that all were
comprehended by the command who are concerned
in the reason. But the sabbatic rest being a duty
which results from the ordination and authority
of a positive law, the reason can be alleged no
farther than as it explains the design of the legis-
lator : and if it appear to be recited with an in-
tentional application to on part of the law, it ex-
plains his design upon no other"; if it be mentioned
merely to account for the choice of the day, it
does not explain his desigruas to the extent of the
obligation.
With respect to the second objection, that in-
asmuch as the other nine commandments are con-
fessedly of moral and universal obligation, it may
reasonably be presumed that this is of the same ;
we answer, that this argument will have less
weight, when k is considered that the distinction
between . positive and natural duties, like other
distinctions of modern ethics, was unknown to the
simplicity of ancient language ; and that there are
various passages in Scripture, in whjch duties of
a political, or ceremonial, or positive nature; and
confessedly of partial obligation, are enumerated,
and without any mark of discrimination, along
with others which are natural and universal. Of
this the following is an , incontestable example."
"But if a man be just, and do that which is law-
ful and right ; and hath not eaten upon the moun-
tains, nor hath lifted up his eyes to the idols of the
house of Israel ; neither hath defiled his neigh-
bour's wife, neither hath come near to a men-
etruouX woman ; and hath not oppressed any, but
hath restored to thetlehtor his pledge; hath sptfifcd
hone by violence ; hath given his bread to the
hungry, and -hath covered the naked with a gar-
ment; he that hath not given itpon risury, nei-
ther hath taken any increase ; that hath with-
drawn his haraJ from iniquity ; hath executed
true judgment between man and man; hath walk-
ed in my statutes, and hatli kept my judgments,
to deal truly ; he is just, he shall surely live, saith
the Lord God." Ezckiel xviii. 5 9. The same
thing may be observed of the apostolic decree re-
corded in the -fifteenth chapter of the Acts : ; " It
seemed good to the Holy Ghost, and to us, to lay
upon you no greater burthen than these necessary
things, that ye abstain from meats offered to idols,
and -from blood, and from things strangled, and
from fornioation : from which if ye keep your-
selves, ye shall do well."
IL If the law by which the Sabbath was in-
stituted, was a law only to the Jews, it becomes an
important question with the Christian inquirer,
whether the Founder of his religion delivered any
new command upon the subject ; or, if that should
not appear to be the case, whether any day was
appropriated to the service of religion by the au-
thority or example of his apostles.
The practice of holding religious assemblies
upon the first day of the week, was so early and
universal in the Christian Church, that it carries
with it considerable proof of having originated
Tom some.pfecept of Christ; or of "his apostles,
though none such be now extant. It was upon
the first day of the week that the disciples were
assembled, when Christ appeared to them for the
Irst time after his resurrection; " then the same
day at evening," being, the first day of the week,
when the doors were shut where the disciples were
assembled, for jear. of the Jews, came Jesus, and
stood in the midst of them." John xx. 19. This,
for any thing that appears in the account, might,
as to the day, have been accidental ; bu in the
26th verse of the same chapter we read, that
he week looks like an- appointment and design
to meet on that particular day. Ih the twentieth
chapter of the Acts- of tho Apostles, we find the
same custom in a Christian church at a great
distance from Jerusalem : " And we- came unto
hem to Troas hi five days, where we abode seven
days ; and upon the first day of the week, when
he disciples came together to break^brcad, Paul
>reachcd unto them." Acts xx. 6, 7. The man-
ner in which the historian mentions the disciples
coming ^together to break -bread on the first day
)f the week, shows, I tMnk. that the practice by
his time was familiar and established. St. Paul
o the. Corinthians writes thus : " Concerning the
ollcction for the saints, as 1 have .given order to
he Churches of Galntia, even so dd ye ; upon the
first day of the week lot every one of- you lay-by
lim in store as God hath prospered him, that there
>e no gathering when I come." 1 Cor. xvi. ,1, 2.
Which -direct ion affords, a probable proof, that the
first day of the week was already, amongst the
Christians both of Corinth and Galatia, distin-
guished from the rest by some religious applica-
ion or other. At the time that St. John wrote
VIOLATION OF THE CHRISTIAN SABBATH.
105
the book of his Revelation, the first day of the
week had obtained the name of the Lord's day ;
11 1 was in the spirit," says he, " on the Lord's
day." Rev. i. 10. Which name, and St. John's
use of it, sufficiently denote the appropriation of
this day to the service of religion, and that thih
appropriation was perfectly known to the Churches
of Asia. I make no doubt that by the Lord's
day was meant the first day of the week ; for we
find no footsteps of any distinction of days, which
could entitle any other to that appellation. The
subsequent history of Christianity corresponds
with the accounts delivered on this subject in
Scripture.
It will be remembered, that we are contending,
by these proofs, for no other duty upon the first
day of the week, than that of holding and fre-
quenting religious assemblies. A cessation upon
that day from labour, lx>yond the time of attend-
ance upon public worship, is not intimated in any
passage of the New Testament ; nor did Christ
or his apostles deliver, that we know of, any com-
mand to their disciples for a discontinuance, ujxm
that day, of the common offices of their profes-
sions ; a reserve which none will see reason to
wonder at, or to blame as a defect in the institu-
tion, who consider that, in the primitive condition
of Christianity, the observance of a new Sabbath
would have been useless, or inconvenient, or im-
practicable. During Christ's personal ministry,
his religion was preached to the Jews alone.
Tkcy already had a Sabbath, which, as eiti/.ens
and subjects of that economy, they were obliged
to keep ; and did keep. It was not therefore pro-
bable that Christ would enjoin another day of rest
in conjunction with this. When the new re-
ligion came forth into the Gentile world, converts
to it were, for the most part, made from those
classes of society who have not their time and
labour at their own disposal ; and it was scarcely
to be expected, that unbelieving masters and
magistrates, and they who directed the employ-
ment of others, would permit their slaves and la-
bourers to rest from their work every seventh
day : or that civil government, indeed, would
have submitted to the loss of a seventh part of
the public industry, and that too in addition to
the numerous festivals which the national re-
ligions indulged to the people ; at least, this would
have been an incumbrance, which might Ii;i\
greatly retarded the reception of Christianity in
the world. In reality, the institution of a weekly
Sabbath is so connected with the functions of
civil life, and requires so much of the concurrence
of civil law, in its regulation and support, that it
cannot, perhaps, properly be made the ordinance
of any religion, till that religion be received as
the religion of the state.
The opinion, that Christ and his apostles
meant to retain the duties of the Jewish Sabbath,
shifting only the day from the seventh to the first,
seems to prevail without sufficient proof; nor does
any evidence remain in Scripture (of what, how-
ever, is not improbable,) that the first day of the
week was thus distinguished in commemoration
of our Lord's resurrection.
The conclusion from the whole inquiry (for it
Is our business to follow the arguments, to what-
ever probability they conduct us,) is this : The
assembling upon the first day of the week for the
purpose of public worship and religious instruc-
tion, is a law of Christianity of Divine appoint-
ment ; the resting on that day from our employ-
ments longer than we are detained from them by
attendance upon these assemblies, is to Christians
an ordinance of human institution ; binding never-
theless upon the conscience of every individual of
a country in which a weekly Sabbath is esta-
blished, for the sake of the beneficial purposes
which the public and regular observance of it pro-
motes, and recommended perhaps in some de-
free to the Divine approbation, by the resem-
lance it bears to what God was pleased to make
a solemn part of the law which he delivered to the
people of Israel, and by its subserviency to many
of the same uses.
CHAPTER VIII.
By ichat Acts and Omissions the Duty of the
Christian Sabbath is violated.
SINCE the obligation upon Christians to com-
ply with the religious observance of Sunday, arises
from the public uses of the institution, and the
authority of the apostolic practice, the manner of
observing it ought to be that which best fulfils
these uses, and conforms the nearest to this prac-
tice.
The us(?s proposed by the institution are :
1. To facilitate attendance upon public
ship.
2. To meliorate the condition of the laborious
classes of mankind, by regular and seasonable
returns of rest .
3. By a general suspension of business and
amusement, to invite and enable persons of every
<1 -script ion to apply their time and thoughts to
biects appertaining to then* salvation.
With the primitive Christians, the peculiar,
and probably for sometime the only, distinction of
the first day of the week, was the holding of rc-
e:
lie wor-
iborinim
ligious assemblies upon that day. We learn,
however, from the testimony of a very early
writer amongst them, that they also reserved the
day for religious meditations ; Unusquisque nos-
trum (saith Irenseus) sabbatizat spiritualiter, me-
ditatione legisgaudens, opificium Dei admirans.
WHEREFORE the duty of the day is violated,
1st, By all such employments or engagements
as (though differing from our ordinary occupation)
hinder our attendance upon public worship, or
take up so much of our time as not to leave a
sufficient part of the day at leisure for religious
reflection ; as the going of journeys, the paying or
receiving of visits which engage the whole day, or
employing the tune at home in writing letters, set-
tling accounts, or in applying ourselves to studies,
or the reading of books, which bear no relation
to the business of religion.
2dly, By unnecessary encroachments on the rest
and liberty which Sunday ought to bring to the
inferior orders of the community ; as by Keeping
servants on that day confined and busied hi pre-
parations for the superfluous elegancies of our
able, or dress.
3dly, By such recreations as are customarily
"orborne out of respect to the day ; as hunting,
shooting, fishing, public diversions, frequenting
taverns, playing at cards or dice.
If it be asked, as it often has been, wherein
consists the difference between walking out with
four staff or with your gun 1 between spending
106
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
the evening at home, or in a tavern? between
passing the Sunday afternoon at a game of cards,
or in conversation not more edifying, not always
so inoffensive 1 to these, and to the same question
under a variety of forms, and in a multitude of
similar examples, we return the following an-
swer: That the religious observance of Sunday,
if it ought to be retained at all, must be uphoklen
by some public and visible distinctions : that, draw
the line of distinction whore you will, many ac-
tions which are situated on the confines of the
line, will differ very little, and yet lie on the op-
posite sides of it : that every trespass upon that
reserve which public decency has established,
breaks down the fence by which the day is sepa-
rated to the service of religion : that it is unsafe
to trifle with scruples and habits that have a
beneficial tendency, although founded merely in
custom: that these liberties, however intended,
will certainly be considered by those who observe
them, not only as disrespectful to the day and in-
stitution, but as proceeding from a secret contempt
of the Christian faith : that consequently, they
diminish a reverence for religion in others, so far
as the authority of our opinion, or the efficacy of
our example, reaches ; or rather, so far as either
will serve for an excuse of negligence to those who
are glad of any : that as to cards and dice, which
put in their claim to be considered among the
harmless occupations of a vacant hour, it may be
observed that few find any difficulty in refraining
from play on Sunday, except they who sit down
to it with the views and eagerness of game-
sters : that gaming is seldom innocent : that
the anxiety and perturbations, however, which
it excites, are inconsistent with the tranquillity and
frame of temper in which the duties and thoughts
of religion should always both find and leave us :
and lastly, we shall remark, that the example of
other countries, where the same and greater li-
cence is allowed, affords no apology for irregularities
in our own ; because a practice which is tolerated
by public usage, neither receives the same con-
struction, nor gives the same offence, as where it
is censured and prohibited.
CHAPTER IX.
Of Reverencing the Deity.
IN many persons, a seriousness, and sense of
awe, overspread the imagination, whenever the
idea of_ the Supreme Being is presented to their
thoughts. This effect, which forms a considera-
ble security against vice, is the consequence not
so much of reflection, as of habit ; which habit
being generated by the external expressions of
reverence which we use ourselves, or observe in
others, may be destroyed by causes opposite to
these, and especially by that familiar levity with
which some learn to speak of the Deity, qf his
attributes, providence, revelations, or worship.
God hath been pleased (no matter for what rea-
son, although probably for this) to forbid the vain
mention of his name : " Thou shalt not take the
name of the Lord thy God in vain." Now the
mention is Tain, when it is useless: and it is
useless, when it is neither likely nor intended to
serve any good purpose ; as when it flows from
the lips idle and unmeaning, or is applied, on oc-
casions inconsistent with any consideration of re-
ligion and devotion, to express our anger, our
earnestness, our courage, or our mirth : or indeed
when it is used at all, except in acts of religion, or
in serious and seasonable discourse upon religious
subjects.
The prohibition of the third commandment is
recognised by Christ, in his sermon upon the
mount; which sermon adverts to none but the
moral parts of the Jewish law : "I say unto you,
Swear not at all; but let your communication be
Yea, yea ; Nay, nay : for whatsoever is more than
these, cometh of evil." The Jews probably in-
terpreted the prohibition as restrained to the name
JEHOVAH, the name which the Deity had appointed
and appropriated to himself; Exod. \i. 3. The
words of Christ extend the prohibition beyond the
name of God, to every thing associated with the
idea : " Swear not, neither by heaven, for it is
God's throne ; nor by the earth, for it is his foot-
stool ; neither by Jerusalem, for it is the city of
the Great King." Matt. v. 35.
The offence of profane swearing is aggravated
by the consideration, that in it duty and decency
are sacrificed to the slenderest of temptations.
Suppose the habit, either from affectation, or by
negligence and inadvertency, to be already formed,
it must always remain within the power of the
most ordinary resolution to correct it ; and it can-
not, one would think, cost a great deal to relinquish
the pleasure and honour which it confers. A
concern for duty is in fact never strong, when the
exertion requisite to vanish a habit founded in no
antecedent propensity, is thought too much, or too
painful.
A contempt of positive duties, or rather of those
duties for which the reason is not so plain as the
command, indicates a disposition upon which the
authority of Revelation has obtained little influ-
ence. This remark is applicable to the oflence of
profane swearing, and describes, perhaps, pretty
exactly, the general character of those who are
most addicted to it.
Mockery and ridicule, when exercised upon the
Scriptures, or even upon the places, persons, and
forms, set apart for the ministration of religion,
fall within the meaning of the law which forbids
the profanation of God's name ; especially as that
law is extended by Christ's interpretation. They
are, moreover, inconsistent with a religious frame
of mind : for, as no one ever feels himself disposed
to pleasantry, or capable of being diverted with
the pleasantry of others, upon matters in which
he is deeply interested ; so a mind intent upon the
acquisition of heaven, rejects with indignation
every attempt to entertain it with jests, calculated
to degrade or deride subjects which it never recol-
lects but with seriousness and anxiety. Nothing
but stupidity, or the most frivolous dissipation of
thought, can make even the inconsiderate forget
the supreme importance of every tiling which re-
lates to the expectation of a future existence.
Whilst the infidel mocks at the superstitions of
the vulgar, insults over their credulous fears, their
childish 5 errors, or fantastic rites, it does not occur
to him to observe, that the most preposterous de-
vice by which the weakest devotee ever believed
he was securing the happiness of a future life,
is more rational than unconcern about it. Upon
this subject, nothing is so absurd as indifference ;
no folly so contemptible as thoughtlessness and
levity.
Finally; the knowledge of wliat is due to the
OF REVERENCING THE DEITY.
107
solemnity of those interests, concerning wliich
Revelation professes to inform and direct us, may
teach even those who are least inclined to respect
the prejudicies of mankind, to observe a decorum
in the style and conduct of religious disquisitions,
with the neglect of which many adversaries of
Christianity are
chargeable. Serious ar
justly <
guments are fair on all sides." Christianity is 1m
ill defended by refusing audience or toleration t
the objections of unbelievers. But whilst w
would have freedom of inquiry restrained by n
laws but those of decency, we are entitled to de
mand, on behalf of a religion which holds fort]
to mankind assurances of immortality, that it
credit be assailed by no other weapons than those
of sober discussion and legitimate reasoning : tha
the truth or falsehood of Christianity be neve;
made a topic of raillery, a theme for the exercise of
wit or eloquence, or a subject of contention fo:
literary fame and victory : that the cause be trie(
upon its merits : that all applications to the fancy
passions, or prejudices of the reader, all attempts
to pre-occupy, ensnare, or perplex his judgment
by any art, influence, or impression whatsoever
extrinsic to the proper grounds and evidence upoi
which his assent ought to proceed, be r. ; -t i
from a question which involves in its determination
the hopes, the virtue, and the repose, of millions :
that the controversy 1>< managed on both side.-,
with sincerity; that is, that nothing be produced
in the writings of either, contrary to, or beyond
the writer's own knowledge and ptlMMioa:
that objections and difficulties be proposed, from
no other motive than an honest and serious desirt
to obtain satisfaction, or to communicate informa-
tion which may promote the discovery and pro-
gress of truth : that in conformity with this de-
sign, every tiling be stated wilh inteirrity, with
method, precision, and simplicity ; and above all,
that whatever is published in opposition to re-
ceived and confessedly beneficial persuasions, be
set forth under a form which is likely to imite in-
quiry and to meet examination. If with these
moderate and equitable conditions be compared the
manner in which hostilities have IK en waged
against the Christian religion, not only the votaries
of the prevailing faith, but every man who looks
forward with anxiety to the desti nation of his being,
will see much to blame and to complain of. By one
unbeliever, all the follies which have adhered, in a
long course of dark and superstitious ages, to the
popular creed, are assumed as so many doctrines
of Christ and his apostles, for the purpose of sub-
verting the whole system by the absurdities which
it is thus represented to contain. By another, the
ignorance and vices of the sacerdotal order, their
mutual dissensions and persecutions, their usur-
pations and encroachments upon the intellectual
liberty and civil rights of mankind, have been dis-
played with no small triumph and invective ; not
so much to guard the Christian laity against a
repetition of the same injuries, (which is the only
proper use to be made of the most flagrant exam-
ples of the past,") as to prepare the way for an in-
sinuation, that the religion itself is nothing but a
profitable fable, imposed upon the fears and cre-
dulity of the multitude, and upheld by the frauds
and influence of an interested and crafty priest-
hood. And yet, how remotely is the character of
the clergy connected with the truth of Christiani-
ty ! What, after all, do the most disgraceful pages
of ecclesiastical history prove, but that the passions ,
of our common nature are not altered or excluded
by distinctions of name, and that the characters of
men are formed much more by the temptations
than the duties of their profession 1 A third finds
delight in collecting and repeating accounts of wars
and massacres, of tumults and insurrections, exci-
ted in almost every age of the Christian sera by reli-
gious zeal ; as though the vices of Christians were
parts of Christianity ; intolerance and extirpation
precepts of the Gospel ; or as if its spirit could be
judged of from the counsels of princes, the in-
trigues of statesmen, the pretences of malice and
ambition, or the unauthorised cruelties of some
gloomy and virulent superstition. By a fourth,
the succession and variety of popular religions ;
the vicissitudes with which sects and tenets have
flourished and decayed; the zeal with which they
were once supported, the negligence with which
they are now remembered ; the little share which
reason and argument appear to have had in fram-
ing the creed, or regulatingthe religious conduct,
of the multitude ; the indifference and submission
with which the religion of the state is generally
rcet i \ ed by* the common people ; the caprice and
vehemence with which it is sometimes opposed;
the phrcnsy with which men have been brought
to contend for opinions and ceremonies, of which
they knew neither the proof, the meaning, nor the
original : lastly, the equal and undoubting confi-
dence with which we hear the doctrines of Christ
or of Confucius, the law of Moses or of Mahomet,
the Bible, the Koran, or the Shaster, maintained
or anathematized, taught or abjured, revered or
derided, according as we live on this or on that
side of a river ; keep within or step over the boun-
daries of a state ; or even in the same country, and
t>y the same people, so often as the event of battle,
or the issue of a negociation, delivers them to the
dominion of a new master ; points, I say, of this
sort are exhibited to the public attention, as so
many arguments against the truthof the Christian
religion; and with success. For these topics,
being brought together, and set off with some ag-
gravation of circumstances, and with a vivacity
if style and description familiar enough to the
vritings and conversation of free-thinkers, insen-
sibly lead the imagination into a habit of classing
Jhristianity with the delusions that have taken
jossession, by turns, of the public belief; and of
egarding it, as what the scoffers of our faith re-
resent it to be, Hie superstition of tlie day.
But is tlu's to deal honestly by the subject, or
with the world 1 May not the same things be said,
may not the same prejudices be excited by these
epresentations, whether Christianity be true or
ilse, or by whatever proofs its truth be attested 1
Vlay not truth as well as falsehood be taken upon
redit 1 May not a religion be founded upon evi-
ence accessible and satisfactory to every mind com-
etent to the inquiry, which yet, by the greatest
rart of its professors, is received upon authority?
But if the matter of those objections be repre-
ensible,jis calculated to produce an effect upon
le reader beyond what their real weight and place
n the argument deserve, still more shall we disco-
er of management and disingenuousness in the
~orm under which they are dispersed among the
ublic. Infidelity is served up in every shape
xat is likely to allure, surprise, or beguile the
nagination ; in a fable, a tale, a novel, a poem ;
n interspersed and broken hints, remote and ob-
que surmises ; in books of travels, of philosophy,
108
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
of natural history ; in a word, in any form rather
than the right one, that of a professed and regular
disquisition. And because the coarse buffoonery,
and broad laugh, of the old and rude adversaries
of the Christian faith, would oile.nd the taste,
perhaps, rather than the virtue, of this cultivated
age, a graver irony, a more skilful and delicate
banter, is substituted in their place. An eloquent
historian, beside his more direct, and therefore
fairer attacks upon the credibility of Evangelic
story, has contrived to weave into his narration one
continued sneer upon the cause of Christianity,
and upon the writings and characters of its ancient
patrons. The knowledge which this author pos-
sesses of the frame and conduct of the human
mind, must have led him to observe, that such at-
tacks do their execution without inquiry. Who
can refute a sneer ? Who can compute the num-
ber, much less, one by one, scrutinize the justice,
of those disparaging insinuations which crowd the
pages of this elaborate history 7 What reader sus-
pends his curiosity, or calls off his attention from
the principal narrative, to examine rofon/nces, or
to search into the foundation, or to weigh the
reason, propriety, and force, of every transient
sarcasm, and sly allusion, by which the Christian
testimony is depreciated and traduced : and by
which, nevertheless, he may find his persuasion
afterwards unsettled and perplexed 1
But the enemies of Christianity have pursued
her with poisoned arrows. Obscurity itself is
made the vehicle of infidelity. The awful doc-
trines, if we be not permitted to call them the sa-
cred truths, of our religion, together with all the
adjuncts and appendages of its worship and ex-
ternal profession, have been sometimes impudent-
ly profaned by an unnatural conjunction with
impure and lascivious images. The fondness for
ridicule is almost universal : and ridicule, to many
minds, is never so irresistible, as when seasoned
with obscenity, and employed upon religion. But
in proportion as these noxious principles take hold
of the imagination, they infatuate the judgment :
for trains of ludicrous and unchaste associations
adhering to every sentiment and mention of re-
ligion, render the mind indisposed to receive either
conviction from its evidence, or impressions from
its authority. And this effect being exerted upon
the sensitive part of our frame, is altogether inde-
pendent of argument, proof, or reason ; is as for-
midable to a true religion, as to a false one ; to a
well grounded faith, as to a chimerical mythology,
or fabulous tradition. Neither, let it be observed,
is the crime or danger less, because impure ideas
are exhibited under a veil, in covert and chastised
language.
Seriousness is not constraint of thought ; nor
levity, freedom. Every mind which wishes the
advancement of truth and knowledge, in the most
important of all human researches, must abhor
this licentiousness, as violating no less the laws of
reasoning, than the rights of decency. There is
but one description of men, to whose principles it
ought to be tolerable; I mean that class of reason-
ers who can see little in Christianity, even sup-
posing it to be true. To such adversaries we
address this reflection Had Jesus Christ deliver-
ed no other declaration than the following " The
hour is coming, in the which all that are in the
grave shall hear his voice, and shall come forth :
they that have done good, unto the resurrection
of life j and they that have done evil, unto the re-
surrection of damnation :" he had pronounced a
message of inestimable importance, and well wor-
thy of that splendid apparatus of prophecy and mira-
cles with which his mission \\as introduced and at-
tested : a message in which the wisest of mankind
would rejoice to find an answer to their doubts,
and rest to their inquiries. It is idle to say, that
a future state had teen discovered already: it
had been discovered as the Copernican system
was, it was one guess among many. He alone
discovers, who proves; and no man can prove
this point, but the teacher who testifies by miracles
that liis doctrine comes from God.
BOOK VJ.
ELEMENTS OF POLITICAL KNOWLEDGE.
CHAPTER I.
Of the Origin of Civil Government.
GOVERNMENT, at first, was either patriarchal or
military : that of a parent over his family, or of a
commander over his fellow-warriors.
I. Paternal authority, and the order of domestic
life, supplied the foundation of civil government.
Did mankind spring out of the earth mature and
independent, it would be found perhaps impossible
to introduce subjection and subordination among
them : but the condition of human inl'ancy pre-
pares men for society, by combining individuals
into small communities, and by placing them from
the beginning, under direction and control. A
family contains the rudiments of an empire. The
authority of one over many, and the disposition to
govern and to be governed, are in this way inci-
dcatal to the very nature, and coeval no doubt with
the existence, of the human species.
Moreover, the constitution of families not only
assists the formation of civil government, by the
dispositions which it generates, but also furnishes
the first steps of the process by which empires
have been actually reared. A parent would retain
a considerable part of his authority after his chil-
dren were grown up, and had formed families of
their own. The obedience of which they remem-
bered not the beginning, would be considered as
natural ; and would scarcely, during the parent's
life, be entirely or abruptly withdrawn. Hero
then we see the second stage in the progress of
dominion. The first was, that of a parent over
his young children ; this, that of an ancestor pre-
siding over his adult descendants.
Although the original progenitor was the centre
of union to his posterity, yet it is not probable
that the association would be immediately or alto-
gether dissolved by his death. Connected by ha-
bits of intercourse and affection, and by some
common rights, necessities, and interests, they
would consider themselves as allied to each other
in a nearer degree than to the rest of the species.
Almost all would be sensible of an inclination
to continue in the society in which they had been
brought up ; and experiencing, as they soon would
do, many inconveniences from the absence of that
authority which their common ancestor exercised,
especially in deciding their disputes, and directing
their operations in matters in which it was ne-
ORIGIN OP CIVIL GOVERNMENT.
109
eessary to act in conjunction, they might be in-
duced to supply his place by a formal choice of
a successor ; or rather might willingly, and almost
imperceptibly, transfer their obedience to some
one of the family, who by his age or services, or
by the part he possessed in the direction of their
affairs during the lifetime of the parent, had al-
ready taught them to respect his advice, or to at-
tend to his commands ; or lastly, the prospect of
these inconveniences might prompt the first an-
cestor to appoint a successor ; and his posterity,
from the same motive, united with an habitual de-
ference to the ancestor's authority, might receive
the appointment with submission. Here then we
have a tribe or clan incorporated under one chief.
Such communities might be increased by consider-
able numbers, and fulfil the purposes of civil
union without any other or more regular conven-
tion, constitution, or form of government, than
what we have described. Every branch which
was slipped off from the primitive stock, and re-
moved to a distance from it, would in like manner
take root, and grow into a separate clan. Two
or three of these clans vro re frequently, we may
sup}X)se, united into one. Marriage, conquest,
mutual defence, common distress, 01 rnore g^.
dental coalitions, might produce this effect.
II. A second source of personal authority, and
which might easily extend, or sometimes perhaps
supersede, the patriarchal, is that which results
from military arrangement. In wars, either of
aggression or defence, manifest necessity would
prompt those who fought on the same side to ar-
ray themselves under one leader. And although
their leader was advanced to this eminence for
the purpose only, and during the operations, of
a single expedition, yet his authority would not
always terminate with the reasons for which it
was conferred. A warrior who had led forth his
tribe against their enemies, with repeated success,
would procure to himself, even in the delibera-
tions of peace, a powerful and permanent in-
fluence. If this advantage were added to the au-
thority of the patriarchal chief, or favoured by any
previous distinction of ancestry, it would be no
difficult undertaking for the person who possessed
it, to obtain the almost absolute direction of the
affairs of the community ; especially if he was
careful to associate to himself proper auxiliaries,
and content to practise the obvious art of gratify-
ing or removing those who opposed his preten-
sions.
But although we may be able to comprehend
how by his personal abilities or fortune one man
may obtain the rule over many, yet it seems more
difficult to explain how empire became hereditary,
or in what manner sovereign power, which is
never acquired without great merit or manage-
ment, learns to descend in a succession which has
no dependance upon any qualities either of un-
derstanding or activity. The causes which have
introduced hereditary dominion into so general a
reception in the world, are principally the follow-
ing: the influence of association, which com-
municates to the son a portion of the same respect
which was wont to be paid to the virtues or sta-
tion of the father ; the mutual jealousy of other
competitors ; the greater envy with which all be-
hold the exaltation of an equal, than the con-
tinuance of an acknowledged superiority ; a reign-
ing prince leaving behind him many adherents,
who can preserve their own importance only by
supporting the succession of his children : add to
these reasons, that elections to the supreme power
having, upon trial, produced destructive conten-
tions, many slates would take a refuge from a re-
turn of the same calamities in a rule of succession ;
and no rule presents itself so obvious, certain, and
intelligible, as consanguinity of birth.
The ancient state of society in most countries,
and the modern condition of some uncivilized parts
of the world, exhibit that appearance which thia
account of the origin of civil government would
lead us to expect. The earliest histories of Pa-
lestine, Greece, Italy, Gaul, Britain, inform us,
that these countries were occupied by many small
independent nations, not much perhaps unlike
those which are found at present amongst the
savage inhabitants of North America, and upon
the coast of Africa. These nations I consider
as the amplifications of so many single families ;
or as derived from the junction of two or three
families, whom society in war, or the approach of
some common danger, had united. Suppose a
country to have been first peopled by slupwreck
on its coasts, or by emigrants or exiles from a
neighbouring country ; the new settlers, having
no enemy to provide against, and occupied with
the care of their personal subsistence, would think
^tje of digesting a system of laws, of contriving
a fpn^of government, or indeed of any political
union whatever ; but each settler would remain
at the head of his own family, and each family
would include all of every age and generation
who were descended from him. So many of these
families as wore holden together after the death
of the original ancestor, by the reasons and in the
method above recited, would wax, as the indi-
viduals were multiplied, into trilx^, clans, hordes,
or nations, similar to those into which the ancient
inhabitants of many countries are known to have
been divided, and which are still found wherever
the state of society and manners is immature and
uncultivated.
Nor need we be surprised at the early exist-
ence in the world of some vast empires, or at the
rapidity with which they advanced to their great-
ness, from comparatively small and obscure ori-
ginals. Whilst the inhabitants of so many coun-
tries were broken into numerous communities,
unconnected, and oftentimes contending with
each other ; before experience had taught these
little states to see their own danger in their neigh-
bour's ruin ; or had instructed them in the neces-
sity of resisting the aggrandizement of an as-
piring power, by alliances, and timely prepara-
tions; in this condition of civil policy, a particular
tribe, which by any means had gotten the start of
the rest in strength or discipline, and happened to
fall under the conduct of an ambitious chief, by
directing their first attempts to the part where
success was most secure, and by assuming, as
they went along, those whom they conquered into
a share of their future enterprises, might soon ga-
ther a force which would infallibly overbear any
opposition that the scattered power and unpro-
vided state of such enemies could make to the
progress of their victories.
Lastly, our theory affords a presumption, that
the earliest governments were monarchies ; because
the government of families, and of armies, from
which, according to our account, civil government
derived its institution, and probably its form, is
universally monarchical.
110
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
CHAPTER II.
How Subjection to Civil Government is Main-
tained.
COULD we view our own species from a dis-
tance, or regard mankind with the same sort
of observation with wliich we read the natural
history, or remark the manners, of any other
animal, there is nothing in the human character
which would more surprise us, than the almost
universal subjugation of strength to weakness;
than to see many millions of robust men, in the
complete use and exercise of their personal facul-
ties, and without any defect of courage, waiting
Upon the will of a child, a woman, a driveller, or
a lunatic. And although, when we suppose a vast
empire in absolute subjection to one person, and
that one depressed beneath the level of his spe-
cies by infirmities, or vice, we suppose perhaps an
extreme case: yet in all cases, even the most
popular forms of civil government, the physical
strength resides in the governed. In what man-
ner opinion thus prevails over strength, or how
power, which naturally belongs to superior force,
is maintained in opposition to it ; in other words,
by what motives the many are induced to submit
to the few, becomes an inquiry which lies at th^
root of almost every political speculation. Ic re-
moves, indeed, but does not resolve, the difficulty,
to say, that civil governments arc now-a-days al-
most universally upholden by standing armies;
for, the question still returns; How are these ar-
mies themselves kept in subjection, or made to
obey the commands, and carry on the designs, of
the prince or state which employs them 1
Now, althuugh we should look in vain for any
single reason which will account for the general
submission of mankind to civil government ; yet
it may not be difficult to assign for every class
and character in the community, considerations
powerful enough to dissuade each from any at-
tempts to resist established authority. Every man
has his motive, though not the same. In this, as
in other instances, the conduct is similar, but the
principles which produce it, extremely various.
There are three distinctions of character, into
which the subjects of a state may be divided : into
those who obey from prejudice ; those who obey
from reason; and those who obey from self-in-
terest.
I. They who obey from prejudice, are deter-
mined by an opinion of right in their governors ;
which opinion is founded upon prescription. In
monarchies and aristocracies which are hereditary,
the prescription operates in favour of particular
families ; in republics and elective offices, in fa-
vour of particular forms of government, or consti-
tution. Nor is it to be wondered at, that mankind
should reverence authority founded in prescrip-
tion, when they observe that it is prescription
which confers the title to almost every thing else.
The whole course, and all the habits of civil life,
favour this prejudice. Upon what other founda-
tion stands any man's right to his estate ? The
right of primogeniture, the succession of kindred,
the descent of property, the inheritance of honours,
the demand of tithes, tolls, rents, or services,
from the estates of others, the right of way, the
powers of office and magistracy, the privileges of
nobility, the immunities of the clergy, upon what
are they all founded, in the apprehension at least
of the multitude, but upon prescription 1 To What
else, when the claims are contested, is the appeal
made ? It is natural to transfer the same principle
to the affairs of government, and to regard those
exertions of power which have been long ex-
ercised and acquiesced in, as so many rights in
the sovereign ; and to consider obedience to his
commands, within certain accustomed limits, as
enjoined by that rule of conscience, which re-
quires us to render to every man his due.
In hereditary monarchies, the prescriptive title
is corroborated, and its influence considerably
augmented by an accession of religious senti-
ments, and by that sacredness which men are
wont to ascribe to the persons of princes. Princes
themselves have not failed to take advantage of
this disposition, by claiming a superior dignity,
as it were, of nature, or a peculiar delegation from
the Supreme Being. For this purpose were in-
troduced the titles of Sacred Majesty, of God's
Anointed, Representative, Vicegerent, together
with the ceremonies of investitures and corona-
tions, which are calculated not. so much to recog-
nize the authority of sovereigns, as to consecrate
their persons. where a fabulous religion per-
mitted it, * ko public veneration has been chal-
lemr^ b 7 bolder pretensions. The Roman em-
perors usurped the titles and arrogated the wor-
ship of gods. The mythology of the heroic
ages, and of many barbarous nations, was easily
converted to this purpose. Some princes, like the
heroes of Homer, and the founder of the Roman
name, derived their birth from the gods ; others,
with Numa, pretended a secret communication
with some divine being; and others, again, like
the incas of Peru, and the ancient Saxon kings,
extracted their descent from the deities of their
countries. The Lama of Thibet, at this day, is
held forth to his subjects, not as the offspring or
successor of a divine race of princes, but as the
immortal God himself, the object at once of civil
obedience and religious adoration. This instance
is singular, and may be accounted the farthest
point to which the abuse of human credulity has
ever been carried. But in all these instances the
purpose was the same, to engage the reverence
of mankind, by an application to their religious
principles.
The reader will be careful to observe that, in
this article, we denominate every opinion, whe-
ther true or false, a prejudice, which is not found-
ed upon argument, in the mind of the person who
entertains it.
II. They who obey from reason, that is to say,
from conscience as instructed by reasonings and
conclusions of their own, are determined by the
consideration of the necessity of some government
or other ; the certain mischief of civil commotions ;
and the danger of re-settling the government of
their country better, or at all, if once subverted or
disturbed.
III. They who obey from self-interest, are kept
in order by want of leisure ; by a succession of
private cares, pleasures, and engagements; by
contentment, or a sense of the ease, plenty, and
safety, which they enjoy ; or lastly, and princi-
pally, by fear, foreseeing that they would bring
themselves by resistance into a worse situation
than their present, inasmuch as the strength of
government, each discontented subject reflects, is
greater than his own, and he knows not that others
would join him.
SUBMISSION TO CIVIL GOVERNMENT EXPLAINED.
Ill
This last consideration has often been called
opinion of power.
This account of the principles by which man-
kind are retained in their obedience to civil govern-
ment, may suggest the following cautions.
1. Let civil governors learn hence to rospect
their subjects ; let them be admonished, that the
physical strength resides in the governed ; that
this strength wants only to be felt and roused, to
lay prostrate the most ancient and confirmed do-
minion ; that civil authority is founded in opinion ;
that general opinion therefore ought always to be
treated with deference, and managed with delicacy
and circumspection.
2. Opinion- of right, always following the cus-
tom, being for the most part founded in notliing
else, and lending one principal support to govern-
ment, every innovation in the constitution, or in
other word*, in tfl* custom of governing, di-
minishes Ae steJnlity of government. Hence
some absurdities/ are to be retained, and many
small inconveniencies endured in every country,
rather than that usage should be violated, or the
course of public affairs diverted from their old and
smooth channel. Even names are not indifferent.
When the multitude are to be dealt with, there is
a charm in sounds. It was upon this principle,
that several statesmen of those times a<l\iscd
Cromwell to assume the title of king, together
with the ancient style and insignia of royalty.
The minds of many, they contended, would be
brought to acquiesce in the authority of a king,
who suspected the office, and were offended with
the administration, of a protector. Novelty re-
minded them of usurpation. The adversaries of
this desiirn opposed the measure, from the same
persuasion of the efficacy of names and forms,
jealous lest the veneration paid to these, should
add an influence to the new settlement which
might ensnare the liberty of the commonwealth.
3. Government may be too secure. The great-
est tyrants have been those, whose titles were the
most unquestioned. Whenever therefore the
opinion of right becomes too predominant and
superstitious, it is abated by breaking the custom.
Thus the Revolution broke the custom of suc-
cession, and thereby moderated, both in the prince
and in the people, those lofty notions of hereditary
right, which in the one were become a continual
incentive to tyrannv. and disposed the other to
invite servitude, by undue compliances and dan-
gerous concessions.
4. As ignorance of union, and want of com-
munication, appear amongst the principal pre-
servatives of civil authority, it behoves every state
to keep its subjects in this want and ignorance,
not only by vigilance in guarding against actual
confederacies and combinations, but by a timely
care to prevent great collections of men of any
separate party or religion, or of like occupation or
profession, or in any way connected by a partici-
pation of interest or passion, from being assem-
bled in the same vicinity. A protestant esta-
blishment in this country may have little to fear
from its popish subjects, scattered as they are
throughout the kingdom, and intermixed with
the protestant inhabitants, which yet mi<rht think
them a formidable body, if they were gathered to-
gether into one county. The most frequent and
desperate riots are those which break out amongst
men of the same profession, as weavers, miners,
sailors. This circumstance makes a mutiny of
soldiers more to be dreaded than any other in-
surrection. Hence also one danger of an over-
grown metropolis, and of those great cities and
crowded districts, into which the inhabitants of
trading countries are commonly collected. The
worst effect of popular tumults consists in this,
that they discover to the insurgents the secret of
their own strength, teach them to depend upon it
against a future occasion, and both produce and
diffuse sentiments of confidence in one another,
and assurances of mutual support. Leagues thus
formed and strengthened, may overawe or overset
the power of any state ; and the danger is greater,
in proportion as, from the propinquity of habita-
tion and intercourse of employment, the passions
and counsels of a party can be circulated with ease
and rapidity. It is by these means, and in such
situations, that the minds of men are so affected
and prepared, that the most dreadful uproars often
arise from the slightest pro/ocatjons. When" the
train is laid, a spark will produce the explosion.
CHAPTER III.
The Duty of Submission to Civil Government
Explained.
THE subject of this chapter is sufficiently dis-
tinguished irom the subject of the last, as the mo-
tives which actually produce civil obedience, may
he and often are, very different from the reasons
which make that obedience a duty.
In order to prove civil obedience to be a moral
duty, and an obligation upon the conscience, it
hath been usual with many political writers (at
the head of whom we find the venerable name of
Locke,) to state a compact between the citizen
and the state, as the ground and cause of the re-
lation between them : which compact, binding the
j'.iriics for the same general reason that private
contracts do, resolves the duty of submission to
ei\il government into the universal obligation of
fidelity in the performance of promises. This
compact is twofold :
First, an express compact by the, primitive
founders of the state, who are supposed to have
convened for the declared purpose of settling the
terms of their political union, and a future con-
stitution of government. The whole body is sup-
posed, in the first place, to have unanimously
consented to be bound by the resolutions of the
majority ; that majority, in the next place, to have
fixed certain fundamental regulations : and then
to have constituted, either in one person, or in an
assembly (the rule of succession, or appointment,
being at the same time determined,) a standing
legislature, to whom, under these pre-established
restrictions, the government of the state was
thence forward committed, and whose laws the
several members of the convention were, by their
first undertaking, thus personally engaged to
obey. This transaction is sometimes called the
social compact, and these supposed original regu-
lations compose what are meant by the constitu-
tion, the fundamental laws of the constitution ;
and form, on one side, the inherent indefeasible
prerogative of the crown ; and, on the other,
the unalienable, imprescriptible birth-right of the
subject.
Secondly, A tacit or implied compact, by all
succeeding members of the state, who by accept-
112
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
ing its protection, consent to be bound by its laws ;
in like manner, as whoever voluntarily enters into
a private society is understood, without any other
or more explicit stipulation, to promise a con-
formity with the rules, and obedience to the go-
vernment of that society, as the known conditions
upon which he is admitted to a participation of its
privileges.
1 This account of the subject, although specious,
I and patronized by names the most respectable,
I appears to labour under the following objections :
that it is founded upon a supposition false in fact,
and leading to dangerous conclusions.
No social compact, similar to what is here de-
scribed, was ever made or entered into in reality :
no such original convention of the people was
ever actually holden, or in any country could be
holden, antecedent to the existence of civil govern-
ment in that country. It is to suppose it pos-
sible to call savages out of caves and deserts, to de-
liberate and vote upon topics, which the expe-
rience, and studies, and refinements, of civil life,
alone suggest. Therefore no government in the
universe began from this original. Some imita-
tion of a social compact may have taken place at a
revolution. The present age has been witness to
a transaction, which bears the nearest resemblance
to this political idea, of any of which history has
preserved the account or memory : I refer to the
establishment of the United States of North
America. We saw the people assembled to elect
deputies, for the avowed purpose of framing the
constitution of a new empire. We saw this
deputation of the people deliberating and re-
solving upon a form of government, erecting a
permanent legislature, distributing the functions
of sovereignty, establishing and promulgating a
code of fundamental ordinances, which were to
be considered by succeeding generations, not
merely as laws and acts of the state, but as the
very terms and conditions of the confederation; as
binding not only upon the subjects and magis-
trates of the state, but as limitations of power,
which were to control and regulate the future
legislature. Yet even here much was presupposed.
In settling the constitution, many important parts
were presumed to be already settled. The quali-
fications of the constituents who were admitted to
vote in the election of members of congress, as
well as the mode of electing the representatives,
were taken from the old forms of government.
That was wanting, from which every social union
should set off, and which alone makes the resolu-
tions of the society the act of the individual, the
unconstrained consent of all to be bound by the
decision of the majority; and yet without this
previous consent, the revolt, and the regulations
which followed it, were compulsory upon dis-
sentients.
But the original compact, we are told, is not
proposed as a. fact, but as a fiction, which furnishes
a commodious explication of the mutual rights and
duties of sovereigns and subjects. In answer to
this representation of the matter, we observe, that
the original compact, if it be not a fact, is no-
thing; can confer no actual authority upon laws
or magistrates; nor afford any foundation to rights
which are supposed to be real and existing. But
the truth is, that in the books, and in the appre-
hension, of those who deduce our civil rights and
obligations a pactis, the original convention is ap-
pealed to and treated of as a reality. Whenever
the disciples of this system speak of the constitu-
tion; of the fundamental articles of the constitu-
tion; of laws being constitutional or unconsti-
tutional; of inherent, unalicnable, inextinguishable
rights, either in the prince or in the people ; or in-
deed of any laws, usages, or civil rights, as trans-
cending the authority of the subsisting legislature,
or possessing a force and sanction superior to what
belong to the modern acts and edicts of the legisla-
ture; they secretly refer us to what passed at the
original convention. They would teach us to be-
lieve, that certain rules and ordinances were esta-
blished by the people, at the same time that they
settled the charter of government, and the powers
as well as the form of the future legislature ; that
this legislature consequently, deriving its commis-
sion and existence from the consent and act of the
primitive assembly (of which indeed it is only the
standing deputation,) continues subject, in the ex-
ercise of its offices, and as to the extent of its power,
to the rules, reservations, and limitations, which
the same assembly then made and prescribed to it.
" As the first members of the state were bound
by express stipulation to obey the government
which they had erected; so the succeeding in-
habitants of the country are understood to promise
allegiance to the constitution and government they
find established, by accepting its protection, clain>
ing its privileges, and acquiescing in its laws ; more
especially, by the purchase or inheritance of lands
to the possession of which, allegiance to the state
is annexed, as the very service and condition of
the tenure." Smoothly as this train of argument
proceeds, little of it will endure examination. The
native subjects of modern states are' not conscious
of any stipulation with the sovereigns, of ever ex-
ercising an election whether they will be bound or
not by the acts of the legislature, of any alterna-
tive being proposed to their choice, of a promise
either required or given ; nor do they apprehend
that the validity or authority of the law depends
at all upon their recognition or consent. In all
stipulations, whether they be expressed or implied,
private or public, formal or constructive, the par-
ties stipulating must both possess the liberty
of assent and refusal, and also be conscious of this
liberty ; which cannot with truth be affirmed of the
subjects of civil government as government is now,
or ever was, actually administered. This is a defect,
which no arguments can excuse or supply : all
presumptions of consent, without this conscious-
ness, or in opposition to it, are vain and erroneous.
Still less is it possible to reconcile with any idea
of stipulation, the practice, in which all European
nations agree, of founding allegiance upon the cir-
cumstance of nativity, that is, of claiming and
treating as subjects all those who are born witliin
the confines of their dominions, although removed
to another country in their youth or infancy. In
this instance certainly, the state does not presume
a compact. Also if the subject be bound only by
his own consent, and if the voluntary abiding in
the country be the proof and intimation of that
consent, by what arguments should we defend the
ri^ht, which sovereigns universally assume, of pro-
hibiting, when they please, the departure of their
subjects out of the realm 1
AjTidn, when it is contended that the taking and
holding possession of land amounts to an acknow-
ledgment of the sovereign, and a virtual promise
of allegiance to his laws, it is necessary to the va-
lidity of the argument to prove, that the inhabitants
SUBMISSION TO CIVIL GOVERNMENT EXPLAINED.
113
who first composed and constituted the state, col-
lectively possessed a right to the soil of the coun-
try ; a right to parcel it out to whom they pleased,
and to annex to the donation what conditions they
thought fit. . How came they by this right 1 An
agreement amongst themselves would not confer
it; that could only adjust what already belonged
to them. A society of men vote themselves to be
the owners of a region of the world; does that
vote, unaccompanied especially with any culture,
enclosure, or proper act of occupation, make it
theirs 1 does it entitle them to exclude others from
it, or to dictate the conditions upon which it shall
be enjoyed 1 Yet this original collective right and
ownership is the foundation for all the reasoning
by which the duty of allegiance is inferred from
thepossession of land.
The theory of government which affirms the ex-
istence and the obligation of a social compact,
would, after all, merit Tittle discussion, and however
groundless and unnecessary, should receive no
opposition from us, did it not appear to lead to con-
clusions unfavourable to the improvement, and to
the peace of human society.
1st. Upon the supposition that government was
first erected by, and that it derives all its just au-
thority from, resolutions entered into by a conven-
tion of the people, it is capable of being presumed,
that many points were settled by that convention,
anterior to the establishment of the subsisting" le-
gislature, and which the legislature, consequently
has no right to alter, or interfere with. These
points are called ih? fundamentals of the consti-
tution: and as it is impossible to determine how
many, or what, they are, the suggesting of any
such serves extremely to embarrass the delibera-
tions of the legislature, and affords a dangerous pre-
tence for disputing the authority of the laws. It
was this sort of reasoning (so far as reasoning of
any kind was employed in the question) that pro-
duced in this nation the doubt, which so much
agitated the minds of men in the reign of the
second Charles, whether an Act of Parliament
could of right alter or limit the succession of the
Crown.
2dly. If it be by virtue of a compact, that the
subject owes obedience to civil government, it will
follow that he ought to abide by the form of govern-
ment which he finds established, be it ever so ab-
surd or inconvenient. He is bound by his bargain.
It is not permitted to any man to retreat from his
engagement, merely because he finds the perform-
ance disadvantageous, or because be has an oppor-
tunity of entering into a better. This law of con-
tract, is universal : and to call the relation between
the sovereign and the subjects a contract ; yet not to
apply to it the rules, or allow of the effects of a con-
tract, is an arbitrary use of names, and an un-
steadiness in reasoning, which can teach nothing.
Resistance to the encroachments of the supreme
magistrate may be justified on this principle ; re-
course to arms, for the purpose of bringing about an
amendment of the constitution, never can. No form
of government contains a provision for its own dis-
solution ; and few governors will consent to the ex-
tinction, or even to any abridgement, of their own -
power. It does not therefore appear, how despotic
governments can ever, in consistency with the obli-
gation of the subject, be changed or mitigated. Des-
potism is the constitution of many states: and
whilst a despotic prince exacts from liis subjects the
most rigorous servitude according to this account, he
is only holding them to their agreement. A people
may vindicate, by force, the rights which the con-
stitution has left them ; but every attempt to narrow
the prerogative of the xrown by new limitations,,
and in opposition to the will of the reigning prince,
whatever opportunities may invite, or success follow
it, must be condemned as an infraction of the com-
pact between the sovereign and the subject.
3dly. Every violation of the compact on the part
of the governor, releases the subject from -his alle-
giance, and dissolves the government. I do not
and other contracts. In private contracts, the viola-
tion and non-performance of the conditions, by one
of the parties, vac, ties the obligation of the other.
Now the terms and articles of the social compact
being no where extant or expressed : the rights and
offices of the administrator of an empire being so
many and various ; the imaginary and controverted
line of his prerogative being so liable to be over-
stepped in one part or other of it; the position
that every such transgression amounts to a forfeiture
of the government, and consequently authorises
the }>eop1e to withdraw their obedience, and pro-
vide for themselves by a new settlement, would en-
danger the stability of every political fabric in the
world, and has in fact always supplied the disaf-
fected with a topic of seditious declamation. If
occasions have arisen, in which this plea has been
resorted to with justice and success, they have been
occasions in which a revolution was defensible upon
other and plainer principles. The plea itself is at
all times captious and unsafe.
Wherefore, rejecting the intervention of a com-
pact, as unfounded in its principle, and dangerous
in the application, we assign for the only ground
of the subject's obligation, THE WILL OF GOD AS
COLLECTED FROM EXPEDIENCY.
The step by which the argument proceeds, are
few and direct." It is the will of God that the
happiness of human life be promoted :" this is the
first step, and the foundation not only-of this, but
of every, moral conclusion. " Civil society conduces
to that end :" this is the second proposition. " Civil
societies cannot be upholden, unless, in each, the
interest of the whole society be binding upon every
part and member of it :" this is the third step, and .^
conducts us to the conclusion, namely, "that so
long as the interest of the whole society requires
it, that is, so long as the established government
cannot be resisted or changed without public incon-
veniency, it is the will of God (which ic ill univer-
sally determines our duty) that the established go-
vernment be obeyed," and ho longer.
This principle being admitted, the justice of
every particular case of resistance is reduced to a
computation of the quantity of the danger and
grievance on the one side, and of the probability
and expense of redressing it on the other.
But who shall judge this 1 We answer, "Every
man for himself." In contentions between the
sovereign and the subject, the parties acknowledge
no common arbitrator ; and it would be absurd to
refer the decision to those whose conduct has pro-
voked the question, and whose*own interest, autho-
rity, and fate, are immediately concerned in it. The
danger of error and abuse is no objection to the
ruleof expediency, because every other rule is liable
10*
114
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
to the earno or greater : and every rule that can be
propounded upon the subject (like all rules indeec
which appeal to, or bind the conscience) must in
the application depend upon private judgment. Ii
may be observed, however, that it ought equally to
be accounted the exercise of a man ; own privuti
judgment, whether he be determined by reason-
ings and conclusions of his owu, or submit to be
directed by the advice of others, provided he be free
to choose his guide.
We proceed to point out some easy but im-
portant inferences, which result from the sub-
stitution of public expediency into the place of
all implied compacts, promises, or conventions,
whatsoever.
I. It may be as much a duty, at one time, to
resist government, as it is, at another, to obey il ;
to wit, whenever more advantage will, in our
opinion, accrue to the community from resist-
ance, than mischief.
II. The lawfulness of resistance, or the law-
fulness of a revolt, does not depend alone upon
the grievance which is sustained or feared, but
also upon the probable expense and event of the
contest. They who concerted the Revolution in
England, were justifiable in their counsels, be-
cause, from the apparent disposition of the nation,
and the strength and character of the parties en-
gaged, the measure was likely to be brought
about with little mischief or bloodshed ; whereas
it might have been a question with many friends
of their country, whether the injuries then endur-
ed and threatened would have authorised the re-
newal of a doubtful civil war.
III. Irregularity in the first foundation of a
state, or subsequent violence, fraud, or injustice,
in getting possession of the supreme power, are
not sufficient reasons for resistance, after the
government is onqe peaceably settled. No sub-
ject of the British empire conceives himself en-
gaged to vindicate the justice of the Norman claim
or conquest, or apprehends that his duty in any
manner depends upon that controversy. So,
likewise, if the house of Lancaster, or even the
posterity of Cromwell, had been at this day seat-
ed upon the throne of England, we should have
been as little concerned to inquire how the found-
er of the family came there. No civil contests
are so futile, although none have been so furious
and sanguinary, as those which are excited by a
disputed succession.
IV. Not every invasion of the subject's rights,
or liberty, or of the constitution ; not every breach
of promise, or of oath ; not every stretch of pre-
rogative, abuse of power, or neglect of duty by
the chief magistrate, or by the whole or any
branch of the legislative body, justifies resistance,
unless these crimes draw after them public con-
sequences of sufficient magnitude to outweigh the
evils of civil disturbance. Nevertheless, every
violation of the constitution ought to be watched
with jealousy, and resented as such, beyond
what the quantity of estimable damage would re-
quire or warrant; because a known and settled
usage of governing affords the only security
against the enormities of uncontrolled dominion,
and because tills -security is weakened by every
encroachment which is mafle without opposition,
or opposed without affect.
V. No usage, law, or authority whatsoever,
is so binding, that it need or ought to be con-
tinued, when it may be changed with advantage
to the community. The family of the prince, th6
order of succession, the prerogative of the crown,
the form and parts of the legislature, together
with the respecfive -powers, office, duration, and
mutual dependency, of the se\-ra! parts, sire all
only so many /air*, mutable like other laws,
wheiK'vr expediency requires, either by the ordi-
nar/ act of the legislature, or, if the occasion de-
serve it, by the interposition of -the people.
These points are wont to be approached with a
kind of awe; they are represented to the mind as
principles of the constitution settled by our ances-
tors, and, being settled, -to be no more committed
to innovation and dclmte ; as foundations never to
be stirred ; as the terms and conditions of the so-
Qial compact, to which every citizen of the state
has engaged his fidelity, by virtue of a promise
which he cannot now recall. Such reasons ha\o
no place in our system : to us, if there be any
good reason for treating these with more defer-
ence and respect than other laws, it is either the
advantage of the present constitution of govern-
ment (which reason must be of dill'erent force in
different countries,) or because in all countries it
is of importance that the form and usage of gov-
erning be acknowledged and understood, as well
by the governors as by the governed, and because,
the seldomer it is changed, the more perfectly it
will be known by both sides.
VI. As all civil obligation is resolved into ex-
pediency, what, it may he asked, is (he difference
between the obligation of an Englishman and a
Frenchman 1 or why, since the obligation of both
appears to be founded in the same reason, is a
Frenchman bound in conscience to bear any
thing from his king, which an Englishman would
not be bound to bear'? Their conditions may
differ, but their rights, according to account,
should seem to be equal : and yet we are accus-
tomed to speak of the rights, as well as of the
happiness of a free people, compared with what
belong to the subjects of absolute monarchies ;
how, you will say, can this comparison be ex-
plained, unless we refer to a difference in the
compacts by which they are respectively bound 1
This is a fair question, and the answer to it
will afford a farther illustration of our principles.
We admit then that there are many things which
a Frenchman is bound in conscience, as well as
by coercion, to endure at the hands of his prince,
to which an Englishman would not be obliged to
submit : but we assert, that it is for these two rea-
sons alone : Jirst, because the same act of the
prince is not the same grievance, where it is
agreeable to the constitution, and where it in-
fringes it; secondly, because redress in the two
cases is not equally attainable. Resistance cannot
attempted With equal hopes of success, or with
the same prospect of receiving support from
others, where the people are reconciled to their
sufferings, as where' they are alarmed by in-
novation. In this way, and no otherwise, the
subjects of different states possess different civil
rights; the duty of obedience is defined by differ-
ent boundaries ; and the point of justifiable resist-
ance placed at different parts of the scale of suf-
fering; all which is sufficiently intelligible with-
out a social compact.
VII. " The interest of the whole society is
binding upon every part of it. No rule, short of
;his, will provide for the stability of civil govern-
ment, or for the peace and safety of social life.
DUTY OF CIVIL OBEDIENCE.
115
Wherefore, as individual members of the state
are not permitted to pursue their emolument to
the prejudice of the community, so is it equally
a consequence of this rule, that no particular co-
lony, province, town, or district, can justly concert
measures lor their separate interest, which shall
appear at the same time to diminish the sum of
prosperity. 1 do not mean, that it is necessary to
the justice of a measure, that it profit each -and
every part of the community, (for, as the happi-
ness of the whole may be increased, whilst that of
some parts is diminished, it is possible that the
conduct of one part of an empire may be detri-
mental to some other part, and yet just, provided
one part gain more in happiness than the other
part loses, so that the common weal be augment-
ed by the change;) but what 1 aflirmis, that those
counsels can never be reconciled with the obliga-
tions resulting from civil union, which cause the
whole happiness of the society to be impaired for
the conveniency of a part. This conclusion is,
applicable to the question of right between Great
Ismaitvjintl her revolted colonies. 'Had 1 bet MI
an American, I should not have thought itenough
to have had it even demonstrated, that a si par i-
tion from the parent state would produce ellecis
beneficial to America; my relation to that state
imposed u[)on me a further inquiry, namelv.
whether the whole happiness of the empire was
likely to be promoted by such a measure: not in-
deed the happiness ot every part; that was not
:rv. nor to be expected; but whether what
Great Britian would lose by the separation, was
likely to be compensated to the joint stock ofhap-
pine-s, by the advantages which America would
receive from it. The contested claims of sove-
reign st-desand their remote dependencies, may be
submitted to the adjudication of this rule with
mutual safety. A public advantage is measured
by the advantage which each individual receives.
and by the numlrcr of those who receive it. A
public evil is compounded of the same proportions.
VVhilst, therefore, a colony is small, , or a province
thinly inhabited, if a competition of interests arises
between the original country and their acquired
dominions, the former ought to be preferred :
because it is fit that, if one must necessarily be
sacrificed, the less give place to the greater ; but
when, by an increase of population, the interest
of the provinces begins to bear a considerable pro-
portion to the entire interest of the community, it
is possible that they may suffer so much by their
subjection, that not only theirs, but the wh,ole
happiness of the empire, may be obstructed by
their union. The rule and principle of the cal-
culation being still the same, the result is differ-
ent : and this difference begets a new situation,
which entitles the subordinate parts of the states
to more equal terms of confederation, and if these
be refused, to independency.
CHAPTER IV.
The Duty of Civil Obedience, as stated in the
Christian Scriptures.
We affirm that, as to the extent of our civil
rights and obligations, Christianity hath left us
where she found us ; that she hath neither altered
it nor ascertained it ; that the New Testament con-
tains not one passage, which, fairly interpreted,
affords either argument or objection applicable to
any conclusions upon the subject, that are de-
duced from the law and religion of nature.
The only passages which have been seriously
alleged in the controversy, or which it is neces-
sary for us to state and examine, are the two fol-
lowing ; the one extracted from St. Paul's Epistle
to the Romans, the other from the First General
Epistle of St. Peter:
ROMANS xiii. 17.
"Let every soul be subject unto the higher
powers : for therd is no power but of God : the
powers that be, are; ordained of God. Who-
soever therefore resisteth the power, resisteth the
ordinance of God ; and they that resist, shall re-
ceive to themselves damnation. For rulers aro
not a terror to good works, but to the evil. Wilt
thou then not be afraid of the power 1 Do that
which is good, and thou shall pave praise of the
same ; for he is the minister of God to thee for
good. But if you do that which is evil, be afraid ;
tor he bearcth not the sword in vain : for he is the
minister of God, a revenger to execute wrath
upon him that doeth evil. Wherefore ye must
needs be subject, not only for wrath, but also
for conscience' sake. For, for this cause pay ye
tribute also ; for they are God's ministers, attending
continually upon this very thing. Render there-
fore to all their dues; tribute to whom tribute is
due, custom to whom custom, fear to whom fear,
honour to whom honour."
1 PETER ii. 1318.
" Submit
for the Lo
supreme; or unto governors, as unto them that
are sent by him for the punishment of evil-doers,
and for the praise of them that do well. For so
is the will of God, that- with well-doing ye may
put to silence the ignorance of foolish men : as
free, and not using your liberty for a cloak of ma-
licious'ness, but as the servants of God."
To comprehend the proper import of these in-
structions, let the reader reflect, that upon the
subject of civil obedience there are two questions :
the first, whether to obey government be a moral
duty and obligation upon the conscience at all ;
the second, how far, and to what cases, that obe-
dience ought to extend 1 that these two questions
are so distinguishable in the imagination, that it
is possible to treat of the one, without any thought
of the other ; and lastly, that if expressions which
relate to one of these questions be transferred and
applied to the other, it is with great danger of
giving them a signification very different from the
author's meaning. This distinction is not only
possible, but natural. If I met with a person who
appeared to entertain doubts, whether civil obe-
dience were a moral duty which ought to be vo-
luntarily discharged, or whether it were not a
mere submission to force, like that which we
yield to a robber who holds a pistol to our breast,
I should represent to him the use and offices of
civil government, the end and the necessity of
civil subjection ; or, if I preferred a different theory,
I should explain to him the social compact, urge
him with the obligation and the equity of his im-
plied promise and tacit consent to be governed by
the laws of the state from which he received pro-
tection ; or I should argue, perhaps, that Nature
herself dictate:! tlie law of subordination, when
it yourselves to every ordinance of man
rd's sake ; whether it be to the king, a
11C
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
she planted within us an inclination to associate
with our species, and framed us with capacities
so various and unequal. From whatever prin-
ciple I set out, 1 should labour to infer from it
this conclusion, "That obedience to I ho state is
to be numbered among the relative duties of hu-
man life, for the transgression of which we shall
be accountable at the tribunal of Divine justice,
whether the magistrate be able to punish us for
it or not ;" and being arrived at this conclusion, I
should stop, having delivered the conclusion itself,
and throughout the whole argument expressed the
obedience, which I inculcated, in the most general
and unqualified terms; all reservations and re-
strictions being superfluous, and foreign to the
doubt I was employed to remove.
If, in a short time afterwards, I should be ac-
costed by the same person, with complaints of
public grievances, of exorbitant taxes, of acts of
cruelty and oppression, of tyrannical encroach-
ments upon the ancient or stipulated rights of the
people, and should be consulted whether it were
lawful to revolt, or justifiable to join in an attempt
to shake off the yoke by open resistance ; I should
certainly consider myself as having a case and
Question before me very different from the former,
should now define and discriminate. I should
reply, that if public expediency be the foundation,
it is also the measure, of civil'obcdience : that the
obligation of subjects and sovereigns is recipro-
cal; that the duty of allegiance, whether it be
founded in utility or compact, is neither unlimited
nor unconditional ; that peace may be purchased
too dearly ; that patience becomes culpable pusil-
lanimity, when it serves only to encourage our
rulers to increase the weight of our burthen, or to
bind it the faster ; that the submission which sur-
renders the liberty of a nation, and entails slavery
upon future generations, is enjoined by no law of
rational morality ; finally, I should instruct the
inquirer to compare the peril and expense of his
enterprise with the effects it was expected to pro-
duce, and to make choice of the alternative by
which not his own present relief or profit, but the
whole and permanent interest pf the state, was
likely to be best promoted. If any one who had
been present at both these conversations should
upbraid me with change or inconsistency of
opinion, should retort upon me the passive doc-
trine which I before taught, the large and ab-
solute terms in which I then delivered lessons of
obedience and submission, I should account my-
self unfairly dealt with. I should reply, that the
only difference which the language of the two
conversations presented was, that I added now
many exceptions and limitations, which were
omitted or unthought of then : that this difference
arose naturally from the two occasions, such ex-
ceptions being as necessary to the subject of our
present conference, as they would have been su-
perfluous and unseasonable in the former.
Now the difference in these two conversations
is precisely the distinction to be taken in inter-
preting those passages of Scripture, concerning
which we are debating. They inculcate the duty,
they do not describe the extent of it. They en-
force the obligation by the proper sanctions of
Christianity, without intending either to enlarge
or contract, without considering, indeed, the limits
by which it is bounded. This is also the method
in which the same apostles enjoin the duty of ser-
vants to their masters, of children to their parents,
of wives to their husbands: " Servants, be subject
to your masters." " Children, obey your parents
in all things." " Wives, submit yourselves unto
your own husbands." The same concise and
absolute form of expression occurs in all these
precepts ; the same silence as to any exceptions
or distinctions : yet no one doubts that the com-
mands of masters, parents, and husbands, are
often so immoderate, unjust, and inconsistent
with other obligations, that they both may and
ought to be resisted. In letters or dissertations
written professedly upon separate articles of mo-
rality, we might with more reason have looked for
a precise delineation of our duty, and some degree
of modern accuracy in the rules which were laid
down for our direction : but in those short collec-
tions of practical maxims which compose the con-
clusion, or some small portion, of a doctrinal or
perhaps controversial epistle, we cannot be sur-
prised to find the author more solicitous to impress
the duty, than curious to enumerate exceptions.
The consideration of this distinction is alone
sufficient to vindicate these passages of Scripture
from any explanation which may be put upon
them, in favour of an unlimited passive obedience.
But if we be permitted to assume a supposition
which many commentators proceed upon as a
certainty, that the first Christians privately che-
rished an opinion, that their conversion to Chris-
tianity entitled them to new immunities, to an
exemption as of right (however they might give
way to necessity,) from the authority of the Ro-
man sovereign; we are furnished with a still
more apt and satisfactory interpretation of the
apostles' words. The two passages apply with
great propriety to the refutation of this error:
they teach the Christian convert to obey the ma-
gistrate "for the Lord's sake;" "not only for
wrath, but for conscience' sake;" "that there is no
power but of God ;" " that the powers that be,"
even the present rulers of the Roman empire,
though heathens and usurpers, seeing they are in
possession of the actual and necessary authority
of civil government, " are ordained of God ;" and,
consequently, entitled to receive obedience from
those who profess themselves the peculiar ser-
ants of God, in a greater (certainly not in a less)
degree than from any others. They briefly de-
scribe the office of " civil governors, the punish-
ment of evil-doers, and the praise of them that do
well;" from- which description of the use of govern-
ment, they justly infer the duty of subjection ;
which duty, being as extensive as the reason upon
which it is founded, belongs to Christians, no less
than to the heathen members of the community.
If it be admitted, that the two apostles wrote with
a view to this particular question, it will Ire con-
fessed, that their words cannot be transferred to a
question totally different from this, with any cer-
tainty of carrying along with us their authority
and intention. There exists no resemblance be-
tween the case of a primitive convert, who dis-
puted the jurisdiction of the Roman government
over a disciple of Christianity, and his who, ac-
knowledging the general^ authority of the state
over all its subjects, doubts whether that authority
be not, in -some important branch of it, so ill con-
stituted or abused, as to warrant the endeavours
of the people to bring about a reformation by force.
Nor .can we judge what reply the apostles would
have made to this second question if it had l>een
proposed to them, from any thing they have de-
OP CIVIL LIBERTY.
117
livered upon the first ; any more than, in the two
consultations above described, it could be known
beforehand what I would say in the latter, from
the answer which I gave the former.
The only detect to this account is, that neither
the Scriptures, nor any subsequent history of the
early ages of the Church, furnish any direct at-
testation of the existence of such disaffected sen-
timents amongst the primitive converts. They
supply indeed some circumstances which render
probable the opinion, that extravagant notions of
the political rights of the Christian state were at
that time entertained by many proselytes to the re-
ligion. from the question proposed unto Christ,
" Is it lawful to give tribute to Caesar V it may be
? resumed that doubts had been started in the
ewish schools concerning the obligation, or even
the lawfulness, of submission to the Roman yoke.
The accounts delivered by Josephus, of various
insurrections of the Jews of that and the following
age, excited by this principle, or upon this pre-
tence, confirm the presumption. Now, as the
Christians were at first chiefly taken from the
Jews, confounded with them by the rest of the
world, and, from the affinity of the two religions,
apt to intermix the doctrines of both, it is not to
be wondered at, that a tenet, so flattering to the
self-importance of those who embraced it, should
have been communicated to the new institution.
A^ain, the teachers of Christianity, amongst the
privileges which their religion conferred upon its
professors, were wont to extol the " liberty into
which they were called," "in which Christ had
made them free." This liberty, which was in-
tended of a deliverance from the various servitude,
in which they had heretofore lived, to the domina-
tion of sinful passions, to the superstition of the
Gentile idolatry, or the encumbered ritual of the
Jewish dispensation, might by some be interpreted
to signify an emancipation from all restraint which
was imposed by an authority merely human. At
least, they might be represented by their enemies
as maintaining notions of this dangerous tendency.
To some error or calumnv of this kind, the words
of St. Peter seem to allude : " For so is the will
of God, that with well-doing ye may put to silence
the ignorance of foolish men : as free, and not
using your liberty for a cloak of maliciousness (t. e.
sedition,) but as the servants of God." After all, if
any one think this conjecture too feebly supported
by testimony, to be relied upon in the interpretation
of Scripture, he will then revert to the consider-
ations alleged in the preceding part of this chapter.
After so copious an account of what we appre-
hend to be the general design and doctrine of
these much-agitated passages, little need be added
an explanation of particular clauses. St. Paul
has said, " Whosoever resisteth the power, re-
sisteth the ordinance of God." This phrase, " the
ordinance of God," is by many so interpreted as
to authorise the most exalted and superstitious
ideas of the regal character. But surely, such
interpreters have sacrificed truth to adulation. For,
in the first place, the expression, as used by
St. Paul, is just as applicable to one kind of
government, and to one kind of succession, as to
another ; to the elective magistrates of a pure
republic, as to an absolute hereditary monarch. In
the next place, it is not affirmed of the supreme
magistrate exclusively, that he is the ordinance of
God; the title, whatever it imports, belongs to
every inferior officer of the state as much as to the
highest. The divine right of kings is, like the
divine right of other magistrates, the law of the
land, or even actual and quiet possession of their
office ; a right ratified, we humbly presume, by
the divine approbation, so long as obedience to
their authority appears to be necessary or condu-
cive to the common welfare. Princes are ordain-
ed of God by virtue only of that general decree
by which he assents, and adds the sanction of his
will, to every law of society which promotes his
own purpose, the communication of human hap
pi ness ; according to which idea of their origin
and constitution (and without any repugnancy to
the words of St. Paul,) they are by St. Peter de-
nominated the ordinance of man.
CHAPTER V.
Of Civil Liberty.
CIVIL LIBERTY is the not being restrained by
any law, but what conduces in a greater degree
to the public welfare. .
To do what we will, is natural liberty : to do
what we will, consistently with the interest of the
community to which we belong, is civil liberty;
that is to say, the only liberty to be desired in a
state of civil society.
I should wish, no doubt, to be allowed to act in
every instance as I pleased, but I reflect that the
rest also of mankind , would then do the same ; in
which state of universal independence and self-
direction, I should meet with so many checks and
obstacles to my own will, from the interference and
opposition of other men's, that not only my hap-
piness, but my liberty, would be less, than whilst
the whole community were subject to the domi-
nion of equal laws.
The bdasted liberty of a state of nature exists '
only in a state of solitude. In every kind and de-
gree of union and intercourse with his species, it
is possible that the liberty of the individual may
be augmented by the very laws which restrain it:
because he may gain more from the limitation of
other men's freedom than he suffers by the dimi-
nution of his own. Natural liberty is the right
of common upon a waste ; civil liberty is the safe,
exclusive, unmolested enjoyment of a cultivated
enclosure.
Thedefinition of civil liberty above laid down, im-
ports that the laws of a free people impose no re-
straints upon the private will of the subject, which
do not conduce in a greater degree to the public
happiness ; by which it is intimated, 1st, that re-
straint itself is an evil ; 2dly, that this evil ought to
be overbalanced by some public advantage ; 3dly,
that the proof of this advantage lies upon the le-
gislature ; 4thly, that a law being found to pro-
duce no sensible good effects, is a sufficient reason
for repealing it, as adverse and injurious to the
rights of a free citizen, without demanding spe-
cific evidence of its bad effects. This maxim
might be remembered with advantage in a revision
of many laws of this country ; especially of the
game-laws ; of the poor-laws, so far as they lay
restrictions upon the poor themselves ; of the laws
against Papists and Dissenters: and, amongst
people enamoured to excess and jealous of their
liberty, it seems a matter of surprise that this
principle has been so imperfectly attended to.
The degree of actual liberty always bearing,
118
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
according to this account of it, a reversed propor-
tion to the number and severity of the restrictions
which are- either useless, or the utility of which
does not outweigh the evil of the restraint, it fol-
lows, thabevery nation possesses some, no nation
perfect, liberty : that this liberty may be enjoyed
under every form of government : that it may be
impaired indeed, or increased, but that it is neither
gained, nor lost, nor recovered, by any single re-
gulation, change, or event whatever : that conse-
quently, those popular phrases which speak of a
free people ; of a nation of slaves ; which call one
revolution the aera of liberty, or another the loss
of it ; with many expressions of a like absolute
form ; are intelligible only in^a comparative sense.
Hence also we are enabled to apprehend the
distinction between personal and civil liberty.
A citizen of the v freest republic in the world may
be imprisoned for his crimes ; and though his per-
sonal freedom be restrained by bolts anu fetters, so
long as his confinement is the effect of a benefi-
cial public law, his civil liberty is not invaded. If
this instance appear dubious, the following will be
plainer. A passenger from the Levant, who, upon
his return to England, should be conveyed to a
lazaretto by an order of quarantine, with what-
ever impatience he might desire his enlargement,
and though he saw a guard placed at the door to
oppose his escape, or even ready to destroy his
life if he attempted it, would hardly accuse govern-
ment of encroaching upon his civil freedom ; nay,
might, perhaps, be all the while congratulating
himself that he had at length set his foot again in
a land of liberty. The manifest expediency of
the measure not only justifies it, but reconciles the
most odious confinement with the -perfect pos-
session, and the loftiest notions, of civil liberty.
And if this be true of the coercion of a prison,
that it is compatible with a state of civil freedom,
it cannot with reason be disputed of those more mo-
derate constraints which the ordinary operation of
government imposes upon the will of the individual.
It is not the rigour, but the inexpediency of laws
and acts of authority, which makes them tyrannical.
There is another idea of civil liberty, which,
though neither so simple nor so 'accurate as the
former, agrees better with the signification, which
the usage of common discourse, as well as the ex-
ample of many respectable writers upon the sub-
ject, has affixed to the term. This idea places
liberty in security ; making it to consist not merely
in an actual exemption from the constraint of
useless and noxious laws and acts of dominion,
but in being free from the danger of having such
hereafter imposed or exercised. Thus, speaking
of the political state of modern Europe, we are
accustomed to say of Sweden, that she hath lost
her liberty by the revolution which lately took
place in that country ; and yet we are assured that
the people continue to be governed by the same
laws as before, or by others which are wiser,
milder, and more equitable. What then have
they lost 1 They have lost the power and func-
tions of their diet; the constitution of their states
and orders, whose deliberations and concurrence
were required in the formation and establishment
of every public law; and thereby have parted
with the security which they possessed against
any attempts of the crown to harass its subjects,
by oppressive and useless exertions of prerogative.
The loss of this security we denominate the loss of
liberty. They have changed, not their laws, but
their legislature; not their enjoyment, but their
safety ; not their present burthens, but their pros-
pects of future grievances ; and this we pronounce
a change from the condition of freemen to that
of slaves. In like manner, in our own country, the
act of parliament, in the reign of Henry the
Eighth, which gave to the king's proclamation
the force of law, has properly been called a com-
plete and formal surrender of the liberty of the
nation; and would have been so, although no
proclamation were issued in pursuance of these
new powers, or none but what was recommended
by the highest wisdom and utility. The security
was gone. Were it probable that the welfare
and accommodation of the people would be as stu-
diously, and as providently, consulted in the edicts
of a despotic prince, as by the resolutions of a
popular assembly, then would an absolute form of
government be no less free than the purest demo-
cracy. The different degree of care and know-
ledge of the public interest, which may reasonably
be expected from the different form and composi-
tion of the legislature, constitutes the distinction,
in respect of liberty, as well between these two
extremes, as between all the intermediate modifi-
cations of civil government.
The definitions which have been framed of civil
liberty, and which have become the subject of
much unnecessary altercation, are most of them
adapted to this idea. Thus one political writer
makes the very essence of the subject's liberty to
consist in his being governed by no laws but those
to which he hath actually consented ; another is
satisfied with an indirect and virtual consent; an-
other, again, places civil liberty in the separation
of the legislative and executive offices of govern-
ment ; another, in the being governed by law;
that is, by known, preconstituted, inflexible rules
of action and adjudication ; a fifth, in the exclu-
sive right of the people to tax themselves by their
own representatives ; a sixth, in the freedom and
purity of elections of representatives ; a seventh,
in the control which the democratic party of the
constitution possesses over the military establish-
ment. Concerning which, and some other simi-
lar accounts of civil liberty, it may be observed,
that they all labour under one inaccuracy, viz.
that they describe not so much liberty itself, as the
safeguards and preservatives of liberty : for exam-
ple, a man's being governed by no laws but those
to which he has given his consent, were it practi-
cable, is no otherwise necessary to the enjoyment
of civil liberty, than as it affords a probable secu-
rity against the dictation of laws imposing super-
fluous restrictions upon his private will. This
remark is applicable to the rest. The diversity
of these definitions will not surprise us, when we
consider that there is no contrariety or opposition
amongst them whatever : for, by how many dif-
ferent provisions and precautions civil liberty is
fenced and protected, so many different accounts of
liberty itself, all sufficiently consistent with truth
and with each other, may, according to this mode
of explaining the term, be framed and adopted.
Truth cannot be offended by a definition, but
propriety may. In which view, those definitions
)f liberty ought to be rejected, which, by making
that essential to civil freedom which is unattain-
able in experience, inflame expectations that can
never be gratified, and disturb the public content
with complaints, which no wisdom or benevolence
of government can remove.
OP DIFFERENT FORMS OF GOVERNMENT.
119
It will not be thought extraordinary, that an
idea, which occurs so much oftener as the subject
of panegyric and careless declamation, than of just
reasoning or correct knowledge, should be attend-
ed with uncertainty and confusion ; or that it
should be found impossible to contrive a definition,
which may include the numerous, unsettled, and
ever-varying significations, which the term is made
to stand for, and at the same time accord with the
condition and experience of social life.
Of the two ideas that have been stated of civil
liberty, whichever we assume, and whatever rea-
soning we found upon them, concerning its extent,
nature, value, and preservation, this is the conclu-
sion ; that that people, government, and consti-
tution, is the freest, which makes the best provi-
sion for the enacting of expedient and salutary
laws.
CHAPTER VI.
Of different Forms of Government.
As a series of appeals must be finite, there ne-
cessarily exists in every government a power from
which the constitution has provided no appeal ; and
which power, for that reason, may be termed ab-
solute, omnipotent, uncontrollable, arbitrary, des-
potic ; and is alike so in all countries.
The person, or assembly, in whdm this power
resides, is called the sovereign, or the supreme
power of the state.
Since to the same power universally appertains
the office of establishing public laws, it is called
also the legislature of the state.
A government receives its denomination from
the form of the legislature ; which form is likewise
what we commonly mean by the constitution of a
country.
Political writers enumerate three principal
forms of government, which, however, are to be
regarded rather as the simple forms, by some com-
bination and intermixture of which all actual go-
vernments are composed, than as any where ex-
isting in a pure and elementary state. These forms '
are,
I. Despotism, or absolute MONARCHY, where the
legislature is in a single person.
II. An ARISTOCRACY, where the legislature is
in a select assembly, the members of which either 1
fill up by election the vacancies in their own body,
or succeed to their places in it by inheritance, pro-
perty, tenure of certain lands, or in respect of some
personal right, or qualification.
III. A REPUBLIC, or democracy, where the peo-
ple at large, either collectively or by representation,
constitute the legislature.
The separate advantages of MONARCHY, are,
unity of counsel, activity, decision, secrecy, de-
spatch; the military strength and energy which
result from these qualities of government ; the ex-
clusion of popular and aristrocratical contentions ;
the preventing, by a known rule of succession, of
all competition for the supreme power ; and there-
by repressing the hopes, intrigues, and dangerous
ambition of aspiring citizens.
The mischiefs, or rather the dangers, of MO-
NARCHY are, tyranny, expense, exaction, military
domination : unnecessary wars, waged to gratify
the passions of an individual; risk of the charac-
ter of the reigning prince j ignorance, in the go-
vernors, of the interests and accommodation of the
people, and a consequent deficiency of salutary
regulations ; want of constancy and uniformity in
the rules of government, and, proceeding from
thence, insecurity of person and property.
The separate advantage of an ARISTOCRACY
consists in the wisdom which may be expected from
experience and education : a permanent council
naturally possesses experience ; and the members
who succeed to their places in it by inheritance,
will, probably, be trained and educated with a view
to the stations which they are destined by their
birth to occupy.
The mischiefs of an ARISTOCRACY are, dissen-
sions in the ruling orders of the state, which, from
the want of a common superior, are liable to proceed
to the most desperate extremities ; oppression of the
lower orders by the privileges of the higher, and by
laws partial to the separate interest of the law-
makers.
The advantages of a REPUBLIC are, liberty, or
exemption from needless restrictions; equal laws;
regulations adapted to the- wants and circumstances
of the people; public spirit, frugality, averseness
to War ; the opportunities which democratic as-
semblies afford to men of every description, of pro-
ducing their abilities and counsels to public obser-
vation, and the exciting thereby, and calling forth
to the sen-ice of the commonwealth, the faculties
of its best citizens.
The evils of a REPUBLIC are, dissension, tumults,
faction ; the attempts of powerful citizens to pos-
sess themselves of the empire ; the confusion, rage,
and clamour, which are the inevitable consequences
of assembling multitudes, and of propounding ques-
tions of state to the discussion of the people ; the
delay and disclosure of public counsels and designs ;
and the imbecility of measures retarded by the ne-
cessity of obtaining the consent of numbers : lastly,
the oppression of the provinces which are not ad-
mitted to a participation in the legislative power.
A mixed government is composed by the com-
bination of two or more of the simple forms of go-
vernment above described : and in whatever pro-
portion each form enters into the constitution of a
government, in the same proportion may both the
advantages and evils, which we have attributed to
that form, be expected : that is, those are the uses
to lie maintained and cultivated in each part of the
constitution, and these are the dangers to be pro-
vided against in each. Thus, if secrecy and de-
spatch be truly enumerated amongst the separate
excellencies of regal government, then a mixed go-
vernment, which retains monarchy in one part of
its constitution, should be careful that the other
estates of the empire do not, by an officious and
inquisitive interference with the executive func-
tions, which are, or ought to be, reserved to the
administration of the prince, interpose delays, or
divulge what it is expedient to conceal. On the
other hand, if profusion, exaction, military domi-
nation, and needless wars, l>e justly accounted natu-
ral properties of monarchy, in its simple unqualified
form ; then are these the objects to which, in a
mixed government, the aristrocratic and popular
part of the constitution ought to direct their vigi-
lance ; the dangers against which they should raise
and fortify their barriers ; these are departments of
sovereignty, over which a power of inspection
and control ought to be deposited with the people.
The same observation may be repeated of all the
other advantages and inconveniences which have
130
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
been ascribed to the several simple forms of gov-
ernment; and affords a rule whereby to direct the
construction, improvements, and administration,
of mixed governments subjected however to this
remark, that a quality sometimes results from the
conjunction of two simple forms of government,
which belongs not to the separate existence of
either : thus corruption, which has no place in an
absolute monarchy, and little in a pure republic,
is sure to gain admission into a constitution which
divides the" supreme power between an executive
magistrate and a popular council.
An hereditary MONARCHY is universally to be
preferred to an elective monarchy. The confes-
sion of every writer on the subject of civil govern-
ment, the experience of ages, the example of Po-
land, and of the papal dominions, seem to place
this amongst the few indubitable maxims which
the science of politics admits of. A crown is too
splendid a prize to be conferred upon merit : the
passions or interests of the electors exclude all
consideration of the qualities of the competitors.
The same observation holds concerning the ap-
pointments to any office which is attended with a
great share of power or emolument. Nothing is
gained by a popular choice, worth the dissensions,
tumults, and interruption of regular industry, with
which it is inseparably attended. Add to this,
that a king, who owes his elevation to the event
of a contest, or to any other cause than a fixed
rule of succession, will be apt to regard one part
of his subjects as the associates of Ms fortune, and
the other as conquered foes. Nor should it be
forgotten, amongst the advantages of an heredi-
tary monarchy, that, as plans of national im-
provement and reform are seldom brought to ma-
turity by the exertions of a single reign, a nation
can not attain to the degree t)f happiness and pros-
perity to which it is capable of being carried,
unless an uniformity of counsels, a consistency
of public measures and designs, be continued
through a succession of ages. This benefit may
be expected with greater probability where the
supreme power descends in the same race, and
where each prince succeeds, in some sort, to the
aim, pursuits, and disposition of his ancestor, than
if the crown, at every change, devolve upon a
stranger, whose first care will commonly be to
pull down what his predecessor had built up;
and to substitute systems of administration, which
must, in their turn, give way to the more favour-
ite novelties of the next successor.
ARISTOCRACIES are of two kinds. First, where
the power of the nobility belongs to them in their
collective capacity alone ; that is, where, although
the government reside in an assembly of the or-
der, yet the members of that assembly separately
and indvidually possess no authority or privilege
beyond the rest of the community : this describes
the constitution of Venice. Secondly, where the
nobles are severally invested with great personal
power and immunities, and where the power of
the senate is little more than the aggregated
power of the individuals who compose it : this is
the constitution of Poland. Of these two forms
of government, the first is more tolerable than
the last ; for, although the members of a senate
should many, or even all of them, be profligate
enough to abuse the authority of their stations in
the prosecution of private designs, yet, not being
all under a temptation to the same injustice, not
having all the same end to gain, it would still be
difficult to obtain the consent of a majority to any
specific act of oppression which the iniquity of an
individual might prompt him to propose : or if the
will were the same, the power is more confined ;
one tyrant, whether the tyranny reside in a single
person, or a senate, cannot exercise oppression at
so many places, at the same time, as it may be
carried on by the dominion of a numerous nobiUty
over their respective vassals and dependants. Of
all species of domination, this is the most odious :
the freedom and satisfaction of private life are
more constrained and harassed by it than by the
most vexatious law, or even by the lawless will
of an arbitrary monarch, from whose knowledge,
and from whose injustice, the greatest part of his
subjects are removed by their distance, or con-
cealed by their obscurity.
Europe exhibits more than one modern example,
where the people, aggrieved by the exactions, or
provoked by the enormities, of their immediate
superiors, have joined with the reigning prince in
the overthrow of the aristocracy, deliberately ex-
changing their condition for the miseries of despot-
ism. About the middle of the last century, the
commons of Denmark, weary of the oppressions
which they had long suffered from the nobles,
and exasperated by some recent insults, presented
themselves at the foot of the throne with a formal
offer of their consent to establish unlimited do-
minion in the king. The revolution in Sweden,
still more lately brought about with the acqui-
escence, not to say the assistance, of the people,
owed its success to the same cause, namely, to the
prospect of deliverance that it afforded from the
tyranny which their nobles exercised under the
old constitution. In England, the people beheld
the depression of the barons, under the house of
Tudor, with satisfaction, although they saw the
crown acquiring thereby a power which no limi-
tations that the constitution had then provided
were likely to confine. The lesson to be drawn
from such events, is this : that a mixed govern-
ment, which admits a patrician order into its con-
stitution, ought to circumscribe the personal pri-
vileges of the nobility, especially claims of here-
ditary jurisdiction and local authority, with a
jealousy equal to the solicitude with which it
wishes its own preservation : for nothing so
alienates the minds of the people from the govern-
ment under which they live, by a perpetual sense
of annoyance and inconveniency, or so prepares
them for the practices of an enterprising prince or
a factious demagogue, as the abuse which almost
always accompanies the existence of separate
immunities.
Amongst the inferior, but by no means incon-
siderable advantages of a DKMOCRATIC constitu-
tion, or of a constitution in which the people par-
take of the power of legislation, the following
should not be neglected :
I. The direction which it gives to the educa-
tion, studies, and pursuits, of the superior orders
of the community. The share which this has in
forming the public manners and national charac-
ter, is very important. In countries, in which
the gentry are excluded from all concern in the
government, scarcely any thing is left which
leads to advancement, but the profession of arms.
They who do not addict themselves to this pro-
fession (and miserable must that country be,
which constantly employs the military service of
a great proportion of any order of its subjects !) aiQ
OF DIFFERENT FORMS OF GOVERNMENT.
121
commonly lost by the more \v;rat of object and des-
tination : that is, they either fall, without reserve,
into the more sottish habits of animal gratification,
or entirely devote themselves to the attainment of
those futile arts and decorations which compose
the business and recommendations of a court : on
the other hand, where the whole, or any effective
portion, of civil power is possessed by a popular as-
sembly, more serious pursuits will be encouraged ;
purer morals, and in a more intellectual character,
will engage the public esteem; those faculties
which qualify men for delilvration and debate,
and which are the fruit of sober habit*, of early
and long-continued application, will be roused
and animated by the reward which, of all others,
most readily awakens the ambition of the human
mind political dignity and importance.
II. Popular elections procure to the common
people courtesy from their superiors. That con-
temptuous and overbearing insolence, with which
the lower orders of the community are wont to lx?
treated by the higher, is greatly mitigated where
the people have something to give. The assi-
duity with which their favour is sought upon
these occasions, serves to generate settled habits
of condescension and respect ; and as human life
is more embittered by affronts than injuries, what-
ever contributes to procure mildness and civi-
lity of manners towards those who are most liable
to suffer from a contrary behaviour, corrects, with
the pride, in a great measure, the evil of ine-
quality, and deserves to be accounted among tl^e
most generous institutions of social life.
III. The satisfactions which the people in free
governments derive from the knowledge and
agitation of political subjects ; such as the proceed-
ings and debates of tlie senate; the conduct and
characters of ministers ; the revolutions, intrigues,
and contention* of parties; and, in general, from
the discussion of public measures, questions, and
occurrences. Subjects of this sort excite just
enough of interest and emotion to afford a mode-
rate rngageinent to the thoughts, without rising
to any painful degree of anxiety, or ever leaving
a fixed operation upon the spirits ; and what is
this, but the end and aim of all those amusements
which compose so much of the business of life
and of the value of riches 1 For my part (and I
believe it to be the case with most men who are
arrived at the middle age, and occupy the middle
classes of life.) had I all the money which I pay
in taxes to government, at liberty to lay out upon
amusement and diversion, I know not whether I
could make choice of any in which I could find
greater pleasure than what I receive from expect-
ing, hearing, and relating public news ; reading
parliamentary debates and proceedings ; canvass-
in ir the political arguments, projects, predictions,
and intelligence, which are conveyed by various
channels, to every corner of the -kingdom. These
topics, exciting universal curiosity, and being
such as almost every man is ready to form and
prepared to deliver his opinion about, greatly pro-
mote, and, I think, improve conversation. . They
render it more rational and more innocent ; they
supply a substitute for drinking, gaming, scandal,-,
and obscenity. Now the secrecy, the jealousy,
the solitude, and precipitation, of despotic govern-
ments, exclude all this. .But the loss, you say, is
trifling. I know that it is possible to render even
the mention of it ridiculous by representing it as
the idle employment of the most insignificant
part of the nation, the folly of village-statesmen and
coffee-house politicians: but I allow nothing to be
a trifle which ministers to the harmless gratifica-
tion of multitudes ; nor any order of men to be in-
significant, whose number bears a respectable
proportion to the sum of the whole community.
We have been accustomed to an opinion, that
a REPUBLICAN form of government suits only with
the affairs of a small state : which opinion is found-
ed in the consideration, that unless the people,
in every district of the empire, be admitted to a
share in the national representation, the govern-
ment is not, as to them, a republic ; that elections,
where the constituents are numerous, and dis-
tl trough a wide extent of country, are con-
ducted with difficulty, or 'rather, indeed, managed
by the "intrigues, and combinations of a few, who
are situated near the place of election each voter
considering his single sul)ra<_re as too minute a
portion of the general interest te deserve his care
or attendance, much less to be worth any opposi-
tion to influence and application ; that whilst we
contract the representation within a compass
small enough to admit of orderly debate, the in-
terest of the constituent becomes too small, of the
representative too great, ft is difficult also to
maintain any connexion between them. He
who represents two hundred thousand, is neces-
sarily a stranger to the greatest part of those who
elect him : and when his interest amongst them
ceases to depend upon an acquaintance with
their persons and character, or a care or know-
ledge of* their affairs ; when such a representative
finds the treasures and honours of a great empire
at the disposal of a few, and himself one of the
few, there is little reason to hope that he will
not prefer to his public duty those temptations of
personal aggrandisement -which his situation of-
fers, and, which the price of his vote will always
purchase. All appeal to the people is precluded
by the impossibility of collecting a sufficient pro-
portion of their force and numbers. The factions
and the unanimity of the senate are equally danger-
ous. Add to these considerations, that in a de-
mocratic constitution the mechanism is too compli-
cated, and the motions too slow, for the operations
of a great empire ; whose defence and govern-
ment require execution and despatch, in propor-
tion to the magnitude, extent, and variety, of its
concerns. There is weight, no doubt, m these
reasons ; but much of the objection seems to be
done away by the contrivance of a federal republic,
which, distributing the country into districts of a
cocpjpodious extent, and leaving to each district
its internal legislation, reserves to a convention of
the states the adjustment of their relative claims ;
the levying, direction, and government, of the
common fgrce of the confederacy ; the requisition
of subsidies for the support of this force ; the mak-
ing of peace and war ; the entering into treaties ;
the regulation of foreign commerce ; the equali-
zation of duties upon imports, so as to prevent
the defrauding the revenue of one province by
smuggling articles of taxation from the borders of
another ; and likewise so as to guard against un-
due partialities in the encouragement of trade.
To what limits, such a republic, might, without
inconveniency, enlarge its dominions, by assuming
neighbouring provinces into the confederation ; or
how far it is capable of uniting the liberty of a
small commonwealth with the safety of a power-
ful empire ; or whether, amongst co-ordinate
122
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
powers, dissensions and jealousies would not be
likely to arise, which, for want of a common su-
perior, might proceed to fatal extremities ; are
questions upon which, the records of mankind do
not authorise us to decide with tolerable certainty.
The experiment is about to be tried in America
upon a large scale.
CHAPTER VII.
Of the British Constitution.
By the CONSTITUTION of a country, is meant
so much of its law, as relates to the designation
and form of the legislature ; the rights .and func-
tions of the several parts of the legislative body ;
the construction, office, and jurisdiction, of courts
of justice. The constitution is one principal di-
vision, section, or title, of the code of public laws ;
distinguished from the rest only by the superior
importance of the subject of which it treats.
Therefore the terms constitutional and unconsti-
tutional, mean legal and illegal. The distinction
and the ideas wliich these terms denote, are found-
ed in the same authority with the law of the
land upon any other subject; and to be ascer-
tained by the same inquiries. In England, the sys-
tem of public jurisprudence is made up of acts of
parliament, of decisions of courts of law, and of im-
memorial usages ; consequently, these are the
principles of which the English constitution itself
consists, the sources from which ail our know-
ledge of its nature and limitations is to be deduced.
and the authorities to wliich all appeal ought to
be made, and by which every constitutional doubt
and question can alone be decided. This plain
and intelligible definition is the more necessary to
be preserved in our thoughts, as some writers
upon the subject absurdly confound what is con
stitutional with what is expedient ; pronouncing
forthwith a measure to be unconstitutional, which
they adjudge in any respect to be detrimental or
dangerous : whilst others, again, ascribe a kind of
transcendant authority, or mysterious sanctity, to
the constitution, as if it were founded in some
higher original than that which gives force and
obligation to the ordinary laws and statutes of the
realm, or were inviolable on any other account
than its intrinsic utility. An act of parliament
in England can never be unconstitutional, in the
strict and proper acceptation pf the term ; in a
lower sense it may, viz. when it militates with the
spirit, contradicts the analogy, or defeats the pro-
vision, of other laws, made to regulate the form of
government. Even that flagitious abuse of their
trust, by which a parliament of Henry the Eighth
conferred upon the king's proclamation the au-
thority of law, was unconstitutional only in this
latter sense.
Most of those who treat of the British consti-
tution, consider it as a scheme of government
formally planned and contrived by our ancestors,
in some certain era of our national history, and as
set up in pursuance of such regular plan and de-
sign. Something of this sort is secretly sup-
posed, or referred to, in the expressions of those
who speak of the " principles of the constitution,"
of bringing back the constitution >to its "first
principles, of restoring it to its " original pu-
rity," or " primitive model." Now this appears
to me an erroneous conception of the subject.
No such plan was ever formed, consequently IK>
such first principles, original model, or standard,
exist: I mean, there never was a date or point of
time 'in our history, when the government of
England was to be set up anew, and when it was
referred to any single person, or assembly, or
committee, to frame a charter for the i'uture go-
vernment of the country ; or when a constitution
so prepared and digested, was by common consent
received and established. In the time of the civil
wars, or rather between the death of Charles the
First and the restoration of his son, many such
projects were published, but none were carried
into execution. The Great Charter, and the
Bill of Rights, were wise and strenuous efforts to
obtain security against certain abuses of regal
power, by wliich the subject had been formerly
aggrieved : but these were, either of them, much
too partial modiJieations of the constitution, to
give it a new original. The constitution of Eng-
land, like that of most countries of Europe, hath
grown out of occasion and emergency ; from the
fluctuating policy of different ages-; from the con-
tentions, successes, interests, and opport unities, of
different orders and parties of men in the com-
munity. It resembles one of those old mansions,
which, instead of being built all at once, after
a regular plan, and according to the rules of
architecture at present established, has been
reared in different ages of the art. has been altered
from time to time, and has been continually re-
ceiving additions and repairs suited to the taste,
fortune, or conveniency, of its successive pro-
prietors. In such a building, we look in vain for
the elegance and proportion, for the just order
and correspondence of parts, which we expect in
a modern edifice; and which external symmetry,
after all, contributes much more perhaps to the
amusement of the beholder, than the accommoda-
tion of the inhabitant.
In the British, and possibly in all other consti-
tutions, there exists a wide difference between the
actual state of the government and the theory.
The one results from the other : but still they are
different. When we contemplate the theory of
the British government, we see the king invested
with the most absolute personal impunity ; with
a power of rejecting laws, which have been re-
solved upon by both houses of parliament ; of con-
ferring by his charter, upon any set or succession
of men he pleases, the privilege of sending re-
presentatives into one house of parliament, as by
,his immediate appointment he can place whom
he will in the other. What is this, a foreigner
might ask, but a more circuitous despotism ? Yet,
when we turn our attention from the legal extent,
to the^actual exercise of royal authority in Eng-
land, we see these formidable prerogatives dwin-
dled into mere ceremonies ; and, in their stead, a
sure and. commanding influence, of which the
constitution, it seems, is totally ignorant, grow-
ing out of that enormous patronage which the
increased territory and opulence of the empire
have placed in the disposal of the executive ma-
gistrate.
. Upon questions of reform, the habit of reflec-
tion to be encouraged, is a sober comparison of
the constitution under which we live, not with
models of speculative perfection, but with the ac-
tual chance of obtaining a better. This turn
of thought will generate a political disposition,
equally removed from that puerile admiration of
OP THE BRITISH CONSTITUTION.
123
present establishments, which sees no fault, and
can endure no change; and that distempered
sensibility, which is alive only to perceptions of
inconveniency, and is too impatient to be -deliver-
ed from the uneasiness which it feels, to compute
either the peril or expense of the remedy. Po-
litical innovations commonly produce many effect!
beside those that are intended. The direct con-
sequence is often the least important. Incidental,
remote, and unthought-of evil or advantages, fre-
quently exceed the good that is designed, or the
mischief that is foreseen. It is from the silent
and unobserved operation, from the obscure pro-
gress of causes set at work for different purposes,
that the crreatest revolutions take thoir rise. "When
Elizabeth, and her immediate successor, applied
themselves to the encouragement and regulation of
trade by many wise 1 tws. they knew not, that, to-
gether with wealth and industry, they were dif-
fusing a consciousness of strength and independ-
ency, which would not long endure, under the,
forms of a mixed government, the dominion of
arbitrary prince^. When it was debated whether
the mutiny act, the law by which the army is
governed and maintained, should be- temporary or
perpetual, little else probably occurred to the ad-
vocates of an annual bill, than the expedii
retaining a control over the most dangerous pre-
rogative of the crown, the direction and
maud of a standing army ; whereas, in its filed,
this single reservation has altered the who.
and quality of the British constitution. For since,
in consequence ui'thti military system which pre-
vails in neighlxnrringand rival nations, as well as
on account of the internal exigencies of govern-
ment, a standing army has Uvome essential to
the safety and administration of the empire, it
enables parliament, by discontinuing this ne.vs-
sary provision, so to enforce its resolutions upon
any other subject, as to render the king's dissent
to a law which has received the approbation of
both houses, too dangerous an exj>eriinent any-
longer to l>e advised. A contest between the king
and parliament, cannot now be persevered in with-
out a dissolution of the government. Lastly, w Inn
the constitution conferred upon the crown the
nomination to all employments in the public ser-
vice, the authors of this arrangement were led to
it, by the obvious propriety of leaving to a master
the choice of his servants; and by the manifest
inconveniency of engaging the national council,
upon every vacancy, in those personal contests
which attend elections to places of honour and
emolument. Our ancestors did not observe that
this disposition added an influence to the regal
office, which, as the number and value of public
employments increased, would supersede in a
great measure the forms, and change the charac-
ter, of the ancient constitution. They knew not,
what the experience and reflection of modern ages
have discovered, that patronage, universally, is
power ; that he who possesses in a sufficient decree
the means of gratifving the desires of mankind
after wealth and distinction, by whatever checks
and forms his authority may be limited or dis-
guised, will direct the management of public af-
fairs. Whatever be the mechanism of the political
engine, he will guide the motion. These instances.
are adduced in order to illustrate the proposition
which we laid down, that, in poU'tics, the most
important and permanent effects have, for the
most part, been incidental and unforeseen: and
this proposition we inculcate, for the sake of the
caution which teaches that changes ought not to
be adventured upon without a comjirchensirc dis-
cernment of the consequences, without a know-
ledge as well of the remote tendency, as of the
immediate design. The courage of a statesman
should resemble that of a commander, who, how-
ever regardless of personal danger, never forgets,
that, with his own, he commits the lives and for-
tunes .of a multitude ; and who does not consider
it as any proof of zeal or valour, to. stake the safety
of other men upon the success of a perilous or des-
perate enterprise.
There is one end of civil government peculiar
to a good constitution, namely, the happiness of
its subjects ; there is another end essential to a
good government, but common to it with many
bad ones, its own preservation. Observing that
the best fonn of government would be defective,
which did not provide lor its own permanency, in
our political reasonings we consider all such pro-
visions as expedient ; and are content to accept as
a sufficient ground for a measure, or law, that it
is necessary or conducive to the preservation of
the constitution. Yet, in truth, such provisions
are absolutely expedient, and such an excuse linnl,
only whilst the constitution is worth preserving;
: In; is, until it can be exchanged for a better. I
this distinction, because many things in
the English, as in every constitution, are to be
vindicated and accounted for solely from their
tendency to maintain the government in its pre-
sent state, and the several parts of it in possession
of the..powcrs which the constitution has assigned
to them; and because I would wish it to be re-
marked, that such a consideration is always sub-
ordinate to another, the value and usefulness of
the constitution itself.
The Government of England, which has been
sometimes called a mixed government, sometimes
a limited monarchy, is formed by a combination
of the. three regular species of government : the
monarchy residing in the King ; the aristocracy,
in the House of Lords ; and the republic, being
represented by the House of Commons. The
perfection intended by such a scheme of govern-
ment is, to unite the advantages of the several
simple forms, and to exclude the inconvcniencies.
To what degree this purpose is attained or attain-
able in the British constitution; wherein it is lost
sight of or neglected ; and by what means it may
in any part be promoted with better success, the
reader will be enabled to judge, by a separate
recollection of these advantages and inconve-
niencies, as enumerated in the preceding chapter,
and a distinct application of each to the political
condition of this country. \Ve will present our
remarks upon the subject in a brief account of
the expedients by which the British constitution
provides,
1st, For the interest of its subjects.
2dly, For its own preservation.
The contrivances for the first of their purposes,
are the following :
In order to promote the establishment of salu-
tary public laws, every citizen of the state is ca-
pable of becoming a member of the senate : and
every senator possesses the right of propounding
to the deliberation of the legislature whatever law
he pleases.
Every district of the empire enjoys the privilege
of choosing representatives, informed 01 the in-
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
rf, and circumstances, and desires of their
constituents, and entitled by their situation to
communincate that information to the national
council. The meanest subject' has some one
whom he can call upon to bring forward liis com-
plaints and requests to public attention.
By annexing the right of voting for members of
the House of Commons to different qualifications
in different places, each order and profession of
men in the community become virtually repre-
sented ; that is, men of all orders and professions,
statesmen, courtiers, country-gentlemen, lawyers,
merchants, manufacturers, soldiers, sailors, in-
terested in the prosperity, and experienced in the
occupation, of their respective professions, obtain
seats in parliament.
The elections, at the same time, are so con-
nected with the influence of landed property, as
to afford a certainty that a considerable number
of men of great estates will- be returned to par-
liament ; and are also so modified, that men the
most eminent and successful in their respective
professions, are the most likely, by their riches, or
the weight of their stations, to prevail in these
competitions.
The number, fortune, arid quality, of the mem-
bers; the variety of interests and characters
amongst them; above all, the temporary dura-
tion of their power, and the change of men which
every new election produces ; are so many secu-
rities to the public, as well against the subjection
of their judgments to any external dictation, as
against the formation of a junto in their own
body, sufficiently powerful to govern their de-
cisions.
The representatives are so intermixed with the
constituents, and the constituents with the rest
of the people, that they cannot, without a par-
tiality too flagrant to be endured, impose any
burthen upon the subject, in which they do
not share themselves; nor scarcely can they
adopt an advantageous regulation, in which
their own interests will not participate of the
advantage.
The proceedings and debates of parliament, and
the parliamentary conduct of each representative,
are known by the people at large. -
The representative is so far dependent upon
the constituent, and political importance upon
public favour, that a member of parliament cannot
more effectually recommend himself to eminence
and advancement in the state, than by contriving
and patronizing laws of public utility.
When intelligence of the condition, wants, and
occasions, of the people, is thus collected from
every quarter ; when such a variety of invention,
and so many understandings, are set at work upon
the subject ; it may be presumed, that the most
eligible expedient', remedy, or improvement, will
occur to spme one or other : and when a wise
counsel, or beneficial regulation, is once suggested,
it may be expected, from the disposition o'f an
assembly so constituted as the British House of
Commons is, that it cannot fail of receiving the
approbation of a majority.
To prevent those destructive contentions for
the supreme power, which are sure to take- place
where the members of the state do not live under
an acknowledged head, and- a known rule of sue-"
cession ; to preserve the people in tranquillity at
home, by a speedy and vigorous execution of the
laws ; to protect their interest abroad, by strength
and energy in military operations, by those advan-
tages of decision, secrecy, and despatch, which
belong to the resolutions of monarchical coun-
cils; for these purposes, the constitution has
committed the executive government to the ad-
ministration and limited authority of an hereditary
king.
In the defence of the empire; in the main-
tenance of its power, dignity, and privileges with
foreign nations ; in the advancement of its trade
by treaties and conventions ; and in the providing
for the general administration of municipal jus-
tice, by a proper choice and appointment of ma-
gistrates ; the inclination of the king and of the
people usually coincides ; in this part, therefore,
of the regal office, the constitution entrusts the
prerogative with ample powers.
The dangers principally to be apprehended
from regal government, relate to the two articles
taxation and punishment. In every form of go-
vernment, from which the people are excluded, it
is the interest of the governors to get as much,
and of- the governed to give as little, as they can :
the power also of punishment, in the hands of an
arbitrary prince, oftentimes becomes an engine of
extortion, jealousy, and revenge. Wisely, there-
fore, hath the British constitution guarded the
safety of the people, in these two points, by the
most studious precautions.
Upon that of taxation, every law which,
by the remotest construction, may be deemed
to levy money upon the property of the sub-
ject, must originate, that is, must first be pro-
posed and assented to, hi the House of Com-
mons : by which regulation, accompanying the
weight which that assembly possesses in all
its functions, the levying of taxes is almost ex-
clusively reserved to the popular part of the con-
stitution, who, it is presumed, will not tax them-
selves, nor their fellow-subjects, without beincr
first convinced of the necessity of the aids which
they grant.
The application also of the public supplies^ is
watched with the same circumspection as the as-
sessment. Many taxes are annual ; the produce
of others is mortgaged, or appropriated to specific
services : the expenditure of all of them is ac-
counted for in the House of Commons; as com-
putations of the charge of the purpose for which
they are wanted, are previously submitted to the
same tribunal.
In the infliction of punishment, the power of
the crown, and of the magistrate appointed by the
crown, is confined by the most precise limitations :
the guilt of the offender must be pronounced by
twelve, men of his'own order, indifferently chosen
out of the county where the offence was com-
mitted : the punishment, or the limits to which
the punishment maybe extended, are ascertained,
and affixed to the crime, by laws which know not
the person of the criminal.
* And whereas arbitrary or clandestine confine-
ment is the injury most to be, dreaded from the
strong hand of the executive government, because
it deprives the prisoner at once of protection and
defence, and delivers him into the power, and to
the malicious or interested designs, of his enemies ;
the "constitution has provided against this danger
with double solicitude. The ancient writ of ha-
beas corpus, the last habeas-corpus act of Charles
the Second, and the practice and determinations
of our sovereign courts of justice founded upon
OF THE BRITISH CONSTITUTION.
125
these laws, afford a complete remedy for every
conceivable case of illegal imprisonment.*
Treason being that charge, under colour o
which the destruction of an obnoxious individua
is often sought ; and government being at a
times more immediately a party in the prosecu
tionj the law, beside the general care with wind
it watches over the satety of the accused, in tin
case, sensible of the unequal contest in which tin
subject is engaged, has assisted his defence with
extraordinary indulgences. By two statutes
enacted since the Revolution, every person in
dieted for high treason shall have a copy of hi
indictment, a list of the witnesses to be produced
and of the jury impannelled, delivered to him tci
days before the trial ; lie is also permitted to make
his defence by counsel : privileges which are not
allowed to the prisoner, in a trial for any other
crime : and, what is of more importance to the
party than all the rest, the testimony of two wit-
nesses, at the least, is required to convict a person
of treason ; whereas, one positive witness is suf-
ficient in almost every other species of accusation
We proceed, in the second place, to inquire ii:
what manner the constitutiorrhas provided for its,
own preservation ; that is, in what manner each
part of the legislature is secured in the
of the powers assigned to it, from the encroach
ments of the other parts. This security is some
times called the balance of the constitution: am
the political equilibrium, which this phrase de-
notes, consists in two contrivances^ a balance of
power, and a balance of interest. By a balance of
power is meant, that there is no power possessed
by one part of the legislature, the abuse or excess
of which is not checked by some antagonist power,
residing in another part. Thus the power of the
two houses of parliament to frame laws, is checked
by the king's negative : that, if laws subversive of
regal government should obtain the consent of
parliament, the reigning prince, by interposing his
prerogative, may save the necessary rights and
authority of his station. On the other hand, the
arbitrary application of this negative is checked
by the privilege which parliament possesses, of re-
fusing supplies of money to the exigencies of the
king's administration. The constitutional maxim,
"that the king can do no wrong," is balanced by
* Upon complaint in writing by, or on behalf of, any
person in confinement, to any of the four courts of
Westminster-Hall, in term-time, or to the Lord Chan-
cellor, or one of the Judges, in the vacation ; and upon
a probable reason being suggested to question the le-
gality of the detention ; a writ is issued to the person
in whoso custody the complainant is alleged to be,
commanding him, within a certain limited and short
time, to produce the body of the prisoner, and the au-
thority under which he is detained. Upon the return of
the writ, strict and instantaneous obedience to which is
enforced by very severe penalties, if no lawful cause of
imprisonment appear, the court or judge, before whom
the prisoner is brought, is authorized and bound to
discharge him ; oven though he may have been com-
mitted by a secretary, or other high officer of state, by
he privy-council, or by the king in person : so that no
subject of this realm can be held in confinement by any
power, or under any pretence whatever, provided lie can
find means to convey his complaint to one of the four
courts of Westmirrtter-Hall, or, during their recess, to
any of the Judges of the same, unless all these several
tribunals agree in determining his imprisonment to be
j < mavmake application to thorn in succession ;
and if one out of the number be found, who thinks the
prisoner entitled to his liberty, that one possesses au- -
Uiority to restore it to him.
another maxim, not less constitutional, " that the
illegal commands of the king do not justify those
who assist, or concur, in carrying them into exe-
cution;" and by a second rule, subsidiary to this,
" that the acts of the crown acquire not a legal
force, until authenticated by the subscription of
some of its great officers.' 7 The \visdom of this
contrivance is worthy of observation. As the
king could not be punished, without a civil war,
the constitution exempts his person from trial or
account ; but, lest this impunity should encourage
a licentious exercise of dominion, various obsta-
cles are opposed to the private will of the sove-
reign, when directed to illegal objects. The
pleasure of the crown must be announced with
certain solemnities, and attested by certain officers
of state. In some cases, the royal order must be
signified by a secretary of state ; in others it must
pass under the privy, seal: and, in many, under
the great seal. And when the king's command
is regularly published, no mischief can be achieved
by it, without the ministry and compliance of
those to whom it is directed. Now all who either
concur irr an illegal order by authenticating its
publication with their seal or subscription, or who
in any manner assist in carrying it into execution,
subject themselves to prosecution and punishment,
for the part they haver taken ; and are not per-
mitted to plead or produce the command of the
king in justification of their obedience* But
farther: the power of the crown to direct the
military force of the kingdom, is balanced by the
annual necessity of resorting to parliament for the
maintenance and government of that force. The
power of the king to declare war, is checked by
the privilege of the House of Commons, to grant
or withhold the supplies by which the war must
be carried on. The king's choice of his ministers
is controlled *by the obligation he is under of ap-
pointing those men to offices in the state, who are
found capable of managing the affairs of hie go-
vernment, with the two Tiouses of parliament.
Which consideration imposes such a necessity
upon the crown, as hath in a great measure sub-
dued the influence of favouritism ; insomuch that
it is become no uncommon spectacle in this coun-
try, to see men promoted by the king to the high-
est offices and richest preferments which he has
in his power to bestow, who have been distin-
guished by their opposition to his personal in-
clinations.
By the balance of interest, which accompanies
and gives efficacy to the balance of power, is
meant this ; that the respective interests of the
hree estates of the empire are so disposed and
idj usted, that whichever of the three shall attempt
any encroachment, the other two will unite in re-
isting it. If the king should endeavour to extend
* Amongst the checks which Parliament holds over
he administration of public affairs, I forbear to men-
on the practice of addressing the king, to know by
vhose advice he resolved upon a particular measure ;
ml of punishing the authors of that advice, for the
ounscl they had given. Not because I think this nie-
hod either unconstitutional or improper ; but for this
eason, that it does not so much subject the king to
he control of Parliament, as it supposes him to be
Iready in subjection. For if the king were so far out
f the reach of the resentment of the House of Com-
ions, as to be able with safety to refuse the informa-
on requested, or to take upon himself the respon-
bility inquired after, there must be an end of all pro-
ceedings founded in this mode of application.
126
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
his authority, by contracting the power and pri-
vileges of the Commons, the House of Lords
would see their own dignity endangered by every
advance which the crown made to independency
upon the resolutions of parliament. The admis.-
sion of arbitrary power is no less formidable to the
grandeur of the aristocracy, than it is fatal to the
Sberty of the republic ; that is, it would reduce the
nobility from the hereditary share they possess in
the national councils, in which their real great-
ness consists, to the being made a part of the
empty pageantry of a despotic court. On the
other hand, if the House of Commons should in-
trench upon the distinct province, or usurp the
established prerogative of the crown, the House
of Lords would receive an instant alarm from
every new stretch of popular power. In every
contest in which the king may be engaged with
the representative body, in defence of his esta-
blished share of authority, he will find a sure ally
in the collective power of the nobility. An attach-
ment to the monarchy, from which they derive
their own distinction ; the allurements of a court,
in the habits and with the sentiments of which
they have been brought up ; their hatred of equa-
lity and of all levelling pretensions, which may
ultimately affect the privileges, or even the ex-,
istence, of their order; in short, every principle
and every prejudice which are wont to actuate
human conduct, will determine their choice to the
side and support of the crown. Lastly, if the
nobles themselves should attempt to revive the
superiorities which their ancestors exercised under
the feudal constitution, the king and the people
would alike remember, how the one had been in-
sutted, and the other enslaved, by that barbarous
tyranny. They would forget the natural opposi-
tion of their views and inclinations, when they
saw themselves threatened with the return of a
domination which was odious and intolerable to
both.
THE reader will have observed, that in describing
the British constitution, little notice has been taken
of the House of Lords. The proper use and de-
sign of this part of the constitution, are the follow-
ing : First, to enable the king, by his right of be-
stowing the peerage, to reward the servants of the
public, in a manner most, grateful to them, at a
small expense to the nation : secondly, to fortify
the power and to secure the stability of regal go-
vernment, by an order of men naturally allied to
its interests: and, thirdly, to answer a purpose,
which, though of superior importance to the other
two, does not occur so readily to our observation ;
namely, to stem the progress of popular fury.
Large bodies of men are subject to sudden phreri-
sies. Opinions are sometimes circulated amongst
a multitude without proof or examination, ac-
quiring confidence and reputation merely by be-
ing repeated from one to another ; and passions
founded upon these opinions, diffusing themselves
with a rapidity which can neither be accounted
for nor resisted, may agitate a country with the
most violent commotions. Now the only way to
stop the fermentation, is to divide the mass ; that
is, to erect different orders in the community, with
separate prejudices and interests. And this may
occasionally become the use of an hereditary no-
bility, invested with a share of legislation. Averse
to those prejudices which actuate the minds of
the vulgar ; accustomed to 'condemn the clamour
of the populace; disdaining to receive laws and
opinions from their interiors in rank ; they will
oppose resolutions which arc founded in the folly
and violence of the lower part of the community.
Were the voice of the people always dictated by
reflection ; did every man, or even one man, in a
hundred, think for himself, or actually consider
the measure he was about to approve or censure ;
or even were the common people tolerably stead-
fast in the judgment which they formed, I should
hold the interferences of a superior order not only
superfluous, but wrong: for when every thing
is allowed to difference of rank and education,
which the actual state of these advantages de-
serves, that, after all, is most likely to be right and
expedient, which appears to be so to the separate
judgment and decision of a great majority of the
nation ; at least, that, in general, is right for them,
which is agreeable to their fixed opinions and de-
sires. But when we observe what is urged as the
public opinion, to be, in truth, the opinion only,
or perhaps the feigned profession, of a few crafty
leaders ; that the numbers who join in the cry,
serve only to swell and multiply the sound, with-
out any accession of judgment, or exercise of un-
derstanding ; and that oftentimes the wisest coun-
sels have been thus overborne by tumult and
uproar ; we may conceive occasions to arise, in
which the commonwealth may be saved by tho
reluctance of the nobility to adopt the caprices, or
to yield to the vehemence, of the common people.
In expecting this advantage from an order of no-
bles, we do not suppose the nobility to be more
unprejudiced than others ; we only suppose that
their prejudices will be different from, and may
occasionally counteract, those of others.
If the personal privileges of the peerage, which
are usually so many injuries to the rest of the
community, be restrained, I see little inconve-
niency in the increase of its number ; for it is only
dividing the same quantity of power amongst
more hands, which is rather favourable to public
freedom than otherwise.
The admission of a small number of ecclesias-
tics into the House of Lords, is but an equitable
compensation to the clergy for the exclusion of
their order from the House of Commons. They
are a set of men considerable by their number and
property, as well as by their influence, and the
duties of their station; yet, whilst every other pro-
fession has those amongst the national represen-
tatives, who, being conversant in the same occu-
pation, are able to state, and naturally disposed to
support, the rights and interests of the class and
calling to which they belong, the clergy alone are
deprived of this advantage : which hardship is
made up to them by introducing the prelacy into
parliament ; and if bishops, from gratitude or ex-
pectation, be more obsequious to the will of the
crown than those who possess great temporal in-
heritances, they are properly inserted into that
part of the constitution, from which much or fre-
quent resistance to the measures of government is
not expected.
I acknowledge, that I perceive no sufficient
reason for exempting the persons of members of
either house of parliament from arrest for debt.
The counsels or suffrage of a single senator,
especially of one who in the management of his
own affairs may justly be suspected of a want of
prudence or honesty, can seldom be so necessary
OP THE BRITISH CONSTITUTION.
127
to those of the public, as to justify a departure
from that wholesome policy, by which the laws of
a commercial state punish and stigmatize insol-
vency. But, whatever reason may be pleaded for
their personal immunity, when this privilege of
parliament is extended to domestics and retainers,
or when it is permitted to impede or delay the
course of judicial proceedings, it becomes an ab-
surd sacrifice of equal justice to imaginary dignity.
There is nothing in the British constitution so
remarkable, as the irregularity of the popular re-
presentation. The Plouse of Commons consists
of live hundred and fifty-eight members, of whom
two hundred are elected by seven thousand con-
stituents ; so that a majority of these seven thou-
sand, without any reasonable title to superior
weight or influence in the state, may, under cer-
tain circumstances, decide a question against the
opinion of as many millions. Or, to place the
same object in another point of view : If my estate
be situated in one county of the kingdom, I pos-
sess the ten-thousandth part of a single represen-
tative ; if in another, the thousandth ; if in a par-
ticular district, I may be one in twenty who choose
two representatives; if in a still more favoured
spot, I may enjoy the riglit of appointing two
myself. If I have been born, or dwell, or have
served an apprenticeship, in one town, I am re-
presented in the national assembly by two depu-
ties, in the choice of whom I exercise an actual
and sensible share of power; if accident has
thrown my birth, or habitation, or service, into
another town, I have no representative at all, nor
more power or concern in the election of those
who make the laws by which I am governed, than
if I was a subject of the Grand Signior : and this
partiality subsists without any pretence whatever
of merit or of propriety, to justify the preference
of one place to another. Or, thirdly, to descrilx'
the state of national representation as it exists in
reality, it may be affirmed, I believe, with truth,
that about one half of the House of Commons
obtain their seats in that assembly by the election
of the people, the other half by purchase, or by the
nomination of single proprietors of gre it r
This is a llagrant incongruity in the constitu-
tion; but it is one of those objections which strike
most forcibly at first sight. The effect of all rea-
soning upon the subject is, to diminish the iirst
impression; on which account it deserves the
more attentive examination, that we may be as-
sured, before we adventure upon a reformation,
that the magnitude of the evil justices the danger
of the experiment. In a few remarks that follow,
we would be understood, in the first place, to
decline all conference with those who wish to al-
ter the form of government of these kingdoms.
The reformers with whom we have to do, are
they who, whilst they change this part of the sys-
tem, would retain the rest. If any Englishman
expect more happiness to his country under a re-
public, he may very consistently recommend a
new-modelling of elections to parliament; because,
if the King and House of Lords were laid aside,
the present disproportionate representation would
produce nothing but a confused and ill-digested
oligarchy. In like manner we have a controversy
with those writers who insist upon representation
as a natural right :* we consider it so far only as
* If this right be natural, no doubt it must be equal ;
and the right, we may add, of oue sex, as well aa of the
a right at all, as it conduces to public utility; that
is, as it contributes to the establishment of good
laws, or as it secures to the people the just ad-
ministration of these laws. These effects depend
upon the disposition and abilities of the national
counsellors. Wherefore, if men the most likely
by their qualifications to know and to promote the
public interest, be actually returned to parliament,
it signifies little who return them. If the proper-
est persons be elected, what matters it by whom
they are elected? At least, no prudent statesman
would subvert long-established or even settled
rules of representation, without a prospect of pro-
curing wiser or better representatives. This men
being well observed, let us, before we seek to ob-
tain any thing more, consider duly what we al-
ready have. vVe hare a House of Commons
composed of five hundred and fifty-eight mem-
bers, in which number are found the most
considerable landholders and merchants of the
kingdom ; the heads of the army, the navy, and
the law ; the occupiers of great offices in the state ;
together with many private individuals, eminent
by their knowledge, eloquence, or activity. Now
if the country be not sale in such hands, in whose
may it confide its interests'? If such a number of
such men be liable to the influence of corrupt mo-
tives. wliat assembly of men will be secure from
the same danger 1 Does any new scheme of re-
presentation promise to collect together more
wisdom, or to produce firmer integrity.'? In this
view of the subject, and attending not to ideas of
order and proportion (of which many minds are
much enamoured,) but to effects alone, we may
discover just excuses for those parts of the present
representation which appear to a hasty observer
most exceptionable and absurd. It should be re-
membered, as a maxim extremely applicable to
this subject, that no order or assembly of men
whatever can long maintain their place and au-
thority in a mixed LTO\ eminent, of which the mem-
bers do not individually possess a respectable share
of personal importance. Now whatever may be
the defects of the present arrangement, it infalli-
bly secures a great weight of property to the
House of Commons, by^ rendering many seats in
that house accessible to men of large fortunes, and
to such men alone.. By which means those cha-
racters are engaged in the defence of the separate
rights and interests of this branch of the legisla-
ture, that are best able to support its claims. The
constitution of most of the small boroughs, espe-
cially the burgage tenure, contributes, though un-
designedly,* to the same effect : for the appoint-
ment of the representatives we find commonly
annexed to certain great inheritances. Elections
purely popular are in this respect uncertain: in
times of tranquillity, the natural ascendancy of
wealth will prevail; but when the minds of men
are inflamed by political dissensions, this in-
fluence often yields ta more impetuous motives.
The variety of tenures and qualifications, upon
which the right of voting is founded, appears to
me a recommendation of the mode which now
subsists, as it tends to introduce into parliament a
other. Whereas every plan of representation that we
have heard of, begins by excluding the votes of wojnen ;
thus cutting off, at a single stroke, one half of the pub-
lic from a right which is asserted to be inherent in all;
a riuht too, as some represent it, not only universal, but
(inalienable, and indefeasible, and imprescriptible.
128
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY
corresponding mixture of characters and profes-
sions. It has been long observed that conspicuous
abilities are most frequently found with the re-
presentatives of small boroughs. And this is no-
thing more than what the laws of human conduct
might teach us to expect : when such boroughs
are set to sale, those men are likely to become pur-
chasers, who are enabled by their talents to make
the best of their bargain : when a seat is not sold, but
given by the opulent proprietor of a burgage tenure,
the patron finds his own interest consulted, by
the reputation and abilities of the member whom
he nominates. If certain of the nobility hold the
appointment of some part of the House of Com-
mons, it serves to maintain that alliance between
the two branches of the legislature which no good
citizen would wish to see dissevered : it helps to
keep the government of the country in the House
of Commons, in which it would not perhaps long
continue to reside, if so powerful and wealthy a
part of the nation as the peerage compose, were
excluded from all share and interest in its con-
stitution. If there be a few boroughs so circum-
stanced as to lie at the disposal of the crown,
whilst the number of such is known and small,
they may be tolerated with little danger. For
where would be the impropriety or the inconve-
niency, if the king at once should nominate a
limited number of his servants to seats in parlia-
ment ; or, what is the same thing, if seats in par-
liament were annexed to the possession of certain
of the most efficient and responsible offices in the
state 1 The present representation, after all these
deductions, and under the confusion in which it
confessedly lies, is still in such a degree popular,
or rather the representatives are so connected
with the mass of the community by a society of
interests and passions, that the will of the people,
when it is determined, permanent and general,
almost always at length prevails.
Upon the whole, in the several plans which
have been suggested, of an equal or a reformed
representation, it will be difficult to discover any
proposal that has a tendency to throw more of the
business of the nation into the House of Com-
mons, or to collect a set of men more fit to trans-
act that business, or in general more interested in
the national happiness and prosperity. One con-
sequence, however, may be expected from these
projects, namely, " less flexibility to the influ r
ence of the crown." And since the diminution
of this influence is the declared and perhaps the
sole design of the various schemes that have been
produced, whether for regulating the elections,
contracting the duration, or for purifying the
constitution of parliament by the exclusion, of
placemen and pensioners ; it is obvious to remark,
that the more apt and natural, as well as the more
safe and quiet way of 'attaining the same end,
would be by a direct reduction of the patronage of
the crown, which might be, effected to a certain
extent without hazarding further consequences.
Superfluous and exorbitant emoluments of office
may not only be suppressed for the .present ; but
provisions of law be devised, which should for the
future restrain within certain limits the number
and value of the offices in the donation of the king.
But whilst we dispute concerning different
schemes of reformation, all directed to the same
end, a previous doubt occurs in the debate, whe-
ther the end itself be good or safe : whether the
influence so loudly complained of, can be destroy-
ed, or even much diminished, without danger to
the state. Whilst the zeal of some men beholds
this influence with a jealousy which nothing but
its entire abolition can appease, many wise and
virtuous politicians deem a considerable portion of
it to be as necessary a part of the British consti-
tution, as any other ingredient in the composition ;
to be that, indeed, which gives cohesion and so-
lidity to the whole. Were the measures of go-
vernment, say they, opposed from nothing but
principle, government ought to have nothing but
the rectitude of its measures to support them:
but since opposition springs from other motives,
government must possess an influence to counter-
act these motives ; to produce, not a bias of the
passions, but a neutrality ; it must have some
weight to cast into the scale, to set the balance
even. It is the nature of power, always to press
upon the boundaries which confine it. Licen-
tiousness, faction, envy, impatience of control or
inferiority ; the secret pleasure of mortifying the
great, or the hope of dispossessing them, a con-
stant willingness to question and thwart whatever
is dictated or even proposed by another ; a dispo-
sition common to all bodies of men, to extend the
claims and authority of their orders ; above all,
that love of power, and of showing it, which
resides more or less in every human breast, and
which, in popular assemblies, is inflamed, like
every other passion, by communication and en-
couragement : these motives, added to private
designs and resentments, cherished also by popu-
lar acclamation, and operating upon tlI6 great
share of power already possessed by the House of
Commons, might induce a majority, or, at least a
large party of men in that assembly, to unite in
endeavouring to draw to themselves the whole go-
vernment of 'the state : or, at least, so to obstruct
the conduct of public affairs, by a wanton and
perverse opposition, as to render it impossible for
the wisest statesman to cany forwards the business
of the nation with success or satisfaction.
Some passages of our national history afford
grounds for these apprehensions. Before the ac-
cession of James the First, or, at least, during the
reigns of his three immediate predecessors, the
government of England was a government by
force ; that is, the king carried his measures in
parliament by intimidation. A sense of personal
danger kept the members of the House of Com-
mons in subjection. A conjunction of fortunate
causes delivered, at last, the parliament and nation
from slavery. That overbearing system which
had declined in the hands of James, expired early
in the reign of his son. After the Restoration,
there succeeded in its place, and, since the Revo-
lution, has been methodically pursued, the more
successful expedient of influence. Now we re-
member what passed between the loss of terror,
and the establishment of influence. The trans-
actions of that interval, whatever WP m:iy think of
their occasion or cilect, no friend of reg.il govern-
ment would wish to see revived. But the af lairs
of this kingdom afford a more recent attestation
to the same doctrine. In the British colonies of
North America, the late assemblies possessed
much of the power and constitution of our House
of Commons. The king and government "of
Great Britain held no patronage in the country,
which could create attachment and influence suf-
ficient to counteract that restless arrogating spirit,
which, in popular assemblies, when left to itself,
OF THE ADMINISTRATION OF JUSTICE.
1-20
will never brook an authority that checks and in-
terferes with its own. To this cause, excited per-
haps by some unseasonable provocations, we may
attribute, as to their true and proper original, (we
will not say the misfortunes, but) the changes that
have taken place in the British empire. The ad-
monition which such examples suggest, will have
its weight with those who are content with the
general frame of the English constitution; and
who consider stability amongst the first perfections
of any government.
We protest, however, against any construction
by which what is here said shall be attempted to
be applied to the justification of bribery, or of any
clandestine reward or solicitation whatever. The
very secrecy of such negotiations confesses or be-
gets a consciousness of guilt ; which when the
mind is once taught to endure without uneasiness,
the character is prepared for e\erv compliance:
and there is the greater danger in these corrupt
practices, as the extt ut of their operation is un-
limited and unknown. Our apology relates solely
to that influence, wliich results from the accept-
ance or expectation of public preferments. Nor
does the intluence, which we defend, require any
sacrifice of personal probity. In political, above
all other subjects, the arguments or rather the
conjectures on each side of the question, are
often so equally poised, that the wisest jud_niu nts
may be held in" suspense: these I call subjects of
indifference. But again; when the subject is
not indifferent in itself, it will appear such to a
great, part of those to whom it is proposed, for want
of information, or reflection, or experience, or of
capacity to collect and weigh the reasons by which
cither side is supported. These are subjects of
apparent indifference. This indifference occurs
still more frequently in personal contests: in
which we do not often disco\cr any reason of public
utility for the preference of one competitor to
another. These cas. s compose the province of
influence : that is, the decision in these cases will
inevitably be determined by influence of some sort
or other. The only doubt "is, what influence shall
be admitted. If you remove the influence of the
crown, it is only to make way for influence from
a different quarter. 1 f motives of expectation and
gratitude be withdrawn, other motives will suc-
ceed in their place, acting probably in an opposite
direction, but equally irrelative and external to
the proper merits of the question. There exist,
as we have seen, passions in the human heart.
which will always make a strong party against
the executive power of a mixed government. Ac-
cording as the disposition of parliament is friendly
or adverse to the recommendation of the crown in
matters which are really or apparently indifferent,
as indifference hath been now explained, the bu-
siness of the empire will be transacted with ease
and convenience, or embarrassed with endless
contention and difficulty. Nor is it a conclusion
founded in justice, or warranted by experience,
that because men are induced by views of interest
to yield their consent to measures concerning
wliich their judgment decides nothing, they may
be brought by the same influence to act in deli-
berate opposition to knowledge and duty. Who-
ever reviews the operations of government in this
country since the Revolution, will iind few even
of the most questionable measures of administra-
tion, about which the best-instructed judgment
might not have doubted at the time j but of which
R
we may affirm with certainty, they were indiffer-
ent to the greatest part of those who concurred
in them. From the- success, or the facility, with
which they wjho dealt out tbe patronage of the
crown carried measures like these, ought we to
conclude, that a similar application of honours
and emoluments would procure the consent of
parliaments to counsels evidently detrimental to
the common welfare 1 Is there not, on the con-
trary, more reason to fear, that the prerogative, if
deprived of influence, would not be long able to sup-
port itself? For when we reflect upon the power
of the House of Commons to extort a compliance
with its resolution from the other parts of the le-
gislature ; or to put to death the constitution by a
refusal of the annual grants of money to the sup-
port of the necessary functions of government ;
when we reflect also what motives there are,
which, in the. vicissitudes of political interests and
passions, may one day arm and point this power
against the executive magistrate ; when we attend
to these considerations, we shajl be led perhaps to
acknowledge, that there is not more of paradox
than of truth in that important, but much decried
apothegm, "that an independent parliament is
incompatible with the existence of the monarchy."
CHAPTER VIII.
Of the Administration of Justice.
THE first maxim of a free state is, that the laws
be made by one set of men, and administered by
another; in other words, that the legislative anil
judicial characters lie kept separate. When these
offices are united in the same person or assembly,
particular laws are made for particular cases,
springing oftentimes from partial motives, and di-
rected to priv ate ends : whilst they are kept sepa-
rate, general laws are made by one body of men,
without foreseeing whom they may affect; and,
when made, must be applied by the other, let them
affect whom they will.
For the sake of illustration, let it be supposed,
in this country, eitherthat, parliaments being laid
aside, the courts of Westminster-Hall made their
own laws; or that the two houses of parliament,
with the King at their head, tried and decided
causes at their bar : it is evident, in the first place,
that the decisions of such a judicature would be so
many law r s; and in the second place, that, when
the parties and the interests to be affected by the
law were known, the inclinations of the law-ma-
kers would inevitably attach to one side or the
other; and that where there were nrither any fix-
ed rules to regulate their determinations, nor any
superior power to control their proceedings, these
inclinations would interfere with the integrity of
public justice. The consequence of which must
IH-, that the subjects of such a constitution would
live either without any constant laws, that is, with-
out any known pre-established rules of adjudica-
tion whatever ; or under laws made for particular
persons, and partaking of the contradictions and
iniquity of the motives to which they owed their
origin.
Which dangers, by the division of the legisla-
tive and judicial functions, are in this country ef-
fectually provided against. Parliament knows not
the individuals upon whom its acts will operate ;
it has no cases or parties before it ; no private de-
130
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
signs to serve ; consequently, its resolutions will
be suggested by the consideration of universal ef-
fects and tendencies, which always produces im-
partial, and commonly advantageous regulations.
When laws are made, courts of justice, whatever
be the disposition of the judges, must abide by
them : for the legislative being necessarily the su-
preme power of the state, the judicial and every
other power is accountable to that; and it cannot
be doubted that the persons who possess the sove-
reign authority of government, will be tenacious
of the laws which they themselves prescribe, and
sufficiently jealous of the assumption of dispensing
and legislative power by any others.
This fundamental rule of civil jurisprudence is
violated in the case of acts of attainder or confis-
cation, in bills of pains and penalties, and in all
ex post facto laws whatever, in which parliament
exercises the double office of legislature and judge.
And whoever either understands the value of the
rule itself, or collects the history of those instances
in which it has been invaded, will be induced, I
believe, to acknowledge, that it had been wiser and
safer never to have departed from it. He will con-
fess, at least, that nothing but the most manifest
and immediate peril of the commonwealth will
justify a repetition of these dangerous examples.
If the laws in being do not punish an offender, let
him go unpunished ; let the legislature, admonish-
ed of the defect of the laws, provide against the
commission of future crimes of the same sort. The
escape of one delinquent can never produce so
much harm to the community as may arise from
the infraction of a rule upon which the purity of
public justice, and the existence of civil liberty,
essentially depend.
The next security for the impartial administra-
tion of justice, especially in decisions to which go-
vernment is a party, is the independency of the
judges. As protection against every illegal attack
upon the rights of the subject by the servants of
the crown is to be sought for from these tribunals,
the judges of the land become not unfrequently
the arbitrators between the king and the people,
on which account they ought to be independent
of either ; or, what is the same thing, equally de-
E 1 snt upon both ; that is, if they be appointed
e one, they should be removeable only by the
. This was the policy which dictated that
memorable improvement in our constitution, by
which the judges, who before the Revolution held
their offices during the pleasure of the king, can
now be deprived of them only by an address from
both houses of parliament ; as the most regular,
solemn, and authentic way, by which the dissatis-
faction of the people can be expressed. To make
this independency of the judges complete, the
public salaries of their office ought not only to be
certain both in amount and continuance, but so
liberal as to secure their integrity from the tempta-
tion of secret bribes ; which liberality will answer
also the further purpose of preserving their juris-
diction from contempt, and their characters from
suspicion ; as well as of rendering the office worthy
of the ambition of men of eminence in their pro-
fession.
A third precaution to be observed in the forma-
tion of courts of justice is, that the number of the
judges be small. For, beside that the violence and
tumult inseparable from large assemblies are in-
consistent with the patience, method, and atten-
tion requisite in judicial investigations; beside that ,
all passions and prejudices act with augmented
force upon a collected multitude; beside, these ob-
jections, judges, when they are numerous, divide
the shame of an unjust determination ; they shel-
ter themselves under one another's example ; each
man thinks his own character hid in the crowd :
for which reason, the judges ought always to be
so few, as that the conduct of each may be pon-
spicuous to public observation ; that each may be
responsible in his separate and particular reputa-
tion for the decisions in which he concurs. The
truth of the above remark has been exemplified in
this country, in the effects of that wise regulation
which transferred the trial of parliamentary elec-
tions from the House of Commons at large to a
select committee of that House, composed of thir-
teen members. This alteration, simply by re-
ducing the number of the judges, and, in conse-
quence of that reduction, exposing the judicial
conduct of each to public animadversion, has given
to a judicature, which had been long swayed by
interest and solicitation, the solemnity and virtue
of the most upright tribunals. 1 should prefer an
even to an odd number of judges, and four to al-
most any other number : for in this number, beside
that it sufficiently consults the idea of separate re-
sponsibility, nothing can be decided but by a ma-
jority of three to one: and when we consider that
every decision establishes a perpetual precedent,
we shall allow that it ought to proceed from an au-
thority, not less than this. If the court be equally
divided, nothing is done ; things remain as they
were ; with some inconveniency, indeed, to the par-
ties, but without the danger to the public of a hasty
precedent.
A fourth requisite in the constitution of a court
of justice, and equivalent to many checks upon the
discretion of judges, is, that its proceed ings lie car-
ried on in public, apertis foribus ; not only before
a promiscuous concourse of by-standers, but in the
audience of the whole profession of the law. The
opinion of the bar concerning what passes, will be
impartial ; and will commonly guide that of the
public. The most corrupt judge will fear to in-
dulge his dishonest wishes in the presence of such
an assembly : he must encounter, what few can
support, the censure of his equals and companions,
together with the indignation and reproaches of
his country.
Something is also gained to the public by ap-
pointing two or three courts of concurrent jurisdic-
tion, that it may remain in the option of the suitor
to which he will resort. By this means a tribu-
nal which may happen to be occupied by ignorant
or suspected judges, will be deserted "for others
that possess more of the confidence of the nation.
But, lastly, if several courts co-ordinate to and
independent of each other, subsist together in the
country, it seems necessary that the appeals from
all of them should meet and terminate in the same
judicature ; in order that one supreme tribunal, by
whose final sentence all others are bound and
concluded, may superintend and preside over the
rest. This constitution is necessary for two pur-
poses : to preserve an uniformity in the decisions
of inferior courts, and to maintain to each the
proper limits of its j urisdiction . Without a common
superior, different courts might establish contra-
dictory rules of adjudication, and the contradiction
be final and without remedy ; the same question
might receive opposite determinations, according
as it was brought before one court or another, and
OF THE ADMINISTRATION OF JUSTICE.
131
the determination in each be ultimate and irreversi-
ble. A common appellant jurisdiction, prevents
or puts an end to this confusion. For when the
judgments upon appeals are consistent (which
may be expected, whilst it is the same court
which is at last resorted to,) the different courts,
from which the appeals are brought, will be re-
duced to a like consistency with one another.
Moreover, if questions arise between courts inde-
pendent of each other, concerning the extent and
boundaries of their respective jurisdiction, as each
will be desirous of enlarging its own, an authority
which both acknowledge can alone adjust the
controversy. Such a power, therefore, must re-
side somewhere, lest the rights and repose of the
country lie distracted by the endless opposition
and mutual encroachments of its courts of jus-
tice.
There are two kinds of judicature ; the one
where the office of the judge is permanent in the
same person, and consequently where the judge
is appointed and known long before the trial;
the other, where the judge is determined by lot at
the time of the trial, and for that turn only. The
one mav be called iijixed, the other a casual judica-
ture. From the former may be umeetM those
qualifications which are preferred and sought for
in the choice of judges, and that knowledge ami
readiness which result from experience in the of-
fice. But then, as the judge is known beforehand,
he is accessible to the parties ; there exists a pos-
sibility of secret management and undue practices ;
or, in contests between the crown and the subject,
the judge appointed by the crown may be sus-
pected of partiality to his patron, or of entertaining
inclinations favourable to the authority from which
he derives his own. The advantage attending
the second kind of judicature, is iridiHerency ; the
defect, the want of that legal science which pro-
duces uniformity and justice in legal decisions.
The construction of English courts of law, in
which causes are tried by a jury, with the assist-
ance of a judge, combines the two species with
peculiar success. This admirable contrivance
unites the wisdom of a fixed with the integrity of
a casual judicature; and avoids, in a great mea-
sure, the inconveniences of both. The judge
imparts to the jury the benefit of his erudition and
experience; the jury, by their disinterestedness,
check any corrupt partialities which previous ap-
Slication may have produced in the judge. If the
etermination were left to the judge, the party
might suffer under the superior interest of his ad-
versary : if it were left to an uninstructed jury, his
rights would be in still greater danger, from the
ignorance of those who were to decide upon them.
The present wise admixture of chance and choice
in the constitution of the court in which his cause
is tried, guards him equally against the fear of in-
jury from either of these causes.
In proportion to the acknowledged excellency
of this mode of trial, every deviation from it ought
to be watched with vigilance, and admitted by the
legislature with caution and reluctance. Sum-
mary convictions before justices of the peace, es-
pecially for offences against the game laws ; courts
of conscience ; extending the jurisdiction of courts
of equity; urging too far the distinction between
questions of law and matters of fact ; are all so
many infringements upon this great charter of
public safety.
Nevertheless, the trial by jury is sometimes
found inadequate to the administration of equal
justice. This imperfection takes place chiefly in
disputes in which some popular passion or preju-
dice intervenes; as where a particular order of
men advance claims upon the rest of the commu-
nity, which is the case of the clergy contending
for tithes ; or where an ordc: of men are obnox-
ious by their professions, as are officers of the
revenue, bailifls, baliils' followers, and other low
ministers of the law ; or where one of the parties
has an interest in common with the general
interest of the jurors, and that of the other is
opposed to it, as in contests between landlords
and tenants, between lords of manors and the
holders of estates under them ; or, lastly, where
the minds of men are inflamed by political dis-
sensions or religious hatred. These prejudices
act most powerfully upon the common people ;
of which order Junes are made up. The force
and danger of them are also increased by the very
circumstance of taking juries out of the county
in which the subject of dispute arises. In the
neighbourhood of the parties, the cause is often
prejudged : anil these secret decisions of the mind
proceed commonly more upon sentiments of fa-
vour or hatred,-upon some opinion concerning the
sect, family, profession, character, connexions, or
circumstances of the parties, than upon an
knowledge or discussion of the proper merits o't
the question. More exact justice would, in many
instances, be rendered to the suitors, if the deter-
mination were left entirely to the judges ; provided
we could depend upon the same purity of conduct,
when the power of these magistrates was enlarged,
which they have long manifested in the exercise of
a mixed and restrained authority. But this is an
experiment too big with public danger to be haz-
arded. The effects, however, of some local preju-
dices, might be safely obviated by a law empow-
ering the court in which the action is brought, to
send the cause to trial in a distant county; the ex-
penses attending the change of place always fall-
ing upon the party who applied for it.
There is a second division of courts of justice,
which presents a new alternative of difficulties.
Either one, two, or a few sovereign courts may be
erected in the metropolis, for the whole kingdom
to resort to; or courts of local jurisdiction may be
fixed in various provinces and districts of the
empire. Great, though opposite, inconveniences
attend each arrangement. If the court be remote
and solemn, it becomes, by these very qualities,
expensive and dilatory : the expense is unavoid-
ably increased when witnesses, parties, and agents,
must be brought to attend from distant parts of
the country : and, where the whole judicial busi-
ness of a large nation is collected into a few supe-
rior tribunals, it will be found impossible, even if
the prolixity of forms which retards the progress
of causes were removed, to give a prompt hearing
to every complaint, or an immediate answer to
any. On the other hand, if, to remedy these evils,
and to render the administration of justice cheap
and speedy, domestic and summary tribunals be
erected in each neighbourhood, the advantage of
such courts will be accompanied with all the dan-
gers of ignorance and partiality, and with the
certain mischief of confusion and contrariety in
then- decisions. The law of England, by its cir-
cuit, or itinerary courts, contains a provision for
the distribution of private justice, in a great
measure relieved from both these objections. As
132
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
the presiding magistrate comes into the country a
stranger to its prejudices, rivalships, and connex-
ions, ne brings with him none of those attach-
ments and regards which are so apt to pervert the
course of justice when the parties and the judges
inhabit the same neighbourhood. Again ; as this
magistrate is usually one of the judges of the su-
preme tribunals of the kingdom, and has passed
his life in the study and administration of the
laws, he possesses, it may be presumed, those pro-
fessional qualifications which befit the dignity and
importance of his station. Lastly, as both he, and
the advocates who accompany him in his .circuit,
are employed in the business of those superior
courts (to which also their proceedings are amena-
ble,) they will naturally conduct themselves by the
rules of adjudication which they have applied or
learned there ; and by this means maintain, what
constitutes a principal perfection of civil govern-
ment, one law of the land in every part and dis-
trict of the empire.
Next to the constitution of courts of justice, we
are naturally led to consider the maxims which
ought to guide their proceedings ; and, upon this
subject, the chief inquiry will be, how far, and
for what reasons, it is expedient to adhere to for-
mer determinations ; or whether it be necessary
for judges to attend to any other consideration
than the apparent and particular equity of the
case before them. Now, although to assert that
precedents established by one set of judges ought
to be incontrovertible by their successors in the
same jurisdiction, or by those who exercise a high-
er, would be to attribute to the sentence of those
judges all the authority we ascribe to the most
solemn acts of the legislature : yet the general se-
curity of private rights, and of civil lile, requires
that such precedents, especially if they have been
confirmed by repeated adjudications, should not
be overthrown, without a detection of manifest
error, or without some imputation of dishonesty
upon the court by whose judgment the question
WP.J first decided. And this deference to prior
decisions is founded upon two reasons : first, that
the discretion of j udges may be bound down by
positive rules ; and secondly, that the subject, up-
on every occasion in which his legal interest is
concerned, may know beforehand how to act, and
what to expect. To set j udges free from any obli-
gation to conform themselves to the decisions of
their predecessors, would be to lay open a latitude
of judging with which no description of men can
safely be intrusted ; it would be to allow space for
the exercise of those concealed partialities, which,
since they cannot by any human policy be exclud-
ed, ought to be confined by boundaries and land-
marks. It is in vain to allege, that the superin-
tendency of parliament is always at hand to con-
trol and punish abuses of judicial discretion. By
what rules can parliament proceed 1 How shall
they pronounce a decision to be wrong, where
there exists no acknowledged measure or stan-
dard of what is right: which, in a multitude of in-
stances, would be the case, if prior determinations
were no longer to be appealed to 1
Diminishing the danger of partiality, is one
thing gained by adhering to precedents ; but not
the principal thing. The subject of every system
of laws must expect that decision in his own case,
which he knows that others have received in
cases similar to his. If he expect not this, he
can expect nothing. There exists no other rule or
principle of reasoning, by which he can foretell, or
even conjecture, the event of a judicial contest.
To remove therefore the grounds of this expecta-
tion, by rejecting the force and authority of pre-
cedents, is to entail upon the subject the worst
property of slavery, to have no assurance of his
rights, or knowledge of his duty. The quiet also
of the country, as well as the confidence and satis-
faction of each man's mind, requires uniformity
in judicial proceedings. Nothing quells a spirit of
litigation, like despair of success: therefore nothing
so completely puts an end to law-suits, as a rigid
adherence to known rules of adjudication. Whilst
the event is uncertain, which it ever must be
whilst it is uncertain whether former determina-
tions upon the same subject will be followed or
not, law-suits will be endless and innumerable:
men will commonly engage in them, either from
the hope of prevailing in their claims, which the
smallest chance is sufficient to encourage ; or with
the design of intimidating their adversary by the
terror of a dubious litigation. When justice is
rendered to the parties, only half the business of a
court of justice is done : the more important part
of its office remains ; to put an end, for the future,
to every fear, and quarrel, and expense, upon the
same point; and so to regulate its proceedings,
that not only a doubt once decided may be stirred
no more, but that the whole train of law-suits,
which issue from one uncertainty, may die with
the parent-question. Now this advantage can be
attained only by considering each decision as a di-
rection to succeeding judges. And it should be
observed, that every departure from former deter-
minations, especially if they have been often re-
peated or long submitted to, shakes the stability
of all legal title. It is not fixing a point anew ,
it is leaving every thing unfixed. For by the
game stretch of power by which the present race
of judges take upon them to contradict the judg-
ment of their predecessors, those who try the
question next may set aside theirs.
From an adherence however to precedents, by
which so much is gained to the public, two con-
sequences arise which are often lamented ; the
hardship of particular determinations, and the in-
tricacy of the law as a science. To the first of
these complaints, we must apply this reflection :
" That uniformity is of more importance than
equity, in proportion as a general uncertainty
would be a greater evil than particular injustice."
The second is attended with no greater mconve-
niency than that of erecting the practice of the
law into a separate profession ; which this reason,
we allow, makes necessary : for if we attribute so
much authority to precedents, it is expedient that
they be known, in every cause, both to the advo-
cates and to the judge : this knowledge cannot be
general, since it is the fruit oftentimes of laborious
research, or demands a memory stored with long-
collected erudition.
To a mind revolving upon the subject of hu-
man jurisprudence, there frequently occurs this
question : Why, since the maxims of natural
justice are few and evident, do there arise so many
doubts and controversies in their application 1 Or,
in other words, how comes it to pass, that although
the principles of the law of nature be simple, and
for the most part sufficiently obvious, there should
OP THE ADMINISTRATION OF JUSTICE.
133
exist, nevertheless, in every system of municipal
laws, and in the actual administration of relative
justice, numerous uncertainties and acknowledged
difficulty 1 Whence, it may be asked, so much
room for litigation, and so many subsisting dis-
putes, if the rules of human duty be neither ob-
scure nor dubious 1 If a system of morality con-
taining both the precepts of revelation and the
deductions of reason, may be comprised within
the compass of one moderate volume ; and the
moralist be able, as he pretends, to describe the
rights and obligations of mankind, in all the dif-
ferent relations they may hold to one another;
what need of those codes of positive and particu-
lar institutions, of those tomes of statutes and re-
ports, which require the employment of a long
life even to peruse ? And this question is immedi-
ately connected with the argument which has
been discussed in the preceding paragraph : for,
unless there be found some greater uncertainty in
the law of nature, or what may be called natural
equity, when it comes to be applied to real cases
and to actual adjudication, than what appears in
the rules and principles of the science, as delivered
in the writings of those who treat of the subject,
it were better that the determination of every CM use
should be left to the conscience of the judge,
unfettered by precedents and authorities ; since
the very purpose for which these are introduced,
is to give a certainty to judicial proceedings,
which such proceedings would want without
them.
Now to account for the existence of so many
sources of litigation, notwithstanding the clearness
and perfection of natural justice, it should be ob-
served, in the first place, that treatises of morality
always suppose facts to be ascertained ; and not
only so, but the intention likewise of the parties
to be known and laid bare. For example : when
we pronounce that promises ought to be fulfilled
in that sense in which the promiser apprehended,
at the time of making the promise, the other party
received and understood it : the apprehension of
one side, and the expectation of the other, must
be discovered, before this rule can be reduced to
practice, or applied to the determination of any
actual dispute. Wherefore the discussion of facts
which the moralist supposes to be settled, the
discovery of intentions which he presumes to be
known, still remain to exercise the inquiry of
courts of justice. And as these facts and inten-
tions are often to be inferred, or ratherconjectured,
from obscure indications, from suspicious testimo-
ny, or from a comparison of opposite and contend-
ing probabilities, they afford a never-failing supply
of doubt and litigation. For which reason, as hath
been observed in a former part of this work, the
science of morality is to be considered rather as a
direction to the parties, who are conscious of their
own thoughts and motives, and designs, to which
consciousness the teacher of morality constantly
appeals ; than as a guide to the judge, or to any
third person, whose arbitration must proceed upon
rules of evidence, and maxims of credibility, with
which the moralist has no concern.
Secondly ; there exists a multitude of cases, in
which the law of nature, that is, the law of public
expediency, prescribes nothing, except that some
certain rule l>e adhered to, and that the rule ac-
tually established, be preserved; it either being
indifferent what rule obtains, or, out of many
rules, no one being so much more advantageous
than the rest, as to recompense the inconveniency
of an alteration. In all such cases, the law of
nature sends us to the law of the land. She di-
rects that either some fixed rule be introduced by
an act of the legislature, or that the rule which
accident, or custom, or common consent, hath al-
ready established, be steadily maintained. Thus,
in the descent of lands, or the inheritance of per-
sonals from intestate proprietors, whether the
kindred of the grandmother, or of the great-grand-
mother, shall be preferred in the succession;
whether the degrees of consanguinity shall be com-
puted through the common ancestor, or from him ;
whether the widow shall take a third or a moiety
of her husband's fortune ; whether sons shall be
preferred to daughters, or the. elder to the younger ;
whether the distinction of age shall be regarded
amongst sisters, as well as between brothers ; in
these, and in a great variety of questions which
the same subject supplies, the law of nature deter-
mines nothing. The only answer she returns to
our inquiries is, that some certain and gene-
ral rule be laid down by public authority ; be
obeyed when laid down ; and that the quiet of the
country be not disturbed, nor the expectation of
heirs frustrated, by capricious innovations.. This
silence or neutrality of the law of nature, which we
have exemplified in the ease of intestacv, holds con-
(erninga great part of the questions that relate to
the right or acquisition of property. Recourse then
must necessarily be had to statutes, or precedents,
or usage, to fix what the law of nature has left
loose. The interpretation of these statutes, the
search after precedents, the investigation of cus-
toms, compose therefore an unavoidable, and at
the same time a large and intricate, portion of fo-
rensic business. Positive constitutions or judicial
authorities are, in like manner, wanted to give
precision to many things which are in their nature
indeterminate. The age of legal discretion; at
what time of life a person shall be deemed com-
petent to the performance of any act which may
bind his property; whether at twenty, or twenty-
one, or earlier or later, or at some point of time
between these years ; can only be ascertained by a
positive rule of the society to which the party be-
longs. The line has not been drawn by nature ;
the numan understanding advancing to maturity
by insensible degrees, and its progress varying in
different individuals. Yet it is necessary, for the
sake of mutual security, that a precise age be fixed,
and that what is fixed be known to all. It is on
these occasions that the intervention of law sup-
plies the inconstancy of nature. Again, there
are other things which are perfectly arbitrary,
and capable of no certainty but what is given to
them by positive regulation. It is fit that a limited
time should be assigned to defendants, to plead to
the complaints alleged against them; and also
that the default of pleading within a certain tune
should be taken for a confession of the charge :
but to how many days or months that term should
be extended, though necessary to be known with
certainty, cannot be known at all by any informa-
tion which the law of nature affords. And the
same remark seems applicable to almost all those
rules of proceeding, which constitute what is call-
ed the practice of the court : as they cannot be
traced out by reasoning, they must be settled by
authority.
Thirdly ; in contracts, whether express or im-
plied, which involve a great number of conditions;
134
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
as in those which arc entered into between mas-
ters and servants, principals and agents ; many
also of merchandise, or for works of art ; in some
likewise which relate to the negotiation of money
or bills, or to the acceptance of credit or security :
the original design and expectation of the parties
was, that both sides should be guided by the course
and custom of the country in transactions of the
same sort. Consequently, when these contracts
come to be disputed, natural justice can only refer
to that custom. But as sucn customs are not al-
ways sufficiently uniform or notorious, but often
to be collected from the production and compa-
rison of instances and accounts repugnant to one
another ; and each custom being only that, after
all, which amongst a variety of usages seems to
predominate ; we have here also ample room for
doubt and contest.
Fourthly ; as the law of nature, founded in the
very construction of human society, which is form-
ed to endure through a series of perishing gene-
rations, requires that the just engagements a man
enters into should continue in force beyond his
own life ; it follows, that the private rights of per-
sons frequently depend upon what has been trans-
acted, in times remote from the present, by their
ancestors or predecessors, by those under whom
they claim, or to whose obligations they have suc-
ceeded. Thus the questions which usually arise
between lords of manors and their tenants, be-
tween the king and those who claim royal fran-
chises, or between them and the persons affected
by these franchises, depend upon the terms of the
original grant. In like manner, every dispute
concerning tithes, in which an exemption or com-
position is pleaded, depends upon the agreement
which took place between the predecessor of the
claimant and the ancient owner of the land. The
appeal to these grants and agreements is dictated
by natural equity, as well as by the municipal
law ; but concerning the existence, or the condi-
tions, of such old covenants, doubts will perpetu-
ally occur, to which the law of nature affords no
solution. The loss or decay of records, the pe-
rishableness of living memory, the corruption and
carelessness of tradition, all conspire to multiply
uncertainties upon this head; what cannot be
produced or proved, must be left to loose and fal-
lible presumption. Under the same head may
be included another topic of altercation ; the
tracing out of boundaries, which time, or neglect,
or unity of possession, or mixture of occupation, has
confounded or obliterated. To which should be
added, a difficulty which often presents itself in
disputes concerning rights of way, both public
and private, and of those easements which one
man claims in another man's property, namely,
that of distinguishing, after a lapse of years,
the use of an indulgence from the exercise of a
right.
Fifthly; the quantity or extent of an injury,
even when the cause and author of it are known,
is often dubious and undefined. If the injury,
consists in the loss of some specific right, the va-
lue of the right measures the amount of the in-
jury: but what a man may have suffered in
his person, from an assault ; in his reputation, by
slander; or in the comfort of his life, by the
seduction of a wife or daughter ; or what sum of
money shall be deemed a reparation for damages
such as these ; cannot be ascertained by any rules
which the law of nature supplies. The law of
nature commands, that reparation be made ; and
adds to her command, that, when the aggressor
and the sufferer disagree, the damage be assessed
by authorised and indifferent arbitrators. Here
then recourse must be had to courts of law, not
only with the permission, but in some measure by
the direction, of natural justice.
Sixthly; when controversies arise in the inter-
pretation of written laws, they for the most part
arise upon some contingency which the composer
of the law did not foresee or think of. In the ad-
judication of such cases, this dilemma presents
itself; if the laws be permitted to operate only
upon the cases which actually were contemplated
by the law-makers, they will always be found de-
fective : if they be extende'd to every case to which
the reasoning, and spirit, and expediency, of the
provision seem to belong, without any farther evi-
dence of the intention of the legislature, we shall
allow to the judges a liberty of applying the law,
which will fall very little short of the power of
making it. If a literal construction be adhered to,
the law will often fail of its end ; if a loose and
vague exposition be admitted, the law might as
well have never been enacted ; for this license
will bring back into the subject all the discretion
and uncertainty which it was the design of the le-
gislature to take away. Courts of justice are, and
always must be, embarrassed by these opposite
difficulties ; and, as it never can be known before-
hand, in what degree either consideration may
prevail in the mind of the judge, there remains an
unavoidable cause of doubt, and a place for con-
tention.
Seventhly; the deliberations of courts of jus-
tice upon every new question, are encumbered
with additional difficulties, in consequence of the
authority which the judgment of the court pos-
sesses, as a precedent to future judicatures ; which
authority appertains not only to the conclusions the
court delivers, but to the principles and arguments
upon which they are built. The view of this ef-
fect makes it necessary for a judge to look beyond
the case before him ; and, beside the attention he
owes to the truth and justice of the cause between
the parties, to reflect whether the principles, and
maxims, and reasoning, which he adopts and au-
thorises, can be applied with safety to all cases
which admit of a comparison with the present. The
decision of the cause, were the eftects of the de-
cision to stop there, might be easy : but the con-
sequence of establishing the principle which
such a decision assumes, may be difficult, though
of the utmost importance, to be foreseen and regu-
lated.
Finally ; after all the certainty and rest that can
be given to points of law, either by the interposi-
tion of the legislature or the authority of prece-
dents, one principal source of disputation, and into
point of law has been once adjudged, neither that
question, nor any which completely, and in all its
circumstances, corresponds with that, can be
brought a second time into dispute : but questions
arise which resemble this only indirectly and in
part, in certain views and circumstances, and which
may seem to bear an equal or a greater affinity to
other adjudged cases; questions which can be
brought within any fixed rule only by analogy,
and which hold a relation by analogy to different
OP THE ADMINISTRATION OP JUSTICE.
135
rules. It is by the urging of the different analo-
gies that the contention of the bar is carried on :
and it is in the comparison, adjustment, and re-
conciliation of them with one another; in the
discerning of such distinctions ; and in the fram-
ing of such a determination, as may either save
the various rules alleged in the cause, or if that
be impossible, may give up the weaker analogy to
the stronger ; that the sagacity and wisdom of the
court are seen and exercised. Amongst a thou-
sand instances of this, we may cite one of general
notoriety, in the contest that has lately been agi-
tated concerning literary property. The personal
industry which an author expends upon the corn-
rule are not so detrimental, as the rule itself is un-
reasonable ; in criminal prosecutions, it operates
considerably in favour of the prisoner: for if a
juror find it necessary to surrender to the obsti-
nacy of others, he will much more readily resign
his opinion on the side of mercy than of condem-
nation : in civil suits, it adds weight to the direc-
tion of the j udge ; for when a conference with
one another does not seem likely to produce, in
the jury, the agreement that is necessary, they
will naturally close their disputes by a common
submission to the opinion delivered from the
bench. However, there seems to be less of the
concurrence of separate judgments in the same
position of his work, bears so near a resemblance conclusion, consequently less assurance that the
to that by which every other kind of property is conclusion is founded in reasons of apparent truth
earned, or deserved, or acquired ; or rather there and justice, than if the decision were left to a
exists such a correspondency between what is plurality, or to some certain majority of voices,
created by the study of man's mind, and the pro- The second circumstance in our constitution
duction of his labour in any other way of applying which, however it may succeed in practice, does
it, that he seems entitled to the same exclusive, not seem to have been suggested by any intelli-
assignable, and perpetual, right in both ; and that gible fitness in the nature of the thing, is the
right to the same protection of law. This was choice that is made of the House of Lords as a
the analogy contended for on one side. On the court of appeal from every civil court of judicature
other hand, a book, as to the author's right in it, in the kingdom ; and the last also and highest ap-
appears similar to an invention of art, as a ma- peal to which the subject can resort. There ap-
chme, an engine, a medicine : and since the law pears to be nothing in the constitution of that
permits these to be copied, or imitated, except assembly ; in the education, habits, character, or
where an exclusive use or sale is reserved to the professions, of the members who compose it ; in
inventor by patent, the same liberty should be al- the mode of their appointment, or the right by
lowed in the publication and sale of books. This which they succeed to their places in it ; that
was the analogy maintained by the advocates of an should qualify them for tin's arduous office; ex-
open trade. And the competition of these oppo- cept perhaps, that the elevation of their rank and
site analogies constituted the difficulty of the case, fortune affords a security against the offer and
as far as the same was argued, or adjudged, upon influence of small bribes. Officers of the army
principles of common law. One example may and navy, courtiers, ecclesiastics ; young men
serve to illustrate our meaning: but whoever takes who have just attained the age of twenty-one,
up a volume of Reports, will find most of the ar- and who have passed their youth in the dissipation
guments it contains, capable of the same analysis: and pursuits which commonly accompany the
although the analogies, it must be confessed, are possession or inheritance of great fortunes ; coun-
somet imes so entangled as not to be easily unra- try-gentlemen, occupied in the management of
veiled, or even perceived. their estates, or in the care of their domestic con-
Doubtful and obscure points of law are not cerns and family interests ; the greater part of the
however nearly so numerous as they are appre- assembly born to their station, that is, placed in it
he ruled to be. Out of the multitude of causes by chance ; most of the rest advanced to the peer-
which, in the course of each year, are brought to age for services, and from motives, utterly uncon-
trial in the metropolis, or upon the circuits, there nected with legal erudition : these men compose
are few in which any point is reserved for the the tribunal, to which the constitution entrusts
judgment of su|>erior courts. Yet these few con- the interpretation of her laws, and the ultimate
tain all the doubts with which the law is charge- decision of every dispute between her subjects,
able: for as to the rest, the uncertainty, as hath These are the men assigned to review judgments
been shown above, is not in the law, but in the of law, pronounced by sages of the profession,
means of human information. who have spent their lives in the study and prac-
tice of the jurisprudence of their country. Such
_,, is the order which our ancestors have established.
There are two peculiarities in the judicial con- The effect only proves the truth of this maxim-
stitution of this country, which do not carry with " That when a single institution is extremely dis-
them that evidence of their propriety which recom- sonant from other parts of the system to which it
mends almost every other part of the system. The belongs; it will always find someway of recon-
farst ot these is the rule which requires that juries ciling itself to the analogy which governs and per-
imous in their verdicts. To expect that | vades the rest." By constantly placing in the
tentimes the wisest judgments might be holden stract question of law awaits their determina-
in suspense; or to suppose that any real una- tion; by the almost implicit and undisputed de-
nity or change of opinion, in the dissenting ference, which the uninformed part of the house
jurors could be procured by confining them until find it necessary to pay to the learning of their
they all consented to the same verdict, bespeaks colleagues ; the appeal to the House of Lords be-
more of the conceit of a barbarous age, than of the | comes in fact an appeal to the collected wisdom
policy which could dictate such an institution as of our supreme courts of justice ; receiving indeed
that of junes, Nevertheless, the effects of this solemnity, but little perhaps of direction, frovn
130
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY,
the presence of the assembly in which it is heard
and determined.
These, however, even if real, are minute imper-
fections. A politician who should sit down to
delineate a plan for the dispensation of public jus-
tice, guarded against all access to influence and
corruption, and bringing together the separate ad-
vantages of knowledge and impartiality, would
find, when he had done, that he had been trans-
cribing the Judicial constitution of England. And
k may teach the most discontented amongst us
to acquiesce in the government of his country,
to reflect, that the pure, and wise, and equal ad-
ministration of the laws, forms the first end and
blessing of social union ; and that this blessing is
enjoyed by him in a perfection, which he will seek
in vain in any other nation of the world.
CHAPTER IX.
/ Of Crimes and Punishments.
f THE proper end of human punishment is not
/the satisfaction of justice, but the prevention of
crimes. By the satisfaction of justice, I mean the
retribution of so much pain for so much guilt ;
which is the dispensation we expect at the hand
of God, and which we are accustomed to consider
as the order of things that perfect justice dictates
and requires. In what sense, or whether with truth
in any sense, justice may be said to demand the
punishment of offenders, I do not now inquire :
but I assert, that this demand is not the motive or
occasion of human punishment. What would it
be to the magistrate, that offences went altogether
unpunished, if the impunity of the offenders were
followed by no danger or prejudice to the common-
wealth 1 The fear lest the escape of the criminal
should encourage him, or others by his example,
to repeat the same crime, or to commit different
crimes, is the sole consideration which authorises
the infliction of punishment by human laws. Now
that, whatever it be, which is the cause and end
of the punishment, ought undoubtedly to regulate
the measure of its severity. But this cause ap-
pears to be founded, not in the guilt of the offender,
but in the necessity of preventing the repetition
of the offence : and hence results the reason, that
crimes are not by any government punished in pro-
portion to their guilt, nor in all cases ought to be
so, but in proportion to the difficulty and the ne-
cessity of preventing them. Thus the stealing of
goods privately out of a shop may not, in its moral
quality, be more criminal than the stealing of them
out of a house ; yet being equally necessary and
more difficult to be prevented, the law, in certain
circumstances, denounces against it a severer pun-
ishment. The crime must be prevented by some
means or other; and consequently, whatever
means appear necessary to this end, whether they
be proportionable to the guilt of the criminal or not,
are adopted rightly, because they are adopted upon
the principle which alone justifies the infliction of
punishment at all. From the same consideration it
also follows, that punishment ought not to be em-
ployed, much less rendered severe, when the crime
can be prevented by any other means. Punishment
is an evil to which the magistrate resorts only from
its being necessary to the prevention of a greater.
This necessity does not exist, when the end may
be attained, that is, when the public may be de-
fended from the effects of the crime, by any other
expedient. The sanguinary laws which have been
made against counterfeitiiijj; or (liniinishinrr the
gold coin of the kingdom mijTht be just until the
method of detecting the fraud, by weighing the
money, was introduced into general usage. Since
that precaution was practised, these laws have
slept ; and an execution under them at this day
would be deemed a measure of unjustifiable se-
verity. The same principle accounts for a circum-
stance which has been often censured as an ab-
surdity in the penal laws of this, and of most
modern nations, namely, that breaches of trust are
either not punished at all, or punished with les
rigour than other frauds. Wherefore is it, some
have asked, that a violation of confidence, which
increases the guilt, should mitigate the penalty ?
This lenity, or rather forbearance, of the laws, is
founded in the most reasonable distinction. A
due circumspection in the choice of the persons
whom they trust ; caution in limiting the extent
of that trust; or the requiring of sufficient secu-
rity for the faithful discharge of it, will commonly
guard men from injuries of this description ; and
the law will not interpose its sanctions to protect
negligence and credulity, or to supply the place 04
domestic care and prudence. To be convinced
that the law proceeds entirely upon this considera-
tion, we have only to observe, that where the con-
fidence is unavoidable, where no practicable vigi-
lance could watch the offender, as in the case of
theft committed by a servant in the shop or dwell-
ing house of his master, or upon property to which
he must necessarily have access, the sentence of
the law is not less severe, and its execution com-
monly more certain and rigorous, than if no trust
at all had intervened.
It is in pursuance of the same principle, which
pervades indeed the whole system of penal juris-
prudence, that the facility with which any species
of crimes is perpetrated, has been generally deem-
ed a reason for aggravating the punishment. Thus,
sheep-stealing, horse-stealing, the stealing of cloth
from tenters or bleaching grounds, by our laws,
subject the offenders to sentence of death : not that
these crimes are in their nature more heinous than
many simple felonies which are punished by im-
prisonment or transportation, but because the pro-
perty, being more exposed, requires the terror of
capital punishment to protect it. This severity
would be absurd and unjust, if the guilt of the of-
fender were the immediate cause and measure of
the punishment ; but is a consistent and regular
consequence of the supposition, that the right of
punishment results from the necessity of prevent-
ing the crime ; for if this be the end proposed, the
severity of the punishment must be increased in
proportion to the expediency and the difficulty of
attaining this end ; that is, in a proportion com-
pounded of the mischief of the crime, and of the
ease with which it is executed. The difficulty of
discovery is a circumstance to be included in the
same consideration. It constitutes indeed, with
respect to the crime, the facility of which we
speak. By how much therefore the detection of
an offender is more rare and uncertain, by so much
the more severe must be the punishment when he
is detected. Thus the writing of incendiary letters,
though in itself a pernicious and alarming injury,
calls for a more condign and exemplary punish-
ment, by the very obscurity with which the crime
is committed.
OF CRIMES AND PUNISHMENTS.
137
From the justice of God, we are taught to lool
for a gradation of punishment exactly proportionec
to the guilt of the offender : when therefore, in as
signing the degrees of human punishment, we in
troduce considerations distinct from that guilt, and
a proportion so varied by external circumstances
that eqjual crimes frequently undergo unequa
punishments, or the less crime the greater: it i.-
natural to demand the reason why a different mea
sure of punishment should be expected from God
and observed by man ; why that rule which befit*
the absolute and perfect jusfice'of the Deity, should
not be the rule which ought to-be pursued apd imi-
tated by human laws. The solution of this diili-
culty must be sought for in those peculiar tittri-
butes of the Divine nature, which distinguish the
dispensations of Supreme Wisdorrr from the pro-
ceedings of human judicature. A being whose
knewledge denetrate0 every concealment, from the
operation of whose will no art or flight can escape,
and in whose hands punishment is sure: such
a Being may conduct the moral government of
his creation, in the best and 'wisest manner, by
pronouncing a law that every crime shall finally
receive a punishment proportioned to the guilt
which it contains, abstracted from any foreign con-
sideration whatever ; and may testify his- veracity
to the sjxTtators of his judgments, by earrvinir
this law into strict execution. But when the care
of the public safety is intrusted to men, whose au-
thority over their fellow-creatures is limited by de-
fects of power and knowledge ; from whose utmost
vigilance and sagacity the greatest offenders often
lie hid; whose wisest precautions and speediest
pursuit may be eluded by artifice or concealment 5
a different necessity, a new rule of proceeding, re-
sults from the very imperfection of their faculties.
In their hands, the uncertainty of punishment
must be compensated by the severity. The e;is<-
with which crimes arc committed or eomvnled.
must be counteracted by additional penalties and
increased terrors. The very end for which human
government is established, requires that its n fil-
iations be adapted to the suppression of crimes. This
end, whatever it may do in the plans of Infinite
Wisdom, does not, in the designation of temporal
penalties, always coincide with the proportionate
punishment of guilt.
There are two methods of administering penal
justice.
The first method assigns capital punishment to
few offences, and inflicts it invariably.
The second metho<lassi<in^ capital punishment
to many kinds of offences, but inflicts it only upon
a few examples of each kind.
The latter of which two methods has been long
adopted in this country, where, of those who re-
ceive sentence of death, scarcely one in ten is exe-
cuted. And the preference of this to the former'
method seems to be founded in the consideration,
that the selection of proper objects for capital pun-
ishment principally depends upon circumstances,
which, however easy to perceive in each particular
case after the crime is committed, it is impossible
to enumerate or define l>eforehand; or to ascertain
however with that exactness which is requisite in
legal descriptions. Hence, although it be necessary
to fix by precise rules of law the boundary on one.
side, that is. the limit to which the punishment
may be extended; and also that nothing less than
the authority of the whole legislature l>e suffered
to determine that boundary, and assign these rules ;
8
yet the mitigation of punishment, the exercise of
lenity, may without danger be intrusted to the exe-
cutive magistrate, whose discretion will operate
ii|HMi those numerous, unforeseen, mutable, and
indefinite circumstances, both of the crime and
the criminal, which constitute or qualify the ma-
lignity of each offence. Without the power of re-
laxation lodged in a living authority, either some
offenders would- escape capital punishment, whom
the public safety required to suffer ; or some would
undergo tlu's punishment, where it was neither de-
served nor necessary. For if judgment of death
were reserved for one or two .species of crimes only
(which would probably be tke case if that judg-
ment was intended to be executed without excep-
tionj) crimes might occur of the most dangerous
example, and accompanied with circumstances of
heinous aggravation, which did not fall within any
description- of' offences that the laws had made
capital, and which consequently could not receive
the punishment their own malignity and the pub-
lic s.iietv required. What is worse, it would bo
known .before-hand, that such .crimes might be
committed without danger to the offender's life.
On the other hand, if to reach these possible cases,
the whole class of offences to wluch they belong
be'subjected to pains of death, and no- power of
remitting this severity remain any where, the ex-
ecution of the laws will become more sanguinary
than the public compassion would endure, or than
is necessary to the grneral security.
The law of England is constructed upon a
different and a better policy. By the number of
statutes creating capital offences, it sweeps into
the net every crime which, under any possible
circumstances, may merit the punishment of death:
but when the execution of this sentence comes to
be deliberated upon, a small proportion of each
iass arc singled out, the general character, or the
peculiar aggravations of whose crimes, render
:hem lit examples of public justice. By this ex-
pedient, few actually suffer death, whilst the dread
uid danger of it hang, over the crimes of many.
The tenderness of the law cannot be taken ad-
vantage of. The life of the subject is spared as
far as the necessity of restraint and intimidation
permits ; yet no one will adventure upon the com-
ni&sion of any enormous crime, from a know-
edge that the laws liave not provided for its
punishment. The wisdom and humanity of this
design furnish a just excuse for the multiplicity
of capital offences, which the laws of England are
accused of creating beyond those of other coun- n
ries. The charge of cruelty is answered by ob-
serving, that these laws wfere never meant to be
arried into indiscriminate execution^ that the
egislature, when it establishes its last and highest
auctions, trusts to the"benignity of -the crown to
elax their severity as often as circumstances
ppear ta palliate the offence, oryeven as -often as
hose circumstances of aggravation are wanting
vhich rendered this rigorous interposition neces-
sary. Upon this plan, it is enough to vindicate
he lenity of the laws, that some instances are to
be found" in each class of capital crimes, which re-
quire the restraint of capital punishment, and that
this restraint could not be applied without subject-
ing the whole class lo the same condemnation.
There is however one species of crimes, the
making of which capital, can hardly, I think, be
defended even upon the comprehensive principle
just now stated : I mean that of privately steal-
12*
138
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
ing from the person. As every degree of force is
excluded by the description of the crime, it will
be difficult to assign an example, where either the
amount or circumstances of the theft place it upon
a level with those dangerous attempts to which
the punishment of death should be confined. It
will be still more difficult to show, that, without
gross and culpable negligence on the part of the
sufferer, such examples can .ever become so fre-
quent, as to make it necessary to constitute a class
of capital offences, of very wide and large extent.
The prerogative of pardon is properly reserved
to the chief magistrate. The power of suspend-
ing the laws is a privilege of too high a nature to
be committed to many hands, or to those of any
inferior officer in the state. The king also can
best collect the advice by which his resolutions
should be governed: and is at the same time re-
moved at the greatest distance from the influence
of private motives. But let this power be de-
posited where it will, the exercise of it ought to
DC regarded, not as a favour to be yielded to so-
licitation, granted to friendship, or, least of all, to
be made subservient to the conciliating or gratify-
ing of political attachments, but as a judicial act;
as a deliberation to be conducted with the
character of impartiality, with the same exact and
diligent attention to the proper merits and cir-
cumstances of the case, as that which the judge
upon the bench was expected to maintain and
show in the trial of the prisoner's guilt. The
questions, whether the prisoner be guilty, and
whether, being guilty, he ought to be executed,
are equally questions of public justice. The
adjudication of the latter question is as much a
function of magistracy, as the trial of the former.
The public welfare is interested in both. The
conviction of an offender should depend upon
nothing but the proof of his guilt ; nor the execu-
tion of the sentence upon any thing beside the
quality and circumstances of his crime. It is
necessary to the good order of society, and to the
reputation and authority of government, that this
be known and believed to be the case in each part
of the proceeding. Which reflections show, that
the admission of extrinsic or oblique considerations,
in dispensing the power of pardon, is a crime, in
the authors and advisers of such unmerited par-
tiality, of the same nature with that of corruption
in a judge.
Aggravations, which ought to guide the ma-
gistrate in the selection of objects of condign
punishment, are principally these three, repeti-
tion, cruelty, combination. The first two, it is
manifest, add to every reason upon which the
justice or the necessity of rigorous measures can
be founded ; and with respect to the last circum-
stance, it may be observed, that when thieves and
robbers are once collected into gangs, their violence
becomes more formidable, the confederates more
desperate, and the difficulty-of defending the pub-
lic against their depredations much greater, than
in the case of solitary adventurers. Which se-
veral considerations compose a distinction that is
properly adverted to, in deciding upon the fate of
convicted malefactors.
In crimes, however, which are perpetrated by a
multitude, or by a gang, it is proper to separate,
in the punishment, the ringleader from his fol-
lowers, the principal from nis accomplices, and
even the person who struck the blow, broke the
lock, or first entered the house, from those who
joined him in the felony; not so much on account
of any distinction in the guilt of the offenders, as
for the sake of casting an obstacle in the way of
such confederacies, by rendering it difficult for the
confederates to settle who shall begin the attack
or to lincl a num amongst their number willing to
expose himself to greater danger than his as-
sociates. This is another instance in which the
punishment which expediency directs, does not
pursue the exact proportion of the crime.
Injuries effected by terror and violence, are those
which jt. is the first and chief concern of legal go-
vernment to repress; because, their extent is un-
limited ; because no private precaution can protect
the subject against them; because they endanger
life and safety, -as well as property ; and lastly, be-
cause they render the condition of society wretched,
by a sense of personal insecurity. These reasons
do not apply to frauds which circumspection may
prevent ; which must wait for opportunity ; which
can proceed only to certain limits; and by the
apprehension of which, although the business of
life be incommoded, life itself is not made misera-
ble. The a'ppearance of this distinction has led
some humane writers to express a wish, that
capital punishments might be confined to crimes
of violence.
In estimating the comparative malignancy of
crimes of violence, regard is to be had, not only to
the proper and intended mischief of the crime, but
to the fright occasioned by the attack, to the general
alarm excited by it in others, and to the conse-
quences which may attend future attempts of the
same kind. Thus, in affixing the punishment of
burglary, or of breaking into dwelling-houses by
night, we are to consider not only -the peril to
which the most valuable property is exposed by
this crime, and which may be called the direct
mischief of it, but the danger also of murder in
case of resistance, or for the sake of preventing
discovery ; and the universal dread with which the
silent and defenceless hours of rest and sleep must
be disturbed, were attempts of this sort to become
frequent; and which dread alone, even without
the mischief wlu'ch is the object of it, is not only
a public evil, but almost of all evils the most in-
supportable. These circumstances place a dif-
ference between the breaking into a dwelling-
house by day, and by night; which difference
obtains in the punishment of the offence by the
law of Moses, and is probably to l>c found in the
judicial codes of most countries, from the earliest
ages to the present.
Of frauds, or of injuries which are effected
without force, the most noxious kinds are,
forgeries, counterfeiting or diminishing of the
coin, and the stealing of letters in the course of
their conveyance ; inasmuch as these practices
tend to deprive the public of accommodations,
which not Only improve the conveniences of so-
cial life, but are essential to the prosperity, and
even the existence, of commerce. Of these crimes
it may be said, that although they seem to affect
property alone, the mischief of their operation
does not terminate there. For let it_be supposed,
that the remissness or lenity of the laws should,
in any country, suffer offences of this sort to grow
into such a frequency, as to render the use of
money, the circulation of bills, or the public con-
veyance of letters, no longer sale or practicable ;
what would follow, but that every species of trade
and of activity must decline under these dis-
OP CRIMES AND PUNISHMENTS.
139
couragements ; the sources of subsistence fail, by
whictf the inhabitants of the country are sup-
ported ; the country itself, where the intercourse
of civil life was so endangered and defective, IK'
deserted ; and that, beside the distress and poverty
which the loss of employment would produce to
the industrious and valuable part of the existing
community, a rapid depopulation must take place.
each generation becoming less numerous than the
last; till solitude and barrenness overspread the
land ; until a desolation similar to what obtains
in many countries of Asia, which were once the
most civilized and frequented parts of the world,
succeed in the place of crowded cities, of cultivated
fields, of liappy and well peopled regions^ When
therefore we carry forwards our views to the more
distant, but not less certain consequences of these
crimes, we perceive that, though no' livin
turo lw destroyed by them, yet human lite is di-
minished: that an oilence, the particular conse-
quence of which deprives only an individual of a
small portion of his property, and which even in
its general tendency seems to do nothing more
than obstruct the enjoyment of certain public
conveniences, may nevertheless, by its ultimate
effects, conclude in the laying waste of human
existence. This ol>servation will enable those
who regard the divine rule of " life for life, and
blood for blood," as the only authorized and jus-
tifiable measure of capital punishment, to perceive,
with respect to the effects and quality of the ac-
tions, a greater resemblance than they suppose to
exist between certain atrocious frauds, and those
crimes which attack personal safety.
In the case of forgeries, there appears a sub-
stantial difference between the forging of bills of
exchange, or of securities which are circulated,
and of which the circulation and currency are
found to serve and facilitate valuable purposes of
commerce; and the forging of bonds, leases,
mortgages, or of instruments which are not conk
monly transferred from one hand to another; lo-
calise in the former case, credit is necessarily
given to the signature; and without that credit the
negotiation of such property could not be carried
on, nor the public utility, sought from it, be at-
tained: in the other case, all possibility of deceit
might be precluded, by a direct communication
between the parties, or by due care in the choice
of their agents, with little interruption to busi-
ness, and without destroying, or much encumber-
ing, the uses for which these instruments are cal-
culated. This distinction I apprehend to be not
only real, but precise enough to afford a line of
division between forgeries, which as the law now
stands, are almost universally capital, and punished
with undistinguishing severity.
Perjury is another crime, of the same class and
magnitude. And, when we consider what re-
liance is necessarily placed upon oaths ; that all
judicial decisions proceed upon testimony ; that
consequently there is not a right that a man pos-
sesses, of which false witnesses may not deprive
him; that reputation, property, and life itself, lie
open to the attempts of perjury ; that it may often
be committed without a possibility of contradic-
tion or discovery; that the success and prevalency
of this vice tend to introduce the most grievous
and fatal injustice into the administration of hu-
man affairs, or such a distrust of testimony a.s
must create universal embarrassment and con-
fusion: when we reflect upon these mischiefs,
we shall be brought, probably, to agree with the
opinion of those who contend that perjury, in its
punishment, especially that which is attempted in
solemn evidence, and in the face of a court of jus-
tice, should be placed upon a level with the most
flagitious frauds.
The obtaining of money by secret threats,
whether we regard the difficulty with which the
crime is traced out, the odious imputations to
which it may lead, or the profligate conspiracies
that are sometimes formed" to carry it into execu-
tion, deserves to be reckoned amongst the worst
species of robbery.
The frequency of capital executions in this
country o\ves it necessity to three causes ; much
liberty, great cities, and the want of a punishment
short of death, possessing a sufficient degree of
terror. And if the taking away of the life of male-
factors be more rare in other countries than in
ours, the reason will be found in some difference
in these articles. The liberties v of a free people,
and still more the jealousy with which these liber-
ties are watched, and by which they arc preserved,
permit not those precautions and restraints, that
inspection, scrutiny, and control, which are ex-
ercised with success in arbitrary governments.
For example, neither the spirit of the laws, nor
of the people, will suffer the detention or confine-
ment of suspected persons, without proofs of their
guilt, which it is often impossible to obtain ; nor will
they allow that masters of families be obliged to
record and render up a description of the strangers
or inmates whom they entertain; nor that an ac-
count be demanded, at the pleasure of the magis-
trate, of each man's time, employment, and means
of subsistence ; nor securities to be required when
these accounts appear unsatisfactory or dubious;
nor men to be apprehended upon the mere sug-
gestion of idleness or vagrancy; nor to be con-
liued to certain districts; nor the inhabitants of
each district to be -made responsible for one
another's behaviour; nor passports to be exacted
from all persons entering or leaving the kingdom:
least of all will they tolerate the appearance of an
armed force, or of military law ; or suffer the streets
and public road* to be guarded and patrolled by
soldiers ; qr lastly, intrust the police with such dis-
cretionary powers, as may make sure of the guilty,
however they involve the innocent. These ex-
}>edients, although arbitrary and rigorous, are
many of them effectual : and in proportion as they
render the commission or concealment of crimes
more difficult, they subtract from the necessity of
severe punishment. Great cities multiply crimes,
by presenting easier opportunities, and more in-
centives to libertinism, which in low life is com-
monly the introductory-stage to other enormities ;
by collecting thieves and robbers into the same
neighbourhood, which enables them to form com-
munications and confederacies, that increase their
art and courage, as well as strength and wicked-
ness ; but principally by the refuge they afford to
villany, in the means of concealment, and of sub-
sisting in secrecy, v^iich crowded towns supply to
men of every description. These temptations and
facilities can only be counteracted by adding to
the number of capital punishments. But a third
cause, which increases the frequency of capital
executions, in England, is, a defect of the laws, in
not being provided with any other punishment
than that of death, sufficiently terrible to keep
offenders in awe. Transportation, which is th
140
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
sentence second in the order of severity, appears
to me to answer the purpose of example very im-
perfectly: not only because exile is in reality a
slight punishment to those who have neither
property, nor friends, nor reputation, nor regular
means of subsistence, at home; and because their
situation becomes little worse by their erime, than
it was before they committed it ; but because the
punishment, whatever it be, is unobserved and
unknown. A transported convict may suifer
under his sentence, but his sufferings are re-
moved from the view of his countrymen : his
misery is unseen ; his condition strikes no terror
into the minds of those for whose warning and
admonition; it was intended. This chasm in the
scale of punishment produces also two farther
imperfections in the administration of penal jus-
tice; the first is, 'that the same punishment is
extended to crimes of very different character
and malignancy: the second, that punishments
separated by a great interval, are assigned to
crimes hardly distinguishable in their guilt and
mischief.
The end of punishment is two-fold ; amend-
ment, and example. In the first of these, the re-
formation of c'riminals, little "has- .ever been ef-
fected, and little, I fear, is practicable. From every
species of punishment that has hitherto been de-
vised, from imprisonment and exile, from pain and
infamy, malefactors return more hardened in their
crimes, and more instructed. If there be any tiling
that shakes the soul of a confirmed villain, it is the
expectation of approaching death. The horrors
of this situation may cause such a wrench in the
mental organSj as to give them a holding turn :
and I think it probable, that many of those who
are executed, would, if they were delivered at the
point of deafeh, retain such a remembrance of their
sensations, as might preserve them, unless urged
by extreme want, from relapsing into their former
crimes. But this is an experiment that, from its
nature, cannot be repeated often.
Of the reforming punishments which have not
yet been tried, none promises so much success as
that of solitary imprisonment, or the confinement
of criminals in separate apartments. This im-
provement augments the terror of the punish-
ment ; secludes the criminal from the society of
his fellow-prisoners, in which society the worse
are sure to corrupt the better ', weans him from
the knowledge of his companions, and from the
love of that turbulent, precarious life in which his
vices had engaged him : is calculated to raise up
in him reflections on the folly of his choice, and
to dispose his mind to such bitter ami continued
penitence, as may produce a lasting alteration in
the principles of his conduct.
As aversion to kbour is the cause from which
half of the vices of low life deduce .their origin and
continuance, , punishments ought Jx> be contrived
with a view to the conquering of this disposition.
Two opposite expedients have been recommended
for this purpose; the one, solitary confinement
with hard labour ; the other, solitary confinement
with nothing to do. Both expedients seek the
same end ; to reconcile the idle to a life of in-
dustry. -The former hopes to effect this by making
labour habitual ; the latter, by making idleness in-
supportable : and the preference of one method to
the other depends upon the question, whether a
man is more likely to betake himself, of his own
accord, to work, who has been accustomed to em-
ployment, or who has been distressed by the want
of it. When jails are once provided for the sepa-
rate confinement of prisoners, which both propo-
sals require, the choice between them may soon
be determined by experience. If labour he exacted,
I would leave the whole, or a portion, of the earn-
ings to the prisoner's use, and 1 would debar him
from any other provision or supply ; that his sub-
sistence, however coarse and penurious, may be
proportioned to his diligence, and that he may
taste the advantage of industry together with the
toil. I would go further ; I would measure the
confinement, not by the duration of time, but by
quantity of work, in order both to excite industry,
and to render it more voluntary. But the prin-
cipal difficulty remains still ; namely, how to dis-
pose of criminals after their enlargement. By a
rule of life, which is perhaps too invariably and
indiscriminately adhered to, no one will receive a
man or woman out of a jail, into any service or
employment whatever. This is the common
misforturie of public punishment, that they pre-
clude the offender from all honest means of future
support.* ' It seems incumbent upon the state to
secure a maintenance to those who are willing to
work for it p and yet it is absolutely necessary to
divide criminals as far asunder from one another
as possible. Whether male prisoners might not,
after the term of their confinement was expired,
her distributed in the country, detained within
certain limits, and employed upon the public
roads; and females be remitted to the overseers
of country parishes, to be there furnished with
dwellings, and with the materials and implements
of occupation; whether by these, or by what
other methods, it may be possible to effect the
two purposes of employment and dispersion,
well merits the attention of all who arc anxious
to perfect the internal regulation of their country.
Torture is applied either to obtain confessions
of guilt, or to exasperate or prolong the pains of
d.eath. No bodily punishment, however excru-
ciating or long-continued,. receives the name of
torture, unless it be designed to kill the criminal
by a more lingering death ; or to extort from him
the discovery of some secret, which is supposed to
lie concealed in his breast. The question by tor-
ture appears to be equivocal in its effects: for
since extremity of pain, and not any conscious-
ness of remorse in the mind, produces those ef-
fects : an innocent man may sink under the tor-
ment, as well as he who is guilty. The latter has
as much to fear from yielding, as the former. The
instant and almost irresistible desire of relief may
draw from one sufferer false accusations' of him-
self or others, as it may sometimes extract the
truth out of another. This ambiguity renders the
use of torture, as a means of procuring information
in criminal proceedings, liable to the risk of griev-
ous and irreparable injustice. For which reason,
though recommended by ancient and general
example, it has been properly exploded from the
mild and cautious system of penal jurisprudence
established in this country.
Barbarous spectacles of human agony are justly
found fault with, as tending to harden and deprave
the public feelings, and to destroy that sympathy
* Until thjs inconvenience be remedied, small offences
lad perhaps better go unpunished : I do not mean that
:he law should exempt them from punishment, but that
private persons should be tender in prosecuting them.
OP CRIMES AND PUNISHMENTS.
141
with which the sufferings of our fellow-creatures
ought always to be seen; or, if no effect of this
kind follow' from them, they counteract in some
measure their o\vn design, by sinking men's ab-
horrence of the crime in their commiseration of
the criminal. But it' a mode of execution could l>e
devised, which would augment the horror of the
punishment, without offending or impairing the
public sensibility by cruel or unseemly exhibitions
of death, it might add something to the ellicacy
of the example: and, by being reserved for a few
atrocious crimes, might. also enlarge the scale of
punishment ; an addition to which seems want-
ing: for, as the matter remains at present, you
hang a malefactor for a simple robbery, and can
do no more to the villain who has poisoned his
father. Somewhat of the sort we have been
describing, was the proj>osal, not long since sug-
gested, of casting murderers into a den of wild
beasts, whore they would perish in a manner
dreadful to the imagination, yet concealed from
the view.
Infamous punishments are mismanaged in
this country, with respect both to the crimes and
the criminals. In the iirst place, they ought to
be confined to offences which are holden in un-
disputed and universal detestation. To condemn
to the pillory the author or editor of a libel against
the state, who has rendered himself the favourite
of a party , if not of the |x>ople, by the very act for
which he stands there, is to gratify the offender,
and to expose the law to mockery and insult. In
the second place; the delinquents who receive
this sentence, are for the most part such as have
long ceased either to value reputation, or to fear
shame; of whose happiness, and of whose en-
joyments, character makes no part. Thus the
low ministers of lilx>rtinism, the keepers of bawdy
or disorderly houses, are. threatened in \aiii with
a punishment that affects a sense which they have
not; that applies solely to the imagination, to the
virtue and the pride of human nature. The pil-
lory, or any other infamous distinction, might be
employed rightly, and with effect, in ttie punish-
ment of some offences of higher life ; as of frauds
and peculation in office; of collusions and con-
nivances, by which the public treasury is de-
frauded ; of breaches of trust ; of perjury, and
subornation of jx'rjury; of the clandestine and
forbidden sale of places; of flagrant abuses of
authority, or neglect of duty ; and lastly, of cor-
ruption in the exercise of confidential or judicial
offices. In all which, the more elevated was the
station of the criminal, the more signal and con-
spicuous would be the triumph of justice.
The certainty of punishment is of more con-
sequence than the severity. Criminals do not so
much flatter themselves with the lenity of the
sentence, as with the hope of escaping. They
are not so apt to compare what they gain by the
crime with what they may suffer from the punish-
ment, as to encourage themselves with the chance
of concealment or flight. For which reason, a
vigilant magistracy, an accurate police, a proper
distribution of force and intelligence, together with
due rewards for the discovery and apprehension
of malefactors, and an undeviating impartiality in
carrying the laws into execution, contribute more
to the restraint and suppression of crimes than
any violent exacerbations of punishment. And,
for the same reason, of all contrivances directed
to this end, those perhaps are most effectual which
facilitate the conviction of criminals. The offence
of counterfeiting the coirr could not be checked
by all the terrors and the utmost severity of kw,
whilst the act of coining was necessary to be es-
tablished by specific proof The statute which
made possessioa-of the implements of coining
capital, that -is, which constituted that possession
complete evidence of the offender's guilt, was the
first thing that gave force and efficacy to the de-
nunciations of law upon this subject. The statute
of James the First, relative to the murder of bas-
tard children, which ordains that the concealment
of the birth should be deemed incontestable proof
of the charge, though a harsh law, was, in like
manner with the former, well calculated to put a
stop to the crime.
It is upon the principle of this observation, that
I apprehend much., harm to have been done to the
community, by the over-strained scrupulousness,
or weak timidity, of juries, which demands often,
such proof of a prisoner's guilt, as the nature and
secrecy of his crime scarce possibly admit of; and
which holds it the part of a safe conscience not
to condemn any man, whilst there exists the
minutest possibility of his innocence. Any story
they may happen to have heard or read, whether
real or feigned, in which courts of justice have
been misled by presumptions of guilt, is enough,
in their minds, to fount! an acquittal upon, where
positive proof is wanting. 1 do not mean that
juries should indulge conjectures, should magnify
suspicions into proofs, or even that they should
weigh probabilities in gold scales: but when the
preponderation of evidence is so manifest as to
I it r>u,idee\erv private understanding of the prison-
er's guilt; when it furnishes the degree of credi-
bility upon which men decide and act in all other
doubts, and which experience hath shown that
they may decide and act upon with sufficient
safety ; to reject'such proof, from an insinuation of
uncertainty that belongs to all human affairs, and
from a general dread lest the charge of innocent
blood should lie at their doors, is a conduct, which,
however natural to a mind studious of its own
quiet, is authorised by no considerations of recti-
tude or utility. It counteracts the care and damps
the activity of government ; it holds out public
encouragement to viljany, by confessing the im-
possibility of bringing villains to justice; and that
species of encouragement which, as hath been just
now observed, the minds of such men are most
apt to entertain and dwell upon.
There are two popular maxims, which seem to
have a considerable influence in producing the
injudicious acquittals of which we complain. One
is : " That circumstantial evidence falls short of
positive proof." This assertion, in the unqualified
sense in which it is applied, is not true. A con-
currence of well-authenticated circumstances com-
pose a stronger ground of assurance than positive
testimony, unconfirmed by circumstances, usually
affords. Circumstances cannot lie. The conclu-
sion also which results from them, though deduced
by only probable inference, is commonly more to
be relied upon than the veracity of an unsupported
solitary witness. The danger of being deceived
is less, the actual instances of deception are fewer,
in the one case than the other. What is called
positive proof in criminal matters, as where a man
swears to the person of the prisoner, and that he
actually saw him commit the crime with which he
is charged, may be founded in the mistake or per-
142
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
jury of a single witness. Such mistakes, and
such perjuries, are not without many examples.
\Vhereas, to impose upon a court of justice a
chain of circumstantial evidence in support of a
fabricated accusation, requires such a number of
false witnesses as seldom meet together ; an union
also of skill and wickedness which is still more
rare; and, after all, this species of proof lies much
more open to discussion, and is more likely, if
false, to be contradicted, or to betray itself by some
unforeseen inconsistency, than that direct proof,,
which, being confined within the knowledge of a
single person, which, appealing to, or standing
connected with, no external or collateral circum-
stances, is incapable, by its very simplicity, of
being confronted with opposite probabilities.
The other maxim, which deserves a similar
examination, is this:" That it is better that ten
guilty persons escape, than that one innocent
man should suffer." If by saying it is better, be
meant that it is more for the public advantage, the
proposition, I think, cannot be maintained. The
security of civil life, which is essential to the value
and the enjoyment of every blessing it contains,
and the interruption of which is followed by uni-
versal misery and confusion, is protected chiefly
by the dread of punishment. The misfortune of
an individual (for such may the sufferings, or even
the death, of an innocent person be called when
they are occasioned by no evil intention,) cannot
be placed in competition with this object. I do not
contend that the life or safety of the meanest sub-
ject ought, in any case, to be knowingly sacrificed :
no principle of judicature, no end of punishment,
can ever require that.
But when certain rules of adjudication must
be pursued, when certain degrees of credibility
must be accepted, in order to reach the crimes
with which the public are infested ; courts of jus-
tice should not be deterred from the application
of these rules by every suspicion of danger, or by
the mere possibility of confounding the innocent
with the guilty. They ought rather to reflect,
that he who falls by a mistaken sentence, may In-
considered as falling for his country; whilst he
suffers under the operation of those rules, by the
general effect and tendency of which the welfare
of the community is maintained and upholden.
CHAPTER X.
Of Religious Establishments and of Toleration.
"A RELIGIOUS establishment is no part of
Christianity : it is only the means of inculcating
it." Amongst the Jews, the rights and offices, the
order, family, and succession of the priesthood,
were marked out by the authority which declared
the law itself. These, therefore, were parts of
the Jewish religion, as well as the means of trans-
mitting it. Not so with the new institution. It
cannot be proved that any form of church-govern-
ment was laid down in the Christian, as it had
been ill the Jewish Scriptures, with a view of
fixing a constitution for succeeding ages; and
which constitution, consequently, the disciples of
Christianity would every where, and at all times,
by the very law of their religion, be obliged to
adopt. Certainly, no command for this purpose
was delivered by Christ himself; and if it be
shown that the apostles ordained bishops and
presbyters amongst their first converts, it must be
remembered that deacons also and deaconesses
were appointed by them, with functions very
dissimilar to any which obtain in the church at
present. The truth seems to have been, that
such offices were at first erected in the Chris-
tian church, as the good order, the instruction,
and the exigencies of the society at that time re-
quired, wkhout any intention, at least without
any declared design, of regulating the appoint-
ment, authority, or the distinction, of Christian
ministers under future circumstances. This re-
serve, if We may so call it, in the Christian Legis-
lator, is sufficiently accounted for by two consider-
ations : First, that no precise constitution could
be framed, which would suit with the condition of
Christianity in its primitive state, and with that
which it was to assume when it should be advanced
into a national religion: Secondly, that a par-
ticular designation of office or authority amongst
the ministers of the new religion, might have so
interfered with the arrangements of civil policy, as
to have formed, in some countries, a considerable
obstacle to the progress and reception of the reli-
gion itself.
The authority therefore of a church-establish-
ment is founded in its utility : and whenever,
upon this principle, we deliberate concerning the
form, propriety, or comparative excellency o? dif-
erent establisliments, the single view under which
we ought to consider any of them is, that of "a
scheme of instruction ;" the single end we ought
to propose by therfi js, " the preservation and
communication of religious knowledge." Every
other idea, and every other end, that have been
mixed- with this, as the making of the church an
engine, or even an ally, of the state ; converting
it into the means of strengthening or diffusing in-
fluence ; or regarding it as a support of regal, in
opposition to popular forms of government ; have
served only to debase the institution, and to intro-
duce into it numerous corruptions and abuses.
The notion of a religious establishment com-
prehends three things : a clergy, or an order of
men secluded from other professions to attend
upon the offices of religion ; a legal provision for
the maintenance of the clergy ; and the confining
of that provision to the teachers of a particular i
sect of Christianity. If any one of these three ]
things be wanting, if there be no clergy as amongst '
the Gluakers ; or if the clergy have no other pro- /
vision than what they derive from the voluntary
contribution of their hearers ; or if the provision
which the laws assign to the support of religion
be extended to various sects and denominations of
Christians ; there exists no national religion or
established church, according to the sense which
these terms are usually made to convey. He, there-
fore, who would defend ecclesiastical establish-
ments, must show the separate utility of these
three essential parts of their constitution :
1. The question first in order upon the subject,
as well as the most fundamental in its importance,
is, whether the knowledge and profession of Chris-
tianity can l maintained in a country without a
class of men set apart by public authority to the
study and teaching of religion, and to the conduct-
ing of public worship ; and for these purposes se-
cluded from other employments. I add this last
circumstance, because in it consists, as I take it,
the substance of the controversy. Now it must
be remembered, that Christianity is an historical
OP RELIGIOUS ESTABLISHMENTS, AND OP TOLERATION. 143
religion, founded in facts which are related to have
passed, upon discourses which were holden, and
letters which were written, in a remote age, and
distant country of the world, as well as under a
state of life and manners, and during the preva-
lency of opinion? customs, and institutions, very
unlike any which, are found amongst mankind at
present. Moreover, this religion, having been
first published in the country of Judea, and being
built upon the more ancient religion of the Jews,
is necessarily and intimately connected with the
sacred writings, with the history and j>olitv of
that singular people : to which must be added,
that the records of both revelations are preserved
in languages which have long ceased to be spo-
ken in any part of the world. Books which come
down to us from times so remote, and under so
many causes of unavoidable obscurity, cannot, it is
evident, be understood without study and P^pa-
ration. The languages must be learned. The
various writings which these volumes contain,
must be can-fully compared with one another, and
with themselves. What remains of contemporary
authors, or of authors connected with the age, thie
country, or the subject of our scriptures, must be
perused and consulted, in order to interpret doubt-
ful forms of speech, and to explain allusions which
refer to objects or usages that no longer exist.
Above all, the modes of expression, the habits of
reasoning and argumentation, which were then
in use, and to which the discourses even of in-
spired teachers were necessarily adapted, must be
sufficiently known, and can only be known at
all by a due acquaintance with ancient litera-
ture. And lastly, to establish the genuineness and
integrity of the canonical scriptures themselves, a
series of testimony, rccoLrnisin-r the notoriety and
reception of these l>ooks, must be deduced from
times near to those of their first publication, down
the succession of ages through which they have
been transmitted to us. The qualifications ne-
cessary for such researches demand, it is confessed,
a degree of leisure, and a kind of education, in-
consistent with the exercise of any other profes-
sion. But how few arc there amongst the cleriry.
from whom any thing of this sort can be expected !
how small a proportion of their numlx r. \\lio
seem likely either to augment the fund of sacred
literature, or even to collect what is already known!
To this objection it may lx^ replied, that we
sow many seeds to raise one flower. In order to
produce a few capable of improving and continu-
ing the stock of Christian erudition, leisure and_
opportunity must be afforded to great numbers.
Original knowledge of this kind can never be
universal ; but it is of the utmost importance, and
it is enough that there be, at all times, found
some qualified for such inquiries, and in whose
concurring and independent conclusions upon
each subject, the rest of the Christian community
may safely confide : whereas, without an order of
clergy educated for the purpose, and led to the
prosecution of these studies by the habits, the
leisure, and the object, of their vocation, it mav
well be questioned whether the learning itself
would not have been lost, by which the records
of our faith are interpreted and defended. We
contend, therefore, that an order of clergy is ne-
cessary to perpetuate the evidences of Revelation,
and to interpret the obscurity of those ancient
"writings, in which the religion" is contained. But
besides this, which forms, no doubt, one design of
their institution, the more ordinary offices of pub-
lic teaching, and of conducting public worship,
call for qualifications not usually to be met with
amidst the employments of civil life. It has been
acknowledged by some, who cannot be suspected
of making unnecessary concessions in favour of
establishments, " to be barely possible, that a
person who was never educated for the office
should acquit himself with decency as a public
teacher of religion.'' And that surely must be
a verv defective policy which trusts to possibilities
for success, when provision is to be made for regu-
lar and general instruction. Little objection to
this argument can be drawn from the example of
the Gluakers, who, it may be said, furnish an ex-
perimental proof that the worship and profession
of Christianity may be upholden without a sepa-
rate clergy. These sectaries every where subsist
in conjunction with a regular establishment. They
'have access to -the wntings, they profit by the
labours, of the clergy, in common with other Chris-
tians. They participate in that general diffusion
of religious knowledge, which the constant teach-
ing of a more regular ministry keeps up in the
country : with such aids, and under such circum-
stances, the defects of a plan may not be much
felt, although the plan itself be altogether unfit for
general imitation.
"2. If then an order of clergy be necessary, if it
be necessary also to seclude them -from the em-
ployments and profits, of other professions, it is
evident they ought to lie enabled to derive a main-
tenance from thei r own. Now this maintenance
must either dep. ud upon the voluntary contribu-
tions of their hearers, or arise from revenues as-
signed by authority of law. To the scheme of
voluntary contribution there exists this insur-
mountable objection, that few would ultimately
contribute any thing at all. However the zeal of
a sect, or the novelty of a change, might support
such an experiment for a while, no refiance could
be placed upon it as a general and permanent pro-
\ isi< n. It is at all times a bad constitution, which
presents temptations of interest in opposition to
the duties of religion ; or which makes the offices
of religion expensive fo those who attend upon
them ; or which allows pretences of conscience to
be an excuse for not sharing in a public burthen.
If, by declining to frequent religious assemblies,
men could save their money, at the same time that
they indulged their indolence, and their disinclina-
tion to exercises of seriousness and reflection ; or,
if by dissenting from the national religion, they
could be excused from contributing to the support
of the ministers of religion ; it is to be feared that
many would take advantage of the option which
was thus imprudently left open to them, and that
this lil>erty might finally oj>erate to the decay of
virtue, and an irrecoverable forgetfulness of all re-
ligion in 'the country. Is there not too much
reason to fear, that, if it were referred to the dis-
cretion of each neighbourhood, whether they would
maintain amongst them a teacher of religion or
not, many districts would remain unprovided with
any ; that, with the difficulties which encumber
every measure requiring the co-operation of num-
bers, and where each individual of the number has
an interest secretly pleading against the success of
the measure itself, associations for the support of
Christian worship and instruction would .neither
be numerous nor long continued'? The devout
and pious might lament in vain the want or the
14*
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
distance of a religious assembly ; they could no!
form or maintain one, without the concurrence
of neighbours who felt neither their zeal nor their
liberality.
From the difficulty with which congregations
Would be established and upheld upon the volun-
tary plan, let us carry our thoughts to the condi-
tion of those who are to officiate in them. Preach-
ing, in time, would become a mode of begging.
With what sincerity, or with what dignity, can a
preachefHispense the truths of Christianity, whose
thoughts are perpetually solicited to the reflection
how he may increase his subscription^ His elo-
quence, if he possesses any, resembles rather the
exhibition of a player who is computing the profits
of his theatre, than the simplicity of a man who,
feeling himself the-awful expectation's of .religion,
is seeking to bring others to such a sense and un-
derstanding of their duty as may save their souls.
Moreover, a little experience of the disposition
of the common people will in every country inform
us, that it is one thing to edify them in Christian
knowledge, and another to gratify their taste for
vehement, impassioned oratory ; that he, not only
whose success, but whose subsistence, depends
upon collecting and pleasing a crowd, must resort
to other arts than the acquirement and communi-
cation of sober and profitable instruction. For a
preacher to be thus at the mercy of his audience ;
to be obliged to adapt his doctrines to the pleasure
of a capricious multitude ; to be continually affect-
ing a style and manner neither natural to him,
nor agreeable to his judgment ; to live in constant
bondage to tyrannical and insolent directors ; are
circumstances so mortifying, not only to the pride
of the human heart, but to the virtuous love of in-
dependency, that they are rarely submitted to
without a sacrifice of principle, and a deprivation
of character ; at least it may be pronounced, that
a ministry so degraded would fall into the lowest
hands: for it would be found impossible to engage
men of worth and ability in so precarious and
humiliating a profession.
If, in deference then to these reasons, it be
admitted, thai; a legal provision for the clergy, com-
pulsory upon those who contribute to it, is expe-
dient ; the next question will be, whether this pro-
vision should be confined to one sect of Christianity,
or extended indifferently to all] Now it should be
observed, that this question never can offer itself
where the people are agreed in their religious
opinions ; and that it never ought to arise, where .
a system may be framed of doctrines and worship
wide enough to comprehend their disagreement ;
and which might satisfy all, by uniting all in the
articles of their common faith, and in a mode of
divine worship that omits every subject of contro-
versy or offence. Where such a comprehension
is practicable, the comprehending religion ought
to be made that of the state. But if this be de-
spaired of; if religious opinions exist, not only so
various, but so contradictory, as to render it, im-
possible to reconcile them to each other, or to any
one confession of faith, rule of discipline, or form
of worship ; if, consequently, separate congrega-
tions and different sects must unavoidably con :
tinue in the country : under such circumstances,
whether the laws ought to establish one sect in
preference to the rest, that is, whether they ought
to confer the provision assigned to the mainte-
nance of religion upon the teachers of one system
of doctrines alone, becomes a question of neces-
sary discussion and of great importance. And
whatever we mny determine concerning specula-
tive rights and abstract proprieties, when we set
about the framing of an ecclesiastical constitution
Adapted to real life, and to the art mil state of reli-
gion in the country, we shall find this question.
very nearly related to and principally indeed de-
pendent upon another ; namely, " In what way, or
by Whom, ought the ministers of religion to be
appointed?" If the species of patronage be retain-
ed to which we are accustomed in this country,
and w<hioh allows private individuals to nominate
teachers of religion for districts and congregations
to which they are absolute strangers; without
some test proposed to the persons nominated, the
utmost discordancy of religious opinions might
arise between the several teachers and their re-
spective congregations. A popish patron might
appoint a priest to say mass to a congregation of
protestants ; an episcopal clergyman be sent to of-
ficiate in a parish of presbyterians ; or a presbyte-
rian divine to inveigh against the error.-; of popery
before an audience of papists. The requisition
then of subscription, or any other test by which
the national religion is guarded, may be consider-
ed merely as a restriction upon the exercise of
private patronage. The laws speak to the private
patron thus : "Of those whom we have previously
pronounced to be fitly qualified to teach religion,
we allow you to- select one ; but we do not allow
you to decide what religion shall be established
in a particular district of the country; for which
decision .you are no wise fitted by any quali-
fications which, as a private patron, you may
happen to possess. If it be necessary that the
point be determined for the inhabitants by any
ather will than their own, it is surely better that
it should be determined by a deliberate resolu-
tion of the legislature, than by the casual inclina-
tion of an individual, by whom the right is pur-
chased, or to whom it devolves as a mere secular
inheritance." Wheresoever, therefore, this consti-
tution of patronage is adopted, a national religion,
or the legal preference of one particular religion
to all others, must almost necessarily accompany it.
But, secondly, let it be supposed that the appoint-
ment of the minister of religion was in every parish
!eft to the choice of the parishioners ; might not
:his 'choice, we ask, be safely exercised without
its being limited to the teachers of any particular
secf? The effect of such a liberty must be, that a
papist, or a presbyterian, a methodist, a Moravian,
or an anabaptist, would successively gain posses-
sion- of the pulpit, according as a majority of the
Darty happened at each election to prevail. Now,
,vith what violence the conflict would upon every
vacancy be renewed ; wfiat bitter animosities would
)e revived, or rather be constantly fed and kept
alive, in tho neighbourhood ; with what uncon-
querable aversion the teacher and his religion
would be received by the defeated party, may be
oreseen by those wlio reflect with how much'pas-
ion every dispute is carried on, in which the
name of religion can be made to mix itself; much
more where" the cause itself is concerned so imme-
diately as' it would be in this. Or, thirdly, if the
state appoint the ministers of religion, this eonsti-
ution will differ little from the establishment of a
national religion ; for the state will, undoubtedly,
appoint those, and those alone, whose religious
opinions, or rather whose religious denominations,
agree with its own 5 unless it be thought that any
OF RELIGIOUS ESTABLISHMENTS, AND OF TOLERATION.
145
thing would be gained to religious liberty by trans-
ferring the choice of the national religion from the
legislature of the country, to the magistrate \vlio
administers the executive government. The only
plan which seems to render the legal maintenance
of a clergy practicable, without the legal prefer-
ence of one sect of Christians to others, is that of
an experiment which is said to be attempted or
designed in some of the new states of North
America. The nature of the plan is thus desc rib-
ed : A tax is levied upon the inhabitants for
the general support of religion ; the collector of
the taxes goes round with a register iu his hand,
in which are inserted, at the head of so many dis-
tinct columns, the names of the several religious
sects that are professed in the country. The per-
son who is called upon for the assessment, as soon
as he has paid his quota, subscribes his name and
the sum in which of the columns he pleases ; and
the amount of what is collected in each column is
paid over to the minister of that denomination.
In this scheme it is not left to the option of the
subject, whether he will contribute, or how much
he shall contribute, to the maintenance of a Chris-
tian ministry ; it is only referred to his choice to
determine by what sect his contribution shall
be received. The above arrangement is undoubt-
edly the best that has been proposed upon this
principle; it bears the appearance of liberality
and justice; it may contain some solid advan-
tages; nevertheless, it lalxmrs under inconveni-
ences which will be found, 1 think, upon trial, to
overbalance all its recommendations. It is scarcely
compatible with that which is the lirst requisite in
an ecclesiastical establishment, the division of
the country into parishes of a commodious
If the parishes be small, and ministers of every de-
nomination l>e stationed in each, (which the, plan
seems to suppose.) the expense of their mainte-
nance will become too burthensoMie a er
the country to support. If. to reduce the expense,
the districts be enlarged, the place of assembling
will oftentimes be too far removed from tin- re.xi-
dence of the persons who ought to resort to it.
A^aiu: the making the pecuniary success of the
different teachers of religion to depend on the
number and wealth of their respective followers,
would naturally generate strifes and indecent
jealousies amongst them; as well as produce a
polemical and proselyting spirit, founded in or
mixed with views of private gain, which would
both deprave the principle* of the cl>njy, and
distract the country with endless contentions.
The argument, then, by which rrclesia h tical
establishments are defended, proceeds by these
steps : The knowledge and profession of Chris-
tianity, cannot be upholden without a clergy : a
clergy cannot be supported without a legal provi-
sion ; a legal provision for the clergy, cannot be
constituted without the preference of one sect of
Christians to the rest : and the conclusion will be
conveniently satisfactory in the degree in which the
truth of these several propositions ran be made out.
If it be deemed expedient to establish a national
religion, that is to say, one sect in preference to all
others; some test, by which tiie teachers of that
sect may be distinguished from the teachers of dif-
ferent sects, appears to be an indisj>ensal>Ie conse-
quence. The existence of such an establishment
supposes it: the very notion of a national religion
includes that of a te'st.
But this necessity, which is real, hath, according
to the fashion of human affairs, furnished to almost
every church a pretence for extending, multiplying,
and continuing, such tests beyond what the occa-
sion justified. For though some purposes of order
and tranquillity may.be answered by the establish-
ment of creeds and confessions, yet they are at all
times attended with serious inconveniencies : they
check inquiry ; they violate lil>erty ; they ensnare
the consciences of the clergy, by holding out temp-
tations to prevarication ; however they may express"
the persuasion, or be accommodated to the contro-
versies or to the fears of the age in which they are
composed, in process of time, and by reason of-the
changes which are Wont to take place in the judg-
ment of mankind upon religious subjects, they
come at length to contradict the actual opinions of
tie church, whose doctrines they profess to con-
tain; and they often perpetuate the proscription of
sects, and tenets, from which anj danger has long
! to be apprehended.
It may not follow from these objections, that tests
and subscriptions ought to be abolished : but it fol-
lows, that they ought to be made as simple and
easy as possible ; that they should be adapted, from
time to time, to the varying sentiments and cir-
cumstances of the church in which they are re-
ceived; and that they should at no time advance
one step farther than some subsisting necessity re-
quires. If, for instance, promises of conformity to
the rites, liturgy, and offices of the church, be suf-
ficient to prevent confusion and disorder in the
celebration of divine worship, then such promises
ought to IH> accepted in the place of stricter sub-
scriptions. If articles of peace, as they are called,
that is, engagements not to preach certain doctrines,
nor to revive certain controversies, would exclude
indecent altercation^ amongst the national clergy,
as well as secure to the public teaching of religion,
as much of uniformity and quiet as -is necessary
to edification; then confessions of faith ought to
be converted into articles of peace. In a word, it
ought to be holden a sufficient reason for relaxing
the terms of subscription, or for dropping any or
all of the articles to l>e subscribed, that no present
v requires the strictness which is com-
plained of, or tliat it should be extended to so many
points of doctrine.
The division of the country into districts, and
the stationing in each district a teacher of religion,
forms the substantial part of every church estab-
lishment. The varieties that have been introduced
into the government and discipline of different
churches, arc of inferior importance when com-
pared with this, in which they all agree. Of these
economical questions, none seems more material
than that which has been long agitated in the re-
formed churches of Christendom, whether a parity
amongst the clergy, or a distinction of orders in
the- ministry, be more conducive to the general
ends of the institution. In favour of that system
which the laws of this country have preferred, we
may allege the following reasons : that it secures
tranquillity and subordination amongst the clergy
themselves ; that it corresponds with the gradations
of rank in civil life, and provides for the edifica-
tion of each rank, by stationing in each an order
of clergy of their own chisssnid quality: and, lastly,
that the" same fund produces more ellk-t. both as
an allurement to men of talents to enter into the
chinch, and ;<^ a .-limulus to i he industry of those
who are already in it, when distributed into prizes of
different value, than when divided into equal shares.
13
146
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
After the state has once established a particular
system of faith as a national religion, a question
will soon occur, concerning the treatment and
toleration of those who dissent from it. This
Question is properly preceded by another, concern-
ing the right which the civil magistrate possesses
to interfere in matters of religion at all : for, al-
though this right be acknowledged whilst he is
employed solely in providing means of public in-
struction, it will probably be disputed, (indeed it
ever has been,) when he proceeds to inflict penal-
ties, to impose restraints or incapacities, on the ac-
count of religious distinctions. They who admit
no other just original of civil government, than
what is founded m some stipulation with its sub-
jects, are at liberty to contend that the concerns
of religion were excepted out of the social com-
pact; that, in an a/fair which can only be trans-
acted between Cfod and a man's own conscience,
no commission or authority was ever delegated to
the civil magistrate, or could indeed be transferred
from the person himself to any other. We, how-
ever, who have rejected this theory, because we
cannot discover any actual contract between the
state and the people, and because we cannot allow
any arbitrary fiction to be made the foundation of
real rights and of real obligations, find ourselves
precluded from this distinction. The reasoning
which deduces the authority of civil government
from the will of God, and which collects that will
from public expediency alone, binds us to the un-
reserved conclusion, that the jurisdiction of the
magistrate is limited by no consideration but that
of general utility : in plainer terms, that whatever
be the subject to be regulated, it is lawful for him
to interfere whenever his inteference, in its gene-
ral tendency, appears to be conducive to the com-
mon interest. There is nothing in the nature of
religion, as such, which exempts it from the au-
thority of the legislator, when the safety or welfare
^f A.1 T_ _ j - -WA
of the community requires his interposition. It
""g
pi
vince of civil government, the office' of which
unity rec
, indeed,
has been said
the interests of a life to come, lies beyond the
that religion, pertaining to
iro-
is
confined to the affairs of this life. But in reply
to this objection, it may be observed, that when
the laws interfere even in religion, they interfere
only with ternvwrals; their effects terminate, their
power operates only upon those rights and in-
terests, which confessedly belong to their disposal.
The acts of the legislature, the edicts of the prince,
the sentence of the judge, cannot affect my sal-
vation: nor do they, without the most absurd
arrogance, pretend to any such power : but they
may deprive me of liberty, of property, and even
of fife itself, on account of my religion ; and how-
ever I may complain of the injustice of the sen-
tence by which I am condemned, I cannot allege,
that the magistrate has transgressed the boundaries
of his jurisdiction ; because the property, the lib-
erty, and the life of the subject, may be taken
away by the authority of the laws, for any reason
which, in the judgment of the legislature, renders
such a measure necessary to the common welfare.
Moreover, as the precepts of religion may regulate
all the offices of life, or may be so construed as to
extend to all, the exemption of religion from the
control of human laws might afford a plea, which
would exclude civil government from every autho-
rity over the conduct of its subjects. Religious
liberty is, like civil liberty, not an immunity from
what in a greater degree conduces to the public
welfare.
Still it is right " to obey God rather than man."
Nothing that we have said encroaches upon the
truth of this sacred and undisputed maxim : the
right of the magistrate to ordain, and the obliga-
tion of the subject to obey, in matters of religion,
may be very different ; and will be so, as often as
they flow from opposite apprehensions of the Di-
vine will. In affairs that are properly of a civil na-
ture, in " the things that are Csesar's," this differ-
ence seldom happens. The law authorises the
act which it enjoins ; Revelation being either silent
upon the subject, or referring to the laws of the
country, or requiring only that men act by some
fixed rule, and that this rule be established by
competent authority. But when human laws in-
terpose their direction hi matters of religion, by
dictating, for example, the object or the mode of
divine worship ; by prohibiting the profession of
some articles of faith, and by exacting that of others,
;hey are liable to clash with what private persons
relieve to be already settled by precepts of Reve-
lation; or to contradict what God himsc
think, hath declared to be true.
limself, they
In this case, on
wliichcver side the mistake lies, or whatever plea
he state may allege to justify its edict, the sub-
ect can have none to excuse his compliance. The
same consideration also points out the distinction,
as to the authority of the state, between temporals
and spirituals. The magistrate is not to be obeyed
n temporals more than spirituals, where a repug-
nancy is perceived between his commands and
any credited manifestations of the Divine will;
sut such repugnancies are much less likely to arise
n one case than the other.
When we grant that it is lawful for the ma-
gistrate to interfere in religion as often as his in-
terference appears to him to conduce, in its general
;endency, to the public happiness ; it may be argued,
from this concession, that since salvation is the
highest interest of mankind, and since, consequent-
ly, to advance that, is to promote the public hap-
piness in the best way, and in the greatest degree,
n which it can be promoted, it follows, that it is
lot only the right, but the duty, of every magis-
:rate invested with supreme power, to enforce upon
his subjects the reception of that religion which he
leems most acceptable to God ; and to enforce it
by such methods as may appear most effectual for
the end proposed. A popish king, for example,
who should believe that salvation is not attainable
out of the precincts of the Rornish church, would
derive a right from our principles (not to say that
he would be bound by them) to employ the power
with which the constitution intrusted him, and
which power, in absolute monarchies, commands
the lives and fortunes of every subject of the empire,
in reducing his people within that communion. We
confess that this consequence is inferred from the
principles we have laid down concerning the foun-
dation of civil authority, not without the resem-
blance of a regular deduction : we confess also that
it is a conclusion which it behoves us to dispose of;
because, if it really follow from our theory of go-
vernment, the theory itself ought to be given up.
Now it will be remembered, that the terms of our
proposition are these : " That it is lawful for the
magistrate to interfere in the affairs of religion,
whenever his interference appears to him to con-
duce, by its general tendency, to the public hap-
restraint,' but the being restrained by no law, but j piness." The clause of" general tendency," when
OF RELIGIOUS ESTABLISHMENTS, AND OF TOLERATION.
147
this rule comes to be applied, will be found a very I By a man who acts with a view to a future judg-
significant part of the direction. It obliges the ma- ment, the authority of a religion is the first thing
gistrate to reflect, not only whether the religion inquired after ; a religion which wants authority,
which he wishes to propagate amongst his sub- with him wants every thing. Since then this au-
jects, be that which will best secure their eternal thority appertains, not to the religion which is
welfare; not only, whether the methods he employs most commodious, to the religion which is most
be likely to effectuate the establishment of that sublime and efficacious, to the religion which suits
religion ; but also upon this farther question : best with the form, or seems most calculated to
Whether the kind of interference which he is uphold the power and stability, of civil govern-
about to exercise, if it were adopted as a common ment, but only to that religion which comes from
maxim amongst states and princes, or received as God; we are justified in pronouncing the true
a general rule for the conduct of government in religion, by its very truth, and independently of
matters of religion, would, upon the whole, and in all considerations of tendencies, aptness, or any
the mass of instances in which his example might other internal qualities whatever, to be universally
be imitated, conduce to the furtherance of human the best.
salvation. If the magistrate, for example, should From the first proposition follows this inference,
think that, although the application of his power that when the state enables its subjects to learn
might, in the instance concerning which he de- some form of Christianity, by distributing teach-
liberates, advance the true religion, and together ers of a religious system throughout the country,
with it, the happiness of his people, yet that the and by providing for the maintenance of these
same engine, in other hands, who might assume teachers at the public expense ; that is, in fewer
the right to use it with the like pretensions of rea- terms, when the laws est abllsh a national religion,
son and authority that he himself alleges, would they exercise a power and an interference, which
more frequently shut out truth, and obstruct the are likely, in their general tendency, to promote
means of salvation ; he would be bound by this the interest of mankind ; for, even supposing the
opinion, still admitting public utility to le the su- species of Christianity which the laws patronise
preme rule of his conduct, to refrain from expe- to be erroneous and corrupt, yet when the option
dients, which, whatever particular rtlivts he may lies Mween this religion and no religion at all,
expect from them, are, in their general operation, (which would be the consequence of leaving the
dangerous or hurtful. If there be any difficulty people without any public means of instruction,
in the subject, it arises from that which is the or any regular celebration of the offices of Chris-
cause of every difficulty in morals; the competi- tianity,) our proposition teaches us that the former
tion of particular and general consequences ; or, alternative is constantly to be preferred,
what is the same tiling, thr submission of one ge- But after the right of the magistrate to establish
ncral rule to another rule which is still more a particular religion has been, upon this principal,
general. admitted; a doubt sometimes presents itself, whe-
Bearing then in mind, that it is the general ther the religion which he ought to establish, be
tendency of the measure, or. in other words, the that which he himself professes, or that which he
effects which would arise from the measure be- observes to prevail amongst the majority of the
ing generally adopted, that fixes upon it the cha- people. Now when we consider this question
racter of rectitude or injustice ; we proceed to with a view to the formation of a general rule
inquire what is the degree and the sort of inter- upon the subject, (which view alone can furnish a
ference of secular laws in matters of religion, just solution of the doubt,) it must be assumed to
which are likely to be beneficial to the public be an equal chance whether of the two religions
happiness. There are two maxims which will contain more of truth, that of the magistrate, or
in a great measure regulate our conclusions upon that of the people. The chance then that is left
this head. The first is, that any form of Chris- to truth l*MMg <'<|ii:il upon both suppositions, the
tianity is better than no religion at all : the second, remaining consideration will be, from which ar-
that, of different systems of faith, that is the best rangement more efficacy can be expected ; from
which is the truest. The first of these positions an order of men appointed to teach the people their
will hardly be disputed, when we reflect that own religion, or to convert them to another 1 In
every sect and modification of Christianity holds my opinion, the advantage lies on the side of the
out the happiness and misery of another life, as former scheme ; and this opinion, if it be assented
depending cniefly upon the practice of virtue or to, makes it the duty of the magistrate, in the
of vice in this ; and that the distinctions of virtue choice of the religion which he establishes, to
and vice are nearly the same in all. A person -consult the faith of the nation, rather than his own.
who acts under the impression of these hopes and The case also of dissenters must be determined
fears, though combined with many errors and su- by the principles just now stated. Toleration is
perstitions, is more likely to advance both the of two kinds ; the allowing to dissenters the un-
public happiness and his own, than one who is molested profession and exercise of their religion,
destitute of all expectation of future account, but with an exclusion from offices of trust and
The latter proposition is founded in the consider- emolument in the state ; which is a partial tple-
ation, that the principal importance of religion ration : and the admitting them, without distinc-
consists in its influence upon the fate and condi- tion, to all the civil privileges and capacities of
tion of a future existence. This influence be- other citizens ; which is a complete toleration,
longs only to that religion which comes from God. The expediency of toleration, and consequently the
A political religion may be framed, which shall right of every citizen to demand it, as far as relates
embrace the purposes, and describe the duties of to liberty of conscience, and the claim of being pro-
political society perfectly well ; but if it be not de- tected in the free and safe profession of his reli-
livered by God, what assurance does it afford, gion, is deducible from the second of those proposi-
that the decisions of the Divine judgment will Sons which we have delivered as the grounds of
have any regard to the rules which it contains 1 \ our conclusions upon the subject. That proposi-
148
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
tion asserts truth, and truth in the abstract to be
the supreme perfection of every religion. The
advancement, consequently, and discovery of truth,
is that end to which all regulations concerning re-
ligion ought principally to be adapted. Now, every
species of intolerance which enjoins suppression
and silence, and every species of persecution which
enforces such injunctions, is adverse to the progress
of truth; forasmuch as it causes that to be fixed !>v
one set of men, at one time, which is much better
arid with much more probability of success, left to
the independent and progressive inquiry of sepa-
rate individuals. Truth results from discussion
and controversy, and is investigated by the labours
and researches of private persons. Whatever,
therefore, prohibits these, obstructs that industry
and that liberty, which it is the common interest
of mankind to promote. In religion, as in other
subjects, truth, if left to itself, will almost always
obtain the ascendency. If different religions be
professed in the same country, and the minds of
men remain unfettered and unawed by intimida-
tions of law, that religion which is founded in
maxims of reason and credibility, will gradually
gain over the other to it. I do not mean that men
will formally renounce their ancient religion, but
that they will adopt into it the more rational doc-
trines, the improvements and discoveries of the
neighbouring sect; by which means the worse
religion, without the ceremony of a reformation,
will insensibly assimilate itself to the better. If
popery, for instance, and protestantism, were per-
mitted to dwell quietly together, papists might not
become protcstants (for the name is commonly the
kst thing that is changed,*) but they would be-
come more enlightened and informed ; they would
by little and little incorporate into their creed many
of the tenets of protestantism, as well as imbibe a
portion of its spirit and moderation.
The justice and expediency of toleration we
found primarily in its conduciveness to truth, and
in the superior value of truth to that of any other
quality which a religion can possess : this is the
principal argument ; but there are some auxiliary
considerations, too important to be omitted. The
confining of the subject to the religion of the state,
is a needless violation of natural liberty, and is an
instance in which constraint is always grievous.
Persecution produces no sincere conviction, nor
any real change of opinion ; on the contrary, it
vitiates the public morals, by driving men to pre-
varication ; and commonly end sin a general though
secret infidelity, by imposing, under the name of
revealed religion, systems of doctrine which men
cannot believe, and dare not examine : finally, it
disgraces the character, and wounds th reputa-
tion of Christianity itself, by making it the author
of oppression, cruelty, and bloodshed.
Under the idea of religious toleration, I in-
clude the toleration of all books of serious ar-
gumentation : but I deem it no infringement of
religious liberty, to restrain the circulation of ridi-
cule, invective, and mockery, upon religious sub-
jects; because this species of writing applies
solely to the passions, weakens the judgment, and
contaminates the imagination, of its readers ; has
no tendency whatever to assist either the investi-
* Would we let the name stand, we might often at-
tract men, without their perceiving it, much nearer to
ourselves, than, if they did perceive it, they would be
willing to come.
gation or the impression of truth : on the contrary,
whilst it stays not to distinguish between the au-
thority of dillerent religions, it destroys alike the
influence of all.
Concerning the admission of dissenters from
the established religion tooliiees and employments
in the public service, (which is necessary, to ren-
der toleration complete,) doubts have been enter-
tained, with some appearance of reason. It is
possible that such religious opinions may le hold-
en, as are utterly incompatible with the neccssary
functions of civil government ; and which opinions
consequently disqualify those who maintain them
from exercising any share in its administration.
There have been enthusiasts who held that Chris-
tianity has abolished all distinction of property,
and that she enjoins upon her followers a com-
munity of goods. With what tolerable propriety
could one of this sect be appointed a judge or a
magistrate, whose office it is to decide upon ques-
tions of private right, and to protect men in the
exclusive enjoyment of their property 1 It would
be equally absurd to intrust a military command
to a Cluaker, who believes it to be contrary to the
Gospel to take up arms* This is possible'; there-
fore it cannot be laid down as an universal truth,
that religion is not, in its nature, a cause which
will justify exclusion from public employments.
When we examine, however, the sects of Chris-
tianity which actually prevail in the world, we
must confess that, with the single exception
of refusing to bear arms, we find no tenet in any
of them which incapacitates men for the service
of the state. It has indeed been asserted, that
discordancy of religions, even supposing each
religion to be free from any errors that affect the
safety or the conduct of government, is enough to
render men unfit to act together, in public stations.
But upon what argument, or upon what expe-
rience, is this assertion founded 1 I perceive no
reason why men of different religious persuasions
may not sit upon the same tench, deliberate in
the same council, or fight in the same ranks, as
well as men of various or opposite opinions upon
any controverted topic of natural philosophy, his-
tory, or ethics.
There are two cases in which test-laws are
wont to be applied, and in which, if in any, they
may be defended. One is, where two or more re-
ligions are contending for establishment; and
where there appears no way of putting an end to
the contest, but -by giving to one religion such a
decided superiority in the legislature and govern-
ment of the country, as to secure it against dan-
ger from any other. I own that I should assent
to this precaution with many scruples. If the dis-
senters from the establishment become a majority
of the people ; the establishment itself ought to te
altered or qualified. If there exists amongst the
different sects of the country such a parity of
numbers, interest, and power, as to render the
preference of oric sect to the rest, and the choice
of that sect, a matter of hazardous success, and of
doubtful election, some plan similar to that which
is meditated in North America, and which we
have described in a preceding part of the present
chapter, though encumbered with great difficulties,
may perhaps suit tetter with this divided state of
public opinion, than any constitution of a national
church whatever. In all other .situations, the es-
tablishment will be strong enough to maintain it-
self. However, if a test te applicable with justice
OF POPULATION AND PROVISION.
149
upon this principle at all, it ought to be applied
in regal governments, to the chief magistrate him-
self, whose power might otherwise overthrow or
change the established religion of the country, in
opposition to the will and sentiments of the people.
The second case of extension, and in which, I
think, the measure is more easily vindicated, is
that of a country in which some disaffection to the
subsisting government happens to be connected
with certain religious distinctions. The state un-
doubtedly has a right to refuse its power and its
confidence to those who seek its destruction.
Wherefore, if the generality of any religious sect
entertain dispositions hostile to the constitution,
and if government have no other way of knowing
its enemies than by the religion which they pro-
fess, the professors of that religion may justly be
excluded from offices of trust and authority. But
even here it should be observed, that it is not
against the religion that government shuts its
doors, but ana inst those political principles, which,
however independent they may lie of any article
of religious faith, the meinlxTs of that communion
are found in fact to hold. Nor would the legisla-
tor make religious tenets the test of men's incli-
nations towards the state, if he could discover any
other that was equally certain and notorious.
Thus, if the members of the Romish church, for
the most part adhere to the interests, or maintain
the right, of a foreign pretender to the crown of
these Kingdoms ; and it there be no way of dis-
tinguishing those who do from those who do not
retain such dangerous prejudices; government is
well warranted in fencing out the whole sect from
situations of trust and power. Unt even in this
example, it is not to popery that the laws object,
but to popery as the mark of jacobitism ; an equivo-
cal indeed and fallacious mark, but the best and per-
haps the only one, that can be devised. But then
it should be remembered, that as the connexion
between popery and jacobitism, which is the sole
cause of suspicion and the sole justification of
those severe and jealous laws which have been
enacted against the professors of that religion,
was accidental in its origin, so probably it will be
temporary in its duration; and that these restric-
tions ought not to continue one day longer than
some visible danger renders them necessary to the
preservation of public tranquillity.
After all, it may be asked ; >Vhy should not
the legislator direct his test against the political
principles themselves which he wishes to exclude,
rather than encounter them through the medium
of religious tenets, the only crime and the only
danger of which consist in their presumed al-
liance with the former? Why, for example,
should a man be required to renounce transub-
stantiation, before he be admitted to an office in
the state, when it might seem to be sufficient
that he abjure the pretender 1 There are but two
answers that can be given to the objection which
this question contains : first, that it is not opinions
which the laws fear, so much as inclinations ; and,
that political inclinations are not so easily detected
by the affirmation or denial of any abstract pro-
position in politics, as by the discovery of the
religious creed with which they are wont to be
united : secondly, that when men renounce their
religion, they commonly quit all connexion with
the members of the church which they have left ;
that church no longer expecting assistance or
friendship from them: whereas particular persons
might insinuate themselves into offices of trust
and authority, by subscribing political assertions,
and yet retain their predilection for the interests
of the religious sect to which they continued to
belong. By which means, government would
sometimes find, though it could not accuse the
individual, whom it had received into ks service,
of disaffection to the civil establishment, yet that,
through him, it had communicated the aid and
influence of a powerful station to a party who
were hostile to the constitution. These answers,
however, we propose rather than defend. The
measure certainly cannot be defended at all, ex-
cept where the suspected union between certain
obnoxious principles in politics, and certain tenets
in religion^ is nearly universal ; in which case, it
makes little difference to the subscriber, whether
the test be religious or political; and the state
is somewhat better secured by the one than the
other.
The result of our examination of those general
tendencies, by which every interference of civil
government in matters of religion ought to be tried,
is this : " That a comprehensive national religion,
guarded by a few articles of peace and conformity,
together with a legal provision for the clergy of
that religion ; and with a complete toleration of all
dissenters from the established church, without
any other limitation or exception, than what arises
from the conjunction of dangerous political dispo-
sitions with certain religious tenets ; apj>ears to be,
not only the most just and liberal, but the wisest
and safest system, which a state can adopt ; in-
asmuch as it unites the several perfections which
a religious constitution ought to aim at : liberty
of conscience, with means of instruction; the
progress of truth, with the peace of society ; the
right of private judgment, with the care of the
public safety."
CHAPTER XI.
Of Population and Provision ; and of Agricul-
ture and Commerce, as subservient thereto.
THE final view of all rational politics is, to pro-
duce the greatest quantity of happiness in a given
tract of country. The riches, strength, and glory
of nations; the topics which history celebrates,
and which alone almost engage the praises and
possess the ad miration of mankind ; have no value
farther than as they contribute to this end. When
they interfere with it, they are evils, and not the
less real for the splendour that surrounds them.
Secondly : Although we speak of communities
as of sentient beings; although we ascrit)e to
them happiness and misery, desires, interests,
and passions; nothing really exists or feels but
individuals. The happiness of a people is made
up of the happiness of single persons ; and the
quantity of happiness can only be augmented by
increasing the number of the percipients, or the
pleasure of their perceptions.
Thirdly: Notwithstanding that diversity of
condition, especially different degrees of plenty,
freedom, and security, greatly vary the quantity
of happiness enjoyed by the same number of
individuals; and notwithstanding that extreme
cases may be found, of human beings so galled
by the rigours of slavery, that the increase of
numbers is only the amplification of misery ; yet,
within certain limits, and within those limits
13*
150
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
to which civil life is diversified under the tem-
perate governments that obtain in Europe, it may
be affirmed, 1 think, with certainty, that the quan-
tity of happiness produced in any given district,
so far depends upon the number of inhabitants,
that, in comparing adjoining periods in the same
country, the collective happiness will be nearly
in the exact proportion of the numbers ; that is,
twice the number of inhabitants will produce
double the quantity of happiness : in distant pe-
riods, and different countries, under great changes
or great dissimilitude of civil condition, although
the proportion of enjoyment may fall much short
of the numbers, yet still any considerable excess
of numbers will usually carry with it a prepon-
deration of happiness ; that, at least, it may and
ought to be assumed, in all political deliberations,
that a larger portion of happiness is enjoyed
amongst ten persons, possessing the means of
healthy subsistence, than can be produced by
Jive persons, under every advantage of power,
affluence, and luxury.
From these principles it follows, that the quan-
tity of happiness in a given district, although it is
possible it may be increased, the number of in-
habitants remaining the same, is chiefly and most
naturally affected by alteration of the numbers :
that, consequently, the decay of population is the
greatest evil that a state can suffer ; and the im-
provement of it, the object which ought, in all
countries, to be aimed at, in preference to every
other political purpose whatsoever.
The importance of population, and the supe-
riority of it to every other national advantage,
are points necessary to be inculcated, and to be
understood ; inasmuch as false estimates, or fan-
tastic notions, of national grandeur, are per-
petually drawing the attention of statesmen and
legislators from the care of this, which is, at all
times, the true and absolute interest of a country :
for which reason, we have stated these points
with unusual formality. We will confess, how-
ever, that a competition can seldom arise between
the advancement of population and any measure
of sober utility ; because, in the ordinary progress
of human affairs, whatever, in any way, con-
tributes to make a people happier, tends to render
them more numerous.
In the fecundity of the human, as of every
other species of animals, nature has provided for
an indefinite multiplication. Mankind have in-
creased to their present number from a single
pair ; the offspring of early marriages, in the or-
dinary course of procreation, do more than replace
the parents: in countries, and under circum-
stances very favourable to subsistence, the popu-
lation has been doubled in the space of twenty
years; the havoc occasioned by wars, earthquakes,
famine, or pestilence, is usually, repaired in a short
time. These indications sufficiently demonstrate
the tendency of nature, in the human species, to
a continual increase of its numbers. It becomes,
therefore, a question that may reasonably be pro-
pounded, what are the causes which confine or
check the natural progress of this multiplication 1
And the answer which first presents itself to the
thoughts of the inquirer is, that the population of
a country must stop when the country can main-
tain no more ; that is, when the inhabitants are
already so numerous as to exhaust all the pro-
vision which the soil can be made to produce.
This, however, though an insuperable bar, will
seldom be found to be that which actually checks
the progress of population in any country of the
world ; because the number of the people have
seldom, in any country, arrived at this limit, or
even approached to it. The fertility of the ground,
in temperate regions, is capable of being improved
by cultivation to an extent which is unknown ;
much, however, beyond the state of improvement
in any country in Europe. In our own, which
holds almost the first place in the knowledge and
encouragement of agriculture, let it only be sup-
posed that every field in England, of the same
original quality with those in the neighbourhood
of the metropolis, and consequently capable of the
same fertility, were, by a like management, made
to yield an equal produce ; and it may be asserted,
I believe with truth, that the quantity of human
provision raised in the island would be increased
five-fold. The two principles, therefore, upon
which population seems primarily to depend, the
fecundity of the species, and the capacity of the
soil, would in most, perhaps in all countries,
enable it to proceed ( much farther than it has yet
advanced. The number of marriageable women,
who, in each country, remain unmarried, afford a
computation how much the agency of nature in
the diffusion of human life is cramped and con-
tracted ; and the quantity of waste, neglected, or
mismanaged surface, together with a comparison,
like the preceding, of the crops raised from the soil
in the neighbourhood of populous cities, and un-
der a perfect state of cultivation, with those which
lands of equal or superior quality yield in different
situations, will show in what proportion the in-
digenous productions of the earth are capable of
being farther augmented.
The fundamental proposition upon the subject
of population, which must guide every endeavour
to improve it, and from which every conclusion
concerning it may be deduced,. is this: " Wherever
the commerce between the sexes is regulated by
marriage, and a provision for that mode of sub-
sistence, to which each class of the community is
accustomed, can be procured with ease and cer-
tainty, there the number of the people will in-
crease ; and the rapidity, as well as the extent, of
the increase, will be proportioned to the degree in
which these causes exist."
This proposition we will draw out into the se-
veral principles which it contains.
J. First, the proposition asserts the "necessity
of confining the intercourse of the sexes to the
marriage-union." It is only in the marriage-union
that this intercourse is sufficiently prolific. Be-
side which, family establishments alone arc fitted
to perpetuate a succession of generations. The
offspring of a vague and promiscuous concubinage
are not only few, and liable to perish by neglect,
but are seldom prepared for, or introduced into
situations suited to the raising of families of their
own. Hence the advantages of marriages. Now
nature, in the constitution of the sexes, has pro-
vided a stimulus which will infallibly secure the
frequency of marriages, with all their beneficial
effects upon the state of population, provided the
male part of the species be prohibited from ir-
regular gratifications. This impulse, which is suf-
ficient to surmount almost every impediment to
marriage, will operate in proportion to the dif-
ficulty, expense, danger, or infamy, the sense of
guilt, or the fear of punishment, which attend li-
centious indulgences. Wherefore, in countries in
OP POPULATION AND PROVISION.
151
xvhich subsistence is become scarce, it behoves the
state to watch over the public morals with in-
creased solicitude ; for nothing but the instinct of
nature, under the restraint of chastity, will induce
men to undertake the labour, or consent to the sa-
crifice of personal liberty and indulgence, which
the support of a family, in such circumstances,
requires.
II. The second requisite which our proposition
states as necessary to the success of population, is,
" the ease and certainty with which a provision
can be procured for that mode of subsistence to
which each class of the community is accustomed."
It is not enough that men's natural wants be
supplied ; that a provision adequate to the real
exigencies of human life be attainable : habitual
superfluities become" actual wants; opinion and
fashion convert articles of ornament and luxury
into necessaries of life. And it must not be ex-
pected from men in general, at least in the present
relaxed state of morals and discipline, that they
will enter into marriages which degrade their con-
dition, reduce their mode of living, deprive them
of the accommodations to which they have been
accustomed, or even of those ornaments or ap-
pendages of rank and station which they have
been taught to regard as belonging to their birth,
or class, or profession, or place in society. The
same consideration, namely, a view to their ac-
customed mode of life, wliich is so apparent in the
superior order of the people, has no less influence
upon those ranks which eoni|>osr the mass of the
community. The kind and quality of food and
liquor, the species of habitation, furniture, and
clothing, to which the common people of each
country are habituated, must be attainable with
ease and certainty, before marriages will be suf-
ficiently early and general to carry the progress
of population to its just extent. It is in vain to
allege, that a more simple diet, ruder habitations,
or coarser apparel, would l>e sufficient for the pur-
poses of life and health, or even of physical ease
and pleasure. Men will not marry with this en-
couragement. For instance : when the common
people of a country are accustomed to eat a large
proportion of animal food, to drink wine, spirits,
or beer, to wear shoes and stockings, to dwell in
stone houses, they will not marry to live in clay
cottages, upon roots and milk, with no other
clothing than skins, or what is necessary to de-
fend the trunk of the body from the effects of
cold ; although these last may be all that the sus-
tentation of life and health requires, or that even
contribute much to animal comfort and enjoy-
ment.
The ease, then, and certainty, with which the
means can be procured, not barely of subsistence,
but of that mode of subsisting which custom hath
in each country established, form the point upon
which the state and progress of population chiefly
depend. Now, there are three causes which evi-
dently regulate this point: the mcde itself of sub-
sisting which prevails in 'the country; the quan-
tity of provision suited to that mode oif subsistence,
which is either raised in the country or imported
into it ; and, lastly, the distribution of that provision.
These three causes merit distinct consideration.
I. The mode of living which actually obtains in
a country. In China, where the inhabitants fre-
quent the sea shore, or the banks of large rivers,
and subsist in a great measure upon fish, the
population is described to be excessive. This pe-
culiarity arises, not probably from any civil advan-
tages, any care or policy, any particular consti-
tution or superior wisdom of government; but
simply from hence, that the species of food, to
which custom hath reconciled the desires and in-
clinations of the inhabitants, is that which, of all
others, is procured in the greatest abundance,
with the most ease, and stands in need of the
least preparation. The natives of Indostan being
confined, by the laws of their religion, to the use
of vegetable food, and requiring little except rice,
which the country produces in plentiful crops ;
and food, in warm climates, composing the only
want of life ; these countries are populous, under
all the injuries of a despotic, and the agitations
of an unsettled government. If any revolution,
or what would be called perhaps refinement of
manners, should generate in these people a taste
for the flesh of animals, similar to what prevails
amongst the Arabian hordes; should introduce
flocks and herds into grounds which are now co-
vered with corn ; should teach them to account a
certain portion of this species of food amongst the
necessaries of life ; the population, from this sin-
gle change, would suffer m a few years a great
diminution : and this diminution would follow, in
spite of every effort of the laws, or even of any
improvement that might take place in their civil
condition. In Ireland, the simplicity of living
alone, maintains a considerable degree of popula-
tion, under great defects of police, industry, and
commerce.
Under this head, and from a view of these con-
siderations, may be understood the true evil and
proi>er danger of luxury.
LUXURY, as it supplies employment and pro-
motes industry, assists population. But, then
there is another consequence attending it, which
counteracts and often overbalances these advan-
tages. When, by introducing more superfluities
into general reception, luxury has rendered the
usual accommodations of life more expensive, ar-
tificial, and elaborate, the difficulty of maintaining
a family conformably with the established mode
of living, becomes greater, and what each man
has to spare from his personal consumption pro-
portionably less : the effect of which is, that mar-
riages grow less frequent, agreeably to the maxim
above laid down, and winch must be remembered
as the foundation of all our reasoning upon the
subject, that men will not marry to sink their
place or condition in society, or to forego those
indulgences which their own habits, or what they
observe amongst their equals, have rendered ne-
cessary to their satisfaction. This principle is ap-
plicable to every article of diet and dress, to houses,
furniture, attendance ; and this effect will be felt
in every class of the community. For instance :
the custom of wearing broad-cloth and fine linen,
repays the shepherd and flax-grower, feeds the
manufacturer, enriches the merchant, gives not
only support but existence to multitudes of fami-
lies : hitherto, therefore, the effects are beneficial ;
and were these the only effects, such elegancies,
or, if you please to call them so, sach luxuries,
could not be too universal. But here follows the
mischief: when once fashion hath annexed the
use of these articles of dress to any certain class,
the middling ranks, for example, of the com-
munity, each individual of that rank finds them
to be necessaries of life, that is, finds himself
obliged to comply with the example of his equals,
152
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
and to maintain that appearance which the cus-
tom of society requires. This obligation creates
such a demand upon his income, and adds so
much to the cost and burden of a family, as to
put it out of his power to marry, with the pros-
pect of continuing his habits, or of maintaining
his place and situation in the world. We see, in
this description, the cause which induces men to
waste their lives in a barren celibacy ; and this
cause, which impairs the very source of popula-
tion, is justly placed to the account of luxury.
It appears, then, that luxury, considered with
a view to population, acts by two opposite effects ;
and it seems probable that there exists a point in
the scale, to which luxury may ascend, or to which
the wants of mankind may be multiplied with ad-
vantage to the community, and beyond which the
prejudicial consequences begin to preponderate.
The determination of this point, though it as-
sume the form of an arithmetical problem, depends
upon circumstances too numerous, intricate, and
undefined, to admit of a precise solution. How-
ever, from what has been observed concerning
the tendency of luxury to diminish marriages,
in which tendency the evil of it resides, the fol-
lowing general conclusions may be established :
1st, That, of different kinds of luxury, those
are the most innocent which afford employment
to the greatest number of artists and manufac-
turers; or those, in other words, in which the
price of the work bears the greatest proportion to
that of the raw material. Thus, luxury in dress
or furniture, is universally preferable to luxury in
eating, because the articles which constitute the
one, are more the production of human art and
industry, than those which supply the other.
3dly, That it is the diffusion, rather than the
degree of luxury, which is to be dreaded as a na-
tional evil. The mischief of luxury consists, as
we have seen, in the obstruction which it forms
to marriage. Now it is only a small part of the
people that the higher ranks in any country com-
pose ; for which reason, the facility or the difficulty
of supporting the expense of their station, and the
consequent increase or diminution of marriages
among them, will influence the state of popula-.
tion but little. So long as the prevalency of luxury
is confined to a few of elevated rank, much of the
benefit is felt, and little of the incou-veniency.
But when the imitation of the same manner de-
scends, as it always will do, into the mass of the
people ; when it advances the requisites of living,
beyond what it adds to men's abilities to purchase
them ; then it is that luxury checks the formation
of families, in a degree that ought to alarm the
public fears.
3dly, That the condition most favourable to
population is that of a laborious, frugal people,
ministering to the demands of an opulent, luxurious
nation; because this situation, whilst it leaves
them every advantage of luxury, exempts them
from the evils which naturally accompany its ad-
mission into any country.
II. Next to the mode of living, we are to con-
sider "the quantity of provision suited to that
mode, which is either raised in the country, or
imported into it :" for this is the order in which
we assigned the causes of population, and under-
took to treat of them. Now, if we measure the
quantity of provision by the number of human
bodies it will support in due health and vigour,
this quantity, the extent and quality of the soil
from which it is raised being given, will depend
greatly upon the kind. For instance : a piece of
ground capable of supplying animal food suf-
ficient for the subsistence of ten persons, would
sustain, at least, the double of that number with
grain, roots, and milk. The first resource oi'.-
life is in the llesh of wild animals ; heuce the num-
bers amongst savage nations, compared with the
tract of country which they occupy, are univer-
sally small ; because this species of provision is,
of all others, supplied in the slenderest proportion.
The next step was the invention of pasturage, or
the rearing of flocks and herds of tame animals :
this alteration added to the stock of provision
much. But the last and principal improvement
was to follow; namely z tillage, or the artificial
production of corn, esculent plants, and roots.
This discovery, whilst it changed the quality of
human food, augmented the quantity in a vast
proportion. So far as the state of population is
governed and limited by the quantity of provision,
perhaps there is no single cause that atiects it so
powerfully, as the kind and quality of food which
chance or usage hath introduced into a country.
In England, notwithstanding the produce of the
soil has been, of late, considerably increased, by
the enclosure of wastes, and the adoption, in
many places, of a more successful husbandry, yet
we do not observe a corresponding addition to the
number of inhabitants ; the reason of which ap-
pears to me to be, the more general consumption
of animal food amongst us. Many ranks of peo-
ple whose ordinary diet was, in the last century,
prepared almost entirely from milk, roots, and
vegetables, now require every day a considerable
portion of the flesh of animals. 'Hence a great
part of the richest lands of the country are con-
verted to pasturage. Much also of the bread-corn,
which went directly to the nourishment of human
bodies, now only contributes to it by fattening the
flesh of sheep and oxen. The mass and volume
of provisions are hereby diminished ; and what is
gained in the melioration of the soil, is lost in the
quality of the produce. This consideration teaches
us, that tillage, as an object of national care and
encouragement, is universally preferable to pas-
turage, because the kind of provision which it
yields, goes much farther in the sustentation of
human life. Tillage'is also recommended by this
additional advantage, that it affords employment
to a much more numerous peasantry. Indeed,
pasturage seems to be the art of a nation, either
imperfectly civilized, as are many of the tribes
which cultivate it in the internal parts of Asia;
or of a nation, like Spain, declining from its sum-
mit by luxury and inactivity.
The kind and quality of provision, together
with the extent and capacity of the soil from
which it is raised, being the same ; the quantity
procured will principally depend upon two circum-
stances. the ability of the occupier, and the en-
couragement which he receives. The greatest
misfortune of a country is an indigent tenantry.
Whatever be the native advantages of the soil, or
even the skill and industry of the occupier, the
want of a sufficient capital confines every plan, as
well as crii'ples and weakens every operation of
husbandry! This evil is felt, where agriculture
is accounted a servile or mean employment ; where
farms are extremely subdivided and badly fur-
, nished with habitations; where leases are un-
known, or are of short or precarious duration.
OF POPULATION, AND PROVISION.
153
With respect to the encouragement of husbandry;
in this, as in every other employment, the true re-
ward of industry is in the price and sale of the
produce. The exclusive right to the produce, is
the only incitement which acts constantly and
universally; the only spring which keeps hu-
man labour in motion. All therefore that the
laws can do, is to secure this right to the occupier
of the ground ; that is, to constitute such a system
of tenure, that the full and entire advantage of
every improvement go to the benefit of the im-
prover ; that every man work for himself, and not
for another ; and that no one share in the profit
who does not assist in the production. By the
occupier I here mean, not so much the person
who performs the work, as him who procures the
labour and directs the immurement : and I con-
sider the whole profit as receired by the occupier,
when the occupier is benefited by the whole
value of what is produced, which is the case with
the tenant who pays a fixed rent for the use of
land, no less than with the proprietor who holds
it as his own. The one has the same interest in
the produce, and in the advantage of e\ ry im-
provement, as the other. Likewise the proprietor,
though he grant out his estate to farm, may be
considered as the occupier, insomuch as he regu-
lates the occupation by the choice, superintend-
ency, and encouragement, of his tenants, by the
disposition of his lands, by erecting build ings, pro-
viding accommodations. 1>\ prescribing conditions,
or supplying implement sand materials of improve-
ment ; and is entitled, by the rule of public expe-
diency above mentioned, to receive, in the advance
of his rent, a share of the benefit which arises
from the increased produce of his estate. The
violation of this fundamental maxim of agrarian
policy constit utes t he chief objection to the- holdini:
of lands by the state, by the king, by corporate
bodies, by private JHTSOIIS in right of their ollices
or benefices. The inconveniency to the public
arises not so much from the unahenalile quality of
lands thus holden in perpetuity, as from hence ;
that proprietors of this description seldom con-
tribute much either of attention or expense to the
cultivation of their estates, yet claim, by the rent,
a share in the profit of every improvement that is
made upon them. This complaint can only be
obviated by "long leases at a fixed rent," which
convey a large portion of the interest to those who
actually conduct the cultivation. The same ob-
jection is applicable to the holding of lands In-
foreign proprietors, and in some degree to estates
of too great extent being placed in the same
hands.
III. Beside the production of provision, there
remains to be considered the DISTRIBI/TIO.V. It is
in vain that provisions abound in the country,
unless I be able to obtain a share of them. This
reflection belongs to every individual. The plenty
of provision produced, the quantity of the public
stock affords subsistence to individuals, and en-
couragement to the formation of families, only in
proportion as it is distributed, that is, in propor-
tion as these individuals are allowed to draw from
it a supply of their own wants. The distribution,
therefore, becomes of equal consequence to popu-
lation with the production. Now there is but
one principle of distribution that can ever become
universal, namely, the principle of "exchange ;"
or, in other words, that every man have something
to give in return for what he wants. Bounty]
however it may come in aid of another principle,
however it may occasionally qualify the rigour, or
supply the imperfection, of an established rule of
distribution, can never itself become that rule or
principle ; because men will not work to give the
produce of their lal>our away. Moreover, the
only equivalents that can be .offered in exchange
for provision are power and labour. All property
is power. What we call property in land, is the
power to use it, and to exclude others from the
use. Money is the representative of power, be-
'an it is convertible into power: the value of
it consists in its faculty of procuring power over
things and persons. But power which results
from ci\il conventions (and of this kind is what
we call a man's fortune or estate,) is necessarily
confined to a few, and is withal soon exhausted:
whereas the capacity of labour is every man's
natural |>ossession, aiul eoni]>oses a constant and
renewing fund. The hire, therefore, or produce
of personal industry, is that which the bulk of
every community must bring to market, in ex-
change for the means of subsistence; in other
words, employment must, in every country y be the
medium of distribution and the source of supply
to individuals. But when we consider the pro-
duction and distribution of provision, as distinct
from, and independent of, each other; when, sup-
p-'.-iiij the same quantity to be produced, we
inquire in what way, or according to what rule,
it may be distributed; we are led to a conception
of the subject not at all agreeable to truth and
reality ; for, in truth and reality, though provision
must be produced before it be distributed, yet the
production depends, in a great measure, upon the
distribution. The quantity of provision raised
out of the ground, so far as the raising of it
requires human art or labour, will evidently be
regulated by the demand : the demand, or, in other
-words, the price and sale, being that which alone
rewards the care, or excites the diligence, of the
husbandman. But the sale of provision depends
upon the number, not of those who want, but of
those who have something to offer in return for
what they want ; not of those who would consume,
but of those who can buy ; that is, upon the num-
ber of those who have the fruits of some other
kind of industry to tender in exchange for what
they stand in need of from the production of the
soil.
We see, therefore, the connection between po-
pulation and employment. Employment affects
population " directly," as it affords the only me-
dium of distribution by which individuals can
obtain from the common stock a supply for the
wants of their families : it affects population, "in-
directly," as it augments the stock itself of provi-
sion, in the only way by which the production of
it can be effectually encouraged, by furnishing
purchasers. No man can purchase without an
equivalent ; and that equivalent, by the generality
of the people, must in every country be derived
from employment. And upon this basis is found-
ed the public benefit of trade, that is to say, its
subserviency to population, in wliich its only real
utility consists. Of that industry, and of those
arts and branches of trade, which are employed in
the production, conveyance, and preparation, of
any principal species of human food, as of the
business- of the husbandman, the butcher, baker,
brewer, corn merchant, &c. we acknowledge the
necessity : likewise of those manufactures which
154
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
furnish us with warm clothing, convenient habi-
tations, domestic utensils, as of the weaver, tailor,
smith, carpenter, &c. we perceive (in climates,
however, like ours, removed at a distance from the
sun,) the conduciveness to population, by their
rendering human life more healthy, vigorous, and
comfortable. But not one half the occupations
which compose the trade of Europe, fall within
either of these descriptions. Perhaps two-thirds
of the manufacturers in England are employed
upon articles of confessed luxury, ornament, or
splendour ; in the superfluous embellishment of
some articles which are useful in their kind, or
upon others which have no conceivable use or-
value but what is founded in caprice or fashion.
What can be less necessary or less connected with
the sustentation of human life, than the whole
produce of the silk, lace, and plate maimiiie-
tory ? yet what multitudes labour in the different
branches of these arts ! What can be imagined
more capricious than the fondness for tobacco and
snuff? yet how many various occupations, and
how many thousands in each, are set at work in
administering to this frivolous gratification ! Con-
cerning trades of this kind, (and this kind com-
prehends more than half the trades that are exer-
cised,) it may fairly be asked, " How, since they
add nothing to the stock of provision, do they tend
to increase the number of the people 1 " We are
taught to say of trade, " that it maintains multi-
tudes;" but by what means does it maintain
them, when it produces nothing upon which the
support of human life depends '\ In like manner
with respect to foreign commerce ; of that mer-
chandise which brings the necessaries of life into
a country, which imports, for example, corn, or
cattle, or cloth, or fuel, we allow the tendency to
advance population, because it increases the stock
of provision by which the people are subsisted.
But this effect of foreign commerce is so little seen
in our own country, that I believe, it may be af-
firmed of Great Britain, what Bishop Berkley said
of a neighbouring island, that, if it were encom-
passed with a wall of brass fifty cubits high, the
country might maintain the same number of in-
habitants that find subsistence in it at present ;
and that every necessary, and even every real
comfort an& accommodation of human life, might
be supplied in as great abundance as they now are.
Here, therefore, as before, we may fairly ask, by
what operation it is, that foreign commerce, which
brings into the country no one article of human
subsistence, promotes the multiplication of human
life?
The answer of this inquiry, will be contained in
the discussion of another, viz :
Since the soil will maintain many more than
it can employ, what must be done, supposing the
country to be full, with the remainder of the in-
habitants 1 They who, by the rules of partition,
(and some such must be established in every
country,) are entitled to the land ; and they who,
by their labour upon the soil, acquire a right in its
produce, will not part with their property for
nothing ; or, rather, they will no longer raise from
the soil what they can neither use themselves, nor
exchange for what they want. Or, lastly, if these
were willing to distribute what they could spare
of the provision which the ground yielded, to
others who had no share or concern in the pro-
perty or cultivation of it, yet still the most enor-
mous mischiefs would ensue, from great numbers
remaining unemployed. The idleness of one half
of the community would overwhelm the whole
with confusion and disorder. One only way pre-
sents itself of removing the difficulty which this
question states, and which is simply this : that
they, whose work is not wanted, nor can be em-
ployed, in the raising of provision out of the
ground, convert their hands and ingenuity to the
fabrication of articles which may gratify and re-
3uite those who are so employed, or who by the
rvisioii of lands in the country, are entitled to
the exclusive possession of certain parts of them.
By this contrivance, all things proceed well. The
occupier of the ground raises from it the utmost
that he can procure, because he is repaid for what
he can spare by something else which he wants,
or with which he is pleased : the artist or manufac-
turer, though he have neither any property in the
soil, nor any concern in its cultivation, is regularly
supplied with the produce, because he gives, in
exchange for what he stands in need of, something
upon which the receiver places an equal value :
and the community is kept quiet, while both
sides ar,e engaged in their respective occupa-
tions.
It appears, then, that the business of one half
of mankind is, to set the other half at work ; that
is, to provide articles which, by tempting the
desires, may stimulate the industry, and call forth
the activity, of those upon the exertion of whose
industry, and the application of whose faculties,
the production of human provision depends. A
certain portion only of human labour is, or can be
productive; the rest is instrumental; both equal-
ly necessary, though the one have no other object
than to excite the other. It appears also, that it
signifies nothing, as to the main purpose of trade,
how superfluous the articles which it furnishes are;
whether the want of them be real or imaginary ;
whether it be founded in nature, or in opinion, in
fashion, habit, or emulation : it is enough that they
be actually desired and sought after. Flourishing
cities are raised and supported by trading in to-
bacco ; populous towns subsist by the manufac-
tory of ribands. A watch may be a very unne-
cessary appendage to the dress of a peasant ; yet
if the peasant will till the ground in order to ob-
tain a watch, the true design of trade is answered :
and the watchmaker, while he polishes the case,
or files the wheels of his machine, is contributing
to the production of corn as effectually, though
not so directly, as if he handled the spade or
held the plough. The use of tobacco has been
mentioned already, not only as an acknowledged
superfluity, but as affording a remarkable example
of the caprice of human appetite : yet if the fisher-
man will ply his nets, or the mariner fetch rice
from foreign countries, in order to procure, to
himself this indulgence, the market is supplied
with two important articles of provision, by the
instrumentality of a merchandise which has no
other apparent use than the gratification of a
vitiated, palate.
But it may come to pass that the husbandman,
land-owner, or whoever he be that is entiled to
the produce of the soil, will no longer exchange it
for what the manufacturer has to oficr. He is
already supplied to the extent of his desires. For
instance, he wants no more cloth ; he will no
longer therefore give the weaver corn in return
for the produce of his looms : but he would readily
give it for tea, or for wine. When the weaver
OF POPULATION AND PROVISION.
155
finds this to be the case, he has nothing to do bu
to send his cloth abroad, in exchange for tea or
for wine, which he may barter for tliat provision
which the offer of his cloth will no longer procure
The circulation is thus revived : and the benefi
of the discovery is, that, whereas the number ot
weavers, who could find subsistence from their
employment, was before limited by the consump-
tion of cloth in the country, that number is now
augmented, in proportion to tbe demand for tea
and wine. This is the principle of foreign com-
merce. In the magnitude and complexity of the
machine, the principle of motion is sometimes losl
or unobserved ; but it is always simple and the
same, to whatever extent it may be diversilie*;
and enlarged in its operation.
The ellect of trade upon agriculture, the process
of which we have been endeavouring to describe :
is visible in the neighbourhood of trading towns,
and in those districts which carry on a coinmuni-
catitui with the markets of trading towns. The
husbandmen are busy and skilful ; the peasantry
laborious ; the land is managed to the best advan-
tage ; and double the quantity of com or herbage
(articles which are ultimately converted into hu-
man provision) raised from it, of what the same
soil yields in remoter and more neglected parts oi
the country. Wherever a thrhinir manufactory
finds means to establish itself, a new vegetation
springs up around it. I believe it is true that agri-
culture never arrives at any considerable, much
less at its highest, degree of perfect ion, where it is
not connected with trade ; tnat is, where the de-
mand for the produce is not increased by the con-
sumption of trading cities.
Let it be remembered then, that agriculture is
the immediate source of human provision ; that
trade conduces to the production ot provision only
as it promotes agriculture ; that the whole system
of commerce, vast and various as it is, hath no
other public importance than its subserviency to
this end.
We return to the proposition we laid down, that
" employment universally promotes population."
From this proposition it follows, that the compa-
rative utility of different branches of national com-
merce is measured by the number which each
branch employs. Upon which principle a scale
may easily l>e constructed, which shall assign to
the several kinds and divisions of foreign trade,
their respective degrees of public importance. In
this scale, the first place k-lon^s to the exchange
of wrought goods for raw materials, as of broad
cloth for raw silk ; cutlery for wool ; clocks or
watches for iron, flax, or furs ; because this traffic
provides a market for the labour that has already
been expended, at the same time that it supplies
materials for new industry. Population always
flourishes where this species of commerce obtains
to any considerable degree. It is the cause of
employment, or the certain indication. As it
takes off the manufactures of the country, it pro-
motes employment ; as it brings in raw materials,
it supposes the existence of manufactories in the
country, and a demand for the article when manu-
factured. The second place is due to that com-
merce, which barters one species of wrought goods
for another, as stuffs for calicoes, fustians for cam-
brics, leather for paper, or wrought goods for
articles which require no farther preparation, as
for wine, oil, tea, sugar, &c. This also assists
employment ; because, when the country is stock-
ed with one kind of manufacture, it renews the
demand by converting it into another: but it is in-
ferior to the former, as it promotes this end by one
side only of the bargain, by what it carries out.
The .last, the lowest, and most disadvantageous
species of commerce, is the exportation of raw
materials- in return for wrought goods : as when
wool is sent abroad to purchase velvets ; hides or
peltry, to procure shoes, hats, or linen cloth. This
trade is unfavourable to population, because it
Iea\es no room or demand for employment, either
in what it takes out of the country, or in what it
brings into it. Its operation on both sides is
noxious. By its exports, it diminishes the very
subject upon which the industry of the inhabit-
ants ought to be exercised ; by its imports, it les-
sens the encouragement of that industry, in the
same proportion that it supplies the consumption
of the country with the produce of foreign labour.
Of diilerent [tranches of manufactory, those are,
in their nature, the most beneficial, in which the
price of the wrought article exceeds in the highest
proportion that of the raw material : for this excess
measures the quantity of employment, or, in other
words, the number of manufacturers, which each
branch sustains. The produce of the ground is
in u r the most advantageous article of foreign
commerce. Under a perfect state of public econ-
omy, the soil of the country should be applied
solely to the raising of provisions for the inhabit-
ants, and its trade be supplied by their industry.
A nation will never reach its proper extent of
population, so long as its principal commerce con-
sists in the exportation of corn or cattle, or even
of wine, oil, tobacco, madder, indigo, timber ; be-
cause these last articles take up that surface
which ought to be covered with the. materials of
human subsistence.
It must lie here however noticed, that we have
all along considered the inhabitants of a country
as maintained by the produce of the country ; and
that what we have said is applicable with strictness
to this supposition alone. The reasoning, never-
theless, may easily be adapted to a different case :
for when provision is not produced, but imported,
what has been affirmed concerning provision, will
be, in a great measure, true of that article, whe-
ther it be money, produce, or labour, which is
exchanged for provision. Thus, when the Dutch
mise madder, and exchange it for corn ; or when
the people of America plant tobacco, and send it
to Europe for cloth ; the cultivation of madder and
tobacco becomes as necessary to the subsistence of
;he inhabitants, and by consequence will aflect
:he state of population in these countries as sensi-
bly, as the actual production of food, or the manu-
factory of raiment. In like manner, when the
same inhabitants of Holland earn money by the
carriage of the produce of one country to another,
and with that money purchase the provision from
abroad, which their own land is not extensive
enough to supply, the increase or decline of this
carrying trade will influence the numbers of the
>eople no less than similar changes would do in
he cultivation of the soil.
The few principles already established, will
;nable us to describe the effects upon population
which may l>e Expected from the following im-
xirtant articles of national conduct and economy :
1. EMIGRATION. Emigration may be either
he overflowing of a country, or the desertion.
As the increase of the species is indefinite ; and
156
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
the number of inhabitants which any given tract
or surface can support, finite ; it is evident that
great numbers may be constantly leaving a
country, and yet the country remain constantly
full. Or whatever be the cause which invincibly
limits the population of a country ; when the
number of the people has arrived at that limit
the progress of generation, beside continuing the
succession, will supply multitudes for foreign
emigration. In these two cases, emigration nei-
ther indicates any political decay, nor in truth
diminishes the number of the people ; nor ought to
be prohibited or discouraged. But emigrants may
relinquish their country, from a sense ol insecurity,
oppression, annoyance, and inconveniency. Nei-
ther, again, here is it emigration which wastes
the people, but the evils that occasion it. It
would be in vain, if it were practicable, to confine
the inhabitants at home ; for the same causes
which drive them out of the country, would pre-
vent their multiplication if they remained in it.
Lastly ; men may be tempted to change their sit-
uation by the allurement of a better climate, of a
more refined or luxurious manner of living ; by the
prospect of wealth ; or, sometimes, by the mere
nominal advantage of higher wages and prices.
This class of emigrants, with whom alone the
laws can interfere with effect, will never, I think,
be numerous. "With the. generality of a people,
the attachment of mankind to their homes and
country, the irksomencss of seeing new habita-
tions, and of living amongst strangers, will out-
weigh, so long as men possess the necessaries 1 of
life in safety, or at least so long as they can ob-
tain a provision for that mode of subsistence
which the class of citizens to which they belong
are accustomed to enjoy, all the inducements that
the advantages of a foreign land can offer. There
appear, therefore, to be few cases in which emi-
gration can be prohibited, with advantage to the
state ; it appears also that emigration is an equi-
vocal symptom, which will probably accompany
the decline of the political body, but which may
likewise attend a condition of perfect health and
vigour.
II. COLONIZATION. The only view under
which our subject will permit us to consider
colonization, is in its tendency to augment the
population of the parent state. Suppose a, fertile,
but empty island, to lie within the reach of a
country in which arts and manufactures are al-
jready established ; suppose a colony sent out from
such a country, to take possession of the island,
and to live there under the protection and au-
thority of their native government : the new set-
tlers will naturally convert their labour to the cul-
tivation of the vacant soil, and With the produce
of that soil will draw a supply of manufactures
from their countrymen at home. Whilst the in-
habitants continue few, and lands cheap and fresh,
the colonists will find it easier and more profitable
to raise corn, or rear cattle, and with corn and cat-
tle to purchase woollen cloth, for instance, or linen,
than to spin or weave these articles for themselves.
The mother-country, meanwhile, derives from this
connexion an increase both of provision and em-
ployment. It promotes at once the two great re-
quisites upon which the facility of subsistence, and
by consequence the state of population, depend,
production and distribution; and this in a man-
ner the most direct and beneficial. No situation
can be imagined more favourable to population,
than that of a country which works np goods for
others, whilst these others are cultivating new
tracts of land for them : for as, in a genial cli-
mate, and from a fresh soil, the labour of one man
will raise provision enough for ten, it is manifest
that, where all are employed. in agriculture, much
the greater part of the produce will be spared
from the consumption ; and that three out of four,
at least to those who arc maintained by it, will
reside in the country which receives the redun-
dancy. When the new country does not remit
provision to the old one, the advantage is less ;
but still the exportation of wrought goods, by
whatever return they are paid for, advances popu-
lation in that secondary way, in which those trades
promote it that are not employed in the produc-
tion of provision. Whatever prejudice, therefore,
some late events have excited against schemes of
colonization, the system itself is Ibunded in ap-
parent national utility ; and what is more, upon
principles favourable to the common interest of
human nature; for it does not appear by what
other method newly-discovered and unfrequented
countries can be peopled, or during the infancy of
their establishment be protected or supplied. The
error which we of this nation at present lament,
seems to have consisted not so much in the ori-
ginal formation of colonies, as in the subsequent
management; in imposing restrictions too rigor-
ous, or in continuing them too long ; in not per-
ceiving the point of time when the irresistible
order and progress of human affairs demand a
change of laws and policy.
III. MONEY. Where money abounds, the peo-
ple are generally numerous : yet gold and silver
neither feed nor clothe mankind ; nor are they in
all countries converted into provision by pur-
chasing the necessaries of life at foreign markets ;
nor do they, in any country, compose those arti-
cles of personal or domestic ornament which cer-
tain orders of the community have learnt to re-
gard as necessaries of life, and without the means
of procuring which, they will not enter into
family- establishments : at least, this property of
the precious metals obtains in a very small degree.
The effect of money upon the number of the peo-
ple, though visible to observation, is not explained
without some dilficulty. To understand this con-
nexion properly, we must return to the proposi-
tion with which we concluded our reasoning upon
the subject ; " that population is chiefly promoted
by employment." Now of employment, money is
partly the indication, and partly the cause. The
only way in which money regularly and spon-
taneously flows into a country, is in return for the
goods that are sent out of it, or the work that is
performed by it; and the only way in which mo-
ney is retained in a country, is by the country's
supplying, in a great measure, its own consump-
tion of manufactures. Consequently, the quan-
tity of money found in a country, denotes the
amount of labour and employment; but still,
employment, not money, is the cause of popula-
tion ; the accumulation of money being merely a
collateral eflect of the same cause, or a circum-
stance which accompanies the existence, and
measures the operation, of that cause. And this
s true of money, only whilst it is acquired by the
ndustry of the inhabitants. The treasures which
jelong to a country by the possession of mines, or
by the exaction of tribute from foreign dependen-
cies, afford no conclusion concerning the state of
DP POPULATION AND PROVISION.
157
population. The influx from these sources may
be immense, and yet the country remain poor and
ill-peopled ; of which we see an egregious example
in the condition of Spain, since the acquisition of
its South- American dominions.
But, secondly, money may become also a real
and an operative cause of population, by acting
as a stimulus to industry, and by facilitating the
means of subsistence. The ease of subsistence,
and the encouragement of industry, depend nei-
ther upon the price of labour, nor upon the price
of provision, but upon the proportion which one
bears to the other. Now the influx of money into
a country, naturally tends to advance this pro-
portion ; that is, every fresh accession of money
raises the price of labour Ix-fore it raises the price
of provision. When money is brought from
abroad, the persons, be they who they will, into
whose hands it lirst arrives, do not buy up pro-
vision with it, but apply it to the purchase and
payment of labour. If the state receives it, the
state dispenses what it receives amongst soldiers,
sailors, artificers, engineers, shipwrights, work-
men; if private persons bring home treasures
of gold and silver they usually expend them in
the building of houses, the improvement of estates,
the purchase of furniture, dress, equipage, in ar-
ticles of luxury or splendour: if the merchant be
enriched by returns of his foreign commerce, he
applies his increased capital to the enlargement
of his business at home. The money ere long
comes to market for provision; but it comes
thither through the hand* of the manufacturer, the
artist, the ImsKindman, and labourer. Its effect,
therefore, upon the price of art and lalxnir, will
precede its effect upon the price of provision ; and
during the interval between one effect and the
other, the means oi subsistence will be multiplied
and facilitated, as well as industry be excited by
new rewards. When the greater plenty of money
in circulation has produced an advance in the
price of provision, Corresponding to the advanced
price of labour, its effect ceases. The labourer no
longer gains any thing by the increase of his
wages. It is not, therelore, the quantity of specie
collected into a country, but the continual in-
crease of that quantity, from which the advantage
arises to employment and population. It is only
the accession of money which produces the effect,
and it is only by money constantly flowing into a
country that the effect can be constant. Now
whatever consequence arises to the country from
the influx of money, the contrary may be ex-
pected to follow from the diminution of its quan-
tity: and accordingly we find, that whatever
cause drains off the specie of a country, faster
than the streams which feed it can supply, not
only impoverishes the country, but depopulates
it. The knowledge and experience of this effect
have given occasion to a phrase which occurs in
almost every discourse upon commerce or politics.
The balance of trade with any foreign nation is
said to be against or in favour of a country, sim-
ply as it tends to carry money out, or bring it in :
that is, according as the price of the imports ex-
ceeds or falls short of the price of the exports : so
invariably is the increase or diminution of the
specie of a country regarded as a test of the pub-
lic advantage or detriment which arises from any
branch of its commerce.
IV. TAXATION. As taxes take nothing out
of a country; as they do not diminish the public
stock, only vary the distribution of it, they are
not necessarily prejudicial to population. If the
state exact money from certain members of the
community, she dispenses it also amongst other
members of the same community. They who
contribute to the revenue, and they who are sup-
ported or benefited by the expenses of govern-
ment, are to lie placed one against the other ; and
whilst what the subsistence of one part is profited
by receiving, compensates for what that of the
other suffers by paying, the common fund of the
society is not lessened. This is true : but it must
be observed, that although the sum distributed by
the state be always equal to the sum collected
from the people, yet the gain and loss to the
means of subsistence may be very unequal ; and
the balance will remain on the wrong or the
right side of the account, according as the money
passes by taxation from the industrious to the
idle, from the many to the few, from those who
want to those who abound, or in a contrary di-
rection. For instance : a tax upon coaches, to be
laid out in the- repair of roads, would probably im-
prove the population of a neighbourhood ; a tax
upon cottages, to lie ultimately expended in the
purchase and support of coaches, would certainly
diminish it. In like manner, a tax upon wine or
tea distributed in bounties to fishermen or hus-
bandmen, would augment the provision of a coun-
try ; a tax upon fisheries and husbandry, how-
ever indirect or concealed, to be converted, when
raised, to the procuring of wine or tea for the idle
and opulent, would naturally impair the public
stock. The effect, therefore, of taxes, upon the
means of subsistence, depends not so much upon
the amount of the sum levied, as upon the
object of the tax and the application. Taxes
likewise may be so adjusted as to conduce to the
restraint of luxury, and the correction of vice ;
to the encouragement of industry, trade, agricul-
ture, and marriage. Taxes thus contrived, become
rewards and penalties ; not only sources of re-
venue, but instruments of police. Vices indeed
themselves cannot be taxed, without holding forth
such a conditional toleration of them as to destroy
men's perception of their guilt ; a tax comes to be
considered as a commutation : the materials, how-
ever, and incentives of vice, may. Although, for
instance, drunkenness would be, on tlu's account,
an unfit object of taxation, yet public houses and
spirituous liquors are very properly subjected to
heavy imposts.
Nevertheless, although it may be true that
taxes cannot be pronounced to be detrimental to
population, by an absolute necessity in their na-
ture ; and though, under some modifications, and
when urged only to a certain extent, they may-
even operate in favour of it ; yet it will be found,
in a great plurality of instances, that their ten-
dency is noxious. Let it be supposed that nine
families inhabit a neighbourhood, each possessing
barely the means of subsistence, or of that mode
of subsistence which custom hath established
amongst them ; let a tenth family be quartered
upon these, to be supported by a tax raised from
the nine ; or rather, let one of the nine have his
income augmented by a similar deduction from
the incomes of the rest ; in either of these cases,
it is evident that the whole district would be
broken up : for as the entire income of each is
supposed to be barely sufficient for the establish-
ment which it maintains, a deduction of any part
14
158
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
destroys that establishment. Now. it is no answer
to this objection, it is no apology for the grievance
to say, that nothing is taken out of the neighbour-
hood ; that the stock is riot -diminished : the mis-
chief is done by deranging the distribution. Nor,
again, is the luxury of one family, or even the
maintenance of an additional family, a recom-
pense to the country for the ruin of nine others.
Nor, lastly, will it alter the effect though it nuiy
conceal the cause, that the contribution, instead
of being levied directly upon each day's wages,
is mixed up in the price of some article of con-
stant use and consumption, as in a tax upon
candles, malt, leather, or fuel. This example illus-
trates the tendency of taxes to obstruct subsist-
ence ; and the minutest degree of tin's obstruction
will be felt in the formation of families. The
example, indeed, forms an extreme case ; the evil
is magnified, in order to render its operation dis-
tinct and visible. In real life, families may not be
broken up, or forced from their habitation, houses
be quitted, or countries suddenly deserted, in con-
sequence of any new imposition whatever ; but
marriages will become gradually less frequent.
It seems necessary, however, to distinguish be-
tween the operation of a new tax, and the effect
of taxes which have been long established. In
the course of circulation, the money may flow back
to the hands from which it was taken. The pro-
portion between the supply and the expense of
subsistence, which had been disturbed by the tax,
may at length recover itself again. In the in-
stance just now stated, the addition of a tenth
family to the neighbourhood, or the enlarged ex-
penses of one of the nine, may, in some shape or
other, so advance the profits, or increase the em-
ployment, of the rest, as to make full restitution
for the share of their property of which it deprives
them ; or, what is more likely to happen, a reduc-
tion may take place in their mode of living, suited
to the abridgment of their incomes. Yet still the
ultimate and permanent effect of taxation, though
distinguishable from the impression of a new tax,
is generally adverse to population. The proportion
above spoken of, can only be restored by one side
or other of the following alternative : by the peo-
ple either contracting their wants, which at the
same time diminishes consumption and employ-
ment ; or by raising the price of labour, which ne-
cessarily adding to the price of the productions
and manufactures of the country, checks their
sale at foreign markets. A nation which is bur-
thened with taxes, must always be undersold by
a nation which is free from them, unless the dif-
ference be made up by some singular advantage
of climate^ soil, skill, or industry. This quality
belongs to all taxes which affect the mass of the
community, even when imposed upon the proper-
est objects, and applied to the fairest purposes.
But abuses are inseparable from the disposal of
public money. As governments are usually ad-
ministered, the produce of public taxes is ex-
pended upon a train of gentry, in the maintaining
of pomp, or in the purchase of influence. The
conversion of property which taxes "effectuate,
when they are employed in this manner, is at-
tended with obvious evils. It takes from the in-
dustrious, to give to the idle; it increases the
number of the latter; it tends to accumulation;
it sacrifices the conveniency of many to the luxury
of a few ; it makes no return to the people, from
whom the tax is drawn, that is satisfactory or in-
telligible ; it encourages no activity which is use-
ful or productive.
The sum to be raised being settled, a wise
statesman will contrive his taxes principally with
a view to their effect upon population ; that is, he
will so adjust them as to give the least possible
obstruction to those means of subsistence by which
the mass of the community is maintained. We
are accustomed to an opinion, that a tax, to be
just, ought to be accurately proportioned to the
circumstances 'of the persons who pay it. But
upon what, it might be asked, is this opinion
founded; unless it could be shown that such a
proportion interferes the least with the general
conveniency of subsistence 1 Whereas I should
rather believe, that a tax, constructed with a view
to that conveniency, ought to rise upon the dif-
ferent classes of the community, in a much higher
ratio than the simple proportion of their incomes.
The point to be regarded is, not what men have,
but what they can spare ; and it is evident that a
man who possesses a thousand pounds a year,
can more easily give up a hundred, than a man
with a hundred pounds a year can part with ten ;
;hat is, those habits of life which are reasonable
and innocent, and upon the ability to continue
which the formation of families depends, will be
iiuch less affected by the one deduction than the
other : it is still more evident, that a man of a
lundred pounds a year would not be so much
distressed in his subsistence, by a demand from
him of ten pounds, as a man of ten pounds a
year would be by the loss of one : to which we
must add, that the population of every country
being replenished by the marriages of the lowest
ranks of the society, their accommodation and re-
lief become of more importance to the state, than
.the conveniency of any higher but less numerous
order of its citizens. But whatever be the pro-
portion which public expediency directs, whether
the simple, the duplicate, or any higher or inter-
mediate proportion of men's, incomes, it can never
be attained by any single tax* as no single object
of taxation can be found, which measures the
ability of the subject with sufficient generality
and exactness. It is only by a system and variety
of taxes, mutually balancing and equalising one
another, that a due proportion can be preserved.
For instance: if a tax upon lands press with
greater hardship upon those who live in the
country, it may be properly counterpoised by a
tax upon the rent of houses, which will affect
principally the inhabitants of large towns. Dis-
tinctions may also be framed in some taxes, which
shall allow abatements or exemptions to married
persons ; to the parents of a certain number of
legitimate children ; to improvers of the soil ; to
particular modes of cultivation, as to tillage in
preference to pasturage; and in general to that
industry which is immediately productive, in pre-
ference to that which is only instrumental ; but
above all, which may leave the heaviest part of
the burthen upon the methods, whatever they be,
of acquiring wealth without industry, or even of
subsisting in idleness.
V. EXPORTATION OF BREAD- CORN. Nothing
seems to have a more positive tendency to reduce
the number of the people, than the sending abroad
part of the provision by which they are maintained ;
yet this has been the policy of legislators very
studious of the improvement of their country. In
order to reconcile ourselves to a practice which
OF POPULATION AND PROVISION,
159
appears to militate with the chief interest, that is,
with the population of the country that adopts it,
we must be reminded of a maxim which belongs
to the productions both of nature and art, " that it
is impossible to have enough without a super-
fluity. The point of sufficiency cannot, in any
case, be so exactly hit upon, as to have nothing
to spare, yet never to want. This is peculiarly true
of bread-corn, of which the annual increase is
extremely valuable. As it is necessary that the
crop be adequate to the consumption in a year of
scarcity, it must, of consequence, greatly exceed
it in a year of plenty. A redundancy therefore
will occasionally arise from the very care that is
taken to secure the people against the danger of
want; and it is manifest that the exportation of
this redundancy subtracts nothing from the num-
ber that can regularly be maintained by the pro-
duce of the soil. Moreover, as the exportation of
corn, under these circumstances, is attended with
no direct injury to population, so the benefits
which indirectly arise to population from foreign
commerce, belongs to this, in common with other
species of trade ; together with the peculiar advan-
tage of presenting a constant incitement to the
skill and industry of the husbandman, by the
promise of a certain sale and an adequate price,
under every contingency of season and produce.
There is another situation, in which corn may
not only be exported, but in which the people can
thrive by no other means; that is, of a newly
settled country, with a fertile soil. The exporta-
tion of a large proportion of the corn which a coun-
try produces, proves, it is true, that the inhabitants
have not yet attained to the mimlx-r which the
country is capable of maintaining : but it does not
prove but that they may l>e hastening to this limit
with the utmost practicable celerity, which is the
perfection to be sought for in a young establish-
ment. In all cases except these two, and in the
former of them to any greater degree than what
is necessary to take off occasional redundancies,
the exportation of corn is either itself noxious to
population, or argues a defect of population arising
from some other cause.
VI. ABRIDGMENT OP LABOUR. It has long
been made a question, whether those mechanical
contrivances which abridge labour, by perform-
ing the same work by fewer hands, be detrimental
or not to the population of a country. From
what has been delivered in preceding parts of the
present chapter, it will be evident that this ques-
tion is equivalent to another, whether such con-
trivances diminish or not the quantity of employ-
ment. The first and most obvious effect undoubt-
edly is this ; because, if one man be made to do
what three men did before, two are immediately
discharged : but if, by some more general and re-
moter consequence, they increase the demand for
work, or, what is the same thing, prevent the di-
minution of that demand, in a greater proportion
than they contract the number of hands by which
it is performed, the quantity of employment, upon
the whole, will gain an addition, tjpon which
principle it may be observed, first, that whenever
a mechanical invention succeeds in one place, it is
necessary that it be imitated in every other, where
the same manufacture is carried on ; for, it is mani-
fest, that he who has the benefit of a conciser ope-
ration, will soon outvie and undersell a competitor
who continues to use a more circuitous labour. It
is also true, in the second place, that whoever Jirsf,
discover or adopt a mechanical improvement, will,
for some time, draw to themselves an increase of
employment ; and that this preference may con-
tinue even after the improvement has become
general ;- for, in every kind of trade, it is not only
a great but permanent advantage, to have once
preoccupied the public reputation. Thirdly, alter
every superiority wliich might be derived from the
possession of a secret, has ceased, it may be well
questioned whether even then any loss can accrue
to employment^- The same money will be spared
to the same article still. Wherefore, in proportion
as the article can be afforded at a lower price, by
reason of an easier or shorter process in the manu-
facture, it will either grow into more general use,
or an improvement will take place in the quality
and fabric, which will demand a proportionable
addition of hands. The number of persons em-
ployed in the manufactory of stockings, has not, I
apprehend, decreased since the invention of stock-
ing-mills. The amount of what is expended upon
the article, after subtracting from it the price of
the raw material, and consequently what is paid
for work in this branch of our manufactories, is not
less than it was before. Goods of a finer texture
are worn in the place of coarser. This is the
change which the invention has produced; and
which compensates to the manufactory for every
other inconveniency. Add to which, that in
the above, and in almost every instance, an im-
provement which conduces to the recommenda-
tion of a manufactory, either by the cheapness
or the quality of the goods, draws up after it many
dependent employments, in which no abbreviation
has taken place.
From the reasoning that has been pursued, and
the various considerations suggested in this chap-
ter, a judgment may, in some sort, be formed, how
far regulations of law are in their nature capable
of contributing to the support and advancement of
population. I say how far; for, as in many sub-
jects, so especially in those which relate to com-
merce, to plenty, to riches, and to the number of
people, more is wont to be expected from laws, than
taws can do. Laws can only imperfectly restrain
that dissoluteness of manners, which, by diminish-
ing the frequency of marriages, impairs the very
source of population. Laws cannot regulate the
wants of mankind, their mode of living, or their
desire of those superfluities which fashion, more
irresistible than laws, has once introduced into
general usage ; or, in other words, has erected into
necessaries of life. Laws cannot induce men to
enter into marriages, when the expenses of a
family must deprive them of that system of ac-
commodation to which they have habituated their
expectations. Laws, by their protection, by as-
suring to the labourer the fruit and profit of his
labour, may help to make a people industrious ;
but without industry, the laws cannot provide
either subsistence or employment; laws cannot
make corn grow without toil and care, or trade
flourish without art and diligence. In spite of all
laws, the expert, laborious, honest workman, will
be employed, in preference to the lazy, the un-
skilful, the fraudulent, and evasive : and this is not
more true of two inhabitants of the same village,
than it is of the people of two different countries,
which communicate either with each other, or with
160
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
the rest of the World. The natural basis of trade
is rivalahip of quality and price ; or, which is the
same thing, of skill and industry. Every attempt
to force trade by operation of law, that is, by com-
pelling persons to buy goods atone market, which
they can obtain cheaper and better from another,
is sure to be either eluded by the quick-sighted-
ness and incessant activity ot private interest, or
to be frustrated by retaliation. One half of the
commercial laws of many states are calculated
merely to counteract the restrictions which have
been imposed by other states. Perhaps the only
way in which the interposition of law is salutary
in trade, is in the prevention of frauds.
Next to the indispensable requisites of internal
peace and security, the chief advantage which can
be derived to population from the interference of
law, appears to me to consist in the encourage-
ment of agriculture. This, at least, is the direct
way of increasing the numl>cr of the people : every
other mode being effectual only by its influence
upon this. Now the principal expedient by which
such a purpose can be promoted, is to adjust the
laws of property, as nearly as possible, to the two
following rules: first, " to give to the occupier all
the power over the soil, which is necessary for its
perfect cultivation ;" secondly, " to assign the
whole profit of every improvement to the persons
by whose activity it is carried on." What we call
property in land, as hath been observed above, is
power over it. Now it is indifferent to the public in
whose hands this power resides, if it be rightly used ;
it matters not to whom the land belongs, if it be
well cultivated. When we lament that great estates
are often united in the same hand, or complain
that one man possesses what would be sufficient
for a thousand, we suffer ourselves to be misled by
words. The owner of ten thousand pounds a-year,
consumes little more of the produce of the soil than
the owner of ten pounds a-year. If the cultivation
be equal, the estate in the hands of one great lord,
affords subsistence and employment to the same
number of persons as it would do if it were divided
amongst a hundred proprietors. In like manner
we ought to judge of the effect upon the public in-
terest, which may arise from lands being holden
by the king, or by the subject; by private persons,
or by corporations ; by laymen, or ecclesiastics ; in
fee, or for life ; by virtue of office, or in right of in-
heritance. I do not mean that these varieties make
no difference, but I mean that all the difference
they do make respects the cultivation of the lands
which are so holden.
There exist in this country, conditions of tenure
which condemn the land itself to perpetual sterility.
Of this kind is the right of common, which pre-
cludes each proprietor from the improvement, or
even the convenient occupation, of his estate, with-
out (what seldom can be obtained) the consent of
many others. This tenure is also usually embar-
rassed by the interference of manorial claims,
under which it often happens that the surface be-
longs to one owner, and the soil to anotlier ; so
that neither owner can stir a clod without the con-
currence of his partner in the property. In many
manors, the tenant is restrained from granting
leases beyond a short term of years ; which renders
every plan of solid improvement impracticable.
In these cases, the owner wants, what the first
rule of rational policy requires, "sufficient power
over the soil for its perfect Cultivation." This
power ought to be extended to lu'm by some easy
and general law of enfranchisement, partition, and
enclosure; which, though compulsory upon the
lord, or the rest of the tenants, whilst it has in view
the melioration of the soil, and tenders an equitable
compensation for every right that it takes away, i*
neither more arbitrary, nor more dangerous to the
stability of property, than that wliich is done in
the construction of roads, bridges, embankments,
navigable canals, and indeed in almost every pub-
lic work, in which private owners of land are
obliged to accept that price for their property which
an indifferent jury may award. It may here, how-
ever, be proper to observe, that although the en-
closure of wastes and pastures be generally bene-
ficial to population, yet the enclosure of lands in
tillage, in order to convert them into pastures, is
as generally hurtful.
But, secondly, agriculture is discouraged by every
constitution of landed property which lets in those,
who have no concern in the improvement, to a
participation of the profit. This objection is ap-
plicable to all such customs of manors as subject
the proprietor, upon the death of the lord or tenant,
or the alienation of the estate, to a fine apportioned
to the improved value of the land. But of all in-
stitutions which are in this way adverse to culti-
vation and improvement, none is so noxious as that
of tithes. A. claimant here enters into the produce
who contributed no assistance whatever to the pro-
duction. When years, perhaps, of care and toil
have matured an improvement ; when the hus-
bandman sees new crops ripening to his skill and
industry ; the moment he is ready to put his sickle
to the grain, he finds himself compelled to di-
vide his harvest with a stranger. Tithes are a
tax not only upon industry, but upon that industry
which feeds mankind ; upon that species of exer-
tion which it is the aim of all wise laws to cherish
and promote ; and to uphold and excite which,
composes, as we have seen, the main benefit that
the community receives from the whole system of
trade, and the success of commerce. And, toge-
ther with the more general inconveniency that at-
tends the exaction of tithes, there is this additional
evil, in the mode at least according to which they
are collected at present, that they operate as a
bounty upon pasturage. The burthen of the tax
falls with its chief, if not with its whole weight,
upon tillage ; that is to say, upon that precise mode
of cultivation, which, as hath been shown above,
it is the business of the state to relieve and remu-
nerate, in preference to every other. No mea-
sure of such extensive concern appears to me so
practicable, nor any single alteration so beneficial,
as the conversion of tithes into corn-rents. This
commutation, I am convinced, might be so adjusted
as to secure to the tithe-holder a complete and
perpetual equivalent for his interest, and to leave
to industry its full operation, and entire reward.
CHAPTER XII.
Of War, and of Military Establishments.
BECAUSE the Christian Scriptures describe wars
as what they are, as crimes or judgments, some
have been led to believe that it is unlawful for a
Christian to bear arms. But it should be remem-
bered that it may be necessary for individuals to
unite their force, and for this end to resign them-
selves to the direction of a common will ; and yet
OF WAR, AND OF MILITARY ESTABLISHMENTS.
161
it may be true that that will is often actuated by
crimiiial motives, and often determined to destruc-
tive purposes. Hence, alt hough the origin of wars
be ascribed, in Scripture, to tire operation of law-
less and malignant passion ;* and though war it-
self be enumerated among the sorest calamities
with which a land can be visited, the profession
of a soldier is nowhere forbidden or condemned.
When the soldiers demanded of John the Baptist
what they should do, he said unto them, " Do vio-
lence to no man, neither accuse any falselv. and
be content with your wages. ''t In which answer
we do not find that, in order to prepare themselves
for the reception of the kingdom of Clod, it was
required of soldiers to relinquish their profession,
but only that tliry should beware of the vices of
which that profession was art-used. The precept
wlu'ch follows, " Be content with your v.
supposed them to continue in their situation. It
was of a -Roman centurion that Christ pronounced
that memorable eulogy. " 1 h ive not found so great
faith, no, not in Israel."'* The first (Jentile cou-
vert who was received into the Christian church,
and to whom the Gospel was imparted by the im-
mediate and especial direction of Heaven, held
the same station: and in the history of this trans-
action we discover not the smallest intimation,
that Cornelius, upon Incoming a Christian, quit-
ted the sen ice of the Roman legion: that hi- pro-
fession was objected to. or his emit in 11.1 nee in it con-
sidered as in any wise inconsistent with his new
character.
In applying the principles of morality to the af-
fairs of nations, the diilicultv which meets us.
arises from hence, " that the particular con* quence
sometimes appears to exceed the value of the gen-
eral rule." In this circumstance! is founded the
only distinction that exists between the <
independent states, and of independent indi-
viduals. In the transactions of private persons,
no advantage that results from the breach of a
general law of justice, can compensate to the
public for the violation of the law : in the concerns
of empire, this may sometimes \w doubted. Thus,
that, the faith of promises ought to be maintained!
as far as is lawful, and as far as was intended by
the parties, whatever jnconveniev.cv either of them
may sutler by his fidelity, in the intercourse of
private life, is seldom disputed : because it is
evident to almost every man who reflects upon
the subject, that the common happiness gains
more by the preservation of the rule, than it could
do by the removal of the inconvenicncy. But
when the adherence to a public treaty would en-
slave a whole people; would block up "seas, rivers,
or harbours; depopulate cities; condemn fertile
regions to eternal desolation ; cut off a country
from its sources of provision, or deprive it of those
commercial advant-ages to which its climate, pro-
duce, or situation naturally entitle it : the magni-
tude of the particular evil induces us to call in
question the obligation of the general rule. Moral
Philosophy furnishes no precise solution to these
doubts. She cannot pronounce that any rule of
morality is so rigid as to bend to no exceptions ;
nor. on the other hand, can she comprise
exceptions within any previous description. She
confesses that the obligation of every law depends
* James iv. 1.
J Luke vii. 9.
X
t Luke iii. 14.
Acts. x. 1.
upon its ultimate utility ; that this utility, having
a finite and determinate value, situations may be
feigned, and consequently may possibly arise, in
which the general tendency is outweighed by the
enormity of the particular mischief: but she re-
calls, at the same time, to the consideration of the
inquirer, the almost inestimable importance, as of
other general rules of relative justice, so especially
of national and personal fidelity; the unseen, if
not unbounded, extent of the mischief which must
follow from tfte want of it ; the danger of leaving
it to the sufferer to decide upon the comparison
of particular and general consequences ; and the
still greater danger t>f such decisions being drawn
into future precedents. If treaties, for instance,
be no longer landing than whilst they are conve-
nient, or until the incoiiveiiiency ascend to a
certain point, (which point, must \w fixed by the
judgment, or rather by the feelings, of the- com-
plaining party ;) or if such an opinion, after being
authorised by a few examples, come at length to
prevail : one and almost the only method of avert-
ing or closing the calamities of war, of either pre-
venting or putting' a stop to the destruction of
mankind, is lost to the world 1br ever. We do
not sav that no evil can exceed this, nor any pos-
sible advantage compensate it ; but we say that a
l.-ss, which affects nil. will scarcely be made up
to the common stock of human happiness by any
benefit that can be procured to a single nation,
which, however respectable when compared with
any other single nation, bears an inconsiderable
proportion to the whole. These, however, are
the principles upon which the calculation is to bo
f'rmed. It is enough, in this place, to remark
the cause which produces the hesitation that we
sometimes feel, in applying rules of personal pro-
bity to the conduct of nations.
As between individuals it js found impossible
iin e\t TV duty by an immediate reference
to public utility, not only Ix-cause such reference
is oftentimes too remote for the direction of private
consciences, but because a multitude ofcasesarise
in which it is indillercnt to the general interest by
what rule men act, though it be absolutely neces-
sary that they act by some ^constant and known
rule or other: and as, for these reasons, certain
positive constitutions are wont to be established in
very society, which, when established, become as
obligatory as the original principles of natural
just ice themselves; so, likewise, it is between in-
dependent communities. Together with those
maxims of universal equity which are common to
states and to individuals, and by which the rights
and conduct of the one as well as the other, ought
to be adjusted, when they fall within the scope
and application of such maxims ; there exists also
amongst sovereigns a system of artificial jurispru-
dence, under the name of the law of nations. In
this code are found the rules which determine the
right to vacant or newly discovered countries ;
those which relate to the protection of fugitives,
the privileges of ambassadors, the condition and
duties of neutrality, the immunities of neutral
ships, ports, and coasts, the "distance from shore to
which these immunities extend, the distinction
between free and contraband goods, and a variety
its of the same kind. Concerning which
examples, and indeed the principal part of what is
called the jus gentium, it may be observed, that
the rules derive their moral force, (by which I
mean the regard that ought to be paid to them by
14*
162
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
the consciences of sovereigns,) not from their in-
ternal reasonableness or justice, for many of them
are perfectly arbitrary, nor yet from the authority
by which they were established, for the greater
part have grown insensibly into usage, without
any public compact, formal acknowledgment, or
even known original ; but simply from the fact of
their being established, and the general duty of
conforming to established rules upon questions,
and between parties, where nothing but positive
regulations can prevent disputes, and where dis-
putes are followed by such destructive conse-
quences. The first of the instances wjiich we have
just now enumerated, may be selected for the illus-
tration of this remark. The nations of Europe
consider the sovereignty of newly-discovered coun-
tries as belonging to the prince or state whose
subject makes the discovery : and in pursuance of
this rule, it is usual for a navigator, who falls upon
an unknown shore, to take possession of it, in
the name of his sovereign at home, by erecting
his standard, of displaying his flag upon a desert
coast. Now nothing can be more fanciful, or less
substantiated by any considerations of reason or
justice, than the right which such discovery, or
the transient occupation and idle ceremony that
accompany it, confer upon the country of the dis-
coverer. Nor can any stipulation be produced,
by which the rest of the world have bound them-
selves to submit to this pretension. Yet when we
reflect that the claims to newly-discovered coun-
tries can hardly be settled, between the different
nations which frequent them, without some posi-
tive rule or other ; that such claims, if left un-
settled, would prove sources of ruinous and fatal
contentions; that the rule already proposed, how-
ever arbitrary, possesses one principal quality of a
rule, determination and certainty : above all,
that it is acquiesced in, and that no one has power
to substitute another, however he might _xon-
trive a better, in its place : when we reflect upon
these properties of the rule, or rather upon these
consequences of rejecting its authority, we are led
to ascribe to it the virtue and obligation of a pre-
cept of natural justice, because we perceive in it
that which is the foundation of justice itself,
public importance and utility. And a prince who
tranquillity of nations, and at the same time lay
the foundation of future disturbances, would be
little less criminal than he who breaks the public
Cce, by a violation of engagements to which he
himself consented, or by an attack upon those
national rights which are founded immediately in
the law of nature, and in the first perceptions of
equity. The same thing may be repeated of the
rules which the law of nations prescribes in the
other instances that were mentioned, namely, that
the obscurity of their origin, or the arbitrariness of
their principle, subtracts nothing from the respect
that is due to them, when once established.
War may be considered with a view to its
causes and its conduct.
The justifying causes of war, are, deliberate
invasions of right, and the necessity of main-
taining such a balance of power amongst neigh-
bouring nations, as that no single state, or con-
'ederacy of states, be strong enough to overwhelm
:he rest. The objects of just war, are, precaution,
defence, or reparation. In a larger sense, every
~ust war is a defensive war, inasmuch as every
ust war supposes an injury perpetrated, at-
tempted, or feared.
The insufficient causes or unjustifiable mo-
tives of war, are the family alliances, the personal
friendships, or the personal quarrels, of princes ;
the internal disputes which are carried on in other
nations ; the justice of other wars; the extension
of territory, or of trade ; the misfortunes or acci-
dental weakness of a neighbouring or rival nation.
There are two lessons of rational and sober
policy, which, if it were possible to inculcate them
into the councils of princes, would exclude many
of the motives of war, and allay that restless am-
bition which is constantly stirring up one part of
mankind against another.
The first of these lessons admonishes princes
to "place their glory and their emulation, not in
extent of territory, but in raising the greatest
quantity of happiness out of a given territory."
The enlargement of territory by conquest is not
onlynot a justobjectof war, but in the greater part
of the instances in which it is attempted, not even
desirable. It is certainly not desirable where it
adds nothing to the numbers, the enjoyments, or
the security, of the conquerors. What com-
monly is gained to a nation, by the annexing of
new dependencies, or the subjugation of other
countries to its dominion, but a wider frontier to
defend ; more interfering claims to vindicate ;
more quarrels, more enemies, more rebellions, to
encounter ; a greater force to keep up by sea and
land ; more services to provide for, and more
establishments to pay 1 And, in order to draw
from these acquisitions something that may make
up for the charge of keeping them, a revenue is to
be extorted, or a monopoly to be enforced and
watched, at an expense which costs half their
produce. Thus the provinces are oppressed, in
order to pay for being ill-governed ; and the ori-
ginal state is exhausted in maintaining a feeble
authority over discontented subjects. No assign-
able portion of country is benefited by the change ;
and if the sovereign appear to himself to be en-
riched or strengthened, when every part of his
dominion is made poorer and weaker than it was,
it is probable that he is deceived by apppearances.
Or were it true that the grandeur of the prince is
magnified by those exploits ; the glory which is
purchased, and the ambition which is gratified, by
the distress of one country -without adding to the
happiness of another, which at the same time
enslaves the new and impoverishes the ancient
part of the empire, by whatever names it may be
known or flattered, ought to be an object of uni-
versal execration ; and oftentimes not more so to
the vanquished, than to the very people whose
armies or whose treasures have achieved the
victory.
There are, indeed, two cases in which the ex-
tension of territory may be of real advantage, and
to both parties. The first is, where an empire
thereby reaches to the natural boundaries which
divide it from the rest of the world. Thus we ac-
count the British Channel the natural boundary
which separates the nations of England and
France ; and if France possessed any countries on
this, or England any cities or provinces on that,
side of the sea, recovery of such towns and districts
OP WAR, AND OF MILITARY ESTABLISHMENTS.
1C3
to what may be called their natural sovereign,
though it may not be, a just reason for commencing
war, would be a proper use to make of victory.
The other case is, where neighbouring states, being
severally too small and weak to defend themselves
against the dangers that surround them, can only
be safe by a strict and constant junction of their
strength : here conquest will affect the purposes
of confederation and alliance ; and the union which
it produces is often more close and permanent than
that which results from voluntary association.
Thus, if the heptarchy had continued in England,
the different kingdoms of it might have separately
fallen a prey to foreign invasion: and although
the interest and danger of one part of the island
were in truth common to eve ryot her part, it might
have been difficult to have circulated this persua-
sion amongst independent nations, or to have
united them in any regular or steady opposition
to their continental enemies, had not the valour
and fortune of an enterprising prince incorporated
the whole into a single monarchy. Here, the con-
quered gained as much by the revolution, as the
conquerors. In like manner, and for the same
reason, when the two royal families of Spain
were met together in one race of princes, and tin-
several provinces of France had devolved into the
possession of a single sovereign, it became unsafe
for the inhabitants of Great Britain any longer to
remain under separate governments. The union
of England and Scotland, which transformed two
quarrelsome neighbours into one powerful empire,
and which was lirst brought about by the course
of succession, and afterwards completed by amica-
ble convention, would have been a fortunate con-
clusion of hostilities, had it been effected by the
operations of war. These two cases being ad-
mitted, namely, the obtaining of natural bounda-
ries and barriers, and the including under the same
government those who have a common danger
and a common enemy to guard against ; I know
not whether a third can be thought of, in which
the extension of empire by conquest is useful even
to the conquerors.
The second rule of prudence which ought to be
recommended to those who conduct the affairs of
nations, is, " never to pursue national honour as
distinct from national interest." This rule ac-
knowledges that it is often necessary to assert the
honour of a nation for the sake of its interest. The
spirit and courage of a people are supported by
llattering their pride. Concessions which betray
too much of fear or weakness, though they relate
to points of mere ceremony, invite demands and
attacks of more serious importance. Our rule
allows all this ; and only directs that, when points
of honour become subjects of contention between
sovereigns, or are likely to be made the occasion of
war, they be estimated with a reference to utility,
and not by themseltes. " The dignity of his crown,
the honour of his flag, the glory of his arms," in
the mouth of a prince, are stately and imposing
terms ; but the ideas they inspire, are insatiable.
It may be always glorious to conquer, whatever
be the justice of the war, or the price of the vic-
tory. The dignity of a sovereign may not permit
him to recede from claims of homage and respect,
at whatever expense of national peace and happi-
ness they are to be maintained; however unjust
they may have been in their original, or in their
continuance however useless to the possessor, or
mortifying and vexatious to other states. The pur-
suit of honour, when set loose from the admonitions
of prudence, becomes in kings a wild and romantic
passion : eager to engage, and gathering fury in its
progress, it is checked by no difficulties, repelled by
no dangers ; it forgets or despises those considera-
tions ot safety, ease, wealth, and plenty, which, in
the eye of true public wisdom, compose the objects
to which the renown of arms, the fame of victory,
are only instrumental and subordinate. The pur-
suit of interest, on the other hand, is a sober princi-
ple ; computes costs and consequences ; is cautious
of entering into war ; stops in time : when regulated
by those universal maxims of relative justice which
belong to the affairs of communities as well as of
private persons, it is the right principle for nations
to proceed by : even when it trespasses upon these
regulations, it is much less dangerous, because
much more temperate than the oilier.
II. The conduct of war. If the cause and end
of war be justifiable; all the means that appear
necessary to the end, are justifiable also. This
is the principle which defends those extremities
to which the violence of war usually proceeds : for
since war is a contest by force between parties who
acknowledge no common superior, and since it
includes not in its idea the supposition of any con-
vention which should place limits to the opera-
tions of force, it has naturally no boundary but
(hat in which force terminates, the destruction
of the life against which the force is directed. Let
it be observed, however, that the license of war au-
thorises no acts of hostility but wlxat are necessary
or conducive to the end and object of the war.
Gratuitous barbarities borrow no excuse from this
plea : of which kind is every cruelty and every in-
sult that serves only to exasperate the sufferings,
or to incense the hatred, of an enemy, without
weakening his strength, or in any manner tending
to procure his submission ; such as the slaughter
of captives, the subjecting of them to indignities
or torture, the violation of women, the profanation
of temples, the demolition of public buildings,
libraries, statues, and in general the destruction
or defacing of works that conduce nothing to an-
noyance or defence. These enormities are pro-
hibited not only by the practice of civilized nations,
but by the law of nature itself; as having no proper
tendency to accelerate the termination, or accom-
plish the object of the war ; and as containing that
which in peace and war is equally unjustifiable,
ultimate and gratuitous mischief.
There are other restrictions imposed upon the
conduct of war, not by the law of nature primarily,
but by the laws of war, first, and by the law of
nature as seconding and ratifying the laws of war.
The laws of war are part of the law of nations ;
and founded, as to their authority, upon the same
principle with the rest of that code, namely, upon
the fact of then* being established, no matter when
or by whom ; upon the expectation of their being
mutually observed, in consequence of that esta-
blishment; and upon the general utility which
results from such observance. The binding force
of these rules is the greater, because the regard
that is paid to them must be universal or none.
The breach of the rule can only be punished by the
subversion of the rule itself: on which account, the
whole mischief that ensues from the laws of thoso
salutary restrictions which such rules prescribe, is
justly chargeable upon the first aggressor. To
this consideration may be referred the duty of re-
fraining in war from poison and from assassina-
164
MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.
tion. If the law of nature simply l>e consulted,
it may be difficult to distinguish between these
and other methods of destruction, which arc prac-
tised without scruple by nutions at war. If it be
lawful to kill an enemy at all. it serins lawful to
do so by one mode of death as well a.-; !>v another;
by a dose of poison, as by the point of a sword ;
by the hand of an assassin, as by the attack of an
army: for if it be said that one species of assault
leaves to an enemy the power of defending itself
against it, and that the other two does not ; it may
be answered, that we possess at least the same right
to cut off an enemy's defence/that we have to seek
his destruction. In this manner might the ques-
tion be debated, if there existed no rule or law of
war upon the subject. But when we observe that
such practices are at present excluded by the usage
and opinions of civilized nations; that the first re-
course to them would be followed by instant re-
taliation ; that the mutual license which such
attempts must introduce, would fill both sides with
the misery of continual dread and suspicion, with-,
out adding to the strength or" success of either ;
that when the example came to be more generally
imitated, which it soon would be, after the senti-
ment that condemns it had been once broken in
upon, it would greatly aggravate the horrors and
calamities of war, yet procure no superiority to
any of the nations engaged in it"; when we view
these effects, we join in the public reprobation of
such fatal expedients, as of the admission amongst
mankind of new and enormous evils without ne-
cessity or advantage. The law of nature, we see
at length, forbids these innovations, as so many
transgressions of a beneficial general rule actually
subsisting.
The license of war then acknowledges two limi-
tations : it authorises no hostilities which have not
an apparent tendency to effectuate the object of the
war; it respects those positive laws which the
custom of nations hath sanctified, and which
whilst they are mutually conformed to, mitigate
the calamities of war, without weakening its ope-
rations, or diminishing the power or safety of
belligerent states.
Long and various experience seems to have
convinced the nations of Europe, that nothing
but a standing army can oppose a standing army,
where the numbers on each side bear any mode-
rate proportion to one another. The first stand-
ing army that appeared in Europe after the fall of
the Roman legion, was that which was erected in
France, by Charles VII. about the middle of the
fifteenth century : and that the institution hath
since become general, can only be attributed to the
superiority and success which are every where ob-
served to attend it. The truth is, the closeness,
regularity, and quickness, of their movements ; the
unreserved, instantaneous, and almost mechanical,
obedience to orders ; the sense of jx^rsonal honour,
and the familiarity with danger, which In-long to
a disciplined, veteran, and embo'died soldiej} r , give
such firmness and intrepidity to their approach,
such weight and execution to their attack, as are
not to be withstood by loose ranks of occasional nnd
newly-levied troops, who are liable by their inex-
perience to disorder and confusion, and in whom
fear is constantly augmented by novelty and sur-
prise. It is possible that a militia, with a great
excess of numbers, and a ready supply of recruits
may sustain a defensive or a Hying war against
regular troops: it, is also true that any service,
which keeps soldiers for a while together* and
inures them by little and little to the ha bits of war
and the dangers of action, transforms them in ef-
fect into a standing army. But upon this plan it
may be necessary for almost a whole nation to go
out to war to repel an invader; beside that a peo-
ple so unprepared must always have the seat, and
with it the miseries, of war alt home, being utterly
incapable of carry ing their operations into a foreign
country.
From the acknowledged superiority of standing
armies, it follows, not only that it is unsafe* for a
nation to disband its regular troops, whilst neigh-
bouring kingdoms retain theirs; but also that
regular troops provide for the public service at the
least possible expense. I suppose a certain quan-
tity of military strength to be necessary, and 1 say
that a standing army costs the community less
than any other establishment which presents
to an enemy the .same force. The constant
drudgery of low employments is not only incom-
patible with any great degree of perfection or ex-
pertness in the profession of a soldier, but the pro-
fession of a soldier almost always unfits men for
the business of regular occupations. Of three in-
habitants of a village, it is better that one should
addict himself entirely to arms, and the other two
stay constantly at home to cultivate the ground,
than that all three should mix the avocations of a
camp, with the business of husbandry. By the
former arrangement, the country gains one com-
plete soldier, and two Jndustrious husbandmen ;
from the latter it receives three raw militia-men,
who are at the same time three idle and profligate
peasants. It should be considered also, that the
emergencies of war wait not for seasons. Where
there is no standing army ready for immediate
service, it may be necessary to call the reaper from
the fields in harvest, or the ploughman in seed
time ; and the provision of a whole year may
perish by the interruption of one month's labour.
A standing army, therefore, is not only a more
effectual, but a cheaper, method of providing for
the public safety, than any other, because it adds
more than any other to the common strength, and
takes less from that which composes the wealth of
a nation, its stock of productive industry.
There is yet another distinction between stand-
ng armies and militias, which deserves a more at-
tentive consideration than any that has been
mentioned. When the state relies, for its defence,
upon a militia, it is necessary that arms be put
into the hands of the people "at large. The mi-
litia itself must l>e numerous, in proportion to the
want or inferiority of its discipline, and the imbe-
cilities or defects of its constitution. Moreover, as
such a militia must be supplied by rotation, allot-
ment, or some mode of succession whereby they
who have served a certain time are replaced by
fresh drafts from the country ; a much greater
number will be instructed in the use of arms, and
will have been occasionally embodied together,
than are actually employed, or than are supposed
to be wanted, at the same time. Now what
effects upon the civil condition of the country may
be looked for from this general diffusion of the
military character, becomes an inquiry of great
importance and delicacy. To me it appears doubt-
ful whether any government can be long secure,
OF WAR, AND OP MILITARY ESTABLISHMENTS.
165
where the people are acquainted with the use ol
arms, and accustomed to resort to them. Every
faction will find itself at the head of an army
every disgust will excite commotion, and every
commotion become a civil war. Nothing, perhaps,
can govern a nation of armed citizens but that
which governs an army, despotism. I do not
mean tnat a regular government would become
despotic by training up its subjects to the know-
ledge and exercise of arms, but that it would ere
long be forced to give way to despotism in some
other shape ; and that the country would be liable
to what is even worse than a settled and constitu-
tional despotism to perpetual rebellions, and to
perpetual revolutions ; to short and violent usur-
pations ; to the successive tyranny of governors,
rendered cruel and jealous by the danger and in-
stability of their situation.
The same purposes of strength and efficacy
which make a standing army necessary at all,
make it necessary in mixed governments, that
this array be submitted to the management and
direction of the prince : for however wella popular
council may be qualified for the offices of legisla-
tion, it is altogether unfit for the conduct of war :
in which, success usually depends upon vigour
and enterprise ; upon secrecy, dispatch, and una-
nimity ; upon a quick perception of opportunities,
and the power of seizing every opportunity
immediately. It is likewise necessary that the
obedience of an army be as prompt and active as
possible ; for which reason it ought to be made an
obedience of will and emulation. Upon this con-
sideration is founded the expediency of leaving to
the prince not only the government and destina-
tion of the army, but the appointment and pro-
motion of its officers: because a design is tnen
alone likely to be executed with zeal and fidelity
when the person who issues the order, chooses
the instruments, and rewards the service. To
which we may subjoin, that, in governments like
ours, if the direction and officering of the army
were placed in the hands of the democratic part of
the constitution, this power, added to what they
already possess, would so overbalance all that
would be left of regal prerogative, that little would
remain of monarchy in the constitution, but the
name and expense; nor would these probably
remain long.
Whilst we describe, however, the advantages of
standing armies, we must not conceal the danger.
These properties of their constitution, the sol-
diery being separated in a great degree from the
rest of the community, their being closely linked
amongst themselves by habits of society and sub-
ordination, and the dependency of the whole
chain upon the will and favour of the prince,
however essential they may be to the purposes for
which armies are kept up, give them an aspect in
no wise favourable to public liberty. The danger,
lowever, is diminished, by maintaining, on aH
occasions, as much alliance of interest, and as
much intercourse of sentiment, between the mili-
tary part of the nation and the other orders of the
people, as are consistent with the union and dis-
cipline of an army. For which purpose, officers
of the army, upon whose disposition towards the
commonwealth a great deal may depend, should
>e taken from the principal families of the country,
and at the same time also be encouraged to esta-
>lish in it families of their own, as well as be ad-
mitted to seats in the senate, to hereditary distinc-
ions, and to all the civil honours and privileges
hat are compatible with their profession : which
circumstances of connexion and situation will give
them such a share in the general rights of the
)eople, and so engage their inclinations on the
side of public liberty, as to afford a reasonable se-
curity that they cannot be brought, by any promises
of personal aggrandizement, to assist, in the exe-
cution of measures which might enslave their
posterity, their kindred, and their country.
HORJE PAULINA:
OR,
THE TRUTH
OF
THE SCRIPTURE HISTORY OF ST. PAUL EVINCED.
TO THE RIGHT REVEREND JOHN LAW, D. D.
LORD BISHOP OF KILLALA AND ACHONRY,
As a testimony of esteem for his virtues and learning, and of gratitude for the long and
faithful friendship with which the Author has been honoured by him, this attempt to confirm the
Evidence of the Christian History is inscribed, by his affectionate and most obliged Servant,
W. PALEY.
CHAPTER I.
Exposition of the Argument.
volume of Christian Scriptures contains
thirteen letters purporting to be written by St.
Paul : it contains also a book, which, amongst
other things, professes to deliver the history, or ra-
ther memoirs of the history, of this same person.
By assuming the genuineness of the letters, we
may prove the substantial truth of the history : or,
by assuming the truth of the history, we may ar-
gue strongly in support of the genuineness of the
letters. But I assume neither one nor the other.
The reader is at liberty to suppose these writings
to have been lately discovered in the library of the
Escurial, and to come to our hands destitute of any
extrinsic or collateral evidence whatever ; and the
argument I am about to offer is calculated to show,
that a comparison of the different writings would,
even under these circumstances, afford good rea-
son to believe the persons and transactions to have
been real, the letters authentic, and the narration
in the main to be true.
Agreement or conformity between letters bear-
ing the name of an ancient author, and a received
history of that author's life, does not necessarily
establish the credit of either; because,
1. The history may, like Middleton's Life of
Cicero, or Jortin's Life of Erasmus, have been
wholly, or in part, compiled from the letters ; in
which case it is manifest that the history adds no-
thing to the evidence already afforded by the let-
ters; or,
2. The letters may have been fabricated out of
the history ; a species of imposture which is cer-
tainly practicable; and which, without any acces-
sion of proof or authority, would necessarily pro-
duce the appearance of consistency and agree-
ment j or,
3. The history and letters may have been
founded upon some authority common to both ; as
upon reports and traditions which prevailed in the
age in which they were composed, or upon some
ancient record now lost, which both writers con-
sulted; in which case also, the letters, without
being genuine, may exhibit marks of conformity
with the history ; and the history, without being
true, may agree with the letters.
Agreement, therefore, or conformity, is only to
be relied upon so far as we can exclude these
several suppositions. Now the point to be noticed
is, that in the three cases above enumerated, con-
formity must be the effect of design. Where the
history is compiled from the letters, which is the
first case, the design and composition of the work
are in general so confessed, or made so evident by
comparison, as to leave us in no danger of con-
founding the production with original history, or
of mistaking it for an independent authority. The
agreement, it is probable, will be close and uniform,
and will easily be perceived to result from the in-
tention of the author, and from the plan and con-
duct of his work. Where the letters are fabri-
cated from the history, which is the second case,
it is always for the purpose of imposing a forgery
upon the public ; and in order to give colour and
probability to the fraud, names, places, and cir-
cumstances, found in the hwtory, may be stu-
diously introduced into the letters, as well as a gen-
eral consistency be endeavoured to be maintained.
But here it is manifest that whatever congruity
appears, is the consequence of meditation, artifice,
and design. The third case is that wherein the
history and the letters, without any direct privity
or communication with each other, derive their
materials from the same source ; and, by reason
of their common original, furnish instances of ac-
cordance and correspondency. This is a situation
166
EXPOSITION OP THE ARGUMENT.
107
hi which we must allow it to be possible for
ancient writings to be placed ; and it is a situation
in which it is more difficult to distinguish spu-
rious from genuine writings, than in either of the
cases described in the preceding suppositions ;
inasmuch as the congruities observable are so far
accidental, as that they are not produced by the
immediate transplanting of names and circum-
stances out of one writing into the other. But
although, with respect to each other, the agree-
ment in these writings be mediate and secondary,
yet it is not properly or absolutely undesigned:
because, with respect to the common original
from which the information of the writers proceeds,
it is studied and factitious. The case of which we
treat must, as to the letters, be a case of forgery :
and when the writer who is personating another,
sits down to his composition whether he have
the history with which we now compare the letters,
or some other record before him ; or whether he
have only loose tradition and reports to go by he
must adapt his imposture, as well as he can, to
what he finds in these accounts ; and his adaptations
will be the result of counsel, scheme, and industry :
art must be employed ; and vestiges will appear of
management and design. Add to this, that, in
most of the following examples, the circumstances
in which the coincidence is remarked, are of too
particular and domestic a nature, to have floated
down upon the stream of general tradition.
Of the three cases which- we have stated, the
difference between the first and the two others is,
that in the first the design may be fair and honest,
in the others it must be accompanied with the
consciousness of fraud ; but in all there is design.
In examining, therefore, the agreement between
ancient writings, the character of truth and ori-
ginality is undesignedness : and this test applies
to every supposition ; for, whether we suppose the
history to be true, but the letters spurious ; or, the
letters to be genuine, but the history false ; or,
lastly, falsehood to belong to both the history to
be a fable, and the letters fictitious : the same in-
ference will result that either there will be no
agreement between them, or the agreement will
be the effect of design. Nor will it elude the
principle of this rule, to suppose the same person
to have been the author of all the letters, or even
the author both of the letters and the history; for
no less design is necessary to produce coincidence
between different parts of a man's own writings,
especially when they are made to take the differ-
ent forms of a history and of original letters, than
to adjust them to the circumstances found in any
other writing.
With respect to those writings of the New
Testament which are to be the subject of our
present consideration, I think, that, as to the au-
thenticity of the epistles, this argument, where it
is sufficiently sustained by instances, is nearly
conclusive ; for I cannot assign a supposition of
forgery, in which coincidences of the kind we
inquire after are likely to appear. As to the
history, it extends to these points : It proves the
general reality of the circumstances : it proves the
historian's knowledge of these circumstances. In
the present instance it confirms his pretensions of
having been a contemporary, and in the latter part
of his history, a companion, of St. Paul. In a
word, it establishes the substantial truth of the
narration; and substantial truth is that, which,
in every historical inquiry, ought to be the first
thing sought after and ascertained: it must be the
groundwork of every other observation.
The reader then will please to remember this
word undesignedness, as denoting that upon
which the construction and validity of our argu-
ment chiefly depend.
As to the proofs of undesignedness, I shall in
this place say little ; for I had rather the reader's
persuasion should arise from the instances them-
selves, and the separate remarks with which they
may be accompanied, than from any previous for-
mulary or description of argument. In a great
plurality of examples, I trust he will be perfectly
convinced that no design or contrivance whatever
has been eAfrcisstd . and if some of the coincidences
alleged appear to be minute, circuitous, or oblique,
let him reflect that this very indirectness and sub-
tility is that which gives force and propriety to
the example. BroaJ, obvious, and explicit agree-
ments prove little ; because it may be suggested
that the insertion of such is the ordinary expe-
dient of every forgery : and though they may occur,
and probably will occur in genuine writings, yet
it cannot be proved that they are peculiar to these.
Thus what St. Paul declares in chap. xi. of 1 Cor.
concerning the institution of the eueharist " For
I have received of the Lord that which I also de-
livered unto you, that the Low! Jesus, the same
night in which lie was betrayed, took bread ; and
when he had given thanks he brake it, and said,
Take, eat ; this is my body, which is broken for
you ; this do in remembrance of me" though it
be in close and verbal conformity with the account
of the same transaction preserved by St. Luke, is
yet a conformity of whim no use can be made in
our argument ; for if it should be objected' that this
was a mere recital from the gospel, borrowed by
the author of the epistle, for the purpose of setting
off his composition by an appearance of agreement
with the received account of the Lord's supper, I
should not know how to repel the insinuation. In
like manner, the description which St. Paul gives
of himself in his epistle to the Philippians (in. 5.)
" Circumcised the eighth day, of the stock of
Israel, of the tribe of Benjamin, an Hebrew of
the Hebrews ; as touching the law, a Pharisee ;
concerning zeal, persecuting the Church ; touch-
ing the righteousness which is in the law, blame-
less" is made up of particulars so plainly de-
livered concerning him, in the Acts of the Apos-
tles, the Epistle to the Romans, and the Epistle to
the Galatians, that I cannot deny but that it
would be easy for an impostor, who was fabrica-
ting a letter in the name of St. Paul, to collect
these articles into one view. This, therefore, is a
conformity which we do not adduce. But when,
I read in the Acts of the Apostles, that when
" Paul came to Derbe and Lystra, behold a certain
disciple was there, named Timotheus, the son of
a certain woman which was a Jewess;" and when,
in an epistle addressed to Timothy, I find him re-
minded of his " having known the Holy Scrip-
tures from a child;" which implies that he must,
on one side or both, have been brought up by
Jewish parents : I conceive that I remark a coin-
cidence which shows, by its very obliquity, that
scheme was not employed in its formation. In
like manner, if a coincidence depend upon a com-
parison of dates, or rather of circumstances from
which the dates are gathered the more intricate
that comparison shall be ; the more numerous the
intermediate steps through which the conclusion
168
HOIU2 PAULINA,
is deduced ; in a word, the more circuitous the in
vestigation is, the better, because the agreemen
which finally results is thereby farther removet
from the suspicion of contrivance, affectation, or
design. And it should be remembered, concern-
ing these coincidences, that it is one thing to be
minute, and another to be precarious ; one thing
to be unobserved, and another to he obscure ; one
thing to be circuitous or oblique, and another to
be forced, dubious, or fanciful. And this distinc-
tion ought always to be retained in our thoughts.
The very particularity of St. Paul's epistles ;
the perpetual recurrence of names of persons and
places ; the frequent allusions to the incidents of
his private life, and the circumstances of his con-
dition and history ; and the connexion and paral-
lelism of these with the same circumstances in
the Acts of the Apostles, so as to enable us, for
the most part, to confront them one with another ;
as well as the relation which subsists between the
circumstances, as mentioned or referred to in the
different Epistles afford no inconsiderable proof
of the genuiness of the writings, and the reality of
the transactions. For as no advertency is suf-
ficient to guard against slips and contradictions,
when circumstances are multiplied, and when
they are liable to be detected by contemporary
accounts equally circumstantial, an impostor, I
should expect, would either have avoided particu-
lars entirely, contenting himself with doctrinal
discussions, moral precepts, and general reflec-
tions ; * or if, for the sake of imitating St. Paul's
style, he should have thought it necessary to inter-
sperse his composition with names and circum-
stances, he would have placed them out of the
reach of comparison with the history. And I am
confirmed in this opinion by the inspection of two
attempts to counterfeit St. Paul's epistles, which
have come down to us^ and the only attempts of
which we have any knowledge, that are at all de-
serving of regard. One of these is an epistle to
the Laodiceans, extant in Latin, and preserved
by Fabricius, in his collection of apocryphal scrip-
tures. The other purports to be an epistle of St.
Paul to the Corinthians, in answer to an epistle
from the Corinthians to him. This was trans-
lated by Scroderus from a copy in the Arminian
language which had been sent to W. Whiston,
and was afterwards, from a more perfect copy
procured at Aleppo, published by his sons, as an
appendix to their edition of Moses Chorenensis. No
Greek copy exists of either : they are not only not
supported by ancient testimony, but they are nega-
tived and excluded ; as they have never found ad-
mission into any catalogue of apostolical writings,
acknowledged by, or known to, the early ages of
Christianity. In the first of these I found, as I
expected, a total evitation of circumstances. It is
* This, however, must not be misunderstood. A
person writing to bis friends, and upon a subject in
which the transactions of his own life were concerned,
would probably be led, in the course of his letter, espe-
cially if it was a long one, to refer to passages found in
his history. A person addressing an epistle to the pub-
lic at large, or under the form of an epistle delivering a
discourse upon some speculative argument, would not,
it is probable, meet with an occasion of alluding to the
circumstances of his life at all ; he might, or he might
not ; the chance on either side is nearly equal. This is
the situation of the catholic epistle. Although, there-
fore, the presence of these allusions and agreements be
a valuable accession to the arguments by which the
authenticity of a letter is maintained, yet the want of
them certainly forms no positive objection.
simply a collection of sentences from the canon-
ical epistles, strung together with very little skill.
The second, wliich is a more versute and specious
forgery, is introduced with a list of names of per-
sons who wrote to St. Paul from Corinth ; and is
preceded by an account sufficiently particular of
the manner in which the epistle was sent from
Corinth to St. Paul, and the answer returned.
But they are names which no one ever heard of;
and the account it is impossible to combine with
any thing found in the Acts, or in the other epis-
tles. It is not necessary for me to point out the
internal marks of spuriousness and imposture
which these compositions betray ; but it was ne-
cessary to observe, that they do not afford those
coincidences which we propose as proofs of authen-
ticity in the episllos which we defend.
Having explained the general scheme and form-
ation of the argument, 1 may be permitted to sub-
join a brief account of the manner of conducting it.
I have disposed the several instances of agree-
ment under separate numbers : as well to mark
more sensibly the divisions of the subject, as for
another purpose, viz : that the reader may thereby
be reminded that the instances are independent of
one another. I have advanced nothing which I did
not think probable ; but the degree of probability
by which different instances are supported, is un-
doubtedly very different. If the reader, therefore,
meets with a number which contains an instance
that appears to him unsatisfactory, or founded
in mistake, he will dismiss that number from
the argument, but without prejudice to any other.
He will have occasion also to observe that the co-
incidences discoverable in some epistles are much
fewer and weaker than what are supplied by-
others. But he will add to his observation this
important circumstance that whatever ascertains
the original of one epistle, in some measure esta-
blishes the authority of the rest. For, whether
these epistles be genuine or spurious, every thing
about them indicates that they come from the
same hand. The diction, which it is extremely
difficult to imitate, preserves its resemblance and
peculiarity throughout all the epistles. Numer-
ous expressions and singularities of style, found in
no other part of the New Testament, are repeated
in different epistles ; and occur in their respective
places, without the smallest appearance of force or
art. An involved argumentation, frequent obscu-
rities, especially in the order and transition of
thought, piety, vehemence, affection, bursts of
rapture, and of unparalleled sublimity, are pro-
perties, all or most of them, discernible in every
letter of the collection. But although these epis-
tles bear strong marks of proceeding from the same
hand, I think it is still more certain that they were
originally separate publications. They form no
continued story ; they compose no regular corres-
pondence ; they comprise not the transactions of
any particular period ; tliey carry on no connexion
of argument ; they depend not upon one another ;
except in one or two instances, they refer not
to one another. I will farther undertake to say,
that no study or care- has been employed to
produce or preserve an appearance of consistency
amongst them. All which observations show that
they were not intended by the person, whoever
he was, that wrote them, to come forth or be read
together : that they appeared at first separately,
and have been collected since.
The proper purpose of the following work is to
EPISTLE TO THE ROMANS.
1G9
bring together, from the Acts of the Apostles, am
from the different epistles, such passages as fur-
nish examples of undesigned coincidence ; but 1
have so far enlarged upon this plan, as to take
into it some circumstances found in the epistles,
which contributed strength to the conclusion
though not strictly objects of comparison.
It appeared also a part of the same plan, to
examine the difficulties which presented them-
selves in the course of our inquiry.
I do not know that the subject has been pro-
posed or considered in this view before. Ludovi-
cus, CajK-llus, Bishop Pearson, Dr. Benson, and
Dr. Lardner, have each given a continued history
of St. Paul's life, made up from the Acts of the
Apostles and the Kpistles joined together. But
this, it is manifest, is a different undertaking
from the present, and directed to a dillerent pur-
pose.
If what is here offered shall add one thread to
that complication of probabilities by which the
Christian history is attested, the reader's atten-
tion will be repaid by the supreme imjK>rtance
of the subject ; and iny design will be fully an-
swered.
CH
The Epist
THE first passage I
epistle, and ujwn which a good
will be founded, is the following:
"But now I go unto Jerusalem, to minister
unto the saints; for it hath pleased them of
Macedonia and Achaia. to make a certain contri-
bution for the poor saints which are at Jerusa-
lem." Rom. xv. iJ5. -JtJ.
In this quotation three distinct circumstances
are stated a contribution in Macedonia for the
relief of the Christians of Jerusalem, a contribu-
tion in Achaia for the same purpose, and an in-
tended journey of St. Paul to Jerusalem. These
circumstances are stated as taking place at the
same time, and that to be the time when the epis-
tle was written. Now let us inquire whether we
can find these circumstances elsewhere, and whe-
ther, if we do find them, they meet together in
respect of date. Turn to the Acts of the Apos-
tles, chap. xx. ver. 2, 3, and you read the follow-
ing account: "When he had gone over those
parts, (viz. Macedonia,) and had given them
much exhortation, he came into Greece, and
there abode three months; and when the Jews
laid wait for him, as he yeas about to sail into Sy-
ria, he proposed to return through Macedonia."
From this passage, compared with the account of
St. Paul's travels given before, and from the se-
quel of the chapter, it appears that upon St. Paul's
second visit to the peninsula of Greece, his inten-
tion was, when he should leave the country, to
proceed from Achaia directly by sea to Syria;
but that to avoid the Jews, who were lying in
wait to intercept him in his route, he so far
changed his purpose as to go back through Mace-
donia, embark at Philippi, and pursue his voyage
from thence towards Jerusalem. Here, therefore,
is a journey to Jerusalem ; but not a syllable of
any contribution. And as St. Paul had taken
several journeys to Jerusalem before, and one also
immediately after lusjirst visit into the peninsula
of Greece, (Acts xviii, 21,) it cannot from hence
be collected in which of these visits the epistle
was written, or with certainty, that it was written
in either. The silence of the historian, who pro-
fesses to have been with St. Paul at the tune,
(c. xx. v. 6,) concerning any contribution, might
lead us to look out for some different journey, or
might induce us, perhaps, to question Ihe con-
sistency of the two records, did not a very acci-
dental" reference, in another part' of the same
history, afford us sufficient ground to believe that
tins silence was omission. When St. Paul made
his reply before Felix, to the accusations of Ter-
tullus, he alleged, as was natural, that neither
the errand which brought him to Jerusalem, nor
his conduct whilst he remained there, merited the
calumnies with which the Jews had aspersed
him. " Now alter many years (i. e. of absence,)
I came to bring alms to my nation, and offer-
ings ; whereupon certain Jews from Asia found
me purified in the temple, neither with multitude,
nor with tumult, who ought to have been here
before thee, and object, if they had aught against
me." Acts xxiv. 17 19. This mention of alms
offerings certainly brings the narrative in the
tr to an accordancy with the epistle ; yet
I am persuaded, will suspect that this
was put into St. Paul's defence, either to
the omission in the preceding narrative, or
y view to such accordancy.
all, nothing is yet said or hinted, con-
ing the place of the contribution; nothing
concerning Macedonia and Achaia. Turn there-
to the First Epistle to the Corinthians,
chap. xvi. ver. 1 4, and you have St. Paul de-
iverinu the following directions : " Concerning
the collection for the saints, as I have given or-
ders to the churches of Galatia, even so do ye:
upon the first day of the week let every one of
you lay by him in store as God hath prospered
dim, that there be no gatherings when I come.
And when I come, whomsoever you shall approve
ly your letters, them will I send to bring your
iberality unto Jerusalem ; and if it be meet, that
[ go also, they shall go with me." In this pas-
sage we find a contribution carrying on at Co-
rinth, the capital of Achaia, for the Christians of
Ferusalem ; we find also a hint given of the pos-
sibility of St. Paul going up to Jerusalem him-
self, after he had paid his visit into Achaia : but
his is spoken of rather as a possibility than as
my settled intention ; for his first thought was,
' Whomsoever you shall approve by your letters,
hem will I send to bring your liberality to Jeru-
salem :" and irt the sixth verse he adds, "that ye
may bring me on my journey whithersoever I
go. This epistle purports to be written after St.
'aul had been at Corinth : for it refers through-
)ut to what he had done and said amongst them
whilst he was there. The expression, therefore,
when I come," must relate to a second visit;
gainst which visit the contribution spoken of was
lesired to be in readiness.
But though the contribution in Achaia be ex-
>ressly mentioned, nothing is here said concern-
ng any contribution in Macedonia. Turn, there-
ore, in the third place, to the Second Epistle to
he Corinthians, chap. viii. wr. 1 4, and you
vill discover the particular which remains to be
ought for: "Moreover, brethren, we do you to
15
170
HOR^E PAULINA.
wit of the grace of God bestowed on the churches
of Macedonia ; how that, in a great trial of af-
fliction, the abundance of their joy and their deep
poverty abounded unto the riches of their libera-
lity: for to their power, I bear record, yea ant
beyond their power, they were willing of them-
selves : praying us with muoh entreaty, that we
would receive the gift, and take upon us the fel-
lowship of the ministering to the saints." To
wliich add, chap. ix. ver. 2 : " I know the forward-
ness of your mind, for which I boast of you to
thtai of Macedonia, that Achaia was ready a
year ago." In this epistle we find St. Paul ad-
vancedT as far as Macedonia, upon that second
visit to Corinth wluch he promised in his former
epistle ; we find also, in the passages now quoted
from it, that a contribution was going on in Ma-
cedonia at the same tune with, or soon however
following, the contribution which was made in
Achaia ; but for whom the contribution was made
does not appear in this epistle at all: that in-
formation must be supplied from the first epistle.
Here, therefore, at length, but fetched from
three different writings, we have obtained the
several circumstances we inquired after, and
which the Epistle to the Romans brings to-
gether, viz. a contribution in Achiaia for the
Christians of Jerusalem ; a contribution in Ma-
cedonia for the same ; and an approaching jour-
ney of St. Paul to Jerusalem. We have these
circumstances each by some hint in the pas-
sage in which it is mentioned, or by the date of
the writing in which the passage occurs fixed
to a particular time; and we have that time turn-
ing out upon examination to be in all the same :
namely towards the close of St. Paul's second
visit to the peninsula of Greece. This is an in-
stance of conformity beyond the possibility, I will
venture to say,' of random writing to produce. I
also assert, that it is in the highest degree im-
probable^ that it should have been the effect of
contrivance and design. The imputation of de-
sign amounts to this : tliat the forger of the Epis-
tle to the Romans inserted in- it the passage upon
which our observations are founded, for the pur-
pose of giving colour to his forgery by the ap-
pearance of conformity with other writings which
were then extant. I reply, in the first place, that,
if he did this to countenance his forgery, he did it
for the pu.. x>se of an argument which would not
strike one reader in ten thousand. Coincidences
so circuitous as this, answer not the ends of for-
gery ; are seldom, I believe, attempted by it. In
the second place, I observe, that he must have
had the Acts of the Apostles, and the two epis-
tles to the Corinthians, before him at the time.
In the Acts of the Apostles I mean that part of
the Acts which relate to this period,) he would
have found the journey to Jerusalem ; but nothing
about the contribution. In the First Epistle to the
Corinthians he would have found a contribution
going on in Achaia for the Christians of Jerusa-
lem, and a distant hint of the possibility of the
journey ; but nothing concerning a contribution
in Macedonia. In the Second Epistle to the Co-
rinthians he would have found a contribution in
Macedonia accompanying that in Achaia ; but no
intimation for whom either was intended, and not
a word about the journey. It was only by a close
and attentive collation of l the three writings, that
he could have picked out the circumstances which
he has united in his epistle ; and by a still more
nice examination, that he could have determined
them to belong to the same period. In the third
place, I remark, what diminishes very much the
suspicion of fraud, how aptly and connectedly the
mention of the circumstance's in question, viz. the
journey to Jerusalem, and of the occasion of that
journey, arises from the context, " Whensoever
I take my journey into Spain, I will come to you;
for I trust to see you in my journey, and to be
brought on my way thitherward by you, if first I
be somewhat filled with your company. But now
I go unto Jerusalem, to minister unto the saints ;
for it hath, pleased them of Macedonia and
Achaia to make a certain contribution for the
poor saints which are at Jerusalem. It hath
pleased them verily, and their debtors they are ;
for if the Gentiles have been made partakers of
their spiritual things, their duty is also to minis-
ter unto them in carnal things. When therefore
I have performed this, and have sealed them to
this fruit, I will come by you into Spain." Is
the passage in Italics like a passage foisted in for
an extraneous purpose 1 Does it not arise from
what goes before, by a junction as easy as any
example of writing upon real business can fur-
nish'? Could any thing be more natural than
that ^ St. Paul, in writing to the Romans, should
peak of the time when he hoped to visit them ;
hould mention the business which then detained
liim ; and that he purposed to set forwards upon
his journey to them when that business was com-
pleted'?
No. II. t
By means of the quotation which formed the
subject of the preceding number, we collect that
the Epistle to the Romans was written at the
conclusion of St. Paul's second visit to the penin-
sula of Greece ; but this we collect, not from the
epistle itself, nor from any thing declared con-
cerning the time and place in any part of the
epistle, but from a comparison of circumstances
referred to in the epistle, with the order of events
recorded in the Acts, and with references to the
same circumstances, though for quite different
purposes, in the two epistles to the Corinthians.
Now would the author of a forgery, who sought
to gain credit to a spurious letter by congruities,
depending upon the time and place in which the
etter was supposed to be written, have left that
ime and place to be made out, in a manner so
obscure and indirect as this is 1 If therefore coin-
cidences of circumstances can be pointed out in
;his epistle, depending upon its dato,.or the place
where it was written, whilst that date and place
are only ascertained by other circumstances, such
coincidences may fairly be stated as undesigned.
Under this head I adduce
Chap. xvi. 2123: " Timotheus, my work-
iellow, and Lucius, and Jason, and Sosipater, my
cinsmen, salute you. I, Tertius, who wrote this
epistle, salute you in the Lord. Gains, mine host,
and of the whole church, saluteth you; and
duartus, a brother." With this passage I com-
3are, Acts xx. 4 : " And there accompanied him
nto Asia, Sopater of Berea ; and, of the Thessa-
onians, Aristarchus and Secundus; and Gaius
of Derbe, and Timotheus; and, of Asia, Tychicus
and Trophimus." The Epistle to the Romans,
we have seen, was written just before St. Paul's
departure from Greece, after his second visit to
that peninsula: the persons mentioned in the
EPISTLE TO THE ROMANS.
171
quotation from the Acts are those who accom-
panied him in that departure. Of seven whose
names are joined in the salutation of the church
of Rome, three, viz. Sosipater, Gains, and Timo-
thy, are proved, by this passage in the Acts, to
have been with St. Paul at the time. And this is
perhaps as much coincidence as could be exported.
from reality, though less, I am apt to think, than
would have been produced by design. Four are
mentioned in the Acts who arc not joined in the
salutation ; and it is in the nature of the case
probable that there should be many attending St.
Paul in Greece, who knew nothing of the con-
verts at Rome, nor were known by them. In like
manner, several are joined in the salutation who
are not mentioned in the passage referred to in
the Acts. This also was to be expected. The
occasion of mentioning them in the Acts was
their proceeding with St. Paul upon his journey.
But we may !>< sure that then 1 were man\ 'eminent
Christians with St. Paul in Greece, besides those
who accompanied him into Asia.*
But if any one shall still contend that a forger
of the epistle, with the Acts of the Ajxjstles before
him, and having settled this scheme of writing a
letter as from St. Paul, upon his second visit into
Greece, would easily think of the expedient of
putting in the names of those persons who ap-
peared to be with St. P;ml at the time as an ob-
vious recommendation of the imposture: I then
repeat my observations ; first, that he would have
made the catalogue more complete : and, secondly,
that with this contrivance in las thoughts, it was
certainly his business, in order to avail himself of
the artiiice, to have stated in the body of the epis-
tle, that Paul was in Greece when he wrote it,
and that he was there upon his second visit.
Neither of which he has done, either directlv, or
even so as to be discoverable by any circumstance
found in the narrative delivered in the Acts.
Under the same head, viz. of coincidences de-
pending upon date, I cite from the epistle the fol-
lowing salutation: "Greet Priscilla and Aquila,
my helpers in Jesus Christ, who have for my lile
laid down their own necks ; unto whom not only
I irivf thanks, but also all the churches of the
Gentiles." Chap. XVR 3. It appears, from the
Acts of the Apostles, that Priscilla and Aquila
had originally been in habitants of Rome; for we
read, Acts xviii. 2, that " Paul found a certain
Jew, named Aquila, lately come from Italy with
* Of these Jason is one, whose presence upon this oc-
casion is very naturally accounted for. Jason was an
inhabitant of Thessalonica in Macedonia, and enter-
tained St. Paul in his house upon his first visit to that
country. Acts xvii. 7. St. Paul, upon this his second
visit, passed through Macedonia on his way to Greece,
and, from the situation of Thessalonica, most likely
through that city. It appears, from various instances
in the Acts, to have been the practice of many converts,
to attend St. Paul from place to place. It is therefore
highly probable, I mean that it is highly consistent, with
the account in the history, that Jason.'accordin-r to that
account a zealous disciple, the inhabitant of a city at
no great distance from Greece, and through which" as
t should seem, St. Paul had lately passed, should have
accompanied St. Paul into Greece, and have Ix^n with
him there at this time. Lncius is another name in the
epistle. A very slight alteration would convert AOUK.OJ
mto AMtMf, Lucius into Luke, which would produce
an additional coincidence : for, if Luke was the author
of the history, he was with St. Paul at the time ; in-
asmuch as, describing the voyage which took place soon
after the writing of this epistle, the historian uses the
first person" We sailed away from Philippi." Acts xx. 6.
his wife Priscilla, because that Claudius had
commanded all Jews to depart from Rome}'
They were connected, therefore, with the place
to which the salutations are sent. That is one
coincidence; another is the following: St. Paul
became acquainted with these persons at Corinth
during his first return into Greece. They accom-
panied him upon his visit into Asia ; were settled
for some time at Ephesus, Acts xviii. 19 26,
and appear to have been with St. Paul when he
wrote from that place his First Epistle to the
Corinthians, 1 Cor. xvi. 19. Not long after the
writing of which epistle St. Paul went from
Ephesus into Macedonia, and, "after he had
gone over those parts," proceeded from thence
upon his second visit into Greece ; during which
visit, or rather at the conclusion of it, the Epistle
to the Romans, as hath been shown, was written.
We have therefore the time of St. Paul's residence
at Ephesus- alter he had written to the Corin-
thians, the time taken up by his progress through
Macedonia, ("which is indefinite, and was probably
considerable,) and his three months' abode in
Greece ; wo have the sum of those three periods
allowed for Aquila and Priscilla going back to
Rome, so as to be there when- the epistle before
us was written. Now what this quotation leads
us to observe is, the danger of scattering names
and circumstances in writings like the present,
how implicated they often are with dates and
places, and that nothing but truth can preserve
consistency. Had the notes of time in the Epistle
to the Romans fixed the writing of it to any date
prior to St. Paul's first residence at Corinth, the
salutation of Aquila and Priscilla would have
contradicted the history, because it would have
I>een prior to his acquaintance with these persons.
If the notes of time had fixed it to any period
during that residence at Corinth, during his jour-
ney to Jerusalem when he first returned out of
Greece, during his stay at Antioch, whither he
went down to Jerusalem, or during his second
progress through the Lesser Asia, upon which he
proceeded from Antioch, an equal contradiction
would have been incurred; because from Acts
xviii. 218, 1926, it appears that during all
this time Aquila and Priscilla were either along
with St. Paul, or were abiding at Ephesus. Lastly,
had the notes of time in this epistle, which we
h;i'.e seen to be perfectly incidental, compared
with the notes of time in the First Epistle to the
Corinthians, which are equally incidental, fixed
this epistle to be either contemporary with that,
or prior to it, a similar contradiction would have
ensued ; because, first, when the Epistle to the
Corinthians was written, Aquila and Priscilla
were along with St. Paul, as they joined in the
salutation of that church, 1 Cor. xvi. 19; and
because, secondly, the history does not allow us to
suppose, that between the time of their becoming
acquainted with St. Paul and the time of St.
Paul's writing to the Corinthians, Aquila and
Priscilla could have gone to Rome, so as to have
been saluted in an epistle to that city ; and then
come back to St. Paul at Ephesus, so as to be
joined with him in saluting the church of Corinth.
As it is, all things are consistent. The Epistle to
the Romans is posterior even to the Second Epis-
tle to the Corinthians; because it speaks of a con-
tribution in Achaia being completed, which the
Second Epistle to the Corinthians, chap, viii, is
only soliciting. It is sufficiently therefore posterior
172
HOR^l PAULINA.
to the First Epistle to the Corinthians, to allow
time in the interval for Aquila and Priscilla's re-
turn from Ephesus to Rome.
Before we dismiss these, two persons, we may
take notice of the terms of commendation in which
St. Paul describes them, and of the agreement of
that encomium with the history. " My helpers
in Christ Jesus, who have for my life laid down
their necks; unto whom not only I give thanks,
but also all the churches of the Gentiles." In the
eighteenth chapter of the Acts, we are informed
that Aquila and Priscilla were Jews; that St.
Paul first met with them at Corinth; that for
some time he abode in the same house with them ;
that St. Paul's contention at Corinth was with
the unbelieving Jews, who at first " opposed and
blasphemed, and afterwards with one accord raised
an insurrection against him;" that Aquila and
Priscilla adhered, we may conclude, to St. Paul
throughout this whole contest ; for, when he left
the city, they went with him, Acts xviii. 18. Un-
der these circumstances, it is highly probable- that
they should be involved in the dangers and per-
secutions which St. Paul underwent from the
Jews, being themselves Jews ; and, by adhering to
St. Paul in this dispute, deserters, as they would
be accounted, of the Jewish cause. Farther, as
they, though Jews, were assisting to St. Paul in
preaching to the Gentiles at Corinth, they had
taken a decided part in the great controversy of
that day, the admission of the Gentiles to a
parity of religious situation with the Jews. For
this conduct alone, if there was no other reason,
they may seem to have been entitled to " thanks
from the churches of the Gentiles." They were
Jews taking part with Gentiles. Yet is all this
so indirectly intimated, or rather so much of it left
to inference, in the account given in the Acts,
that I do not think it probable that a forger either
could or would have drawn his representation
from thence ; and still less probable do I think it,
that, without having seen the Acts, he could, by
mere accident and without truth for his guide,
have delivered a representation so conformable to
the circumstances there recorded.
The two congruities last adduced, depended
upon the time, the two following regard the place,
of the epistle.
1. Chap. xyi. 23. "Erastus,' the chamberlain
of the city, saluteth you" of what city 1 We have
seen, that is, we have inferred from circumstances
found in the epistle, compared with circumstances
found in the Acts of the Apostles, and in the two
epistles to the Corinthians, that our epistle was
written during St. Paul's second visit to the
peninsula of Greece. Again, as St. Paul, in his
epistle to the church of Corinth, 1 Cor. xvi. 3,
speaks of a collection going on in that city, and of
his desire that it might be ready against he came
thither ; and as in this epistle he speaks of that
collection being ready, it follows that the epistle
was written either whilst he was at Corinth, or
after he had been there. Thirdly, since St. Paul
speaks in this epistle of his journey to Jerusalem,
as about instantly to take place ; and as we learn,
Acts xx. 3, that his design and attempt was to
sail upon that journey immediately from Greece,
properly so called, i. e. as distinguished from
Macedonia ; it is probable that he was in this
country when he wrote the epistle, in which he
speaks of himself as upon the eve of setting out.
If in Greece, he was most likely at Corinth ; for
the two Epistles to the Corinthians show that the
principal end of his coming into Greece, was to
visit that city, where he hud founded a church.
Certainly we know no place in Greece in which
his presence was so probable ; at least, the placing
of him at Corinth satisfies every circumstance.
Now that Erastus was an inhabitant of Corinth,
or had some connexion with Corinth, in rendered
a fair subject of presumption, by that which is ac-
cidentally said of him in the Second Epistle to
Timothy, chap. iii. 20. " Erastus ahode at Co-
rinth." St. Paul complains of his solitude, and
is telling Timothy what was become of his com-
panions: "Erastus abode at Corinth; but Tro-
phimus have I left at Miletum sick." Erastus was
one of those who had attended St. Paid in his
travels, Acts xix. 22: and when those travels
had. upon some occasion, brought our apostle and
his train to Corinth, Erastus staid there, for no
reason so probable, as that it was his home. I
allow that this coincidence, is not so precise as
some others, yet I think it too clear to be pro-
duced by accident : for, of the many places, which
this same epistle has assigned to different persons,
and the innumerable others which it might have
mentioned, how came it to fix upon Corinth for
Erastus 1 And, as far as it is a coincidence, it is
certainly undesigned on the part of the author of the
Epistle to the Romans : because he has not told
us of what city Erastus was the chamberlain ; or,
which is the same thing, from what city the epistle
was written, the setting forth of which was ab-
solutely necessary to the display of the coinci-
dence, if any such display had been thought of :
nor could the author of the Epistle to Timothy
leave Erastus at Corinth, from any thing he might
have read in the Epistle to the Romans, because
Corinth is nowhere in that epistle mentioned
either by name or description.
2. Chap. xvi. 13. "I commend unto you
Phoebe, our sister, which is a servant of the
church which is at Cenchrea, that ye receive her
in the Lord, as becometh saints, and that ye as-
sist her in whatsoever business she hath need of
you ; for she hath been a succourer of many, and
of myself also." Cenchrea adjoined to Corinth ;
St. Paul therefore, at the time of writing the let-
ter, was in the neighbourhood of the woman
whom he thus recommends. But, farther, that
St. Paul had before this been at Cenchrea itself,
appears from the eighteenth chapter of the Acts ;
and appears by a circumstance as incidental, and
as unlike design, as any that can be imagined.
" Paul after this tarried there (viz. at Corinth,)
yet a good while, and then took his leave of his
brethren, and sailed thence into Syria, and with
him Priscilla and Aquila, having shorn his head
in Cenchrea, for he had a vow." xviii. 18. The
shaving of the head denoted the expiration of the
Nazaritic vow. The historian, therefore, by the
mention of this circumstance, virtually tells us
that St. Paul's vow was expired before he set for-
ward upon his voyage, having deferred probably
his departure until he should be released from the
restrictions under which his vow laid him. Shall
we say that the author of the Acts of the Apos-
tles feigned this anecdote of St. Paul at Cenchrea,
because he had read in the Epistle to the Romans
that " Phoebe, a servant of the church of Cenchrea,
had been a succourer of many, and of him also?''
or shall we say that the author of the Epistle to
the Romans, out of his own imagination, created
EPISTLE TO THE ROMANS.
173
Phoelje "a servant of the church at Cenchrea,"
because he read in the Acts of the Apostles that
Paul had " shorn his head" in that place 1
No. III.
Chap. i. 13. " Now I would not have you ig-
norant, brethren, that oftentimes I purposed to
come unto you, but was let hitherto, that I might
have some fruit among" you also, even as among
other Gentiles." Again, xv. 23, 24 : " But now
having no more place in these parts, and having
a great desire these many years (s-x.*., often-
times,) to come unto you, whensoever 1 take my
journey into Spain I will come to you ; for 1 trust
to see you in my journey, and to be brought on
my way thitherward by you : but now I go up
unto Jerusalem to minister to the saints. When,
therefore, I have performed this, and have sail-
ed to them this fruit, I will come by you into
Spain."
With these passages compare Acts- xix. 21.
" After these things were ended, (viz. at Ephe-
sus,) Paul purposed in the spirit, when he had
Sassed through Macedonia and Achaia, to go to
erusalem; saying, After I have been there, I
must also see Rome."
Let it be observed that our epistle purports to
have been written at the conclusion of St. Paul's
second journey into Greece: that the quotation
from the Acts contains words said to have been
spoken by St. Paul at Ephesus, some time before
he set forwards upon that journey. Now I con-
tend that it is impossible that two independent
fictions should have attributed to St. Paul the
same purpose, especially a purpose so : pecific and
particular as this, which was not merely a yem-ml
design of visiting Rome after he had passed
through Macedonia and Achaia, and alter he had
performed a voyage from these countries to Jeru-
salem. The conformity between the history and
the epistle is perfect. In the first quotation from
the epistle, we find that a design of visiting Rome
had long dwelt in the apostle's mind : in the quo-
tation from the Acts, we find that design ex-
pressed a considerable time before the epistle was
written. In the history, we find that the plan
which St. Paul had formed was, to pass through
Macedonia and Achaia ; after that to go to Jeru-
salem ; and when he had finished his visit there,
to sail for Rome. When the epistle was written,
he had executed so much of his plan, as to have
passed through Macedonia and Achaia ; and was
preparing to pursue the remainder of it, by speed-
ily setting out towards Jerusalem: and in this
point of his travels he tells his friends at Rome,
that, when he had completed the business which
carried him to Jerusalem, he would come to them.
Secondly, I say, that the very inspection of the
passages will satisfy us that they were not made
up from one another.
" Whensoever I take my journey into Spain,
I will come to you ; for I trust to see you in my
journey, and to be brought on my way thither-
ward by you ; but now I go up to Jerusalem to
minister to the saints. When, therefore, I have
performed this, and have sealed to them this fruit,
I will come by you into Spain." This from the
epistle.
"Paul purposed in the spirit, when he had
passed through Macedonia and Achaia, to go to
Jerusalem: saying, After I have been there, I
must also see Rome." This from the Acts.
If the passage in the epistle was taken from
that in the Acts, why was Spain put in 1 If the
passage in the Acts was taken from that in the
epistle, why was Spain left out 1 If the two
passages were unknown to each other, nothing
can account for their conformity but truth. Whe-
ther we suppose the history and the epistle to
be alike fictitious, or the history to be true but
the letter spurious, or the letter to be genuine but
the history a iable, the meeting with this circum-
stance in both, if neither borrowed it from the
other, is upon all these suppositions equally in-
explicable.
No. IV.
The following quotation I offer for the purpose
of pointing out a geographical coincidence, of so
much importance, that Dr. Lardner considered it
as a confirmation of the whole history of St.
Paul's travels.
Chap. xv. 19. " So that from Jerusalem, and
round about unto Illyricum, I have fully preached
the Gospel of Christ/'
I do not think that these words necessarily im-
port that St. Paul had penetrated into Illyricum,
or preached the Gospel in that province ; but ra-
ther that he had come to the confines of Illyricum,
(MIX?' * ux.u<.x8,) and that these confines were
the external boundary of his travels. St. Paul
considers Jerusalem as the centre, and is here
viewing the circumference to which his travels
extended. The form of expression in the original
conveys this idea eur ii(*<r*\>>,t* ** xuxx Axe
T ixxo ? x. Illyricum was the part of this cir-
cle which he mentions in an epistle to the Ro-
mans, because it lay in a direction from Jerusa-
lem towards that city, and pointed out to the Ro-
man readers the- nearest place to them, to which
his travels from Jerusalem had brought him. The
name of Illyricum nowhere occurs in the Acts
of the Apostles ; no suspicion, therefore can be
received that the mention of it was borrowed from
thence. Yet I think it appears, from these same
Acts, that St. Paul, before the time when he
wrote his Epistle to the Romans, had reached the
confines of Illyricum ; or, however, that he might
have done so, in perfect consistency with the ac-
count there delivered. Illyricum adjoins upon
Macedonia; measuring from Jerusalem towards
Rome, it lies close behind it. If, therefore, St.
Paul traversed the whole country of Macedonia,
the route would necessarily bring him to the con-
fines of Illyricum, and these confines would be
described as the extremity of his journey. Now
the account of St. Paul's second visit to the
peninsula of Greece, is contained in these words:
"He departed for to go into Macedonia; and
when he had gone oxer these parts, and had
given them much exhortation, he came into
Greece." Acts xx. 2. This account allows, or
rather leads us to suppose, that St. Paul, in going
over Macedonia (&u\&<av r pi^ ixv r ) had passed
so far to the west, as to come into those parts of
the country which were contiguous to Illyricum,
if he did not enter into Illyricum itself. The his-
tory, therefore, and the epistle so far agree, and
the agreement is much strengthened by a coin-
cidence of time. At the time the epistle was writ-
ten, St. Paul might say, in conformity with the
history, that he had " come into Illyricum ;" much
before that time, he could not have said so ; for,
upon his former journey to Macedonia, his route
174
HOR.E PAULINA.
is laid down from the time of his landing at Phi-
lippj to his sailing from Corinth. We trace him
from Philippi to Amphipolis and Apollonia ; from
thence to Thessalonica ; from Thessalonica to
Berea; from Berea to Athens; and from Athens
to Corinth : which tract confines him to the east-
ern side of the peninsula, and therefore keeps him
all the while at a considerable distance from llly-
ricum. Upon his second visit to Macedonia, the
history, we have seen, leaves him at liberty. It
must have been, therefore, upon that second visit,
if at all, that he approached lllyricum ; and this
visit, we know, almost immediately preceded the
writing of the epistle. It was natural that the
apostle should refer to a journey which was fresh
in his thoughts.
No. V.
Chap. xv. 30. " Now I beseech you, brethren,
for the Lord Jesus Christ's sake, and for the love
of the Spirit, that ye strive together with me in
your prayers to God for me, that I may be de-
livered from them thatdonot believe,-in Juda>,a."
With this compare Acts xx. 22, 23:
" And now, behold, I go bound in the spirit
unto Jerusalem, not knowing the things that shall
befall me there, save that the Holy Ghost witnes-
seth in every city, saying that bonds and afflic-
tions abide me."
Let it be remarked, that it is the same journey
to Jerusalem which is spoken of in these two pas-
sages ; that the epistle was written immediately
before St. Paul set forwards upon this journey
from Achaia ; that _the words in the Acts were
uttered by him when he had proceeded in that
journey as far as Miletus, in Lesser Asia. This
being remembered, 1 observe that the two pas-
sages, without any resemblance between them
that could induce us to suspect that they were
borrowed from one another, represent the state
of St. Paul's mind, with respect to the event of
the journey, in terms of substantial agreement.
They both express his sense of danger in the ap-
proaching visit to Jerusalem : they both express
the doubt which dwelt upon his thoughts con-
cerning what might there befall him. When, in
his epistle, he entreats the Roman Christians,
*' for the Lord Jesus Christ's sake, and for the love
of the Spirit, to strive together with him in their
prayers to God for him, that he might be delivered
from them which do not believe, in Judsea,'" he
sufficiently confesses his fears. In the Acts of the
Apostles we see in him the same apprehensions,
and the same uncertainty : " I go bound in the
spirit to Jerusalem, not knowing tha things that
snail befall me there." The only difference is,
that in the history his thoughts are more inclined
to despondency than in the epistle. In the epis-
tle he retains his hope "that he should come
unto them with joy by the will of God :" in the
history, his mind yields to the reflection, " that
the Holy Ghost witnesseth in every city that
bonds and afflictions awaited him." Now that his
fears should be greater, and his hopes less, in this
stage of his journey than when he wrote his epis-
tle, that is, when he first set out upon it, is no
other alteration than might well be expected;
since those prophetic intimations to which he re-
fers, when he says, " the Holy Ghost witnesseth
in every city," had probably been received by him
in the course of his journey, and were probably
similar to what we know he received hi the re-
maining part of it at Tyre, xxi. 4 ; and afterwards
from Agabus at Caesarca, xxi. 11.
No. VI.
There is another strong remark arising from
the same passage in the epistle ; to make which
understood^ it will be necessary to state the pas-
sage over again, and somewhat more at length.
"I beseech you, brethren, for the Lord Jesus
Christ's sake, and for the love of the Spirit, that
ye strive together with me in your prayers to God
for me, that 1 may be delivered from them that do
not believe, in Judaea that I may come unto you
with joy by the will of God, and may with you be
refreshed."
I desire the reader to call to mind that part of
St. Paul's history which took place after his ar-
rival at Jerusalem, and which employs the seven
last chapters of the Acts; and I build upon it this
observation thaj supposing the Epistle to the
Romans to have been a forgery, and the author
of the forgery to have had the Acts of the Apos-
tles before him, and to have there seen that St.
Paul, in fact, " was not delivered from the un-
believing Jews," but on the contrary, that he was
taken into custody at Jerusalem, and brought to
Rome a prisoner it is next to impossible that he
should have made St. Paul express expectations
so contrary to what he saw had been the event ;
and utter prayers, with apparent hopes of success,
which he must have known were frustrated in
the issue.
This single consideration convinces me, that
no concert or confederacy whatever subsisted be-
tween the Epistle and the Acts of the Apostles ;
and that whatever coincidences have been or can
be pointed out between them, are unsophisticated,
and are the result of truth and reality.
It also convinces me that the epistle was writ-
ten not only in St. Paul's life-time, but before he
arrived at Jerusalem ; for the important events re-
lating to him which took place after his arrival at
that city, must have been known to the Chris-
tian community soon after they happened : they
form the most public part of his history. But
had they been known to the author of the epis-
tle in other words, had they then taken place
the passage which we have quoted from the epis-
tle would not have been found there.
No. VII.
I now proceed to state the conformity which
exists between the argument of this epistle and
the history of its reputed author. It is enough for
this purpose to observe, that the object of the
epistle, that is, of the argumentative part of it,
was to place the Gentile convert upon a parity of
situation with the Jewish, in respect of his re-
ligious condition, and his rank in the divine fa-
vour. The epistle supports this point by a variety
of arguments ; such as, that no man of either de-
scription was justified by the works of the law
for this plain reason, that no man had performed
them ; that it became therefore necessary to ap-
point another medium or condition of justification,
in which new medium the Jewish peculiarity was
merged and lost ; that Abraham's own justifica-
tion was anterior to the law, and independent of
it : that the Jewish converts were to consider the
law as now dead, and themselves as married to
another; that what the law in truth could not do,
in that it was weak through the flesh, God had
EPISTLE TO THE ROMANS.
175
done by sending his Son ; that God had rejected
the unbelieving Jews, and had substituted in their
place a society of believers in Christ, collected in-
differently from Jews and Gentiles. Soon after
the writing of this epistle, St. Paul, agreeably to
the intention intimated in the epistle itself, took
his journey to Jerusalem. The day after he ar-
rived there, he was introduced to the church.
What passed at this interview is thus related,
Acts xxi. 19 : " When he had saluted them, he de-
clared particularly what things God had wrought
among the Gentiles by his ministry : and when
they heard it, they glorified the Lord : and said
unto him, thou seest, brother, how many thou-
sands of Jews there are which believe ; and they
are all zealous of the law ; and they are informed
ofthee, that thou teachest all the Jews which are
among the Gentiles to forsake Moses, saying, that
they ought not to circumcise their children, nei-
ther to walk after the customs." St. Paul dis-
claimed the charge: but there must have been
something to have led to it. Now it is only to
suppose tliat St. Paul openly professed the prin-
ciples which the epistle contains; that, in the
course of his ministry, he had uttered the senti-
ments which he is here made to write : and the
matter is accounted for. Concerning the accusa-
tion which public rumour had brought against
him te Jerusalem, I will not say that it was just;
but I will say, that if he was the author of the
epistle before us, and if his preaching was con-
sistent with his writing, it was extremely natural :
for though it be not a necessary, surely it is an
r:isy inference, that if the Gentile convert, who
did not observe the law of Moses, held as advan-
tageous a situation in his religious interests as the
Jewish convert who did, there could be no strong
reason for observing that law at all. The re-
monstrance therefore of the church of Jerusalem,
and the report which occasioned it. were founded
in no very violent misconstruction of the ajx>stlc "s
doctrine. His reception at Jerusalem was exactly
what I should ha\r expected the author of this
epistle to have met with. I am entitled therefore
to arifue. that a separate narrative of ellects ex-
perienced by St. Paul, similar to what a p-rs..n
might be expected to experience who held the
doctrines advanced in this epistle, forms a proof
that he did hold these doctrines; and that the
epistle bearing his name, in which such doctrines
are laid down, actually proceeded from him.
No. VIII.
This number is supplemental to the former. I
propose to point out in it two particulars in the
conduct of the argument, perfectly adapted to the
historical circumstances under which the epistle
was written; which yet are free from all ap-
pearance of contrivance, and which it would not,
I think, have entered into the mind of a sophist
to contrive.
1. The Epistle to the Galatians relates to the
same general question as the Epistle to the Ro-
mans. St. Paul had founded the church of Ga-
latia; at Rome, he had never been. Observe
now a difference in his manner of treating of the
same subject, corresponding with this difference
in his situation. In the Epistle to the Galatians
he puts the point in a great measure upon au-
thority : " I marvel that ye are so soon removed
from him that called you into the grace of Christ
unto another Gospel." Gal. i. 6. " I certify you,
brethren, that the gospel which was preached of
me, is not after man ; for T neither received it of
man, neither was I taught it but by the revelation
of Jesus Christ." ch. i. 11, 12. " I am afraid,
lest I have bestowed upon you labour in vain."
iv. 11, 12, " I desire to be present with yon now,
for I stand in doubt of you/' iv. 20. " Behold, I,
Paul, say unto you, that if ye be circumcised,
Christ shall profit you nothing." v. 2. " This
persuasion cometh not of him that called you."
v. 8. This is the style in which he accosts the
Galatians. In the epistle to the converts of Rome,
where his authority was not established, nor his
person known, he puts the same points entirely
upon argument. The perusal of the epistle will
prove this to the satisfaction of every reader : and,
as the observation relates to the whole contents of
the epistle, I forbear adducing separate extracts.
I repeat, therefore, that we have pointed out a dis-
tinction in the two epistles, suited to the relation
in wliich the author stood to his different corres-
pondents.
Another adaptation, and somewhat of the same
kind, is the following :
2. The Jews, we know, were very numerous
at Rome, and probably formed a principal part
amonjTst the new converts; so much so, that the
Christians seem to have been known at Rome
rather as a denomination of Jews, than as any
thin;; else. In an epistle consequently to the Ro-
man believers, the point to be endeavoured after
by St. Paul was to reconcile the Jewish converts
to the opinion, that the Gentiles were admitted by
God to a parity of religious situation with them-
sehes. and that without their being bound by the
law of Moses. The Gentile converts would pro-
bably accede to this opinion very readily. In this
epistle, therefore,, though directed to the Roman
church in general, it is in truth a Jew writing to
Accordingly you will take notice, that as
often as his argument leads him to say any tiling
derogatory from the Jewish institution, he con-
stantly follows it by a softening clause. Having
(ii. 28, 29,) pronounced, not much perhaps to the
satisfaction of the native Jews, " that he is not a
Jew which is one outwardly, neither that circum-
cision which is outward in the flesh :" he adds
immediately, "What advantage then hath the
Jew, or what profit is there in circumcision'?
Much every way." Having, in the third chapter,
ver. 28, brought his argument to this formal con-
clusion, " that a man is justified by faith without
the deeds of the law," he presently subjoins, ver.
31, " Do we then make void the law through
faith? God forbid! Yea, we establish the law.'*
In the seventh chapter, when in the sixth verse
he had advanced the bold assertion, "that now
we are delivered from the law, that being dead
wherein we were held;" in the very next verse
he comes in with this healing question, "What
shall we say, then 1 Is the law sin 1 God forbid !
Nay, I had not known sin but by the law. Having
in the following words insinuated, or rather more
than insinuated, the inefficacy of the Jewish law,
viii. 3, " for what the law could not do, in that it
was weak through the flesh, God sending his own
Son in the likeness of sinful flesh, and for sin,
condemned sin in the flesh :" after a digression
indeed, but that sort of a digression which he
could never resist, a rapturous contemplation
of his Christian hope, and which occupies the
latter part of this chapter j we find him in the
176
HOfUE PAULINA/
next, as if sensible that he had said something
which would give offence, returning to his Jewish
brethren in terms of the warmest affection and re-
spect : " I say the truth in Christ Jesus ; I lie not ;
rny conscience also bearing me witness in the
Holy Ghost, that I have great heaviness and con-
tinual sorrow in my heart ; for I could wish that
myself were accursed from Christ, for my bre-
thren, my kinsmen according to the Jlesh, who
are Israelites, to whom pertaineth the adoption,
and the glory, and the covenants, and the giving
of the laic, and the service of God, and the pro-
mises ; whose are the fathers ; and of whom, as
concerning the Jlesh, Christ came." When, in
the thirty-first and thirty-second verses of this
ninth chapter, he represented to the Jews the er-
ror of even the best of their nation, by telling them
that " Israel, which followed after the law of
righteousness, had not attained to the law of
righteousness, because they sought it not by faith,
but as it were by the works of the law, for they
stumbled at that stumbling stone," he takes care
to annex to this declaration these conciliating
expressions: "Brethren, my heart's desire and
prayer to God for Israel is, that they might be
saved ; for I bear them record that they have a zeal
of God, but not according to knowledge." Lastly,
having ch. x. 20, 21, by the application of 'a pas-
sage in Isaiah, insinuated the most ungrateful of
all propositions to a Jewish ear, the rejection of
the Jewish nation, as God's peculiar people ; he
hastens, as it were, to qualify the intelligence of
their fall by this interesting expostulation : " I say,
then, hath God cast away his people, (i. e. wholly
and entirely 7") God forbid ! for I also am an Is-
raelite, of the seed of Abraham, of the tribe of
Benjamin. God hath not cast away his people,
which he foreknew ;" and follows this thought,
throughout the whole of the eleventh chapter, in
a series of reflections calculated to soothe the Jew-
ish converts, as well as to procure from their Gen-
tile brethren respect to the Jewish institution.
Now all this is perfectly natural. In a real St.
Paul, writing to real converts, it is what anxiety
to bring them over to his persuasion would na-
turally produce ; but there is an earnestness and
a personality, if I may so call it, in the manner,
which a cold forgery, I apprehend, would neither
have conceived nor supported.
CHAPTER III.
The First Epistle to the Corinthians.
No. I.
BEFORE we proceed to compare this epistle
with the history, or with any other epistle, we
will employ one number in stating certain re-
marks applicable to our argument, which arise
from a perusal of the epistle itself.
By an expression in the first verse of the
seventh chapter, "now concerning the things
whereof ye wrote unto me," it appears, that this
letter to the Corinthians was written by St. Paul
in answer to one which he had received from
them ; and that the seventh, and some of the fol-
lowing chapters, are taken up in resolving certain
doubts, and regulating certain points of order,
concerning which the Corinthians had in their
letter consulted him. This alone is a circum-
stance considerably in favour of the authonti-i'V
of the epistle ; for it must have born a far- fete he'd
contrivance in a forgery, first to have feigned the
receipt of a letter from the Church of Corinth,
which letter does not appear; and then to have
drawn up a fictitious answer to it, relative to a
great variety of doubts and inquiries, purely
economical and domestic; and which, though
likely enough to have occurred to an infant so-
ciety, in a situation and under an institution so
novel as that of a Christian Church then was, it
must have very much exercised the author's in-
vention, and could have answered no imaginable
purpose of forgery, to introduce the mention of at
all. Particulars of the kind we refer to, are such
as the following : the rule of duty and prudence
relative to entering into marriage, as applicable to
virgins, to widows ; the case of husbands married
to unconverted wives ; of wives having uncon-
verted husbands ; that case where the unconverted
party chooses to separate, where he chooses to
continue the union ; the effect which their conver-
sion produced upon their prior state, of circumci-
sion, of slavery j the eating of things orlered to
idols, as it was in itself, as others were affected by
it ; the joining in idolatrous sacrifices ; the deco-
rum to be observed in their religious assemblies,
the order of speaking, the silence of women, the
covering or uncovering of the head, as it became
men, as it became women. These subjects, with
their several subdivisions, are so particular, minute,
and numerous, that though they be exactly agree-
able to the circumstances of the persons to whom
the letter was written, nothing, I believe, but the
existence and reality of those circumstances could
have suggested to the writer's thoughts.
But this is not the only nor the principal observa-
tion upon the correspondence between the church
of Corinth and their apostle, which I wish to
point out. It appears, I think, in this correspond-
ence, that although the Corinthians had written
to St. Paul, requesting his answer and his direc-
tions in the several points above enumerated, yet
that .they had not said one syllable about the
enormities and disorders which had crept in
amongst them, and in the blame of which they all
shared ; but that St. Paul's information concern-
ing the irregularities then prevailing at Corinth
had come round to him from other quarters. The
quarrels and disputes excited by their contentious
adherence to their different teachers, and by their
placing of them in competition with one another,
were not mentioned in their letter, but communi-
cated to St. Paul by more private intelligence : " It
hath been declared unto me, my brethren, by
them which are of the house of Chloe, that there
are contentions among you. Now this I say,
that every one of you saith, I am of Paul, and I
of Apollos, and I of Cephas, and I of Christ."
(i. 11, 12.) The incestuous marriage " of a man
with bis father's wife," which St. Paul reprehends
with so much severity in the fifth chapter of our
epistle, and which was not the crime of an indi-
vidual only, but a crime in which the whole
church, by tolerating and conniving at it, had
rendered themselves partakers, did not come to St.
Paul's knowledge by the letter, but by a rumour
which had reached his ears : " It is reported
commonly that there is fornication among you,
and such fornication as is not so much as named
among the Gentiles, that one should have his
father s wife ; and ye are pulled up, arid have not
FIRST EPISTLE TO THE CORINTHIANS.
177
rather mournct! that he that hath done this deed
might be taken avVay from among you." (v. 1, 2.)
Their going to law before the judicature of the
country, rather than arbitrate and adjust their
disputes among themselves, which St. Paul ani-
madverts upon with his usual plainness, was not.
intimated to him hi the letter, because lie tells them
his opinion of this conduct before he conies to the
contents of the letter. Their litigiousness is cen-
sured by St. Paul in the sixth chapter of his epis-
tle, anil it is only at the beginning of the seventh
chapter that he proceeds upon the articles which
he found in their letter; and he proceeds upon
them with this preface : " Now concerning the
things whereof ye wrote unto me," (vii. 1,) which
introduction he would not have used if he had
been already discussing any of the subjects con-
cerning which they h.id written. Their irregu-
larities in celebrating the Lord's supper, and the
utter perversion of the institution which ensued,
were not in the letter, as is evident from the terms
in which St. Paul mentions the notice he had re-
ceived of it : " Now in this that I declare unto you,
I praise you not, that ye come together not for
the better, but for the worse ; for first of all, when
ye come together in the church, I hear that there
be divisions among you, and / partly believe it."
Now that the Corinthians should, in their own
letter, exhibit the fair side of their conduct to the
apostle, and conceal from him the faults of their
behaviour, was extremely natural, and extremely
probable : but it was a distinction which would
not, I think, have easily occurred to the author of
a forgery ; and much less likely is it, that it should
have entered into his thoughts to make tin dis-
tinction appear in the way in which it does ap-
pear, viz: not by the original letter, not by any
express observation upon it in the answer, but
distantly by marks perceivable in the manner, or
in the order, in wliich St. Paul takes notice of
their faults.
No. II.
Our epistle purports to have been written after
St. Paul had already teen at Corinth :" I, bre-
thren, when I came unto you, came not with excel-
lency of speech or of wisdom," (ii. 1,) and in
many other places to the same effect. It puriorts
also to have been written upon the eve of another
visit to that church : " I will come to you shortly,
if the Lord will," (iv. 19 ;) and again, " I will come
to you when I shall p;iss through Macedonia,'
(xvi. 5.) Now the history relates that St. Paul
did in fact visit Corinth twice : once as recorded
at length in the eighteenth, and a second time as
mentioned briefly in the twentieth chapter of the
Acts. The same history also informs us, (Acts
xx. 1,) that it was from Ephesus St. Paul pro-
ceeded upon his second journey into Greece.
Therefore, as the epistle purjx>rts to have been
written a short time preceding that journey; and
as St. Paul, the history tells us. hud resided more
than two years ;tt Kphesus, before he set out ii}H>n
it. it follows that it must have been from Kph'-siis.
to be consistent with the history, that the epi>tle
\\ is written : and eserv note of /;A/<r in the epis-
tle agrees with this supposition. "If, after the
manner of men, I have fought with b
Ephfsus, what advantageth it me, if the dead rise
not 1" (xv. 3-2.) 1 allow that the apostle might say
this, wherever he was ; but it was more natural
and more to the purpose to say it, if he was at
Ephesus at the time, and in the midst of those
conllicts to which the expression relates. " The
churches of Asia salute you," (xvi. ID.) Asia,
throughout the Acts of the Apostles and the
epistles of St. Paul, does not mean the whole of
Asia Minor or Anatolia, nor even the whole of
the proconsular Asia, but a district in the ante-
rior part of that country, called Lydian Asia, di-
vided from the rest, much as Portugal is from
Spain, and of wliich district Ephesus was the
capital. "Aquila and Priscilla salute you,"
(xvi. 19.) Aquila and Priscilla were at Epliesus
during the period within which this epistle was
written, Acts (xviii. 18. 26.) "I will tarry at
Epfiesus until Pentecost," (xvi. 8.) This, I
apprehend, is in terms almost asserting that he
was at Ephesus at the time of writing the epistle.
" A great and effectual door is opened unto me,"
(xvi. 9.) How well this declaration corresponded
with the state of things at Ephesus, and the pro-
gress of the Gospel in these parts, we learn from
the reflection with which the historian concludes
the account of certain transactions which passed
there: " So mightily grew the word of God and
prevailed," (Acts xix. 20 ;) as well as from the
complaint of Demetrius, " that not only at Ephe-
sus, but also throughout all Asia, this Paul hath
persuaded, and turned away much people,"
(xix. 26.) " And there are many adversaries,"
says the epistle, (xvi. 9.) Look into the- history
of this j>enod : "When divers were hardened and
believed" not, but spake evil of that way before the
multitude, he departed from them, and separated
the disciples." The conformity, therefore, upon
this head of comparison, is circumstantial and
perfect. If any one think that this is a conform-
ity so obvious, that any forger of tolerable caution
a in I sagacity would have taken care to preserve it,
I must desire such a one to read the epistle for
himself; and, when he has done so, to declare
whether he has discovered one mark of art or
design ; whether the notes of time and place ap-
pear to him to be inserted with any reference to
each other, with any view of their being compared
with each other, or for the purpose of establishing
a visible agreement with the history, in respect of
them.
No. III.
Chap. iv. 1719. " For this cause I have sent
unto you Timotheus, who is my beloved son and
faithtul in the Lord, who shall bring you into re-
membrance of my ways which be in Christ, as I
teach every where in every church. Now some
are puffed up, as though I would not come unto
you; but I will come unto you shortly, if the
Lord will." -
With this I compare Acts xix. 21, 22: "After
{ these things were ended, Paul purposed in the
j spirit, when he had passed through Macedonia
i and Acliaia, to go to Jerusalem; saying, After I
1 ha\e In-eii there. 1 must also see Rome; HO he sent
unto Macedonia two of them that ministered unto
him, Tunofhr.ii6- and Krastus."
Though it be not sojd. it appears. I think, with
sufficient certainty, I mean from the history, in-
dependent !v of the epistle, that Timothy was sent
upon this occasion into Ackaia, of which Corinth
was the capital citv, as well as into Macedonia :
for the sending of Timothy and Erastus is, in the
passage when; it is mentioned, plainly connected
i with St. Paul's own journey : he sent them before
178
HOR^E PAULINA.
him. As he therefore .purposed to go into Achaia
himself, it is highly probable that they were to go
thither also. Nevertheless, they are said only to
have been sent into Macedonia, because Mace-
donia was in truth the country to which they
went immediately from Ephesus ; being directed,
as we suppose, to proceed afterwards from thence
into Achaia. If this be so, the narrative agrees
with the epistle ; and the agreement is attended
with very little appearance of design. One thing
at least concerning it is certain : that if this pas-
sage of St. Paul's history had been taken from his
letter, it would have sent Timothy to Corinth by
name, or expressly however into Achaia.
But there is another circumstance in these two
passages much less obvious, in which an agree-
ment holds without any room for suspicion that it
was produced by design. We have observed that
the sending of Timothy into the peninsula of
Greece was connected in the narrative with St.
Paul's own journey thither ; it is stated as the
effect of the same resolution. Paul purposed to
go into Macedonia ; " so he sent two of them that
ministered unto him, Timotheus and Erastus."
Now in the epistle also you remark, that, when
the apostle mentions his having sent Timothy
unto them, in the very next sentence he speaks
of his own visit ; " for this cause have I sent unto
you Timotheus who is my beloved son, &c. Now
some are puffed up, as though I would not come to
you; but I will come to you shortly, if Gtxl will."
Timothy's journey, we see, is mentioned in the
history and in the epistle, in close connexion with
St. Paul's own. Here is the same order of
thought and intention ; yet conveyed under such
diversity of circumstance and expression, and the
mention of them in the epistle so allied to the oc-
casion which introduces it, viz. the insinuation of
his adversaries that he would come to Corinth no
mpre, that I am persuaded no attentive reader
will believe, that these passages were written in
concert with one another, or will doubt but that
the agreement is unsought and,uncontrived.
But, in the Acts, Erastus accompanied Timothy
in this journey, of whom no mention is made in
the epistle. Prom what has been said in our ob-
servations upon the Epistle to the Romans, it ap-
pears probable that Erastus was a Corinthian. If
so, though he accompanied Timothy to Corinth,
he was only returning home, and Timothy was
the messenger charged with St. Paul's orders.
At any rate this discrepancy shows that the pas-
sages were not taken from one another.
No. IV.
Chap. xvi. 10, 11. "Now if Timotheus come,
see that he may be with you without fear ; for he
worketh the work of the Lord, as I also do : let no
man therefore despise him, but conduct him forth
in peace, that he may come unto me, for I look
for him with the brethren.
From the passage considered in the preceding
number, it appears that Timothy was sent to
Corinth either with the epistle, or before it. : " for
this cause have I sent unto you Timotheus."
From the passage now quoted, we infer that
Timothy was not sent with the epistle ; for had
he been the bearer of the letter, or accompanied it,
would St. Paul in that letter have said, "If Timo-
thy come'?" Nor is the sequel consistent with
the supposition of his carrying the letter ; for if
Timothy was with the apostle when he Wrote the
letter, could he say, as he does, " I look for him
with the brethren 1" I conclude, therefore, that
Timothy had left St. Paul to proceed upon his
journey before the letter was written. Farther,
the passage before us seems to imply, that Timo-
thy was not expected by St. Paul to arrive at
Corinth, till after they had received the letter.
He gives them directions in the letter how to
treat him when he should arrive : "If he come,"
act towards him so and so. Lastly, the whole
form of expression is most naturally applicable to
the supposition of Timothy's coming to Corinth,
not directly from St. Paul, but from some other
quarter ; and that his instructions had been, when
he should reach Corinth, to return. Now, how
stands this matter in the history 1 Turn to the
nineteenth chapter and twenty-first verse of the
Acts, and you will find that Timothy did not,
when sent from Ephesus, where he left St. Paul,
and where the present epistle was written, pro-
ceed by a straight course to Corinth, but that he
went round through Macedonia. This clears up
every thing; for, although Timothy was sent
forth upon his journey belbre the letter was writ-
ten, yet he might not reach Corinth till after the
letter arrived there ; and he would come to Co-
rinth, when he did come, not directly from St.
Paul at Ephesus, but from some part of Mace-
donia. Here, therefore, is a circumstantial and
critical agreement, and unquestionably without
design ; for neither of the two passages in the
epistle mentions Timothy's journey into Mace-
donia at all, though nothing but a circuit of that
kind can explain and reconcile the expressions
which the writer uses.
No.V.
Chap. i. 12. " Now this I say, that every one
of you saith, I am of Paul, and I of Apollos, and
I of Cephas, and I of Christ."
Also, iii. 6. " I have planted, Apollos watered,
but God gave the increase."
This expression, " I have planted, Apollos
watered," imports two things ; first, that Paul had
been at Corinth before Apollos ; secondly, that
Apollos had been at Corinth after Paul, but before
the writing of this epistle. This implied account
of the several events, and of the order in which
they took place, corresponds exactly with the
history. St. Paul, after his first visit into Greece,
returned from Corinth into Syria by the way of
Ephesus ; and, dropping his companions Aquila
and Priscilla at Ephesus, he proceeded forwards
to Jerusalem ; from Jerusalem he descended to
Antioch ; and from thence made a progress
through some of the upper or northern provinces
of the Lesser Asia, Acts xviii. 19. 23: during
which progress, and consequently in the interval
between St. Paul's first and second visit to Co-
rinth, and consequently also before the writing of
this epistle, which was at Ephesus two years at
least after the apostle's return from his progress,
we hear of Apollos, and we hear of him at Corinth.
Whilst St. Paul was engaged, as hath been said,
in Phrygia and Galatia, Apollos came down to
Ephesus ; and being, in St. Paul's absence, in-
structed by Aquila and Priscilla, and having ob-
tained letters of recommendation from the church
at Ephesus, he passed over to Achaia ; and when
he was there, we read that he " helped them much
which had believed through grace, for he mightily
convinced the Jews, and that publicly." Acts
FIRST EPISTLE TO THE CORINTHIANS.
179
xviii. 27, 28. To have brought Apollos into
Achaia, of which Corinth was the capital city, as
well as the principal Christian church; and to
have shown that he preached the Gospel in that
country, would have been sufficient for our pur-
pose. But the history happens also to mention
Corinth by name, as the place in which Apollos,
after his arrival at Achaia, fixed his residence : for,
proceeding with the account of St. Paul's travels,
it tells us, that while Apollos was at Corinth,
Paul, having passed through the upper coasts,
came down to Ephesus, xix. 1. What is said there-
fore of Apollos in the epistle, coincides exactly,
and especially in the point of chronology, with
what is delivered concerning him in the history.
The only question now is, whether the allusions
were made with a regard to this coincidence.
Now, the occasions and purj>oses for which the
name of Apollos is introduced in the Acts and in
the Epistles', are so independent and so remote,
that it is impossible to discover the smallest refer-
ence from one to the other. Apollos is mentioned
in the Acts, in immediate connexion with the
history of Aquila and Priscilla. and for the very
singular circumstance of his " knowing only the
baptism of John."
In the epistle, where none of these circum-
stances are taken notice of, his name first occurs,
for the purpose of reproving the contentious spirit
of the Corinthians; and it occurs only in conjunc-
tion with that of some others : " Every one of you
saith, I am of Paul, and I of Apollos, and I of
Cephas, and I of Christ." The second passage
in which Apollos appears, " I have planted,
Apollos watered," fixes, as we have observed, the
order of time amongst three distinct events : but it
fixes this, I will venture to pronounce, without
the writer perceiving that he was doing any such
thing. The sentence fixes this order in exact
conformity with the history ; but it is, itself intro-
duced solely for the sake of the reflection which
follows : " Neither is he that planteth any thing,
neither he that watereth, but God that giveth the
increase."
No. VI.
Chap. iv. 11, 12. "Even unto this present
hour we both hunger and thirst, and are naked,
and are buffeted, and have no certain dwelling-
place ; and labour, working with our own hands."
We are expressly told in the history, that at
Corinth St. Paul laboured with his own hands :
" He found Aquila and Priscilla ; and, because he
was of the same craft, he abode with them, and
wrought ; for by their occupation they were tent-
makers." But, in the text before us, he is made
to say, that " he laboured even unto the present
hour" that is, to the time of writing the epistle at
Ephesus. Now, in the narration of St. Paul's
transactions at Ephesus, delivered in the nine-
teenth chapter of the Acts, nothing is said of his
working with his own hands ; but in the twentieth
chapter we read, that upon his return from
Greece, he sent for the elders of the Church of
Ephesus, to meet him at Miletus; and in the dis-
course which he there addressed to them, amidst
some other reflections which he calls to their re-
membrance, we find the following: "I have
coveted no man's silver, or gold, or apparel ; yea,
yourselves also know, that these hands have mi-
nistered unto my necessities, and to them that were
with me." The reader will not forget to remark,
that though St. Paul be now at Miletus, it is to
the elders of the church of Ephesus he is speaking,
when he says, "Ye yourselves know that these
hands have ministered to my necessities;" and
that the whole discourse relates to his conduct
during his last preceding residence at Ephesus.
That manual labour, therefore, which he had ex-
ercised at Corinth, he continued at Ephesus, and
not only so, but continued it during that parti-
cular residence at Ephesus, near the conclusion of
which this epistle was written ; so that he might
with the strictest truth say at the time of writing
the epistle, " Even unto thi&^present hour we
labour, working with our own hands." The
correspondency is sufficient, then, as to the unde-
siirnedness of it. It is manifest to my judgment,
that if the history, in this article, had been taken
from the epistle, this circumstance, if it appeared
at all, would have appeared in its place, that is, in
the direct account of St. Paul's transactions at
Ephesus. The correspondency would not have
I >crn effected, as it is, by a kind of reflected stroke,
that is, by a reference in a subsequent speech, to
what in the narrative was omitted. Nor is it
likely, on the other hand, that a circumstance
which is not extant in the history of St. Paul at
Ephesus, should have been made the subject of a
factitious allusion, in an epistle purporting to be
written by him from that place ; not to mention
that the allusion itself, especially as to time, is too
oblique and general to answer any purpose of for-
gery whatever.
No. VII.
Chap. ix. 20. " And unto the Jews, I became
as a Jew, that I might gain the Jews; to them
that are under the law, as under the law."
We have the disposition here described, ex-
emplified in two instances which the history re-
cords; one, Acts xvi. 3, " Him (Timothy) would
Paul have to go forth with him, and took and cir-
cumcised him, because of the Jews in those quar-
ters ; for they knew all that his father was a
Greek." This was before the writing of the epis-
tle. The other, Acts xxi. 23, 26, and after the
writing of the epistle : " Do this that we say to
thee : we have four men which have a vow on
them ; them take, and purify thyself with them,
that they may shave their heads ; and all may
know that those things, whereof they were in-
formed concerning thee, are nothing; but that
thou thyself also walkest orderly, and keepest the
law. Then Paul took the men, and the next
day, purifying 1 himself irith them, entered into
the templet Nor does this concurrence between
the character and the instances look like the result
of contrivance. St. Paul, in the epistle, describes,
or is made to describe, his own accommodating
conduct towards Jews and towards Gentiles, to-
wards the weak and over-scrupulous, towards
men indeed of every variety of character; "to
them that are without law as without law, l>eing
not without law to God, but under the law to
Christ, that I might gain them that are without
law ; to the weak became I as weak, that I might
gain the weak ; I am made all things to all men,
that I might gain some." This is the sequel of
the text which stands at the head of the present
number. Taking therefore the whole passage to-
gether, the apostle's condescension to the Jews is
mentioned only as a part of his general disposition
towards all. It is not probable that this character
180
HOR^E PAULIN^E.
should have been made up from the instances in
the Acts, which relate solely to his dealings with
the Jews. It is not probable that a sophist should
take his hint from those instances, and then ex-
tend- it so much In-yond UK in ; and il i.; still more
incredible that the two instances, in the Acts cir-
cumstantially related and interwoven with the his-
tory, should have been fabricated in order to suit
the character which. St. Paul gives of himself in
the epistle.
No. VIII.
Chap. i. 14 17. " I thank God that I bap-
tized none of you but Crispus and Gaius, lest any
should say that I baptized in my own name ; and
I baptized also the household of Stephanas : be-
sides, I know not whether I baptized any other :
for Christ sent me not to baptize, but to preach
the Gospel."
It may be expected, that those whom the apos-
tle baptized with his own hands, were converts
distinguished from the rest by some circumstance,
either of eminence or of connexion with him.
Accordingly, of the three names here mentioned,
Crispus, we .find, from Acts xviii. $, was a "chief
ruler of the Jewish synagogue at Corinth, who
believed in the Lord with oil his house." Gaius,
it appears from Romans xvi. 23, was St. Paul's
host at Corinth, ind the host, he tells us, " of the
whole church." The household of Stephanas,
we read in the sixteenth chapter of tliis epistle,
" were the first fruits of Achaia." Here, there-
fore, is the propriety we expected : and it is a
proof of reality not to be contemned ; for their
names appearing in the several places in which
they occur, with a mark of distinction belonging
to each, could hardly be the effect of chance, with-
out any truth to direct it: and on the other hand,
to suppose that they were picked out from these
passages, and brought together in the text before
us, in order to display a conformity of names, is
both improbable in itself, and is rendered more so,
by the purpose for which they are introduced.
They come in to assist St. Paul's exculpation of
himself, against the possible charge of having as-
sumed the character of the founder of a separate
religion, and with no other visible, or, as I think,
imaginable design.*
* Chap. i. 1. " Paul called to bs an apostle of Jesus
Christ, through the will of God, and Sosthenes, our bro-
ther, unto the Church of God which js at Corinth." The
only account we have of any person who bore the name
of Sosthenes, is found in the eighteenth chapter of the
Acts. When the Jews at Corinth had brought Paul be-
fore Gallio, and Gallio had dismissed their complaint as
unworthy of his interference, and had driven them from
the judgment-seat; " then all the Greeks," says the his-
torian, " took Sosthenes, the chief ruler of the syna-
gogue, " and beat him before the judgment-seat." The
Sosthenes here spoken of, was a Corinthian ; and, if he
was a Christian, and with St. Paul when he wrote this
epistle, was likely enough to be joined with him in the
salutation of the Corinthian church. But here occurs
a difficulty. If Sosthenes was a Christian at the time
of this uproar, why should the Greeks boat him? The
assault upon the Christians was made by the Jews. It
was the Jews who had brought Paul before the mairis-
trate. If it had been the Jews also who had licar.cn
Sosthenes, I should not have doubted but that he had
been a favourer of St. Paul, and the same person who
is joined with him in the epistle. Let us see therefore
whether there be not some error in our present text.
The Alexandrian manuscript gives TTXVTS; alone, with-
out 01 EAA>JSS, and is followed in this reading by the
No. IX.
Chap. xvii. 10, 11. " Now, if Timotheus come
let no man despise him." Why r/r^/v; him?
This charge is not given concerning any other
messenger whom St. Paul sent, and, iu the dif-
ferent epistles, many sue! ;irr men-
tioned. Turn to 1 Tim. chap. iv. I'J. :md you will
find that Timothy was a ytniitg ?m//<. younger pro-
bably than those who were usually employed in the
Christian mission; and that St. Paul, apprehending
lest he should, on that account, be exposed to con-
tempt, urges upon him the caution which is there
inserted " Let no man despise thy youth."
No. X.
Chap. xvi. 1. " Now, concerning the collection
for the saints, as I have given order to the churches
of Galatia, even so do ye."
The churches of Galatia and Phrygia were the
last churches which St. Paul had visited before the
writing of this epistle. He was now at Ephesus,
and he came thither immediately from visiting these
churches : " He went over all the .country of ( ;i l;i-
tia and Phrygia, in order, strengthening ;dl the dis-
ciples. And it came to pass that Paul having pnsscd
through the upper coasts, (viz. the aho\r -named
countries, called the upper consts. ;is being the
northern part of Asia Minor,) came to Ephesus,"
Acts xviii. 23 ; xix. 1. These therefore, probably,
were the last churches at which he left directions
for their public conduct during his absence. Al-
though two years intervened between his journey
to Ephesus and his writing this epistle, yet it does
not appear that during that time he visited any
other church. That he had not been silent when
he was in Galatia, upon this subject of contribu-
tion for the poor, is farther made out from a hint
which he lets fall in his epistle to that church :
" Only they (viz. the other apostles,) would that
we should remember the poor, the same also which
I was forward to do."
No. XL
Chap. iv. 18. " Now some are puffed up, as
though I would not come unto you."
Coptic version, by the Arabian version, published by
Arpenius. by the Vulgate, and by Bede's Latin version.
The Greek manuscripts again, as well as Chrysostom,
give ot i5uicu, in the place of 01 EX.A.HVS?. A gient plu-
rality of manuscripts authorize the reading whica is
retained in our copies. In this variety it appears to me
extremely probable that the historian originally wrote
TTXVTS? aionc, and that o< EX.MVS?, and ci \o'\>$n>i have
been respectively added as explanatory of what the
word ^VTS; was supposed to mean. The sentence,
without the addition of either name,\\ ould run very per-
spicuously, thUS, " XXI X.7TY,K:><TIV KVTOV,- XVO TOU /)).</. XT 6 f.
e^-(\ao/^i'0i Ss trxvre; SWSlvj* TSV xt>x.to-vvxy<fyov,
STVTTTOV tp7rf><rbi.v Tsu Ssj/tseToe. and lie drove them
away from the judgment-seat; and tlioy all," viz.
the crowds of Jews whom the judge had bid begone,
"took Sostlieiu's and beat him before the judgment-
Beat." It is certain that, as the whole body of the peo-
ple were Greeks, the application of all to them was
unusual and hard. If I was describing an insurrection
at Paris, I micrht say all the Jews, all the Protest nnts,
or all tlin English acted so and so ; but I should scarcely
say all the French, when the whole mass of the com-
munity were of that description. As what is here of-
fered is founded upon a various reading, and that in
opposition to the greater part of the manuscripts that
are extant I have not given it a place in ih text.
SECOND EPISTLE TO THE CORINTHIANS.
181
Why should they suppose that he would not
come 7 Turn to the first chapter of the Second
Epistle to the Corinthians, and you will find that
he had already disappoin fed them : " I was minded
to come unto you More, that you might have a
second benefit; and to p'iss by you into .Mace-
donia, and to come again out of Macedonia unto
you, and of you to be brought on my way toward
Jadea. When I, therefore, was thus minded did I
use lightness 1 Or the things that I purpose do
I purpose according to the flesh, that with me
there should be yea, yea, and nay, nay 1 But, as
God is true, our word toward you was not yea and
nay." It appears from this quotation, that he had
not only intended, but that he had promised them
a visit before; for, otherwise, why should he apo-
logize for the change of his purpose, or express so
much anxiety lest this change should be imputed
to any culpable fickleness in his temper; and lest
he should thereby seem to them, as one whose
word was not, in any sort, to. be depended upon 1
Besides which, the terms made use of, plainly re-
fer to a promise, " Our word toward you was not
yea ;iml nay." St. Paul, therefore, had signified
an intention which I) had not been able toeZB-
cnte ; and this seeming breach of his word, and
the delay of his visit, had, with some who were
evil affected towards him, given birth to a sugges-
tion that he would come no more to Corinth.
No. XII.
Chap. v. 7, 8. " For even Christ, our passover,
is sacrificed for us; therefore let us keep the feast,
not with old leaven, neither with the leaven of
malice and wickedness, but with the unleavened
bread of sincerity and truth."
Dr. Benson tells us, that from this passage,
compared with chapter xvi. 8, it has been con-
jectured that this epistle was written about the
time of the Jewish passover; and to me the con-
jecture appears to be very well founded. The
passage to which Dr. Benson refers us is this :
" I will tarry at Ephcsus until Pentecost." With
this passage he ought to have joined another in
the same context: "And it may be that I will
abide, yea, and winter with you;" for from the
two passages laid together, it follows that the
epistle was written before Pentecost, yet after
winter; which necessarily determines the date to
the part of the year within which the passover
falls. It was written before Pentecost, because
he says, " I will tarry at Ephesus until Pentecost."
It was written after winter, because he tells them,
" It may be that I may abide, yea, and winter
with you." The winter which the apostle pur-
posed to pass at Corinth was undoubtedly the
winter next ensuing to the date of the epistle : yet
it was a winter subsequent to the ensuing Pen-
tecost, because he did not intend to set forwards
upon his iourney till after that feast. The words,
" let us keep the feast, not with old leaven, nei-
ther with the leaven of malice and wickedness, but
with the unleavened bread of sincerity and truth,"
look very like words suggested by the season ; at
least they have, upon that supposition, a force and
significancy which do not belong to them upon
any other ; and it is not a little remarkable, that
the hints casually dropped in the epistle concern-
ing particular parts of the year, should coincide
with this supposition.
CHAPTER IV.
Second Epistle to the Corinthians.
No. I.
I WILL not say that it is impossible, having seen
the First Epistle to the Corinthians, te construct
a second with ostensible allusions to the first ; or
that it is impossible that both should be fabricated,
so as to carry on an order and continuation of
story, by successive references to the same events.
But I say that this, in either case, must be the effect
of craft and design. Whereas, whoever examines
the allusions to the former epistle which he finds
in this, whilst he will acknowledge them to be
such as would rise spontaneously to the hand of
the writer, from the very subject of the corres-
pondence, and the situation of the corresponding
parties, supposing these to be real, will see no
particle of reason to suspect, either that the clauses
containing these allusions were insertions for the
pur^se, or that the several transactions of the Co-
rinthian church were feigned, in order to form a.
train of narrative, or to support the appearance of
coiiii"\ion between the two epistles.
1. In the First Epistle, St. Paul announces his
intention of passing through Macedonia, in his
way to Corinth : " I will come to you when I shall
pass through Macedonia." In the Second Epistle,
we find him arrived in Macedonia, and about to
pursue his journey to Corinth. But observe the
manner in which this is made to appear: " I know
the forwardness of your mind, for which I boast
of you to them of Macedonia, that Achaia was
ready a year ago, and your zeal hath provoked
very many : yet have I sent the brethren, lest our
boasting of you should be in vain in this behalf;
that, as I said, ye may be ready ; lest, haply, if
they of Macedonia come with me, and find you
unprepared, we (that we say not you^ be asham-
ed in this same confident boasting," chap. ix.
2, 3, 4. St. Paul's being in Macedonia at the
time of writing the epistle, is, in this passage, in-
ferred only from his saying that he had boasted
to the Macedonians of the alacrity of his Achaian
converts; and the fear which he expresses, lest, if
any of the Macedonian Christians should come
with him unto Achaia, they should find his boast-
ing unwarranted by the event. The business of
the contribution is the sole cause of mentioning
Macedonia at all. Will it be insinuated that this
passage was framed merely to state that St. Paul
was now in Macedonia ; and, by that statement, to
produce an apparent agreement with the purpose
of visiting Macedonia, notified in the First Epistle 7
Or will it be thought probable, that, if a sophist
had meant to place St. Paul in Macedonia, for the
sake of giving countenance to his forgery, he
would have done it in so oblique a manner as
through the medium of a contribution'? The same
thing may be observed of another text in the epis-
tle, in which the name of Macedonia occurs:
" Furthermore, when I came to Troas to preach
the Gospel, and a door was opened unto me of the
Lord, I had no rest in my spirit, because I found
not Titus, my brother; but taking my leave of
them, I went from thence into Macedonia." I
mean, that it maybe observed of this passage also,
that there is a reason for mentioning Macedonia.
1G
183
HOR^E PAULINA.
entirely distinct from the purpose of showing St
Paul to be there. Indeed, if the passage befor
Us show that point at all, it shows it so obscurely
that Grotius, though he did not doubt that Pau
was now in Macedonia, refers this text to a dif
ferent journey. Is this the hand of a forger, me
dilating to establish a false conformity'? 1 Tie text
however, in which it is most strongly implied thai
St. Paul wrote the present epistle from Mace
donia, is found in the fourth, fifth, and sixth verses
of the seventh chapter : " I am filled with comfort
I am exceeding joyful in all our tribulation ; for >
when we were come into Macedonia, our flesh hac
no rest ; without were fightings, within were fears
nevertheless, God, that comfbrteth those that are
cast down, comforted us by the coming of Titus.'
Yet even here, I think, no one will contend, that
St. Paul's coming to Macedonia, or being in Ma-
cedonia, was the principal thing intended to be
told ; or that the telling of it, indeed, was any part
of the intention with which the text was written;
or that the mention even of the name of Mace-
donia was not purely incidental, in the description
of those tumultuous sorrows with which the
writer's mind hath been lately agitated, and from
which he was relieved by the coming of Titus.
The first five verses of the eighth chapter, which
commend the liberality of the Macedonian
churches, do not, in my opinion, by themselves,
jm>ve St. Paul to have been at Macedonia at the
time of writing the epistle.
2. In the First Epistle, St. Paul denounces a
severe censure against an incestuous marriage,
which had taken place amongst the Corinthian
converts, with the connivance, not to say with the
approbation, of the church ; and enjoins the church
to purge itself of this scandal, by expelling the of-
fender from its society: "It is reported commonly,
that there is fornication among you, and such for-
nication, as is not so much as named amongst the
Gentiles, that one should have his father's wife ;
and ye are puffed up, and have not rather mourn-
ed, that he that hath done this deed might be taken
away from among you; for I, verily, as absent in
body, but present in spirit, have judged already,
as though I were present, concerning him that
hath done this deed : in the name of our Lord
Jesus Christ, when ye are gathered together, and
my spirit, with the power of our Lord Jesus Christ,
to deliver such a one unto Satan for the destruc-
tion of the flesh, that the spirit may be saved in
the day of the Lord," chap. v. 15. In the
Second Epistle, we find this sentence executed,
and the offender to be so affected with the punish-
ment, that St. Paul now intercedes for his resto-
ration ; " Sufficient to such a man is this punish-
ment, which was inflicted of many ; so that, con-
trariwise, ye ought rather to forgive him and
comfort him, lest perhaps such a one should be
swallowed up with over-much sorrow; wherefore,
I beseech you that ye would confirm your love
towards him," 2 Cor. chap. ii. 7, 8. Is this
whole business feigned for the sake of carrying on
a continuation of story through the two epistles? i
The church also, no less than the offender, was
brought by St. Paul's reproof to a deep sense of
the impropriety of their conduct. Their penitence,
and their respect to his authority, were, as might
be expected, exceeding grateful to St. Paul : " We
were comforted not by Titus' coming only, but by
the consolation wherewith he was comforted in
you, when he told us your earnest desire, your
mourning, your fervent mind towards me, so that
I rejoiced the more; for, though I made you sorry
with a letter, I do not repent, though I did repent;
for I perceive that the same epistle made you sorry,
though it were but for a season. Now I rejoice,
not that ye were made sorry, but that ye sor-
rowed to repentance ; for ye were made sorry, af-
ter a godly manner, that ye might receive damage
by us in nothing," chap. vii. 7 9. That this
passage is to be referred to the incestuous mar-
riage, is proved by the twelfth verse of the same
chapter: " Though I wrote unto you, I did it not
for his cause that had done the wrong, nor for
his cause that suffered wrong ; but that our care
for you, in the sight of God, might appear unto
you." There were, it is true, various topics of
blame noticed in the First Epistle ; but there was
none, except this of the incestuous marriage,
which could be called a transaction between pri-
vate parties, or of which it could be said that one
particular person had done the " wrong," and an-
other particular person had " suffered it." Could
all this be without foundation ? or could it be put
into the Second Epistle, merely to furnish an ob-
scure sequel to what had been said about an in-
cestuous marriage in the first 1
3. In the sixteenth chapter of the First Epistle,
a collection for the saints is recommended to be
set forwards at Corinth : " Now, concerning the
collection for the saints, as I have given order to
the churches of Galatia, so do ye," chap. xvi. 1.
In the ninth chapter of the Second Epistle, such
a collection is spoken of, as in readiness to be re-
ceived: "As touching the ministering to the
saints, it is superfluous for me to write to you, for
1 know the forwardness of your mind, for which
I boast of you to them of Macedonia, that Achaia
was ready a year ago, and your zeal hath provoked
very many," chap. ix. 1,2. This is such a con-
tinuation of the transaction as might be expect-
ed ; or, possibly it will be said, as might easily be
counterfeited ; but there is a circumstance of nicety
in the agreement between the two epistles, which,
[ am convinced, the author of a forgery would not
iave hit upon, or which, if he had hit upon it, he
would have set forth with more clearness. The
Second Epistle speaks of the Corinthians as hav-
ng begun this eleemosynary business a year be-
fore : " This is expedient for you who have begun
Before, not only to do, but also to be forward a year
ago," chap. viii. x. " I boast of you to them
of Macedonia, that Achaia was ready a year ago,"
chap. ix. 2. From these texts it is evident, that
something had been done in the business a year
>efore. It appears, however, from other texts
n the epistle, that the contribution was not yet
collected or paid; for brethren were sent from
St. Paul to Corinth, " to make up their boun-
y," chap. ix. 5. They are urged to "perform
he doing of it," chap. viii. 11. "And every
man was exhorted to give as he purposed in his
leart," chap. ix. 7. The contribution, there-
ore, as represented in our present epistle, was in
readiness, yet not received from the contributors ;
was begun, was forward long before, yet not
hitherto collected. Now this representation agrees
with one, and only with one, supposition, namely,
that every man had laid by in store, had already
provided the fund, from which he was afterwards
to contribute the very case which the First Epis-
tle authorises us to suppose to have existed ; for in
that epistle St. Paul had charged the Corinthians,
SECOND EPISTLE TO THE CORINTHIANS.
IBS
" upon the first day of the week, every one of them,
to lay by in store as God had prospered him,"*
1 Cor. chap. xvi. 2.
No. II.
In comparing the Second Epistle to the Corin-
thians with the Acts of the Apostles, we are soon
brought to observe, not only that there exists no
Testige either of the epistle having been taken
from the history, or the history from the epistle ;
but also that there appears in the contents of the
f pistle positive evidence, that neitherwas borrowed
from the other. Titus, who bears a conspicuous
part in the epistle, is not mentioned in the Acts
of the Apostles at all. St. Paul's sufferings enu-
merated, chap. xi. 24. "of the Jews five tunes re-
ceived I forty stripes save one ; thrice was I beaten
with rods ; once was I stoned ; thrice I suffered
shipwreck ; a night and a day I have been in the
deep," cannot be made out from his history as de-
livered in the Acts ; nor would this account have
been given by a writer, who either drew his know-
ledge of St. Paul from that history, or who was
careful to preserve a conformity with it. The
account in the epistle of St. Paul's escape from
Damascus, though agreeing in the main fact with
the account of the same transaction in the Acts,
is related with such difference of circumstance, as
renders it utterly improbable that one should be
derived from the other. The two accounts, placed
by the side of each other, stand as follows :
* The following observations will satisfy us concern-
ing the purity of our apostle's conduct in the suspicious
business of a pecuniary contribution.
1. He disclaims the having received any inspired
authority for the directions which he is giving; "I
speak not by commandment, but by occasion of the for-
wardness of others, and to prove the sincerity of your
love," 2 Cor. chap. viii. 8. Who, that had a sinister
purpose to answer by the recommending of subscrip-
tions, would thus distinguish, and thus lower the credit
of his own recommendation ?
2. Although he asserts the general right of Christian
ministers to a maintenance from their ministry, yet ho
protests against the making use of this right in his own
person : " Even so hath the Lord ordained, that they
which preach the Gospel should live of the Gospel ; but
I have used none of these things, neither have I written
these things that it should be so done unto me ; for it
were better for me to die than that any man should
make my glorying, i. e. my professions of disinterested-
ness, void," 1 Cor. chap. ix. 14, 15.
3. He repeatedly proposes that there should be asso-
ciates with himself in the management of the public
bounty; not colleagues of his own appointment, but
persons elected for that purpose by the contributors
themselves. " And when I come, whomsoever ye shall
approve by your letters, them will I send to bring your
liberality unto Jerusalem ; and if it be meet that I
go also, they shall go with me," 1 Cor. chap. xvi. 3, 4.
And in the Second Epistle, what is here proposed, we
find actually done, and done for the very purpose of
guarding his character against any imputation that
might be brought upon it, in the discharge of a pecu-
niary trust : " And we have sent with him the brother,
whose praise is in the Gospel throughout all the
churches ; and not that only, but who was also chosen
of the churches to travel with us with this grace (gift)
which is administered by us to the glory of the same
Lord, and the declaration of your ready mind : avoid-
ing this, that no man should blame us in this abund-
ance which is administered by us ; providing for things
honest, not only in the sight of the Lord, but also in the
sight of men ;" i. e. not resting in the consciousness of
our own integrity, but, in such a subject, careful also
to approve our integrity to the public judgment. 2 Cor.
chap. viii. 1821.
2 Cor. chap. xi. 32, 33.
In Damascus, the governor
under Aretas the king, kept
the city of the Damascenes
with a garrison, desirous to
apprehend me ; and through
a window in a basket was I
let down by the wall, and
escaped his hands.
Acts, chap. Jx. 332*.
And after many days were
fulfilled, the Jews took
counsel to kill him ; but
their laying in wait was
known "of t'aul, and they
watched the gates day and
night to kill him: then the
disciples took him by night,
and let him down by the
wall in a basket.
Now if we be satisfied in general concerning
these two ancient writings, that the one was not
known to the writer of the other, or not consulted
by him; then the accordances which may be
pointed out between them, will admit of no solu-
tion so probable, as the attributing of them to
truth and reality, as their common foundation.
No. III.
The opening of this epistle exhibits a connexion
with the history, which alone would satisfy my
mind that the epistle was written by St. Paul, and
by St. Paul in the situation in which the history
places him. Let it be remembered, that in the
nineteenth chapter of the Acts, St. Paul is repre-
sented as driven away from Ephesus, or as leaving
however Ephesus, in consequence of an uproar in
that city, excited by some interested adversaries
of the new religion. The account of the tumult
is as follows : "\Vhen they heard these sayings,"
viz. Demetrius's complaint of the danger to be
apprehended from St. Paul's ministry to the es-
tablished worship of the Ephesian goddess, " they
were full of wrath, and cried out, saying, Great is
Diana of the Ephesians. And the whole city was
filled with confusion; and having caught Gaius
and Aristarchus, Paul's companions in travel,
they rushed with one accord into the theatre ; and
when Paul would have entered in unto the people,
the disciples suffered him not; and certain of the
chief of Asia, which were his friends, sent unto
him, desiring that he would not adventure him-
self into the theatre. Some, therefore, cried one
thing, and some another; for the assembly was
confused, and the more part knew not wherefore
they were come together. And they drew Alex-
ander out of the multitude, the Jews putting him
forward ; and Alexander beckoned with his hand,
and would have made his defence unto the people ;
but, when they knew that he was a Jew, all with
one voice, about the space of two hours, cried out,
Great is Diana of the Ephesians. And after the
uproar was ceased, Paul called unto him the dis-
ciples, and embraced them, and departed for to go
into Macedonia." When he was arrived in Ma-
cedonia, he wrote the Second Epistle to the Co-
rinthians which is now before us ; and he begins
his epistle in this wise: " Blessed be God, even
the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father
of mercies, and the God of all comfort, who com-
forteth us in all our tribulation, that we may be
able to comfort them which are in any trouble, by
the comfort wherewith we ourselves are comforted
of God. For, as the sufferings of Christ abound
in us, so our consolation also aboundeth by Christ ;
and whether we be afflicted, it is for your conso-
lation and salvation, which is effectual in the en-
during of the same sufferings which we also suffer;
or whether we be comforted, it is for your consola-
tion and salvation : and our hope of you is stead-
fast, knowing that, as ye are partakers of the suf-
ferings, so shall ye be also of the consolation. For
184
HOILE PAULINJE.
we would not, brethren, have you ignorant of ou
trouble which came to us in Asia, that we were
pressed out of measure. abov strength, insomuch
that we despaired even of life; but we had the
sentence of death in ourselves, that we shoulc
not trust in ourselves, but in God, which raisetl.
the dead, who delivered us from so great a
death, and doth deliver; in whom we trust that he
will yet deliver us." Nothing could be more ex-
pressive of the circumstances in which the history
describes St. Paul to have been at the time when
the epistle purports to be written; or rather
nothing could be more expressive of the sensa
tions arising from these circurhstances, than this
passage. It is the calm recollection of a mind
emerged from the confusion of instant danger. It
is that devotion and solemnity of thought, which
follows a recent deliverance. There is just enough
of particularity in the passage to show that it is
to be referred to the tumult at Ephesus: " We
would not, brethren, have you ignorant of our
trouble which came to us in Asia. And there is
nothing more ; no mention of Demetrius, of the
seizure of St. Paul's friends, of the interference of
the town-clerk, of the occasion or nature of the
danger which St. Paul had escaped, or even of
the city where it happened ; hi a word, no recital
from which a suspicion could be conceived, either
that the author of the epistle had made use of the
narrative in the Acts ; or, on the other hand, that
he had sketched the outline, which the narrative
in the Acts only filled up. That the forger of an
epistle, under the name of St. Paul, should borrow
circumstances from a history of St. Paul then ex-
tant ; or, that the author of a history of St. Paul
should gather materials from letters bearing St.
Paul's name, may be credited ; but I cannot believe
that any forger whatever, should fall upon an ex-
pedient so refined, as to exhibit sentiments adapted
to a situation, and to leave his readers to seek out
that situation from the history ; still less that the
author of a history should go about to frame facts
and circumstances, fitted to supply the sentiments
which he found in the letter. It may be said, per-
haps, that it does not appear from the history, that
any danger threatened St. Paul's life in the up-
roar at Ephesus, so imminent as that from which
in the epistle he represents himself to have been
delivered. This matter, it is true, is not stated by
the historian in form ; but the personal danger of
the apostle, we cannot doubt, must have been ex-
treme, when the " whole city was filled with con-
fusion ;" when the populace had " seized his com-
panions;" when, in the distraction of his mind, he
insisted upon " coming forth amongst them ;"
when the Christians who were about him "would
not suffer him;" when " his friends, certain of the
chief of Asia, sent to him, desiring that he would
not adventure himself in the tumult;" when, last-
ly, he was obliged to quit immediately the place
and the country, "and when the tumult was
ceased, to depart into Macedonia." All which
particulars are found in the narration, and justify
St. Paul's own account, " that he was pressed out
of measure, above strength, insomuch that he
despaired even of life ; that he had the sentence
of death in himself;" i. e. that he looked upon
himself as a man condemned to die.
No. IV.
tt has already been remarked, that. St. Paul's
original intention was to have visited Corinth in
liis way to Macedonia: "I was minded to come
unto you More, and to pass by you into Macedo-
nia," 2 Cor. chap. i. 15, lb'. It has also been re-
marked that he changed his intention, and ulti-
mately resolved upon goinir through Macedonia
first. Now upon this headthere exists a circum-
stance of correspondency bct\secn our epistle and
the history, which is not very obvious to the read-
er's observation; but which, when observed, will
be found, I think, close and exact. Which cir-
cumstance is this: that though the change of St.
Paul's intention be expressly mentioned only in
the second epistle, yet it appears, both from the
history and from this second epistle, that the
change had taken place before the writing of the
first epistle; that it appears however from neither,
otherwise than by an inference, unnoticed per-
haps by almost every one who does not sit down
professedly to the examination.
First, then, how does this point appear from
the history'? In the nineteenth chapter of the
Acts, and* the twenty-first verse, we are told, that
" Paul purposed in the spirit when he had passed
through Macedonia and Achaia, to go to Jerusa-
lem. So he sent into Macedonia two of them
that ministered unto him, Timotheus and Erastus ;
but he himself stayed in Asia for, a season." A
short time after this, and evidently in pursuance
of the same intention, we find (chap. xx. 1, 2.)
that Paul departed from Ephesus for to go into
Macedonia: and that when he had gone over
those parts, he came into Greece." The resolu-
tion therefore of passing first through Macedonia,
and from thence into Greece, was formed by St.
Paul previously to the sending away of Timothy.
The "order in which the two countries are men-
tioned shows the direction of his intended route,
" when he had passed through Macedonia and
Achaia." Timothy and Erastus, who were to
precede him in his progress, were sent by him
from Ephesus into Macedonia. He himself a
short time afterwards, and, as hath been ob-
served, evidently in continuation and pursuance
of the same design, " departed for to go into Ma-
cedonia." If he had ever, therefore, entertained
different plan of his journey, which is not
hinted in the history, he must have changed that
plan before this time. But, from the 17th verse
of the fourth chapter of the First Epistle to the
Corinthians, we discover, that Timothy had been
sent away from Ephesus before that epistle was
written : " For this cause have 1 sent unto you
Timotheus, who is my beloved son." The
change, therefore, of St. Paul's resolution, which
was prior to the sending away of Timothy, was
necessarily prior to the writing of the First Epistle
:o the Corinthians.
Thus stands the order of dates, as collected from
;he history, compared with the L'irst Kpistle. Now
et us inquire, secondly, how this matter is repre-
sented in the epistle before us. In the sixteenth
erse of the first chapter of this epistle, St. Paul
peaks of the intention which he had once enter-
aincd of visiting Achaia, in his way to Macedo-
lia: "In this confidence I was minded to come
unto you before, that ye might have a second bene-
it : and tt) puss by yo"u into Macedonia.' 7 Alter
jrotfsting, in the seventeenth verse, against any
>vil construction that might be put upon hi
ng aside of this intention, in the twenty -thinl
/erse he discloses the, cause of it: '' Moiv.ner I
call God for a record upon my soul, that, to spare
SECOND EPISTLE TO THE CORINTHIANS.
185
you, 1 came not as yet unto Corinth." And then
he proceeds as follows: "But I determined this
with myself, that I would not come again to you
in heaviness : for, if 1 make you sorry, who is he
then that maketh me glad, but the same which is
made sorry by me 1 And I wrote th is same untu
you, lest when I came 1 should have eorrow from
them of whom I ought to rejoice ; having confi-
dence in you all, that my joy is the joy of you all;
for, out of much affliction and anguish of heart, /
wrote unto you icith many tears ; not that ye
should be grieved, but that ye might know the
love which 1 have more abundantly unto you: but
if any have caused grief, he hath" IK it grieved me
but in part, that 1 may not oven-barge you all.
Sufficient to such a man" is this punishment", which
was inflicted of mnny." hi this quotation, let the
reader iirst direct his attention to the clause marked
by Italics, " and I wrote this same unto youj" and
let him consider, whether from the context, and
from the structure of the whole passage, it be not
evident that this writing was after St. Paul bad
"determined with himself, that he would not come
again to them in heaviness V whether, indeed, it
was not in consequence of this determination, or
at least with this determination upon his mind .'
And, in the next place, let him consider whether
the sentence, "1 determined this \\ith myself that
I would not come again to you in heaviness," do
not plainly refer to th.it pbApeiUBf of bis \\<\l. to
which lie had alluded in tin- \erse but one before,
when he said, "I call God for a record upon my
soul, that, to spare you, I came not as yet unto
Corinth:" and whether this be net the" visit of
which he speaks in the sixteenth verse, wherein
he informs the Corinthians, "that he bad been
iiiiinledto pass by them into Macedonia; but that,
for reasons, which argued no levity or fickleness
in his disposition, he bad been compelled to change
his purpose. If this be so, then it follows that tin-
writ ing here mentioned was posterior to the
change of his intention. The only question, there-
fore, that remains, will be, whether this writing
relate to the letter which we now have under tin-
title of the First Epistle to the Corinthians, or to
some other letter not extant! And upon this,
question. I think Mr. Locke 'sol>servatim deci>ive :
namely, that the second clause marked in thequo-
tation by Italics, " I wrote unto you with many
tears," and the first clause so marked. " I wrote
this same unto you, ' belong to one writing, what-
ever that was; and that the second clause goes on
to advert to a circnmstanee which is found" in our
present First Epistle to the Corinthians ; namely,
the case and punishment of the incestuous person.
Upon the whole, then, we see, that it is capable of
being inferred from St. Paul's own words, in the
loiiL r extract which we have quoted, that the First
Epistle to the Corinthians was written after St.
Paul had determined to postpone his journey to
Corinth ; in other words, that the change of his
purpose with respect to the course of bis journey,
though expressly mentioned only in the Second
Epistle, had taken place before the writing of the
First; the point which we made out to be implied
in the history, by the order of the e\ents there re-
corded, and the allusions to those events in t In--
First Epistle. Now this is a species of congruity
of all others the most to 1x5 relied upon. Itw not
an agreement between two accounts of the same
transaction, or between different statements of the
same fact, for the fact is not stated : nothing that
2A
can be called an account is given ; but it is the
junction of two conclusions, deduced from inde-
pendent sources, and deductible only by investiga-
tion and comparison.
This point, viz. the change of the route, being
prior to the writing of the First Epistle, also falls
in with, and accounts for, the manner in which he
speaks in that epistle of his journey.' His first
intention had. been, as he here declares, to " pass
by them into Macedonia:" that intention having
been previously given up, he writes, in his First
Epistle, " that he would not sec them now by the
way," i. e. as he'- must have done, upon his iirst
plan ; ' ; but that he trusted to tarry awhile with them,
and possibly to abide, yea and winter with them,"
1 Conn. chap. xvi. 5, 6. It also accounts for a
singularity in the text referred to, which must
strike e\erv reader: " 1 will come to you when 1
pass through Macedonia; for 1 do pass Ihrough
Macedonia.'' The supplemental sentence, " for I
through Macedonia," imports that there
had been some pve\ ions communication upon the
subject of the journey; and also that there had
been some vacillation and indecisiveness in the
' plan: both which we no^i perceive to
have been the case. The sentence is as much as
to say, " This is what I at last resolve ^ipon."
The expression, " OTMV M*xJ6v* \5u>," is ambi-
guous ; it may denote either " when I pass, or when
I shall have passed, through Macedonia:'' the con-
siderations oilervd above Jix it to the latter sense.
Lastly, the point we have endeavoured to make
out, confirms, or rather, indeed, is necessary to the
support of a conjecture, which forms .the subject
of a number in our observations upon the First
Epistle, that the insinuation of certain of the church
of Corinth, that he would come no more amongst
them, was founded on some previous disappoint-
ment of their expectations.
No; V.
But if St. Paul had changed his purpose before
the writing of the First Epistle, why did he defer
explaining himself to the Corinthians, concerning
the reason of that change, until he wrotv the Se-
cond"? This is a very lair question ; and we are
able. 1 think, to return to H a satisfactory answer.
The real cause, and the cause at length assigned
by St. Paul for ]>osinoning his visit to Corinth,
and not travelling by the route which he had at
Iirst designed, was the disorderly state of the Co-
rinthian church at the time, and the painful severi-
ties which he should have found himself obliged to
exercise,, if he Itad come amongst them during the
existence of these irregularities. He Was willing
therefore to try, before he came in person, what a
letter of authoritative objurgation would do amongst
them, and to leave time tor the operation of the
experiment-. That was his s.-heme in writing the
First Epistle. But it was not for him to acquaint
them with the, scheme. Alter the epistle had pro-
duced its etlect (and to the utmost extent, as it
should seem, of the apostle's hopes;) when he had
wrbught'in them a deep sense of their fault, and
an almost passionate solicitude to restore them-
selves to the approbation of their teacher; when
Titus (chap. vii. 0,.7, 11.) had brought him intel-
ligence ."of their earnest desire, their mourning,
their fervent mind towards him, of their sorrow
and their penitence; what carefulness, what clear-
ing of themselves, what indignation, what fear,
what vehement desire, what zeal, what revenge,"
16*
18G
HOR-aa PAULINA.
his letter, and the general concern occasioned by
it, had excited amongst them ; he then opens him-
self fully upon the subject. The affectionate mind
of the apostle is touched by this return of zeal and
duty. He tells them that he did not visit them at
the time proposed, lest their meeting should have
been attended with mutual grief; and with grief to
him embittered by the reflection, that he was giving
pain to those, from whom alone he could receive
comfort : " I determined this with myself, that I
would not come again to you in heaviness ; for, if
I make you sorry, who is he that maketh me glad
but the same which is made sorry by me?' chap.
ii. 1, 2 : that he had written his former epistle to
warn them beforehand of their fault, " lest when
he came he should have sorrow of them of whom
he ought to rejoice ;" chap. ii. 3 : that he had the
farther view, though perhaps unperceived by them,
of making an experiment of their fidelity, " to
know the proof of them, whether they are obedi-
ent in all things," chap. ii. 9. This full discovery
of his motive came very naturally from the apostle,
after he had seen the success of his measures, but
would not have been a seasonable communication
before. The whole composes a train of sentiment
and of conduct resulting from real situation, and
from real circumstance, and as remote as possible
from fiction or imposture.
No. VI.
Chap. xi. 9. " When I was present with you
and wanted, I was chargeable to no man : for that
which was lacking to me, the brethren which
came from Macedonia supplied." The principal
fact set forth in this passage, the arrival at Corinth
of brethren from Macedonia during St. Paul's first
residence in that <nty, is explicitly recorded, Acts,
chap, xviii. 1, 5. " After these things Paul de-
parted from Athens, and came to Corinth. And
when Silas and Timotheus were come from Mace-
donia, Paul was pressed in spirit, and testified to
the Jews that Jesus was Christ."
No. VII.
The above quotation from the Acts proves that
Silas and Timotheus were assisting to St. Paul in
preaching the Gospel at Corinth. With which
correspond the words of the epistle, (chap. i. 19,)
" For the Son of God, Jesus Christ, who was
preached among you by us, even by me, and Sil-
vanus, and Timotheus, was not yea and nay, but
in him was yea." I do admit that the correspond-
ency, considered by itself, is too direct and obvious ;
and that an impostor with the history before him
might, and probably would, produce agreements of
the same kind. But let it be remembered, that
this reference is found in a writing, which, from
many discrepancies, and especially from those
noted No. II., we may conclude, was not composed
by any one who had consulted, and who pursued
the history. Some observation also arises upon
the variation of the name. We read Silas in the
Acts, Silvanus in the epistle. The similitude of
these two names, if they were the names of differ-
ent persons, is greater than could easily have pro-
ceeded from accident ; I mean that itis.not probable,
that two persons, placed in situations so much
alike, should bear names so nearly resembling each
other.* On the other hand, tlie difference of the
* That they wer* the same person is farther confirmed
by 1 Thess. chap. i. 1. compared with Acts, chap. xvii. 10.
name in the two passages negatives the supposition
of the passages, or the account contained in them,
being transcribed either from the other.
No. VIII.
Chap. ii. 12, 13. When 1 came to Troas
to preach Christ's Gospel, and a door was opened
unto me of the Lord, 1 hud no rest in my spirit,
because I found not Titus my brother ; but taking
my leave of them, I went from thence into Ma-
cedonia."
To establish a conformity between this passage
and. the history, nothing more is necessary to be
presumed, than that St. Paul proceeded from Ephe-
sus to Macedonia, upon the same course by which
he came back from Macedonia to Ephesus, or
rather to Miletus in the neighbourhood of Ephe-
sus ; in other words, that in his journey to the
peninsula of Greece, he went and returned the
same way. St. Paul is now in Macedonia, where
he had lately arrived from Ephesus. Our quota-
tion imports that in his journey he had stopped at
Troas. Of this, the history says nothing, le;i\in<r
us only the short account that " Paul departed
from Ephesus, for to go into Macedonia." But
the history says, that in his return from Macedo-
nia to Ephesus, "Paul sailed from Philippi to
Troas; and that, when the disciples came to-
gether on the first day of the week to break bread,
Paul preached unto them all night; that from
Troas he went by land to Assos; from Assos,
taking ship and coasting along the front of Asia
Minor, he came by Mitylene to Miletus." Which
account proves, first, that Troas lay in the way
by which St. Paul passed between Ephesus and
Macedonia ; secondly, that he had disciples there.
In one journey between these two places, the
epistle, and in another journey between the same
places, the history, makes him stop at this city.
Of the first journey he is made to say, " that a
door was in that city opened unto me of the Lord ;
in the second, we find disciples there collected
around him, and the apostle exercising his minis-
try, with, what was even in him, more than ordi-
nary zeal and labour. The epistle, therefore, is in
this instance confirmed, if not by the terms, at
least by the probability of the history; a species
of confirmation by no means to be despised, be-
cause, as far as it reaches, it is evidently uncon-
trived.
Grotius, I know, refers the arrival at Troas, to
which the epistle alludes, to a diliercnt period, but
I think very improbably ; for nothing appears to
me more certain, than that the meeting with Ti-
tus, which St. Paul expected at Troas, was the
same meeting which took place in Macedonia,
viz. upon Titus's coming out of Greece. In the
quotation before us, he tells the Corinthians,
" When I came to Troas, 1 had no rest in my
spirit, because I found not Titus my brother; but
taking my leave of them, 1 went from thence into
Macedonia." Then in the seventh chapter he
writes, " When we were come into Macedonia,
our flesh had no rest, but we v.eiv troubled on
every side; without were fightings, within were
fears ; nevertheless God, that comforteth them
that are cast down, comforted us by the coining of
Titus." These two passages, plainly relate to the
same journey of Titus, in meeting with whom St.
Paul Had been disappointed at Troas, and rejoiced
in Macedonia. And amongst other reasons which
fix the former passage to the coming of Titus out
SECOND EPISTLE TO THE CORINTHIANS.
187
cfrGreece, is the consideration, that it was nothing
to the Corinthians that St. Paul did not meet with
Titus at Troas, were it not that he was to bring
intelligence from Corinth. The mention of the
disappointment in this place, upon any other sup-
position, is irrelative.
No. IX.
Chap. xi. 24, 25. " Of the Jews five times re-
ceived I forty stripes save one ; thrice was I beaten
with rods ; once was I stoned ; thrice I suffered
shipwreck ; a night and a day I have been in the
deep."
These particulars cannot be extracted out of the
Acts of the Apostles ; which proves, as hath been
already observed, that the epistle was not framed
from the history : yet they are consistent with it,
which, considering how numerically circumstan-
tial the account is, is more than could happen to
arbitrary and independent fictions. When I say
that these particulars are consistent with the his-
tory, I mean, first, that there is no article in the
enumeration which is contradicted by the history ;
secondly, that the history, though silent with re-
spect to many of the facts here enumerated, has
left space for the existence of these facts, con-
sistent with the fidelity of its own narration.
First, no contradiction is discoverable between
the epistle and the history. When St. Paul says,
thrice was I beaten with rods, although the his-
tory record only one beating with rods, viz. at
Philippi, Acts xvi. 22, yet is there no contradic-
tion. It is only the omission in one book of what
is related in another. But had the history con-
tained accounts of four beatings with rods, at the
time of writing this epistle, in which St. Paul
pays that he had only suffered three, there would
have been a contradiction properly so called. The
same observation applies generally to the other
parts of the enumeration, concerning which the
history is silent: but there is one clause in the
quotation particularly deserving of remark; be-
en u so. when confronted with the history, it fur-
nishes the nearest approach to a contradiction,
without a contradiction being actually incurred,
of any I remember to have met with." " Once,"
saith St. Paul, " was I stoned." Does the history
relate that St. Paul, prior to the writing of this
epistle, had been stoned more than once'? The
history mentions distinctly one occasion upon
which St. Paul was stoned, viz. at Lystra in Ly-
caonia. " Then came thither certain Jews from
Antioch and Iconium, who persuaded the peo-
ple ; and having stoned Paul, drew him out of the
city, supposing he had been dead," chap. xiv. 19.
And it mentions also another occasion in which
" an assault was made botli of the Gentiles, and
also of the Jews, with their rulers, to use them i
despitefully and to stone them; but they were !
aware of it," the history proceeds to tell us, " and
fled into Lystra and Derbe." This happened at
Iconium, prior to the date of the epistle. Now had
the assault been completed ; had the history re-
lated that a stone was thrown, as it relates that
preparations were made both by Jews and Gen-
tiles to stone Paul and his companions; or even
had the account of this transaction stopped, with-
out going on to inform us that Paul and his com-
panions were " aware of their danger and fled,"
a contradiction between the history'and the epis-
tle would have ensued. Truth is necessarily con- ,
sLstent : but it is scarcely possible that independent 1
accounts, not having truth to guide them, should
thus advance to the very brink of contradiction
without falling into it.
Secondly, I say, that if the Acts of the Apos-
tles be silent concerning many of the instances
enumerated hi the epistle, this silence may be
accounted for, from the plan and fabric of the
history. The date of the epistle synchronizes
with the beginning of the twentieth chapter of
the Acts. The part, therefore, of the history,
which precedes the twentieth chapter, is the only
part in which can be found any notice of the per-
secutions, to which St. Paul refers. Now it does \
not appear that the author of the history was with
St. Paul until his departure from Troas, on his
way to Macedonia, as related, chap. xvi. 10 ; or
rather, indeed, the contrary appears. It is in this
point of the history that the language changes. In
the seventh and eighth verses of this chapter the
third person is used. c< After they were come to
Mysiu, they essayed to go into Bithynia, but the
Spirit suffered them not; and they passing by
Mysia came to Troas ;" and the third person is in
like manner constantly used throughout the fore-
going part of the history. In the tenth verse of
tins chapter, the first person comes in : " After
Paul had seen the vision, immediately ice en-
deavoured to go into Macedonia; assuredly ga-
thering that the Lord had called us to preach the
Gospel uhto them." Now, from this time to the
writing of the epistle, the history occupies four
chapters ; yet it is in these, if in any, that a regu-
lar or continued account of the apostle's life is to
be expected ; for how succinctly his history is de-
livered in the preceding part of the book, that is
to say, from the time ot his conversion to the time
when the historian joined him at Troas, except
tin- particulars, of his conversion itself, which are
related circumstantially, may be understood from
the following observations >
The history of a period of sixteen years is com-
prised in less than three chapters ; and of these, a
material part is taken up with discourses. After
his conversion, he continued in the neighbourhood
of Damascus, according to the history, for a cer-
tain considerable, though indefinite, length of time,
according to his own words, (Gal. i. 18,) for three
years ; of which no other account is given than
this short one, that "straightway he preached
Christ in the synagogues, that he is the Son of
God ; that all that heard him were amazed, and
said, Is not this he that destroyed them which
called on .this name, in Jerusalem'? that he in-
creased the more in strength, and confounded the
Jews which dwelt at Damascus ; and that, after
many days were fulfilled, the Jews took counsel
to kill him." From Damascus he proceeded to
Jerusalem: and of his residence there nothing
more particular is recordedj than that " he was
with the apostles, coming in and going out ; that
he spake boldly in the name of the Lord Jesus,
and disputed against the Grecians, who went
about to kill him." From Jerusalem, the history
sends him to his native city of Tarsus.* It seems
probable, from the order and disposition of the his-
tory, that St. Paul's stay at Tarsus was of some
continuance; for we hear nothing of him, until,
after a long apparent interval, and much inter-
jacent narrative, Barnabas desirous of Paul's as-
sistance upon the enlargement of the Christian
* Acts ix. 30.
188
HOR-32 PAULINA.
mission, ft went to Tarsus for to seek him."* We
cannot doubt but that the new apostle had been
busied in his ministry; yet of what he did, of
what he suffered, during this period, 'which may
include three or four years, the history pro lessen-
not to deliver any -information. As Tarsus was
situated upon the sea-coast, and as, though Tarsus
was his home, yet it is probable he visited from
. thence many other, places, for the purpose of
preaching the Gospel, it is not unlikely, that, in
the course of three or four years, he might under-
take many short voyages to neighbouring coun-
tries, in the navigating of which we may be al-
lowed to suppose that some of those disasters and
shipwrecks befell him, to which he -refers in the
quotation before us, "thnce I suffered shipwreck,
a night and a day I have been in the deep." This
last clause I am inclined to interpret of his being
obliged to take to an open boat, upon the loss of
the ship, and his continuing out at sea, in that
dangerous situation, a night and a day. St. Paul
is here recounting his sufferings, not relating mi-
racles. From Tarsus, Barnabas brought Paul to
Antioch, and there^he remained a year: but of the
transactions of that year no other description is
given than what is contained in the last four
verses of the eleventh, chapter. After a more
solemn dedication to- the ministry, Barnabas and
Paul proceeded from Antioch to Cilicia, and from
thence they sailed to pyprus, of which voyage no
particulars are mentioned. Upon their- return
from Cyprus, they made a progress together
through the Lesser Asia; and though two re-
markable speeches be preserved, and a few in-
cidents in the course of their travels circumstan-
tially related, yet is the account of this progress,
upon the whole, given professedly with concise-
ness ; for instance, at Joonium k is said that they
abode a long time ;t yet of this long abode, except
concerning the manner in which they were driven
away, no-memoir is 'inserted in the history. Th
whole is wrapped up in one "short summary,
" They spake boldly in the Lord, which gave tes-
timony unto the word of his grace, and granted,
signs and wonders to be done by their hands."
Having completed their progress, the two apos-
tles returned to Antioch, " and there they abode
long time with the disciples." Here we have
another large portion of time passed over in si-
lence. To this succeeded a journey to Jerusalem;
, upon a dispute which then much agitated the
Christian church, concerning the obligation of the
law of Moses 1 . When the object of that journey
was completed, Paul proposed to Barnabas to go
again and visit'their brethren in every city where
they had preached the word of the Lord. The
execution of this plan carried our apostle through
Syria, Cilicia, and many provinces of the Lesser
Asia; yet is the account of the whole journey
dispatched in fcmr verses of the sixteenth chapter.
If the Acts of the Apostles had undertaken to
exhibit regular annals of St. Paul's ministry, or,
even any continued account of his life, from his
conversion at Damascus to his imprisonment at
Rome, I should have thought -the omission of the
circumstances referred to irt our epistle, a matter
of reasonable objection. But when it appears,
from the history itself, that large portions of St.
Paul's lite were either passed over in silence, or
only slightly touched upon, and that nothing more
* Acts xi. 25.
t Chap. xiv. 3.
than certain detached incidents and discourses ia
related ; when we observe also, that the author of
the history did not join our apostle's society till a
few years before the writing of the epistle, at least
(hat there is no proof in the history that he did so,
in comparing the history with the epistle, we shall
not be surprised by the discovery of omissions; we
shall ascribe it to truth that there is no contra-
diction.
No. X.
Chap. iii. 1. " Do we begin again to commend
ourselves! or need we, as some others, epistles of
commendation to you?'
"As some others."- Turn to Acts xviii. 27,
and you will find that, a short time before the
writing of that epistle, Apolloshad gone to Corinth
with letters of commendation from the Ephcsian
Christians; "and when Apollos was disposed
to pass into Achaia, the brethren wrote, exhorting
the disciples to receive him." Here the words of
the epistle bear the appearance of alluding to some
specific instance, and the history supplies that in-
stance ; it supplies at least an instance as apposite
as possible to the terms which the apostle uses,
and to the date and direction of the epistle, in
which they are found. - The letter which Apollos
carried from Ephesus, was precisely the letter of
commendation which St. Paul meant ; and it was
to. Achaia, of which- Corinth was the capital, and
indeed to Corinth itself, ^Acts, chap. xix. 1,) that
Apollos carried itj and it was about two years
before the writing of this epistle. If St. Paul's
words be rather thought to refer to some general
usage, which then obtained among Christian
churches, the case of Apollos exemplifies that
usage; and affords that species of confirmation to
the epistle, which arises from seeing the manners
of the age, in which it purports to be written, faith-
fully preserved.
No. XL
Chap xiii. 1. "This is the third time I am
Coming to you:" T^TOV ruro IQWUXI.
Do not these words import that the writer had
been at Corinth twice before % Yet, if they im-
port this, they overset every congruity we have
been endeavouring to establish. The Acts of the
Apostles record only two journeys of St. Paul to
Corinth. We have all along supposed, what every
mark of time except this expression indicates, that
this epistle was written between the first and se-
cond of these journeys. If St. Paul had been
already twice at Corinth, this supposition must be
given up; and every argument or observation
which depends upon it falls to the ground. Again,
the Acts of the Apostles not only record no more
than two journeys of St. Paul to Corinth, but do
not -allow us to suppose that more than two such
journeys could be made or intended by him within
the period which the history comprises ; for from
his first journey into Greece to his first imprison-
ment at Rome, with which the history concludes,
the apostle's time is accounted for. "if therefore
the epistle was written after the second journey to
Corinth, and upon the view and expectation of a
third, it must have been written after his first im-
prisonment at Rome. i. c. after the time to which
the history extends. When I first read over this
epistle with the particular view of comparing it
with the history, which I chose to do without con-
sulting any commentary whatever, I own that I
SECOND EPISTLE TO THE CORINTHIANS.
189
felt myself confounded by this text. It appeared
to contradict the opinion, which I had been led by
a great variety of circumstances to form, concern-
ing the date and occasion of the epistle: At
length, however, it occurred to my thoughts to in-
quire, whether the passage did necessarily imply*
that St. Paul had been at Corinth twice ; Or,
whether, when he says, "this is the third time I
am coming to you," he" might mean only that this
was the third time that he was ready, that he was
prepared, that he intended to set out upon his jour-
ney to Corinth. I recollected that he had once
before this purposed to visit Corinth, and had been
disappointed in this purpose; which disappoint-
ment forms the subject of much apology and pro-
testation, in the first and second chapters of the
epistle. Now, if the journey in which he had
been disappointed was reckoned by him one of the
times in which " he was coming to them," then
the present would be the third time, i. e. ef his
being ready and prepared to come; although he
had been actually at Corinth only once before.
This conjecture being taken up, a farther exami-
nation of the passage and the epistle, produced
proofs which phu-ed it beyond doubt. " This is
the third time I am coming to you:" in the verse
following these words, he adds, " I told you before,
and foretell you, as if I were present the second
time; and being absent, now I write to them
which heretofore nave sinned, and to all other, that,
if I come again, I will not spare." In this verse,
the apostle is declaring beforehand what he would
do in his intended visit ; his expression then-lore,
" as if I were present the second time," relates to
that visit. But, if his future visit would only make
him present among them a second time, it follows
that lie had been already there but once. Again, in
the fifteenth verse of the first chapter, lie tells them,
" In this confidence, I was minded to come unto
you before, that ye might have a second benefit :"
Why a second, and not a third benefit 1 why
&IVTI( v, and not T^T^ je*?' v , if the T^ITOV ifzoftau
in the fifteenth chapter, meant a third visit 1 for^
though the visit in the first chapter be that visit in
which he was disappointed, yet, as it is evident
from the epistle that he had never been at Corinth
from the time of the disappointment to the time of
writing the epistle, it follows. th;it if it was only
a second visit in which he was disappointed then,
it could only be a second visit which he proposed
now. But the text which I think is decisive of
the question, if any question remain upon the sub-
ject, is the fourteenth verse of the twelfth chapter :
" Behold the third time I am ready to come to
you ;" is* Tfirov JTO^UJJ i% M ix5sv. It is very clear
that the TJITOV ITO^WJ %o ekSnv of the twelfth
chapter, and the r^imv -rsro t^s^a. of the thir-
teenth chapter, are equivalent expressions, were
intended to convey the same meaning, and to re-
late to the same journey. The comparison of these
phrases gives us St. Paul's own explanation of his
own words ; and it is that very explanation which
we are contending for, viz. that T^TOC T*TO tw>i*.i
does not mean that he was coming a third time,
but that this was the third time he was in readi-
ness to come, Tf Toi/ 'tTsift<a Si x*v. I do not appre-
hend, that after this it can be necessary to call to
our aid the reading of the Alexandrian manuscript,
which gives no^^t i^ a t *.5nv in the thirteenth
chapter as well as in the twelfth ; or of the Syriac
and Coptic versions, which follow that reading,
because I allow, that the reading, besides not being
sufficiently supported by ancient copies, is proba-
bly paraphrastical, and has been inserted for the
purpose of expressing more unequivocally the
sense, which the shorter expression T TOVTTO
texopyH was supposed to carry. Upon the whole,
the matter is sufficiently certain : nor do I propose it
as a new interpretation of the text which contains
the difficulty, for the same was given by Grotius
long ago: but I thought it the clearest way of ez-
plaining the subject, to describe the manner in
which the difficulty, the solution* and the proofs
of that solution, successively presented themselves
to my inquiries. Now, in historical researches, a
reconciled inconsistency becomes a positive argu-
ment. First, because an impostor generally guards
against the appearance of inconsistency ; and se-
condly, because, when apparent inconsistencies
are found, it is seldom that any thing but truth
renders them capable of reconciliation. The ex-
istence of the difficulty proves the want or absence
of that caution, which usually accompanies tlie
consciousness of fraud ; and the solution proves,
that it is not the collusion of fortuitous proposi-
tions which we have to deal with, but that a
thread of truth winds through the whole, which
preserves every circumstance m its place.
No. XII.
Chap. x. 14 16. " We are come as far as to
you also, in preaching the- Gospel of Christ ; not
boasting of things without our measure, that is,
of other men's labours j but having hope, when
your faith is increased, that we shall be enlarge*!
by you, according to our rule, abundantly to preach
the Gospel in the' regions beyond you."
This quotation allbrds an indirect, and there-
fore unsuspicious, but at the same time a distinct
and indubitable recognition of the truth and ex-
actness of the history. I consider it to be implied
by the words of the quotation, that Corinth was
the extremity of St. Paul's travels hitherto. He
expresses to the Corinthians his hope, that in some
future visit he might " preach the Gospel to the
regions beyond them ;" which imports that he had
not hitherto proceeded "beyond them," but that
Corinth was as yet the farthest point or boundary
of his travels. Now, how is St. Paul's first jour-
ney into Europe, which was the only one he had
taken before the writing of the epistle, traced out in
the history 7 Sailing from Asia, he landed at Phi-
lippi : from Philippi, traversing the eastern coast of
the peninsula, he passed through Amphipolis and
Apollonia to Thessalonica ; from hence through Be-
rea to Athens, and from Athens to Corinth, where
he stopped; and from whence, after a residence of
a year and a half, he sailed back into Syria. So
that Corinth was the last place which he visited hi
the peninsula ; was the place from wliich he return-
ed into Asia ; and was, as such, the boundary and
limit of his progress. He could not have said the
same thing, viz. " I hope hereafter to visit the re-
gions beyond you," in an epistle to the Philippians,
or in an epistle to the Thessalonians, inasmuch as
he must be deemed to have already visited the
regions beypnd tJiem, having proceeded from those
cities to other parts of Greece. But from Corinth
he returned home : every part therefore beyond
that city, might properly be said, as it is said in
the passage before us, to be unvisited. Yet is this
propriety the spontaneous effect of truth, and pro-
duced without meditation or design.
190
HOR^E PAULINA.
CHAPTER V.
The Epistle to the Galatians.
No. I.
THE argument of this epistle in some measure
proves its antiquity. It will hardly be doubted,
but that it was written whilst the dispute concern-
ing the circumcision of Gentile converts was fresh
in men's minds : for, even supposing it to have
been a forgery, tHe only credible motive that can
be assigned for the forgery, was to bring the name
and authority of the apostle into this controversy.
No design could be so insipid, or so unlikely to
enter into the thoughts of any man, as to produce
an epistle written earnestly and pointedly upon
one side of a controversy, when the controversy
itself was dead, and the question no longer inte-
resting to any description of readers whatever.
Now the controversy concerning the circumcision
of the Gentile Christians was of such a nature,
that, if it arose at all, it must have arisen in the
beginning of Christianity. As Judea was the
scene of the Christian history ; as the Author and
preachers of Christianity were Jews ; as the reli-
gion itself acknowledged and was founded upon
the Jewish religion, in contra-distinction to every
other religion then professed amongst mankind ;
it was not to be wondered at, that some of its
teachers should carry it out in the world rather as
a sect and modification of Judaism, than as a
separate original revelation ; or that they should
invite their proselytes to those observances in
which they lived themselves. This was likely to
happen : but if it did not happen at first ; if,
whilst the religion was in the hands of Jewish
teachers, no such claim was advanced, no such
condition was attempted to be imposed, it is not
probable that the doctrine would be started, much
less that it should prevail, in any future period.
I likewise think, that those pretensions of Juda-
ism were much more likely to be insisted upon,
whilst the Jews continued a nation, -than after
their fall and dispersion ; whilst Jerusalem and
the temple stood, ''than after the destruction
brought upon them by the Roman arms, the fatal
cessation of the sacrifice and the priesthood, the
humiliating loss of their country, and, with it, of
the great rites and symbols of their institution.
It should seem therefore, from the nature of the
subject, arid the situation of the parties, that this
controversy was carried on in the interval between
the preaching of Christianity to the Gentiles, and
the invasion of Titus ; and that our present epistle,
which was undoubtedly intended to bear a part in
this controversy, must be referred to the same
period.
But, again, the epistle supposes that certain
designing adherents of the Jewish law had crept
into the churches of Galatia ; and had been en-
deavouring, and but too successfully, to persuade
the Galatic converts, that they had been taught
the new religion imperfectly and at second hand ;
that the founder of their church himself pos-
sessed only an inferior and deputed commission,
the seat of truth and authority being in the apos-
tles and elders of Jerusalem ; moreover, that what-
ever he might profess amongst them, he had him-
self at other times, and in other places, given way
to the doctrine of circumcision. The epistle is
unintelligible without supposing all this. Refer-
ring therefore to this, as to what had actually
passed, we find St. Paul treating so unjust an at-
tempt, to undermine his credit, and to introduce
amongst his converts a doctrine which he had
uniformly reprobated, in terms of great asperity
and indignation. And in order to refute the sus-
picions which had been raised concerning the
fidelity of his teaching, as well as to assert the in-
dependency and divine original of his mission, we
find him appealing to the history of his conversion,
to his conduct under it, to the manner in which
he had conferred with the apostles when he met
with them at Jerusalem : alleging, that so far was
his doctrine from being derived from them, or
they from exercising any superiority over him, that
they had simply assented to what he had already
preached amongst the Gentiles, and which preach-
ing was communicated not by them to him, but
by himself to them ; that he had maintained the
liberty of the Gentile -church, by opposing, upon
one occasion, an apostle to the face, when the
timidity of his behaviour seemed to endanger it ;
that from the first, that all along, that to that hour,
he had constantly resisted the claims of Judaism;
and that the persecutions which he daily under-
went, at the hands or by the instigation of the
Jews, and of which he bore in his person the
marks and scars, might have been avoided by him,
if he had consented to employ his labours in bring-
ing, through the medium of Christianity, converts
over, to the Jewish institution, for then "would
the oflence of the cross have ceased." Now an
impostor who had forged the epistle'* for the pur-
pose of producing St. Paul's authority in the dis-
pute, which, as hath been observed, is the only
credible motive that can be assigned for the for-
gery, might have made the apostle deliver his
opinion upon the subject, in strong and decisive
terms, or might have put his name to a train of
reasoning and argumentation upon that side of
the question which the imposture was intended to
recommend. I can allow the possibility of such
a scheme as that. But for a writer, with this
puvpose in view, to feign a series of transactions
supposed to have passed amongst the Christians
of Galatia, and then to counterfeit expressions of
anger and resentment excited by these transac-
tions ; to make the apostle travel back into liis
own history, and into a recital of various passages
of his life, some indeed directly, but others ob-
liquely, and others even obscurely bearing upon
the point in question ; in a word, to substitute
narrative for argument, expostulation and com-
plaint for dogmatic positions and controversial
reasoning, in a writing properly controversial, and
of which the aim and design was to support one
side of a much agitated question is a method so
intricate, and so unlike the methods pursued by all
other impostors, as to require very flagrant proofs
of imposition to induce us to believe it to be one.
No. II.
In this number I shall endeavour to prove,
1. That the Epistle to the Galatians, and the
Acts of the Apostles, were written without any
communication with each other.
2. That the Epistle, though written without
any communication with the history, by recital,
implication, or reference, bears testimony to many
of the facts conatined in it.
1. The Epistle and the Acts of the Apostles
were written without any communication with
each other.
EPISTLE TO THE GALATIANS.
191
To judge of this point, we must examine those
passages in each, which describe the same trans-
action ; for, if the author of either writing derived
his information from the account which he had
seen in the other, when he came to speak of the
same transaction, he would follow that account.
The history of St. Paul, at Damascus, as read in
the Acts, and as referred to by "the epistle, forms
an instance of this sort. According to the Acts,
Paul (after his conversion) was certain days with
the " disciples which were at Damascus. And
straightway he preached Christ in the synagogues,
that he is the Son of God. But all that heard him
were amazed, and said, is not this he wlu'ch des-
troyed them which railed on this name in Jerusa-
lem, and came hither for that intent, that he might
bring them bound unto the chief priests 1 But
Saulincreased the more in strength, confounding
the Jews which were at Damascus, proving that
this is very Christ. And after that many days
were fulfilled, the Jews took counsel to kill him.
But their laying await was known of Saul ; and
they watched the gates day and night to kill him.
Then the disciples took him by night, and let him
down by the wall in a basket. And when Saul
was come to Jerusalem, he assayed to join him-
self to the disciples." Acts, chajp. ix. 1926.
According to the epistle, "When it pleased
God, who separated me from my mother's womb,
and called me by his grace, to reveal his own Son
in me, that I might preach him among the hea-
then, immediately I conferred not with flesh and
blood, neither went I up to Jerusalem to them
which were apostles before me ; but I went into
Ar.ibia, and returned again to Damascus; then,
after three years, I went up to Jerusalem."
Beside the difference observable in the terms
and general complexion of these two accounts,
"the journey into Arabia," mentioned in the
epistle, and omitted in the history, affords full
proof that there existed no correspondence be-
twevn these writers. If the narrative in the Acts
had been made up from the epistle, it is impossible
that this journey should have been passed over
in silence ; if the epistle had been composed out of
what the author had read of St. Paul's history in
the Acts, it is unaccountable that it should have
been inserted*.
The journey to Jerusalem related in the second
chapter of the Epistle (" then, fourteen years after,
I went up again to Jerusalem ;") supplies another
example of the same kind. Either this was the jour-
ney described in the fifteenth chapter of the Acts,
when Paul and Barnabas were sent from Antioch
to Jerusalem, to consult the apostles and elders
upon the question of the Gentile converts ; or it
was some journey of which the history does not
take notice. If the first opinion be followed, the
discrepancy in the two accounts is so considerable,
that it is not without difficulty they can be adapt-
ed to the same transaction: so that upon this sup-
position, there is no place for suspecting that the
*N. B. The Acts of the Apostles simply inform us
that St. Paul left Damascus in order to go to Jerusalem,
"after many days were fulfilled." If any one doubt
whether the words " many days" could be intended to
express a period which included a term of three years,
lie will find a complete instance of the same phrase used
with the same latitude in the first hook of Kings, chap.
li. 38, 39. " And Shimei dwelt at Jerusalem many
days : and it came to pass at the end of three years, that
two of the servants of Shimci ran away."
writers were guided or assisted by each other. If
the latter opinion be preferred, we have then a
journey to Jerusalem, and a conference with the
principal members of the church there, circum-
stantially related in the epistle, and entirely omit-
ted in the Acts ; and we are at liberty to repeat
the observation, which we before made, that the
omission of so material a fact in the history is in-
explicable, if the historian had read the epistle ;
and that the insertion of it in the epistle, if the
writer derived his information from the history, is
not less so.
St. Peter's visit to Antioch, during which the
dispute arose between him and St. Paul, is not
mentioned in the Acts.
If we connect, with these instances, the general
observation, that no scrutiny can discover the
smallest trace of transcription or imitation either
in things or words, we shall be fully satisfied in
this part of our case ; namely, that the two records,
be the facts contained in them true or false, come
to our hands from independent sources.
Secondly, I say that the epistle, thus proved to
have T)een written without any communication
with the history, bears testimony to a great variety
of particulars contained in the history.
1. St. Paul, in the early part of his life, had ad-
dicted himself to the study of the Jewish religion,
and was distinguished by his zeal for the institu-
tion and for the traditions which had been incor-
porated with it. Upon this part of his character
the history makes St. Paul speak thus: " I am
verily a man which am a Jew, born in Tarsus, a
city of Gilicia, yet brought up in this city at the
feet of Gamaliel, and taught according to the per-
fect manner of the law of the fathers ; and was
zealous towards God, as yc all are this day."
Acts, chap. xxii. 3.
The epistle is as follows: "I profited in the
Jews' religion above many my equals in mine own
nation, being more exceedingly zealous of the tra-
ditions of my fathers.'' Chap. i. 14.
2. St. Paul, before his conversion, had been a
fierce persecutor of the new sect. " As for Saul,
he made havoc of the church ; entering into every
house, and, haling men and women, committed
them to prison." Acts, chap. viii. 3.
This is the history of St. Paul, as delivered in
the Acts: in the recital of his own history in the
epistle, " Ye have heard," says he, " of my con-
versation in times past in the Jews' religion, how
that beyond measure I persecuted the church of
God." Chap. i. 13.
3. St. Paul was miraculously converted on his
way to Damascus. " And as he journeyed he
came near to Damascus: and suddenly there
shined round about him a light from heaven ; and
he fell to the earth, and heard a voice saying unto
him, Saul, Saul, why persccutest thou me? And
he said, Who art thou, Lord 1 And the Lord said,
I am, Jesus, whom thou persecutes! ; it is hard for
thee to kick against the pricks. And he, trem-
bling and astonished, said, Lord, what wilt thou
have me to do 1 Acts, chap. ix. 36. With these
compare the epistle, chap. i. 15 17 : " When it
pleased God, who separated me from my mother's
womb, and called me by his grace to reveal his Son
in me, that 1 might preach him among the hea-
then ; immediately I conferred not with flesh and
blood, neither went I up to Jerusalem, to them
that were apostles before me; but I went into
Arabia, and returned again unto Damascus."
192
HOIU3 PAULINA.
In this quotation from the epistle, I desire it' t
be remarked how incidentally it appears, that th
affair passed at Damascus. In what may be calkk
the direct part of the account, no mention is mad
of the place of his conversion at all : a casual ex
pression at the end, and an expression brought in
lor a different purpose, alone fixes it to have been
at Damascus ; " I returned again to Damascus,'
Nothing can be more like simplicity and unde
signedness than this is. It also draws the agree
ment between the two quotations somewha
closer, to observe that they both state St. Paul t(
have preached the gospel immediately upon his
call: "And straightway he preached Christ in
the synagogues, that he is the Son of God," Acts
chap. ix. 20: " When it pleased God to revea
his Son in me, that I might preach him among
the heathen, immediately I conferred not with iiecs
and blood." Gal. chap. i. 15.
4. The course of the apostle's travels after his
conversion was this : he went from Damascus to
Jerusalem, and from Jerusalem into Syria and
Cilicia. " At Damascus the disciples took him
by night, and let him down by the wall in a bas-
ket ; and when Saul was come to" Jerusalem, he
essayed to join himself to the disciples," Acts,
chap. ix. 25. Afterwards, " when the brethren
knew the conspiracy formed ^against him at Jeru-
salem, they brought him down to Csesarea, and
sent him forth to Tarsus, a city in Cilicia," chap,
ix, 30. In the epistle, St. Paul gives the following
brief account of his proceedings within the same
period : " After three years I went up to Jerusa-
lem lo see Peter, and abode with him fifteen days ;
afterwards I came into the regions of Syria and
Cilicia." The history had told us that Paul passed
from Caesarea to Tarsus: if he took his journey
by land, it would carry him through Syria into
Cilicia ; and he would come after his visit at Jeru-
salem, " into the regions of Syria and Cilicia," in
the very order in which he mentions them in the
epistle. This supposition of his going from Ca&-
sarea to Tarsus, by land, clears up also another
point. It accounts for what St. Paul says in the
same place concerning the churches of Judea :
" Afterwards I came into the regions of Syria and
Cilicia, and was unknown by face unto the
churches of Judea, which were in Christ: but
they had heard only that 'lie which persecuted us
in times past; now preacheth the faith, which once
he destroyed ; and they glorified God in me."
Upon which passage I observe, first, that what is
here said of the churches of Judea, is spoken in
connexion with his journey into the regions of
Syria and Cilicia. Secondly, that the passage itself
has little significancy, and that the connexion is
inexplicable, unless St. Paul went through Judea* '
' (though probably by a hasty journey.) at the time
that he came into the regions of Syria and Cilicia.
Suppose him to have passed by land from Caesa-
rea to Tarsus, all this, ^as hath been observed,
would be precisely true.
5. Barnabas was with St. Paul at Antioch.
" Then departed Barnabas to Tarsus, for to seek
Saul ; and when he had found him, he brought
*Dr. Doddridge thought that the Csesarea here men-
tioned was not the celebrated city of that name upon
the Mediterranean sea, but Caesarea Philippi, near the
borders of Syria, which lies in a much more direct line
from Jerusalem to Tarsus than the'other. The objection
to this, Dr. Benson remarks, is, that Ctesarea without
any addition, usually denotes Cresarca Palestinee.
him unto Antioch. And it came to pass that a
whole year they assembled themselves with the
church," Acts, chap. xi. 25, 20. Again, and upon
another occasion, "they (Paul and Barnabas)
sailed to Antioch: and then- they continued a
long time with the disciples." Chap. xiv. 2G.
Now what says the (-pintle ? : - '\V1 n Peter was
come to Antioch, 1 withstood him to the face, be-
cause he was to be blamed; and the other Jews
dissembled likewise with him ; insomuch that Bar-
nabas also was carried away with their dissimula-
tion." Chap. ii. 11, lo.
6. The stated residence of the apostles was at
Jerusalem. " At that time there was a great per-
secution against the church which was at Jerusa-
lem; ami they were all scattered abroad through-
out the regions of Judea and Samaria, except the
apostles," Acts, chap. viii. 1. " They (the Chris-
tians at Antioch) determined that Paul and Bar-
nabas should go up to Jerusalem, unto the apos-
tles and elders, about this question," Acts, chap,
xv. 2. With these accounts agrees the declara-
tion in the epistle : "Neither went I up to Jerusa-
lem to them which were apostles before me," chap,
i. 17: for this declaration implies, or rather as-
sumes it to be known,. that Jerusalem was the
place where the apostles were to be met with.
7. There were at Jerusalem two apostles, or at
cast two eminent members of the church, of the
name of James. This is directly inferred from
the Acts of the Apostles, which in the second
verse of the twelfth chapter relates the death of
James, the brother of John, and yet in the fif-
;eenth chapter, and in a subsequent part of the
listory, records a speech delivered by James in
the assembly of the apostles, and elders. It is also
strongly implied by the form of expression used in
,he epistle : " Other apostles saw I none, save
Fames, the Lord's- brother;" i. e. to distinguish
lira from James the brother of John.
To us who have been long conversant in the
hristian history, as contained in the Acts of the
Apostles, these points are obvious and familiar;
nor do we readily apprehend any greater difficulty
n making them appear in a letter purporting to
lave been written by St. Paul, than there is in
ntroducing them into a modern sermon. But, to
udge correctly of the argument before us, we must
lischarge this' knowledge from our thoughts. We
nust propose to ourselves- the situation of an au-
hor who sat down to the writing of the epistle
without having seen the history ; and then the
concurrences we have deduced will be deemed of
mportance. -They will at least be taken for
eparate confirmations of the several facts, and not
Mily of these particular facts, but of the general
ruth of the history.
For, what is the rule with respect to corroborative
estimony which prevails in courts of justice, and
vhich prevails only because experience has proved
hat it is a useful guide to truth 'J A principal wit-
less in a cause delivers his account : his narrative,
n certain parts of it, is confirmed by witnesses who
re called afterwards. The credit derived from their
estimony belongs not only to the particular cir-
umstartces in which the auxiliary witnesses agree
vith the. principal witness, but in some measure
of his evidence; because it is impro-
able that accident or fiction should draw aline
hich touched upon truth in so many points.
In like manner, if two records be produced,
manifestly independent, that is, manifestly written
EPISTLE TO THE GALATIANS.
193
without any participation of intelligence, an agree- j
ment between them, even in few and slight cir-
cumstances (especially if from the different nature
and design of the writings, few points only of
agreement, and those incidental, could be expected
to occur,) would add a sensible weight to the au-
thority of both, in every part of their contents.
The same rule is applicable to history, with at
least as much reason as any other species of evi-
dence.
No. III.
But although the references to various particu-
lars in the epistle, compared with the direct account
of the same particulars in the history, afford a
considerable proof of the truth, not only of these
particulars but of the narrative which contains
them ; yet they do not show. it. will be said, that
the epistle was written by St. Paul : for admitting,
(what seems to have been proved,) that the writer,
whoever he was, had no recourse to fhe Acts of
the Apostles, yet many of the facts referred to,
such as St. Paul's miraculous conversion, his
change from a virulent |>ersecutor to an indefati-
gable preacher, his labours amongst the Gentiles,
and his zeal for the liberties of the Gentile chun-h,
were so notorious as to occur readily to the mind
of any Christian, who should choose to personate
his character, and counterfeit his name ; it was
only to write what every body knew. Now I
think that this supposition viz. that the epistle
was composed upon general information, and the
general publicity of the facts alluded to, and that
the author did no more than weave into his work
what the common fame of the Christian church
had reported to his ears is repelled by the parti-
cularity of the recitals and references. This par-
ticularity is observable in the following instances.
in perusing which, I desire the reader to reflect,
whether they exhibit the language of a man who
had nothing but general reputation to proceed
upon, or of a man actually speaking of himself
and of his own history, aim consequently ofthin^s
concerning which he possessed a clear, intimate.
and circumstantial knowledge.
1. The history, in giving an account of St. Paul
after his conversion, relates, "that, after many
days," effecting, by the assistance of the disciples,
his escape from Damascus, " he proceeded to Jeru-
salem," Acts, chap. ix. -J5. The epistle, speakinj;
of the same period, makes St. Paul say, that " he
went into Arabia," that he returned again to Da-
mascus, that after three years he went up to Jeru-
salem. Chap. i. 17, 18.
2. The history relates, that when Saul was
come from Damascus, "he was with the disciples
coming in and going out," Acts, chap. ix. 28.
The epistle, describing the same journey, tells us,
" that he went up to Jerusalem to see Peter, and
abode with him fifteen days," chap. i. 18.
3. The history relates, that when Paul was come
to Jerusalem, " Barnabas took him and brought
him to the apostles," Acts, chap. ix. 27. The
epistle, " that he saw Peter ; but other of the apos-
tles, saw he none, save James, the Lord's brother."
chap. i. 19.
Now this is as it should be. The historian de-
livers his account in general terms, as of facts to
which he was not present. The person who is
the subject of that account, whenhe comes to speak
of these facts himself, particularises time, names,
and circumstances.
4. The like notation of places, persons, and
dates, is met with in the account of St. Paul's
journey to Jerusalem, given in the second chap-
ter of the epistle. It was fourteen years after his
conversion ; it was in company with Barnabas and
Titus; it was then that he met with James, Ce-
phas, and John ; it was then also that it was
agreed amongst them, that they should go to the
circumcision, and he unto the Gentiles.
5. The dispute with Peter, which occupies the
sequel of the second chapter, is marked with the
same particularity. It was at Antioch; it was
ailer certain came from James ; it was whilst Bar-
nabas was there, who was carried away by their
dissimulation. These examples negative the in-
sinuation, that the epistle presents nothing but
indefinite allusions to public facts.
No. IV.
Chap. iv. 11 16. " I am afraid of you, lest I
have bestowed upon you labour in vain. Brethren,
I beseech you, be as I am, tor I am as ye are. Ye
have not injured me at all. Ye know how, through
infirmity of the flesh, I preached the gospel unto
you at the first; and my temptation, which 'was in
thejlesh, ye despised not, nor rejected; but re-
ceived me as an angel of God. even as Christ Je-
sus. Where is then the blessedness you spake oi"?
for I bear you record, that, if it had I teen possible,
yo would have plucked out your own eyes and have
given them unto me. Am I therefore become your
enemy. l>ecause I tell you the truth 1"
With this passage compare 2 Cor. chap. xii. 1
9: "It is not expedient for me. doubtless, to
glory; I will come to visions and revelations of the
Lord. I knew a man in Christ above fourteen
years ago, (whether in the body I cannot tell, or
whether out of the body, I cannot tell ; God know-
cth ;) such a one was caught up to the third hea-
ven : and I knew such a man, (whether in the
body, or out of the body I cannot tell, God know"
eth,) how that he was caught up into Paradise,
and heard unspeakable words, wliich it is not law-
ful for a man to utter. Of such a one will I glory,
yet of myself will I not glory, but in mine infirmi-
ties: for, though I would desire to glory, I shall
not be a fool ; fpr I will say the truth. But now
I forbear, lest any man should think of me above
that which he seeth me to be, or that he heareth
of me. And lest I should be exalted above mea-
sure, through the abundance, of the revelations, *
there was given to me a. thorn in thejlesh, the
messenger of Satan to buffet me, lest I ^should be
exalted above measure. For this thing I besought
the Lord thrice, that it might depart from me.
And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for
thee ; for my strength is made perfect in weakness.
Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my in-
firmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon
me."
There can be no doubt but that " the tempta-
tion which was in the flesh," mentioned in the
Epistle to the Galatians, and " the thorn in the
flesh, the messenger of Satan to buffet him," men-
tioned in the Epistle to the Corinthians, were in-
tended to denote the same thing. Either r there-
fore, it was what we pretend it to have been, the
same person in both, alluding, as the occasion led
him, to some bodily infirmity under which he la-
boured ; that is, we'are reading the real letters of a
real apostle ; or, it was that a sophist, who had
seen the circumstance in one epistle, contrived, for
194
HOR^E PAULINA.
the sake of correspondency, to bring it into an-
other ; or, lastly, it was a circumstance in St. Paul's
personal condition, supposed to be well known to
those into whose hands the epistle was likely to
fall; and for that reason, introduced into a wilting
designed to bear his name. I have extracted the
quotations at length, in order to enable the reader
to judge accurately of the manner in which the
mention of this particular comes in, in each ; be-
cause that judgment, I think, will acquit the au-
thor of the epistle of the charge of having studiously
inserted it, either with a view of producing an ap-
parent agreement between, or for any other pur-
pose whatever.
The context, by which the circumstance before
us is introduced, is in the two places totally differ-
ent and without any mark of imitation : yet in
both places does the circumstance rise aptly and
naturally out of the context, and that context from
the train of thought carried on in the epistle.
The Epistle to the Galatians, from the begin-
ning to the end, runs in a strain of angry com-
plaint of their defection from the apostle, and from
the principles which he had taught them. It was
very natural to contrast with this conduct, the
zeal with which they had once received him; and
it was not less so to mention, as a proof of their
former disposition towards him, the indulgence
which, whilst he was amongst them, they had
shown to his infirmity ; " My temptation which
was in the flesh, ye despised not, nor rejected, but
received me as an angel of God, even as Christ
Jesus. Where is then the blessedness you .spake
of," i. e. the benedictions which you bestowed
upon me'? " for I bear you record, that, if it had
been possible, ye would have plucked out your
own eyes, and have given them to me."
In the two epistles to the Corinthians, especially
in the second, we have the apostle contending
with certain teachers in Corinth, who had formed
a party in that church against him. To vindicate
his personal authority, as well as the dignity and
credit of his ministry amongst them, he takes oc-
casion (but not without apologising repeatedly for
the folly, that is, for the indecorum of pronouncing
his own panegyric,*) to meet his adversaries in
their boastings: "Whereinsoever any is bold, (I
speak foolishly,) I am bold also. Are they He-
brews 1 so am I. Are they Israelites 1 so am I.
Are they the seed of Abraham 1 so am I. Are
they the ministers of Christ 1 (I speak as a fool,) I
am more ; in labours more abundant, in stripes
above measure, in prisons more frequent, in deaths
oft." Being led to the subject, he goes on, as was
natural, to recount his trials and dangers, his in-
cessant cares and labours in the Christian mission.
From the proofs which he had given of his zeal
and activity in the service of Christ, he passes (and
that with the same view of establishing his claim
to be considered as " not a whit behind the very
chiefest of the apostles,") to the visions and reve-
lations which from time to time have been vouch-
safed to him. And then, by a close and easy
connexion, comes in the mention of his infirmity :
" Lest I should be exalted," says he, " above mea-
* " Would to God you would bear with me a little in
my folly, and indeed- bear with me! chap. xi. 1.
" That which I speak, I speak it not after the Lord,
but as it were foolishly, in this confidence of boasting,"
chap. xi. 17.
" I am become a fool in glorying; ye have compelled
me," chap. xii. 11.
sure, through the abundance of revelations, there
was given to me a thorn in the flesh, the messen-
ger of Satan to buffet, me."
Thus then, in both epistles, the notice of his
infirmity is suited to the place in which it is found.
In the Epistle to the Corinthians, the train of
thought draws up to the circumstance, by a regu-
lar approximation. In this epistle, it is suggested
by the subject and occasion of the epistle itself.
Which observation we offer as an argument to
prove that it is not, in either epistle, a circumstance
industriously brought forward for the sake of pro-
curing credit to an imposture.
A reader will be taught to perceive the force of
this argument, who shall attempt to introduce a
given circumstance into the body of a writing.
To do this without abruptness, or without betray-
ing marks of design in the transition, requires, ho
will find, more art than he expected to be neces-
sary, certainly more than any one can believe to
have been exercised in the composition of these
epistles.
No. V.
Chap. iv. 29. "-But as then he that was born
after the flesh persecuted him that was born after
the spirit, even so it is now."
Chap. v. 11. " And I, brethren, if I yet preach
circumcision, why do I yet suffer persecution 1
Then is the offence of the cross ceased."
Chap. vi. 17. " From henceforth, let no man
trouble me, for I bear in my body the marks of the
Lord Jesus."
From these several texts, it is apparent that the
persecutions which our apostle had undergone,
were from the hands or by the instigation of the
Jews ; that it was not for preaching Christianity
in opposition to heathenism, but it was for preach-
ing it as distinct from Judaism, that he had brought
upon himself the sufferings which had attended
his ministry. And this representation perfectly
coincides with that which results from the detail
of St. Paul's history, as delivered in the Acts. At
Antioch, in Pisidia, the " word of the Lord was
published throughout all the region : but the Jews
stirred up the devout and honourable women and
the chief men of the city, and raised persecution
against Paul and Barnabas, and expelled them
out of their coasts," Acts, chap. xiii. 50. Not
long after, at Iconium, " a great multitude of the
Jews and also of the Greeks believed ; but the un-
believing Jews stirred up the Gentiles, and made
their minds evil affected against the brethren,"
chap. xiv. 1, 2. " At Lystra there came certain
Jews from Antioch and Iconium, who persuaded
the people; and having stoned Paul, drew him out
of the city, supposing he had hern dead/' chap. xiv.
19. The same enmity, and from the same quar-
ter, our apostle experienced in Greece : " At Thes-
salonica, some of them (the Jews) believed, and
consorted with Paul and Silas : and of the devout
Greeks a great multitude, and of the chief women
not a few : but the Jews which bettered not, moved
with envy, took unto them certain lewd fellows of
the baser sort, and gathered a company, and set
all the city in an uproar, and assaulted the house
of Jason, and sought to bring them out to the peo-
ple." Acts, chap. xvii. 4, 5. Their persecutors
follow them to Berea: "When the Jews of Thes-
salonica had knowledge that the word of God was
preached of Paul at Berea, they came thither also,
and stirred up the people," chap. xxii. 13. And
EPISTLE TO THE GALATIANS.
195
lastly at Corinth, when Gallic was deputy of
Achaia, " the Jews made insurrection with one
accord against Paul, and brought him to the judg-
ment-seat." I think it does not appear that our
apostle was ever set upon by the Gentiles, unless
they were first stirred up by the Jews, except in
two instances ; in both which the persons who be-
gan the assault were immediately interested in his
expulsion from the place. Once this happened at
Philippi, after the cure of the Pythoness: "When
the masters saw the hope of their gains was gone,
they caught Paul and Silas, and drew them into
the market-place unto the rulers," chap. xvi. li>.
And a second time at Ephesus, at the instance
of Demetrius, a silversmith which made silver
shrines for Diana, "who culled together workmen
of like occupation, and said, Sirs, ye know that
by this craft we have our wealth ; moreover ye see
and hear, that not only at Ephesus, but almost
throughout all Asia, this Paul hath persuaded
away much i>eople, saying, that they be no gods
which are made witli hands ; so that not only this
our craft is in danger to be set at nought, but also
that the temple of the great goddess Diana should
be despised, and her magnificence should be de-
stroyed, whom all Asia and the world worshippeth."
No. VI.
I observe an agreement in a somewhat peculiar
rule of ( 'liristian conduct, as laid down in this
epistle, and as exemplified in the Second Epistle
to the Corinthians. It is not the repetition of the
same general precept, which would have been a
coincidence of little value ; but it is the general
precept in one place, and the application of that
precept to an actual occurrence in the other. In
the sixth chapter and first verse of this epistle, our
apostle gives the following direction : " Brethren.
ii a man be overtaken in a fault, ye which are
spiritual restore such a one in the spirit of meek-
ness." In "2 Cor. chap. ii. G 8, he writes thus :
" Sufficient to such a man" (the incestuous per-
son mentioned in the First Epistle,) " is this pu-
nishment, which was inflicted of many: so that,
contrariwise, ye ought rather to forgive him and
comfort him, lest perhaps such a one should be
swallowed up with over-much sorrow ; wherefore
I beseech you that ye would confirm your love
towards him." I have little doubt but that it was
the same mind which dictated these two passages.
No. VII.
Our epistle goes farther than any of St. Paul's
epistles ; for it avows, in direct terms, the SUJKT-
session of the Jewish law, as an instrument of
salvation, even to the Jews themselves. Not only
were the Gentiles exempt from its authority, but
even the Jews were no longer either to place any
dependency upon it, or consider themselves as
subject to it on a religious account. Before faith
came, we were kept under the law, shut up unto
the faith which should afterwards be revealed;
wherefore the law was our schoolmaster to bring
us unto Christ, that we might be justified by faith ;
but, after that faith is come, ire are no' longer
under a schoolmaster" chap. iii. 23 25. This
was undoubtedly spoken of Jews, and to Jews.
In like manner, chap. iv. 1 5 : " Now I say that
the heir, as long as he is a child, diflTereth nothing
from a servant, though he be lord of all j but is
under tutors and governors until the time appoint-
ed of the father : even so we, when we were chil-
dren, were in bondage under the elements of the
world ; but when the fulness of time was come,
God sent forth his Son, made of a woman, made
under the law, to redeem them that ircre under
the law, that we might receive the adoption of
sons." These passages are nothing short of a
declaration, that the obligation of the Jewish law,
j considered as a religious dispensation, the eilects
of which were to take place in another life, had
ceased, with respect even to the Jews themselves.
What then should be Ihe conduct of a Jew, (for
such St. Paul was,) who preached this doctrine'?
To be consistent with himself, either he would no
longer comply, in his own person, with the direc-
tions of the law ; or, if he did comply, it would be
for some other reason than any confidence which
he placed in its efficacy, as a religious institution.
Now so it happens, that whenever St. Paul's com-
pliance with the Jewish law is mentioned in the
history, it is mentioned in connexion with circum-
stances which point out the motive from which
it proceeded ; and this motive appears to have been
always exoteric, namely, a love of order arid tran-
quillity, or an unwillingness to give unnecessary
offence. Thus, Acts, chap. xvi. 3: "Him (Ti-
mothy,) would Paul have to go forth with him,
and took and circumcised him, because of the
Jews which were in those quarters. Again, Acts,
chap. xxi. 2(>, when Paul consented to exhibit an
example of public compliance with a Jewish rite
by purifying himself in the temple, it is plainly
intimated that he did this to satisfy " many thou-
sands of Jews who believed, and who were all
zealous of the law." So far the instances related
in one hook, correspond with the doctrine deliver-
ed in another.
No. VIII.
Chap. i. 18. "Then, after three years, I went
up to Jerusalem to see Peter, and abode with him
fifteen days."
The shortness of St. Paul's stay at Jerusalem
is what I desire the reader to remark. The direct
account of the same journey in the Acts, chap. ix.
28, determines nothing concerning the time of his
continuance there : " And he was with them (the
apostles) coming in, and going out, at Jerusalem ;
and he spake boldly in the name of the Lord Jesus,
and disputed against the Grecians: but they went
about to slay him ; which when the brethren knew,
they brought him down to Caesarea." Or rather
this account, taken by itself, would lead a reader
to suppose that St. Paul's abode at Jerusalem had
been longer than fifteen days. But turn to the
twenty-second chapter of the Acts, and you will
find a reference to this visit to Jerusalem, which
plainly indicates that Paul's continuance in that
city had been of short duration : " And it came
to pass, that when I was come again to Jerusalem,
even while I prayed in the temple, I was in a
trance, and saw him saying unto me, Make haste,
get thee quickly out of "Jerusalem, for they will not
receive thy testimony concerning me." Here we
have the general terms of one text so explained by
a distant text in the same book, as to bring an in-
determinate expression into a close conformity
with a specification delivered in another book : a
sjxries of consistency not, 1 think, usually found
in fabulous relations.
IDG
HOR.E PAULINA.
No. IX.
Chap. vi. 11. "Ye see how large a letter I have
written unto you with mine own hand."
These words imply that he did not always write
with his own hand ; which is consonant to what
\ve find intimated- in some other of the epistles.
The Epistle to the Romans was written by Tjer-
tius: "I, Tertius, who wrote this epistle, salute
you in the Lord," chap. xvi. 22. The First Epis-
tle to the Corinthians, the Epistle to the Colos-
eians, and the Second to the Thessalonians, have
all, near the conclusion, this clause, " The salu-
tation of me, Paul, with mine own hand ;" which
must be understood, and is universally understood
to import, that the rest of the epistle was written
by another hand. I do not think it improbable
that an impostor, who had remarked this subscrip-
tion in some other epistle, should invent the same
in a forgery ; but that is riot done here. The
author of this epistle does not imitate the manner
of giving St. Paul's signature ; he only bids the
Galatians observe how large a letter he had writ-
ten to them with his own hand. He does not say
this was different from his ordinary usage ; that
is left to implication. Now to suppose that this
was an artifice to procure credit to an imposture,
is to suppose that the author of the forgery, be-
cause he knew that others of St. Paul's were not
written by himself, therefore made the apostle say
that this was : which seems an odd turn to give to
the circumstance, and to -be given for a purpose
which would more naturally and more directly have
been answered, by subjoining the salutation or
signature in the form in which it is found in other
epistles.*
No. X.
An exact conformity appears in the manner
in which a certain apostle or eminent Christian,
whose name was James, is spoken of in the epistle
and^in the history. Both writings refer to a situa-
tion of his at Jerusalem, somewhat different from
that of the other apostles ; a kind of eminence or
presidency in the church there, or at least a more
fixed and stationary residence. Chap. ii. 12:
" When Peter was at Antioch, before that certain
came from James, he did eat with the Gentiles."
This text plainly attributes a kind of pre-eminency
to James : and, as we hear of him twice in the same
epistle dwelling at Jerusalem, chap. i. 19, and ii.
9, we must apply it to the situation which he held
in that church. In the Acts of the Apostles divers
intimations occur, conveying the same idea of
James's situation. When Peter was miraculously
delivered from prison, and had surprised his friends
by his appearance among them, after declaring
unto them how the Lord had brought him out of
prison, " Go show," says he, " these things unto
James, and to the brethren," Acts, chap. xii. 17.
Here James is manifestly spoken of in terms of
distinction. He appears again with like distinc-
tion in the twenty-first chapter and the seventeenth
and eighteenth verses: " And when we (Paul and
his company) were come to Jerusalem, the llay
* The words ITXX.IXOI; yexp.p.xirtv may probably be
meant to describe the character in which hf wrote, and
not the length of the letter. But this will not alter the
truth of our observation. I think, however, that as St.
Paul, by the mention of his own hand, designed to ex-
press to" the Galatians the great concern which he felt
for them, the wonts, whatever they signify, belong to
tho whole of the epistle ; and not, as Grot ins, after St.
Jerome, interprets it, to the few verses which follow.
following, Paul went in with us unto James, and
all the elders were present/'' In the debate which
took place upon the business of the Gentile con-
verts, in the council at Jerusalem, this same per-
son seems to have taken the lead. It was he who
closed the debate, and proposed the resolution in
which the council ultimately concurred : " Where-
fore my sentence is, that we trouble not them
which from among the Gentiles are turned to God."
Upon the whole, that there exists a conformity
in the expressions used concerning James through-
out the history, and in the epistle, is unquestion-
able. But admitting this conformity, and admit-
ting also the undesignedness of it, what does it
Cve? It proves that the circumstance itself is
nded in truth ; that is, that James was a real
person, who held a situation of eminence in a real
society of Christians at Jerusalem. It confirms
also those parts of the narrative which are con-
nected with this circumstance. Suppose, for in-
stance, .the truth of the account of Peter's escape
from prison was to be tried upon the testimony of
a witness who, among other things, made Peter,
after his deliverance, say, " Go show these things
to James and to the brethren;" would it not be
material, in such a trial, to make out by other in-
dependent proofs, or by a comparison of proofs,
drawn from independent sources, that there was
actually at that time, living at Jerusalem, such a
person as James; that this person held such a
situation in the society amongst whom these things
were transacted, as to render the words which
Peter is said to have used concerning him, proper
and natural for him to have used 1 If this would
be pertinent in the discussion of oral testimony, it
is still more so in appreciating the credit of remote
history.
It must not be dissembled, that the comparison
of our epistle with the history presents some dif-
ficulties, or, to say the least, some questions of
considerable magnitude. It may be doubted, in
the first place, to what journey the words which
open the second chapter of the epistle, "then,
fourteen years afterwards, I went unto Jerusa-
lem," relate. That which best corresponds with
the date, and that to which most interpreters ap-
ply the passage, is the journey of Paul and Bar-
nabas to Jerusalem when they went thither from
Antioch upon thq business of the Gentile con-
verts; and which journey produced the famous
council and decree recorded in the fifteenth chap-
ter of Acts. To me this opinion appears to be
encumbered with strong objections. In the epis-
tle Paul tells us that " he went up by revelation,"
chap. ii. 2. In the Acts, we read that he was
sent by the church of Antioch: "after no small
lissension and disputation, they determined that
Paul and Barnabas, and certain other of them,
ihould go up to the apostles and elders about
this question," Acts, chap. xv. 2. This is not
very reconrileable. In the epistle, St. Paul writes
that, when he came to Jerusalem, " he com-
municated that Gospel which he preached among
the Gentiles, but privatclv to them which were of
reputation," chap. ii. 2. If by "that Gospel" he
meant the immunity of the Gentile Christians
from the Jewish law, (arid I know not what else
"t can mran.) it is not easy to conceive how he
should communicate that privately, which was
the object of his public message. But a yet
greater difficulty remains, vi/. that in the account
which the epistie gives of what passed upon this
EPISTLE TO THE GALATIANS.
197
visit at Jerusalem, no notice is taken of the de-
liberation and decree which are recorded in the
Acts, and which, according to that history, formed
the business for the sake of which the journey
was undertaken. The mention of the council arid
of its determination, whilst the apostle was re-
lating his proceedings at Jerusalem, could hardly
have been avoided, if in truth the narrative be-
long to the same journey. To me it appears
more probable that Paul and Barnabas had taken
some journey to Jerusalem, the mention of which
is omitted in the Acts. Prior to the apostolic de-
cree, we read that " Paul and Barnabas abode at
Antioch a long time with the disciples," Acts
chap. xiv. 28. Is it unlikely that, during this
long abode, they might go up to Jerusalem and
return to Antioch 7 Or would the omission of
such a journey be unsuitable to the general bre-
vity with which these memoirs art' written, es-
pecially of those parts of St. Paul's history which
took place before the historian joined his society 1
But, again, the first account we find in the
Acts of the Apostles of St. Paul's visiting Ga-
latia, is in the sixteenth chapter and the sixth
verse : " Now when they had gone through Phry-
gia and the region of Galatia, they assayed to go
into Bithynia.' The progress here recorded was
subsequent to the apostolic decree ; therefore that
decree must have been extant when our epistle
was written. Now, as the professed design of the
epistle was to establish the exemption of the Gen-
tile converts from the law of Moses, and as the
decree pronounced and confirmed that exemption,
it may seem extraordinary that no notice whatever
is taken of that determination, nor any appeal
made to its authority. Much however of the
weight of this objection, which applies also to
some other of St. Paul's epistles, is removed by
the following reflections.
1. It was not St. Paul's manner, nor agreeable
to it, to resort or defer much to the authority of
the other apostles, especially whilst he was in-
sisting, as he does strenuously throughout this
epistle insist, upon his own angina] inspiration.
He who could speak of the very chiefest of the
apostles in such terms as the following " of those
who seemed to be somewhat, (whatsoever tfiey
were it maketh no matter to me, God accepteth
no man's person,) for they who seemed to be
somewhat in conference added nothing to me,' ;
he, I say, was not likely to support himself by
their decision.
2. The epistle argues the point upon principle :
and it is not perhaps more to be wondered at, that
in such an argument St. Paul should not cite the
apostolic decree, than it would be that, in a dis-
course designed to prove the moral and religious
duty of observing the Sabbath, the writer should
not quote the thirteenth canon.
3. The decree did not go the length of the po-
sition maintained in the epistle ; the decree only
declares that the apostles and elders at Jerusalem
did not impose the observance of the Mosaic law
upon the Gentile converts, as a condition of their
being admitted into the Christian church. Our
epistle argues that the Mosaic institution itself
was at an end, as to all effects upon a future
state, even with respect to the Jews themselves.
4. They whose error St. Paul combated, were
not persons who submitted to the Jewish law,
because it was imposed by the authority, or
because it was made part of the lav? of the Chris-
tian church; but they were persons who, having
already become Christians, afterwards voluntarily
took upon themselves the observance of the Mo-
saic code, under a notion of attaining thereby to
a greater perfection. This, I think, is precisely
the opinion which St. Paul opposes in this epis-
tle. Many of his expressions apply exactly to it :
"Are ye so foolish 1 having begun in the spirit,
are ye now made perfect in the flesh?' chap,
iii. 3. " Tell me, ye that desire to be under the
law, do ye not hear the law?' chap. iv. 21.
" How turn ye again to the weak and beggarly
elements, whereunto ye desire again to be in
bondage?' chap. iv. .9. It cannot be thought
extraordinary that St. Paul should resist this
opinion with earnestness: for it both changed
the character of the Christian dispensation, and
derogated expressly from the completeness of that
redemption which Jesus Christ had wrought for
them that believed in him^ But it was to no purpose
to allege to such persons the decision at Jerusa-
lem ; for that only showed that they were not
Ixmnd to these observances by any law of the
Christian church ; they did not pretend to be so
bound ; nevertheless they imagined that there was
an efficacy in these observances, a merit, a recom-
mendation to favour, and a ground of acceptance
with God for those who complied with them. This
was a situation of thought to which the tenor of
the decree did not apply. Accordingly, St. Paul's
address to the Galatians, which is throughout
adapted to this situation, runs in a strain widely
different from the language of the decree : " Christ
is become of no effect, unto you, whosoever of you
are justified by the law ;" chap. v. 4 ; i. e. who-
soever places his dependence upon any merit he
may apprehend there to be in legal observances.
The qecree had said nothing like this ; therefore
it would have been useless to have produced the
decree in an argument of which this was the
burden. In like manner as in contending with
an anchorite, who should insist upon the superior
holiness of a recluse, ascetic life, and the value of
such mortifications in the sight of God, it would
be to no purpose to prove that the laws of the
church did not require these vows, or even to
prove that the laws of the church expressly left
every Christian to his liberty. This would avail
little towards abating his estimation of their merit,
or towards settling the point in controversy.*
* Mr. Locke's solution of this difficulty is by no means
satisfactory. " St. Paul," he says, " did not remind the
Galatians of the apostolic decree, because they already
had it." hi the first place, it does not appear with cer-
tainty that they had it ; in the second place, if they had
it, this was rather a reason, than otherwise, for refer-
ring them to it. The passage in the Acts, from which
Mr. Locke concludes that the Galatic churches were in
possession of the decree, is the fourth ver^se of the six-
teenth chapter : " And as they" (Paul and Timothy)
" went through the cities, they delivered them the de-
crees for to keep, that were ordained of the apostles
and elders which were at Jerusalem." In my opinion,
this delivery 6T the decree was confined to the churches
to which St. Paul came, in pursuance of the plan upon
which he set out, "of visiting the brethren in every
city where he had preached the word of the Lord ;" the
history of which progress, and of all that pertained to
it, is closed in the fifth verse, when the history informs
that, "so were the churches established in the faith,
and increased in number daily." Then the history pro-
ceeds upon a new section of the narrative, by telling us,
that " when they had gone throughout Phrygia and the
region of Galatia, they assayed to go into Bithynia."
The decree itself is directed to " the brethren, which
198
HOR^E PAULINuE.
Another difficulty arises from the account of
Peter's conduct towards the Gentile converts at
Antioch, as given in the epistle, in the latter part
of the second chapter ; which conduct, it is said,
is consistent neither with the revelation commu-
nicated to him upon the conversion of Cornelius,
nor with the part he took in the debate at Jeru-
salem. But, in order to understand either the
difficulty or the solution, it will be necessary to
state and explain the passage itself. "When
Peter was come to Antioch, 1 withstood him to
the face, because he was to be blamed ; for, be-
fore that certain came from James, he did eat
with the Gentiles ; but when they were come, he
withdrew and separated himself, fearing them
which were of the circumcision ; and the other
Jews dissembled likewise with him, insomuch
that Barnabas also was carried away with their
dissimulation ; but when I saw they walked not
uprightly, according to the truth of the Gospel, I
said unto Peter, before them all, If thou, being a
Jew, livest after the manner of the Gentiles, and
not as do the Jews, why compellest thou the Gen-
tiles to live as do the Jews 1" Now the question
that produced the dispute to which these words
relate, was not whether the Gentiles were capable
of being admitted into the Christian covenant ;
that had been fully settled: nor was it whether it
should be accounted essential to the profession of
Christianity that they should conform themselves
to the law of Moses ; that was the question at
Jerusalem : but it was, whether, upon the Gen-
tiles becoming Christians, the Jews might hence-
forth eat and drink with them, as with their own
brethren. Upon this point St. Peter betrayed
some inconstancy; and so he might, agreeably
enough to his history. He might consider the
vision at Joppa as a direction for the occasion, ra-
ther than as universally abolishing the distinction
between Jew and Gentile ; I do not mean with
respect to final acceptance with God, but as to the
manner of their living together in society : at least
are of the Gentiles in Antioch, Syria, and Cilicia, that
is, to churches already founded, and in which this
question had been stirred. And I think the observation
of the noble author of the Miscellanea Sacra is not only
ingenious but highly probable, viz. that there is, in this
place a dislocation of the text, and that the fourth and
fifth verses of the sixteenth chapter ought to follow the
last verse of the fifteenth, so as to make the entire pas-
sage run thus: " And they went through Syria and Ci-
licia," (to the Christians of which country the decree
was addressed) " confirming the churches ; and as they
went through the cities, they delivered them the decrees
for to keep, that were ordained of the apostles and el-
ders which were at Jerusalem ; and so were the churches
established in the faith, and increased in number daily."
And then the sixteenth chapter takes up a new and un-
broken paragraph : " Then came he to Derbe and Lystra,
&c." When St. Paul came, as he did into Galatia, to
preach the Gospel, for the first time, in a new place, it is
not probable that he would make mention of the de-
cree, or rather letter, of the church of Jerusalem, which
presupposed Christianity to be known, and which re-
lated to certain doubts that had arisen in some esta-
blished Christian communities.
The second reason which Mr. Locke assigns for the
omission of the decree, viz. " that St. Paul's sole object
in the epistle was to acquit himself of the imputation
that had been charged upon him of actually preaching
circumcision," does not appear to me to be strictly true.
It was not the sole object. The epistle is written in
general opposition to the Judaizing inclinations which
he found to prevail among his converts. The avowal of
his own doctrine, and of his steadfast adherence to that
doctrine, formed a necessary part of the design of his
letter, but was not the whole of it.
he might not have comprehended this point with
such clearness and certainty, as to stand out upon
it against the fear of bringing upon himself the
censure and complaint of his brethren in the
church of Jerusalem, who still adhered to their
ancient prejudices. But Peter, it is said, com-
pelled the Gentiles iyS^ ttv "Why compellest
thou the Gentiles to live as do the Jews 1" How
did he do that 1 -The only way in which Peter
appears to have compelled the Gentiles to comply
with the Jewish institution, was by withdrawing
himself from their society. By which he may be
understood to have made this declaration: "We
do not deny your right to be considered as Chris-
tians ; we do not deny your title in the promises
of the Gospel, even without compliance with our
law : but it you would have us Jews live with
you as we do with one another ; that is, if you
would in all respects be treated by us as Jews,
you must live as such yourselves." This, I think,
was the compulsion which St. Peter's conduct
imposed upon the Gentiles, and for which St.
Paul reproved him.
As to the part which the historian ascribes to
St. Peter in the debate at Jerusalem, besides that
it was a different question which was there agita-
ted from that which produced the dispute at An-
tioch, there is nothing to hinder us from sup-
posing that the dispute at Antioch was prior to
the consultation at Jerusalem ; or that Peter, in
consequence of this rebuke, might have afterwards
maintained firmer sentiments.
CHAPTER VI.
The Epistle to the Ephesians.
No. I.
THIS epistle, and the Epistle to the Colossians,
appear to have been transmitted to their respect-
ive churches by the same messenger : "But that
ye also may know my affairs, and how I do,
Tychicus, a beloved brother and faithful minister
in the Lord, shall make known to you all things ;
whom I have sent unto you for the same purpose,
that ye might know our affairs, and that he might
comfort your hearts," Ephes. chap. vi. 21, 23.
This text, if it do not expressly declare, clearly I
think intimates, that the letter was sent by Ty-
chicus. The words made use of in the Epistle to
the Colossians are very similar to these, and af-
ford the same implication that Tychicus, in con-
junction with Onesimus, was the bearer of the
letter to that church; "All my state shall Ty-
chicus declare unto you, who is a beloved brother,
and a faithful minister, and fellow servant in the
Lord ; whom I have sent unto you for the same pur-
pose, that ho might know your estate, and comfort
your hearts ; with Onesimus, a faithful and be-
loved brother, who is one of you. They shall
make known unto you all things which are done
here," Colos. chap. iv. 79. Both epistles re-
present the writer as under imprisonment for the
Grospel ; and both treat of the same general sub-
ject. The Epistle therefore to the Ephesians, and
;he Epistle to the Colossians, import to he two
etters written by the same person, at or nearly at
;he same time, and upon the same subject, and to
liave been sent by the same messenger. Now,
every thing in the sentiments, order, and diction
EPISTLE TO THE EPHESIANS.
199
of the two writings, correspond with what might
be expected from this circumstance of identity or
cognation in their original. The leading doctrine
of t>oth epistles is the union of Jews and Gentiles
under the Christian dispensation ; and that doc-
trine in both is established by the same arguments
or, more properly speaking, illustrated by the
same similitudes: * "one head," "one body,' "one
new man," "one temple," are in both epistles the
figures under which the society of believers in
Cnrist, and their common relation to him as such,
is represented, t The ancient, and, as had been
thought, the indelible distinction between Jew
and Gentile, in both epistles, is declared to be
" now abolished by his cross." Besides this con-
sent in the general tenor of the two epistles, and
in the run also and warmth of thought with which
they are composed, we may naturally expect in
letters produced under the circumstances in which
these appear to have been written, a closer resem-
blance of style and diction, than between other
letters of the same person but of distant dates, or
between letters adapted to different occasions.
In particular, we may look for many of the same
expressions, and sometimes for whole sentences
being alike ; since such expressions and sentences
would be repeated in the second letter (whichever
that was) as yet fresh in the author's mind from
the writing of the first. This repetition occurs in
the following examples : t
Ephes. en. i. 7. "In whom we have re-
demption through his blood, the forgiveness of
sins."
Colos. ch. i. 14. " In whom we have redemp-
tion through his blood, the forgiveness of sins." II
Besides the sameness of the words, it is farther
remarkable that the sentence is, in both places,
preceded by the same introductory idea. In the
Epistle to the Ephesians it is the " beloved"
(nx5rn/un/w); in that to the Colossians it is " his
dear Son "(u 80 m? *?***<; <*TOU,) " in whom we
have redemption." The sentence appears to have
been suggested to the mind of the writer by the
idea which had accompanied it before.
Ephes. ch. i. 10. " All things both which are
* St. Paul, I am apt to believe, has been sometimes
accused of inconclusive reasoning, by our niisiakiim
that for reasoning which was only intended for illus-
tration. He is not to be read as a man, whose own
persuasion of the truth of what he taught always or
solely depended upon the views under which he repre-
sents it in his writings. Taking for granted the cer-
tainty of his doctrine, as resting upon the revelation
that had been imparted to him, he exhibits it frequently
to the conception of his readers under images and alle-
gories, in which if an analogy may be perceived, or even
sometimes a poetic resemblance be found, it is all per-
haps that is required.
) Ephes. i. 22, ) ) Colos. i. 18.
T Compare > iv. 15, > with > ii. 19.
ii. 15, \ \ iii.10,11.
Also
( Ephes. ii. 14, 15,
ii. 16,
H
Colos. ii. 14.
i. 18 21.
ii. 7.
t When verbal comparisons are relied upon, it becomes
necessary to state the original ; but that the English
reader may be interrupted as little as may be, I shall in
general do this in the notes.
Ephes. ch. i. 7 Ev M s % 3 ^ v T^ a:roXuT ? w<r<* Si*
Colos. ch. i. 14.
TOu itiftxTO; C*UTOU, T>II/ 9iTv ruiv apxfTmv. However
it must be observed, that in this latter text many copies
iiave not J TOV </*TOJ *UTOV.
in heaven and which are in earth, even in
him." *
Colos. ch. i. 20. " All things by him, whether
they be things in earth, or things in heaven." t
This quotation is the more observable, because
the connecting of things in earth with things in
heaven is a very singular sentiment, and found
no where else but in these two epistles. The
words also are introduced and followed by a train
of thought nearly alike. They are introduced by
describing the union which Christ had effected,
and they are followed by telling the Gentile
churches that they were incorporated into it.
Ephes. ch. iii. 2. " The dispensation of the
grace of God, which is given me to you ward."*
Colos. ch. i. 25. " The dispensation of God
which is given to me for you."
Of these sentences it may likewise be observed
that the accompanying ideas are similar. In both
places they are immediately preceded by the men-
tion of his present sufferings ; in both places they
are immediately followed by the mention of the
mystery which was the great subject of his
preaching.
Ephes. ch. v. 19. " In psalms and hymns and
spiritual songs, singing and making melody in
your heart to the Lord. II
Colos. ch. iii. 16. " In psalms and hymns and
spiritual songs, singing with grace in your hearts
to the Lord. 57 IP
Ephes. ch. vi. 22. " Whom I have sent unto
you for the same purpose, that ye might know
our affairs, and that he might comfort your
hearts."**
Colos. ch. iv. 8. " Whom I have sent unto
you for the same purpose, that he might know
your estate and comfort your hearts." ft
In these examples, we do not perceive a cento
of phrases gathered from one composition, and
strung together in the other; but the occasional
occurrence of the same expression to a mind a
second time revolving the same ideas.
2. Whoever writes two letters, or two dis-
courses, nearly upon the same subject, and at no
great distance ot time, but without any express
recollection of what he had written before, will
find himself repeating some sentences, in the very
order of the words in which he had already used
them ; but he will more frequently find himself
employing some principal terms, with the order
inadvertently changed, or with the order disturbed
by the intermixture of other words and phrases
expressive of ideas rising up at the time ; or in
many instances repeating not single words, nor
yet whole sentences, but parts and fragments of
* Ephes ch. i. 10. T* rt iv reig oujeevoij x T tvt
tl? y>IS, iv aura..
t Colos. ch. i. 20. A *UTOU, I.TI r i*t rug yt>g, TI
1 Ephes. ch. iii. 2. TV euovopixv %* ITO?-TOO 6100 rqg
8 Colos. Ch. i. 25. Tnv oixovo^av TOO Siav, rtfv
Stuirxv ftot it; vfitig,
|| Ephes. ch. v. 19. Y*x/tof x< vftvoig, xm oiS*if
IT Colos. ch. iii. 16.
* * Ephes. Ch. VI. 22. OK tve.u-!/*. *e<>g vpxgng BUI
0, 4V* -yviaTt TO, TTiat W'JlV. KXl 7T*^y.X.\lirtt TKff X<
ft ColOS. Ch. iv. 8.
200
HOIU2 PAULINA.
sentences, Of all these varieties the examination
of our two epistles will furnish plain examples :
and I should rely upon this class of instances more
than upon the last; because, although an impostor
might transcribe into a forgery entire sentences
and phrases, yet the dislocation of words, the par-
tial recollection of phrases and sentences, -the in-
termixture of new terms and new ideas with terms
and ideas before used, which will appear in the
examples that follow, and which are the natural
properties of writings produced under the circum-
stances in which these epistles are represented to
have been composed would not, I think, have
occurred to the invention of a forger ; nor, if they
had occurred, would they have been so easily ex-
ecuted. This studied variation was a refinement
in forgery which I believe did not exist ; or if we
can suppose it to have been practised in the in-
stances adduced below, why, it may be asked, was
not the same art exercised upon those which we
have collected in the preceding class 1
Ephes. chap. i. 19 ; ch. ii. 5. " Towards us who
believe according -to the working of his mighty
power, which he wrought in Christ when he
raised him from the dead (and set him at his own
right hand in the heavenly places, far above all
principality, and power, and might, and dominion.
and every name that is named, not only in this
world, but in that which is to come. And hath put
all things under his feet : and gave him to be the
head over all things, to the church, which is his
body, the fulness of all things, that filleth all in all ;)
and you hath he quickened, who were dead in
trespasses and sins (wherein in time past ye
walked according to the course of this world, ac-
cording to the prince of the power of the air, the
spirit mat now worketh in the children of disobe-
dience ; among whom also we all had our conver-
sation, in times past, in the lusts of our flesh, ful-
filling the desires of the flesh and of the mind,
and were by nature the children of wrath, even as
others. But God, who is rich in mercy, for his
great love wherewith he loved us,) even when we
were dead in sins, hath quickened us together
with Christ." *
Colos. ch. ii. 12, 13. " Through the faith of
the operation of God, who hath raised him from
the dead : and you, being dead in your sins and
the uncircumcision of the flesh, hath he quickened
together with him."t
Out of the long quotation from the Ephesians,
take away the parentheses, and you have left a
sentence almost in terms the same as the short
quotation from the Colossians. The resemblance
is more visible in the original than in our transla-
tion ; for what is rendered in one place, " the
working," and in another the " operation," is the
same Greek term tv^-yttx. : in one place it is, TO U?
5To-TuovTs x*Tw T^V tvf^etxv ', in the other, Sty. T >,S
9ri<rTij rm tvtfyi <? . Here, therefore, we have the""*
same sentiment, and nearly in the same words ;
but, in the Ephesians, twice broken or interrupted
by incidental thoughts, which St. Paul, as his
* Epkae. ch. i. 19, 20 ; ii. 1, 5. To
tV TO) Jl
auTOu
t Colos. ch. ii. 12, 13. A<* **$ yrta-nu^ -r^q iveeyeias TS
sou TOO eyiifctvTOf cturov tx, riov vixgmv. Kcut u/t{ vixftsg
VTOt; IV TOIJ TCe^OCTTTtU/UCKTi X.C4I T)J Xgou<TTe T>) <T*fXOJ
*Bi^o'vyiaiojroi)|<rE <rvv aorw.
manner was, enlarges upon by the tvay,* and then
returns to the thread of his discourse, it is inter-
rupted the iirst time by a view which breaks in
upon his mind of the exaltation of Christ; and
the second time by a description of heathen de-
pravity. I have only to remark that Griesbach,
in his very accurate edition, gives the parenthesis
very nearly in the same manner in which they are
here placed ; and that without any respect to the
comparison which we are proposing.
Ephes. ch. iv. 24. " With all lowliness and
meekness, with long-suffering, forbearing one an-
other in love ; endeavouring to keep the unity ot
the Spirit in the bond of peace. There is one
body and one Spirit, even as ye are called in one
hope of your calling."t
Colos. ch. iii. 1215. "Put on therefore, as the
elect of God, holy and beloved, bowels of mercies,
kindness, humbleness of mind, meekness, long-
suffering, forbearing one another and forgiving one
another ; if any man have a quarrel against any,
even as Christ forgave you, so also do ye ; anil,
above all these things, put on charity, which is the
bond of perfectness; and let the peace of God
rule in your hearts, to the which also ye are called
in one body."i
In these two quotations the words rxxiivoife o<ruvt,
jTjjoeOTiis, juaxgoSujuioc, uvi%,oftevt>i, \^Ktav f OCCUr in CX-
actly the same order: x a5r i is also found in both,
but in a different connexion; .<ruvs<r/*of T>IS tt^v^g
answers to trw&i<r(tof T>U Tix.6ioT!iTos : tx\>j9)jT8 iv tvt
a-u>ft!XTt tO iv (Tw/uec xstStof x'et< ty-K^nrt iv ftix tKirtStz
yet is this similitude found in the midst of sen-
tences otherwise very different.
Ephes. ch. iv. 16 " From whom the whole
body fitly joined together, and compacted by that
which every joint supplieth, according to the ef-
fectual working in the measure of every part,
maketh increase of the body."
Colos. ch. ii. 19. " From which all the body,
by joints and bands, having nourishment minis-
tered and knit together, increaseth with the in-
crease of God."ll
In these quotations are read *l **v TO <r!/
rvpStZst'^o/tsvov in both places : t^xo^^ou^jvov an-
swering to iTrt^Of^yiatf. Sta rwv a.$iuv to Slot, x-xa-y.s
4>ns : u$si T))I *ug)jo-w to sro<siTct< T>JI/ u^)o-iy ; and
yet the sentences are considerably diversified in
other parts.
Ephes. ch. iv. 32. " And be kind one to another,
tender-hearted, forgiving one another, even as
God, for Christ's sake, hath forgiven you."1T
* Vide Locke in loc.
f Ephes. ch. iv. 24. '
1 ColOS. Ch.iii. 12 15.
61 TOUTOIJ TijV
Vd-'lTyUO J
(V TKIJ
Ephes. Clfc iv. 16.
|| Colos. ch. ii. 19. E oo JT
.
ITEph. Ch. iv. ^2. TivirSi Si ?
EPISTLE^TO THE EfHESIANS.
Colos. ch. iii. 13. " Forbearing one another an
forgiving OTIC another; if any man have a- quarre
against any, even as Christ ^forgave you, so also
do ye."*
Here we have " forgiving one another, even as
God, 'for Christ's sake\;v ' x^r*) hath forgiven
you," in the. first quotation, substantially repeated
in the second. But in the'seeoiid, the sentence is
broken by the interposition of a new clause", ^'if
any man have a quarrel -against any;'' and the
latter part is a little va I of :: (Jod in
Christ/' it is " Christ hath forgiven you."
Ephes. ch. iv. 2 -Jl. " That \e'put oft' cori-
cernintf. the former conversation the old man,
which is corrupt according to the deceitful lusts.
and be renewed in the spirit of y< ur mind; nnd
that ye put on the new man, which, after Qod; is
created in righteousness a :id true ln-!i',ess."t
Colos. ch. iii. <), 10. " Seeing that ye have piit^
off the old man wilh his deeds, and have put bn
the new man, which is renewed in knowledge^ af-
ter the image of him that created lrim. :
In these quotations, " pu'ting off the old man,
and putting on the new," appears in both. Tne
idea is further explained by calling it a r.
in the orie, ''renewed in the spirit ot your mind;"
in the other, " renewed in knowledge.'' In both,
the new man is said to lie formed according to the
same model ; in the one he is, "afti rliod
in righteousness and true holiness;" in the other,
" he is renewed after the image of him thai
him." In a word, it is the same person writing
upon a kindred subject, with the terms and ideas
which he had before employed still floating in his
memory.!
Ephes. ch. v. f> 8. " Because of these things
cometh the wrath of God upon, the cKUdren of
disobedience: be not ye therefore partakers with
them; for ye were sometimes darkness, hut now
are ye light in the Lord : walk as children -of
Colos. ch. iii. 68. " For which thing's sake
the wrath of God cometh on^the children of din-
obedience ; in the which ye also walked some
time, when ye lived in them. -But now ye also
putofTarithese."ir
These verses afford a specimen of that partial
* Colos. ch. iii. 13. Avi^OjUSvot ceXX>)Xtov, xxi' %X.Q o-
XeTTOS %*f TXTO U|U<V, OUTO) HZ* U^*l,-.
t Ephes. Ch. iv. 22 24. A^-J^TJ** o,u; XT T>JV ir^-
voo; U|Uu;r, x*i sv
iOl/ XT1IT36VT* V
I Colos. ch. iii. 9, 10. Ajr4Jiw/ii -ro
In these comparisons, we often perceive the reason
why the writer, though expressing the same idea, uses
a different term ; namely, because the term before dsed
is employed in thf Mtitenee under a different form :
thus, in the quotatinns under o\ir ex e - the new man is
xaetvog *v5fx'7i-o; in the E(>l)esians, and TCV \ = ->v \\\ the
Colossians; but then it is because TOV xa.vov is used in
the next word, vxMteu/Rv.
|j Ephes. Ch. v. 68. ^a TMUTX yy,^ efzsrxi >) Ofy* TS
* O-XOTO,-,
Ku:u
IT Colos. ch. iii. 6 8.
Tesembkvnce which is only to be met with when
no imitation is designed, when no studied recol-
lection is employed, iul wheji the mind, exercised
upon the same subject, is left to the spontaneous
return of 'such terms and phrases, as, having teen
used before, may happen" to present themselves
nirain. The sentiment of both passages is through-
out alike: half of that sentiment, the denunciation
of God's wrath, is expressed in identical words;
the other half, viz. the admonition to quit their
former conversation, in words- entirely different.
Kphes. ch. v. 15, HJ. u See then that ye walk
-pectly ; not as fools, but as wise, redeem-
ing the timer"* ,
Colos. ch. iv. 5. "Walk in wisdom towards
them that are' .without; redeeming the lime."t
This is another example o'fthlal mixture, which
we remarked of sameness and variety in the lan-i
guage of one' writer. " Redeeming the time"
^oftivo t TOV x*^ov,) in n literal repetition.
; not as Ibois, but as wise," (irrgYrrxTsiT- ,u
at ito-o^cj, sex>^ a, ? C-B ;o) answers exactly in
and nearly jij terms, to "walk in wisdom,' n (V
<?pfi-r*TiiT;.) ih(i^-*THTt xY.(iS*s is a very dif-
ferent phrase, but is intended to convey precisely
the same idea as rrs < rstTjT'Veo{.Touj i. Axj*e)f
is not well rendered K circumspectly '." It means
what in modern spm-h we should call "correctly,"
and when we advise a person'to behave "correct-
ly," our advice is always given with a reference
"to the opinion of others," w ?0 rtvy'i^. " Walk
correct Iv. redeeming the lime.'' i.e. suiting your-
sehes to the difficult y and ticklishness of the times
in which we live, " boCfUN the days are evil."
Ephes. ch. vi.; 19, 20: ' : And (praying) for me,
that utterance may be given unto me, that I may
open my mouth boldly to make known the myste-
ry of the Gospel, for which I am an ambassador
in Abends, that therein I may speUk boldly, as I
ouifht to sj>eak."t
Colos. ch. iv. 3, 4. 4' Withal praying also for
us that God wpulci opeh unto us a door of utter-
ance to speak the mystery of 'Christ, for which I
am also in bonds, that 1 may make it manifest as I
rjught to speak. "
In these quotations, the phrase, as 1 ought to
speak" (,>!. >i x*x^r*,) the words ^'-utterance"
'xox?,) "a mystery" '(<""o- T i' 0l ) "open" (*vo.^ij
and tv . avo.g,,;) a*fe the same. " To make known
;he mystery of the GospeF' (yvooio-^i TO /Koo-TijpiovJ
answers to "make it manili st" (<v*,$cvfrpc(ru/ XUTO ;)
for which I am an ambassador in bonds' 1 ( u ^-'p <"*
rvx.u(T. Vto "for which I am^als'o in
. '' 1 *- V .
Ephes. ch. v. 22, " Wires, subtnit yourselves
'o youn own hilebands, as iinto thq JLord. for the
lusbahd is the head of the wife, even a6 Christ is
;he head of the church, andlhe is the saviour of
;he body. Therefore,^ as the church is Subject
-* EpheS.Ch. V. IS, 16. BX^-=T* ovv vug axg5cu; veft.
TstfttTi- w AS *(TO<J9<, *XX' <J <ro$0i, s^scyo^se^OjUfivo* T9v
t Colos. Ch. iv. 5. Bv <riif i& Tn^t^nrurt ir^s TOW? i<a,
J Ephes. ch! vif W^0. 'K*. v^s^^, <v* ^. Soltt*
o fiv:rT;tt3v*rfj'i-Jxyy!>.'Cv,V7rte Ou 5Tf50-gU)to SV
2C
HOR^E PAULINA.
unto Christ, so let the wives be to their own hus-
bands in every tiling. Husbands, loveyour wives,
even as Christ also loved the church, and gave
himself for it, that he might sanctify and cleanse
it with the washing of water by the word ; that he
might present it to himself a glorious church, not
having spot or wrinkle, or any such thing ; but
that it should be holy and c without blemish. So
ought men to love their wives as their own bodies.
He that loveth his wife, loveth himself; for no man
ever yet hated his own flesh, but nourishcth and
cherisheth it, even as the Lord the church ; for we
are members of his body, of his flesh, and of his
bones. For this cause shall a man leave his fa-
ther and his mother and be joined unto his wife,
and they two shall be one flesh. This is a great
mystery ; but I speak concerning Christ and the
church. Nevertheless, let every one of you in
particular, so love his wife even as himself; and
the wife see that she reverence her husband.
Children, obey your parents in the Lord, for this
is right. Honour thy father and thy mother
(which is the first commandment with promise,)
that it may be well with thee, and that thou may-
est live long on the earth. And ye fathers, pro-
voke not your children to wrath, but bring them
up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord.
Servants, be obedient to them that arc your mas-
ters according 1 to the Jlesh, with fear and trem-
bling, in singleness of your heart, as unto Christ ;
not -with eye-service, as men-pleasers, but as the
servants of Christ, doing the will of God from
the heart ; with good will doing service, as to the
Lord, and not to men ; knowing that whatsoever
good thing any man doeth, the same shall he re-
ceive of the Lord, whetfier he be bond or free.
And, ye masters, do the same things unto them;
forbearing threatening-: knowing that your mas-
ter also is in heaven, neither is there respect of
persons with him,*"
t Colos. ch. iii. 18. " Wives, submit yourselves
unto your own husbands, as it is fit in the Lord.
Husbands, love your wives, and be not bitter
against them. Children, obey your parents in all
things, for this is well pleasing unto the Lord.
Fathers, provoke not your children to anger, lest
they be discouraged. Servants, obey in all things
your masters according to the flesh : not with eye-
service as men-pleasers, but hi singleness of heart,
fearing God ; and whatever ye do, do it heartily
* Ephes. ch. v. 22. A yvvtttxis, T0 's ^''s avSfxo-tv
vir6Tx<r<ri<rfie, v>; TO Kvftia.
t Colos. ch. iii. 18. Ai yui/*xjf,u5roTo-o-<r$4 TOJJ iSi-
0*5 ttvSgxrtv, tag etvyfX.iv iv Kufico.
Ephes. Oj mvSfig, ayan-XTS rxg yvvatxag exvriav.
ColOS, Oj xvSffs, u.yx7rxr.i TJ yuvxix.ag.
Ephes. T Tjxvoe, vTraxousTS TCUJ yoviuo-tv vfttuv ev Ku-
fHa' TOUTO yatg <TTJ J4>wtOV.
Colos. Tx TEXV*, usroxoviTS rot; yaviva-t HUT* yrxvTtf
TOUTO yxf ttrrfv iua(i(rrsv ro> Kuj io>.
Ephes. K* i o irxTifig, w yrx^eyt^tn T TIXV* o>wv.
ColOS. O. yrxrtfig,^ ifsS.^jTS *T TJXV vpuv.
Ephes. O. Jovx.0., U 5T,eouTe TO. xvficig XT <r*ex*
/UtTCC $060U XXt T0>SOU, tV XTTKOT^Tl Ttig Xf $IX$ VfttUV, (O{
T<o Xf JO-TUI- Mt ** T ' v<f6\ftoSo\>\stxv, <aga.vSfoi7rxfta-K.oi,
\X.' <0 f SOVT.01 TOU Xft(TTOU,5r0400VT; TO ^{Xjj^al TOV 0OU
ix ^/U%VI;-/ST' evvoixg SovKtvQvrig uig TCO Kup!,x ou* tuv-
- "
xojetTot a-a.fa. rUv Kupou, tin
ColOS. Oi ou\ei,
TI i*v jrOiOT^fX
ei<8porroj' nSoreg
'; epyx'Cea-Sc, cs TO. Kup.u-, x*i
TTO Kupiou oeTroXtj-^fo-ss TSJV xvr
T(O yxf Kupio Xpio-Tco ^OU\EUS
^iTf, lectio non spernenda. GRIESBACH.
as to the Lord, and not unto men, knowing that
of the Lord ye shall receive the reward of the in-
heritance : for ye serve the Lord Christ.But he
that doeth wrong shall receive for the wrong which
he hath done ; and there is no respect of persons.
Masters, give unto your servants that which is
just and equal, knowing that ye also have a mas-
ter in heaven."
The passages marked by Italics in the quota-
tion from the Ephesians, bear a strict resemblance,
not only in signification but in terms, to the quo-
tation from the Colossians. Both the words and
the order of the words are in many clauses a du-
plicate of one another. In the Epistle to the Co-
lossians, these passages are kid together; in that
to the Ephesians, they are divided by intermediate
matter, especially by a long digressive allusion to
the mysterious union between Christ and his
church ; which possessing, as Mr. Locke hath well
observed, the mind of the apostle, from being an
incidental thought, grows up into the principal
subject. The affinity between these two passages
in signification, in terms, and in the order of the
words, is closer than can be pointed out between
any parts of any two epistles in the volume.
If the reader would see how the same subject
is treated by a different hand, and how distinguish-
able it is from the production of the same pen, let
him turn to the second and third chapters of the
First Epistle of St. Peter. The duties of servants,
of wives, and of husbands, are enlarged upon in
that epistle, as they are in the Epistle to the Ephe-
sians; but the subjects both occur in a difierent
order, and the train of sentiment subjoined to each
is totally unlike.
3. In two letters issuing from the same person,
nearly at the same time, and upon the same gene-
ral occasion, we may expect to trace the influence
of association in the order in which the topics fol-
low one another. Certain ideas universally or
usually suggest others. Here the order is what
we call natural, and from such an order nothing
can be concluded. But when the order is arbi-
trary, yet alike, the concurrence indicates the ef-
fect of that principle, by which ideas, which have
been once joined, commonly revisit the thoughts
together. The epistles under consideration fur-
nish the two following remarkable instances of
this species of agreement.
Ephes. ch. iv. 24. " And that ye put on the
new man, which after God is created in righteous-
ness and true holiness; wherefore putting away
lying, speak every man truth with his neighbour,
for we are members one of another."*
Colos. ch. iii. 9. " Lie not to one another ; see-
ing that ye have put Off the old man with his
deeds ; and have put on the new man, which is
renewed in knowledge. "t
The vice of " lying," or a correction of that vice,
does not seem to bear any nearer relation to the
" putting on the new man," than a reformation in
any other article of morals. Yet these two ideas,
we see, stand in both epistles in immediate con-
nexion.
Ephes. ch. v. 20, 21, 22. "Giving thanks al-
v$u<rx<rSxi TOV xa
ir$tvrx sv Stxxiotrvvif x*<
TO tJ/HfJ'p?, XaXiiTS ct
txxa-Tog ftirx TOU 5r\))0-ou UTOU OT o-/isv aXX>|A.t
t Colos. ch. iii. 9. Mii ^suSsa-de ss xx>i\oof,
(TXftiVOl TO* TTXKXtOV vSp<07TOl<, (TUV TKIJ JTfU^lViV
* Ephes. ch. iv.-24, 25.
ioTrov, TOV V.XTX
t T*ig a.KvSt'xg Sta,
EPISTLE TO THE EPHESIANS.
Ways for all things unto God and the Father, in
the name of our Lord Jesus Christ; submitting
yourselves one to another, in the fear of God.
Wives, submit yourselves unto your own hus-
bands, as unto the Lord."*
Colos. ch. iii. 17. "Whatsoever ye do, in
word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus,
giving thanks to God and the Father by him.
Wives, submit yourselves unto your own husbands,
as it is fit, in the Lord."T
In both these passages, submission follows giv-
ing of thanks, without any similitude in the ideas
which should account for the transition.
It is not necessary to pursue the comparison be-
tween the two epistles farther. The argument
which results from it stands thus : No two other
epistles contain a circumstance which indicates
that they were written at the same, or nearly at
the same time. No two other epistles exhibit so
many marks of correspondency and resemblance.
If the original which we ascribe to these two epis-
tles be the true one, that is, if they were l>oth
really written by St. Paul, and both' sent to their
respective destination by the same messenger, the
similitude is, in all points, what should be expect-
ed to take place. If they were forgeries, then the
mention of Tychicus in both epistles, mid in a
manner which shows that he either carried or ac-
companied both epistles, was inserted for the pur-
pose of accounting for their similitude: or else the
structure of the epistles was designedly adapt* d to
the circumstance : or lastly, the conformity between
the contents of the forgeries, and what is thus di-
rectly intimated concerning their date, was only a
happy accident. Not one of these three supposi-
tions will gain credit with a reader who peruses
the epistles with attention, and who reviews tin-
several examples we have pointed out, and the ob-
servations with which they were accompanied.
No. II.
There is such a thing as a peculiar word or
phrase cleaving, as it were, to the memory of a
writer or speaker, and presenting itself to his utter-
ance at every turn. When we observe this, we
call it a cant word, or a. cant phrase. It is a natu-
ral effect of habit : and would appear more fre-
quently than it does, had not the rules of good
writing taught the ear to be offended with the iter-
ation of the same sound, and oftentimes caused
us to reject, on that account, the word which offer-
ed itself first to our recollection. With a writer
who, like St. Paul, either knew not these rules, or
disregarded them, such words will not be avoided.
The truth is, an example of this kind runs through
several of his epistles, and in the epistle before us
abounds ; and that is in the word riches, (^OUTO?)
used metaphorically as an argumentative of the
idea to which it happens to be subjoined. Thus,
"the riches of his glory," " his riches in glory,"
" riches of the glory of his inheritance," " riches of
the glorv of this mystery," Rom. ch. ix. 23. Ephes.
ch. iii. "16. Ephes. ch. i. 18. Colos. ch. i. 27:
" riches of his grace," twice in the Ephesians, ch.
* Ephes. Ch. V. 20, 21, 22. Eu%*pa-TOWTi ? JTXVTOTJ
U5Ttp TTXVTCOV, 6V OVO,ttTI TOU KvpJSU t-UjJV I(]<rOU XpJTTOU, T<0
GtM X* nTpl, UjrOT*(TO-0/* = irO XA>;A.SIJ IV ou) 09U. A
yvfceixtf, TOIJ iJtoij cevJpariv uTroraj-irfo-Ss, euj TW Kupioo.
t Colos. Ch. iii. 17. K* -rxv O,TI xv jro>|T, tv Xoyco,
H tv ipyu>) jri>T iv 6VO|U06T Kupiou IVJITOU, eu;*P' <rTOUVT S
T<a 6ii x war* Si WUTOW. A yvvttix. ti v*QT<rri<r$i
i. 7, and ch. ii. 7; "riches of the full assurance of
understanding," Colos. ch. ii. 2; -"riches of his
goodness," Rom. ch. ii. 4; "riches of the wisdom
of God," Rom. ch. xi. 33 ; " riches of Christ,"
Ephes. ch. iii. 8. In a like sense the adjective,
Rom. ch. x. 12, " richunto all that call upon him;"
Ephes. ch. ii. 4, " rich in mercy ;" 1 Tun. ch. vi.
18, rich in good works." Also the adverb, Colos.
ch. iii. 16, "let the word of Christ dwell in you
richly." This figurative use of the word, though
so familiar to St. Paul, does not occur in any part
of the New Testament, except once in the Epistle
of St. James, ch. ii. 5. " Hath not God chosen
the poor of this world, rich in faith 1 where it is
manifestly sui^ested by the antithesis. I propose
the frequent, yet seemingly unatiected use of this
phrase, in (hi- epistle before us, as one internal
mark of its genuineness.
No. III.
There is another singularity in St. Paul's style,
which, wherever it is found, may be' deemed a
badge of authenticity ; because, if it were ^noticed,
it would not, 1 think, be imitated, inasmuch as it
almost always produces embarrassment. and inter-
ruption in the reasoning. This singularity is a
species of digression which may properly, 1 think,
l>e denominated going off at a word. It is turn-
ing aside from the subject upon the occurrence of
some particular word, forsaking the train of thought
then in hand, and entering upon a parenthetic
sentence in which that word is the prevailing
term. I shall lay before the reader some examples
of this, collected from the other epistles, and then
propose two examples of it which are found in the
Kpistle to the Kphesians, 2 Cor. ch. ii. 14, at the
word savour : " Now thanks be unto God, which
always causeth us to triumph in Christ, and mak-
eth manifest the savour of his knowledge by us in
every place, (for we are unto God a sweet savour
of Christ, in them that are saved, and in them
that j*>rish ; to the one we are the savour of death
unto death, and to the other the savour of life unto
life ; and who is sufficient for these things'?) For
we are not as many which corrupt the word of
God. hut as of sincerity, but as of God; in the
sight of God, speak we in Christ." Again, 2 Cor.
ch. iii. 1, at the word epistle: " Need we, as some
others, epistles of commendation to you, or of com-
mendation from you? (ye are our epistle written
in our hearts, known and read of all men ; foras-
much as ye are manifestly declared to be the epis-
tle of Christ, ministered by us, written not with
ink, but with the Spirit of the living God ; not in
tables of stone, but in the fleshly tables of the
heart.") The position of the words in the origi-
nal, shows more strongly than in the translation,
that it was the occurrence of the word i7r<rTOM
which gave birth to the sentence that follows : 2
Cor. Chap. iii. 1. E< nv, %P^CA"'\<? T. ; , O-UO-TSCT.XWV
ffrto-roA.wi' irpos Vftxs. | E \jp.w tr-ja-TctTixuiv ; S-XTTO^
tipaiv vfieif jerrj, fyys-ypxfi/niv^ iv T*IJ xap^ta*,- w-av, ft-
Again, 2 Cor. ch. iii. 12, &c. at the word vail ;
" Seeino- then that we have such hope, we use
great plainness of speech : and not as Moseg,
which put a vail over his- face, that the children
of Israel could not steadfastly look to the end of
that which is abolished. But their minds were
blinded j for until this day remaineth the same vail
304
HQIUE PAULINA.
untaken away in the reading of the Old Testa-
ment, which vail is done away in Christ : butven
unto this day, when AJoses is read, t!ie rail is
upon their heart : ne\erf heless, wheu ii. shajliurn
to the Lord, flip vail' shall be t;ikrn :us.-y (now
the Lord i* that Spirit ; and where the Spirit of the
Lord is, there is liberty.) But we all with open
face, beholding as in a glass the glory of the Lord,
are changed into the same image from glory to
g^lory, even as by the Spirit of the Lord. There-
lore, seeing we have this ministry, as we have re-
ceived mercy, we faint not."
Who sees not that 'this whole allegory of the
Tail arises entirely out of the occurrence of the
word, in telling us that " Moses put a vail over
his face," and that it drew the apostle away from
the proper subject of his discourse, the dignity of
the office in whicfy tee 'was engaged'? which sub-
ject he fetches up again almost in the words with
which he had left it: "therefore, seeing we have
this ministry, as we have reqeived mercy, we faint
not." The sentence which he had before been
going on with, and in which he had been inter-
rupted by the vail, was, " Seeing then thai we
have such hope, we use great plainness of
speech."
In the Epislle to the Ephesians, the reader will
remark two instances in which the same habit, of
composition obtains ; he will recognise the same
pen. One he will find, chap. it. 811, at the
word ascended : " Wherefore he saith, When he
ascended up on high, he led captivity captive, and
gave gifts unto men. (Now that \\e } ascended,
what is it but that he also-descended-first unto the
lower parts of the earth 1 He that descended is
the same also that ascended up far above all
heavens, that he might fill all things.) And he
gave some, apostles," &c.
The other appears chap. v. 12 15, at the word
light : " For it is a shame even to speak of those
things which are done of them in. secret : but all
things that are reproved, are made manifest by the
light ; (for whatsoever doth ;make nfanife.st, is
light; wherefore he saith, Awake, thou that
sleepest, and arise from the dead, and Christ shall
give thee light:} sec, then that ye walk circum--
spectly."
No. IV.
Although it does not appear to have ever been
disputed that the epistle before us was written by
St. Paul, yet it is well known that a doubt has long
been entertained concerning the persons to Vhom
it was addressed. The question is founded partly
in some ambiguity in the external evidence: Mar-
cion, a heretic of the secondr'century, as quoted
by Tcrtullian. a father in the beginning of the
third, calls it the Epistle to the Laodiceans. From
what we know of Marcion, his judgment is little
to be relied upon; nor is it perfectly clear that
Marcion was rightly understood by Tertullian.
If, however, Marcion be brought to prove that
some copies in his time gave sv A*0J.xs. in the
superscription, his testimony, if it be truly inter-
preted, is not diminished by his heresy ; for as
Grotius observes, " cur mca re mcntirctur nihil-
erat causcc." The name fv E?s<ru,, in the first
verse, upon which word singly d('i>ends the proof
that the epistle was written to the Epliesians, is
not read in all the manuscripts now extant. I ad-j
mil, however, that the external rvideiuv prepon-
derates with a mani test excess oh the side of the
received reading. The objection therefore prin-
cipally arises from the contents of the epistle itself,
which, in many respects, militate with the suppo-
sition that it was written' to tin church of Kphe-
sus. According to the bistorv, St. Paul had pass-
ed two whole years at Ephesus, Acts. chap. xix.
10. And in this point, viz. of St. Paul having
preachedlpra considerable length of time at. L'phe-
sus, the history is confirmed by the two Kpistles
to the Corinthians, and by the two Kpistles to
Timothy: "1 will tarry at Ephestta until Pente-
cost," 1 Cor. ch. xvi. ver. 8. "We would not
have you ignorant of our trouble which came to
us in Asia," 2 Cor. ch. i. 8. " As 1 besought
thee to abide still at Ephc&us, when I went into
Macedonia," 1 Tim. chap. i. '.I. "And in how
many things he ministered to me at JJphesusthon
knowest well," 2 Tim. ch. i. 18. I adduce these
testimonies, because, had it been a competition of
credit between the history and the epistle, I
should have thought myself bound to have prefer-
red the epistle. Now, every epistle which St.
Paid wrote to churches which he himself had
founded, or which he had visited, abounds with
references, and appeals to what had passed during
the time that he was present amongst them ;
whereas there is not a text in the Epistle to the
Ephesians, from which we can collect that he had
ever been at Ephesus at all. The two Epistles to
the Corinthians, the Epistle to the Calatians, the
Epistle to the Philippians, and the two Epistles
to the Thessalonians, are of this class ; and they
arc full of allusions to the apostle's history, his re-
ception, and his conduct whilst amongst them ;
the total want of which, in the epistle before us,
is very difficult to account for, if it was in truth
written to the church of Ephesus, in which city-
he had resided for so long a time. This is the first
and strongest objection. But farther, the Epistle
to the Colossians was addressed to a church, in
which St. Paul -had never been. This we infer
from the first verse of the second chapter: " For
I would that ye knew what great conflict I have
for you and for them at Laodicea, and for as many
as have not seen my face in the flesh." There
could pe no propriety in- thus joining the Colos-
sians and Laodiceans with those " who had not
seen his face in the flesh," if they did not also be-
long to the same description. * Now, his address
to the Colossians, whom he had not visited, is
precisely the same as his address to the Christians,
to whom he wrote in the epistle which we are now
considering: " We give thanks to God and the
Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, praying always
for you, since ice heard of your faith in Christ Je-
sus, and of the love which ye have to all the saints,"
Col. ch. i. 3. Thus, he speaks to the Eph<
in the epistle before us, as follows: "Wherefore I
also, after J heard of your faith in the Lord Je-
sus, a lid love unto all the saints, cease not to give
thanks for you in my prayers," chap. i. 15. The
terms of this address are observable. The words
" having heard of your faith and love," are the very
words, we see, which he uses towards strangers;
and it is not probable that he should employ the
s.nue in accosting a church in which he had long
exercised liis ministry, and whose "faith and love''
*Dr. Gardner contends auainst thr> validity of this
conclusion; but, [ think, without success. LAKU.NI;R,
vol. xiv. p. 4TJ, edit. ,1757.
EPISTLE TO THE EPHES1ANS.
205
he must have personally known. * The Epistle
to the Romans was written before St. Paul had
been at Rome ; and his address to them runs in
the same strain with that just now quoted; "I
thank my God, through Jesus Christ, tor you all,
that your faith is spoken of- throughout tin- whole
world:" Rom. ch. i. 8. Let us now see wh;it was
the form in which Our apostle was accustomed to
introduce his epistles, when lie wrote to those with
whom he was already acquainted. To the Co-
rinthians it was this: "I thank my God always
on your behalf, for the grace of God which is
given you by Christ Jesus," 1 Cor. eh. i. 4: To
the Philippians: "I thank my God uion every
remembrance of you," Phil. ch. i. 3. To the
Thessalonians : "We <rive thanks to God, ahvays
for you all, making mention of you in our prayers,
remembering, without ceasing, your work of faith,
andl;il)ouroflove, ; ' 1 Thess. ch. i. 3. To Timo-
thy: " i thank God, whom I serve from my fore-
fathers with pure conscience, that without ceasing
I have remembrance of thee in my prayers, night
and day," 2 Tim. ch. i. 3. In these quotations',
it is usually his remembrance, and never his
hearing of them, which he makes the subject of
his thankfulness to God.
As -rreat dilliculties stand in the way supposing
the epistle before us to have been written to the
church of Kphesus, so I think it probable that it
is actually the Kpi-'tle to the Laodieeans. referred
to in the fourth chapter of the Kpistle to the Co-
lossians. The text which contains that reference
is this : "When this epistle is read among you,
cause that it he read also in the church ofthe Lao-
diceans. and that ye likewise read the epistle from
Laodieca," ch. iv." 1(>. The '' epistle. fnnn Lao-
dicea was an epistle sent by St. Paul to that
church, and by them transmitted to Colosse. The
two churches were mutually to communicate the
epistles they had received. This is the way in
which the direction is explained by the greater
part of commentators, and is the most probable
sense that can be given to it. It is also probable
that the epistle alluded to was an epistle which
had been received by the church of Laodicea
lately. It appears then, with a considerable de-
gree of evidence, that there existed an epistle of
St. Paul's nearly of the same date with the Epis-
tle to the Colossians, and an epistle directed to a
church (for such the church of Laodicea was) in
which St. Paul had never been. What has been
observed concerning the epistle before us, shows
that it answers perfectly to that character.
Nor does the mistake seem very difficult to
account for. Whoever inspects the map of Asia
Minor will see, that a person proceeding from
Rome to Laodicea, would probably land at Ephe-
sus, as the nearest frequented sea-port in that
direction. Might not Tychicus then, in passing
through Ephesus, communicate to the Christians
* Mr. Locke endeavours to avoid this difficulty, by
explaining" their faith, of which St. Paul had heard,"
to mean the steadfastness of their persuasion that they
were called into the kingdom of (Jod, without subjection
to the Mosaic institution. But this interpretation
seems to me extremely knnl ; for, in tli.j manner .in
which faith is here joined with love, in the expression
" your faith and love," it could not be meant to denote
any particular tenet which distiii-nnshed one set of
Christians from others; forasmuch as the expression
descri bes the general virtues of the Christian profession.
f^ide LOCKE in lor
of that, place, the letter with which he was
charged 1 And might not copies of that letter be
multiplied and preserved at Ephesus 1 Might not
some of the copies- drop the words of designation
fv T >f A*O.CE<*,* which it was of no consequence
to an.Ephesian to retain! Might not copies of
the letter come out into the Christian church at
large from Ephesus ; and might not this give oc-
casion to a belief that the letter was written to that
church I And, lastly, might not this belief pro-
duce the error winch we suppose to have crept
into the inscription^
No. V.
As our epistle purports to have been written
during St. Paul's imprisonment at Rome, which
lies beyond the period to which the Acts of the
Apostles brings up his history ; and as we have
seen and acknowledged that the epistle contains
no reference to any transaction at Ephesus, during
the apostle's residence in that city, we cannot ex-
pect that it should supply many marks of agree-
ment with the narrative. One coincidence how-
ever occurs, and a coincidence of that minute and
less obvious kind, which, as hath been repeatedly
observed, is of all others the most to be relied
upon.
Chap. vi. 19, 20, we read, " praying for me,
known
am an am-
in a
chain. In the twenty-eighth chapter of the Acts
we are informed, that Paul, after his arrival at
Rome, "was suffered to dwell by himself with a
soldier that kept him. Dr. Lardner has shown
that this mode of custody was in use amongst the
Romans, and that whenever it was adopted, the
prisoner was bound to the soldier by a single
chain : in reference to which St.' Paul, in the
twentieth verse of this chapter, tells the Jews
whom he had assembled, " For this cause there-
fore. have 1 called for you to see you, and to speak
with you, Because that for the hope of Israel I
am bound with this chain " r*v <*X.U<TJVT*UTI,V irt^xti-
n*>. It is in exact conformity therefore with the
truth of St. Paul's. situation at the time, that he
declares of himself in the epistle, jrgjo-Ssua. tv x.u<rii
And the exactness is the more remarkable, as
xu<r 5 (a chain) is no where used in the singular
number to express any other kind of custody.
When the prisoner's hands or feet were bound
together, the word was Sif^t (bonds,) as in the
twenty-sixth chapter of the Acts, where Paul re-
ap. v. , , we rea, prayng or
that I may open my mouth boldly, to make kno
the mysteVy of the 'Gospel. for which I am an a
bassador in bqfnds." " In bonds" , v x.u<ri, i
* And it is remarkable that there seem to have been
some ancient copies without the words of designation,
either the words in F.pkfsus, or the words in Laodicea.
St.. Basil, a writer of the fburth century, speaking of the
present epistle, has this very singular passage: " And
writing to the Ephesians, as tritry united to him who ia
through knowledge, h-- { Paul) calleth them in a peculiar
sense sitcJi irho arc : savin?, to tho faints irko are and(oT
even) the faithful in Christ Jesus ; for so those before us
have transmitted it, and we have found it in ancient
conies." Dr. Mill interprets (and, notwithstanding some
objections that have been matte to him, in my opinion
rightly interprets) trwsu words of Basil, as "declaring
that tliis father had seen certain copies of the epistle
in whirh the words " in Ephesus" were wanting. And
tli.' passage, I think, mast be considered as Basil's fan-
ciful way of explaining what was really a corrupt and
defective reading; for I do not believe it possible that
tho author of the epistle could have originally written
yo(s TOIJ ouo-iv, without any name of place to fol-
18
206
HORJE PAULINA.
plies to Agrippa, " I Would to God that not only
thou, but also all that hoar me this day, wore both
almost and altogether such as I am, except these
bonds," arxgsx-ros TU>V Starpuv TouTtov. When the
prisoner was confined between two soldiers, as in
the case of Peter, Acts, chap. xii. 6, two chains
were employed ; and it is said upon his miracu-
lous deliverance, that the "chains" (*\uo-ij, in
the plural) "fell from his hands." AKT/O S , the
noun, and $KTH*I the verb, being general terms,
were applicable to this in common with any other
species of personal coercion; but tc\u<rjj, in the
singular number, to none but this.
If it can be suspected that the writer of the
present epistle, who in no other particular ap-
pears to have availed himself of the information
concerning St. Paul, delivered in the Acts, had,
m this verse, borrowed the word which he read
in that book, and had adapted his expression to
what he found there recorded of St. Paul's treat-
ment at Rome ; in short, that the coincidence here
noted was effected by craft and design ; I think it
a strong reply to remark, that, in the parallel pas-
sage of the Epistle to the Colossians, the same
allusion is not preserved; the words there are,
" praying also for us, that God would open unto
us a door of utterance to speak the mystery of
Christ, for which / am also in bonds" Si o -/.xt
Sio-ftxi. After what has been shown in a preceding
number, there can be little doubt but that these
two epistles were written by the same person. If
the writer, therefore, sought for, and fraudulently
inserted, the correspondency into one epistle, why
did he not do it in the other 1 A real prisoner
might use either general words which compre-
hended this amongst many other modes of cus-
tody; or might use appropriate words which spe-
cified this, and distinguished it from any other
mode. It would be accidental which form of ex-
pression he fell upon. But an impostor, who had
the art, in one place, to employ the appropriate
term for the purpose of fraud, would have used
it in both places.
CHAPTER VII.
The Epistle to the Philippians.
No. I.
WHEN a transaction is referred to in such a
manner, as that the reference is easily and im-
mediately understood by those who are before-
hand, or from other quarters, acquainted with the
fact, but is obscure, or imperfect, or requires in-
vestigation, or a comparison of different parts, in
order to be made clear to other readers, the trans-
action so referred to is probably real ; because,
had it been fictitious, the writer would have set
forth his story more fully and plainly, not merely
as conscious of the fiction, but as conscious that
his readers could have no other knowledge of the
subject of his allusion than from the information
of which he put them in possession.
The account of Epaphroditus, in the Epistle to
the Philippians, of his journey to Rome, and of the
business which brought him thither, is the article
to which I mean to apply this observation. There
are three passages in the epistle which relate to
this subject. The first, chap. i. 7, " Even as it is
meet for me to think this of you all, because I
have you in my heart, inasmuch as both in my
bonds, and in the defence and confirmation of the
(Jos pd, ye all are <ruyxo.v,vo. ^oo T>,S %a f .Toy, joint
contributors to the gift which I have received."*
Nothing more is said in this place. In the latter
part of the second chapter, and at the distance of
half the epistle from the last quotation, the subject
appears again : " Yet I supposed it necessary to
send to you Epaphroditus, my brother and com-
panion in labour, and fellow-soldier, but your
messenger, and he that "ministered to my wants :
for he longed after you all, and was full of heavi-
ness, because that ye had heard that he had been
sick : for indeed he was sick nigh unto death ; but
God had mercy on him, and not on him only, but
on me also, lest I should have sorrow upon sor-
row. I sent him therefore the more carefully,
that when ye see him again ye may rejoice, and
that I may be the less sorrowful. Receive him
therefore in the Lord with all gladness ; and hold
such in reputation : because for the work of Christ
he was nigh unto death, not regarding his life to
supply your lack of service toward me," chap,
ii. 25 30. The matter is here dropped, and no
farther mention made of it till it is taken up near
the conclusion of the epistle as follows : " But I
rejoice in the Lord greatly, that now at the last
your care of me hath flourished again, wherein ye
were also careful, but ye lacked opportunity. Not
that I speak in respect of want ; for I have learned
in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content.
I know both how to be abased, and I know how
to abound ; every where and in all things, I am
instructed both to be full and to be hungry, both
to abound and to suffer need. I can do all things
through Christ which strengthened me. Notwith-
standing, ye have well done that ye did communi-
cate with my affliction. Now, ye Philippians,
know also, that in the beginning of the Gospel,
when I departed from Macedonia, no church com-
municated with me, as concerning giving and re-
ceiving, but ye only. For even in Thessalonica
ye sent once and again unto my necessity. Not
because I desire a gift : but I desire fruit that may
abound te your account. But I have all, and
abound : I am full, having received of Epaphro-
ditus the things which were sent from you,"
chap. iv. 10 18. To the Philippian reader, who
knew that contributions were wont to be made in
that church for the apostle's subsistence and re-
lief, that the supply which they were accustomed
to send to him had been delayed by the want of
opportunity, that Epaphroditus had undertaken
the charge of conveying their liberality to the
hands of the apostle, that he had acquitted him-
self of this commission at the peril of his life, by
hastening to Rome under the oppression of a
grievous sickness ; to a reader who knew all this
beforehand, every line in the above quotations
would be plain and clear. But how is it with a
stranger ? The knowledge of these several par-
ticulars is necessary to the perception and ex-
planation of the references ; yet that knowledge
must be gathered from a comparison of passages
lying at a great distance from one another. Texts
must be interpreted by texts long subsequent te
* Pearce, I believe, was the first commentator, who
gave this sense to the expression ; and I believe also
that his exposition is now generally assented to. He
interprets in the same sense the phrase in the fifth
verse, which our translation renders " your fellowship
in the Gospel ;" but which in the original is not*.oiv<avnt
TOU fo8eyysX<ou,or xovwv evria suxyyt^Ku ; but xatfuovia
i if TO tvx-yyiKiov*
EPISTLE TO THE PHIL1PPIANS.
2GT
them, which necessarily produces embarrassmen
and suspense. The passage quoted from the be
ginning of the epistle contains an acknowledg
ment, on the part of the apostle, of the liberality
which the Philippians had exercised towards
him ; but the allusion is so general and indeter-
minate, that had nothing more been said in the
sequel of the epistle, it would hardly have been
applied to this occasion at all. In the secont
quotation, Epaphroditus is declared to have "mi-
nistered to the apostle's wants," and "to have
supplied their lack of service towards him ;" but
how, that is, at whose expense, or from what
fund he " ministered," or what was "the lack of
service" which he supplied, are left very much
unexplained, till we arrive at the third quota-
tion, where we find that Epaphroditus " minis-
tered to St. Paul's wants" only by conveying to
his hands the contributions of the Philippians :
" I am full, having received of Epaphroditus the
things which were sent from you:" anil that
"the lack of service which he supplied" was a
delay or interruption of their accustomed bounty,
occasioned by the want of opportunity: "I re-
joiced in the Lord greatly, that now at the last
your care of me hath flourished again; wherein
ye were also careful, but ye lacked opportunity."
The affair at length comes out clear ; but it comes
out by piecemeal. The clearness is the result of
the reciprocal illustration of divided texts. Should
any one choose therefore to insinuate, that this
whole story of Epaphroditus. or his journey, his
errand, his sickness, or even his existence, might,
for what we know, have no other foundation than
in the invention of the forger of the epistle ; I an-
swer, that a forger would have set forth his story
connectedly, and also more fully and more per-
spicuously. If the epistle be authentic, and the
transaction real, then every thing which is said
concerning Epaphroditus, and his commission,
would be clear to those into whose hands the
epistle was expected to come. Considering the
Philippians as his readers, a person might na-
turally write upon the subject, as the author of
the epistle has written: but there is no supposition
of forgery with wluch it will suit.
No. II.
The history of Epaphroditus supplies another
observation: "Indeed he was sick, nigh unto
death : but God had mercy on him, and not on
him only, but on me also, lest I should have sorrow
upon sorrow." In this passage, no intimation is
given that Epaphrodifrus's recovery was miracu-
lous. It is plainly, I think, spoken of as a natu-
ral event. This instance, together with one in
the Second Epistle to Timothy (" Trophimus have
I left at Miletum sick,") affords a proof that the
power of performing cures, and, by parity of
reason, of working other miracles, was a power
which only visited the apostles occasionally, and
did not at all depend upon their own will. Paul
undoubtedly would have healed Epaphroditus if he
could. Nor, if the power of workin<r cures had
awaited his disposal, would he have left his fellow-
traveller at Miletum sick. This, I think, is a fair
observation upon the instances adduced ; but it is
not the observation I am concerned to make It
is more for the purpose of my argument to remark,
that forgery, upon such an occasion, would not
have spared a miracle ; much less would it have
introduced St. Paul professing the utmost anxiety
him sick ;" and virtually in the passage before us,
in which he felicitates himself upon the recovery
of Epaphroditus, in terms which almost exclude
the supposition of any supernatural means being
employed to effect it. This is a reserve which
nothing but truth would have imposed.
No. III.
Chap. iv. 15. 16. "Now, ye Philippians, know
also, that in the beginning of the- Gospel, when I
departed from Macedonia- fto church communicat-
ed with me, as concerning giving and receiving,
but ye only. For even in Thessalonica ye sent
once and again unto my necessity."
It will be necessary to state the Greek of this
passage, because our translation does not, I think,
give tne sense of it accurately.
XXI Vl.ttSi,-, <&lXl.7W>!TI3l, OTI IV X1 TOW
Orl j;ttX6ov 3?0 MaxfJonxf, QvSiftt* pot
IXxXl)0-9( IXO<VU>V)|0-iV, !l; XOyOV 0"'<*S X3t< X>Ty;o, fl ftr\
fn'i /uavoi* OT< xs iv i}|<ro"Xovx>i xai ccrgj- xxi $t; ng
tfV X('U*V /* I"
The reader will please to direct his attention
to the corresponding particulars on and OT *<& t
hich connect the words ,v f xn rou iuyyixoo, or.
,>|X5ov5roMaxiJvi5, With the Words . Qt<r<rx>,o v ^ t
and denote, as I interpret the passage, two distinct
lonations, or rather donations at two distinct pe-
riods, one at Thessalonica, *$ *x< $i f , the ptner
after his departure from Macedonia, e n K.5ov x-9
HOV(*J.* I would render the passage, so as to
mark these different periods, thus : " Now, ye
Philippians, know also, that in the beginning of
he Gospel, when I was departed from Macedonia,
no church communicated-with me, as concerning
giving and receiving, but ye only. And that also
n Thessalonica ye sent once and again unto my
necessity." Now with this exposition of the pas-
sage compare 2 Cor. chap, xi, 8. 9 : "I robbed
other churches, taking wages of them to do you
service. And when! was present with you and
wanted, I was chargeable to no man; for that
which was lacking to me, the brethren which
came from Macedonia supplied."
It appears from St. Paul's history, as related in
he Acts of the Apostles, that upon leaving Ma-
cedonia he passed, after a very short stay at Athens,
into Achaia. It appears, secondly, from the quo-
ation out of the Epistle to the Corinthians, that
n Achaia he accepted no pecuniary assistance
rom the converts of that country ; but that he
Irew a supply for his wants from the Macedonian
Christians. Agreeably whereunto it appears, in
he third place, from the text which is the subject
>f the present number, that the brethren in Phi-
ippi, a city of Macedonia, had followed hiirr with
heir munificence, on t&j,! x-o M*X^OV* ; , when
ie was departed from Macedonia, that is, when
ie was come into Achaia.
The passage under consideration affords another
nrcumstance of agreement deserving of our notice.
* Luke, Ch. ii. 15. Kx tyevtro, a; es^xSov **' aoncv
; TOI/ Hfsvov oi a^ysxoj, "as the angels were gone
away," i. e. after their departure. o< Trci/nsvig nxrsv *(,'.<;
iAXi)\cuj. Matt. Ch. Xii. 43. OTI/ $< ra stxxixprtv Trvtvftx
giXfft ***? xvipiuTrcu, "when the unclean spirit is
one," i. e. after his departure, Supxtrai. John, ch. xiii.
0. Or f>|A.Ji ^louJ*^) " when he was gone," i. e. after
is departure, xsy* i>i<rou$, Act^, ch. x. 7, *>? Se xTr^^tv
xy-y.Kss xx\v T M Kopv^'w, " and when the angel
jvhich spake unto him was departed," i. e. after his dc-
>arture, $<avt\<rxi Sva ru>v OixsTwv, &C.
S08
HOHJ2 PAULINAS.
The gift alluded to in the Epistle to the Philip"-
plans is stated to have been made "in thp begin-
ning of the gosnel." This phrase is most natu-
rally explained to signify the lir.st preaching of the
Gospel in these parts, vix. on that side of the
-flSgean sea. The succours referred to in the
Epistle to the Corinthians, as received from Ma-
cedonia, are stated to have been received by him
upon his first visit to the peninsula of (iivnv
The dates therefore assigned to the donation in
the two epistles agree; yet is the date in one as-
eertained very incidentally, namely, by the consi-
derations which fix the date of the epistle itself;
and- in the other, .by an expression ("the begin-
ning of the Gospel") much too general to have
been used if the text had been -penned with any
view to the correspondency we are remarking.
Farther, the phrase, "in the bcginnyng of the
Gospel," raises an idea in the reader's mind fhat
the Gqspel had been preached there more than
once. The writer would hardly have called the
visit to which he refers, the "beginning of the
Gospel," if he had not also visited them in some
other stage of it. The fact corresponds with this
idea. If we .consult the sixteenth and twentieth
chapters of the Acts, we shall find, that St. Paul
before his imprisonment at Rome, during which
this epistle purports to have been written, had been
twice in Macedonia, and each time at Philippi.
No. IV.
That Timothy had been long with St. Paul at
Philippi, is a fact which seems to be implied in
this epistle twice. First, he joins in the saluta-
tion with which the epistle opens: "Paul and
Timotheus, the servants of Jesus Christ, to all the
saints in Christ Jesus which are at Philippi." Se-
condly, and more directly, the point is inferred
from what is said concerning him. chap. ii. 19 :
" But I trust in the Lord Jesus to send Timotheus
shortly unto you, that I also may be of good com-
fort when I know your state ; for 1 have no man
like minded, who will naturally care for your
state ; for all seek their own, not the things which
are Jesus Christ's; but ye know the proof of him,
that as a son with the father, he hath served with
me in the Gospel." Had Timothy's presence with
St. Paul at Philippi, when he preached the Gospel
there, been expressly remarked in the Acts of the
Apostles, this quotation might be thought to con-
tain a contrived adaptation to the history ; although,
even in that case, the -averment, or rather, the allu-
sion in the epistle, is too oblique to afford much
room, for such suspicion. But the truth is, that in
the history of St. Paul's transactions at Philippi,
which occupies the greatest part of the ' sixteenth
chapter of the Acts, no mention is made of Timo-
thy at all. What appears concerning Timothy in
the history, so far as relates to the present subject,
is this: " When Paul came to.Derbe and Lystra,
behold a certain disciple was there named Timo-
theus, whom Paul would have to go forth with
him." The narrative then proceeds with the ac-
count of St. Paul's progress through various pro-
vinces of the Lesser Asia, till it brings him down
to Troas. At Troas he was warned in a vision
to pass over into Macedonia. In olx-dienee to
which he crossed the vEgean sea to Samothracia,
the next day to Neapolis. and from thence to Phi-
lippi. His preaching, miracles, and persecutions
at Philippi, follow next; after which Paul and his
company, when they had passed through Auiphi-
aj.()oua : canu-(ssaonea ) anrom
Thessaloniea to llerea. From I Viva the brethren
sent away Paul ; " but Sihs and Timutlicii
there still/ 3 The itinerary. ,!' \v ii'ieli the al>u\.
abstract, is undoubtedly suilieient i<. support an in-
ference that Timothy was along with t. Paul a t
Philippi. We find them setting out together upon
this progress -from Derbe, in Lye&onia; we l.iidthcm
together near the conclusion of it, at Bcrea in Ma-
cedonia. It is highly probable, therefore, that they
came together to Philippi, through which their route
between these two places lay. If this be thought
probable, it is sufficient". For what I wish to be
..observed is, that in comparing, upon this subject,
thp epistle with the history, we do not find a reci-
tal in one place of what is related in another; but
that we iind, what is much more to he relied-upon,
an oblique allusion to an implied fact.
No. V.
Our epistle purports to have been written near
the conclusion of St. Paul's imprisonment at
Rome, and after a residence in that city of consi-
derable duration. ' These circumstances are made
out by diilerent intimations, and the intimations
"upon the subject preserve among themselves a just
consistency, and a consistency certainly unmedita-
ted. First, the apostle had already been a prisoner at
Rome so long, as that the reputation of his bonds,
and of his constancy under them, had contributed to
advance the success of the Gospel : " But 1 would
ye should understand, brethren, that the things
which happened unto me have fallen out rather
unto the furtherance of the Gospel ; so that my
bonds in Christ are manifest in all the palace, and
in all other places ; and many of the brethren in
the Lord waxing confident by my bonds, are much
more bold to speak the word without fear." Se-
condly, the account given of Epaphroditus imports,
that St. Paul, when he wrote the epistle, had been
in Rome a considerable time: " He longed after
you all, and was full of heaviness, because that ye
had heard that he had been sick." Epaphroditus
was with St. Paul at Rome. He had been sick.
The Philippians had heard of his sickness, and he
again had received an account how much they had
been affected by the intelligence. The passing
and repassing of these advices must necessarily
have occupied ^ large portion of time, and must
have all taken place during St. Paul's residence at
Rome. Thirdly, after a residence at Rome thus
proved to have been of considerable duration, he
now regards the decision ef his fate as nigh at
hand. He contemplates either alternative, that of
his deliverance, ch. ii. 23. "Him therefore (Ti-
mothy) I hope to send presently, so som as I shall
see how it will go with me ; but I trust in the
Lord that I also myself shall come shortly:" that
of his condemnation, ver. 17. "Yea, and if I be
offered* upon the sacrifice and service of your
faith, I joy and re.joice with you all." This con-
sistency is material, if the consideration of it be
confined to the epistle. It is farther material, as
it agrees with respect to the duration of St. Paul's
first imprisonment at Rome, with the account de-
livered in the Acts, which, having brought the
apostle to. Rome, closes the history by tellin<j us
" that he dwelt there two -whole years "in his own
tiired house."
* A*.*.' si x* vx-tfioftxt E^T>, 5u<r*Ti,;5r<rTi-...jujux-v,
f my blood be poured out as a libation upon the sacii-
fice of your faith.
EPISTLE TO THE COLOSSIANS.
209
No. VI,
Chap. i. 23. " For I am in a strait betwixt
two, having a desire to depart, and to be with
Christ ; which is far better."
With this compare 2 Cor. chap. v. 8 : " We are
confident and willing rather to be absent from the
body, and to be present with the Lord."
The sameness of sentiment in these two quota-
tions is obvious. I rely however not so ranch
upon that, as upon the similitude in the train of
thought which in each epistle leads up to this sen-
timent, and upon the suitableness of that train of
thought to the circumstances under which the
epistles purport to have been written. This, 1
conceive, bespeaks the production of the same
mind, and of a mind operating upon real circum-
stances. The sentiment is in both places preced-
ed by the contemplation of imminent personal dan-
ger. To the Philippians he writes, in the twentieth
verse of this chapter, " According to my earnest
expectation and my hope, that in nothing I shall
be ashamed, but that, with all boldness, as always,
so now also, Christ shall be magnified in my body,
whether it be by life or by death." To the Co-
rinthians, " Troubled on every side, yet not dis-
tressed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted,
but not forsaken; cast down, but not destroyed ;
always bearingabout in the body the dying of the
Lord Jesus." This train of reflection is continued
to the place from whence the words which we
compare are taken. The two cpi>tles, though
written at di tie rent times, from different places,
and todill'erent churches, \\viv both written under
circumstances which would naturally recall to the
author's mind the precarious condition of his lite,
and the perils which constantly awaited him.
When the Epistle to the Philippians was written,
the author was a prisoner at Home, expecting his
trial. When the Second Epistle to the Corin-
thians was written, he had lately escaped a dan n< r
in which he had given himself over for lost. The
epistle opens with a recollection of this subject.
and the impression accompanied the writer's
thoughts throughout.
I know that nothing is easier than to transplant
into a forged epistle a sentiment or expres>ion
which is found in a true one ; or, supposing both
epistles to be forged by the same hand, to insert
the same sentiment or expression in both. But
the difficulty is to introduce it in just and close
connexion with a train of thought going before,
and with a train of thought apparently gen- 'rated
by the circumstances under winch the epistle is
written. In two epistles, purporting to be writ-
ten on different occasions, and in different periods
of the author's history, this propriety would not
easily be managed.
No. VII.
Chap. i. 29, 30 ; ii. 1, 2. " For unto you is given,
in the behalf of Christ, not only to believe on him,
but also to sutler for his sake ; having the same
conflict which ye saw in me, and now hear to be
in me. If there be, therefore, any consolation in
< 'hrist. if any comfort of love, if any fellowship of
the Spirit, if any bowels and mercies ; fulfil ye my
joy, that ye be like minded, having the same love,
being of one accord, of one mind."
With this compare Acts, xvi. 22: "And the
multitude (at Philippi) rose up against them (Paul
and Silas:) and the magistrates rent off their
2D
clothes, and commanded to beat them ; and when
they had laid many stripes upon them, they cast
them into prison, charging the jailor to keep them
safely ; who, having received such a charge, thrust
them into the inner prison, and made their feet
fast in the stocks.'"'
The passage in the epistle is very remarkable.
I know not an example in any writing of a justet
pathos, or which more truly represents the work-
ings of a warm and atlectionate mind, than what
is exhibited in the quotation before us.* The
apostle reminds his Philippians of their being
joined with himself in the endurance of persecu-
tion for the sake of Christ. He conjures them by
the ties of their common profession and their com-
mon sufferings, " to fulfil his joy ;" to complete, by
the unity of their faith, and by their mutual love,
that joy with which the instances he had received
of their zeal and attachment had inspired his breast.
Now if this was the real effusion of St. Paul's mind,
of which it bears the strongest internal character,
then we ha\e in the words "the same conflict
which ye saw in me," an authentic confirmation
of so much of the apostle's history in the Acts, as
relates to his transactions at Philippi; and, through
that, of the intelligence and general fidelity of the
historian.
CHAPTER VIII.
The Epistle to the Colossians.
No. I.
THERE is a circumstance of conformity between
St. Paul's history and his letters, especially those
which were written during his first imprisonment
at Rome, and more especially the epistles to the
Colossians and Ephesians, which being too close
to be accounted for from accident, yet too indirect
and latent to be imputed to design, cannot easily
Ived into any other original than truth.
Which circumstance is this, that St. Paul in these
epistles attributes his imprisonment not to his
pi-iMchinil of ( hristianity, but to his asserting the
right of the Gentiles to be admitted into it with-
out conforming themselves to the Jewish law.
This was the doctrine to which he considered
himself as a martyr. Thus, in the epistle before
us, chap. i. 24 : (I Paul) " who now rejoice in my
sufferings for you" "/or you," i. e. for those
whom he had never seen ; for a few verses after-
wards he adds, " I would that ye knew what great
conflict I have for you and for them in Lac<licea,
and for as many as have not seen my face in the
flesh." His suffering therefore for them was, in
prisoner of Je
Again, in the epistle now under consideration, iv.
3: " Withal praying also for us, that God would
open unto us a door of utterance to speak the mys-
tery of Christ, for which I am also in bonds."
"What that- " mystery of Christ" was, the Epistle
to the Ephesiafis distinctly informs us : " Whereby
* The original is very spirited :
310
HOR^E PAULINA.
when ye read, ye may understand my knowledge
in the mystery of Christ, which in other ages,
was not made known unto the sons of men, as it
is now revealed unto his holy apostles and pro-
phets by the Spirit, that the Gentiles should be
fellow-heirs, and of the same body, and partak-
ers of his promise in Christ by the 'Gospel." This,
therefore, was the confession for which he declares
himself to be in bonds. Now let us inquire how
the occasion of St. Paul's imprisonment is repre-
sented in the history. The apostle had not long
returned to Jerusalem from his second visit into
Greece, when an uproar was excited in that city
by the clamour of certain Asiatic Jews, who,
" having seen Paul in the temple, stirred up all
the people, and laid hands on him." The charge
advanced against him was, that "he taught all
men every where against the people, and the law,
and this place; and farther brought Greeks also
into the temple, and polluted that holy place."
The former part of the charge seems to point at
the doctrine, which he maintained, of the admis-
sion of the Gentiles, under the new dispensation,
to an indiscriminate participation of God's favour
with the Jews. But what follows makes the mat-
ter clear. When, by the interference of the chief
captain, Paul had been rescued out of the hands
of the populace, and was pennitted to address the
multitude who had followed him to the stairs of
the castle, he delivered a brief account of his birth,
of the early course of his life, of his miraculous
conversion; and is proceeding in this narrative,
until he comes to describe a vision which was
presented to him, as he was praying in the tem-
ple ; and which bid him depart out of Jerusalem,
"for I will send thee far hence unto the Gentiles,"
,Acts, xxii. 21. " They gave him audience," says
the historian, " unto this word ; and then lift up
their voices, and said, Away with such a fellow
from the earth !" Nothing can show more strongly
than this account does, what was the offence
which drew down upon St. Paul the vengeance of
his countrymen. His mission to the Gentiles,
and his open avowal of that mission, was the in-
tolerable part of the apostle's crime. But although
the real motive of the prosecution appears to have
been the apostle's conduct towards the Gentiles;
yet, when his accusers came before a Roman
magistrate, a charge was to be framed of a more
legal form. The profanation of the temple was
the article they chose to rely upon. This, there-
fore, became the immediate subject of Tertullus's
oration before Felix, and of Paul's defence. But
that he all along considered his ministry amongst
the Gentiles as the actual source of the enmity
that had been exercised against him, and in par-
ticular as the cause of the insurrection in which
his person had been seized, is apparent from the
conclusion of his discourse before Agrippa: "I
have appeared unto thee," says he, describing what
passed upon his journey to Damascus, " for this
purpose, to make thee a minister and a witness,
both of these things which thou hast seen, and of
those things in the which I will appear unto thee,
delivering thee from the people and from the Gen-
tiles, unto whom now I send thee, to open their
eyes, and to turn them from darkness to light,
and from the power of Satan unto God, that they
may receive forgiveness of sins, and inheritance
among them which are sanctified by faith that is
in me. Whereupon, O king Agrippa, I was not
disobedient unto the heavenly vision ; but showed
first unto them of Damascus, and of Jerusalem,
and throughout all the coasts of Judea, and then
to the Gentiles, that they should repent and turn
to God, and do works meet for repentance. For
these causes the Jews caught me in the temple,
and went about to kill me. The seizing, there-
fore, of St. Paul's person, from which he was
never discharged till his final liberation at Rome;
and of which, therefore, his imprisonment at Rome
was the continuation and ellect, was not in con-
sequence of any general persecution set on foot
against Christianity ; nor did it befall him simply
as professing or teaching Christ's religion, which
James and the elders at Jerusalem did as well as
he (and yet, for any thing that appears, remained
at that time unmolested ;) but it was distinctly and
specifically brought upon him by his activity in
preaching to the Gentiles, and by his boldly p!:irinr
them upon a level with the once-favoured and still
self-flattered posterity of Abraham. How well St.
Paul's letters, purporting to be written during this
imprisonment, agree with this account of its cause
and origin, we have already seen.
No. II.
Chap. iv. 10. " Aristarchus my fellow-prisoner
saluteth you, and Marcus, sister's son to Barna-
bas, (touching whom ye received commandments :
If he come unto you, receive him ;) and Jesus,
which is called Justus, who are of the circum-
cision."
We find Aristarchus as a companion of our
apostle in the nineteenth chapter of the Acts, and
the twenty-ninth verse: " And the whole city of
Ephesus was filled with confusion ; and having
caught Gaius and Aristarchus, men of Macedonia,
Paul's companions in travel, they rushed with
one accord into the theatre." And we find him
upon his journey with St. Paul to Rome, in the
twenty-seventh chapter, and the second verse:
" And when it was determined that we should
sail into Italy, they delivered Paul and certain
other prisoners unto one named Julius, a centurion
of Augustus's band : and, entering into a ship of
Adramyttium, we launched, meaning to sail by
the coast of Asia ; one Aristarchus, a Macedo-
nian of Thcssalonica, being u~ith us." But might
not the author of the epistle have consulted the
history ; and, observing that the historian had
brought Aristarchus along with Paul to Rome,
might he not for that reason, and without any
other foundation, have put dow his name
amongst the salutations of an epistle purporting
to be written by the. apostle from that place 1 I
allow so much of possibility to this objection, that
I should not have proposed this in the number of
coincidences clearly undesigned, had Aristarchus
stood alone. The observation that strikes me in
reading the passage is, that together with Aris-
tarchus, whose journey to Rome we trace in the
history, are joined Marcus and Justus, of whose
coming to Rome the history says nothing. Aris-
tarchus alone appears in the history, and Aristar-
chus alone would have appeared in the epistle,
if the author had regulated himself by that con-
formity. Or if you take it the other way; if you
suppose the history to have been made out of the
epistle, why the journey of Aristarchus to Rome
should be recorded, and not that of Marcus and
Justus, if the ground-work of the narrative was
the appearance of Aristarchus's name in the epis-
tle, seems to be unaccountable.
FIRST EPISTLE TO THE THESSALONIANS.
211
"Marcus, sister's son to Barnabas." Does not
this hint account for Barnabas's adherence to Mark
in the contest that arose with our apostle concern-
ing him'? " And some days after, Paul said unto
Barnabas, Let us go again and visit our brethren
in every city where we have preached the word of
the Lord, and see how they do; and Barnabas
determined to take with them John, -whose sur-
name was Mark ; but Paul thought not good to
take him with them, who departed from Pamphy-
lia, and went not with them to the work ; and the
contention was so sharp between them, that they
departed asunder one from the other: and so Bar-
nabas took Mark and sailed unto Cyprus.'' The
history which records the dispute has not pre-
served the circumstance of Murk's relationship to
Barnabas. It is no where noticed but in the text
before us. As far, then-fore, as it applies, the ap-
plication is certainly undesigned.
" Sister's son to Barnabas." This woman, the
mother of Mark, and the sister of Barnabas, was.
as might IK> exported, a person of some eminence
amongst the Christians of Jerusalem. It so hap-
pens that we hear of her in the history. " When
Peter was delivered from prison, he came to the
house of Mary, the mother of John, whose sur-
name was Mark, where many wen- gathered to-
gether praying," Acts, xii. 1*2. There is some-
what of coincidence in this ; somewhat bespeaking
real transactions amongst real persons.
No. III.
The following coincidence, though it bear the
appearance of great nicety and refinement, ought
not. perhaps, to l>e deemed imaginary. In the salu-
tations with which this, like most of St. Paul's
epistles, concludes, "we have Aristarchus and
Marcus, and Jesus, which is called Justus, who
are of the circumcision," iv. 10, 11. Then follow
also, " Epaphras, Luke the beloved physician, and
Demas." Now, as this description, " who are of
the circumcision," is added after the lirst three
names, it is inferred, not without great appearance
of probability, that the rest, amongst whom is
Luke, were not of the circumcision. Now, can
we discover any expression in the Acts of the
Apostles, which ascertains whether the author of
the book was a Jew or not 1 If we can discover
that he was not a Jew, we fix a circumstance in
his character, which coincides with what is here,
indirectly indeed, but not very uncertainly, in-
timated concerning Luke : and we so far confirm
both the testimony of the primitive church, that
the Acts of the Apostles was written by St. Luke,
and the general reality of the persons and circum-
stances brought together in this epistle. The
text in the Acts, which has been construed to
show that the writer was not a Jew, is the nine-
teenth verse of the first chapter, where, in de-
scribing the field which had been purchased with
the reward of Judas's iniqiu'ty, it is said, " That
it was known unto all the dwellers at Jerusalem ;
insomuch as that field is called in their proper
tongue, Aceldama, that is to say, The field of
blood." These words are by most commentators
taken to be the words and observation of the his-
torian, and not a part of St. Peter's speech, in the
midst of which they are found. If this be admitted,
then it is argued that the expression, "in their
proper tongue," would not have been used by a
Jew, but is suitable to the pen of a Gentile writing
concerning Jews.* The reader will judge of the
probability of this conclusion, and we urge the
coincidence no farther than that probability ex-
tends. The coincidence, if it be one, is so remote
from all possibility of design, that nothing need be
added to satisfy the reader upon that part of the
argument.
No. IV.
Chap. iv. 9. " With Onesimus, a faithful and
beloved brother, who is one of you" '
( )1 'serve how it may be made out that Onesi-
mus was a Colossian. Turn to the Epistle to
Philemon, and you will find that Onesimus was
the servant or slave of Philemon. The question
therefore will be, to what city Philemon belonged.
In the epistle addressed to him this is not declared.
It appears only that he was of the same place,
whatever that place was, with an eminent Chris-
tian named Archippus. " Paul, a prisoner of Je-
sus Christ, and Timothy our brother, unto Phile-
mon our dearly beloved and fellow-labourer; and
to our beloved Apphia, and Archippus our fel-
low-soldier, and to the church in thy house."
.Now turn back to the Epistle to the Colossians,
and you will find Archippus saluted by name
amongst the < 'hristians of that church. "Say
to Archippus, Take heed to the ministry which
thou hast received in the Lord, that thou fulfil it,"
iv. 17. The necessary result is, that Onesimus
also was of the same city, agreeably to what is said
of him, "he is one of you." And this result is
the effect either of truth which produces con-
sistency without the writer's thought or care, or
of a contexture of forgeries confirming and fall-
ing in with one another by a species of fortuity
of which I know no example. The supposition
of design, I think, is excluded, not only because
the purpose to which the design must have been
directed, viz. the verification of the passage in our
epistle, in which it is said concerning Onesimus,
" he is one of you," is a purpose, which would be
lost upon ninety nine readers out of a hundred;
but because the means made use of are too cir-
cuitous to have been the subject of affectation and
contrivance. Would a forger, who had this pur-
pose in view, have left his readers to hunt it out,
by going forward and backward from one epistle
to another, in order to connect Onesimus with
Philemon, Philemon with Archippus, and Ar-
chippus with Colosse 1 all which he must do be-
fore he arrives at his discovery, that it was truly
said of Onesimus, " he is one of you."
CHAPTER IX.
The First Epistle to the Thessalonians.
No. I.
IT is known to every reader of Scripture, that
the First Epistle to the Thessalonians speaks of
the coming of Christ in terms which indicate an
expectation of his speedy appearance : " For this
we say unto you by the word of the Lord, that
we which are alive and remain unto the coming
of the Lord, shall not prevent them which
are asleep. For the Lord himself shall descend
from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the
* Vide Benson's Dissertation, vol. i. p. 318, of bis
works, ed. 1756.
212
HOR.E PAULINA.
archangel, and with the trump of God ; and the
dead in Christ shall rise first : then we which are
alive and remain, shall be caught up together
with them in the clouds But ye, brethren, arc
not in darkness, that that day should overtake you
as a thief," chap. iv. 15, 16, 17; ch. v. 4.
Whatever other construction these texts may
bear, the idea they leave upon the mind of an
ordinary reader, is that of the author of the epis-
tle looking tor the day of judgment to take place
in his own time, or near to it. Now the use which
I make of this circumstance, is to deduce from it a
proof that the epistle itself was not the production
of a subsequent age. Would an impostor have
given this expectation to St. Paul, after experience
had proved it to be erroneous 1 or would he have
put into the apostle's mouth, or which is the same
thing, into writings purporting to come from his
hand, expressions, if not necessarily conveying,
at least easily interpreted to convey, an opinion
which was then known to be founded in mistake 1
I state this as an argument to show that the epis-
tle was contemporary with St. Paul, which is lit-
tle less than to show that it actually proceeded
from his pen. For I question whether any an-
cient forgeries were executed in the lite- time of
the person whose name they bear ; nor was the
primitive situation of the church likely to give
birth to such an attempt.
No. II.
Our epistle concludes with a direction that it
should be publicly read in the church to which it
was addressed : "1 charge you by the Lord, that
this epistle be read unto all the holy brethren."
The existence of this clause in the body of the
epistle is an evidence of its authenticity ; because
to produce a letter purporting to have been publicly
read in the church of Thessalonica, when no such
letter in truth had been read or heard of in that
church, would be to produce an imposture destruc-
tive of itself. At least, it seems unlikely that the
author of an imposture would voluntarily, and even
-time,
or it was not. If it was, no publication could be
more authentic, no species of notoriety more un-
questionable, no method of preserving the integrity
of the copy more secure. If it was not, the clause
we produce would remain a standing condemna-
tion of the forgery, and one would suppose, an
invincible impediment to its success.
If we connect this article with the preceding,
we shall perceive that they combine into one
strong proof of the genuineness of the epistle.
The preceding article carries up the date of the
epistle to the time of St. Paul ; the present article
fixes the publication of it to the church of Thes-
salonica. Either therefore the church of Thessa-
lonica was imposed upon by a false epistle, which
in St. Paul's life-time they received and read pub-
licly as his, carrying on a communication with
him all the while, and the epistle referring to the
continuance of that communication ; or other
Christian churches, in the same life-time of the
apostle, received an epistle purporting to have been
publicly read in the church of Thessalonica, which
nevertheless had not been heard of in that church;
or, lastly, the conclusion remains, that the epistle
now in our hands is genuine.
No. III.
Between our epistle and the history the accord-
ancy in many points is circumstantial and com-
plete. The history relates, that after Paul and
Silas had been beaten with many stripes at Phi-
lippi, shut up in the inner prison, and their leet
made fast in the stocks, as soon as they were dis-
charged from their confinement they departed from
thence, and, when they had passed through Am-
phipolis and Apollonia, came to Thessalonica,
where Paul opened and alleged that Jesus was
the Christ, Acts, xvi. 23, &c. The epistle writ-
ten in the name of Paul and Sylvanus (Silas,) and
of Timotheus, who also appears to have been
along with them at Philippi, (vide Phil. No. iv.)
speaks to the church of Thessalonica thus : " Even
after that we had suffered before, and were shame-
fully entreated, as ye know, at Philippi, we were
bold in our God to speak unto you the Gospel of
God with much contention,'' ii. 2.
The history relates, that after they had been
some time at Thessalonica, " the Jews who be-
lieved not, set all the city in an uproar, and as-
saulted the house of Jason where Paul and Silas
were, and sought to bring them out to the people,"
Acts, xvii. 5. The epistle declares, " when we
were with you, we told you before that we should
suffer tribulation ; even as it came to pass, and ye
know" iu. 4.
The history brings Paul and Silas and Timo-
thy together at Corinth, soon after the preaching
of the Gospel at Thessalonica: "And when
Silas and Timotheus were come from Macedonia,
(to Corinth,) Paul was pressed in spirit," Acts,
xviii. 5. The epistje is written in the name of
these three persons, who consequently must have
been together at the time, and speaks throughout
of their ministry at Thessalonica as a recent trans-
action: "We, brethren, being taken from you
for a short time, in presence, not in heart, endea-
voured the more abundantly to see your face, with
great desire," ii. 17.
The harmony is indubitable ; but the points of
history in which it consists, are so expressly set
forth in the narrative, and so directly referred to
in the epistle, that it becomes necessary for us to
show that the facts in one writing were not copied
from the other. Now, amidst some minuter dis-
crepancies, which will be noticed below, there is
one circumstance which mixes itself with all the
allusions in the epistle, but does not api>ear in the
history any where ; and that is of a visit which St.
Paul had intended to pay to the Thessalonians
during the time of his residing at Corinth:
" Wherefore we would have come unto you (even
I Paul) once and again; but Satan liindered us,"
ii. 18. "Night and day praying exceedingly that
we might see your face, and might perfect that
which is lacking in your faith. Now God himself
and our Father, and our Lord Jesus Christ, direct
our way unto you," iii. 10, 11. Concerning a de-
sign which was not executed, although the person
himself, who was conscious of his own purpose,
should make mention in his letters, nothing is
more probable than that his historian should l>e
silent, if not ignorant. The author of the epistle
could not, however, have learnt tin's circumstance
from the history, for it is not there to be met with ;
nor, if the historian had drawn his materials from
the epistle, is it likely that he would have passed
over a circumstance, which is amongst the moat
FIRST EPISTLE TO THE THESSALONIANS.
213
obvious and prominent of the facts to be collected
from that source of information.
No. IV.
Chap. iii. 1 7. " Wherefore when we could
no longer forbear, we thought it good to be left at
Athens alone, and sent Timotheus, our brother
and minister of God, to establish you, and to com-
fort you concerning your faith ; but now when
Timotheus came from you unto us, and brought
us good tidings of your faith and charity, we were
comforted over you in all our affliction and distress
by your faith."
The history relates, that when Paul came out
of Macedonia to Athens, Silas and Timothy staid
behind at Berea : " The brethren sent away Paul
to go as it were to the sea ; but Silas and Timo-
theus abode thrre still; and they that conducted
Paul brought him to Athens," Acts, ch. xvii.
14, 15. The history farther relates, that after
Paul had tarried some time at Athens, and had
proceeded from thence to Corinth, whilst he was
exercising his ministry in that city, Silas and
Timothy came to him from Macedonia, Acts,
ch. xviii. 5. But to reconcile the history with the
clause in the epistle, which makes St. Paul say,
" I thought it good to be left at Athens alone, and
to send Timothy unto you," it is necessary to sup-
pose that Timothy had come up with St. Paul at
Athens; a circumstance which the history does
not mention. I remark, therefore, that although
the history does not expressly notice this arrival,
yet it contains intimations which render it ex-
tremely probable that the fact took place. First,
as soon as Paul had reached Athens, he sent a
message back to Silas and Timothy " for to come
to him with all speed," Acts, ch. xvii. 15. Se-
condly, his stay at Athens was on purpose that
.they might join him there: "Now whilst Paul
waited for them at Athens, his spirit was stirred in
him," Acts, ch. xvii. 16. Thirdly, his departure
from Athens does not appear to have been in any
sort hastened or abrupt. It is said, " After these
things," viz. his disputation with the Jews, his
conferences with the philosophers, his discourse at
Areopagus, and the gaining of some converts, "he
departed from Athens and came to Corinth." It
is not hinted that he quitted Athens before the
time that he had intended to leave it ; it is not sug-
gested that he was driven from Whence, as he was
from many cities, by tumults or persecutions, or
because his life was no longer safe. Observe then
the particulars which the history does notice
that Paul had ordered Timothy to follow him with-
out delay, that he waited at Athens on purpose
that Timothy might come up with him, that he
staid there as long as his own choice led him to
continue. Laying these circumstances which the
history does disclose together, it is highly probable
that Timothy came to the apostle at Athens, a
fact which the epistle, we have seen, virtually as-
serts when it makes Paul send Timothy back
from Athens to Thessalonica. The sending 1
back of Timothy into Macedonia accounts also
for his not coming to Corinth till after Paul had
been fixed in that city for some considerable time.
Paul had found out Aquila and Priscilla, alnxle
with them and wrought, being of the same craft ;
and reasoned in the synagogue every Sabbath day,
and persuaded the Jews and the Greeks, Acts, ch.
xviii. 1 5. All this passed at Corinth before Si-
las and Timotheus were come from Macedonia,
Acts, ch. xviii. 5. If this was the first time of
their coming up with him after their separation at
Berea, there is nothing to account for a delay so
contrary to what appears from the history itself to
have been St. Paul's plan and expectation. This
is a conformity of a peculiar species. The epistle
discloses a fact which is not preserved in the his-
tory ; but which makes what is said in the history
more significant, probable, and consistent. The
history bears marks of an omission ; the epistle by
reference furnishes a circumstance which supplies
that omission.
No. V.
Chap. ii. 14. " For ye, brethren, became fol-
lowers of the churches of God which in Judea arc
in Christ Jesus; for ye also have suffered like
things of your own countrymen, even as they
have of the Jews.''
To a reader of the Acts of the Apostles, it
might seem, at first sight, that the persecutions
which the preachers and converts of Christianity
underwent, were suffered at the hands of their old
adversaries the Jews. But if we attend carefully
to the accounts there delivered, we shall observe,
that, though the opposition made to the Gospel
usually originated from the enmity of the Jews,
yet in almost all places the Jews went about to
accomplish their purpose, by stirring up the Gen-
tile inhabitants against their converted country-
men. Out of Judea they had not power to do
much mischief in any other way. This was the
case at Thessalonica in particular : " The Jews
which Mieved not, moved with envy, set all the
city in an uproar," Acts, ch. xvii. ver. 5. It was
the same a short time afterwards at Berea> " When
the Jews of Thessalonica had knowledge that the
word of God was preached of Paul at Berea, they
came thither also, and stirred up the people," Acts,
ch. xvii. 13. And before this our apostle had met
with a like species of persecution, in his progress
through the Lesser Asia : in every city " the unbe-
lieving Jews stirred up the Gentiles, and made
their minds evil-affected against the brethren,"
Acts, ch. xiv. 2. The epistle therefore represents
the case accurately as the history states it. It was
the Jews always who set on foot the persecutions
against the apostles and their followers. He speaks
truly therefore of them, when he says in this epis-
tle, " they both killed the Lord Jesus and their
own prophets, and have persecuted us forbidding
us to speak unto the Gentiles," ii. 15. 16. But
out of Judea it was at the hands of the Gentiles,
it was " of their own countrymen," that the inju-
ries they underwent were immediately sustained :
11 Ye have suffered like things t>f your own coun-
trymen, even as they have of the Jews."
No. VI.
The apparent discrepancies between our epistle
and the history, though of magnitude sufficient to
repel the imputation of confederacy or transcrip-
tion (in which view they form a part of our argu-
ment,) are neither numerous, nor very difficult to
reconcile. One of these may be observed in the
ninth and tenth verses of the second chapter :
"For ye remember, brethren, our labour and
travail ; for labouring night and day, because we
would not be chargeable unto any of you, we
preached unto you the Gospel of God. Ye are
witnesses, and God also, how holily, and justly,
and unblameably we behaved ourselves among
214
HOR^E PAULINA.
you that believe." A person who reads this pas-
sage is naturally led by it to suppose, that the
Writer had dwelt at Thessalonica for some con-
siderable time : yet of St. Paul's ministry in that
city, the history gives no other account than the
following : that he came to Thessalonica, where
was a synagogue of the Jews : that, as his man-
lier was, he went in unto them, and three Sabbath.
days reasoned with them out of the scriptures :
that some of them believed, and consorted with
Paul and Silas." The history then proceeds to
tell us, that the Jews which believed not, set the city
in an uproar, and assaulted the house of Jason,
where Paul and his companions lodged ; that the
consequence of this outrage was, that " the bre-
thren immediately sent away Paul and Silas by
night unto Berea," Acts, ch. xvii. 110. From
the mention of his preaching three Sabbath days
in the Jewish synagogue, and from the want of
any further specification of his ministry, it has
usually been taken for granted that Paul did not
continue at Thessalonica more than three weeks.
This, however, is inferred without necessity, ft
appears to have been St. Paul's practice, in al-
most every place that he came to, upon his first
arrival to repair to the synagogue. He thought
himself bound to propose the Gospel to the Jews
first, agreeably to what he declared at Antioch in
Pisidia : "it was necessary that the word of God
should first have been spoken to you," Acts, ch.
xiii. 46. If the Jews rejected his .ministry, he
quitted the synagogue, and betook himself to a
Gentile audience. At Corinth, upon his first
coming thither, he reasoned in the synagogue every
Sabbath ; " but when the Jews opposed themselves,
and blasphemed, he departed thence, expressly
telling them, " from henceforth I will go unto the
Gentiles ; and he remained in that city a year and
six months," Acts, ch. xviii. 6 11. At Ephe-
sus, in like manner, for the space of three months
he went into the synagogue ; but ' ' when divers
were hardened and believed not, but spake evil of
that way, he departed from them and separated
the disciples, disputing daily in the school of one
Tyrannus ; and this continued by the space of two
years," Acts, ch. xix. 9, 10. Upon inspecting
the history, I see nothing in it which negatives
the supposition, that St. Paul pursued the same
plan at Thessalonica which he adopted in other
places ; and that though he resorted to the syna-
gogue only three Sabbath days, yet he remained
in the city, and in the exercise of his ministry
amongst the Gentile citizens, much longer ; and
until the success of his preaching had provoked
the Jews to excite the tumult and insurrection by
which he was driven away.
Another seeming discrepancy is found in the
ninth verse of the first chapter of the epistle ;
" For they themselves show of us what manner of
entering in we had unto you, and how ye turned
to God from idols to serve the living and true
God." This text contains an assertion, that, by
means of St. Paul's ministry at Thessalonica,
many idolatrous Gentiles had been brought over to
Christianity. Yet the history, in describing the
effects of that ministry, only says, that "some of
the Jews believed, and of the devout Greeks a
great multitude, and of the chief women not a
few," ch. xvii. 4. The devout Greeks were those
who already worshipped the one true God ; and
therefore could not be said, by embracing Chris-
tianity, " to be turned to God from idols.' 7
This is the difficulty. The answer may be
assisted by the following observations : The
Alexandrian and Cambridge manuscripts read (for
'
E/.MVCOV jroxw rrxuSoj- in which reading they are
also confirmed by the Vulgate Latin. And this
reading is, in rny opinion, strongly supported by
the considerations, first, that o o-tSo/*i/o alone, i. e.
without Ex-Mi-sf, is used in this sense in the same
chapter Paul being come to Athens, Su^ty-nt <
secondly, that o-iSo^ivoi and 'EX.MVIS no where
come together. The expression is redundant.
The o* <rSo<so must be 'EXM^S. Thirdly, that
the *<* is much more likely to have been left out
incuria manvis than to have been put in. Or
after all, if we be not allowed to change the
present reading, which is undoubtedly retained
by a great plurality of copies, may not the pas-
sage in the history be considered as describ-
ing only the effects of St. Paul's discourses dur-
ing the three Sabbath days in which he preached
in the synagogue 1 and may it not be true, as we
have remarked above, that his application to the
Gentiles at large, and his success amongst them,
was posterior to this 1
CHAPTER X.
The Second Epistle to the Thessalonians.
No. I.
IT may seem odd to allege obscurity itself as an
argument, or to draw a proof in favour of a writ-
ing from that which is naturally considered as the
principal defect in its composition. The present
epistle, however, furnishes a passage, hitherto
unexplained, and probably inexplicable by us, the
existence of which, under the darkness and dif-*
ficulties that attend it, can be accounted for only
by the supposition of the epistle being genuino ;
and upon that supposition is accounted for with
great ease. The passage which I allude to is
found in the second chapter: "That day shall
not come, except there come a falling away first,
and that man of sin be revealed, the son of perdi-
tion, who opposeth and exalted himself above all
that is called God, or that is worshipped ; so that
he as God, sitteth in the temple of God, showing
himself that he is God. Remember ye not that
WHEN I WAS YET WITH YOU I TOLD YOU THESE
THINGS 1 And now ye know what withholdeth
that he might be revealed in his time ; for the
mystery of iniquity doth already work, only he that
now letteth will let, until he be taken out of the
way, and then shall that wicked be revealed,
whom the Lord shall consume with the spirit of
his mouth, and shall destroy with the brightness
of his coming." It were superfluous to prove,
because it is in vain to deny, that this passage is
involved in great obscurity, more especially the
clauses distinguished by Italics. Now the obser-
vation- I have to offer is founded upon this, that
the passage expressly refers to a conversation
which the author had previously holden with the
Thessalonians upon the same subject : " Remem-
ber ye not, that when I was yet with you / told
you these things ? And now ye know what with-
holdeth." If such conversation actually passed ;
if, whilst "he was yet with them, he told them
those things," then it follows that the epistle is
SECOND EPISTLE THE THESSALONIANS.
215
authentic. And of the reality of this conversa-
tion it appears to be a proof, that what is said in
the epistle might be understood by those who had
been present to such conversation, and yet be in-
capable of being explained by any other. No
man writes unintelligibly on purpose. But it may
easily happen, that a part of a letter which relates
to a subject, upon wliich the parties had conversed
together before, which refers to what had been
before said, which is in truth a portion or continu-
ation of a former discourse, may be utterly with-
out meaning to a stranger who should pick up
the letter upon the road, and yet be perfectly clear
to the person to whom it is directed, and with
whom the previous communication had passed.
And if, in a letter wliich thus accidentally tell
into my hands, I found a passage expressly refer-
ring to a former conversation, and difficult to be
explained without knowing that conversation, I
should consider this very difficulty as a proof that
the conversation had actually passed, and conse-
quently that the letter contained the real corres-
pondence of real persons.
No. II.
Chap. iii. 8. "Neither did we eat any man's
bread tor nought, but wrought with labour night
and day, that we might not be chargeable to any
of you : not because we have no power, but to
make ourselves an ensample unto you to fol-
low."
In a letter, purporting to have been written to
another of the Macedonian churches, we find the
following declaration :
" Now, ye Philippians, know also that in the
beginning of the Gospel, when I departed from
Macedonia, no church communicated with me
as concerning giving and receiving but ye
only."
The conformity between these two passages is
strong and plain. They confine the transaction
to the same period. The Epistle to the Philip-
pians refers to what passed " in the Ix'niiining of
the Gospel," that is to say, during the first preach-
ing of the Gospel on that side of the ^gean sea.
The Epistle to the Thessalonians speaks of the
apostle's conduct in that city upon "his first
entrance in unto them," which the history informs
us was in the course of his first visit to the penin-
sula of Greece.
As St. Paul tells the Philippians, " that no
church communicated with him, as concerning
giving and receiving, but they only/' he could not,
consistently with the truth of this declaration,
have received any thing from the neighbouring
church of Thessalonica. What thus appears by
general implication in an epistle to another church,
when he writes to the Thessalonians themselves,
is noticed expressly and particularly ; " neither did
we eat any man's bread for nought, but wrought
night and day, that we might not be chargeable
to any of you."
The texts here cited further also exhibit a mark
of conformity with what St. Paul is made to say of
himself in the Acts of the Apostles. The apostle
not only reminds the Thessalonians that he had
not been chargeable to any of them, but he states
likewise the motive which dictated this reserve :
" not because we have not power, but to make
ourselves an ensample unto you to follow us,"
ch. iii. 9. This conduct, and, what is much
more precise, the end which he had in view by it
was the very same as that which, the history at-
tributes to St. Paul in a discourse, which it repre-
sents him to have addressed to the elders of the
church of Ephesus: "Yea, ye yourselves also
know that these hands have ministered unto my
necessities, and to them that were with me. I
have showed you all things, how, that so labour-
ing ye ought to support the weak" Acts, ch. XX.
34. The sentiment in the epistle and in the
speech is in l>oth parts of it so much alike, and
yet the words which convey it show so little of
imitation or even of resemblance, that the agree-
ment cannot well be explained without supposing
the speech and the letter to have really proceeded
from the same person.
No. III.
Our reader remembers the passage in the First
Epistle to the Thessalonians, in which St. Paul
spoke of the coming of Christ: " This we say
unto you by the word of the Lord, that we which
re alive, and remain unto the coming of the Lord,
shall not prevent them which are asleep : for the
Lord himself shall descend from heaven, and the
dead in Christ shall rise first ; then we which are
alive and remain, shall be caught up together with
them in the clouds, and so shall we be ever with the
Lord. But ye, brethren, are not in darkness, that
that day should overtake you as a thief," 1 Thess.
iv. 15 11, and ch. v. 4. It should seem that the
Thessalonians, or some however amongst them,
had from this passage conceived an opinion (ana
that not very unnaturally) that the coming of
Christ was to take place instantly, on ivi<n-t,*.iv *
and that this persuasion had produced, as it well
might, much agitation in the church. The apos-
tle therefore now writes, amongst other purposes,
to quiet this alarm, and to rectify the misconstruc-
tion that had been put upon his words : " Now
we beseech you, brethren, by the coming of our
Lord Jesus Christ, and by our gathering together
unto him, that ye be not soon shaken in mind, or
be troubled, neither by spirit, nor by word, nor by
letter as from us, as that the day of Christ is at
hand." If the allusion which we contend for be
admitted, namely, if it be admitted, that the pas-
sage in the second epistle relates to the passage in
the first, it amounts to a considerable proof of the
genuineness of both epistles. I have no concep-
tion, because I know no example, of such a device
in a forgery, as first to frame an ambiguous passage
in a letter, then to represent the persons to whom
the letter is addressed as mistaking the meaning
of the passage, and lastly, to write a second letter
in order to correct this mistake.
I have said that this argument arises out of the
text, if the allusion be admitted ; for I am not ig-
norant that many expositors understand the pas-
sage in the second epistle, as referring to some
forged letters, which had been produced in St.
Paul's name, and in which the apostle had been
made to say that the coming of Christ was then at
hand. In defence, however, of the explanation
which we propose, the reader is desired to observe,
1. The strong fact, that there exists a passage
in the first epistle, to which that in the second is
capable of being referred, i. e. which accounts for
the error the writer is solicitous to remove. Had
no other epistle than the second been extant, and
* Or. Mjo-T^xsi/, nempe hoc anno, says Grotiua, tvr-
T>ixv his dicitur de re present!, ut Rom. viii. 38. 1 Cor.
iii. 22. Gal. i. 4. Heb. ix. 9.
218
HOR^E PAULINJE.
had it under these circumstances come to be con-
sidered, whether the text before us related to a
forged epistle pr to some misconstruction of a true
one, many conjectures and many probabilities
might have been admitted in the inquiry, which
can have little weight when an epistle is produced,
containing the very sort 6f passage we were seek-
ing, that is, a passage liable to the misinterpreta-
tion which the apostle protests against.
2. That the clause which introduces the pas-
sage in the second epistle bears a particular affinity
to what is found in the passage cited from the first
epistle. The clause is this : " We beseech you,
brethren, by the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ,
and by our gathering together unto him.' 1 Now,
in the first epistle, the description of the coming of
Christ is accompanied with the mention of this
very circumstance of his saints being collected
round him. " The Lord himself shall descend
from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the
archangel and With the trump of God, and the
dead in Christ shall rise first ; then we which are
alive and remain, shall be caught up together with
them in the clouds, to meet the Lord in the air,"
1 Thess. chap. iv. 16, 17. This I suppose to be
the " gathering together unto him" intended in
the second epistle : and that the author, when he
used these words, retained in his thoughts what
he had written on the subject before.
3. The second epistle is written in the joint
name of Paul, Silvanus, and Timotheus, and it
cautions the Thessalonians against being misled
" by letter as from us" (o, s Si />*.) Do not these
words, $i n/tiav, appropriate the reference to some
writing which bore the name of these three teach-
ers 7 Now this circumstance, which is a very
close one, belongs to the epistle at present in our
hands ; for the epistle which we call the First
Epistle to the Thessalonians contains these names
in its superscription.
4. The words in the original, as far as they are
material to be stated, are these: n s TO w T% sa . s <r.
AuS>)i/x vftxg *7TO TOU vtos,ft>iTS 3-poinrSxt,ft>]re Sia a-vev-
ftxros, MTI St Xoyou, MTI Si *-0"roM<r, ff Si upw, ?
OT svfa-T>|Xiv >i wipx TOO Xpio-Tou. Under the weight
of the preceding observations, may not the words
/>)Tt $IX XO^OU, AUJTS St 5T<TTOX>JJ, OJ Si tfftWV, be COH-
strued to signify quasi nos quid tale aut dixeri-
mus aut scripserimus* intimating that their words
had been mistaken, and that they had in truth
said or written no such thing ?
CHAPTER XL
The First Epistle to Timothy.
FROM the third verse of the first chapter, " as I
besought thee to abide still at Ephesus when I
* Should a contrary interpretation be preferred, I do
not think that it implies the conclusion that a false
epistle had then been published in the apostle's name. It
will completely satisfy the allusion in the text to allow,
that some one or other at Thessalonica had pretended
to have been told by St. Paul and his companions, or to
have seen a letter from them, in which they had said,
that the day of Christ was at hand. In like manner as,
Acts, xv. 1,24, it is recorded that some had pretended to
have received instructions from the church at Jerusa-
lem, which had been received, " to whom they gave no
such commandment." And thus Dr. Benson interpreted
the passage MIT s Sposio-Ss**, f^rt Sm, x-vivpzTOs, wrt Six
xoyou, ft n re Si s5T(TToA.t)f, o> Si w'av, " nor be dismayed
by any revelation, or discourse, or epistlo, which any
one shall pretend to have heard or received from us."
went into Macedonia," it is evident that this epis-
tle was written soon after St. Paul had gone to
Macedonia from Ephesus. Dr. Benson fixes its
date to the time of St. Paul's journey recorded in
the beginning of the twentieth clw pter of the Acts :
" And after the uproar (excited bv Demetrius at
Ephesus) was ceased, Paul called unto him the
disciples, and embraced them, and departed lor to
go into Macedonia." And in this opinion Dr.
Benson is followed by Michaelis, as he was pre-
ceded by the greater part of the commentators who
have considered the question. There is, IIOWC.MT,
one objection to the hypothesis, which these learn-
ed men appear to me to have overlooked ; and it is
no other than this, that the superscription of the
Second Epistle to the Corinthians seems to prove,
that at the time St. Paul is supposed by them to
have written this epistle to Timothy, Timothy in
truth was with St. Paul in Macedonia. Paul, as
it is related in the Acts, left Ephesus " for to go
into Macedonia." When he had got into Mace-
donia, he wrote his Second Epistle to the Corin-
thians. Concerning this point there exists little
variety of opinion. It is plainly indicated by the
contents of the epistle. It is also strongly implied
that the epistle was written soon after the apostle's
arrival in Macedonia ; for he begins his letter by a
train of reflection, referring to his persecutions in
Asia as to recent transactions, as to dangers from
which he had lately been delivered. But in the
salutation with which the epistle opens, Timothy
was joined with St. Paul, and consequently could
not at that time be "left behind at Ephesus."
And as to the only solution of the difficulty which
can be thought of, viz. that Timothy, though he
was left behind at Ephesus upon St. Paul's de-
parture from Asia, yet might follow him so soon
after, as to come up with the apostle in Macedo-
nia, before he wrote his Epistle to the Corinthians ;
that supposition is inconsistent with the terms and
tenor of the epistle throughout. For the writer
speaks uniformly of his intention to return to
Timothy at Ephesus, "and not of his expecting
Timothy to come to him in Macedonia : " These
things write I unto thee, hoping' to come unto thee
shortly ; but if I tarry long, that thou mayest know
how thou oughtest to behave thyself," ch. iii. 14,
15. " Till I come, give attendance to reading, to
exhortation, to doctrine," ch. iv. 13.
Since, therefore, the leaving of Timothy behind
at Ephesus, when Paul went into Macedonia,
suits not with any journey into Macedonia, re-
corded in the Acts, 1 concur with Bishop Pearson,
in placing the date of this epistle, and the journey
referred to in it, at a period subsequent to St.
Paul's first imprisonment at Rome, and conse-
quently subsequent to the sera up to which the
Acts of the Apostles brings his history. The
only difficulty which attends our opinion is, that
St. Paul must, according to us, have come to Ephe-
sus after his liberation ;1 t Home, contrary as it
should seem, to what he foretold to the Ephesian
elders, " that they should see his face no more."
And it is to save the infallibility of this prediction,
and for no other reason of weight, that an earlier
date is assigned to this epistle. The prediction
itself, however, when considered in connexion
with the circumstances under which it was de-
ivered, does not seem to demand so much anxiety.
The words in question are found in the twenty-
ifth verse of the twentieth chapter of the Acts :
'* And now, behold, 1 know that ye all, among
FIRST EPISTLE TO TIMOTHY.
217
Whom 1 have gone preaching the kingdom of God,
shall see my face no more.'' In the twenty-second
and twenty-third verses of the same chapter; i. e.
two verses before, the apostle makes this declara-
tion : " And now, behold, I go bound in the spirit
unto Jerusalem, not knowing the things that .shall
befall me there: save that the Holy Ghost witness-
eth in every city, saying that bonds and afflict ions
abide me." This ' witnessing of the Holy Ghost 7
was undoubtedly prophetic and supernatural. But
it went no farther than to foretell that bonds and
afflictions awaited him. And 1 can very well con-
ceive that this might be all which was communi-
cated't.) the apostle by extraordinary revelation,
and that the rest was the conclusion of his own
mind, the dfs]xmdin;i inference which he drew
from strong and repeated intimations of approach-
in<r danger. And the expression " 1 know," which
St. Paul here uses, docs not. perhaps, when ap-
plied to future events allecting himself, convey an
assertion so positive and absolute as we may at
first sinht ,'pprehend. In the first chapter of the
Epistle to the Philippians, and the twenty-fifth
verse, " I know." says he, " that I shall abide and
continue with you all, for your furtherance and
joy of faith." Notwithstanding this strong decla-
ration, in the second chapter and twenty-third
verse of this same epistle, and speaking also of the
vrr\ samee\ent. he is content to Use a lai
of some doubt and uncertainty : " Him there!'.. re I
hope to send presently, so soon as I shall see how
it irt'll >; irith inc. "lint 1 trust ill the Lord that
I also myself shall come shortly." And a few
preceding these, he not only seems to doubt
of his safety, but almost to despair; to contemplate
the jxissibility at least of his condemnation and
martyrdom: "Yea, and if I be offered 11^.11 the
sacrifice and seruce of your faith, 1 joy aiid rejoice
with you all."
No. I.
But can we show that St. Paul visited Ephesus
after his liberation at Rome? or rather, can we
collect anv hints from his other letters which make
it probable that lie did .' If we can, then we have
a coincidence. If we cannot, we have only an
unauthorised supposition, to which the exigency
of the case compels us to resort. Now, for this
purpose, let us examine the Epistle to the Philip-
pians and the Epistle to Philemon. These two
epistles purport to be written whilst St. Paul was
ye't a prisoner at Rome. To the Philippians he
writes as follows : " I trust in the Lord that I also
myself shall come shortly." To Philemon,- who
was a Colossian, he gives this direction: "lint
withal, prepare me also a lodgm-i. for I trust that
through your prayers I shall be given unto you."
An inspection of the map will show us that Co-
losse was a city of the Lesser Asia, lying eastward,
and at no great distance from Ephesus. Philippi
was on the, other, i.e. the western side of the
uEgean sea. If the apostle executed his purpose ;
if, in pursuance of the intention expressed in his
letter to Philemon, he came to Colosse soon after
he was set at liberty at Rome, it is very improba-
ble that he would omit to visit Ephesus, which lay
so near to it, and where he had spent three years
of his ministry. As he was also under a promise
to the church of Philippi to see them " shortly ;"
if he passed from Colosse to Philippi. or from
Philippi to Colosse, he could hardly avoid taking
Ephesus hi his way.
No. II.
Chap. v. 9. " Let not a widow he taken into
the number under threescore years old."
This accords with the account delivered in the
sixth chapter of the Acts. " And in those days,
when the number of the disciples was multiplied,
there arose a murmuring of the Grecians against
the Hebrews, because their widows were neglected
in the daily minial ration." It appears that, from
the first formation of the Christian church, provi-
sion was made out of the public funds of the socie-
ty for the indigent uidcn.cs who belonged to it.
The history, we have seen, distinctly records the
existence of such an institution at Jerusalem, a
few years after our Lord's ascension ; and is led
to the mention of it very incidentally, viz. by a
dispute, of which it was the occasion, and which
produced important consequences to the Christian
community. The epistle, without being suspected
of borrowing from the history, refers, briefly in-
deed, but decisively, to a similar establishment,
subsisting some years afterwards at Ephesus.
This agreement indicates that both writings were
founded upon real circumstances.
But, in this article, the material thing to be no-
ticed is the mode of expression : " Let not a widow
be taken into the number." No previous account
or explanation' is given, to which these words,
:% into the number," can refer; but the direction
comes concisely and unpreparedly. " Let not a
widow be taken into the number." Now this is
the way in which a man writes, who is conscious
that he is writing to persons already acquainted
with the subject of his letter ; and who, he knows,
will readily apprehend and apply what he says by
virtue of their being so acquainted : but it is not
the way in which a man writes upon any other
occasion; and least of all, in which a man would
draw up a feigned letter, or introduce a supposi-
tious fact.*
No. III.
Chapter iii. 2, 3. " A bishop then must be
* It ia not altogether unconnected with our general
piirpo-" to D-mark, in the passage before us, the selection
and reserve which St. Paul recommends tot ho gover-
nors of the church of Ephrsiis in the bestowing relief
upon the poor. because it refutes a rulunmy which has
hern insinuated, that the liberality of theiirst Christians
was an artitice to catch converts; or^one of the tempta-
tions, however, by which (he idle, and mendicant were
drawn into this society: "l^etnot a widow be taken in-
to the number under threescore years old, having been
the wife of one man, well reported of for good works;
if she. have brought, up children, if slie have lodged
strangers, if she have washed the. saints' feet, if she have
relieved the aiflicted, if she have diligently followed
every good work. But the younger widows refuse,"
v. 9, 10, 11. And in another place, " If any man or
woman that belie^eth have widows, let them relieve
them, and let not the church be charged ; that it may
relieve them that are widows indeed." And to the same
effect, or rather more to our present purpose, the apostle
writes in the Second Epistle to the Thessalonians:
" Even when we were with you, this we commanded
you, that if any would not work, neither should he eat,"
i e at the public expense. " For we hear that there are
some which walk among you disorderly, working not at
all, but are busy bodies. Now them that are such we
command and exhort by our Lord Jesus Christ, that
with quietness they work, and eat their own bread."
Could a designing or dissolute poor take advantage of
bounty regulated with so much caution; or- could thr-
mind which dictated those sober and prudent directions
be influenced in his recommendations of public charity
by any other than trie propereet motives of beneficence ?
218
HORjE PAULINA.
blameless, the husband of one wife, vigilant, sober,
of good behaviour, given to hospitality, apt to
teach ; not given to wine, no striker, not greedy of
filthy lucre; but patient, not a brawler, not covet-
ous; one that ruleth well his own house."
" A' striker :" That is the article which I single
out from the collection as evincing the antiquity
at least, if not the genuineness, of the epi>tle;
because it is an article which no man would have
made the subject of caution who lived in an ad-
vanced sera of the church. It agreed with the in-
fancy of the society, and with no other state of,it.
After the government of the church had acquired
the dignified form which it soon and naturally
assumed, this injunction could have no place.
Would a person who lived under a liierarchy, such
as the Christian hierarchy became when it had
settled into a regular establishment, have thought
it necessary to prescribe concerning the qualifica-
tion of a bishop, " that he should be no striker V
And this injunction would be equally alien from
the imagination of the writer, whether he wrote
in his own character, or personated that of an
apostle.
No. IV.
Chap. v. 23. " Drink no longer water, but use
a little wine, for thy stomach's sake and thine often
infirmities."
Imagine an impostor sitting down to forge an
epistle in the name of St. Paul. Is it credible that
it should come into his head to give such a direc-
tion as this ; so remote from every thing of doc-
trine or discipline, every thing of public concern
to the religion or the church, or to any sect, order,
or party in it, and from every purpose with which
such an epistle could be written, 1 It seems to me
that nothing but reality, that is, the real valetudi-
nary situation of a real person, cquld have sug-
gested a thought of so domestic a nature.
But if the peculiarity of the advice be observable,
the place in which it stands is more so. The con-
text is this: "Lay hands suddenly on no man,
neither be partaker of other men's sins : keep thy-
self pure. Drink no longer water, but use a little
wine for thy stomach's sake and thine often in-
firmities. Some men's sins are open beforehand,
going before to judgment; and some men they
follow after." The direction to Timothy about
his diet stands between two, sentences, as wide
from the subject as possible. The train of thought
seems to be broken to let it in. Now when does
this happen 7 It happens when a man writes as
he remembers ; when he puts down an article that
occurs the moment it occurs, lest he should after-
wards forget it. Of this the passage before us
bears strongly the appearance. In actual letters,
in the negligence of real correspondence, examples
of this kind frequently take place ; seldom, I be-
lieve, in .any other production. For the moment
a man regards what he writes as a composition,
which the author of a forgery would, of all others,
be the first to do, notions of order, in the arrange-
ment and succession of his thoughts, present
themselves to his judgment, and guide his pen.
No. V.
Chap. i. 15, 16. " This is a faithful saying,
and worthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus
came into the world to save sinners; of whom .1
am chief. Howbeit, for this cause I obtained mer-
cy, that in me first Jesus Christ might show forth
all lonsr-su fieri n<r ; for a pattern to them which
should hereafter belie-ve in him to life everlasting."
, What was the mercy which !>t. Paul here com-
memorates, ;uid what was the crime of which he
accuses himself, is apparent from the verses im-
mediately preceding: "I thank Christ Jesus our
Lord, who hath enabled me, for that he counted
me faithful, putting me into the ministry ; icho
was be/ore a blasphemer, and a persecutor, and
injurious: but I obtained mercy , because I did it
ignorantly in unbelief," ch. i. 1-2, 13. The whole
quotation plainly refers to St. Paul's original en-
j mity to the Christian name, the interaction of
i Providence in his conversion, and his subsequent
F designation to the ministry of the Gospel ; and by
this reference affirms indeed the substance of the
apostle's history delivered in the Acts. But what
hi the passage strikes my mind most powerfully,
is the observation that is raised out of the fact.
" For this cause I obtained mercy, that in me first
Jesus Christ might show forth all long-suffering,
for a pattern to them which should hereafter be-
lieve on him to life everlasting." Il is a just and
solemn reflection, springing from the circumstances
of the author's conversion, or rather from the im-
pression which that great event had left upon his
memory. It will be said, perhaps, that an impos-
tor acquainted with St. Paul's history, may have
put such a sentiment into his mouth ; or, what is
the same thing, into a letter drawn up in his name.
But where, we may ask, is such an impostor to be
found 1 The piety, the truth, the benevi ilence of the
thought, ought to protect it from this imputation.
For, though we should allow that one of the great
masters of the ancient tragedy could have given to
his scene a sentiment as \irtuous and as elevated
as this is, and at the same time as appropriate, and
as well suited to the particular situation of the
person who delivers it; yet whoever is conversant
in these inquiries will acknowledge, that to do
this in a fictitious production is beyond the reach
of the understandings which have been employed
upon any fabrications that have come down to us
under Christian names.
CHAPTER XII
The Second Epistle to Timothy.
No. I.
IT was the uniform tradition of the primitive
church, .that St.- Paul visited Rome twice, and
twice there suffered imprisonment ; and that he
was put to death at Rome at the conclusion of his
second imprisonment. This opinion concerning
St. Paul's two journeys to Rome is confirmed by
a great variety of hints and allusions in the. epistle
before us, compared with what fell from the apos-
tle's pen in other letters purporting to have l>< en
written from Rome. That our present epistle was
written whilst St. Paul was a prisoner, is dis-
tinctly intimated by the eighth verse of the first
chapter: " Be not ETieu therefore ashamed of the
testimony of OUT Lord, nor of me hrs prisoner."
And whilst he was a prisoner at fiome, by the
sixteenth and seventeenth verses of the same
chapter : " The Lord give meccy unto the house
of Onesiphorus; for he oft refreshed me, and was
not ashamed of* my chain : but when he was in
Rome he sought me out very diligently and found
SECOND EPISTLE TO TIMOTHY.
219
me." Since it appears from the former quotation
that St. Paul wrote this epistle in confinement, i
will hardly admit of doubt that the word chain, in
the latter quotation, refers to that confinement ;
the chain by which he was then bound, the custo-
dy in which he was then kept. And if the word
" chain" designate the author's confinement at the
time of writing the epistle, the next words deter-
mine it to have been written from Rome: "He
was not ashamed of my chain ; but when he was
in Rome he sought me out very diligently." Now
that it was not written during the aj>ostle's first
imprisonment at Rome, or during the same im-
prisonment in which the epistles to the Kphesians,
the Colossians, the Philippians, and Philemon,
were written, may be gathered, with considerable
evidence, from a comparison of these several epis-
tles with the present.
I. In the former epistles the an tlior confidently
looked forward to his liberation from confinement,
and his speedy departure from Home, lie tells
the Philippians (ch. ii. 24,) " I trust in the Lord
that I also myself shall come shortly." Philemon
he bids to prepare for him a lodging: " for 1 trust, '
says he, "that through your prayers 1 shall he
given unto you," ver. 22. In the epistle heioiv us
He holds a language extremely different : "lam
now ready to be offered, and the time of my de-
parture is at hand. 1 have lot^hl a goecL fight,
I have finished mv course, 1 have kept the faith:
henceforth there "is laid up for me a crown of
righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous
Judge, shall give me at that day," ch. iv. b 8.
IL When the former epistles, were written
from Rome, Timothy was with St. Paul ; and is
joined with him in writing to. the Colossians. the
Philippians, and to Philemon. The present epis-
tle implies that he was absent.
III. In the former epistles,- Demas was with
St. Paul at Home : " Luke, the Moved physician,
and Demas, greet you.'' In the epistle now before
us: "Demas hath forsaken me. ha\ing loved this
present world, and is gone to Thessalonica.''
IV. In the former epistles, Mark was with St.
Paul, and joins in saluting the Colossians. In
the present epistle, Timothy is ordered to bring
him with him, " for lie is profitable to me for the
ministry," ch. iv. 11.
The case of Timothy and of Mark might be
very well accounted for, by supposing, the present
epistle to have been written before the others; so
that Timothy, who is here exhorted " to come
shortly unto him," ch. iv. 9, might have arrived,
and that Mark, "whom he was to bring with
him," ch. iv. 11, might have also reached Rome
in sufficient time to have been with St. Paul when
the four epistles were written ; but then such a
supposition is inconsistent with what is said of
Demas, by which the posteriority of this to the other
epistles is strongly indicated ; for in the other epis-
tles Demas was with St. Paul, in the present he
hath "forsaken him, and is gone to Thessalo-
niea." The opposition also of sentiment, with
respect to the event of the persecution, is hardly
reconcileable to the same imprisonment.
The two following considerations, which were
first suggested upon this question by Ludovicus
Capellus, are still more conclusive.
1. In the twentieth verse of the fourth chapter,
St. Paul informs Timothy, "that Krastus abode
at Corinth," E. S xrrt S ff in viv ( V Kogu'5*. The form
of expression implies, that Erastus had staid be-
hind at Corinth, when St. Paul left it. But this
could not be meant of any journey from Corinth
which St. Paul took prior to his first imprison-
ment at Rome; for when Paul departed from Co-
rinth, as related in the twentieth chapter of the
Acts, Timothy was with him: and this was the
last time the apostle left Corinth before his coming
to Rome ; because he left it to proceed on his way
to Jerusalem ; soon after his arrival at which
place he was taken into custody, and continued
in that custody till he was carried to Caesar's tri-
bunal. There could be no need therefore to in-
form Timothy that ." Erastus staid behind at Co-
rinth" upon this occasion, because if the fact was
so, it must have been known to Timothy, who was
present, as well as to St. Paul.
2. In, the same verse our epistle also states the
following article: " Trophimus have I left at Mi-
letum sick.'' When St. Paid passed through Mi-
letum on his way to Jerusalem, as related Acts
xx, Trophimus was not left Mrind. hut accom-
panied him to that city. He was indeed the oc-
casion of the uproar at Jerusalem, in consequence
of which St. Paul W;LS apprehended; for "they
had seen," says the historian, " be-fore with him
in the city, Trophimus an Kphesian, whom they
supposed 'that Paul had brought into the temple.
This was evidently-thc last time of Paul's being
at Miletus before his first imprisonment; for, as
hath been said, after his apprehension at Jerusa-
lem, he remained in custody till he was sent to
Rome.
In these two articles we have a journey re-
ferred to, which must have taken place subse-
quent to the conclusion of St. Luke's history, and
of course alter St. Paul's lilx-ration from his first
imprisonment. The epistle, therefore, which con-
tains this reference, since it appears from other
parts of it to have been written while St. Paul was
a prisoner at Rome, proves that he had returned
to that city again, and undergone there a second
imprisonment.
I do not produce these particulars for the sake
of the support which they lend to the testimony
of the fathers concerning St. Paul's second im-
prisonment, but to remark their consistency and
agreement with one another. They are all re-
solvable into one sup|>osition : and although the
supposition > itself be in some sort only negative,
viz. that the epistle was not written during St.
Paul's first residence at Rome, but in some future
imprisonment in that city ; yet is the consistency
not less worthy of observation:, for the epistle
touches upon names artd circumstances connect-
ed with the date and with the history of the first
imprisonment, and mentioned in letters written
during that imprisonment, and so touches upon
them, as to leave what is said of one consistent
with what is said ojf others, and consistent also
with what is said of them in different epistles.
Had one of these circumstances been so described
as to have fixed the date of the epistle to the first
imprisonment, it would have involved the rest in
contradiction. And when the number and par-
ioularity pf the articles which have been brought
ogether under this head are considered; and
when it is considered also, that the comparisons
we have formed amongst them, were in all proba-
bility neither provided for, nor thought of, by the
writer of the epistle, it will be deemed something
very like the effect of truth, that no invincible re-
pugnancy is perceived between ttyem.
220
HOR^E PAULINA.
No. II.
- In the Acts of the Apostles, in the sixteenth
chapter, and at the first verse, we are told that
Paul "came to Derbe and Lystra, and behold a
certain disciple was there named Tirnotheus, 'the
son of a certain woman which was a Jewess, and
believed; but his father was a Greek." In the
epistle before us, in the first chapter and at the
fourth verse, St. Paul writes to Timothy thus .
" Greatly desiring to see thee, being mindful of
thy tears, that I may be filled with joy, when I
call to remembrance the unfeigned faith that is in
thee, which dwelt first in thy grandmother Lois,
and thy mother Eunice ,- and I am persuaded that
in thee also." Here we have a fair unforced ex-
ample of coincidence. In the history, Timothy was
the " son of a Jewess that believed :" in the epis-
tle, St. Paul applauds " the faith which dwelt in
his mother Eunice." In the history it is said of
the mother, "that she was a Jewess, and be-
lieved:" of the father, "that he was a Greek."
Now, when it is said of the mother alone " that
she believed," the father being nevertheless men-
tioned in the same sentence, we are led to sup-
pose of the father that he did not believe, i. e.
either that he was dead, or that he remained un-
converted. Agreeably hereunto, whilst praise
is bestowed in the epistle upon one parent, and
upon her sincerity in the faith, no notice is taken
of the other. The mention of the grandmother
is the addition of a circumstance not found in tlie
history ; but it is a circumstance which, as well as
the names of the parties, might naturally be ex-
pected to be known to the apostle, though over-
looked by his historian.
No. III.
Chap. iii. 15. " And that from a child thou
hast known the Holy Scriptures, w'hich are able
to make thee wise unto salvation."
This verse discloses a circumstance -which
agrees exactly with what is intimated in the
quotation from the Acts, adduced: in the last
number. In that quotation it is recorded of Timo-
thy's mother, " that she was a Jewess." This
description is virtually, though, I am satisfied, nn-
designedly, recognized in the epistle, when Timo-
thy is reminded in it, " that from a child he had
known the Holy Scriptures." " The Holy Scrip-
tures," undoubtedly meant the Scriptures of the
Old Testament. The expression bears that sense
in every place in which it occurs. Those of' the
New had not yet acquired the name > not to men-
tion, that in Timothy's childhood, probably, none
of them existed. In what manner then could
Timothy have known " from a child," the Jew-
ish Scriptures, had he not been born, on one side
or on both, of Jewish parentage? Perhaps he
was not less likely to be carefully instructed in
them, for that his mother alone professed that re-
ligion.
No. IV.
Chap. ii. 22. "Flee also youthful lusts; but
follow righteousness, faith, charity, peace, with
them that call on the. Lord out of a pure heart."
" Flee also youthful lusts." The suitableness
of this precept to the age of the person to whom
it is addressed, is gathered from 1 Tim. chap. iv.
12: w Let no man despise thy youth." Nor do P
deem the less of this coincidence, because the pro-
priety resides in a single epithet : or because this
one precept is joined with, and followed by a train
of others, not more applicable to Timothy than to
any ordinary convert. It is in these transient
ami cursory allusions that the argument is best
founded. When a writer dwells and rests upon.
a point in which some coincidence is discerned, it
may be doubted whether he himself had not fa-
bricated the conformity, and was endeavouring to
display and set it off. But when the reference is
contained in a single word, unobserved perhaps
by most readers, the writer passing on to other
subjects, -as unconscious that he had hit upon a
correspondency, or tmsolicitous whether it were
remarked or not, we may be pretty well assured
that no fraud was exercised, no imposition in-
tended.
No. V.
Chap. iii. 10, 11. " But thou hast fully known
my doctrine, manner .of life, purpose, faith, long-
suffering, charity, patience, persecutions, afflic-
tions, which came unto me at Antioch, at Iconium,
at Lystra ; what persecutions I endured ; but out
of them all the Lord delivered me."
The Antioch here mentioned was- not Antioch
the capital of Syria, where Paul and Barnabas
resided "a long time;" but Antioch in Pisidia, to
which place Paul and Barnabas came in their iirst
apostolic progress, and where Paul delivered a
memorable discourse, which is preserved in the
thirteenth chapter of the Acts. At this Antioch
the history relates, that the " Jews stirred up the
devout and honourable women, and the chief men
of the city, and raised perseciition against Paul
and Barnabas, and expelled them out of their
coasts. But they shook off the dust of their feet.
against them, and came into Iconium .... And
it came to pass in Iconium, that they went both
together into the synagogue of the Jews, and so
spake, that a great multitude both of the Jews
and also of the Greeks believed; but the un-
believing Jews stirred up the Gentiles, and made
their minds evil-affected against the brethren.
Long time therefore abode they speaking boldly
iri the Lord, which gave testimony unto the word
of his grace, and granted signs and wonders to
be done by their hands. But the multitude of the
city was divided ; and part held with the Jews,
and part with the apostles. And when there was
an assault made both of the Gentiles and also of
the Jews, with their rulers, to use them despite/ully
and to stone them, they were aware of it. and
fled unto Lystra and Derbe, cities of Lycaonia,
and unto the region, that lieth round about, and
there they preached the Gospel .... And there
came thither certain Jews from Antioch and
Iconium, who persuaded the people, and having
stoned Paul, drew him out of tlie city, supposing
he had been dead. Howbeit, as the disciples stood
round about him, he rose up and came into tlie
city : and the next day he departed with Barnabas
to 'Derbe : and when they had preached the Gos-
pel to that city, and had taught many, they re-
turned again to Lystra, and to Iconium, and to
Antioch." This account comprises the period to
which the allusion in the epistle is to be rcl'errcd.
We have so far therefore a conformity between
the history and the epistle, that St. Paul is asserted
in the history to have suffered persecutions in the
three cities, his persecutions ajt which nre appealed
to in the epistle; and not only so, but to have suf-
fered these persecutions both in immediate sue-
EPISTLE TO TITUS.
cession, and in the oriler in which the cities are
mentioned in the epistle. The conformity also
extends to another circumstance. In the apos.tolic
history, Lystra and Derbe are commonly men-
tioned" together : in the quotation from the epistle
Lystra is mentioned, and not Derbe. And the
distinction will appear on this occasion to be ac-
curate ; for St. Paul is here enumerating his per-
secutions: and although he underwent grievous
persecutions in each of the three cities through
which he passed to Derbe. at Derbe itself lie met
with none : " The next day he departed," says
the historian, "to Derbe; and when they had
preached the Gospel to that city, anil had taught
many, they returned again to Lystra." The epis-
tle, therefore, in the names of the cities, in the
order in which they are enumerated, and in the
place at which the enumeration stops, corresponds
exaetly with the history.
But a second question remains, namely, how
these persecutions were "known" to Timothy.
or why the apostle should recall these in particu-
lar to his remembrance, rather than many other
persecutions with which his ministry had -been
attended. When some time, probably three years,
afterwards, (ride Pearson's Annales Paulinas.)
St. Paul made a second journey through the same
country, " in order to go again and visit the bre-
thren in every city where he had preached the
word of the Lord," we read", Acts, chap. xvi. 1,
that, " when he came to Derhe and Lystra, be-
hold a certain disciple was there named Timo-
theus." One or other, therefore, of these cities,
was the place of Timothy's alxxle. We read
moreover that he was wett Mported of by the bre-
thren that were at Lystra and Iconium; so that
he must have been well acquainted with these
places. Also again, when Paul came to Derbe
and Lystra, Timothy was already a disciple :
" Behold, a certain disciple was there named
Timotheus." He must therefore have been con-
verted before. But since it is expressly stated in
the epistle, that Timothy was converted by St.
Paul himself, that he was " his own son in the
faith;" it follows that he must have been con-
verted by him upon his former journey into those
parts ; which was the very time when- the apostle
underwent the persecutions referred to in the epis-
tle. Upon the whole, then, persecutions at the
several cities named in the epistle are expressly
recorded in the Acts : and Timothy's knowledge
of this part of St. Paul's history, which knowledge
is appealed to in the epistle, is fairly deduced from
the place of his abode, and the time of his con-
version. It may farther be observed, that it is
probable from this account, that St. Paul was Ln
the midst of those persecutions when Timothy
became known to him. No wonder then that the
apostle, though in a letter written long afterwards,
should remind his favourite convert of those
scenes of affliction and distress under which they
first met.
Although this coincidence, as to the names of
the cities, be more specific and direct than many
which we have pointed out, yet I apprehend there
is no iust reason for thinking it to be artificial : for
had the writer of the epistle sought a coincidence
with the history upon this head, and searched the
Act* of the Apostles for the purpose, I conceive
he would have sent us at once to Philippi and
Thcssalonica, where Paul suffered persecution,
and where, from what is stated, it may easily be
gathered that Timothy accompanied him, rather
Than have appealed to persecutions as known to
Timothy, in the account of which persecutions
Timothy's, presence is not mentioned ; it not be-
ing till after one entire chapter, and in the history
of a journey three years future to this, that Timo-
thy's name occurs in the Acts of the Apostles for
the first time.
CHAPTER XIII.
The Epistle to Titus.
No. I.
A VERY characteristic circumstance in this
epistle, is the quotation from Epimenides, chap.
i. 1-J: " One of themselves, even a prophet of
their own, said, The Cretans are always liars,
evil beasts, slow bellies."
I call this quotation characteristic, because no
writer in the New Testament, except St. Paul,
appealed to heathen testimony; and because St.
Paul repeatedly did so. In his celebrated speech
at Athens, preserved in the seventeenth chapter
of the Acts, he tells his audience, that "in God
We live, and move, and have our being ; as certain
Isoof your own poets have said, For we are also
his offspring."
TOU yxf XMI J S'.'Sf KT/JtiV.
The reader will perceive much similarity of
manner in these two [>assages. The Teference in
the speech is to. a heathen poet ; it is the same in
the epistle. In the speech, the apostle urges his
hearers with the authority of a poet of their own-;
in the epistle he avails himself of the same ad-
vantage. Yet there is a variation, which shows
that the hint of inserting a quotation in the epis-
tle was not, as it may be expqcted, borrowed from
seeing the like practice attributed to St. Paul in
the history ; and it is this, that in the epistle the
author cited is called Aprophet^ " one of them-
selves, even a prophet of their own." Whatever
might be the reason for calling Epimenides a pro-
phet : whether the names of poet and prophet
were occasionally convertible; whether Epime-
nides in particular had obtained that title, as Gro-
tius seems to have proved; or whether the ap-
pellation was given to him, in this instance as
having delivered a description, of the Cretan cha-
racter, which the future state of morals amtfng
them verified : whatever was the reason (and any
of these reasons will account for the variation,
supposing St. Paul to have'been the author,) one
point is plain, namely, if the epistle had been
forged, and the author had inserted a quotation
in it merely from having seen an example of the
same kind in a speech ascribed to St. Paul, he
would so far have imitated his original, as to have
introduced his quotation in the same manner;
that is, he would have given to Epimenides the
title which he saw there given to Aratus. The
other side of the alternative is, that the history
took the hint from the epistle. But that the au-
thor of the Acts of the Apostles had not the Epis-
tle to Titus before him, at least that he did not
use it as one of the documents or materials of his
narrative, is rendered nearly certain by the obser-
222
HOR^E PAULINA.
vation. that the name of Titus docs not once oc-
cur in this book.
It is well known, and was remarked by St. Je-
rome, that the apophthegm in the fifteenth chap-
ter of the Corinthians, " Evil communications
corrupt good manners," is^ai iambic of Menan-
der's:
Here we have another unaffected instance of
the same turn and habit 6f composition. Proba-
bly there are" some hitherto unnoticed ; and more,
which the loss of the original authors renders
impossible to be now ascertained.
No. II.
There exists a visible affinity between the
Epistle to Titus and the First Epistle to Timo-
thy. Both letters were addressed to persons. left
by the writer to preside in their respective churches
during his absence. Both letters are principally
occupied in describing the qualifications to be
sought for, in those whom they should appoint to
offices in the church ; and the ingredients of this
description are in both letters nearly the same.
Timothy and Titus are likewise-cautioned against
the same prevailing corruptions, and in particular,
against the same misdirection of their cares and
studies. This affinity obtains, not only in the
subject of the letters, which from the similarity
of situation in the persons to whom they were
addressed, might be expected to. be somewhat
alike, but extends, in a great variety of instances,
to the phrases and expressions. The writer ac-
costs his two friends with the same salutation,
and passes on to the business of his letter by the
same transition.
"Unto Timothy, my own son in the faith:
Grace, mercy, and peace, from God our Father
and Jesus Christ our Lord. As I besought thee
to abide still at Ephesus, when I went info ^Ma-
cedonia," &c. 1 Tim. chap. i. 2, 3.
" To Titus, mine own son after the common
faith : Grace, mercy, and peace, from God the
Father and the Lbrd Jesus Christ our Saviour.
For this cause left 1 I thee in Crete" Tit. chap
i. 4, 5.
If Timothy was not to " give heed to fables
and endless genealogies, which minister ques-
tions," 1 Tim. chap. i. 4, Titus also was to
" avoid foolish 'questions, and genealogies, and;
contentions," chap. iii. 9; and was o "rebuke
them sharply, not giving heed to Jewish fables,"
chap. i. 14. If Timothy was to be a pattern, (T^O?,)
1 Tim. ch. iv. 12, so was Titus, chap. ii. 7. If
Timothy was to " let no man despise his youth,"
1 Tim. ch. iv. 12, Titus also was to let V no
man despise him," chap. ii. 15. This verbal
consent is also observable in some very peculiar
expressions, which Imve no relation to the par-
ticular character of Timothy or Titus.
The phrase, "4t is a faithful saying" OKTTOJ*
xoyo?) made use of to preface some sentence upon
which the writer lays a more than ordinary stress,
occurs three times in the First Epistle to Timothy,
once in the Second, and once in the epistle before
us, and hi no other part of St. Paul's writings ;
and it is remarkable that these three epistles were
probably all written towards the conclusion of his
life; and that they are the only epistles which
were written after his first imprisonment at
Rome
The same observation belongs to another sin tm-
lanty of expression, and that is in the epithet
sound" ( uy ,*,*,) as applied to words or doctrine.
It is thus used, twice in the First Epistle to Ti-
mothy, twice in the Second, and three times in the
Epistle to Titus, besides two cognate expressions,
vri* lv o V Tx; TV VHTTU and xo^ou u^'i ; and it is
iound, in the same sense, in no other part of the
.New Testament.
The phrase, "God our Saviour," stands in
nearly the same predicament. It is repeated three
times in the First Epistle to Timothy, as many
in the Epistle to Titus, and in no other book of
the New Testament occurs at all, except once in
the Epistle of Jude.
Similar terms, intermixed indeed with others,
are employed in the two epistles, in enumerating
the qualifications required in those who should be
advanced to stations of authority in the church.
" A bishop must be blameless, the husband of
one wife, vigilant, sober, of good behaviour, given
to hospitality, apt to teach, not given to wine, no
striker, not greedy of filthy lucre ; but patient,
not a brawler, not covetous ; one that ruleth well
his own house, having his children in subjection
with all gravity," * 1 Tim. chap. iii. 24.
" If any be blameless, the husband of one wife,
having faithful children, not accused of riot, or
unruly. For a bishop must be blameless, as th
steward of God; not self-willed, not soon angry,
not given to wine, no striker, not given to filthy
lucre ; but a lover of hospitality, a lover of good
men. sober, just, holy, temperate," t Titus, chap,
i.- 6 8.
The most natural account which can be given
of these resemblances, is to suppose that the two
epistles were written nearly at the same time, and
whilst the same ideas and phrases dwelt in the
writer's mind. Let us inquire, therefore, whether
the notes of time, extant in the two epistles, in
any manner favour this supposition.
We have seen that it was necessary to refer the
First Epistle to Timothy to a date subsequent to
St. Paul's first imprisonment at Rome, because
there was no journey into Macedonia prior to that
event, which accorded with the circumstance of
leaving " Timothy behind at Ephesus." The
journey of St.' Paul from Crete, alluded to in the
epistle before us, and in which Titus " was left in
Crete to set in order the things that were want-
ing," must in like manner, be carried to the period
which intervened between his first and second
imprisonment. For the history, which reaches,
we know, to the time of St. Paul's first imprison-
ment, contains no account of his going to Crete,
except upon his voyage as a prisoner to Rome ;
and that thjs could not be the occasion referred to
;n our epistle is evident from hence, that when
j-St. Paul wrote this epistle he appears to have
seen at liberty : whereas after that voyage, he con-
vfg*, v>^aX.ow, <ru>j -jivy.,
f " E(
%'OV 'If
EPISTLE TO PHILEMON.
tinned for two years at least in confinement
Again, it is agreed that St.. Paul wrote his first
Epistle to Timothy from Macedonia: "As I be-
sought thee to abide still at Ephesus, when 1
went (or came) into Macedonia." And that
he was in these parts, i. e. in this peninsula,
when he wrote the Epistle to Titus, is rendered
probable by his directing Titus to come to him
to Nicopolis: : 'When I shall send Artemas unto
thee, or Tychicus, be diligent (make haste) to
come unto me to Nicopolis : for I have determined
there to winter." The .most noted city of that
name was in Epirus, near to Actium. And I
think the form of shaking, as well as the nature
of the case, renders it probable that the writer was
at Nicopolis, or in the neighbourhood thereof,
when he dictated this direction to Titus.
Upon the whole, if we may be allowed to supj>ose
that St. Paul, after his liberation at Rome, sailed
into Asia, taking Crete in his way; that from
Asia and from Epliesus, the capital of that country,
he proceeded into Macedonia, and crossing the
peninsula in his progress, came into the neigh-
bourhood of Nicopolis ; we have a route which
falls in with every thing. Itexe.-utes the inten-
tion expressed by the Aj>ostle of visiting Colosse
and Philippi as soon as he should he set at liberty
atRome. It allows him to leave " Titus at Crete,'"
and " Timothy at Ephosus,as he went into Mace-
donia :" and to write to both not long after from tin-
peninsula of (i recce, and probably the neighbour-
hood of Nicopolis: thus bringing together the
dates of these two letters, and thereby accountiiiLT
for that affinity l>etween them, both in subject and
language, which our remarks have pointed out.
I confess that t lie journey which we have thus
traced out for St. Paul, is, in ;i ^n -it measure, hy-
pothetic: but it .should .be observed, that it is a
sprcies of consistency, which seldom- belongs to
falsehood, to admit of an hvjxrthesis. which in-
cludes a great number of indejxmdent circum-
stances without contradiction.
CHAPTER XIV.
The Epistle to Philemon.
No. I.
THE singular correspondency between this
epistle and that to the Colossians has boon remark-
ed already. An assertion in the Epistle to the
Colossians, viz. that " Onesimus -,vas one of them,"
is verified, not by any mention of Colosse, any
the most distant intimation concerning the place
of Philemon's abode, but singly by stating Onesi-
mus to be Philemon's servant, and by joTning in
the salutation Philemon with Archippus ; for "this
Archippus, when we go back to the Euistle to the
Colossians, appears to have heen an inhabitant of
that city, and, as it should seem, to have held an
office of authority in that church. The case
stands thus. Take the Epistle to the Colossians
alone, and no circumstance is discoverable which
makes out the assertion, that Onesimus was "one
of them." Take the Epistle to Philemon alone,
and nothing at all appears concerning the place to
which Philemon or his servant Onesimus belon<r-
ed. For any thing that is said in the epistle,
Philemon might have been a Thessalonian, a
Philippian, or an Ephesian, as well as a Colos-
sian. Put the two epistles together, and the
matter is clear. The reader perceives a junction
ot circumstances, which ascertains the conclusion,
at once. Now, ail that is necessary to be added in
this place is, that this -correspondency evinces the
genuineness of one epistle, as .well as of the other,
it is like comparing the two parts of a cloven tally.
Coincidence proves the authenticity of both.
No. II.
And this coincidence is perfect ; not only in the
main article of showing, by implication, Onesi-
mus to be a Colossian, but in many dependent
circumstances.
1. "I beseech thee for my son Onesimus, whom
I hare sent again," ver. 10 12. It appears from
the Epistle to the Colossians, that, in truth, One-
simus was sent at that time to Colosse : " All my
state shall Tychicus declare, whom I have sent
unto you for the same purpose, with Onesimus, a
faithful and beloved brother," Colos. chap. iv. 7 9.
2. " I beseech thee for my son Onesimus,
whom I hare begotten in my bonds" ver. 10. It
apjH'ars from the preceding quotation, that Onesi-
mus was with St. Paul when he wrote the Epistle
to the Colossians ; and that he wrote that epistle
in imprisonment is evident from his declaration
in the fourth chapter and third verse : " Praying
also for us, that God would open unto us a door
of utti ranee, to speak the mystery of Christ, for
which I am also in bojids.
3. St. Paul bids Philemon prepare for him a
lodging: " For 1 trust,'* says he, " that through your
prayers I shall be given unto you." This agrees
with the expectation of speedy deliverance, which
he expressed in another epistle written during the
same imprisonment: "Him" (Timothy) "I hope
to send presently, o soon as I shall see how it
will go with me ; but I trust in the Lord that I
also myself shall come shortly." Phil. chap. ii.
,24.
4. As the letter to Philemon, and that to the
Colossians, were written at the same time, and
sent by the same messenger, the one to a particu-
lar inhabitant, the other to the church of Colosse,
it may be .-xpertnl that the same or nearly the
same persons woukl be about St. Paul, and join
with him, as was the practice, in the salutations
of the epistle. Accordingly we find the names
of Aristarehus, Marcus, Epaphras, Luke, and
Dcinas. in both epistles. Timothy, who is joined
with St. Paul in the superscription ofthe Epistle
to the Colossians, is joined with him in this.
Tychicus did not salute Philemon, because he ac-
companied the epistle to Colosse, and would un-
doubtedly there see him. Yet the reader of the
Epistle to Philemon will remark one considerable
diversity in the catalogue of saluting friends, and
which shows that the catalogue was not copied
r rom that to the Colossians. hi the Epistle to the
Dolossians, Aristarehus is called by St. Paul his
fellow- prisoner, Colos. chap. iv. 10; in the Epistle
to Philemon, Aristarehus is mentioned without
any addition, and the title of fellow-prisoner is
given to Epaphras. *
* Dr. Benson observes, and perhaps truly, that the
appellation of fellow-prisoner, as applied by St. Paul
.o Epaphras, did not imply that they were imprisoned
ogether at th& time ; any more than your calling A per-
224
HOR-E PAULINA.
And let it also be observed, that notwithstanding
the close and circumstantial agreement between
the two epistles, this is not the case of an opening
left in a genuine writing, which an impostor is
induced to fill up; nor of a reference" to some
writing not extant, which sets a sophist at work
to supply the loss, in like manner as, because St.
Paul was supposed, Qolos. chap. iv. 16, to allude
to an epistle written by him to the Laodiceans,
some person has from thence, taken the hint of
uttering a forgery under that title. The present,
I say, is not that case ; for Philemon's name is not
mentioned in the Epistle to the Colossians; One-
simus' servile condition is no where hinted at, any
more than his crime, his flight, or the place or
time of his conversion. The story, therefore, of
the epistle, if it be a fiction, is a fiction to which
tha author could not have been guided by any
tiling he had read in St. Paul's genuine writings.
No. III.
Ver. 4, 5. "I thank my Qod, making mention
of thee always in my prayers, hearing of thy love
and faith, which thou hast toward the Lord Je-
sus, and toward all saints."
" Hearing of thy love and faith." This is the
form of speech wfyich St. Paul was wont to use
towards those Churches which he had not seen, or
then visited : see Rom. chap. i. 8 ; Ephes. chap. i.
15; Col. chap. i. 3, 4. Toward those churches
and persons, with whom he was previously ac-
quainted, he employed a different phrase ; as, "1
thank my God always on your behalf," 1 Cor.
chap. i. 4 ; 2 Thess. chap. i. 3 ; or, " upon every
remembrance of you," Phil. chap. i. '3 ; 1 Thess.
chap. i. 2, 3 ; 2 Tim. chap. i. 3 ; and never speaks
of hearing of them. Yet I think it must be con-
cluded, from the nineteenth verse of this epistle,
that Philemon had been converted by St. Paul
himself: " Albeit, I do not say to thee how thou
owest unto me even thine own self besides." Here
then is a peculiarity. Let us inquire whether the
epistle supplies any circumstance which will ac-
count for it. We have seen that it may be made
out, not from the epistle itself, but- from a compa-
rison of the epistle with that to the Colossians,
that Philemon was an inhabitant of Colosse : and
it farther appears, from the Epistle to the Colos-
sians, that St. Paul had never been in that city:
" I would that ye knew what great conflict I have
for you and for them at Laodicea, and for as many
as have not seen my face in the flesh," Col. ch.
ii. 1. Although, therefore, St. Paul had formerly
met with Philemon at some other place, and had
been the immediate instrument of his conversion,
yet Philemon's faith and conduct afterwards, in-
asmuch as he lived in a city which St. Paul had
never visited, could only be known to him by fame
and reputation.
No. IV.
The tenderness and delicacy of this epistle have
long been admired : " Though I might be much
bold in Christ to enjoin thee that which is conve-
nient, yet for love's sake I rather beseech thee,
being such an one as Paul the aged, and now also
a prisoner of Jesus Christ ; I beseech thee for my
son your fellow-traveller imports that you are then upon
your travels. If he had, upon any former occasion,
travelled with you, you might afterwards speak of him
under that title. -It re jast so with -the term fellow-
jwisoner.
son Oneshnut, whom I have l^gotten in ray
bonds.'- Then 1 usometm'iig certainly very melting
and persuasive in this, and every ]>;:'rt of'the ep.
tie. Yet, in my opinion, the eharacter of St. Paul
prevails in it throughout. The warm, affectionate,
authoritative teacher is interceding with an absent
friend lor a beloved convert. He, ur;;: s bis suit
with an earnestness, befitting perhaps not so much
the occasion, as the ardour and sensibility of his
own mind. Here also, as every where, he shows
himself conscious of the weight and dignity of hi*
mission; nor does he-suffer Philemon for a mo-
ment to forget it: "I might be much bold in
Christ to enjoin thee that which is convenient."
He is careful also to recall, though obliquely, to
Philemon's memory, the sacred obligation under
which he had laid him, by bringing to him tho
knowledge of Jesus Christ : " I do not say to thee
how thou owest to me even thine own sell' be-
sides." Without laying aside, therefore, the apos-
tolic character, our author softens the imperative
style of his address, by mixing with it every sen-
timent and consideration that could move the heart
of his correspondent. Aged and in prison, he is
content tp supplicate and entreat. Oncsunus was
rendered dear to him by his conversion and his
services : the child of his affliction, and " minis-
tering unto him in the bonds of the Gospel." This
ought to recommend him, whatever had been his
fault, to Philemon's forgiveness: "Receive him
as myself, as my own bowels." Every thing,
however, should be voluntary. St. Paul vv<;s de-
termined that Philemon's compliance should flow
from his own bounty : " Without thy mind would
I do nothing, that thy benefit should not be as it
were of necessity, but willingly;" trusting never-
theless to his gratitude and attachment for the
performance of all that he requested, and for more :
"Having confidence in thy obedience, I wrote
unto thee, knowing that thou wilt also do more
than I say."
St. Paul's discourse at Miletus ; his speech be-
fore Agrippa ; his Epistle to the Romans, as hath
been remarked, (No. VIII.) that to the Galatians,
chap. iv. 11 20; to the Philippians, chap. i. 2!)-
chap. it 2; the Second to the Corinthians, chap.
vi. 1 13 ; and indeed some part or other of al-
most every epistle, exhibit examples of a similar
application to the feelings and a flections of the
persons whom he addresses. And it is observable,
that these pathetic effusions, drawn for the most
part from his own sufferings and situation, usually
precede a command, soften a rebuke, or mitigate
the harshness of some disagreeable truth.
CHAPTER XV.
The Subscriptions of the Epistles.
Six of these subscriptions are fiilse or improba-
ble; that is, they are either absolutely contradicted
by the contents" of the epistle, or arc difficult to be
reconciled with them.
I. The subscription of the First Epistle to the
Corinthians states that it was written from Phi-
lippi, notwithstanding that, in the sixteenth chap-
ter and the eighth verse of the epistle, St. Paul
informs the Corinthians that he will "tarry at
Ephesus until Pentecost ;" and notwithstanding
that he begins the salutations in the epistle by
SUBSCRIPTIONS OF THE EPISTLES.
225
telling them " the churches of Asia salute you ;
a pretty evident indication that he himself was in
Asia at this time.
II. The Epistle to the Galatians is by the sub-
scription dated from Rome ; yet, in the epistle
itself, St. Paul expresses his surprise "that they
were so soon removing from him that called them ;"
whereas his journey to Rome was ten years pos-
terior to the conversion of the Galatians. And
what, I think, is more conclusive, the author,
though speaking of himself in tiiis more than any
other epistle, does not once mention his bonds, or
call himself a prisoner ; which he had not foiled
to do in every one of the lour epistles written from
that city, and durin^ that imprisonment.
III. The First Epistle to the Thessalonians
was written, the subscription tells us, from Athens ;
yet the epistle refers expressly to the coming of
Timotheus from Thessalonica, ch. iii. 6, and the
history informs us, Acts xviii. 5, that Timothy
came out of Macedonia to St. Paul at Corinth.
IV. The Second Epistle to the Thessalonians
is dated, and without any discoverable reason,
from Athens also. If it be truly the second ; if it
refer, as it appears to do, ch. ii. '2, to the first, and
the first was written from Corinth, the place must
be erroneously assigned, for the history does not
allow us to suppose that St. Paul, after he had
reached Corinth, went back to Athens.
V. The First Epistle to Timothy the subscrip-
tion asserts to have been sent from Laodicea ; yet,
when St. Paul writes, " I besought thee to abide
still at Ephesus, ^a^uoftivo} n$ M*iJovi*v (when I
set out for Macedonia,") the reader is naturally
led to conclude, that he wrote the letter upon his
arrival in that country.
VI. The Epistle to Titus is dated from Nico-
polis in Macexlonia, whilst no city of that name is
known to have existed in that province.
The use, and the only use, which I make of
these observations, is to show how easily errors
and contradictions steal in where the writer is not
guided by original knowledge. There are only
eleven distinct assignments of date to St. Paul's
Epistles (for the four written from Rome may be
considered as plainly contemporary ;) and of these,
six seem to be erroneous. I do not attribute. any
authority to these subscriptions. I believe them
to have been conjectures founded sometimes upon
loose traditions, but more generally upon a con-
sideration of some particular text, without suffi-
ciently comparing it with other parts of the
epistle, with different epistles, or with the history.
Suppose then that the subscriptions had come
down to us as authentic parts of the epistles, there
would haw been more contrarieties and difficulties
arising out of these final verses, than from all the
rest of the volume. Yet, if the epistles had been
forged, the whole must have been made up of the
same elements as those of which the subscriptions
are composed, viz. tradition, conjecture, and infer-
ence : and it would have remained to be accounted
for how, whilst so many errors were crowded into
the concluding clauses of the letters, so much con-
sistency should be preserved in other parts.
The same reflection arises from observing the
oversights and mistakes which learned men have
committed, when arguing upon allusions which
relate to time and place, or when endeavouring to
digest scattered circumstances into a continued
story. It is indeed the same case ; for these sub-
scriptions must be regarded as ancient scholia, and
2F
as nothing more. Of this liability to error I can
present the reader with a notable instance ; and
which I bring forward for no other purpose than
that to which I apply the erroneous subscriptions.
Ludovicus Capellus, in that part of his Historia
Apostolica Illustrata, which is entitled De Ordine
Epist. Paul., writing upon the Second Epistle to
the Corinthians, triumphs unmercifully over the
want of sagacity in Baronius, who, it seems,
makes St. Paul write his Epistle to Titus from
Macedonia upon his second visit into that pro-
vince ; whereas it appears from tlie history, that
Titus, instead of being at Crete, where the epistle
places him, was at that time sent by the apostle
from Macedonia to Corinth. " Animadvertere
est," says Capellus, " magnam hominis illius
<*SxsnJ/jv, qui vult Titum a Paulo in Cretam ab~
ductum, illicque relictum, cum hide Nicopolim
navigaret, quern tamen agnoscit a Paulo ex Mace-
donia missum esse Corinthum." This probably
will be thought a detection of inconsistency in Ba-
ronius: But what is the most remarkable is, that
in the same chapter in which he thus indulges hia
contempt of Baronius's judgment, Capellus himself
falls into an error of the same kind, and more gross
and palpable than that which he reproves. For
he begins the chapter by stating the Second Epis-
tle to the Corinthians and the First Epistle to Ti-
mothy to be nearly contemporary : to have been
both written during the apostle's second visit into
Macedonia ; and that a doubt subsisted concerning
the immediate priority of their dates : " Posterior
ad eosdem Corinthios Epistola, et Prior ad Timo-
theum certant de prioritate, et sub judice lis est;
utraque autem scnpta est paulo postquam Paulus
Epheso discessisset, adeoque dum Macedonian!
peragraret, sed utra tempore prsecedat, nonliquet."
Now, in the first place, it is highly improbable
that the two epistles should have been written
either nearly together, or during the same journey
through Macedonia; for, in the Epistle to the
Corinthians, Timothy appears to have been with
St. Paul ; in the epistle addressed to him, to have
been left behind at Ephesus, and not only left be-
hind, but directed to continue there till St. Paul
should return to that city. In the second place it is
inconceivable, that a question should be proposed
concerning the priority of date of the two epistles ;
for, when St. Paul, in his Epistle to Timothy,
opens his address to him by saying, " as I besought
thee to abide still at Ephesus when I went into
Macedonia," no reader can doubt but that he here
refers to the last interview which had passed be-
tween them ; that he had not seen him since ;
whereas if the epistle be posterior to that to the
Corinthians, yet written upon the same visit into
Macedonia, this could not be true ; for as Timothy
was along with St. Paul when he wrote to the Co-
rinthians, he must, upon this supposition, have
passed over to St. Paul in Macedonia after he had
been left by him at Ephesus, and must have re-
turned to Ephesus again before the epistle was writ-
ten. What misled Ludovicus Capellus was simply
this, that he had entirely overlooked Timothy's
name in the superscription of the Second Epistle to
the Corinthians. Which oversight appears not
only in the quotation which we have given, but
from his telling us, as he does, that Timothy came
from Ephesus to St. Paul at Corinth, whereas the
superscription proves that Timothy was already
with St. Paul when he wrote to the Corinthians
from Macedonia.
HOIIJE PAULINA.
CHAPTER XVI.
The Conclusion.
IN the outset of this inquiry, the reader was di-
rected to consider the Acts of tin? Apostles and the
thirteen epistles of St. Paul as certain ancient
manuscripts lately discovered in the closet of some
celebrated library. We have adhered to this \ lew
of the subject. External evidence of every kind
has been removed out of sight ; arid our endeavours
have been employed to collect the indications of
truth and authenticity, which appeared to exist in
the writings themselves, and to result from a com-
parison of their different parts. It is not however
necessary to continue this supposition longer.
The testimony which other remains of contempo-
rary, or the monuments of adjoining ages allbrd to
the reception, notoriety, and public estimation of a
book, form, no doubt, the first proof of its genuine-
ness. And in no books whatever is this proof
more complete, than in those at present under our
consideration. The inquiries of learned men, and,
above all, of the excellent Lardner, who never
overstates a point of evidence, .and whose fidelity
in citing his authorities has in no one instance
been impeached, have established, concerning
these writings, the following propositions :
I. That in the age immediately posterior to that
in which St. Paul lived, his letters were publicly
read and acknowledged.
Some of them are quoted or alluded to by almost
every Christian writer that followed, by Clement
of Rome, by Hernias, by Ignatius, by Polycarp,
disciples or contemporaries of the apostles ; by Jus-
tin Martyr, by the churches of Gaul, by Irenaeus,
by Athenagoras, by Theophilus, by Clement of
Alexandria, by Hermias, by Tertullian, who oc-
cupied the succeeding age. Now when we find a
book quoted or referredto by an ancient author,
we are entitled to conclude, that it was read and
received in the age and country in which that au-
thor lived. And this conclusion does not, in any
degree, rest upon the judgment or character of the
author making such reference. Proceeding by this
rule, we have, concerning the First Epistle to the
Corinthians in particular, within forty years after
the epiaJtle was written, evidence, not only of its
being extant at Corinth, but of its being known
and read at Rome. Clement, bishop of that city,
writing to the church of Corinth, uses these words :
" Take into your hands the epistle of the blessed
Paul the apostle. What did he at first write unto
you in the beginning of the Gospel 1 Verily he
did by the Spirit admonish you concerning him-
self, and Cephas, and Apollos, because that even
then you did form parties."* This was written at
a time when probably some must have been living
at Corinth, who remembered St. Paul's ministry
there and the receipt of the epistle. The testimony-
is still more valuable, as it shows that the epistles
were preserved in the churches to which. they
were sent, and that they were spread and propa-
gated from them to the rest of the Christian com-
munity. Agreeably to which natural mode and
order of their publication, Tertullian, a century
afterwards, for proof of the integrity and genuine-
ness of the apostolic writings, bids ' " any one, who
is willing to exercise his curiosity profitably-in the
business of their salvation, to visit the apostolical
* See Lardner, vol. xii. p. 22.
churches, in which their very authentic letters arj
rc< ited, ips;u authentic^; liter.v eorum recitantur."
Then he goes on: "Is Aehaia near you 1 You
have Corinth. If you are not far from Macedonia,
you have Philippi, you have Thessalonica. If you
can go to Asia, you have Kphcsus; but if you are
near to Italy, you have Rome."* 1 adduce this
passage to show, that the distinct churches or
Christian societies, to which St. Paul s epistles
were sent, subsisted for some ages afterwards;
that his several epistles were all along respectively
read in those churches ; that Christians at large
received ., them from those churches, and appealed
to those churches for their originality and authen-
ticity.
Arguing in like manner from citations and al-
lusions, we have, within the -space of a hundred
and fifty years from .the time that the first of St.
Paul's epistles was written, proofs of almost all of
them being read, in Palestine, Syria, the countries
of Asia Minor, in Egypt, in that part of Africa
wliich used the Latin tongue, in Greece, Italy, and
Gaul.T I do. not mean simply to assert, that with-
in the space of a hundred and fifty years. St. Paul's*
epistles were read in those countries, for I believe
that they were read and circulated from the begin-
ning ; but that proofs of their being so read occur
within that period. And when it is considered
how few of the primitive Christians wrote, and of
what was written how much is lost, we are to ac-
count it extraordinary, or rather as a sure proof
of the extensiveness of the reputation of these
writings, and of the general respect in which they
were held, that so many testimonies, and of such
antiquity, are still extant. " In the remaining
works of Irenzeus, Clement of Alexandria, and
Tertullian, there are perhaps more and larger quo-
tations of the small volume of the New Testament,
than of all the works of Cicero, in the writings of
all characters for several ages."*- We must add,
that all the epistles of Paul come in for their full
share of this observation ; and that all the thirteen
epistles, except that to Pliilemon, which is not
quoted by Irenajus or Clement, and which proba-
bly escaped notice merely by its brevity, are .seve-
rally cited, and expressly recognised as St. Paul's
by each of these Christian writers. The Ebion-
itcs, an early though inconsiderable Christian sect,
rejected- St. Paul and his epistles ; that is, they
rejected these epistles, not because they were not,
but because they were St. Paul's; and because,
adhering to the obligation of the Jewish law, they
chose to dispute his doctrine and authority. Their
suffrage as to the genuineness of the epistles does
not contradict that of other Christians. Marcion,
an heretical writer in the former part of the second
century, is said by Tertullian to have rejected
three of the epistles which we now receive, viz. the
two Epistles to Timothy and the Epistle to Titus.
It appears to me not improbable, that Marcion
might make some such distinction as 'this, that no
apostolic epistle was to be admitted which was not
read or attested by the church to which it was
sent; for it is remarkable that, together with those
epistles to private persons, he rejected also the
catholic epistles. Now the catholic epistles and
the epistles to private persons agree in the circum-
stances of warning this particular species of attest-
* Lardner, vol. ii. p. 505.
t See Larrtiier's Recapitulation, vol. xii. p. 53.
t Ibid, vol. xii. p. 53.
$ Lardner, vol. ii. p. 808.
THE CONCLUSION.
227
ation. Marcion, it seems, acknowledged the
Epistle to Philemon, and is upbraided for his in-
consistency in doing so by Tertullian,* who asks
" why when he received a letter written to a sin-
gle person, he should refuse two to Timothy and
one to Titus combed upon the allairs of the
church V This passage so far favours our account
of Marcion'* objection, as it shows that the objec-
tion was supposed by Tertullian to have been
founded in something which belonged to the na-
ture of a private letter.
Nothing of the works of Marcion remains. Pro-
bably he was, after all, a rash, arbitrary, licentious
critic, (if he deserved indeed the name of critic,;
and who offered no reason for his determination.
What St. Jerome says of him intimates this. ;uul
is besides founded in good sense: Shaking of him
and Basilides, " If they assigned any reasons,"
says he, " why they did'not reckon these epistles,"
vi/. the First and Second to Timothy, and the
Epistle to Titus, -to !>e the apostle's, we would
have endeavoured to have answered them, and
perhaps might have siitislird the reader: but when
they take upon them, by their own authority, to
pronounce one epistle, to !* Paul's and another
not, they can only be replied to in the same man-
ner.'^ Let it be remembered, however, tliut Mar-
cion received ten of these epistles. I lis authority,
therefore, even if his credit had been better than
it is. forms a very small exception to the uniformity
of the evidence." < >f 15asiiidcs we know still less
than we do of Marcion. The same observation,
however, belongs to him, viz. that his objection, as
far as appears from this passage of St. Jerome, was
confined to the three private epistles. Vet is this
the onlv opinion which can IH> said to disturb the
consent of the first two centuries oi the I 'hri.stian
era: for as to Tatian. who is reported by Jerome
alone to have rejected some of St. Paul's epistles,
the extra vacant' or rather delirious notions into
which he fell, take nwav all weight and credit from
his judgment. If, indeed. Jerome's account of
this circumstance be correct; for it appears from
much older writers than Jerome, that Tatian
owned and used many of these epistles.t .
II. They, who in those ages disputed about
so many other points, agreed in acknowledging
the Scriptures now before us. Contending sects
appealed to them in their controversies with equal
and unreserved submission. When they were
urged by one side, however they might he inter-
preted or misinterpreted by the other, their autho-
rity was not questioned. " Reliqui omnes," savs
Irenaeus, shaking of Mareion, " falso scientirc
nomine intlati, scnpturas quidem conlitenlur, in-
terpretationes vero convertunt."
III. When the genuineness of some other
writings which were in circulation, and even of a
few which are now received into the canon, was
contested, these were never called into dispute.
Whatever was the objection, or whether in truth
there ever was any real objection, to the authen-
ticity of the Second Epistle of Peter, the Second
and Third of John, the Epistle of James, or that
of Jude, or to the lx>ok of the Revelation of St.
John; the doubts that, appeared to have Ixvn en-
tertained concerning them, exceedingly strengthen
the force of the testimony as to those writings
about which there was no doubt ; because it shows.
* Lardnor, vol. xiv. p. 455. t Ibid- vol. xiv. p. 458.
J Ibid. vol. i.p. 313.
Iren. advers. User, quoted by Lardncr, vol. xv. p. 425.
that the matter was a subject, amongst the early
Christians, of examination and discussion ; and
that where there was any room to doubt, they did
doubt.
What Eusebius hath left upon the subject is
directly to the purpose of this observation. Euse-
bius, it is well known, divided the ecclesiastical
writings which were extant in his time into three
classes: the " xv*vTtppr,Tx, uneontnulicted," as ho
calls them in one chapter; or, " scriptures uni-
versally acknowledged," as he calls them in ano-
ther : the " controverted, yet well known and ap-
proved by many ; : ' and the " spurious." What
were the shades of difference in the books of the
second, or of those in the third class; or what it
uas precisely that he meant by the term spurious,
it is not n. -cessary in this place to inquire. It is
sullicient for us to find, that the thirteen epistles
of St. Paul are placed by him in the first class
without ny sort of hesitation or doubt.
It is farther also to be collected from the chap-
ter in which this distinction is laid down, "that
the metluxl made use of by TSusebius, and by the
Christians of his time, viz. the close of the third
century, in judging concerning the sacred au-
thority of any l>ooks, was to inquire after and
consider the testimony of those who lived near
the a_'e of the Apostles."*
I V. That no ancient writiiiLT. which is attested
as these epistles are. hath had its authenticity dis-
proved, or is in fact questioned. The controver-
sies which have tn-en moved concerning sns|M-cted
writings, as the epistles, for instance, of Phalaris,
or the eighteen epistles of Cicero, begin by show-
ing that this attestation is wanting. That being
pn>\cd, the question is thrown Imck upon internal
marks of spuriousness, or authenticity; and in
these the dispute is occupied. In which disputes
it is to be observed, that the contested writings
are commonly attacked by arguments drawn from
some opposition which they betray to "authentic
history, to "true epistles." to the "real senti-
ments or circumstances of the author whom they
)H'rsonate ;''t which authentic history, which true
epistles, which real sentiments themselves, are no
other than ancient documents, whose early ex-
istence and reception can be proved, in the man-
ner in which the writings Ix-fore us are traced up
to the age of their reputed author, or to ages near
to his. A modern who sits down to compose the
history of some ancient j>eriod, has no stronger
e\ idence to appeal to for the most confident, asser-
tion, or the most undisputed fact that he delivers,
than writings, whose genuineness is proved by
the same medium through which we evince the
authenticity of ours. Nor, whilst he can have re-
course to such authorities as these, does he appre-
hend any uncertainty in his accounts, from the
suspicion of spuriousness or imposture in his ma-
terials.
V. It cannot be shown that any forgeries, pro-
pe'rly so called,* that is, writings published under
the name of the person who did not coin pose them,
made their appearance in the first century of the
* Lardner, vol. viii. p. lt)6.
t See the tracts written in the controversy between
Tunstal ami Middleton upon certain suspected epistles
ascribed to Cicero.
I I believe, that there is a great deal of truth in Dr.
I,ardner's observation, that comparatively fow of those
bonks which we call apocryphal worn strictly and origi-
nally forgeries. See Lardner, vol. xii. p. 167.
HORJE PAULINA.
Christian era, in which century those epistles un-
doubtedly existed. I shall set down under this
proposition the guarded words of Lardner him-
self: " There are no quotations of any books of
them (spurious and apocryphal books} in the
apostolical fathers, by whom 1 mean Barnabas,
Clement of Rome, Hernias, Ignatius, and Poly-
carp, whose writings reach from the year of our
Lord 70 to the year 108. / say this confidently,
because I think it has been proved." Lardncr,
vol. xii. p. 158.
Nor when they did appear were they much
used by the primitive Christians. " Irenaeus
quotes not any of these books. He mentions some
of them, but he never quotes them. The same
may be said of Tertullian : he has mentioned a
book called ' Acts of Paul and Thecla ;' but it is
only to condemn it. Clement of Alexandria and
Orioren have mentioned and quoted several such
books, but never as authority, and sometimes with
express marks of dislike. Eusebius quoted no such
books in any of his works. He has mentioned
them indeed, but how 1 Not by way of approba-
tion, but to shew that they were of little or no
value ; and that they never were received by the
sounder part of Christians." Now if with this,
which is advanced after the most minute and dili-
gent examination, we compare what the same cau-
tious writer had before said of our received Scrip-
tures, " that in the works of three only of the
above-mentioned fathers, there are more and larger
quotations of the small volume of the New Tes-
tament, than of all the works of Cicero in the
writers of all characters for several ages;" and if
with the marks of obscurity or condemnation,
which accompanied the mention of the several
apocryphal Christian writings, when they hap-
pened to be mentioned at all, we contrast what
Dr. Lardner's work completely and in detail
makes out concerning the writings which we de-
fend, and what, having so made out, he thought
himself authorized in his conclusion to assert,
that these books were not only received from
the beginning, but received with the greatest
respect ; have been publicly and solemnly read
in the assemblies of Christians throughout the
world, in every age from that time to this; early
" translated into the languages of divers countries
and people ; commentaries writ to explain and il-
lustrate them ; quoted by way of proof in all ar-
guments of a religious nature ; recommended to
the perusal of unbelievers, as containing the au-
thentic account of the Christian doctrine ; when
we attend, I say, to this representation, we per-
ceive in it not only full proof of the early no-
toriety of these books, but a clear and sensible
line of discrimination, which separates these from
the pretensions of any others.
The epistles of St. Paul stand particularly free
of any doubt or confusion that might arise from
this source. Until the conclusion of the fourth
century, no intimation appears of any attempt
whatever being made to counterfeit these writings ;
and then it appears only of a single and obscure
instance. Jerome, who flourished in the year 3!>'2,
has this expression : " Legunt quidam et ad Lao-
dicenses ; sed ab omnibus exploditur ;" there is also
an Epistle to the Laodiceans, but it is rejected by
every body.* Theodoret, who wrote in the year
423, speaks of this epistle in the same terms.t
* Lardner, vol. x. p. 103. t Ibid. vol. xi. p. 88.
Beside these, I know not whether any ancient
writer mentions it. It was certainly unnoticed
during the first three centuries of the church ; and
when it came afterwards to be mentioned, it was
mentioned only to show, that, though such a
writing did exist, it obtained no credit. It is pro-
bable that the forgery to which Jerome, alludes, is
-the epistle which "we now have under th;it title.
H'so, as hath been already observed, it is nothing
more than a ' collection of sentences from the
genuine epistles; and was perhaps, at first, rath* r
the exercise of some idle pen, than any serious at-
tempt to impose a forgery upon the public. Of
an Epistle to the Corinthians under St. Paul's
name, which was brought into Europe in the
present century, antiquity is entirely silent. It
was unheard of for sixteen centuries; and at this
day, though it be extant, and was first ibund in
the Armenian language, it is not, by the Chris-
tians of that country, received into their Scrip-
tures. I hope, alter this, that there is no reader
who will think there is any competition of credit,
or of external proof, between these and the re-
ceived Epistles ; or rather, who will not acknow-
ledge the evidence of authenticity to be con-
firmed by the want of success which attended im-
posture.
When we take into our hands the letters
which , the suffrage and consent of antiquity
hath thus transmitted to us, the first thing that
strikes our attention is the air of reality and bu-
siness, as well as of seriousness and conviction,
which pervades the whole. Let the sceptic read
them. If he be not sensible of these qualities in
them, the argument can have no weight with
him. If he be ; if he perceive in almost every
page the language of a mind actuated by real
occasions, and operating upon real circumstances,
I would wish it to be observed, that the proof
which arises from this perception is not to be
deemed occult or imaginary, because it is incapa-
ble of being drawn out in words, or of being con-
veyed to the apprehension of the reader in any
other way, than by sending him to the books
themselves.
And here, in its proper place, comes in the ar-
gument which it has been the office of these pases
to unfold. St. Paul's epistles are connected with
the history by their particularity, and by the nu-
merous circumstances which are found in them.
When we descend to an examination and com-
parison of these circumstances, we not only ob-
serve the history and the epistles to be indepen-
dent documents unknown to, or at least uncon-
sulted by, each other, but we find the substance,
and oftentimes very minute articles, of the history,
recognized in the epistles, by allusions and re-
ferences, which can neither be imputed to design,
nor, without a foundation in truth, be accounted
for by accident; by hints and expressions, and
single words dropping as it were fortuitously from
the pen of the writer, or drawn forth, each by some
occasion proper to the place in which it occurs,
"but widely removed from any view to consistency
or agreement. These, we know, are efl'ects which
reality naturally produces, but which, without
reality at the bottom, can hardly be conceived to
exist.
When therefore, with a body of external evi-
dencej which is relied upon, and which experience
proves may safely be relied upon, in appreciating
the credit of ancient writings, we combine charac-
THE CONCLUSION.
229
ters of genuineness and originality which are not
found, and which, in the nature and order of
things, cannot be expected to be found in spurious
compositions ; whatever difficulties we may meet
with in other topics of the Christian evidence, we
can have little in yielding our assent to the fol-
lowing conclusions : That there was such a per-
son as St. Paul ; that he lived in the age which
we ascribe to him ; that he went about preaching
the religion of which Jesus Christ was the founder ;
and that the letters which we now read were ac-
tually written by him upon the subject, and in the
course, of that his ministry.
And if it be true that we are in possession of
the very letters which St. Paul wrote, let us con-
sider what confirmation they aiford to the Chris-
tian history. In my opinion they substantiate the
whole transaction. The great object of modern re-
search is to come at the epistolary correspondence
of the times. Amidst the obscurities, the silence,
or the contradictions of history, if a letter can be
found, we regard it as the discovery of a land-
mark ; as that by which we can correct, adjust, or
supply the imperfections and uncertainties of other
accounts. One cause of the superior credit which
is attributed to letters is this, that the facts which
they disclose generally come out incidentally, and
therefore without design to mislead the public by
false or exaggerated accounts. This reason may
be applied to St. Paul's epistles with as much jus-
tice as to any letters whatever. Notliing could be
farther from the intention of the writer than to
record any part of his history. That his history
was in fact made public by these letters, and has
by the same means been transmitted to future ages,
is a secondary and unthouuht-of effect. The sin-
cerity therefore of the apostle's declarations cannot
reasonably be disputed; at least we are sure that
it was not vitiated by any desire of setting himself
off to the public at large. But these letters fonn
a part of the muniments of Christianity, as much
to be valued for their contents, as for their origi-
nality. A more inestimable treasure the care of
antiquity could not have sent down to us. Ueside
the proof they afford of the general reality of St.
Paul's history, of the knowledge which the author
of the Acts of the Apostles had obtained of that
history, and the consequent probability that he
was, what he professes himself to have been, a
companion of the apostles ; beside the support they
lend to these important inferences, they meet spe-
cifically some of the principal objections upon
which the adversaries of Christianity have thought
proper to rely. In particular they show,
I. That Christianity was not a story set on foot
amidst the confusions which attended and imme-
diately preceded the destruction of Jerusalem;
when many extravagant reports were circulated,
when men's minds were broken by terror and dis-
tress, when amidst the tumults that surrounded
them inquiry was impracticable. These letters
show incontestably that the religion had fixed and
established itself before this state of things took
place.
II. Whereas it hath been insinuated, that our
Gospels may have been made up of reports and
stories, which were current at the time, we may
observe that, with respect to the Epistles, this is
impossible. A man cannot write the history of his
own life from reports; nor, what is the same thing,
be led by reports to refer to passages and transac-
tions in which he states himself to have been im-
mediately present and active. I do not allow that
this insinuation is applied to the historical part of
the New Testament with any colour of justice or
probability; but I say, that to the Epistles it is not
applicable at all.
III. These letters prove that the converts to
Christianity were not drawn from the barbarous,
the mean, or the ignorant set of men which the re-
presentations of infidelity would sometimes make
them. We learn from letters the character not
only ef the writer, but, in some measure, of the
persons to whom they are written. To suppose
that these letters were addressed to a rude tribe,
incapable of thought or reflection, is just as rea-
sonable as to suppose Locke's Essay on the Hu-
man Understanding to have been written for the
instruction of savages. Whatever may be thought
of these letters in other respects, either of diction
or argument, they are certainly removed as far as
possible from the habits and comprehension of a
barbarous people.
IV. St. Paul's history, I mean so much of it as
may be collected from his letters, is so implicated
with that of the other apostles, and with the sub-
stance indeed of the Christian history itself, that
I apprehend it will IK? found impossible to admit
St. Paul's story (I do not speak of the miraculous
part of it) to l)c true, and yet to reject the rest as
fabulous. For instance, can any one believe that
there was such a man as Paul, a preacher of Chris-
tianity in the age which we assign to him, and
not believe that there was also at the same time
such a man as Peter and James, and other apos-
tles, who had been companions of Christ during
his life, and who after his death published anu
avowed the same things concerning him which
Paul taught! Judea, and especially Jerusalem,
was the scene of Christ's ministry. The witnesses
of his miracles lived there. St. Paul, by his own
account, as well as that of his historian, appears
to have frequently visited that city ; to have car-
ried on a communication with the church there;
to have associated with the rulers and elders of
that church, who were some of them apostles ; to
have acted, as occasions offered, in correspondence,
and sometimes in conjunction with them. Can
it, after this, be doubted, but that the religion and
the general facts relating to it, which St. Paul ap-
[>ear.s by his letters to have delivered to the seve-
ral churches which ho established at a distance,
were at the same time taught and published at Je-
rusalem itself, the place where the business was
transacted ; and taught and published by those
who had attended the founder of the institution in
his miraculous, or pretcndedly miraculous, minis-
try?
It is observable, for so it appears both in the
Epistles and from the Acts of the Apostles, that
Jerusalem, and the society of believers in that city,
long continued the centre from which the mission-
aries of the religion issued, with which all other
churches maintained a correspondence and con-
nexion, to which they referred their doubts, and
to whose relief, in times of public distress, they
remitted their charitable assistance. This obser-
vation I think material, because it proves that this
was not the case of giving our accounts in one
country of what is transacted in another, without
affording the hearers an opportunity of knowing
whether the things related were credited by any,
or even published^ in the place where they are re-
ported to have passed.
20
230
HOR.E PAULINA.
V. St. Paul's letters furnish evidence (and what
better evidence 'than a man's own letters can be
desired ?) of the soundness and sobriety of his
judgment. His caution in distinguishing l>etween
the occasional suggestions of inspiration, and the
ordinary exercise of his natural understanding, is
without example in the lu'story of human enthu-
siasm. His morality is every where calm, pure,
and rational; adapted to the condition, the activity,
and the business of social life, and of its various
relations; free from the overscrupulousness and
austerities of superstition, and from what was
more perhaps to be apprehended, the abstractions
of quietism, and the soarings and extravagancies
of fanaticism. His judgment concerning a hesi-
tating conscience; his opinion of the moral inditle-
rency of many actions, yet of the prudence and
even the duty of compliance, where non-compli-
ance would produce evil effects upon the minds of
the persons who observed it, is as correct and just
as the most liberal and enlightened moralist could
form at this day. The accuracy of modern ethics
has found nothing to amend in these determina-
tions.
What Lord Lyttleton has remarked of the pre-
ference ascribed by St. Paul to inward rectitude
of principle above every other religious accomplish-
ment, is very material to our present purpose.
"In his First Epistle to the Corinthians, chap.
xiii. 13, St. Paul has these words : Though I
speak with the tongue of men and of angels, and
have not charity, 1 am become as sounding brass
or a tinkling cymbal. And though I have the
gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries,
and all knowledge ; and though I have all faith,
so that I could remove mountains, and have not
charity, I am nothing. And though I bestow all
my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my
body to be burned, and have not charity, it pro-
Jitcth me nothing. " Is this the language of en-
thusiasm 1 Did ever enthusiast prefer that uni-
versal benevolence which comprehendeth all moral
virtues, and which, as appeareth by the following
verses, is meant by charity here ; . did ever enthu-
siast, I say, prefer that benevolence" (which we
may add is attainable by every man) " to faith and
to miracles, to those religious opinions which he
had embraced, and to those supernatural graces
and gifts which he imagined he had acquired ; nay,
even to the merit of martyrdom 1 Is it not the
genius of enthusiasm to set moral virtues infinitely
below the merit of faith ; and of all moral virtues
to value that least which is' most particularly en-
forced by St. Paul, a spirit of candour, moderation,
and peace 7 Certainly neither the temper nor the
opinions of a man subject to fanatic delusions are
to be found in this passage." Ltord Lyttleton's
Considerations on the Conversion, <fc.
I see no reason therefore to question the inte-
grity of his understanding. To call him a vision-
ary, because he appealed to visions; or an enthu-
siast, because he pretended to inspiration, is to
take the whole question for granted. It is to take
for granted that no such visions or inspirations
existed : at least it is to assume, contrary to his
own assertions, that he had no other proofs than
these to offer of his mission, or of the truth of his
relations.
One thing I allow, that his letters every where
discover great zeal and earnestness in the cause in
which he was engaged ; that is to say, he was
convinced of the truth of what he taught ; he was
] deeply impressed, but not more BO than the occa-
sion merited, with a sense of its inijwrtance. This
produces a corresjwnding animation and solicitude
in the exercise of his ministry. But would not
these considerations, supposing them to be well
founded, haveholden the same place, and produced
the same ellect, in a mind the strongest and the
most sedate 1
VI. These letters are decisive as to the suffer-
ings of the author ; also as to the distressed state
of the Christian church, and the dangers which
attended the preaching of the Gospel.
" Whereof I Paul am made a minister ; who
now rejoice in my sufferings for you, and fill up
that which is "behind of the afflictions of Christ in
my flesh, for his body's sake, which is the church."
Col. ch. i. 24.
" If in this life only we have hope in Christ, we
are of all men most miserable," 1 Cor. ch. xv. 9.
" Why stand we in jeopardy every hour 1 I pro-
test by your rejoicing, which I have in Christ Je-
sus our Lord, I die daily. If, after the manner of
men, I have fought with beasts at Ephesus, what
advantageth it me, if the dead rise not 1" 1 Cor.
ch. xv. 30, &c.
" If children, then heirs ; heirs of God, and joint
heirs with Christ ; if so be that we suffer with
him, that we may be also glorified together. For
I reckon that the sufferings of this present time
are not worthy to be compared with the glory
which shall be revealed in us " Rom. chap. viii.
17, 18.
" Who shall separate us from the love of Christ?
shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or
famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword ? As it
is written, for thy sake we are killed all the day
long, we are accounted as sheep for the slaughter,"
Rom. ch. viii. 35, 36.
" Rejoicing in hope, patient in tribulation,
continuing instant in prayer," Rom. ch. xii. 12.
11 Now concerning virgins I have no command-
ment of the Lord; yet I give my judgment as one
that hath Obtained mercy of the Lord to be faith-
ful. I suppose therefore that this is good for the
present distress ; I say, that it is good for a man
so to be," 1 Cor. ch. vii. -25, *2ti.
" For unto you it is given, in the behalf of Christ,
not only to believe on him, but also to suffer for
his sake, having the same conflict which ye saw
in me, and now hear to be in me," Phil. ch. i.
29, 30.
" God forbid that I should glory, save in the
cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, by whom the
world is crucified unto me, and I unto the world."
- " From henceforth let no man trouble me, for I
bear in my body the marks of the Lord Jesus,"
Gal. ch. vi. 14, 17.
" Ye became followers of us, and of the Lord,
having received the wdrd in much affliction, with
joy of the Holy Ghost," 1 Thess. ch. i. l>.
" We ourselves glory in you in the churches of
God, for your patience and faith in all your perse-
cutions and tribulations that ye endure," 2 Thess.
chap. i. 4.
We may seem to have accumulated texts un-
necessarily; but beside that the point which they
are brought to prove is of great importance, there
is this also to l>e remarked in every one of the
passages cited, that the allusion is drawn from the
writer by the argument or the occasion ; that the
notice which is taken of his sufferings, and of the
suffering condition of Christianity, is perfectly in-
THE CONCLUSION.
231
cidcntal, and is dictated by no design of stating
the tacts themselves. Indeed they are not stated
at all; they may rather be said to be assumed.
This is a distinction upon which we have relied
a good deal in former parts of this treatise ; and.
where the writer's information cannot be doubted,
it always, in my opinion, adds greatly to the value
and credit of the testimony.
If any reader require from the apostle more di-
rect and explicit assertions of the same thing, he
will receive full satisfaction in the following <jtio-
tations.
" Are they ministers of Christ 1 (I speak as a
fool) 1 am more; in labours more abundant, in
stripes above measure, in prisons more frequent.
in deaths oft. Of the Jews Jive times received 1
forty stripes save one. Thrice wa3 I beaten with
rods, once was I stoned; thrice 1 suffered ship-
wreck, a night and a day 1 have been in the deep ;
in journeying* often, in perils of waters, in perils
of robbers", hi perils by mine own countrymen, in
perils by the heathen, in perils in the city, in
perils in the wilderness, in perils in the MI. in
perils among false brethren; in weariness and
painfulness, in watchings often, in hunger and
thirst, in fastings often, in cold and nakedness/'
2 Cor. ch. xi. i23 28.
Can it be necessary to add morel " I think
that God hath set forth us the apostles last, as it
were appointed to death: for we are made. a spec-
tacle unto the world, and to angels, and to men.
Even unto this present hour we l>oth hunger and
thirst, and are naked, and arc buffeted, and ha\e
no certain dwelling-place; and labour, working
with our own hands: being reviled, we bless;
being persecuted, we suffer it; being defamed, we
entreat: we are made as the filth of the earth,
and are the offscouring of all things unto this day,"
1 Cor. ch. iv. 9 13. 1 subjoin this passage to
the former, because it extends to the other apostles
of Christianity much of that which St. Paul de-
clared concerning himself.
In the following quotations, the reference to the
authorls sufferings is accompanied with a specifi-
cation of time and place, and with an appeal for
the truth of what he declares to the knowledge of
the persons whom he addresses : " Even after that
we had suffered before, and were shamefully en-
treated, as ye know, at Philippi, we were bold in
our God to speak unto you the Gospel of God
with much contention," 1 Thess. ch. ii. 2.
" But thou hast fully known my doctrine,
manner of life, purpose, faith, long-suffering, per-,
sccutions, afflictions, which came unto me at An-
tioch, at Iconium, at Lystra : what persecutions
I endured : but out of them all the Lord delivered
me," 2 Tim. ch. hi. 10, 11.
I apprehend that to this point, as far as the tes^
timony of St. Paul is credited, the evidence from
his letters is complete and full. It appears under
every form in which it could appear, by occasional
allusions and by direct assertions, by general de-
clarations, and by specilic examples.
VII. St. Paul in these letters asserts, in posi-
tive and unequivocal terms, his performance of
miracles strictly and properlvso called.
" He therefore that ministereth te you the
Spirit, and worketh miracles (v^y<v **;)
among you, doth he it by the works of the
law, or by the hearing of faith 1" Gal. chap,
iii. 5.
" For I will not dare to speak of any of those
things which Christ hath not wrought by me, *
to make the Gentiles obedient, by word and deed,
tlurough mighty signs and wonders (sv S\>v*pn
a-nftituv x*i Tt e <*To>v,) by the power of the Spirit of
God : so that from Jerusalem, and round about
unto Illyricum, I have fully preached the Gospel
of Christ," Rom. ch. xv. 18, 1!).
" Truly the signs of an apostle were wrought
among you in all patience, in signs and wonders
and mighty deeds," (>v o-if^sjojg x* Ti^aa-* x Svy*-
(*:<n. t) '2 Cor. ch. xii. I k 2.
These words, signs, wonders, and mighty deeds,
(a-^^stct, xai Ti e T*, x*< Juwafti.j,) are the specific
appropriate terms throughout the New Testament,
c-in ployed when public sensible miracles are in-
tended to be expressed. This will appear by con-
sulting, amongst other places, the texts referred
to in the note ; t and it cannot l>e known that they
are ever employed to express any thing else.
Secondly, these words not only, denote mira-
cles as opposed to natural effects, but they denote
usible, and what may be called external, miracles,
as distinguished,
First, from inspiration. If St. Paul had meant
to refer only to secret illuminations of his under-
standing, or secret influences upon his- will or
affections, he could not, with truth, have repre-
sented them as " signs and wonders wrought by
him," or " signs and wonders and mighty deeds
wrought amongst thorn."
Secondly, from visions. These would not, by
any means, satisfy the force of the terms, '.-ii.nis,
wonders, and mighty deeds;" still less could they
be said to be "wrought by him," or "wrought
amongst them:" nor are these terms and expres-
sions any where applied to visions. When our
author alludes to the supernatural communica-
tions which he had received, either by vision or
otherwise, he uses expressions suited to the
nature of the subject, but very different from
the words which we have quoted. He calls
them revelations, but never signs, wonders, or
mighty deeds. " I will come," says he, " to
visions and revelations of the Lord ;" and then
proceeds to describe a particular instance, and
afterwards adds. " lest I should be exalted above
measure through the abundance of the revela-
tions, there was given me a thorn in the flesh."
* i. e. ' I will speak of nothing but what Christ hath
wrought by me ;" or, as Grotius interprets it, "Christ
hath wrought so great things by me, that I will not dare
to say what In- hath not wrought."
t To these may be added the following indirect allu-
sions, which, though ifthcy had stood alone, i. e. with-
out plainer texts in the saine writings, they might have
been accounted dubious ; yet, when considered in con-
junction with. the passages already cited, can hardly re-
ceive any other interpretation than that which we give
them.
" My.speech and my preaching was not with enticing
words of men v s wisdom, but in demonstration of the
spirit and of power ; that your faith should not stand in
the wisdom of men, but in the power of God;" 1 Cor.
ch. ii. 40.
" The Gospel, whereof I was made a minister, accord-
ing to the gift of the grace of God given unto me by the
effectual working of his power," Ephes. ch. iii. 7.
" For he* that wrought effectually in I'eter to the
apostleship of the circumcision, the same was mighty
IH me towards the Gentiles," Gal. ch. ii. 8.
- " For our Gospel came not unto you in word only,
but also in power and in the Holy Gkost, ami in mach
assurance," 1 Thess. ch. i. 5.
t Mark xvi. 20. Inike xxiii. 8. John ii. 11, 23; iii.
2 ; iv. 48, 54 ; xi. 49. Acts ii. 22 ; iv. 3 ; v. 12 ; vi. 8 ; vii.
16; xiv. 3; xv. 12. Heb. ii. 4.
233
HOllJE PAULINA.
Upon the whole, the matter admits of no soft
ening qualification, or ambiguity whatever. If St
Paul did not work actual, sensible public nuradrs,
he has knowingly, in these letters, borne his tes-
timony to a falsehood. I need not add, that, in
two also of the quotations, he has advanced his
assertion in the face of those persons amongst
whom he declares the miracles to have been
wrought.
Let it be remembered that the Acts of the Apos-
tles described various particular miracles wrought
by St. Paul, which in their nature answers to the
terms and expressions which we have seen to be
used by St. Paul himself.
Here then we have a man of liberal attain-
ments, and in other points of sound judgment, who
had addicted his life to the service of the Gospel.
We see him, in the prosecution of his purpose,
travelling from country to country enduring every
species of hardship, encountering every extremity
of danger, assaulted by the populace, punished by
the magistrates, scourged, beat, stoned, left for
dead ; expecting, wherever he came, a renewal of
the same treatment, and the same dangers, yet,
when driven from one city, preaching in the next ;
spending his whole time in the employment, sa-
crificing to it his pleasures, hia ease, his safety ;
persisting in this course to old age, unaltered by
the experience of perverseness, ingratitude, preju-
dice, desertion ; unsubdued by anxiety, want,
labour, persecutions ; unwearied by long confine-
ment, undismayed by the prospect of death.
Such was St. Paul. We have his letters in our
hands ; we have also a history purporting to be
written by one of his fellow-travellers, and ap|>oar-
ing, by a comparison with thrw letters, certainly
to have been written by some person well ac-
quainted with the transactions of his life. From
the letters, as well as from the history, we gather
not only the account which we have stated of him,
but that he was one out of many who acted and
suffered in the same manner ; and that of those
who did so, several had been the companions of
Christ's ministry, the ocular witnesses, or pre-
tending to be such, of his miracles, and of his
resurrection. We moreover find this same per-
son referring in his letters to his supernatural con-
version, the particulars and accompanying circum-
stances of which are related in the history, and
which accompanying circumstances, if all or any
of them be true, render it impossible to have been
a delusion. We also find him positively, and in ap-
propriated terms, asserting that he himself worked
miracles, strictly and properly so called, in sup-
port of the mission which he executed ; the his-
tory, meanwhile, recording various passages of his
ministry, which come up to the extent of this as-
sertion. The question is, whether falsehood was
ever attested by evidence like this. Falsehoods,
we know, have found their way into reports, into
tradition, into books ; but is an example to be met
with, of a man voluntarily undertaking a life of
want and pain, of incessant fatigue, of continual
peril ; submitting to the loss of his home and coun-
;ry, to stripes and stoning, to tedious imprison-
ment, and the constant expectation of a violent
death, for the sake of carrying about a story of
what was false, and of what, if false, he must
lave known to be so 1
THE
CLERGYMAN'S COMPANION
IN
VISITING THE SICK:
CONTAINING,
I. RULES FOR VISITING THE SICK. II. THE OFFICE FOR THE VISITATION OF THE SICK.
III. THE COMMUNION OF THE SICK. IV. A GREAT VARIETY OF OCCASIONAL PRAYERS
FOR THE SICK; COLLECTED FROM THE WRITINGS OF SOME OF THE MOST EMINENT
DIVINES OF THE CHURCH OF ENGLAND I TO WHICH ARE ADDED, THE OFFICES OF
PUBLIC AND PRIVATE BAPTISM, WITH ADDITIONS AND ALTERATIONS.
PREFACE.
THIS collection has been so much esteemed, that it has passed through nine editions. Having now
become exceedingly scarce, it was thought proper to reprint it.
The rules for Visiting the Sick, in five sections, are extracted chiefly from the works of Bishop
Taylor. The Occasional Prayers are taken from the devotional tracts of Bishop Patrick, Mr. Ket-
tlewcll, and other pious and judicious divines. But in this Edition, the antiquated style of those
writers is corrected and improved ; at the same tune, a spirit of rational piety, and unaffected simpli-
city, are carefully preserved.
A prayer by Dr. Stonehouse, and four by Mr. Merrick, the celebrated translator of the Psalms,
are added to the old collection.
The offices of Public and Private Baptism, though no ways relating to the Visitation of the Sick,
are retained ; as, in the present form, they will be convenient for the Clergy in the course of their
parochial duty.
CANON LXVII.
MINISTERS TO VISIT THE SICK.
WHEN any person is dangerously sick in any parish, the minister or curate, having knowledge there-
of, shall resort unto him, or her, (if the disease be not known, or probably suspected to be infectious,"',
to instruct and comfort them in their distress, according to the order of Communion, if he be no
preacher ; oj, if he be a preacher, then as he shall think most needful and convenient.
IT is recommended to the Clergy to write out the prayers, which are to be used by the Sick them-
selves, or by the persons whose devotions they wish to assist, and to leave the copies with them.
2G 233 20*
THE
MANNER OF VISITING THE SICK;
ASSISTANCE THAT IS TO BE GIVEN TO SICK AND DYING PERSONS BY
THE MINISTRY OF THE CLERGY.
SECTION I.
IN all the days of our spiritual warfare, from
our baptism to our burial, God has appointed hi
servants the ministers of the church, to supply th
necessities of the .people, by ecclesiastical duties
and prudently to guide, and carefully to judg
concerning, souls committed to their charge.
And, therefore, they who all their lifetime de
rive blessings from the Fountain of Grace, by th
channels of ecclesiastical ministers, ought then
more especially to do it in the time of their sick
ness, when their needs are more prevalent, accord
ing to that known apostolical injunction: "I
any man sick among you, let him send for thi
elders of the church, and let them pray ove
him," &c.
The sum of the duties and offices, respectivel)
implied in these words, may be collected from the
following rules.
SECTION II.
Rules for the Manner of Visiting the Sick.
1. LET the minister be sent to, not when the
sick is in the agonies of death, as it is usual to do
but before his sickness increases too much upon
him : for when the soul is confused and disturbed
by the violence of the distemper, and death begins
to stare the man in the face, there is little reason
to hope for any good effect from the spiritual man's
visitation. For how can any regular administra-
tion take place, when the man is all over in a dis-
order 1 how can he be called upon to confess his
sins, when his tongue falters, and his memory
fails him 1 how can he receive any benefit by the
prayers which are offered up for him, when he is
not able to give attention to them ? or how can he
be comforted upon any sure grounds of reason or
religion, when his reason is just expiring, and all
his notions of religion together with it 1 or when
the man, perhaps, had never any real sentiments
of religion before 1
It is, therefore, a matter of sad consideration,
that the generality of the world look upon ,the
minister, in the time of their sickness, as'the sure
forerunner of death; and think his office so much
relates to another world, that he is not to be treated
with, as long as there is any hope of living in this.
Whereas it is highly requisite the minister be sent
for, wherr the sick person is able to be conversed
with and instructed; and can understand, or be
taught to understand, the case of his soul, and the
234
rules of his conscience, and all the several bearings
of religion, with respect to God, his neighbour
and himself. For to prepare a soul for its change
is a work of great difficulty ; and the intercourses
of the minister with the sick have so much variety
in them, that they are not to be transacted at
once. Sometimes there is need of special reme-
dies against impatience, and the fear of death ; not
only to animate, but to make the person desirous
and willing to die. Sometimes it is requisite to
awaken the conscience by " the terrors of the
Lord ;" to open by degrees all the labyrinths of
sin (those innumerable windings and turnings
which insensibly lead men into destruction,) which
the habitual sensualist can never be able to disco-
ver, unless directed by the particular grace of
God, and the assistance of a faithful and ju-
dicious guide. Sometimes there is need of the
balm of comfort, to pour in " oil and wine" (with
the good Samaritan) into the bleeding wound,
by representing the tender mercies of God, and
the love of his Son Jesus Christ, to mankind:
and at other times it will be necessary to "reprove,
rebuke, and exhort, with all long suffering and
doctrine :" so, that a clergyman's duty, in the vi-
sitation of the sick, is not over at once : but at
one time he must pray ; at another, he must assist,
advise, and direct ; at another, he must open to
him the nature of repentance, and exhort him to
a confession of his sins, both to God and man, in
all those cases which require it : and, at another
time, he must give him absolution, and the sacra-
ment of the body and blood of our Lord.
And, indeed, he that ought to watch all the
periods of his life, in the days of his health, lest
ie should be surprised and overcome, had need,
when he is sick, be assisted and called upon, and
reminded of the several parts of his duty in every
nstant of his temptation.
The want of this makes the visitations of the
clor<ry fruitless, because they are not suffered to
mprint those proper effects upon the sick, which
are needful in so important a ministration.
2-. When the minister is come, let him discourse
:oncerning the causes of sickness, and by a gene-
al argument move him to a consideration of his
ondition. Let him call upon him first, in general
erins, "to set his house in order," "to trim and
dorn his lamp," and " to prepare himself for an-
ther world.;" and then let him perform the cus-
omary duties of prayer, and afterwards descend
o other particulars, as occasion shall offer, and
ircumstances require.
3. According to the condition of the man, and
VISITING THE SICK.
235
the nature of his sickness, every act of visitation
is to be proportioned. If his condition be full of
pain and infirmity, the exhortation ought to be
shortened, and the minister more "instant in
ner:" and the little service the sick man can
>r himself should be supplied by the charitable
care of his guide, who is in such a case to speak
more to God for him than to talk to him : " prayer
of the righteous," when it is " fervent," hath a
promise to "prevail much in behalf of the sick"
person : but exhortations must prevail by their
own proper weight, and not by the paesion of the
speaker; and, therefore, should be offered when
the sick is able to receive them. And even in this
assistance of prayer, if the sick man joins with the
minister, the prayers should l>e short, fervent, and
ejaculatory, apt rather to comply with his weak
condition, than wearisome to his spirits, in tedious
and long offices. But in case it api>e;irs he hath
sufficient strength to go along with the minister.
he is then more at liberty to offer up long petitions
for him.
After the minister hath made this preparatory
entrance to this work of much time and deli-
beration, he may descend to the particulars
of his duty, in the following method.
SECTION III.
Of instructing the sick Man in the nature of
Repentance, and Confession of his Sins.
THE first duty to be rightly stated to the sick
man, is that of repentance ; in which the minister
cannot be more serviceable to him than by laying
before him a regular scheme of it, and exhorting
him at the same time to a free and ingenuous de-
claration of the state of his soul. For unless t hey
know the manner of his life and the several kinds
and degrees of those sins which require his peni-
tential sorrow or restitution, either they can do
nothing at all, or nothing of advantage and certain-
ty. Wherefore the minister may move him to
this in the following manner :
Arguments and Exhortations to more the sick
Man to Repentance, and Confession of his
Sins.
1. That repentance is a duty indispensably ne-
cessary to salvation. That to this end, all the
preachings and endeavours of the prophets and
apostles are directed. That our Saviour " came
down from heaven," on purpose " to call sinners to
repentance."* That as it is a necessary duty at
all times, so more especially in the time of sick-
ness, when we are commanded in a particular
manner to " set our house in order." That it is a
work of great difficulty, consisting in general of a
" change of mind," and a " change of life." Upon
which account it is called in Scripture, " a state
of regeneration, or new birth ;" a " conversion
from sin to God;" a " being renewed in the spirit
of our minds;" a " putting off the old man, which
is corrupt according to the deceitful lasts of the
flesh," and a " putting on the new man, which is
created in righteousness and true holiness." That
so great a change as this, is not to be effected at
* Matt. ix. 13.
once, but requires the utmost self-denial and reso-
lution to put it in execution, consisting in general
of the following particulars: 1. A sorrowful
sense of our sins: 2. An humble confession of
them : 3. An unfeigned abhorrence and forsaking
of them, and turning to the Lord our God with all
our hearts: 4. A patient continuance in well-
doing to the end of our lives.
These are the constituent and essential parts
of a true repentance; which may severally be dis-
played from the following motives of reason and
Scfipture ; as opportunity shall serve, and the sick
man's condition permit.
The first .part of a true repentance is a sorrow-
ful sense of our sins, which naturally produceth
this good effect, as we may learn from St. Paul,
(2 Cor. vii. 10,) where he teils us. that " godly sor-
row worketh repentance." Without it, to be sure,
there can be no such thing ; for how can a man
repent of that wlu'ch he is not sorry for 1 ? or,
how can any one sincerely ask pardon and for-
giveness for what he is not concerned or troubled
about 1
A sorrowful sense, then, of our sins, is the first
part of a true re|)entance, the necessity whereof
may be seen from thejnievpus and abominable
nature of sin ; as, 1. That it made so wide a se-
paration U-twixt God and man, that nothing but
the blood of his only begotten Son could suffice to
atone for its intolerable guilt : 2. That it carries
along with it the/ basest ingratitude, as being done
against our heavenly Father, " in wjiom we live,
and move, and have our being :" 3. That the con-
sequence of it is nothingness than eternal ruin,
in that "the wrath of God is revealed against all
impenitent sinners;" and "the wages of sin is
death," not only temporal but eternal
From these and the like considerations, the
penitent may further learn, that to be sorry for
our sins is a great and important duty. That it
does not consist in a little trivial concern, a super-
ficial sigh, or tear, or calling ourselves sinners, &c.
but in a real, ingenuous, pungent, and afflicting
sorrow : for, can that which cast our parents out
of Paradise at first, that brought down the Son
of God afterwards from heaven, and put him at
last to such a cruel and shameful death, be now
thought to be done away by a single tear or a
groan 1 Can so base a piece of ingratitude, as re-
helling against the Lora of glory, who gives us all
we have, be supposed to be pardoned by a slender
submission ? Or can that which deserves the tor-
ment of hell, be sufficiently atoned for by a little
indignation and superficial remorse 1
True repentance, therefore, is ever accompanied
with a deep and afflicting sorrow ; a sorrow that
will make us so irreconcilable to sin, as that we
shall choose rather to die than to live in it. For
so the bitterest accents of grief are all ascribed to
a true repentance in Scripture ; such as a " weep-
ing sorely," or " bitterly;" a " weeping day and
night;" a "repenting in dust and ashes;" a
"putting on sackcloth;" "fasting and prayer,"
&c. Thus holy David : " I am troubled, I am
bowed down greatly, I go mourning all the day
long, and that by reason of mine- iniquities, which
are gone over my head, and, as a heavy burden,
are too heavy for me to bear:" Ps. xxxviii. 4, 6.
Thus Ephraim could say : " After that I was
instructed, I smote upon my thigh : I was ashamed,
yea, even confounded, because I did bear the re-
proach of my youth:" Jer. xxxi. 19.
236
THE CLERGYMAN'S COMPANION.
And this is the proper satisfaction for sin which
God expects, and hath promised to accept; as,
Ps. Ii. 17: " The sacrifices of God are a broken
spirit : a broken and contrite heart. O God, thou
wilt not despise." ^ '
2. The next thing requisite in a true repent-
ance, is confession of sins, which naturally fol-
lows the other ; for if a man be so deeply afflicted
with sorrow for his sins, he will be glad to be rid
of them as soon as he can ; and the way for this,
is humbly to confess them to God, who hath pro-
mised to forgive us if we do. " I said, I will con-
fess my sins unto the Lord," saith the Psalmist;
"and so thou forgavest the wickedness of my
sin," Ps. xxxii. 6. So, Prov. xxviii. 13, and
1 John i. 9: "If we confess our sins, God is
faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to
cleanse us from all unrighteousness." So the re-
turning prodigal went to his father with an hum-
ble confession of his baseness, and was received
into favour again. Luke xv. 18, 19.
And because the number of our sins are like
the hairs of our head, or the sand of the sea, and
almost as various too in their kinds as their num-
bers ; confession must needs be a very extensive
duty, and require the strictest care and examina-
tion of ourselves : for " who can tell how oft he
ofiendethT' saith David; " O, cleanse thou me
from my secret faults!"
The penitent, therefore, should be reminded,
that his confession be as minute and particular as
it can ; since the more particular the confession
is, to be sure, the more sincere and safe the re-
pentance.
3. A third thing requisite in a true repentance,
is an unfeigned abhorrence and forsaking of sin,
and turning to the Lord our God with all our
hearts.
For so we find them expressly joined together
by St. Paul, when he charges those whom by
vision he was sent to convert, to change* their
mind, and " turn to God, and do Works meet for
repentance :" Acts xxvi. 20. And a little before,
he says, he was sent " to open their eyes, and turn
them from darkness to light, and from the power
of Satan unto God, that they may receive for-
giveness of sin :" ver. 18. And we shall always
find, when we are commanded to cease from evil,
it is in order to do good.
The penitent, therefore, must be reminded, not
only to confess and be sorry for his sins, but like-
wise to forsake them. For it is he only " who con-
fesseth and forsaketh his sins, that shall have
mercy :" Prov. xxviii. 13. And this forsaking must
not be only for the present, during his sickness,
or for a week, a month, or a year ; but for his
whole life, be it never so protracted: which is
the
4. Last thing requisite in a true repentance,
viz. " a patient continuance hi well-doing to the
end of our lives." For as the holy Jesus assures
us, that " he that endureth unto the end shall be
saved ;" so does the Spirit of God profess, that
" if any man draw back, his soul shall have no
pleasure in him:" Heb. x. 38. Hence we are
said to " be partakers of Christ, if we hold the
beginning of our confidence steadfast to the end,"
Heb. iii. 14, but not else; for it is to "him only
that overcometh, and keepeth his works to the
end," that our Saviour hath promised a reward :
/UITVOHV.
Rev. ii. 26. Hence our religion is said to be a
continual warfare, and we must be constantly
M pressing forward toward the mark of our high
calling," with the apostle, lest we fail of the
prize.
And this it is which makes a death-bed re-
pentance so justly reckoned to be very full of
hazard ; such as none who defer it till then, can
depend upon with any real security. For let a
man be never so seemingly penitent in the day of
his visitation, yet none but God can tell whether
it be sincere or not ; since nothing is more com-
mon than for those who expressed the greatest
signs of a lasting repentance upon a sick bed, to
forget all their vows and promises of amendment,
as soon as God had removed the judgment, and
restored them to their former health. " It hap-
pened to them according to the true proverb," as
St. Peter says, " The dog is turned to his own
vomit again, and the sow that was washed to her
wallowing in the mire," 2 Pet. ii. 22.
The sick penitent, therefore, should be often
reminded of this: that nothing will be looked
upon as true repentance, but what would ter-
minate in a holy life : that, therefore, he ought to
take great heed, that his repentance be not only
the effect of his present danger, but that it be last-
ing and sincere, "bringing forth works meet for
repentance," should it please God mercifully to
prove him by a longer life.
But here it is much to be feared, that after all
his endeavours to bring men to a sight of them-
selves, and to repent them truly of their sins, the
spiritual man will meet with but very little en-
couragement : for if we look round the world, we
shall find the generality of men to be of a rude
indifference, and a seared conscience, and mightily
ignorant of their condition with respect to another
world, being abused by evil customs and princi-
ples, apt to excuse themselves, and to be content
with a certain general and indefinite confession ;
so that if you provoke them never so much to
acknowledge their faults, you shall hardly ever
extort any thing farther from them than this, viz.
"That they are sinners, as every man hath his
infirmity, and they as well as any ; but, God be
thanked, they have done no injury to any man,
but are in charity with all the world." And, per-
haps they will tell you, "they are no swearers,
no adulterers, no rebels, &c. but that, God forgive
them, they must needs acknowledge themselves
to be sinners in the main," &c. And if you can
open their breasts so far, it will be looked upon as
sufficient; to go any farther, will be to do the
office of an accuser, not of a friend.
But, which is yet worse, there arc a great many
persons who have been so used to an habitual
course of sin, that the crime is made natural and
necessary to them, and they have no remorse of
conscience for it, but think themselves in a state
of security very often when they stand upon the
brink of damnation. This happens in the cases
of drunkenness and lewd practices, and luxury,
and idleness, and inisspeiKlinir of the sabbath, and
in lying and vain jesting, and slandering of others;
and particularly in such evils as the laws do not
aunish, nor public customs shame, but which
ire countenanced by potent sinners, or wicked
fashions, or good-nature and mistaken civilities.
In these and the like cases, the spiritual man
must endeavour to awaken their consciences
by such means as follow :
IN VISITING THE SICK.
237
Arguments and general Heads of Discourse, by
way of Consideration, to awaken a stupid
Conscience, and the careless Sinner.
1 . And here let the minister endeavour to affect
his conscience, by representing to him,
That Christianity is a holy and strict religion :
that the promises of heaven are so great, that it is
not reasonable to think a small matter and a little
duty will procure it for us : that religious persons
are always the most scrupulous; and that lo feel
nothing, is not a sign of life, but of death: that
we live in an age in which that which is called
and esteemed a holy life, in the days of the apos-
tles and primitive Christianity would have been
esteemed indifferent, sometimes scandalous, and
always cold: that when we ha\e "done our best,
all our righteousness is but as filthy rags;" and
we can never do too much to make our " calling
and election sure:" that every good man ought to
be suspicious of himself, fearing the worst, that
he may provide for the l>est: that even St. Paul,
and several other remarkable saints, had at some
times great apprehensionsof failing of the "mighty
prize of their high calling:" that we are com-
manded to '' work out our salvation with Irar and
trembling;" inasmuch as we shall lie called to an
account, not only for our sinful words and deeds.
but even for our very thoughts: that if we keep
all the commandments of ( Jod, and ' yet offend
in one point, (i.e. wilfully and habitually,) we are
guilty of all," James ii. 10: that no man can tell
how oft he offendelh. the best of lives lieing full of
innumerable blemishes in the sight of God, how-
ever they may apjwar before men; that no man
ought to judge of the ^late <>f his soul by the cha-
racter he has in thr world ; ti-r a ':n\it many |x>r-
sons go to hell, who have lived in a fair reputation
here; and a great many, on the other hand. go to
heaven, who have Itccii loaded with infamy and
reproach: that the work of religion is a work of
great difficulty, trial, and temptation: that "many
are called, but few are chosen ;" that " strait is the
gate, and narrow is the way, that leadeth to life,
and few there be that find it:" and lastly, that.
"if the righteous themselves shall scarcely be
saved, ' there will lx> no place for t he unrighteousand
sinner to apjiear in, but of horror and amazement.
By these and such-Iike motives to consideration,
the spiritual man is to awaken the careless sinner,
and to bring him to repentance and confession of
his sins ; and if either of himself, or by this means,
the sick man is brought to a right sense of his
condition : then,
2. Let the minister proceed to assist him in un-
derstanding the number of his sins, i. e. the seve-
ral kinds of them, and the various ways of preva-
ricating with the Divine commandments. Let him
make him sensible how every sin is aggravated,
more or less, according to the different circum-
stances of it; as by the greatness or smallness of
the temptation, the scandal it gives to others, the
dishonour it does to religion, the injury it brings
along with it to those whom it more immediately
concerns; the degrees of Ixildness and impudence,
the choice in acting it, the continuance in it, the
expense, desires, and habit of it, &c.
3. Let the sick man, in the scrutiny of his con-
science and confession of his sins, be carefully re-
minded to consider those sins which arc no w'here
condemned but in the court of conscience : for t here
are certain secret places of darkness, artificial
Minds of the devil, which he uses to hide our sins
from us, and to incorporate them into our affections,
by the general practice of others, and the mistaken
notions of the world: as, 1. Many sins before
men are accounted honourable; such as lighting
a duel, returning evil for evil, blow for blow, &c.
2. Some things are not forbidden by the law of
man, as lying in ordinary discourse, jeering, scoff-
ing, intemperate eating, ingratitude, circumvent-
ing another in contracts, outwitting and overreach-
ing in bargains, extorting and taking advantage
of the necessities or ignorance of other people, im-
portunate entreaties and temptations of persons
to many instances of sin, as intemperance, pride,
and ambition, &c.; all which, therefore, do strange-
ly blind the understanding and captivate the affec-
tions of sinful men, and lead them into a thousand
snares of the devil which they are not aware of.
3. Some Bothers do not reckon that they sin against
God, if the laws have seized upon the person : and
many who are imprisoned for debt, think them-
selves disengaged from payment ; and when they
}iay the penalty, think they owe nothing for the
scandal and disobedience. 4. Some sins are
thought not considerable, but go under the titles
of sins of infirmity, or inseparable accidents of
mortality; such as idle thoughts, foolish talking,
loose revi-llings. impatience, anger, and all the
events of evil company. 5. Lastly ; many things
are thought to he no sins : such as mispending of
their time, whole days or months of useless or im-
pertinent employment, long gaming, winning
men's money in great portions, censuring men's
actions, curiosity, equivocating in the prices of buy-
ing and selling, rudeness in speech or behaviour,
speaking uncharitable truths, and the like.
These are some of those artificial veils and co-
verings, under the dark shadow of which the ene-
my of mankind makes very many to lie liid from
themselves, blinding them with false notions of
honour, and the" mistaken opinions and practices
of the world, with public permission and impunity,
or (it may be) a temporal penalty ; or else with
prejudice, or ignorance and infirmity, and direct
error in judgment.
Now, in all these cases, the ministers are to be
inquisitive, and strictly careful, that such kind of
fallacies prevail not over the sick ; but that those
tilings, which passed without observation before,
may now 1x5 brought forth, and pass under the
severity of a strict and impartial censure, religious
sorrow, and condemnation.
4. To this may be added a general display of
the neglect and omission of our duty ; for in them
lies the bigger half of our failings > and yet, in
many instances, they are undiscerned ; because
our consciences have not been made tender and
perceptible of them. But whoever will cast up his
accounts, even with a superficial eye, will quickly
find that he hath left undone, for the generality, as
many things which he ought to have done, as he
hath committed those he ought not to have done:
such as the neglect of public or private prayer, of
reading the Scriptures, and instructing his family,
or those that are under him, in the principles of
religion: the not discountenancing sin to the
utmost of his power, especially in the personages
of great -men: .the "not redeeming the time,"
and "growing in grace," and doing all the good
he can in his generation : the frequent omissions
of the great d^ty of charity, in visiting the sick,
relieving the needy, and comforting the nlllicl
ed : the want of obedience, duty, and respect to
THE CLERGYMAN'S COMPANION
parents: the doing the work of God negligently,
or not discharging himself with that .fidelity, care,
and exactness, which is incumbent upon him, in
the station wherein the providence of God hath
placed him, &c.
5. With respect to those sins which are. com-
mitted against man, let the minister represent to
the sick man that he can have no assurance of his
pardon, unless he is willing to make all suitable
amends arid satisfaction to hjs offended and in-
jured brethren; as for instance, if he hath lived
in enmity with any, that he should labour to be
reconciled to them ; if he is in debt, that he should
do his utmost to discharge it ; or if he hath injured
any one in his substance or credit, that he should
endeavour to make restitution in kind for the one,
and all possibly satisfaction for the other, by hum-
bling himself to the offended person, and beseech-
ing him to forgive him.
6. If the sick person be of evil report, the minis-
ter should take care, some way or other,' to make
him sensible of it, so as to show an effectual sor-
row and repentance. This will he best done by
prudent hints, and insinuations, of recalling those
things to his mind whereof he is accused by the
voice of fame, or to which the temptations, perhaps,
of his calling, more immediately subject him. Or
if he will not understand, when he is secretly
prompted, he must be asked in plain terms con-
cerning these matters. He must be told of the
evil things which are spoken of him in public, and
And it concerns the minister to follow this ad-
vice, without partiality, or fear, or interest, or re-
spect of persons, in much simplicity and prudence,
having no other consideration before him, but the
conscientious discharge of his duty, and the salva-
tion of the person under his care.
7. The sick person is likewise to be instructed
concerning his faith, whether he has a reasonable
notion of the articles of the Christian religion, as
they are excellently summed up in the Apostle's
Creed.
8. With respect to his temporal concerns, the sick
is to be advised to set every thing in order, and (if
he hath not already) to make his will as soon as he
can. For if he recovers, this cannot be detri-
mental ; but, if he dies, it will he of great comfort
and satisfaction to him. And here it must be re-
membered that he distribute every thing according
to the exact rules of justice, and with snch a due
care, as to prevent all law-suits and contentions
for the future : and, if he be able, he is to be ad-
monished to do something likewise out of charity,
and for the sake of his poor brethren.
9. In all the course of his visitation, the minis-
ter should frequently be exhorting the sick man
to patience and a blessed resignation to the will .of
God ; and not to look upon his sickness as barely
the effect of second causes, but as inflicted on him
by Divine Providence for several wise and good
ends : As, for the trial of his faith ; the exercise of
patience ; the punishment of his sins ; the amend-
ment of his life ; or for the example of others, who,
seeing his good behaviour in such a day of cala-
mity, may glorify their Father which is in heaven :
or else, that it is for the increase of his future wel-
fare, in order to raise him the higher in glory
hereafter, by how much the lower he hath l>een
depressed here.
10. When the spiritual man hath thus dis-
charged his duty, and the sick hath made himself
capable of it, by a religious and holy conformity to
all the forcnientioned particulars respecting his
condition and circumstances, he may then give
him the sacrament of the Lord's Supper. And
it is the minister's ollice to invite sick and d\in<r
persons, to this holy sacrament, provided they dis-
cover a right sense of their duty. And,
Note, That' the Holy Sacrament is not to be ad-
ministered to dying persons, when they h;ive no
use of thpir rcasoh to join with the minister in his
celebration of -it. For the sacraments operate not
of themselves, but as they are made ellicaeioiis by
the jint consent and will, and religious acts and
devotion of the party that receives them. And
therefore all fools, and distracted persons, and chil-
dren, and lethargical and apoplectical people, or
that are any ways Senseless and incapable of hu-
man and reasonable acts, are to be assisted only by
prayers. .
Note also, That in cases of necessity, where the
sacrament cannot be so conveniently administered,
the sick may be admonished to receive it spiritu-
ally, i. e. by representing the symbols of the body
and blood of our Lord to his mind, and applying
them to himself by faith, with the same prepara-
tions of faith and repentance, as if they were real-
ly present. For no doubt but God, in such a case,
who considers all things with exact justice, and
chiefly respects the sincerity of our hearts and in-
tentions, will excuse the absence of the outward
and visible sign, when necessity, and not contempt
or neglect, was the occasion of it.
SECTION IV.
Of ajrplytng spiritual Remedies to the unreason-
able Fears and Dejections of the Sick.
IT sometimes happens that good men, especially
such ns have tender consciences, impatient of the
least sin, to which they are arrived by a long habit
of grace, and a continual observation of their ways,
overact their part, and turn their tenderness into
scruples, and are too much dejected and doubtful
concerning their future salvation. In such a case,
the minister is to represent to them, that the man
who is jealous of himself, is always in the safest
condition: that if he fears on his death-bed, it is
but what happens to most considering men ; and
that therefore to fear nothing then, is either a sin-
gular felicity, or a dangerous presumption.
But to restrain the extravagance of tear, let him
he reminded of the terms of the Gospel : that it
is a covenant of grace and mercy to all: that
"Christ Jesus came into the world to s;i\e sin-
ners:" that he continues our "Advocate in heaven,"
and daily "intercedes" with his Father for us:
that the whole heavenly host rejoices at the con-
version of a sinner: that the angels are deputed by
God, to be our guardians against violent surprises
and temptations : that there are different degrees
of glory in heaven ; so that, if we arrive not at the
greatest, we may yet hope, by divine mercy, that
\\c should not be excluded the less : that God hath
promised to hear the "prayers of the righteous"
for his servants : that he labours with us by his
Spirit, and as it were "beseeches us, in Christ's
stead, to be reconciled to him," 2 Cor. v. 20: that,
of all his attributes, he glories in none so much as
IN VISITING THE SICK.
in the titles of mercy and forgiveness : that there-
fore we do injustice to the Father of mercies, if we
retain such hard thoughts and suspicions of him :
that God calls upon us to forgive our brother " se-
venty times seven ;'' and yet all that is but like the
forgiving " an hundred pence," for his sake, who
forgives us " ten thousand talents :" and therefore
if we are ordered to show such an unrestrained
temper of forgiveness, it is only to animate us to
trust in God's much more unbounded mercy.
By these and the like arguments, the spiritual
man may raise the drooping spirits of good men,
in their causeless dejections. But because there
are many other cases of the like nature, which the
physician of souls will meet with in visiting his
neighbours, especially such as are of melancholy
dispositions, ii may not be improper to mark the
principal of them here, and to prescribe the reme-
dies.
Considerations to be offered to Persons under
Religious Melancholy.
1 . Some truly religious persons are under sad
apprehensions of not being in the favour of Clod.
because they lind their devotions to be very often
cold, their prayers distracted, and their depght in
spiritual nutters not to l>e so great and permanent
as their pleasure and satisfaction are in the things
of the world.
Now to such as have made religion tin- ureat
business of their lives, who have endeavoured to
cure those distracted thoughts they complain of,
and to inflame their souls with divine lo\e, it mav
be oliered, that the di lie rent degrees of ftffectioB
with which men serve God, .do very often depend
upon the difference of their tempers and constitu-
tions ; since some are naturally so dull and heavy,
as to be little atlirted with any thing ; whilst others
are of such a tender make, as to be affected almost
with every thinu. so as to be soon exalted with joy.
or depressed with sorrow: that sickness, lossrs.aii.l
all afflictions, and even religion itself, in its long
and continual exercise of self-denial and thought-
fulness, do naturally produce such a tenderness of
spirit, that the best of men have never been able
at all times to keep their affections at an equal
height: that the zeal and warmth with which
some are affected, is not always an argument of
their goodness : that a sensible pleasure in religious
exercises, wherein the passions are ailivtcd, is not
so acceptable to God as a reasonable service : that
distraction of thought in the service of God is
owing, for the most part, to bodily weakness ; and
therefore, if we do not give way to it, but do all
we can to suppress those wandering thoughts, we
may l)e assured we shall never be blamed for being
subject to that which, by reason of the weakness
of our nature, we cannot help : that the first mo-
tions of our mind, as it is impossible to hinder
them, are reckoned by all divines not to be sinful,
provided we do not encourage them.
2. Some are extremely dejected, because, upon
strict examination of themselves, they find, as they
think, all their religion to be owing to their fears;
and fear being a slavish and sordid passion, they
are apt to conclude, that all those services which
are not the result of a more noble principle, will
be rejected by God, since as he is all love, and
goodness, and perfection, he will not be pleased,
they think, with any sacrifice, but what is offered
by love.
And to this sad purpose, some have intcrpeted
Rev. xjd. 8, to belong to them, where the fearful
are joined together with the most abominable, who
shall have their part in the lake which burneth
with fire and brimstone.
To cure the depraved and unhappy notions of
such as these, it may be argued : that it is plain
from Scripture, that the first beginnings of, or
movements towards, an holy life, are usually owing
to the passion of fear : that to this, both our Saviour
and his apostles do all along address themselves in
their earnest entreaties of mankind to turn from
the ways of sin to God. "Fear him," saith our
Saviour, "who is able to destroy both soul and
Ix.dy in hell." Matth. x. 28; so chap. vi. 15;
Mark xvi. 1G. And to this purpose the apostle
says, " Work, out your salvation with fear and
trembling," Phil. ii. 12, and" 2 Cor. v. 11, " Know-
ing the terrors of the Lord," saith he, "we per-
suade men." And in most of the Scripture proofs,
we shall find the chief argument of religion to be
urged from a fear of punishment for the neglect
thereof: so that to be dejected, and render our Uves
comfortless on this account, were the most unrea-
sonable extravagance; since this were to suppose,
that God hath implanted tin- passion of fear in us
in vain ; or, what is worse, only to vex and torment
us ; and that our Saviour and liis apostles, persuad-
iiiLT us to be religious from the terrorsof the Lord,
had deceived and misled US.
And as for that text, Rev. xxi. 8 " The fear-
ful, and unbelieving, and the abominable, and mur-
derers, and whoremongers, and sorcerers, and idol-
aters, and all liars, shall have their part in the
lake which burneth with fire and brimstone," &c.
it is plain, that bv the fearful in this place is meant,
either such as refuse to embrace the Christian re-
ligion, or who, having embraced it, are afraid to
continue steadfast to the end, on account of the
cross; and therefore cannot be supposed to have
any reference to those who are " working out their
salvation with fear and trembling," according to
the direction of the Gospel. Not but that we are
to intermix with this fear an^entire love and affec-
tion to God, to the utmost of our powers.
3. Some very pious but unhappy persons, are
grievously tormented with wicked and blasphem-
ous thoughts, so as to fall under the greatest ago-
nies of mind ; and often to be so near distraction,
as to choose death rather than life.
For the relief and comfort of these, the minister
should suggest to them, that such horrid and fright-
ful thoughts are either occasioned through melan-
choly prevailing over their spirits, and disordering
the frame of their minds ; or else from the malice
of the devil, and the spirits of darkness, who do
all they can to shake our faith, and to embitter the
Christian life.
If to the former we ascribe such horrid thoughts,
they may be comforted upon assurance, that they
will not be imputed to them as their sin, any more
than a fever or any bodily distemper will, which
they did not willingly procure, and which they
have tried all means to remove.
If to the latter, they may be encouraged rather
to rejoice ;- as nothing is a greater sign of their
being high in the favour of God, than when they
are under the most violent temptations of the
devil. " My brethren, count it all joy," saith St.
James, " when ye fall into divers temptations ;"
chap. i. 2. To that effect, they may be taught to
consider, that the way to heaven is j ustly saidto be
240
THE CLERGYMAN'S COMPANION
by the gates of hell: that the "same afflictions are
St. Peter to sift him as wheat;" Luke xxii. 31
that our Saviour himself was tempted by him, and
the best of men have always been most obnoxious
to his malice ; and that to live in carnal security,
without any molestations from him, is the most
dangerous state : that the being so much concerned
and afflicted at such evil thoughts, is a certain ar-
gument of a good disposition, since the wicked
and profane are rather pleased than tormented
with them.
Arguments of this kind are the most proper to
be oflered to such unhappy persons : but in case
their faith and hope be totally overcome by the
devil, and they fall into direct despair, it will be
necessary then to endeavour the cure of so great
an evil and temptation, by the addition of the fol-
lowing exercise :
An Exercise against Despair.
Let the minister suggest to them, that God is
not willing that any should perish, but desirous
that all should come to his glory : that for this end
we were created : that he is so far from being " ex-
treme to mark what is done amiss," that he will
not refuse the returning "prodigal, nor reject the
worst of criminals, upon their sincere repentance :
that the thief upon the cross is a demonstrable
proof of this, and a standing example .to prevent
the greatest sinner from despair : that if God is so
merciful and condescending to the vilest transgress-
ors, much rather may we hope to be pardoned for our
weakness and infirmities : for he " knoweth where-
of we are made, he remembereth that we are but
dust:" nay, he hath assured us, that he " will not
break the bruised reed, nor quench the smoking
flax :" that all sins shall be forgiven the sons of men,
except one, which is the sm against the Holy
Ghost ; " the sin Unto death," as Saint John calls it.
But that no man commits a sin against the Holy
Ghost, if he be afraid he hath, or desires that he
may not ; for such penitential passions are against
the very nature and definition of that sin : that al-
though forgiveness of sins is consigned to us in
baptism, and baptism is but ortce ; yet, forgiveness
of sins being the special grace of the Gospel, it is
secured to us for our life, and ebbs and flows ac-
cording as we discompose or renew the perform-
ance of our baptismal vow ; therefore it is certain,
that no man ought to despair of pardon, but he who
hath voluntarily renounced his baptism, or wil-
lingly estranged himself from that covenant : that
if it were not so, then all preaching and prayers
were in vain, and all the conditions of the Gospel
invalid, and there could be no such thing as repent-
ance, nor indeed scarce a possibility of any one's
being saved, if all were to be concluded in a state
of damnation, who had committed sin after bap-
tism.
To have any fears, therefore, on this account,
were the most extravagant madness : for Christ
"died for sinners," and "God hath comprehended
all under sin, that" through him -." he might have
mercy upon all /' Rom. xi. 32. And it was con-
cerning baptized Christians, that Saint John said,
" If any man sin we have have an Advocate with
the Father, and He is the propitiation for our sins ;"
and concerning lapsed Christians, Saint Paul gave
instruction, that " if any man be overtaken in a
fault, ye which are spirit u;il restore such a man in
the spirit of meekness, considering lest ye also be
tempted." The Corinthian Christian committed
incest, and was pardoned: and Simon Magus,
after he was baptized, oflered to commit the sin
we call simony, and yet Peter bade him pray for
pardon; and Saint James lells us, that "if the
sick man send for the elders of the church, and
they pray over him, and he confess his sins, they
shall be forgiven him ;" chap. v. 14.
That oven in the .case of very great sins, and
great judgments inflicted upon sinners, wise and
good men have .declared their sense to be, that
God vindicated his justice in that temporal pu-
nishment ; and so it was supposed to have been
done in the case of Ananias, &c. : that nothing
can be more absurd than to think that so groat and
good a God, who is so desirous of saving all, as
appears by his word, by his sending his Son, by
his oaths and promises, by his very nature and
daily overtures of mercy, should condemn any,
without the greatest provocations of his majesty,
and perseverance in them.
Upon the strength of these arguments, the des-
pairing person may be .further taught to argue
thus with himself:
I consider that the ground of my trouble is my
sin; and were it not for that, 1 should have no
reason to be troubled ; but since the " whole world
lieth in wickedness," and since there cannot be a
greater demonstration of a man's abhorrence of
sin, than to be so deeply afiectcd with sorrow for
it; I therefore will erect my hoad with a holy
hope, and think that God will also be merciful to
me a sinner, as he is to the rest of mankind. I
know that the mercies of God are infinite ; that he
sent his Son into the world on purpose to redeem
such as myself; and that he hath repeatedly pro-
mised " to give to them that ask, and to be found of
them that seek him ;" and therefore I will not dis-
trust his goodness, nor look upon the great God
of heaven and earth to be worse than his word.
Indeed, if from myself I were to derive my title to
lieaven, then my sins were a just argument of
despair : but now that they bring me to Christ,
that they drive me to an appeal to God's mercy,
;hey cannot infer a just cause of despair. I am
sure it is a stranger thing, that the Son of God
should come down from heaven, and take upon
Slim our nature, and live and die in the most ig-
nominious state of it, than that a sinful man,
washed by the blood of Christ, and his own tears
and humiliation, should be admitted to pardon, and
Bade " partaker of the kingdom of heaven :" and
it were stranger yet, that he should do so much
or man, and that a man that desires, that lalxmrs
after it to the utmost of his power, that sends up
strong cries and prayers, and is still within the
covenant of grace, should inevitably miss that end
for which our Saviour did and suffered so much.
It is certain, that of all the attributes that be-
ong to God, there is none more essential to his
nature, and which he takes more delight in, than
lis mercy ; and it is as certain also, there must be
proper objects for this boundless and immense at-
tribute of God ; and the most proper, if not only,
objects of mercy in the creation, are the children
of men ; and of men, surely those who are most
Trieved and wearied with the burthen of their
sins^ I, therefore, who am as pitiful an object
of mercy as any, will cheerfully hope, that God
IN VISITING THE SICK.
241
will both forgive me here, and give me the bless-
ing of eternal life hereafter: for 1 know that
eternal life is purely the gift of God, and there-
fore have less reason still to despair. For if my
sins were fewer, and my unworthiness of such a
glory were less, yet still I could not receive it but
as a free gift and donation of God, and so I may
now ; and it is not expectation beyond the hopes
of possibility, to look and wait for such a gift at
the hands of the God of mercy. The best of men
deserve it not ; and I, who am the worst, nray
have it given me. 1 know that I have sinned
grievously and frequently against my heavenly
Father : but I have repented^ I have begged par-
don, I have confessed and forsaken my sins, and
have done all that is possible for me to make
atonement. I cannot undo what is done ; and I
perish, if there be no such thing as a remedy, or
remission of sins. But then I know my religion
must perish together with -my hope, and the word
of God itself must fail us well as 1. But I cannot,
I dare not entertain such a thought. I lirmly
believe that most encouraging article of faith, the
remission of sins ; and since I do that which all
good men call repentance, I will also humbly hope
for a remission of mine, and a joyful resur-
rection.
I know that the devil is continually lying in
wait to seduce and destroy the souls of men ;
wherefore I -will fortify my spirits, and redouble
my guard, and call upon God to enable me to re-
sist all the fiery darts of this malicious adver-
sary.
Or perhaps this exceeding dejection, or malady
of mind, may arise from the distemper and weak-
ness of my body ; or at most, I hope, it is only a
disease of judgment, not an intolerable condition,
I am fallen into : and since I have heard of a
great many others who have been in the same
condition with myself, and yet recovered, I will
also take, courage to hope that God will relieve me
in his good time, and not leave my soul for ever
in this hell of depraved i'ancy and wicked imagin-
ation. In fine, I will raise up my dejected spirits,
and cast all my care upon God, and depend upon
him for the event, which I am sure will be just ;
and I cannot but think, from the same reason,
full of mercy. However, now I will use all the
spiritual arts of reason and religion, to make me
more and more desirous of loving God: that if I
miscarry, charity also shall fail, and somi-thiuji
that loves God shall perish, and be damned:
which if it be impossible (as I am sure it is,) then
I may have just reason to hope I shall do well.
These considerations may be of service to " bind
up the broken hearted," and to strengthen the
" bruised reed," of a good man's spirit, in so great
and terrible a dejection. But as cases of this
nature are very rare, so the arguments here made
use of are rarely to be insisted upon ; and never,
but to well-disposed persons, or reformed penitents,
or to such as in the general course of their life.
have lived pretty strictly, and conformably to the
rules of religion. For if the man be a vicious
person, and hath gone on in a continual course o
sin, to the time of his sickness', these considera-
tions are not proper. Let him inquire, in the
words of the first disciples after Pentecost, "Men
and brethren, what shall we do to be saved 1
And if we can but entertain so much hope, as t
enable him to do as much of his duty as he can
for the present, it is all that can be provided for
2H
lim. And the minister must be infinitely careful,
that he does not attempt to comfort vicious per-
sons with the comfort of God's elect, lest he pros-
itute holy things, and encourage viqe, and render
us discourses deceitful ; and the man unhappily
find them to be so when he descends into the re-
nons of darkness.
But because very few are tempted with too
great fears of miscarrying r but the generality even
of the most profligate sort, are rather inclined to
unwarrantable assurances of their future salvation,
it will highly concern the ministers to prevent in
time so great and reigning an imposition of the
devil.
Wherefore, to the former considerations to
awaken the careless sinner and a stupid conscience,
the following may be added, upon . occasiort, to
check the overweening thoughts of the presump-
tuous.
SECTION V.
Considerations against Presumption.
AND here, let the bold and arrogant 'sinner far-
ther know, that a man cannot think too meanly
of himself, but may very easily run into the con-
trary extreme : that the growths in grace are long,
difficult, uncertain, often interrupted, consisting
of great variety, and almost innumerable parts
and distinctions, which a careless person can
never discover ; that the more a man presumes,
the greater reason he hath to fear ; because the
confidence of such men is generally like that of
children and young people, who have no other
reason, but that they understand not the dangers
and follies-of their self-conceits : that " the heart of
man is deceitful above all things, and des{x>ratrly
wicked ;" deceiving, itself, and deceiving others, in
innumerable instances ; and being often " in the
gall of bitterness," when the man appears with
the fairest outside to the world : that it is certain,
all " have sinned and come short of fhe glory of
God ;" but not so certain, that any one's repent-
ance is real, and effective to, salvation : that virtue
and vice are oftentimes so near neighbours, that
we pass into each other's borders without observa-
tion, and think we do justice, when we are cruel ;
or call ourselves liberal, when we aie loose and
foolish in our expenses, &c.
That the self-accusing publican Was justified,
rather than the self-confident Pharisee : that if
Adam in Paradise, David in his house, Solomon
in the temple, Peter in the family of Christ, Judas
among the twelve apostles, and Nicholas among
the deacons, and if the angels in heaven itself,
did fall so atrociously, then we have all the reason
in the world " not to be high minded, but to fear ;"
and when we are most confident of ourselves, " to
take heed lest we fall ;" there being nothing so
likely to occasion it, as pride and a great opinion
of ourselves, which ruined the angels, which God
resists, which all men despise, and which betray
us into carelessness, and a wretched, undiscerning,
and unwary spirit.
These are the main parts of ecclesiastical duties
and offices in the visitation of the sick ; which
being severally performed, as occasion requires, it
remains only that the minister pray over the sick,
and remind him to do all the 'good actions he is
THE CLERGYMAN'S COMPANION
capable of; to call upon God Cor par Jon ; to put his
whole trust in him ; to be patient .and resigned ;
and even to renounce every ill thought or word,
or indecent action, which the violence of his
sickness may have caused in him ; to beg of God
to give him his Holy Spirit to guide him in his
agony, and to send his holy angels to guard him
in his passage.
Whatsoever is besides this, concerns the stand-
ers-by, that they do all in their respective offices
diligently and temperately ; that they join in
prayer with the minister, with much charity and
devotion ; that they make no outcries or exclama-
tions on the departure of the soul, nor any posi-
tive judgment concerning the dying man, by his
dying quietly or violently, with^ great fears or a
cheerful confidence, with sense "or without, like a
lamb or like a lion, with convulsions and terrible
agonies, or like the silent and well-spent flame of
an expiring taper. For these may happen seve-
rally, according to the constitution of the persons,
and the nature of the distemper thatbefalls them ;
or else according as God pleases to dispense the
grace, or the punishment, for reasons only known
to himself.
Let us lay our hand upon our mouth, and adore
the mysteries of the divine wisdom and providence,
and pray to God to give tlie dying man rest and
pardon ; and to ourselves grace to live well, and
the blessings of a holy and nappy death. .
THE ORDER
VISITATION OF THE SICK.
When any Person is sick, notice shall be given thereof
to the Minister of the parish, who coming into the
sick Person's house, shall say,
PEACE be to this house, and to all that dwell in it.
When he cometh into the'sick man's presence, he shall
say, kneeling down;
REMEMBER not, Lord, our iniquities, nor the ini-
quities of our forefathers. Spare us, good Lord,
spare thy people, whom thou hast redeemed with
thy most precious ^lood, and be not angry with us
for ever.
Answ. Spare us, good Lord.
Then the Minister shall say,
Let us pray.
Lord, have mercy upon us.
Christ, have nlercy upon us.
Lord, have mercy upon us.
OUR Father, which art in heaven ; Hallowed
be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be
done in earth, as it is in heaven. Give us this
day our daily bread. And forgive us our tres-
passes, as we forgive them that trespass against
us. And lead .us not into temptation; but deliver
us from evil. Amen.
Minister. O Lord, save thy servant,
Answer. Which putteth his trust in thee.
Min. Send him help from thy holy place;
Ans. And evermore mightily defend him.
Min. Let the enemy have no advantage of
him;
Answ. Nor the wicked approach to hurt him.
Min. Be unto him, O Lord, a strong tower,
Answ. Fromthe face of his enemy.
Min. O Lord, hear our prayers:
Answ. And let our cry come unto thee.
Minister.
O LORD, look down from heaven ; behold, visit,
and relieve this thy servant. Look upon him with
the eyes of thy mercy ; give him comfort and sure
Confidence in thee ; defend him from the danger
of the enemy, and keep him in perpetual peace
and safety, through Jesus Christ our Lord.
Amen.
HEAR us, Almighty and Most Merciful God
and Saviour; extend thy accustomed goodness to
this thy servant, who is grieved with sickness.
Sanctify, we beseech thee, this thy fatherly cor-
rection to him; that the sense of his weakness
may add strength to his faith, and seriousness to
his repentance : that, if it shall be thy good plea-
sure to restore him to his former health, he may
lead the residue of his life in thy fear, and to thy
glory : or else give him grace so to take thy visita-
tion, that, after this painful life is endedj he may
dwell with thee in life everlasting ; through Jesus
Christ our Lord. Amen.
Then shall the Minister exhort the sick Person after
. this form, or other like.
DEARLY beloved, know this, that Almighty
God is the Lord of life and death, and of all
things to them pertaining; as youth, strength,
health, age, weakness, and sickness. Wherefore,
whatsoever your sickness is, know you certainly,
that it is God's visitation. And for what cause
soever 4his sickness is sent unto you ; whether it
be to try your patience ; for the example of others;
and that your faith may be found in the day of the
Lord, laudable, glorious, and honourable, to the
increase of glory, and endless felicity ; or else it be
sent unto you, to correct and amend in you what-
soever doth offend the eyes of your heavenly Fa-
ther : know you certainly, that if you truly re-
pent of your sins, and bear your sickness patiently,
trusting in God's mercy for his dear Son Jesus
Christ's sake, and render unto him humble thanks
for his fatherly visitation, submitting yourself
wholly unto his will, it shall turn to your profit,
and help you forward in the right way that lead-
eth unto everlasting life.
HJ= If the Person visited be very sick, then the Curate
may end his exhortation in this place, or else pro-
ceed.
TAKE, therefore, in good part, the chastisement
of the Lord; for (as St. Paul saith, in the twelfth
chapter to the Hebrews,) " whom the Lord loveth,
he chasteneth ; and scourgeth every son whom he
receiveth. If ye endure chastening, God dealeth
with you as with sons ; for, what son is ho whom
the father chasteneth not? But if ye be without
chastisement, whereof all are partakers, then are
ye bastards, and not sons. Furthermore, we have
had fathers of our flesh, which corrected us, and
we gave them reverence ; shall we not much ra-
ther be in subjection unto the Father of spirits,
and live *? For they verily, for a few days, chastened
us after their own' pleasure ; but He for our profit,
that we might be partakers of his holiness."
Tin so words (good brother) are written in holy
Scriptures for our comfort and instruction, that
we should patiently and with thanksgiving bear
our Heavenly Father's correction, whensoever, by
IN VISITING THE SICK.
243
any manner of adversity, it shall please his gra-
cious goodness to visit us. And there should be
no greater comfort to Christian persons, than to
be made like unto Christ, by suffering patiently
adversities^ troubles, and sicknesses. For He
himself went not up to joy, but first he suffered
pain : He entered not into his glory before he was
crucified. So, truly, our way to eternal joy, is to
suffer here with Christ; and our door to enter
into eternal life, is gladly to die with Christ, that
we may rise again from death, and dwell with
him in everlasting life. Now therefore, taking
your sickness, which is thus profitable, for you,
patiently ; I exhort you, in the name of God, to
remember the profession which you made unto
God in your baptism. And forasmuch as, nftrr
this life, there is an account to be given unto the
righteous Judge, by whom all must be judged with-
out respect of persons ; I require you to examine
yourself and your estate, both towards God and
man ; so that, accusing and condemning your-
self, and your own faults, you may find mercy at
your Heavenly Father's hand for Christ's sake,
and not be accused and condemned in that fearful
judgment. Therefore I shall rehearse to you the
Articles of our Faith, that you may knowwhe'ther
you believe as a Christian man should, or no.
Here the Minister shall rehearse the Articles of the
Faith, saying thus:
DOST thou believe in God the Father Almighty,
Maker of heaven and earth 1
And in Jesus Christ his only begotten Son,
our Lord ; and that he was conceived by the Holy
Ghost ; born of the Virgin Mary ; that he suf-
fered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, dead,
and buried; that he went down into hell v and also
did rise again the third day ; that he ascended into
heaven, and sitteth at the right hand of God the
Father Almighty, and from thence shajl come
again, at the end of the world, to judge the quick
and the dead 7
And dost thou believe in the Holy Ghost ; the
holy Catholic church ; the communion of saints ;
the remission of sins ; the resurrection of the flesh ;
and everlasting life after death ?
The sick person shall answer,
All this T steadfastly believe.
Then shall the Minister examine whether he repent
him truly of his sins, and be in charity with all the
world ; exhorting him to forgive, from the bottom of
his heart, all persons that have offended him, and, if he
hath offended any other, to ask them forgiveness : ;nnl
where he hath done injury or wrong to any man, that
he make amends to the utmost of his power. And, if he
hath not before disposed of his goods, let him then be
admonished to make his will, and to declare his debts,
what he oweth, and what is owing unto him ; for the
better discharge of his conscience, and the quietness of
his executors. But men should often be put in remem-
brance to take order fof settling of their temporal es-
tates, whilst they are in health.
These words, before rehearsed, may be said before the
Minister begins his prayer, as he shall see cause.
The Minister should not omit earnestly to move such
sick Persons as are of ability, to be liberal to the poor.
Here shall the sick Person be moved to make a special
confession of his sins, if he feel his conscience trou-
bled with any weighty matter. After which confes-
sion, the Priest shall absolve him (if he humbly and
heartily desire it) after this sort :
OUR Lord Jesus Christ, who hath left power
to his church to absolve all sinners, who truly re-
pent and believe in him, of his great mercy forgive
thee thine offences ! And by his authority com-
mitted to me, I absolve thee from all thy sins,
in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and
of the Holy Ghost. Amen.
And then the Priest shall say the collect following.
Let us pray.
MOST merciful God, who,- according to the
multitude of thy mercies, dost so put away the
sins of those who truly repent, that thou remem-
berest them no more ; open thine eye of mercy
upon this thy servant, who most earnestly de-
sireth pardon and forgiveness. Renew in him,
most loving Father, whatsoever hath been de-
cayed by the fraud and malice of the devil, or by
his own carnal will and frailness ; preserve and
continue this sick member in the unity of the
church; consider his contrition, accept his tears,
assuage his pain, as shall seem to thee most. ex-
pedient for him. And, forasmuch as he. putteth
his full trust only in thy mercy, impute not unto
him his former sins, but strengthen him with
thy lilt-rised Spirit- and when thou art pleased to
take him hence, take him unto thy favour, through
the merits of thy most dearly beloved Son Jesus
Christ our Lord. Amen.
Then shall the Minister say this Psalm.
In te, Domine, speravi. Psalm Ixxi.
Iv thee, O Lord, have I put my trust; let m*
never be put to confusion : but rid me, and de-
liver me in thy righteousness ; incline thine ear
unto me, and save me.
Be thou a strong hold, whereunto I may alway
resort : thou hast promised to help me, for thou
art my house of defence, and my castle.
Deliver me, O my God, out of the hand of the
ungodly ; out of the hand of the unrighteous and
cruel man.
For thou, O Lord, art the thing that I long
for; thou art my hope, even from my youth.
Through thee have I been holden up ever
since I was born ; thou art he that took me out of
my mother's womb ; my praise shall always be of
thee.
1 am become as it were a monster to many ; but
my sure trust is in thee.
let my mouth be filled with thy praise ; that
I may sing of thy glory and honour all the day
long.
Cast me not away in the time of age : forsake
me not when my strength faileth me.
For mine enemies speak against me ; and they
that lay wait for my soul, take their counsel to-
gether ; saying, God hath forsaken him ; perse-
cute him, and take him, for there is none to de-
liver him.
Go not far from me, O God; my God, haste
thee to help me.
Let them be confounded and perish, that are
against my soul : let them be covered with shame
and dishonour, that seek to do me evil.
As for me, I will . patiently abide always ; and
will praise thee more and more.
My mouth shall daily speak of thy righteous-
ness and salvation ; for I know no end thereof.
1 will go forth .in the strength of the Lord
God ; and will make mention of thy righteousness
only.
Thou, O God, hast taught me from my youth
up until now: therefore will I tell of thy wondrous
works.
244
THE CLERGYMAN'S COMPANION
Forsake me not, O God, in mine old age, when
lam gray-headed, until I have showed thy strength
unto this generation, and thy^ power to all them
that are yet for to come.
Thy righteousness, O God, is very high, and
great things are they that thou hast done j O God,
who is like unto thee 1
Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to
the Holy Ghost ;
As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever
shall be, world without end. Amen.
Adding this :
O SAVIOUR of the world, who by thy cross arid
precious blood hast redeemed us, save us, and help
us, we humbly beseech thee, O Lord.
Then shall the Minister say :
THE Almighty Lord, who is a most strong
tower to all them that put their trust in him ; to
whom all things in heaven, in earth, and under
the earth, do bow and obey ; be now and evermore
thy defence, and make thee know and feel, that
there is no other name under heaven given to man,
in whom, and through whom, thou mayest receive
health and salvation, but only the name of the
Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.
And after that shall say :
UNTO God's gracious mercy and protection we
commit thee. The Lord bless thee, and keep thee.
The Lord make his face to shine upon thee, and
be gracious unto thee. The Lord lift up his coun-
tenance upon thee, and give thee peace, both now
and evermore. Amen.
THE .
COMMUNION OF THE SICK.
FORASM0CH as all mortal men be subject to many sud-
den perils, diseases, and sicknesses, and ever uncertain
what time they shall depart out of this 4ife ; therefore
to the intent they may be always in readiness to die
whensoever it shall please Almighty God to call them,
the Curates shall diligently, from time to time (but es-
pecially in time of pestilence, or other infectious sick-
ness;) exhort their parishioners to the often receiving
the Holy Communion of the body aiid blood of our Sa-
viour Christ, when it shall be publicly administered in
the church; that, so doing, they may, in case of sudden
visitation, have the less cause to be disquieted for lack
of the same. But if the sick person be not able to come
to the church, and yet is desirous to receive the Com-
munion in his'house ; then he must give timely notice
to the Curate, signifying also how many there are to
communicate with him (which shall be three, or two at
the least,) and having a convenient place in the sick
man's house, with all things necessary, so prepared, that
the Curate may reverently minister, he shall there cele-
brate the Holy Communion, beginning with'the Collect,
Epistle, and Gospel here following.
The Collect.
ALMIGHTY and everlasting God, maker of man-
kind, who dost correct those whom thou dost love,
and chastisest every one whom thou dost receive ;
we beseech thee to have mercy upon this thy ser-
vant visited with thine hand, and to grant that he
may take his sickness patiently, and recover his
bodily health, (if it be thy gracious will ;) and
whenever his soul shall depart from the body, it
maybe without spot presented unto thee, through
Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
The Epistle, Heb. xii, 5.
MY son, despise not thou the chastening of the
Lord, nor faint when thou art rebuked of him :
for whom the Lord lovcth, lit- chnstcneth; and
scoiirgeth every son whom he receiveth.
The Gospel, St. John v. 24.
VERILY, verily, I say unto you, he thatheareth
my word, and believeth on him that sent me, hath
everlasting life, and shall not come into condemna-
tion, ; but is passed from death unto life.
After which, the Priest shall proceed according to the
form prescribed for the Holy Coinmunion, beginning at
these words : [Ye that do truly.]
At the time of the distribution of the Holy Sacra-
ment, the Priest shall first receive the Communion him-
self, and afterward minister unto them that are ap-
pointed to communicate with the sick, and last of all to
the sick person.
But if a man, either by reason of extremity of sick-
ness, or for want of warning in due time to the Curate,
or for lack of company to receive with him, or by any
other.just impediment, do not receive the Sacrament of
Christ's body and blood, the Curate shall instruct him,
that if he do truly repent him of his sins, and steadfast-
ly believe Jesus Christ hath suffered death upon the cross
for him, and shed his Mood for his redemption, earnest-
ly remembering the benefits he hath thereby, and giving
him hearty thanks therefor, he doth eat and drink th
body and blood of our Saviour Christ profitably to his
souUs health,, although he do not receive the sacrament
with his mouth.
When the sick person- is visited, and receiveth the
Holy Communion all at one time, then the Priest, for
more expedition, shall cut off the form of the visitation,
at the Psalm [In thee, O Lord, have I put my trust,] and
go straight to the Communion.
In the time of the plague, sweat, or other such-like
contagious times of sickness or diseases, when none of
the parish or neighbours an be gotten to communicate
with the sick in their houses, for fear of the infection ;
upon special request of the deceased, the Minister only
may communicate with him.
At the time of the celebration of the Communion, the
communicants bein conveniently placed for re-
ceiving of the Holy Sacrament, the Priest shall say
this exhortation :
DEARLY beloved in the Lord, ye that mind to
come to the Holy Communion of the body and
blood of our Saviour Christ, must consider how
St. Paul exhorteth all persons diligently to try and
examine themselves; before they presume to eat
of that bread, and drink of that cup. For as the
benefit is great, if with a true penitent heart and
lively faith we receive that Holy Sacrament, (for
then we .spiritually eat the flesh of Christ, and
drink .his blood; then' we dwell in Christ, and
Christ in us ; we are one with Christ, and Christ
with us;) so is the danger great, if we receive the
same unworthily : for then we are guilty of the
body and blood of Christ our Saviour; we eat
and drink our own damnation, not considering
the Lord's body ; we kindle God's wrath against
us; we provoke him to plague us. with divers dis-
eases, and sundry kinds of death. Judge therefore
yourselves, brethren, that ye be not judged of the
J_.ord ; repent ye truly for your sins past ; have a
'lively and steadfast faith in Christ our Saviour;
amend your lives, and be in perfect charity with
all men ; so shall ye be meet partakers of these
holy mysteries. And above all things, ye must
give most humble and hearty thanks to God the
Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, for the re-
demption of the world by the death and passion
of our Saviour Christ, both God and man, who
did humble himself even to the death upon the
IN VISITING THE SICK.
245
cross, for us miserable sinners, who lay in dark-
ness and the shadow of death, that he might make
us the children of God, and exalt us to everlasting
life. And to the end that we should always re-
member the exceeding great love of our Master
and only Saviour Jesus Christ, thus dying for us,
and the innumerable benefits which by his pre-
cious blood-shedding he hath obtained to us, he
hath instituted and ordained holy mysteries, as
pledges of his love, and for a continual remem-
brance of his death, to our great and endless com-
fbrt. To Him, therefore, with the Father, and
the Holy Ghost, let us give (as we are most
bounden) continual thanks ; submitting ourselves
wholly to his holy will and pleasure, and studying
to serve him in true holiness and righteousness all
the days of our life. Amen.
Then shall the Priest say to thorn that come to receive
the Holy Communion,
YE that do truly and earnestly repent you of
your sins, and are in love and" charity with your
neighbours, and intend to lead a new life, follow-
ing the commandments of God, and walking from
henceforth in his holy ways; draw near with
faith, and take this Holy Sacrament to your com-
fort; and make your humble confession to Al-
mighty God, meekly kneeling upon your knees.
Then shall thisaoneral confession be made, in the name
of all those that arc minded to receive the Holy Com-
munion, by one of the Ministers, both he and all the
people kneeling humbly upon their knees, and saying,
ALMIGHTY God, Father of our Lord Jesus
Christ, maker of all things, judge of all men, we
acknowledge and bewail our manifold sins and
wickedness which we from time to time most
grievously have committed, by thought, word, and
deed, against thy Dhine Majesty, provoking most
justly thy wrath and indignation against us. We
do earnestly repent, and are heartily sorry for
these our misdoings ; the remembrance of them is
grievous to us, the burden of them is intolerable,
j lave mercy upon us, have mercy upon us, most
merciful Father: for thy Son our Lord Jesus
Christ's sake, forgive us all that is past ; and grant
we may ever hereafter serve and please thee in
newness of life, to the honour and glory of thy
name, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
Then shall the Priest (or the Bishop being present)
stand up, and, turning himself to the people, pro-
nounce this absolution :
ALMIGHTY God our heavenly Father, who of
his great mercy hath promised forgiveness of sins
to all them that with hearty repentance and true
faith turn unto him ; have mercy upon you, par-
don and deliver you from all your sins, confirm
and strengthen you in all goodness, and bring you
to everlasting life, through Jesus Christ our Lord.
Amen.
Then shall the Priest say,
Hear what comfortable words our Saviour
Christ saith unto all that truly turn to him : Come
unto me, all ye that travail and are heavy laden,
and I will refresh you. Matt. xi. 28.
So God loved the world, that he gave his only
begotten Son, to the end that all that believe in
him should not perish, but have everlasting life.
John iii. 16.
Hear also what St. Paul saith :
This is a true saying, and worthy of all men to
be received, That Jesus Christ came into the
world to save sinners. 1 Tim. i. 15.
Hear also what St. John saith :
It' any man sin, we have an advocate with the
Father-, Jesus Christ the righteous; and he is the
propitiation for our sins. 1 John ii. 1, 2."
After which, the. Priest shall proceed, saying,
Lift up your hearts.
Answ. We lift them up unto the Lord.
Priest. Let us give thanks unto our Lord God.
Answ, It is meet and right so to do.
Then shall the Priest say,
IT is very meet, right, and our bounden duty,
that we should at all tunes, and in all places, give
thanks unto thee, O Lord, Holy Father,* Al-
mighty, Everlasting God.
Here shall follow the proper preface, according to the
time, if there be any specially appointed ; or else im-
mediately shall follow,.
THEREFORE with angels and archangels, and
with the company of heaven, we laud and magni-
fy thy glorious name, evermore praising thee, and
saying, Holy, holy, holy, Lord God of hosts !
heaven and earth are full of thy glory. Glory be
to thee, O Lord most high. Amen.
Proper Prefaces.
On Christmas-day, and seven days after.
BECAUSE thou dids^ give Jesus Christ, thine
only Son, to be born as at this time for us, who by
the operation of the Holy Ghost was made very
man of the substance of the Virgin Mary his mo-
ther, and that without spot of sin, to make us clean
from all sin : therefore with angels, &c.
On Easter-day, and seven days after.
BUT chiefly are we bound to praise thee for the
glorious resurrection of thy Son Jesus Christ our
Lord ; for He is the very paschal lamb which was
offered for us, and hath" taken away the sins of the
world; who by his death hath destroyed death,
and by his rising to life again, hath restored us to
everlasting life : therefore, &e.
On Ascension-day, and seven days after.
THROUGH thy most dearly beloved Son, Jesus
Christ our Lord, who after his most glorious re-
surrection, manifestly appeared to all his apostles,
and in their sight ascended up into heaven to pre-
pare a place for us ; that where he is thither we
might also ascend, and reign with him in glory :
therefore, &c.
On Whitsunday, and six days after.
THROUGH Jesus Christ our Lord, according to
whose most true promise the Holy Ghost came
down as at this time from heaven, with a sudden
great sound, as it had been a mighty wind, in the
likeness of .fiery tongues, lighting upon the apos-
tles, to teach them, and to lead them to all truth,
giving them both the gift of divers languages, and
also boldness, with fervent zeal, -constantly to preach
the Gospel unto all nations, whereby we have been
brought out of darkness and error into the clear
light and true knowledge of thee, and of thy Son
Jesus Christ : therefore, &c.
On the feast of Trinity only.
WHO art one God, one Lord ; not one only Per-
* These words [Holy Father] must be omitted on Tri-
lity Sunday.
THE CLERGYMAN'S COMPANION
son, but three Persons in one substance. For that
which we believe of the glory of the Father, the
same we believe of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost,
without any difference or inequality : therefore, &c.
After each of which prefaces, shall immediately be sung
or said :
THEREFORE with angels and archangels, and
with all the company of heaven, we laud and mag-
nify thy glorious name, evermore praising thee,
and saying ; Holy, holy, holy, Lord God ot hosts !
heaven and earth are full of thy glory. Glory be
to thee, O Lord most high. Amen.
Then shall the Priest, kneeling down at the Lord's table,
say, in the name of all them that shall receive the
Communion, this prayer following :
WE do not presume to come to this thy table,
O merciful Lord, trusting in our own righteous-
ness, but in thy manifold and great mercies. We
are riot worthy so much as to gather up the crumbs
under thy table. But thou art the same Lord,
whose property is always to have mercy :. grant us,
therefore, gracious Lord, so to eat the flesh of thy
dear Son Jesus Christ, and to drink his blood, that
our sinful bodies may be made clean by his body,
and our souls washed through his most precious
blood, and that we may evermore dwell in him,
and he in us. Amen.
When the Priest, standing before the table, hath so or-
dered the bread and wine, that he may with the more
readiness and decency break the bread before the peo-
ple, and take the cup into his hands, he shall say the
prayer of Consecration, as folio weth_:
ALMIGHTY God, our heavenly Father, who of
thy tender mercy didst give thine only Son JesUs
Christ to suffer death upon the cross for our re-
demption, who made there (by his one oblation of
himself once offered) a full, perfect, and sufficient
sacrifice, oblation, and satisfaction for the sins of the
whole world, and did institute, and in his holy Gos-
pel command us, to continue a perpetual memory
of that his precious death, until his coming again ;
hear us, O merciful Father, we most humbly be-
seech thee, and grant that we, receiving these thy
creatures of bread and wine, according to thy.Son
our Saviour Jesus Christ's holy institution, in re-
membrance of his death and passion, may be par-
takers of his most blessed body and blood ; who, in
the same night that he was betrayed,* took bread,
and when he had given thanks,t he brake it, and
gave it to his disciples, saying, Take, eat ;t this is
my body, which is given for you : do this in re-
membrance of me. Likewise after supper, he
took the cup, and when he had given thanks, he
gave it to them, saying, Drink ye all of this; for
thisll is my blood of the New Testament which
is shed for you, and for many, for the remission of
sins : do this, as oft as ye shall drink it, in remem-
brance of me. Amen.
Then shall the Minister first receive the Communion in
both kinds himself, and then proceed to deliver the
same to the Bishops, Priests, and Deacons, in like
manner (if any be present,) and after that to the peo-
ple also in order, into their hands, all meekly kneel-
* Here the priest is to take the paten into his hands.
f And here to break the bread.
j And here to lay his hands upon all the bread.
$ Here he is to take the cup into his hand.
II And here to lay his hand upon every vessel (be it
chalice or flagon) in which there is any wine to be con-
secrated.
ing. And when he delivereth the bread to any one,
he shall .say :
THE body of our Lord Jesus Christ, which was
given for thee, preserve thy body and soul unto
everlasting life! Take and eat this in remem-
brance that Christ died for thee ; and feed on him
in thy heart by faith with thanksgiving.
And the Minister that delivereth the cup to any one,
shall say :
THE blood of our Lord Jesus Christ, which was
shed for thee, preserve thy body and soul unto
everlasting life ! Drink this in remembrance that
Christ's blood was shed for thee, and be thankful.
If the consecrated bread or wine be all spent before all
have communicated, the Priest is to consecrate more,
according to the form before prescribed: beginning at
[Our Saviour Christ in the same night, &c. j for the bless-
ing of the bread, and [Likewise after supper, &c.J for the
blessing of the cup.
When all have communicated, the Minister shall re-
turn to the Lord's table, and reverently place upon it
what remaineth of the consecrated elements, covering
the same with a fair linen ctoth.
Then shall the Priest say the Lord's Prayer, the peo-
ple repeating after him every petition.
OUR Father which art in heaven ; Hallowed be
thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be
done in earth^ as it is in heaven. Give us this
day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses,
as we forgive them that trespass against us. And
lead us not into 'temptation ; but deliver us from
evil. For thine is the kingdom, the power, and
the glory, for ever and ever. Amen.
After this shall be said as followeth:
O LORD and heavenly Father, we thy humble
servants entirely desire thy fatherly goodness mer-
cifully to accept this our sacrifice of praise and
thanksgiving; most humbly beseeching thee to
grant, that by the merits and death of thy Son Je-
sus Christ, and through faith in his blood, we and
all thy whole church may obtain remission of our
sins, and all other benefits of his passion. And
here we offer and present unto thee, O Lord, our-
selves, our souls and bodies, to be a reasonable,
holy, and lively sacrifice unto thee ; humbly be-
seeching thee, that all we who are partakers of this
holy communion, may be fulfilled with thy grace
and heavenly benediction. And although we be
unworthy, through our manifold sins, to offer unto
thee any sacrifice ; yet we beseech thee to accept
this our bounden duty and service ; not weighing
our merits, but pardoning our offences, through
Jesus Christ our Lord ; by whom, and with whom,
in the unity of the Holy Ghost, all honour and
glory be unto thee, O Father Almighty, world
without end. Amen.
Or this :
ALMIGHTY and everlasting God, we most hear-
tily thank thee, for that thou dost vouchsafe to feed
us, who have duly received these holy mysteries,
with the spiritual food of the most precious body
and blood of thy Son our Saviour Jesus Christ ;
and dost assure us thereby: of thy favour and good-
ness towards us ; and that we are very members
incorporate in the mystical body of thy Son, which
is the blessed company of all faithful people ; and
are also heirs through hope of thy everlasting
kingdom, by the merits of the most precious death
and passion of thy dear Son. And we most hum-
bly beseech thee, O heavenly Father, so to assist
us with thy grace, that we may continue in that
holy fellowship, and do all such good works as
IN VISITING THE SICK.
247
thou hast, prepared for us to walk in, through Je-
sus Christ our Lord ; to whom, with thee and the
Holy Ghost, be all honour and glory, world with-
out end. Amen.
Then shall be said or sung :
GLORY be to God on high, and in earth peace,
good will towards men. We praise thee, we hlr:-s
thee, we worship thee, we glorify thee, we give
thanks to thee, for thy great glory, O Lord God,
heavenly King, God tile father Almighty.
O Lord, the only-begotten Son Jesus Christ :
O Lord God, Lamb of God, Son of the Father,
that takest away the sins of the world, have merry
upon us: thou "that takest away the sins of the
world, receive our prayer: thou that sittest at the
right hand of God the Father, have mercy upon us:
For thou only art holy, thou only art the Lord;
thou only, O Christ, with the Holy Ghost, art
most high in the glorjr of God the Father. Amen.
Then the Priest or Bishop (if he be present,) shall let
them ik part with this blessing:
THE peace of God, which passeth all under-
standing keep your hearts and minds in the know-
ledge and love of God, and of his Son Jesus Christ
our Lord ; and the blessing of God Almighty, the
Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost", be among
you, and remain with you always. Amen.
PROPER COLLECTS
TIIAT MAY BE USED WITH A\Y OF THE PRAYERS
FOR THE SICK.
LET thy merciful ears, O Lord, be open to the
prayers of thy humble servants ; and, that we may
obtain our petitions, make us to ask such things
as shall please thee, through Jesus Christ our
Lord.
IN the midst of life we are in death: of whom
may we seek for succour, but of thee, O .Lord, who
for our sins art justly displeased ] Yet, O Lord
God, most holy, O Lord most mighty, O holy and
most merciful Saviour, deliver us not into the
bitter pains of eternal death. Thou knowest, Lord,
the secrets of our heart ; shut not thy merciful ears
to our prayers ; bu^ spare us, Lord most holy, O
God most mighty, ( ) holv and merciful Saviour,
thou most worthy Judge Eternal, suffer us not at
the last hour, for any pains of death, to fall from
thee. Amen.
* O MERCIFUL God, the Father of our Lord Je-
sus Christ, who is the resurrection and the life,
we beseech thee to raise us from the death of sin
to the life of righteousness, that, at the general
resurrection in the last day, we may be found ac-
ceptable in thy sight, and may have our perfect
consummation and bliss, both in body ana soul,
in thy eternal glory ; through Jesus Christ our
Lord.
GRANT, we beseech thee, Almighty God, that
we, who for our evil deeds do worthily deserve to
be punished, by the comfort of thy grace may mer-
cifully be relieved, through our Lord and Saviour
Jesus Christ.
O MOST mighty God, and mejciful Father, who
hast compassion upon all men, and hatest nothing
that thou hast made, who wouldest not the death
of a sinner, but that he should rather turn from
his sin, and be saved ; mercifully forgive us our
trespasses: relieve and comfort us, who axe
grieved and wearied with the burden of our sins.
Thy property is always to have mercy; to thee
only it appcrtaineth to forgive sins: Spare us,
therefore, good Lord, spare us whom thou hast
redeemed. Enter not into judgment with thy ser-
vants, who are vile earth, and miserable sinners ;
but so turn thine anger from us, who meekly
acknowledge our vileness, and truly repent us of
our faults, and so make haste to help us in this
world, that we may ever live with thee in the
world to come ; through Jesus Christ our Lord.
O GOD, the Creator and Preserver of all man-
kind, we humbly beseech thee for all sorts and
conditions of men, that thou wouldest be pleased
to make thy ways known unto them, thy saving
health among all nations. More especially we
pray for the good estate of the Catholic church,
that it may . be so guided and governed by thy
good Spirit, that all, who profess and call them-
selves Christians, may be led into the way of
truth, and hold the faith in unity of spirit, in the
bond of peace, and in righteousness of life. Fi-
nally, we commend to thy fatherly goodness all
those -who are any ways afflicted in mind, body,
or estate ; (especially him for whom our prayers
are desired ;) that it may please thee to comfort
and relieve them according to their several ne-
c* ssities, giving them patience under their suffer-
ings, and a happy issue out of all their afflictions,
and this we beg for Jesus Christ his sake.
ALMIGHTY and everlasting God, who art always
more ready to hear than we to pray, and art wont
to give more than either we desire or deserve ;
pour down upon us the abundance of thy mercy,
forgiving us those things whereof our conscience
is afraid, and giving us those good things which
we are not worthy to ask, but through the merits
and mediation of Jesus Christ our Lord.
O GOD, merciful Father, that despisest not the
sighing of a contrite heart, nor the desire of such
as be sorrowful; mercifully assist our prayers
that we make before thee in all our troubles and
adversities whensoever they oppress us ; and gra-
ciously Hear us, that those evils which the craft
and subtlety of the devil or man worketh against
us be brought to nought, and by the providence
of thy goodness they may be dispersed; that we
thy servants, being hurt by no persecutions, (or
afflictions,) may evermore give thanks unto thee
in thy holy church; through Jesus Christ our
Lord.
WE beseech thee, O Fatner, mercifully to look
upon our infirmities, and for the glory of thy name
turn from us all those evils that we most right-
eously have deserved ; and grant that in all our
troubles we may put our whole trust and con-
fidence in thy mercy, and evermore serve thee in
holiness and pureness of living, to thy honour and
glory ; through ou*- only mediator and advocate,
Jesus Christ our Lord.
ALMIGHTY and everlasting God, who of thy
tender love to mankind hast sent thy Son our
Saviour Jesus Christ, to take upon him our flesh,
and to suffer death upon the cross, that all man-
kind should follow the example of his great hu-
mility ; mercifully grant, that we may both follow
248
THE CLERGYMAN'S COMPANION
the example of his patience, and also be made
partakers of his resurrection; through Jesus
Christ our Lenl.
ALMIGHTY God, the fountain of all wisdom,
who knowest our necessities before we ask, and
our ignorance in asking, we beseech thee to have"
compassion upon our infirmities ; and those things
which for our unworthiness we dare not, and for
our blindness we cannot ask, vouchsafe to give us
for the worthiness of thy Son, Jesus Christ our
Lord. Amen.
PRAYERS FOR THE SICK.
A general Prayer for the Acceptance of our
, Devotions for the Sick.
[From Bishop Andrews. ]
O LORD, it is a great presumption that one sin-
ner should dare to commend another to thy Di-
vine Majesty. And who would not fear to un-
dertake it 1 But thy commandment it is, " That
we should pray for the sick members of thy
churchj and mourn with them that mourn :" and
thou hast promised that our prayers thus made,
thou wilt receive. And now behold, O Lord, we
that are no way meet, but unworthy, utterly un-
worthy, to ask for aught for ourselves, charity
and compassion so binding us, are enforced to be-
come suitors to thee for others, even for this thy
servant, now afflicted by thee. Of thee we hope ;
of thee we desire; to thee we pray, in the most
meek and humble manner, and even from the bot-
tom of our hearts. O Lord, that which thou
mightest justly deny to our unworthiness, deny
not, we beseech thee, to thine own gracious good-
ness. O Lord, forgive us our sins ; O Lord for-
give us our sins, our great and grievolis sins, oft
and many times committed, long and many years
continued ; so that we may be meet to pray for
others, and our prayers be made unto thee in an
acceptable time.
Graciously look upon our afflictions.
Pitifully behold the sorrows of our hearts.
Mercifully forgive the sins of thy people.
Favourably with mercy hear our prayers.
Both now and ever vouchsafe to hear us, O
Christ.
Graciously hear us, O Christ ; graciously hear
us, Lord Christ. Amen.
Particular Prayers for the Sick.
[Prom Bishop Patrick.]
O MOST gracious God, who by thy Son Jesus
Christ hast united us all in one body, that we
should love one another, and if one member suf-
fers, all the members should suffer with it ; we
humbfy implore thy tender mercies towards this
thy servant, of whose afflicted condition we desire
to have a compassionate sense and feeling.
Look graciously upon him, O Lord, and visit t
him with thy salvation. Vouchsafe him such '
consolations from above, as we should desire for
ourselves, were we in his extremity. Give "him a
true penitent heart for all the offences that he hath
at any time committed, together with a lively
faith in thy Son Jesus, who came into the world
to save sinners. Give him the comfort of a holy
hope, that thou acceptest his repentance, and
faithful devotion to thee. Support him by this
hope under all his pain, and enable him patiently
to submit to thy fatherly correction. Send hvn
help now in time of need, both for his soul and lor
his body. Bless the means for /( is recovery ; and,
if it be thy good pleasure, restore him speedily
to his former health, ancj inspire him with a se-
rious resolution to serve thee more zealously all
his days.
Or if thou hast otherwise resolved in thy wise
counsels, deliver him frorn the fear of death, assist
him in h^is last agony, give him an easy and cheer-
ful passage out of this life, and send thy holy an-
gels to conduct him into rest and peace with our
Lord Jesus, for the same Jesus Christ's sake.
Amen.
[From Bishop Taylor.]
L
ALMIGHTY Gpd, Father of mercies, the God
of peace and comfort, of rest and pardon, we thy
servants, in duty to thee; and charity to our bro-
ther, humbly beg mercy of thee for him, to de-
scend upon his body and his soul. We come to
thee in the name of Jesus, praying thee to pardon
the sins of this thy servant, and to bury them in
the grave of Him that died for us, that they may
never rise up in judgment against him, nor bring
him in the day of trial, to shame and confusion
of face. Amen.
II.
GIVE thy servant, O Lord, patience in his sor-
rows, comfort in his sickness, ar\d restore him to
health, if it seem good to thee. And, however
thou shalt determine concerning him, yet make
his repentance perfect, and his, faith strong, and
his hope steadfast, and his passage safe; that
when thou shalt call his soul from the body, it
may enter into the rest of the sons of God, and
the bosom of blessedness, and be with the holy
Jesus. Amen.
III.
O LORD, thou knowest all the necessities, and
all the infirmities of thy servant : fortify^ his soul
with spiritual joys, and perfect resignation; and
take from him all inordinate tiffections to this
world ; and enlarge his heart with desires of be-
ing with thee, in thy heavenly kingdom.
. IV.
LORD, let not any pain or passion discompose
the order of his thoughts, or his duty; and lay no
more upon thy servant than thou wilt make him
able to bear ; and together with the temptation,
do thou provide a way to escape; even by the
mercies of a longer and more lu>ly life, or by the
mercies of a' blessed death ; even as it pleaseth
thee, O Lord; so let it be. Amen.
V.
LORD, let the tenderness of his conscience and
the Spirit of God call to mind his sins, that they may
be confessed and repented of: and let thy power-
ful grace remove from his soul every root of bit-
terness ; and in the union of the holy Jesus, and
in the love of God, ,and in the communion of all
the saints, let his squl be presented to thee blame-
less, and entirely pardoned, through Jesus Christ
our Lord. Amen.
IN VISITING THE SICK.
349
A larger Form of Prayer for the &ick.
[From Bishop Patrick.]
O LORD, the Father of our spirits, who giyest
us life, and breath, and all things, and hast, not
thought a crown of everlasting hie too much to
promise us, we believe that thou wilt not deny us
what is needful and fit for us, both for our souls
and our bodies, in our passage through this world,
to that of honour, glory, and immortality. In this
confidence, we more particularly recommend this
thy sick servant to thy infinite and most compas-
sionate mercy. Settle in his soul a steadfast faith,
that thou dost not willingly grieve the children of
men, but intendest good to him by this thy fatherly
correction. And now since all other pleasures and
enjoyments fail him, represent thyself more ef-
fectually unto him, as the only support and stay of
his hope, and rock of salvation. Whereinsoever
he hath neglected thee, or committed any offence
against thee, make him deeply sensible of it, and
heartily sorrowful for all his transgressions. And
as he earnestly desires pardon and forgiveness of
thee, so work in him a serious, resolution to live
more circumspectly and righteously for the time
to come. Assist him graciously, O Lord, that he
may give a proof of his sincere intentions here-
after to submit himself in all things to thy will,
by his patient submission to thy fatherly correc-
tion. O, that he may so quietly, so meekly, so
humbly, and cheerfully resign his will unto'thre,
to sufler what thou intlictest, that he may be the
more disposed to do readily whatsoever thoucom-
mandest. For which end, make him thoroughly
apprehensive of thy sovereign {>owcr and authority
over all creatures. Possess him with a great re-
verence of thy wisdom and justice, with an entire
confidence in thy goodness and luvc. with a thank-
ful remembrance of all thy past mercies to him.
that so he may the better endure what thou la vest
upon him at present, and may ever follow thv di-
rections, and submit to thy orders, and detiffut to
do thy will, O God.
Bless tlie remedies which are used for restoring
him to his former health, that he may live to per-
form his duty with greater care ; or if thou hast
otherwise appointed, accept graciously of his pur-
poses of amendment, and dispose him to return
back his spirit willingly unto thee who gavest it ;
and with great humility and deep sense of his own
undeservings, to expect thy mercy declared in
Christ Jesus. Fix his mind steadfastly upon him,
who hath led the way through the grave unto
heaven, that he may not be affrighted with the ap-
proaches of death, but looking beyond it to that
high and holy place, where the Lord Jesus is,
may rejoice in hope of eternal glory.
And grant that every one of us, in our best
state of health, may consider perpetually how frail
and weak we are; that so we may not abuse
ourselves by an intemperate use of any sensual
pleasures, nor load our minds with the cares of
this life, nor spend our days in a vain pursuit of
the honour and glory of this world ; but may pass
all the time of our sojourning here, in fear; and
may live so righteously and soberly in this present
world, as becomes those who expect shortly to
give an account to thee, who will judge all men
according to their works. Hear us, O Lord we
most humbly beseech thee, through Christ Je-
sus, our merciful and compassionate Redeemer.
Amen.
21
ASSIST us mercifully, O Lord, in these our
supplications and prayers, and dispose the way of
thy servants towards the attainment of everlasting
salvation ; that among all the changes a'nd chances
of this mortal life, they may ever be defended by
thy most gracious and ready help ; through Jesus
Christ our Lord. Amen.
(From Doctor Hammond.)
O LORD, bless, keep, and defend this thy ser-
vant with thy heavenly grace and benediction,
that he may continue thine for ever, and daily in-
crease in thy Holy Spirit more and more, until he.
comes to thy everlasting kingdom.
Let thy mighty hand and out-stretched arm,
O Lord, be ever his defence; thy mercv and
loving-kindness in Jesus Christ thy dear Son, his
salvation ; thy true and holy word, his instruction ;
thy grace and Holy Spirit, his comfort and con-
solation, both now and at the hour of death.
Now the God of. peace, that brought again
from the dead o\ur Lord Jesus, that great Shep-
herd of the sheep, through the blood of the ever-
lasting covenant, make you perfect in every good
work to do his will, working in you that which is
well pleasing in his sight, through Jesus Christ ;
to whom be glory for ever and ever. * Amen.
PROPER PSALMS FOR THE SICK.
O LORD, rebuke me not in thine indigna-
tion: neither chasten me in thy displeasure.
Psalm vi. 1.
2. Have mercy upon me, O Lord, for I am
weak : O Lord, heal me, for my bones are' vexed.
Psalm vi. 2.
-3. My soul also is sore troubled : but Lord,
how long wilt thou punish me? -Psalm vi. 3.
4. Thine arrows stick fast in me: and thy
hand presseth me sore. Psalm xxxviii. 2.
5. There is no health in my flesh, because of
thy displeasure : neither is there any rest in my
bones, by reason of my sin. Psalm xxxviii. 3.
6. For my wickednesses are gone over my head,
and are like a sore burden too heavy for me to
bear. Psalm xxxviii. 4.
7. I am feeble and sore smitten : I have roared
for the very disquietness of my heart. Psalm
xxxviii. 8.
8. My heart panteth, my strength hath failed
me, and the sight of mine eyes is gone from me.
Psalm xxxviii. 10. "
9. Therefore is my spirit vexed within me;
my heart within me is desolate. Psalm cxliii. 4.
10. Turn thee, O Lord, and deliver my soul:
O save me for thy mercies' sake. Psalm vi. 4.
11. Hide not thy face from me in the time of
my trouble : incline thine ears unto me when I
call ; O hear me, and that right soon. Psalm cii. 2.
12. For my days are consumed away like
smoke : my heart is smitten down and withered
like grass. Psalm cii. 3, 4.
13. And that because of thine indignation and
wrath : for thou hast lifted me up, and cast me
down. Psalm cii. 10.
14. But I said, O my God, take me not away
* Heb. xiii. 20, 21.
250
THE CLERGYMAN'S COMPANION
in the midst of my age; forsake me not when my
strength faileth me. Psalm cii. 2i.
15. Wherefore in thee, O Lord, have I put my
trust : let me never be put to confusion. Psalni
Ixxi. 1.
II.
PSALM LI.
HAVE mercy upon me, O God, after thy great
goodness : according to the multitude of thy mer-
cies, do away mine offences.
2. Wash me thoroughly from mine iniquity :
and cleanse me from my sin.
3. For I acknowledge my faults : and my sin is
ever before me.
4. Against thee only have I sinned, and done
this evil in thy sight: that thou mightest be justi-
fied in thy saying, and^lear when thou art judged.
5. Behold, I was shapen in wickedness, and in
sin hath my mother conceived me.
6. But, lo, thou requirest truth in the inward
parts : and thou shalt make me to understand wis-
dom secretly.
7. Thou shalt purge me with hyssop, and I
shall be clean : thou shalt wash me, and I shall be
whiter than snow.
8. Thou shalt make me hear of joy and glad
lich thou hast broken ma^
rejoice.
^ that the bones which
9. Turn thy face from my sins; and put out all
my misdeeds.
10,. Make me a clean heart, O God : and renew
a righit spirit within me.
11. Cast me not away from thy presence: and
take not thy Holy Spirit from me.
12. O, give me the comfort of thy help again ;
and establish me with thy free Spirit.
13. Then shall I teach thy ways unto the
wicked : and sinners shall be converted unto
thee.
IIL
HEAR my prayer, O Lord, and consider my
desire : hearken unto me for thy truth and right-
eousness' sake. Psalm cxliii. 1.
2. And enter not into judgment wifh thy ,ser-
vant : for in thy sight shall no man living be jus-
tified. Psalm cxliii. 2.
3. The sacrifice of God is a troubled spirit : a
broken and contrite heart, O God, thou wilt not
despise. Psalm li. 17.
4. Lord thou knowest all my desire : and my
groaning is not hid from thee. Psalm xxxviii. 9.
5. I stretch forth my hands unto thee: my
soul gaspeth unto thee, as a thirsty land. Psalm
cxliii. 6.
6. Hear me, O Lord, and that soon, for my
spirit waxctli faint : hide not thy face from me,
lest I be like unto them that go down into the pit.
Psalm cxliii. 7.
7. Haste thee to help me, O Lord God of my
salvation. Psalm xxxviij. 22.
8. For thou art a place to hide me in : thou
shalt preserve me from trouble : thou shalt compass
me about with songs of deliverance. Psalm
xxxii. 8.
9. Into thine hands I commend my spirit: for
thou hast redeemed me, O Lord God of truth.
Psalm xxxi. 5.
Glory be to the Father, &c.
As it was in the beginning, &c.
A Declaration of Forgiveness. '
[From Bishop Cosine.]
I DO most humbly desire all, and every one
whom I have offended, that they would vouchsafe
to forgive me : and 1 do freely and heartily forgive all
the world, whereinsoever" any hath offended me,
or done- me any manner of injury whatsoever, even
as I desire to be forgiven of God, and to be absolv-
ed from my sins, 4br the merits of my blessed
Redeemer.
OCCASIONAL PRAYERS FOR THE
' SICK,
A Prayer for a Person in the Beginning of his
Sickness.
[From Bishop Taylor.]
O ALMIGHTY God, merciful and gracious,
who in thy justice did send sorrow arid tears,
sickness and death, into the world, as a punish-
ment for man's sins, and hast comprehended all
under sin, and this sad covenant of sufferings,
not to destroy us, but that thou mightest have
mercy upon all, making thy justice to minister to
mercy, short afflictions to an eternal weight of
glory ; as thou hast been pleased to turn the sins
of this thy servant into sickness, so turn, we be-
seech thee, his sickness to the advantage of holi-
ness and religion, of mercy and pardon, of iaith
and hope,, of grace and glory. Thou hast now
called him to suffer. Lord, relieve his sorrow
and support his spirit, direct his thoughts and
sanctify his sickness, that the^punishmeht of his
sin may be to hint a school of .virtue. Make him
behave as a son under discipline, humbly and
obediently, evenly and patiently, that he may be
brought by this jneans nearer to thee ; ' that if he
shall recover his former health, he may return to
the world with greater strength of spirit, to run a
new race of stricter holiness, and more severe re-
ligion ; or if he shall pass hence through the gates
of death, he may rejoice in the hope of being admit-
ted into that heavenly society, in which all thy
saints and servants shall be comprehended to
eternal ages. Grant this, for Jesus Christ's sake,
our blessed Lord and Saviour. Amen.
A Prayer for Thankfulness in Sickness.
O GOD, wonderful bothin thy mercies and judg-
ments, grant that the sense of thy servant's pre-
sent afflictions may not cause him to forget thy
former mercies, which thou hast bestowed upon
him: O, therefore, let the remembrance of those
many and great blessings that he hath so long en-
joyed at thy hand, be now the proper motives and
incentives to ,the virtues of patience and humility,
causing him cheerfully to resign himself to thy
blessed will under all the dispensations of thy pro-
vidence, though ever so hard; and patiently to
wait for the return of thy loving-kindness in Jesus,
which is better than life. Amen.
A Prayer for a Blessing on the Means used for
a sick Person's Recovery.
['From Mr. Kettlewell.]
O GRACIOUS Lord, by whose word man lives
and not by any human means alone; direct, we
IN VISITING THE SICK.
251
pray thee, the counsels of those who prescribe to
this thy servant, and prosper the medicines which
are used to procure him ease and strength, but let
not his conlidence in them lessen any thing of li
dependence on thee, but make him sensible that
every good gift is from thee, and that it is thou
that givest us help in time of need. To whom,
therefore, but to thee, should we flee in the day of
our visitation? since it is thy blessing only that
maketh the means we use ellectual ; and, however
vain the use of them is without thee, jf thou bid-
dest them, the things or accidents which we do
not think of, or regard, shall recover us. O, there-
fore, as their part, who administer to him-, is the
care, so let thine, O God, be the blessing, and his
the comfort: and as he irgards them as thy instru-
ments, so let ki m own thee for the Author of his
mercies, and to thee give thanks, and pay his
vows and services ; through our Lord and Saviour
Jesus Christ. Amen.
A Prayer for a sick Person, when there appears
some Hope of Jlecorery.
[From Bishop Patrick.]
WK than!; thee. O leather, Lord of heaven and
earth, that thou hast heard our praxrrs lor thine
afflicted servant, and given him some respite and
hopes of recovery from this great illness.
be thy goodness, that he hat'h not made his l>cd in
the dust, but is likely to continue still. amongst us,
in the land of the living. Blessed be thy goodness
for so great (and lately unexpected) mercy to him.
And, O thou Preserver of man ! who hast begun
to revive and quicken him again ; go on to perfect
his cure, and forsake not the work of thy own
hands. Repair all the decays in his outward man,
that his mind may also recover its former strength,
to praise and bless thy goodness to him.
And visit him, in the meantime, with thy hea-
venly consolation from above. Fill him with com-
fortable thoughts of thy love, and of the tender
compassionate care which our Lord Jesus tikes of
all his afflicted servants.. Endue him still with
more patient submission to thy will, and enable
him both quietly to wait upon thee, till thou hast
finished his recovery, and also to continue stead-
fastly resolved to serve thee more faithfully with
his restored strength, through Jesus Christ our
blessed Saviour and Redeemer. Amen.
Another, in Behalf of the sick Person, when he
finds any Abatement of his Distemper.
ACCEPT, O Lord, of the unfeigned thanks of thy
servant for abating the fury of his present distem-
per, and giving him some hopes of raising him, up
again to praise thee in the great congregation.
It is a great mercy, O Lord, and owing to thy
goodness only, that 'h is senses are preserved en-
tire, and that he hath some respite, after so much
uneasiness and pain, through the violence of his
illness.
O perfect, if it be thy blessed will, what thou
hast begun in him, and say to the distemper, " It.
is enough."
Teach him hence, to look up to thee continually,
as the rock of his salvation, whence only he is to
expect comfort and support: and give him grace
always to make such a right use of thy favours,
that he may daily find himself surrounded by the
light of thy countenance, and enjoy the blessings
of thy heavenly benediction in all his ways, whe-
ther in adversity or prosperity, in sickness or in
health. Even so, blessed Lord, continue to assist,
strengthen, comfort, and bless him, both now and
for evermore, through Jesus Christ our Lord.
A Prayer for one who is dangerously HI.
O ALMIGHTY God, "gracious, and- merciful,
and leng-sufiering, whose compassions fail not;
look down, we beseech thee, upon the low and dis-
tressed state of thy servant, now lying in the ex-
tremity of sickness. The harder his illness presses
upon him, the louder does it call upon thee for
help. O be merciful therefore unto him, accord-
ing to the necessity of his case ? and according t6
the multitude of thy tender mercies in Jesus Christ.
Rebuke the distemper, that it prevail not over him
to death; but turn its malevolent aspect into a joy-
ous expectation of life. In as great danger as he
is, yet if thou wilt, O Lord, we know thou canst
make him whole ; if thou speakest the word, it shall
be done. In submission, therefore, to thy most
wise and good disposal of all things, we beg this
mercy at thy hands, that thou wouldest let " this"
bitter ' ; cup pass away" from thy servant, and
cause "away for" him " to escape" out of this
dangerous condition. O spare him a little, and
his " soul shall live." Amen.
A Prayer for a sick Person when Sickness con-
tinues long upon him.
[From Bishop Patrick.]
LOOK down, O Lord, we humbly beseech thec,
with an eye of compassion on thy poor distressed
ser\ant, who hath lain so long under this severe
affliction ; and by how much the outward man is
decayed and brought low by the tediousness of the
distemper's continuing on him, by so much the
more do thou be pleased to support him -in the in-
ner man by the gracious assistance of thy Holy
Spirit. Give him unfeigned repentance for all the
errors pf his past life, and steadfast faith in thy
Son Jesus Christ ; a comfortable assurance of the
truth of all his precious promises, a lively hope of
that immortal Miss in which lie reigns for ever-
more, and a strong sense of thy fat! h love to
him, and care over him, which may make him
heartily love thee, and entirely confide in thee, and
absolutely resign both soul and body to thy wise
disposal.
We know there is nothing too hard for thee ;
but that if thou wilt, thou canst bring him up even
from the gates of death, and grant him a longer
continuance among us. May it be thy good plea-
sure, O 1 most gracious God, still to continue him
here ; spare him, O Lord, and deliver him also
speedily from this misery, under which he hath so
long groaned. Bless all the means that are used
for his recovery, and for the support of his spirits,
and give him refreshment during this tedious sick-
ness. Release him from his pain, or grant him
some ease, or else increase and strengthen his pa-
tience. Help him, in remembrance of thy past
loving-kindness, to trust in thy goodness and sub-
mit to thy wisdom, and bear with an equal mind
what thou thinkest fit to lay upon him ; so that
approving himself to thee in these and all other
virtues, while thou triest him by so ore an afflic-
tion, he may say at the last, with the holy Psalm-
ist, " It was good for me that I was in trouble."
Unto thy infinite mercies we recommend him,
and to the compassionate kindness of our Lord Je-
sus Christ, who we hope will hear all the prayers
of his friends for him, every where, and send his
THE CLERGYMAN'S COMPANION
-Holy Spirit to be his comforter, and his good an
gels to be hit guardians, and direct those who are
to advise and prescribe Hi6 means of his restora-
tion, and bring him to praise thee again in the
assemblies- of thy saints Upon earth; or (if thou
hast otherwise disposed- in" thy wise counsels) to
praise thee in the great assembly of saints and
angels in heaven ; through Jesus Christ our Lord
and only Saviour, to whom with thee and the
Holy Spirit, be all praise, love and obedience,
world without end. '-Amen.
Prayer for the Grace of Patience, and a suitable
Behaviour in a sick Person to Friends and
Attendants.
HELP thy servant, O them, merciful Redeemer
and lover of souls, to undergb this load of afflic-
tion, which thou hast laid upon him, with pa-
tience. " Lead him" gently by the hand to " the
waters of comfort," and let "thy rod" and "thy
staff support" him, now thai He is obliged to " walk
in the valley and shadow of death."
Let him consider thee, O blessed Jesus, in all
thy weary pilgrimage and sufferings here upon
earth, before thou enteredst into" glory, " that he
be not weary and faint in his m'fhd."
If relief does not come from thee. so soon as he
expects or desires, enable him still to hold out with
long-suffering, and to wait with patience for it.
And whatsoever thou doestwith mm, O Lord, let
him be " dumb, and not open -his mouth" to mur-
mur or repine, because it is " thy doing." Make
him acquiesce and rest satisfied, even in the bit-
terest dispensations of thy providence-; and let no
pains or sufferings ever drive him from thee, con-
sidering that no " temptation hath befallen him"
but " what is common to men."
And, together with this patience towards thee,
give him patience, O merciful Lord, towards all
those who kindly and charitably minister unto him,
and attend about him.
Keep him from being humoursome, and show-
ing crossness to their good counsels, or from being
causelessly^ .ngry, and exceptions against their
kind endeavours. If any evil accidents or indis*
cretions happen, let him not presently be outrage-
ous -to aggravate them, or break out into any re-
proachful or unseemly behaviour against them;
but let him be pleased with the least expression of
their kindness, and interpret every thing favour-
ably; and on all occasions let him make it his
study to oblige those, who are obliging to him in
this time of necessity, receiving with thankfulness
their good offices, and praying God to reward them.
for his Son Jesus Christ's sake. Amen.
A Prayer for spiritual Improvement by Sickness.
[From Dr. Inet.J
O MERCIFUL Father, whoscourgest those whom
thou lovest, and chastisest those whom thou wilt
receive ; let thy loving correction purify thy ser-
vant, and make him great in thy favour by his
present humiliation. O let him learn " thy sta-
tutes" in this school of affliction :" let 'him ""sivk
thee early" in it; and when his " heart is over-
whelmed, lead him to the rock of salvation."
Let thy "rod" awaken him from his former
security in sin, and let him sensibly find that thou
" chastisest him for his profit, that he may be par-
taker of thy holiness."
Teach him, by this proof of thy fatherly cor-
rection, to be more dutiful for the time to come ;
to repent of his former offences, and to " redeem
the time past,' 1 by a double diligence for the future,
if-theu shall in mercy raise him up au.iin. Let
the remainder of his life be thine, and let nothing
separate him from thy love and service, but let it
be his whole care-anil study to provide oil lor his
lamp, and prepare for eternity; that so -"all the
davs of his appointed time he may wait till his
change come," and be ready whensoever his Lord
shall call him. 'Amen.
For a sick Person who is about to make his
Will.
O LORD, who puttest into our hearts good
desires, and hast inclined thy servant to " set his
house in order," as well in relation to his tempo-
ral, as h is spiritual, concerns, grant that he may
do ifwith exact justice, according to the rules of
our own religion, and the dictates of right reason.
He unfeignedly thanks thee for thy great mercies,
in having so liberally provided for him, that he
may be rather helpful than chargeable to any, and
die a benefactor and not in debt.
We charitably hope, that what he is now
about to dispose of, was all procured by fair and
righteous dealings, that he may comfortably feel,
that "it is more blessed to give than to re-
ceive."
Let him'be ready, with good Zaccheus, to make
restitution in the best manner he is able, and to
say with Samuel :
" Behold here 1 am : witness against me before
the Lord ; whose ox have I taken, or whose ass
have I taken, or whom have I defrauded 1 whom
have I oppressed, or of whose hand have I re-
ceived any bribe to blind mine eyes therewith'?
and I will restore it."
Lord, give him strength to order all things in
as due and regular a manner as if he were well.
Let his memory be perfect, and his judgment
sound, and his heart so rightly disposed, that he
may do nothing amiss, or through partiality, but
that justice and integrity may be seen through
the whole conduct of his will.
[If rich, add this.]
Let the light of his charity likewise shine glo-
riously before men, that out of the abundance
thou past been pleased to bless him with, he may
plentifully give to the poor and distressed, though
no ottferv/ise related to him but as they are mem-
bers of Jesus Christ, and brethren and sisters of
the samejjoinmunion.
Let hirh t O let him, now O Lord, and at all
times, if U'iou shouldest graciously continue him
here any longer, make to " himself such friends
of the unrighteous marnmon, that when these fail,
they may receive him into everlasting habita-
tions." AmSn.
A Prayer for a sick Penitent.
[From Mr. Kettle well.]
nrt thou, O God, in all the pains
and sorrows which punish our sins and try our
patience, and We have none to accuse and com-
plain of for the same but ourselves. This is the
acknowledgment which tijy servant makes, whom
thou hast now afflicted, fie receives it as the
chastisement of a sinner, and is willing to bear
chastisement for his sins, that he may thereby be
reclaimed from them. Correct him, O Lord, that
thou mayest not condemn him; and let him be
IN VISITING THE SICK.
253
judged by thee for his sins, and judge himsefffor
them here, that he may have nothing but mercy
without judgment to receive at thine hands here-
after.
But judge him, O God, with mercy, and not in
thine anger. Judge him not according as his sins
have deserved, but according as his weakness can
bear, and according as thy compassions are wont
to mitigate thy judgments: and let hig afflictions
work in him a true repentance, " not to be repent-
ed of," and prove a happy means, in the hand of
thy mercy, to reclaim him perfectly from all the
errors into which he hath fallen; "and to confer
that rest and peace upon his soul, which is denied
to his body; for our dear Lord and Saviour Jesus
Christ's sake.
THOU smitest him, O gracious God, that thou
mayest cure him ; and punishest his sin, that thou
mayest thereby amend and reclaim the sinner ;
and he is weary of his sins, which have brought
upon him all these sorrows, and which, as he seems
now deeply sensible, will bring infinitely worse,
unless he prevent the same by his timely and sin-
cere repentance.
Help him, therefore, to search them out ; and
when he sees them, let him not stop at any one,
but steadfastly resolve to renounce and amend all :
Let thy love make him hate every evil way> and
render his purposes against them strong and reso-
lute, and his care in fulfilling the same, vigilant
and patient ; and grant that the rrni;iiuclt>r of his
days may be one continual amendment of his for-
mer errors, and dedication of himself to thy st-rvinv
He desires life, only that he may serve thee ; Lord,
continue and confirm him in this purpose.
Lord cure his folly by his misery ; and teach
Aim by the loss of his ease, to purchase the bles-
sing of true repentance, and the comfortable hopes
of thy merciful acceptance thereof; through our
Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. Amen.
A Prayer for a sick Person who intends to re-
ceive the blessed Sacrament.
O THOU infinite and eternal Spirit, from whom
every good motion of our hearts' proceedeth ! who
both quickenest the dead, and after thou hast
given life, givest the increase : increase, we beseech
thee, the good seeds of thy grace, which thou hast
sown in the heart of thy servant, by inclining him
to receive the sacrament of the body and blood of
our Lord, in which thou art more immediately
present, to illuminate the faithful, and to comfort
and refresh all that are " weary and heavy-laden
with their sins."
O, cause thy face thus comfortably to shine
upon thy distressed servant, who now intends to
draw near to thee in this sacrament, as thou hast
commanded him.
Help him, in the mean time, O Lord, to fit and
prepare himself for this holy communion : fill his
soul with reverence and godly fear ; with earnest
desires and longings after divine life ; with serious
repentance for all his past offences, and hearty re-
solutions of living for ever after unto Jesus, who
died for him. O^ let him meditate upon his
bleeding Saviour with a "broken and a contrite
heart," which thou hast promised " not to despise :"
forgive him all that is past, and give him grace
for the future, to " live more soberly, righteously,
and piously, in this present world,'^ if it shall be
thy good pleasure to continue him in it.
.A Prayer for a sick Person that wants Sleep.
. [Prom Bishop Patrick.]-
ADORKD be thy love, thy wonderful love, O
most gracious God, who hast so many ways ex-
pressed thy bounty towards us. Thy mercies in
Christ Jesus surpass all our thoughts ;. we are not
able to number all the other blessings thou hast
bestowed upon us. How much do we owe thee
for the quiet sleep of but one night ! We see,
in this thy poor afflicted servant how much we
ought to thank thee for this single blessing, that
our eyes, when we would close them, are not held
waking.
Pardon, good Lord, our ingratitude for this and
all the rest of thy undeserved mercies: and be
pleased graciously also to visit him, who still lan-
guishes on his sick-bed, looking up to thee from
whom cometh our help. Renew his wasted spirits
with comfortable sleep ; compose him to a sweet
and undisturbed rest ; refresh him thereby so sen-
sibly, that he may be restored to such a degree of
strength, as may make him able, in some measure,
affectionately to acknowledge thy goodness, when
thou hast dealt so bountifully with him: or if thou
ilt-la vest to bestow that blessing on him, in the
multitude of his thoughts within him, let thy
comforts dr light his soul. If he still continues
without any rest, grant that his mind may rest
and repose itself in the bosom of thy dearest love,
and may feel the most sensible consolations from
heaven, not only quieting, but greatly rejoicing
his heart. Preserve the use of hts understanding,
and let the enemy have no advantage of him; but
nuik> him able to say, "I will wait patiently for
the Lord, till he incline his ear unto me, and hear
my cry. O, hear his prayer, O Lord, and give
ear unto his cry : O, spare him, that he may re-
cover strength be fore, he go hence;"* for Jesus
Christ's sake. Amen.
A Prayer to be said when the sick Person grows
light-headed.
[From Bishop Patrick.]
O LORD, look down from heaven, in pity and
compassion, upon this thine afflicted servant, who
is not able now to look up to thee : the more sorrow-
ful his condition grows, the fitter object he is of thine
infinite mercies ; who ateceptest, we humbly hope,
of the submission he made of himself, in the be-
ginning of his sickness, to thine almighty wisdom
and goodness. And therefore, since it is thy
pleasure to suffer his distemper to proceed to this
dangerous extremity, do thou n6 tess graciously
love him, and delight in him, than if he could still
give up himself to thy blessed will.
And hear, O most merciful Father, our prayers
in his behalf, when he can no longer commend
himself to thy mercies. Pardon, good Lord, par-
don all his sins; impute not to him any of his
former follies ; lay not to his charge his not im-
proving, or misusing, his reason and understand-
ing, which we earnestly, but humbly, entreat thee
to restore to him, together with such a measure of
thy divine grace, as may quicken- and assist him
to employ his thoughts to the best, purposes,
especially in meditating on thy mercies, in study-
ing thy praise, and. in exhorting all others to tove
thee, to trust in thee, and sincerely obey thee.
* Psalm xl. 1. and xxxix. 12, 13.
22
254
THE CLERGYMAN'S COMPANION
And while he remains thus deprived of his
reason, be pleased to quiet and compose his spirits,
or to prevent all furious motions there, or quickly
to abate such violent passions, if any arise : for
which end, be pleased to remove all frightful ima-
ginations far from him, and suffer not the evil one
to approach him r preserve him frpm doing any
harm, cither to himself or to any others. " For-
sake him not, O Lord our God, be not far from
him. Make haste to help him, O Lord pur sal-
vation."*
" So will we give thanks unto thee for ever."
" We will be still praising thee. and showing
forth thy loving kindness to those who succeed us.
" That they may set their hope in th9e our God,
and not forget thy works, but keep thy command-
ments." Amen.
A Prayer for a Person, when Danger is appre-
i hended by excessive Sleep.
[From "Mr. Kettlewell.]
O MERCIFUL God, let not this deep sleep, which
is fallen on thy servant, prove the sleep of death ;
make it the sleep of a recovering person, to relieve
and revive him; and awake him out of it in thy
due time, to offer thee praise, and to labour still
among us in doing thee honour and service.
But if, thou art pleased to take him to thyself,
Lord, remember and accept of all his former
prayers and repentance, faith and patience.
Look not upon his sins, but to pardon them ;
nor on his weaknesses, but to pity them: and
when he awakes in the next world, let him find
himself surrounded with light and bliss, instead
of gloominess and sorrow, and awake to eternal
life
Lord, hear us for this thy weak servant in dis-
tress. Hear our prayers for him, who seams not
able now to offer up any ppayers to thee for him-
self. And accept T>oth him and us to th e blessed
enjoyment of thy love through Jesus Christ our
Lord. Amen.
A Prayer for a Person lying insensible on a
Sick-bed.
O THOU Preserver of men, who knowest the
frailty of our constitutions ; how soon .our senses
may fail us, and our understanding depart from
us; to what r.-^idents, distempers, and decays,
our weak nature is subject; even euch as may
make the most acute and judicious quickly be-
come as fools; and the ablest and strongest,. weak
and insensible : O look down, we beseech thee,
upon thy servant, who now lies in such a weak
and insensible condition.
The less able lie is to assist himself, the more
need hath he of our prayers, and of thy tender
mercy to him. O thou great Creator of the world
who broughtest light out of darkness, and madest
all things out of nothing, and canst restore our
dead bodies again after they are mouldered into
dust, be pleased to repel the clouds of darkness
which now have taken away the light of our bro-
ther's understanding, and rendered him a com-
panion for the dead.
Ctuicken /mji again, O Lord, and restore him
to his former senses, that his soul may bless and
praise thy holy name.
Hear our petitions, O Lord, and receive ou
Psalm xxxviii. 21, 22.
jrayers for our brother, that this image of death
nay not be converted into death itself, but that he
nay live to proclaim thy power and to celebrate
hy praises longer upon earth.
,But if it be thy will to remove him hence in this
nscnsible condition, O pardon, we beseech thee,
all h is offences, and accept of the preparation and
repentance that he was able to make before the
distemper prevailed upon him in so deadly a man-
ner. Receive him, O Lord, into the arms of thy
mercy, and accept him, for thy well-beloved Son's
sake ; that so this short night may quickly be
turned into everlasting day ; and, after these dark
shadows are removed, he may find himself in a
leaven of happiness, where, "in thy light he may
see light" for ever. A men.
A Prayer for One who hath been a notoriously
wicked Later.
O LORD God, of infinite goodness and compas-
sion, whose mercies are over all thy works ; who
makest the sun to shine, and the rain to descend,
upon the "unjust" as well as the "just," and art
cmd even to the most unthankful ; we humbly
jeseech thee, to look down in mercy upon this thy
unworthy servant, who hath so long " trampled
upon the riches of thy goodness, not knowing that
It should lead to repentance."
Let'thy rod, therefore, awaken him now to a
sense of his condition, whom thy goodness hath
hot reclaimed, and let him still find mercy at thy
lands, notwithstanding his continual abuse of it.
Thou hast promised, O Lord, that, "when the
wicked man turneth away from his wickedness
which he hath committed, and doeth that which
is lawful and right, he shall save his soul alive."
O make good this thy promise to thy servant here,
who stands in so much need of it.
" Hide thy face from his sins, and blot out all
his iniquities :" though they be " red as scarlet,"
yet do tliou make them "white as snow," by re-
pentance, which we beg of thee to give him, and
to accept, though late, through thine infinite mer-
cies.
Simon Magus, though in the " gall of bitterness,
and the bond of iniquity," was exhorted to repent,
and to pray for pardon :- and therefore we nope
the gate of life is still open for our brother, though
he hath so long shut himself out of it, by going
on in a course that leadeth to the " chambers of
death."
Blessed Lord, let thy terrors at length awaken
him out of this lethargical condition, before he is
overtaken by thy judgments. Afflict him here,
that thou mayest spare him hereafter. Soften liis
heart, that he may bewail his ill-spent life, like
Mary Magdalen, with tears of contrition.
O quicken him to a sense of his duty, and of
his danger, before it be too late : and when thou
hast brought him to his right mind, receive him,
we beseech thee, as the compassionate father did
his prodigal son, or the shepherd his lost sheep.
Thou, O Lord, who didst pardon the thief upon
the cross, hear our prayers for our brother, in these
his great, and, for any thing we know, his last
agonies.
And as the fore-mentioned instances are lively
significations of thine unbounded goodness, and
were written for our comfort and instruction, that
none should despair of pardon ; so with the great-
est confidence we now recommend this our dis-
tressed brother to thy divine protection, beseeching
IN VISITING THE SICK;
255
thee to forgive all that is past, and to receive him
at last into thine " everlasting habitation." Amen.
A Prayer for One iciw is hardened and
impenitent. '
LORD God Almighty, who art the " Father of
our spirits," and who " turnest the hearts of men
as thou pleasest ; who hast mercy on whom thou
wilt have mercy, and whom thou wilt thou hard-
enest; let thy merciful ears be open, we pray thee,
to the supplication* which we now ofler to thy
Divine Majesty, in the behalf of this thy servant,
who appears insensible of hi* sin and lolly, and
on whom all means to lead him to repentance
have hitherto seemed vain and iuelleetual. Take
from him, we humbly entreat thee, all ignorance
and hardness of heart: remove from hi m all pre-
judice against, and contempt of, thy sacred word
and ministry : let him no longer " make a mock
of sin," but be sensible that the wisdom he has
hitherto gloried in, is the greatest and most dan-
gerous folly. Open thou h is eyes, that lie may
" see the wonderful things of thy law." Show
thy mercy upon him, and grant himthy salvation.
Convince him of the vanity and madness, as well
as danger, of his past ways.
His understanding, we fear, is now darkened,
and hi* heart hardened through the deceiti'nlness
of sin : O, do thou enlighten Ids dark mind, and
let him at last see the l-eauties of holiness, which
have so long been hidden from his eyes. Take
from him this "stony heart, and give him a heart
of llesh." Awaken" ///.> slumlienng and inatten-
tive soul, that it may delight in things agreeable
to its nature, and be employed in things that
make for its everlasting peace. O give him un-
derstanding, and he shall yet live. Thou that
canst revive souls which are dead in sin and tres-
passes, and make e\en such as Hi: in the grave of
corruption to tocome glorious saints and even mar-
tyrs lor religion, hear our prayers for our brother,
who seems to be on the brink of destruction ; and
pity poor sinners that have not pity oh themselves
it is the unhappiness of being long accustomed
to sin, that we are not soon made sensible of our
errors, nor easily made to know them. It is the
pride of our nature to be unwilling to acknowledge
our faults, and to confess our sins: but let th\
grace, O God, teach' us to deny this ungodly lust
Do thou humble in us all high and vain imagina
tions ; suppress all proud thoughts and haughty
opinions of ourselves. (Jive us all (and particu
larly thy servant, for whom we are now inter
ceding} a sense of our own vileness ; give us uri-
feigneu repentance for all the errors of our life
past ; that, being cast down, thou mayest raise us
up, and become merciful to us, miserable sinners.
Let us all find, by blessed experience, that " W
frow in grace, and in the knowledge of our Lor(
esus Christ;" and that " his commandments" are
not " grievous 7 ' to us, hut rather the delight ant
desire of our souls ; that so at last we may be
presented to hint " holy and unbkmeable, and un
reprovable in his sight?' Amen.
A Prayer for a sick Woman that is with Child
O GOD, the help of all that put their trust in
thee, the support ofthe weak, and the relief of th<
needy ; look with pity upon this woman thy ser
vant, who at best acknowledged herself but
weak and helpless creature, but -much more so
now in her present condition, when thou hast
dded weakness to weakness, and made her to
ravail with much sickness, together with the bur-
en of child-bearing.
O Lord, be thou graciously pleased to proppr-
ion thy strength to her weakness, and as pains
ind sorrow take hold upon her, inspire her with
resh vigour and courage to rely s upon thee, her
nly support in tune of need, and the rock of her
alvation.
Let her not be disquieted with the fear of any
il, since none can happen unto her without thy
permission; but give her grace patiently to resign
icrself to thy blessed will in all things, wno
knowest what is best for her, and wilt lay no
more upon her, we trust, than 'thou wilt enable
icr to bear.
Bring strength, O Lord, out of weakness, and
health out of sickness ;, and make her, in thy good
imc, a joyful mother of a hopeful child, which
nay do good in its generation, and be an instru-
ment of thy glory here, and a blessed inhabitant
of thy heavenly kingdom hereafter. Amen.
Woman in the Time of her
Travail.
[From Bishop Patrick.]
O MOST Mighty Lord, who hast given us innu-
merable pledges of thy love, and encouraged uStq
trust in thee tor ever, and to expert with quiet and
patient minds the issue of thy wise and good pro-
idcnee ; we most humbly commend thy servant,
n this her extremity, to thy care and blessing;
i.eseeehing thee to give her a gracious deliverance,
and to ease her of the burden wherewith she la-
bours. We ourselves are monuments of that
mercy which we beg of thee. Thou didst preserve
our weak and imperfect frame, before we were
born. Thou hast succoured and 'supported us
ever since, many times beyond our hopes, and
always beyond our deservings. We comiriit our-
selves, and every thing belonging unto us, most
heartily unto thy hands : remembering that thou
hast the'same power and goodness still, by which
we came into the light of the living. We cannot
desire to be better provided for, than as thy inlinite
wisdom judgcth most convenient for us; unto that
we refer ourselves, beseeching thee, if it be thy
good pleasure, that her deliverance may be as
speed v as her cries unto thee; or her patience as
irreat and long as her pains. Thou who ripenest
the fruits of the'earth, and then givest us the ga-
thering of them to our comfort, blast not, we be-
seech thee, the fruit ofthe womb ; but bring it to
maturity, and deliver it safe into thy servant's
hand as a new pledge of thy goodness to her, to
be an instrument ot thy glory, and a future com-
fort and blessing to thy servant, who travails m so
much pain with it now. Or if thou hast other-
wise detefmined, Lord, give her grace to submit
to thy holy will, and to rest satisfied in thy wise
appointments, and never to distrust thy goodness
and care over her. Hear us, O father of mercies,
and pardon hers and all our offences, and pity our
infirmities : make us more thankful for what we
have received, and more fit for the blessing which
we now request ; and prepare us ibr all thy future
mercies, either in this life, or in the next, through
thy infinite love and compassion declared to us, in
Christ Jesus our Lord. Amen.
256
THE CLERGYMAN'S COMPANION
A Prayer for a Woman who cannot be delivered
without Difficulty and Hazard.
O LORD God of all comfort and consolation,
who art the refuge of the distressed, and the help
of all that depend upon thee; we thy unworthy
servants do now ofler up our supplications at the
throne of -thy majesty, in the behalf of tliis thy
servant, who is in great pain and misery. Thou
bast been pleased to bring the child to the birth }
but there is not strength to bring forth. On this
account, thy servant is in tiolent agonies, crying
out in her pangs, and pouring out her soul to thee
in prayer. O grant that "it may be, in an accepta-
ble time."
."/Thou art our salvation; thou shall preserve
us from trouble ; thou shalt compass us about .with
songs of deliverance." O let thy servant feel these
blessed effects of thy goodness ; and as thou hast
brought to the birtih, enable her, we beseech thee,
to bring forth, that she may rejoice in the work-
manship of thy hands, and tell of all thy wondrous
works.
.Consider the low estate of thine handmaid, and
deliver her soul from death, her eyes from tears,
and her feet from falling. " Gracious art thou, O
Loro7 and righteous ; thou preservest the simple,
and helpest those that are in misery." Help thy
servant therefore now, we humbly entreat thee,
who stands in so much need of it. Accept her
tears, and assuage her pain, as shall seem most
expedient for her. And forasmuch as she putteth
her whole trust in thee, give her strength and pa-
tience proportionable to all her pains and agonies.
Support her spirits under them, and, if thou pleas-
est, carry her safely through the same, and "make
her to hear of joy and gladness, that the , bones
which thou hast broken may rejoice."
" Restore unto her, O Lord, the joy of thy sal-
vation, and uphold her with thy free Spirit ; then
shall she, teach transgressors thy way, and sinners
shall be converted unto thee. Deliver her" from
this great affliction, " O God, thou God of her
salvation, and her tongue shall sing aloud of thy
righteousness."
* Thy mercies and power are still the same,
and will be the same for ever. O let them now be
shown in this thy servant's delivery, as they have
been formerly On the like occasion ; that so, by
having fresh instances of thy- loving kindness, she
may still praise thee more and more.
O perfect her repentance, and pardon her sins.
Give her patience whilst she lives, and peace when
she dies, and after death, the happiness of a blessed
eternity, which thou hast promised and prepared
for all that love and fear thee; through Jesus
Christ our Lord. Amen.
A Prayer for Grace and Assistance for a Wo-
man after Delivery, but still in Danger.
[From Mr. Kettlewell.J
O FATHER of mercies, what thanks, can we
worthily give unto thee- for thine unspeakable
goodness to this thy servant and her helpless in-
fant, and for the, wondrous tilings which thou
hast done for her ! The pangs of death com-
passed her, and she found trouble and sorrow
The mouth of the pit was -opened, and ready to
* This is td be omitted, if it be the first child.
shut itself upon her: but thou hast graciously
assuaged her pains, and turned her sorrows into
joy.
Lord, we will ever adore and magnify thy
merry, which has dealt so lovingly with her, and
praise thy truth and faithfulness, which have not
sullercd her hopes to fail. We will never forget
how mindful thWKast been of the low estate of
thy handmaid; for she has been supported by thy
power, O blessed God, in her greatest weakness.
She has tasted thy goodness in the midst of all
her pangs and sorrows.
Perfect, O Lord, that deliverance to her which
thou hast mast graciously begun, and let her not
be lost, after the wonders which thou hast already
done for her.
Continue her patience, and her humble de-
pendence on thee, under the pains and accidents
to which she is still exposed. Support her spirits,
and raise her up again in thy due time. Thy
mercy and power are still the same, and will be
the same for ever. O let them still be shown for
her recovery, as they have been already for her
delivery ; let them be shown upon her, that she
may praise thee more and more.
But if, in thy paternal providence, whereunto
we pray she may willingly commit herself, thou
hast determined otherwise concerning her, thy
blessed will be done. Dispose her either to life or
death, as thou pleasest, only in both to thy mercy :
and whether living or dying, let her still please
thee, and be thou her portion. O perfect her re-
pentance, and give her patience whilst she lives,
and peace when she dies, and after that, the hap-
piness of a blessed eternity, which thou hast pre-
pared for all that truly fear thee ; through Jesus
Christ our Lord. Amen.
If the Child be living, this may be added:
PRESERVE likewise her tender infant, O Father
of mercies, and let its own weakness, and our
cries, commend it to thy care.
Keep it also afterwards in health and safety,
and as it increases in years and stature, let it in-
crease in wisdom, and in thy fear. We beg not
for it wealth or greatness, but wisdom to know
and to serve thee. For, O Lord, we do not desire
life, either for ourselves or it, but that we may
live to thee, and grow daily hi love and thankful-
ness for all thy mercies, and in faith and patience,
and all holy obedience, which may fit us for the
happiness which thou hast promised; through
Jesus Christ oilr only Saviour and Redeemer.
Amen.
Prayers for a Sick Child.
[Visitation Office.]
O ALMIGHTY God and merciful , Father, to
whom "alone belong the issues of life and death;
look down from heaven, we humbly beseech thee,
with the eyes of mercy upon this child, now lying
upon the bedof sickness : visit him, O Lord, with
thy salvation ; deliver him in thy good appointed
time from his bodily pain, and save his soul for
thy mercy's sake ; that if it shall be thy good plea-
sure to- prolong his days ^ here on earth, he may
live to thee, and be an instrument of thy glory, by
serving thee faithfully, and doing good in his
generation ; or else receive him into those hea-
vt'iilv habitations, where the souls of them that
sleep in the Lord Jesus enjoy perpetual rest and
IN VISITING THE SICK.
257
felicity. Grant this, fur thy mercy's sake; through
Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
[From Mr. Kettlewell.]
LORD, pity the troubles and weakness of this
infant, and pity our sorrows, who are afflicted with
it. and for it. Ease it of its pains, and strengthen
it when it lies struggling for life. Raise it up
again, if it shall please thce, to grow in years and
stature, in wisdom and virtue; and thereby to
comfort us, and glorify thee.
We believe, O Almighty Father, that thou
knowest best what is fit, both for it and us, and
wilt do what is n't for both, and therefore we Intu-
it to thee, to dispose of it as thou pleasest. But
whether it be to lite or death, let it be thine in
both, and either preserve it to l>e thy true and
faithful servant here on earth, or take it to the
blessedness of thy children in the kingdom of
heaven; through our Lord and Saviour Jesus
Christ. Amen.
A Prayer for a Person who, from a state of
Health, is suddenly seized with the Symptom*
of Death.
O MOST gracious Father, Lord of heaven and
earth, Judge of the living and of the dead, behold
thy servants turning to thee tor pity and mcrcv.
in behalf of onrsehes mid this thy servant, ll
w;ts luit lately that we beheld him in as promising
a state of health and life, as any one of us seems to
be in at present, and therefore our concern is so
much the greater to behold so sudden a change.
and so unlocked for an instance of our mortality.
We know, O Lord, thou canst bring back from
the brink of the grave, and as suddenly raise thy
servant again as thou hast cast him down, and
therefore we think it not too late to implore thy
mercy upon him for his recovery ; at least we beg
of thee to spare him a little, that he may recover
his strength, and have time to make his peace
with thee, " before he go hence, and be no more
seen." But if it be thy will to remove him at this
time into another world, O let the miracles of thy
compassion, and thy wonderful mercy, supply to
him the want of the usual measures of time, that
he may fit himself for eternity. And let the great-
ness of his calamity be a means to procure his
pardon for those defects and degrees of unreadi-
ness which this sudden stroke hath caused. And
teach us all, we beseech thee, from this unexpected
fate of our brother, to be continually upon our
guard, and to watch and pray, since \\e know not
the hour when the " Master of the house cometh,"
whether " in the evening, or at midnight, or in
the morning."
Lord, thou hast now called thy servant before
he was aware of it ; O, give him such a great and
effectual repentance in this exigence, that in a
short time it may be sufficient to do the work of
many days. Thou regardest, O Lord, the sin-
cerity of our hearts more than the measures of
time, in our conversion ; accept therefore, we be-
seech thee, the few minutes of thy servant's un-
feigned tears and humiliation for his sins, as if
they were hours and days of a longer preparation :
and let it be thy pleasure to rescue him from alj
the evils he deserves, and all the evils he fears,
that in the songs of eternity which angels and
saints shall sing to the glory of thy name, this also
may be reckoned amongst thine invaluable mer-
2K
cies, that thou hast redeemed his soul from death,
and made him partaker of eternal life ; through
Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
A Prayer for a sick Person, when there appeareth
small hope of Recovery.
[Visitation Office.]
O FATHER of 'mercies and God of all comfort,
our only help in time of need ; we . fly unto thee
for succour in behalf of this thy servant, here lying
under thy hand in great weakness of body. Look
graciously upon him, O Lord, and, the more the
outward man decay cth, strengthen him, we be-
seech tliee. so much the more continually with
thy grace and Holy Spirit in the inner man.
Give him unfeigned repentance for ail the errors
of his life past, and steadfast faith in thy Son Je-
sus, that his sins may be forgiven, and his pardon
sealed in heaven, before he go hence, and be no
more seen. We know, O Lord, that there is no
work impossible with thee, and that, if thou wilt,
thou canst even yet raise him up, and grant him a
longer continuance among us. Yet forasmuch as
in all appearance the time of In's dissolution draw-
eth near, so fit and prepare hin^ we beseech thee,
against the hour of death, that after his departure
hence in peace, and in thy favour, his soul may
be received into thine everlasting kingdom;
through the mediation of Jesus Clmst thy Sonj
our Saviour. Amen.
A general Prayer for Preparation and Readi-
ness to die.
LORD, "what is our life, but a vapour which
appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth
away 7" Even at the longest, how short and
transitory! and when we think ourselves most
secure, yet we know not what a day may bring
forth ; nor how soon thou mayest come, before wo
are aware, to call us to our last account.
duickly shall we be as water spilt on the
ground, which cannot be gathered up again.
Gluickly shall we be snatched away hence, and
our place here shall know us no more.
Our bodies shall soon lie down in the grave,
and our souls be summoned to appear before the
tribunal of Christ, to receive our everlasting doom ;
and yet, O Lord, how do the generality of man-
kind live in this world, as if they were never to
leave it ! How unmindful are we all of our depar-
ture ! how improvident of our time ! how careless
of our souls, and negligent in our preparations for
eternity ! so that thou mightest justly cut us off
in the midst of our sins, and our unpreparedness
to appear before thee. But, O God of all comfort
and mercy, remember not our sins against thee,
but remember thy own love to us in Jesus Christ,
and thy tender mercies which have been ever of
old. O, remember how short our time is, and
" so teach us to number our days, that we may
apply our hearts unto wisdom."
In the days of our health and prosperity, let us,
from the example of our brother's weakness, re-
member oUr own approaching fate; and let /////?,
from the sudden change of health to sickness, con-
sider how few and evil all his days have been, and
that there is no satisfaction in any thing, but in
knowing thee, O God. Lord, what have we to
do in this world, but to devote ourselves wholly to
thy service, and to make ready for the world to
22*
253
THE CLERGYMAN'S COMPANION
come 1 O, that we may all of us be mindful o:
this " one thing necessary,''' that we may finish
our " work," before we finish our course.
duicken thy servant, O Lord, into a powerfu
and serious consideration of these things, now thou
hast brought him into more intimate acquaintance
with them. Instruct and assist liirn in this grea
work of preparation to die. Show him how to do
it, and help him with good success to perform it ;
that when the time of his dissolution draweth
near, he may have nothing else to do, but to re-
sign himself willingly and cheerfully into thy
hands, as into the hands of a merciful Creator,
there to remain with thee for ever in that blessed
place where sin and sickness and death shall be
no more. Amen.
A commendatory Prayer for a sick Person at the
point of Departure.
[Visitation Office.]
O ALMIGHTY God, with whom do live the spi-
rits of just men made perfect ; we humbly com-
mend the soul of this thy servant our dear brother
into thy hands, as into the hands of a faithful
Creator, and most merciful Saviour; humbly be-
seeching thee, that it may be acceptable in thy
sight. And teach us, who survive, by this and
other daily instances of mortality, to see how frail
and uncertain our own condition is, and so to
number our days, that we may seriously apply
our hearts to that holy and heavenly wisdom,
which may bring us to life everlasting ; through
Jesus Christ thy Son, our Lord. Amen.
. A Litany for a sick Person at the time of
Departure.
[From Bishop Andrews.]
O God, the Father of heaven,
Have mercy upon him :
Keep and defend him.
O God the Son, Redeemer of the world,
Have mercy upon him :
Save and deliver him.
O God the Holy Ghost, proceeding from the
Father and the Son r
Have mercy upon him :
Strengthen and comfort him.
O, holy, blessed, and glorious Trinity,
Have mercy upon him.
Remember not, Lord, his offences; call not to
mind the offences of his forefathers; but spare
him, good Lord, spare thy servant, whom thou
hast redeemed with thy precious blood, and be
not angry with him for ever.
From thy wrath and indignation ; from the fear
of death; from the guilt and burden of his sins,
and from the dreadful sentence of the last judg-
ment;
Good Lord deliver him.
From the sting of conscience : from impatience,
distrust, or despair; and from the extremity of
sickness or agony, which may any ways withdraw
his mind from thee ;
Good Lord deliver him.
From the powers of darkness ; from the illu-
sions and assaults of our ghostly enemy ; and from
the bitter pangs of eternal death ;
Good Lord deliver him.
From all danger and distress j from all terrors
and torments ; from all pains and punishments,
both of the body and of the soul;
Good Lord deliver him.
By thy manifold and great mercies ; by the ma-
nifold and great mercies of Jesus Christ thy Son ;
by his agony and bloody sweat; by his strong
crying and tears ; by his bitter cross and passion ;
by his resurrection and ascension; by his inter-
cession and mediation ; and by the graces and
comforts of the Holy Ghost ;
Good Lord deliver him.
In this time of extremity ; in his last and great-
est need ; in the hour of death, and in the day of
judgment ;
Good Lord deliver him.
We sinners do beseech thee to hear us, O Lord
God ; that it may please thee to be his defender
and keeper; to remember him with the favour
thou bearest unto thy people, and to visit him
with thy salvation :
We beseech thee to hear us, Good Lord.
That it may please thee to save and deliver his
soul from the power of the enemy, to receive it to
thy mercy, and to give him a quiet and joyful de-
parture :
We beseech thee to hear us, Good Lord.
That it may please thee to be merciful, and to
forgive all the sins and offences, which at any
time of his life he hath committed against thee :
We beseech thee to hear us, Good Lord.
That it may please thee not to lay to his charge,
what in the lust of the flesh, or in the lust of the
eye, or in the pride of life, he hath committed
against thee :
We beseech thee to hear us, Good Lord.
That it may please thee not to lay to his
charge, what, in the fierceness of his wrath, or in
vain and idle words, he hath committed against
thee :
We beseech thee to hear us, Good Lord.
That it may please thee to make him partaker
of all thy mercies, and promises, in Christ Jesus.
We beseech thee to hear us, Good Lord.
That it may please thee to grant his body rest
and peace, and a part in the blessed resurrection
of life and glory :
We beseech thee to hear us, Good Lord.
That it may please thee to vouchsafe his soul
the enjoyment of everlasting happiness, with all
the blessed saints in thy heavenly kingdom :
We beseech thee to hear us, Good Lord.
Son of God, we beseech thee to hear us.
O Lamb of God, that takest away the sins of
the world;
Grant him thy peace.
O Lamb of God, that takest away the sins of
the world ;
Have mercy upon him.
O Saviour of the world, &c. ) M fou m
Unto thy gracious, &c. $
Form of recommending the Soul to God, in her
Departure from the Body.
[From Bishop Cosins.]
INTO thy merciful hands, O Lord, we commend
the soul of this thy servant, now departing from
the body. Receive -him, we humbly beseech thee,
into the arms of thy mercy, into the glorious so-
ciety of thy saints in heaven. Amen.
GOD the Father, who hath created thee ; God
the Son, who hath redeemed thee ; God the Holy
IN VISITING THE SICK.
259
Ghost, who hath infused his grace into thee ; be
now and evermore thy defence, assist thee in this
thy last trial, and bring thee to everlasting life.
Amen,
[Prom Bishop Taylor.]
I.
O HOLY and most gracious Jesus, we humbly
recommend the soul of thy servant into thy hands,
thy most merciful hands : let thy blessed angels
stand in ministry about thy servant, and protect
him in his departure. Amen.
II.
LORD, receive the soul of this thy servant : enter
not into judgment with him; spare him whom
thou hast redeemed with thy most precious blood,
and deliver him from all evil and mischief, from
the crafts and assaults of the devil, from the fear of
death, and from everlasting condemnation. Amen.
III.
LORD, impute not unto him. the follies of his
youth, nor any of the errors of his life; but
strengthen him in his agony, and carry him safely
through the last distress. Let not his faith waver,
nor his hope fail, nor his charity be diminished;
let him die in peace, and rest in nope, and rise in
glory. Amen.
O SAVIOUR of the world, who by thy cross and
precious blood hast redeemed us ; save and help
this thy departing servant, we humbly beseech
thee, O Lord. Amen.
UNTO thy gracious mercy and protection we
commit him. O Lord, bless him, and keep him.
Make thy face to shine upon him, and be gracious
unto him. Lift up thy countenance upon him,
and give him peace, both now and evermore.
Amen.
A consolatory Form of Devotion that may be
used with the Friends or Relations of the
Deceased.
"SORROW not, brethren, for them which are
asleep, even as others, who have no hope.
" For if we believe that Jesus died, and rose
again ; even so them also which sleep in Jesus,
will God bring with him." 1 Thess. iv. 13, 14.
" It is the Lord, let him do what seemeth good
unto him." 1 Sam. Hi. 18.
" The righteous is taken away from the evil to
come." Isaiah Ivii. 1.
" Though the righteous be prevented with
death, yet shall he be in rest.
" The honourable age is not that which stand-
eth in length of days, nor that which is measured
by number of years.
" But wisdom is the gray hair unto men, and
an unspotted life is old age." Wisd. iv. 7, 8, 9.
" Precious in the sight of the Lord, is the death
of his saints." Psalm cxvi. 15.
" Yea, blessed are the dead, which die in the
Lord; even so saith the Spirit; for they rest from
their labours." Rev. xiv. 13.
Let us pray.
Lord, have mercy upon us.
Christ, have mercy upon, us.
Lord, have mercy upon us.
OUR Father which art in heaven : hallowed be
thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be
done in earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day
our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses
as we forgive them that trespass against us. And
lead us not into temptation ; but deliver us from
evil. Amen.
" Lord, thou hast been our refuge from one
generation to another.
Before the mountains were brought forth, or
ever the earth and the world were made, thou
art God from everlasting, and world without end.
Thou turnest man to destruction ; again thou
sayest, Come again, ye children of men.
For a thousand years in thy sight are but as
yesterday, seeing that is past as a watch in the
night.
As soon as thou catterest them, they are
even as a sleep, and fade away suddenly like the
grass.
In the morning it is green, and groweth up;
but in the evening it is cut down, dried up, and
withered.
For we consume away in thy displeasure, and
are afraid of thy wratliful indignatipn.
Thou hast set our misdeeds before thee, and
our secret sins in the light of thy countenance.
For when thou art angry, all our days are
gone ; we bring our years to an end, as it were a
t.ilr that is told.
So teach us to number our days, that we may
apply our hearts unto wisdom.
Turn thee again at last, and be gracious to
thy servants.
Comfort them again, now after the time that
thou hast afflicted them, and for the present oc-
casion, wherein they suffer adversity.
O satisfy them with thy mercy, and that soon ;
so shall they rejoice, and be glad all the days of
their life."
MOST just art thou, O God, in all thy dealings
with us, " our punishment is less than our ini-
quities deserve; and therefore we desire to sub-
mit with all humility and patience to this dispen-
sation of thy divine providence. Be pleased so to
sanctify it to this family, that thy grace and mercy
may more abundantly flow upon thy servants.
Thy property it is to bring good out of evil ; O
turn that evil, which is now befallen this house, to
the benefit of every one of us, that so we may be
able to say, from happy experience, that "the
house of mourning is better than the house of
feasting," while the death of our brother, through
thy blessing, shall conduce and minister to our
spiritual advantage.
Let the sight of his change make us the more
mindful of our own, and the sense of our loss
make us cleave more steadfastly to thee, O God.
Let the remembrance of his virtues make us fol-
low his example, and the hope we have of his
being blessed, cause us to " press," with the more
earnestness, " towards the mark, for the prize of
our high calling in Christ Jesus."
Thou knowest, O Lord, the weakness and
frailty of our nature, and therefore we beseech
thee to give thy servants, who are more nearly
concerned in this visitation, a constant supply of
thy good Spirit, to enable them to bear it with
humility, patience, resignation, and submission
to thy divine will, as becometh the Gospel of Je-
sus Christ. O that no repining thoughts may
arise in their hearts to discompose their duty to-
wards thee, or towards their neighbour : but help
THE CLERGYMAN'S COMPANION.
them rather to think wherein they have offended
thee, and carefully to amend it: to place their
affections more steadfastly on those immoveable
things which are above, and freely resign all their
thoughts and desires unto thee ; saying, with holy
Job, " The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken
away, blessed be the name of the Lord." And
let the death of thy servant strike us all with
such a lively sense of our mortality, as may cause
us so thoroughly to die to sin, and live to grace,
that when we die, we may rest in him, as our
hope is this onr^brother doth.
We evidently see "that death is the end of all
men j" grant us therefore grace to lay it to heart,
to despise the world, " to abhor that which is evil,
and cleave to that which is good ; to delight in thy
word, to study thy will, to observe thy law, and to
take all possible care to promote thy honour, and
our own salvation ; that when " we go the way
of all earth, we may be comforted by tKy pre-
sence," and admitted into thy heavenly kingdom.
Amen.
ASSIST us mercifully, O Lord, in these our
supplications and prayers and dispose the way
of thy servants towards the attainment of ever-
lasting salvation ; that, among all the changes
and chances of this mortal life, they may ever be
defended by thy most gracious and ready help ;
through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
The Lord bless us and keep us, the Lord lift
up the light of his countenance upoii us, and
give us peace, now and for evermore. Amen.
OCCASIONAL PRAYERS AND DEVOTIONS FOR THE
SICK AND UNFORTUNATE IN EXTRAORDINARY
CASES.
A Prayer for a Person whose Illness is chiefly
brought on him by some calamitous Disaster or
loss, as of Estate, Relations, or Friends, tf*c.
[From Bishop Patrick.]
O MOST gracious and glorious God, supreme
Judge and Governor of the world, " in whom we
live, and move, and have our v being," and from
whom all the blessings we enjoy, and "every
good and perfect gift cometh," grant us, we hum-
bly beseech thee, such a measure of thy grace,
that whenever thou art pleased to remove any of
thy blessings from us, we may bear it with a per-
fect resignation to thy divine will ; and with all
patience, humility, and contentedness of spirit,
consider how unworthy we are of the least of thy
mercies.
More particularly, O Lord, we beseech thee to
give this peaceableness, and contentedness of
mind, to this thy servant, whom thou hast so sen-
sibly afflicted, by taking so near and dear a bless-
ing from him. O give him such a portion of thy
blessed Spirit, and such a lively sense of his duty,
that he may have power to surmount all the dif-
ficulties he labours under, and freely to resign all
his thoughts and desires unto thee, submitting
himself entirely to thy good providence, and re-
solving, by thy gracious assistance, to rest con-
tented with whatsoever thou in thy wisdom ap-
pointest for him. Thou knowest, O Lord, the
weakness and frailty of our nature, and therefore
be pleased to comfort him in this lied of sickness
establish him with the light of thy countenance :
and grant that no repining thoughts may increase
h in illness, or discompose his duty towards thee, or
his neighbour : but enable him to think wherein
he -hath oflended thee, and carefully to amend his
ejrors ; to set his affections on things above, and
not on things below, and to lay up for himself
treasures in heaven, even the treasures of a good
life, which no disasters or calamities shall evt-r be
able to take from him. Grant this, O heavenly
Father, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
A Prayer for a Person who by any calamitous
Disaster hath broken any of his Bones, or is
very much bruised and hurt in his Body.
[From Mr. Jenks.]
O LORD, the only disposer of all events, thou
hast taught us that "affliction cometh not forth
of the dust, neither doth trouble spring out of the
ground :" but that the disasters which befall us
are by thy appointment. Thou art just in all
thou bringest upon us: and though thy "judg-
ments are far above out of our sight," yet we
know " that they are right, and that it is in very
faithfulness thau causest us to be afflicted." " Why
then should a living man complain, a man for the
punishment of his sins V Let these considerations
prevail with thy servant to submit to thy dispen-
sations. Make him resolve to bear the effects of
thy displeasure, and to consider it as the just de-
sert of his sins. O Lord, give him patience and
strength, and grace, proportionable to this great
trial ; and enable him so to conduct himself under
it, that, after the affliction is removed, he muy find
cause to say, " it was good for him to be afflicted."
Thou that hast torn and smitten, thou art able to
heal and. to comfort. Be pleased to remember him
in this his low estate. Cause him to " search and
try his ways, and turn to thee, and bring forth
fruits meet for repentance."
We know, O Lord, thou canst raise him up
from the deepest affliction : O, let it be thy gra-
cious will to glorify thy power and mercy in his
recovery ; or, nowever thou shalt think fit to dis-
pose of this " vile body," grant him, O God, a
mind entirely resigned to thy will, and satisfied
with thy dispensations. O, make this calamity
the messenger of thy love to his soul, and the
happy means of his conversion ; through Jesus
Christ. Amen.
A Prayer for a Person that is afflicted with
grievous Pains of his Body.
[From Mr. Jenks.]
O LORD, thou art a merciful God, and dost not
willingly afflict the children of men ; but when
necessity requires, thou chastisest us for our profit,
that we' may be partakers of thy holiness. Re-
move, we beseech thee, this affliction from thy
servant, or enable him to bear what thou art
pleased-to lay upon him. Lord, all his desire is
before thee, arid his groaning is not hid from
thee. Regard his affliction, when thou hearest
his cry. Enter not into judgment with him, nor
deal with him according to his sins, but according
to thy mercy in Jesus Christ. O gracious Father,
sanctify to him what thou hast laid upon him,
that his present affliction may work out for him
an eternal weight of glory. Support him under
IN VISITING THE SICK.
261
his pains, till it shall please thee to grant him
ease and comfort. And, however thou shalt deal
with him, let him not repine at thy correction,
nor sin in charging thee foolishly. Make him
sensible, that thou doest nothing but what is wise
and just ; nothing but what thy servant shall one
day have cause to bless and praise thee for doing.
And let this consideration teach him to glority
thee in the time of h is visitation, by an humble
submission to thy will, and a sincere reformation
under thy providential dispensations; that thou
mayest visit him in mercy and love, show him the
joy of thy salvation ; through Jesus Christ our
Lord. Amen.
A Prayer for One who is troubled with acute
Pains of tlie Gout, Stone, Colic, or any other
bodily Distemper.
[From Mr. Spinkes.]
O BLESSED God, just and holy, who dost not
willingly afflict the children of men ; withhold not,
we beseech thee, thy assistance from this thy ser-
vant in the extremity of his pain. His sorrows
are increased, and his soul is full of trouble. He
has none to flee unto, for the ease and initiation
of his agonies, but to thee, O Lord. He freely
owns that his sufferings are infinitely less than he
has deserved ; yet since they jrierce deep, and are
become almost too heavy for him to bear, we pre-
sume to call upon thee for aid ; and to entreat thee,
not to punish him according to his deserts. For
if thou shouldest IK- extreme to mark what is done
amiss, O Lord, who may abide ill" Spare him
therefore for thy mercy's sake; and correct him
"not in thine anger, lest t hmi bring him to nothing.''
Endue him with that patience which may enable
him cheerfully to submit to thy chastisement;
and grant him an unfeigned rejvntance for all
Jits sins. Comfort his soul, which melteth away
for very heaviness, and let thy loving mercy come
unto him. Sanctify this thy fatherly correction
to him, that it may be for thy glory, and his ad-
vantage. And when thy gracious ends in afflict-
ing him, shall be accomplished, which we know
are not for " thy pleasure," but for his profit, give
him, we beseech thee, a fresh occasion to rr juice
in thy saving health ; through Jesus Christ our
Lord. Amen.
A Prayer for a Person in the Small-Pox, or
any such-like raging infectious Disease.
O GRACIOUS and merciful Father, the only
giver of health, look down, we beseech thee, with
an eye of compassion, upon thy miserable and
disconsolate servant, from whom thou hast taken
this great and valuable blessing ; and instead of it,
has fill 3d every part of his body with a sore
Teach him, O Lord, and teach us all from hence,
to consider how soon the beauty of life is blasted
like a flower, and our " strength dried up like a
potsherd," that we may not put our trust in any
of these transitory things, but in thee only, the
hying God, who art able to save and to destroy, to
kill and to make alive.
Our brother, whom we now behold a spectacle
of misery, was lately, like one of us, in perfect
health. But now "thou makest his beauty to
consume away, as it were a moth fretting a gar-
ment. Thine arrows stick fast in him, and thy
hand prcsseth him sore; so that there is no sound-
ness in his flesh, because of thine anger ; neither
is there any rest in his bones by reason of his
sin.
" O reject him not utterly, but take thy plague
away from him. Return, O Lord, and that
speedily ; for his spirit faileth. O leave him not
in his distress ; for though the world may forsake
him, his sure trust is in thee. To thee, O Lord,
does he cry; to thee doth he stretch forth his
hands ; his soul thirsteth after thee as a barren and
dry land. Lord, all his desire is before thee, and
his groaning is not hid from thee. Comfort him
therefore again now after the time that thou hast
afflicted him, and for the days wherein he hath
suffered adversity."
Put a stop, O Lord, we beseech thee, to this
raging infection, and say to the destroying angel,
" It is enough." Protect us under the shadow of
thy wings, that we may not " be afraid of any ter-
ror by night ; nor for the arrow that flieth by day ;
nor for the pestilence that walketh in darkness ;
nor for the sickness that destroyeth in the noon-
day ;" but that, with ease in our minds, and health
in our bodies, we may serve thee cheerfully all the
days of our life ; through Jesus Christ our Lord.
Amen.
A Prayer for a Person in a Consumption, or
any lingering' Disease.
[From Mr. Jenks.]
O MERCIFUL God, thou hast long kept thy ser-
vant under thy chastening hand ; thou hast made
him acquainted with grief; and hi* sickness is
even become his familiar companion : yet, O bless-
ed Lord, grant that he may not be impatient un-
der thy chastisement, who art pleased to wait so
long lor the return of a sinner: but let him re-
inemUer that thou hast kind intentions, even in
thy bitterest dispensations; that thou "chastenest
him whom thou lovest, and scourgest every son
whom thou receivest." Teach him, O gracious
Father, to see love in thy rod, and justice in all
thy dealings ; that he may humble himself under
thy mighty hand ; that he may think it good for
him to nave been afflicted, and patiently wait for
thy loving kindness.
Yet, that his faith may not fail, nor his patience
be overcome, give him ease and relaxation from
his pain, and a happy conclusion of this long vi-
sitation. In the mean time, grant that he may
neither despise thy chastening, nor faint under
thy rebukes ; but employ the time which thou
lendest, and improve the affliction which thou
cpntinuest, as a gracious opportunity for his spi-
ritual advantage ; that under the decays of the
body, the inner man may be renewed day by day ;
and that whatever appertains to his everlasting
salvation may be promoted and perfected through
the riches of thy grace, and the multitude of thy
mercies in Jesus Christ. Amen.^
A Prayer for a Person who is lame in his Sick-
ness.
[From Mr. Lewis.]
O ALMIGHTY God, who " art eyes to the blind
and feet to the lame," have pity, we entreat thee,
on thy servant : help him in his distress, and bless,
we pray thee, the means made use of for his cure.
Make him sensible of thy design in visiting him
with this affliction ; cause him to remember, how
THE CLERGYMAN'S COMPANION
in his strength and health, he followed his own
devices, and the desire of his own heart ; and let
him see, that thou hast lifted up thy hand against
him, for this? very purpose, that he may learn to
walk more humbly with thee, and turn his feet to
thy testimonies. Deliver him from the painful
confinement under which he labours, and grant
him again the happiness of enjoying the comforts
of life, and of worshiping thee in thy sanctuary,
with the " voice of joy and praise." But, O Lord,
not our will, but thine be done. Thou knowest
better what is good for us, than we ourselves ; and
it is in wisdom that thou afflictest us. Give thy
servant patience, that he may bear his pains with-
out murmuring, and wait at the time of his deli-
verance from them without uneasiness ; satisfy him
of thy care over him, and thy tender regard to
him ; and in thy good time restore him to his for-
mer strength and vigour, that he may give thanks
to thee in the great congregation ; through Jesus
Christ our Saviour. Amen.
A Prayer for One that is Bed-ridden.
[From Mr. Lewis.]
O LORD our God, the Father of mercies, and
the God of all comfort, have compassion, we en-
treat thee, on the helpless condition of thy servant:
support his spirits which are ready to droop under
affliction : refresh his mind which is apt to be un-
easy and melancholy at the thought of perpetual
confinement. Give sleep to his eyes, and rest to
his weary thoughts. Cause him to meditate on
thee in the night watches ; to " commune with his
own heart ;" and, in his solitude, "to search and try
his ways," that he may see wherein he hath erred,
and may turn unto thee with all his soul and with
all his strength. Let this affliction be the means
of preparing him for the enjoyment of thy pre-
sence, in which is fulness of joy ; and let him be
the more patient under it for that reason. Make
him thankful that thou hast by this expedient
preserved him from the company of those whose
evil communication might have corrupted his
heart, and hast taken him out of a world, by the
snares and temptations of which he might have
been prevailed upon to forsake thee, and turn from
the way of thy commandments. Grant, O Lord,
that he may not render himself unworthy of thy
favour, by murmuring and repining ; but that he
may use the leisure and opportunity now given
him, to make his peace with thee, and be fitted for
the enjoyment of an inheritance among the saints
in light; through thy mercy in Jesus Christ, our
Saviour and Redeemer. Amen.
A Prayer for a Person troubled in Mind, or in
Conscience.
("Visitation Office.]
O BLESSED Lord, the Father of Mercies, and
the God of all comforts, we beseech thee, look
down in pity and compassion upon this thine
afflicted servant. Thou writest bitter things
against him, and makest him to possess his for-
mer iniquities : thy wrath lieth hard upon him,
and his soul is full of trouble. But, O merciful
God, who hast given us thy holy word for our
learning, that we through patience, and comfort
of the Scriptures, might have hope ; give him a
right understanding of himself, and of thy threat-
cnings and promises; that he may neither cast
away his confidence in thee, nor place it any
where but in thee. Give him strength against
all temptations, and heal all his infirmities. Break
not the bruised reed, nor quench the smoking flax.
Shut not up thy tender mercies in displeasure,
but make him hear of joy and gladness, that the
bones which thou hast broken may rejoice. De-
liver him from the fear of the enemy ; lift up the
light of thy countenance upon him, and give him
peace, through the mediation of Jesus Christ our
Lord. Amen.
Another for the same, or for One under deep Me-
lancholy and Dejection of Spirit.
[From Mr. Jenks.]
O MOST gracious Lord, thou knowest our frame,
and art full of compassion to thy servants under
their trouble and oppression ; look down upon us,
we humbly beseech thee, with thy wonted pity,
and remember the work of thy hands, our discon-
solate brother. Thy wrath lies hard upon him;
and all thy waves are gone over him ; thy terrors
oppress his mind, and disturb his reason. O thou
that speakest the winds and waves into obedience
and calmness, settle and quiet his discomposed
thoughts; speak peace and satisfaction to his
troubled mind, and give him comfort and sure
confidence in the sense of thy pardon and love.
Lord, help hfe unbelief, and increase his faith.
Though he walk in the valley and shadow of
death, let "thy rod and thy staff support and pro-
tect him." In the multitude of the thoughts and
sorrows that he hath in his heart, let thy comfort
refresh his soul. Let in a beam of thy heavenly
light, to dispel the clouds and darkness in which
his mind is involved. O direct to the means
most proper for his help, and so bless and prosper
them, that they may effectually promote his re-
covery out of this deplorable state. Incline his
ears to wholesome counsels, and dispose his heart
to receive due impressions. O gracious Father,
pity his frailty, forgive his sin, and rebuke his
distemper, that his disquieted soul may return to
its rest. O, raise him up, and show thy mercy
upon him, for the sake of Jesus Christ, our bless-
ed Saviour and Redeemer. Amen.
For the same.
[From Bishop Patrick.]
PRESERVE this thy servant, O gracious Father,
from dishonouring thee and his religion, by dis-
trusting thy power, or thy goodness.
Remove all troublesome imaginations from him,
and give him a clear understanding of thee, and
of himself, that no causeless fears and jealousies
may overwhelm him, nor his heart sink^within
him from any sadness and dejection of spirit.
Compose, we beseech thee, his disturbed thoughts ;
quiet his disordered mind, and appease all the tu-
mults of his soul, by a. sweet sense of thy tender
mercies, and of the love of thy Son Jesus Christ
to mankind. Keep him from forming any rash
conclusions concerning thy providence ; and give
him so much light and judgment amid all the
darkness and confusion of his thoughts, that he
may not think himself forsaken by thee ; but may
firmly believe, that if he does the best he can, thou
requirest no more. And enable him, O Lord, to
look forwards to that region of light and glory,
IN VISITING THE SICK.
2G3
whither our Saviour is gone before, to prepare a
place for all thy faithful servants.
Strengthen his weak and feeble endeavours
Support his fainting spirit, and cause it humbly
to hope in thee. Confirm and establish every
good thought, desire, and purpose, which thou
hast wrought in him. Make him to grow in
wisdom, faith, love, and willing obedience. Con-
duct him hereafter so easily and steadily, peace-
ably and quietly, so cheerfully and securely, in
thy ways, that he may glorify thee whilst lie lives,
and when he leaves this troublesome world, may
resign his soul into thy merciful hands, with a
pious confidence and a hope of a joyful resurrec-
tion ; through the merits of thy Son Jesus Christ
our Lord. Amen.
A Prayer for One under Fears and Doubts con-
cerning his spiritual Condition, or under per-
plexing Thoughts and Scruples about his
Duty.
[From Mr. Kettlewell.J
O LORD our God, we offer up our humble sup-
plication to thee in behalf of this thy servant,
whose soul is disquieted within him by his fears
and anxiety respecting the safety of his condition.
Remove from him, we entreat thee, all frightful
apprehensions, all perplexing doubts and scruples
about his duty. Make him satisfied and settled
in a right understanding of all thy precepts, and
careful in the observance of them ; and dispel, by
the light of thy countenance, all that darkness
which obscures his soul, that he may not be un-
necessarily dejected, and distrustful of himself, or
dishonourably jealous of thee. Deliver him from
all those offences which make him so much a
stranger to pace and comfort ; and cause him to
place his chief satisfaction and delight in obeying
thy commandments, and in meditating on thy
mercy ; through Jesus Christ our Lord.
A Prayer for One who is disturbed with wicked
and blasphemous Thoughts.
[From Mr. Lewis.]
O LORD GOD, the Father of our spirits, to
whom all hearts are open, and all desires known ;
we humbly entreat thee to succour and relieve this
thy servant, who labours under the burden of
wicked thoughts. Let thy power and goodness
be shown in nealinw his disordered mind. Cleanse
the thoughts of his heart by the inspiration of thy
Holy Spirit. Suffer them not to be defiled by
any profane or blasphemous suggestions, but heal
the soul of thy servant, by enabling him to stifle
and suppress all such thoughts as tend to rob him
of his peace, or deprive him of the comforts of re-
ligion. Enable him to be of an equal and steady
temper, to be mild and gentle in his behaviour,
and to keep his hopes and fears within due
bounds. Make him sensible of the wise and
kind reasons of these afflictions ; that, if they are
duly improved, they may be powerful preserva-
tives of his soul against the prevailing sins of a
licentious age ; may lessen his inclinations to the
enjoyments of this life, and deaden his appetite to
sensual pleasure, and the perishing goods of this
world; that these afflictions may dispose him to
compassionate the sufferings of others, and make
him more thoroughly feel his own infirmities, and
the want of divine assistance. Open his eyes,
that he may see and know the wise and gracious
dispensations of thy providence ; and, by humbling
himself under them, may at length be lifted up
and made a partaker of that peace and joy which
thou bestowest on all thy faithful servants. Grant
this, for the sake of Jesus Christ, our only Media-
tor and Redeemer.
A Prayer for One who is afflicted with a profane
Mistrust of Dicine Truths, and blaspheinous
Thoughts.
[From Mr. Kettlewell.]
O MOST gracious God, in whose hand is the
soul of every living creature ; protect this thy
servant, we humbly and earnestly entreat thee,
against all doubts and mistrusts of thy truth,
against all irreligious thoughts and suggestions.
Never suffer them, O Lord, to weaken his
faith, or to hinder him from performing his duty.
Preserve him not only from me sin, but if it seem
good to thine infinite wisdom, from the tempta-
tion and the sorrow, which may attend them.
But, if it be thy blessed will to continue these
terrifying thoughts for his trial and humiliation,
Lord, make him sensible that they will not be
imputed to him as sin, if, as. soon as he perceives
them, he rejects them with horror and indigna-
tion.
During this trial, let him learn to depend upon
thee, that, as often as these profane thoughts arise
in his mind, he may find grace to overcome them,
and without the least indulgence or delay to cast
them out ; and that he may learn to show patience
under them, as under every other affliction and
trial of thy appointment, trusting to thy grace to
assist him, and to thy goodness to deliver him;
through Jesus Christ our Saviour. Amen.
A Prayer for One under the dread of God's
Wrath and everlasting Damnation.
[From Mr. Lewis.]
O ALMIGHTY God, the aid of all that need, and
the helper of all that flee to thee for succour, ac-
cept, we beseech thee, our humble supplications
for this thy servant, labouring under the dismal
apprehensions of thy wrath.
O Lord, enter not into judgment with him ;
make him sensible that, though the wages of sin
are death, the gift of God is eternal life ; that thou
tiatest the death of a sinner, and art not willing
that any should perish ; that thou always punish-
est less than we deserve, and in the midst of judg-
ment rememberest mercy. Revive his soul with
a sense of thy love, and the hopes of obtaining
thy pardon, and the joy of thy salvation ; that he
may be raised from this dejection, and show with
gladness what thou hast done for his soul. All
this we humbly beg for Jesus Christ's sake.
Amen.
A Prayer for a Lunatic.
[From Mr. Jenks.]
O LORD, the only wise God, from whom we
lave received all the faculties of our souls : thou
art holy and righteous in all thy dispensations,
hough the reason of them is frequently unknown
to us. Dispel, we humbly beseech thee, if it be
agreeable to thine infinite wisdom, the clouds in
which the soul of thy servant is now involved ;
that he may regain his understanding, and the
right use of his faculties. Heal his disordered
mind : settle and quiet his passions ; pacify and
:ompose his imagination.
264
THE CLERGYMAN'S COMPANION
O prosper the means which are used for his re-
covery. Make him tractable in the use of reme-
dies, and willing to comply with the advice of his
friends. But if no means can effect his cure, let
him possess his soul in peace and composure, and
in every interval of reason address his prayer to
thee ; that, when his earthly tabernacle shall be
dissolved, he may rejoice in his former inability
to pursue the pleasures of the world, and be pre-
sented unto thee pure and undefiled, through Je-
sus Christ our Lord. Amen.
A Prayer for natural Fools, or Madmen.
[From Mr. Kettlewell.]
O ALMIGHTY and most merciful Father, pity,
we entreat thee, this thy unhappy creature, who
knovVs not his own wants, nor how to ask for thy
mercies. Compassionate, O Lord, his infirmities,
and supply /it* necessities. Let thy wisdom pre-
vent those evils which he cannot foresee, or wants
understanding to remove ; but especially keep him
from doing any thing that may be hurtful cither to
himself or others.
Let his mind, on all occasions, be quiet and
peaceable ; and as far as his faculties extend ex-
ercised in piety and devout meditations. O near
our cry when we call upon thee : hear us for him
who is not able to pray for himself; grant him
thy fatherly care at present, and thy peace at the
last ; through the mediation of thy Son, our Sa-
viour Jesus Christ. Amen.
PROPER PSALMS FOR A SICK PER-
SON AT SEA.
I.
1. SAVE me, O God, for the waters are come in,
even unto my soul.
2. I am come into deep waters, so that the
floods run over me. Psalm Ixix. 1, 2.
3. The floods are risen, O Lord, the floods
have lift up their voice ; the floods lift up their
waves.
4. The waves of the sea are mighty, and rage
horribly : but yet the Lord, who dwellejh in hea-
ven, is mightier. Psalm xciii. 4, 5.
5. He maketh the storm to cease, so that the
waves thereof are still.
6. Wherefore unto thee, O Lord, do I cry in
my trouble : deliver me ' out of my distress.
Psalm cvii. 28.
7. Thou shalt show us wonderful things in thy
righteousness, O God of our salvation : thou that art
the hope of all the ends of the earth, and of them
that remain in the broad sea. Psalm Ixv. 5.
8. Through thee have I been holden up ever
since I was born ; thou art he that took me out of
my mother's womb ; my praise shall always be of
thee. Psalm Ixxi. 5, 6.
9. I will cry unto thee, Thou art my father,
my God, and the rock of my salvation. Psalm
Ixxxix. 26.
10. Withdraw not thou thy mercy from me, O
Lord; let thy loving-kindness and truth always
preserve me.
11. For innumerable troubles arc come about
me : my sins have taken such hold upon me, that
I am not able to look up; yea, they are more in
number than the hairs of my head, and my heart
hath failed me.
12. O Lord, let it be thy pleasure to deliver me,
make haste. O Lord, to help me. Psalm xl. 11,
12, 13.
II.
1. OUT of the deep have 1 called unto thee, O
Lord ; Lord, hear my voice.
2. O let thine ears consider well the voice of my
complaint. Psalm cxxx. 1, 2.
3. For I am helpless and poor, and my heart is
wounded within me. Psalm cix. 21.
4. My hedrt is disquieted within me, and the
fear of death is fallen upon me.
5. Fearfulness and trembling are come upon
me, and an horrible dread hath overwhelmed me.
Psalm Iv. 4, 5.
6. I go hence like the-shadow that departeth,
and am driven away like a grasshopper. Psalm
cix. 22.
7. O God, thou knowest my foolishness, and
my sins are not hidden from thee. Psalm Ixix. 5.
8. Thou hast laid me in the lowest pit ; in a
place of darkness, and in the deep.
9. Thine indignation lieth hard upon me, and
thou hast vexed me with all thy storms. Psalm
Ixxxviii. 5, 6.
10. Thou breakest me with a tempest, and my
roarings are poured out like waters. Job iii. 24
ix. 17.
11. O reject me not utterly, and be not exceed-
ing wroth against thy servant. Lament, v. 22.
12. For my soul is full of trouble, and my life
draweth nigh unto hell Psalm Ixxxviii. 2.
13. I am brought into so great trouble and mi-
sery, that I go mourning all the day long.
14. For my loins are filled with a sore disease,
and there is no whole part in my body. Psalm
xxxviii. 6, 7.
15. My wounds stink and are corrupt, through
my foolishness. Psalm xxxviii. 5.
16. Behold, O Lord, I am in distress; my
bowels are troubled, my heart is turned within
me, for I have grievously transgressed. Lament,
i. 20.
17. O remember not the sins and offences of
my youth ; but according to thy mercy think thou
upon me, O Lord, for thy goodness. Psalm xxv. 6.
18. Cast me not away in the time of age ; for-
sake me not. when my strength faileth me. Psalm
Ixxi. 8.
19. Take thy plague away from me : I am even
consumed by the means of thy heavy hand.
20. When thou with rebukes dost chasten man
for sin, thou makest his beauty to consume away,
like as it were a moth fretting a garment : every
man therefore is but vanity.
21. Hear my prayer, O Lord, and with thine
ears consider my calling ; hold not thy peace at my
tears.
22. For I am a stranger with thee, and a so-
journer, as all my fathers were.
23. O spare me a little, that I may recover my
strength, before I go hence, and be no more seen.
Psalm xxxix. 11 13.
A Prayer for a sick Seaman.
O MOST groat and glorious Lord, the " salvation
of all that dwell on the earth, and of them that re-
main in the broad sea ;" under whose powerful pro-
tection we are alike secure in every place, and
without whose providence over us we ran no
where be in safety ; look down, we beseech thee,
upon us, thy unworthy servants, who are called to
" behold thy wonders in the deep," and to perform
our several duties in the great waters.
IN VISITING THE SICK.
" Thou art our refuge and strength, a very pre-
sent help in trouble ; and therefore we tiv unto
thee for succour in all our necessities. Extend
thy accustomed goodness to our distressed brother,
whom thou hast been pleased to visit with the rod
of affliction.
" The waves of death encompass him about,
and the sorrows of hell take hold upon him."
O leave him not to himself, nor let him be given
over " to a spirit of slumber" and darkness; but
"open his eyes, that he may see 1 the wondrous
things of thy law," and the necessity of a sj>ot'dy
and sincere repentance ; so that from" the sickness
of bis body, he may derive health and salvation to
his soul, which is the great end. of all thy righte-
ous judgments, and of all our affliction's.
Let him seriously consider and reflect within
himself, from tins visitation, " what a dreadful
thing it is to fall into the hand? of the living God;"
and let him hence learn, if it shall please thee to
raise him up again, to preserve a more awful sense
of thy divine majesty upon his spirit, " and to live
more soberly, righteously, and piously, in this pre-
sent world."
We know, O Lord, that " many are the .ene-
mies of peace," and that "the whole world lieth
in wickedness:" but let him not "follow a multi-
tude to do evil," nor :> <ri\e bis consent to the en-
ticement of sinners;" but being jK-rlirtly " redeemed
from all vain conversation, and renewed in the
spirit of his mind," let him " walk before thee with
a perfect heart," and spend the residue of his days-
in thy faith and tear.
Or if thou hast determined otherwise concern-
ing him. be pleased to give him sufficient grace,
and strength, and time, to " make his calling and
election sure, before he go hence and be no more
seen:" revive his drooping spirits, fortify his heart,
and as he decays in the outer, strengthen him in
the inner man, by setting before him the hopes of
a blessed immortality " as an anchor of the sonl,
both sure and steadfast." Aincn.
A Prayer for a sick Soldier or Seaman.
O MOST mighty Lord, the fountain of health
and lifc, strength and courage, the aid and support
of all that fly unto thee for succour, with whom is
no respect of persons, but every one that feareth
thee (whether he lie rich or poor, learned or un-
learned) is accepted by thee ; we beseech thee mer-
cifully to look down upon our brother, who is now
fallen under t lie rod of thy displeasure.
We know, O Lord, that all thy judgments are
principally intruded for our good in the end. by
the reformation of our lives and manners: and
therefore we most humbly Ix-seech thee.-to let thy
present judgment have that good effect upon our
brother, that he may lead the rest of his li
faithful soldier of Jesus Christ, arid not continue to
harden bis heart against all the powerful and re-
peated instances of thy mercies and judgments to-
wards him.
If thou bast designed this sickness shall termi-
nate in his death, O be pleased to lit and prepare
him for it; or if otherwise in mercy thou hast de-
termined to spare him, O let him" not return to
any of his former sinful courses, but let him al-
ways keep in mind the promise which he made to
thee in baptism, of renouncinor the world, thellcsh,
and the devil; and which, we hope, be now again
heartily renews in this his day of visitation.
We know, O Lord, that many temptations
will unavoidably .assault him in the state of life
wherein he Is engaged, and therefore wa most
humbly beseech thee togive him such a portion of
thy blessed Spirit, as may enable him to fight with
as much resolution and courage against his spiri-
tual enemies, as the nature of his post obliges him
to do, upon just occasions, against his temporal;
ever remembering, that the greatest of conquests
is that which is made upon ourselves ; and that no
victory is so truly honourable^ as that 'which is
obtained 'over our vicious inclinations.
Wherefore give him grace, we beseech thee, O
Lord, " to abhor that which^is eil, and to cleave
to that which is good." Let him religiously avoid
all blasphemy and profaneness, all drunkenness,
riot, and lasciviousness ; and let him carefully fol-
low the rule our Saviour hath set him, " of doing
violence to no man, accusing no man falsely, and
beinir content with hiaown wages;" so that; hav-
ing " put on the whole armour of God, he may be
able to stajid against the wiles of the devil; and
whenever thou shalt be phased to put an end to
his warfare, (either now or hereafter,) he may
cheerfully resign his soul into thy hands, in these*
comfortable, words of the apostle: "I have fought
a good fight, 1 have finished my course, I have
kept the faith; henceforth there is laid up for me
a crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the
righteous Judge, shall give tmto all those that love
and fear him, and put their trust_in-ju8 .mercy.
Amen. : ^
fson^fflitttd with a
SJ-TT
am wonderfully
and mind were
A Prayer to be used
Distemper ofi
[By
LORD Ger> Almig
and all my powers of
duced>and are supported by tKe^,
and makest alive; thou woundelt, Wll' inakest
whole."
I own and reverence thine hand in my present
affliction. I acknowledge that thou art righteous
in all that befalls me; for I have sinned ; and thou
chastehest me less than my iniquities deserve. In
punishment thou showest mercy, contihuest to me
many comforts,- proldngest my opportunities of re-
flection and amendment, and Divest hope of that
pardon which I so much want, and at this time
earnestly entreat.
1 dt-sire in this poor condition of my health, to
search and try my ways, and turn onto thee, O
Lor^, by deep humility j sincere repentance, and
faith in the great Redeemer: and may the fruit of
this and every affliction be to take afray sin, and
make my heart better.
O God, if it be thy merciful will, direct me to,
and prosper, some means for the removal of my
disorder, that I may yet be capable of glorifying
thee in my station, and, by farther endeavours for
thy service upon earth, be fitter for immortality.
Support me, gracious Lord, that my soul may
not be quite cast doWn, and too- much djsquieted
within me. Assist me to cherish penitent?, believ-
ing, serious thoughts and affections. Grant me
such resignation to thy will, such patience and
meekness towards men, as rriy Divine Master re-
quiretK) and as he himself manifested while ho
was a sufferer on earth. Forgive all the harsh-
ness and sinfulness , of my temper, and keep it
from increasing upon me. May I learn from what
I now fed to pity all who are sick, in pain, or
3
266
THE CLERGYMAN'S COMPANION, &c.
otherwise afflicted, and do all in my power to as-
sist and relieve them.
If by this affliction thou intendest to bring me
down to the grave, prepare me,' by thy grace, for
my removal hence, and entrance on the unseen
eternal state: and may all the sufferings of the
present life work out for me a far more exceeding
and eternal weight of glory.
I am thankful for any degree of ease and com-
fort which I have this day enjoyed. Grant me,
this night, such refreshing re,st, that I may be
better able to discharge the duties and bear the
burden of another day, if thou art pleased to in-
dulge me with it. If my eyes are kept waking,
may my meditations be comfortable and useful to
i me.
Pity my weakness, merciful and heavenly Fa-
ther, and hear my imperfect petitions, through
our Lord Jesus Christ, who was once a man of
sorrow, and is still touched with the feeling of our
infirmities ; to whom, as our merciful High Priest
and powerful Intercessor, be glory for evermore.
Amen.
A Prayer to be used on the Death of a Friend.
[By Mr. Merrjck.]
O ALMIGHTY GOD, who dost not .willingly
grieve the cliildren of men, but in thy .visitations
rememberest mercy, teach me by thy grace to bear
the loss of that dear person Whom thou hast taken
from me with patience and fesigrtation, and to
make a right use of the affliction which thy fa-
therly hand hath laid upon me. ' Thou^hast given,
and thou hast taken away : blessed be thy holy
name. Make me thankful, Q Lord, for the com-
forts and blessings which I-stiH enjoy ; and sancti-
fy to my soul all the sufferings, which in the
course of this mortal life thou -shalt appoint for
me. Let the death of friends and relations help
to keep me always mindful of my own mortality.
And grant, that by thy grace I may -here apply
my heart to wisdom, and may hereafter by thy
mercy be received into that everlasting kingdom,
where all tears shall be wiped from all faces, and
sorrow and sighing shall flee away. Hear me,
O merciful Father, for the sake of thy Son Jesus
Christ. Amen.
A Prayer to be used by a Person troubled in
Mind.
ALMIGHTY GOD, who beholdest with compas-
sion and mercy the weaknesses and frailties of us
thy sinful creatures ; look.down on me, I beseech
thee, and deliver me, if it be thy blessed will, from
the distress of mind under which I labour.
Strengthen my judgment, and inform my under-
standing, that I may rightly know my duty ; and
grant that I may act on all occasions, and in every
circumstance of life, in the manner most acceptable
to thee. Pardon my secret sins and infirmities,
and preserve me from all wilful neglects and of-
fences. If thou seest it consistent with thy glory,
and with the everlasting welfare of my soul, fill
me with that fervency of affection towards thee,
and with that measure of spiritual comfort arid
assurance, which may preserve my-mind in a frame
of cheerfulness and composure. But if trouble
and bitterness of mind be more expedient for me,
continue to me both this and all other afflictions
which thou seest most conducive to my future
happiness, and grant that I may bear them with
patience and resignation. Let thine Holy Spirit
direct and support me under every trial, and en-
able me so to walk in thy faith and fear, that I
may at last be received into thy heavenly king-
dom, through the merits and mediation of thy Son
Jesus Christ, our blessed Lord and Saviour.
Amen.
A Prayer to be used by an Old Person.
O GRACIOUS Lord, my maker and my preserver,
I give thee thanks for the long continuance which
thou hast granted me in this world, in order that
I may be the better prepared for another. Enable
me by thy grace to make a right use of the tune
afforded me, and give me a true and deep repent-
ance of the sins which I have committed. Sup-
port me by thy help under the infirmities of age,
keep me from covetousness, and fretfulness, and
from all unreasonable fears, and cares. Give me
that degree of ease and health which thou seest
most convenient for me ; wean my affections and
desires from the things of this .life, and keep me
continually prepared for death; tlirough Jesus
Christ. Amen.
A Prayer for a Person condemned to die.
[From Dr. Inet.J
O MOST just and holy Lord God, who bringest
to light the hidden things of darkness, and by thy
just and wise providence dost bring sin to shame
and punishment ; disappointing the hopes of wick-
ed men; visiting their sins upon them in this pre-
sent life, that thou mayest deter others from the
evil of their ways, and save their souls in the day
of judgment; O Lord, in mercy look down upon
this thy servant, who now is before thee to confess
thy justice in making him asad example- to others.
He with sorrow and shame confessed! it would be
just with thee, should death eternal be the wages
of his sins, and everlasting sorrow the recompense
of his iniquity. He ^ias, we confess, O Lord,
despised thy mercy, and abused thy goodness, and
has therefore no reason to expect any other than
to be made an everlasting sacrifice to thy justice.
When thou hast, by the ministry of thy word,
and the interposition of thy providence, called
him to repentance, he has slighted thine admoni-
tions. O, how just therefore would it be now in
thee to .disregard his cry, in this day of trouble,
when distress and anguish are come upon him I
He confesseth that he hath hardened his heart,
notwithstanding all thy importunities to him to
repent and live ; that he has still gone on from
one wickedness to another, eagerly repeating the
works of darkness, and even hating to be re-
formed ; that he has notoriously broken his bap-
tismal vows, and given encouragement to others to
blaspheme our holy faith, and that on these accounts
he has nothing to expect but that thou shouldst
deal with him according to his t^ns, and reward
him according to the multitude of his offences.
But thou^O God, hast been pleased to declare,
that with thee is mercy and plenteous redemption ;
that thou desirest not the death of a sinner, but
rather that he should repent and live. Thou hast
so loved the world, that thou gavest thy only-
begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him
should not perish, but have everlasting life. O,
let not him whom we are now commending to thy
mejrcy, for ever perish and be lost. Have com-
passion upon a miserable sinner, who owns he de-
serves eternally to die j and let him find mercy in
MINISTRATION OF PUBLIC BAPTISM OF INFANTS.
267
his distress. Pardon, we earnestly entreat thee,
his wilful and his heedless follies, his errors, and
his crying and notorious sins ; particularly that
for which lie is now to die. O Lord, thou God
of mercy, who art abundant in goodness, have
pity on the work of thine own hands. Bury his
sins in his grave, and, however they may rise up
in this world to disgrace him, let them never rise
up in the next to condemn him : and whatever he
suffers here, let him hereafter be in the number of
those whose unrighteousness is forgiven, and
whose sin is covered. However men, in the exe-
cution of justice, and to deter others from being
guilty of the like wickedness, may kill his body;
let neither his body nor his soul be destroyed in
hell, but be delivered from eternal condemnation,
for the sake of Jesus Christ, who died to save sin-
ners. Amen.
A Prayer of Preparation for Death.
O ALMIGHTY GOD, Maker and Judge of all
men, have mercy upon me, thy weak and sinful
creature ; and if by thy most wise and righteous
appointment the hour of death be approaching to-
wards me, -enable me to meet it with a mind fully
prepared for it, and to pass through this great and
awful trial in the manner most profitable for me.
O let me not leave any thing undone which may
help to make my departure safe and happy, or to
qualify me for the highest degree of thy favour
that I am capable of attaining. Pardon the sins
which I have committed against thee by thought,
word, and deed, and all my neglects of duty. Par-
don the sins which I have committed against my
neighbour ; and if others have wronged or offended
me, incline my heart freely and tully to forgive
them. Cleanse my soul from all its corruptions,
and transform it into the likeness of thy Son Je-
sus Christ ; that I may behold thy face in glory,
and be made partaker of thy heavenly kingdom.
And, O merciful Father, give me that supply of
spiritual comfort, which thou seest needful tor me
in my present condition : and grant that, when
my change comes, I may die with a quiet con-
science, with a well-grounded assurance of thy
favour, and a joyful hope of a blessed resurrec-
tion; through our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ.
Amen.
THE MINISTRATION
OF PUBLIC BAPTISM OF INFANTS,
TO BE USED IN CHURCHES.
THE people are to be admonished, that it is most con-
venient that baptism should not be administered but
upon Sundays and other holy-days, \V|M-II tin- most num-
ber of persons come together ; as well for that the con-
gregation there present, may testify tho receiving of
them that be newly baptised into the number of Christ's
church; as also because, in the baptism of infan.s,
every man present be put in remembrance .of his own
profession made to God in his baptism. For which
cause also it is expedient that baptism be ministered
in the vulgar tongue. Nevertheless (if necessity BO re-
quire) children may be baptised on any other day.
And note, That there shall be for every male child to
be baptised, two godfathers and one godmother ; and
for every female, one godfather and two godmothers.
When there are children to be baptised, the parent
shall give knowledge thereof over night, or in the
morning, before the beginning of morning prayer, to the
Curate. And then the godfathers and godmothers, and
the people with the children, must be ready at the font,
either immediately after the last lesson at morning
payer, or else immediately after the last lesson at even-
ing prayer, as the Curate by his discretion shall appoint.
And the Priest coming to the font (which is then to be
filled with pure water,) and standing there, shall say,
Q. HATH this child been already baptized,
or no 1
If they answer JW>, then shall the Priest proceed s
follows:
DEARLY beloved, forasmuch as all men are con-
ceived and bom in sin, and that our Saviour
Christ saitli. none can enter into, the kingdom of
God v except he. be regenerated and born anew of
water and of the Holy Ghost-, I beseech you to
call upon God the Father, through our Lord Je-
sus Christ, that of hia bounteous mercy he will
grant this child that thing which by nature he
cannot have, that he may Be baptised with water
ami the Holy Ghost, and received into Christ'3
holy church, and be made a lively member of the
same.
Then shall the Priest say,
Let us ray.
ALMIGHTY and everlasting God, who of thy
great mercy didst save Noah and his family in the
ark from perishing by water, and also didst safely
lead the children of Israel thy people through the
Red Sea, figuring thereby thy holy baptism ; and
by the baptism of thy well-beloved Son Jesus
Christ .in the river Jordan, didst sanctify water to
the mystical washing away of sin ; we beseech
thee for thine infinite mercies, that thou wilt mer-
cifully look upon this child ; wash him and sanc-
tify him with the Holy Ghost, that he, being de-
livered from thy wrath, may be received into the
MINISTRATION OP PUBLIC BAPTISM OF INFANTS.
ark of Christ's church ; and being steadfast in
faith, joyful through hope, and rooted in charity,
may so pass the waves of this troublesome world,
that finally he may come to the land of everlasting
life, there "to reign with thec world without end,
through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
ALMIGHTY and immortal God, the aid of all
that need, the helper of all that flee to thec for
succour, the life of them that believe, and the re j
surrection of the dead ; we call upon thee for t his
infant, that he, coming to thy holy baptism, may
receive remission of his sins by spiritual regenera-
tion. Receive him, O Lord, as thou hast promised
by thy well-beloved Son, saying r Ask, and ye
shall have ; seek, and ye shall find ; knock and' it
shall be opened unto you. So give now unto us
that ask; let us that seek, -find; open the gate
unto us that knock; that this infant may enjoy
the everlasting benediction of thy heavenly wash-
ing, and may come to the eternal kingdom wliich
thou hast promised by Christ our Lord. Amen.
Then shall the Priest stand up, and shall say,
Hear the words of the Gospel written by St. Mark,
in the tenth chapter, at the thirteenth verse :
'" THEY brought young children to Christ, that
he should touch them ; and his disciples rebuked
those that brought them. But when Jesus saw it,
he was much displeased, and said unto them, Suf-
fer the little children to come unto me, .and forbid
them not; for of such is the kingdom of God.
Verily I say unto you, Whosoever ^shall not re-
ceive the kingdom of God as a little child, he shall
not enter therein. And he took them up in his
arms, put his hands Upon them, and blessed them."
After the Gospel is read, the Minister shall make this
brief exhortation upon the words of the Gospel.
BELOVED, ye hear in this Gospel the words of
our Saviour Christ, that he commanded the chil-
dren to be brought unto him ;. how he blamed
those that would have kept them from him ; how
he exhorted all men to follow their innocency. Ye
perceive how by his outward gesture and deed he
declared his good will towards them ; for he em-
braced them m his arms, he laid his hands upon
them, and blessed them. Doubt ye not, therefore,
but earnestly believe, that he will likewise favour-
ably receive this present infant ; that he will em-
brace him with the arms of his mercy ; that he
will give unto him the blessing of eternal life, and
make him partaker of his everlasting kingdom.
Wherefore we being thus persuaded of the good
will of our heavenly Father towards this infant,
declared by his Son Jesus Christ, and nothing
doubting hut that he favourably alloweth this cha-
ritable work of ours, in cringing this infant to his
holy baptism, let us faithfully and devoutly give
thanks unto him, and say,
ALMIGHTY and everlasting God, heavenlyFa-
ther, we give thec humble thanks that thou hast
vouchsafed to call us to the knowledge of thy grace
and faith in thee : increase this knowledge, and
confirm this faith in us evermore. Give thy Holy
Spirit to this infant, that he may be born again,
and be made an heir of everlasting" salvation ;
through our Lord Jesus Christ, who liveth and
reigneth with thee and the Holy Spirit, now and
for ever. Amen.
Then shall the Priest speak unto the godfathers and
godmothers in this wise:
DEARLY beloved, ye have brought this child
here to be baptized ; ye have prayi'd'that our Lord
Jesus Christ would vouchsafe to receive him, to
release him of his sins, to sanctify him with the
Holy Ghost, to give him the kingdom of heaven,
and everlasting life. You have heard also, that
oar Lord Jesus Christ hath promised also in his
Gospel, to grant all these things that ye have,
prayed for'; 1 ' which promise he fer his part will
rrtost sv\rely keep and perform. Wherefore after
this promise made by Christ, this infant must also
faithfully, for /n',9 }>ar,t, promise by you that are
his sureties, (until -Ac come of age to take it upon
himself,) that he will renounce the devil and all
his works, and constantly believe God's holy word,
and obediently keep his commandments.
I demand therefore,
DOST thou, in the name of this child, renounce
the devil and all his works, the vain pomp and
glory of the world, with all covetous desires of the
same, and the carnal d*sjfes of the flesh, so that
thou wilt not follow nor be led by them 7
Answ. I renounce them all.
Minister.
DOST thou believe in God, the Father Almighty,
Maker of heaven and earth 1
And in Jesus Christ his only-begotten Son, our
Lord 1 And that he was conceived by the Holy
Ghost ; born of the Virgin Mary ; that he suiler-
ed under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, dead, and
buried ; that he went down into hell, and also did
rise again the third day ; that he ascended into
heaven, and sitteth at me right hand of God the
Father Almighty; and from thence shall come
again, at the end of the World, to judge the quick
and the deadl ,
And dost thou believe in the Holy Ghost ; the
holy Catholic church ; the communion of saints ;
the remission of sins ; the resurrection of the flesh ;
and everlasting life after death 1
Answ. All this I steadfastjy believe.
Minister.
WILT thou then be baptized in this faith 1
Answ. This is my desire.
Minister.
WILT thou then obediently keep God's holy
will and commandments, and walk in the same
all the days of thy life 1
Answ. I Will.
Then the Priest shall say,
O MERCIFUL God, grant that the old Adam in
this Child may be so buried, that the new man
inav be raised up in him. Amen.
Grant that all carnal affections may die in him,
and that all things belonging to the Spirit may
live and grow in hyn. Amen.
Grant that he may have power and strength to
have, victory, and to triumph against the devil, the
work], and" the flesh. Amen.
Grant 'that whosoever is here dedicated to thee
by our office .and ministry, may also be endued
with heavenly virtues, and everlastingly rewarded,
through thy mercy, O blessed Lord God, who dost
live and govern all things, world without end.
Amen.
MINISTRATION OP PRIVATE BAPTISM OF CHILDREN.
ALMIGHTY and everlasting God, whose most
dearly beloved Son Jesus Christ, for the forgive-
ness of our sins, did shed out of his most precious
side both water and blood, and gave command-
ment to his disciples, that they should go and
teach all nations, and baptize them in the name of
the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy
Ghost; regard, we beseech thee, the supplication
of thy congregation; sanctity this water to the
mystical washing away of sin'; and grant that, thi*
child now to be baptized therein, nuty receive the
fulness of thy grace, and ever remain in the num-
ber of thy faithful and elect children ; through Je-
sus Christ our Lord-. Amen.
Then the Priest shall take the Child into his hands, and
shall say to the godfathers and godmothers,
Name this child.
And then naming it after them (if they shall certify
him that the child may well endure it,) he shall dip
it in thti water discreetly and warily, saying,
N., I baptize thee in the name of the Father,
and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.
But if they certify that the Child is weak, it shall suf-
fice to pour water upon it, saying the aforesaid words,
N., I baptize thee in the name of the Father,
and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.
Then shall the Priest say,
WE receive this child into the congregation of
Christ's flock,* and do sign Aim- with the sign of
the cross, in token that hereafter he shall not be
ashamed to confess the faith of Christ crucified,
and manfully to fight under- his banner^ against
sin, the world, and the devil, and to continue
Christ's faithful soldier and servant unto his life's
end . Amen.
Then shall the Priest say,
SKIING now, dearly beloved brethren, that this
child is regenerate and grafted into the body of
Christ's church, let us give thanks unto Almighty
God for these benefits, and with one accord make
our prayers unto him, that this child may lead the
rest of his life according to tlu's beginning.
Then shall be said, all kneeling,
OCR Father which art in heaven ; Hallowed be
thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be
done in earth, as it is in heaven Give us this
day our daily bread. And forgive us our tres-
passes, as we forgive them that trespass against
us. And lead us not into temptation ; but deliver
us from evil. Amen.
Then shall the Priest say,
WE yield thee hearty thanks, most merciful
Father, that it hath pleased thee to regenerate
this infant with thy Holy Spirit, to receive him
for thine own child by adoption, and to incorpo-
rate him into thy holy church. And we humbly
beseech thee to grant, that he, being dead unto
sin, and living unto righteousness, and teing bu-
ried with Christ in his death, may crucify the old
man, and utterly abolish the whole body of sin :
and that as he is made partaker of the death of
thy Son, he may also be partaker of his resurrec-
tion ; so that finally, with the residue of thy holy
* Here the Priest shall make a cross upon the Child's
forehead.
church, he may be an inheritor of thine everlast-
ing kingdom, through Christ our Lord. Amen.
Theti,all standing up, the Priest shall say to the god-
fathers and godmothers this exhortation following:
FORASMUCH as this child hath promised by
you /i w sureties to renounce the devil and all his
works, to believe in God, and to serve him ; ye
must remember that it is your parts and duties to
see that thi# infant be taught, so soon as he shall
be able to learn, what a solemn vow, promise, and
profession, he hath here made by you. And that
he may know these things the better, ye shall call
upon him to hear sermons 5 and chiefly ye shall
provide that he may learn the Creed, the Lord's
Prayer, and the Ten Commandments, in the vul-
gar tongue, and all other things which a Christian
ought to know and believe to his soul's health;
and that this child may be virtuously brought up
to lead a godly and Christian life; remembering
always, that baptism doth represent unto us our
profession ; which is, to follbw the example of
our Saviour Christ, and to be made like unto him;
that as he died, and rose again, for us ; so should
we, who are baptised, die from sin, and rise again
unto righteousness, continually mortifying all our
evil and corrupt affections, and daily proceeding
in all virtue and godliness of living.
Then shall he add, and say,
Ye are to take care that this child be brought
to the bishop, to be confirmed by him, so soon as
he can. say the Creed, the Lord's Prayer, and the
Ten Commandments in the vulgar tongue, and
be further instructed in the Church Catechism set
forth for that purpose.
It is certain, by God's word, that children which are
baptised, dying before they commit actual sin, are un-
doubtedly saved.
To take away all scruple concerning the use of the
sign of the cross in baptism ; the true explication there-
of, and the just reason* for the retaining of it, may be
seen in the XXXth Canon, first published in the year
MDCIV.
THE MINISTRATION
OF
PRIVATE BAPTISM OF CHILDREN
IN HOUSES.
THE Curate of the parish shall often admonish the peo-
ple, that they defer not the baptism of their children
longer than the first or second Sunday next after their
birth, or other holy-day falling between, unless upon a
great and reasonable cause, to be approved by the Cu-
And also they shall warn them, that, without like
great cause and necessity, they procure not their chil-
dren to be baptised at home in their houses. But when
need shall compel them so to do, then baptism shall be
administered on this fashion :
First; let the Minister of the parish (or, in his ab-
sence, any other lawful Minister that can be procured,)
with them that are present, call upon God, and say the
Lord's Prayer, and so many of the collects appointed to
be said before in the form of Public Baptism, as the
time and present exigence will suffer. And then, the
Child being named by some one that is present, the
Minister shall pour water upon it, saying these words;
270
MINISTRATION OF PRIVATE BAPTISM OF CHILDREN.
N., I baptize thoe in the name of the Father,
and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.
Then all kneeling down, the Minister shall give thanfes
unto God, saying ;
"VS^E yield thee hearty thanks, most merciful
Father, that it hath pleased thee to regenerate this
infant with thy Holy Spirit, to receive him for
thine own child by adoption, and to incorporate
him into thy holy church. And we humbly be-
seech thee to grant that as he is now made par-
taker of the death of thy Son, so he may be also
of his resurrection ; and that finally, with the resi-
due of thy saints, he may inherit thine everlasting
kingdom, through the same, thy Son, Jesus Christ
our Lord. Amen.
And let them not doubt but that the Child, so bap-
tized, is lawfully and sufficiently baptized, and ought not
to be baptized again. Yet, nevertheless, if the Child,
which is after this sort baptized, do afterwards live, it ia
expedient that it be brought into the church, to the in-
tent thai, if the Minister of the same parish did himself
baptize that Child, the congregation may be certified of
the true form of baptism by him privately before used.
A VIEW
OF THE
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY,
IN THREE PARTS.
TO THE HONOURABLE AND RIGHT REVEREND JAMES YORK, D.D.
LORD BISHOP OF ELY.
Mv LORD, When, five years ago, an important station in the University of Cambridge awaited
yflar Lordship's disposal, you were pleased to offer it to me. The circumstances under which this
offer was made, demand a public acknowledgment. I had never seen your Lordship ; I possessed
no connexion which could possibly recommend me to your favour ; I was "known to you, only by my
endeavours, in common with many others, to discharge my duty as a tutor in the University ; and
by some very imperfect, but certainly well-intended, and, as you thought, useful publications since.
In an age by no means wanting in examples of honourable patronage, although this deserves not
to be mentioned in respect of the object of your Lordship's choice, it is inferior to none in the purity
and disinterestedness of the motives which suggested it.
How the following work may be received, I pretend not to foretell. My first prayer concerning
it is, that it may do good to any: my second hope, that it may assist, what it hath always been my earn-
est wish to promote, the religious part of an academical education. If in this latter view it might
seem, in any degree, to excuse your Lordship's judgment of its author, I shall be gratified by the
reflection, that, to a kindness flowing from public principles, I have made the best public return in
my power.
In the mean time, and in every event, I rejoice in the opportunity here afforded me of testify,
ing the sense I entertain of your Lordship's conduct^ and of a notice which I regard as the most
flattering distinction of my life. I am, MY LORD, with sentiments of gratitude and respect,
your Lordship's faithful and most obliged servant, WILLIAM PALE Y.
PREPARATORY CONSIDERATIONS.
I DEEM it unnecessary to prove that mankind
stood in need of a revelation, because I have met
with no serious person who thinks that, even under
the Christian revelation, we have too much light,
or any degree of assurance which is superfluous.
I desire, moreover, that, in judging of Christianity,
it may be remembered, that the question lies be-
tween this religion and none : for, if the Christian
religion be not credible, no one, with whom we
have to do, will support the pretensions of any
other.
Suppose, then, the world we live in to have had
n Creator; suppose it to appear, from the predomi-
nant aim and tendency of the provisions and con-
trivances observable in the universe, that the Deity,
when he formed it, consulted for the happiness of
his sensitive creation; suppose the disposition
which dictated this counsel to continue ; suppose a
a part of the creation to have received faculties
from their Maker, by which they are capable of
rendering a moral obedience to his will, and of vo-
luntarily pursuing any end for which he has de-
signed them ; suppose the Creator to intend for
these, his rational and accountable agents, a second
state of existence, in which their situation will be
regulated by their behaviour in the first state, by
which supposition (and by no other) the objection
to the divine government in not putting a differ-
ence between the good and the bad, and the incon-
sistency of this confusion with the care and bene-
volence discoverable in the works of the Deity, is
done away ; suppose it to be of the utmost import-
ance to the subjects of this dispensation to know
what is intended for them j that is, suppose the
271
272
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
knowledge of it to be highly conducive to tbje hap-
piness of the species, a purpose which so many
provisions of nature are calculated to promote :
Suppose, nevertheless, .almost the whole race,
either by the imperfection of their faculties, the
misfortune of their situation, or by the loss of soi in-
prior revelation, to want this knowledge, and not.
to be likely, without the aid of a new revelation, to
attain it : Under these circumstances, is it impro-
bable that a revelation should be made 1 is it incredi-
ble that God should interpose for .such a purposed
Suppose him to design for mankind a future state ;
is it unlikely that he should acquaint him with if?
Now in what way can a revelation be made, but
by miracles ? In none which we are able to con-
ceive. Consequently, in whatever degree it is
probable, or not very improbable, that a revelation
should be communicated to .mankind at all ; in the
same degree is it probable, or. not -very impro-
bable, that miracles should be wrought. There-
fore, when miracles are related to have been
wrought in the promulgating of a revelation mani-
festly wanted, and, if true, of inestimable value,
the improbability which arises'from the miraculous
nature of the things related, is not greater ' than
the original improbability that such a revelation
should.be imparted by God.
I wish it, however, to be correctly understood,
in what manner, and to what extent, this argu-
ment is alleged. We do not assume the attributes
of the Deity,'<or the existence of a future state, iri
order to prove the reality of ntfracles. That re-
ality always must be proved by evidence. We
assert only, that in miracles adduced in support of
revelation, there is not any such antecedent im-
probability as no testimony can surmount. And
for the purpose of maintaining this assertion, we
contend, that the incredibility of miracles related
to have been wrought in attestation of a message
from God, conveying intelligence of a future state of
rewards and punishments, and teaching mankind
how to prepare themselves for that slate, is not in
itself greater than the event, call it either probable
or improbable, of the two following propositions
being true : namely, first, that a future state of ex<-
istence should be destined by God for his human
creation; and, secondly, that, being so destined, he
should acquaint them with it. It is not necessary
for our purpose, that these propositions be capable
of proof, or- even that, by arguments drawn from
the light of nature, they can be made out to be
probable ; it is enough that we are able to-say con-
cerning them, that they are not so violently im-
probable, so contradictory to what we~ already be-
lieve of the divine power and character, that either
the propositions themselves, or facts strictly con-
nected with the propositions (and therefore no
further improbable 'than they are improbable.)
ought to l>e rejected at first sight, and to be reject-
ed by whatever strength or complication of evi-
dence they be attested.
This is the prejudication we would resist. For
to this length does a modern objection to miracles
go, viz. that no human testimony can in any case
render them credible. I think the reflection above
stated, that, if there be a revelation, there must be
miracles, and that Under the circumstance's in
which the human species are placed, a. revelation
is not improbable, or not improbable in any irreat
degree^ te be a fair answer to the whole objection.
But since it is an objection which stands in the*
very threshold of our argument, and if admitted,
is a bar to every proof, and to all future reasoning
upon the subject, it may be necessary, before we
proceed further, to examine, the principle upon
which it professes to be founded ; which principle
is concisely this, That it is contrary to experience
that a miracle should be. true, but not contrary to
experience that testimony should be false.
Now there- appears a small ambiguity in the
term " experience," and in the phrases, " contrary
to experience," or " contradicting experience,"
which it may be necessary to remove in the first
place. Strictly speaking, the narrative of a fact is
then only contrary to experience, when the fact Is
related "to have existed at a time and place, at
which time -and place we being present, did not
perceive itfo exist: as if k should lie asserted, that
in a particular room, and at a particular hour of a
certain day, a- man was raised from the dead, in
which room, and at the time specified, we being
present and looking on, perceived no such event
to have taken place. Here t}ie assertion is con-
trary to experience properly so called: and this is
a contrariety which no evidence can surmount. It
matters nothing, whether the fact be of a miracu-
lous nature or not. But although this be the ex-
perience, and the contrariety, which Archbishop
Tillotson alleged in the quotation with which
Mr. Hume opens his Essay, it is certainly not
that experience, nor that contrariety, whicli Mr.
Hume himself intended to object. And, short of
this, I know no intelligible signification which can
be affixed to the term " contrary to experience,"
but one, viz. that of not having ourselves expe-
rienced any thing similar to the thing related, or
such things not being generally experienced by
others. I say "not generally:" for to state con-
cerning the fact in question, that no such thing
was ever experienced, or that universal experience
is against it, is to assume the subject of the con-
troversy.
Now the improbability which arises from the
want (for this properly is a want, not a contradic-
tion) of experience, is only equal to the probability
there is, that, if the thing were true, we should
experience things similar to it, or that such things
would be generally experienced. Suppose it then
to be true that miracles were wrought on the first
promulgation of Christianity, when nothing but
miracles could decide its authority, is it certain
that such miracles would be repeated so often, and
in so many places, as to become objects of general
experience'? Is it a probability approaching to
certainty 1 is it a probability of any great strength
or force'? is it such as no evidence can encounter 1
And yet this probability is the exact converse, and
therefore the exact measure, of the improbability
which arises from the want of experience, and
which Mr. Hume represents as invincible by hu-
man' testimony.
It is not like alleging a new law of nature, or a
new experiment in natural philosophy ; because,
when these arc related, it is expected that, under
the same circumstances, the same e fleet will fol-
low universally ; and in proportion as this expect-
ation is justly entertained, the Avant of a corre-
spojidirrg experience negatives the history. But
to expect concerning a miracle, that it should suc-
ceed upon a repetition, \3 to expect that which
would make it cease to be a miracle, which is con-
trary to its nature as such, and would totally de-
stroy the- use and purpose for which it was wrought.
' The force of experience as an objection to mi-
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
273
raclcs, is founded in the presumption, either that tion, we ought to have some other to rest in ; and
** ' ' l ' none, even by our adversaries, can be admitted,
which is not inconsistent with the principles that
regulate human affairs and human conduct at
present, or which makes men then to have been a
that the course of nature is invariable, or that, if
it be ever varied, variations will be frequent and
general. Has the necessity of this alternative
been demonstrated 1 Permit us to call the course
of nature the agency of an intelligent Being ; and
is there any good reason for judging this state of
the case to be probable 1 Ought we not rather to
expect that such a Being, on occasions of peculiar
importance, may interrupt the order which he had
appointed; yet, that such occasions should return
seldom; that these interruptions consequently
should be confined to the experience of a few;
that the want of it, therefore, in many, should be
matter neither of surprise nor objection.
But as a continuation of the argument from ex-
perience, it is said that, when we advance accounts
of miracles, we assign effects without causes, or
we attribute effects to causes inadequate to the
purpose, or to causes, of the operation of which we
have no experience. Of what causes, we may
ask. and of what ellects does the objection sjwak ?
If it be answered that, when we ascribe the cure
of the palsy to a touch, of blindness to the anoint-
ing of the eyes with clay, or the raising of the
dead to a word, we lay ourselves open to this im-
putation ; we reply, that we ascribe no such rfleets
to such causes. Wl perceive no virtue or energy
in these things more than in other things of the
same kind. They are merely signs to connect
the miracle with its end. The ettect we ascribe
simply to the volition of the Deity ; of whose ex-
istence and power, not to say of whose presence
and agency, we have previous and
proof. We have, therefore, all we seek for in the
works of rational agents, a sufficient power and
an adequate motive. In a word, once believe that
there is a God, and miracles are not incredible.
Mr. Hume states the case of miracles to be a
contest of opposite improbabilities, that is to say, a
question whether it be more improbable that the
miracle should be true, or the testimony false: and
this 1 think a fair account of the controversy. But
herein I remark a want of argumentative justice,
that, in describing the improbability of miracles,
he suppresses all those circumstances of extenua-
tion, which result from our knowledge of the exist-
ence, power, and disposition of the Deity; his
concern in the creation, the end answered by the
miracle, the importance of that end, and its sub-
serviency to the plan pursued in the work of
nature. As Mr. Hume has represented the ques-
tion, miracles are alike incredible to him who is
previously assured of the constant agency of a
Divine Being, and to him who believes that no
such Being exists in the universe. They are
equally incredible, whether related to have been
wrought upon occasions the most deserving, and
for purposes the most beneficial, or for no assign-
able end whatever, or for an end confessedly tri-
fling or pernicious. This surely cannot be a cor-
rect statement. In adjusting also the other side
of the balance, the strength and weight of testi-
mony, this author has provided an answer to
every possible accumulation of historical proof by
telling us, that we are not obliged to explain how
the story of the evidence arose. Now I think that
we are obliged : not, perhaps, to show by positive
accounts how it did, but by a probable hypothesis
how it might so happen. The existence of the
testimony is a phenomenon ; the truth of the fact
solves the phenomenon. If we reject this solu-
2 M
different kind of beings from what they are now.
But the short consideration which, independ-
ently of every other, coin inces me that there is no
solid foundation in Mr. Hume's conclusion, is the
following. When a theorem is proposed to a
mathematician, the first thing he does with it is
to try it upon a simple case, and if it produce a
false result, he is sure that there must be some
mistake in the demonstration. Now, to proceed
in this way with what may be called Mr. Hume's
theorem. If twelve men, whose probity and good
sense I had long known, should seriously and
circumstantially relate to me an account of a mi-
racle wrought before their eyes, and in which it
was impossible that they should be deceived ; if
the governor of the country, hearing a rumour of
this account, should call these men into his pre-
sence, and offer them a short proposal, either to
confess the imposture, or submit to be tied up to
a gibbet ; if they should refuse with one voice to
acknowledge that there existed any falsehood or
imposture in the case ; if this threat were commu-
nicated to them separately, yet with no different
effect ; if it was at last executed ; if I myself saw
them, one after another, consenting to be racked,
burnt, or strangled, rather than give up the truth
of their account ; still, if Mr. Hume's rule be my
guide, I am not to believe them. Now I under-
take to say that there exists not a sceptic in the
world who would not believe them, or who would
defend such incredulity.
Instances of spurious miracles supported by
strong and apparent testimony, undoubtedly de-
mand examination ; Mr. Hume has endeavoured
to fortify his argument by some examples of this
kind. I hope in a proper place to show that none
of them reach the strength or circumstances of the
Christian evidence. In .these however, consists
the weight of his objection : in the principle itself,
1 am persuaded, there is none.
PART I.
OF THE DIRECT HISTORICAL EVIDENCE OP CHRIS-
TIANITY, AND WHEREIN IT 13 DISTINGUISHED
FROM THE EVIDENCE ALLEGED FOR OTHER MI-
RACLES.
THE two propositions which I shall endeavour
to establish are these :
I. That there is satisfactory evidence that
many, professing to be original witnesses of the
Christian Miracles, passed their lives in labours,
fferings, voluntarily undergone in
dangers, and su
attestation of the accounts which they delivered,
and solely in consequence of their belief of those
accounts ; and that they also submitted, from the
same motives, to new rules of conduct.
II. That there is not satisfactory evidence,
that persons professing to be original witnesses of
other miracles, in their nature as certain as these
are, have ever acted in the same manner, in at-
testation of the accounts which they delivered, and
274
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
properly in consequence of their belief of those
accounts.
The first of these propositions, as it forms the
argument, will stand at the head of the following
nine chapters.
CHAPTER I.
There is satisfactory evidence that many, pro-
Jessing to be original witnesses of the Chris-
tian miracles , passed their lives in labours, dan-
gers, and sufferings, voluntarily undergone
in attestation of the accounts which they de-
livered, and solely in consequence of their be-
lief of those accounts ; and that they also sub-
mitted, from the same motives, to new rules of
conduct.
To support this proposition, two points are ne-
cessary to be made out : first, that the Founder of
the institution, his associates and immediate fol-
lowers, acted the part which the proposition im-
putes to them : secondly, that they did so in attest-
ation of the miraculous history recorded in our
Scriptures, and solely in consequence of their be-
lief of the truth of this history.
Before we produce any particular testimony to
the activity and sufferings which compose the sub-
ject of our first assertion, it will be proper to con-
sider the degree of probability which the assertion
derives from the nature of the case, that is, by in-
ferences from those parts of the case which, in
point of fact, are on all hands acknowledged.
First, then, the Christian religion exists, and
therefore by some means or other was established.
Now it either owes the principle of its establish-
ment, i. e. its first publication, to the activity of the
Person who was the founder of the institution, and
of those who were joined with him in the under-
taking, or we are driven upon the strange supposi-
tion, that, although they might lie by, others would
take it up; although they were quiet and silent,
other persons busied themselves in the success
and propagation of their story. This is perfectly
incredible. To me it appears little less than cer-
tain, that, if the first announcing of the religion
by the Founder had not been followed up by the
zeal and industry of his immediate disciples, the
attempt must have expired in its birth. Then as
to the kind and degree of exertion which was em-
ployed, and the mode of life to which these persons
submitted, we reasonably suppose it to be like
that which we observe in all others who volunta-
rily become missionaries of a new faith. Fre-
quent, earnest, and laborious preaching, constant-
ly conversing with religious persons upon religion,
a sequestration from tne common pleasures, en-
gagements, and varieties of life, and an addic-
tion to one serious object, compose the habits of
such men. I do not say that this mode of life is
without enjoyment, but I say that the enjoyment
springs from sincerity. With a consciousness at
tne bottom, of hollowness and falsehood, the fatigue
and restraint would become insupportable. I am
apt to believe that very few hypocrites engage in
these undertakings ; or, however, persist in them
long. Ordinarily speaking, nothing can overcome
the indolence of mankind, the love which is natural
to most tempers of cheerful society and cheerful
scenes, or the desire, which is common to all, of
personal ease and freedom, but conviction.
Secondly, it is also highly probable, from the
nature of the case, that the propagation of the
new religion was attended with difficulty and dan-
ger. As addressed to the Jews, it was a system
adverse not only to their habitual opinions, but to
those opinions, upon which their hopes, their par-
tialities, their pride, their consolation, was founded.
This people, with or without reason, had worked
themselves into a persuasion, that some signal and
greatly advantageous change was to be effected in
the condition of their country, by the agency of a
long-promised messenger from heaven. * The ru-
lers of the Jews, their leading sect, their priesthood,
had been the authors of tnis persuasion to the
common people. So that it was not merely the
conjecture of theoretical divines, or the secret ex-
pectation of a few recluse devotees, but it was be-
come the popular hope and passion, and like all
popular opinions, undoubting, and impatient of
contradiction. They clung to this hope under
every misfortune of their country, and with more
tenacity as their dangers or calamities increased.
To find, therefore, that expectations so gratifying
were to be worse than disappointed ; that they
were to end in the diffusion of a mild unambitious
religion, which, instead of victories and triumphs,
instead of exalting their nation and institution
above the rest of the world, was to advance those
whom they despised to an equality with them-
selves, in tnose very points of comparison in which
they most valued their own distinction, could be
no very pleasing discovery to a Jewish mind ; nor
could the messengers of such intelligence expect
to be well received or easily credited. The doc-
trine was equally harsh and novel. The extend-
ing of the kingdom of God to those who did not
conform to the law of Moses, was a notion that
had never before entered into the thoughts of a
Jew.
The character of the new institution was, in
other respects also, ungrateful to Jewish habits
and principles. Their own religion was in a high
degree technical. Even the enlightened Jew placed
a great deal of stress upon the ceremonies of his
law, saw in them a great deal of virtue and effi-
cacy ; the gross and vulgar had scarcely any thing
else ; and the hypocritical and ostentatious mag-
nified them above measure, as being the instru-
ments of their own reputation and influence.
The Christian scheme, without formally repeal-
ing the Levitical code, lowered its estimation ex-
tremely. In -the place of strictness and zeal in
performing the observances which that code pre-
scribed, or which tradition had added to it, the
new sect preached up faith, well-regulated affec-
tions, inward purity, and moral rectitude of dis-
position, as the true ground, on the part of the
worshipper, of merit and acceptance with God.
This, however rational it may appear, or recom-
mending to us at present, did not by any means
facilitate the plan then. On the contrary, to dis-
parage those qualities which the highest charac-
ters in the country valued themselves most upon
* " Percrebuerat oriente toto vetus et constans opinio,
esse in fatis, uteo tempore Judsea profecti Yerum poti-
rentur." Sueton Vespasian, cap. 4 8.
" Pluribus persuasio inerat, antiquis sacerdotum li-
tevis contineri, eo ipso tempore fore, ut valesceret oriena,
profectique Judtea rerum potirentur." Tacit. Histor.
lib. v. cap. 913.
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
275
was a sure way of making powerful enemies. As
if the frustration of the national hope was not
enough, the long-esteemed merit of ritual zeal and
punctuality was to be decried, and that by Jews
preaching to Jews.
The ruling party at Jerusalem had just before
crucified the Founder of the religion. That is a
fact which will not be disputed. They, therefore,
who stood forth to preach the religion, must ne-
cessarily reproach these rulers with an execution.
which they could not but represent as an unjust
and cruel murder. This would not render their
office more easy, or their situation more safe.
With regard to the interference of the Roman
government which was then established in Judea,
I should not expect, that, despising as it did the
religion of the country, it would, if left to itself,
animadvert, either with much vigilance or much
severity, upon the schisms and controversies
which arose within it. Yet there was that in
Christianity which might easily afford a handle
of accusation with a jealous government. The
Christians avowed an unqualified obedience to a
new master. They avowed -also that he was the
person who had been foretold to the Jews under
the suspected title of King. The spiritual nature
of this kingdom, the consistency of this obedience
with civil subjection, were distinctions too refined
to be entertained by a Roman president, who
viewed the business at a great distance, or through
the medium of very hostile representations. Our
histories accordingly inform us, that this was the
turn which the enemies of Jesus gave to his cha-
racter and pretensions in their remonstrances with
Pontius Pilate. And Justin Martyr, about a hun-
dred years afterwards, complains that the same
mistake prevailed in his time : " Ye, having heard
that we are waiting fora kingdom, suppose, with-
out distinguishing, that we mean a human king-
dom, when in truth we speak of that^ which is
with God."* And it was undoubtedly a natural
source of calumny and misconstruction.
The preachers of Christianity had, therefore, to
contend with prejudice backed by power. They
had to come forward to a disappointed people, to
a priesthood possessing a considerable share of
municipal authority, and actuated by strong mo-
tives of opposition and resentment; and they had
to do this under a foreign government, to whose
favour they made no pretensions, and which was
constantly surrounded by their enemies. The
well-known, because the experienced fate of re-
formers, whenever the reformation subverts some
reigning opinion, and does not proceed upon a
change that has already taken place in the sen-
timents of a country, will not allow, much less
lead us to suppose, that the first propagators of
Christianity at Jerusalem and in Judea, under the
difficulties and the enemies they had to contend
with, and entirely destitute as they were of force,
authority, or protection, could execute their mis-
sion with personal ease and safety.
Let us next inquire, what might reasonably be
expected by the preachers of Christianity when
they turned themselves to the heathen public.
Now the first thing that strikes us is, that the re-
ligion they carried with them was exclusive. It
denied without reserve the truth of every article
of heathen mythology, the existence of every ob-
Ap. Ima. p. 16. Ed. Thirl.
ject of their worship. It accepted no compromise ;
it admitted no comprehension. It must prevail,
if it prevailed at all, by the overthrow of every
statue, altar, and temple, in the world. It will
not easily be credited, that a design, so bold as
this \vas, could in any age be attempted to be car-
ried into execution with impunity.
For it ought to be considered, that this was not
setting forth, or magnifying the character and
worship of some new competitor for a place in
the Pantheon, whose pretensions might be dis-
cussed or asserted without questioning the reality
of any others ; it was pronouncing all other gods
to be false, and all other worship vain. From the
facility with which the polytheism of ancient na-
tions admitted new objects of worship into the
number of their acknowledged divinities, or the
patience with which they might entertain propo-
sals of this kind, we can argue nothing as to their
toleration of a system, or of the publishers and
active propagators of a system, which swept away
the ve^y foundation of the existing establishment.
The one was nothing more than what it would
be, in popish countries, to add a saint to the calen-
dar; the other was to abolish and tread under
foot the calendar itself.
Secondly, it ought also to be considered, that
this was not the case of philosophers propounding
in their books, or in their schools, doubts concern-
ing the truth of the popular creed, or even avow-
ing their disbelief of it. These philosophers did
not go about from place to place to collect prose-
lytes from amongst the common people ; to form
in the heart of the country societies professing
their tenets ; to provide for the order, instruction,
and permaiiency of these societies ; nor did they
enjoin their followers to withdraw themselves from
the public worship of the temples, or refuse a com-
pliance with rites instituted bj the laws.* These
things arfc what the Christians did, and what the
philosophers did not ; and in these consisted the
activity and danger of the enterprise.
Thirdly, it ought also to be considered, that
this danger proceeded not merely from solemn
acts and public resolutions of the state, but from
sudden bursts of violence at particular places,
from the license of the populace, the rashness of
some magistrates, and negligence of others ; from
the influence and instigation of interested adver-
saries, and, in general, from the variety and warmth
of opinion which an errand so novel and extraor-
dinary could not fail of exciting. I can conceive
that the teachers of Christianity might both fear
and suffer much from these causes, without any
general persecution being denounced against them
by imperial authority. Some length of time, I
should suppose, might pass, before the vast ma-
chine of the Roman empire would be put in mo-
tion, or its attention be obtained to religious con-
troversy : but during that time, a great deal of
ill usage might be endured, by a set of friendless,
unprotected travellers, telling men, wherever they
came, that the religion of their ancestors, the re-
ligion in which they had been brought up, the re-
* The bestftf tho ancient philosophers, Plato, Cicero,
and Epictetus, allowed, or rather enjoined, men to wor-
ship the gods of the country, and in the established
form. See passages to this purpose, collected from their
works by Dr. Clarke, Nat. and Rev. Rel. p. 180. ed. 5.
Except Socrates, they all thought it wiser to comply
with the laws than to contend.
276
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
of the state, and of the magistrate, the rites
which they frequented, the pomp which they
admired, was throughout a system of folly and
delusion.
Nor do I think that the teachers of Christianity
would find protection in that general disbelief oi'
the popular theology, which is supposed to have
prevailed amongst the intelligent part of the hea-
then public. It is by no means true that unbe-
lievers are usually tolerant. They are not dis-
posed (and why should they ?) to endanger the
present state of things, by suffering a religion of
which they believe nothing, to be disturbed by
another of which they believe as little. They are
ready themselves to conform to any thing; and
are, oftentimes, amongst the foremost to procure
conformity from others, by any method which they
think likely to be efficacious. When was ever a
change of religion patronized by infidels 1 How
little, notwithstanding the reigning scepticism, and
the magnified liberality of that age, the true prin-
ciples of toleration were understood by the wisest
men amongst them, may be gathered from two
eminent and uncontested examples. The younger
Pliny, polished as he was by all the literature of
that soft and elegant period, could gravely pro-
nounce this monstrous judgment: " Those who
persisted in declaring themselves Christians, I
ordered to be led away to punishment, (i. e. to
execution,) for I DID NOT DOUBT, whatever it was
that they confessed, that contumacy and inflexi-
ble obstinacy ought to be punished." His master,
Trajan, a mild and accomplished prince, went,
nevertheless, no further in his sentiments of mo-
deration and equity, than, what appears in the
following rescript : "The Christians are not to
be sought for ; but if any are brought before you,
and convicted, they are to be punished." And
this direction he gives, after it had been reported
to him by his own president, that, by the most
strict examination nothing could be discovered in
the principles of these persons, but " a bad and
excessive superstition," accompanied, it seems,
with an oath or mutual federation, "to allow
themselves in no crime or immoral conduct what-
ever." The truth is, the ancient heathens con-
sidered religion entirely as an affair of state, as
much under the tuition of the magistrate, as any
other part of the police. The religion of that age
was not merely allied to the state ; it was incor-
porated into it. Many of its offices were adminis-
tered by the magistrate. Its titles of pontiffs,
augurs, and flamens, were borne by senators,
consuls, and generals. Without discussing, there-
fore, the truth of the theology, they resented every
affront put upon the established worship, as a
direct opposition to the authority of government.
Add to which, that the religious systems of
those times, however ill supported by evidence,
had been long established. The ancient religion
of a country has always many votaries, and some-
times not the fewer, because its origin is hidden
in remoteness and obscurity. Men have a natu-
ral veneration for antiquity, especially in matters
of religion. What Tacitus -says of the Jewish,
was more applicable to the heathen establishment :
" Hi ritus, quoquo modo inducti, antiquitate de-
fenduntur." It was also a splendid and sumptuous
worship. It had its priesthood, its endowments,
its temples. Statuary, painting, architecture, and
music, contributed their effect to its ornament and
magnificence. It abounded in festival shows and
solemnities, to which the common people arc
greatly addicted, and which were of a nature to en-
gage them much more than any thing of that sort
among us. These things would retain great num-
bers on its side by the fascination of spectacle and
pomp, as well as interest mam in its preservation
by the advantage which they drew from it. " It
was moreover interwoven," as Mr. Gibbon right-
ly represents it, " with ev^ry circumstance of bu-
siness or pleasure, of public or private life, with
all the offices and amusements of society." On
the due celebration also of its rites, the people were
taught to believe, and did believe, that the pros-
perity of their country in a great measure de-
pended.
I am willing to accept the account of the matter
which is given by Mr. Gibbon : "The various
modes of worship which prevailed in the Roman
world, were all considered, by the people as equally
true, by the philosopher as equally false, and by
the magistrate as equally useful :" and I would
ask from which of these three classes of men were
the Christian missionaries to look for protection or
impunity 1 Could they expect it from the people,
" whose acknowledged confidence in the public
religion" they subverted from its foundation'?
From the philosopher, who, " considering all reli-
gions as equally false," would of course rank theirs
among the number, with the addition of regarding
them as busy and troublesome zealots 1 Or from
the magistrate, who, satisfied with the "utility"
of the subsisting religion, would not be likely to
countenance a spirit of proselytism and innova-
tion ; a system which declared war against every
other, and which, if it prevailed, must end in a
total rupture of public opinion ; an upstart reli-
gion, in a word, which was not content with its
own authority, but must disgrace all the settled
religions of the world 1 It was not to be imagined
that he would endure with patience, that the reli-
gion of the emperor and of the state should be ca-
lumniated and borne down by a company of
superstitious and despicable Jews.
Lastly, the nature of the case affords a strong
proof, that the original teachers of Christianity, in
consequence of their new profession, entered upon
a new and singular course of life. We may be
allowed to presume, that the institution which
they preached to others, they conformed to in their
own persons ; because this is no more than what
every teacher of a new religion both does, and
must do, in order to obtain either, proselytes or
hearers. The change which this would produce
was very considerable. It is a change which we
do not easily .estimate, because, ourselves and all
about us being habituated to the institutions from
our infancy, it is what we neither experience nor
observe. After men became Christians, much of
their time was spent in prayer and devotion, in
religious meetings, in celebrating the eucharist, in
conferences, in exhortations, in preaching, in an
affectionate intercourse with one another, and
correspondence with other societies. Perhaps their
mode of life, in its form and habit, was not very
unlike the Unitas Fratrum, or the modern Metho-
dists. Think then what it was to become such
at Corinth, at Ephesus, at Antioch, or even at
Jerusalem. How new ! how alien from all their
former habits and ideas, and from those of every
body about them ! What a revolution there must
have been of opinions and prejudices to bring the
matter to this !
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
277
We know what the precepts of the religio
are ; how pure, how benevolent, how disinterest
a conduct they enjoin ; and that this purity an
benevolence are extended to the very though
and affections. We are not, perhaps, at libert
to take for granted that the lives of the preacher
of Christianity were as perfect as their lessons
but we are entitled to contend, that the observabl
part of their behaviour must have agreed in
great measure with the duties which they taugh
There was, therefore, (which is all that we assert
a course of life pursued by them, different fron
that which they before led. And this is of grea
importance. Men are brought to any thing almos
sooner than to change their habit or life, fspcci
ly when the change is either iixonvenient,
made against the force of natural inclination,
with the loss of accustomed indulgences. " It
the most difficult of all things to convert men from
vicious habits to virtuous ones, as every one ma
judge from what he feels in himself, as well a
from what he sees in others."* It is almost lik
making men over again.
Left then to myself, and without any more in
formation than a knowledge of the existence ol
the religion, of the general story upon which it is
founded, and that no act of power, force, and au
thority, was concerned in its first success, I shoul
conclude, from the very nature and exigency o
the case, that the Author of the religion, during
his life, and his immediate djscinles after his
death, exerted themselves in spreading and pub-
lishing the institution throughout the country in
which it began, and into which it was first car
ried : that, in the prosecution of this purpose, the)
underwent the labours and troubles which we ob-
serve the propagators of new sects to undergo
that the attempt must necessarily have also been
in a high degree dangerous; that, from the sub-
ject of the mission, compared with the fixed opi-
nions and prejudices of those to whom the mis-
sionaries were to address themselves, they coulc
hardly fail of encountering strong and frequenl
opposition; that, by the hand of government, as
well as from the sudden fury and unbridled license
of the people, they would oftentimes experience
injurious and cruel treatment ; that, at any rate,
they must have always had so much to fear for
their personal safety, as to have passed their lives
in a state of constant peril and anxiety ; and last-
ly, that their mode of life and conduct, visibly at
least, corresponded with the institution which
they delivered, and, so far, was both new. and re-
quired continual self-denial.
CHAPTER II.
There is -satisfactory evidence that many profess-
ing to be original witnesses of the Christian
miracles, passed their lives in labours, dangers,
and sufferings, voluntarily undergone in at-
testation of the accounts which they delivered,
and solely in consequence of their belief of
those accounts ; and that they also submitted
from the same motives, to new rules of conduct.
AFTER thus considering what was likely to
happen, we are next to inquire how the transac-
* Hartley's Essays on Man, p. 190.
tion is represented in the several accounts that
have come down to us. And this inquiry is pro-
perly preceded by the other, for as much as the
reception of these accounts may depend in part on
the credibility of what they contain.
The obscure and distant view of Christianity,
which some of the heathen writers of that age
had gained, and which a few passages in their re-
maining works incidentally discover to us, offers
itself to our notice in the first place ; because, so
far as this evidence goes, it is the concession of
adversaries ; the source from which it is drawn is
unsuspected. Under this head, a quotation from
Tacitus, well known to every scholar, must be
inserted, as deserving particular attention. The
reader will bear in mind that this passage was
written about seventy years after Christ's death,
and that it relates to transactions which took place
about thirty years after that event. Speaking of
the fire which happened at Rome in the time of
Nero, and of the suspicions which were enter-
tained that the emperor himself was concerned in
causing it, the historian proceeds in his narrative
and observations thus :
" But neither these exertions, nor his largesses
to the people, nor his offerings to the gods, did
away the infamous imputation under which Nero
lay, of having ordered the city to be set on fire.
To put an end, therefore, to this report, he laid
the guilt, and inflicted the most cruel punishments,
upon a set of people, who were holden in abhor-
rence for their crimes, and called by the vulgar,
Christians. The founder of that name was
hrist, who suffered death in the reign of Tibe-
rius, under his procurator Pontius Pilate. This
pernicious superstition, thus checked for a while,
>roke out again ; and spread not only over Judea,
where the evil originated, but through Rome also,
whither every thing bad upon the earth finds its
way, and is practised. Some who confessed their
sect, were first seized, and afterwards, by their in-
formation, a vast multitude were apprehended,
vho were convicted, not so much of the crime of
>urning Rome, as of hatred to mankind. Their
sufferings at their execution were aggravated by
nsult and mockery ; for, some were disguised in
he skins of wild beasts, and worried to death by
dogs ; some were crucified ; and others were
wrapt in pitched shirts,* and set on fire when the
lay closed, that they might serve as lights to illu-
minate the night. Nero lent his own gardens for
hese executions, and exhibited at the same time
a mock Circensian entertainment ; being a spec-
tator of the whole, in the dress of a cnarioteer,
ometimes mingling with the crowd on foot, and
ometimes viewing the spectacle from his car.
This conduct made the sufferers pitied; and
hough they were criminals, and deserving the
severest punishments, yet they were considered as
acrificed, not so much out of a regard to the pub-
ic good, as to gratify the cruelty of one man.
Our concern with this passage at present is
nly so far as it affords a presumption in support
f the proposition which we maintain, concerning
le activity and sufferings of the first teachers of
Christianity. Now considered in this view, it
roves three things: 1st, that the Founder of the
* This is rather a paraphrase, but is justified by what
e Scholiast upon Juvenal says ; " Nero maleficos ho-
ines tseda et papyro et cera supervestiebat, et sic ad
nem admoveri jubebat." Lard. Jewish and Heath
est. vol. i. p. 359.
278
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
institution was put to death ; 2dly, that in the
same country in which ho was put to death, the
religion, after a short check, broke out again and
spread; 3dly, that it so spread, as that, within
thirty-four years from the author's death, a very
great number of Christians (ingens eorum multi-
tudo) were found at Rome. From which fact,
the two following inferences may be fairly drawn :
first, that if, in the space of thirty-four years from
its commencement, the religion had spread through-
out Judea, had extended itself to Rome, and there
had numbered a great multitude of converts, the
original teachers and missionaries of the institu-
tion could not have been idle ; secondly, that when
the Author of the undertaking was put to death
as a malefactor for his attempt, the endeavours of
his followers to establish his religion in the same
country, amongst the same people, and in the
same age, could not but be attended with danger.
Suetonius, a writer contemporary with Tacitus,
describing the transactions of the same reign, uses
these words: "Affecti suppliciis Christiani, ge-
nus hominum superstitionis novae et maleficae.*"
" The Christians, a set of men of a new and
mischievous (or magical) superstition, were pu-
nished."
Since it is not mentioned here that the burning
of the city was the pretence of the punishment of
the Christians, or that they were the Christians
of Rome who alone suffered, it is probable that
Suetonius refers to some more general persecution
than the short and occasional one which Tacitus
describes.
Juvenal, a writer of the same age with the two
former, and intending, it should seem, to comme-
morate the cruelties exercised under Nero's go-
vernment, has the following lines :t
" Pone Tigellinum, tseda lucebis in ilia,
dua stantes ardent, qui fixo gutture fumant,
Et latum media sulcum deducitj arena.
" Describe Tigellinus (a creature of Nero,) and
you shall suffer the same punishment with those
who stand burning in their own flame and smoke,
their head being held up by a stake fixed to their
chin, till they make a long stream of blood and
melted sulphur on the ground."
If this passage were considered by itself, the
subject of allusion might be doubtful ; but when
connected with the testimony of Suetonius, as to
the actual punishment of the Christians by Nero,
and with the account given by Tacitus of the
species of punishment which they were made to
undergo, I think it sufficiently probable, that these
were the executions to which the poet refers.
These things, as has already been observed,
took place within thirty-one years after Christ's
death, that is, according to the course of nature,
in the life-time, probably, of some of the apostles,
and certainly in the life-time of those who were
converted by the apostles^ or who were convert-
ed in their time. If then the Founder ,of the
religion was put to death in the execution of
his design ; if the first race of converts to the re-
ligion, many of them, suffered the greatest ex-
tremities for their profession ; it is hardly credible,
that those who came between the two, who were
companions of the Author of the institution dur-
ing his life, and the teachers and propagators of
the institution after his death, could go about their
undertaking with ease and safety.
* Suet. Nero. cap. 16.
J Forsan " deducis."
t Sat. i. ver. 155.
The testimony of the younger Pliny belongs to
a later period ; for although he was contemporary
with Tacitus and Suetonius, yet his account does
not, like theirs, go back to the transactions of
Nero's reign, but is confined to the aflairs of his
own time. His celebrated letter to Trajan was
written about seventy years after Christ's death;
and the information to be drawn from it, so far as
it is connected with our argument, relates princi-
pally to two points ; first, to the number of Chris-
tians in Bithynia and Pontus, which was so con-
siderable as to induce the governor of these pro-
vinces to speak of them in the following terms ;
" Multi, omnis ffitatis, utriusque sexus etiam ;
neque enim civitates tantum, sed vicos etiam et
agros, superstitionis istius contagio pervagata est."
" There are many of every age and of both sexes ;
nor has the contagion of this superstition seized
cities only, but smaller towns also, and the open
country." Great exertions must have been used
by the preachers of Christianity to produce this
state of things within this time. Secondly, to a
point which has been already noticed, and which
I think of importance to be observed, namely, the
sufferings to which Christians were exposed, with-
out any public persecution being denounced against
them by sovereign authority. For, from Pliny's
doubt how he was to act, his silence concerning
any subsisting law on the subject, his requesting
the emperor's rescript, and the emperor, agreeably
to his request propounding a rule for his direction,
without reference to any prior rule, it may be in-
ferred, that there was, at that time, no public edict
in force against the Christians. Yet from this
same epistle of Pliny it appears, " that accusations,
trials, and examinations, were and had been,
going on against them in the provinces over which
he presided; that schedules were delivered by
anonymous informers, containing the names of
persons who were suspected of holding or of fa-
vouring the religion ; that, in consequence of these
informations, many had been apprehended, of
whom some boldly avowed their profession, and
died in the cause ; others denied that they were
Christians ; others, acknowledging that they had
once been Christians, declared that they had long
ceased to be such." All which demonstrates, that
the profession of Christianity was at that time (in
that country at least) attended with fear and dan-
ger : and yet this took place without any edict
from the Roman sovereign, commanding or au-
thorising the persecution of Christians. This
observation is further confirmed by a rescript of
Adrian to Minucius Fundanus, the proconsul
of Asia :* from which rescript it appears that the
custom of the people of Asia was to proceed
against the Christians with tumult and uproar.
This disorderly practice, I say, is recognised in
the edict, because the emperor enjoins, that, for
the future, if the Christians were guilty, they
should be legally brought to trial, and not be pur-
sued by importunity and clamour.
Martial wrote a few years before the younger
Pliny : and, as his manner was, made the suffer-
ings of the Christians the subject of his ridicule.t
* Lard. Heath. Test. vol. ii. p. 110.
f In matiitinii nuper spectatus arena
Mucius, imposilit qui sua membra focis,
Si patiens fortisque tibi durusque videtur,
Abderitante pectora plebis habes ;
Nam cum dicatur, tunica prsesente molesta,
Ure J manum : plus est dicere, Non.facio.
J Forsan " thure manum."
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
279
Nothing, however, could show the notoriety of the
fact with more certainty than this does. Martial's
testimony, as well indeed as Pliny's, goes also to
another point, viz. that the deaths of these men
were martyrdoms in the strictest sense, tkat is to
Bay, were so voluntary, that it was in then* power,
at the time of pronouncing the sentence, to have
averted the execution by consenting to join in
heathen sacrifices.
The constancy, and by consequence the suffer-
ings of the Christians of this period, is also refer-
red to by Epictetus, who imputes their intrepidity
to madness, or to a kind of fashion or habit, and
about fifty years afterwards, by Marcus Aurelius,
who ascribes it to obstinacy. " Is it pos>il>le
(Epictetus asks) that a man may arrive at this
temper, and become indifferent to those things
from madness or from habit, as the Galileans ? '*
" Let this preparation of the mind (to die) arise
from its own judgment, and not from obstinacy
like the Christians."*.
CHAPTER III.
There is satisfactory evidence that many,' pro-
fessing to be original witnesses of the Chris-
tian miracles, passed their lives in labours,
dangers, and sufferings, voluntarily under-
gone in attestation of the accounts which they
delivered, and solely in consequence of their
belief of those accounts ; and that they also
submitted, from the same motives, to new rules
of conduct.
OF the primitive condition of Christianity,
distant only and general view can be acquired from
heathen writers. It is in our own books that the
detail and interior of the transaction must be
sought for. And this is nothing different from
what might be expected. Who would write a
history of Christianity, but a Christian 1 Who
was likely to record the travels, sufferings, labours,
or successes of the apostles, but one of their
own number, or of their followers ? Now these
books come up in their accounts to the full extent
of the proposition which we maintain. We have
four histories of Jesus Christ. We have a
history taking up the narrative frotn his death
and carrying on an account of the propagation
of the religion, and of some of the most eminent
persons engaged in it, for a space of nearly thirty
years. We have, what some may think still more
original, a collection of letters, written by certain
principal agents in the business, upon the business,
and in the midst of their concern and connexion
with it. And we have these writings severally
attesting the point which we contend for, viz. the
sufferings of the witnesses of the history, and
attesting it in every variety of form in which it
can be conceived to appear : directly and indirectly
expressly and incidentally, by assertion, recital,
and allusion, by narratives of facts, and by argu-
ments and discourses built upon these facts, either
referring to them, or necessarily presupposing
them.
I remark this variety, because, in examining
ancient records, or indeed any species of testimo-
ny, it is, in my opinion, of the greatest importance
to attend to the information or grounds of argu-
* Epict, 1. iv. c. 7. f Marc. Aur. Med. 1. xi. c. 3.
ment which are casually and undesignedly dis-
closed ; forasmuch as this species of proof is, of
all others, the leas* liable to be corrupted by fraud
or misrepresentation.
I may be allowed therefore, in the inquiry
which is now before us, to suggest some conclu-
sion of this sort, as preparatory to more direct
testimony.
1. Our books relate, that Jesus Christ, the
founder of the religion, was % in consequence of
liis undertaking, put to death, as a malefactor, at
Jerusalem. This point at least will be granted,
because it is no more than what Tacitus has re-
corded. They^hen proceed to tell us, that the
religion was, notwithstanding, set forth at this
same city of Jerusalem, propagated thence through-
out Judea, and afterwards preached in other parts
of the Roman empire. These points also are
fully confirmed by Tacitus, who informs us, that
the religion, after a short check, broke out again
in the country where it took its rise ; that it not
only spread throughout Judea, but had reached
Rome, and tliat it had there great multitudes of
converts ; and all this within thirty years alter its
commencement. Now these facts afford a strong
inference in behalf of the proposition which we
maintain. What could the disciples of Christ ex-
pect for themselves when they saw their Master
put to death 1 Could they hope to escape the
dangers in which he had peiislud > If they have
persecuted me, they will also persecute you, was
the warning of common sense. With this ex-
ample before their eyes, they could not be without
a full sense of the peril of their future enterprise.
2. Secondly, all the histories agree in represent-
ing Christ as foretelling the persecution of his fol-
lowers :
" Then shall they deliver you up to be afflicted,
and shall kill you, and ye shall be hated of all na-
tions for my name's sake."*
" When affliction or persecution ariseth for the
word's sake, immediately they are offended. "t
" They shall lay hands on you, and persecute
you, delivering you up to the synagogues, and
into prisons, being brought before kings and rulers
for my name's sake: and ye shall be betrayed
both by parents and brethren, and kinsfolks and
friends, and some of you shall they cause to be put
to death."*
" The time cometh, that he that killeth voir,
will think that he doeth God service. And these
things will they do unto you, because they have
not known the Father, nor me. But these things
have I told you, that when the time shall come, ye
may remember that I told you of them. "
I am not entitled to argue from these passages,
that Christ actually did foretell these events, and
that they did accordingly come to pass ; because
that would be at once to assume the truth of the
religion : but I am entitled to contend, that one side
or other of the following disjunction is true ; either
that the Evangelists have delivered what Christ
really spoke, and that the event corresponded with
the prediction ; or that they put the prediction into
Christ's mouth, because, at the time of writing
the history, the event had turned out so to be :
for, the only two remaining suppositions appear in
the highest degree incredible; which are, either
* Mat. xxiv. 9.
t Mark iv. 17. See also chap. x. 30.
t Luke xxi. 1210. See also chap. xi. 49.
John xvi. 4 See also chap. xv. 20 ; xvi. 33,
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
that Christ filled the minds of his followers with
fears and apprehensions, without any reason or
authority for what he said, and contrary to the
truth of the case ; or that, although Christ had
never foretold any such thing, and the event would
have contradicted him if he had, yet historians
who lived in the age when the event was known,
falsely, as well as officiously, ascribed these words
to him.
3. Thirdly, these books abound with exhorta-
tions to patience, and with topics of comfort under
distress.
" Who shall separate us from the love of Christ 1
Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or fa-
mine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword 1 Nay, in
all these things we are more than conquerors
through Him that loved us."*
" We are troubled on every side, yet not dis-
tressed ; we are perplexed, but not in despair ; per-
secuted, but not forsaken; cast down, but not
destroyed ; always bearing about in the body the
dying of the Lord Jesus, that the life also of Je-
sus might be made manifest in our body ; know-
ing that he which raised up the Lord Jesus shall
raise us up also by Jesus, and shall present us
with you. For which cause we faint not; but,
though our outward man perish, yet the inward
man is renewed day by day. For our light afflic-
tion, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a
far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory."t
" Take, my brethren, the prophets, who have
spoken in the name of the Lord, for an example
of suffering affliction, and of patience. Behold,
we count them happy which endure. Ye have
heard of the patience of Job, and have seen the
end of the Lord ; that the Lord is very pitiful, and
of tender mercy."t
" Call to remembrance the former days, in
which, after ye were illuminated, ye endured a
great fight of afflictions, partly whilst ye were
made a gazing-stock both by reproaches and afflic-
tions, and partly whilst ye became companions of
thejn that were so used ; for ye had compassion of
me in my bonds, and took joyfully the spoiling of
your goods, knowing in yourselves, that ye have
in heaven a better and an enduring substance.
Cast not away, therefore, your confidence, which
hath great recompense of reward ; for ye have
need of patience, that, after ye have done the will
of God, ye might receive the promise."!
"So that we ourselves glory in you in the
churches of God, for your patience and faith in all
your persecutions and tribulations that ye endure.
Which is a manifest token of the righteous judg-
ment of God, that ye may be counted worthy of
the kingdom for which ye also suffer."ll
We rejoice in hope of the glory of God ; and
rot only so, but we glory in tribulations also ;
knowing that tribulation worketh patience, and
patience experience, and experience hope."1T
" Beloved, think it not strange concerning the
fiery trial which is to try you, as though some
strange thing happened unto you ; but rejoice, in-
asmuch as ye are partakers of Christ's sufferings.
Wherefore let them that suffer according to the
will of God, commit the keeping of their souls to
him in well doing, as unto a faithfulCreator/" 1 " 1
What could all these texts mean, if there was
* Rom. viii. 3537. t 2 Cor. iv. 810. 14. 16, 17.
y James v. 10, 11. Heb. x. 3236.
t Thess. i. 4, 5. IT Rom. v. 3, 4.
1 Pet. iv. 12, 13. 19.
nothing in the circumstances of the times which
required patience, which called for the exercise
of constancy and resolution 1 Or will it be pre-
tended that these exhortations (which, let it be
observed, come not from one author, but from
many) were put in, merely to induce a belief in
after-ages, that the Christians were exposed to
dangers which they were not exposed to, or under-
went sufferings which they did not undergo 1 If
these books belong to the age to which they lay
claim, and in which ago, whether genuine or spu-
rious, they certainly did appear, this supposition
cannot be maintained for a moment; because I
think it impossible to believe, that passages, which
must be deemed not only unintelligible, but false,
by the persons into whose hands the books upon
their publication were to come, should nevertheless
be inserted, for the purpose of producing an effect
upon remote generations. In forgeries which do
not appear till many ages after that to which they
pretend to belong, it is possible that some con-
trivance of that sort may take place; but in no
others can it be attempted.
CHAPTER IV.
There is satisfactory evidence that many, pro-
fessing to be original witnesses of the Christian
miracles, passed their lives in labours, dangers^
and sufferings, voluntarily undergone in at-
testation of the accounts which they delivered,
and solely in consequence of their belief of those
accounts ; and that they also submitted, from
the same motives, to new rules of conduct.
THE account of the treatment of the religion,
and of the exertions of its first preachers, as stated
in our Scriptures (not in a professed history of per-
secutions, or in the connected manner in which 1
am about to recite it, but dispersedly and occasion-
ally, in the course of a mixed general history,
which circumstance alone negatives the supposi-
tion of any fraudulent design,) is the following :
" That the Founder of Christianity, from the com-
mencement of his ministry to the tune of his vio-
lent death, employed himself wholly in publishing
the institution in Judea and Galilee ; that, in order
to assist him in this purpose, he made choice out
of the number of his followers, of twelve persons,
who might accompany him as he travelled from
place to place ; that, except a short absence upon
a journey in which he sent them, two by two, to
announce his mission, and one of a few days, when
they went before him to Jerusalem, these persons
were steadily and constantly attending upon him ;
that they were with him at Jerusalem when he
was apprehended and put to death ; and that they
were commissioned by him, when his own minis-
try was concluded, to publish his Gospel, and col-
lect disciples to it from all countries of the world."
The account then proceeds to state, " that a few
days after his departure, these persons, with some
of his relations, and some who had regularly fre-
quented their society, assembled at Jerusalem;
thatjConsideringthe office of preaching the religion
as now devolved upon them, and one of their num-
ber having deserted the cause, and, repenting of
his perfidy, having destroyed himself, they proceed-
ed to elect another into his place, and that they
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
881
were careful to make t heir election out of thcMium-
ber of those who had accompanied their Master
from the first to the last, in order, as they alleged,
that he might be a witness, together with them-
selves, of the principal facts which they were
nbout to produce and relate concerning him ;* that
they began their work at Jerusalem by publicly
asserting that this Jesus, whom the rulers and in-
habitants of that place had so lately crivified, was,
in truth, the person in whom all their prophecies
and long expectations terminated ; that he had
been sent amongst them by God ; and that he was
appointed by God the future judge of the human
species ; that all who were solicitous to secure to
themselves happiness after death, ought to receive
him as such, and to make profession of their be-
lief, by being bapti/ed in his name."t The his-
tory goes on to relate, " that considerable numbers
accepted this pro|x>sul, and that tliev who did so.
formed amongst themselves a strict "union and so-
ciety ;t that the attention of the Jewish govern-
ment being soon drawn upon them, two of the
principal persons of the twelve, and who also h;ul
lived most intimately and constantly with the
Founder of the religion, were seized as they were
discoursing to the people in the temple; that, after
being kept all night in prison, they were brought
the next day before an assembly composed of tin-
chief j>ersons of the Jewish magistracy and priest-
hood ; that this assembly, after some consultation.
found nothing, at that time, In-tter to be done to-
wards suppressing the growth of the sect, than to
threaten their prisoners with punishment if they
persisted; that these men, after expressing, in de-
cent but firm language, the obligation under which
they considered themselves to be, to declare what
they knew, ' to speak the things which they had
seen and heard,' returned from the council, and
reported what had passed to their companions;
that this report, whilst it apprized them of the
danger of their situation and undertaking, had no
other effect upon their conduct than to produce in
them a general resolution to persevere, and an
earnest prayer to God to furnish them with assist-
ance, and to inspire them with fortitude, propor-
tioned to the increasing exigency of the service."!
A very short time after this, we read " that all the
twelve apostles were seized and cast into prison ;ll
that being brought a second time before the Jew-
ish Sanhedrim, they were upbraided with their
disobedience te the injunction which had been laid
upon them, and Ix-aten for their contumacy ; that,
being charged once more to desist, they were suf-
fered to depart ; that however they neither quitted
Jerusalem, nor ceased from preaching, both daily
in the temple, and from house to house ;1[ and that
the twelve considered themselves as so entirely
and exclusively devoted to this office, that they
now transferred what may be called the temporal
affairs of the society to other hands."**
* Acts i. 21, 22. t Acts xi. J Acts iv. 32.
^ Acts iv. || Actsv. 18. IT Acts v. 42 -'
** I do not know that it has ever been insinuated, that
the Christian mission, in the hands of the apostles, was
a scheme for making a fortune, or for getting money.
But it may m-vorthctess he fit to remark upon this pas-
sage of their history, how perfectly free they appear to
have been from any pecuniary or interested views what-
ever. The most tempting opportunity which occurred,
of making a gain of their converts, was by the custody
and management of the public funds, when some of the
richer members, intending to contribute their fortunes
to tiie common support of the society, sold their posses-
every house, and haling 'men and women,
initteil them to prison."t This persecution
[ Hitherto the preachers of the new religion srem
to have had the common people on their side;
which is assigned as the reason why the Jewish
rulers did not, at this time, think it prudent to
proceed to greater extremities. It was not long,
however, before the enemies of the institution
found means to represent it to the people as tend-
ing to subvert their law, degrade their lawgiver,
and dishonour their temple.* And these insinua-
tions were dispersed with so much success, as to
induce the people to join with their superiors in
the stoning of a very active member of the new
community.
The death of this man was the signal of a
general persecution, thje activity of which may bo
judged of from one anecdote of the time : " As
for Saul, he made havoc of the church, entering
into
committed them to prison,
raged at Jerusalem with so much fury" as to drive
most of the new converts out of the place, except
the twelve apostles.* The converts, thus "scat-
tered abroad," preached the religion wherever they
came ; and their preaching was, in effect, the
preaching of -the twelve; for it was so far carried
on in concert and correspondence with them, that
when they heard of the success of their eniissarie.s
in a particular country, they sent two of their
number to the place, to complete and confirm the
mission.
An event now took place, of great importance
in the future history of the religion. The perse-
cution which had begun at Jerusalem, followed
the Christians to other cities, in which the autho-
rity of the Jewish Sanhedrim over those of their
own nation was allowed to be exercised. A
young man, who had signalized himself by his
hostility to the profession, and had procured a
commission from the council at Jerusalem to seize
any converted Jews whom he might find at Da-
mascus, suddenly became a proselyte to the reli-
gion which he was going about to extirpate. The
-new convert not only shared, on this extraordina-
ry change, the fate of his companions, but brought
upon himself a double measure of enmity from
the party which he had left. The Jews at Da-
mascus, on his return to that city, watched the
gates night and day, with so much diligence, that
he escaped from their hands only by being let
down in'a basket by the wall. Nor did he^find
himself in greater safety at Jerusalem, whither he
immediately repaired. Attempts were there also
soon set on foot to destroy him ; from the danger
sions, and laid down the prices at the apostles' feet.
Yet, so insensible, or undesirous, were they of the ad-
vantage which that confidence afforded, that we find
they very soon disposed of the trust, by putting it into
the hands, not of nominees of their own, but of stew-
ards formally elected for the purpose by the society at
large.
We may add also, that this excess of generosity, which
cast private property into the public stock, was so far
from being required by the apostles, or imposed as a law
of Christianity, that Peter reminds Ananias that he
had been guilty, in his behaviour, of an officious and
voluntary prevarication; " for whilst," gays be, "thy
estate remained unsold, was it not thine own ? and after
it was sold, was it not in thine own power?"
* Acts vi. 12. t Acts vi.ii. 3.
| Acts viii. 1. " And they were all scattered abroad :"
but the term " all" is not, I think, to be taken strictly
as denoting more than the generality ; in like manner as
in Acts ix. 35 " And all that dwelt at Lydda aud Sa-
ron saw him, and turned to the Lord."
Acts ix. >#
282
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
of which he was preserved by being sent away to
Cilicia, his native country.
For some reason, not mentioned, perhaps not
known, but probably connected with the civil his-
tory of the Jews, or with some ^ danger* which
engrossed the public attention, an intermission
about this time took place in the sufferings of the
Christians. This happened, at the most, only
seven or eight, perhaps only three or four, years
after Christ's death. Within which period, and
notwithstanding that the late persecution occupied
part of it, churches, or societies of believers, had
been formed in all Judea, Galilee, and Samaria ;
for we read that the churches in these countries
" had now rest, and were edified, and walking in
the fear of the Lord, and in the comfort of the
Holy Ghost, were multiplied."t The original
preachers of the religion did not remit their la-
bours or activity during this season of quietness;
for we find one, and he a very principal person
among them, passing throughout all quarters. We
find also those who had been before expelled from
Jerusalem by the persecution which raged there,
travelling as far as Phoenice, Cyprus, and Anti-
och ;t and, lastly, we find Jerusalem again in the
centre of the mission, the place whither the
preachers returned from their several excursions,
where they reported the conduct and effects of
their ministry, where questions of public concern
were canvassed and settled, whence directions
were sought, and teachers sent forth.
The time of this tranquillity did not, however,
Agrippa, w
acceded to the government of Judea, "stretched
"
continue long. Herod Agrippa, who had lately
forth his hand to vex certain of the church." He
began his cruelty by beheading one of the twelve
original apostles, a kinsman and constant com-
panion of the Founder of the religion. Perceiving
that this execution gratified the Jews, he pro-
ceeded to seize, in order to put to death, another
of the number, and him, like the former, associ-
ated with Christ during his life, and eminently
active in the service since his death. This man
was however delivered from prison, as the account
states, 1 1 miraculously, and made his escape from
Jerusalem.
These things are related, not in the general
terms under which, in giving the outlines of the
history, we have here mentioned them, but with
the utmost particularity of names, persons, places,
and circumstances; and, what is deserving of
notice, without the smallest discoverable propensi-
ty in the historian to magnify the fortitude, or ex-
aggerate the sufferings of his party. When they
fled for their lives, he tells us. When the
churches had rest, he remarks it. When the peo-
ple took their part, he does not leave it without
notice. When the apostles were carried a second
time before the Sanhedrim, he is careful to ob-
serve that they were brought without violence.
When milder counsels were suggested, he gives
us the author of the advice, and the speech which
contained it. When, in consequence of this ad-
vice, the rulers contented themselves with threat-
* Dr. Lardner (in which he is followed also by Dr.
Benson) ascribes this cessation of the persecution of the
Christians to the attempt of Caligula to set up his own
statue in the temple of Jerusalem, .and to the conster-
nation thereby excited in the minds of. the Jewish peo-
ple: which consternation fora season suspended every
other contest.
tActsix.31- {Acts xi. 19.
SActsxii.l, || Acts xii. 3 17.
ening the apostles, and commanding them to be
beaten with strii)cs without urging at that time
the persecution further, the historian candidly and
distinctly records their forbearance. When, there-
fore, in other instances, he states heavier persecu-
tions,, or actual martyrdoms, it is reasonable to be-
lieve that he states them because they were true,
and not from any wish to aggravate, in his ac-
count, the sufferings which Christians sustained,
or to extol, more than it deserved, their patience
under them.
Our history now pursues a narrower path.
Leaving the rest of the apostles, and the original
associates of Christ, engaged in the propagation
of the new faith (and who there is not the least
reason to believe abated in their diligence or
courage,) the narrative proceeds with the separate
memoirs of that eminent teacher, whose extraor-
dinary and sudden conversion to the religion, and
corresponding change of conduct, had before been
circumstantially described; This person, in con-
junction with another, who appeared among the
earlier members of the society at Jerusalem, and
amongst the immediate adherents* of the twelve
apostles, set out from Antioch upon the express
business of carrying the new religion through the
various provinces of the Lesser Asia.t During
this expedition, we find that, in almost every place
to which they came, their persons were insulted,
and their lives endangered. After being expelled
from Antioch in Pisidia, they repaired to Ico-
nium.t At Iconium, an attempt was made to
stone them ; at Lystra, whither they fled from
Iconium, one of them actually was stoned, and
drawn out of the city for dead. These two men,
though not themselves original apostles, were
acting in connexion and conjunction with the
original apostles; for after the completion of their
journey, being sent on a particular commission to
Jerusalem, they there related to the apostlesll and
elders the events and success of their ministry,
and were, in return, recommended by them to the
churches, "as men who had hazarded their lives
in the cause."
The treatment which they had experienced in
the first progress, did not deter them from pre-
paring for a second. Upon' a dispute, however,
arising between them, but not connected with the
common subject of their labours, they acted as
wise and sincere men would act ; they did not re-
tire in disgust from the service in which they were
engaged, but, each devoting his endeavours to the
advancement of the religion, they parted from one
another, and set forwards upon separate routes.
The history goes along with one of them ; and
the second enterprise to him was attended with
the same dangers and persecutions as both had
met with in the first. The apostle's travels hi-
therto had been confined to Asia. He now crosses,
for the first time, the JEgean sea, and carries witli
him, amongst others, the person whose accounts
supply the information we are stating.^ The first
place in Greece at which he appears to have
stopped, was Philippi in Macedonia. Here him-
self and one of his companions were cruelly
whipped, cast into prison, and kept there under
the most rigorous custody, being thrust, whilst
yet smarting with their wounds, into the inner
* Acts iv. 36.
J Act&xiii. 51.
|| Acts xv. 1226.
T Acts xiii. 2.
Acts xiv. 19.
IT Actsxvi. 11.
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
283
dungeon, and their fee^ made fast in the stocks.*
Notwithstanding this unequivocal specimen of
the usage which they had to look for in that coun-
try, they went forward in the execution of their
errand. After passing through Amphipolis and
Apollonia, they came to Thessalonica ; in which
city, the house in which they lodged was assailed
by a party of their enemies, in order to bring them
out to the populace. And when, fortunately for
their preservation, they were not found at home,
the master of the house was dragged before the
magistrate for admitting them within his doors.t
Their reception at the next city was something
better : but neither had they continued long before
their turbulent adversaries, the Jews, exdted
against them such commotions amongst the in-
habitants, as obliged the apostle to make his es-
cape by a private journey to Athens.* The ex-
tremity of the progress was Corinth. His, abode
in this city, for some time, seems to have been
without molest ation. At length, however, the
Jews found means to stir up an insurrection
against him, and to bring him before the tribunaj
of the Roman president.! It was" to the contempt
which that magistrate entertained for the Jews
and their controversies, of which he accounted
Christianity to be one, that qur apostle owril his
deliverance. I!
This indefatigable teacher, after leaving Corinth,
returned by Ephcsus into .Syria ; and again visited
Jerusalem, and the society of Christians in that
city, which, as hath been repeatedly observed, still
continued the centre of the mission.lT It suited
not, however, with the activity of his zeal to re-
main long at Jerusalem. We find him going
thence to Antioch, and, after some stay there,
traversing once more the northern provinces of
Asia Minor.** This progress ended at Ephesus ;
in which city, the apostle continued in the daily
exercise of his ministry two years, and until his
success, at length, excited the apprehensions of
those who were interested in the support of the
national worship. Their clamour produced a tu-
mult, in which he had nearly lost his life.tt Un-
dismayed, however, by the dangers to which he
saw himself exposed, he was driven from Ephesus
only to renew his labours in Greece. After pass-
ing over Macedonia, he thence proceeded to his
former station at Corinth.** When he had formed
his design of returning by a direct course from
Corinth into Syria, he was compelled by a conspi-
racy of the Jews, who were prepared to intercept
him on his way, to trace back his steps through
Macedonia to Philippi, and thence to take shipping
into Asia. Along the coast of Asia, he pursued
his voyage with all the expedition he could com-
mand, in order to reach Jerusalem against the
feast of Pentecost. His reception at Jerusalem
was of a piece with the usage he had experienced
from the Jews in other places. He had beent>nly
a few days in that city, when the populace, insti-
gated by some of his old opponents in Asia, who
attended this feast, seized him in the temple,
forced him out of it, and were ready immediately
to have destroyed him, had not the sudden pre-
sence of the Roman guard rescued him out of their
* Acts xvi. 23, 24. 33.
J Actsxvii. 13.
I) Actsxviii. 15.
** Acts xviii.23.
H Acts xx. 1,2.
t Actsxvii. 15.
Acts xviii. 12.
IT Acts xviii. -2^.
ft Actsxix. 1.9,10.
Acts xx. 16.
hands.* The officer, however, who had thus
seasonably interposed, acted from his care of the
public peace, with the preservation of which he
was charged, and not from any favour to the apos-
tle, or indeed any disposition to exercise either
justice or humanity towards him : for he had no
sooner^ secured his person in the fortress, than he
was proceeding to. examine him by torture.t
From this time to the conclusion of the history,
the apostle remains in public custody of the Ro-
man government. After escaping assassination
by a fortunate discovery of the plot, and delivering
himself from the influence of his enemies by an
appeal to the audience of the emperor,* he was
sent, but not until he had suffered two years' im-
prisonment, to Rorae, He reached Italy, after a
ledious voyage, and after encountering in his pas-
sage the penis of a desperate shipwreck.il But
although still a prisoner, and his fate still depend-
ing, neither the various and long continued suffer-
ings which he had undergone, nor the danger of
his present situation, deterred him from persisting
in preaching the religion ; for the historian closes
the account by telling us, that, for two years, he
received all that came unto him in his own hired
house, where he was permitted to dwell with a
soldier that guarded him, " preaching the kingdom
of God, and teaching those things which concern
the Lord Jesus Christ, with all confidence."
Now the liistorian from whom we have drawn
this account, in the part of his narrative which re-
lates to Saint Paul, is supported by the strongest
corroborating testimony tqat a history can receive.
We are in possession of letters written by Saint
Paul himself upon the subject of his ministry, and
either written uuring the period which the history
comprises, or if written afterwards, reciting and
referring to the transactions of that period. These
letters, without borrowing from the nistory, or the
history from them, unintentionally confirm the
account which the history delivers, in a great va-
riety 6f particulars. What belongs to our present
purpose is the description exhibited of the apos-
tle's sufferings : and the representation, given in
the history, of the dangers and distresses which
he underwent, not only agrees, in general, with
the language which he himself uses whenever he
speaks of his life or ministry, but is also, in many
instances, attested by a specific correspondency of
time, place, and order of events. If the historian
put down in his narrative, that at Philippi, the
apostle " was beaten with many stripes, cast into
prison, and there treated with rigour and indigni-
ty ;"lf we find him, in a letter to a neighbouring
church,** reminding his converts, that, " after he
had suffered before, and was shamefully entreated
at Philippi, he was bold, nevertheless, to 'speak
unto them (to whose city he next came) the Gos-
pel of God." If the history relate,tt that, at Thes-
salonica, the house in which the apostle was
lodged, when he first came to that place, was as-
saulted by the populace, and the master of it drag-
ged before the magistrate for 'admitting such a
guest within his doors ; the apostle, in his letter to
the -Christians of Thessalonica, calls to their re-
membrance " how they had received the Gospel in
much affliction."** If the history deliver an ac-
* Actsxxi. 27 33.
J Acts xxv. 9. 11.
|| Acts xxvii.
** I Thess. ii. 2.
t Acts xxii. 24.
Acts xxiv. 27.
IT Acts xvi. 23, 24.
ft Acts xvii. 5.
1 Thess. i. 6. ,
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
count of an insurrection at Ephesus, which had
nearly cost the apostle his life ; we have the apos-
tle himself, in a letter written a short time after
his departure from that city, describing his despair,
and returning thanks for his deliverance.* - If the
history inform us, that the apostle was expelled
from Antioeh in Pisidia, attempted to ]io stoned at
Iconium, and actually stoned at Lystra ; there \s
preserved a letter from him to a favourite convert,
whom, as the same history tells us, he first met
with in these parts ; in which letter he appeals to
that disciple's knowledge " of the persecutions
which befell him at Antioeh, at Iconium, at Lys-
tra. "t If the history make the apostle, in his
speech to the Ephesian elders, remind them, as
one proof of the disinterestedness of his views, that,
to their knowledge, he had supplied his own and
the necessities of his companions' by personal la-
bour ;t we find the same apostle, in a letter writ-
ten during his residence at Ephesus, asserting of
himself, " that even to that hour he laboured,
working with his own hands."
These coincidences, together with many rela-
tive to other parts of the apostle's history, and all
drawn from independent sources, not only confirm
the truth of the account, in the particular points
as to which they are observed, but add much to
the credit of the narrative in all its parts : and sup-
port the author's profession of being a contempo-
rary of the person whose history he writes, and,
throughout a material portion of his narrative, a
companion.
What the epistles of the apostles declare of the
suffering state of Christianity, the writings which
remain of their companions and immediate follow-
ers, expressly confirm.
Clement, who is honourably mentioned by Saint
Paul in his Epistle to the PhilippiansJI hath left
us his attestation to this point, in the following
words : " Let us take (says he) the examples of
our own age. Through zeal and envy, the most
faithful and righteous pillars of the church have
been persecuted e.ven to the most grievous deaths.
Let us set before our eyes the holy apostles. Peter, .
by unjust envy, underwent, not one or two, but
many sufferings ; till at last, being martyred, he
went to the place of glory that was due unto him.
For the same cause did Paul, in like manner, re-
ceive the reward of his patience. Seven times he
was in bonds ; he was whipt, was stoned ; he,
preached both in the East and in the West, leav-
ing behind him the glorious report of his faith ;
and so having taught the whole world righteous-
ness, and for that end travelled even unto the ut-
most bounds of the West, he at last suffered mar-
tyrdom by the command of the governors, and de-
parted out of the world, and went unto his holy
place, being become a most eminent pattern of
patience unto all ages. To these holy apostles
were joined a very great number of others, who,
having through envy undergone, in like manner,
many pains and torments,, have left a glorious ex-
ample to us. For this, not only men, but women
have been persecuted ; and, having suffered very
grievous and cruel punishments, have" finished the
course of their faith with firmness.' 'IT
Hermas, saluted by Saint Paul in his Epistle to
* Actsxlx. 2 Cor. 810.
t Acts xiii. 50 ; xiv. 5. 19. 2 Tim. iii. 10, 11.
Acts xx. 34. 1 Cor. iv. 11, 12.
Philipp. iv. 3.
Clem, ad Cor. c. v, vi. Abp. Wake's Trans.
the Romans, in a piece very little connected with
historical recitals, thus speaks : " Such as have be-
I lieved and suffered death for the name of Christ,
I and have endured with a ready mind, and h:tv-
given up their lives with all their hearts."*
Polycarp, the disciple of John (though all that
remains of his works be a very short epistle.) has
not left this subject unnoticed. " I exhort (says
he) all of you, that ye obey the word of righteous-
ness, and exercise all patience, which ye have seen
set forth before your eyes, not only in the blessed
Ignatius, and Lorimus, and Rufus, but in others
among yourselves, and in Paul himself and the
rest of the apostles ; being confident in this, that
all these have not run in vain, but in faith and
righteousness ; and are gone to the place that was
due" to them from the Lord, with whom also they
suffered. For they loved not this present world,
but Him who died, and was raised again by God
for us."t
Ignatius, the contemporary of Polycarp, recog-
nises the same topic, briefly indeed, but positively
and precisely. " For this cause, (i. e. having felt
and handled Christ's body after his resurrection,
and being convinced, as Ignatius expresses it, both
by his flesh and spirit,) they (i. e. Peter, and those
who were present witn Peter at Christ's appear-
ance) despised death, and were found to be above
it."i
Would the reader know what a persecution in
these days was, I would refer' hini to a circular
letter, written by the church of Smyrna soon after
the death of Polycarp, who, it will be remembered,
had lived with Saint John ; and which letter is en-
titled a relation of that bishop's martyrdom. " The
sufferings (say they) of all the other martyrs were
blessed and generous, which they underwent ac-
cording to. the will of God. For so it becomes us,
who are more religious than others, to ascribe the
power and ordering of all things unto him. And
indeed who can choose but admire the greatness
of their minds, and that admirable patience and
I6ve of their Master, which then appeared in them 1
Who, when they were so flaycd-with whipping,
that the frame and 1 structure of their bodies were
laid open to their very inward veins and arteries,
nevertheless endured "it. In like manner, those
who were condemned to the beasts, and kept a
long time in prison, underwent many cruel tor-
ments, being forced to lie upon sharp spikes laid
under their bodies, and tormented with divers
other sorts of punishments ; that so, if it were pos-
sible, the tyrant by the length of their sufferings,
might have brought them to deny Christ.'"
CHAPTER V.
There is satisfactory evidence that many,prnfc$-
sing to be original -witnesses of the Christian
miracles, passed their lires in labours, dan-
gers, and sufferings, voluntarily undergone
in attestation of the accounts which they de-
lircrcd, and solely in consequence of their be-
lief of those accounts ; and that they also sub-
mitted, from the same motives, to new rules of
conduct.
* Shepherd of Hermas, c. xxvrii.
t Pol. ad PhiL c. ix. t 19 Ep. Smyr. c. iii.
Rel. Mor. Pol. c. ii.
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
ON the history, of which the last chapter con-
tains an abstract, there are a few observations
which it may be proper to make, by way of apply-
ing its testimony to the particular propositions lor
which we contend.
I. Although our Scripture history leaves the
general account of the apostles in an early part of
the narrative, and proceeds, with the separate ac-
count of one particular apostle, yet the informa-
tion which it delivers so far extends to the rest, as
it shows the nature of the service. When we see
one apostle suffering persecution in the discharge
of his commission, we shall not believe, without
evidence, that the same office could, at the same
time, be attended with ease and safety to others.
And this fair and reasonable inference is confirm-
ed by the direct attestation of the letters, to which
we have so often referred. The writer of these
letters not only alludes, in numerous passages, to
his own sufferings, but speaks of the rest of the
apostles as enduring like sufferings with himself.
" I think that God hath set forth us the apostles
last, as it were, appointed to death ; for we are
made a spectacle unto the world, and to angels,
and to men ; even unto this present hour, we
both hunger and thirst, and are naked, and are
buffeted, and have no certain dwelling-place; and
labour, working with our own hands: being revil-
ed, we bless; being persecuted, we stiller it : being
defamed, we entreat : we are made a? the filth of
the world, and as the oflscouring of all things linto
this day." * Add to which, that in the short ac-
count that is given of the other apostles in the for-
mer part of the history, and within the short pe-
riod which that account comprises, we find, first,
two of them seized, imprisoned, brought before (he
Sanhedrim, and threatened with further punish-
ment ;t then, the whole numl>er imprisoned and
beaten ; t soon afterwards, one of their adherents
stoned to death, and so hot a persecution raised
against the sect, as to drive most of them out of
the ] dace; a short time only succeeding, before
one of the twelve was beheaded, and another sen-
tenced to the same fate; and all this passing in
the single city of Jerusalem, and within ten years
after the Founder's death, and the commencement
of the institution.
II. We take no credit at present for the mi-
raculous part of the narrative, nor do we insist
upon the correctness of single passages of it.
If the whole story IK; not a novel, a romance ;
the whole action a dream ; if Peter and James,
and Paul, and the rest of the apostles mentioned
in the account, be not all imaginary persons; if
their letters be not all forgeries, and, what is more,
forgeries of names and characters which never
existed ; then is there evidence in our hands suf-
ficient to support the only fact we contend for
(and which. 1 repeat again, is in itself highly
probable,) that the original followers of Jesus
Christ exerted great endeavours to propagate his
religion, and underwent great labours, dangers, and
sufferings, in consequence of their undertaking.
III. The general reality of the apostolic history
is strongly confirmed by the consideration, that it,
in truth, does no more than assign adequate
causes for effects which certainly were produced,
and describe consequences naturally resulting
from situations which certainly existed. The ef-
1 Cor. iv. 9, et seq. f Acts iv. 3. 21.
I Acts v. 18. 40.
fects were certainly these, of which this history
sets forth the cause, and origin, and progress. It is
acknowledged on all hands, because it is recorded
by other testimony than that of the Christians
themselves, that the religion began to prevail" at
that time, and in that country. It is very dif-
ficult to conceive how it could begin, or prevail at
all, without the exertions of the Founder and his
followers, in propagating the new persuasion.
The history now in our hands describes these _ex>
ertions, the persons employed, the means and en-
deavours made use of, and the labours undertaken
in the prosecution of this purpose. Again, the
treatment which the history represents the first
propagators of the religion to have experienced,
was no other than what naturally resulted from
the situation in which they were confessedly
placed. It is admitted that the religion was
adverse, in a great degree to the reigning opinions,
and to the hopes and wishes of the nation to
which it was first introduced ; and that it over-
threw, so far as it was received, the established
theology and worship of every other country. We
cannot feel much reluctance in- believing that,
when the messengers of such a system went
about not only publishing their opinions, but col-
lecting proselytes, and forming regular societies
of proselytes, they should meet with opposition in
their attempts, or that thisx>pposition should some-
times proceed to fatal extremities. Our history
details examples of this opi>osition, and of the suf-
ferings and dangers which the emissaries of the
religion underwent, perfectly agreeable to what
miglit reasonably be expected, from the nature of
their undertaking, compared with the character
of the age and country in which it was carried on.
IV. The records before us supply evidence of
what formed another member of our general propo-
sition, and what, as hath already been observed,
is highly probable, and almost a necessary conse-
quence of their new profession, viz. that, togctlu r
with activity and courage in propagating the re-
ligion, the primitive followers of Jesus assumed,
upon their conversion, a new and peculiar course
of private life. Immediately after their Master
was withdrawn from them, we,hear of their " con-
tinuing with one accord in prayer and supplica-
tion ;" * of- their " continuing daily with one ac-
cord in the temple ;"t of "many being gathered
together praying." t We know what strict in-
junctions were laid upon the converts by their
teachers. Wherever- they came, the first word of
their preaching was, "Repent!" We know that
these injunctions obliged them to refrain from
many species of licentiousness, which were not, at
that time, reputed criminal. We know the rules
of purity, and the maxims of benevolence, which
Christians read in their books ; concerning which
rules, it is enough to observe, that, if they were,
[ will not say completely obeyed, but in any de-
gree regarded, they would produce a system of
conduct, and what is more difficult to preserve, a
disposition of mind, and a regulation of affections,
different from any tiding to which they had hither-
o been accustomed, and different from what they
would see in others. The change and distinction
of manners, which resulted from their new cha-
racter, is perpetually referred to in the letters of
;heir teachers. " And you hath he quickened
who were dead in trespasses and sins, wherein in
* Acts i. 14. * Acts ii. 46. t Acts xii. 12.
286
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
times past yc walked, according to the course of
this world, according to the prince of the power
of the air, the spirit that now worketh in the chil-
dren of disobedience; among whom also we had
our conversation in times past, in the lust of our
flesh, fulfilling the desires of the flesh and of the
mind, and were by nature the children of wrath,
even as others."*" For the time past of our life
may suffice us to have wrought the will of the
gentiles, when we walked in lasciviousness, lusts,
excess of wine, revellings, banquetings, and abomi-
nable idolatries; wherein they think'it strange
that ye run not with them to the same excess of
rwtf.' r t Saint Paul, in his first letter to the Co-
rinthians, after enumerating, as his manner was, a
catalogue of vicious characters, adds, "Such were
some of you ; but ye are washed, but ye are sanc-
tified." t In like manner, and alluding to the
same change of practices and sentiments, he asks
the Roman Christians, " what fruit they had in
those things, whereof they are now ashamed 7"
The phrases which the same writer employs to
describe the moral condition of Christians, com-
pared with their condition before they became
Christians, such as " newness of life, "being "freed
from sin," being "dead to sin ;" "the destruction
of the body of sin, that, for the future, they
should not serve sin;" "children of light and of
the day," as opposed to " children of darkness and
of the night;" " not sleeping as others;" imply, at
least, a new system of obligation, and, probably, a
new series of conduct, commencing with their
conversion.
The testimony which Pliny bears to the be-
haviour of the new sect in his time, and which
testimony comes not more than fifty years after
that of St. Paul, is very applicable to the subject
under consideration. The character which this
writer gives of the Christians of that age, and
which was drawn from a pretty accurate inquiry,
because he considered their mpral principles as
the point in which the magistrate was interested,
is as follows : He tells the emperor, " that some
of those who had relinquished the society, or who,
to save themselves, pretended that they had re-
linquished it, affirmed that they were wont to
meet together, on a stated day, before it was light,
and sang among themselves alternately a hymn
to Christ as a god ; and to bind themselves by an
oath, not to the commission pf any Wickedness^
but that they would not be guilty of theft, or rob-
bery, or adultery ; that they would never falsify
their word, or deny a pledge committed to them,
when called upon to return it." This proves that
a morality, more pure and strict than was ordinary,
prevailed at that time in Christian societies. And
to me it appears, that we are authorized to carry
this testimony back to the age of the apostles ; be-
cause it is not probable that the immediate hearers
and disciples of Christ were more relaxed than
their successors in Pliny's time, or the missiona-
ries of the religion, than those whom they taught.
CHAPTER VI.
There is satisfactory evidence that many, pro-
fessing to be original witnesses of the Chris-
* Eph. ii. 13. See also Tit. iii. 3. 1 1 Pet. iv. 3, 4.
\ 1 Cor. vi. 11. Rom. vi. 21.
tian miracles, passed their lives in labour ft,
dangers, and sufferings, voluntarily under-
gone in attestation of the accounts which they
delivered, and solely in consequence of tlieir
belief of those accounts; and that they also sub-
mitted, from the same motives, to new rules of
conduct.
WHEN we consider, first, the prevalency of the
religion at this hour ; secondly, the only credible
account which can be given of its origin, viz. the
activity of the Founder and his associates ; thirdly,
the opposition which that activity must naturally
have excited ; fourthly, the fate of the Founder of
the religion, attested by heathen writers as well
as our own ; fifthly, the testimony of the same
writers to the sufferings of Christians, either con-
temporary with, or immediately succeeding, the
original settlers of the institution ; sixthly, predic-
tions of the sufferings of his followers ascribed to
the Founder of the religion, which ascription
alone proves, either that such predictions wore de-
livered and fulfilled, or that the writers of Christ's
life were induced by the event to attribute such
predictions to him ; seventhly, letters now in our
possession, written by some of the principal agents
in the transaction, referring expressly to extreme
labours, dangers, and sufferings sustained by
themselves and their companions ; lastly, a history
purporting to be written by a fellow-traveller of
one of the new teachers, and, by its unsophistica-
ted correspondency with letters of that person still
extant, proving itself to be written by some one
well acquainted with the subject of the narrative,
which history contains accounts of travels, perse-
cutions, and martyrdoms, answering to what the
former reasons lead us to expect : when we lay
together these considerations, which taken sepa-
rately, are, I think, correctly, such as I have stated
them in the preceding chapters, there cannot much
doubt remain upon our minds, but that a number
of persons at that time appeared in the world,
publicly advancing an extaordinary story, and for
the sake of propagating the belief of that story,
voluntarily incurring great personal dangers, tra-
versing seas and kingdoms, exerting great indus-
try, and sustaining great extremities of ill usage
and persecution. It is also proved, that the same
persons, in consequence of their persuasion, or
pretended persuasion, of the truth of what they as-
serted, entered upon a course of life in many res-
pects new and singular.
From the clear and acknowledged parts of the
case, I think it to be likewise in the highest de-
gree probable, that the story, for which these per-
sons voluntarily exposed themselves to the fatigues
and hardships which they endured, was a mira-
culous story ; I mean, that they pretended to mi-
raculous evidence of some kind or other. They
had nothing else to stand upon. The designation
of the person, that is to say, that Jesus of Naza-
reth, rather than any other person, was the Mes-
siah, and as such the subject of their ministry,
could only be founded upon supernatural tokens
attributed to him. Here were no victories, no
conquest, no revolutions, no surprising elevation
of fortune, no achievements of valour, of strength,
or of policy, to appeal to ; no discoveries in any
arts or science, no great efforts of genius or learn-
ing to produce. A Galilean peasant was announced:
to the world as a divine lawgiver. A young man
of mean condition, of a private and simple life, and
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
287
who had wrought no deliverance for the Jewish
nation, was declared to be their Messiah. This,
without ascribing to him at the same time some
proofs of his mission, (and what other but super-
natural proofs could there be 7) was too absurd a
claim to be either imagined, or attempted, or cre-
dited. In whatever degree, or in whatever part,
the religion was argumentative, when it came to
the question, " Is the carpenter's son of Naza-
reth the person whom we are to receive and
obey T there was nothing but the miracles at-
tributed to him, by which his pretension^ could be
maintained for a moment. Every .controversy and
every question must presuppose these; for, how-
ever such controversies, when they did arise,
might, and naturally would, be discussed upon
their own grounds of argumentation, without
citing the miraculous evidence which had been
asserted to attend the Founder of the religion,
(which would have been to enter upon another,
and a more general question,) yet we are to bear
in mind, that without previously supposing the
existence or the pretence of such evidence, there
could have been no place for the discussion of the
argument at all. Thus, for example, whether the
prophecies, which the Jews interpreted to belong
to the Messiah, were, or were not applicable to the
history of Jesus of Nazareth, was a natural subject
of debate in those times ; and the debate would
proceed, without recurring at every turn to his
miracles, because it set out with supjxjsing these;
inasmuch as without miraculous marks and tokens.
(real or pretended.) or without some such great
change effected by his means in the public condi-
tion of the country, as might have satisfied the
then received interpretation of these propln
do not see how the question could ever h;i\c !>< <-<\
entertained. Apollos, we read, " mightily con-
vinced the Jews, showing by the Scriptures that
Jesus was Christ;"* but unless Jesus had ex-
hibited some distinction of his person, some proof
of supernatural power, the argument from the old
Scriptures could have had no place. It had no-
thing to attach upon. A young man calling him-
self the Son of God, gathering a crowd about lu'm,
and delivering to them lectures of morality, could
not have excited so much as a doubt among the
Jews, whether he was the object in whom a long
series of ancient prophecies terminated, from the
completion of which they had formed such mag-
nificent expectations, and expectations of a nature
so opposite to what appeared; I mean, no such
doubt could exist when they had the whole case
before them, when they saw him put to death for
his officiousness, and when by his death the evi-
dence concerning him was closed. Again the effect
of the Messiah's coming, supposing Jesus to have
been he, upon Jews, upon Gentiles, upon their
relation to each other, upon their acceptance with
God, upon their duties and their expectations;
his nature, authority, office, and agency; were
likely to become subjects of much consideration
with the early votaries of the religion, and to oc-
cupy their attention and writings. I should not
however expect, that in these disquisitions, whe-
ther preserved in the form of letters, speeches, or
set treatises, frequent or very direct mention of
his miracles would occur. Still miraculous evi-
dence lay at the bottom of the argument. In the
primary question, miraculous pretensions, and
* Acts xviii. 28.
miraculous pretensions alone, were what they had
to rely upon.
That the original story was miraculous, is very
fairly also interred from the miraculous powers
which were laid claim to by the Christians of suc-
ceeding ages. If the accounts of these miracles
be true, it was a Continuation of the same powers ;
if they be false, it was an imitation, 1 will not say
of what had been wrought, but of what had been
reported to have been wroXight, by those who pre-
ceded them. That imitation should follow reality,
fiction should be grafted upon truth; that, if mira-
cles were performed at first, miracles should be
pretended afterwards; agrees so well with the
ordinary course of human affairs, that we can
have no great difficulty in believing it. The con-
trary supposition is very, improbable, namely, that
miracles should be pretended to, by the followers
of the apostles and first emissaries of the religion,
when none were pretended, to, either in their own
persons or that of their Master, by these apostles
and emissaries themselves.
CHAPTER VII.
There is satisfactory evidence that many, pro-
fessing to be original witnesses of the Chris-
tian mira'-les, jxi.^cd (heir lites in labour*^
dangers, and sufferings, voluntarily under-
gone in attestation of the accounts which they
red, and solelyin consequence of their
belief of those accounts ; and tliat they a I no
submitted, from the same motives^o new rules
of conduct.
IT being then once proved, that the first pro-
pagators of the Christian institution did exert ac-
ti\ it v. and subject themselves to great dangers and
sufferings, in consequence and for the sake of an
extraordinary, und, i think, we may say, of a mi-
raculous story of some kind or other ; the next
great question is, Whether the account, which our
Scriptures contain, be that story ; that which these
men delivered, and for which they acted and suf-
fered as they did 1 This question is, in effect,
no other than whether the story which Chris-
tians have now, be the story which Christians had
then ? And of this the following proofs may be
deduced from general considerations, and from
considerations prior to any inquiry into the par-
ticular reasons and testimonies by which the au-
thority of our histories is supported.
In the first place, there exists no trace or vestige
of any other story. It is not, like the death of
Cyrus the Great, a competition between opposite
accounts,, or between the credit of different his-
torians. There is not a document, or scrap of
account, either contemporary with the commence-
ment of Christianity, or extant within many ages
after that commencement, which assigns a history
substantially different from ours. The remote,
brief, and incidental notices of the affair, which
are found in heathen writers, so far as they do go,
go along with us. They bear testimony to these
facts: that the institution originated from Jesus;
that the Founder was put to death, as a malefac-
tor, at Jerusalem, by the authority of the Roman
governor, Pontius Pilate ; that the religion never-
theless spread in that city, and throughout Judea ;
and that it was propagated thence to distant coun-
288
EVIDENCES OP CHRISTIANITY.
tries; that the converts were numerous; that they
suffered great hardships and injuries for their pro-
fession ; and that all this took place in the age of
the world which our books have assigned. They
go on further, to describe the manners of Chris-
tians in terms perfectly conformable to the ac-
counts extant in our books : that they were wont
to assemble on a certain day; that they sang
hymns to Christ as to a god ; that they bound
themselves by an oath not to commit any crime,
but to abstain from theft and adultery, to adhere
strictly to their promises, and not to deny money
deposited in their hands ;* that they worshipped
him who was crucified in Palestine; that this
their first lawgiver had taught them that they
were ah 1 brethren ; that they had a great contempt
for the things of this world, and looked upon
them as common ; that they flew to one another's
relief; that they cherished strong hopes of im-
mortality ; that they despised death, and surren-
dered themselves to sufferings.t This is the ac-
count of writers who viewed the subject at a great
distance ; who were uninformed and uninterested
about it. It bears the characters of such an account
upon the face of it, because it describes effects,
namely, the appearance in the world of a new re-
ligion, and the conversion of great multitudes to
it, without descending, in the smallest degree^ to
the detail of the transaction upon which it was
founded, the interior of the institution, the evi-
dence or arguments offered by those who drew
over others to it. Yet still here is no contradic-
tion of our story ; no other or different story set
up against it : but so far a confirmation of it, as
that, in the general points on which the heathen
account touches, it -agrees with that which we
find in our own books.
The same may be observed of the very few
Jewish writers, of that and the adjoining period,
which have come down to us. Whatever they
omit, or whatever difficulties we may find in ex-
plaining the omission, they advance no other his-
tory of the transaction than that which we acknow-
ledge. Josephus, who wrote his Antiquities, or
History of the Jews, about sixty years after the
commencement of Christianity, in a passage ge-
nerally admitted as genuine, makes mention of
John under the name of John the' Baptist; that
he was a preacher of virtue ; that he baptfzed his
proselytes \ that he was well received by the peo-
ple ; that he was imprisoned and put to death by
Herod ; and that Herod lived in a criminal co-
habitation with Herodias, his brother's wife.* In
* See Pliny's Letter. Bonnet, in his lively way of
expressing himself, says, " Comparing Pliny's Letter
with the account of the Acts, it seems to me that I had
not taken up another author, but that. I was still read-
ing the historian of that extraordrriary society." This
is strong : but there is undoubtedly an affinity, and all
the affinity that could be expected.
| '.' It is incredible what expedition they use when
any of their friends are known to be in trouble. In a
word, they spare nothing upon such an occasion'; for
these miserable men have no deubt they shall be im-
mortal and live for ever : therefore. they contemn death,
and many surrender themselves to sufferings. More-
over, their first lawgiver has taught them that they are
all brethren, when once they have turned and renounced
the gods of the Greeks, and worship this Master of theirs
who was crucified, and engage to live according to his
laws. They have also a sovereign contempt for all the
things of this world, and look upon them as common."
Lucian de Morte Peregrini, t. i. p. 5(55. ed. Grsev.
J Antiq. 1. xviii. cap. v. sect. 1, 2.
another passage allowed by innny, although not
without considerable question being moved about
it, we hear of " James, the brother of him who
was called Jesus, and of his being put to death."*
In a third passage, extant in every copy thiit re-
mains of Josephus's History, but the authenticity
of which has nevertheless been long disputed, we
have an explicit testimony to the substance of 'our
history in these words : " At that time lived Je-
sus, a wise man, if he may be called a man, for he
performed many wonderful works. He w;is ;i
teacher of such men as received the truth with
pleasure. He drew over to him many Jews and
Gentiles. This was the Christ; and when Pilate,
at the instigation of the chief men among us, had
condemned him to the cross, they who before had
conceived an affection for him, did not cease to
adhere to him ; for, on the third day, he appeared
to them alive again, the divine prophets Inning
foretold these and many wonderful things con-
cerning him. And the sect of the Christians, so
called from him, subsists to this time."t Whatever
become of the controversy concerning the genuine-
ness of this passage ; whether Josephus go the
whole length of our history, which, if the passage
be sincere, he does; or whether he proceed only a
very little way with us, which, if the passage be
rejected, we confess to be the case ; still what we
asserted is true, that he gives no other or different
history of the subject from ours, no other or dif-
ferent account of the origin of the institution.
And I think also tliat it may with great reason
be contended, either that the passage is genuine,
or that the silence of Josephus was designed.
For, although we should lay aside the authority
of our own books entirely, yet when Tacitus, who
wrote not twenty, perhaps not ten, years after Jo-
sephus, in his account of a period in which Jose-
phus was nearly thirty years of age, tells us, that a
vast multitude of Christians were condemned at
Rome ; that they derived their denomination from
Christ, who, in the reign of Tiberius, was put to
death, as a criminal, by the procurator, Pontius
Pilate; that the superstition had spread not only
over Judea, the source of the evil, but had reached
Rome also : when Suetonius, an historian eon-
temporary with Tacitus, relates that, in the time
of Claudius,- the Jews were making disturbances
at Rome, Christas being their leader ; and that,
during the reign of Nero, the Christians were
punished; under both which emperors, Josephus
lived : when Pliny, who wrote his celebrated
epistle not more than thirty years after the pub-
lication of Josephus's history, found the Christians
in such numbers in the province of Bithynia, as
to draw from him a complaint, that the contagion
had seized cities, towns, and villages, and had so
seized them as to produce a general desertion of
the public rites ; and when, as has already been
observed, there is no reason for imagining that
the Christians were more numerous in Bithynia
than in many other parts of the Roman empire ;
it cannot, I should suppose, after this, be believed,
that the religion, and the transaction upon which
it was founded, were too obscure to engagethe
attention of Josephus, or to obtain a place in his
history. Perhaps he did riot know how to repre-
sent the business, and disposed of his difficulties
by passing it over in silence. Eusebius wrote the
* Antiq 1. xx. cap. ix. sect. I.
t Antiq. 1. xviii. cap. iii. sect. 3.
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
life of Constantino, yet omits entirely the most
remarkable circumstance in that life, the death of
his son Crispus : undoubtedly for the reason here
given. The reserve of Josephus upon the subject
of Christianity appears also in his passing over
the banishment of the Jews by Claudius, which
Suetonius, we have seen, has recorded with an
express reference to Christ. This is at least as
remarkable as his silence about the infants of
Bethlehem.* Be, however, the fact, or the cause
of the omission in Josephus,t what it ; may, no
other or different history on the subject has been
given by him, or is pretended to have been given.
But "further; the whole series of Christian
writers, from the first age of the institution down
to the present, in their discussions, apologies,
arguments, and controversies, proceed upon the
general story which our Scriptures contain, and
upon no other. The main facts, the principal
agents, are alike in all. This argument will ap-
pear to be of great force, when it is known that
we are able to trace back the series of writers to a
contact with the historical books of the New Tes-
tament, and to the age of the first emissaries of
the religion, and to deduce it, by an unbroken
continuation, from that end of the train to the
present.
The remaining letters of the apostles, (and
what more original than their letters can ue
have?) though written without the remotest de-
sign of transmitting the history of Christ, or of
Christianity, to future ages, or even of making it
known to their eontamporanw, incidentally ilis
close to us the following circumstances: I'lirist s
descent and family ; his innocence; the meekness
and gentleness of his character ; (a recognition
which goes to the whole Gospel history;) his ex-
alted nature ; his circumcision ; his transfigura-
tion ; his life of opposition and suffering ; his pa-
tience and resignation ; the appointment of the
eucharist, and the manner of it ; his agony; his
confession before Pontius Pilate ; his stripes, cru-
cifixion, and burial; his resurrection; his ap-
pearance after it, first to Peter, then to the rest
of the apostles ; his ascension into heaven ; and
his designation to he the future judge of man-
kind ; the stated residence of the apostles at Je-
rusalem; the working of miracles by the first
preachers of the Gospel, who were also the hear-
ers of Christ ;^ the successful propagation of the
* Michaelis has computed, and, as it should seem,
fairly enough, that probably not more than twenty
children perished by Ihis cruel precaution. Alichaclis's
Introduction to the New Testament, translated by
Marsh, vol. i. c. ii. sect. 11.
f There is no notice taken of Christianity in the
Mishna, a collection of Jewish traditions compiled
about the year 1>-Q ; although it contains a Tract "De
cultu pengrino," of strange or idolatrous worship; yet
it cannot be disputed but that Christianity was p -r-
fectly well known in the world at this time.' There is
extremely little notice of the subject in the Jerusalem
Talmud, compiled about the year 300. and not much
more in the Babylonish Talmud, of the year 500 ; al-
though both these works are of a religious nature, and
although, \\li-ti th' first \va.s compiled. Christianity
was on the point of becoming the religion of the state,
and, when the latter was published, had been so for 200
years.
I Heb. ii. 3. " How shall we escape, if we neglect so
great salvation, which, at the first, began to be spoken
by the Lord, and was confirmed unto us by then that
heard him, God also bearing them witness, both with
signs and wonders, and with divers miracles, and gifts
of the Holy Ghost?" I allege this epistle without hesi-
2 O
religion ; the persecution of its followers ; the mi-
raculous conversion of Paul ; miracles wrought
by himself and alleged in his controversies with
his adversaries, and in letters to the persons
amongst whom they were wrought ; finally, that
MIRACL.ES were the signs of an apostle*
In an epistle, bearing the name of Barnabas,
the companion of Paul, probably genuine, cer-
tainly belonging to that age, we have the suf-
ferings of Christ, his choice of apostles and their
number, his passion, the scarlet robe, the vinegar
and gall, the mocking and piercing, the casting
lots tor his coat,t his resurrection on the eighth
(i. e. the first day of the wejek,t) and the com-
memorative distinction of that day, his manifesto*
tion after his resurrection, a,nd lastly, his ascen-
sion. We have also his miracles generally but
positively referred to in the following words :
"Finally, teaching the people of Israel, and do-
ing many wonders and signe among them, he
preached to them, and showed the exceeding
great love which he bare towards them."!
In an epistle of Clement, a hearer of St. Paul,
although written fora purpose remotely connected
with the Christian history, we have the resurrrec-
tion of Christ, and the subsequent mission of the
apostles, recorded in these satisfactory terms:
" The apostles have preached to us from our
Lord Jesus Christ from God: For, having re-
ceived their command, and being thoroughly
assured by the resurrection of tmr Lord Jesus
Christ, they went abroad, publishing that the
kingdom of God was at hand. "II We find no-
ticed also, the humility, yet the power of Christ.lT
his descent from Abraham, his crucifixion. We
have Peter and Paul represented as faithful and
righteous pillars of the church; the numerous
sufferings of Peter ; the bonds, stripes, and stoning
of Paul, and more particularly his extensive ana
unwearied travels.
In an epistle of Polycarp, a disciple of St. John,
though only a brief hortatory letter, we have the
humility, patience, sufferings, resurrection, and
ascension of Christ, together with the apostolic
character* of St. Paul, distinctly recognised.** Of
this same father we are also assured by Irenseus,
that he (Irenseus,) had heard him relate, "what
he had received from eye-witnesses concerning
the Lord, both concerning his miracles and his
doctrine."tt
In the remaining works of Ignatius, the con-
temporary of Polycarp, larger than those of Poly-
carp (yet, like those of Polycarp, treating of sub-
jects in nowise leading to any recital of the
Christian history.) the occasional allusions aro
proportionably more numerous." The descent of
tation ; for, whatever doubts may have hf>en raised
about its author, there can be none concerning the age
in which it was written. No epistle in the collection
carries about it more indubitable marks of antiquity
than this does. It sp?aks, for instance, throughout, of
the temple as then standing, and of the worship of the
temple as then subsisting. Heb. viii 4: " For. if he
were on earth, he should not be a priest, seeing there
are priests that offer according to the law." Again,
Heb xiii. 10: "We have an altar whereof they have
no right to eat which serve the tabernacle."
* " Truly the signs of an apostle were wrought among
you in all patience, in signs, and wonders, and mighty
J Cor. xii. 12.
t Ep Rar c. vii. J Ibid.c. vl. Ibid.c. v.
|| Ep Clem. Rom. c. xlii. IT Ep. Clem. Rom. c. xvi.
** Pol. Ep. ad Phil. c. v. viii. ii. iii.
tt Ir. ad Flor. ap. Euseb. 1. v. c. 20.
(25)
290
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
Christ from David, his mother Mary, his miracu-
lous conception, the star at his birth, his baptism
by John, the reason assigned for it, his appeal to
the prophets, the ointment poured -on his head,
his sufferings under Pontius Pilate and Herod
the tetrarch, his resurrection, the Lord's day
called and kept in commemoration of it, and the
eucharist, in both its parts. are unequivocally
referred to. Upon the resurrection, this writer is
even circumstantial. He mentions the apostles'
eating and drinking with Christ after he had
risen, their feeling and their handling him ; from
which last circumstance Ignatius raises this just
reflection; "They believed, being convinced
both by his flesh and spirit ; for this cause, they
despised death, and. were found to be above it."*
Gluadratus, of the same age with Ignatius, has
left us the following noble testimony : " The
works of our Saviour were always conspicuous,
for they were real ; both those that were healed,
and those that were raised from the dead ; who
were seen not only when they were healed or
raised, but for a long time afterwards : not only
whilst he dwelled on this earth, but also after his
departure, and for a good while after it, insomuch
that some of them have reached to our times."t
Justin Martyr came little more than thirty
years after Gluadratus. From Justin's works,
which are still extant, might be collected a tole-
rably complete account of Christ's life, in all points
agreeing with that which is delivered in our
Scriptures ; taken indeed, in a great measure, from
those Scriptures, but still proving that this ac-
count, and no other, was the account known and
extant in that age. The miracles in particular,
which form the part of Christ's history most ma-
terial to be traced, stand fully and distinctly re-
cognised in the following passage : " He healed
those who had been blind, and deaf, and lame
from their" birth ; causing, by his word, one to
leap, another to hear, and a third to see : and by
raising the dead, and making them to live, he in-
duced, by his works, the men of that age to know
It is unnecessary to carry these citations lower,
because the history, after this time, occurs in an-
cient Christian writings as familiarly as it is wont
to do in modern sermqns; occurs always the
same in substance, and always that which our
evangelists represent.
This is not only true of those writings of Chris-
tians, which are genuine, and of acknowledged
authority ; but it is, in a great measure, true of
all their ancient writings which remain : although
some of these may have been erroneously ascribed
to authors to whom they did not belong, or may
contain false accounts, or may appear to be unde-
serving of credit, or never indeed to have obtained
any. Whatever fables they have mixed with the
narrative, they preserve the material parts, the
leading facts, as we have them ; and, so far as they
do this, although they be evidence of nothing else,
they are evidence that these points werefaed, were
received and acknowledged by all Christians in the
ages in which the books were written. At least,
it may be asserted, that, in the places where we
were most likely to meet with such things, if
such things had existed, no relicks aopear of
any story substantially different from the present,
* Ad Smyr. c. iii. f Ap. Euscb. H. E. lib. 4. o. 2.
J Just. Dial, cum Tryph. p. 238. ed. Thirl.
as the cause, or as the pretence of the institu-
tion.
Now that the original story, the story delivered
by the first preachers of the institution, should
have died away so entirely as to have left no re-
cdrd or memorial of its existence, although so many
records and memorials of the time and transaction
remain ; and that another story should have step-
ped into its place, and gained exclusive possession
of the belief of all who professed themselves dis-
ciples of the institution, is beyond any example
of the corruption of even oral tradition, and still
less consistent with the experience of written his-
tory : and this improbability, which is very great,
is rendered still greater by the reflection, that no
such change as the oblivion of one story, and the
substitution of another, took place in any future
period of the Christian era. Christianity hath
travelled through dark and turbulent ages; never-
theless it came out of the cloud and the storm,
such, in substance, as it entered in. Many ad-
ditions were made to the primitive history, and
these entitled to different degrees of credit ; many
doctrinal errors also were from time to time grafted
into the public creed ; but still the original story
remained, and remained the same. In all its princi-
pal parts, it has been fixed from the beginning.
Thirdly : The religious rites and usages that
prevailed amongst the early disciples of Chris-
tianity, were such as belonged to, and sprung out
of, the narrative' now in our hands; which ac-
cordancy shows, that it was the narrative upon
which these persons acted, and which they had
received from their teachers. GUI' account makes
the Founder of the religion direct that his disci-
ples should be baptised: we know, that the first
Christians were baptised. Our account makes
him direct that they should hold religious assem-
blies : we find, that they did hold religious assem-
blies. Our accounts make the apostles assemble
upon a stated day of the week : we find, and that
from information perfectly independent of our ac-
counts, that the Christians of the first century did
observe stated days of assembling. Our histories
record the institution of the rite which we call the
Lord's Supper, and a command to repeat it in
perpetual succession : we find, amongst the early
Christians, the celebration of this rite universal.
And indeed, we find concurring in all the above-
mentioned observances, Christian societies of many
different nations and languages, removed from one
another by a great distance of place and dissimili-
tude of situation. It is also extremely material to
remark, that there is no room for insinuating that
our books were fabricated with a studious accom-
modation to the usages which obtained at the time
they were written; that the authors of the books
found the usages established, and framed the story
to account for their original. The Scripture ac-
counts, especially of the Lord's Supper, are too
short and cursory, not to say too obscure, and, in
this view, deficient, to allow a place for any such
suspicion.*
Amongst the proofs of the truth of our proposi-
tion, viz. that the story, which we have now, is, in
substance, the story which the Christians had
* The reader who is conversant in these researches,
by comparing the short Scripture accounts of the Chris-
tian rites above-mentioned, with the minute and cir-
cXimstantial directions' contained in the pretended apos-
tolical constitutions, will see the force of this observa-
tion : the difference between truth aud forgery.
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
291
then, or, in other words, that the accounts in our
Gospels are, as to their principal parts at least, the
accounts which the apostles and original teachers
of the religion delivered, one arises from observing,
that it appears by the Gospels themselves, that the
story was public at the time ; that the Christian
community was already in possession of the sub-
stance and principal parts of the narrative. The
Gospels were not the original cause of the Chris-
tian history being believed, but were themselves
among the consequences of that belief. This is
expressly affirmed by Saint Luke, in his brief,
but, as I think, very important and instructive
preface: "Forasmuch (says the evangelist) as
many have taken in hand to set forth in order a
declaration of those things which are moat surely
bclicrcd amongst us, even as they delivered them
unto us, which, from the beginning, -were eye-
icitncxses and ministers of the word ; it seemed
good to me also, having had perfect understand-
ing of all things from the very first, to write unto
thee in order, most pxcellent Theophilus, that
thou mightest know the certainty of those things
wherein thou hast been instructed." This ^short
introduction testifies, that the substance oif the
history, which the evangelist was about to write,
was already believed by Christians ; that it was
believed upon the declarations of eye-witnesses
and ministers of the word; that it formed the ac-
count of their religion in which Christians were
instructed; that the office which the historian
proposed to himself, was to trace each particular
to its origin, and to fix the certainty of many
things which the reader had before he:ird of. In
Saint John's Gospel, the same point appears
hence, that there are some principal facts, to
which the historian refers, but which he does not
relate. A remarkable instance of this kind is the
a-scension, which is not mentioned by Saint John
in its place, at the conclusion of his history ; but
which is plainly referred to in the following' words
of the sixth chapter :* " What and" if ye shall sec
the Son of man ascend up where he was before T
And still more positively in the words which
Christ, according to our evangelist, spoke to Mary
after his resurrection, " Touch me not, for I am
not yet ascended to my father : but go unto my
brethren, and say unto them, I ascend unto my
Father and your Father, unto my God and
your God."t This can only be accounted for
by the supposition that Saint John wrote un-
der a sense of the notoriety of Christ's ascen-
sion, amongst those by whom his book was likely
to be read. The same account must also be given
of Saint Matthew's omission of the same import-
ant fact. The thing was very well known, and
it did not occur to the historian that it was neces-
sary to add any particulars concerning it. It
agrees also with this solution, and with no other,
that neither Matthew, nor John, disposes of the
person of our Lord in any manner whatever.
Other intimations in Saint John's Gospel of the
then general notoriety of the story are the follow-
ing : His manner of introducing his narrative (ch.
i. ver. 15:) " John bare witness of him, and cned,
saying," evidently presupposes that his readers
knew who John was. His rapid parenthetical
reference to John's imprisonment, " for John was
not yet cast into prison,"* could only come from a
* Also John iii. 13; and xvi. 28.
t John iii. 24.
t John xx. 17.
writer whose mind was in the habit of consider-
ing John's imprisonment as perfectly notorious.
The description of Andrew by the addition " Si-
mon Peter's brother,"* takes it for granted, that
Simon Peter was well known. His name had
not been mentioned before. The evangelist's
noticing* the prevailing misconstruction of a dis-
course, which Christ held with the beloved dis-
ciple, proves that the characters and the discourse
were already public. And the observation which
these instances afford, is of equal validity for the
purpose of the present argument, whoever were
the authors of the histories.
These four circumstances ; first, the recognition
of the account in its principal parts, by a series of
succeeding writers; secondly, the total absence of
any account ef the origin of the religion substan-
tially different from ours ; thirdly, the early and
extensive prevalence of rites and institutions,
which result from our account; fourthly, our ac-
count bearing, in its construction, proof that it is
an account of facts, which were known and be-
lieved at the time ; are sufficient, I conceive, to
support an assurance, that the story which we
have now, is, in general, the story which Chris-
tians had at the beginning. I say in general ;
by which term I mean, that it is the same in its
texture, and in its principal facts. For instance,
I make no doubt, lor the reasons above stated, but
that the resurrection of the Founder of the reli-
gion was always a part of the Christian story.
Nor can a doubt of this remain upon the mind of
any one who reflects that the resurrection is, in
some form or other, asserted, referred to, or as-
sumed, in every Christian writing, of every de-
scription, which hath come down to us.
And if our evidence stepped here, we should
have a strong case to offer : for we should have to
allege, that in the reign of Tiberius Csesar, a cer-
tain number of persons set about an attempt of
establishing a new religion in the world: in the
prosecution of which purpose, they voluntarily
encountered great dangers, undertook great la-
bours, sustained great sufferings, a\\for a miracu-
lous story which they published wherever they
came ; aud that the resurrection of a dead man,
whom during his life they had followed and ac-
companied, was a constant part of this story. I
cies, similar to it.
CHAPTER VIII.
There is satisfactory evidence that many profess-
ing to be original witnesses of the Christian
miracles, passed their lires in labours, dangers,
and sufferings, voluntarily undergone in at-
testation of the accdunts which they delivered,
and solely in consequence of their belief of
those accounts ; and that they also submitted,
from the same motives, to new rules of conduct.
THAT the story which we have now is, in the
main, the. story which the apostles published, is,
I think, nearly certain, from the considerations
which have been proposed. But whether, when
we come to the particulars, and the detail of the
John i 40.
t Ibid, xxi 24.
292
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
narrative, the historical books of the New Tes-
tament be deserving of credit as histories, so that
a fact ought to be accounted true, because it is
found in them; or whether they are entitled to be
considered as representing the accounts which,
true or false, the apostles published ; whether
their authority, in either of these views, can be
trusted to, is- a point which necessarily depends
upon what we know of the books, and of their
authors.
Now, in treating of this part of our argument,
the first and most material observation upon the
subject is, that such was the situation of the au-
thors to whom the four Gospels are ascribed, that,
if any one of the four be genuine, it is sufficient
for our purpose. The received author of the first,
was an original apostle and emissary of the re-
ligion. The received author of the second, was
an inhabitant of Jerusalem at the time, to whose
house the apostles were wont to resort, and him-
self an attendant upon one of the most eminent
of that number. The received author of the third,
was a stated companion and fellow-traveller of the
most active of all the teachers of the religion, and
in the course of his travels frequently in the
society of the original apostles. The received au-
thor of the fourth, as well as of the first, was one of
these apostles. No stronger evidence of the truth
of a history can arise from the situation of the
historian, than what is here offered. The authors
of all the histories lived at the time and upon the
spot. The authors of two of the histories were
present at many of the scenes which they de-
scribe ; eye-witnesses of the facts, ear-witnesses
of the discourses ; writing from personal know-
ledge and recollection; and, what strengthens
their testimony, writing upon a subject in which
their minds were deeply engaged, and in which,
as they must have been very frequently repeating
the accounts to others, the passages of the history
would be kept continually alive in their memory.
Whoever reads the Gospels (and they ought to be
read for this particular purpose,) will find in them
not merely a general affirmation of miraculous
powers, but detailed circumstantial accounts of
miracles, with specifications of time, place, and
persons ; and these accounts many and various.
In the Gospels, therefore, which beaj the names
of Matthew and John, these narratives, if they
really proceeded from these men, must either be
true/as far as the fidelity of human recollection is
usually to be depended upon, that is, must be true
in substance, and in their principal parts (which
is sufficient for the purpose of proving a super-
natural agency,) or they must lie wilful and medi-
tated falsehoods. Yet the writers who fabricated
and uttered these falsehoods, if they be such, are
of the number of those who, unless the whole
contexture of the Christian story be a dream, sa-
crificed their ease and safety in the cause, and for
a purpose the most inconsistent that is possible
with dishonest intentions. They were villains
for no end but- to teach honesty, and martyrs
without the least prospect of honour or advan-
C The 'Gospels which bear the name of Mark
and Luke, although not the narratives of eye- wit-
nesses, are, if genuine, removed from that only
by one degree. They are the narratives of -con-
temporary writers; or writers themselves mixing
with the business ; one of the two probably living
in the place which was the principal scene of ac-
tion ; both living in habits of society and corres-
pondence with those who had been present at the
t ni usact ions which they relate. The latter of them
accordingly tells us, (and with apparent sincerity,
because he tells it without protending to porsunul
knowledge, and without claiming for his work
greater authority than belonged to it.) that the
things which were believed amongst Christians,
came from those who from the beginning were
eye-witnesses and ministers of the word ; that
he had traced accounts up to their source ; and
that he was prepared to instruct his reader in the
certainty of the things which he related.* Very
few histories lie so close to their facts ; very few
historians are so nearly connected with the sub-
ject of their narrative, or possess such means of
authentic information, as these.
The situation of the writers applies to the truth
of the facts which they record. But at present we
use their testimony to a point somewhat short of
this, namely, that the facts recorded in the Gos-
pels, whether true or false, are the facts, and the
sort of facts, which the original preachers of the
religion alleged. Strictly speaking, I am con-
cerned only to show, that what the Gospels con-
tain is the same as what the apostles preached.
Now, how stands the proof of this point 1 A set
of men went about the world, publishing a story
composed of miraculous accounts, (for miraculous
from the very nature and exigency of the case
they must have been,) and, upon the strength of
these accounts, called upon mankind to quit the
religions in which they had been educated, and to
take up, thenceforth, a new system of opinions,
and new rules of action. What is more in attes-
tation of these accounts, that is, in support of an
institution of which these accounts were the foun-
dation, is that the same men voluntarily exposed
themselves to harassing and perpetual labours,
dangers, and sufferings. We want to know what
these accounts were. We have the particulars,
i. e. many particulars, from two of their own num-
ber. We have them from an attendant of one of
the number, and who, there is reason to believe,
was an inhabitant of Jerusalem at the time. We
have them from a fourth writer, who accompanied
the most laborious missionary of the institution in
his travels ; who, in the course of these travels,
was frequently brought into the society of the
rest ; and who^ let it be observed, begins 'his nar-
rative by telling us that he is about to relate the
things which had been delivered by those who
were ministers of the word, and eye-witnesses of
the facts. I do not know what information can
be more satisfactory than this. We may, perhaps,
perceive the force and value of it more sensibly, if
we reflect how requiring we should have been if
we had wanted it. Supposing it to be sufficiently
proved, that the religion now professed among us,
owed its original to the preaching and ministry
of a number of men, who, about eighteen cen-
turies ago, set forth in the world a new system of
religious opinions, founded upon certain extraor-
dinary things which they related of a wonderful
person who had appeared in Judea; suppose it to
* Why should not the candid and modest preface of
this historian be believed, as well as that which Dion
Caseins prefixes to his Life of Corprnodus ? "These
things and the following I write not from the report of
others. IK it from my own knowledge and observation."
I see no reason to doubt but that both passages describe
truly enough the situation of the authors.
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
293
be also sufficiently proved, that, in the course and
prosecution of their ministry, these men had sub-
jected themselves to extreme hardships, fatigue,
and peril ; but suppose the accounts which they
published had not been committed to writing till
some ages after their times, or at least that no
histories, but what had been composed some ages
afterwards, had reached our hands; we should
have said, and with reason, that we were willing
to believe these men under the circumstances in
which they delivered their testimony, but that we
did not. at this day, know with sufficient, evidence
what their testimony was. Had we received the
particulars of it from any of their own number,
from any of those who lived and conversed with
them, from any of their hearers, or even from any
of their contemporaries, we should have had some-
thing to rely upon. Now, if our books be genuine,
we have all these. We have the very species of
information which, as it appears to me, our imagi-
nation would have carved out for us, if it had been
wanting.
But I have said, that if any one of the four
Gospels l>e genuine, we'Tiave not only direct his-
torical testimony to the point we contend for, but
testimony which, so far as that point is concerned,
cannot reasonably be rejected. If the first Gospel
was really written by Matthew, we have the narra-
tive of oneof the number, from which to judge what
were the miracles, and the kind of miracles, which
the apostles attributed to Jesus. Although, for
argument's sake, and only for argument's sake,
we should allow that this Gospel had been erro-
neously ascril>ed to Matthew ; yet, if the Gospel
of Saint John be genuine, the observation holds
with no less strength. Again, although the Gos-
pels both of Matthew and John could be supposed
to be spurious, yet, if the Gospel of Saint Luke
were truly the composition of that person, or of
any person, be his name what it might, who was
actually in the situation in which the author of
that Gospel professes himself to have been, or if
the Gospel which bears the name of Mark really
proceeded from him ; we still, even upon the low-
est supposition, possess the accounts of one writer
at least, who was not only contemporary with the
apostles, but associated with them in their minis-
try ; which authority seems sufficient, when the
question is simply what it was which these apos-
tles advanced.
I think it material to have this well noticed.
The New Testament contains a great number of
distinct writings, the genuineness of any one of
which is almost sufficient to prove the truth of the
religion : it contains, however, four distinct histo-
ries, the genuineness of any one of which is per-
fectly sufficient. If, therefore, we must be con-
sidered as encountering the risk of error in as-
signing the authors of our books, we are entitled
to the advantage of so many separate probabilities.
And although it should appear that some of the
evangplists had seen and used each other's works ;
this discovery, whilst it subtracts indeed from
their characters as testimonies strictly independ-
ent, diminishes, I conceive, little, either their se-
parate authority (by which I mean the authority
of any one that is genuine,) or their mutual con-
firmation. For, let the most disadvantageous
supposition possible be made concerning them;
let it be allowed, what I should have no great dif-
ficulty in admitting, that Mark compiled his his-
tory almost entirely from those of Matthew and
Luke ; and let it also for a moment be supposed
that these histories were not, in fact, written by
Matthew and Luke; yet, if it be true that Mark,
a contemporary of the apostles, living in habits of
society with the apostles, a fellow-traveller and
fellow- labourer with some of them; if, I say, it be
true that this person made the compilation, it fol-
lows, that the writings from which he made it
existed in the time of the apostles, and not only
so, but that they were then in such esteem and
credit, that a companion of the apostles formed a
history out of them. Let the Gospel of Mark be
called an epitome of that of Matthew; if a person
in the situation in which Mark is described to
have been, actually made the epitome, it aflbrds
the strongest possible attestation to the character
of the original.
Again, parallelisms in sentences, in words, and
in the order of words, have been traced out between
the Gospel of Matthew and that of Luke ; which
concurrence cannot easily be explained otherwise
than by supposing, either that Luke had consulted
Matthew's history, or, what appears to me in no-
wise incredible, that minutes ot some of Christ's
discourses, as well as brief memoirs of some pas-
sages of his life, had been committed to writing at
the time ; and that such written accounts had by
both authors been occasionally admitted into their
histories. Either supposition is perfectly consist-
ent with the acknowledged formation of St. Luke's
narrative, who professes not to write as an eye-
witness, but to nave investigated the original of
every account which he delivers : in other words,
to have collected them from such documents ana
testimonies, as he, who had the best opportunities
of making inquiries, judged to be authentic.
Therefore, allowing that this writer also, in some
instances, borrowed from the Gospel which we
call Matthew's, and once more allowing, for the
sake of stating the argument, that that Gospel was
not the production of the author to whom we
ascribe it; yet still we have, in Saint Luke's Gos-
pol, a history given by a writer immediately con-
nected with the transaction, with the witnesses of
it, with the persons engaged in it, and composed
from materials which that person, thus situated,
deemed to be safe sources of intelligence; in other
words, whatever supposition be made concerning
any or all the other Gospels, if Saint Luke's Gos-
pel be genuine, we have in it a credible evidence
of the point which we maintain.
The Gospel according to Saint John appears to
be, and is on all hands allowed to be, an independ-
ent testimony, strictly and properly so called. Not-
withstanding, therefore, any connexion, or sup-
posed connexion, between some of the Gospels, I
again repeat what I before said, that if any one of
the four be genuine, we have, in that one strong
reason, from the character and situation of the
writer, to believe that we possess the accounts
which the original emissaries of the religion de-
livered.
Secondly: In treating of the written evidences
of Christianity, next to their separate, we are to
consider their aggregate authority. Now, there
is in the evangelic history a cumulation of testi-
mony which belongs hardly to any other history,
but which our habitual mode of reading the Scrip-
tures sometimes causes us to overlook. When a
passage, in any wise relating to the history of
Christ, is read to us out of the epistle of Clemens
Romanus, the epistles of Ignatius, of Polycarp, or
(25*)
294
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
from any other writing of that age, we are imme-
diately sensible of the confirmation which it affords
to the Scripture account. Here is a new witness.
Now, if we had been accustomed to read the Gos-
pel of Matthew alone, and had known that of
Luke only as the generality of Christians know
the writings of the apostolical fathers, that is, had
known that such a writing was extant and ac-
knowledged ; when we came, for the first time, to
look into what it contained, and found many of
the facts which Matthew recorded, recorded also
there, many other facts of a similar nature added,
and throughout the whole work the same general
series of transactions stated, and the same general
character of the person who was the subject of the
history preserved, I apprehend that we should feel
our minds strongly impressed by this discovery of
fresh evidence. We should feel a renewal of the
same sentiment in first reading the Gospel of Saint
John. That of Saint Mark perhaps would strike
us as an abridgment of the history with which we
were already acquainted ; but we should naturally
reflect, that if that history was abridged by such a-
person as Mark, or by any person of so early an
age, it afforded one of the highest possible attest-
ations to the value of the Work. This successive
disclosure of proof would leave us assured, that
there must have been at least some reality in a
story which not one, but many, had taken in hand
to commit to writing. The very existence of four
separate histories would satisfy us that the subject
had a foundation ; and when, amidst the variety
which the different information of the different
writers had supplied to their accounts, or which
their different choice and judgment in selecting
their materials had produced, we observed many
facts to stand the same in all ; of these facts, at
least, we should conclude, that they were fixed in
their credit and publicity. If, after this, we should
come to the knowledge of a distinct history, and
that also of the same age with the rest, taking up
the subject where the others had left it, and carry-
ing on a narrative of the effects produced in the
world by the extraordinary causes of which we
had already been informed, and which effects sub-
sist at this day, we should think the reality of the
original story in no little decree established by this
supplement. If subsequent inquiries should bring
to our knowledge, one after another, letters writ-
ten by some of the principal agents in the business,
upon the business, and during the time of their
activity and concern in it, assuming all along and
recognising the original story, agitating the ques-
tions that arose out of it, pressing the obligations
which resulted from it, giving advice and direc-
tions to those who acted upon it ; I conceive that
we should find, in every one of these, a still fur-
ther support to the conclusion we had formed. At
present, the weight of this successive confirmation
is, in a great measure, unperceived by us. The
evidence does not appear to us what it is ; for, being
from our infancy accustomed to regard the New
Testament as one book, we see in it only one testi-
mony. The whole occurs to us as a single evidence;
and its different parts, not as distinct attestations,
but as different portions only of the same. Yet in
this conception of the subject, we are certainly
mistaken ; for the very discrepancies among the
several documents which form our volume, prove,
if all other proof were wanting, that in their origi-
nal composition they were separate, and most of
them independent productions.
If we dispose our ideas in a different order, the
matter stands thus: Whilst the transaction was
recent, and the original witnesses were at hand to
relate it ; and whilst the apostles were busied in
preaching and travelling, in collecting disciples, in
forming and regulating societies of converts, in.
supporting themselves against opposition; whilst
they exercised their ministry under the harassing
of frequent persecution, and in a state of almost
continual alarm, it is not probable that, in this en-
gaged, anxious, and unsettled condition of life,
they would think immediately of writing histories
for the information of the public or of jxjstcrity.*
But it is very probable, that emergencies might
draw from some of them occasional letters upon
the subject of their mission, to converts, or to so-
cieties of converts, with which they were connect-
ed ; or that they might address written discourses
and exhortations to the disciples of the institution
at large, which would be received and read with a
respect proportioned to the character of the writer.
Accounts in the mean time would get abroad of
the extraordinary things that had been passing,
written with different, degrees of information and
correctness. The extension of the Christian so-
ciety, which could no longer be instructed by a
personal intercourse with the apostles, and the
possible circulation of imperfect or erroneous nar-
ratives, would soon teach some amongst them the
expediency of sending forth authentic memoirs of
the life and doctrine of their Master. When ac-
counts appeared authorized by the name, and cre-
dit, and situation of the writers, recommended or
recognised by the apostles and first preachers of
the religion, or found to coincide with what the
apostles and first preachers of the religion had
taught, other accounts would fall into disuse and
neglect ; whilst these maintaining their reputation
(as, if genuine and well founded, they would do)
under the test of time, inquiry, and contradiction,
might be expected to make their way into the
hands of Christians of all countries of the world.
This seems the natural progress of the business ;
and with this the records in our possession, and
the evidence concerning them, correspond. We
have remaining, in the first place, many letters
of the kind above described, which have been pre-
served with a care and fidelity answering to the
respect with which we may suppose -that such let-
ters would be received. But as these letters were
not written to prove the truth of the Christian re-
ligion, in the sense in which we regard that ques-
tions nor to convey information of tacts, of which
those to whom the letters were written had been
previously informed ; we are not to look in them
for any thing more than incidental allusions to
the Christian history. We are able, however, to
gather from these documents, various particular
attestations which have been already enumerated;
and this is a species of written evidence, as far as
it goes, in the highest degree satisfactory, and in
point of lime perhaps the first. But for our more
circumstantial information, we have in the next
place five direct histories, bearing the names of
persons acquainted, by their situation, with the
truth of what they relate, and three of them pur-
porting, in the very body of the narrative, to be
* This thought occurred to Eusebius: "Nor were the
apostles of Christ greatly concerned about the writing
of books, being engaged in a more excellent ministry,
which is above all human power." Eccles. Hist. 1. iii.
c. 24 The same consideration accounts also for the pau-
city of Christian writings in the first century of its era.
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
295
written by such persons ; of which books we know,
that some were in the hands of those who were
contemporaries of the apostles, and that, in the age
immediately posterior to that, they were in the
hands, we may say, of every one, and received by
Christians with so much respect and deference, as
to be constantly quoted and referred to by them,
without any doubt of the truth of their accounts.
They were treated as such histories, proceeding
from such authorities, might expect to be treated.
In the preface to one of our histories, we have in-
timations left us of the existence of some ancient
accounts which are now lost. There is nothing
in this circumstance that can surprise us. It was
to be expected, from the magnitude and novelty of
the occasion, that such accounts would swarm.
When better accounts came forth, these died
away. Our present histories superseded others.
They soon acquired a character and established a
reputation which does not appear to have belonged
to any other : that, at least, can be proved concerning
them, whichcannot be proved concerning any other.
But to return to the point which led to these
reflections. By considering our records in either
of the two views in which we have represented
them, we shall perceive that we possess a collec-
tion of proofs, and not a naked or solitary testi-
mony ; and that the written evidence is of such a
kind, and comes to us in such a state, as the na-
tural order and progress of things, in the infancy
of the institution, might be expected tp produce.
Thirdly : The genuineness of the historical
books of the New Testament is undoubtedly a
point of importance, because the strength of their
evidence is augmented by our knowledge of the
situation of their authors, their relation to the sub-
ject, and the part which they sustained in the
transaction; and the testimonies which we are
able to produce, compose a firm ground of per-
suasion, that the Gospels were written by the
persons whose names they bear. Nevertheless, 1
must be allowed to state, that to the argument
which I am endeavouring to maintain, this point
is not essential ; I mean, so essential as that the
fete of the argument depends upon it. The ques-
tion l>efore us is, whether the Gospels exhibit the
story which the apostles and first emissaries of the
religion published, and for which they acted and
surlered in the manner in which, for some mira-
culous story or other, they did act and suffer.
Now let us suppose that we possessed no other
information concerning these books than that they
were written by early disciples of Christianity -,
that they were known and read during the time,
or near the time, of the original apostles of the re-
ligion ; that by Christians whom the apostles in-
structed, by societies of Christians which the
apostles founded, these books were received, (by
which term " received," I mean that they were
believed to contain authentic accounts of the trans-
actions upon which the religion rested, and ac-
counts which were accordingly used, repeated, and
relied upon,) this reception would be a valid proof
that these books, whoever were the authors of
them, must have accorded with what the apostles
taught. A reception by the first race of Chris-
tians, is evidence that they agreed with what the
first teachers of the religion delivered. In parti-
cular, if they had not agreed with what the apos-
tles themselves preached, how could they have
gained credit in churches and societies which the
apostles established 1
Now the fact of their early existence, and not
only of their existence but their reputation, is
made out by some ancient testimonies which do
not happen to specify the names of the writers :
add to which, what hath been already hinted, that
two out of the four Gospels contain averments in
the body of the history, which, though they do not
disclose the names, fix the time and situation of
the authors, viz. that one was written by an eye-
witness of the sufferings of Christ, the other by a
contemporary of the apostles. In the Gospel of
Saint John, (xix. 35,) after describing the cruci-
fixion, with the particular circumstance of piercing
Christ's side with a spear, the historian adds, as
for himself, "and he that saw it bare record,
and his record is true, and he knoweth that he
saith true, that ye might believe." Again, (xxi.
24,) after relating a conversation which passed
between Peter and " the disciple," as it is there
expressed, " whom Jesus loved," it is added, "this
is the disciple which testifieth of these things,
and wrote these things." This testimony, let it
be remarked, is not the less worthy of regard, be-
cause it is. in one view, imperfect. The name is
not mentioned; which, if a fraudulent purpose
had been intended, would have been done. The
third of our present Gospels purports to have been
written by the person who wrote the Acts of the
Afiostles ; in which latter history, or rather, latter
part of the same history, the author, by using, in
various places, the first person plural, declares
himself to have been a cdntemporary of all, and a
companion of one, of the original preachers of the
religion.
CHAPTER IX.
There is satisfactory evidence that many, pro-
fessing to be original witnesses of the Christian
miracles, passed their lives in labours, dangers,
and sufferings, voluntarily undergone in at-
testation of the accounts which they delivered,
and solely in consequence qf their belief of
those accounts ; and that they also submitted,
from the same motives, to new rules of conduct.
THE AUTHENTICITY OF THE SCRIPTURES.
NOT forgetting, therefore, what credit is due to
the evangelical history, supposing even any v,ne
of the four Gospels to be genuine ; what credit is
due to the Gospels, even supposing nothing to be
known concerning them but that they were writ-
ten by early disciples of the religion, and received
with deference by early Christian churches : more
especially not forgetting what credit is due to the
New Testament in its capacity of cumulative evi-
dence; we now proceed to state the proper and
distinct proofs, which show not only the general
value of these records, but their specific authority,
and the high probability there is that they actual-
ly came- from the persons whose names they bear.
There are, however, a few preliminary reflec-
tions, by which we may draw up with more regu-
larity to the propositions upon which the close
and particular discussion of the subject depends.
Of which nature are the following :
I. We are able to produce a great number of
ancient manuscripts, found in many different
countries, and in countries widely distant from
each other, all of them anterior to the art of print-
296
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
ing, some certainly seven or eight hundred years
old, and some which have been preserved probably
above a thousand years.* We have also many
ancient versions of these books, and some of them
into languages which are not at present, nor for
many ages nave been, spoken in any part of the
world. The existence of these manuscripts and
versions proves that the Scriptures were not the
production of any modern contrivance. It does
away also the uncertainty which hangs over such
publications as the works, real or pretended, of
Ossian and Rowley, in which the editors are
challenged to produce their manuscripts, and to
show where they obtained their copies. The
number of manuscripts, far exceeding those of any
other book, and their wide dispersion, afford an ar-
gument, in some measure to the senses, that the
Scriptures anciently, in like manner as at this
day, were more read and sought after than any
other books, and that also in many different coun-
tries. The greatest part of spurious Christian
writings are utterly lost, the rest preserved by
some single manuscript. There is vfleight also in
Dr. Bentley's observation, that the New Testa-
ment has suffered less injury by the errors of
transcribers, than the works of any profane author
of the same size and antiquity ; that is, there ne-
ver was any writing, in the preservation and pu-
rity of which the world was so interested or so
careful.
II. An argument of great weight with those
who are judges of the proofs upon which it is
founded, and capable, through their testimony, of
being addressed to every understanding, is that
which arises from the style and language of the
New Testament. It is just such a language as
might be expected from the apostles, from persons
of their age and in their situation, and from no
other persons. It is the style neither of classic
authors, nor of the ancient Christian Fathers, but
Greek coming from men of Hebrew origin ;
abounding, that is, with Hebraic and Syriac
idioms, such as would naturally be found in the
writings of men who used a language spoken in-
deed where they lived, but not the common dia-
lect of the country. This happy peculiarity is a
strong proof of the genuineness of these writings :
for who should forge them 1 The Christian fa-
thers were for the most part totally ignorant of
Hebrew, and therefore were not likely to insert
Hebraisms and Syriasms into their writings. The
few who had a knowledge of the Hebrew, as Jus-
tin Martyr, Origen, and Epiphanius, wrote in a
language which bears no resemblance to that of
the New Testament. The Nazarenes, who un-
derstood Hebrew, used chiefly, perhaps almost
entirely, the Gospel of St. Matthew, and therefore
cannot be suspected of forging the rest of the sa-
cred writings. The argument, at any rate, proves
the antiquity of these books ; that they belonged
to the age of the apostles ; that they could be
composed indeed in no other .t
lit. Why should we question the genuineness
of these books 7 Is it for that they contain accounts
of supernatural events 1 I apprehend that this, at
the bottom, is the real, though secret, cause of our
*The Alexandrian manuscript, now in the British
Museum, was written probably in the fourth or fifth
century.
t See this argument stated more at large in Michaetis's
Introduction (Marsh's translation,) vol. i. c. ii. sect. 10,
from which these observations are taken.
hesitation about them : for, had the writings in-
scribed with the names of Matthew and John, re-
lated nothing but ordinary history, there would
have been no more doubt whether these writings
were theirs, than there i.s concerning the acknow-
ledged works of Josephus or Hiilo ; that is, there
would have been no doubt at all. Now it ought
to be considered that this reason, however it may
apply to the credit which is given to a writer's
judgment or veracity, affects the question of
genuineness very indirectly. The works of Bede
exhibit many wonderful relations : but who, for
that reason, doubts that they were written by
Bede 1 The same of a multitude of other authors.
To which may be added, that we ask no more for
our books than what we allow to other books in
some sort similar to ours : we do not deny the ge-
nuineness of the Koran ; we admit that the history
of Apollonius Tyanaeus, purporting to be written
by Philostratus, was really written by Philostratus.
IV. If it had been an easy thing in the early
times of the institution to have forged Christian
writings, and to have obtained currency and re-
ception to the forgeries, we should have had many
appearing in the name of Christ himself. No
writings would have been received with so much
avidity and respect as these : consequently none
afforded so great temptation to forgery. Yet have
we heard but of one attempt of this sort, deserving
of the smallest notice, that in a piece of a very few
lines, and so far from succeeding, I mean, from
obtaining acceptance and reputation, or an accept-
ance and reputation in any wise similar to that
which can be proved to have attended the books
of the New Testament, that it is not so much as
mentioned by any writer of the first three centu-
ries. The learned reader need not be informed
that I mean the epistle, of Christ to Abgarus, king
of Edessa, found at present in the work of Euse-
bius,* as a piece acknowledged by him, though
not without considerable doubt whether the whole
passage be not an interpolation, as it is most cer-
tain, that, after the publication of Eusebius's work,
this epistle was universally rejected. t
V. If the ascription of the Gospels to their res-
pective authors had been arbitrary or conjectural,
they would have been ascribed to more eminent
men. This observation holds concerning the
first three Gospels, the reputed authors of which
were enabled, by their situation, to obtain true in-
telligence, and were likely to deliver an honest ac-
count of what they knew, but were persons not
distinguished in the history by extraordinary
marks of notice or commendation. Of the apos-
tles, I hardly know any one of whom less is said
than of Matthew, or of whom the little that is
said, is less calculated to magnify his character.
Of Mark, nothing is said in the Gospels ; and
what is said of any person of that name in the
* Hist. Eccl. lib. i.e. 15.
t Augustin. A D. 895, (De Consens. Evang. c. 34.) had
heanl t'h at the Pagans ^retertded to be possessed of an
epistle from Christ to Peter and Paul ; but he had never
scru it, and appears to doubt of the existence of any
such piece, either genuine or spurious. No other an-
cient writer mentions it. He also, and he alone, notices,
and that in order to condemn it, an epistle ascribed
to Christ by the Manichees, A. D. 270, and a short hymn
attributed to him by the priscillianists, A. D. 378. [cont.
Faust. Man. lib. xxviii. c. 4.J The lateness of the wri-
ter who notices these things, the manner in which he
notices them, and, above all^the silence of every prece-
ding writer, render them unworthy of consideration.
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
297
Acts, and in the Epistles, in no part bestows
praise or eminence upon him. The name of
Luke is mentioned only in Saint Paul's Epistles, '"
and that very transiently. The judgment, there
fore, which assigned these writings to these au
thors proceeded, it may be presumed; upon proper
knowledge and evidence, and not upon a voluntary
choice of names.
VI. Christian writers and Christian churches
appear to have soon 'arrived at a very genera]
agreement upon the subject, and that without the
interposition of any public authority. When the
diversity of opinion, which prevailed, and prevails
among Christians in other points is considered,
their concurrence in the canon of Scripture is re-
markable, and of great weight, especially as it
seems to have been the result of private and tree
inquiry. We have no knowledge of any interfe
rence of authority, in the question, before the
council of Laodicea in the year 363. Probably
the decree of this council rather declared than re-
gulated the public judgment, or, more properly
speaking, the judgment of some neighbouring
churches ; the council itself consisting of no more
than thirty or forty bishops of Lydia and the ad-
joining countries, t Nor does its authority seem
to have extended further ; for we find numerous
Christian writers, after this time, discussing the
question, " What books were entitled to be re-
ceived as Scripture," with great freedom, upon
proper grounds of evidence, and without any re-
ference to the decision at Laodicea.
These considerations are not to be neglected :
but of an argument concerning the genuineness df
ancient writings, the substance, undoubtedly, and
strength, is ancient testimony.
This testimony it is necessary to exhibit some-
what in detail ; for when Christian advocates
mo rely tell us, that we have the same reason for
believing the Gospels to be written by the evan-
gelists whose name they bear, as we have for be-
lieving the Commentaries to be Caesar's, the
^Eneid Virgil's, or the Orations Cicero's, they
content themselves with an imperfect representa-
tion. They state nothing more than what is true,
but they do not state the truth correctly. In the
number, variety, and early date of our testimonies,
we far exceed all other ancient books. For one,
which the most celebrated work of the most cele-
brated Greek or Roman writer can allege, we pro-
duce many. But then it is more requisite in our
books, than in theirs, to separate and distinguish
them from spurious competitors. The result, I
am convinced, will be satisfactory to every fair in-
quirer : but this circumstance renders an inquiry j
necessary.
In a work, however, like the present, there is a j
difficulty in finding a place for evidence of this
kind. To pursue the details of proofs throughout,
would be to transcribe a great part of Dr. Lard-
ner's eleven octavo volumes : to leave the argu-
ment without proofs, is to leave it without effect ;
for the persuasion produced by this species of
evidence depends upon a view and induction of the
particulars which compose, it.
The method which I propose to myself is, first
* Col. iv. 14. 2 Tim. iv. 11. Philem. 24.
t Lardner, Cred. vol. viii.p. 291. et seq.
to place before the reader, in one view, the propo-
sitions which comprise the several heads oi our
testimony, and afterwards to repeat the same pro-
positions in so many distinct sections, with the
necessary authorities subjoined to each.*
The following, then, are the allegations upon
the subject, which are capable of being established
by proof:
I. That the historical books of the New Tes-
tament, .meaning thereby the four Gospels and
the Acts of the Apostles, are quoted, or alluded
to, by a series of Christian writers, beginning with
those who were contemporary with the apostles,
or who immediately followed them, and proceed-
ing in close and regular succession from their time
to the present.
II. That when they are quoted, or alluded to,
they are quoted or alluded to with pec u ha r respect,
as books sui generis ; as possessing an authority
which belonged to no other books, and as conclu-
sive in all questions and controversies amongst
Christians.
III. That they were, in very early times, col-
lected into a distinct volume.
IV. That they were distinguished by appropri-
ate names and titles of respect.
V. That they were publicly rea^ and expound-
ed in the religious assemblies of the early Chris-
tians.
VI. That commentaries were written upon
them, harmonies formed out of them, different
copies carefully collated, and versions of them
nude into ditierent languages.
VII. That they were received by Christians
of different setts, by many heretics as well as
catholics, and usually appealed to byixrth sides in
the controversies which arose in those days.
VIII. That the four Gospels, the 'Acts of the
Apostles, thirteen Epistles of Saint Paul, the first
Spistle of John, and the first of Peter, were re-
ceived, without doubt, by those who doubted con-
:erning the other books which are included in our
)resent canon.
IX. That the Gospels were attacked by the
early adversaries of Christianity, as books contain-
ng the accounts upon which the religion was
"bunded.
X. That formal catalogues of authentic Scrip-
ures were published ; in all which our present
sacred histories were included.
XI. That these propositions cannot'be affirm-
! of any other books claiming to be books of
Scripture ; by which are meant those books which
are commonly called apocryphal books of the New
Testament
SECTION I.
The historical books of the New Testament,
meaning thereby the four -Gospels and the Acts
of the Apostles, are quoted, or alluded, to, by a
~ series of Christian writers, beginning with
those who were contemporary with the apostles,
or who immediately followed them, and pro-
ceeding in close and regular succession from
their time to the present.
* The reader, when he has the propositions before him,
will observe that the argument, if he should omit the
sections, proceeds counectedly from this point.
298
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
THE medium of proof stated in this proposition
is, of all others, the most unquestionable, the least
liable to any practices of fraud, and is not dimi-
nished by the lapse, of ages. Bishop Burnet, in
the History of his Own Times, inserts various ex-
tracts from Lord Clarendon's History. One such
insertion is a proof, that Lord Clarendon's Histo-
ry was extant at the time when Bishop Burnet
wrote, that it had been read by BisHop Burnet,
that it was received by Bishop Burnet as a work
of Lord Clarendon, and also regarded by him as
an authentic account of the transactions which it
relates ; and it will be a proof of these points a
thousand years hence, or as long as the books
exist. Gluintillian having quoted as Cicero's,*
that well-known trait of dissembled vanity :
* Si quid est in me ingenii, Judices, quod sentio quam
sit exiguum ;"
the quotation would be strong evidence, were there
any doubt, that the oration which opens with this
address, actually came from Cicero's pen. These
instances, however simple, may serve to point out
to a reader, who is little accustomed to such re-
searches, the nature ancl vajue of the argument.
The testimonies which we have to bring for-
ward under this proposition are the following :
I. There is extant an epistle ascribed to Barna-
bas, t the companion of Paul. It is quoted as the
epistle of Barnabas, by Clement of Alexandria,
A. D. cxciv ; by Origen, A. D. ccxxx. It is
mentioned by Eusebius, A. D. cccxv, and by
Jerome, A. D. cccxcn, as an ancient work in
their time, bearing the~hame of Barnabas, and as
well known and read amongst Christians, though
not accounted a part of Scrjpture. It purports to
have been written,, soon after the destruction of
Jerusalem, during the calamities which followed
that disaster ; and it bears the character of the
age to which it professes to belong.
In this epistle appears the following remarka-
ble passage : " Let us, therefore, beware lest it
come upon us, as it is written ; There are many
called, few chosen." From the expression, "as it
is written," we infer with certainty, that at the
time when the author of this epistle lived, there
was a book extant, well known to Christians,
and of authority amongst themj containing these
words : " Many are called, few chosen." Such-
a book is our present Gospel of Saint Matthew,,
in which this text is twice found, t and is found in
no other book now known. There is a further
observation to be made upon the terms of the qlio-
tation. The writer of the epistle was a Jew.
The phrase "is written," was the very form in
which the Jews quoted their Scriptures. It is
not probable, therefore, that he would have used
this phrase, and without qualification, of any
books but what had acquired a kind of Scriptural
authority. If the passage remarked in this an-
cient writing had been found in one -of St. Paul's
Epistles, it would have been esteemed by every
one a high testimony to Saint 'Matthew's Gospel.
It ought, therefore, to ^be remembered, that the
writing in which it is found was probably by very
few years posterior to those of Saint Paul.
* Quint, lib. xi. c. i.
f ^ardner, Cred edit. 1755, vol. i. p. 23, et seq. The
reader will observe from the references, that the mate-
rials of these sections are almost entirely extracted from
Dr. Lardner's work ; my office consisted in arrange-
ment and selection.
J Matt. xx. 16;xxii. 14.
Beside this passage, there are also -in the
epistle before us several others, in which the sen-
timent is the same with what we meet with in
Saint Matthew's. Gospel, and two or three in
which we recognise the same words. In particu-
lar, the author- of the epistle repeats the precept
" Give to every one 1 that asketh thee ;" * and saith
that Christ chose as his apostles, who were to
preach the Gospel, men who were great sinners,
that he might show that he came # not to call the
righteous, but sinners to repentance." t
II. We are in possession of an epistle written
by Clement, bishop of Rome,t whom ancient
writers, without any doubt or scruple, assert to
have been the Clement whom Saint Paul mentions,
Phil. iv. 3 ; " with Clement also, and other my
fellow-labourers, whose -names are in the book of
life." ^ This epistle is spoken of by the ancients as
an epistle acknowledged by all ; and, as Irenaus
well represents. its value, "written by Clement,
who had seen the blessed apostles^ and conversed
with them ; who had the preaching of the apostles
still sounding in his ears, and their traditions be-
fore his eyes." It is addressed to the church of
Corinth; and what alone may seem almost deci-
sive of its authenticity, Dionysius, bishbp of Co-
rinth, about the year 170, i. e. about eighty or
ninety years after' the epistle was written, bears
witness, " that it had been wont to be read in that
church from ancient times."
This epistle affords, amongst others, the follow-
ing valuable passages :" Especially remembering
the words of the Lord Jesus which he spake,
Leaching gentleness and long-suffering : for thus
tie said : ' Be ye merciful, that ye may obtain
mercy ; forgive, that it may be forgiven unto you ;
as you do, so shall it be done unto you ; as you
^ive, so shall it be given unto you ; as ye judge, so
shall ye be judged; as ye show kindness, so shall
kindness be shown unto you ; with what measure
ye' mete, with the same shall it be measured to
you. 5 By this command, and by these rules, let
us establish ourselves, that we may always walk
obediently to his holy words."
Again; "Remember the words of the Lord Je-
sus, for he said, ' Wo to that man by whom offences
come ; it were better for him that he had not been
jorn, than that he should offend one of my elect ;
t were better for him that a mill-stone should be
ied about his neck, and that he should be drowned
n the sea, than that he should offend one of my
ittle ones.' "II
In both these passages, we perceive the high
respect paid to the words of Christ as recorded by
;he evangelists; "Remember the words of the
Lord Jesus } by this command, and by these rules,
"et us establish ourselves, that we may always walk
* Matt. v. 42. t Matt. ix. 13.
t Lardner, Cred. vol. i. p. 62, et seq.
9 " Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain
mercy," Matt. v. 7. ".Forgive, and ye shall be forgiven;
jive, and it shall be given unto you," Luke vi. 37, 38.
' Judge not that ye be not judged ; for with what judg-
ment ye judge, ye shall -be judged ; and with what mea-
Mire ye mete, it shall be measured to you again," Matt,
vii. 1. 2.
|l Matt, xviii. G. " But whoso shall offend one of these
itle ones which believe in me, it were better for him
hat a mill-stone were hanged about his neck, and that
he were cast into the sea." The latter part of the pas-
sage in Clement agrees more exactly with Luke xvii. 2 :
' It were better for him that a mill-stone were hanged
about hit? neck, and he cast into the sea, than that be
should offend one of these little ones."
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
290
obediently to his holy words." We perceive also
in Clement a total unconsciousness of doubt, whe-
ther these were the real words of Christ, which
are read as such in the Gospels. This observation
indeed belongs to the whole series of testimony,
and especially to the most ancient part of it.
Whenever any thing now read in the Gospels is
met wkh in an early Christian writing, it is al-
ways observed to stand there as acknowledged
truth, i. e. to be introduced without hesitation,
doubt, or apology. It is to lie observed also, that,
as this epistle was written in the name of the
church of Rome, and addressed to the church of
Corinth, it ought to be taken as exhibiting UK?
judgment not only of Clement, who drew up the
letter, but of these churches themselves, at least
as to the authority of. the books referred to.
It may be said" th;it. as Clement has not used
words of quotation, it is not certain that he relers
to any book whatever. The words of ('hrist.
which he has put down, he might himself have
heard from the apostles, or might have iverhed
through the ordinary medium of oral tradition.
This has been said : but that no such inference
can be drawn from the absence of words of quota-
tion, is proved by the three following considera-
tions: First, that Clement, in the very same
manner, namely, without any mark of reference.
uses a passage now found in the epistle to the Ro-
mans;* which passage, from the peculiarity of the
words which comjjose it, and from their order, il
is manifest that he must have taken from the book.
The same remark may be reputed of some very
singular sentiments in the Kpistle to the Hebrews.
Secondly, that there are many sentences- of Saint
Paul's First Kpistle to the Corinthians standing in
Clement's epistle without any sign of quotation,
which yet certainly are quotations; because it ap-
pears that Clement had Saint Paul's epistle Sefofe
him, inasmuch as in one place he mentions it in
terms too express to leave us in any doubt:
" Take into your hands the epistle of the blessed
apostle Paul." Thirdly, that this method jof
adopting words of Scripture without reference or
acknowledgment, was, as will appear in the sequel,
a method in general use amongst the most ancient
Christian writers. These analogies not only re-
pel the objection, but cast the presumption on the
other side, and afford a considerable degree of posi-
tive proof, that the words in question have been
borrowed from the places of Scripture in which
we now find them. ,
But take it if you will the other way, that Cle-
ment had heard these words from the apostles or
first teachers of Christianity ; with respect to the
precise point of our argument, viz. that the Scrip-
tures contain what the apostles taught, this suppo-
sition may serve almost as well.
III. Near the conclusion of the Epistle to the
Romans, Saint Paul, amongst others, sends the
following salutation : " Salute Asyncritus, Phle-
gon, Her mas, Patrobas, Hermes, and the brethren
which are with them."
Of Hermas, who appears in this catalogue of
Roman Christians as contemporary with Saint
Paul, a book bearing the name, and it is most pro-
bable rightly, is still remaining. It is called the
Shepherd,! or Pastor of Hermas. Its antiquity is
incontestable, from the quotations of it in Irenajus,
* Romans i. 29.
t Lardner, Cred. vol. i. p. 111.
A. D. 178; Clement of Alexandria, A. D. 194:
Tcrtullian, A. D. '200; Origen, A. D. 230. The
notes of time extant in the epistle itself, agree
with this title, and with the testimonies concern-
ing it, for it purports to have been written during
the life-tiine of Clement.
In this piece are tacit allusions to Saint Mat-
thew's, Saint Luke's, and Saint John's Gospels ;
that is to. say, there are applications of thoughts
and expressions found in these Gospels, without
citing the place or writer from which they were
taken. In this form appear in Hennas, the con-
fessing and denying of Christ;* the parable of the
seed sown ;t the comparison of Christ's disciples to
little children; tle saying, " he that puttcth away
his wife, and marrieth another, committeth adul-
tery ;t the singular expression "having received
all power from his Father," in probable allusion to
Matt, xxviii. 18 ; arid Christ being the " gate," or
only way of coming." to God," in plain allusion to
John xiv. (i , x. 7. i). There is also a probable al-
lusion to Acts v. 3-3.
This piece is the representation of a vision, and
has by many been accounted a weak and fanciful
performance. I therefore observe, that the charac-
ter of the. writing has little to do with the purpose
for which we adduce it It is the age, in which it
was composed, that gives the value to its testimony.
IV. Ignatius, as it is testified by ancient Chris-
tian writers, became bishop of Antioch about
thirty-seven years after Christ's ascension ; and,
therefore, from his time, and place, and station, it
is probable that he had knowrrand conversed with
many of the apostles. Epistles of Ignatius are re-
ferred to by Polycarp, his contemporary. Pas-
sages found in the epistles now extant under his
name, are quoted by Irenasus, A. D. 178 ; by Ori-
gen, A. D. 230 : and the occasion of writing the
epistles is given at large by Eusebius and Jerome.
What are called the smaller epistles of Ignatius,
ape generally deemed to IK; those which were read
by IIVIKBUS, Origen, and Eusebius.
In these epistles are various undoubted allusions
to the Gospels of Saint Matthew and Saint John ;
yet so far of the same form with those in the pre-
ceding articles, that, like them, they are not ac-
companied with marks of quotation.
Of these allusions thfe following are clear speci-
mens:
C !! Christ was baptized of John , that all
righteousness might be fulfilled by him"
" Be ye as wise as serpents in all
things, and harmless a$ a dove."
" Yet the Spirit is not deceived, being
from God : for it knows whence it comes,
and whither it goes. 1 '
" He (Christ) is the door of the Fa-
ther, by which enter in Abraham, and
Isaac, and Jacob, and the apostles and
the church. 7 *
Jfetf.ll
John.V
* Matt. x. 32, 33, or, Luke xji- 8, 9.
t Matt. xiii. 3, or, Luke viii 5.
1 Luke xvi. 18. ' Lardner, Cred. vol. i. p. 147.
|| Chap, iii. 15. " For thus it becometh us to fulfil all
righteousness."
Chap. x. 16. " Be ye therefore wise as serpents, and
harmless as doves."
IT Chap. iii. 8. "The wind bloweth where it listeth,
and Ihou hearest the sound thereof, but canst not tell
whence it comet k and wkitkcr it goeth ; so is every one
that is born of the Spirit."
Chap. x. 9. "I am the door; by me if any man enter
in, he shall be saved."
300
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
As to the manner of quotation, this is observ-
able ; Ignatius, in one place, speaks of Saint Paul
in terms of high respect, and quotes his Epistle to
the Ephesians by name ; yet, in several other
places, he borrows words and sentiments from the
same epistle without mentioning it; which shows,
that this was his general manner of using and ap-
plying writings then extant, and then of high au-
thority.
V. Polycarp* had been taught by the apostles;
had conversed with many who had seen Christ;
was also, by the apostles, appointed bishop of
Smyrna. This testimony concerning Polycarp is
given by Irenseus, who in his youth had seen him :
" I can tell the place," saith Irenseus, " in which
the blessed Polycarp sat and taught, and his going
out and coming in, and the manner of his life and
the form of his person, and the discourses he. made
to the people, and how he related his conversation
with John, and others who had seen .the Lord,
and how he had related their sayings, and what
he had heard concerning the Lord, both concern-
ing his miracles and his doctrine, as he had re-
ceived them from the eye-witnesses of the word of
life : all which Polycarp related agreeable to the
Scripture's."
Of Folycarp, whose proximity to the age and
country and persons of the- apostles is thus attested,
we have one undoubted epistle remaining. And
this, though a short letter, contains nearly forty
clear allusions to books of the New Testament ;
which is strong evidence of the respect which
Christians of that age bore for these hooka.
Amongst those, although the writings of Saint
Paul are more frequently used by Polycarp than
tiny other parts of Scripture, there are copious al-
lusions to the Gospel of Saint Matthew, some to
passages found in the Gospels both of Matthew
and Luke, and some which more nearly resemble
the words in Luke.
I select the following T as fixing the authority of
the Lord's prayer, and the use of it amongst the
primitive Christians : " If therefore we pray the
Lord> that he w&l forgive us, we ought also to
forgive."
"With supplication beseeching the. all- seeing
God not to lead us into temptation*
And the following, for the sake of repeating an
observation already made, that words of our Lord
found in our Goepels, were at this early day quoted
as spoken by -him; and 'not only o,~ but quoted
with so little question or consciousness of doubt
about their being really his words, as not even to
mention, much less to canvass, the authority from
which they were taken :
" But remembering what the Lord said, teach-
ing, Judge nut, that ye be not judged ; forgive,
and ye shall be forgiven; be ye merciful, that ye
may obtain mercy ; with what measure ye mete,
it shall be measured to you again. "t
Supposing Polycarp to have had these words
from the books in which we now find them, it is
manifest that these books were consiilored bv him.
antl, as he thought, considered by his readers, as
authentic accounts of Christ's discourses; and that
that point was incontestable.
The following is a decisive, though .what we
call a tacit, reference to Saint Peter's speech in
the Acts of the Apostles: "whom God hath
raised, having loosed the pains of death."*
VI. Papias,t a hearer of John, and companion
of Polycarp, as Irenaeus attests, and of that age, as
nil ntrree.'in a passage quoted by Eusebius, from a
work now lost, expressly ascribes the respective
Gospels to Matthew and Mark; and in a manner
which proves that these Gospels must have pub-
licly borne the names of these authors 'at that
time, and probably long before ; for Papiae does
not say that one Gospel was written by Matthew,
and another by Mark ; but, assuming this as per-
fectly well known, he tells us from what materials
Mark collected his account, viz. from Peter's
preaching, and in what language Matthew wrote,
viz. in Hebrew. Whether Papias was well in-
formed in this statement, or not : to the point for
which I produce this testimony, namely, that these
bogks bore these names at this time, his authority
is complete.
The writers hitherto alleged, had all lived and
conversed with some of the apostles. The works
of theirs which remain, are in general very short
pieces, yet rendered extremely valuable by their
antiquity; and none, short as they are, but what
contain some important testimony to our histori-
cal Scriptures.*
VII. Not long after these, that is, not much
more than twenty 'years after the last, follows
Justin Martyr. His remaining works are much
larger than any that have yet been noticed. Al-
though the nature of his two principal writings,
one of which was addressed to heathens, and the
other was a conference with a Jew, did not lend
trim to such/frequent appeals to Christian books,
as would have appeared in a discourse intended
for Christian readers; we nevertheless reckon up
n them between twenty and thirty quotations of
the Gospels and Acts of the Apostles, certain,
distinct, and copious: if each verse be counted
separately, a much greater number ; if each ex-
pression, a very great one.ll
We meet with quotations of three of the Gos-
pels within the compass of half a page : " And in
other words he says, Depart from me into outer
larkness, which the Father hath prepared for
Satan and his angels," (which is from Matthew
xxv. 41.) " And again he said in other words, I
give unto you power to tread upon serpents, and
scorpions, and venomous beasts, and upon all the
>ower of the enemy." (This from Luke \. 10.)
And before he' was crucified, he said, The Son
of Man myst suffer many things, and be rejected
of the Scribes and Pharisees, and be crucified,
* Lardner, Cred. vol. i. p. 192.
f Matt. vii. 1, 2. v. 7. Luke vi. 37, 38.
* Acts ii. 24. t Lardner, Cred. vol i. p. 230.
J That the quotations are more thinly strown in
hese, than in the writings of l lie next ami of succeeding
ages, is in a good measure accounted for by the observa-
tion, that the Scriptures of the Nw TVstanifiit had not
?/eC, nor by their recency hardly could have, herein- a
general part of Christian education; read as the Old
Testament was by J.nvs and Christians from their
childhood, and thereby intimately mixing, as tint had
ongdone, with-all their religious ideas, and with Jheir
aiiguago upon religious subjects. In process of time,
nnd as soon perhaps as could b exp-rte'l this came to
be the case. And then'we perceive the effect, in a pro-
port ion ably greater frequency, as well as copiousness of
illusion. TT
Lardner, 6red. vol. i. p. 258.
" He cites our present canon, and particularly our
four Gospels, continually, I dare say, above two hun-
dred times." Jones's New and fall 'Method. Append,
vol. i. p. 589 ed. 172>.
IT Mich. Introd. c.ii, sect. vi.
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
301
and rise again the third day." (This from Mark
viii. 31.)
In another place, Justin quotes a passage in
the history of Christ's birth, as delivered by Mat-
thew and John, and fortifies his quotation by this
remarkable testimony: "As they have taught,
who have written the history of all things con-
cerning our Saviour Jesus, Christ : and we be-
lieve them."
Quotations are also found from the Gospel of
Saint John.
What, moreover, seems extremely material to
be observed is, that in all Justin's works, from
which might be extracted almost a complete life
of Christ, there are but two instances, in which
he refers to any thing as said or done by Qhrist,
which is not related concerning him in our pre-
sent Gospels : which shows, that these Gospels,
and these, we may say, alone, were the authori-
ties from which the 'Christians of that day drew
the information upon which they depended. One
of these instances is of a saying of Christ, not
met with in any book now extant.* The other,
of a circumstance in Christ's baptism, namely, a
fiery or luminous appearance upon the water,
which, according to Lpiphanius, is noticed in the
Gospel of the Hebrews: and which might be
true: but which, whether true or false, is men-
tioned by Justin, with a plain mark of diminution
when compared with what he quotes as resting
upon Scripture authority. The render will ad-
vert to this distinction: "And then, when Je-
sus came to the river Jordan, where John was
baptizing, as Jesus descended into the water, a
fire also was kindled in Jordan ; and when he
came up out of the water, the apostles of this our
Christ have icritlen, that the Holy Ghost lighted
Upon him as a dove."
All the references in Justin are made without
mentioning the author; which proves that thes
books were perfectly notorious, and that there
were no other accounts of Christ then extant, or,
at .'east, no others so received and credited as to
make it necessary to distinguish these from the
rest
But although Justin mentions not the author's
name, he calls the books, " Memoirs composed
by the Apostles ;' : " Memoirs composed by the
Apostles and their Companions ;" which descrip-
tions, the latter especially, exactly suit with the
titles which the Gospels and Acts of the Apostles
now bear.
VIII. Hegesippust came about thirty years
after Justin. His testimony is remarkable only
for this particular ; that he relates of himself, that,
* " Wherefore also our Lord Jesus Christ has said, in
whatsoever I shall find you, in the same I will also judge
you." Possibly Justin designed not to quote any text,
but to represent the sense of many of our Lord's sayings.
Fabricus has observed, that this saying has been quoted
by many writers, and that Justin is the only one who
ascribes it to our Lord, and that perhaps by a slip of his
memory.
Words resembling these are read repeatedly in Eze-
kiel: "I will judge them according to their ways-"
(chap. vii. 3 ; xxxiii 20.) It is remarkable that Justin
had just before expressly quoted Ezekiel. Mr. Jones
upon this circumstance founded a conjecture, that Jus
tin wrote only" the Lord hath said," intending to quote
the words of God, or rather the sense of those words in
Ezekiel ; and that some transcriber, imagining these to
be the words of Christ, inserted in his copy the addition
" Jesus Christ." Vol. i. p, 539.
t Lardner. Cred. vol. i. p. 314.
travelling from Palestine to -Rome, he visited, on
his journey, many bishops ; and that, " in every
succession, and in every city, the same doctrine is
taught, which the Law and the Prophets, and the
Lord teacheth." This is an important attestation,
from good authority, and of high antiquity. It is
generally understood, that by the word " Lord,"
Hegesippus intended som6 writing or writings,
containing the teaching of Christ, in which sense
alone the .term combines with the other terms
; 'Law and Prophets," which denote writings;
and together with them admit of the verb " teach-
eth" in the present tense. Then that these
writings were some or all of the books of the
New Testament, is rendered probable from
hence, that in the fragments of his works, which
are preserved in Eusebius, and in a writer of the
ninth century, enough, though it be little, is left
to show, that Hegesippus expressed divers things
in the style of the Gospels, and of the Acts of the
Apostles; that he referred to the history in the
second chapter of Matthew, and recited a text of
that Gospel as spoken by our Lord.
IX. At this time, viz. about the year 170, the
churches of Lyons and Vienne, in France, sent
a relation of the sufferings of their martyrs to the
churches of Asia and Phrygia. * The epistle is
preserved entire by Eusebius. And what carries
in some measure the testimony of these churches
to a higher age; is, that they had now for their
bishop, Pothinus, who was ninety years old, and
whose early life consequently must have imme-
diately joined on with the times of the apostles.
In this epistle are exact references to the Gosj>els
of Luke and John, and to the -Acts of the Apos-
tles; the form of reference the same as in all the
preceding articles. That from Saint John is in
these words : " Then was fulfilled that which was
spoken by the Lord, .that whosoever killeth you,
will think that he doeth God service." t
X. The evidence now opens upon us full and
clear. Irenseust succeeded Pothinus as bishop
of Lyons. In his youth he had been a disciple of
Polycarp, who was a disciple of John* In the
time in which he lived, he was distant not much
more than a century from the publication of the
Gospels; in his instruction, only by one step sepa-
rated from the persons of the apostles. He as-
serts of himself and his contemporaries, that they
were able to reckon up, in all the principal
churches, the succession of bishops from the first.
I remark these particulars concerning IrenaBus
with more formality than usual ; because the tes-
timony which this writer affords to the historical
books of the New Testament, to their authority,
and to the titles which they bear, is express, posi-
tive, and exclusive. One principal passage, in
which this testimony is contained, opens with a
precise assertion of the point which we have laid
down as the foundation of our argument, viz. that
the story which the Go'spels exhibit, is the story
which the apostles told. " We have not received,"
saith Irenseus, " the knowledge of the way of our
salvation by any others than those by whom the
Gospel has been brought to us. Which Gospel
they first preached, and afterwards, by the will of
God, committed to writing, that it might be for time
to come the foundation and pillar of our faith.
* Lardner, Cred. vol. i. p. 332.
t John xvi. 2. { Lardner, vol. i. p. 314.
Adv. Hffires. 1. iii. c. 3.
26
303
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY,
For after that our Lord rose from the dead, and
they (the apostles) were endowed from above with
the power of -the Holy Ghost coming down upon
them, they received a perfect knowledge of all
things. They then went forth to all the ends of
the earth, declaring to men the blessing of hea-
venly peace, having all of them, and every one.
alike the Gospel of God. Matthew, then among
the Jews, wrote a Gospel in their own language,
while Peter and Paul were preaching the Gospel
at Rome, and founding a church .there : and alter
their exit, Mark also, the disciple and interpreter
of Peter, delivered to us in writing the things that
had been preached by Peter ; and Luke, the com-
panion of Paul, put down in a book the Gospel
preached by him (Paul.) Afterwards John, the
disciple of the Lord, who also leaned upon his
breast, he likewise published a Gospel while he
dwelt at Ephesus in Asia." If any modern divine
should write a book upor\ the genuineness, of the
Gospels, he could not assert it more expressly, or
state their orioinal more distinctly, than Ireuaeus
hath done within little more than a hundred years
after they were published.
The correspondency, in the days of Irenaeus of
the oral and written tradition, and the deduction
of the oral tradition through various channels
from the age of the apostles, which was then late-
ly passed, and. by consequence, thp, probability
that the books tr,uly delivered, what the apostles
taught, is inferred also with strict regularity from
another passage of his works. " The tradition of
the apostles," this father saith, "hath spread it-
self over the whole universe ; and all they, who
search after the sources of truth, will find this
tradition to be held sacred in every church. We
might enumerate all those who have been appoint-
ed bishops to these churches by the apostles, and
all their successors up to our Jays. It is by this un-
interrupted succession that we have received the
tradition which actually exists in the church, as
also the doctrines of truth, as it was preached by
the apostles."* The reader will observe upon
this, that the same Irenseus, who is now stating
the strength and uniformity of the tradition, we
have before seen recognizing, in the fullest man-
ner, the authority of the written records ; from
which we are entitled to conclude, that they were
then conformable to each other.
I have said, th^at the testimony of Irenseus in
favour of our Gospels is exclusive of all others.^ _ I
allude to a remarkable passage in his works; in
which for some reasons sufficiently fanciful, he
endeavours to show, that there could be neither
more nor fewer Gospels than four. With his
argument we have no concern. - The position
itself, proves that four, and only four, Gospels were at
that time publicly read and acknowledged. That
these were our Gospels, and in the state in which
we now have them, is shown, from many other
places of this writer beside that which we have
already alleged. He mentions how Matthew
begins his Gospel, how Mark begins and ends his,
ancl their supposed reasons for so doing. He enu-
merates at length the several passages of Christ's
history in Lukje, which are not found in any of
the other evangelists. He states the particular
design with which St. John composed his Gospel,
and accounts for the doctrinal declarations which
precede the narrative.
* Iren. in Haer. 1. iii. c. 3
To the book of the Acts of the Apostles, its
author, and credit, the testimony of Irenaeua is no
less explicit. Referring to the account of Saint
Paul's conversion and vocation, in the ninth chap-
ter of that book, " Nor can they," says he, mean-
ing, the parties with whom he argues, " show that
he is not to be credited, who has related to us the
truth with the greatest exactness." In another
place, he has actually collected the several texts,
in which the writer of the history is represented
as accompanying St. Paul ; which leads him to
deliver a summary of almost the whole of the last
twelve chapters of the book.
In an author thus abounding with references
and allusions to the Scriptures, there is not one
to any apocryphal Christian writing whatever.
This is a broad line of distinction between our
sacred books, and the pretensions of all others.
The force of the testimony of the period which
we have considered, is greatly strengthened by
the observation, that it is the testimony, and the
concurring testimony, of writers who lived in coun-
tries remote from one another. Clement flourish-
ed at Rome, Ignatius at Antioch, Polycarp at
Smyrna^ Justin Martyr in Syria, and Irentcus in
France.
XI. Omitting Athenagoras and Theophilus,
who lived about this time ; * in the remaining
works of the former of whom are clear references
to Mark and Luke ; and in the works of the lat-
ter, who was bishop of Antioch, the sixth in suc-
cession from the apostles, evident allusions to
Matthew and John, and" probable allusions to
Luke, (which, considering the nature of the com-
positions, that they were addressed to heathen
readers, is as much as could be expected ;) observ-
ing also, that the works of two learned Christian
writers of the same age, Miltiades, and Pantamust
are now lost; of which Miltiades, Eusebius
records, that his writings " were monuments of
zeal for the Divine Oracles ;" and which Pan-
taenus, as Jerome testifies, was a man of prudence
and learning, both in the Divine Scriptures and
secular literature, and had left many commenta-
ries upon* the Holy Scriptures then extant ; passing
by these without further remark, we come to one of
the most voluminous of ancient Christian writers,
Clement of Alexandria, t Clement followed Ire-
naeus at the distance of onhy sixteen years, and
therefore may be said to maintain the series of tes-
timony in an uninterrupted continuation.
In .certain of Clement's works now lost, but of
which various parts are recited by Eusebius, there
is given a distinct account of the order in which
the four Gospels were written. The Gospels
which contain the genealogies, were (he says)
written first; Mark's next, at the instance of
Peter's followers ; and John's the last : and this
account he tells us that he had received from pres-
byters of more ancient time.s. This testimony
proves the following points ; that these Gospels
were the histories of Christ then publicly received,
and relied upon ; and that the dates, occasions, and
circumstances of their publication, were at that
time subjects of attention and inquiry amongst
Christians. In the works of Clement which re-
main, the four Gospels are repeatedly quoted by the
,hors, and the Acts of the Ap
names of their auti
Lpos-
* Lardner, vol. i. p. 400. 422.
t Lardner, vol. i. p. 413. 450.
j Lardner, vol. ii. p. 469.
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
303
ties is expressly ascribed to Luke. In one place,
after mentioning a particular circumstance, he adds
these remarkable words : " We have not this pas-
sage in the four Gospels delivered to us } but in
that according to the Egyptians ;" which puts a
marked distinction between the fohr Gospels and
all other histories, or pretended histories, of Christ.
In another part of his works, the perfect confi-
dence, with' which he received the Gospels, is sig-
nified by him in these words : " That this is true,
appears from hence, that it is written in the Gos-
pel according to St. Luke;'' and a-jain, "I need
not use many words, but only to allege the evan-
gelic voice of the Lord. :) His quotations are nu-
merous. The sayings of Christ, of which he
alleges many, are all taken from our Gospels ; the
single exception to this observation appearing to
be a loose * quotation of a passage in Saint Mat-
thew's Gospel.
XII. In the age in which they lived, t Tertul-
lian joins on with Clement. The number of the
Gospels then received, the names of the evangelists,
and their proper descriptions, are exhibited by
this writer in one short sentence : " Among the
apostles, John and Matthew teach us the laith ;
among apostolical men, Luke and Mark refresh it."
The next passage to be taken from Tertullian,
affords as complete an attestation to the authenti-
city of our books as can be well imagined. After
enumerating the churches which had been found-
ed by Paul, at Corinth, in Galatia, at Philippi,
Thessalonica, and Ephesus ; the church of Rome
established by Peter and Paul, and other churches
derived from John ; he proceeds thus : " I say
then, that with them, but not with them only
which are apostolical, but with all who ha\e fel-
lowship with them in the same faith, is that Gos-
pel of Luke received from its first publication,
which we so /.ealouslv maintain ;'' and present Iv
afterwards adds ; " The same authority of the
apostolical churches will support the other Gospels,
which we have from them and according U> them.
I mean John's and Matthew's; although that
likewise which Mark published may be said to be
Peter's, whose interpreter Mark was." In another
place Tertullian affirms, that the three other
Gospels were in the hands of the churches from
the beginning, as well as Luke's. This noble
testimony fixes the universality with which the
Gospels were received, and their antiquity ; that
they were in the hands of all, and had been so
from the first. And this evidence' appears not
more than one hundred and fifty years after the
publication of the books. The reader must be
given to understand, that when Tertullian speaks
of maintaining or defending (tuendi) the Gospel
of Saint Luke, he only means maintaining or
defending the integrity of the copies of Luke re-
ceived by Christian churches, in opposition to cer-
tain curtailed copies used by Marcion, against
whom he writes.
This author frequently cites the Acts of the
Apostles under that title, once calls it Luke's
> " Ask great things, and the small shall be added
unto you." Cleirient rather chose to expound the words
of Matthew (chap. vi. 33,) than literally to cite them;
and this is most undeniably proved by another place in
the same Clement, where he both produces the text and
these words as an exposition : " Seek ye first the king-
dom of heaven and its righteousness, for these are the
great things; but the small things, and things relating
to this life, shall be added unto you." Jones's New and
Full Method, vol. i. p. 553.
Lardner, vol. ii. p. 561.
Commentary, and observes how Saint Paul's
epistles confirm it.
After .this general evidence, it is unnecessary
to add particular quotations. These, however,
are so numerous and ample, as to have led Dr.
Lardner to observe, "that there are more, and
larger quotations of the small volume of the.New
Testament in this one Christian author, than
there are of all the workg of Cicero in writers of
ah 1 characters for several ages." *
Tertullian quotes no Christian writing as of
equal authority with the Scriptures, and no spu-
rious books at all ; a broad line of distinction, we
may once more observe, between our sacred books
and all others.
We may again likewise remark the wide ex*
tent through which the reputation of the Gospels,
and of the Acts of the Apostles, had spread,- and
the perfect consent, in this point, of distant and
independent societies. It is now only about one
hundred and filly years since Christ was crucified ;
and within this jM-riod, to say nothing of the apos-
tolical fathers who have been noticed already, we
have Justin Martyr at Neapolis, Theophilus at
Antioch, .Irehaeus in France, Clement at Alexan-
dria, Tertullian at Carthage, quoting the same
books of historical 'Scriptures, and, I may say,
quoting these alone.
X 1 1 1. An interval of only thirty years, and that
occupied by no small number of Christian writers t
whose works only remain in fragments and quo*-
tations, and in, every one of which is some re
ten nee or other to the Gospels, (and in one of
them, Hippolytus, as presened in Theodoret, is an
abstract of the whole Gospel history,) brings U8
to a name of great celebrity in Christian antiquity,
Origen t of Alexandria,- who in the quantity of
his writings, exceeded the most laborious of the
Lin t k and Latin authors. Nothing can be more
peremptory upon the subject now under consider-
ation, and, from a writer of his learning and in-
formation, more satisfactory, than the declaration
of Origen. preserved, in an extract from his works,
by Eusebius; " That the four Gospels alone are
received without dispute by the whole church of
God under heaven :" to Which declaration is im-
mediately subjoined a brief history of the respect-
ive authors, to whom they were then, as they are
now, ascribed. The language holden concerning
the Gospels, throughout the works of Origen
which remain, entirely corresponds with the tes-
timony here cited. His attestatioa to .the Acts of
the Apostles is no less positive : " And Luke also
once -more sounds the trumpet, relating the acts
of the apostles." The universality with which
the Scriptures were then read, is well signified by
this writer, in a passage in which he has occasion
to observe against .Celsus," That it is not in any
private books, or such as are read by a few only,
and those studious persons t but in books read by
every body, that it is written, The invisible things
of Ged, from the creation of the world, are clearly
seen, being understood by things that are made."
It is to no purpose to single out quotations of
Scripture from such a writer as this. We might
as well make a selection of the quotations of
Scripture in Dr. Clarke's Sermons. They are so
* Lardner, vol. ii. p. G47.
t Miniiciiis Felix, Apollonius, Cains, Asterius, Ur-
banus, Alexander bishop of Jerusalem, Jiippolytus,
Ammonius, Julius Africanus.
} Lardner, vol. iii. p. 234.
304
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
thickly sown in the works of Origen, that Dr
Mill says. " If we had all his works remaining
we should have before us almost the whole text oj
the Bible."*
Origen notices, in order to censure, certain
apocryphal Gospels. He also uses four writings
of this sort ; .that is, throughout his large works
he once or twice, at the most, quotes each of the
four; but always^ with some mark, either of direct
reprobation or of caution to his readers, manifest-
ly esteeming them of little or no authority.
XIV. Gregory, bishop of Neocaesarea, and
Dionysius of Alexandria, were scholars of Origen.
Their testimony, therefore, though full and parti-
cular, may be reckoned a repetition only of his.
The series, however, of evidence, is continued by
Cyprian, bishop of Carthage, who flourished with-
in, twenty years after Origen. i' The church,"
says this father, " is watered, like Paradise, by
four rivers, that is, by four Gospels." The Acts
of the Apostles is also frequently quoted by Cy-
prian under that name, and under the name of the
" Divine Scriptures." In his various writings are
euch constant and copious citations of Scripture,
as to place this part of the testimony beyond con-
troversy. Nor is there, in the works of this emi-
nent African bishop, one quotation of a spurious
or apocryphal Christian writing.
XV. Passing over a crowdt of writers following
Cyprian at different distances, but all within forty
years of his time] and who all, in the imperfect
remains of their works, either cite the historical
Scriptures of the New Testament, or speak .of
them in terms of profound respect I single out
Victorin, bishop of Pettaw in Germany, merely
on account of the remoteness of his situation from
that of Origen and Cyprian, who were Africans ;
by which circumstance his testimony, taken in
conjunction with theirs, proves that the Scripture
histories, and the same histories, were known and
received from one side of the Christian world to
the other. This bishop* lived about the year 290 :
and in a commentary upon this text of the Reve-
lation, " The first was like a lion, the second was
like a calf, the third like a man, and the fourth
like a flying eagle," he makes out that by the four
creatures are intended the four Gospels ; and to
show the propriety of the symbols, he -recites the
subject with which each evangelist opens his his-
tory. The explication is fanciful, but the testi-
mony positive. He also expressly cites the Acts
of the Apostles.
XVI. Arnobius and Lactantius, about the
year 300, composed formal arguments upon the
credibility of the Christian religion. As these
arguments were addressed to Gentiles, the au-
thors abstain from quoting Christian books by
name ; one of them giving this very reason for his
reserve ; but when they come to state, for the in-
formation of their readers, the outlines of Christ's
history, it is apparent that they draw their ac-
counts from our Gospels, and from no other
sources^ for these statements exhibit a summary
of almost every thing which is related of Christ's
actions and miracles by the four evangelists. Ar-
nobius vindicates, without mentioning their names,
*Mi1l, Proleg. cap. vi. p. 66.
t Novatus, Rome, A. D. 251 ; Dionysius, Rome, A. D.
259; Commodian, A. D. 270; Anatolius, Laodicea, A.
D. 270; Theognostus, A. D. 282 ; Methodius, Lycia, A.
D. 290; Phileas, Egypt, A. D. 296.
I Lardner, vol. v. p. 214. Ib. vol. vii. p. 43. 201.
the credit of these historians ; observing, that they
weir eye-witneaf^l of the facts which they relate,
and that their ignorance of the arts of composition
was rather a confirmation of their testimony, than
an objection to it. Lactantius also argues in de-
fence of the religion, from the consistency, simpli-
city, disinterestedness, and sufferings of the
Christian historians, meaning by that term our
evangelists.
XVIL We close the series of testimonies with
that of Eusebius,* bishop of Csesarea, who flou-
rished in the year 315, contemporary with, or
posterior only by fifteen years to, the two authors
last cited. This voluminous writer, and most di-
ligent collector of the writings of others, beside a
variety of large works, composed a history of the
affairs of Christianity from Us origin to his own
time. His testimony to the Scriptures is the tes-
timony of a man much conversant in the works of
Christian authors, written during the first three
centuries of Us era, and. who had read many
which are now lost. In a passage of his Evange-
lical Demonstration, Eusebius remarks, with great
nicety, the delicacy of two of the evangelists in
their manner of noticing any circumstance which
regarded themselves ; and of Mark, as writing un-
der 'Peter's direction, in the circumstances which
regarded him. The illustration of this remark
leads him to bring together long quotations from
each ef the evangelists ; and the whole passage is
a proof, that Eusebius, and the Christians of those
days, not only read the Gospels, but studied them
with attention and exactness. In a passage of his
Ecclesiastical History, he treats, in form, and at
large, of the occasions of writing the four Gospels,
and of the. order in which they were written.
The title of the chapter is, " Of the Order of the
Gospels ;" and it begins thus : " Let us observe
the writings of this apostle John, which are not
contradicted by any; and, first of all, must be
mentioned, as acknowledged by all, the Gospel
according to him, well known to all the churches
under heaven ; and that it has been justly placed
by the ancients the fourth in order, and after the
other three, may be made evident in this man-
ner." Eusebius then proceeds to show that John
wrote the last of the four, and that his Gospel was
intended to supply the omissions of the others;
especially in the part of our Lord's ministry,
which took place before the imprisonment of John
the Baptist. He observes, " that the apostles of
Christ were not studious of the ornaments of com-
position, nor indeed forward to write at all, being
wholly occupied with their ministry."
This learned author makes no use at all of
Christian writings, forged with the names of
Christ's apostles, or their companions.
We close this branch of our evidence here, be-
cause, after Eusebius, there is no room for any
question upon the subject ; the works of Christian
writers being as full of texts of Scripture, and of
references to Scripture, as the discourses of modern
divines. Future testimonies to the books of Scrip-
ture could only prove that they never lost their
character or authority.
SECTION II.
When the Scriptures are quoted, or alluded to,
they are quoted with peculiar respect, as books
* Lardner, vol. viii. p. 33.
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
805
sui generis ; as possessing an authority irh^-fi
belonged to no other books, and as conclusive,
in all questions and~ controversies amongst
Christians. ~ ,
BESIDE the general strain of reference and quo-
tation, which uniformly and strongly indicates
this distinction, the following may be regarded as
specific testimonies :
I. Theophilus,* bishop of Antioch, the sixth in
succession from the apostles, and who -flourished
little more than a century alter the books of the
New Testament were written, having occasion to
quote one of our Gospels, writes thus: ' These
things the Ht>ly Scriptures teach us, ;ind all who
were moved by the Holy Spirit, among whom
John says, In tly l>eginning was the Word, and
the Word was with God. J) Again : " Concerning
the righteousness which the. law teaches, the like
things are to IHJ found in the Prophets and the
GiitijjL'l*. U-caiiM- that aJl.heing inspired, spoke by
one and the same Spirit qf God. : 't No words can
testify more strongly than these do, the hinli and
peculiar respect in which these books were holden.
II. A writer against Artemon.J who mav be
supposed to come about one hundred and liity-
eight years alter the publication of the Scripture,
in a passage quoted by Kuscbius. uses these ex-
pressions : ' Possibly what they (our adversaries)
say. might ha\e been credited, if first of alt the
Divine Scriptures did not contradict them ; and
then the writings of certain brethren more ancient
than the times of Victor." The bnKhn
tioned by name, are Justin. Miltiades, Tatian.
Clement, IrenunK Alelito, with a general appeal
to many more not named. This passage proves,
first, that there was at that time a collection called
Jtiriur. X-T//J/U/V.V ; secondly, that these Scrip-
tures were esteemed of higher authority than the
writings of the most early and celebrated Chris-
tians.
III. In a piece ascribed to Hippolytue, who
lived near the same time, the author prole -
giving his correspondent instruction in the things
about which he inquires, " to draw out of the sa-
ered fountain, and to set before film from the Sa-
cred Scriptures, what may afford him satisfaction."
He then quotes immediately Paul's epistles to
Timothy, and afterwards many books of the .New
Testament, This preface to the quotations car-
ries in it a marked distinction between the Scrip-
tures and other books.
IV. " Our assertions and discourses," saith
Origen,ll " are unworthy of credit ; we must re-
ceive the Scriptures as wVlicsses." After treat-
ing of the duty of prayer, he, proceeds with his
argument thus: "What we ha\e said, may be
proved from the Divine Scriptures." In his books
au;i i ust Celsus, we find this passage : ' That our
jeligion teaches us to seek after wisdom, shall be
shown, both out of the ancient Jewish Scriptures,
"which we also use, and out of those written since
Jesus, which are believed in the churches te/B
divine." These expressions afibrd abundant evi
dence of the peculiar and exclusive authority
which the Scriptures possessed.
V. Cyprian, bishop of Carthage,5T whose age
* Lardner, Cred. part ii. vol. i. p. 429.
f Ib. vol. i. p. 448. I Ib. vol. iii. p. 40.
$ Ib. vol. iii. p. 112. fib. vol. iii. p. 2d7 239.
V Ib. vol. iv. p. 840.
lies close to that ofOrigen, earnestly exhorts Chris-
tian teachers, in all doubtful cases, " to go back to
thv fountain; and if the truth has in any case
ijeen shakeji, to recur to the Gospels and apostolic
writings.'' The precepts of the Gospel," says he
in another place, "are nothing less than authori-
tative divine lessons, the foundations of our hope,
the supports of our faith, the guides of our way,
the safeguards of our course to heaven."
VIj Novatus,* a. Roman, contemporary with
Cyprian, appeals to the Scriptures, as the authori-
ty by which all errors were to be repelled, and
lisputes decided. ' That Christ is not only man,
but God also, is proved by- the sacred authority of
the Divine Writings/' r ' The Divine Scripture
easily detects and confutes the frauds of,hereties."
It is not by the fault of the heavenly Scrip-
tures, which never deceive." Stronger assertions
than these could not be used.
VII. At the-distance of twenty years from the
writer last cited, Antplius,t a learned Alexan-
drian, and bishop of Laodicea, speaking of the
rule fdr keeping Easter, a question at that day
agitated with- much earnestness, says of those
whom he opposed, " They can by no means prove
their point by the authority of the Divine Scrip-
ture."
VIII. The Arians, who sprung up alx>ut fifty
ifter this, argued strenuously against the
use of the words consubstantial and essence, and
like phrases; ,"beca use they were not in Scrip-
ture. 't And in the same strain one of their ad-
vocates opens a conference with Augustine, after
the following manner: "If you say what is rea-
sonable, I must submit. If you allege any thing
frojn the Divine Scriptures, \yjiicli are common to
both, I must hear. But unscnptural expressions
(quft extra Scripturam sunt) deserve no regard."
Athanasius, the great antagonist of Ananism,
afler having enumerated the books of the Old and
.New TestauH -ut. adds, " These are the fountain
of salvation, that he who thirsts may be satisfied
with the oracles contained in them. In these
alone the doctrine of salvation is proclaimed. Let
no rnan add to them or take any thing fronj them."
IX. Cyril, bishop of Jerusalem,!! who wrote
about twenty ye<jrs alter the appearance of Arian-
ism. uses these remarkable words: " Concerning
the divine and holy mysteries of faith, not the
least article oughl to be delivered without the. Di-
vine Scriptures." We are assured that Cyril's
Scriptures were the same as ours, for he hus left
us a catalogue of the books included under that
name.
X. Epiphanius,tf twenty years after Cyril,
challenges the Arians, and the followers of i )ri-
gen, " to produce any passage of the Old and New
Testament, favouring their sentiments."
XI. Poebadius, a Gallic bishop, who lived about
thirty years after, ther council of Nice, testifies,
that "the bishops of that council first consulted
the sacred volumes, and then declared their faith."**
-XII. Basil, bishop of Oaesarea, "in 6appadocia,
contemporary with Epfphanfus, says, " that hear-
ers instructed in the Scriptures ought to examine
what is said by their teachers, and to embrace
* Lardner, Cretl. vol. v. p. 102.
t Ib. p. 146. J Ib. vol. vii. p. 283, 284,
Ib. vol. xii. p. 182. || Ib. vol. viii. p. 276.
IF Ib. vol. v iii. p. 314. ** Ib. vol. ix. p. 52.
306
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
what is agreeable to the Scriptures, and to reject
what is otherwise."*
XIII. Ephraim, the Syrian, a celebrated writer
of the same times, bears this conclusive testimony
to the proposition which forms the subject of our
present chapter : " The truth written in the Sa,-
cxed Volume of the Gospel, is a perfect rule'. No-
thing can be taken from it nor added to it, without
great guilt."t
XI V. If we" add Jerome to. these, it is only for
the evidence which he alfords of the judgment 6f
preceding ages. Jerome observes, concerning the
quotations of ancient Christian writers, that is, of
writers who were ancient in the year 400, that
they made a distinction between books ; some they
quoted as of authority, arid others not : which ob-
servation relates to the books of Scripture, com-
pared with other writings, apocryphal or heathen.?
SECTION III. ;
The Scriptures were in very early times collected
into a distinct volume.
IGNATIUS, who was bishop of Antioch within
forty years after the Ascension, and who had
lived "and conversed with the apostles, speaks of
the Gospel and of the apostles in terms which
render it very probable that he meant by the Gos.- '
pel, the book or volume of the Gospels, and by
the Apostles, the book or volume of their Epistles.
His words in one place are, "Fleeing to the
Gospel as the flesh of Jesus, and to the apostles as
the presbytery of the church ;" that is, as Le Clerc
interprets them, " in order to understand the. will
of God, he fled to the Gospels, which he believed
no less than if Christ in the flesh had been speak-
ing to him ; and to the writings ' of the apostles,
whom he esteemed as the presbytery of the whole
Christian church." It must be observed, that
about eighty years after this, we have direct proof
in the writings, of Clement of Alexandria, li that
these two names', " Gospel," and " Apostles,"
were the tiames by which the writings of the New
Testament, and the division of tkese .writings,
were usually expressed.
Another passage from Ignatius is the following:
" But the Gospel has somewhat in it more ex-
cellent, the appearance of our Lord Jqsus Christ,
his passion and resurrecfion."1T
And a third : " Ye t ought to hearken to the Pro-
phets, but especially "to the Gospel, i which the
passion has been manifested to us, and the resur-
rection perfected." In this last passage, the Pro-
phets and the Gospel ate put in. conjunction ; and
as Ignatius undoubtedly; meant by the Prophets a
collection of writings, it is probable that he meant
the same by the Gospel, the two terms standing
irLevident parallelism with each other.
This interpretation of .the word "Gospel," in
the passages above quoted from Ignatius, is con-
firmed by a piece of nearly equal antiquity, the
relation of the martyrdom of Polycarp by the
church of Smyrna. " Air things," say they,
"that went before, were done, that the Lord
might show us a martyrdom according to the Gos-
* Lardner, Cred. vol. ix. p. 124.
t Ib. vol. ix. p. 202. J Ib. vol. x. p. 123, 124.
Ib. part ii. vol. i. p. 180. \ Ib. vol. ii. p. 516.
IT Ib. vol. ii. p. 182.
pel, for he expected to be delivered np as the
Lord also did."* And in another place, " We do
not commend those who ofler themselves, foras-
much as the Gospel teaches us no such thing."t
In both these places, what is called the Gospels,
seems to be the history of Jsus Christ, and of
his doctrine,
If this be the true sense of the passages, they
are not only evidences of our propositions, but
strong and very ancient proofs, of the high esteem
irt which the books of the New Testament were
holden.
II. Eusebius relates, that jGluadratus and some
others, who were the immediate successors of the
apostles, travelling abroad to preach Christ, car-
ried the Gospels with them, and delivered them
to their convert's. The words of Eusebius are :
" Then travelling abroad, they performed the work
of evangelists, being ambitious to preach Christ,
and deliver the Scripture of the divine Go8pels."i
Eusebius had before him the writings both of
Gluadratus himself, and of many others of that
age, which are now lost. It is reasonable, there-
fore, to believe, that he had good grounds for his
assertion. What is thus recorded of the Gospels,
took place within sixty, or, at the most, seventy
years after they were published : and it is evident
that they must, before this time (and, it is proba-
ble, long before this time,) have been in general
use, and in high esteem in -the churches planted
by the apostles, inasmuch as they were now, we
find, collected into a volume ; and the immediate
successors of th apostles, they who preached the
religion of Christ to those who had not already
heard it, carried the volume with them, and de-
livered it to their converts.
III. Irenaeus, in the year 178, puts the evan-
gelic and aptfstolic writings in connexion with the
Law and the Prophets, manifest Iv intending by
fhe one a' code or collection of Christian sacred
writings, as the other expressed the code or col-
' lection of Jewish sacred writings.' And,
IV. Melito, at this time bishop of Sardis, writ-
ing to one Onesimus, tells his correspondent, li
that he bad procured an accurate account of the
books of the Old Testament. The occurrence, in
this passage, of the term Old Testament, has
been brought to prove, and it certainly does prove,
that there was then 'a volume or collection of
writings, called the New Testament. -
V. In the time of Clement of Alexandria, about
fifteen years after the last-quoted testimony, it is
apparent that the Christian Scriptures were di-
vided into two parts, under the general titles of the
Gospels and Apostles^ and that both these were
regarded as of the highest authority. One, out of
many .expressions of Clement, alluding to this
distribution, is the following : " There is a con-
sent and harmony between the Law and the Pro-
phets, the Apostles and the Gospel. "IT
VI. The same division, "Prophets, Gospels,
and Apostles," appears in Tertullian,** the con-
temporary of Clement. The collection of the
Gospels 'is likewise called by this writer the
"Evangelic instrument ;"tf the whole volume, the
" New Testament ;" and the two parts, the " Gos-
pels and Apostles."tt
La
Ib. vol. i. p. 383^
Ib. vol. ii. p. 516.
ft Ib. p. 574.
27i at. Ep. c. x 4. t Ib. c. iv.
..arclner, Cred. part ii. vol. i. p. 236.
|| Ib. p. 331.
** Ib.\>. 631.
Jt Ib. p. 632.
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
307
VII. From many writers also of the third cen
tury, and especially from Cyprian, 1 who lived in
the middle of it, it is collected that the Christian
Scriptures were divided into two codes, or volumes
one called the ""Gospels or Scriptures of the Lord,'
the other, the " Apostles, or Epistles of the Apos-
tles."*
VIII. Eusebius, as we have already seen, takes
some pains to show, that the Gospel of Saint John
had been justly placed by the ancients " the fourth
in order, and after the other three.t Ti-
the terms of his proposition : and the very introduc-
tion of such an argument proves incontesfably,
that the four Gospels had been collected into a
volume, to the exclusion of every other ; that their
order in the volume hod been adjusted with much
consideration; and that this had l>een done by
those who were called ancients in the time of Eu-
sebius.
In the Diocletian persecution, in the year 303,
the Scriptures were sought out and burnt: $
many sullered death rather than deliver them up;
and those who betrayed' them to the persecutors,
were accounted as la^>se and apostate. On the
other hand, Constantine, after his conversion,
gave directions for multiplying copies of the Di-
vine Oracles, and for magnificently adorning them
at the expense of the imperial treasury. vVhat
the Christians of that age so richly embellished
in their prosperity, and, which is ;uore, so tena-
ciously preserved under persecution, was the very
volume of the New Testament which we now
read.
SECTION IV.
Our present Sacred Writings -were soon distin-
guished by appropriate names and titles of
respect.
POLYCARP. " I trust that ye are well exercised
in the Holy Script urcs ; as in these Scriptures
it is said, Be ye angry and fin not, and let not the
sun go down on your wrath." I! This passage is
extremely important ; l>ecausp it proves that, in
the time of Polycarp, who had lived with the
apostles, there were Christian writings distin-
guished by the name of " Holy Scriptures," or Sa-
cred Writings. Moreover, the text quoted by
Polycarp is a text found in the collection 'at this
day. What also the same Polycarp hath else-
where quoted in the same manner, may be con-
sidered as proved to belong to the collection ; and
this comprehends Saint Matthew's, and, probably,
Saint Luke's Gospel, the Acts of the Apostles,
ten epistles of Paul, the First Epistle of Peter,
and the First of John.TT In another place, Poly-
carp has these words: "Whoever perverts the
Oracles of the Lord to his own lusts, and says
there is neither resurrection nor judgment, he is
the first-born of Satan." * * It does not appear
what else Polycarp could mean by the " Oracles
of the Lord," but those same " Holy Scriptures,"
or Sacred Writings, of which he had spoken
before.
II. Justin Martyr, whose apology was written*
about thirty years after Polycarp ? s epistle, ex-.
* Lardner, vol. iv. p. 846. f Ib. vol. viii. p. 90.
t Ib. vol. vii. p. 214, fee. Ib. p. 432.
U Ib. vol. i. p. 203. TT Ib. vol. i. p. 223.
** Ib. p. 222.
pressly cites some of our present histories under
the title of GOSPEL, and that not as a name by
him first ascribed to them, but as the name by
which they were generally known in hjis time.
His words are these: "For the apostles in the
memoirs composed by them ; which are called
Gospels, have thus, delivered it, that Jesus com-
manded them to take bread, and give thanks." *
There exists" no doubt, but that, by the memoirs
above mentioned, Justin meant our present histo-
rical Scriptures ; for throughout his works, he
quotes these, and no others.
III. Dionysius, bishop of Corinth, who came
thirty years after Justin, in a passage preserved in
Eusebius,, (for his works are lost,) speaks of" the
Scriptures of the Lord."t
IV. And at the same time, or very nearly so,
by Irenaeus, bishop of Lyons .in France,* they
are called " Divine Scriptures/' " Divine Ora-
cles," '" Scriptures of the Lord," " Evangelic
and Apostolic Writings." The quotations .of
Irenxus prove decidedly, that our present Gos-
pels, and these alone, together with the Acts of
the Apdtles, were the historical books compre-
hended by him under these appellations. -
V. Saint Matthew.'s Gospel is quoted by The-
ophilus, bishop of Ajitioch, contemporary with
Irenaeus, under the title of the " Evangelic
Voice ;" II and the copious works of Clement of
Alexandria, published within fifteen years of the
same time, ascribed to the books of the New Tes-
tament the various titles of " Sacred Books,"
" Divine Scriptures," " Divinely inspired Scrip-
tures/,'" Scriptures of the Lord,"" the true
vlical Canon." IT .
VL Tertulliarr, who. joins on with Clement,
beside adopting most of the names and epithets
above noticed, calls the Gospels "our Dige*tia,"
in allusion, as it should seem, to some collection of
Roman laws then extant.**
VII. By Origen; who came thirty years after
Tertullian, the same, and other no less .strong
titk-s, are applied to the Christian Scriptures : ano^
in addition thereunto, tins writer frequently
speaks of the " Old an'd New Testament,"" the
Ancient and New Scriptures," " the Ancient
and New" Oracles." ft
VIII. In Cyprian, who was not twenty years
ater, they are " Books of the Spirit," " Divine.
Fountains, " " Fountains of the Divine Ful-
ess."
,The expressions we have thus quoted, are
evidences of high and peculiar respect. They
all occur within two centuries from the publi-
cation of the books. Some of them commence
with the companions of the apostles ; and they
ncrease in number and variety, through a series
of writers touching one upon another, and de-
duced from the first age of the religion.
SECTION V;
Our Scriptures were publicly read and expound-
ed in the religious assemblies of the early
Christians..
* Lardner, Cred. vol. i. p. 271. - t !*> P- 298-
t The reader will observe the remoteness of these
wo writers in country and situation.
& Lardner, vol. i. p. 343, &.C. || Ib. p. 427.
IT Ib. vol. ii. p. 515. * * Ib. p. 630.
1 1 Ib. vol. iii. p. 230. {J Ib. vol. iv. p. 844.
308
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
JUSTIN MARTYR, who wrote in the year 140
which was seventy or eighty years after some
and less, probably, after others of" the Gosffcb
were published, giving, in hisiirst apology, an ac-
count, to the entperor, of the Christian wprship.
has this remarkable passage :
" The Memoirs^ ~of the 4postle$, or the Writ-
ings of the Prophets, are read according as the
time allows rand, when tiro reader has ended, the
president makes a discourse, exhorting to the imi-
tation of so excellent things," *
A few short observations will show the value
of this testimony.
1. The " Memoirs of- the Apostles'," Justin in
another place expressly tells us, are what are call-
ed " Gospels :'? and that they were the Gospels
which we now tls<j, is made' certain by Justin's
numerous quotations of them, and his silence
about any others.
2. Justin describes the general usage of the
Christian church.
3. Justin does not speak of it as recent or new-
ly instituted, but in the terms in whiclfmen speak
of established customs.
II. Tertullian, who followed "Justin at the'dis-
tance of about fifty years, in his account of the
religious assemblies of Christians" as they were
conducted in his time, says?' " We come together
to recollect the Divine Scriptures ; we nourish
our faith; raise our hope, conh'rm our trust, by the
Sacred Word."*
III. Eusebius records of Origen, and cites for
his authority the letters of bishops contemporary
with Origen, that, when he went. into Palestine
about the year 216, which wa only sixteen years
after the date of Tertullian's testimony, he was
desired by the bishops of that "country to discourse
and expound the .Scriptures publicly in the church,
though Tie was not yet oTikined a presbyter, i
This anecdote recognises the usage, not only- of
reading, but pf expounding the Scriptures ; and
both as subsisting in full force. Origen also him-
self bears witness to the same practice : " This,"
says he, " we do, when the Scriptures are read
in the church, and when. thenliscourse for expli-
cation is delivered to the people." And what is
a still more ample-testimony, many homilies of his
ttpon th6 Scriptures of the New Testament, de-
livered T>y him in the assemblies of the church, are
utill extant.
IV. Cyprian, whose age was not twenty years
lower than that of Origen, gives his peopje an ac-
<teunt of having ordained two persons, who were
before confessors,. to be readers;, and what they
were to read, appears by the reason which he
gives for his choice : " Nothing," says Cyprian,
" can be more fit, than" that he, whb has made a
glorious confession of the Lord, should xead pub-
licly in the church ; that he who. has shown him-
self willing to die a martyr, should read the Gospel
oj Christ., by^ which martyrs are made." Ij
V. Intimations of the same custom may be traced
in a great ./number of writers in the beginning
and throughout the whole of the fourth century.
Of these testimonies I will only use one, as being,
of itself, express and full. Augustine, who ap-
peared near the (Jdnclusion of the century, displays
the benefit of the Christian religion on this very ac-
* Lardner, Crcd. vol. i. p. 273.
t Ib. vol. ii. p. 028. J Tb. vol. iii. p. 68.
Ib. p. 362. 5 Ib. vol. iv. p. 842.
count, the public reading of the Scriptures in the
churches, " where," says he, " is a confluence of
all sorts of people of both sexes ; and when
hear how they ought to live well in this WorlJ,
that they may deserve to live happily and eter-
nally in another." And this custom he derltirrs
to be universal : " The canonical books of Sr.rij>-
ture being read every where, thte miracles then iu
recorded are well known to all people." *
It'does not appear that any books, other than
our present Scriptures, were thus publicly rend,
except that the epistle of Clement was rend in the.
church of Corinth, to which it had been addressed,
and in some others; and that the Shepherd of
Hennas was read in many churches. Nor does
it'subtract much from the value of the argument,
.that these two writings partly come within it,
because we allow them to be the genuine writ-
ings of apostolical men. There is not the least
evidence, that any other Gospel, than the four
which we receive, was- ever admitted to this dis-
tinction.
SECTION VI.
Commentaries were anciently written upon the
Scriptures ; harmonies formed out of them ;
different copies carefully collated ; and versions
made of them into different languages.
No greater proof can be given of the esteem in
which these books were holden by the ancient
Christians, or of the sense then entertained of then-
value and importance, than the industry bestowed
upon them. And it ought to be observed, that
the value and importance .of these books consisted
entirely in their genuineness and truth. There
was nothing in them, as works of taste, or as com-
positions, which could have induced any one to
have written a note upon them. Moreover it
shows .that they were even then considered as
ancient books. Men do not write comments
upon publications of their own times : therefore
the' testimonies cited under this head, afford an
evidence which carries up the evangelic writings
much beyond the age of the testimonies them-
selves, and to that of their reputed authors.
I. Tatian, a follower of Justin Martyr, and
who flourished about the year 170, composed a
harmony, or collation of the Gospels, which, he
called Diatessaron, Of the four.t The title, as
well as the work, is remarkable ; because it shows
that then, as now, there were four, and only lour,
Gospels in general use with Christians. And this
was little more than a hundred years after the
publication of some of them.
II. Pantsenus, of the Alexandrian school, a man
of great reputation and learning, who came twen-
ty years after Tatian, wrote many commentaries
npon the Holy Scriptures, which, as Jerome testi-
fies f were extant in his time.t
III. Clement of Alexandria wrote short ex r
plications of many books of the Old. and New
Testament.!
IV. Tertullian appeals, from the authority of a
!ater version, then in use, to the authentic Greek. II
V. An anonymous author, quoted by Eusebius,
* Lardner, Cred. vol. x. p. 276, et sea.
t Ib. vol. i. p. 307. 1 Ib. p. 455.
Ib. vol. ii. p. 462. ft Ib. p. 638.
EVIDENCES OP CHRISTIANITY.
309
and who appears to have written about the' year
21'2, appeals to the ancient- copies of the Scrip-
tures, in refutation of some corrupt readings al-
leged by the followers of Artemon.*
VI. The same Eusebius. mentioning by name
several writers of the church wlio lived at this
time, and concerning whom he says, " There stall
remain divers monuments of the laudable industry
of those ancient and ecclesiastical men" (i. e. of
Christian writers who were considered as ancient
in the year 30<U adds. " There are, besi.!
tises of many otners, whose .names we have not
been able to leam, orthodox and ecclesiastical
men, as the interpretations of (he Divine Scrip-
tures given by each of them show."t
VII. The "last live testimonies may lie referred
to the ypar 5200 ; immediately alter which, a period
of thirty years gives us.
Julius Afrit-anus, who wrote an epistle upon
the apparent difference in the genealogies in Mat-
thew and Luke, whk'h he endeavours to reconcile
by the distinction of natural and legal descent,
and conducts his hypothesis with great industry
through the whole scries of generations.*
Ammonius, a learned Alexandrian, who com-
posed, as Tatian had done, a harmony of the four
Gospels; which proves, as Tatian's work did. that.
there were four Gospels, and no more, at this time
in use in the church. It affords also an instance
of the /.eal of Christians for those writings, and of
their solicitude about them.?
And, above both these, ( >rigen,who wrote com-
mentaries, or homilies, upon most of the books
included in the New Testament, and upon no
other hooks hut these. In particular, he wrote
upon Saint John's Gospel, very largely upon Saint
Matthew's, and commentaries, or homilies, upon
the Acts of the Apostl.
VIII. In addition to these, the third century
likewise contains
Dionysius of Alexandria, a very learnod man,
who compared, with great accuracy, the accounts
in the four Gospels of the tiiue of Christ's resur-
rection, adding a reflection which showed his
opinion of their authority: " Let us not think that
the evangelists disagree, or contradict each other,
although there be some small difference ; but let
us honestly and faithfully endeavour to reconcile
what we read. ''If
Victorin, bishop of Pettaw, in Germany, who
wrote comments upon Saint Matthew's Gos-
pel.**
Lucian, a presbyter of Antioch'; and Hesy-
chius, an Egyptian bishop, who put forth editions
of the New Testament.
IX. The fourth-century supplies a catalogued
of fourteen writers, who expended their labours
upon the books of the New Testament, and whose
works or names are come down to our times ;
amongst which number it may be sufficient, for
the purpose of showing the sentiments and studies
* Lardner, Cred. vol. iii. p. 46, t Ib. vol. ii. p. 551.
1 Ib. vol. iii. p. 170.
Ib. vol. iii. p. 122.
II Ib. vol. iii. p. 352. 19
2. 202. 246.
tT Ib. vol. iv. p. 1H6.
tt Eusebius, A. D.
Juvencus, Spain,
315
330
** Ib. p. 195.
Gregory, Nyssen, - 371
Didimusof Alex, - 370
Theodore, Thrace,
Hilary, Poictiers,
:m
354
Ambrose of Milan, 374
Diodore of Tarsus, 378
Fortunatu.s,
Apollinarius of Lao-
340
Gaudent of Brescia, 387
TfteodoreofCilicia 394
dicea,
362
Jerome *i f K>
Damasus, Rome,
366
Chrysostom, - - 398
of learned Christians of that age, to notice the
followin
Eusebius
wrote e
bius, in the very beginning of the century,
_____ xpressly upon the discrepancies observable
in the Gospels, and likewise a treatise, in which
he pointed out what things are related by four,
what by three, what by two, and what by one
evangelist.* This author- also testifies what is
certainly a material piece of evidence, " that the
writings of the apostles had obtained such on es-
teem. as to be translated into every language both
of Greeks an*3 Barbarians, and to be diligently
studied by all nations."t This testimony wa's
given al>out the year 300; bow long 'before that
date these translations were made, does not appear.
Dama.sus. bishop of Rome, corresponded with
Saint Jerome upon the exposition of difficult
texts of Scripture; and, in a letter still remaining,
de.Mivs Jerome to give him a clear explanation of
the word Hosanna, found in the New Testament ;
" he (Damasusj having met with very different
interpretations of it i$ the Greek and Latin com-
mentaries of Catholic writers "which he had read."*
This last clause shews the number and variety of
commentaries then extant.
Gregory of Nyssen, at one time, appeals to the
most exact conies -of Saint Mark's Gospel; at
another time, compares together, and proposes to
reconcile, the several accounts of the resurrection
given by the four^ETangelists ; wjiich limitation
pn>\es. that there were no other histories of Christ
deemed authentic beside these, or included in the
same character with these. This writer observes,
acutely enough, that the disposition of the clothes
in the sepulchre, the napkin that was about our
Saviour's head, not lying with the linen clothes.,
but wrapped together in a place by itself, did not
IN -speak the terror and hurry of thieves, and there-
fore refutes the story o_the body being stolen.
Ambrose, bishop of Milan, remarked various
readings in the Latin copies of the New Testa-
ment, and appeals to the original Greek ;
And Jerome, towards the conclusion of this
century, put forth an .edition of . the New Testa-
ment in Latin, corrected, at least aato the Goapels,
by Greek copies, <( and those (he says) ancient."
Lastly, Cnrysostom> it is well known, deliver-
ed and published a great many homilies, or ser-
mons, upon the Gospels and the Acts of the
Apostles.
It is^needless to bring down this article lower :
but it is of importance to add, that there is nd ex,-
ample of Christian writers of the firs ; t three centu-
ries composing comments upon any other books
than those which are found in the JJJew Testa-
ment, except the single one of Clement of Alex-
andria/commenting upon a book called the Reve-
lation of Peter.
Of the ancient' versions of the New Testament,
one of the most- valuable is the Syriac. Syriac
was the language of Palestine when Christianity
was there first established. And although the
books of Scripture were written in Greek, for the
purpose of a more extended circulation than within
the precincts of Judea, yet it is probable that they
would soon be translated into the vulgar language
of the country where the religion first prevailed.
Accordingly, a Syriac translation is now extant,
gll along, so far as it appears, used by the inhabi-
tants of Syria, bearing many internal marks of
* Lardner, Cred. vol. viii. p. 46.
3 Ib. vol. ix. p. 108.
t Ib. P- 201.
Ib. p. 163
310
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
high antiquity, supported in its pretensions by the
uniform traditions of the past, and .confirmed -by
the discovery of many very ancient manuscript.-,
in the libraries of Europe. It is about -200 years
since a bishop of Antioch -sent a. copy of this
translation into Europe, to be printed ; and this
seems to be the first time that the translation be-
came generally knoyvn to these.parts of the world
The bishop of Antioch's Testament was founc
to contain all our books, except the second epistle
of Peter, the second and third of John, and the
Revelation; which books, however, have since
been discovered in that language in some ancient
manuscripts of Europe. But in this collection, no
other book, beside what is in ours", appears ever to
have had a place. And, which is very worthy
of observation, the text, though preserved in a re-
mote country, and without communication with
ours, differs from ours very little, and in nothing
that is important.*
SECTION VII.
Our Scriptures were received by ancient Chris-
tiana of different sects and persuasions, by
many Heretics as well as Catholics, and were
usually appealed to by both sides 'in the con-
troversies which arose in those days.
THE three most ancient topics of controversy
amongst Christians, were, the authority of the
Jewish constitution^ the origin of evil, and the
nature of Christ. Upon the first of thes.e we find,
in very early times, one class of heretics rejecting
the Old Testament entirely ; another contending
for the obligation of its law, in all its" parts,
throughout its whole extent, and over every one
who sought acceptance with .God. Upon the two
latter subjects, a natural, perhaps, and venial, but
a fruitless, eager, and impatient curiosity, prompt-
ed by the philosophy and by the scholastic habits
of the age, which carried men much into bold hy-
potheses and conjectural solutions, raised, amongst
some who professed Christianity, very wild and
unfounded opinions. I think there is no reason
to believe that the number of these bore any consi-
derable proportion to the body of the Christian
church ; and amidst the disputes which such
opinions necessarily occasioned, it is a great satis-
faction to perceive, what, in a vast plurality of in-
stances, we do perceive, all sides recurring to the
same Scriptures.
1 1. Basilides lived near the age of the apostles,
about the year 120, or, perhaps, sooner.t He re-
jected the Jewish institution, not as spurious, but
as proceeding from a bfeing inferior to the true
God ; and in other respects advanced a scheme of
theology widely different frpm the general doctrine
of the Christian church, and which, as it gained
over some disciples, was warmly opposed by
Christian writers of the second and4hird century.
In these writings, there* is positive evidence that
Basilides received the Gospel of Mntthew ; and
there is no sufficient proof that he rejected any of^
the other three : on the contrary, it appears that
he wrote a commentary upon the Gospel, so co-
pious as to l)e divided into twenty-four books.*
II. The Valentinians appeared about the same
time.t Their heresy consisted in certain notions
concerning angelic natures, which can hardly be
rendered intelligible to a jnodern reader. They
seem, however, to have acquired as much import-
ance as any of the separatists of that early age.
Of this sect, IrensDus, who wrote, A. D. 172, ex-
pressly records that they endeavoured to fetch ar-
guments for their opinions from the evangelic and
apostolic writings, t Heracleon, one of the most
celebrated of the sect, and who lived probably so
early as the year 125, wrote commentaries upon
Luke and John.l Some observations. also of his
upon Matthew are preserved by Origen.ll Nor is
there any reason to doubt that he received the
whole New Testament.
III.. The Carpocratians were also an early he-
resy, little, if at all, later than the two praoedu>a.1T
Some of their opinions resembled what we at this
day mean by Socinianism. With respect to the
Scriptures, they are specifically charged, by Irc-
nams and by Epiphanius, with endeavouring to
pervert a passage in Matthew, which amounts to
a positive proof that they received that Gospel.**
Negatively, they are not accused, by their adver-
saries, of rejecting any part of the New Testa-
ment.
IV. The Sethians, A. D. 150 ;tt theMonta-
nists, A. D. 156 ; the Marcosians, A. D. lfi();
Hermogenes, A. D. 180 ;llll Praxias, A. D. 19(3 jITIT
Artemon, A. D. 200;*** Theodotus, A. D. 200;
all included under the denomination of heretics,
and all engaged in controversies with Catholic
Christians, received the Scriptures of the New
Testament-.
V. Tatian, who lived in the year 179, went
nto many extravagant opinions, was the founder
of a sect called Encratites, and was deeply in-
volved in disputes with the Christians of that age ;
yet Tatian so received the four Gospels, as to
compose a harmony from them.
VI. From a writer, quoted by Eusebius, of
about the year 300, it is apparent that they who at
;hat time contended for the mere humanity of
Christ, argued from the Scriptures; for they are
accused by this writer, of making alterations in
heir copies, in order to favour their opinions.ttt
VII. Origen's sentiments excited great contro-
versies, the bishops of Rome and Alexandria,
and many others, condemning, the bishqps of the
Sast espousing them ; yet there is not the smallest
question, but that both the advocates and adversa-
ries of these opinions acknowledged the same au-
;hority of Scripture. In his time, which the reader
vill remember was about one hundred and fifty
years after the Scriptures were published, many
dissensions subsisted amongst Christians, with
which they were reproached by Celsus ; yet Ori-
*en, who has recorded this accusation without
contradicting it, nevertheless testifies, that the four
Gospels were received without dispute, by the
whole church of God under heaven, it*
* Jones on the Canon, vol. i. c. 14.
tThe materials of the former part of this section are
taken from Dr. Lardner's History of the Heretics of the
two first Centuries, published since his death, with ad-
ditions, by the Rev. Mr. Hogg, of Exeter, a nil inserted
into the ninth volume of his works, of the edition of
1778. i Lardner, vol. ix. ed. 1788, p. 271.
* Lardner, vol. ix. ed. 178?, p. 305, 306.
tlb. p. 350, 351. J Ib. vol. i. p. 383.
Ib. vol. ix. ed. 1788, p. 352. || Ib. p. 353.
irili. 301). ** Ib. 318. ft Ib. 455.
it Ib. 482. Ib. 348. ||]| Ib. 473.
1TTT Ib. 433. ***Ib. 466. tit Ib. vol. iii. p. 46.
HI Ib. vol. iv. p. 642.
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
311
VIII. Paul of Samosata, about thirty years after
Origen, so distinguished himself in the coritrover
sy concerning the nature of (Christ; as to be the
subject of two councils or synods, assembled al
Antioch upon his opinions. 3Tet he is not charged
by his adversaries with rejecting any book of the
New Testament. On the contrary,, Epiphanius
who wrote a history of heretics ;i 'hundred years
afterward, says, that Paul ejideav ourcd to support
his dot-trine by texts of .Scripture. And Vincen-
tius Lirinensis, A. D. 431, speaking of Paul and
other heretics of the. same age, has these words
" Here, perhaps, some one may ask, whether he-
retics also urge the testimony of Scripture. They
urge it indeed, explicitly and- vehemently; for you
may see them Hying through every book of the
sacred law."*
IX. A controversy at the same time existed
with the Noetians or Sabellians, who seem to
have gone into the opposite extreme from that of
Paul of Samosata and his followers. Yet, accord-
ing to the express te-tiuionv of Epiphaniugj.Sa-
bellius received all the Scriptures. And with
both sects Catholic writers constantly allege the
Scriptures, and reply to the arguments which
their opponents drew from particular texts.
We ha\e here, therefore, a proof, that parties,
who were the most opposite and irreconcilable to
one another, acknowledged the authority of .Scrip-
ture with equal deference.
X. And as a general testimony to the same
point, may be prodocetf what' was said by one of
the bishops of the council of Carthage, which was
holden a little before this time, " 1 am of opinion
that the blasphemous ami wicked heretics, who
perrcrl the sacred and adorable words of the
.Scriptures, should be execrated. t Undoubtedly
what they perverted they received.
XI. The Millennium,^ Novatiani.m. the baptism
of heretics, the keeping ,,l Master, enua-red also
the attention and divided the opinions of Chris-
tians, at and before that time (and. by the way. it
may be observed, that such disputes! though on
some accounts to be blamed, showed How much
men were in earnest upon the subject); yet evcrv
one appealed tor the grounds of his opinion to
Scripture authority. Dionysius of Alexandria,
who nourished A. I). 'J17. describing a conference
or public disputation with the Millennarians of
Egypt, confesses of them, though their adversarv.
" that they embrace whatever could be made out
by good arguments from the Holy Scriptures.''*
Novatus, A. D. 231, distinguished^ by soine.rigid
sentiments concerning' the reception of those \ho
had lapsed, and the founder of a numerous sect,
in his few remaining works quotes the Gospel
with the same respect as other Christians did;
and concerning his followers, the testimony of
Socrates, who wrote about the year 440, is posi-
tive, viz. "That in the disputes between the Ca-
tholics and them, each side endeavoured to sup-
port itself by the authority of the divine Scrip-
tures."!
XII. The Donatists, who sprung up in the
year 328, used the same Scriptures as we do.
^Produce (saith Augustine) some proof from the
Scriptures, whose authority is common to us both."ll
XIII. It is perfectly notorious that, in the Arian
* Lardner, vol. xi. p. 158. \ Ib. vol. xi. p. 839. '
J Ib. vol. iv. p. 666. Ib. vol. v. p. 105
U Ib. vol. vii. p. 243.
controversy, which arose soon after the year 300,
both sides appealed to the same Scriptures, and
with equal professions of deference and regard.
The Arians, in their council of^ Antioch, A. D.
311, pronounce, that, " if any one, contrary to the
sound doctrine of the Scriptures, say, that the Son
is a creature, as one of the creatures, let him be
an anathema."* They and the Athanasians mu-
tually accuse each other of using unscriptural
phrases ; which was a mutual acknowledgment of
the conclusive authority of Scripture.
XIV. The Priscillianists, A. D. 378,t the Pe-
lagians, A. D. 405,$ received the^ame Scriptures
as w6 do.
XV. The testimony of Chrysostom, who lived
near the year 400, is so positive in affirmation of
the proposition which we maintain, that it may
form a proper conclusion of the argument. "The
general reception of the Gospels is a proof that
their history is true and * consistent ; for, since ths
writings of the Gospels, many heresies have arisen,
holding' opinions contrary to what is contained in
them, who yet received the Gospels either entire
or in part. I am not moved by what may seem
a deduction from Chrysostom's testimony, the
words, " entire or in part ;" for, if all the parts,
which were ever questioned in our Gospels, were
!li\en up. it would not afiect the miraculous ori-
gin of the religion in the smallest degree : e. g.
('erinthus is said by Epiphanius to have re-
ceived the Gospel of Matthew, but not entire.
What the omixsions were, does not appear. TJie
common opinion, that he rejected the first two
chapters, seems to have; beeii a mistakf.il It 18
agreed, however, by all who have given any ac-
count of Cerinthus, that he taught that the HoJy
Ghost (whether he meant by that name a person
or a power) descended upon Jem at his baptism;
that Jesus from this time performed many mira-
cles, and that he appeared after his death. He
must have retained therefore the essential parts
of the history.
( )f all the ancient heretics, the most extraordi-
nary was Marcion.lT One of 'his tenets was the
rejection of the Old Testament, as proceeding
from an inferior and imperfect deity: and in .pur-
suance of this hypothesis he erased from the New,
and that, as it should seem, without entering into
any critical reasons, every passage which recog-
nised the Jewish Scriptures. He spared not a
text which contradicted his opinion. It is reason-
able to believe that Marcion treated books as he
treated texts ; yet this rash and wild controversial-
ist published a recension, or fchastised edition, of
Saint Luke's Gospel, containing the leading facts,
and all which is necessary to authenticate the re-
ligion. This example affords proof, that there
were always some points, and those the main
points, which neither wildness nor rashness, nei-
ther the fury of opposition nor the intemperance
of controversy, would venture to call in question.
There is no reason to believe that Marcion, though
full of resentment against the Catholic Christians,
ever charged them with forging their books. " The
Gospel of Saint Matthew, the Epistle to- the He-
brews, with those of Saint Peter and Saint James,
as wiell as the Old Testament in general/(he said,)
* Lardner, Creel, vol. vii. p. 277.
t Ib. vol. ix. p. 325. t Ib. vol. xi. p. 52.
Ib. vol. x. p. 316. j| Ib. vol. ix. ed. 1788, p. 329.
IT Ib. sect. ii. c. x. Also Michael, vol. i. c. i. sect, xviii.
312
EVIDENCES OP CHRISTIANI
were writing3 not for Christians but for Jews."* i of John; " He has also left one f pintle, of a very
This declaration shows the ground upon which > lew lines; jrnint also a second and a third, for all
Marcion proceeded in bis mutilation of the Serif
tures, viz. his dislike of the passages or the books.
Marcion flourished about the year 130.
Dr. Lardner, in hii general Review, sums up
this head of evfdence in the -following words:
" Noetus, Paul of Samosata, Sabellius, Marcetlus,
Photinus, thelNovatians, Donatists, Manicheans,t
Priscillianists, beside -Artemon, the Audians, the
Arians, and divers others, all received mosfror all the
same books of the New Testament which the Ca-
do not allow them to be genuine." Now let it lie
noted, that Origen, who thus discriminates, and
thus confesses his own doubts, and the doubts
which subsisted jn his time, expressly witnesses
concerning the four Gospels, " that they alone are
received without dispute by the whole church of
God under heaven. "*
III. Dionysius of Alexandria, in the year 247,
doubts concerning the book of Revelation, whe-
ther it was written by Saint John; states the
tholics received; and agreed in a like respect for [ grounds pf his doubt, represents the diversity of
them as written by apostles, or their disciples and
opinion concerning it, iri his own time, and before
lu's time.T >Yet the'same Dionysius uses and col-
lates the four Gospels in a manner which shows
that he entertained not the smallest suspicion of
their authority, and in a manner also which shows
that they, and they alone, were received as au-
thentic histories of Christ.*
IV. But this section may be said to have been
framed on, purpose to introduce to the reader two
remarkable passages extant in Eusebius's Eccle-
siastical History, The first passage opens with
these words : " Let us observe the writings of
the apostle John which a-re uncontradictcd ; and
iirst of all must be mentioned, as acknowledged
of all, the Gospel according to him, well known to
all the' churches under heaven." The author
then proceeds to relate the occasions of writing
the Gospel's, and the reasons for placing Saint
John's the last^ manifestly speaking of all the four
as parallel in their authority, and in the certainty
of their original The second passage is taken
from a chapter, the title of .which ib, "Of the
Scriptures universally acknowledged, and of those
that are not .such." Eusebius begins his enume-
ration "in the following manner: "In the first
place, are to be ranked the sacred four Gospels ;
then the book of the Acts of the Apostles ; after
that are to be reckoned the Epistles of Paul. In
the next place, that called the First Epistle of
John, and the Epistle of Peter, are to be esteemed
authentic. After, this is to be placed, if it be
thought fit, the Revelation of John, about which
we shall observe (he different opinions at proper
time by some of the Romans, this epistle is -not treasons. v Of the controverted, but yet well known
companions."?
. SECTION VIII.
The four Gospels, the Acts of the Apostles, thir-
teen Epistles of Saint Paul, the First Epis-
tle of John, and the First of Peter, were re-
ceived without doubt by those who doubted
concerning the other books which are included
in our present canon.
I STATE this proposition, because, if '.made out,
it shows that the authenticity of their books was
a subjjeet amongst the early Christians of consider-
ation and inquiry; and that, where there was
cause of doubt, they did doubt ; a circumstance
which strengthens very much their testimony to
such books as were received by them with full
acquiescence.
I. Jerome, in his account of Caius, who was
probably a presbyter of Rome, and who flourished
near the year 200, records of him, that, reckoning
up only thirteen epistles of Paul, he says the four-
teenth, which is inscribed to the Hebrews, is not
his : and then Jerome adds, " With the Romans
to this day it is not looked upon as Paul's."' This
agrees in the main with the account given by Eu-
sebius of the same ancient author and his work ;
except that Eusebius delivers his own remark in
more guarded terms': -" And indeed t6 this very
thought to be the apostle's."
. II. Origen, about twenty years after Caius,
quoting the Epistle to /the Hebrews, observes that
some might dispute the authority of that epistle-;
and therefore proceeds to quote to the same point,
as undoubted books pf Scripture, the Gospel of
Saint Matthew, the 'Acts of the Apostles, and"
Paul's First Epistle to the Thessalonians.il 'And
in another place, this author speaks of the Epistle
to the Hebrews thus : " The account come down
to us is various; some saying that Clement, -who
was bishop of. Rome, wrote this epistle ; others,
that it was Luke, the same who wrote the Gospel
and the Acts." Speaking also^ in the same pa/a-
graph, of Peter, " Peter -(says he) has left '-one
epistle, acknowledged ; let it be granted likewise
that he wrote a second, for it is doubted of." And
* I have transcribed this sentence from Michaelis (p.
38,) who has not, however, referred to the authority
upon which he attributes these words to Marcion.
t This must be with an exception, however, of Faust-
us, who lived -so late as the year 384.
t Lardrter, vol. xii. p. 12. Dr. Lardner's future in-
quiries supplied him with many other instances.
Ib. vol. iii. p. 240. || Ib. p. '24(3.
or approved by the most, are, that called the !'. pis-
tie of James, ano! that of Jude, and tlie Second of
Peter, and the Second and Third of John, whe-
ther they are written by the evangelist, or another
of the same-name,"!! He then proceeds to reckon
up -five" others, not in our canon, which he caljs in
one place spurious, in anothev-controrcrtcd, mean-
ing, as appears, to ine, nearly the same thing by
these two words. IT -'
It is manifest from this passage, that the four
Gospels, and the Acts'of the .Apostles (tbe parts
of Scripture with which our concern principally
lies), were acknpwledged without dispute, even
by those who raised .objections, or entertained
doubts, about some. other parts of the s:une collec-
tion. But the passage proves something more
than tliis. The author was extremely conversant
* Lardruer, voJ. iii. p. 234. j Ib. vol.iv. p. (i?0.
J Ih. 6(51. . --Ib. vol. viii. p. IK). || Ib. p. 39.
TT That E,usebfiis could not intend, by the word n-n-
dered "spurious," what we at present moan by it, is
evident from a clause in this vorythaptiT, \vhrn-. speak-
ing of the Gospels of Peter, ami Thomas, and Matthias,
and some others, he says, "Thy are not so much ns to
be reckoned among the spurious, but are to be rejected
as altogether absurd and impious:" Vol. viii. p. 9&
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
313
in the writings of Christians, which had been
published from the commencement of the institu-
tion to his own time : .and it was from these writ-
ings that he drew his knowledge of the character
and reception of the books in question. That
Eusebius recurred to this medium of information,
and that he had examined with attention this
species of proof, is shown, lirst, by a passage in
the very chapter we are quoting, in which, speak-
ing of the books which he calls spurious, ' None
(says he) of the ecclesiastical writers, in the suc-
cession of the apostles, have vouchsafed to make
any mention of them in their writings;'' and.
secondly, by another passage of the same work.
wherein shaking of the First Epistle of Peter,
" This (says he) the presbyters of ancient times
have quoted in their writings as undoubtedly
genuine;"* and then, speaking of some other
writings !>earing the. name of Peter, "We know
(he says) that they ha\e not been delivered dowa
to us in the number of Catholic writings, foras-
much as no eeclesi laical writer of the ancients.
or of our times, has made use of testimonies out
of them." " But in the progress of this history,"
the author proceeds, ' we shall make it our busi-
ness to show, together with the successions from
the apostles?, what ecclesiastical writers, in e\er\
age. have used such writing as ; h<
contradicted, and whatthev have .said with re if.- ml
to the Scriptures received in the .New Testament.
and *eknov>Udged by all, and with regard to
those which are not sneh/'t
After this it is reasonable to l>elieve, that when
Eusebius states the four liospcl-;, and the
the Apostles, as uiicontradictcd. nncontes;.
acknowledged by all : and when lie places them
in op[M)sition. notonlv to those which were spuri-
ous, in our sense of that term, but to those which
were controverted, and even to those which were
well known and approved l>\ many, yet doubted
of by some ; he represents not only tfce s
his own age, but the result of the evidence which
the writings of prior ages, from the a post.'.
to his own, had furnished to his inquiries. The
opinion of Eusebius and his contemj>or.iries ap-
pears to have been (bunded uj>on the testimony of.
writers whom they then called ancient: and we
may observe, that such of the works of these writ
ers as have come down to our times, entirely
confirm the judgment, and support the distinction
which Eusebius proposes. The books which he
calls "books universally acknowledged," are in
fact used and quoted in the remaining works of
Christian writers, during the two hundred and
fifty years between the apostle*' time and that of
Eusebius, much more frequently than, and in a
different manner from, those, the authority of
which, he tells us, was disputed.
SECTION IX.
Our historical Scriptures were attacked by the
early adversaries of Christianity, 'as contain-
ing the accounts upon which the religion was
founded.
NEAR the middle of the second century, Celsus,
a heathen philosopher, wrote a professed treatise
* Lardner, voL viii. p. 99.
2R
t Ib. p. 111.
against Christianity. To this treatise, Origen,
who came about fifty years after him, published
an answer, in which he frequently recites his
adversary's words and ^arguments. The work of
Celsus is lost; but that' of Origen remains.
Origen appears to have given us the words of
Celsus, where. Jie professes to give them very faith-
fully ; and, amongst other reasons for thinking
so, this is one, that the objection, as stated by him.
from Celsus, is sometimes stronger than his own
answer. I think it also probaWe, that Origen, in
his answer, has retailed a large portion of the
work .of ( VIsus : - That it may not be suspected
vs) that we pass by any chapters, because
we ha ve^ no answers at hand, J hdve thought it
best, according to my ability, to confute every
tiling proposed by him. not so much observing the
natural order of things^ as the order which he has
taken himself."*
Celsus wrote about one hundred years after the
Gospels were published ; and therefore any notices
of these books from him are extremely important
for their antiquity. They aro, however, rendered
more so by the character of the author ; for, the
reception, credit, and notoriety, of these, books
must have been well established amongst Chris-
tians, to have made them subjects of animad\er-
sion ,-nH opposition by strangers and by enemies.
It exinc.sthe truth of what ( 'lirysostom, two cen-
turies afterward, observed, that "the d'os^ls,
when written, were not hidden in a corner, or
buried in obscurity, hut they were made known
to all the world, Ix'fore enemies as well as others,
even as thpy are now."t
1. Celsus, or the Jew whom he personates,
i se words: "I could say many things
concerning the affairs of Jesus, and those, too,
different from those written by the disciples of
Jesus; but I purposely -omit them."* Upon this
passage, it has been rightly observed, that it is not
easy to Iwlieve, that if Celsus could have contra-
dicted the disciples upon good evidence 'in any
material point, he would ,have omitted to do so,
and that the assertion is, what Origen calls it, a
mere oratorical flourish.
It is sufficient, however, to prove, that, yn. the
time of Celsus, there were books well known, and
allowed to be written by the disciples of Jesus,
which books contained a" history of him. Uy the
term dt.viplca, Celsus does not mean the followers
of Jesus in general ; lor them he ealls Christians,
or believers, or the like; ; but those who had been
taught by Jesus himself, i. e. his apostles and
companions.
2. In another passage, Celsus accuses tho
Christians of altering the Gospel. The accusa-
tion refers to some variations in the readings of
particular passages ; for Celsus goes on to object,
that when they are pressed hard, and one reading
has been confuted, they disown- that, and fly to
another. We cannot perceive from Origen. that
( VIsns specified any particular instances, and
without such specification" the charge is of no,
value. But the true Conclusion to be drawn from
it is, that there Were in the hands of the Christians,
histories, which were even then of some standihg :
for various readings and corruptions do uot take
place in recent productions.
* Orig. cont; Cels. I. i. sect. xli.
t In Matt. Horn. 1. 7.
( r,anlii.-r, Jewish ami Heathen Test. vol. ii. p. 274.
Ib. p. 37 J.
311
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
The former quotation, the reader will remem-
ber, proves that these books were composed by
the disciples of Jesus strictly so called ; the pre-
sent quotation shows, that, though objections
were taken by Ihe adversaries of the Wigion to
the integrity of these books, none were made to
their genuineness.
3. In a third passage, tne Jew, whom Celsus
introduces, shuts up an argument in this man-
ner : " These things then we have alleged to you
out of your own writings, not needing any other
weapons."* It is manifest that this boast pro-
ceeds upon the supposition that the books, over
which the writer aftects to triumph, possessed an
authority by which Christians confessed them-
selves to be bound.
4. That the books to which Celsus refers were
no other than our present Gospels, is made out by
his allusions to various passages still found in
these Gospels. Celsus takes notice of the genea-
logies, which fixes two of these Gospels ; of the
precepts, Resist not him that injures you,' and, If
a man strike thee on the one cheek, offer to him
the other also ;t of the woes denounced by Christ ;
of his predictions; of his saying, that it. is impos-
sible to serve two masters ;i of the purple robe, the
crown of thorns, and the reed in his hand ; of the
blood that flowed from the body of Jesus upon the
cross, which circumstance is recorded by John
alone ; and (what is instar omnium for the pur-
pose for which we produce' it) of the difference in
the accounts given of the resurrection by the evan-
gelists, some mentioning two angels at the sepul-
chre, others only one. II
It is extremely material to remark, that Celsus
not only perpetually referred to the accounts of
Christ contained in the four Gospels,1T but that he
referred to no other accounts ; that he founded
none of his objections to Christianity upon any
thing delivered in spurious Gospels.
II. What Celsus was in the second century,
Porphyry became in the third. His work, which
was a large and formal treatise against the Chris-
tian religion, is not extant! We must be content
therefore to gather his objections from Christian
writers, who nave noticed in order to answer them ;
and enough remains of this species of information,
to prove completely, that Porphyry's animadver-
sions were directed against the contents of our
present Gospels, and of the Acts of the Ajiostles ;
Porphyry considering that to overthrow them was
to overthrow the religion. Thus he objects to the
repetition of a generation in Saint Matthew's ge-
neaology ; to Matthew's call ; to the quotation of a
text from Isaiah, which is found in a psalm as-
cribed to Asaph ; to the calling of the lake of Ti-
berias a sea ; to the expression in Saint Matthew,
" the abomination of desolation ;" to the variation
in Matthew and Mark upon the text, " The voice
of one crying in the wilderness," Matthew citing
it from Isaias, Mark from the Prophets ; to John's
application of the term "Word;" to Christ's
change of intention about going up to tho feast of
tabernacles,' (John vii. 8 ;) to the judgment de-
nounced by Saint Peter upon Ananias and Sap-
phira, wliich he calls an imprecation of death.**
* Lardner, Jewish and Heathen Test. vol. ii. p. 276.
t Ibid. 1 Ib. p. 277.
Ib. p. 280, 281. lib. p. 283.
IT The particulars, of which the above are only a few,
are well collected by Mr. Bryant, p. 140.
+* Jewish and Heathen Test. vol. iii. p. 166, &c;
The instances hero alleoyd, serve, in some
measure, to show the nature of Porphyry's ob-
jections, and prove that Porphyry had read the
Gospels \\itli that sort of attention which a writer
would employ who regarded them as the deposi-
taries of the religion wnich he attacked. JVside
these specifications, there exists, m the writings
of ancient Christians, general evidence, that the
places of Scripture ujwn wjiich Porphyry had re-
marked were very numerous.
In some of the above-cited examples, Porphyry,
speaking of Saint Matthew, calls him your evan-
gelist ; he also uses the term evangelists in the
plural number. What was said of Celsus, is true
likewise of Porphyry, that it does not appear that
he considered any history of Christ, except these,
as having authority with Christians.
III. A third great writer against the Christian
religion was the emperor Julian, whose work was
composed about a century after that of Porphyry.
In various long extracts, transcribed from this
work 'by Cyril and Jerome, it appears,* that Julian
noticed by name Matthew and Luke, in the dif-
ference between their genealogies of Christ; that
he objected to Matthew's application of the pro-
phecy, " Out of Egypt have I called my son," (ii.
15,) and to that of '' A virgin shall conceive ;"
(i. -23;) that he recited sayings of Christ, and vari-
ous passages of his history, in the very words of
the evangelists; in particular, that Jesus healed
lame and blind people, and exorcised demoniacs in
the villages of Bethsaida and Bethany ; that he
alleged, that none of Christ's disciples ascribed to
him the creation of the world, except John ; that
neither Paul, nor Matthew, nor Luke, nor Mark,
have dared to call Jesus, God ; that John wrote
later than the other evangelists, and at a time
when a great number of men in the cities of
Greece and Italy were converted ; that he alludes
to the conversion of Cornelius and of Sergius
Paulus, to Peter's vision, to the circular letter
sent by the apostles and elders at Jerusalem,
which are all recorded in the Acts of the Apos-
tles : by which quoting of the four Gospels and
the Acts of the Apostles, and by quoting no other,
Julian shows that these were the historical books,
and the only historical books received by Chris-
tians as of authority, and as the authentic me-
moirs of Jesus Christ, of his apostles, and of the
doctrines taught by them. But Julian's testimony
does something more than represent the judgment
of the Christian church in his time. It discovers
also his own. He himself expressly states the
early date of these records; he calls them by the
names which they now bear. He all along sup-
poses, he no where attempts to question, their ge-
nuineness.
The argument in favour of the books of the
New Testament, drawn from the notice taken of
their contents by the early writers against the re-
ligion, is very considerable. It proves that the
accounts, which Christians had then, were the ac-
counts which we have now ; that our present
Scriptures were theirs. It proves, moreover, that
neither Celsus in the second, Porphyry in the
third, nor Julian in the fourth century, suspected
the authenticity of these books, or even insinuated
that Christians were mistaken in the authors to
whom they ascribed them. Not one of them ex-
pressed an opinion upon this subject different from
that which was holden by Christians. And when
* Jewish and Heathen Test. vol. iv. p. 77, &c.
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
315
we consider how much it would have availed them
to have cast a doubt upon this point, if they could;
and how ready they showed themselves to be, to
take every tdvantoge in their power; and that
they were'all men of learning and inquiry ; their
concession, or rather their suffrage, upon the sub-
ject, is extremely valuable.
In the case of Porphyry, it is made still stronger,
by the consideration that he did in fact support
himself by this species of objection, when he saw
any room for it, or when his acuteness could sup-
ply any pretence for alleging it. The prophecy
of Daniel he attacked UJXHI this very ground of
spuriousness, insisting that it was written after
the time of Antiochus Epiphanes. and maintains
his charge of forgery by some lar-letehed indeed,
but very "subtle criticisms. Concerning the writ-
ings of the New Testament, no trace of this sus-
picion is any where to be found in him.*
SECTION X.
Formal catalogues of authentic Scriptures were
published, in all which our present sacred his-
tories were included.
THIS species of evidence comes later than the
rest ; as it was not natural that catalogues of any
particular class of books should be put forth until
Christian writings became numerous: or until
some writings showed themselves, claiming titles
which did not belong to them, and there! >\ ren-
dering it necessary to separate books of authority
from others. But, when it does appear, it is ex-
tremely satisfactory; the catalogues, though nu-
merous, and made in countries at a wide distance
from one another, ditlering very little, differing in
nothing which is material, and all containing the
four Gospels. To this last article there is no ex-
ception.
I. In the writings of Origen which remain, and
in some extracts preserved by Eusebius, from
works of his which are now lost, there are enu-
merations of the books of Scripture, in which tin-
four Gospels and the Acts of the Apostles are
distinctly and honourably specified, ana in which
no books appear beside what are now received.t
The reader, by this time, will easily recollect that
the date of Origen's works is A. D. 230.
II. Athanasius, about a century afterward, de-
livered a catalogue of the books of the New Tes-
tament inform, containing our Scriptures and no
others; of which he says, "In these alone the
doctrine of religion is taught ; let no man add to
them or take any thing from them."*
III. About twenty years after Athanasius,
Cyril, bishop of Jerusalem, set forth a catalogue
of the books of Scripture, publicly read at that
time in the church of Jerusalem, exactly the same
as ours, except that the " Revelation" is'omitted.
IV. And fifteen years after Cyril, the council
of Laodicea, delivered an authoritative catalogue
of canonical Scripture, like Cyril's, the same as
ours, with the omission of the "Revelation."
V. Catalogues now became frequent. Within
* Mkhaelis's Introduction to the New Testament,
vol. i. p. 43 Marsh's Translation,
t Lardner, Cred. vol. iii. p. 234, &c.; vol. viii. p. 196.
| Ib. vol. viii. p. 223. . ib. p. 270.
thirty years after the last date, that is, from the
year 363 to near the conclusion of the fourth cen-
tury, we have catalogues by Epiphanius,* by
Gregory Nazianzen,t by Philaster, bishop of Bres-
cia in Italy ,t by Amphrjochius, bishop of Iconium,
all, as they are sometimes called, clean catalogues
(that is, they admit no books into the number be-
side what we now receive), and all, for every pur-
pose of historic evidence, the same as ours.i
VI. Within the same period, Jerome, the most
learned Christian writer of his age, delivered a
catalogue of the books of the New Testament,
recognising every book now received, with the
intimation of a doubt concerning the Epistle to the
tit-brews alone, nd taking not the least notice of
any book which is pot now received. II
VII. Contemporary with Jerome, who lived in
Palestine, was Saint Augustine, in Africa, who
published likewise a catalogue, without joining to
the Scriptures, as books of authority, any other
ecclesiastical writing whatever, and without omit-
tincr one which we at this day acknowledge.^
' VIII. And with these concurs another contem-
porary writer, Rufen, presbyter of Aquileia, whose
catalogue, like theirs, is perfect and unmixed, and
concludes with these remarkable words : " These
are the volumes which the fathers have included
in the canon, and out of which they would have
us prove the doctrine of our faith."**
SECTION XI.
These propositions cannot be predicated of any
of those books which are commonly called the
Apocryphal Books of the New Testament.
I DO not know that the objection taken from
the apocryphal writings is at present much relied
upon by scholars. But there are many, who,
hearing that various Gospels existed in ancient
times under the names of the apostles, may have
taken up a notion, that the selection of our present
( ios|x-ls from the rest, was rather an arbitrary or
accidental choice, than founded in any clear and
certain cause of preference. To these it may be
very useful to know the truth of the case. I ob-
serve, therefore,
I. That, beside our Gospels and the Acts of the
Apostles, no Christian history, claiming to be
written by an apostle or apostolical man, is quoted
within three hundred years after the birth of
Christ, by any writer now extant, or known ; or,
if quoted, is not quoted without marks of censure
and rejection.
I have not advanced this assertion without in-
quiry ; and I doubt not, but that the passages
cited by Mr. Jones and Dr. Lardner, under the
several titles which the apocryphal books bear; or
a reference to the places where they are mentioned
as collected in a very accurate table, published in
the year 1773, by the Rev." J. Atkinson, will
make out the truth of the proposition to the satis-
* Lardner, Cred. 'vol. viii. p. 368.
tlb.vol. ix.p. 132. Jib. p. 373.
Epiphanius omits the Acts of the Apostles. This
must h.ive been an accidental mistake* either in him or
in some copyist of his work; for he elsewhere expressly
refers to this book, and ascribes it to Luke.
II Lardner, Cred. vol. x. p. 77 IT Ib. p. 213.
** Ib. p. 187.
316
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
faction of every fair and competent judgment. I
there be any book which may seem to form an ex
ception to the observation,, it is a Hebrew Gospel
which was circulated under the various tit Irs o
the Gospel according to the Hebrews, the Gospe
of the Nazarenes, of the Ebioiiites, sometime:
called of the Twelve, by some ascribed to Sain
Matthew. This Gospel is once, and only once
cited by Clemens Alexandrinus, who lived, tlu
reader will remember, in the latter part of the se
cond century, and which same Clement quote:
one or other of -.our four Gospels in almost even
page of his work. It is twice mentioned by On
gen, A. D. 230 ; and both times with marks ol
diminution and discredit. And this is the grouu<
upon which the exception stands. ' But what is
still more material to observe is, that th'is Gospd
in the main, agreed with our present Gospel of
Saint Matthew.*
. Now if, with this account of the apocrypha
'Gospelsfwe compare -what we have read concern
ing the canonical Scriptures in the preceding sec-
tions; or even recollect that general but well-
founded assertion of Dr. Lardner, " That in the
remaining works of Irenaeus, Clement of Alexan-
dria, and Tertullian, who all lived in the first two
centuries, there-are more and larger quotations of
the small volume of the New Testament, than of
all the works of Cicero, "by writers of all charac-
ters, for several ages ;"t and if to this we add,
that, notwithstanding the loss of many works of
the primitive times of Christianity, we have, with-
in the above-mentioned period, the remains of
Christian writers, who lived in Palestine,.Syria,
Asia Minor, Egypt, the part of Africa that used
the Latin, tongue, in Crete, Greece, Italy, .and
Gaul, in all which remains, references are found
to our evangelists ; I apprehend, that we shall per-
ceive a clear and broad Jine of division, between
those writings, and all others .pretending to simi-
lar authority.
II. But beside certain histories which assumed
the names of apostles, and which were forgeries
properly so called, there were some other Christian
writings, in the whole or in part of an historical
nature,, which, though not forgeries^ are denomi-
nated apocryphal, as being of uncertain or of no
authority.
Of this second class of writings, I have found
only two which are noticed by any author of the
first three centuries, without express -terms of
condemnation ; and these are, the one, a book en-
titled the Freachipg of Peter, quoted repeatedly
by Clemens Alexandrinus, A. D. 196; the other,
a book entitled the Revelation of Peter, upon
which the above-mentioned Clemens Alexandri-
nus is said, by Eusebius, to have written notes ;
and which is twice cited in a work still extant,
ascribed to the same author. -
I conceive, therefore, that the proposition we
have before advanced, even after it had been sub-
jected to every^ exception, of every kind, that can
be alleged, separates, by a wide interval, our his-
torical Scriptures from all other writings which
profess to give an account jbf the same subject.
We may be permitted however to add,
* In applying to this Gospel, what Jerome in the lat-
ter end of the fourth century has mentioned of a Hobrew
Gospel, I think it probable that \vc sometimes confound
it with a Hebrew copy- of Saint Matthew's Gospel,
whether an original or version, which was then extant.
1 Lardner, Cred. vol. xii. p. 53.
1. That there is no evidence that any spurious
or apocryphal books whatever existed in the first
century of the Christian era, in which century all
our historical hooks are proved to have l>een ex-
tant. "There arc no quotations of any such
books, in the apostolical lathers, by whom! moan
Barnabas, Clement of Rome, Hennas, Ignatius,
and Polycarp, whose writings reach from about
the year -of our Lord 70,. to the year 108 (and
some of whom 'have quoted each and every one of
our historical Scriptures); 1 s.iy this," adds Dr.
Lardner, "-because 1 think it has been proved."*
. 2. These apocryphal writings were not read in
the clrurches of Christians ;
3. Were not admitted into -their volume;
4. Do not appear in their catalogues j"
t>. Were not noticed by their adversaries;
6. Were not, alleged by different parties as of
authority in their controversies ;
7. Were not the subjects, amongst them, of
commentaries, versions, collations, expositions.
Finally ; beside -the silence of three centuries, or
evidence, within that time, of their rejection, they
were, with a consent nearly universal, reprobated
by Christian writers of.succeeding ages.
Although if be made out by these.-observations,
that the books in question never obtained any de-
gree of credit and notoriety which can place them
in competition, with our Scriptures ; yet it appears,
from the writings of the fourth century, that many
such existed in that century, and in'the century
preceding it. It may be difficult at this distance
of^ time to account for their origin. Perhaps the
most probable explication is, that they were in
general composed with a design of making a profit
by .the sale. Whatever treated of the subject,
would find purchasers. It was an advantage taken
of the pious, curiosity of unlearned Christians.
With a view to the same purpose, they were
many of them adapted to the particular opinions
of particular sects, which would naturally promote
their circulation amongst the favourers of those
opinions. After- air, they were probably much
more obscure than we imagine. Except the Gos-
pel according to the Hebrews, there is- none of
which we hear more than the Gospel of the
Egyptians^ yet there is good reason to believe that
Clement, a presbyter of Alexandria in Egypt, A.
D. 184, and a man of .almost universal reading,
iad never seen it.t A Gospel according to Peter,
was another of the most ancient books of this kind ;
yet Serapion, bishop of Antioch, A. D. 200, had
not read it, when he heard of such a book being
in the hands of the Christians of llhossus in Cih-
cia ; and speaks of obtaining a sight of this Gospel
rom some sectaries who used it.t Even of the
Gospel of the Hebrews, which confessedly stands
at the head of the catalogue, Jerome, at the end
of the fourth century, was glad to procure a copy
jy the favour of the Nazarenes of Berea. No-
hing of this sort ever happened, or could have
lappened concerning our Gospels.
One thing is observable of all the apocryphal
Christian writings, viz. that they proceed upon
he same fundamental history of Christ and his
i]>ostles, as that which is disclosed in our Scrip-
ures. The mission of Christ, his power of work-
n'g miracles, his communication of that power to
he apostles, Ins passion, death, and resurrection,
* Lardner, Cred. vpl. xii. p. 158.
t Jones, vol. i. p. 2 13. { Lardner, Cred. vol. ii. p. 557.
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
317
arc assumed or asserted by every one of them.
The names under which some of them came forth,
are the names of men of eminence in our histories.
What these books give, are not contradictions.
but unauthorized additions. The principal facts
are supposed, the principal agents the same ; which
shows, that these points were too much iixed to
be altered or disputed.
If there be any book of this description, which
appears to have imposed upon some considerable
number of learned Christians, it is the Sibylline
oracles; but, when we reflect upon the circum-
stances which facilitated that imposture, we shah"
cease to wonder either at the attempt or its success.
It was at that time universally understood, that
such a prophetic, writing existed. Its contents
were kept secret. This situation aflbrdcd to some,
one a hint, as well as an opportunity, to give out
a writing under this name, favourable to the al-
ready established persuasion of ( 'hristi.ins, and
which writ inn. by the aid and recommendation of
these circumstances, would in some decree, it is
probable, lie received. ( )f the ancient forgery we
know but little: what is now produced, eodid not,
in my opinion, have imposed upon any one. It
is nothing else than the Gospel history, woven
into vejse; perhaps was at iirst rather a fiction
than a forgery; an exercise of ingenuity, more
than an attempt to deceive.
CHAPTER X.
Recapitulation.
THE reader will now be pleased to recollect,
that the two points which form the subject of our
present discussion, are first, that the Founder of
Christianity, his associates, and. immediate follow-
ers, passed their lives in labours, dangers, and suf-
ferings; secondly, that they did so, in attestation
of the miraculous history recorded in our Scrip-
tures, and solely in consequence of their belief of
the truth of that history.
The argument, by which these two propositions
have been maintained by us. stands thus:
No historical fact, I apprehend, is more certain,
than that the original propagators of Christianity
voluntarily subjected themselves to lives of fatigue.
danger, and suffering, in the prosecution of their
undertaking. The nature of the undertaking;
the character of the persons employed in it ; the
opposition of their tenets to the fixed opinions and
expectations of the country in which they first ad-
vanced them; their undissembled condemnation
of the religion of all other countries ; their total
want of power, authority, or force ; render it in
the highest degree probable that this must have
been the case. The probability is increased, by
what we know of the fate of the Founder of the
institution, who was put to death for his attempt;
and by what we also know of the cruel treatment
of the converts to the institution, within thirty
years after its commencement ; both which points
are attested by heathen writers, and, l>eing once
admitted, leave it very incredible that the primi-
tive emissaries of the religion, who exercised their
ministry, first, amongst the people who had de-
stroyed their Master, and, afterward, amongst
those who persecuted their converts, should them-
selves escape with impunity, or pursue their pur-
pose in ease and safety. This probability, thus
sustained by foreign testimony, is advanced, I
think, to historical certainty, by the evidence of
our own books ; by the accounts of a writer who
was the companion of tlite persons whose suffer-
ings he relates : by the letters of the 'persons them-
selves; by predictions of persecutions ascribed to
the Founder of the religion, which predictions
would not have been inserted in tliis history,
much less have been studiously dwelt upon, if
they had not accorded with the event, and which,
even if falsely ascribed to him, could only have
been so ascribed, because the event suggested
them; lastly, by incessant exhortations to forti-
tude and patience, and by an earnestness, repeti-
tion, and urgency, upon the subject, which were
unlikely to have appeared, if there had not been,
at the tin*, some extraordinary call for the exer-
cise of these virtues.
It is made out also, I think, with sufficient evi-
dence, that both the teachers and converts of the
religion, in consequence of their new profession,
took up a new course of life and behaviour.
The next great question is, what they did this
FOR. That it was/<w a"fltiraculous story of some
kind or other, is to my apprehension extremely
manifest; because, as to the fundamental article,
the designation of the person, vi:. that this parti-
cular person, Jesus of Nazareth, ought to be re-
ceived as the Messiah, or as a messenger from
God, they neither had, nor could have, any thing
but miracles to stand upon. That the exertions
and su He rings of the ajjostles were for the story
which we have now, is proved by the considera-
tion that this story is transmitted to us by two of
their own number, and by two others personally
connected with them ; that the particularity of the
narrative proves, that the writers claimed to pos-
sess circumstantial information, that from their
situation they had full opportunity of acquiring
such information, that they certainly, at least,
knew what their colleagues, their companions,
their masters; taught"; that each of these books
contains enough to prove the truth of the religion;
that, if any one of them therefore be genuine, it is
sufficient ; that the genuineness, however, of all
of them is made out, as well by the general argu-
ments which evince the genuineness of the most
undisputed remains of antiquity, as also by pecu-
liar and specific proofs, viz. by citations from them
in writings belonging to a period immediately con-
tiguous to that in which they were -published ; by
the distinguished regard paid by early Christians
to the authority of these books, (which regard was
manifested by their collecting of them into a vo-
lume, appropriating to that volume titles of pecu-
liar respect, translating them into various lan-
guages, digesting them into harmonies, writing
commentaries upon4hem, and, stiH more conspicu-
ously, by the reading of them in their public as-
semblies in all parts of the world ;) by a universal
agreement with respect to these books, whilst
doubts were entertained concerning some others;
by contending sects appealing to them; by the
early adversaries of the religion not disputing
their genuineness, but, on the contrary, treating
them as the depositaries of the history upon which
the religion was founded ; by many formal cata-
logues of these, as of certain and authoritative
writings, published in different and distant parts
of the Christian world ; lastly, by the absence or
27*
318
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
defect of the above-cited topics of evidence, when
applied to any other histories of the same subject.
These are strong arguments to prove, that the
books actually proceeded from the authors whose
names they bear, (and have always borne, for
there is not a particle of evidence to show that
they. ever went under any other;) but the strict
genuineness of the books is perhaps more than is
necessary to the support of our proposition. For
even supposing that, by reason of the silence of
antiquity, or the loss of records, we know not who
were the writers of the four Gospels, yet the fact,
that they were received as authentic accounts of
the transaction upon which the religion rested,
and were received as such by Christians, at or
near the age of the apostles, by those, whom the
apostles had taught, and by societies which apos-
tles had founded; this faet,->I say, connected with
the consideration, that they are corroborative of
each other's testimony, and that they are farther
corroborated by another 'contemporary history,
taking up the story where they had left it, and, in
a narrative built upon that story, accounting for
the rise and production of changes in the world,
the effects of which subsist at this day ; connected,
moreover, with the cofllirmation which they re-
ceive from letters written by the apostles them-
selves, which both assume the same general story,
and, as often as occasions lead them to do so, al-
lude to particula r parts of it ; and connected also
with the reflection, tfyat if the apostles delivered
any different story, it is lost, (the present and no
other being referred to by a series of Christian
writers, down from their age to our own ; being
likewise recognised in a variety of institutions,
which prevailed early and universally amongst the
disciples of the religion ;) and that so great a
change, as the oblivion of one story and the sub-
stitution of another, under such circumstances,
could not have taken place ; this evidence would
be deemed, I apprehend, sufficient to prove con-
cerning these books, that, whoever were the au-
thors of them, they exhibit the story which the
apostles told, and for which, consequently, they
acted, and they suffered.
If it be so, the religion must be true. These
men could not be deceivers. By only not bearing
testimony, they might have avoided all these suf-
ferings, and have lived quietly. Would men in
such circumstances pretend to have seen what
they never saw ; assert facts which they had no
knowledge of; go about lying to teach virtue;
ai>d, though not only convinced of Christ's being
an impostor, but having seen the success of his
imposture in -his crucifixion, yet persist, in carry-
ing it on ; and so persist, as to bring upon them-
selves, for nothing, and with a full Knowledge of
the consequence, enmity and hatred, danger and
death 1
OF THE DIRECT HISTORICAL EVIDENCE OF
CHRISTIANITY.
PROPOSITION II.
CHAPTER I.
Our first proposition was, " That there is satisfac-
tory evidence that many, pretending to be origi-
nal witnesses of the Christian miracles, passed
their lives in labours, dangers, and sufferings,
voluntarily undertaken and undergone, in at-
testation oftlie accounts which Uia/ delivered,
and solely in consequence of their belief of the
truth of those accounts; and ihat they ct/.^o
submitted, from the same motives, to new
rules of conduct."
Our second proposition, and which how remains
to be treated of, is, " That there is not sat ^fac-
tory evidence, that persons pretending to be
original witnesses of any other similar mira-
cles, have acted in the same manner, in attest-
ation of the ' accounts 'which they delivered,
and solely in consequence of their belief of the
truth of those accounts." <
I ENTER upon this part of my argument, by
declaring how far my belief in miraculous accounts
goes. If the reformers in the time of Wickli/Je,
or of Luther ; or those of England, in the time of
Henry the Eighth, or of queen Mary ; or the
founders of our religious sects since, such as were
Mr. Whitfield and Mr. Wesley in our own times;
had undergone the life of toil and exertion, of
danger and sufferings, which we know that many
of them did undergo, for a miraculous story ; that
is to say, if they had founded their public ministry
upon the allegation of miracles wrought within
their own knowledge, and upon narratives which
could not be resolved into delusion or mistake ;
and if it had appeared, that their conduct really
had its origin in these accounts, I should have
believed them. Or, to borrow an instance which
will be familiar to every one of my readers, if the
late Mr. Howard had undertaken his labours and
journeys in attestation, and in consequence of a
clear and sensible miracle, I should have believed
him also. Or, to represent the same thing under
a third supposition ; if Socrates had professed to
perform public miracles at Athens ; if the friends
of Socrates, Phaedo, Cebes, Crito, and Simmias,
together with Plato, and many of his followers,
relying upon the attestations which these mira-
cles afforded to his pretensions, had, at the hazard
of their lives, and the certain expense of their ease
and tranquillity, gone about Greece, after his
death, to publish and propagate his doctrines:
and if these things had come to our knowledge,
in the same way as that in which the life of
Socrates is now transmitted to us, through the
hands of his companions and disciples, that is, by
writings received without doubt as theirs, from
the age in which they were published to the pre-
sent,! should have believed tin's likewise. And
my belief would, in each case, be much strength-
ened, if the subject of the mission were of import-
ance to the conduct and happiness of human life :
if it testified any thing which it behoved mankind
to know from such authority; if the nature of
what it delivered, required the sort of proof which
it alleged; if the occasion was adequate to the
interposition, the end worthy of the means. In
the last case, my faith would be much confirmed,
it the effects of the transaction remained ; more
especially, if a change had been wrought, at the
time, in the opinion and conduct of such numbers,
as to lay the foundation of an institution, and of a
system of doctrines, which had since overspread
the greatest part of the. civilized world. I should
have believed, I say, the testimony in these cases ;
yet none of them do more than come up to the
apostolic history.
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
319
If anyone choose to call assent to its evidence
-credulity, it is at least incumbent upon him to
produce examples in which the same evidence
hath turned out to oe fallacious. -And this con-
tains the precise question which we are now to
agitate.
In stating the comparison between our evidence,
and what, our adversaries may brirlg into com{>c-
tition with ours, we will divide the distinctions
which we wish to propose into two kinds, those
which n-late to the proof, and those which relate
to tlie miracles. Under the former head we may
lay out the case.
"l. Such ace. units of supernatural events as are
founil only in histories by some agi s posterior to
the transaction, and of vvliich it is evident that the
historian could know little more than his reader.
Ours is contemporary history. This dillerence
alone removes out of our way, the miraculous his-
tory of Pythagoras, who lived live hundred years
before the Christian era, written by Porphyry
and Jamblicus, who li\ed three hundred years
alter tiiat era; the prodigies of Livy ; s history;
the fables of the heroic ages; the whole of the
Greek and Roman, as well, as of the Gothic
mythology; a great part of the legendary history
of Popish saints, the very best attested of which is
extracted from the certiiicates that are exhibited
during the process of their eanoni/ation, a c< re-
mouy which seldom takt s place till a century after
their deaths. It applies also with considerable
force to the miracles of Apollonius Tyaneus,
which are contained in a solitary history of his
life, published by IMiibstratus, alwve a hundred
\.-aix utter his death; and iii which, whether
Philostratus had any prior account to guide him,
depends upon his single unsupported assertion.
Also to some of the miracles of the third century,
es|'cially to one extraordinary instance, the ac-
count of ( .in-gory, bishop of Neocesarea, called
Thauinaturgus. delivered in the writings of Gre-
gory of Nyssen, who lived one hundred and thirty
years after the subject of his panegyric.
The value of this circumstance is shown to have
been accurately exemplified in the history of Igna-
tius Loyola, founder of the order of Jesuits,* His
life, written by a companion of his, and by one of
the order, was published about lifteen years after
his death. In which life, the author, so- far from
ascribing any miracles to Ignatius, industriously
states the reasons why he was not invested with
any such power. The life was republished fifteen
years afterward, with the addition of many cir-
cumstances which were the fruit, the author says,
of farther inquiry, and of diligent examination ;
but still with a total silence about miracles. When
Ignatius had been dead nearly sixty years, the
Jesuits, conceiving a wish to have the founder of
their order placed in the Roman calendar, began,
as it should seem, for the first time- to attribute to
him a catalogue of miracles, which could not then
be distinctly disproved ; and which tht re was, in
those who governed the church, a strong disposi-
tion to admit upon the slenderest proofs.
II. We may lay out of the case, accounts pub-
lished in one country, of what passed in a distant
country, without any proof that such accounts
weie known or received at home. In the case of
Christianity, Judea, which was the scene of the
transaction, was the centre of the mission. The
* Douglas's Criterion of Miracles, p. 74.
story was published in the place in which it was
acted. The church of Christ was first planted at
Jerusalem itself. With that church, others cor-
sponded. From thence the primitive teachers
of the institution went .forth; thither they assem-
bled. The church of Jerusalem, and the several
hurches of Judea, subsisted from the beginning,
and for many ages;* received also the same books
and the same accounts, as other churches did.
This distinction disposes, amongst others, of
the above-mentio/ied miracles of Apollonius Tya-
neus, most of which are. related to have been
jHTformed in India; no evidence reniaining that
either the miracles ascribed t> him, or the history
of those miracles, were ever heard of in India.
Those of Francis Xa\ier, the Indian missionary,
with many others of the Romish breviary^ are lia-
ble to the.same objection, viz. that the accounts
of them were published at a vast distance from the
supposed scene of the wonders.!
III. We lay out of the casq tvansicnt rumours.
Upon the lirst publication of an extraordinary ac-
count, or even of an article of ordinary intelligence,
no one, who is not personally acquainted with the
transaction, can knoto whether it be true or false,
because any man may publish any story. It is in
the future' confirmation, qr contradiction, of the
account ; in its permanency, or its disappearance;
its dying away into silence, or its increasing in
notoriety: its'ln-ing fpllowbd^ up. by subsequent
accounts, and being repeated ID diflerent and in-
dependent accounts ; that.solid truth is distinguish-
?d from fugitive lies. This distinction is altogether
on the side of Christianity. The story did net
drop. On the contrary, it was succeeded by a
train of action and events dependent upon -it.
The accounts, which we have in our hands, were
composed after the first reports must have sub-
sided. They were followed by a train of w rit ings
upon the subject. The historical testimonies of
the transaction were many and various, and con-
nected with letters, discourses, controversies, apo-
I.>L r ies, successively produced by the same transac-
tion.
IV. We may layout of the caserwhat I call
naked history. It has been said, that if the pro-
digies of the Jewish history had l>een found only
in fragments of Manetho, or Berosus, we should
have paid no regard to them : and I am willing to
admit this. If we knew nothing of the fact, but
from the fragment ; if we possessed no proof that
these accounts had been credited and acted upon,
from times, probably, as ancient as the accounts
themselves ; if we had no visible eflects connected
with the history, no subsequent or collateral testi-
mony to confirm it ; under these circumstances, I
think that it would be undeserving of credit. But
this certainly is not our case 1 . In appreciating
the evidence of Christianity, the books are to be
combined with the institution ; will* the preva-
lency of the religion at this day ; .with the time
and place of its origin; which are acknowledged
points ; with the circumstances of its ri^e and pro-
gress, as collected from external history ; with the
fact of our present books being received by the
votaries of the institution from- the beginning;
with that of other books coming after these, filled
* The succession of many eminent bishops of Jerusa-
lem in the first three centuries, is distinctly preserved;
as Alexander, A.D. 212, who succeeded Narcissus, tUen
llti years old.
t Douglas's Crit. p. 84.
320
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
with accounts of effects and consequences result-
ing from the transaction, or referring to the trans-
action, or built upon it; lastly, .with the consider-
ation of the number and variety of the books
themselves, the different writers from which" they
proceed, the different views with' which they were
written, so disagreeing as to repel the Suspicion of-
confederacy, so; agreeing as to show that they were
founded in a common original, i..in a* story sub-
stantially the'same. Whether this'prooflje satis-
factory or not, it is properly a cumulation of evi-
dence, by no means a naked or solitary record.
V. A rfrark of historical truth, although only
in a certain way, and to a certain degree, is par-
ticularity, in .names, dates,, places, circumstances,
and in the order of events preceding or following
the transaction : of which kind, for instance, is
the particularity in the- description of Saint Paul's
voyage and shipwreck, in the 27th chapter of the
Acts, which no man, I think, can read without
being convinced that the writer was there ; and
also in the account of the cure and examination
of the blind man, in the ninth chapter of Saint
John's Gospel, which T>ears every mark pf per-
sonal knowledge on the part'of the historian.* I
do. not deny that fiction has often the particularity
of truth; but then it is of studied and elaborate
fiction, or of a formal attempt to deceive, that we
observe this. /-Since, however, experience ' proves
that particularity is not confined to truth, I have
stated that it is a proof of truth only to a certain
extent, i f e. it reduced the question to this, -whe-
ther we can depend or not upon the probity of the
relater? which is a considerable advance in our
present argument ; for an express attempt to de-
ceive, in which case alone particularity can ap-
pear without truth, is charged upon the evange-
lists by few. If the historian acknowledge himself
to have received his intelligence from others, the
particularity of the narrative shows, prima facie,
the accuracy of his inquiries, and the fulness of
his information. This remark belongs to Saint
Luke's history. Of the particularity which we
allege, many examples may be found in all the
Gospels. And it is very difficult to conceive, that
such numerous particularities, as are almost every
where to be met with in the Scriptures; should be
raised out of nothing, or bespun out of the imagi-
nation without any fact to go upon.f
It is to be remarked, however, that this particu-
larity is only to be looked for in direct history. It
is not natural in references or, allusions, which yet,
in other respects, often afford, as far as they go,
the most unsuspicious-evidence.
VI. We lay out of the case such stories of su-
pernatural events, as require, on the part of the
hearer, nothing mere than an otiose assent ; stories
upon which nothing depends, in which no inte-.
* Both these chapters ought to be read for the sake
of this very observation. \ .
.t " Tljere is always spme truth where there are con--
siderable particularities related; antl they always scrm
to bear some proportion to one another. Th'.is "there is
a great want of the particulars of time, place, and per-
sons, in Manetho's account of the Egyptian Dynasties,
Ctesias's of the Assyrian Kings, and those which tin-
technical chronologers have given of the ancient king-
doms -of Greece : and agreeably thereto, the accounts
have much fiction and falsehood, with some truth:
whereas, Thucydides's History of the Pelopoimeaiao
War, and Caesar's of the War in Gaul, in both which
the particulars of time, place, and persons, are mention-
ed, are universally esteemed true to a great degree of
exactness." Hartley, vol. ii. p. 109.
rest is involved, nothing is to be done or changed
in consequence of believing them. Such stories
are credited, if the careless assent that Ls given to
them deserve that name, more by the indolence of
the hearer, than by his judgment: or, though not
much credited, are passed from one to another
without inquiry or resistance. To this case, and
to this case alone, belongs what is called the love
of the marvellous. I have never known it carry
men farther. 'Men do' not suffer persecution from
the love of the marvellous. Of the indifferent na-
ture we are speaking of, are most vulgar errors
and popular superstitions : most, for instance, of
the current reports of apparitions. Nothing de-
pends upon their being true or false. But not,
surely,, of this kind were the alleged miracles of
Christ and his apostles. They decided, if true,
the most important question upon which the hu-
man mind can fix its anxiety. They claimed to
regulate the opinions of mankind, upon subjects
in which they are not only deeply concerned, but
usually refractory and obstinate. Men could not
be utterly careless in such a case as this. If a
Jew took up the story, he found his darling par-
tiality to his own nation and law wounded ; ii' a
Gentile, he found his idolatry and polytheism re-
probated and condemned. Whoever entertained
the account, whether Jew or Gentile, could not
avoid the following reflection: " If these things
be true, I must give up the opinions and princi-
ples in which I have been brought up, the religion
in which my fathers lived and died." It is not
conceivable that a man should do this upon any
idle report or frivolous account, or indeed, without
being fully satisfied and convinced of the truth
and credibility of the narrative to which he trust-
ed. But it did not stop at opinions. They who
believed Christianity, acted upon it. Many made
it the express business of their lives to publish the
intelligence. It, was required of those who ad-
mitted that intelligence, to change forthwith their
conduct and their principles, to take up a differ-
ent course of life, to part with their, habits and
gratifications, and begin a new set of rules, and
system of behaviour. The apostles, at least, were
interested not to .sacrifice their ease, their fortunes,
and their lives, for an idle tale; multitudes besides
them were induced, by the same tale, to encoun-
ter opposition, danger, and sufferings.
If it be said, that the mere promise of a future
state would do all this; I answer, that .the mere
promise of a future state, without any evidence
to give credit or assurance to it, would do nothing.
A "few wandering fishermen talking of a resurrec-
tion of the dead, could produce no effect. If it be
farther, said,- that men easily 1 elieve what they
anxiously desire; I again answer that, in my
opinion, the very contrary of this is nearer to the
truth. Anxiety of desire, earnestness' of expecta-
tion, the'vastncss of an event, rather cause men
to disbelieve, to doubt, to dread a fallacy, to dis-
trust, and to examine. When our Lord's resur-
rection was first reported to- the apostles, they did
not believe, we are' told, for joy. This was natu-
ral, and is agreeable to experience.
VII. We have laid out of the case those ac-
counts which require no more than a- simple as-
sent ^ and we now also lay out of the case those
which come merely, in affirmance of opinions
already formed. This last circumstance is of tho
utmost importance to notice well. It has loner
been observed, that Popish miracles happen in
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
Popish countries ; that they make no converts :
which proves that stories are accepted, when they
fall in with principles already fixed, with the pub-
lic sentiments, or with the sentiments of a party
already engaged on the side the miracle supports,
which would not be attempted to be produced in
the face of enemies, in opposition to reigning
tenets or favourite prejudices, or when, if they be
believed, the beliet must draw men away from
their preconceived and habitual opinions, from
their modes of life and rules of action. In the
former case, men may not only receive a miracu-
lous account, but may both act and suffer on the
side and in the cause, which the miracle supports,
yet not act or suffer for the miracle, but in pur-
suance of a prior persuasion. The miracle, like
any other argument which only confirms what
was before believed, is admitted with little ex-
amination. In the moral as in the natural world,
it is change which requires a cause. Men are
easily fortified in their old opinions, driven from
them with great difficulty. Now how does this
apply to the Christian history? The miracles,
there recorded, were wrought in the midst of ene-
mies, under a government, a priesthood, and n
magistracy, decidedly and vehemently adverse to
them, and to the pretensions which they support-
ed. They were Protestant miracles in a 1'opish
country; they were Popish miracles in the midst
of Protestants. They produced a change; they
established a society upon the spot, adhering to
the belief of them ; they made converts; and those
who were converted gave up to the testimony
their most fixed opinions and most favourite pre-
judices. They who acted and suffered in the
cause, acted and suffered for the miracles : for
there was no anterior persuasion to induce them.
no prior reverence, prejudice, or partiality, to take
hold of. Jesus had not one follower when he set
up his claim. His miracles gave birth to his sect.
No part of this description belongs to the ordinary
evidence of Heathen or Popish miracles. Even
most of the miracles alleged to have been perform-
ed by Christians, in the second and third century
of its era, want this confirmation. It constitutes
indeed a line of partition between the origin and
the progress of Christianity. Frauds and falla-
cies might mix themselves with the progress,
which could not possibly take place in the com-
mencement of the religion ; at least, according to
any laws of human conduct that we are acquaint
ed with. What should suggest to the first propa-
gators of Christianity, especially to fishermen,
tax-gatherers, and husbandmen, such a thought
as that of changing the religion of the world ;
what could bear them through the difficulties in
which the attempt engaged them ; what could
procure any degree of success to the attempt ; are
questions which apply, with great force, to the
setting out of the institution, with less, to every
future stage of it.
To hear some men talk, one would suppose the
setting up of a religion by miracles to be a thing
of every day's experience ; whereas the whole cur- '
rent of history is against it. Hath any founder
of a new sect amongst Christians pretended to
miraculous powers, and succeeded by his preten-
sions 1 " Were these powers claimed or exercised
by the founders of the sects of the Waldenses
and Albigenses 1 Did WicklifTe in England pre-
tend to it 1 Did Huss or Jerome in Bohemia 1
Did Luther in Germany, Zuinglius in Switzer-
land, Calvin in France, or any of the reformers,
advance this plea 1"* The French prophets, in
the beginning of the present century, t ventured
to allege miraculous evidence, and immediately
ruined their cause by their temerity. " Concern-
ing the religion of ancient Rome, of Turkey,
of Siam, of China, a single miracle cannot be
named, that was ever offered as a test of any of
those religions before their establishment." t
We may add to what has been observed of the
distinction which we are considering, that, where
miracles are alleged merely in affirmance of a
prior opinion, they who believe the doctrine may
sometimes propagate a belief of the miracles which
they do not themselves entertain. This is the
case of what ar6 called pious frauds ; but it is a
case, I apprehend, which takes place solely in
support of a persuasion already established. At
least it does not hold of the apostolical history. If
the apostles did not believe the miracles, they did
not believe the religion ; and, without this belief,
where was the pit fy, what place was there for any
thing which could bear the name or colour of
piety, in publishing and attesting miracles in its
behalf? If it be said that any promote the belief
of revelation, and of any accounts which favour
that belief, because they think them, whether well
or ill founded, of public and political utility ; I
answer, that if a character exist, which can with
less justice than another be ascribed to the foun-
ders of the Christian religion ;it is that of politicians,
or of men capable of entertaining political views.
The truth is, that there is no assignable character
which will account for the conduct of the apostles,
supposing their story to be false. If bad men,
what could have induced them to take such pains
to promote virtue 1 If good men, they would not
have gone about the country with a string of lies
in their mouths,
IN APPRECIATING the credit of any miraculous
story, these are distinctions which relate to the
evidence. There are other distinctions, of great
moment in the question, which relate to the mira-
cles themselves. Of which latter kind the fol-
lowing ought carefully to be refined.
I. It is not necessary to admit ^as a miracle,
what can be resolved into a false perception. Of
this nature was the demon of Socrates ; the visions
of Saint Anthony, and of many others; the vision
which Lord Herbert of Cherbury describes him-
self to have seen ; Colonel Gardner's vision, as re-
lated in his life, written by Dr. Doddridge. All
these may be accounted for by a momentary
insanity ; for the characteristic symptom of human
madness is the rising up in the mind of images
not distinguishable by the patient from impres-
sions upon the senses. The cases, however, in
which the possibility of this delusion exists, are
divided from the cases in which it does not exist,
by many, and those not obscure marks. They
are, for the most part, cases of visions or voices.
The object is hardly ever touched. The vision
submits not to be handled. One- sense does not
confirm another. They are likewise almost al-
ways cases of a solitary witness. It is in the
highest degree improbable, and I know not, indeed,
whether it hath ever been the fact, that the same
derangement of the mental organs should seize
* Campbell on Miracles, p. 120. ed. 1766.
t The eighteenth. J Adams on Mir. p. ?3.
Batty on Lunacy.
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
different persons at the same time ; a derangement,
I mean, so much the same, as to represent to
their imagination the same objects. Lastly, these
are always cases of momentary miracles; by
which term I mean to denote miracles, of which
th.e whole existence is of short duration, in con-
tradistinction to miracles which are attended with
permanent effects. The appearance of a spectre,
the hearing of a supernatural sound, is a moment-
ary miracle. The sensible proof is gone, when
the apparition or sound is over. But if a person
born blind be restored to sight, a notorious cripple
to the use of his limbs, or a dead man to life, here
is a permanent effect produced by supernatural
means. The change indeed was instantaneous,
but the proof continues. The subject of the mira-
cle remains. The man cured or restored is there :
his former condition was known, and his present
condition may be examined. This can by no
possibility be resolved into false perception : and
of this kind are by far the greater part of the mi-
racles recorded in the New Testament. When
Lazarus was raised from the dead, he did not
merely move, and speak, and die again ; or come
out of the grave, and vanish away. He returned
to his home and family, and there continued ; for
we find him, some time afterward in the same
town, sitting at table with Jesus and his sisters ;
visited by great multitudes of the Jews, as a sub-
ject of curiosity ; giving by his presence so much
uneasiness to the Jewish rulers as to beget in
them a design of destroying him. * No delusion
can account for this. The French prophets in
England, some time since, gave out that one of
their teachers would come to life again ; but their
enthusiasm never made them believe that they
actually saw him alive. The blind man, whose
restoration to sight at Jerusalem is recorded in the
ninth chapter o7 St. John's Gospel, did not quit
the place or conceal himself from inquiry. On
the contrary, he was forthcoming, to answer the
call, to satisfy the scrutiny, and to sustain the
brow-beating of Christ's angry and powerful
enemies. AVhen the cripple at the gate of the
temple was suddenly cured by Peter, t he did not
immediately relapse into his former lameness, or
disappear out of the city ; but boldly and honestly
produced himself along with the apostles, when
they were brought the next day before the Jewish
council, t Here, though the miracle was sudden,
the proof was permanent. The lameness had
been notorious, the cure continued. This there-
fore, could not be the effect of any momentary de-
lirium, either in the subject or in the witnesses of
the transaction. It is the same with the greatest
number of the Scripture miracles. There are
other cases of a mixed nature, in which, although
the principal miracle be momentary, some circum-
stance combined with it is permanent. Of this
kind is the history of St. Paul's conversion.
The sudden, light and sound, the vision and the
voice, upon the road to Damascus, were moment-
ary : but Paul's blindness for three days in conse-
quence of what had happened ; the communica-
tion made to Ananias in another place, and by a
vision independent of the former ; Ananias finding
out Paul in consequence of intelligence so receiv-
ed, and finding him in the condition described,
and Paul's recovery of his sight upon Ananias 's
# John xii. 1, 2, 9, 10.
1 Ib. iv. 14.
t Acts iii. 2.
Ib. ix.
laying his hands upon him; are circumstances,
which take the transaction, and the principal
miracle as included in it, entirely out of the case
of momentary miracles, or of such as may be ac-
counted for by false perceptions. Exactly the
same thing may be observed of Peter's vision pre-
paratory to the call of Cornelius, and of its con-
nexion with what was imparted in a distant place
to Cornelius himself, and with the message dis-
patched by Cornelius to Peter. The vision might
be a dream ; the message could not. Either com-
munication, taken separately, might be a delusion ;
the concurrence of the two was impossible to hap-
pen without a supernatural cause.
Beside the risk of delusion which attaches upon
momentary miracles, there is also much more
room for imposture. The account cannot be
examined at the moment ; and, when that is also
a moment of hurry and confusion, it may not be
difficult for men of influence to gain credit to any
story which they may wish to have believed. This
is precisely the case of one of the best attested of
the miracles of Old Rome, the appearance of Cas-
tor and Pollux in the battle fought by Posthumius
with the Latins at the lake Rcgillus. There is
no doubt but that Posthumius after the battle,
spread the report of such an appearance. No
person could deny it whilst it was said to last. No
person, perhaps, had any inclination to dispute it
afterward ; or, if they had, could say with posi-
tiveness, what was or what was not seen, by some
or other of the army, in the dismay and amidst
the tumult of a battle.
In assigning false perceptions as the origin to
which some miraculous accounts may be referred,
I have npt mentioned claims to inspiration, illu-
minations, secret notices or directions, internal
sensations, or consciousnesses of being acted upon
by spiritual influences, good or bad ; because
these, appealing to no external proof, however
convincing they may be to the persons themselves,
form no part of what can be accounted miraculous
evidence. Their own credibility stands upon
their alliance with other miracles. The discus-
sion, therefore, of all such pretensions may be
omitted.
II. It is not necessary to bring into the compa-
rison what may be called tentative miracles ; that
is, where, out of a great number of trials, some
succeeded ; and in the accounts of which, although
the narrative of the- successful cases be alone pre-
served, and that of the unsuccessful cases sunk,
yet enough is stated to show that the cases pro-
duced are only a few out of many in which the
same means have been employed. This observa-
tion bears, with considerable force, upon the
ancient oracles and auguries, in which a single
coincidence of the event with the prediction is
talked of and magnified, whilst failures are for-
gotten, or suppressed, or accounted for. It is also
applicable to the cures wrought by relics, and at
the tombs of saints. The boasted efficacy of the
king's touch, upon which Mr. Hume lays some
stress, falls under the same description. Nothing
is alleged concerning it, which is not alleged of
various nostrums, namely, out of many thousands
who have used them, certified proofs of a few who
have recovered after them. No solution of this
sort is applicable to the miracles of the Gospel.
There is nothing in the narrative, which can
induce, or even allow us to believe, that Christ
attempted cures in many instances, and succeeded
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
323
in a few ; or that he ever made the attempt in vain.
He did not profess to heal every where all that
were sick; on the contrary, he told the Jews,
evidently meaning to represent his own case, that,
" although many widows were in Israel in the
days of Klias, when the heaven was shut up three
years and six months, when great famine was
throughout all the land, yet unto none of them
was Elias sent, save unto Sarepta, a city of Sidon,
unto a woman that was a widow:" and that
" many lepers were in Israel in the time of Eli-
seus the prophet, and none of them was cleansed
saving Naaman the Syrian.''* By which exam-
ples he gave them to understand, that it was not
the nature of a divine interposition, or necessary
to its purpose, to be general ; still less to answer
every challenge that might be made, which would
teach men to put their faith upon these experi-
ments. Christ never pronounced the word, but
the effect followed.t It was not a thousand sick
that received his benediction, and a few that were
benefited ; a single paralytic is let down in his
bed at Jesus's feet, in the midst of a surrounding
multitude ; Jesus bid him walk, and he did so.t
A man with a withered hand is in the synagogue ;
Jesus bid him stretch forth his hand, in the pre-
sence of the assembly, and it was " restored whole
like the other." There was nothing tentative in
these cures ; nothing that can ( be explained by the
power of accident.
We may observe also, that many of the cures
which Christ wrought, such as that of a person
blind from his birth, also many miracles beside
cures, as raising the dead, walking upon the sea,
feeding a great multitude with a few loaves and
fishes, are of a nature which does not in any wise
admit of the supposition of a fortunate experi-
ment.
III. We may dismiss from the question all ac-
counts in which, allowing the phenomenon to%e
real, the fact to be true, it still remains doubtful
whether a miracle were wrought. This is the
case with the ancient history of what is called the
thundering legion, of the extraordinary circum-
stances which obstructed the rebuilding of the
temple at Jerusalem by Julian, the circling of the
flames and fragrant smell at the martyrdom of
Polycarp, the sudden shower that extinguished
the fire into which the Scriptures were thrown in
the Diocletian persecution ; Constantine's dream ;
his inscribing in consequence of it the cross upon
his standard and the shields of his soldiers ; his
victory, and the escape of the standard-bearer ;
perhaps also the imagined appearance of the cross
in the heavens, though this last circumstance is
very deficient in historical evidence. It is also
the case with the modern annual exhibition of the
liquefaction of the blood of St. Januarius at Na-
I ?>
' ex
* Luke iv. 25.
t One, and only one, instance may be produced in
which the disciples of Christ do seem to have attempted
a cure, and not to have been able to perform it. The
story is very ingenuously related by three of the evan-
gelists.fl The patient was afterward healed by Christ
himself; and the whole transaction seems to have been
intended, as it was well suited, to display the superiori-
ty of Christ above all who performed miracles in his
name, a distinction which, during his presence in the
world, it might be necessary to inculcate by some such
proof as this.
| Mark ii. 3. Matt. xii. 10.
I Matt. xvii. 14. Mark ix. 14. Luke ix. 33.
^ ;es. It is a doubt likewise, which ought to be
excluded by very special circumstances, from these
narratives which relate to the supernatural cure
of hypochondriacal and nervous complaints, and
of all diseases which are much atiected by the
imagination. The miracles of the second and
third century are, usually, healing the sick, and
casting out evil spirits, miracles in which there is
room for some error and deception. We hear
nothing of causing the blind to see, the lame to
walk, the deaf to hear, the lepers to be cleansed.*
There are also instances in Christian writers of
j reputed miracles, which were natural operations,
i though not known to be such at the time ; as that
j of articulate speech after the loss of a great part
of the tongue.
IV. To the same head of objection nearly, may
also be referred accounts, in which the variation
of a small circumstance may have transformed
some extraordinary apj)earance, or some critical
coincidence of events, into a miracle ; stories, in a
word, which may be resolved into exaggeration.
The miraclee-of the Gospel can by no possibility
be explained away in this manner. Total fiction
will account for any thing ; but no stretch of ex-
aggeration that has any parallel in other histories,
no force of fancy upon real circumstances, could
produce the narratives which we now have. The
feeding of the five thousand with a few loaves and
fishes surpasses all bounds of exaggeration. The
raising of Lazarus, of the widow's son at Nain, as
well as many of the cures which Christ wrought,
come not within the compass of misrepresentation.
I mean, that it is impossible to assign any position
of circumstances however i*eculiar, any accidental
effects however extraordinary, any natural singu-
larity, which could supply an origin or foundation
to these accounts.
Having thus enumerated several exceptions,
which may justly be taken to relations of miracles,
it is necessary when we read the Scriptures, to
bear in our minds this general remark ; that, al-
though there be miracles recorded in the New
Testament, which fall within some or other of
the exceptions here assigned, yet that they are
united with others, to which none of the same ex-
ceptions extend, and that their credibility stands
upon this union. Thus the visions and revela-
tions which Saint Paul asserts to have been im-
parted to him, may not, in their separate evidence,
be distinguishable from the visions and revelations
which many others have alleged. But here is
the difference. Saint Paul's pretensions were at-
tested by external miracles wrought by himself,
and by miracles wrought in the cause to which
these visions relate; or, to speak more properly,
the same historical authority which informs us of
one, informs us of the other. This is not ordina-
rily true of the visions of enthusiasts, or even of
the accounts in which they are contained. Again,
some of Christ's own miracles were momentary ;
as the transfiguration, the appearance and voice
from Heaven at his baptism, a voice from the
clouds on one occasion afterward, (John xii. 28,)
and some others. It is not denied, that the dis-
tinction which we have proposed concerning mi-
racles of this species, applies, in diminution of the
force of the evidence, as much to these instances
as to others. But this is the case, not with all the
Jortin's Remarks, vol. ii. p. 51.
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
miracles ascribed to Christ, nor with the greatest
part, nor with many. Whatever force therefore
there may be in the objection, we have numerous
miracles which are free from it ; and even these to
which it is applicable, are little affected by it in
their credit, because there are few who, admitting
the rest, will reject them. If there be miracles of
the New Testament, which come within any of
the other heads into which we have distributed
the objections, the same remark must be repeated.
And this is one way, in which the unexampled
number and variety of the miracles ascribed to
Christ strengthens the credibility of Chris-
tianity. For it precludes any solution, or con-
jecture about a solution, which imagination, or
even-i which experience, might suggest concern-
ing some particular miracles, if considered in-
dependently of others. The miracles of Christ
were of various kinds,* and performed in -great
varieties of situation, form, and manner; at Jeru-
salem, the metropolis of the Jewish nation and
religion ; in different parts of Judea and Galilee ;
in cities >and villages; in synagogues, in private
houses ; in the street, in highways ; with pre-
paration, as in the case of Lazarus ; by accident,
as in the case of the widow's son of Nain ; when
attended by multitudes, and when alone with the
patient ; in the midst of his disciples, and in the
presence of his enemies ; with the common people
around him, and before Scribes and Pharisees, and
rulers of the synagogues.
1 apprehend that, when we remove from the
comparison, the cases which are fairly disposed
of by the observations that have been stated, many
cases will not remain. To those which do remain,
we apply this final distinction ; " that there is not
satisfactory evidence, that persons, pretending to
be original witnesses of the miracles, passed their
lives in labours, dangers, and sufferings, volunta-
rily undertaken and undergone in attestation of the
accounts which they delivered, and properly in
consequence of their belief of the truth of those
accounts."
CHAPTER II.
BUT they, with whom we argue, have undoubt-
edly a right to select their own examples. The
instances with which Mr. Hume has chosen to
confront the miracles of the New Testament, and
which, therefore, we are entitled to regard as the
strongest which the history of the world could
supply to the inquiries of a very acute and learned
adversary, are the three following t
I. The cure of a blind and of a lame man of
Alexandria, by the emperor Vespasian, as related
by Tacitus ;
II. The restoration of the limb of an attendant
in a Spanish church, as told by cardinal de Retz ;
and, '
* Not only healing every species of disease, bin turn-
ing water into wine (John ii); feeding multitudes with
a few loaves and fishes (Matt. xiv. 15: Mark vi. 35;
Luke ix. 12; John vi. 5); walking on the sea (Matt.
xiv. 25); calming a storm (Matt. viii. 25 ; Luke viii. _M);
a celestial voice at his baptism, and miraculous appear-
ance (M;itt. iii. 16; afterward John xii. 28 ); his trans-
figuration (Matt. xvii. 18; Mark ix. 2; Luke ix. 28;
9 Peter i. 16, 17); raising the dead in three distinct in-
stances (Matt. ix. 18; Mark v. 22; Luke viii. 41; Luke
vii. 14 ; John xi.)
III. The cures said to be performed at the tomb
of the abbe Paris, in the early part of the present
century.
I. The narrative of Tacitus is delivered in thesr
terms : " One of the common people of Alexandria,
known to be diseased in his ryes, liyl.be admoni-
tion of the god Serapis, whom that su[?rstitious
nation worship above all other gods, prostrated
himself before the emperor, earnestly imploring
from him a remedy for his blindness, ;md entreat-
ing that he would deign to anoint with his spittle
his cheeks and the balls of his eyes. Another,
diseased in his hand, requested, by the admonition
of the same god, that he might be touched by the
foot of the emperor. Vespasian at first derided
and despised their application; afterward, when
they continued to urge their petitions, he some-
times appeared to dread the imputation of vanity;
at other times, by the earnest supplication of the
patients, and the persuasion of his flatterers, to be
induced to hope for success. At length he com-
manded an inquiry to be made by the physicians,
whether such a blindness and debility were vin-
cible by human aid. The report of the physicians
contained various points ; that in the one the
power of vision was not destroyed, but would re-
turn if the obstacles were removed ; that in the
other, the diseased joints might be restored if a
healing power were applied ; that it was, perhaps,
agreeable to the gods to do this ; that the emperor
was elected by divine assistance; lastly, that the
credit of the success would be the emperor's, the
ridicule of the disappointment would fall upon the
patients. Vespasian, believing that every thing
was in the power of his fortune, and that nothing
was any longer incredible, whilst the multitude,
which stood by, eagerly expected the event, with
a countenance expressive of joy, executed what
he was desired to do. Immediately the hand was
ret tored to its use, and light returned to the blind
man. They who were present relate both these
cures, even at this time, when there is nothing to
be gained by lying."*
Now, though Tacitus wrote this account twen-
ty-seven years after the miracle is said to have
been performed, and wrote at Rome of what pass-
ed at Alexandria, and wrote also from report : and
although it does not appear that he had examined
the story, or that he believed it (but rather the
contrary,) yet I think his testimony sufficient to
prove that such a transaction took place : by which
I mean, that the two men in question did apply to
Vespasian ; that Vespasian did touch the diseased
in the manner related ; and that a cure was re-
ported to have followed the operation. But the
affair labours under a strong and just suspicion,
that the whole of it was a concerted imposture
brought about by collusion between the patients,
the physician, and the emperor. This solution is
probable, because there was every thing to suggest,
and every thing to facilitate, such a scheme. The
miracle was calculated to confer honour upon the
emperor, and upon the god Serapis. It was
achieved in the midst of the emperor's flatterers
and followers ; in a city, and amongst a populace,
beforehand devoted to his interest, and to the wor-
ship of the god ; where it would have been treason
and blasphemy together, to have contradicted the
fame of the cure, or even to have questioned it.
And what is very observable in the account is, that
* Tacit. Hist. lib. iv. '
EVIDENCES OP CHRISTIANITY.
325
the report of the physicians is just such a report
as would have been made of a case, in which no
external marks of the disease existed, and which,
consequently, was capable of being easily coun-
terfeited, viz. that in the first of the patients the
organs of vision were not destroyed, that the
weakness of the second was in his joints. The
strongest circumstance in Tacitus's narration is,
that the first patient was " notus tabe oculorum,"
remarked or notorious for the disease in his eyes.
But this was a circumstance which might have
found its way into the story in its progress from
a distant country, and during an interval of thirty
years ; or it mii>ht be true that the malady of the
eyes was notorious, yet that the nature and degree
of the disease had never been ascertained ; a case
by no means uncommon. The emperor's reserve
was easily affected ; or it is |M>ssi!>le he might not
be in the secret. There does not seem to be much
weight in the observation of Tacitus, that they
who were present, continued even then to relate
the story when there was nothing to 1 gained by
the lie. It only proves that those who had told
the story for many years jHTsisted in it. The state
of mind of the witnesses and spectators at the
time, is the point to be attended to. Still less is
there of pertinency in Mr. Hume's eulogium on
the cautious and penetrating genius of tin 1 histo
rian; for it does not appear that the historian be-
lieved it. The terms in which he speaks of
Serapis, the deity to whose interposition the mi-
racle was attributed, scarcely sutler us to supj>ose
that Tacitus thought the miracle to be_real : " by
the admonition of the god Serapis. whom that
superstitious nation (dedita superstitionibus gens)
worship above all other gods." To have brought
this supped miracle within the limits of compa-
rison with the miracles of ( 'hrist, it ought to have
appeared, that a person of a low and private star
tion, in the midst of enemies, with the whole
power of the country opposing him, with every
one around him prejudiced or interested against
his claims and character, pretended to perform
these cures, and required the spectators, upon the
strength of what they saw, to give up their firm-
est hopes and opinions, and follow him through a
life of trial and clanger; that many were so moved
as to obey his call, at the exjM'iise both of every
notion in which they had been brought up, and
of their ease, safety, and reputation; and that by
these beginnings, a change was produced in the
world, the effects of which remain to this day : a
case, both in its circumstances and consequences,
very unlike any thing we find in Tacitus's rela-
tion.
II. The story taken from the Memoirs of Car-
dinal de Retz, which is the second example al-
leged by Mr. Hume, is this : " In the church of
Saragossa in Spain, the canons showed me a man
whose business it was to light the lamps ; telling
me that he had been several years at the gate with
one leg only. I saw him with two."*
It is stated by Mr. Hume, that the cardinal,
who relates this story, did not believe it : and it no
where appears, that he either examined the limb,
or asked the patient, or indeed any one, a single
question at>out the matter. An artificial leg,
wrought with art, would be sufficient, in a place
where no such contrivance had ever before been
heard of, to give origin and currency to the report.
* Liv. iv. A. D. 1654.
The ecclesiastics of the place would, it is probable,
favour the story, inasmuch as it advanced the
honour of their image and church. And if they
patronised it, no other person at Saragossa, in the
middle of the last century, would care to dispute
it. The story likewise coincided, not less with
the wishes and -preconceptions of the people, than
with the interests of their ecclesiastical rulers : so
that there was prejudice -backed by authority, and
both operating upon extreme ignorance, to account
for the success of the imposture. If, as I have
su<ii:<'stcd, the contrivance of an artificial limb was
then new, it would not occur to the cardinal him-
self to suspect it ; especially under the carelessness
of mind with which he heard the tale, and the
little inclination he felt to scrutinize or expose its
fallacy.
"III. The miracles related to have been wrought
at the tomb of the abbe Paris, admit in general of
this solution. The patients who frequented the
tomb .were so affected by their devotion, their ex-
pectation, the place, the solemnity, and, above all,
by the sympathy of* the surrounding multitude,
that many of them were thrown into violent con-
vulsions, which convulsions, in certain instances,
produced a removal of disorders depending upon
obstruction. We shall, at this day, have the less
ditliculty in admitting the above account, because
it is the very same thing as hath lately been ex-
perienced in the operations of animal magnetism ;
and the report of the French physicians upon that
mysterious remedy is very applicable to the pre-
sent consideration, ri:. that the pretenders to the
art, by working upon the imaginations of their
patients, were frequently able to produce convul-
sions ; that convulsions so produced, are amongst
the tnost powerful, but, at the same time, most
uncertain and unmanageable applications to the
human frame which can be employed.
Circumstances, which indicate this explication
in the case of the Parisian miracles, are the fol-
lowing:
1. They were tentative. Out of many thou-
sand sick, infirm, and diseased persons, who re-
sorted to the tomb, the professed history of the
miracles contains only nine cures.
2. The convulsions at the tomb are admitted.
3. The diseases were, for the most part, of that
sort which depends upon inaction and obstruction,
as dropsies, palsies, and some tumours.
4. The cures were gradual ; some patients at-
tending many days, some several weeks, and some
several months.
5. The cures were many of them incomplete.
6. Others were temporary.*
So that all the wonder we are called upon to
account for. is, that, out of an almost innumerable
multitude which resorted to the tomb for the cure
of their complaints, and many of whom were there
agitated by strong convulsions, a very small pro-
portion experienced a beneficial change in their
constitution, especially in the action of the nerves
and glands.
Some of the cases alleged, do not require that
we should have recourse to this solution. The first
case in the catalogue is scarcely distinguishable
from the progress of a natural recovery. It was
that of a young man, who laboured under an in-
flammation of one eye, and had lost the sight of the
The reader will find these particulars verified in the
detail, by the accurate inquiries of the present bishop
of Sarum, in his Criterion of Miracles, p. 132, &c.
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
other. The inflamed eye was relieved, but the
blindness of the other remained. The inflamma-
tion had beforebeen abated by medicine ; and the
young man, at the time of his attendance at the
tomb, was using a lotion of laudanum. And,
what is a still more material part of the case, the
inflammation, after some interval returned. An-
other case was that of a young man who had lost
his sight by the puncture of an awl, and the dis-
charge of the aqueous humour through the wound.
The sight, which had been gradually returning,
was much improved during his visit to the tomb,
that is, probably, in the same degree in which the
discharged humour was replaced by fresh secre-
tions. And it is observable., that these two are
the only cases which, from their nature, should
seem unlikely to be affected by convulsions.
In one material respect I allow that the Parisian
miracles were different from those related by Ta-
citus, and from the Spanish miracle of the cardi-
nal de Retz. They had not, like them, all the
power and all the prejudice of the country on their
side to begin with. They were alleged by one
party against another, by the Jansenists against
the Jesuits. These were of course opposed and
examined by their adversaries. The consequence
of which examination was, that many falsehoods
were detected, that with something really extra-
ordinary much fraud appeared to be mixed. And
if some of the cases upon which designed misre-
presentation could not be charged, were not at the
time satisfactorily accounted for, it was because
the efficacy of strong spasmodic affections was not
then sufficiently known. Finally, the cause of
Jansenism, did not rise by the miracles, but sunk,
although the miracles had the anterior persuasion
of all the numerous adherents of that cause to set
out with.
These, let us remember, are the strongest ex-
amples, which the history of ages supplies. In
none of them was the miracle unequivocal ; by
none of them, were established prejudices and
persuasions overthrown ; of none of them, did the
credit make its way, in opposition to authority
and power; b"-none of them, were many induced
to commit themselves, and that in contradiction to
prior opinions, to a life of mortification, danger,
and sufferings ; none were called upon to attest
them, at the expense of their fortunes and safety.*
* It may be thought that the historian of the Parisian
miracles, M. Montgeron, forms an exception to this last
assertion. He presented his book (with a suspicion, as
it should seem, of the danger of what he was doing) to
the king ; and was shortly afterward committed to
prison, from which he never came out. Had the mira-
cles been unequivocal, and had M. Montgeron been
originally convinced by them, I should have allowed
this exception. 'It would have stood, I think, alone, in
the argument of our adversaries. But beside what has
been observed of the dubious nature of the miracles, the
account which M. Montgeron has himself left of his
conversion, shows both the state of his mind, and that
his persuasion was not built upon external miracles.
" Scarcely had he entered the churchyard, when he was
struck (he tells us) with awe and reverence, having
never before heard prayers pronounced with, so much
ardour and transport as he observed amongst the suppli-
cants at the tomb. Upon this, throwing himself on his
knees, resting his elbows on the tomb-stone, and cover-
ing his face with his hands, he spake the following
prayer: O thou, by whose intercession so many miracles
are said to be performed, if it. be true that a part ofthee
suroivetk the grave, and that thou hast influence with the
Almighty, have pity on the darkness of my understand-
ing, and through his mercy obtain the removal of it."
Having prayed thus, 'Jmany thoughts (as be saith)
PART n.
OP THE AUXILIARY EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
CHAPTER I.
Prophecy.
ISAIAH In. 13. liii. " Behold, my Servant shall
deal prudently ; he shall be exalted and extolled,
and be very high. As many were astonished at
thee (his visage was so marred more than any
man, and his form more than the sons of men) ;
so shall he sprinkle many nations ; the kings shall
shut their mouths at him : for that which had not
been told them, shall they see ; and that which
they had not heard, shall they consider. Who
hath believed our report 1 and to whom is the arm
of the Lord revealed 1 For he shall grow up be-
fore him as a tender plant, and as a root out of a
dry ground : he hath no form nor comeliness ;
and when we shall see him, there is no beauty
that we should desire him. He is despised and
rejected of men, a man of sorrows and acquainted
with grief: and we hid, as it were, our faces from
him ; he was despised, and we esteemed him not.
Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our
sorrows : yet we did esteem him stricken, smitten
of God and afflicted. But he was wounded for
our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniqui-
ties : the chastisement of our peace was upon
him ; and with his stripes we are healed. All we
like sheep have gone astray; we have turned
every one to his own way ; and the Lord hath
laid on him the iniquity of us all. He was op-
pressed, and he was afflicted, yet he opened not his
mouth : he is brought as a lamb to the slaughter,
and as a sheep before her shearers is dumb, so he
opened not his mouth. He was taken from prison
and from judgment; and who shall declare his
generation 1 for he was cut off" out of the land of
the living ; for the transgression of my people was
he stricken. And he made his grave with the
wicked, and with the rich in his death ; because
he had done no violence, neither was any deceit
in his mouth. Yet it pleased the Lord to bruise
him ; he hath put him to grief. When thou shalt
make his soul an offering for sin, he shall see his
seed, he shall prolong his days, and the pleasure
of the Lord shall prosper in his hand. He shall
see of the travail of his soul, and shall be satisfied :
by his knowledge shall my righteous servant jus-
tify many; for he shall bear their iniquities.
Therefore will I divide him a portion with the
great, and he shall divide the spoil with the strong ;
because he hath poured out his soul unto death :
and he was numbered with the transgressors, and
he bare the sin of many, and made intercession
for the transgressors."
began to open themselves to his mind ; and so profound
was his attention, that he continued on his knees four
hours, not in the least disturbed by the vast crowd of
surrounding supplicants. During this time, all the
arguments which he ever heard or read in favour of
Christianity, occurred to him with so much force, and
seemed so strong and convincing, that he went home
fully satisfied with the truth of religion in general, and
of the holiness and power of that person, who, (as he
supposed) had engaged the Divine Goodness to enlight-
en his understanding so suddenly." Douglas'aCrit. of
Mir. p. 214.
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
327
These words are extant in a book, purporting
to contain the predictions of a writer who lived
seven centuries before the Christian era.
That material part of every argument from
prophecy, namely, that the words alleged were
actually spoken or written before the tact to which
they are applied took place, or could by any natu
ral means be foreseen is, in the present instance,
incontestable. The record comes out of the cus-
tody of adversaries. The Jews, as an ancient
father well observed, are our librarians. The
passage is in their copies, as well as in ours.
With many attempts to explain it away, none has
ever been made by them to discredit its authenti-
city.
And, what adds to the force of the quotation is,
that it is taken from a writing declaredly pro-
phetic ; a writing, professing to describe such
future transactions and changes in the world, as
were connected with the fate and interests of the
Jewish nation. It is not a passage in an histori-
cal or devotional composition, which, because it
turns out to be applicable to some future events,
or to some future situation of affairs, is presumed
to have been oracular. The words of Isaiah were
delivered by him in a prophetic character, with
the solemnity belonging to that character: and
what he so delivered, was all along understood by
the Jewish reader to refer to sometlu'ng that was
to take place after the time of the author. The
public sentiments of the Jews concerning the de-
sign of Isaiah's writings, are set forth in the book
of Ecclesiastic us :* "He saw by an excellent
spirit, what should come to pass at the last, and
he comforted them that mourned in Sion. He
showed what should come to pass for ever, and
secret things or ever they came."
It is also an advantage which this prophecy
possesses, that it is intermixed with no other sub-
ject. It is entire, separate, and uninterruptedly
directed to one scene of things.
The application of the prophecy to the evan-
gelic history is plain and appropriate. Here is no
double sense ; no figurative language, but what is
sufficiently intelligible to every reader of every
country. The obscurities (by which I mean the
expressions that require a knowledge of local dic-
tion, and of local allusion) are few, and not of
great importance. Nor have I found that varie-
ties of reading, or a different construing of the
original, produce any material alteration in the
sense of the prophecy. Compare the common
translation with that of bishop Lowth, and the
difference is not considerable. So far as they do
differ, bishop Lowth's corrections, which are the
faithful result of an accurate examination, bring
the description nearer to the New Testament
history than it was before. In the fourth verse
of the fifty-third chapter, what our Bible renders
"stricken," he translates "judicially stricken:"
and in the eighth verse, the clause, " he was taken
from prison and from judgment," the bishop gives,
"by an oppressive judgment he was taken off."
The next words to these, " who shall declare his
generation 1" are much cleared up in their mean-
ing by the bishop's version ; " his manner of life
who would declare V i. e. who would stand forth
in his defence 1 The former part of the ninth
verse, "and he made his grave with the wicked,
and with the rich in his death," which inverts the
* Chap, xlviii. ver. 94.
circumstances of Christ's passion, the bishop
brings out in an order perfectly agreeable to the
event, "and his grave was appointed with the
wicked, but witli the rich man was his tomb."
The words in the eleventh verse, " by his know-
ledge shall my righteous servant justify many,"
are, in the bishop's version, " by the knowledge
of him shall my righteous servant justify many."
It is natural to inquire what turn the Jews
themselves give to this prophecy. * There is good
proof that trie ancient Rabbins explained it of
their expected Messiah ; t but their modern ex-
positors concur, 1 think, in representing it as a de-
scription of the calamitous state and intended res-
toration of the Jewish people, who are here, as
they say, exhibited under the character of a
single person. I have not discovered that their
exposition rests upon any critical arguments, or
upon these in any other than a very minute de-
gree. The clause in the ninth verse, which we
render " for the transgression of my people was
he stricken," and in the margin, " was the stroke
upon him," the Jews read, " for the transgression
of my people was the stroke upon them. And
what they allege in support of the alteration
amounts only to this, that the Hebrew pronoun is
capable of a plural as well as of a singular signifi-
cation; that is to say, is capable of their construc-
tion as well as ours, t And this is all the varia-
tion contended for ; the rest of the prophecy they
* "Vaticinium hoc Esai.r est carnificina Rabbino-
runi, de qua aliqui Jmln-i inihi confessi sunt, Rabbinos
suos ex propheticis scripturis facile se extricare potu-
isse, moilo Enaias taeuisset." Hulse, Tlieol. Jud. p. 318.
quoted by Poole, in loc.
f Hulse, Theol. Jud. p. 430.
I Bishop Lowth adopts in this place the reading of
the Seventy, which gives smitten to death, " for the
transgression of my people was he smitten to death."
'/'li'' addition of the words " to death," makes nn end
of the Jewish interpretation of the clause. And the
authority upon which this read ing (though not given by
the present Hebrew text) is adopted. Dr. Kennicot has
set forth by an argument not only so cogent, but so clear
and popular, that I beg leave to transcribe the sub-
stance of it into this note: " Origen, after having quo-
ted at l;n :." this prophecy concerning the Messiah, teila
, that, having once made use of this passage, in a dis-
pute against some that were accounted wise among the
Jews, one of them replied that the words did not mean
one man, but one people, the Jews, who were smitten
of God, and dis|H?rsod among the Gentiles for their con-
version; that IK; tln'ii nr^'d many parts of this prophecy,
to show the absurdity of this interpretation, and that
he seemed to press them the hardest by this sentence,
' for the transgression of my people was he smitten
to death.' Now, as Origen, the author of the Hexapla,
must have understood Hebrew, we cannot suppose that
lie would have urged this last text as so decisive, if the
Greek version had not agreed here with the Hebrew
text ; nor that these wise Jews would have heen at all
listressed by this quotation, unless the Hebrew text had
read agreeably to the words ' to death,! on which the
argument principally depended; for, by quoting it im-
mediately, they would have triumphed over him, and
reprobated his Greek version. This, whenever they
could do it, was their Constant practice in their disputes
with the Christians. Origen himself, who laboriously
compared the Hebrew text with the Septuagint, has re-
corded the necessity of arguing with the Jews, from such
passages only as were in the Septuagint agreeable to the
Hebrew. Wherefore, as Origen Lad carefully compared
the Greek version of the Septuagint with the Hebrew
text ; and as he puzzled and confounded the learned
Jews, by urging upon them the reading ' to death.' in
this place ; it seems almost impossible not to conclude,
both from Origen's argument, and the silence of his
Jewish adversaries, that the Hebrew text at that time
actually had the word agreeaoly to the version of the
Seventy." Lowth's Isaiah, p. 242.
328
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
read as we do. The probability, therefore, of
their exposition, is a subject which we are as ca-
pable of judging as themselves. This judgment
is open indeed to the good sense of every attentive
reader. The application which the Jews contend
for, appears to me to labour under insuperable
difficulties ; in particular it may be demanded of
them to explain, in whose name or person, if the
Jewish people be the sufferer, does the prophet
speak, when he says-, " He hath borne our griefs,
and carried our sorrows, yet we did esteem him
stricken, smitten of God, and afflicted ; but he
was wounded for our transgressions, he was
bruised for our iniquities, the chastisement of our
peace was upon him, and with his stripes ice are
healed." Again, the description in the seventh
verse, "he was oppressed .and he was afflicted,
vet he opened not his mouth ; he js brought as a
lamb to the slaughter, and as a sheep before her
shearers is dumb, so he opened not his mouth,"
quadrates with no part of the Jewish history with
which we are acquainted. The mention of the
"grave," and the "tomb," in the ninth verse, is
not very applicable to the fortunes of a nation ;
and still less so is the conclusion of the prophecy
in the twelfth verse, which expressly represents
the sufferings as voluntary, and the sufferer as
interceding for the offenders; "because he hath
poured out his soul unto death, and he was num-
bered with the transgressors, and he bare the sin
of many, and made intercession for the trans-
gressors."
There are other prophecies of the Old Testa-
ment, interpreted by Christians to relate to the
Gospel history, which are deserving both of great
regard, and of a very attentive consideration : but
I content myself with stating the above, as well
because I think it the clearest and the strongest
of all, as because most of the rest, in order that
their value might -be represented with any tolera-
ble degree of fidelity, require a discussion unsuit-
able to the limits and nature of this work. The
reader will find them disposed in order, and dis-
tinctly explained, in bishop Chandler's treatise on
the subject : and he will bear in mind, what has
been often, and, I think, truly, urged by the ad-
vocates of Christianity, that there is no other
eminent person, to the history of whose life so
many circumstances can be made to apply. They
who object that much has been done by the power
of chance, the ingenuity of accommodation, and
the industry of research, ought to try whether the
same, or any thing like it, could be done, if Ma-
homet, or any other person, were proposed as the
subject of Jewish prophecy.
II. A second head of argument from prophecy,
is founded upon our Lord's predictions concerning
the destruction of Jerusalem, recorded by three
out of the four evangelists.
Luke xxi. 5 25. " And as some spake of the
temple, how it was adorned with goodly stones
and gifts, he said, As for these things which ye
behold, the days will come,4n which there shall
not be left one stone upon another, that shall not
be thrown down. And they asked him, saying,
Master, but when shall these things be 1 and
what sign will there be when these things shall
come to pass 1 And he said, Take heed'that ye
be not deceived, for many shall come in my name,
saying, I am Christ; and the time draweth near :
go ye not therefore after them. But when ye
shall hear of wars and commotions, be not terrified :
for these things must first come to pass ; but the
end is not by-and-by. Then said he unto them,
Nation shall rise against nation, and kingdom
against kingdom; and great earthquakes shall be
in clivers places, and 'famines and pestilences; and
fearful sights, and great sigrts shall there be from
heaven. But before all these, they shall lay their
hands on you, and persecute you, delivering you
up to the synagogues, and into prisons, being
brought before kings and rulers for my name's
sake. And it shall turn to you for a testimony.
Settle it therefore in your hearts, not to meditate
before, what ye shall answer : for I .will give you
a mouth and wisdom, which all your adversaries
shall not be able to gainsay nor resist. And ye
shall be betrayed both by parents, and brethren,
and kinsfolk, and friends ; and some of you shall
they cause to be put to death. And ye shall be
hated of all men for my name's sake. But there
shall not a hair of your head perish. In your
patience possess ye your souls. And when ye
shall see Jerusalem compassed with armies, then
know that the desolation thereof is nigh. Then
let them which are in Judea flee to the mountains ;
and let them which are in the midst of it depart
out : and let not them that are in the countries
enter thereinto. For these be the days of ven-
geance," that all things which are written may be
fulfilled. But woe unto them that are with child,
and to them that give suck, in those days : for
there shall be great distress in the land, and wrath
upon this people. And they shall fall by the edge
of the sword, and shall be led away captive into
all nations: and Jerusalem shall be trodden down
of the Gentiles until the times of the Gentiles be
fulfilled."
In terms nearly similar, this discourse is related
in the twenty-fourth chapter of Matthew, and the
thirteenth of Mark. The prospect of the same
evils drew from our Saviour, on another occasion,
the following affecting expressions of concern,
which are preserved by St. Luke (xix. 41 44.)
" And when he was come near, he beheld the
city, and wept over it, saying, If thou hadst known,
even thou, at least in this thy day, the things
which belong unto thy peace! but now they
are hid from thine eyes. For the days shall come
upon thee, that thine enemies shall cast a trench
about thee, and compass thee round, and keep thee
in on every side, and shall lay thee even with the
ground, and thy children within thee; and they
shall not leave in thee one stone upon another ;
because thou knewest not the time of thy visita-
tion." These passages are direct and explicit
predictions. References to the same event, some
plain, some parabolical, or otherwise figurative,
are found in divers other discourses of our Lord.*
The general agreement of the description with
the event, viz. with the ruin of the Jewish nation,
and the capture of Jerusalem under Vespasian,
thirty-six years after Christ's death, is most
evident ; and the accordancy in various articles of
detail and circumstances has been shown by many
learned writers. It is also an advantage to the
inquiry, and to the argument built upon it, that
we have received a copious account of the trans-
action from Josephus, a Jewish and contemporary
historian. This part of the case is perfectly free from
doubt. The only question which, in my opinion,
* Matt. xxi. 3346 ; xxii. 17. Mark xii. I
xiii. 19 ; xx. 920 ; xxi. 513.
-12. Luke
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
829
can be raised upon the subject, is whether the
prophecy was really delivered before the event ; I
shall apply, therefore, my observations to this
point solely.
1 . The j udgment of antiquity, though varying in
the precise year of the publication of the three
Gospels, concurs in assigning them a date prior to
the destruction of Jerusalem.*
"2. This judgment is confirmed by a strong pro-
bability arising from the course of human life.
The destruction of Jerusalem took place in the
seventieth year after the birth of Christ. The
three evangelists, one of whom was his immediate
companion, and the other two associated with his
companions, were, it is probable, not much young-
er than he was. They must, consequently, have
been far advanced in life when Jerusalem was
taken ; and no reason has been given why they
should defer writing their histories so long.
3. t If the evangelists, at the time of writing
the Gospels, had known of the destruction of Je-
rusalem. by which catastrophe the prophecies were
plainly fulfilled, it is most probable, that, in re-
cording the predictions, they would have dropped
some word or other about the completion ; in like
manner as Luke, after relating the denunciation
of a dearth by Agabus. adds. k which came to pass
in the days of Claudius Ca-sar:''! whereas the
prophecies are given distinctlv in <>ne chapter of
each of the first three Gospels, and referred to in
several difierrnt passages of each, and, in none of
all these places, does there appear the smallest in-
timation that the things spoken of had come to
pass. 1 do admit, that it would have been tin-
part of an impostor, who wished his readers to be-
lieve that his book was written before the event,
when in truth it was written after it, to have sup-
pressed any su< h intimation carefully. But this
was not the character of the authors of the Gos-
pel. Cunning was no quality of theirs. Of all
writers in the world, they thought the least of
providing against objections. Moreover, there is
no clause in any one of them, that makes a pro-
fession of their having written prior to the Je\s ish
wars, which a fraudulent purpose would have led
them to pretend. They have done neither one
thing nor the other: they have neither inserted
any words which might signify to the reader that
their accounts were written before the destruction
of Jerusalem, which a sophist would have done ;
nor have they dropped a hint of the completion of
the prophecies recorded by them, which an undc.-
signing writer, writing after the event, could
hardly, on some or other of the many occasions
that presented themselves, have missed of doing.
4. The admonitions! which Christ is repre-
sented to have given to his followers to save them-
selves by flight, are not easily accounted for, on
the supposition of the prophecy being fabricated
* Lardner, vol. xiii.
t Le Clerc,Diss. III. de Quat. Evang. num. vii. p. 541.
tActsxi 28.
f" When ye shall see Jerusalem compassed with ar-
mips, then know that the desolation thereof is nigh ;
then let them which are in Judea flee to the mountains ;
then let thorn which are in the midst of it depart out,
and let not them that are in the countries enter there-
into.' Luke xxi. 20, 21.
"When ye shall see Jerusalem compassed with ar-
mies, then let them which bo in Judea flee unto the
mountains ; let him which is on the house-top not corns
down to take any thing out of his house ; neither let him
which is in the field return back to take his clothes."
2T
after the event. Either the Christians, when the
siege approached, did make their escape from Je-
rusalem, or they did not : if they did, they must
have had the prophecy amongst them : if they did
not know of any such prediction at the time of
the siege, if they did not take notice of any such
warning, it was an improbable fiction, in a writer
publishing his work near to that time (which, on
any even the lowest and most disadvantageous
supposition, was the case with the Gospels now in
our hands,) and addressing his work to Jews and
to Jewish converts (which Alatthew certainly did,)
to state that the followers of Christ had received
admonition of which they made no use when the
occasion arrived, and of which exjierience then re-
cent proved, that those, who were most concerned
to know and regard them, were ignorant or ne-
gligent. Even if the prophecies came to the hands
of the evangelists through no better vehicle than
tradition, it must have been by a tradition which
subsisted prior to the event. And to suppose that,
without any authority whatever, without so much
as even any tradition to guide them, they had
forged these passages, is to impute to them a de-
gree of fraud and imposture, from every appear-
ance of which their compositions are as far re-
mo\ed as possible.
5. I think that, if the prophecies had been com-
posed alter the event, there would have been more
specification. The names or descriptions of the
enemy, the general, the emperor, would have been
found in them. The designation of the time
would have been more determinate. And I am
fortified in this opinion by observing, that the
counterfeited prophecies of the Sibylline oracles,
of the twelve patriarchs, and I am inclined to be-
lieve, most others of the kind, are, mere trans-
scripts of the history, moulded into a prophetic
form.
It is objected, that the prophecy of the destruc-
tion of Jerusalem is mixed, or connected, with
expressions which relate to the final judgment of
the world ; and so connected, as to lead an ordina-
ry reader to expect, that these two events would
not be far distant from each other. To which I
answer, that the objection does not concern our
present argument. If our Saviour actually fore-
told the destruction of Jerusalem, it is sufficient;
even although we should allow, that the narration
of the prophecy had combined what had been said
by him on kindred subjects, without accurately
preserving the order, or always noticing the transi-
tion of the discourse.
CHAPTER II.
The Morality of the Gospel.
IN stating the morality of the Gospel as an ar-
gument of its truth, I am willing to admit two
points ; first, that the teaching of morality was
not the primary design of the mission ; secondly,
that morality, neither in the GospeT, nor in any
other book, can be a subject, properly speaking,
of discovery.
If I were to describe in a very few words the
scope of Christianity, as a rcvelatian* I should
and inestimably beneficial effects may accrue
mission of Christ, and especially from hia
* Great and
from the
death, which do not belong to Christianity da a revela.
330
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
say, that it Was to influence the conduct of human
life, by establishing the proof of a future state of
reward and punishment, " to bring life and im-
mortality to light." The direct object, therefore,
of the design is, to supply motives, and not rules ;
sanctions, and not precepts. And these were
what mankind stood most in need of. The mem-
bers of civilized society can, in all ordinary cases,
judge tolerably well how they ought to act : but
without a future state, or, which is the same
thing, without credited evidence of that state, they
want a motive to their duty ; they want at least
strength of motive, sufficient to bear up against
the force of passion, and the temptation of present
advantage. Their rules want authority. The
most important service that can be rendered to
human life, and that consequently, which, one
might expect beforehand, would be the great end
and office of a revelation from God, is to convey
to the world authorised assurances of the reality
of a future existence. And although in doing
this, or by the ministry of the same person by
whom this is done, moral precepts or examples,
or illustrations of moral precepts, may be occasion-
ally given, and be highly valuable, yet still they
do not form the original purpose of the mission.
Secondly ; morality, neither in the Gospel, nor
in, any other book, can be a subject of discovery,
properly so called. By which proposition, I mean
that there cannot, in morality, be any thing simi-
lar to what are called discoveries in natural philo-
sophy, iu the arts of life, and in some sciences ;
as the system of the Universe, the circulation of
the blood, the polarity of the magnet, the laws of
gravitation, alphabetical writing, decimal arithme-
tic, and some other things of the same sort ; facts,
or proofs, or contrivances, before totally unknown
and unthought of. Whoever, therefore, expects,
in reading the New Testament, to be struck with
discoveries in morals in the manner in which his
mind was affected when he first came to the
knowledge of the discoveries above-mentioned ; or
rather in the manner in which the world was af-
fected by them, when they were first published ;
expects what, as I apprehend, the nature of the
subject renders it impossible that he should meet
with. And the foundation of my opinion is this,
that the qualities of actions depend entirely upon
their effects, which effects must all along have
been the subject of human experience.
When it is once settled, no matter upon what
principle, that to do good is virtue, the rest is cal-
culation. But since the calculation cannot be in-
stituted concerning each particular action, we es-
tablish intermediate rules ; by which proceeding,
the business of morality is much facilitated, for
then it is concerning our rules alone that we need
inquire, whether in their tendency they be bene-
tion ; that is, they might have existed, and they might
have been accomplished, though we had never, in this
life, been made acquainted with them. These effects
may be very extensive : they may be interesting even
to other orders of intelligent beings. I think it is a
general opinion, and one to which I have long come,
that the beneficial effects of Christ's death extend to the
whole human species. It was the redemption of the
world. " He is the propitiation for our sins, and not for
ours only, but for the whole world ;" 1 John ii. 2.
Probably the future happiness, perhaps the future exist-
ence of the species, and more gracious terms of accept-
ance extended to all, might depend upon it, or be pro-
cured by it. Now these effects, whatever they be, do
not belong to Christianity as a revelation ; because they
exist with respect to those to whom it is not revealed.
ficial ; concerning our actions, we have only to
ask, whether they be agreeable to the rules. We
refer actions to rules, and rules to public happiness.
Now in the formation of these rules there is no
place for discovery, properly so called, but there
is ample room for the exercise of wisdom, judg-
ment, and prudence.
As I wish to deliver argument rather than
panegyric, I shall treat of the morality of the Gos-
pel, in subjection to these observations. And
after all, I think it such a morality, as considering
from whom it came, is most extraordinary ; and
such as, without allowing some degree of reality
to the character and pretensions of the religion,
it is difficult to account for : or, to place the argu-
ment a little lower in the scale, it is such a mo-
rality as completely repels the supposition of its
being the tradition of a barbarous age or of a bar-
barous people, of the religion being founded in
folly, or of its being the production of craft ; and
it repels also, in a great degree, the supposition of
its having been the effusion of an enthusiastic mind.
The division, under which the subject may
be most conveniently treated, is that of the things
taught, and the manner of teaching.
Under the first head, I should willingly, if the
limits and nature of my work admitted of it,
transcribe into this chapter the whole of what has
been said upon the morality of the Gospel, by the
author of The Internal Evidence of Christianity ;
because it perfectly . agrees with my own opinion,
and because it is impossible to say the same
things so well. This acute observer of human
nature, and, as I believe, sincere convert to Chris-
tianity, appears to me to have made out satisfac-
torily the two following positions, viz.
I. That the Gospel omits some qualities, which
have usually engaged the praises and admira-
tion of mankind, but which, in reality, and in
their general effects, have been prejudicial to
human happiness.
II. That the Gospel has brought forward some
virtues, which possess the highest intrinsic value,
but which have commonly been overlooked and
contemned.
The first of these propositions he exemplifies
in the instances of friendship, patriotism, active
courage ; in the sense in which these qualities are
usually understood, and in the conduct which
they often produce.
The second, in the instances of passive courage
or endurance of sufferings, patience under affronts
and injuries, humility, irresistance,. placability.
The truth is, there are two opposite descrip-
tions of character, under which mankind may
fenerally be classed. The one possesses vigour,
rmness, resolution ; is daring and active, quick
in its sensibilities, jealous of its fame, eager in its
attachments, inflexible in its purpose, violent in
its resentments.
The other, meek, yielding, complying, forgiving ;
not prompt to act, but willing to suffer; silent
and gentle under rudeness and insult, suing for
reconciliation where others would demand satis-
faction, giving way to the pushes of impudence,
conceding and indulgent to the prejudices, the
wrongheadedness, the intractability, of those with
whom it has to deal.
The former of these characters is, and ever
hath been, the favourite of the world. It is the
character of great men. There is a dignity in it
which universally commands respect.
EVIDENCES OP CHRISTIANITY.
331
The latter is poor-spirited, tame, and abject.
Yet so it hath happened, that, with the Founder
of Christianity, this latter is the subject of his
commendation, his precepts, his example; and
that the former is so, in no part of its composition.
This and nothing else, is the character designed
in the following remarkable passages : " Resist
not evil ; but whosoever shall smite thee on the
right cheek, turn to him the other also : and if
any man will sue thee at the law, and take away thy
coat, let him have thy cloak also : and whosoever
shall compel thee to go a mile, go with him twain :
love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do
good to them that hate you, and pray for them
which despitefully use you and j>ersecute you."
This certainly is not common-place morality. It
is very original. It shows at least (and it is ti>r
this purpose we produce it) that no two things
can be more diflc-rent than the Heroic and the
Christian character.
Now the author, to whom I refer, has not only
marked this difference more strongly than any
preceding writer, but has proved, in contradiction
to first impressions, to popular opinion, to the en-
comiums of orators and poets, and even to tin- suf-
frages of historians and moralists, th;it the latter
character (Mi-sesM's the most of true worth, both as
being most difficult either to be acquired or sus-
tained, and as contributing most to the happiness
and tranquillity of social life. The state of his
argument is as follows :
I. If this disposition were universal, the rase is
clear; the world would be a society of friends
Whereas, if the other disposition were universal,
it would produce a scene of universal contention.
The world could not hold a generation of such
men.
II. If, what is the fact, the disposition be partial ;
if a few be actuated by it, amongst a multitude
who are not ; in whatever degree it does prevail.
in the same proportion it prevents, allays, and ter-
minates, quarrels, the great disturbers of human
happiness, and the great sources of human misery,
so far as man's happiness and misery depend
upon man. Without this disposition, enmities
must not only be frequent, but, once begun, must
be eternal: for, each retaliation being a fresh
injury, and, consequently, requiring a fresh satis-
faction, no period can be assigned to the recipro-
cation of affronts, and to the progress of hatred,
but that which closes the lives, or at least the in-
tercourse, of the parties.
I would only add to these observations, that
although the former of the two characters above
described may be occasionally useful ; although,
perhaps, a great general, or a great statesman,
may be formed by it, and these may be instru-
ments of important benefits to mankind, yet is
this nothing more than what is true of many
qualities, which are acknowledged to be vicious.
Envy is a quality of this sort; I know not a
stronger stimulus to exertion; many a scholar,
many an artist, many a soldier, has been produced
by it ; nevertheless, since in its general effects it is
noxious, it is properly condemned, certainly is
not praised, by sober moralists.
It was a portion of the same character as that
we are defending, or rather of his love of the same
character, which our Saviour displayed, in his re-
peated correction of the ambition of his disciples ;
his frequent admonitions, that greatness with
them was to consist in humility j nis censure of
that love of distinction, and greediness of superi-
ority, which the chief persons amongst his coun-
trymen were wont, on all occasions, great and
little, to betray. " They (the Scribes and Phari-
sees) love the uppermost rooms at feasts, and the
chief seats in the synagogues, and greetings in
the markets, and to be called of men, Rabbi,
Rabbi. But be not ye called Rabbi, for one is
your Master, even Christ, and all ye are brethren ;
and call no man your father upon the earth, for
one is your Father, which is in heaven ; neither
be ye called masters, for one is your Master, even
Christ ; but he that is greatest among you, shall
be your servant : and whosoever shall exalt him-
self, shall be abased ; and he that shall humble
himself shall be exalted." * I make no farther
remark upon these passages, (because they are, in
truth, only a repetition of the doctrine, different
expressions of the principle, which we have
already stated,) except that some of the passages,
especially our Lord's advice to the guests at an
entertainment,t seem to extend the rule to what we
call manners; which was both regular in point of
consistem-y. and not so much beneath the dignity
of our Lord's mission as may at first sight be sup-
posed, lor bad urmners are bad morals.
It is sufficiently apparent, that the precepts we
have cited, or rather the disposition which these
precepts inculcate, relate to personal conduct from
personal motives ; to cases in which men act from
impulse, for themselves, and from themselves.
Wnen it comes to be considered, what is neces-
sary to be done for the sake of the public, and out
of a regard to the general welfare (which consi-
deration, for the most part, ought exclusively to
govern the duties of men in public stations,) it
comes to a case to which the rules do not belong.
This distinction is plain ; and if it were less so,
the consequence would not be much felt: for it is
very seldom that, in the intercourse of private life,
men act with public views. The personal mo-
tives, from which they do act the rule regulates.
The preference of the patient to the heroic cha-
racter, which we have here noticed, and which
the reader will find explained at large in the work
to which we have referred him, is a peculiarity in
the Christian institution, which I propose as an
argument of wisdom very much beyond the situa-
tion and natural character of the person who de-
livered it.
II. A second argument, drawn from the mo-
rality of the New Testament, is the stress
which is laid by our Saviour upon the regulation
of the thoughts. And I place this consideration
next to the other, because they are connected.
The other related to the malicious passions ; this,
to the voluptuous. Together, they comprehend
the whole character.
" Out of the heart proceed evil thoughts, mur-
ders, adulteries, fornications," &c. "These are
the things which defile a man."t
" Wo unto you, Scribes and. Pharisees, hypo-
crites ! for ye make clean the outside of the cup
and of the platter, but within they are full of ex-
tortion and excess. Ye are like unto whited se-
pulchres, which indeed appear beautiful outward,
but are within full of dead men's bones, and of
all uncleanness; even so ye also outwardly appear
* Matt, xxiii. 6. See also Mark xii. 39. Luke xx. 46 ;
xiv. 7.
t Luke xiv. 7. J Matt. xv. 19.
333
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
righteous unto men, but within ye are full of hy-
pocrisy and iniquity."*
And more particularly that strong expression,t
" Whosoever looketh on a woman to lust after
her, hath committed adultery with her already in
his heart."
There can be no doubt, with any reflecting
mind, but that the propensities of our nature must
be subject to regulation ; but the question is where
the chock ought to be placed, upon the thought,
or only upon the action 1 In this question, our
Saviour, in the texts here quoted, has pronounced
a decisive judgment. He makes the control of
thought essential. Internal purity with him is
every thing. Now I contend that this is the only
discipline which can succeed; in other words,
that a moral system, which prohibits actions, but
leaves the thoughts at liberty, will be ineffectual,
and is therefore unwise. 1 know not how to go
about the proof of a point, which depends upon
experience, and upon a knowledge of the human
constitution, better than by citing the judgment of
persons, who appear to have given great attention
to the subject, and to be well qualified to form a
true opinion about it. Boerhaave, speaking of
this very declaration of our Saviour, " Whosoever
looketh on a woman to lust after her, hath already
committed adultery with her in his heart," and
understanding it, as we do, to contain an injunc-
tion to lay the check upon the thoughts, was wont
to say, that " our Saviour knew mankind better
than Socrates." Haller, who has recorded this
saying of Boerhaave, adds to it the following re-
marks of his own :t " It did not escape the obser-
vation of our Saviour, that the rejection of any
evil thoughts was the best defence against vice :
for when a debauched person fills his imagination
with impure pictures, the licentious ideas which
he recalls, fail not to stimulate his desires with a
degree of violence which he cannot resist. This
will be followed by gratification, unless some ex-
ternal obstacle should prevent him from the com-
mission of a sin, which he had internally resolved
on." " Every moment of time," says our author,
" that is spent in meditations upon sin, increases
the power of the dangerous object which has pos-
sessed our imagination." I suppose these reflec-
tions will be generally assented to.
III. Thirdly, Had a teacher of morality been
asked concerning a general principle of conduct,
and for a short rule of life ; and had he instructed
the person who consulted him, " constantly to refer
his actions to what he believed to be the will of
his Creator, and constantly to have in view not
his own interest and gratification alone, but the
happiness and comfort of those about him," he
would have been thought, I doubt not, in any age
of the world, and in any, even the most improved,
state of morals, to have delivered a judicious an-
swer ; 'because, by the first direction, he suggest-
ed the only motive which acts steadily and uni-
formly, in sight and out of sight, in familiar
occurrences and under pressing temptations ; and
in the second, he corrected, what, of all tendencies
in the human character, stands most in need of
correction, selfishness, or a contempt of other men's
conveniency and satisfaction. In estimating the
value of a moral rule, we are to have regard not
only to the particular duty, but the general spirit ;
* Matt, xxiii. 25, 27. T Matt. v. 23.
\ Letters to his Daughter.
not only to what it directs us to do, but to the
character which a compliance with its direction is
likely to form in us. So, in the present instance,
the rule here recited will never fail to make him
who obeys it considerate, not only of the rights,
butof the feelings of other men, bodily and mental,
in great matters and in small ; of the ease, the ac-
commodation, the self-complacency, of all with
whom he has any concern, especially of all who
are in his power, or dependant upon his vviil.
Now what, in the most applauded philosopher
of the most enlightened age of the world, would
have been deemed worthy of his wisdom, and of
his character, to say, our Saviour hath said, and
upon just such an occasion as that which we have
feigned.
" Then one of them, which was a lawyer, asked
him a question, tempting him, and saying, Master,
which is the great commandment in the law '{
Jesus said unto him, Thou shall love the Lord
thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul,
and with all thy mind; this is the first and ^reat
commandment; and the second is like unto it,
Thou shaltlove thy neighbour as thyself; on these
two commandments hang all the law and the
prophets."*
The second precept occurs in Saint Matthew
(xix. 16) on another occasion similar to this ; and
both of them, on a third similar occasion, in Luke
(x. 27.) In these two latter instances, the ques-
tion proposed was, " What shall I do to inherit
eternal life V
.Upon all these occasions, I consider the words
of our Saviour as expressing precisely the same.
thing as what I have put into the mouth of the
moral philosopher. Nor do I think that it de-
tracts much from the merit of the answer, that
these precepts are extant in the Mosaic code ; for
his laying his finger, if I may so say, upon these
precepts ; his drawing them out *>om the rest of that
voluminous institution ; his stating of them, not
simply amongst the number, but as the greatest
and the sum of all the others ; in a word, his pro-
posing of them to his hearers for their rule and
principle, was our Saviour's own.
And what our Saviour had said upon the sub-
ject, appears to me to have JLced the sentiment
amongst his followers.
St. Paul has it expressly, "If there be any other
commandment, it is briefly comprehended in this
saying, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself;' 't
and again, "For all the law is fulfilled in one
word,^veri in this, Thou shalt love thy neighbour
as thyself"?
Saint John, in like manner, " This command-
ment have we from him, that he who loveth God,
love his brother also."
Saint Peter, not very differently : " Seeing that
ye have purified your souls in obeying the truth,
through the Spirit, unto unfeigned love of the
brethren, see that ye love one another with a pure
heart fervently."!!
And it is so well known, as to require no cita-
tions to verify it, that this love, or charity, or, in
other words, regard to the welfare of others, runs
in various forms through all the preceptive parts
of the apostolic writings. It is the theme of all
their exhortations, that with which their morality
* Matt. xxii. 3540.
| Gal. v. 14.
|| 1 Peter i. 22.
t Rom. xni. 9.
1 John iv. 21.
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
333
begins and ends, from which all their details and
enumerations set out, and into which they return.
And that this temper, for some time at least,
descended in its purity to succeeding Christians,
is attested by one of the earliest and best of thfe
remaining writings of the apostolical fathers, the
epistle of the. Roman Clement. The meekness
of the Christian character reigns throughout the
whole of that excellent piece. The occasion called
for it. It was to compose the dissensions of the
church of Corinth. And the venerable hearer of
the apostles does not fall short, in the display of
this principle, of the finest passages of their
writings. He calls to the remembrance of the
Corinthian church its former character, in which
"ye were all of you/' he tells them, "humble-
minded, not boasfing of any thing, desiring rather
to be subject than to govern, to give than to re-
ceive, being content with the portion God had dis-
pensed to you, and hearkening diligently to his
word; ye wen- enlarged in your bowels. ha\ing
his suflerings alvvavs In- fore your eyes. Ye con-
tended day and night for the whole brotherhood,
that with compassion and a good conscience the
number of his elect might be saved. Ye were
sincere, and without oflence, towards each other.
Ye bewailed every one his neighbours' sins,
esteeming their detects your own/'* His praver
for them was for the " return of peace, long-suf-
fering, and patience."t And his advice to those,
who might have been the occasion of difference in
the society, is conceived in the true spirit, and
with a perfect knowledge, of the Christian charac-
ter: " Who is there among you that is generous !
who that is com; : who that has any
charity 1 Let him say, If this sedition, this con-
tention, and these schisms, be upon my account,
I am ready to depart, to go away whithersoever
ye please, and do whatsoever ye shall command
me : only let the flock of Christ l>e in peace with
the elders who are set over it. He that shall do
this, shall get to himself a very great honour in
the Lord ; and there is no place but what will be
ready to receive him : for the earth is the Lord's,
and the fulness thereof. These things they, who
have their conversation towards God, not to be
repented of, both have done, and will always be
ready to do."t
This sacred principle, this earnest recommenda-
tion of forbearance, lenity, and forgiveness, mixes
with all the writings of that age. There are more
quotations in the apostolical fathers, of texts which
relate to these points, than of any other. Christ's
sayings had struck them. " Not rendering," said
Polycarp, the disciple of John, " evil for evil, or
railing for railing, or striking for striking, or
cursing for cursing."! Again, speaking of some,
whose behaviour had given great offence, " Be ye j
moderate," says he, "on this occasion, and look j
not upon such as enemies, but call them back as j
suffering and erring members, that ye save your
whole tody."||
" Be ye mild at their anger," saith Ignatius, the
companion of Polycarp, " humble at their boast-
ings, to their blasphemies return your prayers, to
their error your firmness in the faith ; when they
are cruel, be ye gentle ; not endeavouring to imi-
tate their ways, let us be their brethren in all
*EP- Clem. Rom, c. 2 ; Abp. Wake's Translation.
JIb.c.53. lib c 54
$ Pol. Ep. Ad. Phil. c. 2. | ib. c. 11.'
kindness and moderation: but let us be followers
of the Lord ; for who was ever more unjustly
used, more destitute, more despised V
IV. A fourth quality, by which the morality of
the Gospel is distinguished, is the exclusion of re-
gard to fame and reputation.
" Take heed that ye do not your alms before
men, to be seen of them, otherwise ye have no re-
ward of your Father which is in heaven."*
" When thou prayest, enter into thy closet, and
when thou hast shut the door, pray to thy Father
which is in secret ; and thy Father which seeth in
secret, shall reward thee openly."t
And the rule, by parity of reason, is extended
to all other virtues.
I do not think, that either in these, or in any
other passage of the New Testament, the pursuit
of fame is stated as a vice; it is only said that an
action, to be virtuous, must be independent of it.
I would also observe, that it is not publicity, but
ostentation which is prohibited ; not the mode, but
the motive, of the action, which is regulated. A
good man will prefer that mode, as well as those
objects of his beneficence, by which he can pro-
duce the greatest effect ; and the view of this pur-
[>ose may dictate sometimes publication, and some-
times concealment. Either the one or the other
may be the mode of the action, according as the
end to be promoted by it appears to require. But
from the motire, the reputation of the deed, and
the fruits and advantage of that reputation to our-
selves, must lie shut out, or, in whatever propor-
tion they are not so, the action in that proportion
fails of being virtuous.
This exclusion of regard to human opinion, is a
difference, not so much in the duties to which the
teachers of virtue would persuade mankind, as in
the manner and topics of persuasion. And in
this view the difference is great. When we set
about to give advice, our lectures are full of the
advantages of character, of the regard that is due
to appearances and to opinion ; of what the world,
especially of what the good or great, will think
and say ; of the value of public esteem, and of
the qualities by which men acquire it. Widely
different from this was our Saviour's instruction ;
and the difference was founded upon the best rea-
sons. For, however the care of reputation, the
authority of public opinion, or even of the opinion
of good men, the satisfaction of being well received
and well thought of, the benefit of being known
and distinguished, are topics to which we are fain
to have recourse in pur exhortations; the true
virtue is that which discards these considerations
absolutely, and which retires from them all to the
single internal purpose of pleasing God. This at
least was the virtue which our Saviour taught.
And in teaching this, he not only confined the
views of his followers to the proper measure and
principle of human duty, but acted in consistency
with his office as a monitor from heaven.
NEXT to what our Saviour taught, may be con-
sidered the manner of his teaching : which was
extremely peculiar, yet, I think, precisely adapted
toJthe peculiarity of his character and situation.
His lessons did hot consist of disquisitions ; of any
thing like moral essays, or like sermons, or like
* Matt. vi.
tMatt.vi. 6.
334
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
set treatises upon the several points which he
mentioned. When he delivered a precept, it was
seldom that he added any proof or argument : still
more seldom, that he accompanied it with, what
all precepts require, limitations and distinctions.
His instructions were conceived in short, empha-
tic, sententious rules, in occasional reflections, or
in round maxims. I do not think that this was a
natural, or would have been a proper method for
a philosopher or a moralist ; or that it is a method
which can be successfully imitated by us. But I
contend that it was suitable to the character which
Christ assumed, and to the situation in which, as
a teacher, he was placed. He produced himself as
a messenger from God. He put the truth of what
he taught upon authority.* In the choice, there-
fore, of his mode of teaching, the purpose by him
to be consulted was impression : because convic-
tion, which forms the principal end of our dis-
courses, was to arise in the minds of his followers
from a different source, from their respect to his
person and authority. Now, for the purpose of
impression singly and exclusively (I repeat again,
that we are not here to consider the convincing
of the understanding), I know nothing which
would have so great force as strong ponderous
maxims, frequently urged, and frequently brought
back to the thoughts of the hearers. I know no-
thing that could in this view be said better, than
" Do unto others as ye would that others should
do unto you :" " The first and great command-
ment is, Thou shalt love the Lord thy God ; and
the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy
neighbour as thyself." It must also be remem-
bered, that our Lord's ministry, upon the suppo-
sition either of one year or three, compared with
his work, was of short duration ; that, within this
time, he had many places to visit, various audi-
ences to address ; that his person was generally
besieged by crowds of followers: that he was
sometimes driven away from the place where he
was teaching by persecution, and at other times,
thought fit to withdraw himself from the commo-
tions of the populace. Under these circumstances,
nothing appears to have been so practicable, or
likely to be so efficacious, as leaving, wherever he
came, concise lessons of duty. These circum-
stances at least show the necessity he was under,
of comprising what he delivered within a small
compass. In particular, his sermon upon the
mount ought always to be considered- with a view
to these observations. The question is not, whe-
ther a fuller, a more accurate, a more systematic,
or a more argumentative, discourse upon morals
might not have been pronounced; but whether
more could have been said in the same room, bet-
ter adapted to the exigencies of the hearers, or
better calculated for the purpose of impression 1
Seen in this light, it has always appeared to me
to be admirable. Dr. Lardner thought that this
discourse was made up of what Christ had said at
different times, and on different occasions, several
of which occasions are noticed in St. Luke's nar-
rative. I can perceive no reason for this opinion.
I believe that our Lord delivered this discourse at
one time and place, in the manner related by Saint
Matthew, and that he repeated the same rules
and maxims at different times, as opportunity or
* " /say unto you, Swear not at all ; /say unto you,
Resist not evil ; /say unto you, Love your enemies."
Matt. v. 34. 39. 44.
occasion suggested ; that they were often in his
mouth, and were repeated to different audiences,
and in various conversations.
It is incidental to this mode of moral instruc-
tion, which proceeds not by proof but upon au-
thority, not by disquisition but by precept, that
the rules will be conceived in absolute terms,
leaving the application, and the distinctions that
attend it, to the reason of the hearer. It is like-
wise to be expected that they will be delivered in
terms by so much the more forcible and energe-
tic, as they have to encounter natural or general
propensities. It is farther also to be remarked,
that many of those strong instances, which a pj tear
in our Lord's sermon, such as, " If any man will
smite thee on the right cheek, turn to him the
other also :" " If any man will sue thee at the law,
and take away thy coat, let him have thy cloak
also:" "Whosoever shall compel thee to go a
mile, go with him twain :" though they appear in
the form of specific precepts, are intended as de-
scriptive of disposition and character. A specific
compliance with the precepts would be of little
value, but the disposition which they inculcate is
of the highest. He who should content himself
with waiting for the occasion, and with literally
observing the rule when the occasion offered,
would do nothing or worse than nothing : but he
who considers the character and disposition which
is hereby inculcated, and places that disposition
before Mm as the model to which he should bring
his own, takes, perhaps, the best possible method
of improving the benevolence, and of calming and
rectifying the vices, of his temper.
If it be said that this disposition is unattainable,
I answer, so is all perfection : ought therefore a
moralist to recommend imperfections 1 One ex-
cellency, however, of our Saviour's rules, is, that
they are either never mistaken, or never so mis-
taken as to do harm. I could feign a hundred
cases, in which the literal application of the rule,
" of doing to others as we would that others should
do unto us," might mislead us : but I never yet
met with the man who was actually misled by it.
Notwithstanding that our Lord bade his followers
"not to resist evil," and " to forgive the enemy
who should trespass against them, not till seven
times, but till seventy times seven," the Christian
world has hitherto suffered little by too much pla-
cability or forbearance. I would repeat once more,
what has already been twice remarked, that these
rules were designed to regulate personal conduct
from personal motives, and for this purpose alone.
I think that these observations will assist us
greatly in placing our Saviour's conduct, as a
moral teacher, in a proper point of view ; especi-
ally when it is considered, that to deliver moral
disquisitions was no part of his design, to teach
morality at all was only a subordinate part of it ;
his great business being to supply, what was much
more wanting than lessons of morality, stronger
moral sanctions, and clearer assurances of a future
judgment.*
* Some appear to require a religious system, or, in
the books which profess to deliver that system, minute
directions, for every case and occurrence that may
arise. This, say they, is necessary to render a revela-
tion perfect, especially one which has for its object the
regulation of human conduct. Now, how prolix, and
yet how incomplete and unavailing, such an attempt
must have been, is proved by one notable example:
" The Indoo and Mussulman religion are institutes
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
835
The parables of the New Testament are, many
of them, such as would have done honour to any
book in the world ; I do not mean in style and
diction, but in the choice of the subjects, in the
structure of the narratives, in the aptness, propri-
ety, and force of the circumstances woven into
them ; and in some, as that of the good Sama-
ritan, the prodigal son, the Pharisee and the pub-
lican, in a union of pathos and simplicity, which,
in the best productions of human genius, is the
fruit only of a much exercised and well cultivated
judgment.
The Lord's Prayer, for a succession of solemn
thoughts, for fixing the attention upon a few great
points, for suitableness to every condition, for suf-
ficiency, for conciseness without obscurity, foj-
the weight and real importance of its petitions, is
without an equal or a rival.
From whence did these come 1 Whence had
this man his wisdom 1 Was our Saviour, in fact,
a well-instructed philosopher, whilst he is repre-
sented to us as an illiterate peasant 1 Or shall we
say that some e;irly Christians of taste and educa-
tion composed these pieces and ascribed them to
Christ 1 Beside all other incredibilities in tins
account. I answer, with Dr. Jortin, that they could
not do it. No specimens of composition, which
the Christians of the first century have left us,
authorize us to believe that they were eijual to the
task. And how little qualified the Jews, the
countrymen and companions of Christ, were to
assist him in the undertaking, may be judged ol
from the traditions and writings of theirs which
were the nearest to that age. The whole collec-
tion of the Talmud is one continued proof, into
what follies they fell whenever they left their
Bible; and how little capable they were of fur-
nishing out such lessons as Christ delivered.
BUT there is still another view, in which our
Lord's discourses deserve to be considered ; am
that is, in their ncgutire character, not in whal
they did, but in what they did not, contain
Under this head, the following reflections appear
to me to possess some weight.
I. They exhibit no particular description o
the invisible world. The future happiness of the
good, and the misery of the bad, which is all we
want to be assured of, is directly and positively
affirmed, and is represented by metaphors ant
comparisons, which were plainly intended as
metaphors and comparisons, and as nothing more
As to the rest, a solemn reserve is maintained
The question concerning the woman who had l>eei
married to seven brothers, " Whose shall she be on
the resurrection 1" was of a nature calculated tc
have drawn from Christ a more circumstantia
account of the state of the human species in thei
future existence. He cut short, however, the in
quiry, by an answer, which at once rebuket
intruding curiosity, and was agreeable to the bes
apprehensions we are able to form upon the sub
of civil law, regulating the minutest questions both o
property, and of all questions which come under th
coznizance of the magistrate. And to what lengt
details of this kind are neccs>arily carried, when onct
begun, may be understood from an anecdote of th
Mussulman code, which we have received from th
most respectable authority, that not less than seventy
five thousand traditional precepts have been promu
gated." Hamilton's Translation of Hedaya, or Guide.
jet, viz. " That they who are accounted worthy
f that resurrection, shall be as the angels of God
heaven." I lay a stress upon this reserve, be-
ause it repels the suspicion of enthusiasm : for
nthusiasm is wont to expatiate upon the condi-
ton of the departed, above all other subjects;
nd with a wild particularity. It is moreover a
opic which is always listened to with greediness,
'he teacher, therefore, whose principal purpose is
draw upon himself attention, is sure to be full of
t. The Koran of Mahomet is half made up of it.
II. Our Lord enjoined no austerities. He not
nly enjoined none as absolute duties, but he
ecommended none as carrying men to a higher
egree of divine favour. Place Christianity, in
tiis respect, by the side of all institutions which
lave been founded in the fanaticism, either of
heir author, or of his first followers; or rather
x>mpare, in this respect, Christianity as it came
rom Christ, with the same religion after it fell
nto other hands ; with, the extravagant merit
y soon ascribed to celibacy, solitude, voluntary
x>verty ; with the rigours of an ascetic, and the
rows of a monastic life ; the hair shirt, the watch-
ngs, the midnight prayers, the obmutescence,
he gloom and mortification of religious orders,
and of those who aspired to religious perfection.
III. Our Saviour uttered no impassioned devo-
ion. There was no heat in his piety, or in the
anguage in which he expressed it ; no vehement
jr rapturous ejaculations, no violent urgency, in
lis prayers. The Lord's Prayer is a model of
aim devotion. His words in the garden are un-
affected expressions, of a deep indeed, but sober,
piety. He never appears to have been worked
ip inloany thing like that elation, or that emotion
of spirits which is occasionally observed in most
of those, to whom the name of enthusiast can in
any degree be applied. 1 feel a respect for Me-
thodists, because I believe that there is to be found
onjrst them much sincere piety, and availing,
though not always well-informed, Christianity:
yet I never attended a meeting of theirs, but I
came away with the reflection, how different what
1 heard was from what I read ! I do not mean
in doctrine, with which at present 1 have no con-
cern, but in manner ; how different from the
calmness, the sobriety, the good sense, and I may
add, the strength and authority of our Lord's dis-
urses!
IV. It is very usual with the human mind, to
substitute forwardness and fervency in a particu-
lar cause, for the merit of general and regular
morality ; and it is natural, and politic also, in the
leader of a sect or party, to encourage such a dis-
position in his followers. Christ did not overlook
this turn of thought ; yet, though avowedly
placing himself at tne head of a new institution,
ne notices it only to condemn it. " Not every one
that saith unto me, Lord, Lord, shall enter into
the kingdom of heaven ; but he that doeth the
will of my Father which is in heaven. Many
will say unto me in that day, Lord, Lord, have
we not prophesied in thy name ? and in^thy name
have cast out devils 1 and in thy name done many
wonderful works 1 And then will I profess unto
you I never knew you : depart from me, ye that
work iniquity."* So far was the author of Chris-
tianity from courting the attachment of his follow-
ers by any sacrifice of principle, or by a conde-
* Matt. vii. 21, 22.
336
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
scension to the errors which even zeal in his
service might have inspired ! This was a proof
both of sincerity and judgment.
V. Nor, fifthly, did he fall in with any of the
depraved fashions of his country, or with the na-
tural bias of his own education. Bred up a Jew,
under a religion extremely technical, in an age
and amongst a people more tenacious of the cere-
monies than of any other part of that religion, he
delivered an institution, containing less of ritual,
and that more simple than is to be found in any
religion which ever prevailed amongst mankind.
We have known, I do allow, examples of an
enthusiasm, which has swept away all external
ordinances before it. But this spirit certainly did
not dictate our Saviour's conduct, either in his
treatment of the religion of his country, or in the
formation of his own institution. In both, he
displayed the soundness and moderation of his
judgment. He censured an overstrained scrupu-
lousness, or perhaps an affectation of scrupulous-
ness, about the sabbath : but how did he censure
it 1 not by contemning or decrying the institution
itself, but by declaring that " the sabbath was
made for man, not man for the sabbath ;" that is
to say, that the sabbath was to be subordinate to
its purpose, and that that purpose was the real
good of those who were the subjects of the law.
The same concerning the nicety of some of the
Pharisees, in paying tithes of the most trifling
articles, accompanied with a neglect of justice,
fidelity, and mercy. He finds fault with them
for misplacing their anxiety. He does not speak
disrespectfully of the law of tithes, nor of their
observance of it ; but he assigns to each class of
duties its proper station in the scale of moral
importance. All this might be expected perhaps
from a well-instructed, cool, and judicious philoso-
pher, but was not to be looked for from an illi-
terate Jew; certainly not from an impetuous
enthusiast.
VI. Nothing could be more quibbling, than
were the comments and expositions of the Jewish
doctors at that time ; nothing so puerile as their
distinctions. Their evasion of the fifth com-
mandment, their exposition of the law of oaths,
are specimens of the bad taste in morals which
then prevailed. Whereas, in a numerous collec-
tion of our Saviour's apophthegms, many of them
referring to sundry precepts of the Jewish law,
there is not to be found one example of sophistry,
or of false subtilty, or of any thing approaching
thereunto.
VII. The national temper of the Jews was
intolerant, narrow-minded, and excluding. In
Jesus, on the contrary, whether we regard his
lessons or his example, we see not only benevo-
lence, but benevolence the most enlarged and
comprehensive. In the parable of the good Sa-
maritan, the very point of the story is, that the
person relieved by him, was the national and reli-
gipus enemy of his benefactor. Our Lord de-
clared the equity of the divine administration,
when he told the Jews (what, probably, they
were surprised to hear), " That many should
come from the east and west, and should sit down
with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, in the kingdom
of heaven ; but that the children of the kingdom
should be cast into outer darkness."* His reproof
of the hasty zeal of his disciples, who would needs
call down fire from heaven to revenge an affront
put upon their Master, shows the lenity of his
character, and of his religion ; and his opinion of
the manner in which the most unreasonable op-
ponents ought to be treated, or at least of the
manner in which they ought not to be treated.
The terms in which his rebuke was conveyed,
deserve to be noticed: "Ye know not what
manner of spirit ye are of."*
VIII. Lastly, amongst the negative qualities of
our religion, as it came out of the hands of its
Founder and his apostles, we may reckon its com-
plete abstraction from all views either of ecclesi-
astical or civil policy; or, to meet a language
much in fashion with some men, from the politics
either of priests or statesmen. Christ's declara-
tion, that " his kingdom was not of this world,"
recorded by St. John ; his evasion of the question,
whether it was lawful or not to give tribute unto
Caesar, mentioned by the three other evangelists ;
his reply to an application that was made to him,
to interpose his authority in a question of proper-
ty ; " Man, who made me a ruler or a judge over
you V ascribed to him by St. Luke ; his declin-
ing to exercise the office of a criminal judge in
the case of the woman taken in adultery, as re-
lated by John, are all intelligible significations of
our Saviour's sentiments upon this head. And
with respect to politics, in the usual sense of that
word, or discussions concerning different forms of
government, Christianity declines every question
upon the subject. Whilst politicians are disput-
ing about monarchies, aristocracies, and republics,
the gospel is alike applicable, useful, and friendly,
to them all; inasmuch as, 1st, it tends to make
men virtuous, and as it is easier to govern good
men than bad men under any constitution ; as,
2dly, it states obedience to government in ordi-
nary cases, to be not merely a submission to force,
but a duty of conscience ; as, 3dly, it induces
dispositions favourable to public tranquillity, a
Christian's chief care being to pass quietly through
this world to a better ; as, 4thly, it prays for com-
munities, and for the governors of communities,
of whatever description or denomination they be,
with a solicitude and fervency proportioned to the
influence which they possess upon human happi-
ness. All which, in my opinion, is just as it
should be. Had there been more to be found in
Scripture of a political nature, or convertible to
political purposes, the worst use would have been
made of it, on whichever side it seemed to lie.
When, therefore, we consider Christ as a moral
teacher{remembering that this was only a second-
ary part of his office ; and that morality, by the
nature of the subject, does not admit of discovery,
properly so called) ; when we consider either
what he taught, or what he did not teach, either
the substance or the manner of his instruction ;
his preference of solid to popular virtues, of a
character which is commonly despised to a cha-
racter which is universally extolled ; his placing,
in our licentious vices, the check in the right
place, viz. upon the thoughts ; his collecting of
human duty into two well-devised rules, his re-
petition of these rules, the stress he laid upon
them, especially in comparison with positive du-
ties, and his fixing thereby the "sentiments of his
*Matt. viii, 11.
* Luke ix. 55.
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
837
followers ; his exclusion of all regard to reputation
in our devotion and alms, and, by parity of rea-
son, in our other virtues; when we consider
that his instructions were delivered in a form cal-
culated for impression, the precise purpose in his
situation to be consulted; and that they were
illustrated by parables, the choice and structure
of which would have been admired in any compo-
sition whatever ; when we observe him free from
the usual symptoms of enthusiasm, heat and vehe-
mence in devotion, austerity in institutions, and a
wild particularity in the description of a future
state ; free also from the depravities of his age and
country; without superstition amongst the most
superstitious of men, yet not decrying positive
distinctions or external observances, but soberly
calling them to the principle of their establishment,
and to their place in the scale of human duties;
without sophistry or trifling, amidst teachers re-
markable for nothing so much as frivolous sub-
tilties and quibbling expositions ; candid and
liberal in his judgment of the rest of mankind,
although belonging to a people who affected a
separate claim to divine favour, and, in conse-
quence of that opinion, prone to.uncharitableness,
partiality, and restriction ; when we find, in his
religion, no scheme of building up a hierarchy, or
of ministering to the views of human govern-
ments; in a word, when we compare Christiani-
ty, as it came from its Author, either with other
religions, or with itself in other hands, the most
reluctant understanding will be induced to ac-
knowledge the probity, I think also the good
sense, of those to whom it owes its origin ; and
that some regard is due to the testimony of such
men, when they declare their knowledge that the
religion proceeded from God ; and when they
appeal, for the truth of their assertion, to mira-
cles, which they wrought, or which they saw.
Perhaps the qualities which we observe in the
religion, may be thought to prove something more.
They would have been extraordinary, had the re-
ligion come from any person; from the person
from whom it did come, they are exceedingly so.
AVhat was Jesus in external appearances A
Jewish peasant, the son of a carpenter, living with
his father and mother in a remote province of Pa-
lestine, until the time that he produced himself in
his public character. He had no master to instruct
or prompt him ; he had read no books, but the
works of Moses and the prophets; he had visited
no polished cities ; he had received no lessons from
Socrates or Plato, nothing to form in him a taste
or judgment different from that of the rest of his
countrymen, and of persons of the same rank of
life with himself. Supposing it to be true, which
it is not, that all his points of morality might be
picked out of Greek and Roman writings, they
were writings which he had never seen. Sup-
posing them to be no more than what some or
other nad taught in various times and places, he
could not collect them together.
Who were his coadjutors in the undertaking,
the persons into whose hands the religion came
after his death 1 A few fishermen upon the lake
of Tiberias, persons just as uneducated, and, for
the purpose of framing rules of morality, as un-
promising^ as himself. Suppose the mission to be
real, all this is accounted for; the unsuitableness
of the authors to the production, of the characters
to the undertaking, no longer surprises us : but
without reality, it is very difficult to explain, how
such a system should proceed from such persons.
Christ was not like any other carpenter ; the apos-
tles were not like any other fishermen.
But the subject is not exhausted by these ob-
servations. That portion of it which is most redu-
cible to points of argument, has been stated, and, I
trust, truly. There are, however, some topics, of
a more diffuse nature, which yet deserve to be
proposed to the reader's attention.
The character of Christ is a part of the mo-
rality of the gospel : one strong observation upon
which is, that, neither as represented by his fol-
lowers, nor as attacked by his enemies, is he
charged with any personal vice. This remark is
as old as Qrigen : " Though innumerable lies and
calumnies had been forged against the venerable
Jesus, none had dared to charge him with an in-
temperance."* Not a reflection u[>on his moral
character, not an imputation or suspicion of any
offence against purity and eh-.istity, appears for
live hundred years after his birth. This fault-
lessness is more peculiar than we are apt to ima-
gine. Some stain pollutes the morals or the mo-
rality of almost every other teacher, and of every
other lawgiver.t Zeno the stoic, and Diogenes
the cynic, fell into the foulest impurities ; of which
also Socrates, himself was more' than suspected.
Solon forbade unnatural crimes to slaves. Ly-
curgus tolerated theft as a part of education. Pla^
to recommended a community of women. Aris-
totle maintained the general right of making war
upon barbarians. The elder Cato was remarkable
for the ill usage of his slaves ; the younger gave
up the person of his wife. One loose principle is
found in almost all the pagan moralists ; is dis-
tinctly, however, perceived in the writings of Pla-
to, Xenophon, Cicero, Seneca, Epictetus ; and
that is, the allowing, and even the recommending
to their disciples, a compliance with the religion,
and with the religious rites, of every country into
into which they came. In speaking of the found-
ers of new institutions, we cannot forget Mahomet.
His licentious transgressions of his own licentious
rules ; his abuse of the character which he as-
sumed, and of the power which he had acquired,
for the purposes of personal and privileged indul-
gence ; his avowed claim of a special permission
from heaven of unlimited sensuality, is known to
every reader, as it is confessed by every writer, of
the Moslem story. *P
Secondly, In the histories which are left us of
Jesus Christ, although very short, and although
dealing in narrative, and not in observation or
panegyric, we perceive, beside the absence of eve-
ry appearance of vice, traces of devotion, humility,
benignity, mildness, patience, prudence. I speak
of traces of those qualities, because the qualities
themselves are to be collected from incidents ; in-
asmuch as the terms are never used of Christ in
the Gospels, nor is any formaf character of him
drawn in any part of the New Testament.
Thus we see the deroutness of his mind, in his
frequent retirement to solitary prayer ;t in his
habitual giving of thanks ; in his reference of the
beauties and operations of nature to the bounty
* Or. Ep. Gels. 1. 3. num. 36. ed. Bened.
t See many instances collected by Grotius, de Veritate
Christiana; Religionis, in the notes to his second book,
p. 116. Pocock's edition.
Matt. xiv. 23. Luke ix. 38. Matt. xxvi. 36.
Matt, xi.25. Markviii.(5. John vi. 23. Luke xxii. 17
338
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
of Providence ;* in his earnest addresses to his
Father, more particularly that short but solemn
one before the raising of Lazarus from the dead ;t
and in the deep piety of his behaviour in the gar-
den, on the last evening of his lite :t his humility,
in his constant reproof of contentions for superi-
ority : the benignity and allectionateness of his
temper, in his kindness to children; II in the tears
which he shed over his falling country, IT and
upon the death of his friend ;** in his noticing of
the widow's mite ;+t in his parables of the good
Samaritan, of the ungrateful servant, and of the
Pharisee and publican, of which parables no one
but a man of humanity could have been the au-
thor: the mildness and lenity of his character is
discovered, in his rebuke of the forward zeal of
his disciples at the Samaritan village ;tt in his
expostulation with Pilate ; in his prayer for his
enemies at the moment of his suffering,!! II which,
though it has been since very properly and fre-
quently imitated, was then, I apprehend, new.
His prudence is discerned, where prudence is
most wanted, in his conduct on trying occasions,
and in answers to artful questions. Of these, the
following are examples: His withdrawing, in
various instances, from the first symptoms of tu-
mult,1Fir and with the express care, as appears
from St. Matthew,*** of carrying on his ministry
in quietness ; his declining of every species of in-
terference with the civil affairs of the country,
which disposition is manifested by his behaviour
in the case of the woman caught in adultery ,ttt
and in his repulse of the application which was
made to him, to interpose his decision about a dis-
puted inheritance :t$t his judicious, yet, as it
should seem, unprepared answers, will be confessed
in the case of the Roman tribute ; in the diffi-
culty concerning the interfering relations of a fu-
ture state, as proposed to him in the instance of a
woman who had married seven brethren ;ll II II and,
more especially, in his reply to those who de-
manded from him an explanation of the authority
by which he acted, which reply consisted, in pro-
pounding a question to them, situated between
the very difficulties into which they were insidi-
ously endeavouring to draw /um.1I"Hir
Our Saviour's lessons, besides what has already
been remarked in them, touch, and that often-
times by very affecting representations, upon some
of the most interesting topics of human duty, and
of human meditation: upon the principles, by
which the decisions of the last day will be regu-
lated:**** upon the superior, or rather the su-
preme, importance of religion :tttt upon peni-
tence, by the most pressing calls, and the most
encouraging invitations ;tttt upon self-denial,
watchfulness,!! II II II placability ,1T1T1Tir confidence in
God,***** the value of spiritual, that is, of mental
worship,ttttt the necessity of moral obedience,
fJohnxi. 41.
Markix. 33.
IT Luke xix. 41.
ft Mark xii. 42.
John xix. H.
Matt. vi. 2628.
J Matt. xxvi. 3647.
|| Mark x. 16.
I* John xi. 35.
tt Luke ix. 55.
HHLukexxiii. 34.
HIT Matt. xiv. 22. Luke v. 15, 16. John v. 13 ; vi. 15.
***Chap. xii 19. ttt John viii. 1. Jft Luke xii.14.
8S5 Matt. xxii. 19. || || || Matt. xxii. 28.
ITirir Matt. xxi. 23, &c. **** Matt. xxv. 31,&c.
irk viii.35. Matt.vi. 3133. Luke xii.4, 5.1621.
uke xv. Matt. v. 29.
[ark xiii. 37. Matt. xxiv. 42. xxv. 13.
Luke xvii. 4. Matt, xviii. 33, &c.
***** Matt. vi. 2530. ftttt John iv. 23, 24.
and the directing of that obedience to the spirit
and principle of the law, instead of seeking for
evasions in a technical construction of its terms.*
If we extend our argument toother parts of the
New Testament, we- may offer, as amongst the
best and shortest rules of life, or, which is the same
thing, descriptions of virtue, that have ever been
delivered, the following passages :
"Pure religion, and undefined, before God and
the Father, is this; to visit the fatherless and
widows in their affliction, and to keep himself un-
spotted from the world." t
" Now the end of the commandment is, charity,
out of a pure heart and a good conscience, and
faith unfeigned. "t
" For the grace of God that bringeth salvation,
hath appeared to all men, teaching us, that deny-
ing ungodliness and worldly lusts, we should live
soberly, righteously, and godly in this present
world."
Enumerations of virtues and vices, and those
sufficiently accurate, and unquestionably just, are
given by Saint Paul to his converts in three seve-
ral Epistles. II
The relative duties of husbands and wives, of
parents and children, of masters and servants, of
Christian teachers%nd their flocks, of governors
and their subjects, are set forth by the same wri-
ter, IT not indeed with the copiousness, the detail,
or the distinctness, of a moralist, who should, in
these days, sit down to write chapters upon the
subject, but with the leading rules and principles
in each ; and, above all, with truth, and with au-
thority.
Lastly, the whole volume of the New Testa-
ment is replete with piety; with, what were
almost unknown to heathen moralists, devotional
virtues, the most profound veneration of the Deity,
an habitual sense of his bounty and protection, a
firm confidence in the final result of his counsels
and dispensations, a disposition to resort, upon all
occasions, to his mercy, for the supply of human
wants, for assistance in danger, for relief from
pain, for the pardon of sin.
CHAPTER III.
The Candour of the Writers of the New
Testament.
I MAKE this candour to consist, in their putting
down many passages, and noticing many circum-
stances, which no writer whatever was" likely to
have forged ; and which no writer would have
chosen to appear in his book, who had been care-
ful to present the story in the most unexception-
able form, or who had thought himself at liberty
to carve and mould the particulars of that story,
according to his choice, or according to his judg-
ment of the effect.
A strong and well-known example of the fair-
ness of the evangelists, offers itself in their Ac-
count of Christ's resurrection, namely, in their
unanimously stating, that after he was risen, he
appeared to his disciples alone. I do not mean
*Matt. v. 21. f James i. 27.
11 Tim. i. 5. Tit. ii. 11, 12.
H Gal. v. 19. Col. iii. 12. 1 Cor. xiii.
1T Eph. v. 33 ; vi. 1. 5. 2 Cor. vi. 6, 7. Rom. xiii.
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
339
that they have used the exclusive word alone ;
but that all the instances which they have record-
ed of his appearance, are instances of appearance
to his disciples ; that their reasonings upon it, and
allusions to it, are confined to this supposition ;
and that, by one of them, Peter is made to say.
" Him God raised up the third day, and showed
him openly, not to all the people, but to witnesses
chosen before of God, even to us, who did eat and
drink with him after he rose from the dead/' *
The most common understanding must have
perceived, that the history of the resurrection
would have come with more advantage, if they
had related that Jesus ap[>cared, after he was
risen, to his foes as well as his friends, to the
Scribes and Pharisees, the Jewish council, and
the Roman governor ; or even if they had asserted
the public apj>ea ranee of Christ in general uquali-
fied terms, without noticing, as they have done,
the presence of his disciples on each occasion, and
noticing it in such a manner as to lead their read-
ers to suppose that none but disciples were pre-
sent. They could have represented it in one way
as well as the other. And if their point had been,
to have the religion believed, whether true or
false; if they had fabricated the story ab initio ;
or if they had been disposed either to have deliver-
ed their testimony as witnesses, or to have worked
up their materials and information as historians,
in such a manlier as t;> render their narrative as
specious and unobjectionable as they could ; in a
word, if they had thought of any thing but of the
truth of the ease, as they understood and believed
it ; they would, in their account of Christ's several
appearances after his resurrection, at least have
omitted this restriction. At this distance of time,
the account as we have it, is perhaps more credi-
ble than it would have leen the other way ; be-
cause this manifestation of the historians' candour,
is of more advantage to their testimony, than the
difference in the circumstances of the account
would have been to the nature of the evidence.
But this is an effect which the evangelists would
not foresee : and I think that it was by no means
the case at the time when the books were com-
posed.
Mr. Gibbon has argued for the genuineness of
the Koran, from the confessions which it contains
to the apparent disadvantage of the Mahometan
cause, t The same defence vindicates the genu-
ineness of our Gospels, and without prejudice to
the cause at all.
There are some other instances in which the
evangelists honestly relate what, they must have
perceived, would make against them.
Of this kind is John the Baptist's message, pre-
served by Saint Matthew, (xi. 2,) and Saint
Luke (vii. 18) : " Now when John had heard in
the prison the works of Christ, he sent two of his
disciples, and said unto him, Art thou he that
should come, or look we for another V To con-
fess, still more to state, that John the Baptist had
his doubts concerning the character of Jesus,
could not but afford a handle to cavil and objec-
tion. But truth, like honesty, neglects apj>ear-
ances. The same observation, perhaps, holds
concerning the apostacy of Judas. *
* Acts x. 40, 41. t Vol. ir. c. 50. note 96.
J I had once placed amongst these example's of fair
concession, the remarkable words of Saint Matthew, in
his account of Christ's appearance upon the Galilean
John vi. 66. " From that time, many of his
disciples went back, and walked no more with
him." Was it the part of a writer, who dealt in
Suppression and disguise, to put down this anec-
dote'?
Or this, which Matthew has preserved? (xii.
58:) " He did not many mighty works there, be-
cause of their unbelief."
Again, in the same evangelist: (v. 17, 18:)
" Think not that I am come to destroy the law or
the prophets ; I am not come to destroy, but to
fulfil : for, verily I say unto you, till heaven and
earth pass, one" jot, or one tittle, shall in no wise
pass from the law, till all be fulfilled." At the
time the Gospels were written, the apparent ten-
dency of Christ's mission was tp~ diminish the
authority of the Mosaic code, andit was so con-
sidered by the Jews themselves. It is very improba-
ble, therefore, that without the constraint of truth,
Matthew should have ascribed a saying to Christ,
which, primo intuitu, militated with the judg-
ment of the age in which hia Gospel was writ-
ten. Marcion thought this text so objectionable
that he altered the words, so as to invert the
sense. IT
Once more: (Acts xxv. 18, 19:) "They
brought none accusation against him, of such
as I supposed, but nad certain questions
jiL'ainst him of their own superstition, and of one
Jesus which was dead, whom Paul affirmed to be
alive." Nothing could be more in the character
of a Roman governor than these words. But that
is not precisely the point I am concerned with.
A mere panegyrist, or a dishonest narrator, would
not have represented his cause, or have made a
great magistrate represent it, in this manner ; t. e.
in terms not a little disparaging, and bespeaking,
on his part, much unconcern and indifference
about the matter. The same observation may be
will be no judge of such matters."
Lastly, where do we discern a stronger mark
of candour, or less disposition to extol and magni-
fy, than in the conclusion of the same history 1 in
which the evangelist, after relating that Paul, on
his first arrival at Rome, preached to the Jewg
from morning until evening, adds, " And some
believed the things which were spoken, and some
believed not."
The following, I think, are passages which
were very unlikely to have presented themselves
to the mind of a forger or a fabulist.
mountain : " And when they saw him, they worshipped
him ; but some doubted." J I have since, however, been
convinced by what is observed concerning this pas-
sage, in Dr. Townshend's discourse upon the resur-
rection, that the transaction, as related by Saint Mat-
thew, was really this : "Christ appeared first at a dis-
tance; the greater part of the company, the moment
they saw him, worshipped, but some, as yet, t. e. upon
the first distant view of his person, doubted ; where-
upon < 'lirist came up \\ to them, and spake to them," &c. :
that the doubt, therefore, was a doubt only at first, for a
moment, and upon his being seen at a distance, and
was aft <T wanl dispelled by his nearer approach, and by
his entering into conversation with them.
1 Chap, xxviii. 17. Page 177.
|i Saint Matthew's words are, K*. rpofftxto* o !>,<rouf,
sXxMc-si/ KUTOJJ. This intimates, that, when he first
appeared, it was at a distance, at least from many of
the spectators. Ib. p. 197.
IT Lardner, Cred. vol. xv. p. 423.
3iO
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
Matt. xxi. 21. " Jesus answered and said unto
them, Verily, I say unto you, If ye have faith,
and doubt not, ye shall not only do this which is
done unto the Jig-tree, but also, if ye shall say
unto this mountain, Be thou removed, and be
thou cast into the sea, it shall be done ; all things
whatsoever ye shall ask in prayer, believing, it
styall be done."* It appears to me very improba-
ble that these words should have been put into
Christ's mouth, -if he had not actually spoken
them. The term " faith," as here used, is perhaps
rightly interpreted of confidence in that internal
notice, by which the apostles were admonished
of their power to perform any particular miracle.
And this exposition renders the sense of the text
more easy. But the words, undoubtedly, in their
obvious construction, carry with them a difficulty,
which no writer would have brought upon him-
self officiously.
Luke ix. 59. " And he said unto another, Fol-
low me: but he said, Lord, suffer me first to go
and bury my father. Jesus said unto him, Let
the dead bury their dead, but go thou and preach
the kingdom of God. "I This answer, though
very expressive of the transcendent importance of
religious concerns, was apparently harsh and
repulsive ; and such as would not have been
made for Christ, if he had not really used it. At
least some other instance would have been chosen.
The following passage, I, for the same reason,
think impossible to have been the production of
artifice, or of a cold forgery: "But I say unto
you, That whosoever is angry with his brother
without a cause, shall be in danger of the judg-
ment ; and whosoever shall say to his brother,
Raca, shall be in danger of the council ; but who-
soever shall say, Thou fool, shall be in danger of
hell-fire (Gehenn.se)." Matt. v. 22. It is empha-
tic, cogent, and well calculated for the purpose of
impression ; but is inconsistent with. the supposi-
tion of art or wariness on the part of the relater.
The short reply of our Lord to Mary Magda-
len, after his resurrection, (John xx. 16, 17,)
" Touch me not, for I am not yet ascended unto
my Father," in my opinion, must have been
founded in a reference or allusion to some prior
conversation, for the want of knowing which, his
meaning is hidden from us. This very obscurity,
however, is a proof of genuineness. No one
would have forged such an answer.
John vi. The whole of the conversation re-
corded in this chapter, is, in the highest degree,
unlikely to be fabricated, especially the part of
our Saviour's reply, between the fiftieth and the
fifty-eighth verse. I need only put down the first
sentence : " I am the living bread which came
down from heaven : if any man eat of this bread,
he shall live for ever : and the bread that I will
give him is my flesh, which I will give for the
Ufe of the world.", Without calling in question
the expositions that have been given of this pas-
eage ? we may be permitted to say, that it labours
under an obscurity, in which it is impossible to
believe that any one, who made speeches for the
persons of his narrative, would have voluntarily
involved them. That this discourse was obscure,
even at the time, is confessed by the writer who
had preserved it, when he tells us, at the conclu-
sion, that many of our Lord's disciples, when they
* See also chap. xvii. 20. Luke xvii. 6.
t See also Matt, tfiii. 21.
had heard this, said, " This is a hard saying : who
can bear it V
Christ's taking of a young child, and placing it
in the midst of his contentious disciples, (Matt,
xviii. 2J though as decisive a proof as any could
be, of the benignity of his temper, and very ex-
pressive of the character of the religion which he
wished to inculcate, was not by any means an
obvious thought. Nor am I acquainted with
any thing in any ancient writing which resem-
bles it.
The account of the institution of the eucharist
bears strong internal marks of genuineness. If it
had been feigned, it would have been more full ;
it would have come nearer to the actual mode of
celebrating the rite, as that mode obtained very
early in Christian churches ; and it would have
been more formal than it is. In the forged piece,
called the Apostolic Constitutions, the apostles
are made to enjoin many parts of the ritual which
was in use in the second and third centuries, with
as much particularity as a modern rubric could
have done. Whereas, in the History of the Lord's
supper, as we read it in Saint Matthew's Gospel,
there is not so much as the command to repeat it.
This, surely, looks like undesignedness. I think
also that the difficulty arising from the conciseness
of Christ's expression, " This is my body," would
have been avoided in a made-up story. I allow
that the explication of these words, given by pro-
testants, is satisfactory; but it is deduced from a
diligent comparison of the words in question with
forms of expression used in Scripture, and espe-
cially by Christ upon other occasions. No writer
would arbitrarily and unnecessarily have thus
cast in his reader's way a difficulty, which, to say
the least, it required research and erudition to
clear up.
Now it ought to be observed, that the argument
which is built upon these examples, extends both
to the authenticity of the books and to the truth
of the narrative : for it is improbable that the for-
ger of a history in the name of another should
have inserted such passages into it: and it is
improbable also, that the persons whose names
the books bear should have fabricated such pas-
sages; or even have allowed them a place in
their work, if they had not believed them to ex-
press the truth.
The following observation, therefore, of Dr.
Lardner, the most candid of all advocates, and the
most, cautious of all inquirers, seems to be well-
founded : " Christians are induced to believe the
writers of the Gospel, by observing the evidences
of piety and probity that appear in their writings,
in which there is no deceit, or artifice, or cunning,
or design." " No remarks," as Dr. Beattie hath
properly said, " are thrown in, to anticipate ob-
jections ; nothing of that caution which never
fails to distinguish the testimony of those who are
conscious of imposture ; no endeavour to reconcile
the reader's mind to what may be extraordinary
in the narrative."
I beg leave to cite also ano'sher author,* who
has well expressed the reflection which the ex-
amples now brought forward were intended to
suggest. " It doth not appear that ever it came
into the mind of these writers, to consider how
this or the other action would appear to mankind,
or what objections might be raised upon them.
* Duchal, p 97, 98.
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
341
But without at all attending to this, they lay the
facts before you, at no pains to think whether they
Would appear credible or not. If the reader will
not believe their testimony, there is no help for it :
they tell the truth, and attend to nothing else.
Surely this looks like sincerity, and that they
published nothing to the world but what they be-
lieved themselves."
As no improper supplement to this chapter, I
crave a place here for observing the extreme na-
turalness of some of the tilings related in the New
Testament.
Mark ix. 23. " Jesus said unto him, If thou
canst believe, all things are possible to him that
believeth. And straightway the father of the
child cried out, and said, with tears, Lord, I be-
lieve ; help thou mine unU-lief." This struggle
in the father's heart, between solicitude for the
preservation of his child, and a kind of involuntary
distrust of Christ's power to heal him, is here ex-
pressed with an air of reality, which could hardly
be counterfeited.
Again, (Matt. xxi. 9,) the eagerness of the peo-
ple to introduce Christ into Jerusalem, and their
demand, a short time afterward, of his crucifixion,
when he did not turn out what they expected him
to be, so far from allbrding matter of objection,
represents popular favour in exact agreement with
nature and with experience, as the mix and reflux
of a wave.
The rulers and Pharisees rejecting Christ,
whilst many of the common people received him,
Was the effect which, in the then state of Jewish
prejudices, I should have expected. And the
reason with which they who rejected Christ's
mission kept themselves in countenance, and with
which also they answered the arguments of those
who favoured it, is precisely the reason which such
men usually give : " Have any of the scribes or
Pharisees believed on him T John vii. K
In our Lord's conversation at the well, (John
iv. 29,) Christ had surprised tlit> S;uuurit;in WUIIUM
with an allusion to a single particular in her do-
mestic situation, " Thou hast had five husbands ;
and he, whom thou now hast, is not thy hus-
band." The woman, soon after this, ran back
to the city, and called out to her neighbours,
" Come, see a man which told me all things that
ever I did." This exaggeration appears to me
very natural; especially in the hurried state of
spirits into which the woman may be supposed to
have been thrown.
The lawyer's subtilty in running a distinction
upon the word neighbour, in the precept, " Thou
shall love thy neighbour as thyself," was no less
natural, than our Saviour's answer was decisive
and satisfactory. Luke x. 29. The lawyer of the
New Testament, it must be observed, was a Jew-
ish divine.
The behaviour of Gallic (Acts xviii. 1217),
and of Festus (xxv. 18, 19), have been observed
upon already.
The consistency of St. Paul's character through-
out the whole of his history (viz. the warmth and
activity of his zeal, first against, and then for,
Christianity), carries with it very much of the ap-
pearance of truth.
There are also some properties, as they may be
called, observable in the Gospels: that is, cir-
cumstances separately suiting with the situa-
tion, character, and intention, of their respective
authors.
St. Matthew, who was an inhabitant of Galilee,
and did not join Christ's society until some time
after Christ had come into Galilee to preach, has
given us very little of his history pnor to that
period. Saint John, who had been converted be-
fore, and who wrote to supply omissions in the
Other Gospels, relates some remarkable particulars,
which had taken place before Christ left Judea, to
go into Galilee.*
Saint Matthew (xv. 1) has recorded the cavil
of the Pharisees against the disciples of Jesus, for
eating " with unclean hands." St. Mark has also
(vii. 1") recorded the same transaction (taken pro-
bably from St. Matthew), but with this addition ;
" For the Pharisees, and all the Jews, except they
wash their hands often, eat not, holding the tra-
dition of the elders : and when they come from
the market, except they wash, they eat not : and
many other things there be which they have re-
ceived to hold, as the washing of cups and pots,
brazen vessels, and of tables. Now Saint Mat-
thew was not only a Jew himself, but it is evident,
from the whole structure of his Gospel, especially
from his numerous references to the Old Testa-
ment, that he wrote for Jewish readers. The
above explanation, therefore, in him, would have
been unnatural, as not being wanted by the read-
ers whom he addressed. But in Mark, who,
whatever use he might make of Matthew's Gos-
pel, intended his own narrative for a general cir-
culation, and who himself travelled to distant
countries in the service of the religion, it was pro-
perly added.
CHAPTER IV.
Identity of Christ's Character.
THE argument expressed by this title, I apply
principally to the comparison of the first three Gos-
pels with that of Saint John. It is known to every
reader of Scripture, that the passages of Christ's
history, preserved by Saint John, are, except his
passion and resurrection, for the most part, differ-
ent from those which are delivered by the other
evangelists. And I think the ancient account of
this difference to be the true one ; viz. that Saint
John wrote after the rest, and to supply what he
thought omissions in their narratives, of which
the principal were our Saviour's conferences with
the Jews of Jerusalem, and his discourses to his
apostles at his last supper. But what I observe in
the comparison of these several accounts is, that,
although actions and discourses are ascribed to
Christ by Saint John, in general different from
what are given to him by the other evangelists,
yet, under this diversity, there is a similitude of
manner, which indicates that the actions and dis-
courses proceeded from the same person. I should
have laid little stress upon the repetition of actions
substantially alike, or of discourses containing
many of the same expressions, because that is a
species of resemblance, which would either belong
to a true history, or might easily be imitated in a
false one. Nor do I deny, that a dramatic writer
is able to sustain propriety and distinction of
character, through a great variety of separate in-
cidents and situations. But the evangelists were
* Hartley's Observations, vol. ii. p. 103.
29*
342
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
not dramatic writers ; nor possessed the talents of
dramatic writers; nor will it, I believe, be sus-
pected, that they studied uniformity of character,
or ever thought of any such thing, in the person
who was the subject of their histories. Such uni-
formity, if it exists, is on their part casual; and if
there be, as I contend there is, a perceptible re-
semblance of manner, in passages, and between
discourses, which are in themselves extremely dis-
tinct, and are delivered by historians writing with-
out any imitation of, or reference to, one another,
it affords a just presumption, that these are, what
they profess to be, the actions and the discourses
of the same real person ; that the evangelists wrote
from fact, and not from imagination.
The article in which I find this agreement most
strong, is in our Saviour's mode of teaching, and
in that particular property of it, which consists in
his drawing of his doctrjne from the occasion ; or,
which is nearly the same thing, raising reflections
from the objects and incidents before him, or
turning a particular discourse then passing, into
an opportunity of general instruction.
It will be my business to point out this manner
in the first three evangelists ; and then to inquire,
whether it do not appear also, in several examples
of Christ's discourses, preserved by Saint John.
The reader will observe in the following quota-
tions, that the Italic letter contains the reflection ;
the common letter, the incident or occasion from
which it springs.
Matt. xii. 4750. " Then they said unto him,
Behold, thy mother and thy brethren stand with-
out desiring to speak with thee. But he answered
and said unto him that told him, AVho is my mo-
ther'? and who are my brethren? And he
stretched forth his hand towards his disciples, and
said, Behold my mother and my brethren : for
whosoever shall do the will of my Father which
is in heaven, the same is my brother , and sister,
and mother."
Matt. xvi. 5. " And when his disciples were
come to the other side, they had forgotten to take
bread ; then Jesus said unto them. Take heed,
and beware of Hie leaven of the Pharisees, and
of the Sadducees. And they reasoned among
themselves, saying, It is because we have taken
no bread. How is it that ye do not understand,
that I spake it not to you concerning bread, that
ye should beware of the leaven of the Pharisees,
and of the Sadducees'? Then understood they,
how that he bade them not beware of the leaven
of bread, but of the DOCTRINE of the Pharisees
and of the Sadducees."
Matt. xv. 1,2, 10, 11, 1520. " Then came
to Jesus scribes and, Pharisees, which were of
Jerusalem, saying, Why do thy disciples trans-
gress the traditions of the elders 7 for they wash
not their hands when they eat bread. And he
called the multitude, and said unto them, Hear
and understand: Not that which goeth into the
mouth defileth a man, but that which cometh out
of the mouth, this defileth a man. Then an-
swered Peter, and said unto him, Declare unto us
this parable. And Jesus said, Are ye also yet
without understanding? Do ye not yet under-
stand, that whatsoever entereth in at the mouth,
goeth into the belly, and is cast out into the
draught 1 but those things which proceed out of
the mouth, come forth from the heart, and they
defile the man : for out of the heart proceed
evil thoughts, murders, adulteries, fornications,
thefts, false witness, blasphemies: these are the
things which defile a man : BUT TO EAT WITH
UNWASHEN HANDS DEFILETH NOT A MAN." Our
Saviour, on this occasion, expatiates rather more
at large than usual, and his discourse also is more
divided : but the concluding sentence brings back
the whole train of thought to the incident in the
first verse, viz. the objugatory question of the
Pharisees, and renders it evident that the whole
sprang from that circumstance.
Markx. 1315. "And they brought young
children to him, that he should touch them ; arid
his disciples rebuked those that brought them : but
when Jesus saw it, he was much displeased, and
said unto them, Suffer the little children to come
unto me, and forbid them not; for of such is the
kingdom of God : verily I say unto you, Whoso-
ever shall not receive the kingdom of God as a
little child, he shall not enter therein."
Mark i. 16, 17. " Now as he walked by the sea
of Galilee, he saw Simon and Andrew his brother
casting a net into the sea, for they were fishers :
and Jesus said unto them, Come ye after me, and
I will make you fishers of men."
Luke xi. 27. " And it came to pass as he spake
these things, a certain woman of the company
lifted up her voice, and said unto him, Blessed is
the womb that bare thee, and the paps which thou
hast sucked : but he said, Yea, rather blessed are
they that hear the word of God and keep it."
Luke xiii. 1 3. " There were present at that
season, some that told him of the Galileans, whose
blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices ; and
Jesus answering, said unto them, Suppose ye, that
these Galileans were sinners above all the Gali-
leans, because they suffered such thing's ? I tell
you, Nay : but, except ye repent, ye shall all like-
wise perish."
Luke xiv. 15. " And when one of them that
sat at meat with him, heard these things, he said
unto him, Blessed is he that shall eat bread in the
kingdom of God. Then said he unto him, A cer-
tain man made a great supper, and bade many,
&c. The parable is rather too long for insertion,
but affords a striking instance of Christ's manner
of raising a discourse from the occasion. Observe
also in the same chapter two other examples of
advice, drawn from the circumstances of the en-
tertainment and the behaviour of the guests.
We will now see, how this manner discovers
itself in St. John's history of Christ.
John vi. 25. " And when they had found him
on the other side of the sea, they said unto him,
Rabbi, when earnest thou hither 1 Jesus answer-
ed them, and said, Verily I say unto you, ye seek
me not because ye saw the miracles, but because
ye did eat of the loaves, and were filled. Labour
not for the meat which perishelh, but for that
meat which endureth unto everlasting life, which
the Son of man shall give unto you."
John iv. 12. " Art thou greater than our father
Abraham, who gave us the well, and drank there-
of himself, and his children, and his cattle 1 Jesus
answered, and said unto her (the woman of Sa-
maria,) Whosoever drinketh of this water shall
thirst again ; but whosoever drinketh of the water
that. I shall give him, shall never thirst; but: the
water that I shall give him, shall be in him a
well of water, springing up into everlasting
life."
John iv. 31. " In the mean while, his disciples
prayed him, saying, Master, eat; but he said unto
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
343
them, I have meat to eat that ye know not of.
Therefore said the disciples one to another, Hath
any man brought him aught to eat 1 Jesus saith
unto them, My meat is, to do the will of him that
sent me, and to finish his work."
John ix. 1 5. " And as Jesus passed by, he
saw a man which was blind from his birth ; and
his disciples asked him, saying. Who did sin. this
man or his parents, that he was born blind 1
Jesus answered, Neither hath this man sinned,
nor his parents, but that the works of God should
be made manifest in him. / must work the works
of him that sent me, while it is day ; the night
cometh, when no man can work. As long as I
am in the world, I am the light of the wortd."
John ix. 35 10. "Jesus heard that they had
cast him (the blind man above-mentioned) out:
and when he had found him, he said unto him,
Dost thou believe on the Son of God 1 And he
answered, and said, Who is he, Lord, that I
might believe on him 1 And Jesus said unto him.
Thou hast both seen him, and it is he that talketh
with thee. And he said, Lord, I believe ; and he
worshipped him. And Jesus said, For judgment
I am come into this world, mat they which see
not, might see; and that they which see, might
be made blind."
All that the reader has now to do, is to com-
pare the series of examples taken from Saint John,
with the series of examples taken from the other
evangelists, and to judge whether there be not a
visible agreement of manner between them. In
the above-quoted passages, the occasion is stated.
as well as the reflection. They seern, therefore,
the most proper for the purpose of our argument.
A large, however, and curious collection has Ix en
made by different writers,* of instances, in which
it is extremely probable that Christ spoke in allu-
sion to some object, or some occasion, then before
him, though the mention of the occasion, or of the
object, be omitted in the history. I only observe,
that these instances are common to Saint John's
Gospel with the other three.
I conclude this article by remarking, that no-
thing of this manner is perceptible in the speeches
recorded in the Acts, or in any other but those
which are attributed to Christ, and that, in truth,
it was a very unlikely manner for a forger or fa-
bulist to attempt ; and a manner very difficult for
any writer to execute, if he had to supply all the
materials, both the incidents and the observations
upon them, out of his own head. A forger or a
fabulist would have made for Christ, discourses
exhorting to virtue and dissuading from vice in
general terms. It would never have entered into
the thoughts of either, to have crowded together
such a number of allusions to time, place, and
other little circumstances, as occur, for instance,
in the sermon on the mount, and which nothing
but the actual presence of the objects could have
suggested, "t
II. There appears to me to exist an affinity be-
tween the history of Christ's placing a little child
in the midst of his disciples, as related by the first
three evangelists,:* and the history of Christ's
washing his disciples' feet, as given by Saint
John.i In the stories themselves there is no re-
010 N wt K on T n Daniel, p. 148, note a. Jortin, Dis. p.
213. Bishop Law's Life of Christ.
t See Bishop Law's Life of Christ.
1 Matt, xviii. 1. Mark ix. 33. Luke ix. 4G.
Chap. xiii. 3.
semblance. But the affinity which I would point
out consists in these two articles : First, that both
stories denote the emulation which prevailed
amongst Christ's disciples, and his own care* and
desire to correct it ; the moral of both is the same.
Secondly, that both stories are specimens of the
same manner of teaching, viz. by action ; a mode
of emblematic instruction extremely peculiar, and,
in these passages, ascribed, we see, to our Saviour,
by the first three evangelists, and by Saint John
in instances totally unlike, and without the small-
est suspicion of their borrowing from each other.
III. A singularity in Christ s language, which
runs through all the evangelists, and which is
found in those discourses of Saint John that have
nothing similar to them in the other Gospels, is
the appellation of " the Son of man ;" and it is in
all the evangelists found under the peculiar cir-
cumstance ot being applied by Christ to himself,
but of never being used of him, or towards him,
by any other person. It occurs seventeen times
in Matthew's Gospel, twenty times in Mark's,
twenty-one times in Luke's, and eleven times in
John's, and always with this restriction.
IV. A point of agreement in the conduct of
Christ, as represented by his different historians,
is that of his withdrawing himself out of the way,
win-never the behaviour of the multitude indicated
a disposition to tumult.
Matt. xiv. 22. " And straightway Jesus con-
strained his disciples to get into a ship, and to go
before him unto the other side, while he sent the
multitude awav. And when he had sent the mul-
titude away, he went up into a mountain apart
to pray."
Luke v. 15, 16. " But so much the more went
there a fame abroad of him, and great multitudes
came together to hear, and to be healed by him of
their infirmities: and he withdrew himself into
the wilderness, and prayed."
With these quotations, compare the following
from Saint John :
Chap. v. 13. " And he that was healed wist not
who it was ; for Jesus had conveyed himself away,
a multitude being in that place."
Chap. vi. 15. " When Jesus therefore perceived
that they would come and take him by force to
make him a king, he departed again into a moun-
tain himself alone."
In this last instance, Saint John gives the mo-
tive of Christ's conduct, which is left unexplained
by the other evangelists, who have related the
conduct itself.
V. Another, and a more singular circumstance
in Christ's ministry, was the reserve, which, for
some time, and upon some occasions at least, he
used in declaring nis own character, and his leav-
ing it to be collected from his works rather than
his professions. Just reasons for this reserve have
been assigned.* But it is not what one would
have expected. We meet with it in Saint Mat-
thew's Gospel : chap. xvi. 20. " Then charged
he his disciples, that they should tell no man that
he was Jesus the Christ." Again, and upon a
different occasion, in Saint Mark's: chap. iii. 11.
" And unclean spirits, when they saw him, fell
down before him, and cried, saying, Thou art the
Son of God : and he straightly charged them that
they should not make him known." Another in-
stance similar to this last is recorded by Saint
* See Locke's Reasonableness of Christianity.
344
EVIDENCES OP CHRISTIANITY.
Luke, chap. iv. 41. What we thus find in the
three evangelists, appears also in a passage of
Saint John, chap. x. 24, 25. " Then came the
Jetws round about him, and said unto him, How
long dost thou make us to doubt 1 If thou be the
Christ, tell us plainly." The occasion here was
different from any of the rest ; and it was indirect.
"We only discover Christ's conduct through the
upbraidings of his adversaries. But all this
strengthens the argument. I had rather at any
time surprise a coincidence in some oblique allu-
sion, than read it in broad assertions.
VI. In our Lord's commerce with his disciples,
one very observable particular is the difficulty
which they found in understanding him, when he
spoke to them of the future part of his history,
especially of what related to his passion or resur-
rection. This difficulty produced, as was natural,
a wish in them to ask for farther explanation;
from which, however, they appear to have been
sometimes kept back, by the fear of giving offence.
All these circumstances are distinctly noticed by
Mark and Luke upon the occasion of his inform-
ing them, (probably for the first time,) that the
Son of man should be delivered into the hands of
men. " They understood not," the evangelists tell
us, "this saying, and it was hid from them, that
they perceived it not : and they feared to ask him
of that saying." Luke ix. 45. Mark ix. 32. In St.
John's Gospel we have, on a different occasion,
and in a different instance, the same difficulty of
apprehension, the same curiosity, and the same
restraint : " A little while, and ye shall not see
me : and again, a little while, and ye shall see me ;
because I go to the Father. Then said some of
his disciples among themselves, What is this that
he saith unto us 1 A little while, and ye shall not
see me: and again, A little while, and ye shall
see me : and, Because I go to the Father 1 They
said therefore, What is this that he saith, A little
while 1 we cannot tell what he saith. Now Jesus
knew that they were desirous to ask him, and
said unto them," &c. John xvi. 16, &c.
VII. The meekness of Christ during his last
sufferings, which is conspicuous in the narratives
of the first three evangelists, is preserved in that
of Saint John under separate examples. The
answer given by him, in Saint John,* when the
high priest asked him of his disciples and his doc-
trine ; " I spake openly to the world; I ever taught
in the synagogue, and in the temple, whither the
Jews always resort ; and in secret have I said no-
thing ; why askest thou me 7 ask them which
heard me, what I have said unto them ;" is very
much of a piece with his reply to the armed party
which seized him, as we read in Saint Mark's
Gospel, and in Saint Luke's :t "Are you come
out as against a thief, with swords and with staves
to take me 1 I was daily with you in the temple
teaching, and ye took me not." In both answers,
we discern the same tranquillity, the same refer-
ence to his public teaching. His mild expostula-
tion with Pilate, on two several occasions, as re-
lated by Saint John,? is delivered with the same
unruffled temper, as that which conducted him
through the last scene of his life, as described by
his other evangelists. His answer in Saint John s
Gospel, to the officer who struck him with the
palm of his hand, " If I have spoken evil, bear
* Chap, xviji. 20, 21. t Mark xiv. 48. Luke xxii. 52.
J Chap, xviii. 34; xix. 11.
witness of the evil; but if well, why smitest thou
me V* was such an answer, as might have been
looked for from the person, who, as he proceeded
to the place of execution, bid his companions, (as
we are told by Saint Luke.)t weep not for him,
but for themselves, their posterity, and their coun-
try ; and who, whilst he was suspended upon the
cross, prayed for his murderers, " for they know
not," said he, "what they do." The urgency also
of his judges and his prosecutors to extort from
him a defence to the accusation, and his unwilling-
ness to make any, (which was a peculiar circum-
stance,) appears in Saint John's account, as well
as in that of the other evangelists.*
There are moreover two other correspondencies
between Saint John's history of the transaction
and theirs, of a kind somewhat different from
those which we have been now mentioning.
The first three evangelists record what is called
our Saviour's agony, i. e. his devotion in the gar-
den immediately before he was apprehended ; in
which narrative they all make him pray, "that
the cup might pass from him." This is the par-
ticular metaphor which they all ascribe to him.
Saint Matthew adds, " O my Father, if this cup
may not pass away from me except I drink it, thy
will be done." Now Saint John does not give
the scene in the garden: but when Jesus was
seized, and some resistance was attempted to be
made by Peter, Jesus, according to his account,
checked the attempt with this replv : " Put up thy
sword into the sheath : the cup which my Father
hath given me, shall I not drink it Til This is
something more than consistency ; it is coinci-
dence : because it is extremely natural, that Jesus,
who, before he was apprehended, had been pray-
ing his Father, that "that cup might pass from
him," yet with such a pious retraction of his re-
quest, as to have added, "If this cup may not pass
from me, thy will be done ;" it was natural, I say,
for the same person, when he actually was appre-
hended, to express the resignation to which he
had already made up his thoughts, and to express
it in the form of speech which he had before used,
" The cup which my Father hath given me, shall
I not drink it V This is a coincidence between
writers, in whose narratives there is no imitation,
but great diversity.
A second similar correspondency is the follow-
ing: Matthew and Mark make the charge upon
which our Lord was condemned, to be a threat of
destroying the temple; "We heard him say, I
will destroy this temple made with hands, and
within three days I will build another made with-
out hands :"TT but they neither of them inform us,
upon what circumstances this calumny was found-
ed. Saint John, in the early part of the history ,**
supplies us with this information ; for he relates,
that, on our Lord's first journey to Jerusalem,
when the Jews asked him, " What sign showest
thou unto us, seeing that thou doest these things'?
he answered, Destroy this temple, and in three
days I will raise it up." This agreement could
hardly arise from any thing but the truth of the
case. From any care or design in Saint John, to
make his narrative tally with the narratives of
other evangelists, it certainly did not arise, for no
such design appears, but the absence of it.
*Chap. xviii.23. t Chap, xxiii. 28.
t See John xix. 9. Matt, xxvii. 14. Luke xxiii. 9.
SChap. xxvi.42. ||('hnp. xviii. 11.
IT Mark xiv. 58. ** Chap. ii. 19.
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
A strong and more general instance of agree-
ment is the following: The first three evange-
lists have related the appointment of the twelve
apostles,* and have given a catalogue of their
names in form. John, without ever mentioning
the appointment, or giving the catalogue, supposes
throughout his whole narrative. Christ to be ac-
companied by a select party of his disciples: tin-
number of those to lx) twelve ;t and whenever he
happens to notice any one as of that number,* it
is one included in the catalogue of the other e\;m-
gelists: and the names principally occurring in
the course of /m history of Christ, are the names
extant in their list. This last agreement, which
is of considerable moment, runs through every
Gospel, and through every chapter of each.
All this bespeaks reality.
CHAPTER V.
Originality of our Saviour's Character.
THE Jews, whether right or wrong, had under-
stood their prophecies to foretell the advent of
a person, who by some supernatural assistance
should advance- their nation to independence, and
to a supreme decree of splendour and prosperity.
This was the reigning opinion and expectation
of the times.
Now, had Jesus been an enthusiast, it is proba-
ble that his enthusiasm would h:i\e fallen in with
the popular delusion, and that, whilst he gave
himself out to lx- the person intended by these
predictions, he would have assumed the character
to which they were universally supposed^ to relate.
Had he been an ini[>ostor, it was his business
to have flattered the prevailing hopes, because
these hopes were to be the instruments of his at-
traction and success.
But, what is better than conjecture, is the fact,
that all the pretended Messiahs actually did so.
We learn from Joscphus. that there were many
of these. Some of them, it is probable, might l>o
impostors, who thought that an advantage was to
be taken of the state of public opinion. Others,
perhaps, were enthusiasts, whose imagination had
been drawn to this particular object, by the lan-
guage and sentiments which prevailed aroufid
them. But, whether impostors or enthusiasts,
they concurred in producing themselves in the
character which their countrymen looked for, that
is to say, as the restorers and deliverers of the na-
tion, in that sense in which restoration and deli-
verance were expected by the Jews.
Why therefore Jesus, if he was, like them,
either an enthusiast or impostor, did not pursue
the same conduct as they did, in framing In-
character and pretensions, it will be found dif-
ficult to explain. A mission, the operation and
benefit of which was to take place in another life,
was a thing unthought of as the subject of these
prophecies. That Jesus, coming to them as their
Messiah, should come under a character totally
different from that in which they expected liim ;
should deviate from the general persuasion, and
deviate into pretensions absolutely singular and
original; appears to be inconsistent with the im-
putation of enthusiasm or imposture, both which,
* Matt x. 1. Mark iii. 14. Luke vi. 12.
t Chap. vi. 70. JChap. xz. 24 ; vi. 71.
by their nature, I should expect would, and both
which, throughout the experience which this very-
subject furnishes, in fact liare, followed the opi-
nions, that obtained at the time.
If it be said, that Jesus, having tried the other
plan, turned at length, to this; 1 answer, that the
thins: is said without evide'nce; against evidence;
that it was competent to the rest to -have done
the same, yet that nothing of this sort was
thought of by any.
CHAPTER VI. ^
ONE argument, which has been much relied
upon (but not more than its just weight deserves,)
is the conformity of the facts occasionally men-
tioued or referred to in Scripture, with the state
of things in those times, as represented by foreign
and independent accounts ; which conformity
proves, that the writers of the New Testament
<'d a species of local knowledge, which
could only Mong to an inhabitant of that country,
and to one living in that a'ge. This argument, if
uell made out t>\ examples, is very little short of
provinir the "absolute genuineness of the writings.
It carries them up to the age of the reputed
authors, to an a^e in which it must have been,
difficult to impose upon the Christian public,
forgeries in the names of those authors, and in
which there is no evidence that any forgeries were
attempted. It preves, at least, that the books,
whoever were the authors of them, were com-
posed by persons living in the time and country in
which these things were transacted; and -conse-
quently capable, by their situation, of being well
informed of the facts which they relate. And the
argument is stronger when' applied to the New
icnt, than it is in the case of almost any
other writings, by reason of the mixed nature of
the allusions which -this book contains. The
scene of action is not con lined to-a single country,
but displayed in the greatest cities of the Roman
empire. Allusions are made to the mannejs and
principles of the Greeks, the Romans, and the
Jews. This variety renders a forgery proportion-
ably more difficult, especially to writers of a pos-
terior age. A Greek or Roman Christian, who
lived in the second or third century, would have
been v. anting in Jewish literature; a Jewish con-
vert in those ages- would have been equally defi-
cient in the knowledge of Greece and Rome. *
This, however, is art argument which depends
entirely upon an induction of particulars ; and as,
consequently, it carries with it little force, without
a view of the instances upon which it is built, I
have to request the reader's attention to a detail
of examples, distinctly and articulately proposed.
In collecting these ' examples, I have done no
more than epitomize the first volume of the first
part of Dr. Lardner's Credibility of the Gospel
History. 'And I have brought the argument
within its present compass first by passing over
some of his sections in which the accordancy ap-
peared to me less certain, or U|M>TI subjects not
sufficiently appropriate or circumstantial -^second-
ly, bv contracting everv section into the fewest
words possible, contenting myself for the most
* Micbaelis'a Introduction to the New Testament
(Marsh's Translation,) c. 2. sect. xi.
346
EVIDENCES OP CHRISTIANITY.
part with a mere apposition of passages; and
thirdly, by omitting many disquisitions, which,
though learned and accurate, are not 'absolutely
necessary to the understanding or verification of
the argument.
The writer principally made use of in tire in-
quiry, is Josephus. Josephus was born -at Jeru-
salem four years after Christ's ascension. He
wrote his history of the Jewish war some time
after the destruction of Jerusalem, which happen-
ed in the year of our Lord LXX, that is, thirty-
seven years after the ascension ; and his history
of the Jews he finished in the year xcni, that is,
sixty years after the ascension.
At the head of each article, I have referred, by
figures included in brackets, to the page of Dr.
Lardner's volume, where the section, from which
the abridgment is made, begins. The edition
used, is that of 1741.
I. [p. 14.J Matt; ii. 22. When he (Joseph)
heard that Archelaus did reign ^n Judea, in the
Toom of his father Herod, he was afraid to go
thither r notwithstanding, being warned of God in
a dream, he turned aside into the parts of Gali-
lee/ 3
In this passage it is asserted, that Archejaus
succeeded Herod in Judea ; and it is implied, that
his power did not extend to Galilee. Now we
learn from Josephus, that Herod the Great, whose
dominion included all the land of Israel, appointed
Archelaus his successor in Judea, and assigned
the rest of his -dominions to other sons ; and that
this disposition was ratified, as to the main parts
of it, by the Roman emperor. *
Saint Matthew says, that Archelaus reigned,
Was king in Judea. Agreeably to this, we are
informed by Josephus, not only that Herod ap-
pointed Archelaus his successor in Judea, but
that he also appointed him with the title of King;
and the Greek verb B*<r\susi, which the evangelist
uses to denote the government and rank of Ar-
chelaus, is used likewise by Josephus. t
The cruelty of Archelaus's character, which is
not obscurely intimated by the evangelist, agrees
with divers particulars in his history, preserved
by Josephus : " In the tenth year of his govern-
ment, the chief of the Jews aiid Samaritans, not
being able to endure his cruelty and tyranny, pre-
sented complaints against him to Caesar." t '
II. [p. 19.] Luke iii. 1. " In the fifteenth year
of the reign of Tiberius Caesar, Herod being
tetrarch of Galilee, and his brother Philip, tetrareh
of Iturea and of the region of Trachonitis, the
word of God came urito John."
By the will of Herod the Great, and the decree
of Augustus thereupon, his two sons were ap-
pointed, one (Herod Antipas) tetrarch of Galilee
and Peraea, and the other (Philip) tetrarch of
Trachonitis and the neighbouring countries. II
We have therefore these two persons in the situa-
tions in which Saint Luke places them ; and also,
that they were in these situations in the fifteenth
year of Tiberius ; in other words/that they con-
tinued in possession of their territories and titles
until that time, and afterward, appears from a
passage of Josephus, which relates of Herod,
" that he was removed by Caligula, the successor
* Ant. lib. xvii. c. 8. sect. 1.
I De Bell. lib. i. c. 33. sect. 7.
| Ant. lib. xvii. c. 13. sect 1.
I Ant. lib. xvii. c. 8. sect. 1.
of Tiberius ;* and of Philip, that he died in the
twentieth year of Tiberius, when he had govern-
ed Trachonitis and Batanca and Gaulanitis thirty
'wen years. "t
III. [p. 20.] Mark vi. 17. t " Herod had sent
forth, and laid hold upon John, and Iniund him
in prison, for Herodias' sake, his brother Philip's
wile; for he had married her/ 7
With this compare Joseph. A.ntiq. 1. xviii. c. 6.
sect. 1. "He (Herod the tetrarch j made a visit
to Herod his brother. Here, falling in love with
Herodias, the wife of the said Herod, he ventured
to make her proposals of marriage.
Again, Mark vi. 22. " And when the daughter
of the said Herodias came in and danced ."
With this also compare Joseph. Antiq. 1. xviii.
c. 6. sect. 4. " Herodias was married to Herod, son
of Herod the Great. They had a daughter,
whose name was Salome ; after whose birth,
Herodias, in utter violation of the laws of her
country, left her husband, then living, and mar-
ried Herod the tetrarch of Galilee, her husband's
brother by the father's side."
IV. [p. 29.] Acts xii. 1. "Now, about that
time, Herod the king stretched forth his hands to
vex certain of the church." In the conclusion of
the same chapter, Herod's death, is represented
to have taken place soon after this persecution.
The accuracy, of our historian, or, rather, the
unmeditated coincidence, which truth of its own
accord produces, is in this instance remarkable.
There was no portion of time, for thirty years
before, nor ever afterward, in which there was a
king at Jerusalem, a person exercising that au-
thority in Judea, or to whom that title could bo
applied, except the three last years of this Herod's
life, within which period the transaction recorded
in the. Acts is stated to have' taken place. This
prince was the grandson of Herod the Great. In
the Acts, he appears under his family-name of
Herod ; by Josephus he was called Agrippa. For
proof that he was a king, properly so called,
we have the testimony of Josephus in full and
Jirect terms: "Sending for him to his palace,
Ualigula put a crown upon his head, and appoint-
ed him king of the. tetrarchie' of Philip, intending
also to give him the tetrarchie of Lysanias."!!
And that Judea was at last, but not until the last,
ncluded in his dominions, -appears by a subse-
juent passage of the same Josephus, wherein he
tells us, that Claudius, by a decree, confirmed to
Agrippa the dominion which Caligula had given
lim; adding also Judea and Samaria, in the
utmost extent^ as possessed by his grandfather
Herod.Tl
* Ant. lib. xviii. c. 8. sect. 2. t Ibid. c. 5. sect. 6.
t See also Matt. xiv. 113. Luke iii. 19.
The affinity of the. two accounts is unquestionable;
m't there is a difference in the name <>f Herodias's first
nisbanil, which, in the ovaimrlist, is Philip; in Jose-
mus, Herod. Tin; difficulty, however, will not appear
:onsider;iUle, when we recollect how common it was in
hose times for the same jx-rson to bear two names.
'Simon, which is called Peter: Lebbeus. whose sur-
name is Thaddcus; Thomas, which is called Didymus ;
Simeon, who was called Niger ; Saul, who was also call-
id Paul." The solution is rendered likewise easier in
he present case, by the consideration, that Herod the
Great had children by seven or eight wives ; that Jose-
>hiis mentions three of his sons under the name of He-
od: that it is nevertheless highly probable, that the
brothers bore some additional name, by which they were
listinguished from one another. Lardner, vol. ii. p. 897.
|j Autiq. xviii. c. 7. sect. 10. TT Ib. xix. c. 5. sect. 1.
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
347
V. [p. 32.] Acts xii. 1923. " And he (Herod)
went down from Judea to Cesarea, and there
abode. -And on a set day, Herod, arrayed in
royal apparel, sat upon his throne, and made an
oration unto them : and the people gave a shout,
saying, It is the voice of a god, and not of a man ;
and immediately the angel of the Lord smote
him, because he gave not God the glory : and he
was eaten of worms, and gave up the ghost."
Joseph. Antiq. lib. xix. c. 8. sect. 2. "He
went to the city of Cesarea. Here he celebrated
shows in honour of Caesar. On the second day
of the shows, early in the morning, he catur into
the theatre, dossed in a robe of silver, of most
curious workmanship. The rays of the rising
sun, reflected from such a splendid garb, gave him
a majestic and awful appearance. They ca'led
him a god ; and entreated him to be propitious to
them, saying. Hitherto we have respected you as
a man : but now we acknowledge you to be more
than mortal. The king neither repDO*ed~tbe0e <
persons, nor rej-vted the impious flattery. Im-
mediately after this, he was seized with pains in
his bowels, extremely violent at the very first.
He was carried therefore with all haste to his
palace. These pains continually tormenting 'him,
ne expired in live days' time."
The reader will perceive the accordancy of
these accounts in various particulars. The place
(Cesarea), the set day, tin- gorgeous <hvs-, the
acclamations of the a^setnMv. the peculiar turn
of the flattery, the reception of it, the sudden and
critical incursion of the disease, are circumstances
noticed in Iwth narratives. The worms, men-
tioned by Saint Luke, are not remarked by Jose-
phus: but the appearance of these is a svmptom.
not unusually, 1 believe, attending the* diseases
which Josephus describes, viz. violent affections
of the bowels.
VI. [p. 41.] Acts xxiv. 24. " And after certain
days, when Felix came with his wife Drusilla,
which was a Jewess, he sent for Paul."
Joseph. Antiq. lib. xx. c.. 6. sect. 1, 2. " Agrip-
pa gave his sister Drusilla in marriage to Azizus,
king of the Kmescnes, when he had consented to
be circumcised. But this marriage of Drusilla
with Azizus was dissolved in a short time after in
this manner : When Felix was procurator of
Judea, having had a sight of her, he was mighti-
ly taken with her. She was induced to trai
the laws of her country, and marry Felix."
Here the public station of Felix, the name of
his wife, and the singular circumstance of her
religion, all appear in perfect conformity with the
evangelist.
VII. [p. 46J "And after* certain days, king
Agrippa and Bcrnice came to Cesarea to salute
Festus." By this passage we are in effect told,
that Agrippa was a king, but not of Judea ; for
he came to salute Festus, who at this time ad-
ministered the government of that country at
Cesarea.
Now, how does the history of the age corres-
pond with this account? "The Agrippa here
spoken of, was the son of Herod Agrippa, men-
tioned in the last article : but that he did not suc-
ceed to his father's kingdom, nor ever recovered
Judea, which had been a part of it, we learn by
the information of Josephus, who relates of him
that, when his father was dead, Claudius intend-
ed, at first, to have put him immediately in pos-
session of his father's dominions} but that Agrip-
pa being then but seventeen years of age, the
emperor was persuaded to alter his mind, and
appointed Cuspius Fadus prefect of Judea, and
the whole, kingdom ;* which,Fadus was succeeded
by Tiberius Alexander, Cumanus, Felix, Festus.t
But that, though disappointed of his lather's king-
dom, in which was included Judea, he was never-
theless rightly styled King Agrippa, and that he
was in possession of considerable territories border-
ing upon Judea, we gather from the same authority;
for, after several successive donations of country,
" Claudius,- at the ^same time that he sent Felix
to be procurator of Judea, promoted Agrippa from
i Chalcis to a greater kingdom, giving to him the
j tetrarchie. which had been Philip's; and he added
moreover the kingdom of Lysanias, and the pro-
vince that> had belonged to Varus."i
Saint Paul addresses this person as a Jew:
" King Agrippa, believest thou the prophets 1 I
know that thou believesk" As the son of Herod
Agrippa, who is. descrilwd by Josephus to have
been a zealous Jew, it is reasonable to suppose
that he maintained the same profession. But
what is more. material to .remark, because it is
more close and circumstantial, is, that Saint Luke,
speaking of the Father-, ( Acts xii. 1 3,) calls
him Herod the king, and gives an example of the
exercise of his authority at Jerusalem : speaking
of the son, (xxv. 13,) he calls him king, but not
of Judea ; which distinction agrees correctly with
the history.
VIII. [p. 51.] Acts xiii. 6. "And when they
h i 1 i_ r <>ne through the isle (Cyprus) to Paphos,
they found a certain sorcerer, a false prophet, a
Jew, whose name was Barjesus, which was the
deputy of the country, Sergius Paujus, a prudent
man.
The word, which is here translated deputy,
signifies proconsul, and upon this word our ote
servation is founded. The provinces of the Ro-
man empire were of two kinds ; those belonging
to the emperor, in which the governor was called
propraetor ; and those belonging to the senate, in
which the governor was called proconsul. And
this was a regular distinction. Now it appears
from Dio Cassius, that the province of Cyprus,
which in the original distribution was assigned
to the emperor, had been transferred to the senate,
in exchange for some others ; and that, after this
exchange, the appropriate title of the Roman go-
vernor was proconsul.
Ib. xviii. 12. [p. 55J " And when Gallio was
deputy (proconsul) of Achaia."
The propriety of the title " proconsul," is in
this passage still more critical. For the province
of Achaia, after passing from the senate to the
emperor, had been restored again by the emperor
Claudius to the senate (and consequently its go-
vernment had become proconsular) only six or
seven years before the time in which this transac-
tion is said to have taken place.ll And what con-
tines with strictness the appellation to the time is,
that Achaia under the following reign ceased, to
be a Roman province at all. . , \
IX. [p.. 152.] It appears, as well from the ge-
neral constitution of a Roman province, as from
what Josephus delivers concerning the state of
* Antiq. xix. c..9. ad fin.
t Ib. xx. De Bell. lib. ii.
t De Bell. lit), ii. c. 12. ad fin.
6 De Bell lib. liv. ad A. U. 732.
I Suet, in Claud, c. 25. Dio. lib. Ixi.
348
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
Judca in particular,* that the power of life and
death resided exclusively in iho Roman governor;
but that the Jews, nevertheless, had magistrates
and a council, invested with a subordinate and
municipal authority. This economy is discerned
in every part of the Gospel narrative of our Sa-
viour's crucifixion;
X. [p. 203.] Acts ix. 31. Then had the
.churches rest throughout all Judea and Galilee
and Samaria!" v
This rest synchronizes with the attempt of
Caligula to place his statue in the temple of Jeru-
salem : the threat of which outrage produced
amongst the Jews a consternation that, for a
season, diverted their attention from every other
object.!
XI. [p. 218.] Acts xxi. 30. " And they took
Paul, and drew him out of the temple; and forth-
with the doors were shut. And as they went
about to kill him, tidings came to the chief cap-
tain of the band, that all Jerusalem was in an up-
roar. Then the chief captain came near, and
took him, and commanded hirn to be bound with
two chains, and demanded, who he was, and
what he had done ; and some cried one thing, and
some another, among the multitude: 1 and, when
he could, not know the certainty for the tumult,
he commanded him to be carried into the castle.
And when he came upon the stairs, so it was,
that he was borne of the soldiers for the violence
of the people."
In this quotation, we have the band of Roman
soldiers at Jerusalem, their office (to suppress tu-
mults,) the castle, the stairs, both, as it should
seem, adjoining to the temple. Let us. inquire
whether we can find these particulars in any
other record of that age and place.
Joseph. de-Bell, lib. v. c. 5. sect. 8. " Antonia
was situated at the angle of the western and north-
ern porticoes of the outer temple. It was built
upon a rock fifty cubits high, steep on all sides.
On that side where it joined to the porticoes of
the temple, there were stairs reaching to each
portico, by which the guard descended ; for there
was always lodged here a Roman legion, and
posting themselves in their armour in several
places in the porticoes, they kept a watch on the
people on the feast days to prevent all disorders ;
for as the temple was a guard to the city, so was
Antonia to the temple."
XII. [p. 224.] Acts iv. 1. " And as-they spake
unto the people, the priests, and the captain of
the temple, and the Sadducees, came upon them."
Here we have a public officer, under, the title of
captain of the temple, and he probably a Jew, as
he accompanied the priests and Sadducees in ap-
prehending the apostles.
Joseph, de Bell. lib. ii. c. 17. sect. 2. " And at
the temple, Eleazar, the son of Ananias, the high
priest, a young man of a bold and resolute dispo-
sition, then captain, persuaded those who per
formed the sacred ministrations not to receive the
gift or sacrific^ of any stranger."
XIII. [p. 225.] Acts xxv, 12. Then Festus
when he had conferred with the council, answer
ed, Hast thou appealed unto Caesar 1 unto Csesa
shall thou go." That it was usual for the Ro-
man presidents to have a council, consisting o
their friends, and other chief Romans in the pro
* Antiq. lib. xx. c. 8. sect. 5 ; c. 1. sect. 2.
t JosepU, de Bell. lib. xi. c. 13. sect. 1, 3, 4.
ince, appears expressly in the following passage
f Cicero's oration against Verres : " lllud ne-
;are. posse s, aut nunc negabis, te, concrlio tuo di-
nisso, viris primariis, qui in consilio C. Sacerdotis
uerant, tibique csse volebant, remotis, de re judi-
;ita jndicasse?"
XIV. [p. 235.] Acts xvi. 13. " And (at Phi-
ippi) on the sabbath we went out of the city by a
iver-side, where prayer Was wont to be made,"
or where a v^a-ivM, oratory, or place of prayer
was allowed. The particularity to be remarked,
the situation of the place where prayer was
wont to be made, viz. by a river-side.
Philo, describing the conduct of the Jews of
Alexandria, on a certain public occasion, relates
f them, that " early in the morning, flocking out
f the gates of the city, the^y go to the neighbour-
ng shores (for the K f <Hrsv%.xt were destroyed,) and,
landing in a most pure place, they lift up their
r oices with one accord.''*
Josephus gives us a decree of the city of Hali-
:arnassus, permitting the Jews to build oratories;
i part of which decree runs thus: " We ordain
hat the Jews who are willing, men and women,
do observe the sabbaths, and perform sacred rites
according to the Jewish laws, and build oratories
Yy the sea-side."^
Tertullian, among other Jewish rites and cus-
oms, such as feasts, sabbaths, fasts, and unleaven-
ed bread, mentions " orationes litorales ;" that is,
>rayers by the river-side. t
XV. [p. 255.] Acts xxvi. 5. " After the most
straitest sect of our religion, I lived a Pharisee."
Joseph, de, Bell. lib. i. c. 5. sect, 2. " The Pha-
risees were reckoned the most religious of any of
the Jews, and to be ihe most exact and skilful in
explaining the laws."
In the original, there is an agreement not only
n the sense, but in the expression, it being the
same Greek adjective, which is rendered " strait"
in the Acts, anil "exact" in Josephus.
XVI. [p. 255.] Mark vii. 3, 4. " The Phari-
sees and all the Jews, except they wash, eat not,
holding the tradition of the elders ; and many
other things there be which they have received to
hold."
Joseph. Antiq. lib. xiii. c. 10. sect. 6. " The
Pharisees have delivci'ed to the people many insti-
tutions, as received from the fathers, which are
not written in the law of Moses."
XVII. [p. 259.1 Acts xxiii. 8. " For the Sad-
ducees say, that there is no resurrection, neither
angel, nor spirit : but the Pharisees confess both."
Joseph, de Bell. lib. ii. c. 8. sect. 14. " They
(the Pharisees) believe every soul to be immortal,
but that the soul of the good only passes into an-
other body, and that the soul of the wicked is
punished with eternal punishment." On the
other hand, (Antiq. lib. xviii. c. 1. sect. 4,) "It
is the opinion of the Sadducees, that souls perish
with the bodies."
. XVIII. [p. 268.] Actsv. 17. " Then the high-
priest rose up, arid all they that were with him
(which is' the sect of the Sadducees,) and were
filled with indignation." Saint Luke here inti-
mates, that the high-priest was a Sadducee ; which
is a cha'racter one would not have expected to
meet with in that station,. The circumstance, re-
* Philo. in Flacc. p. 382.
t Joseph. Antiq. lib. xiv. c. 10. sect. 24.
t Tertul. ad Nat. lib. i. c. 13.
EVIDENCES OP CHRISTIANITY.
349
markable as it is, was not however without exam-
ples.
Joseph. Antiq. lib. xiii. c. 10. sect. 6, 7. "John
Hyrcanus, high-priest of the Jews, forsook the
Pharisees upon a disgust, and joined himself to
the party of the Sadducees." This high-priest
died one hundred and seven years before the Chris-
tian era.
Again, (Antiq. lib. xx. c. 8. sect. 1.) " This
Ananus the younger, who, as we have said just
now, had received the high-priesthood, was fierce
and haughty in his behaviour, and, above all men,
bold and daring, and, moreover, w as of the sect of
the Sadducees. This high-priest lived little more
than twentyyears after the transaction in the Acts.
XIX. [p. '282.J Luke ix. 51. " And it came to
pass, when the time was come that he should be
received up. he steadfastly set his face to go to
Jerusalem, and sent messengers before his face.
And they went, and entered into a village of the.
Samaritans, to make ready for him. And they
did not receive him, because his face was as though
he would go to Jerusalem."
Joseph. Antiq. lib. xx. c. 5. sect, 1. " It was the
custom of the Gdileans/who went up to the holy
city at the feasts, to travel through the country of
Samaria. As they were in their journey, some
inhabitants of the village culled < un'iea, which lies
on the borders of Samaria and the great plain,
falling upon them, killed a great inanv of them."
XX. [p. 278.] John iv. '20. " Our lathers."
said the Samaritan woman, " worshipped in this
mountain; and ye say, that Jerusalem is the
place where men ought to worship."
Joseph. Antiq. lib. xviii. c. 5. sect. 1. " Com-
manding them to meet him at mount Gcri:i,ii.
which is by them (the Samaritans) esteemed the
most sacred of all mountains."
XXI. [p. 31-2.] Matt. xxvi. 3. " Then assem-
bled together the duet' priests, and the elders of
the people, unto the palace of the hi^h-priest. irliu
was called Caiaphas." That Caiapnas was high-
priest, and high-priest throughout the president-
ship of Pontius Pilate, and consequently at this
time, appears from the following account: He
was made high-priest by Valerius Gratus, prede-
cessor of Pontius Pilate, and was removed from
his office by Vitellius, president of Syria, after
Pilate was sent away out of the province of Juden.
Josephus relates the advancement of Caiaphas to
the high-priesthood in this manner: "Gratus gave
the high-priesthood to Simon, the son of Camitnus.
He, having enjoyed this honour not above a year,
was succeeded by Joseph, who is also called Caia-
phas* After this, Gratus went away for Rome,
having been eleven years in Judea; and Pontius
Pilate came thither as his successor." Of the re-
moval of Caiaphas from his office, Josephus, Hke-
wise, afterward informs us ; and connects it with
a circumstance which fixes the time to a date sub-
sequent to the determination of Pilate's govern-
ment " Vitellius," he tells us," ordered Pilate to
repair to Rome; and after that, went up him-
self to Jerusalem, and then gave directions con-
cerning several matters. And having done these
things, he took away the priesthood from the
high-priest Joseph, who is called Caiaph'as."-*
XXII. (Michaelis, c. xi. sect. 11.) Acts xxiii.
" And they that stood by, said, Revilest thou
God's high-priest 1 Then said Paul, I wist not
Antiq. lib. xviii. c. 2. sect. 2, f Ib. Ixvii. c. 5. sect. 3.
brethren, that he was the high-priest." Now, up-
on inquiry into the history of the age, it turns out,
that Ananias, of whom this is spoken, was, in
truth, not the high-priest, though he was sitting
in judgment in that assumed capacity. The case
was, that he had formerly holden the office, and
had been deposed ; that the person who succeeded
him 'had been murdered ; that another was not yet
appointed to the station ; and that, during the va-
cancy, he had, of his own authority, taken upon
himself the discharge of the office.* This singular
situation of the high-priesthood took place during
the interval between the death of Jonathan, who
was murdered by order of Felix, and the accession
of Ishma,el who was invested with the high-priest-
hood by Agrippa; and precisely in this interval it
happened that Saint Paul was apprehended, and
brought before the Jewish council.
XXIII. [p. 3-23.1 Matt. xxvi. 59. "Now the
chief priests and elders, and all the council, sought
false witness against him."
Joseph. Antiq. lib. xviii. c. 15. sect. 3, 4. " Then
might be seen the high-priests themseires, with
ashes on their heads, and their breasts naked."
The agreement here consists in speaking of the
high priests or chief priests (for the name in the
original is the same) in the plurat number, when,
in strictness there was only one high-priest:
which may be considered as a proof, that the
e\aiiL r ' -lists were habituated to the manner of
speaking then in use, because they retain it when
it is neither accurate nor just. For the sake of
brevity, I have put down, from Josephus, only a
single ' example of the application of this title in
the plural number ; but it is his usual style.
Ib. [p. 871.] Luke iii. l.-"Now in the fifteenth
year of the reign of Tiberius Caesar, Pontius Pi-
late being governor of Judea, and Herod being
tetrarch of Galilee, Annas and Caiaphas being 1
the high-priests, the word of God came unto
John." There is a passage in Josephus very near-
ly parallel to this, and which may at least serve to
vindicate the evangelists, from objection, with re-
spect to his giving the title of high-priest speci-
fically to two persons at the same time: "duadra-
tus sent two others of the most powerful men of
the Jews, as also the high-priests Jonathan and
Ananias"! That Annas was a person in an emi-
nent station, and possessed an authority co-ordi-
nate with, or next to, that of the high- priest pro-
perly so called, may be inferred from Saint John's
Gospel, which, in the history of Christ's cruci-
fixion, relates that " the soldiers led him away to
Annas first."* And this might be noticed as an
example of undesigned coincidence in the two
evangelists.
Again, [p. 870.] Acts iv. 6, Annas is called
the high-priest, though Caiaphas was in the office
of the high-priesthood. In like manner, in Jose-
phus^ "Joseph, the son of Gorion, and the high-
priest Ananus, were chosen to be supreme go-
vernors of all things in the city." Yet Ananus,
though here called the high- priest Ananus, was
not then in the office of the high- priesthood. The
truth is, there is an indeterminateness in the use
of this title in the Gospel: sometimes it is applied
exclusively to the person who held the office at
the time; sometimes to one or two more, who
probably shared with him some of the powers or
* Antiq. 1. xx. c. 5. sect. 2 ; c. 9. sect. 2.
t De Bell. lib. ix. c. 12. sect. 6. t xviii. 13.
Lib. ii. c. 20. sect. 3.
30
350
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
functions of the office; and, sometimes, to such
of the priests as were eminent by their station or
character ;* and there is the very same indetermi-
nateness in Josophus.
XXIV. [p. 347.] John xix. 19, 20. " And Pi-
late wrote a title, and put it on the cross." That
such was the custom of the Romans on these oc-
casions, appears from passages of Suetonius and
Dio Cassius: " Patrem familias canibus objeeit,
cum hoc titulo^ImpiG locutus parmularius." Suet.
Domit. cap. x. And in Dio Cassius we have the
following: "Having led him through the midst
of the court or assembly, with a writing signify-
ing the cause of his death, and afterward crucify-
ing him. 33 Book liv.
Ib. "And it was written in Hebrew, Greek;
and Latin." That it was also usual about this
time, in Jerusalem, to set up advertisements in
different languages, is gathered from the account
which Josephus gives of an expostulatory message
from Titus to the Jews, when the city was almost
in his hands ; in which he says, Did ye not erect
pillars with inscriptions on them, in the Greek
and in our language, " Let no one pass beyond
these bounds V*
XXV. [p. 352.] Matt, xxvii. 26. " When he
had scourged Jesus, he delivered him to be cru-
cified."
The following passages occur in Josephus:
" Being beaten, they were crucified opposite to
the citadel."t
" Whom, having first scourged with whips, he
crucified."*
" He was burnt alive, having been first beaten."%
To which may be added one from Livy, lib. xi.
C. 5. " Productique omnes, virgisque ccesi, ac se-
curi percussi."
A modern example may illustrate the use we
make of this instance. The preceding of a capi-
tal execution by the corporal punishment of the
sufferer, is a practice unknown in England, but
retained, in some instances at least, as appears by
the late execution of a regicide, in Sweden. This
circumstance, therefore, in the account of an Eng-
lish execution, purporting to come from an Eng-
lish writer, would not only bring a suspicion upon
the truth of the account, but would, in a consider-
able degree, impeach its pretensions of having
been written by the author whose, name it bore.
Whereas the same circumstance, in the account
of a Swedish execution, would verify the account,
and support the authenticity of the book in which
it was found ; or, at least, would prove that the
author, whoever he was, possessed the information
and the knowledge which he ought to possess.
XXVI. [p. 353.1 John xix. 16. " And they
took Jesus, and led him away ;. and he, bearing
his cross, went forth."
Plutarch, De ns qui sero puniuntur, p. 554: a
Paris, 1624. "Every kind of wickedness produces
its own particular torment, just as every malefac-
tor, when he is brought forth to execution, carries
his own cross."
XXVII. John xix. 32. "Then came the sol-
diers, and brake the legs of the first, and of the
other which was crucified with him."
Constantine abolished the punishment of the
cross ; in commending which edict, a heathen wri-
ter notices this very circumstance of breaking the
*Markxiv.53.
t P. 1080, edit. 45.
fP. 1247, edit. 24. Huds.
P. 1327, edit. 43.
legs: "EG pius, ut etiam vetus veterrimumque
supplicium, patibulum, ct cruribus sujfringendis,
primus removerit." Aur. Viet. Ces. cap. xli.
XX VI II. [p. 457.] Acts iii. 1. " Now Peter and
John went up together into the temple, at the
hour of prayer, being the ninth hour."
Joseph. Antiq. lib. xv. c. 7. sect. 8. " Twice
every day, in the -morning and at the ninth hour,
the priests perform their duty at the altar."
XXIX. [p. 462.] Acts xv. 21. "For Moses, of
old time, hath, in every city, them that preach
him, being read in the synagogues every sabbath-
day."
Joseph, contra Ap. 1. ii. " He (Moses) gave us
the law, the most excellent of all institutions; nor
did he appoint that it should be heard once only,
or twice, or often, but that laying aside all other
works, we should meet together every week to
hear it read, and gain a perfect understanding of
' XXX. fp. 465.] Acts xxi. 23. " We have four
men, which have a vow on them ; them take, and
purify thyself with them, that they may shave
their heads."
Joseph, de Bell. 1. xi. c. 15. " It is customary
for those who have been afflicted with some dis-
temper, or have laboured under any other difficul-
ties, to make a vow thirty days before they oiler
sacrifices, to abstain from wine, and shave the
hair of their heads."
Ib. v. 24. " Them take, and purify thyself with
them,and be at charges with them, that they may
shave their heads"
Joseph. Antiq. 1. xix. c. 6. " He (Herod Agrip-
pa) coming to Jerusalem, offered up sacrifices of
thanksgiving, and omitted nothing that was pre-
scribed by the law. For which reason he also or-
dered a good number of Nazarites to be shaved."
We here find that it was an act of piety amongst
the Jews, to defray for those who were under the
Nazarite vow the expenses which attended its
completion; and that the phrase was, "that they
might be shaved." The custom and the expression
are both remarkable, and both in close conformity
with the Scripture account.
XXXI. [p. 474.1 2 Cor. xi. 24. "Of the Jews,
five times received I forty stripes, save one."
Joseph. Antiq. iv. c. 8. sect. 21. " He that acts
contrary hereto, let him receive forty stripes,
wanting one, from the public officer."
The coincidence here is singular, because the
law alloiced forty stripes : " Forty stripes he may
give him, and not. exceed." Deut. xxv. 3. It
proves that the author of the Epistle to the Corin-
thians was guided, not by books, but by facts;
because tliis statement agrees with the actual cus-
tom, even when that custom deviated from the
written law, and from what he must have learnt
by consulting the Jewisli code, as set forth in the
Old Testament.
XXXII. [p. 490.] Luke iii. 12. " Then came
also publicans to be baptised." From this quota-
tion, as well as from the history of Levi or Mat-
thew, (Luke v. 29.) and of Zaccheus, (Luke xix.
2,) it appears, that the publicans or tax-gatherers
were, frequently at least, if not always, Jews:
which, as the country was then under a Roman
government, and the taxes were paid to the Ro-
mans, was a circumstance not to be expected.
That it was the truth. however of the case, appears,
from a short passage-of Josephus.
De Bell. lib. ii. c. 14. sect. 45. " But, Flprus not
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY,
351
restraining these practices by his authority, the
chief men of the Jews, among uhom was John
the publican, not knowing woll what course to
take, wait upon Florus, and <>ive him eight ta-
lents of silver to stop the ImHdinir."
XXXIII. [p. 496.] Acts xxii. 25. " And as
they bound him with thongs, Paul said unto the
centurion that stood by, Is it lawful for you to
scourge a man that ia a Roman, and uncon-
demned V
" Facinus est vinciri civem Romanuui; scelus
vcrberari." Cic. in Verr.
" Csdebatur virgis. in medio foro Messanae, ci-
vis Romanus, Judice.s : cum interea, nullus siemi-
tus, nulla vox alia, istius miseri inter dolorem
crepit unique plagarum audiebatur, nisi ban.-, Ciria
Romanus sum."
XXXIV. [p. 513.] Acts xxii. -27. "Then the
thief captain came, ami said unto him (Paul), Tell
me, artthoua Roman] He said, Yea." The
circumstance here to be noticed is, that a Jew was
a Roman citizen.
Joseph. Ajiiiq. lib. xiv. c. 10. sect. 13. " Lucius
Lentulus, the consul, declared, I have dismissed
from the service the Jewish Roman citizens, who
observe the rights of the Jewish religion at Ephe-
sus."
Ib. ver. 28. "And the chief captain answen d,
With a great sum obtained 1 1 tils frrt'doin."
Dio Cassias, lib. Ix. " This privilege, which
had been bought formerly (it a great ]>rice, be-
came so cheap, that it was commonly said, a man
might be made a Roman citizen for a few pieces
of broken "lass. ''
XXXV. [p. 521.] Acts xxv iii. 1(5. "And
when we came to Home, the centurion delivered
the prisoners to the captain of the guard; but
Paul was suffered to dwell by himself, with a sol-
dier th'it /;/'/>/ him.' 1
With which join ver 20. " For the hope of Is-
rael, I am Innind with this <-/mtn."
" duemadmodum eadem catena et custodiam
et mil item copulat; sic ipta, qu turn dissimilia
KUnt, pariter incedunt." Seneca, Kp. v.
" Proconsul a-stimare solet, utriim in carcerem
recipienda sit persona, an militi tradcnda." Ul-
pian. 1. i. sect. !>e ( 'nstod. et Hxhib. Reor.
In the confinement of Agrippa by the order of
Tiberius, Antonia managed, that the centurion
who presided over the guards, and the soldier to
whom Agrippa was to be bound, might be men of
mild character. (Joseph. Antiq. lib. xviii. c. 7.
sect. 5.) After the accession of Caligula, Agrip-
pa also, like Paul, was suffered to dwell, yet as a
prisoner, in his own house.
XXXVI. [p. 531.] Acts xxvii. 1. "And when
it was determined that we should sail into Italy,
they delivered Paul, and certain other prisoners,
unto one named Julius. 1 ' Since not only Paul
but certain other prisoners were sent by the same
ship into Italy, the text must be considered as
carrying with it an intimation, that the sending
of persons from Judea to be tried at Rome, was
an ordinary practice. That in truth it was so, is j
made out by a variety of examples which the
writings of Josephus furnish ; and, amongst others,
by the following, which comes near lx>th to the time
and the subject of the instance in the Acts. " Fe-
Hx, for some slight offence, bound and sent to
Rome several priests of his acquaintance, and very
good and honest men, to answer for themselves to
Caesar." Joseph, in Vit. sect. 3.
XXXVII. [p. 539.] Acts xi. 27. "And in
Ihese days came prophets from Jerusalem unto
Antioch ; and there stood up one of them named
'Agabus, and signified by the spirit that there
should be a great <learth throughout all the world
(or air the country); which came to pass in the
days of Claudius Catsar." '
Joseph. Antiq. I. xx. c. 4. sect. 2. " In their
time (i. c. about the fifth or sixth year of Clau-
dius) a <rrcat dearth happened in Judea."
XXXVIII. [p.555.l Acts xviii. 1,2. "Be-
cause that Claudius had commanded -all Jews to
depart from Rome."
Suet. Claud. c. xxv. " Judseos, impulsore Chres-
to assiduo tutnultuantes, Roma expulit."
XXXIX. [p. G64.J Acts v. 37. " After this
man, rose up Judas of Galilee, in the days of the
taxinif. and drew away much people after him."
Joseph, do Bell. 1. vii. " He (rtz. the person
who in another place is called, by Josephus, Judas
the Galilean, or Judas of Galilee) persuaded not a
few not to enroll themselves, when Cyrenius the
censor was sent into Judea."
XL. [p. 94-2.] Acts xxi. 38. Art not thou
that Kuyptian which, before these days, madest
an uproar, and leddest out into the wilderness four
thousand men that were murderers V'
Joseph. (]< Hell. 1. ii. c. 13. sect. 5. "But the
Egyptian false prophet brought a yet heavier dis-
aster upon the Jews; for this impostor, coming
into the country, and gaining the reputation of a
prophet, gathered together thirty thousand men,
who were deceived by him. Having brought
them round out of the wilderness, up to the mount
of Olives, he intended from thence to make his
attack upon Jerusalem; but Felix, coming sud-
denly ujxjn him with the Roman soldiers, pre-
vented the attack." A, great number, or' (as it
should rather be rendered) the greatest part, of
those that were with him, were either slain or
taken prisoners.
In these two passages, the designation of this
impostor, an "Egyptian," without the proper
name ; "the wilderness ;" his escape, though nis
followers were destroyed ; the time of the transac-
tion, in the presidentship of Felix, which could
not be any long time before the words in Luke
are supposed to have been \spnken ; are circum-
stances of close correspondency. -There is one,
and only one, point of disagreement, and that is,
in the number of his followers, which in the Acts
are called four thousand, and by Josephus thirty
thousand : but, beside that the names of numbers,
more than any other words, are liable to the errors
of transcribers, we are, in the present instance,
under the less concern to reconcile the evangelist
with Josephus, as Josephus is not, in this point,
consistent with himself. For whereas, in the pas-
sage here quoted, he calls the number thirty thou-
sand, and tells us that the greatest part, or a great
number (according as his words are rendered) of
those that were with him, were destroyed ; in his
Antiquities, he represents four hundred to have
been killed upon this occasion, and two hundred
taken prisoners:* which certainly was not the
" greatest part," nor " a great part," nor " a great
number," out of thirty thousand. It is probable
also, that Lysias and Josephus spoke of the expe-
dition in its different stages : Lysias, of those'who
followed the Egyptian out of Jerusalem : Josephus,
* Lib. 20. c. 7. sect. 6.
352
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
of all who were collected about him afterward,
from different quarters.
XL1. (Lardner's Jewish and Heathen Testi-
monies, vol. iii. p. '21. ) Acts xvii. 22.. " Then Paul
stood in the midst of Mars-hill, and said, Ye men
of Athens, T perceive that in all things ye arc too
superstitious; for as I passed by and beheld your
devotions, I found an altar with this inscription,
TO THE UNKNOWN GOD. Whom there-
fore ye ignorant ly worship, him declare i unto you."
Diogenes Laertius, who wrote about the year
210, in his history of Epimenides, who is sup-
posed to have flourished nearly six hundred years
before Christ, relates of Mm the following story :
that being invited to Athens for the purpose, he
delivered the city from a pestilence in this man-
ner ; " Taking several heep, some black, others
white, he had them up to the Areopagus, and
then let them go where they would, and gave or-
ders to those who followed them, wherever any of
them should lie down, to sacrifice it to the god to
whom it belonged ; and so the plague ceased.
Hence," says the historian, "it has come to pass,
that 16 this present time, may be found in the ba-
roughs of the Athenians ANONYMOUS altars : a
memorial of the expiation then made."* These
altars, it may be 'presumed, were called anony-
mous, because there was not the name of any par-
ticular deity inscribed upon them.
Pausanias, who wrote before the end of the
second century, in his description of Athens,
having mentioned an altar of J upiter Olympius,
adds, " And nigh unto it is an altar of unknown
gods."** And in another place, he speaks "of
altars of gods called unknown.^
Philostratus, who wrote in the beginning of
the third century, records it as an observation of
Apollonius Tyanaeus, " That it was wise to speak
well of all the gods, especially at Athens, where
altars of unknown demons were erected.' %
The author of the dialogue Philopatris, by
many supposed to have been Lucian, who wrote
about the year 170, by others some anonymous
Heathen writer of the fourth century, makes
Critias swear by the unknown god of Athens ;
and, near the end of the dialogue, has these words,
" But let us find out the unknown god of Athens,
and, stretching our hands to heaven, offer to him
our praises and thanksgivings. "II
This is a very curious and $. very important
coincidence. It appears beyond controversy, that
altars with this inscription were existing at
Athens, at the time when Saint Paul is alleged
to have been there. It seems also (which is very
worthy of observation), that this inscription was
peculiar to the Athenians. There is no evidence
that there were altars inscribed " to the unknown
god" in any other country. Supposing the his-
tory of Saint Paul to have been a fable, how is it
possible that such a writer as the author of the Acts
of the Apostles was, should hit upon a circumstance
so extraordinary, and introduce it by an allusion
so suitable to Saint Paul's office and character 1
THE examples here collected will be sufficient,
I hope, to satisfy us, that the writers of the Chris-
tian history knew something of what they were
* In Epimenide, 1. i. segm. 1 10. t Pans. I. v. p. 412.
t Paus. 1. i. p. 4. Philoa. Apoll. Tyan. I. vi. c. 3.
IJ Lucian. in Philop. torn. ii. Gnev. p. 707, 780.
writing about. The argument is also strengthen-
ed l>y the following considerations:
I. That those agreements appear, not only in
articles of public history, but sometimes, in mi-
nute, Recondite, and very peculiar circumstance*,
in which, of all others, a forger is most likely to
have been found tripping.
II. That the destruction of Jerusalem, which
took place forty years after the commencement of
the Christian institution, produced such a change
in the state of the country, and the condition of
the Jews, that a writer who was unacquainted
with the circumstances of the nation before that
event, would find it difficult to avoid mistakes, in
endeavouring to give detailed accounts of transac-
tions connected with those circumstances, foras-
much as he could no longer have a living exemplar
to copy from.
III. That there appears, in the writers of the
New Testament, a knowledge of the affairs of
those times, which we do not find in authors of
later ages. In particular, " many of the Christian
writers of the second and third centuries, and of
the following ages, had false notions concerning
the state of Judea, between the nativity of Jesus
and the destruction of Jerusalem."* Therefore
they could not have, composed our histories.
Amidst so many conformities, we are not to
wonder that we meet with some difficulties. The
principal of these I will put down, together with
the solutions which they have received. But in
doing this, I must be contented with a brevity
better suited to the limits of my volume than to
the nature of a controversial argument. For the
historical proofs of my assertions, and for the
Greek criticisms upon which some of them aro
founded, I refer the reader to the second volume
of the first part of Dr. Lardner's large work.
I. The taxing during which Jesus was born,
was " first made," as we read, according to our
translation, in Saint Luke, " whilst Cyrenius was
governor of Syria."t Now it turns out that Cy-
renius was not governor of Syria until twelve or,
at the soonest, ten years after the birth of Christ;
and that a taxing, census, or assessment, was
made in Judea in the beginning of his govern-
ment. The charge, therefore, brought against
the evangelist is, that, intending to refer to this
taxing, he has misplaced the date of it by an error
of ten or twelve years.
.The answer to the accusation is found in his
using the word "first:" "And this taxing was
first made :" for according to the mistake imputed
to the evangelist, this word could have no signifi-
cation whatever ; it could have had no place in
his narrative : because, let it relate to what it will,
taxing, census, enrolment, or assessment, it im-
ports that the writer had more than one of those
in contemplation. It acquits him therefore of the
charge : it is inconsistent with tlie supposition of
his knowing only of the taxing in the- beginning
of Cyrenius's government. And if the evangelist
knew (which this word proves that he did) of
some other taxing beside that, it is too much, for
the sake of convicting him of a mistake, to lay it
down as certain that he intended to refer to that.
The sentence in Saint Luke may be construed
thus: " This was the first assessment (or enrol-
ment) of Cyrenius, governor of Syria ; ; '$ the words
* Lardner, part i. vol. ii. p. 9(50. t Chap. ii. v. 2.
i If the word which we render "first," be rendered
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
353
" governor of Syria" being used after the,name of
Cyrenius as his addition or title. And this title
belonging to him at the time of writing the ac-
count, was naturally enough subjoined to his
name, though acquired alter the transaction which
the account describes. A modern writer who
Wiis not very exact in the choice of his expres-
sions, in relating the affairs of the Kast Indies,
might easily sa\\ that such a tiling was done by
Governor Hastings ; though, in truth, the thing
had been. done by him before his advancement to
thestationfromVhic.il he received the name of
governor. And this, as we contend, is precisely
the inaccuracy which has produced the difficulty
in Saint Luke.
At any rate, it appears from the form of the
expression, that he hud two taxings or enrolments
in contemplation. And if C 1 \renius h;id been
sent upon this business into Jndea. Iw.iore he be-
came governor of iSsria ^against which supposi-
tion there is no proof, but rather external e\idenee
of an enrolment going on aUmt this time under
some person or other,*) then the census, on all
hands acknowledged to have IMTII made by him
in the beginning of his government, would form
a second., o as to occasion the other to be called
the first.
II. Another chronological objection arises upon
a date assigned in the beginning of the third
chapter of Saint Luke.t " Now in the lifteenth
year of the reign of Tiberius- Ca'sir," Jesus
began to be about thirty years of age : for, sup-
posing Jesus to have been l>orn. as Saint Mat-
thew, and Saint Luke also himself, relate, in the
time of Herod, he must, according to to
given in Josephus and by the Roman historians.
Rave been at least thirty-one vears of age in the
fifteenth year of Tiberius. If he was lorn,-as
Saint Matthew's narrative intimates, one or two
years before Herod's death, he would have been
thirty-two or thirty-three years old at that time.
This is the difficulty : the solution turns Upori
an alteration in the construction of the Greek!
Saint Luke's words in the original are allowed.
by the general opinion of learned men. to signify.
not "that Jesus began to IM> about thirty years t>f
age," but " that he was about thirty years of age
when he began his ministry." This construction
being admitted, the advrrh "nlx>ut .'' gives us all
the latitude we want, and more, especially when
applied, as it is in the present instance, to a de -i-
nval number; for such numbers, even without
this qualifying addition, are often used in a laxer
sense, than is here contended for.t
" before," which it lias been troitcfy contended that
the (Jn-ek idiom allows of. th- Whole dillirulty v;i-
nisli. B : for then tin' passage would be, " Now this
taxing was made bofore ('yrenius \vas governor of
Syria: 1 ' which corresponds with the chronology. Hitf I
rather choose to argim, that however the word "fust"
be rendered, to give it a meaning at all, it militate-;
with the objection. In this I think there can be. no
mistake.
* Josephus (Antiq. xvii. o. 2. soct. fi.) ha? this rx-
markable passage : " When then-fore the whole Jewish
nation took an oath to be faithful to (Vsar, and the
interests of the king." This transaction corresponds
in the course of the history with the time of Christ's
birth. What is called a census, and which we render
taxing, waa delivering upon oath an account of t heir-
property. This might he accompanied with an oath of
fidelity, or might be mistaken by Josephus fur it.
t Lardner, part i. vol. ii. p. ?ii~.
\ Livy, speaking of the peace which the conduct of
Romulus had procured to the state, during the whole
III. Acts v. 36. " For before these days rose
up Theudas, boasting himself to be somebody ; to
whom a "number, of men, alx>ut four hundred,
joined themselves: who was slain; and all, "s
many as obeyed him, were scattered and brought
tOvBOUght."
Josephus has preserved the account of an im-
postor of the name of Theudas, who created some
disturbances, and was'sl^n; but according to the
date assigned to this man's appearance (in which,
however.lt is very possible that Josephus may have
been mistaken,*) it must have bten, at least, seven
years alter Gamaliel's speech, of which this text
is a part, was delivered. It has been replied to
'the objection, t that there might be two impostors
of this name : and it has been observed, in order
to give a general probability to the solution, that
the saint' thing appears to have hap|ened in other
instances of the same kind. It is proved from Jo-
sephus, that there were not fewer than four JKT-
sons of, the name of Srmori within forty years,
and'not fewer than thr^e of the name of Judas
wit lii n ten years, who were all leaders of insur-
rections: and k is likewise recorded by the histo-
rian, that, upon the death of Herod the Great,
(which agrees very well with the time of the
commotion referred to b\ Gamaliel, and with his
manner of stating that time, he I"., re the-v ,
there were innumerable disturbances in Judea. t
Archbishop Usher was of Opinion, that one of the
three Judases above-mentioned was -Gamaliel's
Theudas; and that with u less variation of the
name than we actually find in the Gospels, where
one of the twelve apostles is called, by Luke^
Judas: and by Mark, Thaddeus. I! Origeri,
however he came at his information, app<
have Itelieved that there was an impostor of the
name of Theudas before the nativity of Christ. IT
IV. Matt, xxiii. 34. " Wherefore, behold I
send unto you prophets, and wise men, and
scribes ; and some of them y$ shall kill and cru-
cify ; and some of them shall ye scourge irryetfr
synagogues, and persecute them from city Ip
city; that iij)on ypti mny come all the righteous
blow! shed upon the earth, from the blood of
righteous Abel unto the blood of Zachariaft, son
7/m.v, ichom ye slew between the temple
and the altar.'' 1
There is a Zacharias, whose death is related in
the second book of Chronicles, * * in a manner
which perfectly supports our Saviour's allusion.
But .this Zacharias was the son of Jclioiada.
There is also Zacharias the prophet ; who w^s
.reign of his successor (Nnma), has the.se words jf f " Ab
illoenim profectis viribus datis tantuin valuit, ut, in
i/ tt ml raisin to. deinde aiiuus, tutam pncem haberet :'"yet
afterward, in the same chapter, " Roiilulus (he says)
septem et triginta regnavit annos. Numa tres et qua-
draginta.""
* Michaelis'a Introduction to the New Testament
(Marsh'* Translation,) vol. i. p. (>!.
f Lardner, part i. vol. fi. p. 9^2.'
J Antiq. I. xvii. c. 12. sect. 4. Annals, p. 797V
LI Luke vi. 115. Mark iii. 18;
r Orig. cont. Cels. p. 44. '
** " And tlie Spirit of Gp<f came upon Zochariah, the
son of Jehoiada Hie priest, which stood above the
people, ami sai.l inito them, Tlma saith God, Win/
traiisgri-ss ye tit.' rommumlnii-nts <>f the Lord, tliat } - e
cannoi pnis|er .' Hecause ye have fursaken the_Lord, he
hatli also forsaken you. And they conspired against
him. ui/d ttoiinl him irit/i .*/ui .-, <// i in: i;,iiinninilmcnl of -
the king, in the court of tlie house of the Lord!
ui*. 90, 91-
ff Liv. ilist. c. 1. sect. 1G.
354
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
the son of JBarachiah, and is so described in the
superscription of his prophecy, but of whose death
we liave no account.
I have little doubt, but that the first Zacharias
was the person spoken of by our Saviour; and
that the name of the father has been since added,
or changed, by some one, who took it from tin-
title of the prophecy, which happened to be better
known to him than the history in the Chroni-
cles.
There is likewise a Zacharias, the son of Ba-
ruch, related by Josephus to have been slain in
the temple a few years befoie the destruction of
Jerusalem. It has been insinuated, that the words
put into our Saviour's mouth contain a reference
to this transaction, and were composed by some
writer, who either confounded the- time of the
transaction with our Saviour's age, or inadvert-
ently overlooked the anachronism^ '
Now suppose it to have been so ; suppose these
words to have been suggested by the transaction
related in Josephus, and to have been falsely as-
cribed to Christ ; and observe what extraordinary
coincidences (accidentally, as it must in that case
have been) attend the forger's mistake.
First, that we have a Zacharias in the book of
Chronicles, whose death, and the manner of it,
corresponds with the allusion.
Secondly, that although the name of this per-
son's father be erroneously put dqwn in the Gos-
pel, yet we have a way of accounting for the error,
by .'showing another Zacharias in the Jewish
Scriptures, much better known than the former,
whose patronymic was actually that which ap-
pears in the text.
Every one who thinks upon this subject, will
find these to be circumstances which, could not
have met together in a mistake, which did not
proceed from the circumstances themselves.
I have noticed, I think, all the difficulties of this
kind. They are few: some of them admit of a
clear, others of a probable solution. The reader
will compare them with the number, the variety,
the closeness, and the satisfactoriness, of the in-
stances which are to be set against them ; and he
will remember the scantiness, in many cases, of
our intelligence, and that difficulties always attend
imperfect information.
CHAPTER VII.
Undesigned Coincidences.
. BETWEEN the letters which bear the name of
Saint Paul in our collection, and his history in
the Acts of the Apostles, there exist many notes
of correspondency. The simple ]>erusal of the
writings is sufficient to prove, that neither the his-
tory was taken from the letters, nor the letters
from the history. And the undesignedness of
the agreements (which undesignedness is gather-
ed from their latency, their minuteness, their ob-
liquity, the suitableness x>f the circumstances in
which they consist, to the places in which those
circumstances occur, and the circuitous references
by which they are traced out) demonstrates that
they have not been produced by meditation, or by
any fraudulent contrivance. But coincidences,
from which these causes are excluded, and which
are too close and numerous to be accounted for by
accidental concurrences of fiction, must necessari-
ly have truth for their foundation.
This argument appeared to my mind of so
much value (especially for its assuming nothing
beside the existence "of the books,) that 1 have
pursued it through Saint Paul's thirteen epistles,
in' a. work published by me four years ago, under
the title of Horse Paulinac. I am sensible how
feebly any argument which depends upon an in-
duction of particulars, is represented without
examples. On which account, I wished to have
abridged my own volume, in the manner in which
I have treated Dr. Lardner's in the preceding
chapter. But, upon making the attempt, I did
not find it in my pow N er to render the articles in-
telligible by fewer words than 1 have there used.
I must be content, therefore, to refer the reader to
the work itself. And I would particularly invite
his attention to the observations which are made
in it upon the first three epistles. I persuade
myself that he will lind the proofs, both of agree-
ment and undesignedness. supplied by these epis-
tles, sufficient to support the conclusion which is
there maintained, in favour both of the genuine-
ness of the writings and the truth of the narra-
tive.
It remains only, in this place, to point out how
the argument bears upon the general question of
the Christian history.
First, Saint Paul in these letters affirms in
unequivocal terms, his own performance of mira-
cles, and, what ought particularly to be remem-
bered, " That miracles were the signs of an
apostle."* If this testimony come from Saint
Paul's own hand, it is invaluable. And that it
does so, the argument before us lixes in my mind
a iirm assurance.
Secondly, it shows that the series of action re-
presented in the epistles of Saint Paul, was real ;
which alone 'lays a foundation for the proposition
which forms the subject of the first part of our
present work, riz. that the original witnesses of
the Christian history devoted themselves to lives
'of toil, suffering, and danger, in consequence of
their belief of the truth of that history, and for the
sake of communicating the knowledge of it to
others.
Thirdly, it proves that Luke, or whoever was
the author of the Acts of the Apostles (for the ar-
gument does not dqpend upon the name of the
author, though I know no reason lor questioning
it,) was well acquainted with Saint Paul's history ;
and that he probably was, what he professes him-
self to be, a companion of Saint Paul's travels ;
which, if true, establishes, iii a considerable de-
gree, the credit even of his CiosjK-l, Ixvause it
shows, that the writer, from his time, situation,
and Connexions, possessed opportunities of in-
forming himself truly concerning the transactions
which he relates. 1 have little difficulty in ap-
plying to the Gospel of Saint Luke what is
proved concerning the Acts of the Apostles, con-
sidering them as two parts of the same history ;
for, though there are instances of second parts
being forgeries, I know none where the second
part is genuine, and the first not so.
I will only observe, as a sequel of the argument,
though not noticed in my work, the remarkable
similitude between the style of Saint John's Gos-
* Rom. xv. 18, 19. 2Cor.xii. 12.
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
355
pel, and of Saint John's Epistle. The style of
Saint John's is not at all the style of Saint Paul's
Epistles, though both are very singular ; nor is it
the style of Saint James's or of Saint Peter's
Epistle : but it bears a resemblance to the style of
the Gospel inscribed with Saint John's name, so
far as that resemblance can be expected to appear,
which is not in simple narrative, so much as in
reflections, and in the representation of discourses.
Writings, so circumstanced, prove themselves,
and one another, to be genuine. This corres-
pondency is the more valuable, as the epistle
itself asserts, in Saint John's manner indeed, but
in terms sufficiently explicit, the writer's jx-rsonal
knowledge of Christ's history; " That which was
from the beginning, winch we have heard, which
we have seen with our eyes, which we have look-
ed upon, and our hands have handled, of the word
of life; that which we have seen and heard, de-
clare we unto you."* Who would not desire
who perceives not the value of an account,-delivcr-
ed by a writer so well informed as this'?
CHAPTER VIII.
Of the History of the Resurrection.
THE history of the resurrection of Christ is a
part of the evidence of ( 'hristiamtv : but I do not
know, whether the proper strength of this ,
of the Christian history, or wherein its pecnlhr
value, as a head of evidence, consists. lx> generally
understood. It is not that, as a miracle, the re-
surrection ought to be accounted a more decisive
proof of supernatural agency than other miracles
are; it is not that, as it stands in the (fo-
is better attested than some others; it is not, for
either of these reasons, that more weight belongs
to it than to other miracles, but for the following.
viz. That it is completely certain that the a[x>stles
of Christ, and the first' teachers of Christianity,
asserted the fact. And this would have been cer-
tain, if the four Gospels- had been lost, or never
written. Every piece of Scripture recognises the
resurrection. Kvery epistle of every apostle, e\ co-
author contemporary with the apostles, of the age
immediately succeeding the apostles, every writing
from that age to the present, genuine or. spurious,
on the side of Christianity or against it, concur in
representing the resurrection of Christ as an
article of his history, received without doubt or
disagreement by all who call themselves Chris-
tians, as alleged from the beginning by the pro-
pagators of the institution, and alleged as the
centre of their testimony. Nothing, I apprehend,
which a man does not himself see or hear, can be
more certain to him than this point. I do not
mean, that nothing can be more certain than
that Christ rose from the dead ; but that nothing
can be more certain, than that his apostles, and
the first teachers of Christianity, gave out that he
did so. In the other parts of the gospel narrative,
a question may be made, whether the things re-
lated of Christ be the very things which the apos-
tles and first teachers of the religion delivered .con-
cerning him 1 And this question depends a good
deal upon the evidence we possess of the genuine-
ness, or rather, perhaps, of the antiquity, credit,
and reception, of the books. On the subject of
* Chap. i. ver. 13.
the resurrection, no such discussion is necessary,
because no such doubt can be entertained. The
only points which can enter into our consideration
are^ whether the apostles knowingly published a
falsehood, or whether they were themselves de-
ceived ; whether either of these suppositions be
ible. The first, 1 think, is plretty generally
given up. The nature of the undertaking, and of
the men ; the extreme unlikelihood that such men
should engage in such a measure as a scheme ;
their personal toils, and dangers, and sufferings,
in the cause ; their appropriation of their whole
time to the object ; the warm, and seemingly un-
affected, /eal 'and earnestness with which they
prole.ss their sincerity; exempt their memory from
the suspicion of imposture. The solution more
deserving of notice, is that which would resolve
the conduct of the, apostles into enthusiasm;
which Avoukl class the evidence of Christ's resur-
rection with the numerous stories that are extant
of the apparitions of dead men. ^ There are cir-
cumstances in the narrative, as h is preserved in
our histories, which destroy this comparison en-
tirely. It was not one person, but many, who
saw him; they saw him not only separately but
together, not Only by night but by day, not at a
distance but near, not once but several times;
they not only saw him, but touched him, con-
versed with him, ate with him. examined his {>er-
son to satisfy their doubts. These particulars are
decisive: but they stand, I do admit, upon the
credit of onr records. I would answer, therefore,
the insinuation of enthusiasm, by a circumstance
which arises out of the nature of the thing; and
the reality of which must bo confessed by ull who
allow, What 1 believe is not denied, that the re-
surrection 'of Christ, whether true or false, was
asserted by his disciples from the beginning; and
that circumstance is, the non-production of the
dead Ixuly. It is related in the history, what in-
deed the story of the resurrection necessarily
implies, that the 'corpse was missing out of the
sepulchre: it is related also in the history, that
the Jews reported that the followers of Christ had
stolen it away.* And this account, though loaded
with great improbabilities, such as the situation
of the disciples, 1 their fears for their own safety
at the time, the unlikelihood of their expecting to
succeed, the difficulty of actual 'success,t and the
inevitable" consequence of detection and failure,
was, nevertheless, the most credible account that
could be given of the matter. But it proceeds
entirely upon the supposition of fraud, as all the
old objections did. What account can be given
of the body, upon the supposition of enthusiasm 1
It is impossible out Lord's followers could believe
that he was risen from the dead, if his corpse
+ " And this saying (Saint Matthew writes) is com-
monly reported amongst the Jews until this day," chap,
xxviii. 15. The-evaniHist may 1x3 thought good au-
thority as to this point, oven by those who do not admit
poin
ficient to prove that the body was mis-si
his evidence in every other point : and this point is suf-
It has been rightly, I think, observed by Dr. Towns-
hend, (Ds. upon the Res. p. 1-2(5,) that the story of the
guards carried collusion upon the face of it: " His dis-
ciples came by night and stole him away, while w<;
slept." Men in their circumstances would not have mado
such an acknowledgment of their negligence, without
previous assurances of protection and impunity.
-!>ecially at the full moon, the city full of people,
many probably passing the whole night, as Jesus and
his disciples had done, in the open air, the sepulchre so
near the city as to be now enclosed within the walls."
Priestley on the Resurr. p. 24.
356
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
was lying before them. No enthusiasm ever
reached to such a pitch of extravagancy as that :
a spirit may be an illusion ; a body is a real thing,
an object of sense, in which there can be no mis-
take. All accounts of spectres leave the body in
the grave. And, although the body of Christ
-might be removed by fraud, and for the purposes
of iraud. yet, without any such intention, and by
sincere but deluded men (which is the representa-
tion of the apostolic character we are now exa-
mining,) no such attempt could be made. The pre-
sence and the absence of the dead body are alike
inconsistent with the hypothesis of enthusiasm ;
for, if present, it must have cured their enthusiasm
at once; if absent, fraud, not enthusiasm, must
have carried it away.
But farther, if we admit, upon the concurrent tes-
timony of all the histories, so much of the account as
states that the religion of Jesus was set up at Jeru-
salem, and set up with asserting, in the very place
in which he had been buried, and a few days after
he had been buried, his resurrection out of the grave,
it is evident that, if his body could have been tound,
the Jews would have produced it, as the shortest
and completes! answer possible to the whole story.
The attempt of the apostles could not have sur-
vived this refutation a moment. If we also admit,
'Upon the authority of Saint Matthew, that the
Jews were advertised of the expectation of Christ's
followers, and that they had taken due precaution
in consequence of this notice, and that the body
was in marked and public custody, the observa-
tion receives more- force still. For, notwithstand-
ing their precaution, and although, thus prepared
and forewarned ; when the story of the resurrec-
tion of Christ came forth, as it immediately did ;
when it was publicly asserted by his disciples, and
made the ground and basis of. their preaching in
his name, and collecting followers to his religion,
the Jews 'had not the body to produce : but were
obliged to meet the testimony of the apostles by an
answer, not containing indeed any impossibility
in itself, but absolutely Inconsistent with the sup-
position- of their integrity ; that is, in other words,
inconsistent with the supposition which would re-
solve their conduct into enthusiasm.
CHAPTER IX.
The Propagation of Christianity.
IN this argument, the first consideration is the
fact ; in what degree, within what time, and to
What extent, Christianity was actually-propagated.
The accounts of the matter, which tan be col-
lected from our books, are as follow: A few du^
after Christ's disappearance out of the., world ~
we find an assembly of disciples at Jerusalem, to*
the number of " about one hundred and twenty ;"*
which hundred and twenty were, probably, a lit-
tle association of believers, met together, not
merely as believers in Christ, but as personally
connected with the apostles, and with one another.
Whatever was the number of believers then in
Jerusalem, we have no reason to be surprised that
so small a company should assemble : for there is
no proof, that the followers of Christ were yet
formed into a society ; that the society was reduced
^Actsi. 15.
into any order; that it was at this time even
understood that a new religion (in the sense which
that term conveys to us) was to be set up in the
world, or how the professors of that religion were
to be distinguished from the rest of mankind. The
death of Christ had left, we may suppose, the
generality of his disciples in great doubt, both as
to what they were to do, and concerning what
was to follow.
This meeting was holden, as we have already
said, a few days after Christ's ascension : for, ten
days after that event was the day of Pentecost,
when, as our history relates,* upon a signal dis-
play of Divine agency attending the persons of
the apostles, there were added to the society " about
three thousand souls."t But here, it is not, 1
think, to be taken, that these three thousand were
all converted by this single miracle ; but rather
that many, who before were believers in Christ,
became now professors of Christianity ; that is to
say, when they found that a religion was to be
established, a sqciety formed and set up in the
name of Christ, governed by his laws, avowing
their belief in bis mission, united amongst them-
selves, and separated from the rest of the world by
visible distinctions ; in pursuance of their former
conviction, and by virtue of what they had heard
and seen and known of Christ's history, they pub-
licly became members of it.
We read in the fourth chapter t of the Acts,
that, soon after this, " the number of the men,"
i. e. the society openly professing their belief in
Christ, " was about five thousand." So that here
is an increase of two thousand within a very shprt
time. And it is probable that there were many,
both now and afterward, who, although they be-
lieved in Christ, did not think it necessary to
join themselves to this society ; or who waited to
see what was likely to become of it. Gamaliel,
whose advice to", the Jewish council is recorded
Acts v. 34, 'appears to have been of this descrip-
tion ; perhaps Nicodemus, and perhaps also Jo-
seph of Arimathea. This class of men, their
character and their rank, are likewise pointed out
by Saint John, in the twelfth chapter of his Gos-
pel : " Nevertheless, among~the chief rulers also,
many believed on him : but because of the Phari-
sees, they did not confess him, lest they should
be put out of the synagogue, for they loved the
praise of men more than the praise of God." Per-
sons, such as these, might admit the miracles of
Christ, without being. immediately convinced that
they were under obligation to make a public pro-
fession of Christianity, at the risk of all that was
dear to them in life, and even of life itself.
* Actsii, I. t Actsii. 41. t Ver. 4.
J "Beside those who professed, and those who rejert-
ed and opposed, Christianity, there, were, in all proba-
bility, mu Utilities between both, neitlfcr jwrrect Chris-
tian's,' nor yet unbelievers. They had a favourable
opinion of the Cospel, hut worldly considerations made
them unwilling to own it. There were many circum-
stances which inclined them to think that Christianity
was a Divine, revelation, hut. there were many incon-
veniences which attended the open profession of it : and
they cmild not find in themselves con race enough to
hear thfni, to disoblige their friends and family, to ruin
their fortunes, to lose their reputation, their liberty, and
their life, for the sake of the. new religion. Therefore
they were willing to hope, that if they endeavoured to
observe the jrreat principles of morality, which Christ
had represented as the principal part, the sum and sub-
stance, of religion ; if they thought honourably of the
gospel, if they offered no injury to the Christians, if
they did them all the services that they could safely
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
357
Christianity, however, proceeded to increase in I were at liberty to propose the religion to mankind
rusalem by a progress equally rapid with its at large. That " mystery," as Saint Paul calls it,*
for, in the next* chapter of our his-
Jerusalem
first success, x^i,
tory, we read that
believers were the more added
to the Lord, multitudes both of men and women."
And this enlargement of the new society appears
in the first verse of the succeeding chapter, whore-
in we are told, that, " when the number of the
disciples was multiplied, there arose a murmuring
.of the Grecians against the Hebrews, because
their widows were neglected :' ; t and, afterward in
the same chapter, it is declared expressly, that
and as it then was, was revealed to Peter by an
especial miracle. It appears to have beent about
seven years after Christ's ascension, that the Gos-
pel was preached to the Gentiles of Cesarea. A
year after this, a great multitude of Gentiles were
converted at Antioch in Syria. The expressions
employed by the historian are these: " A great
number believed and turned to the Lord ;" " much
people was added unto the Lord;" " the apostles
Barnabas and Paul taught much people."* Upon
" the number of the disciples multiplied in Jerusa- j Herod's death, which happened in the next year,
lem greatly, and that a great company of the j it is observed, that " the word of God grew and
priests were obedient to the faith/' j multiplied. "II Three years from this time, upon
This I call the first period in the propagation the preaching of Paul at Iconium. the metropolis
It commences with the ascension of Lycaonia, "a great multitude both of Jews and
Greeks believed :"1F and afterward, in the course
of this very progress, he is represented as "making
many disciples" at Derbe, a principal city in the
same distract. Three years** after tins, which
brings us to sixteen after the ascension, the apos-
tles wrote a public letter from Jerusalem to the
Gentile converts in Antioch, Syria, and Cilicia,
with which letter Paul travelled through these
countries, and found the churches " established in
the faith, and increasing in number daily."tt From
Asia the apostle proceeded into Greece, where
soon after his arrival in x Macedonia, we find him
at Thessalonica ; in which city, " some of the Jews
believed, and of the devout Greeks a great multi-
tude."tt We meet also here with an accidental
hint of the general progress of the Christian mis-
sion, in the exclamation of the tumultuous Jews
of Thessalonica, "that they, who had turned the
world upside down, were come thither also." At
IVrea. the next city at which Paul arrives, the
historian, who was present, informs us that " many
of the Jews believed."llll The next year and a half
of Saint Paul's ministry was spent at Corinth,
Of his success in that city, we receive the follow-
ing intimations ; " that many of the Corinthians
believed and were baptized ;" and " that it was
revealed to the apostle by Christ, that he had
much people in that city. "HIT Within less than a
year after his departure from Corinth, and twenty-
five*** years after the ascension, Saint Paul fixed
fiis station at Ephesus, for the s
of Christianity.
of Christ, and extends, as may be collected Iron
incidental notes of time. t to something more than
one year ailer that event, During which term
the preaching of Christianity, so far as our docu
ments inform us, was confined to the single cit^
of Jerusalem. And how did it succeed there
The first assembly winch we meet with of < 'hrisf
disciples, and that a few days after his remova
from the world, consisted of "one hundred ant
twenty." Alwut a week after this, " three thou
sand were added in one day ;" and the number of
Christians, publicly baptized, and publicly asso-
ciating together, was very soon increased to "five
thousand. "Multitudes both of men and wo-
men continued to be added ;" " disciples multiplied
greatly," and "many of the Jewish priesthood, a>
well as others, became olnnlient to the faith;" anc
this within a space of -less than two years from
the commencement of the institution.
By reason of a persecution raised against the
church at Jerusalem, the converts were driven
from that city, and dispersed throughout the re-
gions of Judca and Samaria. Wherever thev
came, they brought their religion with them: for,
our historian informs us,il that "they, that were
scattered abroad, went every where preaching the
word." The effect of this preaching comes after-
ward to be noticed, where the historian is led, in
the course of his narrative, to observe, that then
(i. e. about three years posterior to this,1T) " the
churches had rest throughout all Judea and Gali-
lee and Samaria, and were edified, and walking
in the fear of the Lord, and in the comfort of the
Holy Ghost, were multiplied." This was the
work of the second period, which comprises about
four years.
Hitherto the preaching of the Gospel had been
confined to Jews, to Jewish proselytes, and to Sa-
maritans. And I cannot forbear from setting
down in this place, an observation of Mr. Bryant,
which appears to me to be perfectly well founded :
" the Jews still remain : but how seldom is it
that we can make a single proselyte ! There' is
reason to think, that there were more converted
by the apostles in one day, than have since been
won over in the last thousand years."**
It was not yet known to the apostles, that they
perform, they were willing to hope, that God would ac-
cept this, and that He would excuse and forgive the
rest.''-Jortin's Dis. on the Chris. Eel p. 91. ed 4.
t \cts vi 1
112.
Acts viii. 1. || Ver. 4. IT Benson, book i. p. 207.
" Tmth f the Christian Religion, p.
and something more. The effect of his ministry
in that city and neighbourhood drew from the
historian a reflection, how " mightily grew the
word of God and prevailed."*** And at the con-
clusion of this period, we find Demetrius at the
liead of a party, who were alarmed by the progress
of the religion, complaining, that "not only at
Ephesus, but also throughout all Asia (i. e. the
arovince of Lydia, and the country adjoining to
Ephesus,) this Paul hath persuaded and turned
away much people." Beside these accounts,
here occurs, incidentally, mention of converts at
Rome, Alexandria, Athens, Cyprus, Cyrene, Ma-
cedonia, Philip pi.
This is the third period in the propagation of
Christianity, setting off in the seventh year after
he ascension, and ending at the twenty-eighth.
* Eph. iii. 3-G.
t Benson's History of Christ, book ii. p. 236.
j Acts xi. 21, 24, 26. Benson, book ii. p. 289.
|| Acts xii. 24. IF Acts xiv. 1.
** Benson, book iii. p. 50. ft Acts xvi. 5.
tt Acts xvii. 4. Acts xvii. G. |f|| Acts xvii. 12.
1T1T Acts xviii. 810. *** Benson, book iii. p. 1(50
tft Acts six. 10. IJt Acts xix. 20. Acts xix. 26.
EVIDENCES OP CHRISTIANITY.
Now lay these three periods together, and observe
how the progress of the religion by these accounts
is represented. The institution, which properly
began only ailer its author's removal from the
world, l>efore the end of thirty years had spread
itself through Judea, Galilee, and Samaria, al-
most all the numerous districts of the Lesser Asia,
through Greece, and the Islands of the ^Egean
Sea, the sea-coast of Africa, and had extended it-
self to Rome, and into Italy; At Antioch in Sy-
ria, at Joppa, Ephesus, Corinth, Thessalonica,
Berea, Iconium, Derbe, Antioch in Pisidia, at
Lydda, Saron, the number of converts is intimated
by the expressions, " a great number," " great
multitudes," " much people." Converts are men-
tioned, without any designation of their number,*
at Tyre, Cesarea, Trpas, Athens, Philippi, Lys-
tra, Damascus. During all this time, Jerusalem
continued not only the centre of the mission, but
a principal seat of the religion ; for when Saint
Paul turned thither at the conclusion of the period
of which we are now considering the accounts,
the other apostles pointed out to him, as a reason
for his compliance with their advice, " how many
thousands (myriads, ten thousands) there were in
that city who believed."?
Upon this abstract, and the writing from which
it is drawn, the following observations seem ma-
terial to be made :
I. That the account comes from a person 3 who
was himself concerned in a portion of what he re-
lates, and was contemporary with the whole of it;
who visited Jerusalem, and frequented the society
of those who had acted, and were acting, the chief
parts in the transaction. I lay down this point
positively ; for had the ancient attestations to this
valuable record been less satisfactory than they
are, the unaffectedness and simplicity with which
the author notes his presence upqn certain occa-
sions, and the entire absence of art and design
from these notices, would have been sufficient to
persuade my mind, that whoever he was, he ac-
tually lived in the times, and occupied the situa-
tion, in which he represents himself to be. When
I say, " whoever he was," I do not mean to cast a
doubt upon the name to which antiquity hath as-
cribed the Acts of the Apostles (tor there is no
cause that I am acquainted with, for questioning
it,) but to observe, that, in such a case as this, the
time and situation of the author is of more import-
ance than his name; and that these appear from
the work itself, and in the most unsuspicious form.
II. That this account is a very incomplete ac-
count of the preaching and propagation of Chris-
tianity; I mean, that, if what we read in the his-
tory be true, much more than what the history
contains must be true also. For although the
narrative from which our information is derived,
has been entitled the Acts of the Apostles, it is
* Considering the extreme conciseness of many part
of the history, the silence abrtut the numbers of converts
is no proof of their paucity ; for at Philippi, no mention
whatever is made of the number, yet Saint Paul ad-
dressed an epistle to that church. The churches of Ga-
latia, and the affairs of those churches, were consider
able enough to be the subject of another letter, and of
much of Saint Paul's solicitude: yet no account is pre-
served in the history of his success, or even of his
preaching in that country, except the slight notice which
these words convey ; " When they had gone throughout
Phrygia, and the region of Galatia they essayed to go
into Bithynia." Acts xvi. 6.
t Acts xxi. 20.
in fact a history of the twelve apostles only during
a short time of their continuing together at Jeru-
salem ; and even of this period the account is very
concise. The work afterward consists of a ii-\V
important passages of Peter's ministry, of the
speech and death of Stephen, of the preaching of
Philip the deacon ; and the sequel of the volume,
that is, two thirds of the whole, is taken up with
the conversion, the travels, the discourses and his-
tory of the new apostle Paul ; in which history,
also, large portions of time are often passed over
with very scanty notice.
III. That the account, so far as it goes, is for
this very reason more credible. Had it been the
author's design to have displayed the early pro-
gress of Christianity, he would undoubtedly have
collected, or, at least, have set forth, accounts of
the preaching of the rest of the apostles, who can-
not, without extreme improbability, be supjxjsed
to have remained silent and inactive, or not to
have met with a share of that success which at-
tended their colleagues. To which may be added,
as an observation of the same kind^
IV. 1 That the intimations of the number of
converts, and of the success of the preaching of
the apostles, come out for the most part incident-
ally ; are drawn from the historian by the occa-
sion ; such as the murmuring of the Grecian con-
verts; the rest fi^om persecution; Herod's death ;
the sending of Barnabas to Antioch, and Barna-
bas calling Paul to his assistance; Paul coming
to a place, and finding there disciples ; the clamour
of the Jews; the complaint of artificers interested
in the support of the popular religion ; the reason
assigned to induce Paul to give satisfaction to the
Christians of Jerusalem. Had it not been for
these occasions, it is probable that no notice what-
ever would have been taken of the number of con-
verts in several of the passages in which that no-
tice now appears. All this tends to remove the
suspicion of a design to exaggerate or deceive.
PARALLEL TESTIMONIES with the history, are
the letters of Saint Paul, and of the other apostles,
which have come down to us. Those of Saint
Paul are addressed to the churches of Corinth,
Philippi, Thessalonica, the church of Galatia, and,
if the inscription be right, of Ephesus; his minis-
try at all which places, is recorded in the history :
to the church 'of Colosse, or rather to the churches
of Colosse and Laodicea jointly, which he had not
then visited. They recognise by reference the
churches of Judea, the churches of Asia, and " all
the churches of the Gentiles."* In the Epistle to
the Romans,t the author is Jed to deliver a re-
markable declaration concerning the extent of his
preaching, its efficacy, and the cause to which he
ascribes it," to make the Gentiles obedient by
word and deed, through mighty signs and won-
ders, by the power of the Spirit of God ; so that
from Jerusalem, and round about unto Illyricum,
I have fully preached the Gospel of Christ." In
the Epistle to the Colossians,? we find an oblique
but very strong signification of the then general
state of the Christian mission, at least as it ap-
peared to Saint Paul: "If ye continue in the
faith, grounded and settled, and be not moved
away from the hope of the Gospel, which ye have
heard, and which was preached to every creature
which is under heaven ;" which Gospel, he had
* 1 Thess. ii. 14.
t Rom. xv. 18, 19.
J Col. i. 23.
EVIDENCES OP CHRISTIANITY.
359
reminded them near the beginning*f his letter,
" was present with them, as it was in a/I the
tcorM." The expressions are hyperbolical ; but
they are hyperboles which could only be used by
a writer who entertained a strong sense of the
subject. The First Epistle of Peter accosts the.
Christians dispersed throughout Pontus, Galatia,
Cappadoeia, Asia^ and Bithynia.
IT comes next to be considered, how far these
accounts are confirmed, or followed up by other
evidence.
Tacitus, in delivering a relation, which has
already been laid before the reader, of the lire
which happened at Rome in the tenth year of
Nero (which coincides with the thirtieth year
after ( 'hrist's ascension. yut rts. that the emperor,
in order to suppress the rumours of having been
himself the author of the mischief, procured the
Christians to be accused. Of which. Christians,
thus brought into his narrative, the following is
so much of the historian's account as belongs to
our present pur[x>se : ' : They had their denomina-
tion from Christus, who, in the reign of Tiberius,
was put to death as- a criminal by the procurator
Pontius Pilate. This pernicious superstition,
though checked for a while, broke out again, and
spread not only over Judea. but readied the city
also. At first, they only were apprehended who
confessed themselves of that sect; afterward a ras(
nivJ.litiide were discovered by them." This tes-
timony to the early propagation of < 'hristianity is
extremely material. It is from an historian of
great reputation, living near the time ; from a
stranger and an enemy to the religion : and it
joins immediately \vith the period through which
the Scripture accounts extend. It establishes
these points: that the religion Ijegan at Jerusalem;
that it spread throughout Judea : that it had readi-
ed Rome, and not only so, but that it had there
obtained a ureat number of con\erts. This was
about six years after the time that Saint Paul
wrote his Kpistle to the Romans, and something
more than two years after he arrived there himself.
The converts to the religion were then so numer-
ous at Rome, that, of those who were betrayed' by
the information of the persons fir^t jx-rsec.uted, a
great multitude (multitude ingens) were discover-
ed and seized.
It seems probable, that the temporary check
which Tacitus represents Christianity to have re-
ceived (repressa in pro-sens) referred to the perse-
cution at Jerusalem, which followed the death of
Stephen. (Acts viii ;) and which, by dispersing the
converts, caused the institution, in some measure,
to disappear. Its second eruption at the same
place, and within a short time, has much in it of
the character of truth. It was the firmness and
perseverance of men, who knew what they relied
upon.
Next in order of time, and perhaps superior in
importance, is the testimony of Pliny the Younger.
Pliny was the Roman governor of Pontus and
Bithynia, two considerable districts in the north-
ern part of Asia Minor. The situation in which
he found his province, led him to apply to the
emperor (Trajan) for his direction as to the con-
duct he was to hold towards the Christians. The
*Col. i. 6.
letter in whicn this application i* contained, was
written not quite eighty years after Christ's as-
cension. The president, in this letter, states the
measures he had already pursued, and then adds,
as his reason for resorting to the emperor's coun-
sel and authority, the following words: "Sus-
pending all judicial proceedings, 1 have recourse
to you for advice: for it has appeared to me a mat-
ter highly deserving consideration, especially on
account of the great number of persons who are
in danger of sutlering: for, many of all ages, and
of every rank, of both sexes likewise, are accused,
and will be accused. Nor has the coirtagion of
this superstition seized cities only, but the lesser
towns also, and the open country. Nevertheless
it seemed to me, that it may be restrained and
corrected. It is certain that the temples, which
were almost forsaken, begin to be more frequent-
ed; and the sacred solemnities, atler a long inter-
mission, are revived. Victims, likewise, are every
when- (passim) bought up; whereas, for some
time, there were fqw to pure-base them. Whence
it isasy to imagine, that numbers of men might
be reclaimed, if pardon were granted to those mat
shall repent.'* !
It is obvibus to observe, that the passage of
Pliny's letter, here quoted, proves, not only that
tire Christians in Pontus and Bithynia were now
numerous, but that they had subsisted there for
some considerable lime. " It is certain," he says,
"that the temples, which were almost forsaken
(plainlv ascribing this desertion of the popular
worship to the prevalency of Christianity,) l>egin
to U- more frequented, and the sacred solemnities,
after a long intermission, are revived." There
are also two clauses in the former part of- the let-
ter which indicate the same thing; one, in which
toe declares that he had "never been present at
any trials of Christians, and therefore knew not
what was the usual subject of inquiry and punish-
ment, or how far either was wont to be urged."
The second clause is the following: "Others
were named by an informer, who, at first, confess-
ed themselves Christians, and afterward denied
it : the rest said, they had been Christians, some
three years ago, some longer, and some about
twenty years. II is also apparent, that Pliny
speaks of Hie Christians as a description of men
well known to the person to whom he. writes.
His first sentence concerning them is, " I have
never l>een present at the trials of Christians."
This mention of the name of Christians, with-
out any preparatory explanation, shows that it
was a term familiar both to the writer of the let-
ter, and the person to whom it;wrds addressed.
Had it not been so, Pliny would naturally have
begun his letter by informing the emperor, that
he had met with a certain set of men in the pro-
vince,'called Cliristians.
Here then is a very singular evidence of the
progress of the Christian religion in a short space.
It was not fourscore years after the crucifixion of
Jesus, when Pliny wrote this letter ; nor seventy
years since the apostles of Jesus began to mention
his name to the Gentile world. Bithynia and
Pontus were at a great distance from Judea, the
centre from which the religion spread; yet in
these provinces, Christianity had long subsisted,
and Christians were now in such numbers as to
lead the Roman governor to report to the emperoi;
* C. Pliu. Trajano Imp. lib. x.ep. xcvH.
360
EVIDENCES OP CHRISTIANITY.
that, they were found not only In dtics, but in vil-
lages and in open countries ; of all ages, of every
rank and condition ; that they abounded so much,
as to^ have produced a visible desertion of the
temples ; that beasts brought to market for victims,
had few purchasers ; that the sacred solemnities
were much neglected : ^circumstances noted by
Pliny, for the express purpose of showing to the
emperor the effect and prevalency of the new in-
stitution.
No evidence remains, by which it can be proved
that the Christians were more numerous in
Pontus and Bithynia than in other parts of the
Roman empire ; nor has any reason been offered
to show why they should be so. Christianity did
not. begin in these countries, nor near them. I do
not know, therefore, that we ought to confine the
description in Pliny's letter to the state of Chris-
tianity in those provinces, even if no other ac-
count of the same subject had come down to us ;
but certainly, this letter may fairly be applied in
aid and confirmation of the representations given
of the general state of Christianity in the world,
by Christian writers of that and the next succeed-
ing age.
Justin Martyr, who wrote about thirty years
after Pliny, and one hundred and six after the
Ascension, has these remarkable words : " There
is not a nation, either of Greek or Barbarian, or
of any other name, even of those who wander in
tribes, and live in tents, amongst whom prayers
and thanksgivings are not offered to the Father
and Creator of the Universe by the name of the
crucified Jesus." * Tertullian, who corners about
fifty years after Justin, appeals to the governors
of the Roman empire in these terms : " We were
but of yesterday, and we have filled your cities,
islands, towns, and boroughs, the camp, the senate,
and the forum. They (the heathen adversaries
of Christianity) lament, that every sex, age, and
condition, and persons of every rank also, are con-
verts to that name." t I do allow, that these ex-
pressions are loose, and may be called declamatory.
But even declamation hath its bounds : this public
boasting upon a subject which must be known to
every reader was not only useless but unnatural,
unless the truth of the case, in a considerable de-
gree, correspond with the description ; at least,
unless it had been both true and. notorious, that,
great multitudes of Christians, of all ranks and
orders, were to be found in most parts of the
Roman empire. The same Tertullian,, in another
passage, by way of setting forth the extensive dif-
fusion of Christianity, enumerates as belonging
to 'Christ, beside many other countries, the
" Moors and Gaetulians of Africa, the borders of
Spain, several nations of France, and parts of
Britain, inaccessible to the Romans, the Sama-
ritans, Ejaci, Germans, and Scythians ;" t and,
which is more material than the extent of the in-,
stitution, the number of Christians in the several
countries in which it prevailed, is thus expressed
by him: " Although so great a multitude, that, in
almost every city we form the greater part, we i
pass our time modestly and in silence. Clemens
Alexandrinus, who preceded Tertullian by a few
years, introduces a comparison between the success
of Christianity and that of "the most celebrated
philosophical institutions : "The philosophers
* Dial, cum Tryph.
t Ad. Jud. c. 7.
t Tertull. Apol. c. 37.
Ad. Scap. c. 111.
were confined to Greece, and to their particular
rcbuncrs- ; but the doctrine of the Master of Chris-
tianity did riot remain in Judea, as philosophy
did in Greece, but it spread throughout the whole
world, in every nation, and villain 1 , and city, both
of Greeks and Barbarians, converting both whole
houses and separate individuals, having already
brought over to the truth not a few of the philoso-
phers themselves. If the Greek philosophy be
prohibited, it immediately .vanishes ; whereasj
from the first preaching of our doctrine, kings
and tyrants, governors and presidents, with their
whole train, and with the populace on their side,
have endeavoured with their whole might to ex-
terminate it, yet doth it flourish more and more. *
Origen, who follows Tertullian at the distance of
Only thirty years, delivers nearly the same ac-
count: "In every part of the world (says he,)
throughout all Greece, and in all other nations,
there are innumerable and immense multitudes,
who, having left the laws of their country, and
those whom they esteemed gods, have given
themselves up to the law of Moses, and the reli-
gion of Christ : and this not without the bitterest
resentment from the idolaters, by whom they
were frequently put to torture, and sometimes to
death : and it is wonderful to observe, how, in so
short a time, the religion has increased, amidst
punishment and death, and every kind of torture."t
in another passage, Origen draws the following
candid comparison between the state of Christi-
anity in his time, and the condition of its more
primitive ages : " By the good providence of God,
the Christian religion has so flourished and in-
creased continually, that it is now preached freely
without molestation, although there were a thou-
sand obstacles to the spreading of the doctrine of
Jesus in the world. But as it was the will of
God that the Gentiles should have the benefit of
it, all the counsels of men. against the Christians
were defeated : and by how much the more em-
perors and governors of provinces, and the people
every where, strove to depress them ; so much the
more have they increased, and prevailed exceed-
ingly." t
It is well known, that within less than eighty
years after this, the Roman empire became Chris-
tian under Constantinc : and it is probable that
Constantino declared himself on tlie side of the
Christians, because they were the powerful party;
for Arnobius, who wrote immediately before Con-
stantine's accession, speaks of the whole world
as filled with Christ's doctrine, of its diffusion
throughout all countries r of an innumerable body
of Christians in distant provinces, of the strange
revolution of opinion of men of the greatest ge-
nius, orators, grammarians, rhetoricians, lawyers,
physicians, having come over to the institution,
and that also in the face of threats, executions,
and tortures. And not more than twenty years
after Constantino's entire possession of the errr-
pire, Julius Firmicus Maternus calls upon the
smperors jConstantius and Constans to extirpate
the relics of the ancient religion ; the reduced and
fallen condition of which is described by our au-
thor in the following words: "Licet adhuc in
quibusdam regionibus idololatria? morientia palpi-
* Clem. AI. Strum. Ub. vi. ad fin.
t Orifj. in Cele. lib. 1. I Orig. cont. Cels. lili.vii.
Arnob. in Geutes, 1. i. p. 27. 9. 24. 42. 44. edit. Lug.
Bat. 1050.
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
861
tent membra ; tamcn in eo rco est, ut aChristianis
omnibus terris pestii'eruin hoc malum funditus
amputetur:" and in another place, "Modicum
tantum superest, ut legil)us vestris extincta ido-
lolatrife pereat funesta contagio."* It will not be
thought that we quote this writer in order to re-
commend his temper or his judgment, but to show
the comparative state of Christianity and of Hea-
thenism at this period. Fifty years afterward,
Jerome represents the decline of Paganism in
language which comeys the" same idea of its ap-
proaching extinction: " Solitudinem patitur et in
urbe gentilitas. Dii quondam nationam, cum hu-
bonibus et noctuis, in solis culminibus remanse-
runt."t Jerome liere indulges a triumph, natural
and allowable in a zealous friend oft lie cause, but
which could only Ix- si invested to his mind by the
consent and universality with which he saw the
religion received. " But now (says he) the passion
anu resurrection of Christ are celebrated in the
discourses and writings of all nations. I need not
mention, Jews, Greeks, and Latins. The Indians,
Persians, Cioths. and Egyptians, philosophi/e. and
firmly believe the immortality of the soul, and fu-
ture recompenses, which, U>fore,the greatest phi-
losophers hud denied, or doubted of, or perplexed
with their disputes. The fierceness of Thracians
and Scythians is now softened by the gentle sound
of the Gos(>el; and c\erv where < 'hrist is all in
all."* Were therefore the motives of ( 'onstan-
tine's conversion ever so proMematical, (!,
establishment of Christianity, and the ruin of
Heathenism, under him and his immediate suc-
cessors, is of itself a proof of the progress which
Christianity had made in the preceding period. It
may IK- added also, "that Alaxentius. the mal of
Constantine, had shown himself friendly to the
Christians. Therefore of those who were con-
tending for worldly |K>wer and empire, one actual-
ly favoured and Haltered them, and another may
be suspected to have joined himself to them, part-
ly from consideration of interest: so considerable
were they become, under external disaiK.
of all sorts."! This at least is certain, that through-
out the whole transaction hitherto, the <r r <
cd to follow, not to lead, the public opinion. .
It may help to convey to us some notion of the
extent and progress of Christianity, or rather of
the character and quality of many early Chris-
tians, of their learning and their labours, to notice
the number of Christian irn7< ;-. who flourished
in these ages. Saint Jerome's catalogue contains
sixty-six writers within the first three centuries,
and the first six years of the fourth; ami fifiij-
fonr between that time and his own, r/~. A. D.
3!)'2. Jerome introduces his catalogue with the
following just remonstrance: "Let those who
say the church has had no philosophers, nor elo-
quent and learned men, observe who and what.
they were who founded, established, and adorned
it : let them cease to accuse our faith of rusticity,
and confess their mistake."!! Of these writers, se-
veral, as Justin, Irenaeus, Clement of Alexandria,
Tertullian, Origen, Bardesanes, Hippolitus, Eu-
sehius, were voluminous writers. Christian wri-
ters abounded particularly about the year 178.
* De Error. Profan. ReKg. c. xxi. p. 172, quoted by
Lardner, vol. viii. p. 262.
t Jer. ad Lect. ep. 5, 7. } J er . ep. 8. ad Hcliod.
6 Lardner, Cred. vol. vii. p. 380.
I Jer. Prol. in Lib. de Scr. Eccl.
Alexander, bis-hop of Jerusalem, founded a library
in that city, A. D. 213. Pamphilus, the friend of
Origen, founded a library at Cesarea, A. D. 294.
Public defences were also set forth, by various ad-
vocates of the religion, in the course of its first
three centuries. Within one hundred years af-
ter Christ's ascension, Quadratus and Aristides,
whose worksj except some few fragments of the
first, are lost ; . and,,about twenty years afterward,
Justin Martyr, whose works remain, presented
apologies for the Christian religion to the Roman
emperors-; duadratus and Aristides to Adrian,
Justin to Antoninus Pius, and a second to Mar-
cus Antoninus. Melito, bishop of Sardis, and
Apollinaris, bishop of Hierapohs, and Miltiades,
men of great reputation, did the same to Marcus
Antoninus, twenty years afterward:* and ten
years after this, Apollonius, who suffered martyr-
dom under the emperor Corumodus, composed an
apology for his faith, which he read in the senate,
and which was afterward published.t Fourteen
years after the apology of Apollonius, Tertullian
addressed the work /which now remains under
that name to the governors of provinces in the
Roman empire ; and, about the same time, Minu-
cins 1'YIix composed a defence of the Christian
religion, which is still extant; and shortly after
the conclusion of this century, copious defences
of Christianity were published by Arnobius and
Lactantius.
SECTION II.
Reflections upon the preceding account.
IN viewing the progress of Christianity, our
;cntiori is due to the number of .converts at
Jerusalem, immediately alter its Founder's death;
because this success was a success at the time, and
upon the spotj when and where the chief part of
the history had been transacted.
We are, in the next place, called upon to attend
to the early establishment of numerous Christian
societies in Judea and Galilee; which countries
had been the scene of Christ's miracles and minis-
try, and where the memory of what had passed,
and the knowledge of what was alleged, must
have yet been fresh and certain.
We are, thirdly, invited to recollect the success
of the apostles and of their companions, at the
several places to which they came, both within
and without Judea; because it was the credit
given to original witnesses, appealing for the truth
of their accounts to whatthemselves had seen and
heard. The effect also of their preaching strongly
confirms the truth of what our history positively
and circumstantially relates, that they were able
to exhibit to their hearets- supernatural attestations
of their mission.
We are, lastly, to consider the subsequent growth
and spread of the religion, of which we receive
successive intimations, and satisfactory, though
general and occasional, accounts, until its full and
final establishment.
In all these se\ ral st-.'ires. the history is without
a parallel: for it must be observed, that we ha\e
* Euseb. Hist. lib. iv. c. 36. See also Lardner, vol. ii.
p. C66.
t Lardner, vol. ii. p. 687.
31
362
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
not now been tracing the, progress, and describing
the prevalency, of an opinion, founded upon philo-
sophical or critical arguments, upon mere deduc-
tion of reason, or the construction of ancient
writings; (of which kind are the several theories
which have, at different times, gained 'possession
of the public mind in various departments of
science and literature ; and of one or other of
which kind are the tenets also which divide the.
various sects of Christianity ;) but that we speak
of a system, the very basis and postulatum of
which was a supernatural character ascribed to a
particular person ; of a doctrine, the truth whereof
depends entirely upon the truth of a matter of fact
then recent. " To establish a new religion, even
amongst a few people, or in one single nation, is
a thing in itself exceedingly difficult. To reform
some corruptions which may have spread in a re-
ligion, or to make new regulations in it, is not
perhaps so hard, when the main and principal
part of that religion is preserved entire and un-
shaken ; and yet this very often cannot be accom-
plished without an extraordinary concurrence of
circumstances, and may be attempted a thousand
times without success. But to introduce a new
faith, a new way of thinking and acting, and to
persuade many - nations to quit the religion in
which their ancestors have lived and died, which
had been delivered down to them from time im-
memorial, to make them forsake and despise the
deities which they had been accustomed to reve-
rence and worship ; this is a work of still greater
difficulty.* The resistance of education, worldly
policy, and superstition, is almost invincible."
If men, in these days, be Christians in conse-
quence of their education, in submission to autho-
rity, or in compliance with fashion, let us recollect
that the very contrary of this, at the beginning,
was the case. The first race of Christians, as
well as millions who succeeded them, became
such in formal opposition to all these motives, to
the whole power and strength of this influence.
Every argument, therefore, and every instance,
which sets forth the prejudice of education, and
the almost irresistible effects of that prejudice
(and no persons are more fond of expatiating upon
this subject than deistical writers,) in fact confirms
the evidence of Christianity.
But, in order to judge of the argument which is
drawn from the early propagation of Christianity,
I know no fairer way of proceeding, than to com-
pare what we have seen on the subject, with the
success of Christian missions in modern .ages.
In the East India mission, supported by the So-
ciety for promoting Christian Knowledge, we
hear sometimes of thirty, sometimes of forty, being
baptized in the course of a year, and these princi-
pally children. Of converts properly so called,
that is, of adults voluntarily embracing Christian-
ity, the number is extremely small. " Notwith-
standing the labour of missionaries for upwards of
two hundred years, and the establishments of
different Christian nations who support them,
there are not twelve thousand Indian Christians,
and those almost entirely outcasts."!
I lament, as much as any man, the little pro-
gress which Christianity has made in these coun-
tries, and the inconsiderable effect that has followed
* Jortin's Dis. on the Christ. Rel. p. 107. ed. iv.
t Sketches relating to the history, learning, and man-
ners of the Hindoos, p. 48; quoted by Dr. Robertson,
Hist. Dis. concerning ancient India, p. 236.
the labours of its missionaries : but I see in it a
strong proof of the Divine origin of the religion.
What had the apostles to assist them in propagat-
ing Christianity which the missionaries have not 1
If piety and zeal had been sufficient, I doubt not
but that our missionaries possess these qualities in
a high degree: for ^nothing exrcpt piety and zeal
could engage them in the undertaking. If sanc-
tity of life and manners was the allurement, the
conduct of these men is unblamable. If the . ad-
vantage of education and learning be looked to,
there is not one of the modern missionaries, who
is not, in this respect, superior to all the apostles:
and that not only absolutely, but, what is of more
importance, relatively, in* comparison, that is,
with those amongst whom they exercise their
office. If the-intrinsic excellency of the religion,
the perfection of its morality, the purity of its pre-
cepts, the eloquence or tenderness or sublimity of
various parts of its writings, were the recommend*
ations by which it made its way, these remain tho
same. If the character arid circumstances, under
which the preachers were introduced to the coun-
tries in which they taught, be accounted of im-
portance, this advantage is all on the side of the
modern missipnaries. They come from a country
and a people to which the Indian world look up
with sentiments of deference. The apostles camo
forth amongst the Gentiles under no other name
than that of Jews, which was precisely the charac-
ter they despised and derided. If it be disgraceful
in India to become a Christian, it could not be
much less so to be enrolled amongst those, "quos
perflagitiainvisos, vulgus Christianos appellabat."
If the religion which they had to encounter be
considered, the difference, I apprehend, will not
be great. The theology of both was nearly the
same: "what is supposed to be performed by the
power of Jupiter, of Neptune, of ^Eolus, of Mam,
of Venus, according to the mythology of the West,
is ascribed, in the East, to the agency of Agrio the
god of fire, Varoon the god of oceans, Vayoo the
god of wind, Cama the^god of love."* The sa-
cred rites of the Western Polytheism wen 1 gay,
festive, and licentious ; the rites of the public re-
ligion in the East partake of the same character,
with a more avowed indecency. " In every func-
tion performed in the pagodas, as well as in every
public procession, it is the office of these women
(i. e. of women prepared by the Brahmins for the
purpose,) to dance before the idol, and to sing
hymns in his praise ; and it is difficult to say whe-
ther they trespass most against decency by tho
gestures they exhibit, or by the verses which they
recite.. The walls of the pagodas were covered
with paintings in a style no less indelicate, r
On both sides of the comparison, the popular
religion had a strong establishment. In ancient
Greece and Rome, k was strictly incorporated
with the state. The magistrate was the pru-st.
The highest officers of government bore the most
distinguished part in the celebration of the public
rites. - In India, a powerful and numero:
possess exclusively the administration of the esta-
* Baphvat Geeta, p. 94, quoted oy Dr. Robertson, Ind.
Dis. p. :m.
t Others of tho deities of tho E.iPt are of an
and gloomy character, "to be propitiated by victims,
sometimes by human sacrifices, and by volimt
nients of the most excruci.itiu kind. Voyage de Gen-
til, vol. i. p. 244260. Preface to Code of Gcntoo Laws,
p. 57, quoted by Dr. Robertson, p. 3'^0.
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
363
Wished worship ; and are, of consequence, devoted
to the service, and attached to its interest. In
both, the prevailing mythology was destitute of
any proper evidence : or rather, in both, the origin
of the tradition is run up into ages long anterior
to the existence of credible history, or of written
language. The Indian chronology computes eras
by millions of years, and the life of man by thou-
sands;* and in these, or prior to these, is placed
the history of their divinities. In both, the esta-
blished superstition held the same place in the pub-
lic opinion; that is to say, in both it was credited
by the bulk of the people,t but by the learned and
philosophical part of the community, either derid-
ed, or regarded by them an only fit to be upholden
fer the sake of its" [xjlitieal uses.*
Or if it should be allowed, that the ancient hea-
thens believed in their religion less generally than
the present Indians do. I am far from thinking
that this circumstance would afford any facility to
the work of the apostles, above that of the modern
missionaries. To me it appears, and 1 think it
material to l>e remarked, that a disbelief <>'
tablished religion of their country has no tendency
to dispose men for the reception of another; but
that, on the contrary, it generates a set:!
tempt of all religious pretensions whatever. ( iene-
ral infidelity is the hardest soil which the propa-
gators of a new religion can h:;ve to work upon.
Could a Methodist or Moravian promise himself
a better chance of success with a Fren<-!i
fort, who had been accustomed to laugh at the
popery of his country than with a believing Ma-
hometan or Hindoo'? Or are our modern unl>e-
lievers in Christianity, for that reason, in danger
of becoming Mahometans or Hindoos 1 It does
not appear that the Jews, who had a body of his-
torical evidence to oiler for their religion, and who
at that time undoubtedly entertained and held
* "The Suffi'c Joiriie, or a?> of purity, is said to have
lasted three millions two hundred : in : ami
they hold that tin- lit'.; of man \\ :is : extended "in thai airo
to OIK; hundred thousand yean : but there is* diftnaea
amongst th,. Indian writer-;, of siv millions of years in
tin- computation of this era." Preface to Code of Gen-
too Laws, p. 57, quoted by Dr. Roheitson. p. !fc>0.
t "How absurd Merer tin- articles of faith may be,
which super>tition has adopted, or how nnliallow ->i the
rites which it ]i: -, ribrs. tin; former are receive. |. in
every ai."- and country, witli unhesitating a
the great bo ly of th' p.. .pie, and the latter obMTVttl
with MTiipulousexactncss. In our reasoninneOBoeui-
ing opinions and practices which dilier widely from our
own, wo an- extremely apt to orr. Having I u in-
structed ourselves in tho principles of a relitnon, worthy
in every respect of that Divine wisdom by which they
were dictated, we frequently express wonder nt the cre-
dulity of nations, in embracing systems of Ixdicf which
appear to us so directly repugnant to ri-rht reason ; and
sometimes suspect, that tenets so wild and extravagant
do not really i;ain credit with them. 15ut experience may
satisfy us. that neither our wonder nor suspicions are
well founded. No article of the public religion was
called in question by those people of ancient Europe
with whose history "we are host acquainted; and no
practice, which it enjoined, appeared improper to them.
On the other hand, every opinion tliat tended to dimi-
nish th- reverence >fmen for the gods of their country,
or to alienate them from th,-ir worship, excited, among
the Greeks and Romans, that indignant y.,-;i\ which is
natural to every people attached to their ivlisrion by a
firm persuasion of its truth." [nd. Dis. p. ;j-Jl. .-
| That the learned Brahmins of the Kast are rational
Theists. and secretlv re.je.-t the established theory, and
contemn the rites that were founded upon them, or ra-
ther consider them as contrivances tQ be supported for
their political uses, see Dr. Robertson's Ind Dis p 324
forth the expectation of a future state, derived any
great advantage, as to the extension of their sys-
tem, from the discredit into which the popular
religion had fallen with many of their heathen
neighbours.
We have particularly directed our observations
to the state and progress of Christianity amongst
the inhabitants of India : but the history of the
Christian mission in other countries, where the
efficacy of the mission is left solely to the convic-
tion wrought by the preaching of strangers, pre-
sents the same idea, as the Indian mission does,
of the feebleness and inadequacy of human means.
About twenty-li\e years ago, was- published in
Knirland a translation from the Dutch, of a His-
tory of Greenland, and a relation of the mission
for alnne thirty years carried on in that country
by the Unitas Fratrum, or Moravians. Every
part of that relation confirms the opinion we have
stated. Nothing could surpass, or hardly equal,
the zeal and patience of the missionaries. Yet
their historian, in the conclusion of his narrative,
could find place for no reflections more encouraging
than the following: " A person that had known
i then, that had seen the little benefit from
the ifivat pains hitherto taken with them, and
considered that one after another had abandoned
all hopes of the conversion of those infidels (and
some thought they would never be converted, till
< les wrought as in the apostles' days,
and this the IT reenlanders expected and demanded
of their instructors;) one that considered this, I
say, would not so much wonder at the past un-
fruitfulncss of these young beginners, as at their
steadfast perseverance in the midst of nothing but
distress, difficulties, and impediments, internally
and externally; and that they never desponded of
the conversion cf those poor creatures amidst all
sei ming impossibilities.''*
From the widely disproportionate effects which
attend the preaching of modern missionaries of
Christianity, compared with what followed the
ministry of Christ and his apostles under circum-
stances either alike, or not so unlike as to account
for the diflerence, a conclusion is fairly drawn, in
support of what our histories deliver concerning
them, riz. that they possessed means of conviction,
which we have not ; that they had proofs to appeal
to, which we want.
SECTION III.
Of the Religion of Mahomet.
THE only event in the history of the human
species which admits of comparison with the pro-
pagation of Christianity, is the success of Maho-
tnetanism. The Mahometan institution was rapid
in its progress, was recent in its history, and was
founded upon a supernatural or prophetic charac-
ter assumed by its author. In these articles, the
resemblance with Christianity is confessed. But
:here are points of diflerence, which separate, we
apprehend, the two cases entirely.
I. Mahomet did not found his pretensions upon
miracles, properly so called ; that is, upon proofs
of, supernatural^-agency, capable of being known
ind aAa-sted by others. Christians are warranted
in this assertion by the evidence of the Koran, in
* History of Greenland, vol. ii. p. 376.
364
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
which Mahomet not only does not affect the power
of working miracles, but expressly disclaims it.
The following passages of that book furnish direct
proofs of the truth of what we allege : " The in-
fidels say," Unless a sign be sent down unto him
from his lord, we will not believe; thou art a
preacher only."* Again ; " Nothing hindered us
from sending thce with miracles, except that the
former nations have charged them with impos-
ture.'^ And lastly ; " They say, unless a sign
be sent down unto him from his lord, we will not
believe : Answer ; Signs are in the power of God
alone, and I am no more than a public preacher.
Is it not sufficient for them, that we have sent
down unto them the book of the Koran to be read
unto them T't Besides these acknowledgments, I
have observed thirteen distinct places 1 , in which
Mahomet puts the objection (unless a' sign, &c.)
into the mouth of the unbeliever, in not one of
which does he allege a miracle in reply. His an-
swer is, " that God giveth the power'of working
miracles, when and to whom he pleaseth ;" ".that
if he should work miracles, they would not be-
lieve ;"ll " that they had before rejected Moses, and
the Prophets, who wrought miracles ;"TT " that the
Koran itself was a miracle."**
.The only place in the Koran in which it can
be pretended that a sensible miracle is referred to
(for I do not allow the secret visitations of Gabriel,
the night journey of Mahomet to heaven, or the
presence in battle of invisible hosts of angels, to
deserve the name of sensible miracles,) is the be-
ginning of the fifty-fourth chapter. The words
are these: " The hour of* judgment approacheth,
and the moon hath been split in sunder ; but if
the unbelievers see a sign, they turn aside saying,
This is a powerful charm." The Mahometan
expositors disagree in their interpretation of this
passage ; some explaining it -to be a mention of
the splitting of the moon, as one of the futiire
^igns of the approach of the day of judgment ;
others referring it to a miraculous appearance
which had then taken place.tt It seems to me not
improbable, that Mahomet might have taken ad-
vantage of some extraordinary halo, or other un-
usual appearance of the moon, which had hap-
pened about this time; and which supplied a
foundation both for this passage, and for the story
which in after times had been raised out of it.
After this more than silence, after these authen-
tic confessions of the Koran, we are "not to be
moved with miraculous stories related of Maho-
met by Abulfeda, who wrote his life, about six
hundred years after his death ; or which are found
in the legend of Al-Janabi, who came two hun-
dred years later.tt On the -contrary, from com-
paring what Mahomet himself wrote and said,
with what was afterwards reported of him by his
followers, the plain and fair conclusion is, that
when the religion "was established by conquest,
* Sale's Koran, c. xiii. p. 201. ed. quarto.
fCh. xvii. p. 232. J Cli. xxix. p. 328.
Ch. v. x. xiii. twice. j|Ch. vi.
1TCh. iii. xxl xxviii. **Ch. xvi.
ft Vide Sale, in Inc.
1J It does not, I think, apprar, that those historians
had any written accounts to appeal to, more ancient
than the Sounah; which was a collection of traditions
made by order of the caliphs two hundred yeaw after
Mahomet's death. Mahomet died A. D. <>32 ; Al J;,.chari,
one of the six doctors who compited the Sonnali. \vas
bom A. D. 809; died in 869. Prideaux's Life of Maho-
met, p. 192. ed. 7th.
then, and not till then, came out the stories of his
miracles.
Now this difference alone constitutes, in my
opinion, a bar to all reasoning from one case to
the other. The success of a religion founded
upon a miraculous history, shows the credit which
was given to the "history ; and this credit, under
the circumstances in which it was given, i. c. by
persons capable of knowing the truth, and inter-
ested to inquire after it, is evidence of the reality
of the history, and, by consequence, of the truth
of the religion. Where a miraculous history is
not alleged, no part of this argument can be ap-
plied. We admit, that multitudes acknowledge
the pretensions of Mahomet; but, these preten-
sions being destitute of miraculous evidence, we
know that the grounds upon which they were
acknowledged, could net be secure grounds of per-
suasion to his followers, nor their example any
authority to us. Admit the whole of Mahomet's
authentic history, so far as it was of a nature,
Capable of being known or witnessed by others,
to be true (which is certainly to admit all that the
reception of the religion can be brought to prove,)
and Mahomet might still be an impostor, or en-
thusiast, or a union of both. Admit to be true
almost any part of Christ's history, of that I mean,
which was public, and within the cognizance of
his followers, and he must have come from God.
Where matter of fact is not in question, where
miracles are not alleged, I do not see that the pro-
gress of a religion is a better argument of its truth,
than the prevalency of ally system of opinions in
natural religion, morality, or physics, is a proof of
the" truth of those opinions. And we know that
this sort of argument is inadmissible in any branch
of philosophy whatever.
But it will be said, If one religion could make
its way without miracles, why might not another 1
To which I reply, first-, that this is not the ques-
tion ; the proper question is not, whether a reli-
gious institution could be set up without miracles,
but whether a religion or a change of religion,
founding itself in miracles, could succeed without
any reality to rest uponl I apprehend these two
cases to be very different ; and I apprehend Ma-
homet's not taking this course, to be one proof,
amongst others, that the thing is difficult, if not
impossible, to be accomplished ; certainly it Was
not from an unconsciousness of the value and im-
portance of miraculous evidence : for it is very ob-
servable, that in the same volume, and sometimes
m the same chapters, in which Mahomet so re-
peatedly disclaims the pOwer of working miracles
limself, he is incessantly referring to the miracles
of preceding prophets. One would imagine, to
lear some men talk, or to read some books, that
;he setting up of a religion by dint of miraculous
aretences was a thing of every day's experience ;
whereas I believe, that, except the Jewish and
Christian religion, there is no tolerably well au-
henticated account of any such thing having been
accomplished.
II. The establishment of Mahomet's religion
was effected by causes which in no degree apper-
ained to the origin of Christianity.
During the first twelve years, of his mission,
Mahomet had recourse only to persuasion. This
s allowed. And there is sufficient reason from
.he effect to believe, that, if he -had confined him-
self to this mode of propagating his religion, we
of the present day should never have heard either
EVIDENCES OP CHRISTIANITY.
365
of him OT it. C{ Three years wore silently em-
ployed in the conversion of fourteen proselytes.
For ten years, the religion advanced with a slow
and painful progress, within the walls of Mecca.
The number of proselytes in the seventh year of
his mission may be estimated by the absence of
eighty-three men and eighteen women, who re-
tired to Ethiopia."* Yet this progress, such as it
was, appears to have been aided by some very im-
portant advantages which Mahomet found in his
situation, in his mode of conducting his design,
and in his doctrine.
1. Mahomet was the grandson of the most
powerful and honourable family in Mecca : and
although the early death of his father had not left
him a patrimony suitable to his birth, he had, long
before the commencement of his mission, repair-
ed this deficiency by an opulent marriage. A
person considerable by his wealth, of high de-
scent, and nearly allied to the chiefs of his country,
taking upon himself the character of a religious
teacher, would not fail of attracting attention and
followers.
2. Mahomet conducted his design, in the outset
especially, with great art and prudence. He con-
ducted it as a politician would conduct a plot.. His
first application was to his own lamilv. This
gained him his wife's uncle, a considerable person
in Mecca, together with his cousin Ali. afterward
the celebrated Caliph, then a youth of great ex-
pectation, and even already distinguished by his
attachment, impetuosity, and courage.t He next
expressed himself to Abu Beer, a man amongst
the first of the Koreish in wealth and inlluence.
The interest and example of Abu Beer, drew in
five other principal persons in Mecca ; whose so-
licitations prevailed upon five more of the same
rank. This was the work of three years ; during
which time, every thing was transacted in secret.
Upon the strength of these allies, and under the
powerful protection of his family, who, however
some of them might disapprove his enterprise, or
deride his pretensions, would not suller the orphan
of their house, the relic of their favourite brother
to be insulted; Mahomet now commenced his
public preaching. And the advance which he
made during the nine or ten remaining years of
his peaceable ministry, was by no means greater
than what, with these advantages, and with the
additional and singular circumstance of their being
no established religion at Mecca at that time to
contend with, might reasonably have, been ex-
pected. How soon his primitive adherents were
let into the secret of his views of empire, or in what
stage of his undertaking these views first opened
themselves to his own mind, it is not now easy to
determine. The event however was, that these
his first proselytes all ultimately attained to riches
and honours, to the command of armies, and the
government of kingdoms. t
3. The Arabs deduced their descent from
Abraham through the line of Ishmael. The in-
Gibbon'8 Hist. vol. ix. p. 244, &c.; ed. Dub.
Of which Mr. Gibbon lias preserved tlio following
specimen " When Mahomet called out in an assembly
of his family, Who among you will be my companion
and my vizir? Ali, then only in the fourteenth year of
his age, suddenly replied, O prophet ! I am t!.<- man;
whosoever rises against thee, I will dash out his teeth
tear out his eyes break his I CKS , rip up his belly. O pro-
P n f ! I ' will be thy vizir over them." Vol. ix. p. 245
I Gibbon, vol. ix. p. 2-14.
habitants of Mecca, in common probably with the
other Arabian tribes, acknowledged, as, I think,
may clearly be collected from the Koran, one
supreme Deity, but had associated with him many
objects of idolatrous worship. The great doctrine
with which Mahomet set out, was the strict ad
exclusive unity of God. Abraham, he told them,
their illustrious ancestor; Ishmael, the father of
their nation ; Moses, the lawgiver of the Jews ;
and Jesus, the author of Christianity ; had all as-
serted the same thing: that their followers had
universally corrupted the truth, and that he was
now commissioned to restore ii to the world. Was
it to be wondered at, that a doctrine so specious,
and authorized by names, some or other of which
were holden in the highest veneration by every
description of his hearers, should in the hands of
a popular missionary, prevail to the extent in
which Mahomet succeeded by his pacific ministry 7
4. Of the institution which Mahomet joined
with this fundamental doctrine, and of the Koran
in which that institution is delivered, we discover,
I think, two purposes that pervade the whole, ri:.
to make converts, and to make his converts sol-
diers. The following particulars, amongst others,
may be considered as pretty evident indications of
these designs :
1. When Mahomet began to preach, his ad-
dress to the Jews, to the Christians, and to the
Pagan Arabs, was, that the religion which he
taught, was no other than what had been origi-
nally their own. " We believe in God, and that
which hath been sent down unto us, and that
which hath been sent down unto Abraham, and
Ishmael, and Isaac, and Jacob, and the Tribes,
and that which was delivered unto Moses and
Jesus, and that which was delivered unto the pro-
phets from their Lord : we make no distinction
between any of them."* " He hath ordained you
the religion which he commanded Noah, and
which we have revealed unto thee, O Mohammed,
and which we commanded Abraham, and' Moses,
and Jesus, saying, Observe this religion, and be
not divided therein."t " He hath chosen you, and
hath not imposed on you any difficulty in the re-
ligion which he hath given you, the religion of
your father Abraham."*
2. The author of the Koran never ceases from
describing the future anguish of unbelievers, their
despair, regret, penitence, and torment. It is the
point which he labours above all others. And
these descriptions are conceived in terms, which
will appear in no small degree impressive, even
to the modern reader of an English translation.
Doubtless they would operate with much greater
force upon the minds of those to whom they were
immediately directed. The terror which they
seem well calculated to inspire, would be to many
tempers a powerful application.
3. On the other hand ; his voluptuous para-
3ise ; his robes of silk, his palaces of marble, his
rivers and shades, his groves and couches, his
wines, his dainties ; and above all, his seventy-two
virgins assigned to each of the faithful, of resplend-
;nt beauty and eternal youth ; intoxicated the
maghiations, and seized the passions of his East-
ern followers.
4. But Mahomet's highest heaven was reserved
or those who fought his battles, or expended
Sale's Koran, c. ii. p. 17. t lb. c. xlii. p. 303.
} Ib. c. xxii. p. 281.
31*
366
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
their fortunes in his cause. "Those believers
who sit still at home, not having any hurt, and
those who employ their fortunes and their per-
sons for the religion of God, shall not be held
equal. God hath preferred those who employ
their fortunes and their persons in that cause, to
a degree above those who sit at home. God hath
indeed promised every one Paradise ; but God
hath preferred those who fight for the faith be-
fore those who sit still, by adding unto them a
great reward ; by degree of honour conferred upon
them from him, and by granting them forgiveness
and mercy."* Again; " Do ye reckon the giving
drink to the pilgrims, and the visiting of the holy
temple, to be actions as meritorious as those per-
formed by him who believcth in God and the last
day, atu\ fighteth for the religion of God? They
shall not be held equal with God. They who
have believed and fled their country, and employ-
ed their substance and their persons in the defence
of God's true religion, shall be in the highest de-
gree of honour with God jT and these are they
who shall be happy. The Lord sendcth them
good tidings of mercy from him, and good will,
and of gardens wherein they shall enjoy lasting
pleasures. They shall continue therein for ever ;
for with God is a great reward."t And once
more ; " Verily God hath purchased of the true
believers their souls and their substance, promis-
ing them the enjoyment of Paradise, onr condition
that they fight for the cause 'of God ; whether
they slay or be slain, the promise for the same is
assuredly due by the Law and the Gospel and the
Koran. "t
5. His doctrine of predestination was applica-
ble, and was applied by him, to the same purpose
of fortifying and of exalting the courage of his
adherents. " If any thing of the matter had hap-
pened unto us, we had not been slain here. An-
swer : If ye had been in your houses, verily they
would have gone forth to fight, whose slaughter
was decreed to the places where they died."ll
6. In warm regions, the appetite of the sexes
is ardent, the passion for inebriating liquors mode-
rate. In compliance with this distinction, although
Mahomet laid a restraint upon the drinking of
wine, in the use of women he allowed an almost
unbounded indulgence. Four wives, witli the
liberty of changing them at pleasure,1T together
with the persons of all his captives,** was an irre-
sistible bribe to on Arabian warrior. " God is
minded (says he, speaking of this very subject)
to make his religion light unto you;' for man was
created weak." How different this from the un-
accommodating purity of the Gospel ! How
would Mahomet have succeeded with the Chris-
tian lesson in his mouth, " Whosoever looketh
upon a woman to lust after her, hath committed
adultery with her already in his hoart T' It must
be added, that Mahomet did not enter upon the
Sale's Koran, c. iv. p. 73. f Ib. c. ix. p. J51.
I Ib. c. ix p. 164.
" The sword (saith Mahomet) is the key of heaven
and of hell-; a drop of blood abed in th:> cnnso <>r<;<>;l. n
night spent in arms, is of more avail than two months'
fasting or prayer. Whosoever falls in bull le, his sins
are forgiven at the day ofjudgmemt ; his wounds shall
be resplendent as vermillion, and odoriferous as musk ;
and the loss of his limbs shall be supplied by the wings
of angels and cherubim." Gibbon v vol. ix. p. -Jjti.
K Sale's Koran, c. iii. p. 54. IT Ib. c. iv. p. C3.
** Gibbon, vol. ix. p. 225.
prohibition of wine, till the fourth year of the
Eiegira, or seventeenth of his mission** when his
military successes had completely established his
authority. The same observation holds of the
fast of the Ramadan ,t and of the most labo-
rious part of his institution, the pilgrimage to
Mecca.*
What has hitherto been collected from the re-
cords of the Mussulman history, relates to the
twelve or thirteen years of Mahomet's peaceable
preaching ; which part alone of his life and enter-
prise' admits of the smallest comparison with the
origin of Christianity. A new scene is now un-
folded. The city of Medina, distant about ten
days' journey from Mecca, was at that time dis-
tracted by the hereditary contentions of two hostile
tribes. These feuds were exasperated by the
mutual persecutions of the Jews and Christians,
and of the different Christian sects by which the
city was inhabited. The religion of Mahomet
presented, in some measure, a point of union or
compromise to these divided opinions. It em-
braced the principles which were common to them
all. Each party saw in it an honourable acknow-
ledgment of the fundamental truth of their own
system. To the Pagan Arab, somewhat imbued
with the sentiments and knowledge of his Jew-
ish or Christian fellow-citizens, it offered no
offensive, or very improbable theology. This
recommendation procured to Mahomctanism a
more favourable reception at Medina, than its
author had been able, by twelve years' painful
endeavours, to obtain for it at Mecca. Yet, after
all, the progress of the religion was inconsiderable.
His missionary could only collect a congregation
of forty persons.il It was not a religious, but a
political association, which ultimately introduced
Mahomet into Medina. Harassed, as it should
seem, and disgusted by the long continuance of
factions and disputes, the inhabitants of that city
saw in the admission of the prophet's authority, a
rest from the miseries which they had suffered,
and a suppression of the violence and fury which
they had learned to condemn. After an embassy,
therefore, composed of believers and unbelievers, TT
and of persons of both tribes, with whom a treaty
was coneluded of strict alliance and support, Ma-
homet made ,his public entry, and was received as
the sovereign of Medina.
From this time, or soon after this time, the im-
postor changed his language and his conduct.
Having now a town at his command, where to
arm his party, and to head them with security, he
enters upon new counsels. He now pretends
that a divine commission is given him to attack
the infidels, to destroy idolatry, and to set up the
true faith by the sword.** An early victory over
a very superior force, achieved by conduct and
bravery, established the renown of hi.s arms, and
of his personal character.tt Every year after this
was marked by battles or assassinations. The
nature and activity of Mahomet's future exertions
may be estimated from the computation, that, in
the nine following years of his life, he commanded
* Mod. rniv. Hist. vol. i. p. 1->I5. f Tb. p. 112.
| Tliis latter, however, already prevailed amonirst
he Arabs, and had grown out of their excessive venera-
tion for the Caaba. Mahomet's law, in this respect,
was rather a compliance than an innovation. Sale's
Prelim. Disc. p. 122.
Mod Univ. Hist. vol. i. p. 100. V Ib. p. 85. IT Ibid.
' ** Ib. vol. i. p. 88. ft Viet, of Bedr, ib. p. 100.
EVIDENCES OP CHRISTIANITY.
367
his army in person in eight general engagements,*
and undertook, by himself or his lieutenants,
fifty military enterprises.
From this time we have nothing left to account
for, but that Mahomet should collect an army,
that his army should conquer, and that his religion
should proceed together with his conquests. The
ordinary experience of human affairs, leaves us
little to wonder at, in any of these effects : ami
they were likewise each assisted by peculiar faci-
lities. From all sides, the roving Aral is crowded
round the standard of religion and plunder, of
freedom and victory, of arms and rapine. Ueside
the highly painted 'joys of a carnal paradise, Ma-
homet rewarded his followers in this world with
a liberal division of the spoils, and with the per-
sons of their female captives. t The condition of
Arabia, occupied by small independent tribes,
exposed it to the impression, and yielded to the
progress, of a firm and resolute army. After the
reduction of his native peninsula, the weakness
also of the Roman provinces on the north and
the west, as well as the distracted state of the
Persian empire on the east, facilitated the suc-
cessful invasion of neighbouring countries. That
Mahomet's conquests should carry his religion
alonjr with them, will excite little surprise, when
we know the conditions which he propped to the
vanquished. Death or conversion was the only
choice offered to idolaters. " Strike off thei'r
heads! strike oft' all the ends of their fingers !t
kill the idolaters wheresoever ye shall Jin-1
them !" To the Jews and Christians was left
the somewhat milder alternative* of subjection and
tribute, if they persisted in their own religion, or
of an equal participation in t lie rights and liU-rties,
the honours and privileges, of the faithful, if thev
embraced the religion of their conquerors. "Ye
Christian dogs, you knowyour option, the Koran,
the tribute, or the sword."ll The corrupted
state of Christianity in the seventh centurv,
and the contentions of its sects, unhappily so
fell in with men's care of their safety, or their
fortunes, as to induce many to forsake its pro-
fession. Add to all which, that Mahomet's
victories not only ope rated by the natural effect of
conquest, but that they were constantly repre-
sented, both to his friends and enemies, as divine
declarations in his favour. Success was evidence.
Prosperity carried with it, not only influence, but
proof. " Ye have already (says he, after the kit-
tle of Bedr) had a miracle shown you, in two
armies which attacked each other ; one army
fought for God's true religion, but the other were
infidels."1T Again; " Ye slew not those who
were slain at Bedr, but God slew them. If ye
desire a decision of the matter between us, now
hath a decision come unto you."**
Many more passages might be collected out of
the Koran to the same effect. But they are unne-
cessary. The success of Mahometanism during
this, and indeed, every future period of its history,
bears so little resemblance to the early propagation
or Christianity, that no inference whatever can
justly be drawn from it to the prejudice of the
Christian argument. For, what are' we compar-
ing ? A Galilean peasant accompanied by a few
fishermen, with a conqueror at the head of his
army. We, compare Jesus without force, without
power, williout support, without one external cir-
cumstance of attraction or influence, prevailing
against the prej udices, the learning, the hierarchy,
of his country ; against the ancient religious opi-
! nions. the pompous religious rites, the philosophy,
the wisdom, the authority of the Roman empire,
in the most polished and enlightened period of its
existence ; with Mahomet making his way amongst
Arabs ; collecting followers in the midst of con-
quests and triumphs, in the darkest ages and coun-
tries of the world, and when- success in arms not
only operates! by that command of men's wills and
persons which attends prosperous undertakings,
but was considered as a sure testimony of divine
approbation. That multitudes, persuaded by this
argument, should join the train of a victorious
hat still greater multitudes should, without
any argument, bow down before irresistible power ;
is a conduct in which we cannot see much to sur-
prise us ; in which we can see nothing that re-
sembles the causes by which the establishment of
Christianity was el
The , icrefore, of ^Mahometanism,
stands not in the way of this important conclusion ;
that the propagation of Christianity, in the man-
ner and under the circumstances in which it was
propagated, is a vnii/itc in the history of the spe-
\ J t wish peasant overtltrew the religion of
the world.
I have, nevertheless, placed the prevalency of
the religion amongst the auxiliary arguments of
its truth ; because, whether it had prevailed or not,
or whether its prevalency can or cannot lie ac-
counted for, the direct argument remains still. It
irf still true that a great number of men upon the
spot, jx^rspnally connected with the history and with
the author of the religion, were^ induced by what
they heard, and saw, and knew, not only to change
their former opinions, but to give up their time,
and sacrifice their ease, to traverse, seas and king-
doms without rest and without weariness, to com-
mit themselves to extreme dangers, to undertake
at toils, to undergo grievous sufferings, and
all this-, solely in consequence, and in support, of
their U-lief of facts, whicji, if true, establish the
truth of the religion, which, if false, they must
have known to be so.
* Mod. Univ. Hist. vol. i. p. 255.
T Gibbon, vol. ix. p. 255.
Sale's Koran, c. viii. p. 140.
PART III.
A BRIEF CONSIDERATION OP SOME POPTJLAR
OBJECTIONS.
CHAPTER I.
The Discrepancies between the several Gospels.
I KNOW not a more rash or unphilosophical con-
duct of the understanding, tlian to reject the sub-
stance of a story, by reason of some diversity in
the circumstances with which it is related. The
usual character of human testimony is substantial
truth under circumstantial variety. This is what
the daily experience of courts of justice teaches.
When accounts of a transaction come from the
mouths of different witnesses, it is seldom that it
368
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
is not possible to pick out apparent or real in-
consistencies between them. These inconsisten-
cies are studiously displayed by~ ati adverse
pleader, but oftentimes with little impression
upon the minds of the judges. On the contrary,
a close and minute agreement induces the suspi-
cion of confederacy and fraud. When written
histories touch upon the same scenes of action, the
comparison almost always affords ground for a
like reflection. Numerous, and sometimes import-
ant, variations present themselves; not seldom
also, absolute and final contradictions ; yet neither
one nor the other, are deemed sufficient to shake
the credibility of the main fact. The embassy of
the Jews to deprecate the execution of Claudian's
order to place his statue in - their temple; Philo
places in harvest, Josephus in seed-time j both
contemporary wrjters: No reader is led by this
inconsistency to doubt, whether such an embassy
was sent, or whether such an order was given.
Our own history supplies examples of the same
kind. In the account of the Marquis of Argyle's
death, in the reign of Charles the Second, we have
a very remarkable contradiction. Lord Claren-
don relates that he was condemned to be hanged,
which was performed the same day ; on the con-
trary, Burnet, Woodrow, Heath, Echard, concur
in stating that he was beheaded ; and tha| he was
condemned upon the Saturday, and executed upon
the Monday.* Was any reader of English his-
tory ever sceptic enough to raise from hence a
question, whether the Marquis of Argyle was
executed or not ? Yet this ought to be left in un-
certainty, according to the principles upon which
the Christian history has sometimes been attacked.
Dr. Middleton contended, that the different hours
of the day assigned to the crucifixion of. Christ,
by John and by the other evangelists, did not ad-
mit of the reconcilement which learned men had
proposed ; and then concludes the discussion with-
this hard remark : " We must be forced, with seve-
ral of the critics, to leave the difficulty just as we
found it, chargeable with all the consequences of
manifest inconsistency.'^ But what are these con-
sequences 1 By no means the discrediting of the
history as to the principal fact, by a repugnancy
(even supposing that repugnancy be not resolva-
ble into different modes of computation) in the
time of the day in which it is. said to have taken
place.
A great deal of the discrepancy observable in
the Gospel, arises from omission ; from a fact or
a passage of Christ's life being noticed by one
writer, which is unnoticed by another. Now,
omission is at all times a very uncertain ground
of objection. . We perceive it, not only in the com-
parison of different writers, but even in the same
writer when compared with himself. There are
a great many particulars, and some of them of im-
portance, mentioned by Josephus in his Antiqui-
ties, which, as we should have supposed, ought to
have been put down by him in their place in the
Jewish wars.t Suetonius, Tacitus, Dio Cassius,
have, all three, written of the reign of Tiberius.
Each has mentioned many things omitted by the
rest, yet no objection is from thence taken to the
* See Biog. Britann.
t Middleton's Reflections answered by Benson. Hist.
Christ, vol. iii. p. 50.
t Lardner, Cred. part i. vol. ii. p. 735, &c.
Ibid. p. 743.
respective credit of their histories. We have in
our own times, if there were not something inde-
corous in the comparison, the life of an eminent
person, written by three of his friends, in which
there is very great variety in the incidents selected
by them:; some apparent, and perhaps some real
contradictions; yet without any impeachment of
the substantial truth of their accounts, of the au-
thenticity of the books, of the competent inform-
ation or general fidelity of the writers.
But these discrepancies will be still more nu-
merous, - when men do not write histories, but
memoirs ; which is perhaps the true name and
proper description of our. Gospels : that is, when
they do not undertake, or ever meant, to deli-
ver, in order of time, a regular and complete ac-
count of all the things of importance, which the
person, who is the subject of their history, did or
said ; but only, out of many similar ones, to give
such passages, or such actions and discourses, as
offered themselves more immediately to their at-
tention, came in the way of their inquiries, oc-
curred to their recollection, or were suggested by
their particular design at the time of writing.
This particular design may appear sometimes,
but not always, nor often. Thus I think that the
particular design which Saint Matthew had in
view whilst he was writing the history of the re-
surrection, was to attest the faithful performance
of Christ's promise to his disciples to go before
them into Galilee ; because he alone, except Mark,
who seems to have taken it from him, has record-
ed this promise, ami he alone has confined his
narrative to that single appearance to the disciples
which fulfilled it. It was the preconcerted, the
great and most public manifestation of our Lord's
person. It was the thing which dwelt upon Saint
Alatthew's mind, and he adapted his narrative to it.
But, that there is nothing in Saint Matthew's lan-
guage, which negatives other appearances, or which
imports that this his appearance to his disciples in
concerning the appearance in Galilee as Saint
Matthew uses, yet itself records two other appear-
ances prior to this: " Go your way, tell his disci-
ples and Peter, that he gocth' before you into Ga-
lilee : there shall ye see him as he said unto you."
(xvi. 7.) We might be apt to infer from these
words, that this was the first time they were to
see him : at least, we might infer it, with as much
reason as we draw the inference from the same
words in Matthew : yet the historian himself did
not perceive that he was leading his readers to
any such conclusion ; for in the twelfth and two
following verses of this chapter, he informs us of
two appearances, which, by, comparing the order
of events, are shown to have been prior to the ap-
peajance in Galilee. " He appeared in another
form unto two of them, as they walked, and went
into the country : and they went and told it unto
the residue, neither believed they them : afterward
he appeared unto the eleven, as they sat at meat,
and upbraided them with their unbelief, because
they believed not them that had seen him after he
'was risen/'
Probably the same observation, concerning the
particular design which guided the historian,
may be of use in comparing many other passages
of the Gospels.
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
CHAPTER II.
Erroneous Opinions imputed to the Apostles.
A SPECIES of candour which is shown towards
every other book, is sometimes refused to the
Scriptures ; and that is, the placing of a distinction
between judgment and testimony. We do not
usually question the credit of a writer, by reason
of an opinion he may have delivered upon subjects
unconnected with his evidence : and evei\ upon
subjects connected with his account, or mixed
with it in the same discourse or writing, we natu-
rally separate facts from opinions, testimony from
observation, narrative from argument.
To apply this equitable consideration to the
Christian records, much controversy and much
objection has l>ecn raised concerning the quota-
tions of the Old Testament found in the New ;
some of which quotations, it is said, are applied in
a sense, and to events, apparently different from
that which they bear, and from those to which
they belong, in the original. It is probable to my
apprehension, that many of those quotations were
intended by the writers of the New Testament as
nothing more than accommodations. They quoted
passages of their Scripture, which suited, and fell
in with, the occasion l>efore them, without always
undertaking to assert, that the occasion was in
the view ofthe author of the words. Such ac-
commodations of passages from old authors, from
books especially which are in every one's hands.
are common with writers of all countries; but
in none, perhaps, were more to be exjoecteti
than in the writings of the Jews, whose litera-
ture was almost entirely confined to their Scrip-
tures. Those prophecies which are alleged with
more solemnity, and which arc accompanied
with a precise declaration, that they originally
respected the event then related, are, I think, truly
alleged. But were it otherwise; is the judg-
ment of the writers of the New Testament, in in-
terpreting passages of the Old, or sometimes, per-
haps, in receding established interpretations, so
connected either with their veracity, or with their
means of information concerning what was passing
in their own times, as that a critical mistake, even
were it clearly made out, should overthrow their
historical credit 1 Does it diminish it? Has it
any thing to do with it 1
Another error imputed to the first Christians,
was the expected approach of the day of judgment.
I would introduce this objection by a remark upon
what appears to me a somewhat similar example.
Our Saviour, speaking to Peter of John, said,
" If I will that he tarry till I come, what is that to
theeT* These words, we find, had been so mis-
construed, as that a report from thence " went
abroad among the brethren, that that disciple
should not die." Suppose that this had come down
to us amongst the prevailing opinions of the early
Christians, and that the particular circumstance,
from which the mistake sprang, had been lost
(which, humanly speaking, was most likely to
have been the case,) some, at this day, would have
been ready to regard and quote the error, as an
impeachment of the whole Christian system. Yet
with how little justice such a conclusion would
have been drawn, or rather such a presumption
taken up, the information which we happen to
* John xxi. 22.
3A
possess enables us now to perceive. To those
who think that the Scriptures lead us to believe,
that the early Christians, and even the apostles,
expected the approach of the day of judgment in
their own times, the same reflection will occur, as
that which we have made with respect to the more
partial, perhaps, and temporary, but still no less
ancient error concerning the duration of St. John's
life. It was an error, it may be likewise said,
which would effectually hinder those who enter-
tained it from acting the part of impostors.
The difficulty which attends the subject of the
present chapter, is contained in this question ; If
we once admit the fallibility of the apostolic judg-
ment, where are we to stop, or in what can we
rely upon it 1 To which question, as arguing with
unbelievers, and as arguing for the substantial
truth of the Christian history, and for that alone,
it is competent to the advocate of Christianity to
reply, Give me the apostles' testimony, and I do
not stand in need of their judgment; give me the
facts, and I have complete security for every con-
clusion I want.
But although I think that it is competent to the
< 'hristian apologist to return this answer; I do
not think that it is the only answer which the ob-
jection is capable of receiving. The two following
cautions, founded, I apprehend, in the most rea-
sonable distinctions, will exclude all uncertainty
upon this head which can be attended with dan-
ger.
First, to separate what was the object of the
apostolic mission, and declared by them to be so,
from what was extraneous to it, or only incident-
ally connected with it. Of points clearly extra-
neous to the religion, nothing need be said. Of
points incidentally connected with it, something
may be added. Demoniacal possession is one of
these points : concerning the reality of which, as
this place will not admit the examination, or even
the production of the argument on either side of
the question, it would be arrogance in me to deli-
ver any judgment. And it is unnecessary. For
what I am concerned to observe is, that even they
who think it was a general, but erroneous opinion,
of those times; and that the writers of the New
Testament, in common with other Jewish writers
of that age, fell into the manner of speaking and
of thinking upon the subject, which then univer-
sally prevailed, need not be alarmed by the con-
cession, as though they had any thing to fear from
it, for the truth of Christianity. The doctrine
was not what Christ brought into the world. It
appears in the Christian records, incidentally and
accidentally, as being the subsisting opinion of the
age and country in which his ministry was exer-
cised. It was no part of the object of his revela-
tion, to regulate men's opinions concerning the
action of spiritual substances upon animal bodies.
At any rate it is unconnected with testimony. If
a dumb person was by a word restored to the use
of his speech, it signifies little to what cause the
dumbness was ascribed; and the like of every
other cure wrought upon those who are said to
have been possessed. The malady was real, the
cure was real, whether the popular explication of
the cause was well founded, or not. The matter
of fact, the change, so far as it was an object of
sense, or of^testimony, was in either case the same.
Secondly, that, in reading the apostolic writ-
ings, we distinguish between their doctrines and
their arguments. Their doctrines came to them
370
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
by revelation properly so called ; yet in propound-
ing these doctrines in their writings or discourses,
they were wont to illustrate, support, and enforce
them, by such analogies, arguments, and consider-
ations, as their own thoughts suggested. Thus
the call of the 'Gentiles, that is, the admission of
the Gentiles to the Christian profession without a
previous subjection to the law of Moses, was im-
parted to the apostles by revelation, and was at-
tested by the miracles which attended the Chris-
tian ministry among them. The apostles' own
assurance of the matter rested upon this founda-
tion. Nevertheless, Saint Paul, when treating
of the subject, offers a great variety of topics in its
proof and vindication. The doctrine itself must
be received : but it is not necessary, in order to
defend Christianity, to defend the propriety of
every comparison, or the validity of every argu-
ment, which the apostle has brought into the dis-
cussion. The same observation applies to some
other instances ; and is, in my opinion, very well
founded ; " When divine writers argue upon any
point, we are always bound to believe the conclu-
sions that their reasonings end in, as parts of di-
vine revelation: but we are not bound to be able
to make out, or even to assent to, all the premises
made use of by them, in their whole extent, un-
less it appear plainly, that they affirm the pre-
mises as expressly as they do the conclusions
proved by them."*
CHAPTER III.
The Connexion of Christianity with the Jewish
History.
UNDOUBTEDLY our Saviour assumes the divine
origin of the Mosaic institution: and, independ-
ently of his authority, I conceive it to be very dif-
ficult to assign any other cause for the commence-
ment or existence of that institution; especially
for the singular circumstance of the Jews' ad-
hering to the unity, when every other people slid
into polytheism ; for their being men in religion,
children in every thing else ; behind other nations
in the arts of peace and war, superior to the most
improved in their sentiments and doctrines re-
lating to the Deity .t Undoubtedly, also, our Sa-
viour recognizes the prophetic character of many
of their ancient writers. So far, therefore, we
are bound as Christians to go. But to make
* Burnet's Expos, art. 6.
t " In the doctrine, for example, of the unity, the
eternity, the omnipotence, the omniscience, the omni-
presence, the wisdom, and the goodness, of God ; in
their opinions concerning Providence, and the creation,
preservation, and government of the world." Campbell
on Mir. p. a07. To which we may add, in the acts of
their religion not being accompanied either with cruel-
ties or impurities : in the religion itself being free from
a species of superstition which prevailed universally in
the popular religions of the ancient world, and which is
to be found perhaps in all religions that have their ori-
gin in human artifice and credulity, viz. fanciful con-
nexions between certain appearances and actions, and
the destiny of nations or individuals. Upon these con-
ceits rested the whole train of auguries and auspices,
which formed so much even of the serious part of the
religions of Greece and Rome, and of the charms and
incarnations which were practised in those countries
by the common people. From every thing of this sort
the religion of the Jews, and the Jews alone, was free.
Vide Priestley's Lectures on the Truth of the Jewish
and Christian Revelation, 1794.
Christianity answerable with its life, for the cir-
cumstantial truth of each separate passage of the
Old Testament, the genuineness of every book,
the information, fidelity, and judgment of every
writer in it, is to bring, I will not say great, but
unnecessary difficulties, into the whole system.
These books were universally read and received
by the Jews of our Saviour's time. He and his
apostles, in common with all other Jews, referred
to them, alluded to them, used them. Yet, except
where he expressly ascribes a divine authority to
particular predictions, I do not know that we can
strictly draw any conclusion from the books be-
ing so used and applied, beside the proof, which
it unquestionably is, of their notoriety, and recep-
tion at that time. In this view, our Scriptures
afford a valuable testimony to those of the Jews.
But the nature of this testimony ought to be un-
derstood. It is surely very different from what it
is sometimes represented to be, a specific ratifica-
tion of each particular fact and opinion ; and not
only of each particular fact, but of the motives as-
signed for every action, together with the judg-
ment of praise or dispraise bestowed upon them.
Saint James, in his Epistle,* says, "Ye have
heard of the patience of Job, and have seen the
end of the Lord." Notwithstanding this text, the
reality of Job's history, and even the existence of
such a person, has been always deemed a fair
subject of inquiry and discussion amongst Chris-
tian divines. Saint James's authority is consider-
ed as good evidence of the existence of the book
of Job at that time, and of its reception by the
Jews ; and of nothing more. Saint Paul, in his
second Epistle to Timothy ,t has this similitude :
" Now, as Jannes and Jambres withstood Moses,
so do these also resist the truth." These names
are not found in the Old Testament. And it is
uncertain, whether Saint Paul took them from
some apocryphal writing then extant, or from tra-
dition. T3ut no one ever imagined, that Saint Paul
is here asserting the authority of the writing, if it
was a written account which he quoted, or making
himself answerable for the authenticity of the tra-
dition ; much less, that he so involves himself with
either of these questions, as that the credit of his
own history and mission should depend upon the
fact, whether Jannes and Jambres withstood Mo-
ses, or not. For what reason a more rigorous in-
terpretation should be put upon other references,
it is difficult to know. I do not mean, that other
passages of the Jewish history stand upon no bet-r
ier evidence than the history of Job, or of Jannes
and Jambres, (1 think much otherwise;) but I
mean, that a reference in the New Testament, to
a passage in the Old, does not so fix its authority,
as to exclude all inquiry into its credibility, or in-
to the separate reasons upon which that credibili-
ty is founded ; and that it is an unwarrantable, as
well as unsafe rule to lay down concerning the
Jewish history, what was never laid down con-
cerning any other, that either every particular of
't must be true, or the whole false.
I have thought it necessary to state this point ex-
plicitly, because a fashion, revived by Voltaire, and
jursued by the disciples of his school, seems to have
nuch prevailed of late, of attacking Christianity
hrough the sides of Judaism. Some objections of
"his class are founded in misconstruction, some in
jxaggeration ; but all proceed upon a supposition,
* Chap. v. 11.
t Cbap. iii. 8.
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
871
which has not been made out by argument, -viz.
that the attestation, which the Author and first
teachers of Christianity gave to the divine mission
of Moses and the prophets, extends to every point
and portion of the Jewish history ; and so extends
as to make Christianity responsible in its own
credibility, for the circumstantial truth (I had al-
most said for the critical exactness) of every nar-
rative contained in the Old Testament.
CHAPTER IV,
Rejection of Christianity.
WE acknowledge that the Christian religion,
although it converted great numl>ers, did not pro-
duce a universal, or even a general conviction in
the minds of men. of the age and countries in
which it apjieared. And this want of a more com-
plete and extensive success, is railed the rejection
of the Christian history and miracles ; and has
been thought by some to form a strong objection
to the reality of the facts which the history con-
tains.
The matter of the objection divides itself into
two parts ; as it relates to the Jews, and as it re-
lates to Heathen nations: because the minds of
these two descriptions of men may have been,
with resort to Christianity, under the influence
of very different causes. The case of the Jews,
inasmuch as our Saviour's ministry was original-
ly addressed to them, offers itself first to our con-
sideration.
"Now, upon the subject of the truth of the
Christian religion ; with us, there is but one ques-
tion, xiz. whether the miracles were actually
wrought 1 From acknowledging the miracles,
we pass instantaneously to the acknowledgment
of the whole. No doubt lies between the premises
and the conclusion. If we believe the works, or
any one of them, we believe in Jesus. And this
order of reasoning is become so universal and fa-
miliar, that we do not readily apprehend how it
could ever have been otherwise. Yet it appears
to me perfectly certain, that the state of thought,
in the mind of a Jew of our Saviour's age, was
totally different from this. After allowing the
reality of the miracle, he had a great deal to do to
persuade himself that Jesus was the Messiah.
This is clearly intimated by various passages of
the Gospel history. It appears that, in the ap-
prehension of the writers of the New Testament,
the miracles did not irresistibly carry, even those
who saw them, tc the conclusion intended to be
drawn from them ; or so compel assent, as to leave
no room for suspense, for the exercise of candour,
or the effects of prejudice. And to this point, at
least, the evangelists may be allowed to be good
witnesses; because it is a point, in which exag-
geration or disguise would have been the other
way. Their accounts, if they could be suspected
of falsehood, would rather have magnified, than
diminished, the effects of the miracles.
John vii. 2131. " Jesus answered, and said
unto them, T have done one work, and ye all mar-
vel- If a man on the sabbath day receive circum-
cision, that the law of Moses should not be broken ;
are ye angry at me, because I have made a man
every whit whole on the sabbath-day 1 Judge
not according to the appearance, but judge righte-
ous j udgment, Then said some of them of Jeru-
salem, Is not this he whom they seek to kill 7
But, lo, he speaketh boldly, and they say nothing
to him : do the rulers know indeed that this is the
very Christ 1 Howbeit we know this man, whence
he -is, but when Christ eometh, no man knoweth,
whence he is. Then cried Jesus in the temple as
he taught, saying, Ye both know me, and ye
know whence I am : and I am not come of my-
self, but he that sent me is true, whom ye know
not. But I know him, for I am from him, and
he hath sent me. Then they sought to take him :
but no man laid hands on him, because his hour
was not yet come. And many of the people be-
licred on /UTJJ, and' said, When Christ cometh t
will he do more miracles than those which this
man hath done ?"
This passage is very observable. It exhibits
the reasoning of different sorts of persons upon
the occasion of a miracle, which persons 01 all
sorts are represented to have acknowledged as
real. One sort of men thought, that there was
something very extraordinary in all this ; but that
still Jesus could not be the Christ, because there
was a circumstance in his appearance which mili-
tated with an opinion concerning Christ, in which
they had been brought up, and of the truth of
which, it is probable, they had never entertained
a particle of doubt, viz. that "When Christ
eometh, no man knoweth whence he is." Another
sort were inclined to believe him to be the Mes-
siah. But even these did not argue as we should ;
did not consider the miracle as of itself decisive of
the question; as what, if once allowed, excluded
all farther debate upon the subject ; but founded
their opinion upon a kind of comparative reason-
ing, "When Christ eometh, will he do more
miracles than those which this man hath done 7"
Another passage in the same evangelist, and
observable for the same purpose, is that in which
he relates the resurrection of Lazarus : " Jesus,"
he d llsus(xi.43, 44,) "when he had thus spoken,
cried with a loud voice, Lazarus, come forth : and
he that was dead came forth, bound hand and
foot with grave-clothes, and his face was bound
about with a napkin. Jesus said unto them,
Loose him, and let him go." One might have
suspected, that at least all those who stood by the
sepulchre, when Lazarus was raised, would have
believed in Jesus. Yet the evangelist does not so
represent it : " Then many of the Jews which
came to Mary, and had seen the things which
Jesus did, believed on him ; but some of them,
went their ways to the Pharisees, and told them
what things Jesus had done." We cannot sup-
pose that the evangelist meant by this account, to
leave his readers to imagine, that any of the spec-
tators doubted about the truth of the miracle. Far
from it. Unquestionably he states the miracle to
have been fully allowed : yet the persons who
allowed it, were, according to his representation,
capable of retaining hostile sentiments towards
Jesus. " Believing in Jesus" was not only to be-
lieve that he wrought miracles, but that he was
;he Messiah. With us there is no difference
between these two things : with them, there was
the greatest ; and the difference is apparent in
this transaction. If Saint John has represented
the conduct of the Jews upon this occasion truly
(and why he should not I cannot tell, for it rather
makes against him than for him), it shows clearly
the principles upon which their judgment pro-
ceeded. Whether he has related the matter truly
373
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
or not, the relation itself discovers the writer's
own opinion of those principles : and that alone
possesses considerable authority. In the next
chapter, we have a reflection of the evangelist,
entirely suited to this state of the case : " but
though he had done so many miracles before them,
yet believed they not on him."* The evangelist
does not mean to impute the defect of their belief
to any doubt about the miracles ; but to their not
perceiving, what all now sufficiently perceive, and
what they would have perceived, had not their
understandings been governed by strong preju-
dices, the infallible attestation which the works
of Jesus bore to the truth of his pretensions.
The ninth chapter of Saint John's Gospel con-
tains a very circumstantial account of the cure of
a blind man : a miracle submitted to all the scru-
tiny and examination which a sceptic could pro-
pose. If a modern unbeliever had drawn up the
interrogatories, they could hardly have been more
critical or searching. The account contains also
a very curious conference between the Jewish
rulers and the patient, in Which the point for our
present riotice is their resistance of the force of
the miracle, and of the conclusion to which it led,
after they had failed in discrediting its evidence.
" We know that God spake unto Moses ; but as
for this fellow, we know not whence he is." That
was the answer which set their minds at rest. And
by the help of much prejudice, and great unwil-
lingness to yield, it might do so. In the mind of
the poor man restored to sight, which was under
no such bias, and felt no such reluctance, the
miracle had its natural operation. " Herein,"
says he, " is a marvellous thing that ye know not
from whence he is, yet he hath opened mine
eyes. Now we know, that God heareth not sin-
ners : but if any man be a worshipper of God,
and doeth his will, him he neareth. Since the
world began, was it not heard, that any man
opened the eyes of one that was born blind. If
this man were not of God, he could do nothing."
We do not find that the Jewish rulers had any
other reply to make to this defence, than that
which authority is sometimes apt to make to ar-
gument, " Dost thou teach us 7"
If it shall be inquired, how a turn of thought,
so different from what prevails at present, should
obtain currency with the ancient Jews ; the an-
swer is found in two opinions which are proved to
have subsisted in that age and country. The one
was, their expectation of a Messiah of a kind totally
contrary to what the appearance of Jesus bespoke
him to be; the other, their persuasion of the
agency of demons in the production of supernatu-
ral effects. These opinions are not supposed by
us for the purpose of argument, but are evidently
recognised in Jewish writings, as well as in ours.
And it ought moreover to be considered, that in
these opinions the Jews of that age had been from
their infancy brought up; that they were opi-
nions, the grounds of which they had probably few
of them inquired into, and of the truth of which
they entertained no doubt. And I think that
these two opinions conjointly afford an explana-
tion of their conduct. The first put them upon
seeking out some excuse to themselves for not
receiving Jesus in the character in which he claim-
ed to be received ; and the second supplied them
with just such an excuse as they wanted. Let
* Chap, xii. 37.
Jesus work what miracles he would, still the an-
swer was in readiness, " that he wrought them by
the assistance of Beelzebub." And to this answer
no reply could be made, but that which our Savi-
our did make, by showing that the tendency of
his mission was so adverse to the views with
which this being was, by the objectors themselves,
supposed to act, that it could not reasonably be
supposed that he would assist in carrying it on.
The power displayed in the miracles did not alone
refute the Jewish solution, because the interposi-
tion of invisible agents being once admitted, it is
impossible to ascertain the limits by which their
efficiency is circumscribed. We of this day may
be disposed, possibly, to think such opinions too
absurd to have been ever seriously entertained.
I am not bound to contend for the credibility of
the opinions. They were at least as reasonable
as the belief in witchcraft. They were opinions
in which the Jews of that age had from their in-
fancy been instructed ; and those who cannot see
enough in the force of this reason, to account for
their conduct towards our Saviour, do not suffi-
ciently consider how such opinions may sometimes
become very general in a country, and with what
pertinacity, when once become so, they are, for
that reason alone, adhered to. In the suspense
which these notions, and the prejudices resulting
from them, might occasion, the candid and docile
and humble minded would probably decide in
Christ's favour ; the proud and obstinate, together
with the giddy and the thoughtless, almost uni-
versally against him.
This state of opinion discovers to us also the
reason of what some choose to wonder at, why the
Jews should reject miracles when they saw them,
yet rely so much upon the tradition of them in
their own history. It does not appear, that it had
ever entered into the minds of those who lived in
the time of Moses and the prophets, to ascribe
their miracles to the supernatural agency of evil
beings. The solution was not then invented.
The authority of Moses and the prophets being
established, and become the foundation of the
national polity and religion, it was not probable
that the later Jews, brought up in a reverence for
that religion and the subjects of that polity,
should apply to their history a reasoning which
tended to overthrow the foundation of both.
II. The infidelity of the Gentile world, and that
more especially of men of rank and learning in it,
is resolved into a principle which, in my judgment,
will account for the inefficacy of any argument,
or any evidence whatever, viz. contempt prior to
examination. The state of religion amongst the
Greeks and Romans, had a natural tendency to
induce this disposition. Dionysius Halicarnas-
sensis remarks, that there were six hundred dif-
ferent kinds of religions or sacred rites exercised
at Rome. * The superior classes of the commu-
nity treated them all as fables. Can we wonder
then, that Christianity was included in the
number, without inquiry into its separate merits,
or the particular grounds of its pretensions 1 It
might be either true or false for any thing they
knew about it. The religion had nothing in ite
character which immediately engaged their notice-
It mixed with no politics. It produced no fine
writers. It contained no curious speculations.
When it did reach their knowledge, I doubt not
* Jortin'e Remarks on Eccl. Hist. vol. i. p. 371.
EVIDENCES OP CHRISTIANITY.
373
but that it appeared to them a very strange system,
so unphilosophical, dealing so little in argu-
ment and discussion, in such arguments however
and discussions as they were accustomed to en-
tertain. What is said of Jesus Christ, of his
nature, office, and ministry, would be, in the
highest degree, alien from the conceptions of their
theology. The Redeemer and the destined Judge
of the human race, a poor young man, executed
at Jerusalem with two thieves upon a cross ! Still
more would the language in which the Christian
doctrine was delivered, be dissonant and barbarous
to their ears. What knew they of grace, of re-
demption, of justification, of the blood of Christ
shed for the sins of men, of reconcilement, of me-
diation'? Christianity was made up of points
they had never thought of j of terms which they
had never heard.
It was presented also to the imagination of the
learned Heathen under additional disadvantage,
by reason of its real, and still more of its nominal,
connexion with Judaism. It shared in the oblo-
quy and ridicule with which that people and their
religion were treated by the Greeks and Romans.
They regarded Jehovah himself, only as the idol of
the Jewish nation, and what was related of him, as
of a piece with what was told of the tutelar
deities of other countries: nay, the Jews were in
a particular manner ridiculed for being a credu-
lous race ; so that whatever reports of a miraculous
nature came out of that country, were looked
upon by the heathen world as false and frivolous.
When they heard of Christianity, they heard of
it as a quarrel amongst this ]>eople, about some
articles of their own superstition. Despising.
therefore, as they did, the whole system, it was
not probable that they would enter, with any de-
gree of seriousness or attention, into the detail of
its disputes, or the merits of either side. How
little they knew, and with what carelessness they
judged, of these matters, appears, I think, pretty
plainly from an example of no less weight than that
of Tacitus, who, in a grave and professed discourse
upon the history of the Jews, states, that they
worshipped the effigy of an ass. * The passage
is a proof, how prone the learned men of those
times were, and upon how little evidence, to heap
together stories which might increase the contempt
and odium in which that people was holden. The
same foolish charge is also confidently repeated by
Plutarch, t
It is observable, that all these considerations
are of a nature to operate with the greatest force
upon the highest ranks; upon men of education,
and that order of the public from which writers
are principally taken : I may add also, upon the
philosophical as well as the libertine character ;
upon the Antonines or Julian, not less than upon
Nero or Domitian ; and more particularly, upon
that large and polished class of men, who acqui-
esced in the general persuasion, that all they had
to do was to practice the duties of morality, and
to worship the deity more patrio; a habit of think-
ing, liberal as it may appear, which shuts the
door against every argument for a new religion.
The considerations above-mentioned, would ac-
quire also strength from the prejudice which men
of rank and learning universally entertain against
any thing that originates with the vulgar and
* Tacit. Hist. lib. v. c. 2.
t Sympos. lib. iv. quaest. 5.
illiterate ; which prejudice is known to be as ob-
stinate as any prejudice whatever.
Yet Christianity was still making its way 1 : and,
amidst so many impediments to its progress, so
much difficulty in procuring audience and atten-
tion, its actual success is more to be wondered at,
than that it should not have universally conquer-
ed scorn and indifference, fixed the levity of a vo-
luptuous age, or, through a cloud of adverse pre-
judications, opened for itself a passage to the
hearts and understandings of the scholars of the
age.
And the cause, which is here assigned for the
rejection of Christianity by men of rank and learn-
ing among the Heathens, namely, a strong ante-
cedent contempt, accounts also for their silence
concerning it. If they had rejected it upon ex-
amination, they would have written about it ; they
would have given their reasons. Whereas,
what men repudiate upon the strength of some
prefixed persuasion, or from a settled contempt of
the subject, of the persons who propose it, or of
the manner in which it is proposed, they do not
naturally write books about, or notice much in
what they write upon other subjects.
The letters of the Younger Pliny furnish an
example of the silence, and let us, in some mea-
sure, into the cause of it. From his celebrated
correspondence .with Trajan, we know that the
Christian religion prevailed in a very considerable
degree in the province over which he presided;
that it had excited his attention ; that he had in-
quired into the matter, just so much as a Roman
magistrate might be expected to inquire, viz.
whether the religion contained any opinions dan-
gerous to government ; but that of its doctrines,
its evidences, or its books, he had not taken the
trouble to inform himself with any degree of care
or correctness. But although Pliny had viewed
Christianity in a nearer position than most of his
learned countrymen saw it in ; yet he had regard-
ed the whole with such negligence and disdain
(farther than as it seemed to concern his adminis-
tration,) that, in more than two hundred and forty
letters of his which have come down to us, the
subject is never once again mentioned. If, out
of this number, the two letters between him and
Trajan had been lost ; with what confidence
would the obscurity of the Christian religion have
been argued from Pliny's silence about it, and
with how little truth !
The name and character which Tacitus has
given to Christianity,. "exitiabilis superstitio," (a
pernicious superstition,) and by which two words
he disposes of the whole question of the merits or
demerits of the religion, afford a strong proof how
little he knew, or concerned himself to know,
about the matter. I apprehend that -I shall not
be contradicted, when I take upon me to assert,
that no unbeliever of the present age would apply
this epithet to the Christianity of the New Tes-
tament, or not allow that it was entirely unmerited.
Read the instructions given by a great teacher of
the religion, to those very Roman converts of whom
Tacitus speaks ; and given also a very few years
before the time of which he is speaking; and
which are not, let it be observed, a collection of
fine sayings brought together from different parts
of a large work, but stand in one entire passage
of a public letter, without the intermixture of a
single thought which is frivolous or exceptionable :
" Abhor that which is evil, cleave to that which
374
EVIDENCES OP CHRISTIANITY.
is good. Be kindly aflectioned one to another,
with brotherly love; in honour preferring one
another : not slothful in business ; fervent in spirit ;
serving the Lord : rejoicing in hope ; patient in
tribulation; continuing instant in prayer: distri-
buting to the necessity of saints ; given to hospita-
lity. Bless them which persecute you ; bless, and
curse not. Rejoice with them that do rejoice, and
weep with them that weep. Be of the same mind
one towards another. Mind not high things, but
condescend to men of low estate. Be not wise in
your own conceits. Recompense to no man evil
for evil. Provide things honest in the sight of all
men. If it be possible, as much as lieth in you,
live peaceably with all men. Avenge not your-
selves, but rather give place unto wrath : for it is
written, Vengeance is mine : I will repay, saith
the Lord : therefore, if thine enemy hunger, feed
him : if he thirst, give him drink : for, in so doing,
thou shall heap coals of fire on his head. Be not
overcome of evil, but overcome evil with good.
" Let every soul be subject unto the higher
powers. For there is no power but of God : the
powers that be, are ordained of God. Whosoever
therefore resisteth the power, resisteth the ordi-
nance of God : and they that resist, shall receive
to themselves damnation. For rulers are not a
terror to good works, but to the evil. Wilt thou
then not be afraid of the power ? Do that which is
good, and thou shalt have praise of the same : for
He is the minister of God to thee for good. But
if thou do that which is evil, be afraid ; for he
beareth not the sword in vain : for he is the mi-
nister of God, a revenger to execute wrath upon
him that doeth evil. Wherefore ye must needs
' be subject, not only for wrath, but also for con-
science sake. For, for this cause pay ye tribute
also : for they are God's ministers, attending con-
tinually upon this very thing. Render therefore
to all their dues : tribute, to whom tribute is due ;
custom, to whom custom ; fear, to whom fear ;
honour, to whom honour.
" Owe no man any thing, but to love one an-
other: for he that loveth another, hath fulfilled the
law. For this, Thou shalt not commit adultery,
Thou shalt not kill, Thou shalt not steal, Thou
shalt not bear false witness, Thou shalt not covet ;
and if there be any other commandment, it is
briefly comprehended in this saying, Thou shalt
love thy neighbour as thyself. Love worketh no
ill to his neighbour; therefore love is the fulfilling
of the law.
" And that, knowing the time, that now it is
high time to awake out of sleep: for now is our
salvation nearer than when we believed. The
night is far spent, the day is at hand ; let us there-
fore cast off the works of darkness, and let us put
on the armour of light. Let us walk honestly, as
in the day, not in rioting and drunkenness, not in
chambering and wantonness, not in strife and en-
vying."*
Read this, and then think of " exitiabilis super-
stitio ! !" Or if we be not allowed, in contending
with heathen authorities, to produce our books
against theirs, we may at least be permitted to
confront theirs with one another. Of this " per-
nicious superstition," what could Pliny find to
blame, when he was led, by his office, to institute
something like an examination into the conduct
and principles of the sect 1 He discovered nothing,
* Romans xii. 9 \ xiii. 13.
but that they were wont to meet together on a
stated day before it was light, and sing among
themselves a hymn to Christ as a God, and to bind
themselves by an oath, not to the commission of
any wickedness, but, not to be guilty of theft, rob-
bery, or adultery ; never to falsify their word, nor
to deny a pledge committed to them, when called
upon to return it.
Upon the words of Tacitus we may build the
following observations :
First ; That we are well warranted in calling
the view under which the learned men of that age
beheld Christianity, an obscure and distant view.
Had Tacitus known more of Christianity, of its
precepts, duties, constitution, or design, however
he had discredited the story, he would have re-
spected the principle. He would have described
the religion differently, though he had rejected it.
It has been satisfactorily shown, that the " super-
stition" of the Christians consisted in worship-
ping a person unknown to the Roman calendar ;
and that the " perniciousness," with which they
were reproached, was nothing else but their oppo-
sition to the established polytheism; and this view
of the matter was just such a one as might be ex-
pected to occur to a mind, which held the sect in
too much contempt to concern itself about the
grounds and reasons of their conduct.
Secondly ; We may from hence remark, how
little reliance can be placed upon the most acute
judgments, in subjects which they are pleased to
despise ; and which, of course, they from the first
consider as unworthy to be inquired into. Had
not Christianity survived to tell its own story, it
must have gone down to posterity as a " perni-
cious superstition ;" and that upon the credit of
Tacitus's account, much, I doubt not, strengthen-
ed by the name of the writer, and the reputation
of his sagacity.
Thirdly; That this contempt prior to exami-
nation, is an intellectual vice, from which the
greatest faculties of mind are not free. I know
not, indeed, whether men of the greatest faculties
of mind, are not the most subject to it. Such men
feel themselves seated upon an eminence. Look-
ing down from their height upon the follies of
mankind, they behold contending tenets wasting
their idle strength upon one another, with the
common disdain of the absurdity of them all. This
habit of thought, however comfortable to the mind
which entertains it, or however natural to great
parts, is extremely dangerous ; and more apt, than
almost any other disposition, to produce hasty and
contemptuous, and, by consequence, erroneous
judgments, both of persons and opinions.
Fourthly ; We need not be surprised at many
writers of that age not mentioning Christianity at
all ; when they who did mention it, appear to
have entirely misconceived its nature and cha-
racter ; and in consequence of this misconception,
to have regarded it with negligence and contempt.
To the knowledge of the greatest part of the
learned Heathens, the facts of the Christian his-
tory could only come by report. The books, pro-
bably, they never looked into. The settled habit
of their minds was, and long had been, an indis-
criminate rejection of all rej>orts of the kind. With
these sweeping conclusions, truth hath no chance.
It depends upon distinction. If they would not
inquire, how should they be convinced ? It might
be founded in truth, though they, who made no
search, might riot discover it.
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
375
11 Men of rank and fortune, of wit and abilities
are often found, even in Christian countries, to be
surprisingly ignorant of religion, and of everj
thing that relates to it. Such were many of th
Heathens, Their thoughts were all fixed upon
other things ; upon reputation arid glory, upoi
wealth and power, upon luxury and pleasure
upon business or learning. They thought, am
they had reason to think, that the religion of thei
country was fable and forgery, a heap of incon
sistent lies ; which inclined them to suppose tha
other religions were no better. Hence it cairu
to pass, that when the apostles preached the
Gospel, and wrought miracles in confirmation
of a doctrine every way worthy of God, many
Gentiles knew little or nothing of it, and wouk
not take the least pains to inform themselves aboul
it. This appears plainly from ancient history.''*
I think it by no means unreasonable to suppose
that the Heathen public, especially that part which
is made up of men of rank and education, were
divided into two classes; those who despisec
Christianity beforehand, and those who received
it. In correspondency with which division of cha-
racter, the writers of that age would also be of two
classes; those who were silent about Christianity
and those who were Christians. " A good man
who attended sufficiently to the Christian affairs,
would become a Christian; after which his testi-
mony ceased to be Pagan, and became Christian. "t
I must also add, that I think it sufficiently
proved, that the notion of magic was resorted to
by the Heathen adversaries of Christianity, in
like manner as that of diabolical agency had be-
fore been by the Jews. Justin Martyr alleges this
as his reason for arguing from prophecy, rather
than from miracles. Origen imputes this evasion
to Celsus ; Jerome to Porphyry ; and Lactantius
to the Heathen in general. The several passages,
which contain these testimonies, will be produced
in the next chapter. It being difficult however
to ascertain in what degree this notion previilnl.
especially amongst the superior ranks of the
Heathen communities, another, and I think an
adequate, eau>e has been assigned for their infi-
delity. It is probable, that in many cases the two
causes would operate together.
CHAPTER V.
Thai the Christian Miracles are not recited, or
appealed to, by early Christian Writers them-
selves, so fully or frequently as might have been
expected.
I SHALL consider this objection, first, as it ap-
plies to the letters of the apostles, preserved in the
New Testament ; and secondly, as it applies to
the remaining writings of other early Christians.
The epistles of the apostles are either hortatory
or argumentative. So far as they were occupied
in delivering lessons of duty, rules of public order,
admonitions against certain prevailing corruptions,
against vice, or any particular species of it, or in
fortifying and encouraging the constancy of the
disciples under the trials to which they were ex-
posed, there appears to be no place or occasion for
more of these references than we actually find.
So far as the epistles are argumentative, the na-
ture of the argument which they handle accounts
for the infrequency of these allusions. These
epistles were not written to prove the truth of
Christianity. The subject under consideration
was not that which the miracles decided, the reali-
ty of our Lord's mission; but it was that which
the miracles did not decide, the nature of his per-
son or power, the design of his advent, its effects,
and of those effects the value, kind, and extent.
Still I maintain, that miraculous evidence lies at
the bottom of the argument. For nothing could
be so preposterous as for the disciples of Jesus to
dispute amongst themselves, or with others, con-
cerning his office or character, unless they be-
lieved that he had shown, by supernatural proofs,
that there was something extraordinary in both.
Miraculous evidence, therefore, forming not the
texture of these arguments, but the ground and
substratum, if it be occasionally discerned, if it be
incidentally appealed to, it is exactly so much as
ought to take place, supposing the history to be
true.
As a farther answer to the objection, that the
apostolic epistles do not contain so frequent, or
such direct and circumstantial recitals of miracles
as illicit be expected, I would add, that the apos-
tolic epistles resemble in this respect the apostolic
speeches ; which speeches are given by a writer
who distinctly records numerous miracles wrought
by these apostles themselves, and by the Founder
of the institution in their presence : that it is un-
warrantable to contend, that the omission, or in-
frequency, of such recitals in the speeches of the
apostles, negatives' the existence of the miracles,
when the speeches are given in immediate con-
junction with the history of those miracles: and
:hat a conclusion which cannot be inferred from
he speeches, without contradicting the whole
tenor of the book which contains them, cannot be
inferred from letters, which, in this respect, are
similar only to the speeches.
To prove the similitude which we allege, it may
3e remarked, that although in Saint Luke's Gos-
:! the apostle Peter is represented to have been
>resent at many decisive miracles wrought by
Christ ; and although the second part of the same
listory ascribes other decisive miracles to Peter
limself, particularly the cure of the lame man at
the gate of the temple, (Actsiii. 1,) the death of
Ananias and Sapphira, (Acts v. 1,1 the cure of
^Eneas, (Acts ix. 34,) the resurrection of Dorcas ;
(Acts ix. 40,) yet out of six speeches of Peter,
preserved in the Acts, I know but two in which
eference is made to the miracles wrought by
Christ, and only one in which he refers to mira-
culous powers possessed by himself. In his speech
upon the day of Pentecost, Peter addressed his
ludience with great solemnity, thus : " Ye men
>f Israel, hear these words : Jesus of Nazareth, a
nan approved of God among you, by miracles,
ind wonders, and signs, which God did by him
n the midst of you, as ye yourselves also know,"*
tc. In his speech upon the conversion of Corne-
lus, he delivers his testimony to the miracles per-
ormed by Christ, in these words : " we are wit-
lesses of all things which he did, both in the land
f the Jews, and in Jerusalem."! But in this lat-
er speech, no allusion appears to the miracles
wrought by himself, notwithstanding that the
*Actsii.22.
tx.39.
376
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
miracles above enumerated all preceded the time
in which it was delivered. In his speech upon
the election of Matthias,* no distinct reference ib
made to any of the miracles of Christ's history
except his resurrection. The same also may be
observed of his speech upon the cure of the lame
man at the gate of the temple : t the same in his
speech before the Sanhedrim ; t the same in his
second apology in the presence of that assembly
Stephen's long speech contains no reference what-
ever to miracles, though it be expressly related of
him, in the book which preserves the speech, and
almost immediately before the speech, " that he
did great wonders and miracles among the peo-
ple.' Again, although miracles be expressly at-
tributed to Saint Paul in the Acts of the Apostles,
first generally, as at Iconium, (Acts xiv. 3,) during
the whole tour through the Upper Asia, (xiv. 27;
Xv. 12,) at Ephesus: (xix. 11, 12:) secondly, in
specific instances, as the blindness of Elymas at
Paphos,li the cure of the cripple at Lystra,1T of
the Pythoness at Philippi,** the miraculous liber-
ation from prison in the same city,tt the restora-
tion of Eutychus,W the predictions of his ship-
wreck^ the viper at Melita,llll the cure of Pub-
lius's father,inr at all which miracles, except the
first two, the historian himself was present : not-
withstanding, I say, this positive ascription of mi-
racles to Saint Paul, yet in the speeches delivered
by him, and given as delivered by him, in the
same book in which the miracles are related, and
the miraculous powers asserted, the appeals to his
own miracles, or indeed to any miracles at all, are
rare and incidental. In his speech at Antioch in
Pisidia,*** there is no allusion but to the resurrec-
tion. In his discourse at Miletus,ttt none to any
miracle; none in his speech before Felix ;
none in his speech before Festus ; except to
Christ's resurrection, and his own conversion.
Agreeably hereunto, in thirteen letters ascribed
to Saint Paul, we have incessant references to
Christ's resurrection, frequent references to his
own conversion, three indubitable references to
the miracles which he wrought ; II II II four other
references to the same, less direct, yet highly pro-
bable ; ITirir but more copious or circumstantial
recitals we have not. The consent, therefore, be-
tween Saint Paul's speeches and letters, is in this
respect sufficiently exact : and the reason in both
is the same ; namely, that the miraculous history
was all along presupposed, and that the question,
which occupied the speaker's and the writer's
thoughts, was this : whether, allowing the history
of Jesus to be true, he was, upon the strength of
it, to be received as the promised Messiah ; and,
if he was, what were the consequences, what was
the object and benefit of his mission 1
The general observation which has been made
Upon the apostolic writings, namely, that the sub-
ject of which they treated, did not lead them to
any direct recital of the Christian history, belongs
also to the writings of the apostolic fathers. The
epistle of Barnabas is^ in its subject and general
composition, much like the epistle to the He-
brews ; an allegorical application of divers passages
of the Jewish history, of their law and ritual, to
* Acts i. 15. f i- 12. } iv. 8. vi. 8.
|| xiii. 11. IT xiv. 8. ** xvi. 16. tt xvi. 26.
it xx. 10. xxvii. 1. ||||xxviii.6. IHTxxviii. 8.
***xiii. 16. tttxx. 17. Utxxiv. 10. 5xxv.8.
|| || ||Gal. iii. 5. Rom. xv. 18, 19. 2 Cor. xii. 12.
imriCor.ii.4,5. Eph.iii.7. Gal.ii.8. lThess.i.5.
those parts of the Christian dispensation in which
the author perceived a resemblance. The epistle
of Clement was written for the sole purpose of
quieting certain dissensions that had arisen
amongst the members of .the church of Corinth,
and ot reviving in their minds that temper and
spirit of which their predecessors in the Gospel
had left them an example. The work of Hcrmas
is a vision: quotes neither the Old Testament
nor the New ; and merely falls now and then into
the language, and the mode of speech, which the
author had read in our Gospels. The epistles of
Polycarp and Ignatius had for their principal ob-
ject the order and discipline of the churches which
they addressed. Yet, under all these circum-
stances of disadvantage, the great points of the
Christian history are fully recognised. This hath
been shown in its proper place.*
There is, however, another class of writers, to
whom the answer above given, viz. the unsuita-
bleness of any such appeals or references as the
objection demands, to the subjects of which the
writings treated, does not apply ; and that is, the
class of ancient apologists, whose declared design
it was to defend Christianity, and to give the rea-
sons of their adherence to it. It is necessary,
:herefore, to inquire how the matter of the objec-
tion stands in these.
The most ancient apologist, of whose works
we have the smallest knowledge, is duadratus.
^luadratus lived about seventy years after the as-
cension, and "presented his apology to the emperor
Adrian. From a passage of this work, preserved
n Eiisebius, it appears that the author did directly
and formally appeal to the miracles of Christ, and
in terms as express and confident as we could de-
sire. The passage (which has been once already
stated) is as follows: " The works of our Saviour
were always conspicuous, for they were real ; both
they that were healed, and they that were raised
'rom the dead, were seen, not only when they
were healed, or raised, but for a long time after-
ward : not only whilst he dwelled on this earth,
but also after his departure, and for a good while
after it; insomuch as that some of them have
reached to our times."t Nothing can be more
rational or satisfactory than this.
Justin Martyr, the next of the Christian apolo-
rists whose work is not lost, and who followed
iuadratus at the distance of about thirty years,
las touched upon passages of Christ's history in
so many places, that a tolerably complete account
of Christ's life might be collected out of his works,
n the following quotation, he asserts the perform-
ance of miracles by Christ in words as strong and
>ositive as the language possesses : " Christ healed
hose who from their birth were blind, and deaf,
and lame ; causing by his word, one to leap, an-
ther to he'ar, and a third to see : and having raised
he dead, and caused them to live, he, by his
works, excited attention, and induced the men of
hat age to know him. Who, however, seeing
hese things done, said that it was a magical ap-
pearance, and dared to call him a magician, and a
deceiver of the people."*
In his first apology, Justin expressly assigns
he reason for his having recourse to the argument
from prophecy, rather than alleging the miracles
of the Christian history : which reason was, that
* See pages 297, 298, &c. t Euseb. Hist. 1. i v. c. 3.
t Just. Dial. p. 258. ed. Thirlby.
Apolog. prim. p. 48. ed. Thirlby.
EVIDENCES^ OF CHRISTIANITY.
377
the persons with whom he contended would ascribe
these miracles to magic; " Lest any of our oppo-
nents should sa.y, What hinders, but that he who
is called Christ by us, being a man sprung from
men, performed the miracles which we attribute
to him, by magical art V The suggestion of this
reason meets, as I apprehend, the very point of
the present objection ; more especially when we
find Justin followed in it by other writers of that
age. Irenseus, who came about forty years atler
him. notices the same evasion in the adversaries
of Christianity, and replies to it by the same ar-
gument: "But if they shall say, that the Lord
performed these tilings by an illusory appearance,
(~*VT*<T( *,*;,) leading the^e objectors to the pro-
phecies, we will show from them, that all things
were thus predicted concerning him. and strictiv
came to pass.''* Lactantius, who lived a century
lower, delivers the same sentiment, upon th<- same
occasion; ' ; 1 It- performed miracles; we minht
have supposed him to ha\e been a magician, as ye
say, and as the Jews then supposed, it all the pro-
phets had not with one spirit. foretold that Christ
should perform these \.-ry things."t
But to return to the < 'hristian apologists in their
order. Tertullian : "That JHTSOII whom the
Jews had vainly imagined, from the meanness of
his apjM-arance, to be a mere man. they alterward,
in consequence of the power he exerted, considered
as a magician, when he, with one word, ejected
devils out of the Ixxlies of men. gave sii r ht to the
blind, cleansed the leprous, ^trengthenedthc nerves
of those, that had the palsy, and. lastly, with one
command, restored the. dead to lite;"when lie, I
say, made the \ery elements obey him, assuaged
the storms, walked upon the seas, demonstrating
himself to I* the Word of God."t
Next in the catalogue of profaned apologists we
may place ( )rigen, who. it is well known, published
a formal defence of Christianity, in answer to Cel-
sus, a Heathen, who had written a discourse
against it. I know no expressions, by which a
plainer or more positive appeal to the Christian
miracles can be made, than the expressions used
by Origen ; " Undoubtedly we do think him to be
the Christ, and the Son of ( iod, because he healed
the lame and the blind ; and we are the more con-
firmed in this persuasion, by what is written in
the prophecies: ' Then shall the eyes of the blind
be opened, and the ears of the deaf shall hear, and
the lame man shall leap as a hart.' But that he
also raised the dead ; and that it is not a fiction of
those who wrote the Gospels, is evident from
hence, that, if it had been a fiction, there would
have Ix-en many recorded to l>e raised up, and
sucli as had been a long time in their graves.
But, it not being a fiction, few have been recorded :
for instance, the daughter of the ruler of a syna-
gogue, of whom 1 do not know why he said, She
is not dead but sleepeth, expressing something
peculiar to her, not common to all dead peroom:
and the only son of a widow, on whom he had
compassion, and raised him to life, after he had
bid the bearers of the corpse to stop ; and the third.
Lazarus, who had been buried four days." This
is jwsitively to assert the miracles of Christ, and
it is also to comment upon them, and that with a
considerable degree of accuracy and candour.
In another passage of the same author, we meet
* Iren. I. ii. c. 57. f Lactant. v. 3.
t i'citufl. Apolog. p. ao\&}, Priori!, Par. 1675,
3 B
witji the old solution of magic applied to the mira-
cles of Christ by the adversaries of the religion.
"Celsus," saith Origen, "well knowing, what
great works may be alleged to ha\e been done by
Jesus, pretends to grant that the things related of
him are true; such as healing diseases, raising
the dead, feeding multitudes with a lew loaves, of
which large fragments were left."* And then
Celsus gives, it seems, an answer to these proofs
of our Lord's mission, which, as Origen under-
stood it, resolved the phenomena into rriagic ; for
< )rigen begins his reply by observing, "You see
that Celsqs in a manner allows that there is such
a thing as magic."t -
It apj>earsalso from the testimony of Saint Je-
rome, that Porphyry, the most tanked and able
of the Heathen writers against. < 'hristianity, re-
sorted to the same solution : " Unless," says he,
shaking to- Vigilantius, " according to the man-
ner of the Gentiles and the profane, of Porphyry
and Eunomius, you pretend that these are the
tricks of demons, "t
This magic, these demons, this, illusory appear-
ance, this comparison with the tricks of jugglers,
by which many of that age accounted so easily
for the Christian miracles, and which answers
the advocates of ( 'hristianity often thought it ne-
to refute by arguments drawn from other
topics, and particularly from prophecy, (to which,
it set ins these solutions did not apply,) we now
perceive to be gross subterfuges. 1 hat such rea-
sons were ever seriously urged, and seriously re-
ceived, is only a proof, what a gloss and varnish
fashion can gi\e to any opinion.
It appears, t lien-fore, that the miracles of Christ
understood as we understand them, in their literal
and historical sense, were positively and precisely
asserted and appealed to by the apologists lor
Christianity ; \viiich answers the allegation of the
objection.
I am ready, however, to admit* that the ancient
Christian advocates did not insist upon the mira-
cles in argument, so frequently as I should have
done. It was their lot to contend with notions of
magical agency, against which the mere produc-
tion of the facts was not sufficient for the con-
vincing of their adversaries : I do not know whe-
ther they themselves thought it quite decisive of
the controversy. But since it is proved^ I conceive
with certainty, that the sparingness with which
they appealed to miracles, was owing neither to
their ignorancej nor their doubt of the facts, it- is,
at any rate, an objection, not to the truth of tho
history, but to the judgment of its defenders.
CHAPTER VI.
Want of universality in, the knowledge and re-
ception of Christianity , ajid of greater clear-
ness in the evidence.
OF a revelation which really came from God,
the proof, it has been said, would in all ages be so
public and manifest, that no part of the human
species would remain ignorant of it, no under-
standing could fail of being convinced by it. . .
The advocates of Christianity do not pretend
* Orig. Cont. Cels. 1. ii. sect. 48. ,
t Lardncr's Jewish and Heath. Test. vol. ii. p. 294. ed.
4to. \ Jeropie cout. Vigil.
378
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
that the evidence of their religion possesses these
qualities. They do not deny that we can con
ceive it to be within the compass of divine power
to have communicated to the world a higher de
gree of assurance, and to have given- to his com-
munication a, stronger and more extensive influ-
ence. For any thing we are able to discern, Got
could have so formed men, as to have perceivet
the truths of religion intuitively ; or to nave car-
ried on a communication with the other world
whilst they lived in this; or to have seen the in-
dividuals of the species, instead of dying, pass to
heaven by a sensible translation. lie could have
presented a separate miracle to each man's senses.
He could have established a standing miracle.
He could have caused miracles to be wrought in
every different age and country. These, and
many more methods, which we may imagine, if
we once give loose to our imaginations, are, so far
as we can judge, all practicable.
The question, therefore, is, not whether Chris-
tianity possesses the highest possible degree of
evidence, but whether the not having more evi-
dence be a sufficient reason for rejecting that
which we have.
Now their appears to be no fairer method of
judging, concerning any dispensation which is
alleged to come from God, when a question is
made whether such a dispensation could come
from God or not, than by comparing it with other
things which are acknowledged to proceed from
the same counsel, and to be produced by the same
agency. If the dispensation in question labour
under no defects but what apparently belong to
other dispensations, these seeming defects do not
justify us in setting aside the proofs which are of-
fered of its authenticity,' if they be otherwise en-
titled to credit.
Throughout that order then of nature, of which
God is the author, what we find is a system of
beneficence : we are seldom er ever able to make
out a system of optimism. I mean, that there are
few cases in which, if we permit ourselves to
range in possibilities, we cannot suppose some-
thing more perfect, and more unobjectionable,
than what we see. The rain* which descends
from heaven, is confessedly amongst the contri-
vances of the Creator, for the sustentation of the
animals and vegetables which subsist upon the
surface of the earth. Yet how partially ana ir-
regularly is it supplied! How much of it falls
upon the sea, where it can be of no use ! how often,
is it wanted where it would be of the greatest !
What tracts of continent are rendered deserts by
the scarcity of it! Or, not 'to speak of extreme
cases, how much, sometimes, do inhabited coun-
tries suffer by its deficiency or delay ! We could
imagine, if to imagine were our business, the
matter to be otherwise regulated. We could
imagine showers to fall, just where and when they
would do good ; always seasonable, every where
sufficient; so distributed as not to leave a field
upon the face of the globe scorched by drought,
or even a plant withering for the lack of moisture.
Yet, does the difference between the real case and
the imagined case, or the seeming inferiority of
the one to the other, authorize us to say, that the
present disposition of the atmosphere is not
amongst the productions or the designs of the
Deity 1 Does it check the inference which we
draw from the confessed beneficence of the provi-
sion'? or does it make us cease to admire the con-
trivance 1 The observation, which we have ex-
emplified in the single instance of the rain of
heaven, may be repeated concerning most of the
phenomena of nature ; and the true conclusion to
which it leads is this : that to inquire what the
Deity might have done, could have done, or, as
we even sometimes presume to speak, ought to
have done, or, in hypothetical cases would have
done, and to build any propositions ujxm such in-
quiries against evidence of facts, is wholly unwar-
rantable. It is a mode of reasoning which will
not do in natural history, which will not do in
natural religion, which cannot therefore be applied
with safety to revelation. It may have some
foundation, in certain speculative a priori ideas of
the divine attributes; but it has none in expe-
rience, or in analogy. The general character of
the works of nature is, on the one hand, goodness
both in design and effect ; and, on the other hand,
a liability to difficulty, and to objections, if such
objections be allowed, by reason of seeming in-
completeness or uncertainty in attaining their
end. Christianity participates of this character.
The true similitude between nature and revelation
consists in this ; that they each bear strong marks
of their original ; that they each also bear appear-
ances of irrregularity and defect. A system of
strict optimism may nevertheless be the real sys-
tem in both cases. But what I contend is, that
the proof is hidden from us ; that we ought not to
expect to perceive that in revelation, which we
hardly perceive in any thing ; that beneficence, of
which we can judge, ought to satisfy us, that op-
timism, of which we cannot judge, ought not to be
sought after. We can judge of beneficence, be-
cause it depends upon effects which we experience,
and upon the relation between the means which
we see acting and the ends which we see produced.
We cannot judge of optimism, because it neces-
sarily implies a comparison of that which is tried,
with that which is not tried; of consequences
which we see, with others which we imagine, and
concerning many of which, it is more than proba-
ble we know nothing; concerning some, that we
have no notion.
If Christianity be compared with the state and
progress of natural religion, the argument of the
objector will gain nothing by the comparison. I
remember hearing an unbeliever say, that, if God
had given a revelation, he would have written it
in the skies. Are the truths of natural religion
written in the skies, or in a language which every
one reads 1 or is this the case with the most useful
arts, or the most necessary sciences of human life!
An Otaheitean or an Esquimaux knows nothing
of Christianity ; does he know more of the princi-
ples of deism, or morality 1 which, notwithstand-
ng his ignorance, are neither untrue, nor unim-
portant, nor uncertain. The existence of the
Deity is left to be collected from observations,
which every man does not make, which every man
perhaps, is not capable of making. Can it be
argued, that God does not exist, because, if he
did, he would let us see him, or discover himself
to mankind by proofs (such as, we may think, the
nature of the subject merited,) which no inadver-
;ency could miss, no prejudice withstand 1
If Christianity be regarded as a providential in-
strument for the melioration of mankind, its pro-
gress and diffusion resemble that of other causes
>y which human life is improved. The diversity
"s not greater, nor the advance more slow, in reli-
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
379
gion, than we find it to be in learning, liberty,
government, laws. The Deity hath not touched
the order of nature in vain. The Jewish religion
produced great and permanent effects ; the Chris-
tian religion hath done the same. It hath dispos-
ed the world to amendment. It hath put things
in a train. It is by no means improbable, that it
may become universal : and that the world may
continue in that stage so long as that the duration
of its reign may bear a vast proportion to the time
of its partial influence.
When we argue concerning Christianity, that
it must necessarily be true, because it is beneficial,
we go, perhaps, too far on one side : and we cer-
tainly go too far on the other, when we conclude
that it must be false, because it is not so efficacious
as we could have supposed. The question of its
truth is to be tried upon its proper evidence,
without deferring much to this sort of argument,
on either side. " The evidence," as Bishop Butler
hath rightly observed, " depends upqn the judg-
ment we form of human conduct, under given cir-
cumstances, of which it may be presumed that we
know something ; the objection stands upon the
supposed conduct of the Deity, under relations
with which we are not acquainted."
What would be the real effect of that over-
powering evidence which our adversaries require
in a revelation, it is difficult to foretell ; at least, we
must speak of it as of a dispensation of which we
have no experience. Some consequences however
would, it is probable, attend this economy, which
do not seem to befit a revelation that proceeded
from God. One is, that irresistible proof would
restrain the voluntary powers too much ; would
not answer the purpose of trial and probation ;
would call for no exercise of candour, seriousness,
humility, inquiry; no submission of passion,
interests, and prejudices, to moral evidence and to
probable truth ; no habits of reflection ; none of
that previous desire to learn and to obey the will
of God, which forms perhaps the test of the vir-
tuous principle, and which induces men to attend,
with care and reverence, to every credible inti-
mation of that will, and to resign present advan-
tages and present pleasures to every reasonable
expectation of propitiating his favour. " Men's
moral probation may be, whether they will take
due care to inform themselves by impartial consi-
deration ; and, afterward, whether they will act
as the case requires, upon the evidence which
they have. And this we find by experience, is
often our probation in our temporal capacity." *
II. ' These modes of communication would leave
no place for the admission of internal evidence ;
which ought, perhaps, to bear a considerable part
in the proof of every revelation, because it is a
species of evidence, which applies itself to the
knowledge, love, and practice of virtue, and
which operates in proportion to the degree of
those qualities which it finds in the person whom
it addresses. Men of good dispositions, amongst
Christians, are greatly affected by the impression
which the Scriptures themselves make upon their
minds. Their conviction is much strengthened
by these impressions. And this perhaps was in-
tended to be one effect to be produced by the reli-
gion. It is likewise true, to whatever cause we
ascribe it (for I am not in this work at liberty to
introduce the Christian doctrine of grace or assist -
Butler's Analogy, part ii. c. vi.
ance, or the Christian promise, that, " if any man
will do his will, he shall know of the doctrine,
whether it be of God," *) it is true, I say, that they
who sincerely act, or sincerely endeavour to act,
according to what they believe, that is, according
to the just result of the probabilities, or, if you
please, the possibilities of natural and revealed re-
ligion, which they themselves perceive, and ac-
cording to a rational estimate of consequences, and
above all, according to the just effect of those
principles of gratitude and devotion, which even
the view of nature generates in a well ordered
mind, seldom fail of proceeding farther. This
also may have been exactly what was designed.
Whereas, may it not be said that irresistible
evidence would confound all characters arid all
dispositions 1 would subvert, rather than promote,
the true purpose of the divine counsels; which is,
not to produce obedience by a force little short of
mechanical constraint, (which, obedience would be
regularity, not virtue, and would liardly, perhaps,
diner from that which inanimate bodies pay to the
laws impressed upon their nature,) but to treat
moral agents agreeably to what they are ; which
is done, when light and motives are of such kinds,
and are imparted in such measures, that the in-
fluence of thnn depends upon the recipients them-
selves 1 " It is not meet to govern rational free
;ii5ents in vid by sight and sense. It would be no
trial or thanks to the most sensual wretch to for-
bear sinning, if heaven and hell were open to his
sight. That spiritual vision and fruition is our
state <*n patrid." (Baxter's Reasons, page 357.)
There may be truth in this thought, though
roughly expressed. Few things are -more impro-
bable than that we (tlie human species) should be
the highest order of beings in the universe: that
animated nature should ascend from the lowest
reptile to us, and all at once stop there. If there
be classes above us of rational intelligences, clear-
er manifestations may belong to them. This may
be one of the distinctions. And it may be one, to
which we ourselves hereafter shall attain.
III. But may it not also be asked, whether the
perfect display of a future state of existence would
be compatible with the activity of civil life, and
with the success of human affairs 1 I can easily
conceive that this impression may be overdone;
that it may so seize and fill the thoughts, as to
leave no place for the cares and offices of men's
several stations, no anxiety for worldly prosperity,
or even for a worldly provision, and, by conse-
quence, no sufficient stimulus to secular industry.
Of the first Christians we read, "that all that be-
lieved were together, and had all things common;
and sold their possessions and goods, and parted
them to all men-, as every man had need; and,
continuing daily with one accord in the temple,
and breaking bread from house to house, did eat
their meat with gladness and singleness of heart."t
This was extremely natural, and just what might
be expected from miraculous evidence coming
with full force upon the senses of mankind : but
I much doubt whether, if this state of mind had
been universal, or long-continued, the business of
the world could have gone on. The necessary
arts of social life would have been little cultivated.
The plough and the loom would have stood still.
Agriculture, manufactures, trade, and navigation,
would not, I think, have flourished, if they could
* John vii. 17.
t Acts ii. 4446.
380
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
have been exercised at all. Men would have ad
dieted themselves to contemplative and ascetic
lives, instead of lives of business and ofuseful in
dustry. We observe that S;iint P;ml found i
necessary, frequently to recall his converts to tht
ordinary labours and domestic duties of their con-
dition ; and to give them, in liis own example, a
lesson of contented application to their worldly
employments.
By the manner in which the religion is now
proposed, a great portion of the human species is
enabled, and of these multitudes of every genera-
tion are induced, to seek and to effectuate their
salvation, through the medium of Christianity,
without interruption of the prosperity or of the re-
gtlar course of human affairs.
CHAPTER VII.
The supposed effects of Christianity.
THAT a religion, which, under every form in
which it is taught, holds forth the final reward of
virtue and punishment of vice, and proposes those
distinctions of virtue* and vice, which the wisest
and -most cultivated part of mankind confess to be
just, should not be believed, is very possible ; but
that, so far as it is believed, it should not produce
any good, but rather a bad effect upon public hap-
piness, is a proposition which it requires very
strong evidence to "render credible. Yet many
have been found to contend for this paradox, and
very confident appeals have been made to history,
and to observation, for the truth of it.
In the conclusions, however, which these wri-
ters draw from what they call experience, two
sources, I think, of mistake, may be perceived.
One is, that they look for the influence of reli-
gion in the wrong place.
The other, that they charge Christianity with
many consequences, for which it is not respon-
sible.
I. The influence of religion is not to be sought
for in the councils of princes, in the debates or re-
solutions of popular assemblies, in the conduct of
governments towards their subjects, or of states
and sovereigns towards one another ; of conquer-
ors at the head of their armies, or of parties in-
triguing for power at home, (topics which alone
almost occupy the attention, and till the pages of
history ;) but must be perceived, if perceived at
all, in the silent course of private an4 domestic
life. Nay more ; even there its influence may not
be very obvious to observation. If it check, in
some degree, personal dissoluteness, af it beget a
general probity in the transaction of business, if
it produce soft and humane manners in the -mass
of the community, and occasional exertions of la-
borious and expensive benevolence in a few indi-
viduals, it is all the effect which can offer itself to
external notice. The kingdom of heaven is with-
in us. That which is the substance of the reli-
gion, its hopes and consolations, its intermixture
with the thoughts by day and by night, the devo-
tion of the heart, the control of appetite, the steady
direction of the will to the commands of God, is
necessarily invisible. Yet upon these depend the
virtue and happiness of millions. This cause ren-
ders the representations of history, with respect to
religion, defective and fallacious, in a greater de-
gree than they arc upon any other subject. Ro-
Jigion operates most upon those of whom history
knows the least; upon lathers and mothers iii
their families, upon men-servants and maid-ser-
vants, upon the orderly tradesman, the quiet vil-
lager, the manufacturer at his loom, the husband-
man in his fields. Amongst, such, its influence
collectively may be of inestimable, value, yet its
eflects, in the mean, time, little upon those who
figure upon the stage of the world. They may
know nothing of it ; they may believe nothing of
it ; they may be actuated by motives more im-
petuous than those which religion is able to ex-
cite. It cannot, therefore, be thought strange, that
this influence should elude the grasp and touch of
public history: for, what is jyiblie history, but a
register of the successes and disappointments, the
vices, the follies, and the quarrels, of those who
engage in contentions for power 1
I will add, that much of this influence may be
felt in timed of public distress, and little of it in
times of public wealth and security. This also
increases the uncertainty of any opinions that we
draw from historical representations. The in-
fluence of Christianity is commensurate with no
effects which history states. We do not pretend
that it has any such necessary and irresistible
power over the affairs of nations, as to surmount
the force of other causes.
The Christian religion also acts upon public
usages and institutions, by an operation which is
only secondary and indirect. Christianity is not
a code of civil law. It can only reach public in-
stitutions through private character. Now its in-
fluence upon private character may be consider-
able, yet many public usages and institutions re-
pugnant to its principles may remain. To get
rid of these, the reigning part of the community
must act, and act together. But it may be long
before the persons who compose this body be suf-
ficiently touched with the Christian character, to
join in the suppression of practices, to which they
and the public have been reconciled by causes
which will reconcile the human mind to any
thing, by habit and interest. Nevertheless, the
effects of Christianity, even in this view, havo
jeen important. It has mitigated the conduct of
war, and the treatment of captives. It has soften-
ed the administration of despotic, or of nominally
despotic governments. It has abolished polygamy,
[t-has restrained the licentiousness of divorces. It
aas put an end to the exposure of children, and
;he immolation of slaves. It has suppressed the
combats of gladiators,* and the impurities of reli-
gious rites, it has banished, if not unnatural vices,
it le;ist the toleration of them. It has greatly
meliorated the condition of the laborious part, that
is to pay, of the mass ef every community, by pro-
curing for them a day of weekly rest, In all coun-
tries in which it is professed, it has produced nu-
merous establishments for the relief of sickness
and poverty ; and, in some, a regular and general
provision by law. It has triumphed over the
slavery established in the Roman empire; it is
ontending, and, I trust^ will one day prevail,
vr lin.st the worse slavery of the West indies.
*Lipsius affirms, (Sat. b. i. c. 12,) that the gla.liatn-
rial shows sometimes cost Europe twenty or thirty
housand lives in a month; and that not only the men,
>uteven the women of all ranks were passionately toml
if these shows. Sue Dishop Porteus'a Sermon. XIII.
EVIDENCES OP CHRISTIANITY.
381
A Christian writer,* so early as in the second
century, has testified the resistance which Chris-
tianity made to wicked and licentious practices,
though established by law artd by public usage :
' Neither in Parthia, do the Christians, though
Parthians, use polygamy ; nor in Persia, though
Persians, do they marry their own daughters ;
nor among the Baetri, or Galli, do they violate
the sanctity of marriage ; nor, wherever they are,
do they suffer themselves to be overcome by ill-
constituted laws and mariners.
Socrates did not destroy the idolatry of Athens,
persecuting laws, which ir
or produce the slightest revolution in the manners subject of religion, than they have had to do in
been ohserved, there may be also great conse-
quences of Christianity, which do not belong to
it as a revelation. The effects upon human sal-
vation, of the mission, of the death, of the present,
of the future agency of Christ, may be universal,
though the religion be not universally known.
Secondly, I assert that Christianity is charged
with many consequences for which it is not re-
sponsible. I believe that religious motives have
had no, more to do in the formation of nine tenths
of the intolerant and
different countries have been
of his country.
But the argument to which I recur, is, that the
benefit of religion, being felt chiefly in the obscu-
rity of private shit ions, necessarily escapes the
observation of history. From the first general
notification of Christianity to the present day,
there have been in every age many millions, whose
names were never heard of, made better by it, not
only in their conduct, but in their disposition ;
and happier, not so much in their external cir-
cumstances, as in that which is inter prcccordia,
in that which alone 1 deserves the name of happi-
ness, the tranquillity and consolation of their
thoughts. It has been since its commencement,
the author of happiness and \irtue to millions and
millions of the human race. Who is there that
would not wish his son to be a Christian ?
Christianity also, in every country in which it
is professed, hath obtained a sensible, although
not a complete influence, upon the public judg-
ment of morals. And this is very important.
For without the occasional correction which pub-
lic opinion receives, by referring to some 'fixed
standard of morality, no man can foretell into what
extravagances it might wander. Assassination
might become as honourable as duelling ; unna-
tural crimes be accounted as venial as fornication
is wont to be accounted. In this way it is possi-
ble, that many may be kept in order by Christi-
anity, who are not themselves Christians. They
may be guided by the rectitude which it commu-
nicates to public opinion. Their consciences may
'suggest their duty truly, and they may ascribe
these suggestions to a moral sense, or to the
native capacity of the human intellect, when in
fact they are nothing more tha_n the public opi-
nion, reflected from their own minds ; and opinion,
in a considerable degree, modified by the lessons
of Christianity. " Certain it is, and this is a great
deal to say, that the generality, even of the meanest
and most vulgar and ignorant people, have truer
and worthier notions of God, more just and right
apprehensions concerning his attributes and per-
fections, a deeper sense of the difference of good
and evil, a greater regard to moral obligations,
and to the plain and most necessary duties of
life, and a more firm and universal expectation
of a future state of rewards and punishments,
than, in any Heathen country, any considerable
number of men were found to have had."t
After all, the value of Christianity is not to he
appreciated by its temporal effects. The * object
of revelation is to influence human conduct in this
life; but what is gained to happiness by that
influence, can only be estimated by taking 'in the
whole of human existence. Then, as hath already
* Bardosanes, ap. Euseb. Prap. Evan" vi 10
t Clarke, Ev. Nat. Eel. p. 208 ed. v.
England with the making of the game-laws.
These measures, although they have the Chris-
tian religion for their subject, are resolvable into
a. principle which Christianity certainly did not
plant (and which Christianity could not uni-
versally condemn, because it is not universally
wrong*), which principle is no other than this,
that they who are in possession of power do what
they can to keep it. Christianity is answerable
for no part 'of the mischief which has been brought
upon the world by persecution, except that which
has arisen from conscientious persecutors. Now
these perhaps have never been either numerous
or powerful. Nor is it to Christianity that even
their mistake can fairly be imputed. They have
been misled by an error not properly Christian or
religious, but by an error in their moral philoso-
phy. They pursued the particular, without ad-
verting to the general consequence. Believing
certain articles of faith, or a certain mode of wor-
ship, to be highly conducive, or perhaps essential,
to salvation, they thought themselves bound to
bring all they could, by every "means, into them.
And this they thought, without considering what
would be the effect of such a conclusion, when
adopted amongst mankind as a general rule of
conduct. Had there been in the New Testament,
what there are in the KdYan, precepts authorizing
coercion in the propagation of the religion, and
the use of violence towards unbelievers, the case
would have been different. This distinction could
not have been taken, nor this defence made.
I apologize for no species nor degree of perse-
cution, but I think that even the Fact has been
exaggerated. The slave-trade destroys more in
a year, than the inquisition does in a hundred, or
perhaps hath done since its foundation.
If it be objected, as I apprehend it will be, that
Christianity is chargeable with every mischief, of
which it has been, the occasion, though not the
motive; I answer, that, if the malevolent passions
be there, the world will never want occasions.
The noxious element will always find a conduc-
tor. Any point will produce an explosion. Did
the applauded intercommunity of the Pagan the-
ology preserve the peace of the Roman world 1
did it prevent oppressions, proscriptions, massa-
cres, devastations 1 Was it bigotry that carried
Alexander into the East, or brought Caesar into
Gaul 1 Are the nations of the world, into which
Christianity > hath not found its way, or from
which it hath been banished, free from conten-
tions 1 Are their contentions less ruinous and
sanguinary *? Is it owing to Christianity, or to
the want of it, that the finest regions of the East,
the countries inter quatuor maria, the peninsula
of Greece, together with a great part of the Medi-
terranean coast, are at this day a desert 1 or
that the banks of the Nile, whose constantly re-
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
newed fertility is not to be impaired by neglect,
or destroyed by the ravages of war, serve only for
the scene of a ferocious anarchy, or the supply of
unceasing hostilities 1 Europe itself has known
no religious wars for some centuries, yet has
hardly ever been without war. Are the calami-
ties, which at this day afflict it, to be imputed to
Christianity 1 Hath Poland fallen by a Christian
crusade 1 Hath the overthrow in France of civil
order and security, been effected by the votaries
of our religion, or by the foes 1 Amongst the
awful lessons which the crimes and the miseries
of that country afford to mankind, this is one :
that, in order to be a persecutor, it is not neces-
sary to be a bigot; that in rage and cruelty, in
mischief and destruction, fanaticism itself can be
outdone by infidelity.
Finally, If war, as it is now carried on between
nations, produces less misery and ruin than for-
merly, we are indebted perhaps to Christianity
for the change, more than -to any other cause.
Viewed therefore even in its relation to this sub-
ject, it appears to have been of advantage to the
world. It hath humanized the conduct of wars :
it hath ceased to excite them.
The differences of opinion, that have in all
ages prevailed amongst Christians, fall very much
within the alternative which has been stated. If
we possessed the disposition which Christianity
labours, above all other qualities to inculcate,
these differences would do little harm. If that
disposition be wanting, other causes, even were
these absent, would continually rise up to call, forth
the malevolent passions into action. Differences
of opinions, when accompanied with mutual cha-
rity, which Christianity forbids them to violate,
are for the most part innocent, and for some pur-
poses useful. They promote inquiry, discussion,
and knowledge. They help to keep up an atten-
tion to religious subjects, and a concern about
them, which might be apt to die away in the calm
and silence of universal agreement. I do not
know that it is in any degree true, that the influ-
ence of religion is the greatest, where there are
the fewest dissenters.
CHAPTER VIII.
The Conclusion.
IN religion, as in every other subject of human
reasoning, much depends upon the order in which
we dispose our inquiries. A man who takes up
a system of divinity with a previous opinion that
either every part must be true, or the whole false,
approaches the discussion with great disadvantage.
Iso other system, which is founded upon moral
evidence, would bear to be treated in the same
manner. Nevertheless, in a certain degree, we
are all introduced to our religious studies, under
this prejudication. And it cannot be avoided.
The weakness of the human judgment in the
early part of youth, yet its extreme susceptibility
of impression, renders it necessary to furnish it
with some opinions, and with some principles or
other. Or indeed, without much express care, or
much endeavour for this purpose, the tendency of
the mind of man to assimilate itself to the habits
of thinking and speaking which prevails around
him, produces the same effect. That indifierency
and suspense, that waiting and equilibrium of the
judgment, which some require in religious mat-
ters, and which some would wish to be aimed at
in the conduct of education, are impossible to be
preserved. They are not given to the condition
of human life.
It is a consequence of this institution that the
doctrines of religion come to us before the proofs ;
and come to us with that mixture of explications
and inferences from which no public creed is, or
can lie, free. And the effect which too frequently
follows, from Christianity being presented to the
understanding in this form, is, that when any
articles, which appear as parts of it, contradict the
apprehension of the persons to whom it is pro-
posed, men of rash and confident tempers hastily
and indiscriminately reject the whole. But is this
to do justice, either to themselves or to the reli-
gion 1 The rational way of treating a subject of
such acknowledged importance is to attend, in the
first place, to the general and substantial truth of
its principles, and to that alone. When we once
feela foundation ; when we once perceive a ground
of credibility in its history, we shall proceed with
safety to inquire into the interpretation of its re-
cords, and into the doctrines which have been de-
duced from them. Nor will it either endanger
our faith, or diminish or alter our motives for obe-
dience, if we should discover that these conclu-
sions are formed with very different degrees of
probability, and possess very different degrees of
importance.
This conduct of the understanding, dictated by
every rule of right reasoning, will uphold personal
Christianity, even in those countries in which it
is established under forms the most liable to diffi-
culty and objection. It will also have the farther
effect of guarding us against the prejudices which
are wont to arise in our minds to the disadvan-
tage of religion, from observing the numerous con-
troversies which are carried on amongst its pro-
fessors, and likewise of inducing a spirit of lenity
and moderation in our judgment, as well as in our
treatment of those who stand, in such controver-
sies, upon sides opposite to ours. What is clear
in Christianity, we shall find to be sufficient, and
to be infinitely valuable ; what is dubious, unne-
cessary to be decided, or of very subordinate im-
portance; and what is rnost obscure, will teach
us to bear with the opinions which others may
have formed upon the same subject. We shall
say to those who the most widely dissent from us,
what Augustine said to the worst heretics of his
age : " Illi in vos saeviant, qui nesciunt, cum quo
labore verum inveniatur, et quam difficile caveantur
errores; qui nesciunt, cum quanta difficultate
sanetur oculus interioris hominis ; qui nesciunt,
quibus suspiriis et gemitibus fiat ut ex quantula-
cunque parte possit intelligi Deus."*
A judgment, moreover, which is once pretty -
well satisfied of the general truth of the religion,
will not only thus discriminate in its doctrines,
but will possess sufficient strength to overcome
the reluctance of the imagination to admit articles
of faith which are attended with difficulty of ap-
prehension, if such articles of faith appear to be
truly parts of the revelation. It was to be expect-
ed beforehand, that what related to the economy,
and to the persons, of the invisible world, which
revelation professes to do, and which, if true, it
* Aug. contra Ep. Fund. cap. ii. n. 2, 3.
EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.
actually does, should contain some points remote
from our analogies, and from the comprehension
of a mind which hath acquired all its ideas from
sense and from experience.
It hath been my care, in the preceding work, to
preserve the separation between evidences am
doctrines as inviolable as I could ; to remove fron
the primary question all considerations which
have been unnecessarily joined with it; and to
offer a defence to Christianity, which every Chris-
tian might read, without seeing the tenets in
which he had been brought up attacked or decried
and it always afforded a satisfaction to my mine;
to observe that this was practicable; that few or
none of our many controversies with one another
affect or relate to the proofs of our religion ; that
the rent never descends to the foundation.
The trutlx of Christianity depends upon its
leading facts, and upon them alone. Now of these
we have evidence which ought to satisfy us, at
least until it appear that mankind have ever been
deceived by the suine. We have some uncontent-
ed and incontestable points, to which the history
of the human species have nothing similar to offer.
A Jewish peasant chunked the religion of the
world, and that, without force, without power,
without support; without one natural source, or
circumstance of attraction, influence, or
Such a thing hath not happened in any other in-
stance. The companions of this Person, after he
himself had been put to death for his attempt, as-
serted his supernatural character, founded upon
his supernatural operations: and, in testimony of
the truth of their assertions, f. e. in consequence
of their own belief of that truth, and in order ta
communicate their knowledge of it to others, vo-
luntarily entered upon lives of toil and hardship,
and with a full experience of their danger, com-
mitted themselves to the last extremities of perse-
cution. This hath not a parallel. More parti-
cularly, a very few days after this Person had
been publicly executed, and in the very city in
which he was buried, these his companions de-
clared with one voice that his body was restored
to life; that they had seen him, handled him, ate
with him ; conversed with him; and, in pursuance
of their persuasion of the truth of what they told,
preached his religion, with this strange fact as the
foundation of it, in the face of those who had
killed him, who were armed with the power of the
country, and necessarily and naturally disposed to
treat his followers as they had treated himself;
and having done this upon the spot where the
event took place, carried the intelligence of it
abroad, in despite of difficulties and opposition,
and where the nature of their errand gave them
nothing to expect but derision, insult, andoutrage.
This is without example. These three facts, I
think, are certain, and would have been nearly so,
if the Gospels had never been written. The
Christian story, as to these points, hath never
varied. No other hath been set up against it.
Every letter, every discourse, every controversy,
amongst the followers of the religion ; every book
written by them, from the age of its commence-
ment to the present time, in every part of the
world m which it hath been professed, and with
every sect into which it hath been divided (and
we have letters and discourses written by contem-
poraries, by witnesses of the transaction, by per-
sons themselves bearing a share in it, and other
writings following that age in regular succession,)
concur in representing these facts in this manner.
A religion, which now possesses the greatest part
of the civilized world, unquestionably sprang up
at Jerusalem at this time. Some account must be
given of its origin ; some cause assigned for its
rise. All the accounts of this origin, all the ex-
plications of this cause, whether taken from the
writings of the early followers of the religion (in
which, and in which perhaps alone, it could be
expected that they should be distinctly unfolded,)
_or from occasional notices in other writings of that
or the adjoining age, either expressly allege the
facts above stated as the means by which the re-
ligion was set up, or advert to its commencement
in a manner which agrees with the supposition of
these facts being true, and which testifies their
operation and eileets.
These propositions alone lay a foundation for
our faith ; f6r they prove the existence of a trans-
action, which cannot even in its most general
parts be accounted for, upon any reasonable sup-
position, except that of the truth of the mission.
But the particulars, the detail of the miracles or
miraculous pretences (for such there necessarily
must have been,) upon which this unexampled
transaction rested, and for which these men acted
and suffered as they did act and sufler, it is un-
doubtedly of great importance tons to know. We
hare this detail from the fountain-head, from the
persons themselves ; in accounts written by eye-
witnesses of the scene, by contemporaries and
companions of those who were so; not in one
ix>ok, but four, each containing enough for the
verification of the religion, all agreeing in the fun-
damental parts of the hintory. We have the au-
thenticity of these books established, by more and
stronger proofs than belong to almost any other
ancient book whatever, and by proofs which
widely distinguish them from any others claiming
a similar authority to theirs. If there were any
good reason for doubt concerning the names to
which these books are ascribed, (which there is
not, fdr they were never ascribed to any other,
and we have evidence not long after their publi-
cation of their bearing the names which they now
>ear,) their antiquity, of which there is no question,
their reputation and authority amongst the early
disciples of the religion, of which there is as little,
brm a valid proof that they must, in the main at
east, have agreed with what the first teachers of
he religion delivered.
When we open these ancient volumes, we dis-
cover in them marks of truth, whether we consi-
der each in itself, or collate them with one another.
The writers certainly knew something of what
hey were writing about, for they manifest an ac-
[uaintance with focal circumstances, with the his-
ory and usages of, the times, which could only
jelong to an inhabitant of that country, living in
hat age. In every narrative we perceive simplicity
and undesignedness ; the air and the language of
reality. When we compare the different narra-
ives together, we find them so varying as to re-
Del all suspicion of confederacy; so agreeing under
his variety, as to show that the accounts had one
eal transaction for their common foundation;
>ften attributing different actions and discourses
o the person wnose history, or rather memoirs of
whose history, they profess to relate, yet actions
nd discourses so similar, as very much to bespeak
he same character ; which is a coincidence, that,
in such writers as they were, could only be the
384
EVIDENCES OP CHRISTIANITY.
consequence of their writing from fact, and not
from imagination.
These four narratives are confined to the his-
tory of the Founder of the religion, and end with
his ministry. Since, however, it is certain that
the affair went on, we cannot help being anxious
to know how it proceeded. This intelligence hath
come cown down to us in a. work purjx>rting to be
written by a person, himself. connected with the
business during the first stages of its progress,
taking up the story where the former histories
had left it, carrying on the narrative, oftentimes
with great particularity, and throughout with tke
appearance of good sense,* information, and can-
dour ; stating all along the origin, and the only pro-
bable origin, of effects which unquestionably were
produced, together with the natural consequences
of situations which unquestionably did exist ; and
confirmed, in the substance at least of the account,
by the strongest possible accession of testimony
which a history can receive, original letters, writ-
ten by the person who is the principal subject of
the history, written upon the business to which
the history relates, and during the period, or soon
after the period, which the history comprises. No
man can say that this all together is not a body of
strong historical evidence.
When we reflect that some of those from whom
the books proceeded, are related to have themselves
wrought miracles, to have been ths subject of mi-
racles, or of supernatural assistance in propagat-
ing the religion, we may perhaps be led to think,
that more credit, or a different kind of credit, is
due to these accounts, than what can be claimed
by merely human testimony. But this . is an ar-
gument which cannot be addressed to sceptics or
unbelievers. A man must be a Christian before
he can receive it. The inspiration of the histori-
cal Scriptures, the nature, degree, and extent of
that inspiration, are questions undoubtedly of se-
rious discussion ; but they are questions amongst
Christians themselves, and not between them and
others. The doctrine itself is by no means neces-
sary to the belief of Christianity, which must; in
the first instance at least, depend upon the ordi-
nary maxims of historical credibility .t
In viewing the detail of miracles recorded in
these books, we find every supposition negatived,
by which they can be resolved into fraud or delu-
sion. They were not secret, not momentary, not
tentative, nor ambiguous ; nor performed under
the sanction of authority, with the spectators on
their side, or in affirmance of tenets and practices
already established. We find also the evidence
alleged for them, and which evidence was by great
numbers received, different from that upon which
other miraculous accounts rest. It was contem-
porary, it was published upon the spot, it conti-
nued ; it involved interests and questions of the
greatest magnitude; it contradicted the most fixed
persuasions and prejudices of the persons to whom
it was addressed ; it required from those who ac-
cepted it, not a simple, indolent assent, but a
change, from thenceforward, of principles and
conduct, a submission to consequences the most
serious and the most deterring, to loss and danger,
*See Peter's speech upon curing theripple,-( Acts iii'.
18,) the councillor the apostles, (xv,) Paul's discourse at
Athens (xvii. 22,) before Agnppa.(x.\vi.) I notice these
Passat's, both as fraught with good sense, and as free
frfcm the smallest tincture of enthusiasm.
t See Powel's Discourses, disc. xv. p. 245.
to insult, outrage, and persecution. How such a
story should be false, jor, if false, how under such
circumstances it should make its way, I think im-
possible to be explained ; yet such the Christian
story was, such were the circumstances under
which it came forth, and in opposition to such
difficulties did it. prevail.
An event so connected with the religion, and
with the fortunes, of the Jewish people, as one of
their race, one born amongst them, establishing
his authority and his law throughout a great por-
tion of the civilized world, it was perhaps to be
expected, should be noticed in the prophetic writ-
ings of that nation; especially when this Person,
together with his own mission, caused also to be
acknowledged the divine original of their institu-
tion, and by those who before had altogether re-
jected it. Accordingly, we perceive in these
writings various intimations concurring' in the
person and history of Jesus, in a manner, and in
a degree, in which passages taken from these book.s
could riot be made to concur in any person arbi-
trarily assumed, or m any person except him who
has been the 'author of great changes in the allairs
and opinions of mankind. Of some of these pre-
dictions the weight depends a good deal upon
the concurrence. Others" possess great separate
strength : one in particular does this in an eminent
degree,. It is an entire description, manifestly di-
rected 1o one character and to one scene of things :
it is extant in a writing, or collection of writings,
declaredly prophetic; and it applies to Christ's
character, and to the circumstances of his life and
death, with considerable precision, and in a way
which no diversity of interpretation hath, in my
opinion, been able to confound. That the advent
of Christ, and the consequences of it should not
have been more distinctly revealed in the Jewish
sacrep! books, is, I think, in some measure accounted
for by the consideration, that for the Jews to have
foreseen the fall of their institution, and that it
was to emerge at length into a more perfect and
comprehensive dispensation, would have cooled
too much, and relaxed their zeal for it. and their
adherence to it, upon which zeal and adherence
the preservation in the world of any remains, for
many ages, of religious truth might in a great
measure depend.
Of what a revelation discloses to mankind, one,
and only one, question can pro[x-rly be asked,
Was it of importance to mankind to know, or to
be better assured of? In this question, when
we turn our thoughts to the great Christian doe-
trine of the resurrection of the dead, and of a fu-
ture judgment, no doubt can possibly be entertain-
ed. He who gives me riches or honours, does
nothing; he who even gives me health, does little
in comparison with that which lays before me
just grounds for expecting a restoration to life,
and a day .of account and retribution: which thing
Christianity hath done for millions.
Other articles of the Christian faith, although of
infinite importance when placed beside any other
topic of human inquiry, are only the adjuncts and
circumstances of this. They are, however, such
as appear worthy of the original to which we
ascribe them. The morality of the religion, whe-
ther taken from the precepts or the example of its
Founder, or from the lessons of its primitive
teachers, derived, as~ it should seem, from what
had been inculcated by their IV! aster, is, in all its
parts, wise and pure ; neither adapted to vulgar
EVIDENCES OP CHRISTIANITY.
385
prejudices, nor flattering popular notions, nor ex-
cusing established practices, but calculated, in ,the
matter of its instruction, truly to promote human
happiness, and in the form in which it was con-
veyed, to produce impression and effect ; a morality,
which, let it have proceeded from any person
whatever, would have been satisfactory evidence
of his good sense and integrity, of the soundness
of his understanding and the probity of his designs ;
a morality, in every view of it, much more perfect
than could have been expected from the natural
circumstances and character of the person who
delivered it ; a morality, in a word, which is, and
hath been, most beneficial to mankind.
Upon the greatest, then-lore, of all possible oc-
casions, and lor a purpose of inestimable value, it
pleased the Deity to vouchsafe a miraculous
attestation. Having done this for the institution,
when this alone could fix its authority, or give to
it a beginning, he committed its future progress to
the natural means of human communication, and
to the influence of those causes by which human
conduct and human affairs are governed. The
seed, l>eing sown, was left to vegetate ; the leaven,
being inserted, was left to ferment ; and both ac-
cording to the laws of nature : laws, nevertheless,
disposed and controlled by that Providence which
conducts the affairs of the univcrsr, though by an
influence inscrutable, and generally undistinguish-
able by us. And in this Christianity is analogous
to most other provisions for happiness. The
provision is made ; and, being made, is left to act
according to laws, which, forming a part of a more
general system, regulate this particular subject, in
common with many others.
Let the constant recurrence to our observation
of contrivance, design, and wisdom, in the works
of nature, once fix upon our minds the belief of a
God, and after that all is easy. In the counsels
of a being possessed of the power and disposition
which the Creator of the universe must possess, it
is not improbable that there should be a future
state ; it is not improbable that we should be ac-
quainted with it. A future state rectifies every
thing: because, if moral agents be made, in the
last event, happy or miserable, according to their
conduct in the stations and under the circum-
stances in which they are placed, it seems not
very material by the operation of what causes,
according to what rules, or even, if you please to
call it so, by what chance or caprice, these stations
are assigned, or these circumstances determined.
This hypothesis, therefore, solves all that objec-
tion to the divine care and goodness, which the
promiscuous distribution of good and evil (I do
not mean in the doubtful advantages of riches
and grandeur, but in the unquestionably import-
ant distinctions of health and sickness, strength
and infirmity, bodily ease and pain, mental ala-
crity and depression) is apt on so many occasions
to create. This one truth changes the nature of
things ; gives order to confusion ; makes the moral
world of a piece with the natural.
Nevertheless, a higher degree of assurance than
that to which it is possible to advance this, or any
argument drawn from the light of nature, was
necessary, especially to overcome the shock which
the imagination and the senses receive from the
effects and the appearances of death, and the
obstruction which thence arises to the expectation
of either a continued or a future existence. 1'his
difficulty, although of a nature, no doubt, to act
3 C
very forcibly, will be found, t think, upon reflec-
tion, to reside more in our habits of apprehension,
than in the subject ; and that the giving way to
it, when we have any reasonable grounds for the
contrary, is rather an indulging of the imagina-
tion, than any thing else. Abstractedly consider-
ed, that is, considered without relation to the dif-
ference which habit, and merely habit, produces
in our faculties "and modes of apprehension, I do
not see any thing more in the resurrection of a
dead man, than in the conception of a child ;
except it be this, that the one comes into his world
with a system of prior consciousnesses about him,
which the other does not : and no person will say,
that he knows enough of either subject to perceive,
that this circumstance makes such a difference in
the two cases, that the one should be easy, and
the other impossible ; the one natural, the other
not so. To the first man, the succession of the
species would be as incomprehensible, as the re-
surrection of the dead is to us.
Thought is different from motion, perception
from impact : the individuality of a mind is hardly
consistent with the divisibility of an extended
substance; or its volition, that is, its power of
originating motion, with the inertness which
cleaves to every portion of matter which our ob-
servation or our experiments can reach. These
distinctions lead us to an immaterial principle :
at least, they do this ; they so negative the me-
chanical properties of matter, in the constitution
of a sentient, still more of a rational being, that
no argument drawn from these properties, can be
of any great weight in opposition to other reasons,
when th* question respects the changes of which
such a nature is capable, or the manner in which
these changes are effected. Whatever thought
be, or whatever it depend upon, the regular expe-
rience of sleep makes one thing concerning it cer-
tain, that it can be completely suspended, and
completely restored.
If any one find it too great a strain upon his
thoughts, to admit the notion of a substance
strictly immaterial, that is, from which extension
and solidity are excluded, he can find no difficulty
in allowing that a particle as small as a particle
of light, minuter than all conceivable dimensions,
mav just as easily be the depositary, the organ,
and the vehicle, of consciousness, as the conge-
ries of animal substance which forms a human
body, or the human brain ; that, being so, it may
transfer a proper identity to whatever shall here-
after be united to it ; may be safe amidst the de-
struction of its integuments; may connect the
natural with the spiritual, the corruptible with
the glorified body. If it be said, that the mode
and means of all this is imperceptible by our
senses, it is only what is true of the most import-
ant agencies and operations. The great powers
of nature are all invisible. Gravitation, electricity,
magnetism, though constantly present, and con-
stantly exerting their influence ; though within
us, near us, and about us ; though diffused through-
out all space, overspreading the surface, or pene-
trating the contexture, of all bodies with which
we arc acquainted, depend upon substances and
actions which are totally concealed from our
senses. The Supreme Intelligence is so himself.
But whether these or any other attempts to
satisfy the imagination, bear any resemblance to
the truth, or whether the imagination, which, as
I have said before, is a mere slave of habit, can be
89
386
EVIDENCES OP CHRISTIANITY.
satisfied or not; when a future state, and the
revelation of a future state, is not only perfectly
consistent with the attributes of the feeing who
governs the universe ; but when it is more, when
it alone removes the appearances of contrariety
which attend the operations of his will towards
creatures capable of comparative merit and de-
merit, of reward and punishment ; when a strong
body of historical evidence, confirmed by many
internal tokens of truth and authenticity, gives
us just reason to believe that such a revelation
hath actually been made ; we ought to set our
minds at rest with the assurance, that in the
resources of Creative Wisdom, expedients can-
not be wanted to carry into effect what the Deity
hath purposed: that either a new and mighty
influence will descend upon the human world to
resuscitate extinguished consciousness; or thai
amidst the other wonderful contrivances with
which the universe abounds, and by some of which
we see animal life, in many instances, assuming
improved forms of existence, acquiring new or-
gans, new perceptions, and new sources of enjoy-
ment, provision is also made, though by methods
secret to us (as all the great processes of nature
are,) for conducting the objects of God's moral
government, through the necessary changes of
their frame, to those final distinctions of happi-
ness and misery, which he hath declared to be
reserved for obedience and transgression, for vir-
tue and vice, for the use and the neglect, the
right and the wrong employment, of the facul-
ties and opportunities with which he hath been
pleased, severally, to intrust, and to try us.
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
TO THE HONOURABLE AND RIGHT REV. SHUTE BARRINGTON, L.L.D.
LORD BISHOP OF DURHAM.
MY LORD, The following Work was undertaken at your Lordship's recommendation, and,
amongst other motives, for the purpose of making the most acceptable return that I could, for a
great and important benejit conferred upon me.
It may be unnecessary, yet not perhaps quite impertinent, to state to your Lordship, and to the
reader, the several inducements that have led me once more to the press. The favour of my first
and ever-honoured Patron had put me in possession of so liberal a provision in the Church, a
abundantly to satisfy my wants, and much to exceed my pretensions. Your Lordship's munifi-
cence, in conjunction with that of some other excellent Prelates, who regarded my services with the
partiality with which your Lordship was pleased to consider them, hath since placed me in
ecclesiastical situations, more than adequate to every object of reasonable ambition. In the mean
time, a weak, and, of late, a painful state of health, deprived me of the power of discharging the
duties of my station in a manner at all suitable, either to my sense of those duties, or to my most
anxious wishes concerning them. My inability for the public functions of my profession, amongst
other consequences, left me much at leisure. That leisure was not to be lost. It was only in my
study that I could repair my deficiencies in the church : it was only through the press that I could
speak. Tuese circumstances entitled your Lordship in particular to call upon me for the only
species of exertion of which I was capable, and disposed me without hesitation to obey the call in
the best manner that I could. In the choice of a subject, I had no place left for doubt : in saying
which, I do not so much refer, either to the supreme importance of the subject, or to any scepticism
concerning it with which the present times are charged, as I do to its connexion with the subjects
treated of in my fanner publications. The following discussion alone was wanted to make up my
works into a system : in which works, such as they are, the public have now before them, the evi-
dences of Natural Religion, the evidences of Revealed Religion, and an account of the duties that
result from both. It is of small importance that they have been written in an order the very re-
verse of that in which they ought to be read. I commend, therefore, the present volume to your
Lordship's protection, not only as, in all probability, my last labour, but as the completion of a
regular and comprehensive design.
Hitherto, my Lord, I have been speaking of myself, and not of my Patron. Your Lordship
wants not the testimony of a Dedication ; nor any testimony from me : I consult therefore the im.
pulse of my own mind alone when I declare, that in no respect has my intercourse with your
Lordship been more gratifying to me, than in the opportunities which it has afforded me, of observ-
ing your earnest, active, and unwearied solicitude, for the advancement of substantial Christianity ;
a solicitude, nevertheless, accompanied with that candour of mind, which suffers no subordinate
differences of opinion, when there is a coincidence in the main intention and object, to produce any
alienation of esteem, or diminution of favour. It is fortunate for a country, and honourable to
its government, when qualities and dispositions like these are placed in high and influencing sta-
tions. Such is the sincere judgment which I have formed of your Lordship 1 s character, and of its
public value : my personal obligations I can never forget. Under a due sense of both these consi-
derations, I beg leave to subscribe myself, with great respect and gratitude, MY LORD, your Lord-
ship 1 s faithful and most devoted servant, WILLIAM PALEY.
Bishop-Weannouth, July, 1802.
CHAPTER I.
State of the Argument.
IN crossing a heath, suppose 1 pitched my foot
against a stone, and were asked how the stone
came to be there : I might possibly answer, that
for any thing I knew to the contrary, it had lain
there for ever : nor would it perhaps be very easy
to show the absurdity of this answer. But sup-
pose I had found a watch upon the ground, and
387
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
it should be inquired how the watch happened to be
in that place ; I should hardly think of the answer
which I had before given, that for any thing I
knew, the watch might have always been there.
Yet why should not this answer serve for the
watch as well as for the stone 1 why is it not as
admissable in the second case as in the first 1 For
this reason, and for no other, viz. that when we
come to inspect the watch, we perceive (^hat we
could not discover in the stone) that its several
parts are framed and put together for a purpose,
t. g. that they are so formed and adjusted as to
produce motion, and that motion so regulated as
to point out the hour of the day ; that, if the dif-
ferent parts had been differently shaped from what
they are, of a different size from what they are, or
placed after any other manner, or in any other
f order, than that in which they are placed, either no
motion at all would have been carried on in the
machine, or none which would have answered the
\ use that is now served by it. To reckon up a
few of the plainest of these parts, and of their of-
fices, all tending to one result : We see a cylin-
drical box containing a coiled elastic spring, which,
by its endeavour to relax itself, turns round the
box. We next observe a flexible chain (artifi-
cially wrought for the sake of flexure,) communi-
cating the action of the spring from the box to the
fusee. We then find a series of wheels, the
teeth of which catch in, and apply to each other,
conducting the motion from the fusee to. the
balance, and from the balance to the pointer ; and
at the same time, by the size and shape of those
wheels so regulating that motion, as to terminate
in causing an index, by an equable and measured
progression, to pass over a given space in a given
time. We take notice that the wheels are made
of brass in order to keep them from rust; the
springs of steel, no other metal being so elastic ;
that over the face of the watch there is placed a
glass, a material employed in no other part of the
work, but in the room of which, if there had been
any other than a transparent substance, the hour
could not be seen without opening the case. This
mechanism being observed (it requires indeed an
examination of the instrument, and perhaps some
previous knowledge of the subject, to perceive and
understand it ; but being once, as we have said, ob-
served and understood,) the inference, we think, is
inevitable, that the watch must have had a maker ;
that there must have existed, at some time, and at
some place or other, an artificer or artificers, who
formed it for the purpose which we find it actual-
ly to answer ; who comprehended its construction,
and designed its use.
I. Nor would it. I apprehend, weaken the con-
clusion, that we had never seen a watch made ;
that we had never known an artist capable of
making one ; that we were altogether incapable of
executing such a piece of workmanship ourselves,
or of understanding in what manner it was per-
formed ; all this being no more than what is true
of some exquisite remains of ancient art, of some
lost arts, and, to the generality of mankind, of the
more curious productions of modern manufacture.
Does one man in a million know how oval frames
are turned 1 Ignorance of this kind exalts our
opinion of the unseen and unknown artist's skill
if he be unseen and unknown, but raises no doubt
in our minds of the existence and agency of such
an artist, at some former time, and in some place
or other. Nor can I perceive that it varies at all
the inference, whether the question arise con-
cerning a human agent, or concerning an agent of
a different species, or an agent possessing in some
respects a different nature.
II. Neither, secondly, would it invalidate our
conclusion, that the watch sometimes went wrong,
or that it seldom went exactly right. The pur-
pose of the machinery, the design and the design-
er, might be evident, and in the case supposed
would be evident, in whatever way we accounted
for the irregularity of the movement, or whether
we could account for it or not. It is not neces-
sary that a machine be perfect, in order to show
with what design it was made ; still less necessary,
where the only question is, whether it were made
with any design pt all.
III. Nor, thirdly, would it bring any uncertain-
ty into the argument, if there were a few parts of
the watch, concerning which we could not dis-
cover^ or had not yet discovered, in what manner
they conduced to the general effect, or even some
parts, concerning which we could not ascertain,
whether they conduced to that effect in any man-
ner whatever. For, as to the first branch of the
case ; if by the loss, or disorder, or decay, of the
parts in question, the movement of the watch
were found in fact to be stopped, or disturbed, or
retarded, no doubt would remain in our minds as
to the utility or intention of these parts, although
we should be unable to investigate the manner
according to which, or the connexion by which,
the ultimate effect depended upon their action or
assistance ; and the more complex is the machine,
the more likely is this obscurity to arise. Then,
as to the second thing supposed, namely, that
there were parts which might be spared, without
prejudice to the movement of the watch, and that
we had proved this by experiment, these super-
fluous parts, even if we were completely assured
that they were such, would not vacate the reason-
ing which we had instituted concerning other
parts. The indication of contrivance remained,
with respect to them, nearly as it was before.
IV. Nor, fourthly, would any man in his
senses think the existence of the watch, with its
various machinery, accounted for, by being told
that it was one out of possible combinations of
material forms ; that whatever he had found in the
place where he found the watch, must have con-
tained some internal configuration or other ; and
that this configuration might be the structure
now exhibited, viz. of the works of a watch, as
well as a different structure.
V. Nor, fifthly, would it yield his inquiry more
satisfaction to be answered, that there existed
in things a principle of order, which had disposed
the parts of the watch into their present form
and situation. He never knew a watch made by
the principle of order ; nor can he even form to
himself an idea of what is meant by a principle of
order, distinct from the intelligence of the watch-
maker.
VI. Sixthly, he would be surprised to hear that
the mechanism of the watch was no proof of con-
trivance, only a motive to induce the mind to
think so.
VII. And not less surprised to be informed,
that the watch in his hand was nothing more
than the result of the laws of metallic nature. It
is a perversion of language to assign any law, as
the efficient, operative cause of any thing. A
law presupposes an agent j for it is only the mode,
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
389
according to which an agent proceeds : it implies
a power ; for it is the order, according to which
that power acts. Without this agent, without
this power, which are both distinct from itself,
the law does nothing ; is nothing. The expres-
sion, " the law of metallic nature," may sound
strange and harsh to a philosophic ear ; .but it
seems quite as justifiable as some others which
are more familiar to him, such as " the law of ve-
getable nature," " the law of animal nature," or
indeed as " the law of nature," in general, when
assigned as the cause of phenomena, in exclusion
of agency and power ; or when it is substituted
into the place of these.
VIII. Neither, lastly, would our observer l>e
driven out of his conclusion, or from his confi-
dence in its truth, bv being told that he knows
nothing at all about the matter. He knows
enough for his argument : he knows the utility of
the end ; he knows the subserviency and adapta-
tion of the means to the end. These points being
known, his ignorance of other points, his doubts
concerning other points, aflect not the certainty of
his reasoning. The consciousness of knowing
little, need not beget a distrust of that which he
does know.
CHAPTER II.
State of the Argument continued.
SUPPOSK, in the next place, that the person who
found the watch, should, after some time, discover
that, in addition to all the properties which he had
hitherto observed in it, it possessed the unexpected
property of producing, in the course of its move-
ment, another watch like itself (the thinor \ s con-
ceivable) ; that it containedwithin it a mechanism,
a system of parts, a mould for instance, or a com-
plex adjustment of lathes, files, and other tools,
evidently and separately calculated for this pur-
pose; let us inquire, what ellect ought such a dis-
covery to have u{>on his former conclusion.
I. The first effect would be to increase his ad-
miration of the contrivance, and his conviction of
the consummate skill of the contriver. Whether
he regarded the object of the contrivance, the dis-
tinct apparatus, the intricate, yet in many parts
intelligible mechanism, by which it was carried
on, he would perceive, in this new observation,
nothing but an additional reason for doing what
he had already done, for referring the construc-
tion of the watch to design, and to supreme art.
If that construction without this property, or,
which is the same thing, before this property had
been noticed, proved intention and art to have
been employed about it ; still more strong would
the proof appear, when he came to the knowledge
of this farther property, the crown and perfection
of all the rest.
II. He would reflect, that though the watch be-
fore him were, in some sense, the maker of the
watch which was fabricated in the course of its
movements, yet it was in a very different sense
from that in which a carpenter, for instance, is
the maker of a chair ; the author of its contrivance,
the cause of the relation of its parts to their use.
With respect to these, the first watch was no
cause at all to the second : in no such sense as this
was it the author of the constitution and order,
either of the parts which the new watch contained,
or of the parts by the aid and instrumentality of
which it was produced. We might possibly say,
but with great latitude of expression, that a stream
of water ground corn ; but no latitude of expres-
sion would allow us to say, no stretch of conjec-
ture could lead us to think, that the stream of
water built the mill, though it were too ancient
for us to know who the builder was. What the
stream of water does in the affair, is neither more
nor less than this ; by the application of an unin-
telligent impulse to a mechanism previously ar-
ranged, arranged independently of it, and arranged
by intelligence, an effect is produced, viz. the corn
is ground. But the effect results from the ar-
rangement. The force of the stream cannot be
said to be the cause or author of the effect, still
le'ss of the arrangement. Understanding and plan
in the formation of the mill were not the less ne-
eessary, for any share which the water has in grind-
ing the corn ; yet is this share the same as that
which the watch would have contributed to the
production of the new watch, ui
assumed in the last section. Therefore,"
III. Though it be now no longer probable, that
the individual watch which our observer had
found, was made immediately by the hand of an
artilieer, yet doth not this alteration in any wise
aflect the inference, that an artificer had been ori-
ginally employed and concerned in the production.
The argument from design remains as it was.
Marks of design and contrivance are no more ac-
counted for now than they were before. In the
same thing, we may ask for the cause of different
properties. We may ask for the cause of the co-
lour of a body, of its hardness, of its heat; and
these causes may be all diflerent. We are now
asking for the cause of that subserviency to a use.
that relation to an end, which we have remarked
in the watch before us. No answer is given to
this question, by telling us that a preceding watch
produced it. There cannot be design without a
designer ; contrivance, without a contriver ; order,
without choice ; arrangement, without any thing
capable of arranging; subserviency and relation
to a purpose, without that which could intend a
pnr|>ose ; means suitable to an end, and executing
their office in accomplishing that end, without the
end ever having been contemplated, or the mean.s
accommodated to it. Arrangement, disposition
of parts, subserviency of means to an end, rela-
tion of instruments to a use, imply the presence
of intelligence and mind. No one, therefore, can
rationally believe, that the insensible, inanimate
watch, from which the watch before us issued,
was the proper cause of the mechanism we so
much admire in it could be truly said to have
constructed the instrument, disposed its parts, as-
signed their office, determined their order, action,
and mutual dependency, combined their several
motions into one result, and that also a result con-
nected with the utilities of other beings. All these
properties, therefore, are as much unaccounted for
as they were before.
I V. Nor is any thing gained by running the
difficulty farther back, i. e. by supposing the watch
before us to have lx>en produced from another
watch, that from a former, and so on indefinitely.
Our going back, ever so far, brings us no nearer
to the least degree of satisfaction upon the subject.
Contrivance is still unaccounted for. We still
want a contriver. A designing mind is neither
33*
390
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
supplied by this supposition, nor dispensed with
If the difficulty were diminished the farther we
went back, by going back indefinitely, we might
exhaust it. And this is the only case to which
this sort of reasoning applies. Where there is a
tendency, OF, as we increase the number of terms,
a continual approach towards a limit, there, by
supposing the number of terms to be what is
called infinite, we may conceive the limit to be
attained : but where there is no such tendency,
or approach, nothing is effected by lengthening
the series. There is no difference as to the point
in question (whatever there may be as to many
points,) between one scries and another; be-
tween a series which is finite, and a series which
is infinite. A chain composed of an infinite num-
ber of links, can no more support itself, than a
chain composed of a finite number of links. Arid
of this we are assured (though we never *dn
have tried the experiment), because, by increas-
ing the number of links, from ten for instance to
a Hundred, from a hundred to a thousand, &c.
we make not the smallest approach, we observe
not the smallest tendency towards self-support.
There is no difference in this respect (yet there
may be a great difference in several respects) be-
tween a chain of a greater or less length, between
one chain and another, between one that is finite
and one that is infinite. This very much resem-
bles the case before us. The machine which we
are inspecting demonstrates, by its construction,
contrivance and design. Contrivance must have
had a contriver ; design a designer ; whether the
machine immediately proceeded from another ma-
chine or not. That circumstance alters not the
case. That other machine may, in like manner,
have proceeded from a former machine : nor does
that alter the case; contrivance must have had a
contriver. That former one from one preceding
it : no alteration still ; a contriver is still necessary.
No tendency is perceived, no approach towards a
diminution of this necessity. It is the same with
any and every succession of these machines ; a
succession of ten, of a hundred, of a thousand ;
with one series, as with another; a series which
is finite, as with a series which is infinite. In
whatever other respects they may differ, in this
they do not. In all equally, contrivance and design
are unaccounted for.
The question is not simply, How came the first
watch into existence 1 which question, it may be
pretended, is done away by supposing the series
of watches thus produced from one another to
have been infinite, and consequently to have had
no svichjirst, for which it was necessary to pro-
vide a cause. This, perhaps, would have been
nearly the state of the question, if nothing had
been before us but an unorganized, unmechanized
substance, without mark or indication 'of contri-
vance. It might be difficult to show that such
substance could not have existed from eternity,
either in succession (if it were possible, which I
think it is not, for unorganized bodies to spring
from one another,) or by individual perpetuity.
But that is not the question now. To suppose it
to be so, is to suppose that it made no difference
whether he had found a watch or a stone. As it
is, the metaphysics of that question have no place ;
for, in the watch which we are examining, are
seen contrivance, design; an end, a purpose;
means for the end, adaptation to the purpose.
And the question which irresistibly presses upon
our thoughts, is, whence this contrivance and de-
sign 1 The thing required is the intending mind,
the adapting hand, the intelligence by which that
hand was directed. This question, this demand,
is not shaken off, by increasing a number or suc-
cession of substances, destitute of these properties;
nor the more, by increasing that number to infini-
ty. If it be said, that upon the supposition of one
watch being produced from another in the course
of that other's movements, and by means of the
mechanism within it, wq have a cause for the
watch in my hand, viz. the watch from which it
proceeded : I deny, that for the design, the contri-
vance, the suitableness of means to an end, the
adaptation of instruments to a use (all which we
discover in the watch,) we have any cause what-
ever. It is in Vain, therefore, to nssign a series of
such causes, or to allege that a series may be car-
ried back to infinity ; for I do not admit that we
have yet any cause at all of the phenomena, still less
any series of causes, either finite or infinite. Here
is contrivance, but no contriver ; proofs of design,
but no designer.
V. Our observer would farther also reflect,
that the maker of the watch before him, was, in
truth and reality, the maker of every watch pro-
duced from it; there being no difference except
that the latter manifests a more exquisite skill be-
tween the making of another watch with his own
hands, by the mediation of files, lathes, chisels,
&c. and the disposing, fixing, and inserting, of
these instruments, or of others equivalent to them,
in the body of the watch already made, in such a
manner as to form a new watch in the course of
the movements which he had given to the old
ne. Il is only working by one set of tools instead
of another.
The conclusion which the first examination of
the watch, of its works, construction, and move-
ment, suggested, was, that it must have had, for,
the cause and author of that construction, an arti'
ficer, who understood its mechanism, and design-
ed its use. This conclusion is invincible. A se-
cond examination presents us with a new disco-
very. The watch is found, in the course of its
movement, to produce another watch, similar to
itself; and not only so, but we perceive in it a sys-
tem or organization, separately calculated for that
purpose. What effect would this discovery have,
jr ought it to have, upon our former inference 1
What, as hath already been said, but to increase,
jeyond measure, our admiration of the skill which
lad been employed in the formation of such a ma-
chine! Or shall it, instead of this, all at once
urn us round to an opposite conclusion, vi?. that
no art or skill whatever nas been concerned in the
jusiness, although all other evidences of art and
skill remain as they were, and this last and su-
Dreme piece of art be now added to the rest ? Can
hi* be maintained without absurdity 1 Yet this is
atheism.
CHAPTER III.
Application of the Argument.
THIS is atheism : for every indication of contri-
vance, every manifestation of design, which exist-
ed in the watch, exists in the works of nature ;
with the difference, on the side of nature, of being
greater and more, and that in a degree which ex-
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
391
cectls all computation. I mean, that the contri-
vances of nature surpass the contrivances of art,
in the complexity, subtilty, and curiosity, of the
mechanism ; and still more, if possible, do they
go beyond them in number and variety ; yet, in
a multitude of cases, are not less evidently me-
chanical, not less evidently contrivances, not less
evidently accommodated to their end, or suited to
their office, than are the most perfect productions
of human ingenuity.
I know no tetter method of introducing so large
a subject, than that of comparing a single thing
with a single thing; an eye, for example, with a
telescope. As far as the examination of the in-
strument goes, there is precisely the same proof
that the eye was made lor vision, as there is that
the telescope was made for assisting it. They are
made upon the same principles; both being ad-
justed to the laws by which the transmission and
refraction of rays of light are regulated. I speak
not of the origin of the laws themselves ; but such
laws being fixed, the construction, in both cases,
is adapted to them. For instance ; these laws re-
quire, in order to produce the same effect, that the
rays of light, in [Kissing from water into the eye,
should be refracted by a more convex surface,
than when it passes out of air into the eye. Ac-
cordingly we find that the eye of a fish, in that
part of it called the crystalline lens, is much
rounder than the eye of terrestrial animals. What
plainer manifestation of design can there be than
this difference 7 What could a mathematical
instrument-maker have done more, to show his
knowledge of his principle, his application of that
knowledge, liis suiting of his means to hie end ; I
will not say to display the compass or excellence
of his skill and art, for in these all comparison is
indecorous, but to testify counsel, choice, consider-
ation, purpose'?
To some it may appear a difference sufficient
to destroy all similitude between the eye and the
telescope, that the one is a perceivingorgan, the
other an unperceiving instrument. The fact is,
that they are both instruments. And, as to the
mechanism, at least as to mechanism being em-
ployed, and even as to the kind of it, this circum-
stance varies not the analogy at all. For, observe
what the constitution of the eye is. It is neces-
sary, in order to produce distinct vision, that an
image or picture of the object be formed at the
bottom of the eye. Whence this necessity arises,
or how the picture is connected with the sensa-
tion, or contributes to it, it may be difficult, nay,
we will confess, if you please, impossible for us to
search out. But the present question is not con-
cerned in the inquiry. It may be true, that, in
this, and in other instances, we trace mechanical
contrivance a certain way: and that then we
come to something which is not mechanical, -or
which is inscrutable. But this affects not the
certainty of our investigation, as far as we have
gone. The difference between an animal and an
automatic statue, consists in this, that, in the ani-
mal, we trace the mechanism to a certain point,
and then we are stopped ; either the mechanism
becoming too subtile for our discernment, or some-
thing else beside the known laws of mechanism
taking place; whereas, in the automaton, for the
comparatively few motions of which it is capable,
we trace the mechanism throughout. But up to
the limit, the reasoning is as clear and certain in
the one case as in the other, In the example be-
fore us, it is a matter of certainty, because it is a
matter which experience and observation demon-
strate, that the formation of an image at the bot-
tom of the eye is necessary to perfect vision. The
image itself can be shown. Whatever alleets the
distinctness of the image, affects the distinctness
of the vision. The formation then of such an
image being necessary (no matter how) to the
sense of sight, and to the exercise of that sense,
the apparatus by which it is formed is constructed
and put together, not only with infinitely more
art, but upon the self-same principles of art, as in
the telescope or the camera obscura. The per-
ception arising from the image may be laid out of
the question; for the production of the image,
these arc instruments of the same kind. The end
is the same ; the means are the same. The pur-
pose in both is alike; the contrivance for accom-
plishing that purpose is in both alike. The lenses
of the telescope, and the humours of the eye, bear
a complete resemblance to one another, in their
figure, their position, and in their power over the
rays of light, viz. in bringing each pencil to a
point at the right distance from the lens; namely,
in the eye. at the exact place where the mem-
brane is spread to receive it. How is it possible, un-
der circumstances of such close affinity, and under
the operation of equal evidence, to exclude contri-
vance from the one, yet to acknowledge the proof
of contrivance having been employed, as the plain-
est and clearest of all propositions, in the other 1
The resemblance between the two cases is still
more accurate, and obtains in more points than
we have yet represented, or than we are, on the
first view of the subject, aware of. In dioptric
telescopes, there is an imperfection of this nature.
Pencils of light, in passing through glass lenses,
are separated into different colours, thereby ting-
ing the object, especially the edges of it, as if it
were viewed through a prism. To correct this
inconvenience had been long a desideratum in
the art. At last it came into the mind of a saga-
cious optician, to inquire how this matter was
managed in the eye ; in which there was exactly
the same difficulty to contend with as in the tele-
scope. His observation taught him, that, in the
eye, the evil was cured by combining lenses com-
posed of different substances, i. e. of substances
which possessed different refracting powers. Our
artist borrowed thence his hint ; and produced a
correction of the defect, by imitating, in glasses
made from different materials, the effects of tho
different humours through which the rays of light
pass before they reach the bottom of the eye.
Could this be in the eye without purpose, which
suggested to the optician the only effectual means
of attaining that purpose 1
But farther ; there are other points, not so much
perhaps of strict resemblance between the two, as
of superiority of the eye over the telescope ; yet of
a superiority which, being founded in the laws
that regulate both, may furnish topics of fair and
just comparison. Two things were wanted to
the eye, which were not wanted (at least in the
same degree) to the telescope ; and these were, the
adaptation of the organ, first, to different degrees
of light; and, secondly, to the vast diversity of dis-
tance at which objects are viewed by the naked
eye, tiz. from a few inches to as many miles.
These difficulties present not themselves to the
maker of the telescope. He wants all the light he
can get; and he never directs his instrument to
393
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
objects near at hand. In the eye, both these
cases were to be provided for ; and ibr the purpose
of providing for them, a subtile and appropriate
mechanism is introduced :
I. In order to exclude excess of light, when it is
excessive, and to render objects visible under ob-
scurer degrees of it, when no more can be had,
the hole or aperture in the eye, through which the
light enters, is so formed, as to contract or dilate
itself for the purpose of admitting a greater or less
number of rays at the same time. The chamber
of the eye is a camera obscura, which, when the
light is too small, can enlarge its opening ; when
too strong, can again contract it ; and that without
any other assistance than that of its own exqui-
site machinery. It is farther also, in the human
subject, to be observed, that this hole in the eye
which we call the pupil, under all its different di-
mensions, retains its exact circular shape. .This
is a structure extremely artificial. Let an artist
only try to execute the same ; he will lind that his
threads and strings must be disposed with great
consideration and contrivance, to make a circle,
which shall continually change its diameter, yet
preserve its form. This is done in the eye by an
application of fibres, i. e. of strings, similar, in
their position and action, to what an artist would
and must employ, if he had the same piece of
workmanship to perform.
II. The second difficulty which has been stated,
was the suiting of the same organ to the percep-
tion of objects that lie near at hand, within a few
inches, we will suppose, of the eye, and of objects
which are placed at a considerable distance from
it, that, for example, of as many furlongs (I speak
in both cases of the distance at which distinct
vision can be exercised.) Now this, according to
the principles of optics, that is, according to the
laws by which the transmission of light is regu-
lated (and these laws are fixed,) could not be done
without the organ itself undergoing an alteration,
and receiving an adjustment, that might correspond
with the exigency of the case, that is to say, with
the different inclination to one another under
which the rays of light reached it. Rays issuing
from points placed at a small distance from the
eye, and which consequently must enter the eye
in a spreading or diverging order, cannot, by the
optical instrument in the same state, be brought
to a point, i. e. be made to form an image, in the
same place with rays proceeding from objects situ-
ated at a much greater distance, and which rays
arrive at the eye in directions nearly (and physi-
cally speaking) parallel. It requires a rounder
lens to do it. The point of concourse behind the
lens must fall critically upon the retina, or the vi-
sion is confused ; yet, other things remaining the
same, this point, by the immutable properties of
light, is carried farther back when the rays proceed
from a near object, than when they are sent from
one that is remote. A person who was using an
optical instrument, would manage this matter by
changing, as the occasion required, his lens or his
telescope; or by adjusting the distance of his
glasses with his hand or his screw : but how is it
to be managed in the eye] What the alteration
was, or in what part of the eye it took place, or by
what means it was effected (for if the known laws
which govern the refraction of light be maintained,
some alteration in the state of the organ there must
be,) had long formed a subject of inquiry and con-
jecture. The change, though sufficient for the
purpose, is so minute as to elude ordinary observa-
tion. Some very late discoveries, deduced from a
laborious and most accurate ins{>ection of the
structure and operation of 'the organ, seem at length
to have ascertained the mechanical alteration
which the parts of the eye undergo. It is found,
that by the action of certain muscles, called the
straight muscles, and which action is the most ad-
vantageous that could be imagined for the purpose,
it is found, I say, that whenever the eye is di-
rected to a near object, three changes are produced
in it at the same time, all severally contributing
to the adjustment required. The cornea, or outer-
most coat of the eye, is rendered more round and
prominent; the crystalline lens underneath is
pushed forward ; and the axis of vision, as the
depth of the eye is called, is elongated. These
changes in the eye vary its power over the rays of
light in such a manner and degree as to produce
exactly the effect which is wanted, viz. the forma-
tion of an image upon the retina, whether the
rays come to the eye in a state of divergency,
which is the case when the object is near to the
eye, or come parallel to one another, which is the
case when the object is placed at a distance. Can
any thing be more decisive of contrivance than
this is 1 The most secret laws of optics must have
been known to the author of a structure endowed
with such a capacity of change. It is as though
an optician, when he had a nearer object to view,
should rectify his instrument by putting in another
glass, at the same time drawing out also his tube
to a different length.
Observe a new-born child first lifting up its eye-
lids. What does the opening of the curtain dis-
cover 1 The anterior part of two pellucid globes,
which, when they come to be examined, are found
to be constructed upon strict optical principles;
the self-same principles upon which we ourselves
construct optical instruments. We find them per-
fect for the purpose of forming an image by refrac-
tion ; composed of parts executing different office* :
one part having fulfilled its office upon the pencil
of light, delivering it over to the action of another
part ; that to a third, and so onward ; the progress-
ive action depending for its success upon the nicest
and minutest adjustment of the parts concerned ;
yet these parts so in fact adjusted, as to produce,
not by a simple action or effect, but by a combina-
tion of actions and effects, the result which is ul-
timately wanted. And forasmuch as this organ
would have to operate under different circum-
stances, with strong degrees of light, and with
weak degrees, upon near objects, and upon remote
ones; and these differences demanded, according
to the laws by which the transmission of light is
regulated, a corresponding diversity of structure ;
that the aperture, for example, through which the
light passes, should be larger or less ; the lenses
rounder or flatter, or that their. distance from the
tablet, upon which the picture is delineated, should
be shortened or lengthened : this, I say, being the
case, and the difficulty to which the eye was to
be adapted, we find its several parts capable of
being occasionally changed, and a most artificial
apparatus provided to produce that change. This
is far beyond the common regulator of a watch,
which requires the touch of a foreign hand to set
it ; but it is not altogether unlike Harrison's con-
trivance for making a watch regulate itself, by in-
serting within it a machinery, which, by the artful
use of the different expansion of metals, preserves
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
393
the equability of the motion under all the variou
temperatures of heat and cold in which the instru
ment may happen to be placed. The ingenuit
of this last contrivance has been justly praised
Shall, therefore, a structure which differs from i
chiefly by surpassing it, be accounted no contriv
ance at ah"? or, if it he a contrivance, that it i
without a contriver !
But this, though much, is not the whole : b
different speck's of animals the faculty we are tii
scribing j s possessed, in degrees suited to the dh
ferent ran ire of vision which their mode of life, aoc
of procuring their food, requires. Birds, for in
stance, in general, procure their food bv me;ms o.
their l>e;ik; and, the distanc" between the eye am
the point of the beak being small, it. becomes ne
cessary that they should have the power of seeing
very near objects distinctly. ( )n the other hand
from Ix-ing often elevati-d inn -h above the ground
living in air. and moving through it with great
velocity, they require, for their safety, as well as
for assisting them in descrying their prey, a powei
of seeing at a great distance; a power-ef which, ii
birds of rapine, surprising examples are ^iven
The fact accordingly is. that two peculiarities an
found in the eyes di' birds, both tending tofarifi-
tate the change upon which the adjustment of the
eye to different distances depends. The one is a
bony, yet, in most species, a flexible rim or hoop
surrounding the broadest part of the eye ; which
confining the actibn of the muscles to that part
increases the efl't ct of their lateral pressure upon
the orb, by which pressure its axis is elon<_ r itcd
for the purpose of looking at very near objects.
The other is an additional muscle.Yalled the mar-
supium, to draw, on occasion, the crystalline lens
back, and to lit the same eye for the viewing of
very distant objects. P,y these means, the eyesof
birds can pass from one extreme to another of their
scale of adjust ment, with more ease and readiness
than the eyes of other animals.
The eyes ot\fi.thes also, compared with those of
terrestrial animals, exhibit certain distinctions of
structure, adapted to their state and element. We
have already observed upon the figure of the
crystalline compensating by its roundness the
density of the medium through which their light
passes. To which we have to add, that the eyes
offish, in their natural and indolent state, appear
to be adjusted to near objects, in this respect dif-
fering from the human eye, as well as those of
quadrupeds and birds. The ordinary shape of
the fish's eye being in a much higher degree con-
vex than that of land animals, a corresponding
difference attends its muscular conformation, viz.
that it is throughout calculated for flattening the
eye.
The iris also in the eyes offish does not admit
of contraction. This is a great difference, of
which the probable reason is, that the diminished
light in water is never too strong for the retina.
In the eel. which has to work its head through
sand and gravel, the roughest and harshest sub-
stances, there is placed before the eye, and at
some distance from it, a transparent, horny, con-
vex case or covering, which, without obstructing
the sight, defends the organ. To such an ani-
mal, could any thing be more wanted, or more
useful?
Thus, in comparing the eyes of different kinds
of animals, we see, in their resemblances and
distinctions, one general plan laid down, and that
3 D
plan varied with the varying exigencies to which
it is to l)e applied.
There is one property, however, common, I
believe, to all eyes, at. least to all which have been
examined,* namely, that the optic nerve enters
the bottom of the eye, not in the centre or middle,
but a little on one side ; not in the point where
the axis of the eye meets the retina, but between
that point and the nose. The difference which
this makes is, that no part of an object is unper-
ceived by both eyes at the same time.
In considering vision as achieved by the means
of an image formed at the bottom of the eye, we
can never reflect without wonder upon the small-
iiess, yet correctness of the picture, the subtilty
of the touch, tin fineness of the lines. ' A land-
scape of live or six square leagues is brought into
a space of half an inch diameter: yet the multi-
tude of objects which it contains, are all preserved j
are all discriminated in their magnitudes, positions,
li<_'ures, colours. The prospect from Hamp.stead-
1 is compressed into the compass of a sixpence,
yet circumstantially represented. A stagecoach,
travelling at its ordinary speed for half an hour,
passes, in the eye, only over one twelfth of an
inch, yet is this change of place in the image dis-
tinclly perceived throughout its whole progress;
for it is only by means of that perception that the
motion of the coach itself is made sensible to the
'ye. If any thinjr can abate our admiration of
the smallness of this visual tablet compared with
the extent of vision, it is a reflection which the
view of nature leads us, every hoifr to make, viz.
that, in the hands of the Creator, great and little
are nothing.
Sturmius held, that the examination of the eye
was a cure for atheism. Besides that conformity
to optical principles which fts internal constitution
displays, and which alone amounts to a manifest-
tion of intelligence having l>een exerted in the
structure ; besides this, which forms, no doubt,
he leading character of the organ, there is to be
seen, in every thing belonging to it and about it,
in extraordinary degree of care, an anxiety for its
jreservation, due, if we may so speak, to its value
nd its tenderness. Ft is lodged in a strong, deep,
xjny socket, composed by the junction of seven
Afferent bones,t hollowed at their edges. In some
ew species, as that of the coatimondi,t the orbit
s not bony throughout; but whenever this is the
ase the upper, which is the deficient j>art, is sup-
died by a cartilaginous ligament ; a substitution
which shows the same care. Within this socket
t is imbedded in fat, of all animal substances the
est adapted both to its repose and "motion. It is
bettered by. the eye-brows ; an arch of hair,
vhich, like a thatched penthouse, prevents the
weat and moisture of the forehead from running
own into it.
But it is still better protected by its lid. Of
he superficial parts of the animal frame, J know
one which, in its office and structure, is more
eserving of attention than the eyelid. It defends
le eye ; it wipes it; "it closes it -in sleep. Are
lere, in any work of art whatever, purposes more
vident than those which this organ fulfils ? or an
pparatus for executing those purposes more in-
lligible, more appropriate, or more mechanical 7
* The eye of the seal or sea-'calf, [ understand, is an
xception ; Mem. Acad. Paris, 1701, p. 123. - .
Heister, sect. 89. | Mem. R. Ac. Paris, p. 117.
394
NATURAL THEOLOGY,
If it be overlooked by the observer of nature, it
can only be because it is obvious and familiar.
This is a tendency to be guarded against. We
pass by the plainest -instances, whilst we are ex-
ploring those which are rare and curious: by
which conduct of the understanding we sometimes
neglect the strongest observations, being taken up
with others, which, though more recondite and
scientific, are, as solid arguments, entitled to much
less consideration.
In order to keep the eye moist and clean, (which
qualities are necessary to its brightness and its
use,) a wash is constantly supplied by a, secretion
for the purpose ; and the superfluous brine is con-
veyed to the nose through a perforation in the
bone as large as a goose-quill. When once the
fluid has entered the nose, it spreads itself upon
the inside of the nostril, and is evaporated by the
current of warm air, which in the course of respi-
ration is continually passing over it. Can any
pipe or outlet, for carrying off the waste liquor
from a dye-house or a distillery, be more mecha-
nical than this is 1 It is easily perceived, that the
eye must want moisture : but could the want of
the eye generate the gland which produces the
tear, or bore the hole by which it is discharged,
a hole through a bone 1
It is observable that this provision is not found
in fish, the element in which they live supplying
a constant lotion to the eye.
It were, however, injustice to dismiss the eye as
a piece of mechanism, without noticing that most
exquisite of all contrivances, the nictitating' mem-
brane, which is found in the eyes of birds and of
many quadrupeds. Its use is to sweep the eye,
which it does in an instant, to spread over it the
lachrymal humour ; to defend it also from sudden
injuries; yet not totally, when drawn upon the
pupil, to shut out the light. The qommodious-
ness with which it lie's folded up in the upper
corner of the eye, ready for use and action, and
the quickness with which it executes its purpose,
ate properties known and obvious to every ob-
server : but what is equally admirable, though not
quite so obvious, is the combination of two kinds
of substance, muscular and elastic, and of two dif-
ferent kinds of action, by which the motion of
this membrane is performed. It is not, as in
ordinary cases, by the action of two antagonist
muscles, one pulling forward and the other back-
ward, that a reciprocal change is effected ; but it
is thus: The membrane itself is , an elastic sub-
stance, capable of being drawn out by force like
a piece of elastic gum, and by its own elasticity
returning, when the foree is removed, to its former
position. Such being its nature, in order to fit it
up for its office, it is connected by a tendon or
thread with a muscle in the back part of the eye :
this tendon or thread, though strong, is so fine as
not to obstruct the sight, even when it 'passes
across it ; and the muscle itself, being placed in
the back part of the eye, derives from its situation
the advantage, not only of being secure, but of
being out of the way ; which it'would hardly have
been in any position that could be assigned to it
in the anterior part of. the orb, where its function
lies. When the muscle behind the eye contracts,
the membrane, by means of the communicating
thread, is instantly drawn over the fore-part of it.
When the muscular contraction (which is a posi-
tive, and, most probably, a voluntary effort) ceases
to be exerted, the elasticity alone of the membrane
brings it back again to its position.* Does not
this, if any thins can do it, Ix-speak an artist.
master of his work, acquainted with his materials
" Of a thousand other things," say the French
academicians, "we perceive not the contrivance,
because we understand them only by the rllivts,
of which we know not the causes.: but we here
treat of a machine, all the parts whereof are \isi-
ble : and which need only be looked upon, to dis-
cover the reasons of its motion and action. "t
In the configuration of the muscle which,
though placed behind the eye, draws the nictitat-
ing membrane over the'eye, there is, what the
authors, just now quoted, deservedly call a mar-
vellous -mechanism. 1 suppose this structure to
be found in other animals ; but, in the memoirs
from which this account is taken, it is anatomi-
cally demonstrated only in the cassowary. The
muscle is passed through a loop formed by an-
other muscle ; and is there inflected, as if it were
round a pulley. This is a peculiarity ; and ob-
serve the advantage of it. A single muscle -with a
straight tendon, which is the common muscular
form, would have been sufficient, if it had had power
to draw far enough. But the contraction, neces-
sary to draw the membrane over the whole eye,
required a longer muscle than could lie straight
at the bottom of the eye. Therefore, in order to
have a greater length in a less compass, the cord
of the main muscle makes an angle. This, so far,
answers the end; but, still farther, it makes an
angle, not round a fixed pivot, but round a loop
formed by another muscle ; which second muscle,
whenever it contracts, of course twitches the first
muscle at the point of inflection, and thereby as-
sists the action designed by both.
ONE question may possibly have dwelt in the
reader's mind during the perusal of these observa-
tions, namely, Why should not the Deity have
given to the animal the faculty of vision at once ?
Why this circuitous perception ; the ministry of
so many means ; an element provided for the pur-
pose; reflected from opaque substances, refracted
through transparent ones ; and both according to
precise laws; then a complex organ, an intricate
and artificial apparatus, in order, by the operation
of this element, and in conformity with the re-
strictions of these laws, to produce an image upon
a membrane communicating with the brain'?
Wherefore all this 1 Why make the difficulty in
order to surmount it 1 If to perceive objects by
some other mode than that of touch, or objects
which lay out' of the reach of that sense, were the
thing proposed ; could not a simple volition of the
Creator have communicated the capacity 1 Why
resort to contrivance^ where power is omnipotent 1
Contrivance, by its very definition and nature, is
the refuge of imperfection. To have recourse to
expedients, implies difficulty, impediments, re-
straint, defect of power. This question belongs
to the other senses, as well as to sight; to the
general functions of animal life, as nutrition, se-
cretion, respiration ; to the economy of vegetables ;
and indeed to almost' all the operations of nature.
The question, therefore, is of very wide extent;
* Phil. Trans. 1796.
t Memoirs for a Natural History of Animals, by the
Royal Academy of Sciences at Paris, done into English
by order of the Royal Society, 1701, page 249.
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
395
and amongst other answers which may be given
to it, besides reasons of which probably we are
ignorant, one answer is this : It is only by the
display of contrivance, that the existence, the
agency, the wisdom, of the Deity, could be testi-
fied to his rational creatures. This is the scale by
which we ascend to all the knowledge of our
Creator which we possess, so far as it depends
upon the phenomena, or the works of nature.
Take away this, and you take away from us
every subject of observation, and ground of rea-
soning; 1 mean as our rational faculties are form-
ed at present. Whatever is done, God could have
done without the intervention of instruments or
means; but it is in the construction of instruments,
in the choice and adaptation of means, that a crea-
tive intelligence is seen. It is this which constitutes
the order and beauty of the universe. God, t here-
fore, has l>een pleased to prescribe limits to his
own power, and to work his ends within those
limits. The general laws of matter have perhaps
the nature of these limits -. its inertia, its re-action ;
the laws which govern the communication of mo-
tion, the refraction and reflection of light, the con-
stitution of fluids non -elastic and elastic, the tr^ns
mission of sou fid through the litter: the laws of
magnetism, of electricity ; and probablv others,
yet undiscovered. These are general laws ; and
when a particular purpose is to he eflerted. it is
not by making a new law, nor by the sus|>ension
of the old ones, nor by making them wind, and
bend, and yield to the occasion (for nature with
great steadiness adheres to and supports them ;)
but it is, as we have seen in the eye, by the inter
position of an apparatus, corresjxmding with these
laws, and suited to the exigency which results
from them, that the purpose is at length attained.
As we have said, therefore, God prescribes limits
to his power that he may let in the e\t Teise. ami
thereby exhibit demonstrations of his wisdom.
For then, i. e. such laws and limitations being
laid down, it is as though one Being should have
fixed certain rules ; and^ if we may so speak, pro-
vided certain materials ; and, afterward, have com-
mitted to another Being, out of these materials,
and in subordination to these rules, the task of
drawing forth a creation : a supposition which evi-
dently leaves room, and induces indeed a necessity,
for contrivance. Nay, there may be many such
agents, and many ranks of these. We do not
advance this as a doctrine either of philosophy or
of religion ; but we say that the subject may safely
be represented under this view, because the Deity,
acting himself by general laws, will have the same
consequences upon our reasoning, as if he had
prescribed these laws to another. It has been
said, that the problem of creation was, " attraction
and matter being given, to make a world out of
them;" and, as above explained, this statement
perhaps does not convey a false idea.
WE have made choice of the eye as an instance
upon which to rest the argument of this chapter.
Some single example was to be proposed ; and the
eye offered itself under the advantage of admitting
of a strict comparison with optical instruments.
The ear, it is probable, is no less artificially and
mechanically adapted to its office, than the eye.
But we know less about it : we do not so well un-
derstand the action, the use, or the mutual de-
pendency, of its internal parts. Its general form
however, both external arid internal, is sufficient
to show that it is an instrument adapted to the re-
ception of sound ; that is to say, already knowing
that sound consists in pulses of the air, we per-
ceive, in the structure ot the ear, a suitableness to
receive impressions from this species of action,
and to propagate these impressions to the brain.
For of what does this structure consist 1 An ex-
ternal ear (the concha,) calculated, like an ear-
trumpet, to catch and collect the pulses of which
we have spoken ; in large quadrupeds, turning to
the sound, and possessing a configuration, as well
as motion, evidently fitted for the office : of a tube
which leads into the head, lying at the root of this
outward ear, the folds and sinuses thereof tending
and conducting the air towards it: of a thin mem-
brane, like the j>elt of a drum, stretched across
this passage upon a bony rim: of a chain of move-
able, and infinitely curious, bones, forming a com-
munication, and the only communication that can
be observed, between the membrane last mention-
ed and the interior channels and recesses of the
skull: oi' cavities, similar in shape and form to
wind instruments of music, being'spiral or portions
of circles: of the eustachian tube, like the hole in
a drum, to let the air pass freely into and out of
the barrel of the ear, as the covering membrane
vibrates, or as (he temjK-raturemay be altered: the
whole labyrinth hewn out of a rock; that is
wrought into the substance of the hardest bone of
the body. This assemblage of connected parts
constitutes together an apparatus, plainly enough
relative tothe transmission of sound, or of the im-
pulses received from sound, and only to be lament-
ed in not being letter understood.
The communication within, formed by the
small bones of the' ear, is, to- look upon, more like
what we are accustomed to call machinery, than
any thing I am acquainted witli in animal bodies.
It seems evidently designed to continue towards
the sensqrium the tremulous motions which are
excited in the membrane of the tympanum, or
what is better known by the name of the " drum
of the ear." The compages of bones consists of
four, which are so disposed, and so hinge upon one
another, as that if the membrane, the arum of the
ear, vibrate, all the four are put in motion together ;
ami, by the result of their action, work the base
of that which is the last in the series, upon an aper-
ture which it closes, and v upon which it plays, and
which aperture opens into the tortuous canals that
lead to the brain. This last bone of the four is
called the stapes. The office of the drum of the
ear is to spread out an extended surface, capable
of receiving the impressions of sound, and of being
put by them into a state of vibration. The office
of the stapes is to repeat these vibrations. It is a
repeating frigate, stationed more within the line.
From which account of its action may be under-
stood, how the sensation of sound will be excited
by any thing which communicates a vibratory
motion to the stapes, though not, as in all ordinary
cases, through the intervention of the membraria
tympani. This is done by solid bodies applied to
the bones of the skull, as by a metal bar holden at
one end between the teeth, and touching at the
other end a tremulous body. It likewise appears
to be done, in a considerable degree, by the air
itself, even when this membrane, the drum of the
ear, is greatly damaged. Either in the natural or
preternatural state of the organ, the use of the
chain of bones is to propagate the impulse in a
396
NATURAL THEQLOGY.
direction towards the brain, and to propagate i
with the advantage of a lever ; which advantage
consists in increasing the force and strength o
the vibration, and at the same time diminishing
the space through which it oscillates; both -o
which changes may augment or facilitate the stil
deeper action of the auditory nerves.
The benefit of the eustaehian tul>e to the organ
may be made out ..upon- known pneumatic princi-
ples. Behind the drum of the ear is a second ca-
vity, or barrel, called the tympanum. The eusta-
chian tube is a slender pipe, but sufficient for the
passage of air, leading from this cavity into the
back part of the mouth. Now, it wouliL not hav
done to have had a vacuum in this cavity ; for, in
that case, the pressure of the atmosphere from
without would have burst the membrane which
covered it. Nor would it have done to have filled
the cavity with lymph or any other secretion;
which would necessarily ha\e obstructed both the
vibration x>f the membrane and the play of the
small bones. Nor. lastly, would it have done to
have occupied the space with confined air, be-
cause the expansion of that air by heat, or its
contraction by cold, would have distended or re-
laxed the covering membrane, in a degree incon-
sistent with the purpose which it was assigned to
execute. The only remaining expedient, and that
for which the eustachian tube serves, is to open to
this cavity a communication with the external air.
In one word ; it exactly answers the purpose of
the hole in a drum.
The membrana tympani itself, likewise, de-
serves all the examination which can be made of
it. It is not found in the ears of fish ; which fur-
nishes an additional proof of what indeed is indi-
cated by every thing about it, that it is appropri-
ated to the action of air, or of an elastic medium.
It bears an obvious resemblance to the pelt or
head of a drum, from which it takes its name. -It
resembles also a drum-head in this principal pro-
perty, that its use depends upon its tension. Ten-
sion is the state essential to it. Now we know
that, in a drum, the pelt is carried over a hoop,
and braced as occasion requires, by the means of
strings attached to its circumference. In the
membrane of the ear, the same purpose is provided
for, more simply, but not less mechanically, nor
less successfully, by a different expedient, viz. by
the end of a bone (the handle <>f the malleus)
pressing upon its centre. It is only- in very large
animals that the texture of this membrane can be
discerned. ' In the Philosophical Transactions for
the year 1800, (vel. i.) Mr, Evcrard Home has
given some curious observations upon the ear, and
the drum of the ear of an elephant. He discovered
in it, what he calls a radiated muscle, that' is,
straight muscular fibres, passing along the mem-
brane from the circumference to the centre ; from
the bony rim which surrounds it towards the han-
dle of th& malleus to which the central part is at-
tached. This muscle he supposes to be designed
to bring the membrane into unison with different
sounds: but then he also discovered, - that this
muscle itself cannot act unless the membrane be
drawn to a stretch, and kept in a due state of
tightness, by what may be called a foreign force,
viz. the action of the muscles of the malleus. Sup-
posing lu's explanation of the use of the parts to
be just, our author is well founded in the reflec-
tion which he makes upon it, " that this mode
of adapting the ear to different sounds, is one of
the most beautiful applications of muscles in the
body: the mechanism is so simple, andthe varie-
ty of effects so great."
In another volume of the Transactions above
referred to, and of the same year, two most curious
cases are Hated, of persons who retained the
sense of hearing, not in a perfect, but in a verv
considerable degree, notwithstanding the almost
total loss of the membrane we have been describing.
In one of these cases, the use here assigned to
that membrane, of modifying the impressions of
sound by change of tension, was iittempted to be
supplied by straining the muscles of the outward
ear. " The external ear," we are told, " had ac-
quired a distinct motion upward and backward,
which was observable whenever the patient lis-
tened to any thing which he did not distinctly
hear; when he was addressed in a whisper, the
ear was seen immediately to move ; when the tone
of voice was louder, it then remained altogether
motionless."
It appears probable, from both these cases, that
a collateral, if not principal, use of the membrane,
is to cover and protect the barrel of the ear which
lies,behincl it. Both the patients suffered from cold :
one, "a great increase of deafness from catching
cold ;" the other, " very considerable pain from
exposure to a stream of cold air." Bad eflecls
therefore followed from this cavity being left open
to the external air; yet, had the Author of nature
shut it up by any other cover, than what was ca-
pable, by its texture, of receiving vibrations from
sound, and, by its connexion with the interior
parts, of transmitting those vibrations to the brain,
the use of the organ, so far as we can judge, must
have been entirely obstructed.
CHAPTER IV.
Of the Succession of Plants and Animals.
THE generation of the animal no more accounts
for the contrivance of the eye or ear, than, uj>on
the supposition stated in a preceding chapter, the
production of a watch by the motion and mechan-
ism of a former watch, would account for the skill
and intention evidenced in the watch, so produced ;
than it would account for the disposition of the
wheels, the catching of their teeth, the relation of
the several parts of the works to one another, and
to their common end ; for the suitableness of their
'orms and places to their offices, for their con-
nexion, their operation, and the useful result of
hat operation. I do insist most strenuously upon
he correctness of this comparison ; that it holds
as to every mode of specific propagation; and
;hat whatever was true of the watch, under the
lypothesis above-mentioned, is true of plants and
nimals.
I. To begin with the fructification of plants.
Can it be doubted but that the seed contains a
>articular organization? Whether a latent plan-
ule with the menus of temporary nutrition, or
,vh;itever else it be, it encloses an organization
suited to the (Termination of a new plant. 1 [as
he plant which produced the seed any thing more
o do with that organization, than the watch
would have had to do with the structure of the
ch which was produced in the course of its
mechanical movement 1 I mean, has it any thing
at all to do with the contrivance 1 The maker and
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
397
contriver of one watch, when he inserted within
it a mechanism suited to the production of another
watch, was, in truth, the maker and contriver of
that other watch. All the properties of the new
watch were to be referred to his agency : the de-
sign manifested in it, to his intention : the art, to
him as the artist : the collocation of each part to
his placing: the action, effect, and use, to his
counsel, intelligence, and workmanship. In pro-
ducing it by the intervention of a former watch, he
was only working by one set of tools instead <>i
another. So it is with the plant, and the seed
produced by it. Can any distinction be assigned
between the two cases ; between the producing
watch and the producing plant; both passive, un-
conscious sulwtunces ; both^ by the organization
which was given to them, producing their like,
without understanding or design ; both, that is,
instruments 1
II. From plants we may proceed to oviparous
animals : from seeds to eggs. Now I say, that the
bird has the same concern in the formation of the
egg which she lays, as the plant has in that of the
.<cfi 1 which it drops; and no other, nor greater.
The internal constitution of the egg is as much a
secret to the hen, as if the hen were inanimate.
1 Icr will cannot alter it, orchange a single feather
of the chick. She can neither Ion-see nor deter-
mine of which sex her brood shall be, or how ma-
ny of either; yet the thing produced shall l>e,from
the first, very dillerent in its make, .according to the
sex which it bears. So far, therefore, from adapt-
ing the means, she is not beforehand apprised of
the effect. I ft here be concealed within that smooth
shell a provision and a preparation for the produc-
tion and nourishment of a new animal, they are
not of her providing or preparing: if there be
contrivance, it is none of hers. Although, there-
fore, there be the difference of life and perceptivity
between the animal and the plant, it is a difler
ence which enters not into the account ; it is a
foreign circumstance: it is a difference of proper-
ties not employed. The animal function and the
vegetable function are alike destitute of any de-
sign which can operate upon the form of the
thing produced. The plant has no design in pro-
ducing the seed, no comprehension of the nature
or use of what it produces; the bird, with respect
to its egg, is not above the plant with respect to its
seed. Neither the one nor the other bears that
sort of relation to what proceeds from them, which
a joiner does to the chair which he makes. Now
a cause, which bears this relation to the effect, is
what we want, in order to account for the suita-
bleness of means to ah end, the fitness and fitting
of one thing to another ; and this cause the parent
plant or animal does not supply.
It is farther observable concerning the propaga-
tion of plants and animals, that the apparatus em-
ployed exhibits no resemblance to the thing pro-
duced; in' this respect holdkicr air analogy with
instruments and tools of art. The filaments, an-
therse, and stigmata of flowers bear no more re-
semblance to the young plant, or even to the seed,
which is formed by their intervention, than a chisel
or a plane does to a table or chair. What theh are
the filament?, antherae, and stigmata of plants, but
instruments strictly so called 7
III. We may advance from animals wliich bring
forth eggs, to animals which bring forth their
young ahve ; and of this latter class, from the low-
est to the highest ; from irrational to rational life,
from brutes to the human species; without per-
ceiving, as we proceed, any alteration whatever
in the terms of the comparison. The rational
animal does not produce its offspring with more
certainty or success than the irrational animal; a
man than a quadruped, a quadruped than a bird;
nor (for we may follow the gradation through its
whole .scale) a bird than a plant ; nor a plant than
a watch, a piece of dead mechanism, would do,
upon the supposition which has already so often
been repeated. Rationality, therefore, has nothing
to do in the business. If an account must be given
of the contrivance which we observe; if it be de-
manded, whence arose either the contrivance by
which the young animal is produced, or the con-
trivance manifested in the youg animal itself, it
is not from the reason of the parent that any such
account can be drawn. He is the cause of his off-
sjirinir in the same sense as that in which a gar-
dener is the cause of the tulip which grows upon
his parterre, and in no other. We admire the
flower; we examine the plant; we perceive the
conducive ness of many of its parts to their end
and office ; we observe a provision for its nourish-
ment, growth, protection, and fecundity ; but we
never think of the gardener in all this. We at-
tribute nothing of this to his agency ; yet it may
still In 1 true, that without the gardener, we should
not have had the tulip: just so it is with the suc-
cession of animals even of the highest order. For
the contrivance discovered in the> structure of the
tiling produced, we want a contriver* The parent
is not the contriver. His consciousness decides
that question. -He is in total ignorance why that
which is produced took its present form rather
than any other. It is for him only to be astonish-
ed by the effect. We can no more look, therefore,
to the intelligence of the parent animal for what
we are in search of, a cause of relation, and of
subserviency of parts to their use, which relation
and subserviency we see in the procreated body,
than we can refer the internal conformation of an
acorn ta the intelligence of the oak from'which it
dropped, or the structure of the watch to the in-
telligence of the watch which produced it; there
being no difference, as far as argument is concern-
ed, between an intelligence which is not exerted,
and an intelligence which does not exist.
CHAPTER V.
Application of the Argument continued.
EVERT observation which was made in our first
chapter, concerning the watch, may be repeated
with strict propriety concerning the eye ; concern-
ing animals ; concerning plants ; concerning, in-
deed, all the organized parts of the works of na-
ture. As,
I. When we are inquiring simply after the
existence of an -intelligent Creator, imperfection,
naccuracy, liability to disorder, occasional irre-
gularities, may subsist in a considerable degree,
without inducing any doubt into, the question :
just as a watch may frequently go wrong, seldom
perhaps exactly right, may be faulty in some
parts, defective in some, without the smallest
ground of suspicion from thence arising that it
was not a watch ; not made ; or not made for the
purpose ascribed to it. When faults are pointed
398
NATURAL THEOLOGY,
out, and when a question is started concerning
the skill of the artist, or dexterity with which tin
work is executed, then, indeed, in order to defend
these qualities from accusation, we must be able,
either to expose some intractableness and imper-
fection in the materials, or point out some invinci-
ble difficulty in the execution, into which imper-
fection and difficulty the matter of complaint may
be resolved ; or if we cannot do this, we must ad-
duce such specimens, of consummate art and con-
trivance, proceeding from the same hand, as may
convince the inquirer of the existence, in the case
before him, of impediments like those which we
have mentioned, although, what from the nature
of the case is very likely to happen, they be un-
known and unperceived by him. This we must
do in order to vindicate the artist's skill, or, at
least, the perfection of it : as we must also judge
of his intention, and of the provisions employed
in fulfilling that intention, not from an instance
in which they fail, but from -the great plurality of
instances in which they succeed. But, after all,
these are different questions from the question of
the artist's existence ; or, which is the same, whe-
ther the thing before us be a work of art or not :
and the questions ought always to be kept sepa-
rate in the mind. So likewise it is in the works
of nature. Irregularities and imperfections are
of little or no weight in the consideration, when
that consideration relates simply to the existence
of a Creator. When the argument respects his
attributes, they are of weight ; but are then to be
taken in conjunction (the attention is not to rest
upon them, but they are to be taken in conjunc-
tion) with the unexceptionable evidences which
we possess, of skill, power, and benevolence, dis-
played in other instances: which evidences may,
in strength, number, and variety, be such, and
may so overpower apparent blemishes, as to in-
duce us, upon the most reasonable ground, to be-
lieve, that these last ought to be referred to some
cause, though we be ignorant of it, other than de-
fect of knowledge or of benevolence in the author.
II. There may be also parts of plants and ani-
mals ; as there were supposed to be of the watch,
of which, in some instances, the operation, in
others, the use, is unknown. These form differ-
ent cases: for the operation may be unknown,
yet the use be certain. Thus it is with the lungs
of animals. , It does not, I think, appear, that we
are acquainted with the action of the air upon the
blood, or in what manner that action is communi-
cated by the lungs; yet we find that a very short
suspension of their office destroys the life of the
animal. In this case, therefore, we may be said
to know the use, nay we experience the necessity,
of the organ, though we be ignorant of its opera-
tion. Nearly the same thing may be observed of
what is called the lymphatic system. We suffer
grievous inconveniences from its disorder, without
being informed of the office wliich it sustains in
the economy of our bodies. There may possibly
also be some few examples of the second class, in
which not only the operation is unknown, but in
which experiments may seem to prove that the
part is not necessary ; or may leave a doubt, how
far it is even useful to the plant or animal in which
it is found. This is said to be the case with the
spleen; which has been extracted from dogs,
without any sensible injury to their vital func-
tions. Instances of the former kind, namely, in
which we cannot explain the operation, may be
numerous ; for they will be so in proportion to our
ignorance. They will be more or fewer to differ-
ent persons, and in different stages of science.
Every improvement of knowledge diminishes their
number. There is hardly, perhaps, a year pussrs,
that does not, in the works of nature, bring some
operation, or some mode of operation, to light,
which was before undiscovered, probably unsus-
pected. Instances of the second kind, namely,
where the part appears to be totally useless, I be-
lieve to l)e extremely rare ; compared with the
number of those, of which the use is evident, they
are beneath any assignable proportion ; and, per-
haps, have never been submitted to a trial and
examination sufficiently accurate, long enough
continued, or often enough repeated. No accounts
which I have seen are satisfactory. The muti-
lated animal may live and grow fat, (as was the
case of the dog deprived of its spleen,) yet may be
defective in some other of its functions ; which,
whether they can all, or in what degree of vigour
and perfection, be performed, or how long pre-
served, without the extirpated organ, does not
seem to be ascertained by experiment. But to
this case, even were it fully made out, may be ap-
plied the consideration which we suggested con-
cerning the \vatch, viz. that these superfluous
parts do not negative the reasoning which we in-
stituted concerning those parts which are useful,
and of which we know the use : the indication of
contrivance, with respect to them,, remains as it
was before.
III. One atheistic way of replying to our ob-
servations upon the works of nature, and to the
proofs of a Deity which we think that we perceive
in them, is to tell us, that all which we see must
necessarily have had some form, and that it might
as well be its present form as any other. Let us
now apply this answer to the eye, as we did
before to the watch. Something or other must
have occupied that place in the animal's head;
must have filled up, we will say, that socket ; we
will say also, that it must have been of that sort
of substance which we call animal substance, as
flesh, bone, membrane, cartilage, &c. But that
it should have been an eye, knowing as we do
what an eye comprehends, viz. that it should
have consisted, first of a series of transparent
lenses (very different, by the by, even in their
substance, from the opaque materials of which the
rest of the body is, in general at least, composed;
and with which the whole of its surface, this
single portion of it excepted, is covered ;) secondly,
of a black cloth or canvass (the only membrane of
the body which is black) spread out behind these
lenses, so as to receive the image formed by
pencils of light transmitted through them ; and
placed at the precise geometrical distance at
which, and at which alone, a distinct image could
be formed, namely, at the concourse of the refract-
ed rays : thirdly, of a large nerve communicating
between this membrane and the br.;in ; without
which, the action of light upon the membrane,
however modified by the organ, would be lost to
the purposes of sensation : that this fortunate
conformation of parts should have been the lot, not
of one individual out of many thousand indivi-
duals, like the great prize in a lottery, or like some
singularity in nature, but the happy chance of a
whole species ; nor of one species out of many
thousand species, with which we are acquainted,
but of by far the greatest number of all that exist ;
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
399
ftntl that under varieties, not casual, or capricious,
but bearing marks of being suited to their respect-
ive exigencies: that all this should have taken
place, merely because something must have occu-
pied those points'in every animal's forehead ; or,
that all this should be thought to be accounted for,
by the short answer, "that whatever was there,
must have had some form or other," is too absurd
to be made more so by any augmentation. We
are not contented with this answer; we find no
satisfaction in it, by way of accounting for appear-
ances of organization far short of those of the eye.
such as we observe in fossil shells, petrified bones,
or other substances which bear the vestiges of
animal or vegetable recrements, but which, either
in resj>ect of utility, or of the situation in which
they are discovered, may seem accidental enough.
It is no way of accounting even for these tilings.
to say that the stone, for instance, which is shown
to us (supposing the question to be concerning a
petrifaction,) must have contained some interim!
conformation or other. Nor does it mend the an-
swer to add, with respect to the singularity of the
conformation, that, after the event, it is no longer
to be computed what the chances "were against it.
This is always to be computed, when the question
is, whether a useful or imitative conformation be
the produce of chance or not: I desire no greater
certainty in reasoning, than that by which chance
is excluded from the present disposition of the
natural world. Universal experience is against
it. What does chance ever do for us 7 in the
human body, for instance, chance, i. e. the opera-
tion of causes without design, may produce a wen,
a wart, a mole, a pimple, but never an eye.
Amongst inanimate substances, a clod,.a pebble, a
liquid drop, might be; but never was a watch, a
telescope, an oniani/ed body of any kind, answer-
ing a valuable purpose by a complicated mechan-
ism, the effect of chance. In no assignable
instance hath such a tiling existed without inten-
tion somewhere.
IV. There is another answer, which has the
same effect as the resolving of things into chance;
which answer would persuade us to believe, that
the eye, the animal to which it belongs, every
other animal, every plant, indeed every organ i/.ed
body which we see, are only so many out of the
|K)ssible varieties and combinations of being,
which the lapse of infinite ages has brought, into
existence; that the present world is the relict of
that variety ; millions of other bodily forms and
other species having perished, being by the defect
of their constitution incapable of preservation, or
of continuance by generation. Now there is no
foundation whatever for this conjecture in any
thing which we observe in the works of nature ;
no such experiments are going on at present ; no
such energy operates, as that which is here sup-
posed, and which should be constantly pushing
into existence new varieties of beings. Nor are
there any appearances to support an opinion, that
every possible combination of vegetable or animal
structure has formerly been tried. Multitudes of
conformations, both of vegetables and animals,
may be conceived capable of existence and succes-
sion, which yet do not exist. Perhaps almost as
many forms of plants might have been found in
the fields, as figures of plants can be delineated
upon paper. A countless variety of animals
might have existed, which do not exist. Upon
the supposition here stated, we should see uni-
corns and mermaids, sylphs and centaurs, the
fancies of painters, and the fables of poets, realized
by examples. Or, if it be alleged that these may
transgress the limits of possible life and propaga-
tion, we might, at least, have nations of human
beings without nails upon their fingers, with more
or lower lingers and toes, than ten ; some with
one eye, others with one ear, with one nostril, or
without the sense of smelling at all. All these,
and a thousand other imaginable varieties, might
live and propagate. We may modify, any one
species many different ways, all consistent with
life, and with the actions necessary to preservation,
although affording different degrees of eonvenien-
cv and enjoyment to tin- animal. And if we carry
these modifications through the different species
which are known to subsist, their number would
be incalculable. No- reason can be given why,
if these deperdits ever existed, they have now dis-
appeared. Yet, if all possilde existences have
been tried, they must have formed part of the
catalogue.
But, moreover, the division of organized sub-
stances into animals and vegetables, and the dis-
tribution and sub-distribution of each into genera
and species, which distribution is not an arbitrary
act of the mind, but founded in the order which
prevails in external nature, appear to me to con-
tradict the supposition of the present world being
the remains of an indefinite variety of existences ;
of a variety which rejects all plan. The hypothe-
sis teaches, that every possible variety of being
hath, at one time or other, found its way into ex-
istence, (by what cause or in what manner is not
said,) and that, those which were badly formed,
perished; but how or why those which survived
should be cast, as we see that plants and animals
are cast, into regular classes, tne hypothesis does
not explain; or rather the hypothesis is inconsist-
ent with this phenomenon.
The hypothesis, indeed, is hardly deserving of
the consideration which we have given to it.
What should we think of a man who, because
we had never ourselves seen watches, telescopes,
stocking-mills, steam-engines, &c. made, knew
not how they were made, or could prove by testi-
mony when they were made, or by whom, would
have us believe that these machines, instead of de-
riving their curious structures from the thought
and design of their inventors and contrivers, in
truth derive them from no other origin than this;
rl:. that a mass of metals and other materials
having run when melted into all possible figures,
and combined themselves in all possible forms,
and shapes, and proportions, these things which
we see, are what were left from the accident, as
best worth preserving; and, 'as such, are become
the remaining stock of ajnagazine, which, at one
time or other, has, by this means, contained every
mechanism, useful -and useless, convenient and in-
convenient, into which such-like materials could
be thrown 1 I cannot distinguish the hypothesis
as applied to the works of nature, from this solu-
tion, which no one would accept, as appUed to a
collection of machines.
V. To the marks of contrivance discoverable in
animal bodies, and to the argument deduced from
them, in proof ofdesign, and of a designing Cre-
ator, this turn is sometimes attempted to be given,
namely, that the parts were not intended for the
use. but that the use arose out of the parts. This
distinction is intelligible. A cabinet-maker rubs
400
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
his mahogany with fish-skin; yet it would be
too much to assert that the skin of the dog-fish
was made rough and granulated on purpose for the
polishing of wood, and the u.se of cabinet-makers.
Therefore the distinction is intelligible. But I
think that there is very little place for it in the
works of nature: When roundly and generally
affirmed of them, as it hath sometimes hern, it
amounts to such another stretch of assertion, as it
would be to say, that all the implements of the
cabinet-maker's work-shop, as well as his fish-skin,
were substances accidentally configurated, which
he had picked up, and converted to his use ; that
his adzes, saws, planes, and gimblets, were not
made, as we suppose, to hew, cut, and smooth,
shape out, or bore wood with ; but that, these
things being made, no matter with what design,
or whether with any, the cabinet-maker perceived
that they were applicable to his purpose, and
turned them to account.
But again. So far as this solution is attempted
to be applied to those parts of animals, the action
of which does not depend upon the will of the ani-
mal, it is fraught with still more evident absurdity.
Is it possible to believe that the eye was formed
without any regard to vision ; that it was the ani-
mal itself which found out, that though formed
with no such intention, it would serve to see with ;
and that the use of the eye, as an organ of sight,
resulted from this discovery, and the animal's ap-
plication of it ? The same question may be asked
of the ear; the same of all the senses. None of
the senses fundamentally depend upon the election
of the animal; consequently, neither upon his sa-
gacity, nor his experience. It is the impression
which objects make upon them, that constitutes
their use. Under that impression, he is passive.
He may bring objects to the sense, or within its
reach ; he may select these objects : but over the
impression itself he has no power, or very little ;
and that properly is the sense.
Secondly, There are many parts of animal bo-
dies which seem to depend upon the will of the
animal in a greater degree than the senses do, and
yet with respect to which, this solution is equally
unsatisfactory. If we apply the solution to the
human body, for instance, it forms itself into ques-
tions, upon which no reasonable mind can doubt ;
such as, whether the teeth were made expressly
for the mastication of food, the feet for walking,
the hands for holding'? or whether, these things
being as they are, being in fact in the animal's
possession, his own ingenuity taught him that
they were convertible to these purposes, though
no such purpeses were contemplated in their
formation 1
All that there is of the appearance of reason in
this way of considering the subject is, that in
some cases the organization seems to determine
the habits of the animal, and its choice, to a parti-
cular mode of life ; which, in a certain sense, may
be called " the use arising out of the part." Now
to all the instances, ih which there is any place
for this suggestion, it may be replied, that the
organization determines the animal to habits benc-
h'cial and salutary to itself; and that this effect
would not be seen so regularly to follow, if the
several organizations did not bear a concerted and
contrived relation to the substance by which the
animal was surrounded. They would, otherwise,
be capacities without objects ; powers without em-
ployment. The web-foot determines, you say,
the duck to swim; but what would that avail, if
there were no water to swim in 1 The strong,
hooked bill, and sharp" talons, of one sju i
Lird, determine it to prey upon animals; the soft,
straight bill niul weak daws of another spec-it s,
determine it to pick up seeds: but neither deter-
mination could take efiect in providing for the
sustenance of the birds, if animal bodies and Nes-
table seeds did hot lie within their reach. The
peculiar conformation of the bill and tongue and
claws of the woodpecker, determines that bird to
search for his food amongst the insects lodged be-
hind the bark, or in the wood, of decayed trees:
but what should this profit him, if there were no
trees, no decayed trees, ho insects lodged under
their bark, or in their trunk 1 The proboscis with
which the bee is furnished, determines him to
seek for honey : but what would that signify, if
flowers supplied none ? Faculties thrown down
upon animals at random, and without reference to
the objects amidst which tltey are placed, would
not produce to them the services and benefits which
we see ; and if there be that reference, then there
is intention.
Lastly, the solution fails entirely when applied
to plants. The parts of plants answer their uses,
without any concurrence from' the will or choice
of the plant.
VI. Others have chosen to refer every thing to
a principle of order in nature. A principle of
order is the word : but what is meant by a princi-
ple of order, as different from an intelligent Crea-
tor, has not been explained either by definition or
example ; and, without such explanation, it should
seeiriHo be a mere substitution of words for rea-
sons, names for causes. Order itself is only the
adaptation of means to an end ; a principle of order
therefore can only signify the mind and intention
which so adapts them. Or, were it capable of
being explained in any other sense, is there any
experience, any analogy, to sustain it? Was a
watch ever produced by a principle of order? and
why might not a watch be so produced as well as
an eye ?
Furthermore, a principle of order, acting blindly,
and without choice, is negatived by the observation,
thai-order is not universal; which it would be, if
it issued from a constant and necessary principle ;
nor indiscriminate, which it would be, if it issued
from an unintelligent principle. Where order is
wanted, there we find it ; where order is not want-
ed, i. e. where, if it prevailed, it would be useless,,
there we do not find it. In the structure of the
eye, (for we adhere to our example,) in the figure
and position of its several parts, the most exact
order is maintained. In the forms of rocks and
mountains, in the lines which bound the coasts of
continents and islands, in the shape of bays and
promontories, no order whatever is perceived, be-
cause it would have been superfluous. No useful
purpose would have arisen from moulding rocks
and mountains into regular solids, bounding the
channel of the ocean by geometrical curves; or
from the map of the world resembling a table of
diagrams in Euclid's Elements, or Simpson's Conic
Sections.
VII. Lastly, The confidence which we place
in our observations upon the works of nature, in
the marks which we discover of contrivance,
choice, and design, and in our reasoning upon the
proofs afforded us, ought not to be shaken, as it is
sometimes attempted to be done, by bringing for-
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
401
Ward to our view our own ignorance, or rather the
general imperfection of our knowledge of nature.
Nor, in many cases, ought this consideration to
affect us, even when it respects some parts of the
subject immediately under our notice. True for-
titude of understanding consists in not suffering
what we know, to be disturbed by what we do not
know. If we perceive a useful end, and means
adapted to that end, we perceive enough for our
conclusion. If these things be clear, no matter
what is obscure. The argument is finished. For
instance ; if the utility of vision to the animal
which enjoys it, and the adaptation of the eye to
this office, be evident and certain, (and lean men-
tion nothing which is more so,) ought it to preju-
dice the inference whii-h we draw from these pre-
mises, that we cannot explain the use oft lie spleen I
Nay, more: if there lie parts of the eye, r/r. the
cornea, the crystalline, the retina, in their sub-
stance, figure, "and position, manifestly suited to
the formation of an image by the retraction of rays
of light, at least, as manifestly as the glasses and
tubes ofa dioptric telescope are suited to that pur-
pose ; it concerns not the proof which these afford of
design, and of a designer, that there may perhaps he
other parts, certain muscles for instance, or nerves
in the same eye, of the agency or effect of which
we can give no account, any more than \ve should
be inclined to doubt, or ought to doubt, about the
construction of a telescope, ri:. for what purpose
it was constructed, or whether it were constructed
at all, because there belonged to it certain screws
and pins, the use or action of which we did not
comprehend. 1 take it to l>e a general way ot in-
fusing doubts and scruples into the mind, to recur
to its own ignorance, its own imln-cility : to tell us
that upon these subjects we know little; that little
ini[>erfectly ; or rather, that we know nothing pro-
perly about the matter. These suggestions so fa 1 1
in with our consciousness, as sometimes to pro-
duce a general distrust of our faculties and our
conclusions. But this is an unfounded jealousy.
The uncertainty of one thing does not necessarily
affect the certainty of another tiling. ( )ur igno-
rance of many points need not suspend our assur-
ance of a few. Before we yield, in any particular
instance, to the scepticism which this sort of in-
sinuation would induce, we ought accurately to
ascertain, whether our ignorance or doubt concern
those precise points ui>on which our conclusion
rests. Other points are nothing. Ourignorancc
of other points maybe of no consequence to these.
though they be points., in various res]>ects. of great
importance. A just reasoner removes from his
consideration, not only what he knows, but what
he does not know, touching matters not strictly
connected with his argument, i. e. not forming
the very steps of his deduction : beyond these, his
knowledge and his ignorance are alike relative.
CHAPTER VI.
The Argument cumulative.
WERE there no example in the world, of con-
trivance, except that of the eye, it would l>e alone
sufficient to support the conclusion which we
draw from it, as to the necessity of an intelligent
Creator. It could never be got rid of; because it
could not be accounted for by any other
3 E
tion, which did not contradict all the principles
we possess of knowledge f the principles accord-
ing to which, things do, as often as they can be
brought to the test, of experience, turn out to be
true or false. Jts coats and humours, constructed,
as the lenses of a telescope are constructed, for
the refraction of rays of light to a point, which
forms the proper action of the organ ; the provi-
sion in its muscular tendons for turning its pupil
to the object, similar to that which is given to the
telescope by screws, and upon which power of
direction in the eye, the exercise of its office as
an optical instrument depends; the farther provi-
sion for its defence, for its constant lubricity and
moisture, which we see in its socket and its lids,
in its gland for the secretion of the matter of tears,
its outlet or communication with the nose for car-
rying offthe liquid after the eye is washed with
it; these pm\isions compose altogether an a ppa-
ratus. a s\stem of parts, a preparation of means,
so manifest in their design, so exquisite in their
contrivance, so successful in their issue, so preci-
ous, ami so infinitely beneficial in their use, as, in
my opinion, to bear down all doubt that can be
raised upon the subject. And what I wish, under
the title of the present chapter, to observe is, that
if other parts of nature were inaccessible to our
inquiries, or even if other parts of nature pre-
sented nothing to our examination but disorder
and confusion, the validity of this example would
remain the same. If there were but one watch
in the world, it, would not U> less certain that it,
had a maker. If we had never in our lives seen
any hut one single kind of hydraulic machine, vet,
if of that one kind we understood the mechanism
and use, we should be as perfectly assured that it
proceeded from the hand, and thought, and skill,
of a workman, as if we visited a museum of
the arts, and saw collected there twenty dillerent
kinds of machines for drawing water, or a thou-
sand different kinds for other purpose**. Of this
point, each machine is a proof, independently of
all the rest. So it is with the evidences of a
Divine agency. The proof is not a conclusion
which lies at the end of a chain of reasoning, of
which chain each instance of contrivance is only
a link, and of which, if one link fail, the whole
falls ; but it is an argument separately supplied
by every separate example. An error in stating
an example, allects only that example. The
argument is cumulative, in the fullest sense of that
term. TUe eye proves it without the ear; the
ear without the eye. The proof in each example
is complete ; for when the design of the part, and
the conduciveness of its structure to that design,
is shown, the mind may set itself at rest ; no future
consideration can detract any thing from the force
of the example.
CHAPTER VII.
Of' the mechanical and immechanical Parts and
Functions of Animals and Vegetables.
, IT is not that et nj part of an animal or vege-
table has not proceeded from a contriving mind;
or that every part is not constructed with a view
to its proper end anil purpose, according to the
laws belonging to and governing the substance or
the action made use of in that part; or that each
34*
NATURAL THEOLOGY,
part Is not so constructed as to effectuate its pur-
pose whilst it operates according to these laws ;
but it is because these laws themselves are not in
all cases equally understood ; or, what amounts to
nearly the same thing, are not equally exemplified
in more simple processes, and more simple ma-
chines ; that we lay down the distinction, here
proposed, between the mechanical parts and other
parts of animals and vegetables.
For instance : The principle of muscular mo-
tion, viz. upon what cause the swelling of the
belly of the muscle, and consequent contraction of
its tendons, either by an act of the will, or by
involuntary irritation, depends, is wholly un-
known to us. The substance employed, whether
it be fluid, gaseous, elastic, electrical, or none of
these, or nothing resembling these, is also un-
known to us : of course the laws belonging to
that substance, and which regulate its action, are
unknown to us. We see nothing similar to this
contraction in any machine which we can make,
or any process which we can execute. So far (it
is confessed) we are in ignorance, but no farther.
This power and principle, from whatever cause it
proceeds, being assumed, the collocation of the
fibres to receive the principle, the disposition of
the muscles for the use and application of the
power, is mechanical ; and is as intelligible as the
adjustment of the wires and strings, by which a
puppet is moved. We see, therefore, as far as
respects the subject before us, what is not mecha-
nical in the animal frame, and what is. The
nervous influence (for we are often obliged to give
names to things which we know little about) I
Bay the nervous influence, by which the belly, or
middle, of the muscle is swelled, is not mechani-
cal. The utility of the effect we perceive ; the
means, or the preparation of means, by which it
is produced, we do not. But obscurity as to the
origin of muscular motion, brings no doubtfulness
into our observations upon the sequel of the pro-
cess: which observations relate, 1st, To the con-
stitution of the muscle ; in consequence of which
constitution, the swelling of the belly or middle
part-is necessarily and mechanically followed by
the contraction of the tendons: 2dly, To the
number and variety of the muscles, and the cor-
responding number and variety of useful powers
which they supply to the animal ; which is asto-
nishingly great : 3rfZy, To the judicious (if we
may be permitted to use that term, in speaking of
the Author, or of the works, of nature,) to the
wise and well -contrived disposition of each muscle-
for its specific purpose : for moving the joint this
way, and that way, and the other way ; for pulling
and drawing the part to which it is attached, in a
determinate and particular direction; which is a
mechanical operation, exemplified in a multitude
of instances. To mention only one : The tendon
of the trochlear muscle of the eye, to the end that
it may draw in the line required, is passed through
a cartilaginous ring, at which it is reverted, exact-
ly in the same manner as a rope in a ship is
carried over a block or round a stay, in order to
make it pull in the direction which is wanted.
All this, as we have said, is mechanical ; and is
as accessible to inspection, as capable of being
ascertained, as the mechanism of the automaton
in the Strand. Suppose the automaton to be put
in motion by a magnet (which is probable,) it
will supply us with a comparison very apt for our
present purpose. Of the magnetic effluvium, we
know perhaps as little as We do of the nervotfs
fluid. But, magnetic attraction being assumed (it
signifies nothing from what cause it proceeds,)
we can trace, or there can be pointed out to us,
with perfect clearness and certainty, the mecha-
nism, riz. the steel bars, the wheels, the joints,
the wires, by which the motion so much admired
is communicated to the fingers of the image : and
to make any obscurity, or difficulty, or controver-
sy, in the doctrine of magnetism, an objection to
our knowledge or our certainty concerning the
contrivance, or the marks of contrivance, displayed
in the automaton, would be exactly the same
thing, as it is to make our ignorance (which we
acknowledge) of the cause of nervous agency, or
even of the substance and structure of the nerves
themselves, a ground of question or suspicion aa
to the reasoning which we institute concerning
the mechanical part of our frame. That an ani-
mal is a machine, is a proposition neither correct-
ly true nor wholly false. The distinction which
we have been discussing will serve to show how
tar the comparison, which this expression implies,
holds ; and wherein it fails. And whether the
distinction be thought of importance or not, it is
certainly of importance to remember, that there b
neither truth nor justice in endeavouring to bring
a cloud over our understandings, or a distrust into
our reasonings upon this subject, by suggesting
that we know nothing of voluntary motion, of irr>-
tability, of the principle of life, of sensation, of
animal heat, upon all which the animal functions
depend ; for, our ignorance of these parts of the
animal frame concerns not at all our knowledge of
the mechanical parts of the same frame. 1 con-
tend, therefore, that there is mechanism in ani-
mals; that this mechanism is as properly such,
as it is in machines made by art ; that this me-
chanism is intelligible and certain ; that it is not
the less so, because it often begins or terminates
with something which is not mechanical ; that
whenever it is intelligible and certain, it demon-
strates intention and contrivance, as well in the
works of nature as in those oTart ; and that it is
the best demonstration which either can atfbrd.
But whilst I- contend for these propositions, I
do not exclude myself from asserting, that there
may be, and that there are, other cases, in which,
although we'cannot exhibit mechanism, or prove
indeed that mechanism is employed, \ve want not
sufficient evidence to conduct us to the same con-
clusion^
There is what may be called the chymical part
of our frame ; of which, by reason of the imperfec-
tion of our chymistry, we can attain to no distinct
knowledge; I mean, not to-a knowledge, either
in degree or kind, similar to that which we pos-
sess of the mechanical part of our frame. It does
not, therefore, afford the same species of argument
as that which mechanism affords ; and yet it may
afford an argument in a high degree satisfactory.
The gastric juice, or the liquor which digests the
food in the stomachs of animals, is of this class.
Of all menstrua, it is the most active, the most
universal. In the human stomach, for instance,
consider what a variety of strange substances, and
how - widely different from one another, it, in a
few hours, reduces to a uniform pulp, milk, or
mucilage. It seizes upon every thing, it dissolves
the texture of almost every thing that comes in its
way. The flesh of perhaps all animals ; the seeds
and fruits of the greatest number of plants j the
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
403
loots, and stalks, and leaves, of many, hard and
tough as they are, yield to its powerful pervasion.
The change wrought by it is different from any
chymical solution which we can produce, or wit
which we are acquainted, in this respect as we
as many others, that, in our chymistry, particula
menstrua act only upon particular substances. Con
sider moreover, that this fluid, stronger in its ope
ration than a caustic alkali or mineral acid, tha
red precipitate, or aqua-fortis itself, is nevcrtheles
as mild, and bland, and inoffensive to the touch o
taste, as saliva or gum-water, which it much rt
sembles. Consider, I say, these several propertie
of the digestive organ, and of the juice with whici
it is supplied, or rather with which it is made t
supply itself, and you will confess it to be entitlec
to a name, which it has sometimes received, tha
of "the chymical wonder of animal nature."
Still we "are ignorant of the composition of thi
fluid, and of the mode of its action ; by which i
meant, that we are not capable, as we are in tin
mechanical part of our frame, of collating it will
the operations of art. And this I call the imper
fection of our chymistry ; for, should the time eve
arrive, which is not perhaps to l>e despaired ol
when we can compound ingredients, so as to foru
a solvent which will act in the manner in whici
the gastric juice acts, we may bo able to ascertaii
the chymical principle* upon which its elli.-ac\
depends, as well as from what part, and by wha
concoction, in the human body, these principles
are generated and derived.
In the mean time, ought that, which is in truth
the detect of our chvmi.stry, to hinder us from ac
quiescing in the interenc<", whih a production of
nature, by its place, its properties, its action, it>
surprising eflicacv, its invaluable use, authorises
us to draw in respect oi'a creative de.-iirn I
Another most subtile and curious Function of
animal bodies is tC'-rctian. This function is semi-
chymical and semi-mechanical; cxceeiliinHv im-
portant and diversified in its ellects, but obscure
in its process and in its apparatus. The import-
ance of the secretory organs is but too well attest-
ed by the diseases, which an excessive, a deficient
or a vitiated secretion is almost sure of producing
A single secretion k'ing wrong, is enough to
make life miserable, or sometimes to destroy it.
Nor is the variety less than the importance. From
one and the same blood (I speak of the human
body) about twenty diflerent fluids are separated ;
in their sensible properties, in taste, smell, colour,
and consistency, the most unlike one another that
is possible; thick, thin, salt, bitter, sweet; and, if
from our own we pass to other species of animals,
we find amongst their secretions not only the most
various, but the most opposite properties ; the most
nutritious aliment, the deadliest poison; the sweet-
est perfumes, the most foetid odours. Of these
the greater part, as the gastric juice, the saliva,
the bile, the slippery mucilage which lubricates
the joints, the tears which moisten the eye, the
wax which defends the ear, are, after they are
secreted, made use of in the animal economy ; are
evidently subservient, and are actually contribut-
ing to the utilities of the animal itself. Other
fluids seem to be separated only to be rejected.
That this also is necessary (though why it was
originally necessary, we cannot tell,) is shown by
the consequence of the separation being long sus-
pended ; which consequence is disease 'and death.
Akin to secretion, if not the same thing, is assimi-
lation, by which one and the same blood is con-
verted into bone, muscular flesh, nerves, mem-
branes, tendons ; things as different as the wood
and iron, canvass and cordage, of which a ship
with its furniture is composed. We have no ope-
ration of art wherewith exactly to compare all this,
for no other reason perhaps than that all opera-
tions of art are exceeded by it. No chymical elec-
tion, no chymical analysis or resolution of a sub-
stance into its constituent parts, no mechanical
sifting or division, that we are acquainted with, in
l>orft'ction or variety, come up to animal secretion.
Nevertheless, the apparatus and process are ob-
scure; not to say absolutely concealed from our
inquiries. In a few, and only a few instances,
we can discern a little of the constitution of a
gland. In the kidneys of large animals, we can
trace the emulgent artery dividing itself into an
infinite number of branches; their extremities
every where communicating with little round
bodies, in the substance of winch bodies the secret
of the machinery seems to reside, for there the
change is made. We can discern pipes laid from
these round bodies toward the pelvis, which is a
basin within the solid of the kidney. We can
creted fluid is continually oozing into its receptacle.
This is all we know of the mechanism of a gland,
even in the case in which it seems most capable of
being investigated. Yet to pronounce that we
know nothing of animal secretion, or nothing
satisfactorily, mid \\ith that concise remark to
dismiss the article from our argument, would be
to dispose of the subject very hastily and very ir-
rationally. For the purpose which we want, that
of -evincing intention, we know a great deal. And
what we know is this. We see the blood carried
i>y a pipe, conduit, or duct, to the gland. We see
an organized apparatus, be its construction or
iction what it will, which we call that gland. We
see the blood, or part of the blood, after it has
>assed through and undergone the action of the
gland, coming from it by an emulgent vein or
arterv, i. e. by another pipe or conduit. And we
see also at the same time a new and specific fluid
ssuing from the same gland by its excretory duct,
i. e. by a third pipe or conduit ; which new fluid
s in some cases discharged out of the body, in
nore cases retained within it, and there e-xecut-
ng some important and intelligent office. Now
upposing, or admitting, that we know nothing of
he proper internal constitution of a gland, or of
he mode of its acting upon the blood; then our
ituation is precisely like that of an unmechanical
ooker on, who stands by a stocking-loom, a cofn-
nill, a carding-machine, or a thrashing-machine, at
work, the fabric and mechanism of which, as well
s all that passes within, is hidden from his sight
y the outside case. ; or, if seen, would be too com-
licated for his uninformed, uninstructed under-
tanding to comprehend. And what is that situa-
on 1 This spectator, ignorant as he is, sees at
ne end a material enter the machine, as un-
round grain the mill, raw cotton the carding-
rachine. sheaves of unthrashed corn the thrash-
g-machine ; and, when he casts his eye to the
ther end of the apparatus, he sees the material
suing from it in a new state ; and, what is more,
n a state manifestly adapted to future uses ; the
rain ia meal fit for the making of bread, the wool
404
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
in rovings ready for spinning into threads, the
sheaf in corn dressed for the mill. Is it necessary
that this man, in order to be convinced that de-
sign, that intention, that contrivance, has been
employed nlxmt tin- machine, should be allowed
to pull it to pieces; should be enabled to examine
the parts separately ; explore their action upon one
another, or their operation, whether simultaneous
or successive, upon the material presented to them 1
He may long to do this to gratify his curiosity ; he
may desire to do it to improve his theoretic know-
ledge ; or he may have a more substantial reason
for requesting it, if he happen, instead of a com-
mon visitor, to be a millwright by profession, or a
person sometimes called in to repair such-like
machines when out of order ; but, for the purpose
of ascertaining the existence of counsel and design
in the formation of the machine, he wants no such
intromission or privity. What he sees, is suffi-
cient. The effect upon the material, the change
produced in it, the utility of that change for future
applications, abundantly testify-, be the concealed
part of the machine or of its construction what it
will, the hand and tigency of a contriver.
If any confirmation were wanting to the evi-
dence which the animal secretions afford of design,
it may be derived, as has been already hinted,
from their variety, and from their appropriation to
their place and use. They all come from the same
blood : they are all drawn off by glands : yet the
produce is very different, and the difference ex-
actly adapted to the work which is to be done, or
the end to be answered. No account can be given
of this, without resorting to appointment. Why,
for instance, is the saliva, which is diffused over
the seat of taste, insipid, whilst so many others of
the secretions, the urine, the tears, and the sweat,
are salt % Why does the gland within the ear se-
parate a viscid substance, which defends that pas-
sage ; the gland m the upper angle of the eye, a
thin brine which washes the ball 1 Why is the
synovia of the joints mucilaginous ; the bile bitter,
stimulating, and soapy 1- Why does the juice,
which flows into the^ stomach, contain powers,
which make that bowel the great laboratory, as it
is by its situation the recipient, of the materials of
future nutrition? These are all fair questions;
and no answer can be given to them but what calls
in intelligence and intention.
My object in the present chapter- has been to
teach three things : first r that it is a mistake to
suppose that, in reasoning from the appearances of
nature, the imperfection of our knowledge propor-
tionably affects the certainty of our conclusion ;
for in many cases it does not 'affect it at all : se-
condly, that the different parts of the animal frame
may bo classed and distributed, according to the
degree of exactness with which we can compare
them with works of art : thirdly, that the mechani-
cal parts of our frame, or those in which this com-
parison is most complete, although constituting,
probably, the coarsest portions of nature's work-
manship, are the most proper to be alleged as
proofs and specimens of design.
CHAPTER VIII.
Of Mechanical Arrangement in the Human
Frame.
WE proceed, therefore, to propose certain exam-
ples taken out pf this class : making choice of such
as, amongst those which have come to our know-
ledge, appear to be the most striking, and the best
understood ; but obliged, perhajw, to postpone both
these recommendations to a third ; that of the ex-
inple Ik-ing capable of explanation without plates,
or figures, or technical language.
Of the Bones.
I. I challenge any man to produce, in the
joints and pivots of the most complicated or the
most flexible machine that was ever contrived, a
construction more artificial, or more evidently
artificial than that which is seen in the verte-
bra? of the human necfc.-^- r T\vo things were to
done. The head was to have the power of
bending forward and backward, as in the act
of nodding, stooping, looking upward or down-
ward ; and, at the same time, of turning itself
round upon the body to a certain extent, the
quadrant we will say, or rather, perhaps, a hun-
dred and twenty degrees of a circle. For these
:wo purposes, two distinct contrivances are em-
ployed: First, the head rests immediately upon
tfie uppermost of the vertebras, and is united to it
by a hinge-joint ; upon which joint the head plays
freely forward and backward, as far either way as
is necessary, or as the ligaments allow: which
was the first, thing required. But then the rotato-
ry motion is unprovided for ; Therefore, secondly,
to make the head capable of this, a farther me-
chanism is introduced ; not between the head and
the uppermost bone of the neck, where the hinge
is, but between that bone, and the bone next un-
derneath it. It is a mechanism resembling a te-
non and mortice. This second, or uppermost
bone but one, has what anatomists call a process,
viz. a projection, somewhat similar, in size and
shape, to a tooth ; which tooth^entering a corres-
ponding hole or socket in the bone above it, forms
a pivot or axle, upon which that upper bone, to-
gether with the head which it supports, turns
freely in a circle ; and as far in the circle as the
^attached muscles permit the head to turn. Thus
are both motions perfect, without interfering with
each other. When we nod the head, we use the
hinge-joint, which lies between the head and the
first bone of the neck. When we turn the head
round, we use the tenon and mortice, which runs
between the first bone of the neck and the second.
We see the same contrivance and the same prin-
ciple employed in the frame or mounting of a teles-
cope. It is occasionally requisite, that the object-
end of the instrument be moved up and down, as
well as horizontally or equatorially. For the ver-
tical motion, there is a hinge, upon which the
telescope plays; for the horizontal or equatorial
motion, an axis upon which the telescope and the
hinge turn round together. And this is exactly
the mechanism which is applied to the motion of
the head: nor will any one here doubt of the ex-
istence of counsel and design, except it be by that
debility of mind, which can trust to its own rea-
sonings in nothing.
We may add, that it was on another account
also, expedient, that the motion of the head back-
ward and forward should be performed upon the
upper surface of the first vertebrae : for if the first
vertcbrrc itself had bent forward, it would have
brought the spinal marrow, at the very beginning
of its course, upon the point of the tooth.
II. Another mechanical contrivance, not unlike
the last in its object, but different and original in
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
405
its means, is seen in what anatomists call the fore-
arm ; that is, in the arm between the elbow and
the wrist. Here, for the perfect use of the limb,
two motions are wanted : a motion at the elbow
backward and forward, which is called a recipro-
cal motion ; and a rotatory motion, by which the
palm of the hand, as occasion requires, may be
turned upward. How is this managed I the fore-
arm, it is well known, consists of two bones, lying
along-side each other, but touching only towards
the ends. One, and only one, of these bones, is
joined to the cubit, or upper part of the arm at
the elbow; the other alone, to the hand at the
wrist. The first, by means, at the elbow, of a
hinge-joint (which allows only of motion in the
same plane,) swings backward and forward, car-
rying along with it the other bone, and the whole
lore-arm. In the mean time, as often as there is
occasion to turn the palm upward, that other bone
to which the hand is attached, rolls upon the lirst,
by the help of a groove or hollow near each end
of one bone, to which is fitted a corrcsjxjnding
prominence in the other. 11' both bones had been
joined to the cubit or upper arm, at the elbow, or
both to the, hand at the wrist, the thing could not
have l)oen done. The first was to U>. at liberty
at one end, and the second at the other ; by which
means the two actions may he performed together.
The great bone which carries the fore-arm, may
be swinginii upon its hinge at the elbow, at the
very time that the lesser lx>ne, which carries the
hand, may be turning round it in the grooves.
The management also of these grooves, or rather
the tubercles and grooves, is very observable. The
two bones are called the rui/i'ux and the ulna.
Above, i.e.. towards the elbow, a tubercle of the
radius plays into the socket of the ulna; whilst
below, i.e. towards the wrist, the radius finds the
socket, and the ulna the tulcrclc. A single bone
in the fore-arm, with a ball and socket joint at the
elbow, which admits of motion in all directions,
might, in some degree, have answered the pur)x>se
of both moving the arm and turning the hand.
But how much letter it is accomplished by the
E resent mechanism, any person may convince
imself who puts the ease and quickness with
which he can shake his hand at the wrist circu-
larly (moving likewise, if he pleases, his arm at
the ellxw at the same time,) in competition with
the comparatively slow and laborious motion, with
which his arm can be made to turn round at the
shoulder, by the aid of a ball and socket joint.
III. The spine, or back-bone, is a chain of
joints of very wonderful construction. Various,
difficult, and almost inconsistent offices were to be
executed by the same instrument. It was to be.
firm, yet flexible : (now I know no chain made by
art, which is both these ; for by firmness I mean,
not only strength, but stability :)^rm, to support
the erect position of the body \Jlexible, to allow of
the bending of the trunk in all degrees of curva-
ture. It was farther also (which is another, and
quite a distinct purpose from the rest) to become
a pipe or conduit for the safe conveyance from the
brain, of the most important fluid of the animal
frame, that, namely, upon which all voluntary
motion depends, the spinal marrow ; a substance
not only of the first necessity to action, if not to
life, but of a nature so delicate and tender, so sus-
ceptible, and so impatient of injury, as that any
unusual pressure upon it, or any considerable ob-
struction of its course, is followed by paralysis or
death. Now the spine was not only to furnish
the main trunk for the passage of the medullary
substance from the brain, but ,to give out, in the
course of its progress, small pipes therefrom, which
being afterward indefinitely subdivided, might,
under the name ol" nerves, distribute this exquisite
supply to every part of the body. The same
spine was also to serve another use not less
wanted than the preceding, riz. to afford a fulcrum,
stay, or basis (or more properly speaking, a series
of these,) for the insertion of the muscles which
are spread over the trunk of the body: in which
j trunk there are not, as in the limbs, cylindrical
j bones to which they can be fastened : and, likewise,
j which is a similar use, to furnish a support for the
ends of the ribs to rest upon.
Bespeak of a workman a piece of mechanism
which shall comprise all these purposes, and let
him set about to contrive it : let him try his skill
upon it ; let hint feel the difficulty of accomplish-
ing the task, before he be told how the same thing
is ellirted in tlu; animal frame. -Nothing wifl
enable him to judge so well of the wisdom which
has been employed; nothing will dispose him to
think of it so truly. First, for the firmness, yet
flexibility; of the spine; it is composed of a great
numlx-r oflxmes (in the human subject, of twen-
ty-four) joined to one another,, and compacted by
broad bases. The breadth of the liases upon
which the parts severally rest, and the closeness
of the junction, give to the chain its firmness and
stability ; the number of parts, and consequent fre-
quency" of points, its flexibility. Which flexibility,
we may also observe, varies in different parts of
the chain; is least in the back, where strength
more than flexure is wanted; greater in the loins,
which it was necessary should be more supple
than the back ; and greatest of all in the neck, lor
the free motion of the head. Then; secondly, in
order to aflbrd a passage for the descent of the
medullary substance, each of these bones is bored
through in the middle in such a manner, as that,
when put together, the hole in one bone falls into
a line, and corresponds with the holes in the two
lx)nes contiguous to it. By which means, the
JM rtorated pieces, when joined, form an entire,
close, uninterrupted channel; at least, whilst the
spine is upright, and at rest. But as a settled
posture is inconsistent with its use, a great diffi-
culty still remained, which was to prevent the
vertebrae shifting upon one another, so as to break
the line of the eanal as often as the. body moves
or twists ; or the joints -gaping externally, when-
ever the body is bent forward, and the spine there-
upon made to take the form of a bow. These
dangers, which are mechanical, are mechanically
provided against. The vertebrae, by means of
their processes and projections, and of the articu-
lations which some of these form with one another
at their extremities, are so locked in and confined,
as to maintain, in what are called the bodies or
broad surfaces of the bones, the relative position
nearly unaltered ; and to throw the change and
the pressure, produced by flexion, almost entirely
upon the intervening cartilages, the springiness
and yielding nature of whose substance admits of
all the motion which is necessary to be performed
upon them, without any chasms being produced
by a separation of the parts. I say, of all the mo-
tion which is necessary ; for although we bend
our backs to every degree almost of inclination,
the motion of each vertebrae is very small : such is
406
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
the advantage we receive from the chain being
composed of so many links, the spine of so many
bones. Had it consisted of three or four bones
only; in bending the body, the spinal marrow
must have been bruised at every angle. The
reader need not be told, that these intervening car-
tilages are gristles; and he may see them in per-
fection in a loin of veal. Their form also favours
the same intention. They are thicker before than
behind; so that, when we stoop forward, the
compressible substance of the cartilage, yielding
in its thicker and interior part to the force which
squeezes it, brings the surfaces of the adjoining
vertebrae nearer to the being parallel with one
another than they were before, instead of increas-
ing the inclination of their planes, which must
have occasioned a fissure or opening between them.
Thirdly, for the medullary canal giving out in its
course, and in a convenient order a supply of
nerves to different parts of the body, notches are
made in the upper and lower edge of every verte-
bra; two on each edge; equi-distant on each side
from the middle line of the back. When the
vertebra? are put together, these notches, exactly
fitting, form small holes, through which the
nerves, at each articulation, issue out in pairs, in
order to send their branches to every part of the
body, and with an equal bounty to both sides of
the body. The fourth purpose assigned to the
same instrument, is the insertion of the bases of
the muscles, and the support of the ends of the
ribs; and for this fourth purpose, especially the
former part of it, a figure, specifically suited to the
design, and unnecessary for the other purposes, is
given to the constituent bones. Whilst they are
plain, and round, and smooth, towards the front,
where any roughness or projection might have
wounded the adjacent viscera, they run out behind
and on each side, into long processes, to which
processes the muscles necessary to the motions of
the trunk are fixed ; and fixed with such art, that,
whilst the vertebra? supply a basis for the muscles,
the muscles help to keep these bones in their posi-
tion, or by their tendons to tie them together.
That most important, however, and general
property, viz. the strength of the compagcs, and
the security against luxation, was to be still more
especially consulted: for where so many joints
were concerned, and where, in every one a de-
rangement would have been fatal, it became a
subject of studious precaution. For this purpose,
the vertebra? are articulated, that is, the moveable
joints between them are formed by means of those
projections of their substance, which we have
mentioned under the name of processes ; and
these so lock in with, and overwrap \one another
as to secure the body of the vertebra not only
from accidentally slipping, but even from being
pushed out of its place by any violence short of
that which would break the bone. I have often
remarked and admired this structure in the chine
of a hare. In this, as in many instances, a plain
observer of the animal economy may spare himself
the disgust of being present at human dissections,
and yet learn enough for his information and sa-
tisfaction, by even examining the bones of the
animals which come upon his table. Let him
take, for example, into his hands, a piece of the
clean-picked bone of a hare's back ; consisting, we
will suppose, of three vertebrae. He will find the
middle bone of the three so implicated, by means
of its projections or processes, with the bone on
each side of it, that no pressure which he can use,
will force it out of its place between them. It will
give way neither forward nor backward, nor on
either side. In whichever direction he pushes, he
perceives, in the form, or junction, or over-lapping,
of the bones, an impediment opposed to his at-
tempt; a check and guard against dislocation. In
one part of the spine, he will find a still farther
fortifying expedient, in the mode according to
which the ribs are annexed to the spine. Each
rib rests upon two vertebras. That is the thing
to be remarked, and any one may remark it in
carving a neek of mutton. The manner of it is
this : the end of the rib is divided by a middle
ridge into two surfaces; which surfaces are joined
to the bodies of two contiguous vertebrae, the ridge
applying itself to the intervening cartilage. Now
this is the very contrivance which is employed
in the famous iron bridge at my door at Bishop
Wearmouth ; and for the same purpose of stability ;
viz. the cheeks of the bars, which pass between
the arches, ride across the joints, by which the
pieces composing each arch are united. Each
cross-bar rests upon two of these pieces at their
place of junction ; and by that position resists, at
least in one direction, any tendency in either piece to
slip out of its place. Thus perfectly, by one means
or the other, is the danger of slipping laterally,
or of being drawn aside out of the line of the back,
provided against : and to withstand the bones being
palled as under longitudinally, or in the direction
of that line, a strong membrane runs from one
end of the chain to the other, sufficient to resist
any force which is ever likely to act in the direc-
tion of the back, or parallel to it, and consequently
to secure the whole combination in their places.
The general result is, that not only the motions
of the human body necessary for the ordinary of-
fices of life are performed with safety, but that it
is an accident hardly ever heard of, that even the
gesticulations of a. harlequin distort his spine.
Upon the whole, and as a guide to those who
may be inclined to carry the consideration of this
subject farther, there are three views under which
the spine ought to be regarded, and in all which
it cannot fail to excite our admiration. These
views relate to its articulations, its ligaments, and
its perforation ; and to the corresponding advan-
tages which the body derives from it, for action,
for strength, and for that which is essential to
every part, a secure communication with the brain.
The structure of the spine is not in general
different in different animals. In the serpent
tribe, however, it is considerably varied ; but with
a strict reference to the conveniency of the animal.
For, whereas, in .quadrupeds the number of verte-
bra? is from thirty to forty, in the serpent it is
nearly one hundred and fifty : whereas in men
and quadrupeds the surfaces of the bones are fiat,
and these flat surfaces laid one against the other,
and bound tight by sinews ; in the serpent, the
bones play one -within another like a ball and
socket,* so that they have a free motion upon one
another in every direction : that is to say, in men
and quadrupeds, firmness is more consulted ; in
serpents, pliancy. Yet even pliancy is not ob-
tained at the expense of safety. The back-bone
of a serpent, for coherence and flexibility, is one
of the most curious pieces of animal mechanism
with which we are acquainted. The chain of a
* Der. Pbys.Tbeol. p. 396.
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
407
Watch (I mean the chain which passes between
the spring-barrel and the fusee,) which aims at
the same properties, is but a bungling piece of
workmanship in comparison with that of which
We speak.
IV. The reciprocal enlargement and contraction
of the chest to allow for the play of the lungs, de-
pends upon a simple yet beautiful mechanical
contrivance, referable to the structure of the bones
which enclose it. The ribs are articulated to the
back-bone, or rather to its side projections, ob-
liquely: that is, in their natural position they bend
or slope from the place of articulation downwards.
But the basis upon which they rest at this end
being fixed, the consequence of the obliquity, or
the inclination downwards, is, that when they
come to move, whatever pulls the rilw upwards,
necessarily, at the same time, draws them out ;
and, that, whilst the rils are brought to a right
angle with the spine behind, the sternum, or part
of the chest to wnich they are attached in front, is
thrust forward. The simple action, therefore, of
the elevating muscles does the business: whereas,
if the ribs had been articulated with the bodies of
the vertebrae at right angles, the cavity of the tho-
rax could never have been farther enlarged by a
change of their position. If each rib had been a
rigid bone, articulated at both ends to fixed bases.
the whole chest had been inunoveable. Keill has
observed, that the breast-bone, in an easy inspira-
tion, is thrust out one tenth of an inch : and he
calculates that this, added to what is gain. -1 to the
space within the rhest by the flafteniBg or descent
of the diaphragm, leaves nxnu for forty-two cubic
inches of air to enter at every drawing-in of the
breath. When there is a necessity for a deeper
and more laborious inspiration, the enlargement
of the capacity of the chest may he so in
by effort, as that the lungs may be distended with
seventy or a hundred such cubic inches.* The
thorax, says Schelhammer, fbrms a kind of bel-
lows, such as never have been, nor probably will
be, made by any artificer.
V. The patella, or knee-pan, is a curious little
bone ; in its form and ottice, unlike any other bone
of the body. It is circular; the size of a crown
piece; pretty thick; a little convex on both sides,
and covered with a smooth cartilage. It lies upon
the front of the knee ; and the powerful tendons,
by which the leg is brought forward, pass through
it (or rather it makes a part of their continuation,)
from their origin in the thigh to their insertion in
the tibia. It protects both the tendon and the
joint from any injury which either might suffer,
by the rubbing of one against the other, or by the
pressure of unequal surfaces. It also gives to the
tendons a very considerable mechanical advantage,
by altering the line of their direction, and by ad-
vancing it farther out from the centre of motion ;
and this upon the principles ef the resolution of
force, upon which principles all machinery is
founded. These are its uses. But what is most
observable in it is, that it appears to be supple-
mental, as it were, to the frame : added, as it should
almost seem, afterward ; not quite necessary, but
very convenient. It is separate from the other
bones ; that is, it is not connected with any other
bones by the common mode of union. It is soft,
or hardly formed, in infancy ; and produced by an
ossification, of the inception or progress of which
Anat. p. 229.
no account can he given from the structure or
exercise of the part.
VI. The shoulder-blade is, in some material
respects, a very singular bone; appearing to be
made so expressly for its own purpose, and so in-
dependently of every other reason. In such qua-
drupeds as have no collar-bones, which are by far
the greater number, the shoulder-blade has no
bony communication with the trunk, either by a
joint or process, or in any other way. It does not
grow to, or out of, any other bone of the trunk.
It does not apply to any other bone of the trunk : (I
know not whether this be true of any second bone
in the body, except perhaps the os hyoiides:) in
strictness it forms no part of the skeleton. It is
bedded in the flesh; attached only to the muscles.
It is no other than a foundation bone for the arms,
laid in, separate, as it were, and distinct, from the
general ossification. The lower limbs connect
themselves at the hip with bone* which form part
of the skeleton: but this connexion, in the upper
limbs, U-ing wanting, a basis, whereupon the arm
might be articulated, was te be supplied by a de-
tached ossification for the purpose.
Of the Joints.
I. TIIF, alxne arc a few examples of bones made
remarkable by their configuration: but to almost
all the bonea l>elong joints ; and in these, still
more clearly than in the form or shape of tho
Umes themselves, are seen both contrivance and
contriving wisdom. Kvery joint is a curiosity,
and is also strictly mechanical. There is tho
hinge-joint, and the mortice and tenon-joint ; each
as manifestly such, and as accurately defined, as
any which can be produced out of a cabinet-
maker's shop; and one or the other prevails, as
either is adapted to the motion which is wanted :
e. g. a mortice and tenon, or ball and socket-joint,
is not required at the knee, the leg standing in
need only of a motion backward and forward in
the same plane, for which a hinge-joint is sufficient ;
a mortice and tenon, or ball and socket-joint, is
wanted at the hip, that not only the progressive
step may be provided for, but the interval between
the limbs may be enlarged or contracted at plea-
sure. Now observe what would have been the
inconveniency, i. e. both the superfluity and the
defect of articulation, if the case had been inverted :
if the ball and socket-jmnt had been at the knee,
and the hinge-joint at the- hip. The thighs must
have been kept constantly together, and the legs
have been loose* and straddling. There would
have been no use, that we know of, in being able
to turn the calves of the legs before; and there
would have been great confinement by restraining
the motion of the thighs to one plane. The dis-
advantage would not have been less, if the joints
at the hip and the knee had been both of the same
sort ; both balls and sockets, or both hinges : yet
why, independently of utility, and of a Creator
who consulted that utility, should the same bone
(the thigh-bone') be rounded at one end, and chan-
nelled at the other 1
The hinge-joint is not formed by a bolt passing
through the two parts of the hinge, and thus keep-
ing them in their places ; but by a different expe-
dient. A strong, tough, parchment-like mem-
brane, rising from the receiving bones, and in-
serted all round the received bones a little below
their heads, encloses the joint on every side. This
408
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
membrane ties, confines, and holds, the ends of
the bones together; keeping the corresponding
parts of the joint, i.e. the relative convexities and
concavities, in close application to each other.
For the ball and socket-joint, beside the mem-
brane already described, there is in some import-
ant joints, as an additional security, a short,
strong, yet flexible ligament, inserted by one end
into the head of the ball, by the other into the bot-
tom of the cup ; which ligament keeps the two parts
of the joint so firmly in their place, that none of
the motions which the limb naturally performs,
none of the jerks and twists to which it is ordi-
narily liable, nothing less indeed than the utmost
and the most unnatural violence, can pull them
asunder. It is hardly imaginable, how great a
force is necessary, even to stretch, still more to
break, this ligament; yet sojflexible is it, as to op-
pose no impediment to the suppleness of the joint.
By its situation also, it is inaccessible to injury
from sharp edges. As it cannot be ruptured, (such
is its strength,) so it cannot be cut, except by an
accident which would sever the limb. If I had
been permitted to frame a proof of contrivance,
such as might satisfy the most distrustful inqui-
rer, I know not whether I could have chosen an
example of mechanism more unequivocal, or more
free from objection, than this ligament. Nothing
can be more mechanical ; nothing, however sub-
servient to the safety, less capable of being gene-
rated by the action of the joint. I would particu-
larly solicit the reader's attention to this provision,
as it is found in the head of the thigh-bone ; to
its strength, its structure, and its use. It is an
instance upon which I lay my hand. One single
fact, weighed by a mind in earnest, leaves often-
times the deepest impression. For the purpose of
addressing different understandings and different
apprehensions, for the purpose of sentiment, for
the purpose of exciting admiration of the Creator's
works, we diversify our views, we multiply ex-
amples ; but for the purpose of strict argument,
one clear instance is sufficient; and not only suf-
ficient, but capable perhaps of generating a firmer
assurance than what can arise from a divided at-
tention.
The ginglymus, or hinge-joint, does not, it is
manifest, admit of a ligament of the same kind
with that of the ball and socket-joint, but it is al-
ways fortified by the species of ligament of which
it does admit. The strong, firm, investing mem-
brane, above described, accompanies it in every
part: and in particular joints, this membrane,
which is properly a ligament, is considerably
stronger on the sides than either before or behind,
in order that the convexities may play true in
their concavities, and not be subject to slip side-
ways, which is the chief danger ; for the muscu-
lar tendons generally restrain the parts from go-
ing farther than they ought to go in the plane of
their motion. In the knee, which is a joint of
this form, and of great importance, there are su-
peradded to the common provisions for the sta-
bility of the joint, two strong ligaments which
cross each other ; and cross each other in such a
manner, as to secure the joint from being dis-
placed in any assignable direction. " I think,"
says Cheselden, " that the knee cannot be com-
pletely dislocated without breaking the cross liga-
ments."* We can hardly help comparing this with
*Ches. Anat. ed. 7th. p. 45.
the .binding up of a fracture, where the fillet is al-
most always strapped across, for the sake of giving
firmness and .strength to the handle.
Another no less important joint, and that also
of the ginglymus sort, is the ankle ; yet though
important, (in order, perhaps, to preserve the
symmetry and Tightness of -the limb,) small, and,
on that account, more liable to injury. Now this
joint is strengthened, i. c. is defended from dislo-
cation, by two remarkable processes or prolonga-
tions of the bones of the leg; which processes
form the protuberances that we call the inner and
outer ankle. It is part of each bone going down
lower than the other part, and thereby ovcrlaj>-
ping the joint: so that, if the joint be in danger
of slipping outward, it is curbed by the inner pro-
jection, i. e. that of the tibia ; if inward, by the
outer projection, i. e. that of the fibula. Between
both, it is locked in its position. I know no ac-
count that can be given of this structure, except
its utility. Why should the tibia terminate at its
lower extremity, with a double end, and the fibula
the same, but to barricade the joint on both sides
by a continuation of part of the thickest of the
bone over it 1 The joint at the shoulder compared
with the joint at the hip, though both ball and
socket-joints, discovers a difference in their form
and proportions, well suited to the different offices
which the limbs have to execute. The cup or
socket at the shoulder is much shallower and flat-
ter than it is at the hip, and is also in part formed
of cartilage set round the rim of the cup. The
socket, into which the head of the thigh-bone is
inserted, is deeper, and made of more solid ma-
terials. This agrees with the duties assigned to
each part. The arm is an instrument of motion,
principally, if not solely. Accordingly the shal-
lowness of the socket at the shoulder, and the
yieldingness of the cartilaginous substance with
which its edge is set round, and which, in fact,
composes a considerable part of its concavity, are
excellently adapted for the allowance of a free mo-
tion and a wide range ; both which the arm wants.
Whereas, the lower limb, forming a part of the
column of the body ; having to support the body,
as well as to be the" means its locomotion ; firm-
ness was to be consulted, as well as action. With
a capacity for motion in all directions, indeed, as
at the shoulder, but not in any direction to the
same extent as in the arm, was to be united sta-
bility, or resistance to dislocation. Hence the
deeper excavation of the socket ; and the presence
of a less proportion of cartilage upon the edge.
The suppleness and pliability of the joints, we
every moment experience ; and the Jirmness of
animal articulation, the property we have hitherto
been considering, may be judged of from this sin-
gle observation, that, at any given moment of
time, there are millions of animal joints in com-
plete repair and use, for one that is dislocated;
and this, notwithstanding the contortions and
wrenches to which the liuibs of animals are con-
tinually subject.
' II. The joints, or rather the ends of the lx>nes
which form them, display also, in their configura-
tion, another use. The nerves, blood-vessels, and
tendons, which are necessary to the life, or for the
motion, of the limbs, must, it is evident, in their
way from the trunk of the body to the place of
their destination, travel over the moveable joints;
and it is no less evident, that, in this part of their
course, they will have, from sudden motions and
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
from abrupt changes of curvature, to encounter
the danger of comprehension, attrition, or lacera-
tion. To guard fibres so tender against conse-
quences so injurious, their path is in those parts
protected with {Kjculiar care ; and that hy a provi-
sion, in the figure of the bones themselves. The
nerves which supply the fore-arm, especially the
interior cubital nerves, are at the elbow conducted,
by a kind of covered way, between the condyls, or
rather under the inner extuberanccs of the bone
which composes the upper part of the arm.* At
the knee, the extremity of the thigh-bone is di-
vided by a sinus or cliff into two heads or protu-
berances : and these heads on the back part stand
out beyond the cylinder of the l.one: Through
the hollow, which lies between the hind parts of
these two heads, that is to say, unde r the ham,
between the ham-strings, and within the concave
recess of the bone formed by the extuberances on
each side ; in a word, along a defile between rocks,
pass the great vessels and nerves which go to the
leg.t Who led these vessels hy a n>:ul BO defended
and secured 1 In the joint at the shoulder, in the
edge the cup which receives the head of the bone,
is a notch, which is joined or covered at the top
with a ligament. Through this hole, thus guard-
ed, the blood-vessels steal to their destination in
the arm, instead of mounting over the edge of the
concavity.*
III. In all joints, the ends of the bones, which
work against each other, are tipped with gristle.
In the ball and socket-joint, the cup is lined, and
the ball capped with it. The smooth surface, the
elastic and unfriable nature of cartilage, render it
of all substances the most proper for the place and
purpose. I should, therefore, have pointed this
out amongst the foremost of the provisions which
have been made in the joints for the facilitating of
their action, had it not been alleged, that cartilage,
in truth, is only nascent or imperfect bone ; and
that the bone in these places is kept soft and im-
perfect, in consequence of a more complete and
rigid ossification being prevented from taking
place by the continual motion and rubbing of the
surfaces: which being so, what we rcpre.-
designed advantage, is an unavoidable effect. I
am far from being convinced that this is a true ac-
count of the fact ; or that, if it were so, it answers
the argument. To me, the surmounting of the
ends of the bones with gristle, looks more like a
plating with a different metal, than like the same
metal kept in a different state by the action to
which it is exposed. At all events, we have a
a great particular benefit, though arising from a
general constitution: but this last not being quite
what my argument requires, lest I should MM MI
by applying the instance to over-rate its 'value, I
have thought it fair to state the question w'u'ch at-
tends it.
IV. In some joints, very particularly in the
knees, there are loose cartilages or gristles" between
the bones, and within the joint, so that the ends
of the bones, instead of working upon one" another,
work upon the intermediate cartilages. Chesel-
den has observed,! that the contrivance of a loose
ring is practised by mechanics, where the friction
of the joints of any of their machines is great; as
between the parts of crook-hinges of large gates,
or under the head of the male screw of lar^e vices.
* Ches. Anat. p. 255. ed. 7
J Ib. p. 30.
3F
til), p. 35.
Ib. p. l j.
- The cartilages of which we speak, have very much
of the form of these rings. The comparison more-
over shows the reason why we find them in the
knees rather than in other joints. It is an expe-
dient, we have seen, which a mechanic resorts to,
only when some strong and heavy work is to be
done. So here the thigh-bone has to achieve its
motion at the knee, with the whole weight of the
body pressing upon it, and often, as in rising from
our seat, with the whole weight of the body to
lift. It should seem, also, from Cheselden's ac-
count, that the slipping and sliding of the loose
cartilages, though it be probably a small and ob-
scure change, humoured the motion of the end of
the thigh-bone, under the particular configuration
which was necessary to be given to it for the com-
modious action of the tendons; (and which con-
figuration requires what he calls a variable socket,
that is, a concavity, the lines of which assume a
dillermt curvature in different inclinations of the
bones.)
V. We have now done with the configuration:
but there is also in the joints, and that common to
them all, another exquisite provision, manifestly
adapted to their use, and concerning which there
can, I think, be no dispute, namely, the regular
supply of a mucilage, more emollient and slippery
than oil itself, which is constantly softening and
lubricating the parts that rub uj>on each other, and
thereby diminishing the effect of attrition in the
highest possible degree. For the continual se-
cretion of this important liniment, and for the
feeding of the cavities of the joint with it, glands
are fixed near each joint; the excretory ducts of
which glands, dripping with their balsamic con-
tents, hang loose like fringes within the cavity of
the joints. A late improvement in what are called
friction- wheels, which.consist of a mechanism so
ordered, as to be regularly dropping oil into a box,
which encloses the axis, the nave, and certain,
balls upon which the nave revolves, may be said,
in some sort, to represent the contrivance in the
animal joint; with this superiority, however, on
the part of the joint, viz. that here, the oil is not
only dropped, Imt made.
In considering the joints, there is nothing, per-
haps, which ought to' move our gratitude more
than the reflection, how well they wear. A limb
shall swinff upon its hinge, or play in its socket,
many hundred times in an hour, for sixty years
together, without diminution of its agility : which
is a long time for any thing to last ; for any thing
so much worked and exercised as the joints are.
This durability I should attribute, in part, to the
provision which is made for the preventing of
wear and tear, first, by the polish of the cartilagi-
nous surfaces ; secondly, by the healing lubrication
of the mucilage ; and, in part, to that astonishing
property of animal constitutions, assimilation, by
which, in every portion of the body, let it consist
of what it will, substance is restored, and waste
repaired.
Moveable joints, I think, compose the curiosity
of bones ; but their union, oven where no motion
is intended or wanted, carries marks of mecha-
nism and of mechanical wisdom. The teeth, espe-
cially the front teeth, are one bone fixed in ano-
ther, like a peg driven into a board. The sutures
of the skull are like the edges of two saws clapped
together, in such a manner as that the teeth of
one enter the intervals of the other. We have
sometimes one bone lapping over another, and
* 33 J
410
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
planed down at the edges : sometimes also the thin
lamella of one bone received into a narrow furrow
of another. In all which varieties, we seem to
discover the same design, viz. firmness of juncture
without clumsiness in the seam.
CHAPTER IX.
Of the Muscles.
MUSCLES, with their tendons, are the instru-
ments by which animal motion is performed. It
will be our business to point out instances in
which, and properties with respect to which, the
disposition of these muscles is as strictly mechani-
cal, as that of the wires and strings of a puppet.
I. We may observe, what I believe is universal,
an exact relation between the joint and the mus-
cles which move it. Whatever motion the joint,
by its mechanical construction, is capable of per-
forming, that motion, the annexed muscles, by
their position, are capable of producing. For ex-
ample ; if there be, as at the knee and elbow, a
hinge-joint, capable of motion only in the same
plane, the leaders, as they are called, i. e. the
muscular tendons, are placed in directions parallel
to the bone, so as, by the contraction or relaxation
of the muscles to which they belong, to produce
that motion and no other. If these joints were
capable of a freer motion, there are no muscles to
produce it. Whereas at the shoulder and the hip,
where the ball and socket-joint allows by its con-
struction of a rotatory or sweeping motion, ten-
dons are placed in such a position, and pull in
such a direction, as to produce the motion of which
the joint admits. For instance, the sartorius or
tailor's muscle, rising from the spine, running di-
agonally across the thigh, and taking hold of the
inside of the main bone of the leg, a little below
the knee, enables us, by its contraction, to throw
one leg and thigh over the other ; giving effect,
at the same time, to the ball and socket-joint at
the hip, and the hinge-joint at the knee. There
is, as we have seen, a specific mechanism in the
bones, for the rotatory motions of the head and
hands : there is, also, in the oblique direction of
the muscles belonging to them, a specific provision
for the putting of tins mechanism of the bones
into action. And mark the consent of uses. The
oblique muscles would have been inefficient with-
out that particular articulation: that particular
articulation would have been lost, without the ob-
lique muscles. It may be proper however to ob-
serve, with respect to the head, although I think
it does not vary the case, that its oblique motions
and inclinations are often motions in a diagonal,
produced by the joint action of muscles lying in
straight directions. But whether the pull be sin-
gle or combined, the articulation is always such,
as to be capable of obeying the action of the mus-
cles. The oblique muscles attached to the head,
are likewise so disposed, as to be capable of stea-
dying the globe, as well as of moving it. The
head of a new-born infant is often obliged to be
filleted up. After death, the head drops and rolls
in every direction. So that it is by the equilibre
of the muscles, by the aid of a considerable and
equipollent muscular force in constant exertion,
that the head maintains its erect posture. The
muscles here supply what would otherwise be a
great defect in the articulation : for the joint in
the neck, although admirably adapted to the mo-
tion of the head, is insufficient for its support. It
is not only by the means of a most curious struc-
ture of the bones that a man turns his head, but
by, virtue of n adjusted muscular power, that he
even holds it up. '
As another example of what we are illustrating,
viz. conformity of use between the tones and the
muscles, it has been observed of the different ver-
tebrae, that their processes are exactly proportioned
to the quantity of motion which the other bones
allow of, and which the respective muscles are
capable of producing.
II. A muscle acts only by contraction. Its
force is exerted in no other way. When the ex-
ertion ceases, it relaxes itself, that is. it returns by
relaxation to its former state, but without energy.
This is the nature of the muscular fibre ; and
being so, it is evident that the reciprocal energetic
motion of the limbs, by which we mean motion
with force in opposite directions, can only be pro-
duced by the instrumentality of opposite or anta-
gonist muscles ; of flexors and extensors answering
to each other. For instance, the biceps and bra-
chiaeus internus muscles placed in the front part
of the upper arm, by their contraction, bend the
elbiw; and with such degree of force, as the
case requires, or the strength admits of. The re-
laxation of these muscles, after the effort, would
merely let the fore-arm drop down. For the back
stroke, therefore, and that the arm may not only
bend at the elbow, but also extend and straighten
itself, with force, other muscles, the longus and
brevis brachiaeus externus and the ariconaeus,
placed on the hinder part of the arms, by their con-
tractile twitch fetch back the fore-arm into a
straight line with the cubit, with no less force
than that with which it was bent out of it. The
same thing obtains in all the limbs, and in every
moveable part of the body. A finger is not bent
and straightened, without the contraction of two
muscles taking place. It is evident, therefore, that
the animal functions require that particular dispo-
sition ,of the muscles which we describe by the
name of antagonist muscles. And they are ac-
cordingly so disposed. Every muscle is provided
with an adversary. They act, .like two sawyers
in a pit, by an opposite pull: and nothing surely
can more 'strongly indicate design and attention
to an end, than their being thus stationed, than
this collocation. The nature of the muscular fibre
being what it is, the -purposes of the animal could
be answered by no other. And not only the ca-
pacity for motion, but the aspect and symmetry of
the body, is preserved by the muscles being mar-
shalled according to this order ; c. g. the mouth is
holden in the middle of the face, and its angles
kept' in a state of exact correspondency, by two
muscles drawing against, and balancing each other.
In a hemiplegia, when the muscle on one side is
weakened, the muscle on the other side draws the
nouth awry.
III. Another property of the muscles, which
could only be the result of care, is, their being al-
most universally so disposed, as not to obstruct or
interfere with one another's action. I know but
one instance in which this impediment is perceived.
We cannot easily swallow whilst we gape. This,
t understand, is owing to the muscles employed
in the act of deglutition being so implicated with
the muscles of the lower jaw, that, whilst these
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
411
last are contracted, the former cannot act with
freedom. The obstruction is, in this instance,
attended with little inconveniency ; but it shows
what the effect is where it does exist ; and what
loss of faculty there would be if it were more fre-
quent. Now when we reflect upon the number
of muscles, not fewer than four hundred and
forty-six in the human body, known and named,*
how contiguous they lie to each other, in layers,
as it were, over one another, crossing one another.
sometimes imbedded in one another, sometimes
perforating one another; an arrangement, which
leaves to each its liberty, and its full play, must
necessarily require meditation and counsel.
IV. The following is oftentimes the case with
the muscles. Their action is wanted, when 1 their
situation would be inconvenient. In which case,
the body of the muscle is placed in some commo-
dious position at a distance, and made to commu-
nicate with the point of action, by slender strings
or wires. If the muscles which move the fingers
had been placed in the palm or back of the hand,
they Would have swelled that part to an awkward
and clumsy thickness. The beauty, the propor-
tions of the part, would have been dest roved.
They are therefore disposed in the arm, and even
up to the elbow ; and act by long tendons, strapped
down at the wrist, and passing under the liga-
ments to the fingers, and to the joints of the fingers,
which they are severally to move. In like man-
ner, the muscles which move the toes, and many
of the joints of the foot, how gracefully are they
disposed in the calf of the leir, instead of forming
an unwieldy tumefaction in the foot itself? The
observation may ln> repeated of the muscle which
draws the nictitating membrane ovrr the eye ;
its office is in the front of the eye; but its Ixxly is
lodged in the bark part of the globe, where it lies
safe, and where it encumbers nothing.
V. The great mechanical variety of the figure
of the muscles may be thus stated. It apj>ears to
lx- a fixed law, that the contraction of a muscle
shall be towards its centre. Therefore the
lor mechanism on each occasion is, so to modify
the h'gure, and adjust the position of the muscle,
as to produce the motion required, agreeably with
this law. This can only be done' by giving to
different muscles a diversity of configuration,
suited to their several offices, and to their situation
with respect to the work which they have to per-
form. On which account we find them under a
multiplicity of forms and attitudes; sometimes
with double, sometimes with treble tendons, some-
times with none : sometimes one tendon to seve-
ral muscles, at other times one muscle to several
tendons. The shape of the organ is susceptible
of an incalculable variety, whilst the original pro-
perty of the muscle, the law and line of its con-
traction, remains the same, and is simple. Herein
the muscular system may be said to bear a perfect
resemblance to our works of art. An artist does
not alter the native quality of his materials, or
their laws of action. He takes these as he-finds
them. His skill and ingenuity are employed in
turning them, such as they are, to his account,
by giving to the parts of his machine a form and
relation, in which these unalterable properties
may operate to the production of the effects in-
tended.
VI. The ejaculations can never too often be
* Keill's Anatomy, p. 295. ed. 3.
repeated How many things must go right for ua
to be an hour at ease ! how many more for us to
be vigorous and active ! Yet vigour and activity
are, in a vast plurality of instances, preserved in
human bodies, notwithstanding that they depend
upon so great a number of instruments of motion,
and notwithstanding that the defect or disorder
sometimes of a very small instrument, of a single
pair, for instance, out of the four hundred and
forty-six muscles which are employed, may be
attended with grievous inconveniency. There is
piety and good sense in the following observation,
taken out of the Religious Philosopher: " With
much compassion," says this writer, "as well as
astonishment at the goodness of our loving Cre-
ator, have I considered the sad state of a certain
gentleman, who, as to the rest, was in pretty good
health, but only wanted the use of these two lit-
tle muscles that servo to lift up the eyelids, and so
had almost lost the use of his sight, being forced,
as long as this defect lasted, to shove up his eye-
lids every moment with his own hands!" In
general we may remark in how small a degree
those, who enjoy the perfect use of their organs,
know the comprehensiveness of the blessing, the
variety of their obligation. They perceive a re-
sult, but they think little of the multitude of con-
currences and rectitudes which go to form it.
Beside, these olw-ervations, which belong to the
muscular organ as such, we may notice some ad-
vantages of structure which are more conspicuous
in muscles of a certain class or description than
in others. Thus:
I. The variety, quickness, and precision, of
which muscular motion is capable, are seen, I
think, irt no part so remarkably as in the tongue.
It is worth any man's while to watch the agility
of his tongue; the wonderful promptitude with
which it executes changes of position, and the
perfect exactness. Each syllable of articulated
sound requires for its utterance a specific action
of the tongue and of the parts adjacent to it. The
disposition and configuration of the mouth, apper-
taining to every letter and wo*rd, is not only pecu-
liar, but, if nicely and accurately attended to, per-
ceptible to the sight ; in so much, that curious
persons have avafled themselves of this circum-
stance to teach the deaf to speak, and to under-
stand what is said by others. In the same person,
and after his habit of speaking is formed, one, and
only one, position of .the parts, will produce a
given articulate sound correctly. How instanta-
neously are these positions assumed and dismiss-
ed; how numerous are th.e permutations, how
various, yet how infallible ! Arbitrary and antic
variety is not the thing we admire ; but variety
obeying a rule, conducing tp an effect, and com-
mensurate with exigencies infinitely diversified. I
believe also that the anatomy of the tongue cor-
responds with these observations upon its activity.
The muscles of the tongue are so numerous, and
so implicated with one another, that they cannot
Ix? traced by the nicest dissection; nevertheless,
(which is a- great perfection of the organ,) neither
the number, nw the complexity, nor what might
seem to be the entanglement of its fibres, in any
wise impede its motion, or render the determina-
tion or success of its efforts uncertain.
I HERE entreat the reader's permission to step a
little out of my way, to consider the parts of the
412
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
mouth, in some of their other properties. It has
been said, and that by an eminent physiologist, that
whenever nature attempts te work two or more
purposes by one instrument, she does both or all
imperfectly. Is this true of the' tongue, regarded
as on instrument of speech, and of taste; or re-
garded as an instrument of speech, of taste, and
of deglutition 1 So much otherwise, that many
persons, that is to say, nine hundred and ninety-
nine persons out of a thousand, by the instru-
mentality of this one organ, talk, and taste, and
swallow, very well. In fact, the constant warmth
and moisture of the tongue, the thinness of the
skin, the papillae upon its surface, qualify this or-
gan for its office of tasting, as much as its inex-
tricable multiplicity of fibres do for the rapid
movements which are necessary to speech. Ani-
mals which feed upon grass, have their tongues
covered with a perforated skin, so as to admit the
dissolved food to the papillae underneath, which,
in the mean time, remain defended from the rough
Action of the unbruised spiculae.
There are brought together within the cavity of
the mouth more distinct uses, and parts executing
more distinct offices, than I think can be found
lying so near to one another, or within the same
compass, in any other portion of the body : viz.
teeth of different shape, first for cutting, secondly
for grinding; muscles, most artificially disposed
for carrying on the compound motion of the lower
jaw, half lateral and half vertical, by which the
mill is worked : fountains of saliva, springing up
in different parts of the cavity for the moistening
of the food, whilst the mastication is going on :
glands, to feed the fountains a muscular constric-
tion of a very peculiar kind in the back part of the
cavity, for the guiding of the prepared aliment
into its passage towards the stomach, and in many
cases for carrying it along that passage ; for, al-
though we may imagine this to be done simply by
the weight of the food itself, it in truth is not so,
even in the upright posture of the human neck ;
and most evidently is not the case with quadru-
peds, with a horse tor instance, in which, when
pasturing, the food is thrust upward by muscular
strength, instead of descending of its own accord.
In the mean time, and within the same cavity,
is going on another business, altogether different
from what is here described, that of respiration
and speech. In addition therefore to all that has
been mentioned, we have a passage opened, from
this cavity to the lungs for the admission of air,
exclusively of every other substance ; we have
muscles, some in the larynx, and without number
in the tongue, for the purpose of modulating that
air in its passage, with a variety, a compass, and
precision, of which no other musical instrument
is capable. And, lastly, which in my opinidn
crowns the whole as a piece of machinery, we have
a specific contrivance for dividing the pneumatic
part from the mechanical, and for preventing one
set of actions interfering with the other. Where
various functions are united, the difficulty is to
guard against the inconveniences of a too great
complexity. In no apparatus put together by art,
and for the purposes of art, do I know such multi-
farious 'uses so aptly combined, as in the natural
organization of the human mouth ; or where the
structure compared with the uses, is so simple.
The mouth, with all these intentions to serve, is a
single cavity; is one machine; with its parts nei-
ther crowded nor confused, and each unembarrass-
ed by the rest : each at least at liberty in a degree
sufficient for the crid to be attained. If we cannot
eat and sing at the same moment, we can eat one
moment', and sing the next: the respiration pro-
ceeding freely all the while.
There, is one case however of this double office,
and that df the earliest necessity, whicli the mouth
alone could not perform; and that is, carrying on
together the two actions of sucking and breathing.
Another rout therefore is opened for the air, namely
through the nose, Which lets the breath pass back-
ward and forward, whilst the lips, in the act of
sucking, are necessarily shut close upon the body
from which the nutriment is drawn. This is a
circumstance which always appeared to me worthy
of notice. The nose would have been necessary,
although it had not been the organ of smelling.
The making it the seat of a sense was superadding
a new use to a part already wanted ; was taking
a wise advantage of an antecedent and a constitu-
tional necessity.
BUT to return to that which is the proper subject
of the present section, the celerity and precision
of muscular motion. These qualities may be par-
ticularly observed in the execution of many species
of instrumental music, in which the changes pro-
duced by the hand of the musician are exceedingly-
rapid ; are exactly measured, even when most mi-
nute ; and display, on the part of the muscles, an
obedience of action, alike wonderful for its quick-
ness and its correctness.
- Or let a person only observe his own hand
whilst he is writing; the number of muscles,
which are brought to bear upon the pen ; how the
joint and adjusted operation of several tendons is
concerned in every stroke, yet that five hundred
such strokes are drawn in a minute. Not a letter
can be turned without more than one, or two, or
three tendinous contractions, definite, both as to
the choice of the tendon, and as to the space
through which the contraction moves; yet how
currently does the work proceed ! and when we
look at it, how faithful have the muscles been to
their duty, how true to the order which endeavour
or habit hath inculcated ! For let it be remem-
bered, that, whilst a man's handwriting is the
same, an exactitude of order is preserved, whether
he write well, or ill. These two instances, of mu-
sic and writing, show not only the quickness and
precision of muscular action, but the docility.
II. Regarding the particular configuration of
muscles, sphincter or circular muscles appear to
me admirable pieces of mechanism. It is the
muscular power most happily applied ; the same
quality of the muscular substance, but under a
new modification. The circular disposition of the
fibres is strictly mechanical ; hut, though the most
mechanical, is not the only thing in sphincters
which deserves our notice. The regulated degree
of contractile force with which they are endowed,
sufficient for retention, yet vincible when requi-
site, together with their ordinary state of actual
contraction, by means of which their dependence
upon the will is not constant, but occasional, gives
them a constitution, of which the conveniency is
inestimable. This their semi-voluntary character,
is exactly such as suits with the wants and func-
tions of the animal.
III. We may also, upon the subject of muscles,
observe, that many of our most important actions
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
413
are achieved by the combined help of different
muscles. Frequently, a diagonal motion is pro-
duced, by the contraction of tendons pulling in
the direction of the sides of the parallelogram.
This is tho case, as hath been already noticed
with some of the oblique nutations of the head
Sometimes the number of co-operating muscles is
very great. Dr. Nieuentyt, in the Leipsic Trans-
actions, reckons up a hundred muscles that are
employed every time we breathe ; yet we take in,
or let out, our breath, without reflecting what a
work is thereby performed ; what an apparatus is
laid in, of instruments for the service, and how
many such contribute their assistance to the effect !
Breathing with ease, is a blessing of every moment ;
yet, of all others, it is that which we possess with
the least consciousness. A man in an asthma is
the only man who knows how to estimate it.
IV. Mr. Home has observed,* that the most
important and the most delicate actions are per-
formed in the body by the smallest muscles : and
he mentions, as his examples, the muscles which
have been discovered in the iris of the eye, and the
drum of the ear. The tenuity of these muscles is
astonishing. They are microscopic hairs; must
be magnified to be visible; yet are they real, effect'
ivc muscles: and not only such, but the grandest
and most precious of our faculties, sight and hear-
ing, depend upon their health and action.
V. The muscles act in the limbs with what is
called a mechanical disadvantage. The muscle
at the shoulder, by which the arm is raised, i.s
fixed nearly in the same manner as the load is
fixed upon a steelyard, witlu'n a few decimals, we
will say, of an inch, from the centre upon which
the steelyard turns. In this situation, we find
that a very heavy draught is no more than suffi-
cient to countervail tin- force of a small lead plum-
met, placed upon the long arm of the steelyard, at
the distance of perhaps fifteen or twenty inches
from the centre, and on the other side of it. And
this is the disadvantage whieh is meant. And an
absolute disadvantage, no doubt, it would be, if
the object were, to spare the force of muscular
contraction. But observe how conducive is this
constitution to animal conveniency. Mechanism
has always in view one^ or other of these two pur-
poses ; either to move a' great weight slowly, and
through a small space, or to move a light weight
rapidly, through a considerable sweep. For the
former of these purposes, a different species of
lever, and a different collocation of the muscles,
might be better than the present ; but for the second,
the present structure is the true one. Now so it hap-
pens, that the second, and not the first, is that
which the occasions-of animal life principally call
for. In what concerns the human body, it is of
much more consequence to any man to be able to
carry his hand to his head with due expedition,
than it would be to have the power of raising from
the ground a heavier load (of two or three more
hundred weight, we will suppose,) than he can
lift at present. This last is a faculty, which, on
some extraordinary occasions, he may desire to
possess; but the other is what he wants and uses
every hour or minute. In like manner, a husband-
man or a gardener will do more execution, by
being able to carry his scythe, his rake, or his Hail,
with a sufficient despatch through a sufficient
space, than if, with greater strength, his motions
* Phil. Trans, part. i. 1800. p. 8.
were proportionably more confined and slow. It
is the same with a mechanic in the use of his tools.
It is the same also with other animals in the use
ot their limbs. In general, the vivacity of their
motions would be ill exchanged for greater force
under a clumsier structure.
We ' have offered our observations upon the
structure of muscles in general ; we have also no-
ticed certain species of muscles; but there are
also single muscles which bear marks of me-
chanical contrivance, appropriate as well as par-
ticular. Out of many instances of this kind, we
select the following.
I. Of muscular actions, even of those which are
well understood, some of the most curious are in-
capable of popular explanation; at least, without
the aid of plates and figures. This is in a great
measure the case, with a very familiar, but at the
same time, a very Complicated motion, that of
the lower jaw ; and with the muscular structure
by which it is produced. One of the muscles
concerned may, however, be described in such a
manner, as to be, I think, sufficiently compre-
hended for our present purpose. The problem is
to pull the lower jaw doun. The obvious method
should seem to be, to place a straight muscle, viz.
to fix a string from the chin to the breast, the con-
traction of which would open the mouth and pro-
duce the motion required at once. But it is
evident that the form and liberty of the neck
forbid a muscle being laid in such a position ; and
that, consistently with the preservation of this
form, the motion, which we want, must be eflec-
tunted by some muscular mechanism disposed
farther back in the jaw. The mechanism adopt-
ed is as follows. A certain muscle^ called the dia-
gastric, rises on the side of the face, considerably
abort the insertion of the lower jaw, and conies
down, being converted in its progress into a round
tendon. INow it is manifest that the tendon,
whilst it pursues a direction descending towards
the jaw, must, by its contraction, pull the jaw up,
instead of down. What then was to be done \
This, we find, is done: the descending tendon,
when it is got low enough, is passed through a
loop, or ring, or pulley, in the os hyoides, and theH
made to ascend j and haying thus changed its line
of direction, is inserted into the inner part of the
chin : by which device, viz. the turn at the loop,
the action of the muscle (which in all muscles is
contraction) that before would have pulled the
jaw up, now as necessarily draws it down. " The
mouth," says Heister, " is opened by means of this
trochlea in a most wonderful and elegant man-
ner."
II. What contrivance can be more mechanical
than the following, viz. a slit in one tendon to let
another tendon pass through it? This structure
is found in the tendons which move the toes and
fingers. The long tendon, as it is called, in the
foot, which bends the first joint of the toe, passes
through the short tendon which bends the second
joint; which course allows to the sinew more
liberty, and a more commodious action than it
would otherwise have been capable of exerting.*
There is nothing, I believe, in a silk or cotton
mill, in the belts, or straps, or ropes, by which mo-
tion is communicated from one part of the machine
to another, that is more artificial, or more evident-
ly so, than this perforation.
*Ches.Anat. p. 119.
35*
414
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
III. The next circumstance which I shall men-
tion, under this head of muscular arrangement, is
so decisive a mark of intention, that it always ap-
peared to me to supersede, in some measure, the
necessity of seeking for any other observation
upon the subject; and that circumstance is, the
tendons, which pass from the leg to the foot, being
bound down by a ligament at the ahkle. The
foot is placed at a considerable angle with the leg.
It is manifest, therefore, that flexible strings, pass-
ing along the interior of the angle, if left to them-
selves, would, when stretched, start from it. The
obvious preventive is to tie them down. And this
is done in fact. Across the instep, or rather just
above it, the anatomist finds a strong ligament,
under which the tendons pass to the foot. The
effect of the ligament as a bandage can be made
evident to the senses; for if it be cut, the tendons
start up. The simplicity, yet the clearness of this
contrivance, its exact resemblance to established
resources of art, place it amongst the most indubi-
table manifestations of design with which we are
acquainted.
There is also a farther use to be made of the
present example, and that is, as it precisely con-
tradicts the opinion, that the parts of animals may
have been all formed by what is called appetency,
i. e. endeavour, perpetuated, and imperceptibly
working its effect, through an incalculable series
of generations. We have here no endeavour, but
the reverse of it ; a constant renitency and reluct-
ance. The endeavour is all the other way. The
pressure of the ligament constrains the tendons ;
the tendons re-act upon the pressure of the liga-
ment. It is impossible that the ligament should
ever have been generated by the exercise of the
tendon, or in the course of that exercise, forasmuch
as the force of the tendon perpendicularly resists
the fibre which confines it, and is constantly en-
deavouring, not to form, but to rupture and dis-
place the threads of which the ligament is com-
KKILL has reckoned up, in the human body,
four hundred and forty-six muscles,*lis.sectible arid
describable : and hath assigned a use to every one
of the number. This cannot be all imagination.
Bishop Wilkins hath observed from Galen, that
there are, at least, ten several qualifications to be
attended to in each particular muscle; viz. its
just magnitude ; its fulcrum ; its point of action,
supposing the figure to be fixed ; its collocation,
with respect to its two ends, the upper and the
lower; the place; the position of the whole mus-
cle; the introduction into it of nerves, arteries,
veins. How are things, including so many ad-
justments, to be made ; or, when made, how are
they to be put together without intelligence 7
I have sometimes wondered why we are not
struck with mechanism in animal bodies, as readi-
ly arjd as strongly as we are struck with it, at
first sight, in a watch or a mill. One reason of
the difference may be, that animal bodies are, in
a great measure, made up of soft, flabby substances,
such as muscles and membranes; whereas we
have been accustomed to trace mechanism in sharp
lines, in the configuration of hard materials, in
the moulding, chiselling, and filing into shapes,
of such articles as metals or wood. There is
something therefore of habit in the case ; but it is
sufficiently evident, that there can be no proper
reason for any distinction of the sort. Mechan-
ism may be displayed in the one kind of substance,
as well as in the other.
Although the few instances we have selected,
even as they stand in our description, are nothing
short .perhaps of logical proofs of design, yet it
must not be, forgotten, that, in every part of ana-
tomy, description is a poor substitute for inspec-
tion. It is well said by an able anatomist,* and
said in reference to the very part of the subject
which we have been treating of: "linperfecta
hasc musculorum descriptio, non mintis arida est
legentibus, quam inspectantibus fuerit jucunda
eorundem praeparatio. Elegantissima enim me-
chanices artificia, creberrime in illis obvia, verbis
nonnisi obscure exprimuntur: carnium autera
ductu, tendinum colore, insertionum proportione,
et trochlearium distributione, oculis exposita, om-
nem superant admirationem."
CHAPTER X.
Of the Vessels of Animal Bodies.
THE circulation of the blood, through the bodies
of men and quadrupeds, and the apparatus by
which it is carried on, compose a system, and tes-
tify a contrivance, perhaps the best understood of
any part of the animal frame. The lymphatic
system, or the nervous system, may be more sub-
tile and intricate : nay, it is possible, that in their
structure they may be even more artificial than
the sanguiferous, but we do not know so much
about them.
The utility of the circulation of the blood I as-
sume as an acknowledged point. One grand pur-
pose is plainly answered by it ; the distributing to
every part, every extremity, every nook and cor-
ner of the body, the nourishment which is receiv-
ed into it by one aperture. What enters at the
mouth, finds its way to the fingers' ends. A more
difficult mechanical problem could hardly I think
be proposed, than to discover a method of con-
stantly repairing the waste, and of supplying an
accession of substance to every part of a compli-
cated machine, at the same time.
This system presents itself under two views :
first, the disposition of the blood-vessels, i. e. the
laying of the pipes; and, secondly, the construc-
tion of the engine at the centre, viz. the heart,
for driving the blood through them.
I. The disposition of the blood-vessels, as far as
regards the supply of the body, is like that of the
water-pipes in a city, viz. large and main trunks
branching off by smaller pipes (and these again
by still narrower tubes) in every directi6n, and
towards every part in which the fluid, which they
convey, can 'be wanted. So far the water-pipes
which serve a. town may represent the vessels
which carry the blood from the heart. But there
is another thing necessary to the blood, which is
not wanted for tHe water; and that is, the carry-
ing of it back again to its source. For this office,
a reversed system of vessels is prepared, which,
uniting at their extremities with the extremities
of the first system, collects the divided and subdi-
vided streamlets, first by capillary ramifications
into larger branches, secondly, by these branches
Steno, in Bias. Anat. Animal, p. 2. c. 4.
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
415
into trunks ; and thus returns the blood (almost
exactly inverting the order in which it went out)
to the fountain whence its motion proceeded. All
which is evident mechanism.
The body, therefore, contains two systems of
blood-vessels, arteries, and veins. Between the
constitution of the systems there are also two dif-
ferences, suited to the functions which the sys-
tems have to execute. The blood, in going out,
passing always from wider into narrower tubes ;
and, in coming back, from narrower into wider;
it is evident, that the impulse and pressure upon
the sides of the" blood- vessel, will be much greater
in one case than the other. Accordingly the ar-
teries which carry out the blood; are formed of
much tougher and stronger coats, than the veins
which brincr it back. That is one difference : the
other is still more artificial, or, if I may so speak,
indicates, still more clearly, the care and anxiety
of the artificer. Forasmuch as in the arteries, by
reason of the greater force with which the blood
is urged along them, a wound or rupture would
be more dangerous than in the veins, these vessels
are defended from injury, not only by their tex-
ture, but by their situation ; and by every advan-
tage of situation which can be given to them.
They are buried in sinuses, or they creep along
grooves, made for them in the tones: for instance,
the under edge of the ribs is sloped and furrowed
solely for the passage of these vessels. Sometimes
they proceed in channels, protected by stout para-
pets on each side; which last description is re-
markable in the bones of the lingers, these being
hollowed out on the under side, like a scoop, and
with such a concavity, that the finger may be cut
across to the tone, without hurting the artery
which runs along it. At other times, the arteries
pass in canals wrought in the substance, and in
the very middle of the substance, of the bone:
this takes place in the lower jaw; ami is found
where there would otherwise be danger of com-
pression by sudden curvature. All this care is
wonderful, yet not more than what the import-
ance of the case required. To those who venture
their lives in a ship, it has been often saiil. that
there is only an inch-board between them and
death ; but in the tody itself, especially in the ar-
terial system, there is. in many parts, only a
membrane, a skin, a thread. For which reason,
this system lies deep under the integuments ;
whereas the veins, in which the mischief that en-
sues from injuring the coats is much less, lie in
general above the arteries ; come nearer to the
surface ; are more exposed.
It may be farther observed concerning the two
systems taken together, that though the arterial,
with its trunk and branches and small twigs, may
be imagined to issue or proceed, in other words,
to grow from, the heart; like a plant from its
root, or the fibres of a leaf from its foot-stalk,
(which, however, were it so, would be only to re-
solve one mechanism into another,) yet the venal,
the returning system, can never be formed in this
manner. The arteries might go on shooting out
from their extremities, i. e. lengthening and sub-
dividing indefinitely ; but an inverted system, con-
tinually uniting its streams, instead of dividing,
and thus carrying back what the other system
carried out, could not be referred to the same pro-
cess.
II. The next thing to be considered is the en-
gine which works this machinery, viz. the heart.
For our purpose it is unnecessary to ascertain the
principle upon which the heart acte. Whether it
be irritation excited by the contact of the blood,
by the influx of the nervous fluid, or whatever
else be the cause of its motion, it is something
which is capable of producing, in a living muscu-
lar fibre, reciprocal contraction and- relaxation.
This is the power we have to work with : and the
inquiry is, how this power is applied in the in-
stance before US'? There is provided, in the cen-
tral part of the body, a hollow muscle, invested
with spiral fibres, running in both directions, the
layers intersecting one another ; in some animals,
however, appearing to be semi-circular rather than
spiral. By the contraction of these fibres, the
sides of the muscular cavities are necessarily
squeezed together, so as to force out from them
any fluid which they may at that time contain :
by the "relaxation of the same fibres, the cavities
are in their turn dilated, and, of course, prepared
to admit every fluid which may be poured into
them. Into these cavities are inserted the great
trunks, both of the arteries which carry out the
blood, and of the veins which bring it back. This
is a general account of the apparatus ; and the
simplest idea of its action is, that, by each con-
traction, a portion of blood is forced by a syringe
into the arteries; and, t each dilatation, an equal
portion is received from the veins. This produces,
at each pulse, a -motion, and change in the mass
of blood, to the amount of what the cavity con-
tains, which, in a full-grown human heart, I un-
i!i -r-tand is a! wut an ounce, or two table-spoons
full. How quickly these changes succeed oe
another, and by this succession how sufficient
they are to support a stream or circulation through-
out the system, may be understood by the follow-
ing computation, abridged from -Keill's Anatomy,
p. 117. ed. 3; "Each ventricle will at least con-
tain one ounce of blood. The heart contracts four
thousand times in one hour ; from which it fol-
lows, that there pass through the heart, every
hour, four thousand ounces, or three hundred and
fifty pounds of blood. Now the whole mass of
blood is said to be about twenty-five pounds; so
that a quantity of blood, equal to the Whole mass
of blood, passes through the heart fourteen times
in one hour ; which is about ence every four mi-
nutes." Consider what an aflair this is, when we
come to very large animals. The aorta of a whale
is larger in the tore than the main pipe of the
water-works at London Bridge ; and the water
roaring in its passage through that pipe is inferior,
in impetus and velocity, to the blood gushing from
the whale's heart. Hear Dr. Hunter's account
of the dissection of a whale : " The aorta mea-
sured a foot diameter. Ten or fifteen gallons of
blood are thrown out of the heart at a stroke, with
an immense velocity, through a tube of a foot
diameter. The whole idea fills the mind with
wonder."*
The account which we have here stated, of the
injection of blood into the arteries by the con-
traction, and of the corresponding reception of it
from the veins by the dilatation, of the cavities of
the heart, and, of the circulation being thereby
maintained through the blood-vessels of the body,
is true, but imperfect. The heart performs this
office, but it is in conjunction with another of
*Dr Hunter's Account of the Dissection of a Whale.
-Phil. Trans.
416
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
equal curiosity and importance. It was necessary
that the blood should be successively brought into
contact, or contiguity, or proximity, with the air.
I do not know that the chemical reason, upon
which this necessity is founded, has been yet suf-
ficiently explored. It seems- to be made appear,
that the atmosphere which we breathe is a mix-
ture of two kinds of air ; one pure and vital, the
other, for the purposes of life, elTete, foul, and
noxious : that when we have drawn iff our breath,
the blood in the lungs imbibes from the air, thus
brought into contiguity with it, a portion of its
pure ingredient, and, at the same time, gives out
the effete or corrupt air which it contained, and
which is carried away, along with the halitus,
every time we expire. At least; by comparing
the air which is breathed from the lungs, with
the air which enters the lungs, it is foundto have
lost some of its pure part, and to have brought
away with it an ' addition of its impute paft.
Whether these experiments, satisfy the question,
as to the need which the blood stands in of being
visited by continual accesses of air, is not for us
to inquire into, nor material to our argument : it
is .sufficient to k,now, that, in the constitution of
most animals, such a necessity exists, and that
the air, by some -means, or other, must be intro-
duced into a near communication with the blood.
The lungs of animals are constructed far this pur--
pose. They consist of blood-vessels, and air-ves-
sels, lying close to each other ; and wherever there
is a branch of the trachea or windpipe, there is a
branch accompanying it, of the vein and artery,
and the air-vessel is always hrthe middle between
the blood-vessels.* The internal surface of these
vessels, upon which the application of the air to
the blood depends,- would, if collected and expand-
ed, be, in a man, equal to superficies of fifteen
feet square. Now, in order to give the blood in
its course the benefit of this organization, (and
this is tile part of the subject with which we are
chiefly concerned,) the following operation takes
place. As soon as the blood is received by the
peart from, the veins of the body, and before that
is sent out again into its arteries, it is carried, by
the force of the contraction of the heart, and by
means of a separate and supplementary artery, to
the lungs ; and made to enter the vessels of the
lungs ; from which, after it has undergone the ac-
tion, whatever it be, of that viscus, it is brought
back by a large vein once more to the heart, in
order, when thus concocted and prepared, to be
thence distributed anew into the system. This
assigns to the heart a double office. The pulmo-
nary circulation is a system within a system ;
and one action of the heart is the origin of both.
For this complicated function, four cavities be-
come necessary; and four are accordingly pro-
vided : two, called ventricles, whicjft send out the
blood, viz. one into the lungs, in the first instance ;
the other into the mass, after it has returned from"
the lungs,: two others, also, called auricles, which
receive the blood from the veins; viz. one, as it
comes immediately from the body; the other as
the same blood comes a second time after its circu-
lation through the lungs. So that there are two
receiving cavities, and two- forcing cavities; The
stmcture of the heart has reference, to the lungs ;.
foi without the lungs, one of each would have
been sufficient. The translation of the blood in
*KeiH's Anatomy, p. 121.
the heart itself is after this manner. The receiv-
ing cavities respectively communicate with the
forcing cavities, and, by their contraction, unload
the received blood into them. The forcing cavi-
ties, when it is their turn to contract, compel the
same blood into the mouths of the arteries.
The account here given will not convey to a
reader, ignorant of anatpmy, any tiling like an
accurate notion of the form, action, or use, of the
parts, (nor can any short and popular account do
this ;) but it is abundantly sufficient to testify con-
trivance; and although imperfect, being true aa
far as it goes, may be relied upon for the only pur-
pose for which we of ler it, the purpose of this con-
clusion.
" The wisdom of the Creator," saith Hamburgh-
er, " is in nothing seen more gloriously than in the
heart." And how well doth it execute its office !
An anatomist, who understood ,the structure of
the heart, might say beforehand that it would
play ; but he would expect, I think, from the com-
plexity of its mechanism, and the delicacy of many
of its parts, that it should always be liable to de-
rangement, or that it would soon work itself out.
Yet shall this wonderful machine go. night and
day, for eighty years together, at the rate of a
hundred thousand strokes every twenty-four hours,
having, at every stroke, a great resistance to over-
come ; and shall continue this action for this length
of time, without disorder and without weariness!
- But farther ; From the account which has l>een
given of the mechanism of the heart, it is evident
that it must require the interposition of valves ;
that the success indeed of its action must depend
upon these ; for when any one of its cavities con-
tracts, the necessary tendency of the force will be
to drive the enclosed bfood, not only into the mouth
of the artery where it ought to go, but also back
again into the mouth of the vein from which it
flowed. - In like manner,, when by the relaxation
of the fibres the same cavity is dilated, the blood
would not only run into it from the vein, which
was the course intended, but back from the arte-
ry, through which it ought to be moving forward.
The way of preventing a reflux of the fluid, in
both these cases, is to fix valves, which, like flood-
gates, may open a way to the stream in one direc-
tion, and shut up the passage against it in another.
The heart, constituted as it is, can no more work
without valves, than a pump can. When the pis-
ton descends in a pump, if it were not for the
stoppage by the valve beneath, the motion would
only thrust down the water -which it had before
drawn up." A similar consequence would frus-
trate the action of the heart. Valves, therefore,
properly disposed, i. e. properly with respect to the
course ,of the blood which it is necessary to pro-
mote, are essential to the contrivance. And valves
so disposed, are accordingly pro ruled. A valve
is placed in the communication between each au-
ricle and its ventricle, lest, when the ventricle con-
tracts, part of the blood should get back again in
to the auricle, instead of the whole entering, as it
ought -to do, the mouth of the artery. A valve is
also fixed at the mouth of each of the great arte-
ries which take the blood from the heart ; leaving
the passage free, so long as the blood holds its pro-
per course forward ; closing it, whenever the blood,
in consequence of the relaxation of the ventricle,
would attempt to flow back. There is some varie-
ty in the construction of these valves, though all
the valves of the body act nearly upon the sumo
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
417
principle, and are destined to the same use. In
general they consist of a thin membrane, lying
close to the side of the vessel, and consequently
allowing an open passage whilst the stream runs
one way, but thrust out from the side by the fluid
getting behind it, and opposing the passage of the
blood, when it would flow the other way. Where
more than one membrane is employed, the difler-
ent membranes only compose one valve. Their
joint action fulfils the office of a valve : for in-
stance ; over the entrance of the right auricle of
the heart into the right ventricle, three of these
skins or membranes are fixed, of a triangular figure,
the bases of the triangles fastened to the tlesli;
the sides and summits loose ; but, though loose,
connected by threads of a determinate length, with
certain small fleshy prominences adjoining. The
efl'trt of this construction is. that when the ven-
tricle contracts, the blood endeavouring to escape
in all directions, and amongst other directions,
pressing upwards, gets between these membranes
and the sides of the passage ; and thereby forces
them up into such a position, as that, together, they
constitute, when raised, a hollow cone, (the strings,
before spoken of, hindering them from proceeding
or separating farther;) which cone, entirely occu-
Othe passage, prevents the return of the
into the auricle. A shorter account of the
matter may be this : so long as the blood proceeds
in its proper course, the membranes which com-
pose the valve are pressed close to the side of the
vessel, and occasion no impediment to the circula-
tion : when the blood would regurgitate, they are
raised from the side of the vessel, and, meeting in
the middle of its cavity, shut up the channel.
Can any one doubt of contrivance here : or is it
possible to shut our eyes against the proof of it 1
This valve, also, is not more curious in its struc-
ture, than it is important in its office. Upon the
play of the valve, even upon the proportioned
length of the strings or fibres which check the as-
cent of the membranes, depends, as it should
seem, nothing less than the life itself of the ani-
mal. We may here likewise rejieat, what we be-
fore observed concerning some of the ligaments of
the body, that they could not be formed by any
action of the parts thmisrhos. There are cases
in which, although good uses appear to arise from
the shape or configuration of a part, yet that shape
or configuration itself may seem to be produced
by the action of the part, or by the action or pres-
sure of adjoining parts. Thus the bend and the
internal smooth concavity of the ribs, may be at-
tributed to the equal pressure of the soft bowels ;
the particular shape of some bones and joints, to
the traction of the annexed muscles, or to the po-
sition of contiguous muscles. But valves could
not be so formed. Action and pressure are all
against them. The blood, in its proper course,
has no tendency to produce such things ; and in its
improper or reflected current, has a tendency to
prevent their production. Whilst we see, there-
fore, the use and necessity of this machinery, we
can look to no other account of its origin or forma-
tion than the intending mind of a Creator. Nor
can we without admiration reflect, that such thin
membranes, such weak and tender instruments
as these valves are, should be able to hold out for
seventy or eighty years.
Here also we cannot consider but with grati-
tude, how happy it is that our vital motions are
involuntary. We should have enough to do, if
we had to keep our hearts beating, and our sto-
machs at work. Did these things depend, we will
not say upon our effort, but upon our bidding, our
care, or our attention, they would leave us leisure
for nothing else. We must have been continually
upon the watch, and continually in fear; nor would
this constitution have allowed of sleep.
It might perhaps be expected, that an organ so
precious, of such central and primary importance
as the heart is, should be defended by a case. The
fact is, that a membranous purse or bag, made of
strong, tough materials, is provided for it ; holding
the heart within its cavity; sitting loosely and
easily about it; guarding its substance, without
confining its motion; and containing likewise a
spoonful or two of water, just sufficient to keep
the surface of the heart in a state of suppleness
and moisture. How should such a loose covering
be generated by the action of the heart 1 Does
not the enclosing of it in a sack, answering no
other purpose but that enclosure, show the care
that has been taken of its preservation 'I
One use of the circulation of the blood probably
(amongst other uses) is, to distribute nourishment
to the different parts of the body. How minute
and multiplied the ramifications of the blood-ves-
sels, for that purpose, are; and how thickly spread,
over at least the superficies of the body, is proved
by the single observation, that we cannot prick
the point of a pin into the flesh, without drawing
blood, . e. without finding a blood-vessel. Nor,
internally, is their diffusion less universal. Blood-
\csscls run along the surface of membranes, per-
vade the substance of muscles, penetrate the bones.
Even into every tooth, we trace, through a small
hole in the root, an artery to feed the bone, as
well as a vein to bring back the spare blood from
it ; both which, with the addition of an accompany-
ing nerve, form a thread only a little thicker than
a horse-hair.
Wherefore, when the nourishment taken in at
the mouth has once reached, and mixed itself with
the blood, every part of the body is in the way of
being supplied with it. And this introduces an-
other grand topic, namely, the manner in which
the aliment gets into the blood ; which is a subject
distinct from the preceding, and brings Us to the
consideration of anotlier entire system of vessels.
" II. For this necessary part of the animal econo-
my, an apparatus is provided, in a great measure
capable of being what anatomists call demonstrated,
that is, shown in the dead body; and a line or
course of conveyance, which we can pursue by
our examinations.
First, the food descends lay a wide passage into
the intestines, undergoing two great preparations
on its way: one, in the mouth by mastication and
moisture (can it be doubted with what design
the teeth were placed in the road to the stomach,
or that there was choice in fixing them in this
situation T) the other, by digestion in the stomach
itself. Of this last surprising dissolution I say
nothing ; because it is chymistry, and I am endea-
vouring to display mechanism. The figure and
position of the stomach (I speak all along with a
reference to the human organ) are calculated for
detaining the food long enough for the action of
its digestive juice. It has the shape of the pouch
of a bagpipe ; lies across the body ; and the pylorus,
or passage by which the food leaves it, is some-
what higher in the body than the cardia, or orifice
by which it enters so that it is by the contraction
418
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
of the muscular coat of the stomach, that the con-
tents, after having undergone the application of
the gastric menstruum, are gradually pressed out.
In dogs and cats, this action of the coats of the
stomach has been displayed to the eye. It is a
slow and gentle undulation, propagated from one
orifice of the stomach to the other. For the same
reason that I omitted, for the present, offering any
observation upon the digestive fluid, I shall say
nothing concerning the bile or the pancreatic juice,
farther than to observe upon the mechanism, viz.
that from the glands in which these secretions are
elaborated, pipes are laid into the first of the intes-
tines, through which pipes the product of each
gland flows into that bowel, and is there mixed
with the aliment, as soon almost as it passes the
stomach ; adding also as a remark, how grievously
this same bile offends the stomach itself, yet
cherishes the vessel that lies next to it.
1 Secondly, We have now the aliment in the in-
testines, converted into pulp ; and, though lately
consisting often different viands, reduced to nearly
a uniform substance, and to a state fitted for yield-
, ing its essence, which is caljed chyle, but which
is milk, or more nearly resembling milk than any
other liquor with which it can be compared. For
the straining of this fluid from the digested aliment
in the course of its long progress through the
body, myriads of capillary tubes, i. e. pipes as
small as hairs, open their orifices into4he cavity
of every part of the intestines. These tubes,
which are so fine and slender as not to be visible
unless when distended with chyle, soon unite into
larger branches. The pipes, formed by this union,
terminate in glands, from which other pipes of a
still larger diameter arising, carry the chyle from
all parts, into a common reservoir or receptacle.
This receptacle is a bag of size enough to hold
about two table-spoons full ; and from this vessel
a duct or main pipe proceeds, climbing up the
back part of the chest, and afterward creeping
along the gullet till it reach the neck. Here it
meets the river : here it discharges itself into a
large vein, which soon conveys the chyle, now
flowing along with the old blood, to the heart.
This whole route can be exhibited to the eye ; no-
thing is left to be supplied by imagination or con-
jecture. Now, beside the subserviency of this
structure, collectively considered, to a manifest
and necessary purpose, we may remark two or
three separate particulars in it, which show, not
only the contrivance, but the perfection of it. We
may remark, first, the length of the intestines,
which, in the human subject, is six times that of
the body. Simply for a passage, these voluminous
bowels, this prolixity of gut, seems in no wise ne-
cessary ; but in order to allow time and space for
the successive extraction of the chyle from the
digested aliment, namely, that the chyle which
escapes the lacteals of one part of the guts may be
taken up by those of some other part, the length
of the canal is of evident use and conduciveness.
Secondly, we must also remark their peristaltic
motion ; which is made up of contractions, follow-
ing one another like waves upon the surface of a
fluid, and not unlike what we observe in the body
of an earth-worm crawling along the ground ; and
which is effected by the joint action of longitudinal
and of spiral, or rather perhaps of a great number
of separate semicircular fibres. This curious ac-
tion pushes forward the grosser part of the ali-
ment, at the same time that the more subtile parts,
which we call chyle, arc, by a series of gentle
compressions, squeezed into the narrow oriiicen
of the lacteal veins. Thirdly, it was necessary
that these tubes, which we denominate lacteals,
or their mouths at least, should be made as nar-
row as possible, in order to deny admission into
the blood to any particle which is of size enough
to make a lodgment afterward in the small arteries,
and thereby to obstruct the circulation : and it was
also necessary that this extreme tenuity should be
compensated by multitude ; for a large quantity of
chyle (in ordinary constitutions, not less, it has
been computed, than two or three quarts in a day)
is, by some means or other, to be passed through
them. Accordingly, we find the number of the
laeteals exceeding all powers of computation ; and
their pipes so fine and slender, as not to be visible,
unless filled, to the naked eye ; and their orifices,
which open into the intestines, so small, as not
to be discernible even by the best microscope.
Fourthly, the main pipe which carries the chyle
from the reservoir to the blood, viz. the thoracic
duct, being fixed in an almost upright position,
and wanting that advantage of propulsion which
the arteries possess, is furnished with a succession
of valves to check the ascending fluid, when once
it has passed them, from falling back. These
valves look upward, so as to leave the ascent free,
but to prevent the return of the chyle, if, for want
of sufficient force to push it on, its weight should
at any time cause it to descend. Fifthly, the
chyle enters the blood in an odd place, but perhaps
the most commodious place possible, viz. at a large
vein in the neck, so situated with respect to the
circulation, as speedily to bring the mixture to the
heart. And this seems to be a circumstance of
great moment ; for had the chyle entered the blood
at an artery, or at a distant vein, the fluid, coin-
posed of the old and the new materials, must have
performed a considerable part of the circulation,
before it received that churning in the lung*,
which is, probably, necessary for the intimate ana
perfect union of the old blood with the recent
chyle. Who could have dreamt of a communica-
tion between the cavity of the intestines and the
left great vein of the neck? Who could have
suspected that this communication should be the
medium through which all nourishment is derived
to the body ; or this the place, where, by a side-inlet,
the important junction is formed between the
blood and the material which feeds it 7
We postponed the consideration of digestion,
lest it should interrupt us in tracing the course of
the food to the blood ; but in treating of the ali-
mentary system, so principal a part of the process
cannot be omitted.
Of the gastric juice, the immediate agent by
which that change which food undergoes in our
stomachs is effected, we sluill take our account
from the numerous, careful, and varied experi-
ments of the Abbe Spallanzani.
1. It is not a simple diluent, but a real solvent.
A quarter of an ounce of beef had scarcely touch-
ed the stomach of a crow, when the solution be-
gun.
2. It has not the nature of saliva ; it has not
the nature of the bile; but is distinct from both.
By experiments out of the body it appears, that
neither of these secretions acts upon alimentary
substances, in the same manner as the gastric
juice acts.
3. Digestion is not putrefaction : for the digest-
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
419
the gastric juice, not having been weakened by
disease, retains its activity,) it has been known to
eat a hole through the bowel winch contains it.*
How nice is this discrimination of action, yet how
necessary !
But to return to our hydraulics.
III. The gall-bladder is a very remarkable con-
trivance. It is the reservoir of a canal. It does
not form the channel itself, i. e. the direct com-
munication between the liver and the intestine,
which is by another passage, viz. the ductus hepa-
ticus, continued under the name of the ductus com-
munis ; but it lies adjacent to this channel, join-
sui generis ; distinct from every other; at least j ing it by a duct of its own, the ductus cysticus:
from every chymical process with which we are j by which structure it is enabled, as occasion may
ing fluid resists putrefaction most pertinaciously ;
nay, not only checks its iarther progress, but re-
stores putrid substances.
4. It is not a fermentative process: for the so-
lution begins at the surface, and proceeds towards
the centre, contrary to the order in which ferment-
ation acts and spreads.
5. It is not the digestion of heat : for the cold
maw of a cod or sturgeon will dissolve the shells
of crabs or lobsters, harder than the sides of the
stomach which contains them.
In a word, animal digestion carries about it the
marks of being a power and a process completely
purpose, hard and carti-
li as this is not the sort
acquainted. And the most wonderful thing about
it is its appropriation ; its subserviency to the par-
ticular economy of each animal. The gastric
juice of an owl, falcon, or kite, will not touch urain
no, not even to finish the macerated and half-di
gested pulse which is left in the crops of the spar
rows that the bird devours. In poultry, the tritu
ration of the gizzard, and the gastric juice, con-
spire in the work of digestion. The gastric juice
will not dissolve the grain whilst it is whole. En
tire grains of barley, enclosed in tubes or sphe-
rules, are not affected by it. But if the same
grain be by any means broken or ground, the gas-
tric juice immediately lays hold of it. Here then
is wanted, and here we find, a combination of
mechanism and chymistry. For the preparatory
grinding, the gizzard lends its mill. And as all
mill-works should lie strong, its structure is so, be-
yond that of any other muscle In-longing to the
animal. The internal coat also, or lining of the
gizzard, is, lor the same ]
luminous. Hut. forasmuc
of animal substance, suited lor the reception ot
glands or lor secretion, the gastric juice, in this
family, is not supplied, as in membranous sto-
machs, by the stomach itself, but by the gullet, in
which the li-ed inn glands are placed, and from
which it trickles down into the stomach.
In sheep, the uastric fluid has no effect in di-
gesting plants, unless they hare been previously
masticated. It only produces a slight maceration,
nearly such as common water would produce, in
a degree of heat somewhat exceeding the medium
tcmjM-rature of the atmosphere. But provided
that the plant has been reduced to pieces by chew-
ing, the gastric juice then proceeds with it, first
by softening its substance ; next by destroying its
natural consistency; and lastly, by dissolving it
so completely, as not even to spare the toughest
and most stringy parts, such as the nerves of the
leaves.
So far our accurate and indefatigable Abbe.
Dr. Stevens, of Edinburgh, in 1777, found, by ex-
periments tried with perforated balls, that the gas-
tric juice of the sheep and the ox speedily dissolved
vegetables, but made no impression upon beef,
mutton, and other animal bodies. Dn Hunter
discovered a property of this fluid, of a most cu-
rious kind; ri:. that in the stomachs of animals
which feed upon flesh, irresistibly as this fluid acts
upon animal substances, it is only upon the dead
substance that it operates at all. The living fibre
suffers no injury from lying in contact with it.
Worms and insects are found alive in the sto-
machs of such animals. The coats of the human
stomach, in a healthy state, arc insensible to its
presence j yet in cases of sudden death, (wherein
require, to add its contents to, and increase the
flow of bile into the duodenum. And the posi-
tion of the gall-bladder is such as to apply this
structure to the best advantage. In its natural
situation, it touches the exterior surface of the
stomach, and consequently is compressed by the
distention of that vessel : the effect of which com-
pression is to force out-from the bag, and send in-
to the duodenum, an extraordinary quantity of
bile, to meet the extraordinary demand which the
repletion of the stomach by food is about to occa-
sion. t Cheselden describes* the gall-bladder aa
seated against the duodenum, and thereby liable
to have its fluid pressed out, by the passage of the
aliment through that cavity ; which likewise will
have the effect of causing it to be received into the
intestine, at a right time, and in a due proportion.
There may be other purposes answered by this
contrivance; and it is probable that there are.
The contents of the gall-bladder are not exactly
of the same kind as what passes from the liver
through a direct passage.! It is possible that the
Hall may be changed, and for some purposes me-
liorated, by keeping.
The entrance of the gall -duct into the duode-
num furnishes another observation. Whenever
either smaller tubes are inserted into larger tubes,
or tubes into vessels and cavities, such receiving
tubes, vessels, or cavities, Ix-ing subject to muscu-
lar constriction, we always find a contrivance to
prevent regurgitation. In some cases, valves are
used ; in other cases, amongst which is that now
before us, a different expedient is resorted to, which
may be thus described : The gall-duct enters the
duodenum obliquely : after it has pierced the first
coat, it runs near two fingers' breadth between the
coats, before it opens into the cavity of the intes-
tine. II The same contrivance is used in another
part, where there is exactly the same occasion for
it, riz. in the insertion of the ureters in the blad-
der. These enter the bladder near its neck, run-
ning obliquely for the space of an inch between
its coats.lT It is, in both cases, sufficiently evi-
dent, that this structure has a necessary mecha-
nical tendency to resist regurgitation : for whatever
force acts in such a direction as to urge the fluid
back into the orifices of the tubes, must, at {he
same time, stretch the coats of Che vessels, and
hereby compress that part of the tube which is
included between them.
IV. Amongst the vessels of the human body
the pipe which conveys the saliva from the place
where it is made, to the place where it is wanted,
* Phil. Trans, vol. Ixii. p. 447. t Keill's Anat. p. 64.
i Anat. p. 164. Keill, (from Malpighius,) p. 61
U Keill's Anat. p. 62. IT Cheselden's Anat. p. 2GO.
420
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
deserves to be reckoned amongst the most intelli-
gible pieces of mechanism with which we are ac-
quainted. The saliva, we all know, is used in
the mouth : but much of it is produced on the
outside of the cheek, by the parotid grand, which
lies between the ear and the angle of the lower
jaw. In order to carry the secreted juice to its
destination, there is laid from the gland, on the
outside, a pipe, about the thickness of a wheat
straw, and about three fingers' breadth in length ;
which, after riding over the masseter muscle, bores
for itself a hole through the very middle of the
cheek ; enters by that hole, which is a coriiplete
perforation of the buccinator muscle, into the
mouth; and there discharges its fluid very co-
piously.
V. Another exquisite structure, differing in-
deed from the four preceding instances, in that it
does not relate to the conveyance of fluids, but
still belonging, like these, to the class of pipes or
conduits of the body, is seen in the larnyx. We
all know that there go down the throat two pipes,
one leading to the stomach, the other to the lungs ;
the one being the passage for the food, the other
for the breath and voice : we know also that both
these passages open into the bottom of the mouth ;
the gullet, necessarily, for the conveyance of food ;
and the wind-pipe, for speech and the modulation
of sound, not much less so : therefore the difficulty
was, the passages being so contiguous, to prevent
the food, especially the liquids, which we swal-
low into the stomach, from entering the wind-
pipe, i. e. the' road to the lungs; the conse-
quence of which error, when it does happen, is
perceived by the convulsive throes that are instant-
ly produced. This business, which is very nice, is
managed in this manner. The gullet (the pas-
sage for food) opens into the mouth like the cone
or upper part of a funnel, the capacity of which
forms indeed the bottom of the mouth. Into the
side of this funnel, at the part which lies the
lowest, enters the wind-pipe, by a chink or slit,
with a lid or flap, like a little tongue, accurately
fitted to the orifice. The solids or liquids which
we swallow;- pass o.ver this lid or flap, as they de-
scend by the funnel into the gullet. Both the
weight of the food, and the action of the muscles
concerned in swallowing, contribute to keep the
lid closedown upon the aperture, whilst any thing
is passing ; whereas, by means of its natural carti-
laginous spring, it raises itself a little, as soon as
the food is passed, thereby allowing a free inlet
and outlet for the respiration of air by the lungs.
Such is its structure: and we may here remark
the almost complete success of the expedient, viz.
how seldom it fails of its purpose, compared with
the number of instances in which it fulfils it.
Reflect how frequently we swallow, how con-
stantly we breathe. In a city feast, for example,
what deglutition, what anhelation ! yet does this
little cartilage, the epiglottis, so effectually inter-
pose its office, so securely guard the entrance of
the wind-pipe, that whilst morsel after morsel,
draught after draught, are coursing one another
over it, an accident of a crumb or a drop slipping
into this passage (which nevertheless must be
opened for" the- breath every second of time,)
excites in the whole company, not only alarm by
its danger, but surprise by its novelty. Not two
guests are choked in a century.
There is no room for pretend ing that the action
of the parts may have gradually formed the epi-
glottis : I do not mean in the same individual, but
in a succession of generations. Not only the ac-
tion of the parts has no such tendency, but the
animal could not live, nor consequently the parts
act, either without it, or with it in a half-formed
state. The species was not to wait for the
gradual formation or expansion of a part which
was, from the first, necessary to the life of the in-
dividual.
Not only is the larynx curious, but the whole
wind-pipe possesses a structure adapted to its pe-
culiar office. It is made up (as any one may per-
ceive by putting his fingers to his throat) of stout
cartilaginous ringlets, placed at small and equal
distances from one another. Now this is not the
case with any other of the numerous conduits of
the body. The use of these cartilages is to keep
the passage for the air constantly open ; which
they do mechanically. A pipe with soft mem-
branous coats, liable to collapse and close when
empty, would not have answered here ; although
this be the general vascular structure, and a struc-
ture which serves very well for those tubes which
are kept in a state of perpetual distension by the
fluid they enclose, or which afford a passage to
solid and protruding substances.
Nevertheless (which is another particularity
well worthy of notice,) these rings are not com-
plete, that is, are not cartilaginous and stiff all
round ; but their hinder part, which is contiguous
to the gullet, is membranous and soft, easily yield-
ing to the distensions of that organ occasioned by
the descent of solid food. The same rings are also
bevelled off at the upper and lower edges, the better
to close upon one another, when the trachea is
compressed or shortened.
The constitution of the trachea may suggest
likewise another reflection. The membrane
which lines its inside, is, perhaps, the most sensi-
ble, irritable membrane of the body. It rejects
the touch of a crumb of bread, or a drop of water,
with a spasm which convulses the whole frame ;
yet, left to itself, and its proper office, the intro-
mission of air alone, nothing can be so quiet. It
does not even make itself felt ; a man does not
know that he has a trachea. This capacity of .
perceiving with such acuteness, this impatience of
offence, yet perfect rest and ease when let alone,
are properties, one would have thought, not likely
to reside in the same subject. It is to the junc-
tion, however, of these almost inconsistent quali-
ties, in this, as well as in some other delicate parts
of the body, that we owe our safety and our com-
fort ; our safety to their sensibility, our comfort
to their repose.
The larynx, or rather the whole wind-pipe
taken together, (for the larynx is only the upper
part of the wind-pipe,) besides its other uses, is
also a musical instrument, that is to say, it is
mechanism expressly adapted to the modulation
of sound ; for it has been found upon trial, that,
by relaxing or tightening the tendinous bands at
the extremity of the wind-pipe, and blowing in at
the other end. all the cries and notes might be
produced of which the living animal was capable.
It can be sounded, just as a pipe or flute is
sounded.
Birds, says Bonnet, have, at the lower end of
the wind-pipe, a conformation like the reed of a
hautboy, for the modulation of their notes. A
tuneful bird is a ventriloquist. The seat of the
song is in the breast.
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
421
The use of the lungs in the system has been
said to be obscure; one use however is plain
though in some sense external to the system, anc
that is, the formation, in conjunction with the
larynx, of voice and speech. They are, to anima
utterance, what the bellows are to the organ.
FOR the sake of method, we have considera
animal bodies under three divisions; their bones
their muscles, and their vessels: and we havt
stated our observations upon these parts separately
But this is to diminish the strength of the argu-
ment. The wisdom of the Creator is seen, not in
their separate but their collective action ; in their
mutual subserviency and dependance ; in their con-
tributing togetlier to one effect, and one use. Ii
has been said, that a man cannot lift his hand to
his head, without finding enough to convince him
of the existence of a God. And it is well said;
for he has only to reflect, familiar as this action is
and simple as it seems to be, how many things
are requisite for the performing of it : how many
things which we understand, to say nothing of
many more, probably, which we do not; viz. first
a long, hard, strong cylinder, in order to give to
the arm its firmness and tension; but which,
being rigid, and, in its substance, inflexible, can
only turn upon joints : secondly, therefore, joints
for this purpose; one at the shoulder to raisr the
arm. another at the elbow to bend it ; these joints
continually fed with a soft mucilage to make the
parts slip easily upon one another, and holden
together by strong braces, to keep them in their
position : then, thirdly, strings and wires, i. e.
muscles and tendons, artificially inserted for the
purpose of drawing the bone^in the directions in
which the joints allow them to move. Hitherto we
seem to understand the mechanism pretty well ;
and, understanding this, we possess enough for
our conclusion: nevertheless, we have hitherto
only a machine standing still ; a dead organization,
an apparatus. To put the system in a state of
activity ; to set it at work ; a farther provision is
necessary, viz. a communication with the brain
by means of nerves. We know the existence of
this communication, because we can see the com-
municating threads, and can trace them to the
brain : its necessity we also know, because if the
thread be cut, if the communication be intercepted,
the muscle becomes paralytic : but beyond this we
know little ; the organization being too minute and
subtile for our inspection.
To what has been enumerated, as officiating in
the single act of a man's raising his hand to his
head, must be added likewise, all that is necessary,
and all that contributes to the growth, nourishment,
and sustentation, of the limb, the repair of its
waste, the preservation of its health : such as the
circulation of the blood through every part of it ;
its lymphatics, exhalants, absorbents; its excre-
tions and integuments. All these share in the
result ; join in the effect : and how all these, or
any of them, come together without a designing,
disposing intelligence, it is impossible to conceive.
CHAPTER XT.
Of the Animal Structure regarded as a Mass.
CONTEMPLATING an animal body in its collect-
ive capacity, we cannot forget to notice what a
number of instruments are brought together, and
often within how small a compass. It is a cluster
of contrivances. In a canary-bird, for instance,
and in the single ounce of matter which composes
his body, (but which seems to be all employed,)
we have instruments for eating, for digesting, for
nourishment, for breathing, for generation, for
running, for flying, for seeing, for hearing, for
smelling ; each appropriate, each entirely differ-
ent from all the rest.
The human, or indeed the animal frame, con-
sidered as a mass or assemblage, exhibits in its
composition three properties, which have long
struck my mind as indubitable evidences, not only
of design, but of a great deal of attention and ac-
curacy in prosecuting the design.
I. The first is, the exact correspondency of the
two sides of the same animal : the right hand an-
swering to the left, leg to leg, eye to eye, one side
of the countenance to the other; and with a pre-
cision, to imitate which in any tolerable degree
forms one of the difficulties of statuary, and requires
on the part of the artist, a constant attention to
this j>roj>erty of his work, distinct from every other.
It is the most difficult thing that can be to get
a \vig made even; yet how seldom is the face
awry ! And what care is taken that it should not
be so, the anatomy of its bones demonstrates. The
upper part of the face is composed of thirteen
bones, six on each side, answering each to each,
and the thirteenth, without a fellow, in the mid-
dle ; the lower part of the face is in like manner
composed of six Ixmes, three on each side respect-
ively corresponding, and the lower jaw in the
centre. In building an arch, could more be done in
order to make the curve true, i. e. the parts equi-dis-
tant from the middle, alike in figure and position 1
The exact resemblance of the eyes, considering
how compounded this organ is in its structure,
how various and how delicate are the shades of
colour with which its iris is tinged ; how differ-
ently, as to effect upon appearance, the eye may
be mounted in its socket, and how differently in
different heads eyes actually are set, is a proper-
ty of animal bodies much to be admired. Of ten
housand eyes, I do not know that it would be
possible to match one, except with its own fellow ; or
:o distribute them into suitable pairs by any other
selection than that which obtains.
This regularity of the animal structure is ren-
dered more remarkable by the three following con-
siderations. First, the limbs, separately taken,
lave not this correlation of parts, but the contrary
of it. A knife drawn down the chine, cuts the
luman body into two parts, externally equal and
alike; you cannot draw a straight line which
will divide a hand, a foot, the leg, the thigh, the
cheek, the eye, the ear, into two parts equal and
alike. Those parts which are placed upon the
middle or partition line of the body, or which
traverse that line, as the nose, the tongue, the lips,
may be so divided, or, more properly speaking, are
double organs: but other parts cannot This
hows that the correspondency which we have
jeen describing; does not arise by any necessity
m the nature of the subject : for, if necessary, it
would be universal ; whereas it is observed only
n the system or assemblage: it is not true of the
(separate parts ; that is to say, it is found where it
onduces to beauty or utility; it is not found,
where it would subsist at the expense of both.
The two wings of a bird always correspond : the
wo sides of a feather frequently do not. In centi-
36
423 '
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
pedes, millepedes, and the whole tribe of insects, no
two legs on the same side are alike: yet there is
the most exact parity between the. legs opposite to
one another.
2. The next circumstance to be remarked is,
that, whilst the cavities of the body are so confi-
gurated, as externally to exhibit the most exact
correspondency of the opposite sides, the contents
of these cavities have no such correspondency. A
line drawn down the middle of the breast, divides
the thorax into two sides exactly similar; yet
these two sides enclose very different contents.
The heart lies on the left side ; a lobe of the lungs
on the right; balancing each other, neither in
size nor shape. The same thing holds of the ab-
domen. The liver lies on the right side, without
any similar viscus opposed to it on the left. The
spleen indeed is situated over against the liver ;
but agreeing with the liver neither in bulk nor
form. There is no equipollency between these.
The stomach is a vessel, both irregular in its
shape, and oblique in its position. The foldings
and doublings of the intestines do not present a
parity of sides. Yet that symmetry which depends
upon the correlation of the sides, is externally pre-
served throughout the whole trunk ; and is the
more remarkable in the lower parts of it, as the
integuments are soft ; and the shape, consequent-
ly, is not, as the thorax is by its ribs, reduced by
natural stays. It is evident, therefore, that the
external proportion does not arise from any equali-
ty in the shape or pressure of the internal contents.
What is it indeed but a correction of inequalities 1
an adjustment, by mutual compensation, of ano-
malous forms into a regular congeries 1 the effect,
in a word, of artful, and, if we might be permitted
so to speak, of studied collocation 1
3. Similar also to this, is the third observation ;
that an internal inequality in the feeding vessels
is so managed, as to produce no inequality in parts
which were intended to correspond. The right
arm answers accurately to the left, both in size
and shape ; but the arterial branches, which sup-
ply the two arms, do not go off from their trunk,
in a pair, in the same manner, at the same place,
or at the same angle. Under which want of si-
militude, it is very difficult to conceive how the
same quantity of blood should be pushed through
each artery : yet the result is right ; the two limbs,
which are nourished by them, perceive no differ-
ence of supply, no effects of excess or deficiency.
Concerning the difference of manner, in which
the subclavian and carotid arteries, upon the dif-
ferent sides of the body, separate themselves from
the aorta, Cheselden seems to have thought, that
the advantage which the left gain by going off at
an angle much more acute than the right, is made
up to the right, by their going off together in one
branch.* It is very possible that this may be the
compensating contrivance ; and if it be so, how cu-
rious, how hydrostatical !
II. Another perfection of the animal mass is
the package. I know nothing which is so sur-
prising. Examine the contents of the trunk of
any large animal. Take notice how soft, how
tender, now intricate they are ; how constantly in
action, how necessary to life ! Reflect upon the
danger of any injury to their substance, any de-
rangement of their position, any obstruction to
their office. Observe the heart pumping at the
+ Ches. Anat.p. 184. ed. 7.
centre at the rate of eighty strokes in a minute ;
one set of pipes carrying the stream away from it,
another set bringing, in its course, the fluid back
to it again ; the lungs performing their elaborate
office, viz. distending and contracting their many
thousand vesicles, by a reciprocation which cannot
cease for a minute; the stomach exercising its
powerful chymistry ; the bowels silently propelling
the changed aliment ; collecting from it as it pro-
ceeds, and transmitting to the blood, an incessant
supply of prepared and assimilated nourishment ;
that blood pursuing its course ; the liver, the kid-
neys, the pancreas, the parotid, with many other
known and distinguishable glands, drawing off
from it, all the while, their proper secretions.
These several operations, together with others
more subtile but less capable of being investigated,
are going on within us, at one and the same time.
Think of this ; and then observe how the body
itself, the case which holds this machinery, is rolled,
and jolted, and tossed about, the mechanism re-
maining unhurt, and with very little molestation
even of its nicest motions. Observe a ropedancer,
a tumbler, or a monkey ; the sudden inversions
and contortions which the internal parts sustain
by the postures into which their bodies are thrown ;
or rather observe the shocks which these parts,
even in ordinary subjects, sometimes receive from
falls and bruises, or by abrupt jerks and twists,
without sensible, or with soon-recovered, damage.
Observe this, and then reflect how firmly every
part must be secured, how carefully surrounded,
how well tied down and packed together.
This property of animal bodies has never, I
think, been considered under a distinct head, or
so fully as it deserves. I may be allowed there-
fore, in order to verify my observation concerning
it, to set forth a short anatomical detail, though
it oblige me to use more technical language than
I should wish to introduce into a work of this kind.
1. The heart (such care is taken of the centre
of life) is placed between two soft lobes of the
lungs : is tied to the mediastinum and to the
pericardium; which pericardium is not only itself
an exceedingly strong membrane, but adheres
firmly to the duplicature of the mediastinum, and,
by its point, to the middle tendon of the diaphragm.
The heart is also sustained in its place by the
great blood-vessels which issue from it.*
2. The lungs are tied to the sternum by the
mediastinum, before ; to the vertebra) by the
pleura, behind. It seems indeed to be the very
use of the mediastinum (which is a membrane
that goes straight through the middle of the tho-
rax, from the breast to the back) to keep the con-
tents of the thorax in their places ; in particular
to hinder one lobe of the lungs from incommoding
another, or the parts of the lungs from pressing
upon each other when we lie on one side.t
3. The liver is fastened in the body by two
ligaments : the first, which is large and strong,
comes from the covering of the diaphragm, and
penetrates the substance of the liver ; the second
is the umbilical vein, which, after birth, degene-
rates into a ligament. The first, which is the
principal, fixes the liver in its situation, whilst
the body holds an erect posture; the second pre-
vents it from pressing upon the diaphragm when
we lie down : and both together sling or suspend
the liver when we lie upon our backs, so that it
* Keill'a Anat. p. 107. ed. 3. t Ibid. p. 119. ed. 3.
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
423
may not compress or obstruct the ascending vena
cava,* to which belongs the important office of
returning the blood from the body to the heart.
4. The bladder is tied to the naval by the
urachus, transformed into a ligament : thus, what
Was a "passage for urine to the foetus, becomes,
after birth, a support or stay to the bladder. The
peritonaeum also keeps the viscera from confound-
ing themselves with, or pressing irregularly upon,
the bladder ; for the kidneys and bladder are con-
tained in a distinct duplicature of that membrane,
being thereby partitioned off from the other con-
tents of the abdomen.
5. The kidneys are lodged in a bed of fat.
(J. The pancreas, or sweetbread, is strongly
tied to the peritonaeum, which is the great wrap-
ping-sheet, that encloses all the bowels contained
in the lower belly .t
7. The spleen also is confined to its place by an
adhesion to the peritonaeum and diaphragm, and
by a connexion with the omentum.t It is possi-
ble, in my opinion, that the spleen may be merely
a stuffing, a soft cushion to till up a vacancy or
hollow, which, unless occupied, would leave the
package loose and unsteady: for supposing that
it answers no other purpose than this, it must be
vascular, and admit of a -circulation through it,
in order to be kept alive, or be a part of a living
body.
8. The omenttim, epiploon, or cawl, is an
apron tucked up, or doubling upon itself, at its
lowest part. The up|MT edge is tied to tin; bot-
tom of the stomach, to the spleen, as hath already
been observed, and to part of the duodenum. The
reflected edge also, at'ier forming the dooMing,
comes up behind the front flap, and is tied to tin-
colon and adjoining viscera.
9. The septa of the brain probably prevent one
part of that organ from pressing with too great a
weight, upon another part. The processes of the
dura mater divide the cavity of the skull, like so
many inner partition walls, and thereby confine
each hemisphere and lobe of the brain to the
chamber which is assigned to it. without its being
liable to rest upon, or intermix with, the neigh-
bouring parts. The great art and caution of
packing, is to prevent one thing hurting another.
This, in the head, the chest, and the abdomen, of
an animal body, is, amongst other methods, pro-
vided for by membranous partitions and wrap-
pings, which keep the parts separate.
The above may servo as a short account of the
manner in which the principal viscera are sus-
tained in their places. But of the provisions for
this purpose, by far, in my opinion, the most
curious, and where also such a provision was
most wanted, is in the guts. It is pretty evident,
that a long narrow tube (in man, about five times
the length of the body) laid from side to side in
folds upon one another, winding in oblique and
circuitous directions, composed also of a soft and
yielding substance, must, without some extraor-
dinary precaution for its safety, be continually
displaced by the various, sudden, and abrupt mo-
tions of the body which contains it. I should
expect that, if not bruised or wounded by every
fall, or leap, or twist, it would be entangled, or be
involved with itself; or, at the least, slipped and
shaken out of the order in which it is disposed,
* Ches. Anat. p. 162.
J Ches. Anat. p. 167.
tKeill'sAnat.p. 57.
Ibid.
and which order is necessary to be preserved, for
the carrying on of the important "functions which
it has to execute in the animal economy. Let us
see, therefore, how a danger so serious, and yet
so natural to the length, narrowness, and tubular
form, of the part, is provided against. The ex-
l>edient is admirable : and it is this. The intesti-
nal canal, throughout its whole process, is knit to
the edge of a broad fat membrane called the
mesentery. It forms the margin of this mesentery,
being stitched and fastened to it like the edging of
a ruffle : being four times as long as the mesen-
tery itself, it is what a sempstress woul^ call,
" puckered or gathered on" to it. This is the
nature of the connexion of the gut with the me-
sentery ; and being thus joined to, or rather made
a part of, the mesentery, it is folded and wrapped
up together with it. Now the mesentery having
a considerable dimension in breadth, being in its
substance, withal, both thick and suety, is capa-
ble of a close and safe folding, in comparison of
what the intestinal tube would admit of, if it had
remained loose. The mesentery likewise not
only keeps the intestinal canal in its proper place
and position under all the turns and windings of
its course, but sustains the numlxjrless small ves-
sels, i he arteries, the veins, the lympheducts, and
above all. the lacteals, which lead from or to al-
most every point of its coats and cavity. This
membrane, which appears to be the great support
and security of the alimentary apparatus, is. itself
strongly tied to the first three vertebra of the
loins.*
111. A third general property of animal forms
is beauty. I do not mean relative beauty, or that of
one individual above another of the same species,
or of one species compared with another species;
but I mean, generally, the provision which is
made in the body of almost every animal, to adapt
its appearance to the perception of the animals
with which it converses. In our own species, for
example, only consider what the parts and mate-
rials are, of which the fairest body is composed;
and no farther observation will be necessary to
show how well these things are wrapped up, so
as to form a mass which shall be capable of sym-
metry in its proportion, and of beauty in its
aspect ; how the bones are covered, the bowels
concealed, the roughnesses of the muscle smoothed
and softened ; and how over the whole is drawn
an integument, which converts the disgusting
materials ef a dissecting-room into an object of
attraction to the sight, or one upon which it rests,
at least, with ease and satisfaction. Much of this
effect is to be attributed, to the intervention of the cel-
lular or adipose membrane, which lies immediately
under the skin ; is a kind of lining to it; is moist,
soft, slippery, and compressible; every where
filling up the interstices of the muscles, and
forming thereby their roundness and flowing line,
as well as the evenness and polish of the whole
surface.
All which seems to be a strong indication of
design, and of a design studiously directed to this
purpose. And it being once allowed, that such a
purpose existed with respect to any of the produc-
tions of nature, we may refer, with a considerable
degree of probability, other particulars to the same
intention; such as the teints of flowers, the
plumage of birds, the furs of beasts, the bright
* Keill's Anat. p. 45.
424
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
scales of fishes, the painted wings of butterflies
and beetles, the rich colours and spotted lustre of
many tribes of insects.
There are parts also of animals ornamental,
and the properties by which they are so, not sub-
servient, that we know of, to any other purpose.
The irides of most animals are very beautiful,
without conducing at all, by their beauty, to the
perfection of vision ; and nature could in no part
nave employed her pencil to so much advantage,
because no part presents itself so conspicuously
to the observer, or communicates so great an effect
to the whole aspect.
In plants, especially in the flowers of plants, the
principle of beauty holds a still more considerable
place in their composition ; is still more confessed
than in animals. Why, for one instance out of a
thousand, does the corolla of the tulip, when ad-
vanced to its size and maturity, change its colour 7
The purposes, so far as we can see, of vegetable
nutrition, might have been carried on as well by
its continuing green. Or, if this could not be con-
sistently with the progress of vegetable life, why
break into such a variety of colours 1 This is no
proper effect of age, or of declension in the ascent
of the sap; for that; like the autumnal teints,
would have produced one colour on one leaf, with
marks of fading and withering. It seems a lame
account to call it, as it has been called, a disease
of the plant. 'Is it not more probable, that this
property, which is independent, as it should seem,
of the wants and utilities of the plant, was calcu-
lated for beauty, intended for display.
A ground, I know, of objection, has been taken
against the whole topic of argument, namely, that
there is no such thing as beauty at all ; in other
words, that whatever is useful and familiar, comes
of course to be thought beautiful ; and that things
appear to be so, only by their alliance with these
qualities. Our idea of beauty is capable of being
in so great a degree modified by habit, by fashion,
by the experience of advantage or pleasure, and
by associations arising out of mat experience, that
a question has been made, whether it be not alto-
gether generated by these causes, or would have
any proper existence without them. It seems,
however, a carrying of the conclusion too far, to
deny the existence of the principle, viz. a native
capacity of perceiving beauty, on account of an
influence, or of varieties proceeding from that in-
fluence, to which it is subject, seeing that princi-
ples the most acknowledged are liable to be affect-
ed in the same manner. I should rather argue
thus: The question respects objects of sight.
Now every other sense hath its distinction of
agreeable and disagreeable. Some tastes offend
the palate, others gratify it. In brules and insects,
this distinction is stronger and more regular than
in man. Every horse, ox, sheep, swine, when at
liberty to choose, and when in a natural state,
that is, when not. vitiated by habits forced upon it,
eats and rejects the same plants. Many insects
which feed upon particular plants, will rather die
than change their appropriated leaf. All this looks
like a determination in the sense itself to particu-
lar tastes. In like manner, smells affect the nose
with sensations pleasurable or disgusting. Some
sounds, or compositions of sound, delight the ear;
others torture it. Habit can do much in all these
cases, (and it is well for us that it can ; for it is
this power which reconciles us to many necessi-
ties :) but has the distinction, in the mean time, of
agreeable and disagreeable, no foundation in the
sense itself] What is true of the other senses, is
most probably true of the eye, (the analogy is ir-
resistible,) viz. that there belongs to it an original
constitution, fitted to receive . pleasure from some
impressions, and pain from others.
I do not tiowever know, that the argument
which alleges beauty as a final cause, rests upon
this Concession. We possess a sense of beauty,
however we come by it. It in fact exists. Things
are not indifferent to this sense ; all objects do not
suit it ; many which we see, are agreeable to it ;
many others disagreeable. It is certainly not the
effect of habit upon the particular object, because
the most agreeable objects are often the most rare;
many, which are very common, continue to be of-
fensive. If they be made supportable by habit, it
is all which habit can do; they never become
agreeable. If this sense, therefore, be acquired, it
is a result ; the produce of numerous and compli-
cated actions of external objects upon the senses,
and of the mind upon its sensations. With this
result, there must be a certain congruity to ena-
ble any particular object to please : and that con-
gruity, we contend, is consulted in the aspect
which is given to animal and vegetable bodies.
IV. The skin and tovering of animals is that
upon which their appearance chiefly depends;
and it is that part which, perhaps, in all animals
is most decorated, and most free from impurities.
But were beauty, or agreeableness of aspect, en-
tirely out of the question, there is another purpose
answered by this integument, and by the colloca-
tion of the parts of the body beneath it, which is
of still greater importance ; and that purpose is
concealment. Were it possible to view through
the skin the mechanism of our bodies, the signt
would frighten us out of our wits. " Durst we
make a single movement," asks a lively French
writer, " or stir a step from the place we were in,
if we saw our blood circulating, the tendons pull-
ing, the lungs blowing, the liumours filtrating,
and all the incomprehensible assemblage of fibres,
tubes, pumps, valves, currents, pivots, which sus-
tain an existence at once so frail, and so presump-
tuous?"
V. Of animal bodies, considered as masses,
there is another property, more curious than it is
generally thought to be ; which is the faculty of
standing : and it is more remarkable in two-leg-
ged animals than in quadrupeds, and, most of all,
as being the tallest, and resting upon the smallest
base, in man. There is more, i think, in the mat-
ter than we are aware of. The statue of a man,
placed loosely upon its pedestal, would not be se-
cure of standing half an hour. You are obliged
to fix its feet to the block by bolts and solder; or
the first shake, the first gust of wind, is sure to
throw it down. Yet this statue shall express all
the mechanical proportions of a living model. It
is jnot, therefore, the mere figure, or merely placing
the centre of gravity within the base, that is suffi-
cient. Either the law of gravitation is suspended
in favour of living substances, or something more
is done for them, in order to enable them to up-
hold their posture. There is no reason whatever
to doubt, but that their parts descend by gravita-
tion in the same manner as those of dead matter.
The gift, therefore, appears to me to consist in a
faculty of perpetually shifting the centre of gra-
set of obscure, indeed, but of quirk
actions, so as to keep the line of di-
3 j faculty of
- vity, by a
f 1 balancing
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
425
Tection, which is a line drawn from that centre to.
the ground, within its prescribed limits. Of these
actions it may be observed, first, that they in part
constitute what we call strength. The dead body
drops down. The mere adjustment, therefore, of
weight and pressure, which may be the same the
moment after death as the moment before, does
not support the column. In cases also of extreme
weakness, the patient cannot stand upright. Se-
condly, that these actions are only in a small de-
gree voluntary. A man is seldom conscious of
his voluntary powers in keeping himself upon his
legs. A child learning to walk is the greatest
posture-maker in the world : but art, if it may be
so called, sinks into habit; and he is soon able to
poise himself in a great variety of attitudes, with-
out being sensible either of caution or effort. But
still there must be an aptitude of parts, upon
which habit can thus attach ; a previous capacity
of motions which the animal is thus knight to ex-
ercise : and the facility with which this exercise
is acquired, forms one object of our admiration.
What parts are principally employed, or in what
manner each contributes its office, is, as hath al-
ready been confessed, dinicult to explain. Per-
haps the obscure motion of the bones of the I'eef
may have their share in this effect. They are put
in action by every slip or vacillation of the body,
and seem to assist in restoring its balance. Cer-
tain it is, that this circumstance in the structure
of the foot, viz. its being composed of many small
bones, applied to and articulating with one ano-
ther, by diversely shaj>ed surfaces, instead of being
made of one oiece, like the last of a shoe, is very
remarkable. I suppose also that it would l>e dilli-
cult to stand firmly upon stilts or wooden lens,
though their base exactly imitated the figure and
dimensions of the sole of the foot. The alteration
of the joints, the knee-joint bending backward,
the hip-joint forward ; the flexibility, in every di-
rection, of the spine, especially in the loins and
neck, appear to be of great moment in preserving
the equilibrium of the body. With respect to this
last circumstance, it is observable, that the verte-
bra are so confined by ligaments as to allow no
more slipping upon their bases, than what is just
sufficient to break the shock which any violent
motion may occasion to the body. A certain de-
gree also of tension of the sinews appears to be
essential to an erect posture ; for it is by the loss
of this, that the dead or paralytic body drops down.
The whole is a wonderful result of combined
powers, and of very complicated operations. . In-
deed, that standing is not so simple a business as
we imagine it to be, is evident from the strange
gesticulations of a drunken man, who has lost the
government of the centre of gravity,
i We have said that this property is the most wor-
thy of observation in the human body : but a bird,
resting upon its perch, or hopping upon a spray,
affords no mean specimen of tiie same faculty. A
chicken runs off as soon as it is hatched from the
e g; vet a chicken, considered geometrically, and
with relation to its centre of gravity, its line of di-
rection, and its equilibrium, is a very irregular so-
lid. Is this gift, therefore, or instruction? May
it not be said to be with great attention, that na-
ture hath balanced the body upon its pivots 1
I observe also in the same bird a piece of use-
ful mechanism of this kind. In the trussing of a
fowl, upon bending the legs and thighs up towards
the body, the cook finds that the claws close of
3H
their own accord. Now let it be remembered,
that this is^the position of the limbs, in which the
bird rests upon its perch. And in this position it
sleeps in safety ; for the claws <lo their office in
keeping hold of the support, not by any exertion
of voluntary power, which sleep might suspend,
but by the traction of the tendons in consequence
of the attitude which the legs and thighs take by
the bird sitting down, and to which the mere
weight of the body gives the force that is neces-
sary.
VI. Regarding the human body as a mass ; re-
garding the general conformations which obtain
in it; regarding also particular parts in respect
to those conformations; we shall be led to ob-
serve what 1 call " interrupted analogies." The
following are examples of what I mean by these
terms ; and I do not r know how such critical de-
viations can, by any possible hypothesis, be ac-
counted fur without design.
1. All the bones of the body are covered with a
periosteum, except the teeth ; where it ceases, and
an enamel of ivory which saws and files will hard-
ly touch, comes into its place. No one can doubt
of the use and propriety of this difference ; of the
" analogy" being thus " interrupted ;" ofthe rule,
which belongs to the conformation of the bones,
stopping where it does stop : for had so exquisitely
sensible a membrane as the periosteum invested
the teeth, as it invests every other bone of the body,
their action, necessary exposure, and irritation,
would have subjected the animal to continual pain.
General as it is, it was not the sort of integument
which suited the teeth ; what they stood in need
of, was a strong, hard, insensible, defensive coat :
and exactly such a covering is given to them, in
the ivory enamel which adheres to their surface.
2. The scarf-skin, which clothes all the rest of
the body, gives way, at the extremities of the toea
and fingers, to Tiails. A man has only to look at
his hand to observe with what nicety and preci-
sion that covering, which extends over every other
part, is here superseded by a different substance,
ind a different texture. Now, if either the rule
had been necessary, or the deviation from it acci-
dental, this effect would not be seen. ' When I
speak of the rule being necessary, I mean the
formation of the skin upon the surface being pro-
duced by a set of causes constituted without de-
sign and acting, as all ignorant causes must act,
by a general operation. Were this the case, no
account could be given of the operation being sus-
pended at the fingers' ends, or on the back part of
the fingers, and not on the fore part. On the
other hand : if the deviation were accidental, an
error, an anomalism ; were it any thing else than
settled by intention ; we should meet with nails
upon other parts of the body. They would be scat-
tered over the surface, like warts or pimples.
3. All the great cavities of the body are enclosed
by membranes, except the skull. Why should
not the brain be content with the same covering
as that which serves for the other principal organs
of the body 1 The heart, the lungs, the liver, the
stomach, the bowels, have all soft integuments,
and nothing else. The muscular coats are all soft
and membranous. I can see a reason for this dis-
tinction in the final cause, but in no other. The
importance of the brain to life, (which experience
proves to be immediate,) and the extreme tender-
ness of its substance, make a solid case more ne-
cessary for it, than for any other part: and such a
426
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
case the hardness of the skull supplies. When
the smallest portion of this natural casket is lost,
how carefully, yet how imperfectly, is it replaced
by a plate of metal ! If an anatomist should say,
that this bony protection is not confinetHo the
brain, but is extended along the course" of the
spine. I answer that he adds strength to the argu T
ment. If he remark, that the chest also is forti-
fied by Bones ; I reply, that I should have alleged
this instance myself, if the ribs had not appeared
subservient to the purpose of motion, as well as
of defence. What distinguishes the skull from
every other cavity is, that the bony covering com-
pletely surrounds its contents, and is calculated,
not for motion, but solely for defence. Those hol-
lows, likewise, and inequalities, which we observe
in the inside of the skull, and which exactly fit
the folds of the brain, answer the important de-
sign of keeping the substance of the brain steady,
and of guarding it against concussions.
CHAPTER XII.
Comparative Anatomy.
WHENEVER we find a general plan pursued,
yet with such variations in it as are, in each case,
required by the particular exigency of the subject
to which it is applied, we possess, in such plan
and such adaptation, the strongest evidence that
can be afforded of intelligence and design ; an evi-
dence which most completely excludes every
other hypothesis. If the general plan proceeded
from any fixed necessity in the nature of things,
how could it accommodate itself to the various
wants and uses which it had to serve under differ-
ent circumstances, and on different occasions'?
Arkwright's mill was invented for tlte spinning
of cotton. We see it employed for the spinning
of wool,' flax, and Jiemp, with such modifications
of the original principle, such variety in the same
plan, as the texture of those different materials
rendered necessary. Of the machine's being put
together with design, if it were possible to doubt,
whilst we saw it only under one mode, and in one
form; when we came to observe it in its different
applications, with such changes of structure, such
additions and supplements, as the special and par-
ticular use in each case demanded, we could not
refuse any longer our assent to the proposition,
" that intelligence, properly and strictly so called,
(including under that name, foresight, considera-
tion, reference to utility,) had been employed, as
well in the primitive plan, as in the several changes
and accommodations which it is made to undergo."
\. Very much of this reasoning is applicable to
what has been called Comparative Anatomy. In
their general economy, in the outlines of the plan,
in the construction as well as offices of their prin-
cipal parts, there exists between all large terres-
trial animals a close resemblance. In all, life is
sustained, and the body nourished, by nearly the
same apparatus. The heart, the lungs, the sto-
mach, the Jiver, the kidneys, are much alike in all.
The same fluid (for no distinction of blood has
been observed) circulates through their vessels,
and nearly in the same order. The same cause
therefore, whatever that cause was, has been con-
cerned in the origin, has governed the production,
of these different animal forms.
When we pass on. to smaller animals,, or to the
inhabitants of a different clement, the resemblance
becomes more distant and more obscure ; but still
the plan accompanies us.
And, what we can never enough commend, and
which it is our business at present to exemplify,
the plan is attended, through all its varieties and
deflections, by subserviences to special occasions
and utilities.
1. The covering of different animals (though
whether I am correct in classing this under their
anatomy, I do not know,) is the first thing which
presents itself to our observation ; and is, in truth,
both for its variety and its suitableness to their
several natures, as much to be admired as any
part of their structure. We have bristles, hair,
wool, furs, feathers, quills, prickles, scales ; yet in
this diversity both of material and form, we can-
not change one animal's coat for another, without
evidently changing it for the worse; taking care
however to remark, that these coverings are, hi
many cases, armour as well as clothing ; intended
for protection as well as warmth.
The human animal is the only one which is
naked, and the only one which can clothe itself.
This is one of the properties which renders him
an animal of all climates, and of all seasons. He
can adapt the warmth or lightness of his covering
to the temperature of his habitation. Had he
been born with a fleece upon his back, although
he might have been comforted by its warmth in
high latitudes, it would have oppressed him by its
weight, and heat, as the species spread towards
the equator.
What art, however, does for men, nature has,
in many instances, done for those animals which
are incapable of art. Their clothing, of its own
accord, changes with their necessities. This is
particularly the case with that large tribe of qua-
drupeds which are covered with furs. Every
dealer in hare-skins, and rabbit-skins, knows how
much the fur is thickened by the approach of
winter. It seems to be a part of the same consti-
tution and the same design, that wool, in hot
countries, degenerates, as it is called, but in truth
(most happily for the animal's ease) passes into
hair; whilst, on the contrary, that hair, in the
dogs of the polar regions, is turned inte wool, or
sornething very like it. To which may be refer-
red, what naturalists have remarked, that bears,
wolves, foxes, hares, which do not take the water,
have the fur milch thicker on the back than the
belly : whereas in the beaver it is the thickest
upon the belly ; as are the feathers in water fowl.
We know the final cause of all this; and we
know no other.
The covering of birds cannot escape the most
vulgar observation. . Its lightness, its smooth-
ness, its warmth ; the disposition of the feathers
all inclined backward, the down about their stem,
the overlapping of their tips, their different con-
figuration in different parts, not to mention the.
variety of their colours, constitute a vestment for
the body, so beautiful, and so appropriate to the
life which the animal is to lead, as that, I think,
we should have had no conception of any thing
equally perfect, if we had never seen it, or can
now imagine any thing more so. Let us suppose
(what is possible only in supposition) a person
who had never seen a bird, to be presented with
a .plucked pheasant, and bid to set his wits to
work, how to contrive for it a covering which
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
427
shall unite the qualities of warmth, levity, and
least resistance to the air, and the highest degree
of each ; giving it also as much of beauty ami or-
nament as he could allbrd. He is the person to
behold the work of the Deity, in this part of his
creation, with the sentiments which are due
to it.
The commendation, which the general aspect
of the feathered world seldom fails of exciting,
will be increased by farther examination. It is
one of those cases in which the philosopher has
more to admire, than the common observer. Every
feather is a mechanical wonder. If we look at
the quill we find properties not. easily brought
together strength and lightness. 1 know lew
things mure ri'iii;irk:bli' than the strength and
lightness of the \ery pen with whieh I am writing.
If we cast our eye to the upper part of the stem,
we see a material made tor the purpose, used in
no other class ( f animr.ls, and in no other p:irt of
birds ; tough, light, pliant, elastic. The pith, afco,
which feeds the f.Mthc :rs, is, amongst animal sub-
stances, sui generis ; neither bone, flesh, mem-
brane, nor tendon.*
But the artificial part of the feather isihebcard,
or, as it is sometimes, 1 believe, called, the \aiie.
By the beards are meant, what are fastened on
each side of the stem, and what constitute the
breadth of the feather; what we usually strip oH'
from one side or both, when we make a pen. The
separate pieces or lamin;:-. of whieh the l>oard is-
composed, are called threads, sometimes lihunents,
or rays. Now the first thing which an attentive
observer will remark is, how much stronger
the heard of the feather shows itself to lie, when
pressed in a direction perpendicular to its plane,
than when rubbed, either up or down, in the
line of the stem; and he will soon discover the
structure which occasions this difference, ri:. that
the lamina; whereof these beards are composed,
arc Hat, and placed with their flat side towards
each other ; by which means, whilst the.
bend for the approaching of 'each other, as anyone
may perceive by drawing his linger ever so lightly
upwards, they are much harder to bend out of
their plane, which is tho direction in which they
have to encounter the impulse and pressure of the
air, and in which their strength is wanted, and
put to the trial.
This is one particularity in the structure of a
feather; a second is still more extraordinary.
Whoever examines a feather, cannot help taking
notice, that the threads or lamina? of which we
have been speaking, in their natural state, unite ;
that their union is something more than the mere
apposition of loose surfaces; that they are not
parted asunder without some degree of force;
that nevertheless there is ' no glutinous cohesion
between them ; that therefore, by some mechani-
cal means or other, they catch or clasp among
themselves, thereby giving to the beard or vane
its closeness and compactness of texture. Nor is
this all : when two laminae, which nave been sepa-
rated by accident or force, are brought together
again, they immediately reclosp : the connexion,
whatever it was, is perfectly recovered, and the
beard of the feather becomes as smooth and firm
* The quill part of a feather is composed of circular
and longitudinal fibres. In making a pen you must
scrape off the coat of circular fibres, or the quill Will
split in a ragged, jagged manner, making what boys call
cat's teeth..
as if nothing had happened to it. Draw your
linger down the feather, which is against the
grain, and you break, probably, the junction of
some of the contiguous threads ; draw your
finger up the feather, and you restore all things
to their former state. This is no common con-
trivance: and now for the mechanism by which it
is effected. The threads or laminae above-men-
tioned are interlaced with ope another : and the
interlacing is performed by means of a vast number
of fibres, or teeth, which the laminae shoot forth on
each side, and which hook and grapple together.
A friend of mine counted fifty of these fibres in*
one twentieth of an inch. These fibres are
crooked ; but curved after a different manner: for
those which proceed from the thread on the side
towards the -extremity of the feather, are longer,
more flexible, and bent downward ; whereas those
which proceed from the side towards the begin-
ning, or quill-end of the feather, are shorter, firmer,
and turn upwards. The process then whieh takes
place, is as follows: when two lamina? are press-
ed together, so that these long fibres are forced
fat enough over the short ones, their crooked
parts fall into the cavity made by the crooked
parts of the others ; just as the latch that is fasten-
ed to a door, enters into the cavity of the cateh
lived to the door-post, and there hooking itself,
fastens the door ; for it is properly in this manner,
that one thread of a feather is fastened to the
other.
This admirable structure of the feather, which
it is easy to see with the microscope, succeeds per-
fectly lor the use to which naturahas designed it;
which use was not only that the laminae- might be
united, but that when one thread or lamina has
been separated 'from another by some external
violence, it might l>e reclasped with sufficient faci-
lity and expedition.*
In the ostrirh, this apparatus of crochets and
fibres, of hooks and teeth, is wanting : and we see
the consequence of the want. The filaments
hang loose and separate from one another, forming
only a kind of down ; which constitution of the
feathers, however it may fit them for the flowing
honours of a lady's head-dress, may be reckoned
an imperfection in the bird, inasmuch as wings,
composed of these feathers, .although they may
greatly assist it in running, <lo not serve for
flight. -
But under the present division of our subject,
our business with feathers, is, as they are the co-
vering of the bird. And herein a singular circum-
stance occurs. In the small order of birds which
winter with us, from a snipe downwards, let the
external colour of the feathers l>e what it will,
trieir Creator has universally given- them a bed of
black down next their bodies. Black, we know,
is the warmest colour : and the purpose here is, to
keep in. the heat, arising from the heart and circu-
lation of the blood. It is farther likewise remark-
able, that this is not found in larger birds; for
which there is also a reason: small birds are
much more exposed to the cold than large ones ;
forasmuch as they present, in proportion to their
bulk, a much larger surface to the air. If a turkey
were divided into a number of wrens (supposing
the shape of the turkey and the wren to be simi-
* The above account is taken from Memoirs for a
Natural History of Animals, by the Royal Academy of
1'aris, published iuJ701, p. 219.
428
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
lar,) the surface of all the wrens would exceed
the surface of the turkey, in the proportion of the
length, breadth (or, of any homologous line,) of a
turkey to that of a wren ; which would be, perhaps,
a proportion of ten to one. It was necessary
therefore that small birds should be more warmly
clad than large ones: and this seems "to be the
expedient by which that exigency is provided
for.
II. In com paring different animals, I know no part
of their structure which exhibits greater variety,
or in that variety, a nicer accommodation to their
respective conveniency, than that which is seen
in the different formations of their mouths. Whe-
ther the purpose be the reception of alurient mere-
ly, or the catching of prey, the picking up of seeds,
the cropping of herbage, the extraction of juices,
the suction of liquids, the breaking and grinding
of food, the taste of that food, together with the
respiration of air, and, in conj unction with it, the
utterance of sound ; these various offices are as-
signed to this one part, and in different species,
provided for, as they are wanted, by its different
constitution. In thjJ human species, forasmuch
as there are hands to convey the food to the mouth,
the mouth is flat, and by reason of its flatness,
fitted only for reception; whereas the projecting
jaws, the wide rictus, the pointed teeth of the dog
and his affinities, enable them to apply their
mouths to snatch and seize the objects of their
pursuit The full lips, the rough tongue, the
corrugated cartilaginous palate, the broad cutting
teeth of the ox, the deer, the horse, and the sheep,
qualify this tribe for browsing upon their pasture ;
either gathering large mouthfuls at once, where
the grass is long, which is the case with the ox
in particular; or biting close, where it is short,
which the horse and the sheep are able to do, in a
degree that one could hardly expect. The retired
under-jaw of a swine icarks in the ground, afteT
the protruding snout, like a prong or plough-share,
has made its way to the roots upon which it feeds.
A conformation so happy, was not the gift of
chance.
In birds, this organ assumes a new character ;
new both in substance and in form : but in both,
wonderfully adapted to the wants and uses of a
distinct mode of existence. We have no longer
the fleshy lips, the teeth of enamelled bone; but
we have, in the place of these two parts, and to
perform the office of both, a hard substance (of the
same nature with that which composes the nails,
claws, and hoofs, of quadrupeds,) cut out into
proper shapes, and mechanically suited to the ac-
tions which are wanted. The sharp edge and
tempered point of the sparrow's bill picks almost
every kind of seed from its concealment in the
plant ; and not only so, but hulls the grain, breaks
and shatters the coats of the seed, in order to get
at the kernel. The hooked beak of the hawk
tribe separates the flesh from the bones of the ani-
mals which it feeds upon, almost with the clean-
ness and precision of a dissector's knife. The
butcher-bird transfixes its prey upon the spike of
a thorn, whilst it picks its bones. In some birds
of this class, we have the cross-bill, i, e. both the
upper and lower bill hooked, and their tips cross-
ing. The spoon-bill enables the goose to graze,
to collect its food from the bottom of pools, or to
seek it amidst the soft or liquid substances with
which it is mixed. The long tapering bill of the
snipe and woodcock, penetrates still deeper into
moist earth, which is the bed in which the food of
that species is lodged. This is exactly the instru-
ment which the ^animal wanted. It did not want
strength in its bill, which was inconsistent with
the slender fprm of the animal's neck, as well as
unnecessary for the kind of aliment upon which
it subsists ; but it wanted length to reach its ob-
ject.,
But the species of bill which belongs to the birds
that live by suction, deserves to be described in its
relation to' that office. They are what naturalists
call serrated or dentated bills ; the inside of them
towards the edge, being thickly set with parallel
or concentric rows of short, strong, sharp-pointed
prickles. These, though they should be called
teeth, are not for the purpose of mastication, like
the teeth of quadrupeds; nor yet, as in fish, for
the seizing and retaining of their prey ; but for a
quite different use. They form a filter. The
duck by means of them discusses the mud ; exa-
mining with great accuracy the puddle, the brake,
every mixture which is likely to contain her food.
The operation is thus carried on : The liquid or
semi-liquid substances, in which the animal has
plunged her bill, she draws, by the action of her
lungs, through the narrow interstices which lie
between these teeth ; catching, as the stream passes
across her beak, whatever it may happen to bring
along with it, that proves agreeable to her choice,
and easily dismissing all the rest. Now, suppose
the purpose to have been out of a mass of confused
and heterogeneous substances, to separate for the
use of the animal, or rather to enable the animal
to separate for its oWn, those few particles which
suited its taste and digestion ; what more artificial,
or more commodious, instrument of selection,
could have been given to it, than this natural
filter 1 It has been observed also (what must en-
able the bird to choose and distinguish with greater
acuteness, as well, probably, as what greatly in-
creases its luxury,) that 'the bills of this species
are furnished with large nerves, that they are
covered with a skin, and that the nerves run
down to the very extremity. In the curlew, wood-
cock and snipe, there are three pairs of nerves,
equal almost to the optic nerve in thickness, which
pass first along the roof of the mouth, and then
along the upper chap down to the point of the
bill, long as the bill is.
But to return to the train of our observations.
The similitude between the bills of birds and the
mouths of quadrupeds, is exactly such, as, for the
sake of the argument, might be wished for. It is
near enough to show the continuation of the same
plan : it is remote enough to exclude the supposi-
tion of the difference being produced by action or
use. A more prominent contour, or a wider gap,
might be resolved into the effect of continued
efforts, on the part of the species, to thrust out the
mouth, or open it to the stretch. But by what
course of action, or exercise, or endeavour, shall
we get rid of the lips, the gums, the teeth ; and
acquire, in the place of them, pincers of horn 1 By
what habit shall we so completely change, not
only the shape of the part, but the substance of
which it is composed 7 The truth is, if we had
seen no other than the mouths of quadrupeds, we
should have thought no other could have been
formed : little could we have supposed, that all the
purposes of a mouth, furnished with lips, and
armed with teeth, could be answered by an instru-
ment which had none of these ; could be supplied,
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
429
and that with many additional advantages, by the
hardness, and sharpness, and figure, of the bills
of birds. Every thing about the animal's mouth
is mechanical. The teeth offish have their points
turned backward, like the teeth of a wool or cotton
card. The teeth of lobsters work one against an-
other, like the sides of a pair of shears. Jn many
insects, the mouth is converted into a pump or
sucker, fitted at the end sometimes with a wimble,
sometimes with a forceps ; by which double pro-
visions, viz. of the tube and the penetrating form
of the point, the insect first bores through the in-
teguments of its prey, and then extracts the juices.
And, what is most" extraordinary of all, one sort
of mouth as the occasion requires, shall he changed
into another sort. The caterpillar could not live
without teeth ; in several species, the butterfly
formed from it. could not use them. The old
teeth therefore are cast off with the exuviaj of the
grub; anew and totally different apparatus as-
sumes their place in the fly. Amid those novelties
of form, we sometimes forget that it is, all the
while, the animal's mouth ; that whether it be lips,
or teeth, or bill, or beak, or shears, or pump, it is
the same part diversified : and it is also remarkable,
that, under all the varieties of configuration with
which we are acquainted, and which are very gteat,
the organs of taste and smelling are situated near
each other.
III. To the mouth adjoins the gullet : in this
part also, comparative anatomy discovers a differ-
ence of structure, adapted to the different necessi-
ties of the animal. In brutes, because the posture
of their neck conduces little to the passage of the
aliment, the fibres of the gullet, which act in this
business, run in two close spiral lines, crossing
each other: in men, these fibres run only a little
obliquely from the upj>er end of the oesophagus to
the stomach, into which, by a gentle contraction,
they easily transmit the descending morsels ; that
is to say, for the more laborious deglutition of ani-
mals, which thrust their food up instead of <7/;ir/i,
and also through a longer passage, a proportionably
more powerful apparatus of muscles is provided;
more powerful, not merely by the strength of the
fibres, which might be attributed to the greater
exercise of their force, but in their collocation,
which is a determinate circumstance, and must
have been original.
IV. The gullet leads to the intestines : here,
likewise, as before, comparing quadrupeds with
man, under a general similitude we meet with
appropriate differences. The ralvulcc connirentes,
or, as they are by some called, the semilunar valves,
found in the human intestine, are wanting in that
of brutes. These are wrinkles or plates of the
innermost coat of the guts, the effect of which is
to retard the progress of the food through the ali-
mentary canal. It is easy to understand how
much more necessary such a provision may be to
the body of an animal of an erect posture, and in
which, consequently, the weight of the food is
added to the action of the intestine, than in that
of a quadruped, in which the course of the food,
from its entrance to its exit, is nearly horizontal :
but it is impossible to assign any cause, except the
final cause, for this distinction actually taking
place. So far as depends upon the action of the
part, this structure was more to be expected in a
quadruped than in a man. In truth, it must in
both have been formed, not by action, but in direct
opposition to action and to pressure ; but the op-
position which would arise from pressure, is greater
in the upright trunk than in any other. That
theory therefore is pointedly contracted by the
example before us. The structure is found whero
its generation, according to the method by which
the theorist would have it generated, is the most
difficult ; but (observe) it is found where its effect
is most useful.
The different length of the intestines in carni-.
vorous and herbivorous animals, has been noticed
on a former occasion. The shortest, I believe, is
that of some birds of prey, in which the intestinal
canal is little more than a straight passage from
the mouth to the vent. The longest is in the
deer kind. The intestines of a Canadian stag,
four feet high, measured ninety-six feet.* The
intestine of a sheep, unravelled, measured thirty
times the length of the body. The intestine of a
wild cat is only three times the length of the
body. Universally, where the substance upon
which the animal feeds is of slow concoction, or
yields its chyle with more difficulty, there the
passage is circuitous and dilatory, that time and
space may be allowed for the change and the ab-
sorption which are necessary. Where the, food
is soon dissolved, or already half assimilated, an
unnecessary or, perhaps, hurtful detention is
avoided, by giving to it a shorter and a readier
route.
V. In comparing the bones of different animals,
we are struck, in the bones of birds, with a pro-
priety, which could only proceed from the wisdom
of an intelligent and designing Creator. In the
bones of an animal which is to fly, the two quali-
ties required are strength and lightness. Wherein,
therefore, do the bones of Birds (I speak of the
cylindrical bones) differ, in these respects, from
the bones of quadrupeds 1 In these properties :
first, their cavities are much larger in proportion
to the weight of the bone, than in those of qua-
dni|H'ds ; secondly, these cavities are empty;
thirdly, the shell is of a firmer texture, than is
the substance of other bones. It is easy to ob-
serve these particulars, even in picking the wing
or leg of a chicken. Now, the weight being the
same, the diameter, it is evident, will be greater
in a hollow bone than in a solid one, and with the
diameter, as every mathematician can prove, is
increased, cceteris paribus, the strength of the
cylinder, or its resistance to breaking. In a word,
a bone of the same weight would not have been
so strong in any other form ; and to have made it
heavier, would have incommoded the animal's
flight. Yet this form could not be acquired by
use, or the bone become hollow and tubular by
exercise. What appetency could excavate a bone 1
VI. The lung's also of birds, as compared with
the lungs of quadrupeds, contain in them a provi-
sion, distinguishingly calculated for this same pur-
pose of levitation ; namely, a communication (not
found in other kinds of animals) between the air-
vessels of the lungs and the cavities of the body :
so that by the intromission of air from one to
the other (at the will, as it should seem, of the
animal,) its body can be occasionally puffed out,
and its tendency to descend in the air, or its
specific gravity, made less. The bodies of birds
are blown up from their lungs, (which no other
animal bodies are,) and thus rendered buoyant.
VII. All birds are oviparous. This likewise
* Mem. Acad. Paris, 1701, p. 170.
430
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
carries on the work of gestation with as little in-
crease as possible of the weight of the body. A
gravid uterus would have been a troublesome bur-
den to a bird in its flight. The advantage, in
this respect, of an oviparous procreation, is, that,
whilst the whole brood are hatched together, the
eggs are excluded singly, and at considerable
intervals. Ten, fifteen, or twenty young birds
may be produced in one cletch or covey, yet the
parent bird have never been encumbered by the
load of more than one full-grown egg at one time.
VIII. A principal topic of comparison between
animals, is theft: instruments of motion. These
come before us under three divisions ; feet, wings,
and tins. I desire any man to say, which of the
three is best fitted for its use] or whether the
same consummate art be not conspicuous in them
all. The constitution of the elements, in which the
motion is to be performed is very different.- The
animal action must necessarily follow that consti-
tution. The Creator, therefore, if we might so
speak, had to prepare for different situations, for
different difficulties : yet the purpose is accom-
plished not less successfully in one case than in
the other. And, as between wings and the cor-
responding limbs of quadrupeds, it is-accomplished
without deserting the general idea. The idea is
modified, not deserted. Strip a wing of its feathers,
and it bears an obscure resemblance to the fore-
leg of a quadruped. The articulations at the
shoulder, and the cubitus are much alike ; and,
what is a closer circumstance, in both cases the
upper part of the limb consists of a single bone,
the lower part of two.
But, fitted up with its furniture of feathers and
quills, it becomes a wonderful instrument, more
artificial than its first appearance indicates, though
that be very striking : at least, the use which
the bird makes of its wings in flying, is more
complicated, and more curious, than is generally
known. One thing is certain, that if the flapping
of the wings in flight were no more than the re-
ciprocal motion of the same surface in opposite
directions, either upwards and downwards, or
estimated in any oblique line, the bird would lose
as much by one motion as she gained by another.
The skylark could never ascend by such an ac-
tion as this ; for, though the stroke upon the air
by the under side of her wing would carry her
up, the stroke from the upper side, when she
raised her wing again, would bring her down. In
order, therefore, to account for the advantage
which the bird derives from her wing, it is neces-
sary to suppose, that the surface of the wing,
measured upon the same plane, is contracted,
whilst the wing is drawn up ; and let out to its
full expansion, when it descends upon the air for
the purpose of moving the body by the reaction
of that element. Now, the form and structure of
the wing, its external convexity, the disposition,
and particularly the overlapping, of its larger fea-
thers, the action of the muscles, and joints of the
pinions, are all adapted to this alternate adjust-
ment of its shape and dimensions. Such a twist,
for instance, or semi rotatory motion, is given to
the great feathers of the wing, that they strike the
air with their flat side, but rise from the stroke
slantwise. The turning of the oar in rowing,
whilst the rower advances his hand for a new
stroke, is a similar operation to that of the feather,
and takes its name from the resemblance. I be-
lieve that this faculty is not found in the great
feathers of the tail. This is the place also for
observing, that the pinions are so set upon the
body, as to bring down the wings not vertically,
but in a direction obliquely tending towards the
tail; which^ motion, by virtue of tin- coiiiiin.ii
resolution of forces, does two things at the same
time ; supports the body in the air, and carries it
forward. The steerage of a bird in its flight is
effected partly by the wings, but in a principal
degree by the tail. And herein we meet with a
circumstance not a little remarkable. Birds with
long legs have' short tails ; and in their flight,
place their legs close to their bodies, at the same
time stretching them out backwards as far as they
can. In this position, the legs extend beyond the
rump, and become the rudder : supplying that
steerage which the tail could not.
From the if ings of birds, the transition is easy
to the^ns of fish. They, are both, to their re-
spective tribes, the instruments of their motion ;
but, in the work which they have to do, there is
a considerable difference, founded in this circum-
stance. Fish, unlike birds, have very nearly the
same" specific gravity with the element in which
they move. In the case of fish, therefore, there
is little or no weight to bear up ; what is wanted,
is only an impulse sufficient to carry the body
through a resisting medium, or to. maintain the
posture, or to support or restore the balance of the
body, which is always the most unsteady where
there is no weight to sink it. For these offices,
the fins are as large as necessary, though much
smaller than wings, their action mechanical, their
position, and the muscles by which they are
moved, in the highest degree convenient. The
following short account of some experiments upon
fish, made for the purpose of ascertaining the
use of their fins, will be the best confirmation of
what we assert. In most fish, beside the great
fin the tail, we find two pairs of fins upon the
sides, two single fins upon the back, and one upon
the belly, or rather between the belly and; the. tail.
T 'he balancing use of these organs is proved in
this manner. Of the large-headed fish, if you
cut off the pectoral fins, i. c. the pair which lies
close behind the gills, ,the head falls prone to the
bottom : if the right pectoral fin only be cut off,
the fish leans to that side ; jf the ventral fin on
the same side be cut away, then it loses its equili-
brium entirely ; if the dorsal and ventral fins be
cut off, the fish reels to the right and lei't. When
the fish dies, that is, when the fins cease to play,
the belly turns upwards. The use of the same
parts for motion, is seen in the following observa-
tion upon them when put in action. The pecto-
ral, and more particularly the ventral fins, serve
to raise and depress the fish : when the iish
desires to have a retrograde motion, a stroke
forward with the pectoral fin effectually produces
it ; if the fish desire to turn either way, a single
blow with the tail the opposite way, sends it round
at once: if the tail strike both ways, the motion
produced by the double lash is progressive, and
enables the fish to dart forwards with an astonish-
ing velocity.* The result is, not only in some
cases, the most rapid, but in all cases, the most
gentle, pliant, easy, animal motion, with which
we are acquainted. However, when the tail is
cut off, the fish loses all motion, and gives itself
up to where the water impels it. The rest of the
* Goldsmith, Hist, of An. Nat. vol. vi. p. 154.
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
431
fins, therefore, so far as respects motion, seem to
be merely subsidiary to this. In their mechani-
cal use, the anal fin may be reckoned the keel ;
the ventral fins, out-riggers ; the pectoral mus-
cles, the oars ; and if there be any similitude be-
tween these parts of a boat and a fish, observe,
that it is not the resemblance of imitation, but
the likeness which arises from- applying similar
mechanical means to the same purpose.
We have seen that the tail in the fish is the
great instrument of motions Now, in cetaceous
or worm-blooded fish, which are obliged to rise
every two or three minutes to the surface to take
breath, the tail, unlike what it is in other fish, is
horizontal ; its stroke consequently, perpendkttlar
to the horizon, which is the right direction for
sending the fish to the top, or carrying it down to
the bottom.
Regarding animals in their instruments of mo-
tion, we have only followed the comparison through
the lirst great division of animals into beasts, bints,
and lish. If it were our intention to pursue the
consideration farther, I should take in that generic
distinction junongst birds, the web foot of water-
fowl. It is an instance which may be pointed out
to a child. The utility of the web to water-fowl,
the inutility to land-fowl, are so obvious, that it
seem:; impossible to notice the difference without
acknowledging the design. I am at a loss to
know, how those who denv the agency of an in-
telligent < 'reator, dispose of this example. There
is nothing in the action of swimming, as carried
on by a bird upon the surface of the water, that
should generate a membrane between the -toes.
As to that membrane, it is an exercise of constant,
resistance. The only supposition 1 can think of
is, that all birds have been originally water-fowl,
and web-footed ; that sparrows, hawks, linnets,
&c. which frequent the land, have in process of
time, and in the course of many generations, had
this part worn away by treading upon hard
.ground. To such evasive assumptions must athe-
ism always have recourse! and, after all, it con-
fesses that the structure of the feet of birds, in
their original form, was critically .adapted to their
original destination ! The web-feet ot amphibious
quadrupeds, seals, otters, &c. fall under the same
observation.
IX. The^pe senses are common to most large
animals: nor have we much difference to remark
in their constitution ; or much, however, which is
referable to mechanism.
The superior sagacity of animals which hunt
their prey, and which, consequently, depend for
their livelihood upon their nose, is well known, in
its use ; but not at all known in the organization
which produces it.
The external ears of beasts of prey, of lions,
tigers, wolves, have their trumpet-part, or conca-
vity, standing forwards, to seize the sounds which
are before them, viz. the sounds of the animals
which they pursue or watch. The ears of ani-
mals of flight are turned backward, to give notice
of the approach of their enemy from behind,
whence he may steal upon them unseen. This is
a critical distinction ; and is mechanical : but it
may be suggested, and, I think, not without pro-
bability, that it is the effect of continual habit.
The eyes of animals which follow their prey by
night, as cats, owls, &c. possess a faculty not
given to those of other species, namely, of dosing
the pupil entirely. The final cause of which
seems to be this : It was necessary for such ani-
mals to be able to descry objects with very small
degrees of light. This capacity depended Upon
the superior sensibility of the retina; that is, upon
its being affected by the most feeble impulses.
But that tenderness of structure, which rendered
the membrane thus exquisitely sensible, rendered
it also liable to be offended by the access of strong-
er degrees of light. The contractile range there-
fore of the pupil is increased in these animals, so
as to enable them to close the aperture entirely:
which includes the power of diminishing it in
every degree ; whereby at all times such portions,
and only such portions, of light are admitted, as
may be received without injury to the sense.
There appears to be also in the figure, and in
some properties of the pupil of the eye, an appro-
priate relation to the wants of different animals,
tn horses, oxen, goats, sheep, the pupil of the eye
is elliptical ; the transverse axis being horizontal ;
by which structure, although the ye be placed on
the side of the head, the anterior elongation of the
pupil catches- the forward rays, or those which
come from objects immediately in front of the ani-
mal's face.
CHAPTER XIII.
Peculiar Organizations.
I HF.LIEVF. that all the instances which I shall
collect under this title, might, consistently enough
with technical language, nave been placed under
the head of Comparative Anatomy. But there
appears to me an impropriety in the use which
that term hath obtained ; it l>eing. in some sort,
absurd to call that a case of comparative anatomy,
in which there is nothing to " compare ;" in which
a conformation is found in one animal, which hath
nothing proj>erly answering to it in another. Of
this kind are the examples which I have to pro-
pose in the present chapter ; and the reader will
see that, though some of them be the strongest,
perhaps, he will meet with under any division of
our subject, they must necessarily be of an uncon-
nected and miscellaneous nature. To dispose
them, however, into some sort of order, we will no-
tice, first, particularities of structure which belong
to quadrupeds, birds, and fish, as such, or to many
of the kinds included in these classes of animals ;
and then, such particularities as are confined to
one or two species.
I. Along each side of the neck of large qua-
drupeds, runs a stiff, robust cartilage, which butch-
ers call the paxwax. No person can carve the
upper end of a crop of beef without driving his
knife against it. It is a tough, strong, tendinous
substance, braced from the head to the middle of
the back: its office is to assist in supporting the
weight of the head. It is a mechanical provision,
of which this is the undisputed use ; and it is suf-
ficient, and not more than sufficient, for the pur-
pose which it has to execute. The head of an ox
or a horse is a heavy weight, acting at the end of
a long lever (consequently with a great purchase)
and in a direction nearly perpendicular to the
joints of the supporting neck. From such a force,
so advantageously applied, the bones of the neck
would be in constant danger of dislocation, if they
were not fortified by tins strong tape. No such
432
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
organ is found in the human subject, because,
from the erect position of the head (the pressure
of it acting nearly in the direction of the spine/
the junction of the vertebrae appears to be suffi-
ciently secure without it. This cautionary expe-
dient, therefore, is limited to quadrupeds: the care
of the Creator is seen where it is wanted.
II. The oil with which birds prune their fea-
thers, and the organ which supplies it, is a specific
provision for the winged creation. On each side
of the rump of birds is observed a small nipple,
yielding upon pressure a butter-like substance,
which the bird extracts by pinching the pap with
its bill. With this oil, or ointment, thus procured,
the bird dresses its coat ; and repeats the action
as often as its own sensations teach it that it is in
any part wanted, or as the excretion may be suffi-
cient for the expense. The gland, the pap, the
nature and quality of the excreted substance, the
manner of obtaining it from its lodgment in the
body, the application of it when obtained, form,
collectively, an evidence of intention which it is
not easy to withstand. Nothing similar to it is
found in unfeathered animals. What blind cona-
tus of nature should produce it in birds ; should
not produce it in beasts?
III. The air-bladder also of a Jish affords a
plain and direct instance, not only of contri-
vance, but strictly of that species of contrivance
which we denominate mechanical. It is a philo-
sophical apparatus in the body of an animal. The
pnnciple of the contrivance is clear : the applica-
tion of the principle is also clear. The use of the
organ to sustain, and, at will, also to elevate, the
body of the fish in the water, is proved by observ-
ing, what has been tried, that, when the bladder
is burst, the fish grovels at the bottom ; and also,
that flounders, soles, skates, which are without the
air-bladder, seldom rise in the water, and that with
effort. The manner in which the purpose is at-
tained, and the suitableness of the means to the
end, are not difficult to be apprehended. The
rising and sinking of a fish in water, so far as it
is independent of the stroke of the fins and tail,
can only be -regulated by the specific gravity of
the body. When the bladder, contained in the
body of the fish, is contracted, which the fish pro-
bably possesses a muscular power of doing, the
bulk of the fish is contracted along with it ; where-
by, since the absolute weight remains the same,
the specific gravity, which is the sinking force, is
increased, and the fish descends : on the contrary,
when, in consequence of the relaxation of the
muscles, the elasticity of the enclosed and now
compressed air restores the dimensions of the
bladder, the tendency downwards becomes pro-
portionably less than it was before, or is turned
into a contrary tendency. These are known pro-
perties of bodies immersed in a fluid. The en-
amelled figures, or little glass bubbles, in a jar of
water, are made to rise and fall by the same arti-
fice. A diving-machine might be made to ascend
and descend, upon the like principle; namely, by
introducing into the inside of it an air-vessel,
which, by its contraction, would diminish, and by
its distension enlarge, the bulk of the machine it-
self, and thus render it specifically heavier, or
specifically lighter, than the water which sur-
rounds it. Suppose this to be done, and the ar-
tist to solicit a patent for his invention. The
inspectors of the model, whatever they might think
of the use or value of the contrivance, could, by
no possibility, entertain a question in their minds,
whether it were a contrivance or not. No reason
has ever been assigned no reason can be assign-
ed, why the conclusion is not as certain in the
fish, as it is in the machine ; why the argument
is not as firm in one case as the other.
It would be very worthy of inquiry, if it were
possible to discover by what method an animal
which lives constantly in water, is able to supply
a repository of air. The expedient, whatever it
be, forms part, and perhaps the most curious part,
of the provision. Nothing similar to the air-blad-
der is found in land-animals ; and a life in the
water has no natural tendency to produce a bag
of air. Nothing can be farther from an acquired
organization than this is.
These examples mark the attention of the Cre-
ator to the three great kingdoms of his animal
creation, and to their constitution as such. The
example which stands next in point of generality,
belonging to a large tribe of animals, or raf her to
various species of that tribe, is the poisonous tooth
of serpents.
I. The fang- of a viper is a clear and curious
example of mechanical contrivance. It is a per-
forated tooth, loose at the root; in its^juiet state,
lying down flat upon the jaw, but furnished with
a muscle, which, with a jerk, and by the pluck, as
it were, of a string, suddenly erects it. Under
the tooth, close to its root, and communicating
with the perforation, lies a small bag containing
the venom. When the fang is raised, the closing
of the jaw presses its root against the bag under-
neath ; and the force of this compression sends
out the fluid with a considerable impetus through
the tube in the middle of the tooth. What more
unequivocal or effectual apparatus could be de-
vised, for the double purpose of at once inflicting
the wound and injecting the poison 1 Yet, though
lodged in the mouth, it is so constituted, as, in its
inoffensive and quiescent state, not to interfere
with the animal's ordinary office of receiving its
food. It has been observed also, that none of the
harmless serpents, the black snake, the blind
worm, &c. have these fangs, but teeth of an equal
size; not moveable, as this is, but fixed into the
jaw.
II. In being the property of several different
species, the preceding example is resembled by
that which 1 shall next mention, which is the bag
of the opossum. This is a mechanical contri-
vance, most properly so called. The simplicity
of the expedient renders the contrivance more ob-
vious than many others, and by no means less
certain. A false skin under the belly of the ani-
mal, forms a pouch, into which the young litter
are received at their birth; where they have an
easy and constant access to the teats ; in which
they are transported by the dam from place to
place ; where they are at liberty to run in and
out ; and where they find a refuge from surprise
and danger. It is their cradle, their asylum, and
the. machine for their conveyance. Can the use
of this structure be doubted of"? Nor is it a mere
doubling of the skin ; but it is a new organ, fur-
nished with bones and muscles of its own. Two
bones are placed before the os pubis, and joined to
that bone as their base. These support, and give
a fixture to, the muscles which serve to open the
bag. To these muscles there are antagonists,
which serve in the same manner to shut it ; and
tliis office they perform so exactly, that, in the
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
433
living animal, the opening can scarcely be discern-
ed, except when the sides are forcibly drawn
asunder.* Is there any action in this part of the
animal, any process arising from that action, by
which these members could be formed 1 any ac-
count to be given of the formation, except design.
III. As a particularity, yet appertaining to
more species than one ; and also as strictly me-
chanical ; we may notice a circumstance in the
structure of the claws of certain birds. The mid-
dle claw of the heron and cormorant is toothed
and notched like a saw. .These birds are great
fishers, and these notches assist them in holding
their slippery prey. The use is evident ; but the
structure such as cannot at all be accounted for
by the effort of the animal, or the exercise of the
part. Some other fishing birds have these notches
in their bills; and for the same purpose. The
gannet, or soland goose, has the side of its bill ir-
regularly Jagged, that it may hold its prey the
faster. IS or can the structure in this, more than
in the former case, arise from the manner of em-
ploying the part. The smooth surfaces and soft
flesh of fish, were less likely to notch the bills of
birds, than the hard bodies upon which many
other species feed.
We now come to particularities strictly so call-
ed, as being limited to a single species of animal.
Of these, 1 shall take one from a quadruped, and
one from a bird.
I. The stomach of the camel is we.ll known to
retain large quantities of water, and to retain it
unchanged for a considerable length of time.
This property qualifies it for living in the desert.
Let us see, therefore, what is the internal organi-
zation, upon which a faculty so rare, and so bene-
ficial, depends. A number of distinct sacks or
bags (in a dromedary thirty of these h:i\e been
counted) are observed to lie between the mem-
branes of the second stomach, and to open into
the stomach near the top by small square aperv-
tures. Through these orifices, after the stomach
is full, the annexed hairs are filled from it: and
the water so deposited is, in the first place, hot
liable to pass into the intestines; in the second
place, is kept separate from the solid aliment; and,
in the third place, is out of the reach of the diges-
tive action of the stomach, or of mixture with the
gastric juice. It appears probable, or rather cer-
tain, that the animal, by the conformation of its
muscles, possesses the power of squeezing buck
this water from the adjacent, bags into the sto-
mach, whenever thirst excites it to put this power
in action.
II. The tongue of the woodpecker is one of
those singularites which nature presents us with,
when a singular purpose is to be answered. It is
a particular instrument for a particular use : and
what, except design, ever produces such 1 The
woodpecker lives chiefly upon insects, lodged hi
the bodies of decayed or decaying trees. For the
purpose of boring into the wpod, it is furnished
with a bill, straight, hard, angular, and sharp.
"When, by means of this piercer, it has reached
the cells of the insects, then comes the office of
its tongue : which tongue is, first, of such a length
that the bird can dart it out three or four inches
from the bill in this respect differing greatly
from every other species of bird ; in tlio second
place, it is tipped with a stiff, sharp, bony thorn ;
* Goldsmith's Nat. His. vol. iv. p. 244.
3 I
and, in the third place, (which appears to me the
most remarkable property of all/) this tip is den-
tated on both sides, like the beard of an arrow or
the barb of a hook. The description of the part
declares its uses. The bird, having exposed the
retreats of the insects by the assistance of its bill,
with a motion inconceivably quick, launches out
at them this long tongue ; transfixes them upon
the barbed needle at the end of it ; and thus draws
its prey within its mouth. If this be not mecha-
nism, what is'? Should it be said, that, by con-
tinual endeavours to shoot out the tongue to the
stretch, the woodpecker species may by degrees
have lengthened the organ itself, beyond that of
other birds, what account can be given of its form,
of its tips? how, in particular, did it get its barb,
its dentation 1 These barbs, in mv opinion,
wherever they occur, are decisive proofs of me-
chanical contrivance.
ill. I shall add one more example, for the sako
of its novelty. It is always an agreeable disco-
\cry. when, having remarked in an animal an ex-
traordinary structure, we come at length to find
out an unexpected use for it. The following nar-
rative furnishes an instance of this kind. The
babyrouessa, or Indian hog, a species of wild boar,
found in the East Indies, has two bent teeth, more
than half a yard long, growing upwards, and
(which is the singularity) from the upper jaw.
These instruments are not wanted SOT ,oflence :
that service being provided for by two tusks issu-
ing from the upper jaw, and resembling those, of
the common boar: nor does the animal use them
for defence. They "might seem therefore to be
both a superfluity and an encumbrance. But -ob-
serve the event : the animal sleeps standing ; and,
in order to support its head, hooks its upper tusks
upon the branches of trees.
CHAPTER XIV.
Prospective Contrivances.
I CAJ* hardly imagine to myself a more distin-
guishing mark, and, consequently, a more certain
proof of design, than preparation, i. e. the pro-
viding of things before-hand, which*are not to be
used until a considerable time afterward : for this
implies a contemplation of the future, which be-
longs only to intelligence.
Of these prospective contrivances, the bodies of
animals furnish various examples.
I. The human teeth, afford an instance, not
only of prospective contrivance, but of the com-
pletion of the contrivance being designedly sus-
pended. They are formed- within the gums, and
there they stop : the fact, being, that their farther
advance to maturity would not only be useless to
the new-born animal, but extremely in its way ;
as it is evident that the act of sucking, by which
it is for some time to be nourished, will be per-
formed with more ease l>oth to the nurse and to
the infant, whilst the inside of the mouth, and
edges of the gums, are smooth arid soft, than if
set with hard pointed bones. By the time they
are wanted, the teeth are ready. . They have been
lodged within the gums for some months past, but
detained, as it were, in their sockets, so long as
their farther protrusion would interfere with the
office to which the mouth is destined. Nature.
37
434
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
namely, that intelligence which was employed in
creation, looked beyond the first year of the in-
fant's life; yet, whilst she was providing for func-
tions which were after that term to become neces-
sary, was careful not to incommode those which
preceded them. What renders it more probable
that this is the effect of design, is, that the teeth
arc imperfect, whilst all other parts of the mouth
are perfect. The lips are perfect, the tongue is
perfect; the checks, the jaws, the palate, the
pharynx, the larynx, are all perfect : the teeth
alone are not so. This is the tact with respect to
the human mouth : the fact also is, that the parts
above enumerated are called into use from the be-
ginning ; whereas the teeth would be only so
many obstacles and annoyances", if they were
there. When a contrary order is necessary, a
contrary order prevails. In the worm of the beetle,
as hatched from the egg, the teeth are the first
things which arrive at perfection. The insect be-
gins to gnaw as soon as it escapes from the shell,
though its other parts be only gradually advancing
to their maturity.
What has been observed of the teeth, is true
of the horns of animals ; and for the same reason.
The horn of a calf or a lamb does not bud, or at
least does not sprout to any considerable length,
until the animal be capable of browsing upon its
pasture ; because such a substance upon the fore-
head of the young animal would very much in-
commode the teat of the dam in the office of giv-
ingsuck.
But in the case of the teeth, of the human
teeth at least, the prospective contrivance looks
still farther. A succession of crops is provided,
and provided from the beginning ; a second tier
being originally formed beneath the first, which
do not come into use till several years afterward.
And this double or suppletory provision meets a
difficulty in the mechanism of the mouth, which
would have appeared almost insurmountable.
The expansion of the jaw, (the consequence of
the proportionable growth of the animal, and of
its skull,) necessarily separates the teeth of the
first set, however compactly disposed, to a dis-
tance from one another, which would be very
inconvenient. In due time, therefore, i. e. when
the jaw has attained a great part of its dimen-
sions, a new set of teeth springs up, (loosen-
ing and pushing out the old ones before them,)
more exactly fitted to the space which they are to
occupy, and rising also in such close ranks, as to
allow for any extension of bine, which the sub-
sequent enlargement of the head may occasion.
II. It is not very easy to conceive a more evi-
dently prospective contrivance, than that which,
in all viviparous animals, is found in the milk of
the female parent. At the moment the young
animal enters the world, there is its maintenance
ready for it. The particulars to be remarked in
this economy, are neither few nor slight. We
have, first, the nutritious quality of the, fluid, un-
like, in this respect, every other excretion of the
body; and in which nature hitherto remains un-
imitated, neither cookery nor chymistry having
been able to make milk out of grass : we have,
secondly, the organ for its reception and reten-
sion : we have, thirdly, the excretory duct, an-
nexed to the organ : and we have, lastly, the de-
termination of the milk to the breast, at the parti-
cular juncture when it is about to be wanted.
We have all these properties in the subject before
us : and they are all indications of design. The
last circumstance is the strongest of any. If I
had been to guess beforehand, I should have con-
jectured, that at the time when there was an ex-
traordinary demand for nourishment in one part
of the system, there would be the least likelihood
of a redundancy to supply another part. The
advanced pregnancy of the female has no intelli-
gible tendency to fill the breast with milk. The
lacteal system is a constant wonder : and it adds
to other causes of our admiration, that the num-
ber of the teats or paps in each species is found
to bear a proportion to the number of the young.
In the sow, the bitch, the rabbit, the cat, the rat,
which have numerous litters, the paps are numer-
ous, and are disposed along the whole length of
the belly; in the cow and mare, they are few.
The most simple account of this is to refer it to
a designing Creator.
But. in the argument before us, we are entitled
to consider not only animal bodies when framed,
but the circumstances under which they are
framed : and in this view of the subject, the con-
stitution of many of their parts is most strictly
prospective.
III. The eye is of no use, at the time when it
is formed. It is an optical instrument made in a
dungeon; constructed for the refraction of light
to a focus, and perfect for its purpose, before a ray
of light has had access to it ; geometrically adapt-
ed to the properties and action of an element,
with which it has no communication. It is about
indeed to enter into that communication : and this
is precisely the thing which evidences intention.
It is providing for the future, in the closest sense
which can be given to these terms : for it is pro-
viding for a future change ; not for the then sub-
sisting condition of the animal ; not for any gra-
dual progress or advance in that same condition ;
but for a new state, the consequence of a great
and sudden alteration, which the animal is to un-
dergo at its birth. Is it to be believed that the
eye was formed, or, which is the same thing, that
s series of causes was fixed by which the eye
is formed, without a view to this change ; without
a prospect of that condition, in which its fabric,
of no use at present, is about to be of the greatest;
without a consideration of the qualities of that
element, hitherto entirely excluded, but with which
it was hereafter to hold so intimate a relation'?
A young man makes a pair of spectacles for him-
self against he grows old ; for which spectacles
he has no want or use whatever at the time he
makes them. Could this be done without know-
ing and considering the defect of vision to which
advanced age is subject 1 Would not the precise
suitableness of the instrument to its purpose, of
the remedy to the defect, of the convex lens to the
flattened eye, establish the certainty of the conclu-
sion, that the case, afterward to arise, had been con-
sidered beforehand, speculated upon, provided for 1
All which are exclusively the acts of a reasoning
mind. The eye formed in one state, for use only
in another state, and in a different state, affords a
proof no less clear of destination to a future pur-
pose ; and a proof proportionality stronger, as the
machinery is more complicated, and the adapta-
tion more exact.
IV. What has been said of the eye, holds
equally true of the lungs. Composed of air-vessels,
where there is no air ; elaborately constructed for
the alternate admission and expulsion of an elastic
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
435
fluid, where no such fluid exists ; this great organ,
with the whole apparatus belonging to it, lies col-
lapsed in the foetal thorax ; yet in order, and in
readiness for action, the first moment that the oc-
casion requires its service. This is having a ma-
chine locked up in store for future use ; which in-
contestably proves, that the case was expected to
occur, in which this use might be experienced :
but expectation is the proper act of intelligence.
Considering the state in which an animal exists
before its birth, I should look for nothing less in
its body than a system of lungs. It is like find-
ing a pair of bellows in the bottom of the sea ; of
no sort of use in the situation in which they are
found; formed for an action which was imjx>ssible
to be exerted ; holding no relation or fitness to the
element which surrounds them, but both to
another element in another place.
As part and parcel of the samo plan ought
to be mentioned, in speaking of the lungs, the
provisionary contrivances of the foramen orale
and ductus arteriosus. In the foetus, pipes are
laid for the passage of the blood through the
lungs; but until the lungs be inflated by me in-
spiration of air, that passage is impervious, or in
a great degree obstructed. What then is to be
done! What would an artist, what would a
master, do upon the occasion! He would en-
deavour, most probably, to provide a temporary
passage, which might carry on the communication
required, until the other was open. Now this is
the thing which is actually done in the heart:
Instead of the circuitous route through the lungs,
which the blood afterward takes, lvf..re it <j;et from
one auricle of the heart to the other : a portion of
the blood passes immediately from the right auricle
to the left, through a hole placed in the jwirtition,
which separates these cavities. This hole, anato-
mists call the foramen ovale. There is likewise
another cross cut, answering the same purpose,
by what is called the ductus arteriosus, lying
between the pulmonary artery and the aorta. But
both expedients are so strictly temporary, that,
after birth, the one passage is closed, and the tube
which forms the other shrivelled up into a liga-
ment. If this be not contrivance, what is 1
But, forasmuch as the action of the air upon
the blood in the lungs, appears to be necessary to
the perfect concoction of that fluid, i. e. to the life
and health of the animal, (otherwise the shortest
route might still be the best,) how comes it to pass
that the foetus lives, and grows, and thrives.
without it 1 The answer is, that the blood of the
fetus is the mother's ; that it has undergone that
action in her habit ; that one pair of lungs serves
for both. When the animals are separated, a
new necessity arises; and to meet this necessity as
aoon as it occurs, an organization is prepared. It
is ready for its purpose ; it only waits for the at-
mosphere ; it begins to play, the moment the air
is admitted to it.
CHAPTER XV.
Relations.
WHEN several different parts contribute to one
effect ; or, which is the same thing, when an ef-
fect is produced by the joint action of different in-
struments j the fitness of such parts or instruments
to one another, for the purpose of producing, by
their united action, the effect, is what I call rela-
tion ; and wherever this is observed in the works
of nature or of man, it appears to me to carry
along with it decisive evidence of understanding,
intention, art. In examining, for instance, the
several parts of a watch, the spring, the barrel,
the chain, the fusee, the balance, the wheels of
various sizes, forms, and positions, what is it
which would take an observer's attention, as most
plainly evincing a construction, directed by
thought, deliberation, and contrivance 1 It is the
suitableness of these parts to one another ; first, in
the succession and order in which they act ; and
secondly, with a view to the effect finally pro-
duced. Thus referring the spring to the wheels,
our observer sees in it, that which originates and
upholds their motion; in the chain that which
transmits the motion to the fusee; in the fusee,
that which communicates it to the wheels ; in the
conical figure of the fusee, if he refer to the spring,
he sees that which corrects the inequality of its
force. Referring the wheels to one another, he
notices, first, their teeth, which would have been,
without use or meaning, if there had been only
one wheel, or if the wheels had had no connexion
between themselves, or common bearing upon
some joint eilect ; secondly, the correspondency of
their position, so that the teeth of one wheel catch
into the teeth of another j thirdly, the proportion
observed in the number of teeth of each wheel,
which determines the rate of going. Referring
the balance to the rest of the works, he saw, when
he came to understand its action, that which ren-
dered their motions equable. Lastly, in looking
upon the index and liice of the watch, he saw the
use aad conclusion of the mechanism, viz. mark-
ing the succession of minutes and hours; but all
depending upon the motions within, all upon the
system of intermediate actions between the spring
and the. pointer. What thus struck his attention
in the several parts of the watch, he might proba-
bly designate by one general name of " relation ;"
and observing with respect to all cases whatever,
in which the origin and formation of a thing
could be ascertained by evidence, that these rela-
tions were found in things produced by art and
design, and in no other things, he would rightly
deem of them as characteristic of such productions.
To apply the reasoning here described to the
works of nature.
The animal economy is full, is made up, of
these relations:
I. There are, first, what, in one form or other
belong to all animals, the parts and powers which
successively act upon their food. Compare this
action with the process of a manufactory. In
men and quadrupeds, the aliment is, first, broken
and bruised by mechanical instruments of masti-
cation, viz. sharp spikes or hard knobs, pressing
against or rubbing upon one another ; thus ground
and comminuted, it is carried by a pipe into the
stomach, where it waits to undergo a great chy-
mical action, which we call digestion : when digefr.
ted, it is delivered through an orifice, which opens
and shuts as there is occasion, into the first intest-
ine : there, after being mixed with certain other
ingredients, poured through a hole in the side of
the vessel, it is farther dissolved : in this state, the
milk, chyle, or part which is wanted, and which is
suited for animal nourishment, is strained off by
the mouths "of very small tubes, opening into the
436
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
cavity of the intestines : thus freed from its grosser
parts, the percolated fluid is carried by a long,
winding, but traceable course, into the main stream
of the old circulation ; which conveys it in its
progress, to every part of the body. Now I s;iy
again, compare this with the process of a manu-
factory ; with the making of cider, for example ;
with the bruising of the apples in the mill, the
squeezing of them when so bruised in the press,
the fermentation in the vat, the bestowing of the
liquor thus fermented in the hogsheads, the draw-
ing off into bottles, the pouring out for use into
the glass. Let any one show me any difference
between these two cases, as to the point of contri-
vance. That which is at present under our con-
sideration, the "relation" of the parts successively
employed, is not more clear in the last case than
in the first. The aptness of the jaws and teeth
to prepare the food for the stomach, is, at least, as
manifest as that of the cider-mill to crush the
apples for the press. The concoction of the food
in the stomach is as necessary for its future use,
as the fermentation of the stum in the vat is to the
perfection of the liquor. The disposal of the ali-
ment afterward ; the action and ehar.ge which it
undergoes ; the route wVich it is made to take, in
order that, and until th **, it arrive at its destina-
tion, is more complex indeed and intricate, but in
the midst of complication and intricacy, as evident
and certain, as is the apparatus of cocks, pipes,
tunnels, for transferring the cider from one ve->rl
to another; of barrels and bottles for preserving it
till fit for use ; or of cups and glasses for bringing
it, when wanted, to the lip of the consumer. The
character of the machinery ia in both cases this ;
that one part answers to another part, and every
part to the final result.
This parallel between the a'-tmentary operation
and some of the processes of art, might be carried
farther into detail. Spallan^ni has remarked* a
circumstantial resemblance between the stomachs
of gallinaceous fowls and the structure of corn-
mills. Whilst the two sides of the gizzard per-
form the office of the mill-stones, the craw or crop '
supplies the place of the hopper.
When our fowls are abundantly supplied with
meat, they soon fill their craw : but it does not
immediately pass thence into the gizzard ; it al-
ways enters in very small quantities, in proportion
to the progress of trituration ; in like manner as,
in a mill, a receiver is fixed above the two large
stones which serve for grinding the corn ; which
receiver, although the corn be put into it by bush-
els, allows the grain to dribble only in small quan-
tities, into the central hole in the upper mill-
stone.
But we have not done with the alimentary his-
tory. There subsists a genera] relation between
the external organs of an animal by which it pro-
cures its food, and the internal powers by which
it digests it. Birds of prey, by their talons and
beaks, are qualified to seize and devour many spe-
cies, both of other birds, and of quadrupeds. The
constitution of the stomach agrees exactly with
the form of the members. The gastric juice of a
bird of prey, of an owl, a falcon, or a kite, acts
upon the animal fibre alone; it will not act upon
seeds or grasses at- all. On the other hand,
the conformation of the mouth of the sheep
or the ox is suited for browsing upon herbage.
*Dis.I. sect. liv.
Nothing about these animals is fitted for the
pursuit of living prey. Accordingly it has been
found by experiments, tried not many years ;nm,
with perforated balls, that the gastric juice oi'
ruminating animals, such as the sheep and the
ox, speedily dissolves vegetables, but makes no
impression upon animal bodies. This accordancy
is still more particular. The gastric juice, even
of granivorous birds, will not act upon the grain,
whilst whole and entire. In performing the ex-
periment of digestion with the gastric juice in
vessels, the grain must be crushed and bruised,
before it be submitted to the menstruum, that is
to say, must undergo by art without the body, the
preparatory action which the gizzard exerts upon
it within the body ; or no digestion will take place.
So strict, in this case, is the relation between the
offices assigned to the digestive organ, between
the mechanical operation and the chymical pro-
cess.
II. The relation of the kidneys to the bladder,
and of the ureters to both, i c. of the secreting
Organ to the vessel receiving the secreted liquor,
and the pipe laid from one to the other for the
purpose of conveying it from one to the other, is
as manifest as it is amongst the different vessels
employed in a distillery, or in the communications
between them. The animal structure, in this
case, being simple, and the parts easily separated,
it forms an instance of correlation which may be
presented by dissection to every eye, or which, in-
deed, without dissection-, is capable of being appre-
hended by every understanding. This correlation
of instruments to one another fixes intention
somewhere.
Especially when every other solution is nega-
tived by the conformation. If the bladder had
been merely an expansion of the ureter, produced
by retention of the fluid, there ought to have l>een
a bladder for each ureter. One receptacle, fed by
two pipes, issuing from different sides of the body,
yet from both conveying the same fluid, is not to
be accounted for by any such supposition as this.
III. Relation of parts to one another accompa-
nies us throughout the whole animal economy.
Can any relation be more simple, yet more con-
vincing than this, that the eyes are so placed as
to look in the direction in which the legs move
and the hands work 1 It might have happened
very differently if it had been left to chnm-e.
There were, at least, three quarters of the com-
pass out of four to have erred in. Any consider-
able alteration in the position of the eye, or the
figure of the joints, would have disturlxnl the line,
and destroyed the alliance between the sense and
the limbs.
IV. But relation perhaps is never so striking
as when it subsists, not between different parts of
the same thing, but between different things.
The relation between a lock and a key is morn
obvious, than it is between different parts of the
lock. A bow was designed for an arrow, and an
arrow for a bow : and tne design is more evident
for their being separate implements.
Nor do the works of the Deity want this clear-
est species of relation. The sexes are manifestly
made for each other. They form the grand rela-
tion of animated nature ; universal, organic, me-
chanical : subsisting like the clearest relations of
art, in different individuals ; unequivocal, inexpli-
cable without design.
So much so, that, were every other proof of
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
437
contrivance in nature dubious or obscure, this
alone would be sufficient. The example is com-
plete. Nothing is wanting to the argument. '
see no way whatever of getting over it.
V. The teats of animals which give suck, bear a
relation to the mouth of the sucklino- progeny
particularly to the lips and tongue. Here also, as
before, is a correspondency of parts ; which parts
subsist in different individuals.
THESE are general relation?, or the relations of
parts which are found, either in all animals, or in
large classes and descriptions of animals. Parti-
cular relations, or the relations which subsist be-
tween the particular configuration of one or more
parts of certain species of animals, and the parti-
cular configuration of one or more other parts of
the same animal, (which is the sort of relation
that is, perhaps, most striking,) are such as the
following :
I. In the swan ; the web- foot, the spoon-bill,
the long neck, the thick down, the graminivorous
stomach, bear all a relation to one another, inas-
much as they all concur in one design, that of
supplying the occasions of an aquatic fowl, float-
ing ujxHi the surface of shallow pools of water,
and seeking its food at the bottom. Begin with
any one of these particularities of structure, and ob-
serve how the rest follow it. The wclvfoot quali-
fies the bird for swimming; the spoon-bill enables
it to graze. But how is an animal, floating upon
the surface of pools of water, to graze at the bot-
tom, except by the mediation of a long neck 7 A
long neck accordingly is given to it. Again, a
warm-blooded animal, which was to pass its liti-
upon water, required a defence against the cold-
ness of that element. Such a defence is furnished
to the swan, in the muff in which its body is
wrapped. But all this outward apparatus would
have been in vain, if the intestinal system had not
been suited to the digestion of vegetable sub-
stances. I say, suited to the digestion of vegeta-
ble substances : for it is well known, that mere
are two intestinal systems found in birds: one
with a membranous stomach and a gastric juice,
capable of dissolving animal substances alone : the
other with a crop and gizzard, calculated for the
moistening, bruising, and afterward digesting, of
vegetable aliment.
Or set off with any other distinctive part in the
body of the swan ; for instance, with a long neck.
The long neck, without the web-foot, would have
been an mcumbrance to the bird ; yet there is no
necessary connexion between a long neck and a
web-foot. In fact, they do not usually go toge-
ther. How happens it, therefore, that they meet,
only when a particular design demands the aid
of both.
II. This natural relation, arising from a sub-
serviency to a common purpose, is very observable
also in the parts of a mole. The strong short legs
of that animal, the palmated feet armed with sharp
nails, the pig-like nose, the teeth, the velvet coat,
the small external ear, the sagacious smell, the
sunk, protected eye, all conduce to the utilities or
to the safety of its under-ground life. It is a spe-
cial purpose, especially consulted throughout. The
form of the feet fixes the character of the animal
They are so many shovels ; they determine its ac-
tion to that of rooting in the ground ; and every
thing about its body agrees with its destination.
The cylindrical figure of the mole, as well as tne
compactness of its iorm, arising from the terseness
of its limbs, proportionably lessens its labour ; be-
cause, according to its bulk, it thereby requires
the least possible quantity of earth to be removed
for its progress. It has nearly the same structure
of the face and jaws as a swine, and the same of-
fice for them. The nose is sharp, slender, tendi-
nous, strong; with a pair of nerves going down
to the end of it. The plush covering, which, by
the smoothness, closeness, and polish, of the short
piles that compose it, rejects the adhesion of almost
every species of earth, defends the animal from
cold 'and wet, and from the impediment which it
would experience by the mould sticking to its
body. From soils of all kinds the little pioneer
comes forth bright and clean. Inhabiting ditt, it
is, of all animals, the neatest.
But what I have always most admired in the
mole is its eyes. This animal occasionally visiting
the surface, and wanting, for its safety and direc-
tion, to be informed when it does so, or when it
approaches it, a perception of light was necessary.
I cfo not know that the clearness of sight depends
at all upon the size of the organ. What is gained
eve. i< width in the field of vision. Such a capa-
city would Ix; of no use* to an animal which waa
to seek its food in the 'dark. The mole did not
want to look about it ; nor would a large ad-
vanced eye have been easily defended from the
annoyance to which the life of the animal must
constantly expose it. How indeed was the mole,
working its way under ground, to guard its eyes
at all 1 In order to meet this difficulty, the eyes
are made scarcely larger than the heaif of a cork-
ing pin ; and these minute globules are sunk so
deeply in the skull, and lie so sheltered within
the velvet of its covering, as that any contraction
of what may be called the eye-brows, not only
closes up the ajjertures which lead to the eves, but
presents a cushion, as it were, to any sharp or
protruding substance which might push against
them. This aperture, even in its ordinary state,
is like a pin-hole in a piece of velvet, scarcely per-
vious to loose particles of earth.
Observe then, in this structure, that which we
call relation. There is no natural connexion be-
tween a small sunk eye and a shovel palmated
foot. Palmated feet might have been joined with
goggle eyes ; or small eyes might have been joined
with feet of any other form. What was it there-
fore which brought them together in the mole 1
That which brought together the barrel, the
chain, and the fusee, in a watch ; design : and
design, in both cases, inferred, from the relation
which the parts bear to one another in the prose-
cution of a common purpose. As hath already
been observed, there are different ways of stating
:he relation, according as we set out from a dif-
ferent part. In the instance before us, we may
either consider the shape of the feet, as qualifying
the animal for that mode of life and inhabitation
to which the structure of its eyes confines it ; or
we may consider the structure of the eye, as the
only one which would have suited with the action
to which the feet are adapted. The relation is
manifest, whichever of the parts related we place
first in the order of our consideration. In a word ;
the feet of the mole are made for digging ; the
neck, nose, eyes, ears, and skin, are peculiarly
37*
438
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
adapted to an under-ground life ; and this is what
I call relation.
CHAPTER XVI.
Compensation.
COMPENSATION is a species of relation. It is
relation when the defects of one part, or of one
organ are supplied by the structure of another
part or of another organ. Thus,
I. The short unbending neck of the elephant,
is compensated by the length and flexibility of his
proboscis. He could not have reached the ground
without it; or, if it be supposed that he might
have fed upon the fruit, leaves, or branches of
trees, how was he to drink ? Should it be asked,
Why is the elephant's neck so short 1 it may be
answered, that the weight of a head so heavy
could not have been supported at the end of a
longer lever. To a form, therefore, in some re-
epects necessary, but in some respects also inade-
quate to the occasion of the animal, a supplement
is added, which exactly makes up the deficiency
under which he laboured.
If it be suggested that this proboscis may have
been produced, in a long course of generations,
by the constant endeavour of the elephant to
thrust out his nose, (which is the general hypo-
thesis by which it has lately been attempted to
account for the forms of animated nature,) I
would ask, How was the animal to subsist in the
mean time ; during the process ; until this pro-
longation of snout were completed 1 What was
to become of the individual, whilst the species was
perfecting 1
Our business at present is simply to point out
the relation which this organ bears to the peculiar
figure of the animal to which it belongs. And
herein all things correspond. The necessity of
the elephant's proboscis arises from the shortness
of his neck ; the shortness of the neck is rendered
necessary by the weight of the head. Were we
to enter into an examination of the structure and
anatomy of the proboscis itself, we should see
in it one of the most curious of all examples of
animal mechanism. The disposition of the ring-
lets and fibres, for the purpose, first, of forming a
long cartilaginous pipe : secondly, of contracting
ana lengthening that pipe : thirdly, of turning it
in every direction at the will of the animal : with
the superaddition at the end, of a fleshy produc-
tion, of about the length and thickness of a finger,
and performing the office of a finger, so as to pick
up a straw from the ground : these properties of
the same organ, taken together, exhibit a speci-
men, not only of design (which is attested by the
advantage) but of consummate art, and, as I may
say, of elaborate preparation, in accomplishing
that design.
II. The hook in the wing of a bat is strictly a
mechanical, and also a compensating 1 contrivance.
At the angle of its wing there is a bent claw,
exactly in the form of a hook, by which the bat
attaches itself to the sides of rocks, caves, and
buildings, laying hold of crevices, joinings, chinks,
and roughnesses. It hooks itself by this claw ;
remains suspended by this hold : takes its flight
from this position : which operations compensate
for the decrepitude of its legs and feet. Without
her hook, the bat would be the most helpless of
all animals. She can neither run upon her feet,
nor raise herself from the ground. These inabili-
ties are made up to her by the contrivance in her
wing : and in placing a claw on that part, the
Creator has deviated from the analogy observed
in winged animals. A singular defect required a
singular substitute.
III. The crane kind are to live and seek then-
food amongst the waters; yet, having no web-
feet, are incapable of swimming. To make up
for this deficiency, they are furnished with long
legs for wading, or long bills for groping; or
usually with both. This is compensation. But
I think the true reflection upon the present in-
stance is, how every part of nature is tenanted
by appropriate inhabitants. Not only is the sur-
face of deep waters peopled by numerous tribes
of birds that swim, but marshes and shallow-
pools are furnished with hardly less numerous
tribes of birds that wade.
IV. The common parrot has, in the structure
of its beak, both an inconveniency, and a compen-
sation for it. When I speak of an inconveniency,
I have a view to a dilemma which frequently
occurs in the works of nature, viz. that the pecu-
liarity of structure by which an organ is made to
answer one purpose, necessarily unfits it for some
other purpose. This is the case before us. The
upper bill of the parrot is so much hooked, and so
much overlaps the lower, that if, as in other birds
the lower chap alone had motion, the bird could
scarcely gape wide enough to receive its food:
yet this hook and overlapping of the bill could
not be spared, for it forms the very instrument by
which the bird climbs ; to say nothing of the use
which it makes of it in breaking nuts and the
bard substances upon which it feeds. How,
therefore, has nature provided for the opening of
this occluded mouth 1 by making the upper chap
moveable, as well as the lower. In most birds,
the upper chap is connected, and makes but one
piece, with the skull ; but in the parrot, the upper
:hap is joined to the bone of the head by a strong
membrane placed on each side of it, which lifts
and depresses it at pleasure.*
V. The spider's web is a compensating con-
trivance. The spider lives upon flies, without
wings to pursue them ; a case, one would have
thought of great difficulty, yet provided for, and
provided for by a resource which no stratagem,
no effort of the animal could have produced, had
not both its external and internal structure been
specifically adapted to the operation.
VI. In many species of insects, the eye is fixed ;
and consequently without the power of turning
the pupil to the object. This great defect is,
however, perfectly compensated ; and by a me-
chanism which we should not suspect. The eye
is a multiplying-glass, with a lens looking in
every direction and catching every object. By
which means, although the orb of the eye be sta-
tionary, the field of vision is as ample as that of
other animals, and is commanded on every side.
When this lattice-work was first observed, the
multiplicity and minuteness of the surfaces must
have added to the surprise of the discovery.
Adams tells us, that fourteen hundred of these
reticulations have been counted in the two eyes of
a drone-bee.
* Goldsmith's Natural History, vol. v. p. 274.
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
439
In other cases the compensation is effected by
the number and position of the eyes themselves.
The spider has eight eyes, mounted upon differ-
ent parts of the head ; two in front, two in the
top of the head ; two on each side. These eyes
are without motion ; but by their situation, suited
to comprehend every view which the wants or
safety of the animal rendered it necessary for it to
take.
VII. The Memoirs for the Natural History
of Animals, published by the French Academy,
A. D. 1687, furnish us with some curious par-
ticulars in the eye cf a chameleon. Instead of two
eyelidsj it is covered by an eyelid with a hole in
it. This singular structure appears to be com-
pensatory, and to answer to some other singulari-
ties in the shape of the animal. The neck of the
chameleon is inflexible. To make up for this,
the eye is so prominent, as that more than half of
the ball stands out of the head ; by means of which
extraordinary projection, the pupil of the eye can
be carried by the muscles in every direction, and
is capable of being pointed towards every object.
But then, so unusual an exposure of the globe
of the eye requires, for its lubricity and de-
fence, a more than ordinary protection of eye-
lid, as well as a more than ordinary supply of
moisture ; yet the motion of an eyelid, formed ac-
cordiug to the common construction, would be im-
peded, "as it should seem, by the convexity of the
organ. The aperture in the lid meets this diffi-
culty. It enables the animal to keep the principal
part of the surface of the eye under cover, and to
preserve it in a due state of humidity without
shutting out the light : or without performing
every moment a nictitation, which, it is probable".
Would be more laborious to this animal than to
others.
VIII. In another animal, and in another part
of the animal economy, the same Memoirs descril>e
a most remarkable substitution. The reader will
remember what we have already observed con-
cerning the intestinal canal; that its length, so
many times exceeding that of the body, promotes
the extraction of the chyle from the aliment, by
giving room for the lacteal vessels to act upon it
through a greater space. This long intestine,
wherever it occurs, is, in other animals, disposed
in the abdomen from side to side in returning
folds. But, in the animal now under our notice,
the matter is managed otherwise. The same in-
tention is mechanically effectuated ; but by a me-
chanism of a different kind. The animal of which
I speak, is an amphibious quadruped, which our
authors call the alo{>ccias, or sea-fox. The intes-
tine is straight from one end to the other : but in
this straight, and consequently short intestine, is
a winding, corkscrew, spiral passage, through
which the food, not without several circumvolu-
tions, and in feet by a long route, is conducted to
its exit. Here the shortness of the gut is compen-
sated by the obliquity of the perforation.
IX. But the works of the Deity are known by
expedients. Where we should look for absolute
destitution; where we can reckon but wants;
some contrivance always comes in, to supply the
privation. A snail, without wings, feet, or thread,
climbs up the stalks of plants, by the sole aid of a
viscid humour discharged from her skin. She
adheres to the stems, leaves, and fruits, of plants,
by means of a sticking plaster. A muscle, which
might seem, by its helplessness to Ue at the mer-
cy of every wave that went over it, has the singu-
lar power of spinning strong, tendinous threads,
by which she moors her shell to rocks and timbers.
A cockle, on the contrary, by means of its stiff
tongue, works for itself a shelter in the sand.
The provisions of nature extend to cases the most
desperate.
A lobster has in its constitution a difficulty so
great, that one could hardly conjecture beforehand
how nature would dispose of it. In most animals,
the skin grows with their growth. If, instead of
a soft skin, there be a shell, still it admits of a
gradual enlargement. If the shell, as in the tor-
toise, consist of several pieces, the accession of
substance is made at the sutures. Bivalve shells
grow bigger by receiving an accretion at their edge;
it is the same with spiral shells at their mouth.
The simplicity of their form admits of this. But
the lobster's shell being applied to the limbs of the
body, as well as to the body itself, allows not of
either of the modes of growth which are observed
to take place in other shells. Its hardness resists
expansion : and its complexity renders it incapa-
ble of increasing its size by addition of substance
to its edge. HOW then was the growth of the
lobster to be provided forl Was room to be made
for it in the old shell, or was it to be successively
lilted with new ones'? If a change of shell be-
came necessary, how was the lobster to extricate
himself from his present confinement 1 how was
he to uncase his buckler, or draw his legs out of
his boots'? The process which fishermen have
I to take place is as follows: At certain
seasons, the shell of the lobster grows soft; the
animal swells its body ; the seams open, and the
claws burst at the joints. When the shell has
thus become loose upon the body, the animal
makes a second effort, and by a tremulous, spas-
modic motion, casts it off. In this state, the liber-
ated but defenceless fish retires into holes in the
rock. The released body now suddenly pushes
its growth. In about eight-and-forty hours, a
fresh concretion of humour, upon the surface, i. e.
a new shell, is formed, adapted in every part to
the increased dimensions of the animal. This
wonderful mutation is repeated every year.
If there be imputed defects without compensa-
tion, I should suspect that they were defects only
in appearance. Thus, the body of the sloth has
often been reproached for the slowness of its mo-
tions, which has been attributed to an imperfec-
tion in the formation of its limbs. But it ought
to be observed, that it is this slowness which alone
suspends (he voracity of the animal. He fasts
during his migration from one tree to another:
and this fast may be necessary for the relief of his
overcharged vessels, as well as to allow time for
the concoction of the mass of coarse and hard
food which he has taken into his stomach. The
tardiness of his pace seems to have reference to
the capacity of his organs, and to his propensities
with respect to food ; t. e. is calculated to counter-
act the effects of repletion.
Or there may be cases, in which a defect is arti-
ficial, and compensated by the very cause which
produces it. Thus the sheep, in the domesticated
state in which we see it, is destitute of the ordinary
means of defence or escape ; is incapable either of
resistance or flight. But this is not so with the
wild animal. The natural sheep is swift and ac-
tive ; and, if it lose these qualities when it comes
under the subjection of man, the loss is compeu-
440
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
sated by his protection. Perhaps there is no spe-
cies of quadruped whatever, which suffers so little
as this does, from the depredation of animals of
prey.
For the sake of making our meaning better un-
derstood, we have considered this business of com-
pensation under certain particularities of constitu-
tion, in which it appears to be most conspicuous.
This view of the subject necessarily limits the
instances to single species of animals. But there
are compensations, perhaps not less certain, which
extend over large classes, and to large portions of
living nature.
I. In quadrupeds, the deficiency of teeth is usu-
ally compensated by the faculty of rumination.
The sheep, deer, and ox tribe, are without fore-
teeth in the upper jaw. These ruminate. The
horse and ass are furnished with teeth in the
upper jaw, and do not ruminate. In the former
class, the grass and hay descend into the stomach,
nearly in the state in which they are cropped
from the pasture, or gathered from the bundle. In
the stomach, they are softened by the gastric juice,
which in these animals is unusually copious.
Thus softened and rendered tender, they are re-
turned a second time to the action of the mouth,
where the grinding teeth complete at their leisure
the trituration which is necessary, but which was
before left imperfect. I say, the trituration which
is necessary ; for it appears from experiments, that
the gastric fluid of sheep, for example, has no
effect in digesting plants, unless they have been
previously masticated; that it only produces a
slight maceration ; nearly as common water would
do in a like degree of heat ; but that when once
vegetables are reduced to pieces by mastication,
the fluid then exerts upon them its specific opera-
tion. Its first effect is to soften them, and to de-
stroy their natural consistency ; it then goes on to
dissolve them ; not sparing even the toughest parts,
such as the nerves of the leaves.*
I think it very probable, that the gratification
also of the animal is renewed and prolonged by
this faculty. Sheep, deer, and oxen, appear to be
in a state of enjoyment whilst they aro chewing
the cud. It is then, perhaps, that they best relish
their food.
II. In birds, -the compensation is still more
striking. They have no teeth at all. What have
they then to make up for this severe want 1 I
speak of granivorous and herbivorous birds ; such
as common fowls, turkeys, ducks, geese, pigeons,
&c. ; for it is concerning these alone that the
question need be asked. All these are furnished
with a peculiar and most powerful muscle, called
the gizzard; the inner coat of which is fitted up
with rough plaits, which, by a strong friction
against one another, break and grind the hard
aliment as effectually, and by the "same mechani-
cal action, as a coffee-mill would do. It has been
proved by the most correct experiments, that the
gastric juice of these birds will not operate upon
the entire grain; not even when softened by
water or macerated in the crop. Therefore
without a grinding machine within its body,
without the trituration of the gizzard, a chicken
would have starved upon a heap of corn. Yet
why should a bill and a gizzard go together'?
Why should a gizzard never be found where there
are teeth.
* Spall. Dis. iii. sect. cxl.
Nor does the gizzard belong to birds as such.
A gizzard is not found in birds of prey. Their
food requires not to be ground down in a mill.
The compensatory contrivance goes no farther
than the necessity. In both classes of bird,
however, the digestive organ within the body
bears a strict and mechanical relation to the exter-
nal instruments for procuring food. The soft
membranous stomach accompanies a hooked,
notched beak; short, muscular legs ; strong, sharp,
crooked talons : the cartilaginous stomach attends
that conformation of bill and toes, which restrains
the bird to the picking of seeds, or the cropping of
plants.
III. But to proceed with our compensations.
A very numerous and comprehensive tribe of ter-
restrial animals are entirely without feet ; yet lo-
comotive ; and in a very considerable degree swift
in their motion. How is the want of feet com-
pensated 1 It is done by the disposition of the
muscles and fibres of the trunk. In consequence
of the just collocation, and by means of the joint
action of longitudinal and annular fibres, that is
to say, of strings and rings, the body and train of
reptiles are capable of being reciprocally shortened
and lengthened, drawn up and stretched out.
The result of this action is a progressive, and, in
some cases, a rapid movement of the whole body,
in any direction to which the will of the animal
determines it. The meanest creature is a collec-
tion of wonders. The play of the rings in an
earth-icorm, as it crawls ; the undulatory motion
propagated along the body ; the beards or prickles
with which the annuli are armed, and which the
animal can either shut up close to its body, or let
out to lay hold of the roughness of the surface
upon which it creeps ; and the power arising from
all these, of changing its place and position, afford,
when compared with the provisions for motion in
other animals, proofs of new and appropriate
mechanism. Suppose that we had never seen an
animal move upon the ground without feet, and
that the problem was, muscular action, i. e. re-
ciprocal contraction and relaxation being given,
to describe how such an animal might be con-
structed, capable of voluntarily changing place.
Something, perhaps, like the organization of rep-
tiles might have been hit upon by the ingenuity
of an artist; or might have been exhibited in an
automaton, by the combination of springs, spiral
wires, and ringlets : but to the solution of the
problem would not be denied, surely, the praise of
invention and of successful thought : least of all
could it ever be questioned, whether intelligence
had been employed about it, or not.
CHAPTER XVII.
The Relation of animated Bodies to inanimate
Nature.
WE have already considered relation, and un-
der different views ; but it was the relation of
parts to parts, of the parts of an animal to other
parts of the same animal, or of another individual
of the same species. -,
But the bodies of animals hold, in their consti-
tution and properties, a close and important rela-
tion to natures altogether external to their own ;
to inanimate substances, and to the specific quali-
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
441
ties of those ; e. g. they hold a strict rcl-ation to
the KI.KMKNTS by which they arc surrounded.
I. Can it ho doubted, whether the wings of
birds bear a relation to air, and the/ns of fisli. to
Water 1 They are instruments of motion, seve-
rally suited to the properties of the medium in
which the motion is to be performed : which pro-
perties are different. Was not this difference con-
templated, when the instruments wore dilleruitly
constituted ]
II. The structure of the animal car depends
for its use, not simply UJKJII being surrounded by
a fluid, but upon the specific nature of that fluid.
Every fluid would not serve: its particles mu-'t re-
pel one another; it must form an elastic medium:
for it is by the successive pulses of wi'-h. a medium.
that the undulations excited by the surrounding
body are carried to the or^an : that a rommunir>-
tion is formed between the object and tin
which must bo done, before the internal machi-
nery of the ear, subtile as it is, can act at all.
III. The orirdii* of voice, and respiration, are
no less than the ear, indebted, for the sn
their operation, to the peculiar qualities of the
fluid in which the animal is immersed. They,
therefore, as well as the ear, are constituted upon
the supposition of such a fluid, /. r. of a fluid with
such particular properties, Iwing always present.
Change the properties of the fluid, and th-
cannot act ; change the organ and the properties
of the fluid would be lost. The structure there-
fore of our organs, and the properties of our atmos-
phere, an- made for one another, \ordoes it alter
the relation, whether you alli.ro the organ to be
made for the element (which seems t!:-
natural way of considering it,) or the element as
prepared for thr, organ.
IV. But there is another fluid with which we
have to do; with properties of its own; with laws
of acting, and of being acted upon, totally different
from those of air and water: and that is light.
To this new, this singular element ; to qualities
perfectly peculiar, perfectly distinct and remote
from the qualities of any other substance with
which we are acquainted, an organ is adapted, an
instrument is correctly adjusted, not less j>eeuliar
amongst the parts of the body, not. less singular
in its form, and in the substance of which it is
composed, not less remote from the materials, the
model, and the analogy, of any other part of the
animal frame, than the element to which it. re-
lates, is specific amidst the substances with which
we converse. If this does not prove appropriation,
I desire to know what would prove it.
Yet the element of light and the organ of vision,
however related in their office and use, have no
connexion whatever in their original. The
action of rays of light upon the surfaces of animals,
has no tendency to breed eyes in their heads. The
sun might shine for ever upon living bodies, with-
out the smallest approach towards producing the
sense of sight. On the other hand also, the
animal eye does not generate or emit light.
V. Throughout the universe there is a wonder- j
ful proportioning of one thing to another. The
size of animals, of the human animal especially.
when considered with respect to other animals, or
to the plants which grow around him, is such as
a regard to his conveniency would have pointed
out. A giant or a pigmy could not have milked
goats, reaped corn, or mowed grass ; we may add,
could not nave rode a horse, trained a vine, shorn
3K
a sheep, with the same bodily ease as we do, if at
all. A pigmy would have" been lost amongst
rushes, or carried off' by birds of pfe'y.
It may be mentioned likewise, that the model
and the materials of the human body being what
they are, a much greater bulk would have broken
down by its own weight. The persons of men
who much exceed the ordinary stature, betray
this tendency.
VI. Again, (and which includes a vast variety
of particulars, and those of the greatest import-
ance ;) how close is the suitableness of the earth
and sea to their several inhabitants; andofthesein-
habitants, to the places of their appointed residence !
Take the earth as it is ; and consider the cor-
respondency of the powers of its inhabitants with
the properties and condition of the soil which they
tread. Take the inhabitants as they are: and
consider the substances which the eart'h yields for
their use. They can scratch its surface; and its
surface supplies* all which they want. This is
the length of lh ir faculties: and such is the con-
stitution of the globe, and their own, that this is
sufficient for all their occasions.
When we pass from the earth to the sea, frdrn
land to w-iter. we pass through a great change;
but an adequate change accompanies us, of ani-
mal forms and functions, of animal capacities and
wants; so that correspondency remains. The
earth in its nature is very different from the sea,
and the sea from the eart'h: but one accords with
its inhabitants as exactly as the. other.
VII. The last relation of this kind which I
shall mention, is that of sleep to night ; and it ap-
pears to me to be a relation which was expresfcly
intended. Two points ate manifest: first, that
the animal frame require* sleep; secondly, that
night brings with it a silence, and a cessation of
activity, which allows of sleep being taken with-
out interruption, and without loss. Animal ex-
istence is made up of action and slumber; nature
has provided a season for each. An animal which
stood not in noed of rest, would always live in
day-light. An animal, which, though made fi.r
action, and delighting in action, must have its
strength re paired" by sleep, meets, by its constitu-
tion, the returns of day and night. In the human
species, for instance, were the bustle, the labour,
the motion of life, upheld by the constant presence
of liiiht. sleep could not be enjoyed without being
disturbed by n0ise, and without expense of that
time which the eagerness of private interest would
not contentedly resign. It is happy therefore for
this part of the creation; I mean that it is con-
formable to the frame and wants of their constitu-
tion, that nature, by the very disposition of her
elements, iias commanded, as it were, and im-
posed upon them, at moderate intervals, a general
intermission of their toils, their occupations, and
pursuits.
But it is not for man, either solely-or principal-
ly, that night is made. Inferior, but less perverted
natures, taste 'its solace, and expect its return,
with greater exactness and advantage than he
does. I have often observed, and never obserud
but to admire, the satisfaction, no less than the
regularity, with which the greatest part of the ir-
rational world yield to this soft necessity, this
grateful vicissitude; how comfortably the birds
of the air for example address themselves to the
repose of the evening ; with what alertness they
resume the activity of the day !
442
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
Nor does it disturb our argument to confess,
that certain species of animals are in motion
during the night, and at rest in the day. With
respect even to them, it is still true, that there is a
change of condition in the animal, and an exter-
nal change corresponding with it. There is still
the relation, though inverted. The fact is, that
the repose of other animals sets these at liberty,
and invites them to their food or their sport.
If the relation of sleep to night, and in some
instances, its converse, be real, we cannot reflect
without amazement upon the extent to which it
carries us. Day and night are things close to us ;
the change applies immediately to our sensations ;
of all the phenomena of nature, it is the most ob-
vious and the most familiar to our experience: but,
in its cause, it belongs to the great motions which
are passing in the heavens. Whilst the earth
glides round her axle, she ministers to the alter-
nate necessities of the animals dwelling upon her
surface, at the same time that she obeys the influ-
ence of those attractions which regulate the order
of many thousand worlds. The relation, there-
fore, of sleep to night, is the relation of the inha-
bitants of the earth to the rotation of their globe ;
probably it is more ; it is a relation to the system,
of which that globe is a part ; and, still farther, to
the congregation of systems, of which theirs is
only one. If this account be true, it connects the
meanest individual with the universe itself; a
chicken roosting upon its perch, with the spheres
revolving in the firmament.
VIII. But if any one object to our representa-
tion, that the succession of day and night, or the
rotation of the earth upon which it depends, is
not resolvable into central attraction, we will refer
him to that which certainly is, to the change of
the seasons. Now the constitution of animals
susceptible of torpor, bears a relation to winter,
similar to that which sleep bears to night. Against
not only the cold, but the want of food, which the
approach of winter induces, the Preserver of the
world has provided in many animals by migration,
in many others by torpor. As one example out
of a thousand ; the bat, if it did not sleep through
the winter, must have starved, as the moths and
flying insects upon which it feeds disappear. But
the transition from summer to winter carries us
into the very midst of physical astronomy ; that is
to say, into the midst of those laws which govern
the solar system at least, and probably all the
heavenly bodies.
CHAPTER XVIII.
Instincts.
THE order may not be very obvious, by which
I place instincts next to relation. But I consider
them as a species of relations. They contribute,
along with the animal organization, to a joint ef-
fect, m which view they are related to that organ-
ization. In many cases, they refer from one ani-
mal to another animal ; arid, when this is the case,
become strictly relations in a second point of view.
An INSTINCT is a propensity prior to experi-
ence, and independent of instruction. We con-
tend, that it is by instinct that the sexes of ani-
mals seek each other ; that animals cherish their
offspring j that the young quadruped is directed
to the teat of its dam; that birds build their nest*,
and brood with so much patience upon their eggs ;
that insects which do not sit upon their eggs, de-
posit them in those particular situations, in which
the young, when hatched, find their appropriate
food ; that it is instinct which carries the salmon,
and some other fish, out of the sea into rivers, for
the purpose of shedding their spawn in fresh
w,ater.
We may select out of this catalogue the incu-
bation of eggs. I entertain no doubt, but that a
couple of sparrows hatched in an oven, and kept
separate from the rest of their species, would pro-
ceed as other sparrows do, in every office which
related to the production and preservation of their
brood. Assuming this fact, the thing is inexpli-
cable upon any other hypothesis than that of an
instinct, impressed upon the constitution of the
animal. For, first, what should induce the female
bird to prepare a nest before she lays her eggs 1
It is in vain to suppose her to be possessed of the
faculty of reasoning : for, no reasoning will reach
the case. The fulness or distension which she
might feel in a particular part of her body, from
the growth and solidity of the egg within her,
could not possibly inform her, that she was about
to produce something, which, when produced, was
to be preserved and taken care of. Prior to expe-
rience, there was nothing to lead to this infer-
ence, or to this suspicion. The analogy was all
against it : for in every other instance, what issued
from the body was cast out and rejected.
But, secondly, let us suppose the egg to be pro-
duced into day; how should birds know that their
eggs contain their young 7 There is nothing,
either in the aspect or in the internal composition
of an egg, which could lead even the most daring
imagination to conjecture, that it was hereafter to
turn out from under its shell, a living, perfect
bird. The form of the egg bears not the rudiments
of a resemblance to that of the bird. Inspecting
its contents, we find still less reason, if possible,
to look for the result which actually takes place.
If we should go so far, as, from the appearance of
order and distinction in the disposition of the liquid
substances which we noticed in the egg, to guess
that it might be designed for the abode and nutri-
ment of an animal, (which would be a very bold
hypothesis,) we should expect a tadpole dabbling
in the slime, much rather than a dry, winged,
feathered creature ; a compound of parts-and pro-
perties impossible to be used jn a state of confine-
ment in the egg, and bearing no conceivable rela-
tion, either in quality or material, to any thing
observed in it. From the white of an egg, would
any one look for the feather of a goldfinch 1 or
expect from a simple uniform mucilage, the most
complicated of all machines ; the most diversified
of all collections of substances ? Nor would the.
process of incubation, for some time at least, lead
us to suspect the event. Who that saw red streaks,
shooting in the fine membrane which divides the
white from the yolk, would suppose that these
were about to become bones and limbs 1 Who,
that espied two discoloured points first making
their appearance in the cicatrix, would have had
the courage to predict, that these points were to
grow into the heart and head of a bird 1 It is dif-
ficult to strip the mind of its experience. It is
difficult to resuscitate surprise, wnen familiarity
has once laid the sentiment asleep. But could
we forget all we know, and which our sparrows
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
413
never knew, about oviparous generation; could
we divest ourselves of every information, but what
we derived from reasoning upon the appearances
or quality discovered in the objects presented to
us ; I am convinced thatHarlequin coming out of
an egg upon the stage, is not more astonishing to
a child, than the hatching of a chicken both would
be, and ought to be, to a philosopher.
But admit the sparrow by some means to know,
that within that egg was concealed the principle of
a future bird : from what chymist was she to learn,
that warmth was necessary to bring it to maturity,
or that the degree of warmth, imparted by the
temperature of her own body, was the degree re-
quired 7
To suppose, therefore, that the female bird acts
in this process from a sagacity and reason of her
own, is to suppose her to arrive at conclusions
which there are no premises to justify. If our
sparrow, sitting upon her eggs, expect young
sparrows to come out of them, she forms, I will
venture to say, a wild and extravagant expecta-
tion, in opposition to present appearances, and to
probability. She must have penetrated into the
order of nature, farther than any faculties of ours
will carry us: and it hath been well observed, that
this deep sagacity, if it be sagacity, subsi-ts in
conjunction with great stupidity, even in relation
to the same subject. " A chymical operation,"
says Addison, "could not be followed with greater
art or diligence, than is seen in hatching a chicken :
yet is the process carried on without the least glim-
mering of thought or common sense. The hen
will mistake a pure of chalk for an egg; is insen-
sible of the increase or diminution of their number ;
does not distinguish between her own and those
of another species ; is frightened when her sup-
posititious breed of ducklings take the water."
But it will be said, that what reason could not
do for the bird, observation, or instruction, or tra-
dition, might. Now if it be true, that a couple of
sparrows, brought up from the first in a state of
separation from all other birds, would build their
nest, and brood upon their eggs, then there is an
end to this solution. What can be the tradition-
ary knowledge of a chicken hatched in an
oven 1
Of young birds taken in their nests, a few. spe-
cies breed, when kept in cages ; and they which
do so, build their nests nearly in the same manner
as in the wild state, and sit upon their eggs. This
is sufficient to prove an instinct, without having
recourse to experiments upon birds hatched by
artificial heat, and deprived, from their birth, of
all communication with their species : for we can
hardly bring ourselves to believe, that the parent
bird informed her unfledged pupil of the history
of her gestation, her timely preparation of a nest,
her exclusion of the eggs, her long incubation, and
of the joyful eruption at last of her expected off-
spring ; all which the bird in the cage must have
learnt in her infancy, if we resolve her conduct
into institution.
Unless we will rather suppose, that she remem-
bers her own escape from the egg ; had attentively
observed the conformation of the nest in which
she was nurtured ; and had treasured up her re-
marks for future imitation: which is not only ex-
tremely improbable, (for who, that sees a brood of
callow birds in their nest, can believe that they are
taking a plan of their habitation 1) but leaves un-
accounted for, one principal part of the difficulty,
" the preparation of the nest before the laying of
the egg." This she could not gain from observa-
tion in her infancy.
It is remarkable also, that the hen sits upon
eggs which she has laid without any communica-
tion with the male ; and which are therefore ne-
cessarily unfruitful. That secret she is not let
into. Yet if incubation had been a subject of
instruction or of tradition, it should seem that this
distinction would have formed part of the lesson :
whereas the instinct of nature is calculated for a
state of nature : the exception here alluded to,
taking place chiefly, if not solely, amongst domes-
fowls, in which nature is forced out of her
ticated fowls,
course.
There is another case of oviparous economy,
which is still less likely to be the effect of educa-
tion than it is even in .birds, namely that of motha
and butterflies, which deposit their eggs in the
precise substance; that of a cabbage for example,
from which, not the butterfly herself, but the cater-
pillar which is to issue from her egg, draws its
appropriate food. The butterfly cannot taste the
cabbage. Cabbage is no food for her : yet in the
cabbage, not by chance, but studiously and elec-
tively, she lays her eggs. There are, amongst
many other kinds, the willow-caterpillar and the
cablwige-caterpillar : but we never find upon a wil-
low the caterpillar which eats the cabbage ; nor
the converse. This choice, as appears to me,
cannot in the butterfly proceed from instruction.
She had no teacher in her caterpillar state. Sho
never knew her parent. I do not see, therefore,
how knowledge acquired by experience, if it ever
were such, could be transnntted from one genera-
tion to another. There is no opportunity either
for instruction or imitation. The parent race is
gone, before the new brood is hatched. And if it
be original reasoning in the butterfly, it is pro-
found reasoning indeed. She must remember her
caterpillar state, its tastes and habits : of which
memory she shows no signs whatever. She must
conclude from analogy (for here her recollection
cannot serve her,") that the little round body which
drops from her abdomen, will at a future period
produce a living creature, not like herself, but like
the caterpillar which she remembers herself once
to have been. Under the influence of these re-
flections, she goes about to make provision for an
order of things, which she concludes will, some
time or other, take place. And it is to be observed,
that not a few out of many, but that all butter-
flies argue thus; all draw this conclusion j all act
upon it.
But suppose the address, and the selection, and
the plan, which we perceive in the preparations
which many irrational animals make for their
young, to be traced to some probable origin ; still
there is left to be accounted for, that which is the
source and foundation of these phenomena, that
which sets the whole at work, the <n-o ? yi,, the pa-
rental affection, which I contend to be inexplica-
ble upon any other hypothesis than that of in-
stinct.
For we shall hardly, I imagine, in brutes, refer
their conduct towards their offspring to a sense of
duty, or of decency, a care of reputation, a com-
pliance with public manners, with public laws, or
with rules of life built upon a long experience of
their utility. And all attempts to account for the
parental affection from association, I think, fail.
With what is it associated 1 Most immediately
444
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
with the throes of parturition, that is, with pain
and terror and disease. The more remote, but
not less strong association, that which depends
upon analogy,, is all against it. Every tiling rise
which proceeds from the body, is cast a\v;iv. ;md
'. In birds, is it the egg which the hen
loves ? or is it the expectation which she cherishes
of a future progeny, that keeps her upon her nest ?
What cause has she to expect delight from her
progeny ? Can any rational answer be given to
the question, why, prior to experience, the .brood-
ing hen should look for pleasure from her chick-
ens'? It does not, I think, appear, that the cuckoo
ever knows her young: yet, in her way, she is
as careful in making provision for them, as any
other bird. She does not leave her egg in every
hole.
The salmon suffers no surmountable obstacle to
oppose her progress up the stream of fresh rivers.
And what -(Joes she do there 1 She sheds a spawn,
which she immediately quits, in order to return
to the sea: apd this issue, of her body, she never
afterward recognises in any shape whatever.
Where shall we find a mqtive for her efforts and
her perseverance 1 Shalt we seek it in argument
ation, or in instinct 1 The violet crab of Jamaica
performs a fatiguing march of some tnonths' con-
tinuance, from the mountains to the sea side.
When she reaches the coast, she casts her spawn
into the open sea; and sets out upon her return
home. /-
Moths and butterflies, as hath already been ob-
served, seek out for their eggs those precise situa-
tions and substances in which, the Offspring cater-
pillar will find its appropriate food. That dear
caterpillar, the parent butterfly must never see.
There are no experiments to prove that she would
retain any knowledge of it, if she did. How shall
we account for her conduct? I do not mean for
her art and judgment in selecting and securing a
maintenance for. her young, but for the impulse
upon which she acts. What should induce her
to exert any -art, or Judgment, op choice, about
the matter? The undisclosed grub, the animal
which she is destined not to know, can hardly be
the object of a particular affection, if we deny the
influence of instinct. There is nothing, therefore,
left to her, but that of which her nature seems in-.
capable, an abstract anxiety for the general preserv-
ation of the species; a kind of patriotism ; a solici-
tude lest the butterfly race should cease from the
creation.
Lastly; the principle of association will not ex-
plain the discontinuance of the affection when the
young animal is grown up. Association, ope-
rating in its usual way, would rather produce a
contrary effect. The object would become more
necessary, by. habits of society : whereas birds
and beasts, after a certain time, banish their off-
spring ; disown -their acquaintance ; seem to have
even no knowledge of the objects which so lately
engrossed the attention of their minds, and occu-
pied the industry and labour of their bodies. This
change, in different animals, takes place at differ-
ent distances of time from the birth: but the time
always corresponds with the ability of the young
animal to maintain itself; never anticipates it. In
the sparrow tribe, when it is perceived that the
young brood can fly, and shift for themselves, then
the parents forsake them for ever ; and, though
they continue to live together, pay them no more
attention than they do to other birds in the same
flock.* 1 believe the same thing is true of all gre-
garious quadrupeds.
In this part of the case, the variety of resource*.
expedients, and materials, which animals of the
s;inie species are said to have recourse to. under
different circumstances, and when differently sup-
plied, makes nothing against the doctrine of in-
stincts. The thing which we want to account
for, is the propensity. The propensity being there,
it is probable enough that it may put the animal
upon different actions, according to different exi-
gencies. And this adaptation of resources i .ay
look like the effect of art and consideration, rather
than of instinct : but still the propensity is in-
stinctive. For instance, suppose what is related
of (the woodpecker to be true, that in Europe she
"deposits her eggs in cavities, which she scoops out
in the trunks of soft or decayed trees, and in which
cavities the eggs lie concealed from the eye, and
in some sort safe from the hand of man : but that
in the forests of Guinea and the Brazils, which
man seldom frequents, the same bird haiiL's her
nest, to the twigs of tall trees; thereby placing
them out of the reach of tnonkeys and snakes ;
i. e. that in each situation she prepares against
the danger which she has most occasion to ap-
prehend : suppose, I say, this to be true, and to
be alleged, on the part of the bird that builds these
nests, as evidence of a reasoning and distinguish-
ing precaution ; still the question returns, whence
the propensity to build at all ?
Nor does parental affection accompany genera-
tion by any universal law of "animal organiza-
tion, if such a thing were intelligible. Some ani-
mals cherish their progeny with the most ardent
fondness, and the most assiduous attention ; others
entirely neglect them: and this distinction always
meets the constitution of the young animal, with
respect to its wants and capacities. In many, the
parental care extends to the young animal; in
others, as in all oviparous fish, it is cpnfined to
the egg r and even, as to that, to the disposal of it
in its proper element. Also, as there is genera-
tion without parental affection, so is there parental
instinct, or what exactly resembles it, without
generation. In the bee tribe, the grub is nurtured
neither by the father nor the mother, but by the
neutral bee. Probably the case is the same with
arits.
I am not ignorant of the theory which resolves
instinct into sensation ; which asserts, that what
appears to have a view and relation to the future,
is the result only of the present disposition of the
animal's body, and of pleasure or pain experienced
at the time. Thus the incubation of eggs is ac-
counted for by the pleasure which the bird is sup-
posed to receive from the pressure of the smooth
convex surface of the shells against the abdomen,
or by the relief which the mild temperature of
the i-gg may afford to the heat of the lower part
of the body, which is observed at this time to be
increased beyond its usual state. This present
gratification is the only- motive with the hen for
sitting upon her nest; the hatching of the chick-
ens is, with respect to her, an accidental conse-
quence. The affection of viviparous animals for
their young is, in like manner, solved by the re-
lief, and perhaps the pleasure, which they receive
from giving suck. The young animal's seeking,
in so many instances, the teat of its dam, is ex-
* Goldsmith's Nat. His. vol. iv. p. 244.
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
445
plained from its sense of smell, which is attracted
by the odour of milk. The salmon's urging its
way up the stream of fresh water rivers, is attri-
buted to some gratification or refreshment, which,
in this particular state of the fish's body, she re-
ceives from the change of element. Now of this
theory, it may be said,
First, that of the cases which require solution,
there are few to which it can be applied with to-
lerable probability ; that there are none to which
it can be applied without strong objections, fur-
nished by the circumstances of the case. The
attention of the cow to its calf, and of the ewe to
its lamb, appear to be prior to their sucking. The
attraction of the calf or lamb to the teat of the
dam, is not explained by simply rrferring it to the
sense of smell. What made the scent of milk so
asireeuMe to the lamb, that it should follow it up
with its nose, or seek with its mouth the place
from which it proceeded 1 No observation, no ex-
perience, no argument, could teach the new drop-
ped animal, that the substance from which the
scent issued was the material of its food. It had
never tasted milk l>efore its birth. None of the
animals which are not designed for that nourish-
ment, ever oiler to suck, or to seek out any such
food. What is the conclusion, but that the su-
gescent parts of animals are fitted for their use,
and the knowledge of that use put into them '
We assert, secomllv, that, even as to the cases
in which the hypothesis has the fairest claim to
consideration, it does not at all lessen the force of
the argument for intention and design. The doc-
trine of instinct is that of apjH-tencies, siijtcrtK/dfd
to the constitution of an animal, for the elfi-et li-
sting of a purpose U-nefieial to the species. The
above stated solution would derive these appeten-
cies from organization ; but then this organization
is not less specifically, not less precisely, and,
therefore, not less evidently, adapted to the same
ends, than the apj>etencies themselves would be
upon the old hypothesis. In this way of consi-
dering the subject, sensation supplies the place of
foresight : but this is the effect of contrivance on
the part of the Creator. Let it be allowed, for
example, that the hen is induced to brood upon
her eggs by the enjoyment or relief, which, in the
heated state of her abdomen, she experiences from
the pressure of round smooth surfaces, or from
the application of a temperate warmth : How
comes this extraordinary heat or itching, or call it
what you will, which you suppose to be the cause
of the bird's inclination, to be felt, just at the time
when the inclination itself is wanted ; when it
tallies so exactly with the internal constitution of
the egg, and with the help which that constitution
requires in order to bring it to maturity 1 In my
opinion, this solution, if it be accepted as to the
fact, ought to increase, rather than otherwise, our
admiration of the contrivance. A gardener light-
ing up his stoves, just when he wants to force his
fruit, and when his trees require the heat, gives
not a more certain evidence of design. So again ;
when a male and female sparrow come together,
they do not meet to confer upon the expediency
of perpetuating their species. As an abstract
proposition, they care not the value of a barley-
corn, whether the species be perpetuated, or not :
they follow their sensations ; and all those conse-
quences ensue, which the wisest counsels could
have dictated, which the most solicitous care of
futurity, which the most anxious concern for the
sparrow world, could have produced. But how
do these consequences ensue 1 The sensations, and
the constitution upon which they depend, are as
manifestly directed to the purpose which we see
fulfilled by them ; and the train of intermediate
effects, as manifestly laid and planned with a view
to that purpose : that is to say, design is as com-
pletely evinced by the phenomena, as it would be,
even if we suppose the operations to begin, or to
be carried on, from what some will allow to be
alone properly called instincts, that is, from de-
sires directed to a future end, and having no ac-
complishment or gratification distinct from the at-
tainment of that end.
In a word ; I should say to the patrons of this
opinion, Be it so : be it, that those actions of ani-
mals which we refer to instinct, re not gone
about with any view to their consequences, but
that they are attended in the animal with a pre-
sent gratification, and are pursued for the sake of
that gratification alone; what does all this prove,
but that the mospect ion, which must be some-
where, is not in the animal, but in the Creator 1
In treating of the parental a flection in brutes,
our business 1'u-s rather with the origin of the
principle, than with the ell'ects and expressions of
it. Writers recount these with pleasure and ad-
miration. The conduct of many kinds of animals
towards their young, has escaped no observer, no
historian of nature. " How will they caress
them,' says Derham, "with their affectionate
notes; lull and quiet them with their tender pa-
rental voice ; put food into their mouths; cherish
and keep them warm; teach them to pick, and eat,
and gather food for themselves ; and, in a word,
perform the part of so many nurses, deputed by
the Sovereign Lord and Preserver of the world,
to help such young and shiftless creatures !"
Neither ought it, under this head, to be forgotten,
how much the instinct costs the animal which
feels it ; how much a bird, for example, gives up,
by sitting upon her nest ; how repugnant it is to
her organization, her habits, and her pleasures.
An animal, formed for liberty, submits to confine-
ment, in the very season when every thing invites
her abroad : what is more j an animal delighting
in motion, made for motion, all whose motions are
so easy and so free, hardly a moment, at other
times, at rest, is, for many hours of many days
together, fixed to her nest, as close as if her limbs
were tied down by pins and wires. For my part,
I never see a bird in that situation, but I recog-
nise an invisible hand, detaining the contented
prisoner from her fields and groves, for the pur-
pose, as the^event proves, the most worthy of the
sacrifice, the most important, the most beneficial.
But the loss of liberty is not the whole of what
the procreant bird suffers. , Harvey tells us, that
he has often found the female wasted to skin and
bone by sitting upon her eggs.
One observation more, and I will dismiss the
subject. The pairing of birds, and the non-
pairing of beasts, forms a distinction between the
two classes, which shows, that the conjugal in-
stinct is modified with a reference to utility
founded on the condition of the offspring. In
quadrupeds, the young animal draws its nutri-
ment from the body of the dam. The male
parent neither does nor can contribute any part
to its sustentation. In the winged race, the young
bird is supplied by an importation of food, to pro-
cure and bring home which in a sufficient quan-
446
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
tity for the demand of a numerous brood, requires
the industry of both parents. In this difference, we
see a reason for the vagrant instinct of the quadru-
ped, and for the faithful love of the feathered mate.
CHAPTER XIX.
Of Insects.
WE are not writing a system of natural histo-
ry ; therefore we have not attended to the classes,
into which the subjects of that science are distri-
buted. What we had to observe concerning dif-
ferent species of animals, fell easily, for the most
part, within the divisions which the. course of our
argument led us to adopt. There remain, how-
ever, some remarks upon the insect tribe, which
could not properly be introduced under any of
these heads ; and which therefore we have col-
lected into a chapter by themselves.
The structure, and the use of. the parts, of
insects, are less understood than that of quadru-
peds and birds, not only by reason of their mi-
nuteness, or the minuteness of their parts (for
that minuteness we can, in some measure, follow
with glasses,) but also by reason of the rejnote-
ness of their manners and modes of life from
those of larger animals. For instance : insects,
under all their varieties of form, are endowed with
antennce, which is the name given to those long
feelers that rise from each side of the head ; but
to what common use or want of the insect
kind, a provision so universal is subservient, has
not yet been ascertained, and it has not been
ascertained, because it admits not of a clear,
or very probable, comparison, with any organs
which we possess ourselves, or with the organs
of animals which resemble ourselves in their
functions and faculties, or with which we are
better acquainted, than we are with insects. We
want a ground of analogy. This difficulty stands
in our way as to some particulars in the insect
constitution, which we might wish to be acquaint-
ed with. Nevertheless, there are many contri-
vances in the bodies of insects, neither dubious in
their use, nor obscure in their structure, and most
properly mechanical. These form parts of our
Tment.
The elytra, or scaly wings of the genus of
scarabseus or beetle, furnish an example of this
kind. The true wing of the animal is a light,
transparent membrane, finer than the finest
gauze, and not unlike it. It is also, when ex-
panded, in proportion to the size of the animal,
very large. In order to protect this delicate struc-
ture, and, perhaps, also to preserve it in a due
state of suppleness and humidity, a strong, hard
case is given to it, in the shape of the horny wing
which we call the elytron. When the animal is
at rest, the gauze wings lie folded up under this
impenetrable shield. When the beetle prepares
for flying, he raises the integument, and spreads
out his thin membrane to the air. And it cannot
be observed without admiration what a tissue of
cordage, i. e. of muscular tendons, must run in
various and complicated, but determinate direc-
tions, along this fine surface, in order to enable
the animal, either to gather it up into a certain
precise form, whenever it desires to place its wings
under tlie shelter which nature nath given to
them ; or to expand again their folds, when wanted
for action.
In some insects, the elytra cover the whole body ;
in others, half; in others, only a small part of it ;
but in all, they completely hide and cover the true
wings. Also,
Many or most of the beetle species lodge in
holes in the earth, environed by hard, rough sub-
stances, and have frequently to squeeze their way
through narrow passages; in which situation,
wings so tender, and so large, could scarcely have
escaped injury, without both a firm covering to
defend them, and the capacity of collecting them-
selves up under its protection.
II. Another contrivance, equally mechanical,
and equally clear, is the awl, or borer, fixed at the
tails of various species of flies ; and with which
they pierce, in some cases, plants ; in others,
wood ; in others, the skin and flesh of animals ;
in others, the coat of the chrysalis of insects of a
diflerent species from their own ; and in others,
even lime, mortar, and stone. I need not add,
that having pierced the substance, they deposit
their eggs in the hole. The descriptions which
naturalists give of this organ, are such as the fol-
lowing: It is a sharp-pointed instrument, which,
in its inactive state, lies concealed in the extremi-
ty of the abdomen, and which the animal draws
out at pleasure, for the purpose of making a punc-
ture in the leaves, stem, or bark, of the particular
plant which is suited to the nourishment of its
young. In a sheath, which divides and opens
whenever the organ is used, there is enclosed a
compact, solid, dendated stem, along which runs
a gutter or groove, by which groove, after the
penetration is effected, the egg, assisted, in some
cases by a peristaltic motion, passes to its destined
lodgement. In the oestrum or gad-fly, the wimble
draws out like the pieces of a spy-glass ; the last
piece is armed with three hooks, and is able to
bore through the hide of an ox. Can any thing
more be necessary to display the mechanism, than
to relate the fact 1
III. The stings of insects, though for a diffe-
rent purpose, are, in their structure, not unlike
the piercer. The sharpness to which the point in
all of them is wrought ; the temper and firmness
of the substance of which it is composed; the
strength of the muscles by which it is darted out.
compared with the smallness and weakness of
the insect, and with the soft and friable texture of
the rest of the body, are properties of the sting to
be noticed, and not a little to be admired. The
sting of a bee will pierce through a goat-skin glove.
It penetrates the human flesh more readily than
the finest point of a needle. The action of the
sting affords an example of the union ofchymistry
and mechanism, such as, if it be not a proof of
contrivance, nothing is. First, as to the chy-
mistry; how highly concentrated must be the
venom, which, in so small a quantity, can produce
such powerful effects ! And in the bee we may
observe, that this venom is made from honey, the
only food of the insect, but the last material from
which I should have expected that an exalted
poison could, by any process or digestion whatso-
ever, have been prepared. In the next place,
with respect to the mechanism, the sting is not a
simple, but a compound instrument. The visible
sting, though drawn to a point exquisitely sharp,
in strictness only a sheath ; for, near to the
extremity, may be perceived by the microscope
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
447
two minute orifices, from which orifices, in the
act of stinging, and, as it should seem, after the
point of the main sting has buried itself in the
flesh, are launched out two subtile rays, which
may be called the true or proper stings, as being
those through which the poison is infused into
the puncture already made by the exterior sting.
I have said that chymistry and mechanism are
here united: by which observation I meant, that
all this machinery would have been useless, tclum
imbelle, if a supply of poison, intense in quality.
in proportion to the smullncss of the drop, hud
not been furnished to it by the chymical elaboration
which was carried on in the insect's body ; and
that, on the other hand, the poison, the result of
this process, could not have attained its effect, or
reached itsenemv, if. when it was collected at the
extremity of the alnlomen, it had not found tin-re
a machinery, lilted to conduct it to the external
situations in which it was to operate, viz. an awl
to bore a hole, and a syringe to inject the fluid.
Yet these attributes, though combined in their
action, are independent in their origin. The
venom does not breed the sting ; nor does the
sting concoct the venom.
I V . r f he proboscis, with which many insects are
endowed, comes next in order to be considered. It
is a tube attached to the head of the animal In
the bee, it is composed of two pieces, connected
by a joint; for, if it were constantly extended, it
would be too much exposed to accidental injuries ;
therefore, in its indolent state, it is doubled up by
means of the joint, and in that position lies se-
cure under a .scaly jx-nthouse. In many species
of the butterfly, the proUwds, when not in use, is
coiled up like a watch-spring. In the same lx-e,
the proboscis serves the office of the mouth, the
insect having no other: and how much better
adapted it is. than a mouth would be, for the coJ-
lectmg of the proper nourishment of tin- animal,
is suHiciently evident. The food of the U-e is the
nectar of flowers; a drop of syrup, lodged deep in
the Ujltom of the corollas, in the recesses of the
petals, or down the neck of a monopetalous glove.
Into these cells the IM e thrusts its long narrow
pump, through the cavity of which it sucks up
this precious fluid, inaccessible to every other a]>-
proach. It is observable also, that the plant is not
the worse tor what the bee does to it. The harm-
less plunderer ritlcs the sweets, but leaves the
flower uninjured. The ringlets of which the
proboscis of the bee is com josed. the muscles by
which it is extended and contracted, form so many
microscopical wonders. The agility also with
which it is moved, can hardly fail to 'excite admi-
ration. But it is enough for our purpose to observe.
in general, the suitableness of the structure to the
use, of the means to the end, and especially the
wisdom by which nature has departed from its
most general analogy (for, animals being furnish-
ed with mouths are such,) when the purpose
could be better answered by the deviation.
In some insects, the proboscis, or tongue, or
trunk, is shut up in a sharp-pointed sheath : which
sheath, being of a much firmer texture than the
proboscis itself, as well as sharpened at the point,
pierces the substance which contains the food,
and then opens within the wound, to allow the
enclosed tube, through which the juice is extract-
ed, to perform its office. Can any mechanism be
plainer than this is ; or surpass this 1
V. The metamorphosis of insects from grubs
into moths and flies, is an astonishing process. A
hairy caterpillar isT transformed into a butterfly.
( )bscr\e the change. We have four beautiful
wings, where there were none before j a tubular
proboscis, in the place of a mouth with jaws and
teeth ; six fong legs, instead of fourteen teet. In
another case, we see a white, smooth, soft worm,
turned into a black, hard, crustaceous beetle, with
gau/e- wings. These, as I saidj are astonishing
processes, and must require, as it should seem, a
proportionably artificial apparatus. The hypo-
thesis which appears to me most probable is, that,
in the grub, there exist at the same time three
animals, one within another, all nourished by the
same digestion, and by a communicating circula-
tion ; but in different stages of maturity. The
latest discoveries made by naturalists, seem to fa-
vour this supposition. The insert already equip-
ped with wings, is described under the mem-
branes both of the worm and nymph. In some
the proboscis, the antenna;, the limbs,
and wings, of the fly, have been observed to be
folded up within the body of the caterpillar ; and
with such nicety as to occupy a small space only
under the two first wings. This being 50, the
outermost animal, which, besides it own proper
character, . serves as an integument to the other
two, being the farthest advanced, dies, as we sup-
pose, and drops off" first. The second, the pupa,
or chrysalis, then offers itself to observation. This
; its turn, dies; its dead and brittle husk
falls to pieces-, and makes way for the appearance
of the fly or moth. Now, if this be the case, or
indeed whatever explication be adopted, we have
a prospective contrivance of the most curious kind :
we have organizations three deep ; yet a vascular
system-, which supplies nutrition, growth, and life,
to all of them together.
VI. Almost afi insects are oviparous. Nature
keeps her butterflies, moths, and caterpillars, lock-
ed up during the winter in their egg state ; and
we have to admire the various devices to which, if
we may so speak, the same nature hath resorted,
for the security of the egg. Many insects enclose
their eirgs in a silken web; others cover them
with a coat of hair, torn from their own bodies;
some glue them together: and others. Jike the
moth of the silkworm, glue them to the leaves
upon which they are deposited, that they may not
N- shaken ofl' by the wind, or washed away by
rain: some auain make incisions into leaves, and
hide an egg in each incision j whilst some envelop
their errgs with a soft substance, which forms the
t'irA aliment of the young animal : and some again
make a hole in the earth, and, having stored it
with a quantity of proper food, deposit their eggs
in it. In all which we are to observe, that the ex-
jjedirnt depends, not so much upon the address of
the animal, as upon the physical resources of his
constitution.
The art also with which the young insect is
coiled up in the egg, presents, where it can be
examined, a subject of great curiosity. The in-
sect, furnished with all the members which it
ought to have, is rolled up into a form which
seems to contract it into the least possible space ;
by which contraction, notwithstanding the small-
ness of the egg, it has room enough in its apart-
ment, and to spare. This folding of the limbs
appears to me to indicate a special direction ; for,
if it were merely the effect of compression, the
collocation of the parts would be more various
448
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
than it is. In the same species, I believe, it is
always the same.
These observations belong to the whole insect
tribe, or to a great part of them. Other observ-
ations are limited to a fewer species ; but not, per-
haps, less important or satisfactory.
I. The organization in the abdomen of the silk-
worm, or spider, whereby these insects form
their thread, is a,s incontestably mechanical as
wire-drawer's mill. In the body of the silkworm
are two bags, remarkable for their form, position,
and use. They wind round the intestine; when
drawn out, they are ten inches in length, though
the animal itself be only two. Within these bags,
is collected a glue ; and communicating with the
bags, are two paps or outlets, perforated, like a
grater, by a number of small holes. The glue or
gum, being passed through these minute apertures,
forms hairs of almost imperceptible fineness ; and
these hairs, when joined, compose the silk which
we wind off from the cone, in which the silkworm
has wrapped itself up : in the spider, the web is
formed from this thread. In both cases, the ex-
tremity of the thread, by means of its adhesive
quality, is first attached by the animal to some
external hold ; and the end being now fastened to
a point, the insect, by turning round its body, or
by receding from that point, draws out the thread
through the holes above described, by an opera-
tion, as hath been observed, exactly similar to the
drawing of a wire. The thread, like the wire, is
formed by the hole through which it passes. In
one respect there is a difference. The wire is the
metal unaltered, except in figure. In the animal
process, the nature of the substance is somewhat
changed, as well as the form ; for, as it exists
within the insect, it is a soft, clammy gum, or
glue. The thread acquires, it is probable, its
firmness and tenacity from the action of the air
upon its surface, in the moment of exposure ; and
a thread so fine is almost all surface. This
property, however, of the paste, is part of the con-
trivance.
The mechanism itself consists pf the bags, or
reservoirs, into which the glue is collected, and of
the external holes communicating with these bags :
and the action of the machine is seen, in the form-
ing of a thread, as wire is formed, by forcing the
material already prepared through holes of proper
dimensions. The secretion is an act too subtile
for our discernment, except as we perceive it by
the produce. But one thing answers to another;
the secretory glands to the quality and consistence
required in the secreted substance; the bag to its
reception : the outlets and orifices are constructed,
not merely for relieving the reservoirs of their
burden, but for manufacturing the contents into
a form and texture, of great external use, or rather
indeed of future necessity, to the life and func-
tions of the insect.
II. Bees, under one character or other, have
furnished every naturalist with a set of observa-
tions. I shall, in this place, confine myself to one ;
and that is the relation which obtains between
the wax and the honey. No person, who has in-
spected a bee-hive, can forbear remarking how
commodiously the honey is bestowed in the comb ;
and, amongst other advantages, how effectually
the fermentation of the honey is prevented by dis-
tributing it into small cells. The fact is, that when
the honey is separated from the comb, and put
into jars, it runs into fermentation, with a much ,
less degree of heat than what takes place in a
hive. This may be reckoned a nicety : but inde-
pendently of any^nicety in the matter, I would
ask, what could the bee do with the honey, if it
had not the wax ? how, at least, could it store it
up for winter 1 The wax, therefore, answers a
purpose with respect to the honey; and the honey
constitutes that purpose with respect to the wax.
This is the relation between them. But the two
substances, though, together, of thr greatest use,
and, without each other, of little, come from a dif-
ferent origin. The bee finds the honey, but makes
the wax. The honey is lodged in the nectaria of
flowers, and probably undergoes little alteration ;
is merely collected : whereas" the wax is a ductile,
tenacious paste, made out of a dry powder, not
simply by .Kneading it with a liquid, but by a di-
gestive process in the body of the bee. What ac-
count can be rendered of facts so circumstanced,
but that the animal, being intended to feed upon
honey, was, by a peculiar external configuration,
enabled to procure it 1 That, moreover, wanting
the honey when it could not be procured at all, it
was farther endued with the no less necessary fa-
culty of constructing repositories for its preserva-
tion'? Which faculty, it is evident, must depend,
primarily, upon the capacity of providing suitable
materials. Two distinct functions go to make up
the ability. First, the power in the bee, with re-
spect to wax, of loading, the farina of flowers upon
its thighs. Microscopic observers speak of the
spoon-shaped appendages with which the thighs
of bees are beset for this very purpose ; but, in as
much as the art and will of the bee may be sup-
posed to be concerned in this operation, there is,
secondly, that which doth not rest in art or will,
a digestive faculty which converts the loose
powder into a stiff substance. This is a just ac-
count of the honey, and the honey-comb; and
this account, through every part, carries a creative
intelligence along with it.
The sting also of the bee has this relation to
the honey, that it is necessary for the protection
of a treasure which invites so many robbers.
III. Our business is with mechanism. In the
panorpa tribe of insects, there is a forceps in the
tail of the male insect, with which he catches and
holds the female. Are a pair of pincers more me-
chanical than this provision in its structure 1 or is
any structure more clear and certain in its design !
IV. St. Pierre tells us,* that in a fly with six
feet, (I do not remember that he describes the spe-
cies,) the pair next the head and the pair next the
tail, have brushes at their extremities, with which
the fly dresses, as there may be occasion, the an-
terior or the posterior part of its body ; but that
the middle pair have no such brushes, the situa-
tion of these legs not admitting of the brushes,
if they were there, being converted to the same
use. This is a very exact mechanical distinction.
V. If the reader, looking to our distributions of
science, wish to contemplate the chyrnistry, as
well as the mechanism, of nature, the insect cre-
ation will, afford him an example. I refer to the
light in the tail of a glow-icorm. Two points
seem to be agreed upon by naturalists concerning
it; first, that it is phosphoric; secondly, that its
use is to attract the male insect. The only thing
to be inquired after, is the singularity, if any such
there be, in the natural history of this animal,
* Vol. i. p. 342.
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
449
which should render a provision of this kind more
necessary for it, than for other insects. That sin-
gularity seems to be the difference which subsists
between the male and the female ; which differ-
ence is greater than what we find in any other
species of animal whatever. The glow-worm is a
female caterpillar ; the male of which is a fly ;
lively, comparatively small, dissimilar to the fe-
male in appearance, probably also as distinguish-
ed from her in habits, pursuits, and manners, as
he is unlike in form and external constitution.
Here then is the adversity of the case. The cater-
pillar cannot meet her companion in the air. The
winged rover disdains the ground. They might
never, therefore, be brought together, did not this
radiant torch direct the volatile mate to his seden-
tary female.
In this example, we also see the resources of
art anticipated. One grand operation of chyinis-
try is the making of phosphorus: and it. was
thought an ingenious device, to make phosphoric
matches supply the place of lighted tapers. Now
this very thing is done in the body of the glow-
worm. The phosphorus is not only made, but
kindled; and caused to emit a steady and genial
beam, for the purpose which is here stated, and
which I believe to be the true one.
VI. Nor is the last the only instance that en-
tomology affords, in which our discoveries, or ra-
ther our projects, turn out to be imitations of na-
ture. Some years ago, a plan was suggested, of
producing propulsion by reaction in thfs way : by
the force of a steam-engine, a stream of water was
to be shot out of the stern of a boat; the impulse
of which stream upon the water in the river, was
to push the boat itself forward ; it is, in truth, the
principle by which sky-rockets ascend in the air.
Of the use or practicability of the plan, I am not
speaking; nor is it my concern to praise its inge-
nuity : but it is certainly a contrivance. Now, if
naturalists are to be believed, it is exactly the de-
vice which nature has made use of, for the motion
of some species of aquatic insects. The larva of
the dragon-fly, according to Adams, swims by
ejecting water from its tail ; is driven forward by
the reaction of water in the pool upon the current
issuing in a direction backward from its body.
VII. Again: Europe has lately been surprised
by the elevation of bodies in the air by means of
a balloon. The discovery consisted in finding out
a manageable substance, which was, bulk for bulk,
lighter than air ; and the application of the disco-
very was, to make a body composed of this sub-
stance bear up, along with its own weight, some
heavier body which was attached to it. This ex-
pedient, so new to us, proves to be no other than
what the Author of nature has employed in the
gossamer spider. We frequently see this spider's
thread floating in the air, and extended from
hedge to hedge across a road or brook of four or
five yards width. The animal which forms the
thread, has no wings wherewith to fly from one
extremity to the other of this line ; nor muscles to
enable it to spring or dart to so great a distance :
yet its Creator hath laid for it a path in the atmo-
sphere ; and after this manner. Though the ani-
mal itself be heavier than air, the thread which
it spins from its bowels is specifically lighter.
This is its balloon. The spider, left to itself,
would drop to the ground ; but being tied to its
thread, both are supported. We have here a very
peculiar provision : and to a contemplative eye it
3 Li
is a gratifying spectacle, to see this insect wafted
on her thread, sustained by a levity not her own,
and traversing regions, which, if we examined
only the body of the animal, might seem to have
been forbidden to its nature.
I MUST now crave the reader's permission to
introduce into this place, for want of a better, an
ol)servation or two upon the tribe of animals, whe-
ther belonging to land or water, which are covered
by shells.
I. The shells of snails are a wonderful, a me-
chanical, and, if one might so speak concerning
the works of nature, an original contrivance.
Other animals have their proper retreats, their
hybemacula also, or winter -quarters, but the snail
carries these about with him. He travels with
his tent; and this tent, though, as was necessary,
both light and thin, is completely impervious
either to moisture or air. The young snail comes
out of its egg with the shell upon its back ; and
the gradual enlargement which the shell receives,
is derived from the slime excreted by the animal's
skin. Now the aptness of this excretion to the
purpose, its property of hardening into a shell,
and the. action, whatever it be, of the animal,
whereby it avails itself of its gifts, and of the con-
stitution of its glands, (to say nothing of the work
being commenced before the animal is born,) are
things which can, with no probability, be referred
to any other cause than to express design; and
that not on the part of the animal alone, in which
design, though it might build the house, could
not have supplied the material. The will of the
animal could not determine the quality of the ex-
cretion. Add to which, that the shell of a snail,
with its pillar and convolution, is a very artificial
fabric ; whilst a snail, as it should seem, is the
most numb and unprovided of all artificers. In the
midst of variety, there is likewise a regularity,
which would hardly be expected. In the same
species of snail, the number of turns is usually, if
not always, the same. The sealing up of the
mouth of the shell by the snail, is also well calcu-
lated for its warmth and security ; but the cerate
is not of the same substance with the shell.
II. Much of what has been observed of snails,
belongs to shell-flsh, and their shells, particularly
to those of the univalve kind ; with the addition
of two remarks : one of which is upon the great
strength and hardness of most of these shells. I do
not know whether, the weight being given, art can
produce so strong a case as are some of these
shells. Which defensive strength suits well with
the life of an animal, that has often to sustain the
dangers of a stormy element, and a rocky bottom,
as well as the attacks of voracious fish. The
other remark is, upon the property, in the animal
excretion, not only of congealing, but of congeal-
ing, or, as a builder would call it, setting- in water,
and into a cretaceous substance, firm and hard.
This property is much more extraordinary, and,
chymically speaking, more specific, than that of
hardening in the air, which may be reckoned a
kind of exsiccation, like the drying of clay into
bricks.
III. In the bivalve order of shell-fish, cockles
muscles, oysters, &c. what contrivance can be so
simple or so clear, as the insertion, at the back, of
a tough tendinous substance, that becomes at
once the ligament which binds the two shells
38*
450
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
together, and the hinge upon wliich they open
and shut 1
IV. The shell of a lobster's tail, in its articula-
tions and overlapping^, represents the jointed
part of a coat of mail ; or rather, which I believe
to be the truth, a coat of mail is an imitation of a
lobster's shell. The same end is to be answered
by both ; the same properties, therefore, are re-
quired in both, namely, hardness and flexibility,
a covering which may guard the part without
obstructing its motion. For this double purpose,
the art of man, expressly exercised upon the sub-
ject, has not been able to devise any thing better
than what nature presents to his observation. Is
not this therefore mechanism, which the mechanic,
having a similar purpose in view, adopts. Is
the structure of a coat of mail to be referred to
art 1 Is the same structure of the lobster, con-
ducing to the same use, to be referred to any thing
less than art 1
Some, who may acknowledge the imitation,
and assent to the inference which we draw from
it, in the instance before us, may be disposed,
possibly, to ask, why such imitations are not more
frequent than they are, if it be true, as we allege,
that the same principle of intelligence, design,
and mechanical contrivance was exerted in the
formation of natural bodies, as we employ in the
making of the various instruments by which our
purposes are served 1 The answers to this ques-
tion are, first, that it seldom happens, that pre-
cisely the same purpose, and no other, is pursued
in any work which we compare, of nature and of
art; secondly, that it still more seldom happens,
that we can imitate nature, if we would. Our
materials and our workmanship are equally defi-
cient. Springs and wires, and cork and leather,
produce a poor substitute for an arm or a hand.
In the example which we have selected, I mean
a lobster's shell compared with a coat of mail,
these difficulties stand less in the way, than in
almost any other that can be assigned : and the
consequence is, as we have seen, that art gladly
borrows from nature her contrivance, and imitates
it closely.
BUT to return to insects. I think it is in this
class of animals above all others, especially when
we take in the multitude of species which the
microscope discovers, that we are struck with
what Cicero has called " the insatiable variety of
nature." There are said to be six thousand
species of flies ; seven hundred and sixty butter-
flies ; each different from all the rest. (St. Pierre.)
The same writer tells us, from his own observa-
tion, that thirty-seven species of winged insects,
with distinctions well expressed, visited a single
strawberry-plant in the course of three weeks.*
Ray observed, within the compass of a mile or
two of his own house, two hundred kinds of but-
terflies, nocturnal and diurnal. He likewise,
asserts, but, I think, without any grounds of
exact computation, that the number of species of
insects, reckoning all sorts of them, may not be
short of ten thousand.* And in this vast variety
of animal forms (for the observation is not con-
fined to insects, though more applicable perhaps
to them than to any other class,) we are some-
times led to take notice of the different methods,
* Vol. i. p. 3.
tWisd.ofGod,p.23.
or rather of the studiously diversified methods, by
which one and the same purpose is attained. In
the article of breathing, for example, which was
to be provided for in some way or other, besides
the ordinary varieties of lungs, gills, and breath-
ing holes (for insects in general respire, not by
the mouth, but through holes in the sides,) the
nymphfe of gnats have an apparatus to raise their
backs to the top of the water, and so take breath.
The hydrocanthari do the like by thrusting their
tails out of the water.* The maggot of the eruca
labra has a long tail, one part sheathed within
another (but which it can draw out at pleasure,)
with a starry-tuft at the end, by which tuft,
when expanded upon the surface, the insect both
supports itself in the water and draws in the air
which is necessary. In the article of natural
clothing, we have the skins of animals invested
with scales, hair, feathers, mucus, froth ; or it-
self turned into a shell or crust : in the no less
necessary article of offence and defence, we have
teeth, talons, beaks, horns, stings, prickles, with
(the most singular expedient for the same purpose)
the power of giving the electric shock, and, as is
credibly related of some animals, of driving away
their pursuers by an intolerable foetor, or of black-
ening the water through which they are pursued.
The consideration of these appearances might
induce us to believe, that variety itself, distinct
from every other reason, was a motive in the
mind of the Creator, or with the agents of his
will.
To this great variety in organized life, the
Deity has given, or perhaps there arises out of it,
a corresponding variety of animal appetites. For
the final cause of this, we have not far to seek.
Did all animals covet the same element, retreat,
or food, it is evident how much fewer could Lie
supplied and accommodated, than what at pre-
sent live conveniently together, and find a plenti-
ful subsistence. What one nature rejects, another
delights in. Food which is nauseous to one tribe
of animals, becomes, by that very property which
makes it nauseous, an alluring dainty to another
tribe. Carrion is a treat to dogs, ravens, vul-
tures, fish. The exhalations of corrupted sub-
stances, attract flies by crowds. Maggots revel
in putrefaction.
CHAPTER XX.
Of Plants.
I THINK a designed and studied mechanism to
be, in general, more evident in animals than in
plants: and it is unnecessary to dwell upon a
weaker argument, where a stronger is at hand.
There are, however, a few observations upon
the vegetable kingdom, which lie so directly in
our way, that it would be improper to pass by
them without notice.
The one great intention of nature in the struc-
ture of plants seems to be the perfecting of the
seed ; and. what is part of the same intention,
the preserving of it until it be perfected. This
intention shows itself, in the first place, by the
care which appears to be taken, to protect and
ripen, by every advantage which can be given to
* Derham, p. 7.
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
451
them of situation in the plant, those parts which
most immediately contribute to fructification, viz.
the antherse, the stamina, and the stigmata.
These parts are usually lodged in the centre, the
recesses, or the labyrinths of the flower ; during
their tender and immature state, are shut up
in the stalk, or sheltered in the bud : as soon as
they have acquired firmness of texture sufficient
to bear exposure, and are ready to perform the
important office which is assigned to them, they
are disclosed to the light and air, by the bursting
of the stem, or the expansion of the petals ; after
which they have, in many cases, by the very form
of the fiower during its blow, the light and warmth
reflected upon them from the concave side of the
cup. What is called also the nh-e]) of plants, is
the leaves or ]>etals disusing themselves in such
a manner as to shelter the younjj stems, buds, or
fruit. They turn up, or they fall down, accord-
ing as this purjx)se renders either change of posi-
tion requisite. In the growth of corn, whenever
the plant Ix'gins to shoot, the two upper leaves of
the stalk join together, embrace the ear, and pro-
tect it till the pulp has acquired a certain degree
of consistency. In some water-plants, the (lower-
ing and fecundation are carried on ir it/tin the
stem, which afterward opens to let loose the im-
pregnated seed.* The pea or papilionaceous
tribe, enclose the parts of fructification within a
beautiful folding of the internal blossom, some-
times called, from its shape, the boat or keel ;
itself also protected under a penthouse formed by
the external petals. This structure is very arti-
ficial ; and, what adds to the value of it, though
it may diminish the curiosity, very general. It
has also this farther advantage (and it is an ad-
vantage strictly mechanical.) that all the blossoms
turn their taett to the wind, whenever the gale
blows strong enough to endanger the delicate
parts upon which the seed depends. I have
observed this a hundred times in a fit-Id of peas
in blossom. It is an aptitude which results from
the figure of the flower, and, as we have said, is
strictly mechanical ; as much so, as the turning
of a weather-board or tin cap upon the ton of a
chimney. Of the poppy, and of many similar
species of flowers, the head, while it is growing,
hangs down, a rigid curvature in the upper part
of the stem giving to it that position ; and in that
position it is impenetrable by rain or moisture.
\\Then the head has acquired its size, and is ready
to open, the stalk erects itself, for the purpose, as
it should seem, of presenting the flower, and with
the flower, the instruments of fructification, to
the genial influence of the sun's rays. This
always struck me as a curious property; and
specifically, as well as originally, provided for in
the constitution of the plant : for, if the stem be
only bent by the weight of the head, how comes
it to straighten itself when the head is the heavi-
est 7 These instances show the attention of
nature to this principal object, the safety and
maturation of the parts upon which the seed
depends.
In trees, especially in those which are natives
of colder climates, this point is taken up earlier.
Many of these trees (observe in particular the ash
and the horse-chesnut) produce the embryos of the
leaves and flowers in one year, and bring them to
perfection the following. There is a winter
* Philos. Transact, part ii. 1796, p. 502.
therefore to be gotten over. Now what we are to
remark is, how nature has prepared for the trials
and severities of that season. These tender em-
bryos are, in the first place, wrapped up with a
compactness, which no art can imitate : in which
state, they compose what we call the bud. This
is riot all. The bud itself is enclosed in scales ;
which scales are formed from the remains of past
lea\es. and the rudiments of future ones. Nei-
ther is this the whole. In the coldest climates, a
third preservative is added, by the bud having a
coat of gum or resin, which, being congealed, re-
sists the strongest frosts. On the approach of
warm weather, this gum is softened, and ceases
to be a hindrance to the expansion of the leaves
and flowers. All this care is part of that system
of provisions which has for its object and consum-
mation.the production and perfecting of the seeds.
The SKEDS themselves are packed up in a cap-
sule, a vessel composed of coats, which, compared
with the rest of the flower, are strong and tough.
From this vessel projects a tube, through which
tube the farina, or some subtile fecundating efflu-
vium that issues from it, is admitted to the seed.
And here also occurs a mechanical variety, ac-
commodated to the different circumstances under
which the same purpose is to be accomplished.
In flowers which are erect, the pistil is shorter
than the stamina ; and the pollen, shed from the
antlu T.-C into the cup of the flower, is caught, in
its descent, by the head of the pistil, called the
stigma. But how is this managed when the
flowers hang down (as does the crown-imperial,
for instance,) and in which position, the farina in
its fall, would be carried from the stigma, and not
towards it? The relative length of the parts is
now inverted. The pistil in these flowers is usu-
ally longer, instead of shorter, than the stamina,
that its protruding summit may receive the pollen
as it drops to the ground. In some cases, (as in
the nigella,) where the shafts of the pistils or
stiles are disproportionably long, they bend down
their extremities upon the antherse, that the ne-
cessary approximation may be effected.
But (to pursue this great work in its progress,)
the impregnation, to which all this machinery re-
lates, being completed, the other parts of the flower
fade and drop off whilst the gravid seed-vessel, on
the contrary, proceeds to increase its bulk, always
to a great, and in some species (in the gourd, for
example, and melon,) to a surprising comparative
size ; assuming in different plants an incalculable
variety of forms, but all evidently conducing to
the security of the seed. By virtue of this process,
so necessary, but so diversified, we have the seed,
at length, in stone-fruits and nuts, incased in a
strong shell, the shell itself enclosed in a pulp or
husk, by which the seed within is, or hath been,
fed ; or, more generally, (as in grapes, oranges,
and the numerous kinds of berries,) plunged over-
head in a glutinous syrup, contained within a
skin or bladder : at other times (as in apples and
pears) imbedded in the heart of a firm fleshy sub-
stance ; or (as in strawberries) pricked into the
surface of a soft pulp.
These and many more varieties exist in what
we call fruits* In pulse, and grain, and grasses;
* From the conformation of fruits alone, one might
he led, even without experience, to suppose, that part
of this provision was destined for the utilities of ani-
mals. As limited to the plant, the provision itself
seems to go beyond its object. The flebh of an apple,
452
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
in trees, and shrubs, and flowers ; tho variety of
the seed-vessels is incomputable. We have the
seeds (as in the pea tribe) regularly disposed in
parchment pods, which, though soi't and mem-
branous, completely exclude the wet even in the
heaviest rains ; the pod also, not seldom (as in the
bean,) lined with a fine down; at other times (as
in the senna) distended like a blown bladder: or
we have the seed enveloped in wool, (as in the
cotton-plant,) lodged (as in pines) between the
hard and compact scales of a cone, or barricadoed
(as in the artichoke and thistle) with spikes and
prickles ; in mushrooms, placed under a penthouse ;
m fearns, within slits iii the back part of the leaf;
or (which is the most general organization of all)
we find them covered by strong, close tunicles,
and attached to the stem according to an order
appropriated to each plant, as is seen in the several
kinds of grains and of grasses.
In which enumeration, what we have first to
notice is, unity of purpose under variety of expe-
dients. Nothing can be more single than the
design ; more diversified than the means. Pel-
lieles, shells, pulps, pods, husks, skin, scales
armed with thorns, are all employed in prosecut-
ing the same intention. Secondly; we may ob-
serve, that, in all these cases, the purpose is fulfilled
within a just and limited degree. We can per-
ceive, that if the seeds of plants were more strongly
guarded than they are, their greater security
would interfere with other uses. Many species
of animals would suffer, and many perish, if they
could not obtain access to them. The plant would
overrun the soil ; or the seed be wasted for want
of room to sow itself. It is, sometimes, as neces-
sary to destroy particular species of plants, as it is.
at other times, to encourage their growth. Herej
as in many cases, a balance is to be maintained
between opposite uses. The provisions for the
preservation of seeds appear to be directed, chiefly
against the inconstancy of the elements, or the
sweeping destruction of inclement seasons. The
depredation of animals, and the injuries of acci-
dental violence, are allowed for in the abundance
the pulp of an orange, the meat of a plum, the fatness
of the olive, appear to be more than sufficient for the
nourishing of the seed or kernel. The event shows,
that this redundancy, if it le one, ministers to the sup-
port and gratification of animal natures ; and when we
observe a provision to be more than sufficient for one
purpose, yet wanted for another purpose, it is not unfair
to conclude that both purposes were contemplated to-
gether. It favours this view of the subject to remark,
that fruits are not (which they might have been) ready
all together, but that they ripen in succession throughout
a great part of the year; some in summer; some in
autumn ; that some require the slow maturation of the
winter, and supply the spring ; also that the coldest
fruits grow in the hottest places. Cucumbers, pine ap-
ples, melons, nre the natural produce of warm climates,
and contribute greatly, by their coolness, to the refresh-
ment of the inhabitants of those countries.
I will add to this note the following observation
communicated to me by Mr. Brinkley :
" The eatable part of the cherry or peach first serves
the purposes of perfecting the seed or kernel, by means
of vessels passing through the stone, and which are
very visible in a peach-stone. After the kernel is per-
fected, the stone becomes hard, and the vessels cease
their functions. Flit the substance surrounding the
stone is not then thrown away as useless. That which
was before only an instrument for perfecting the ker-
nel, now receives and retains to itself the whole of the
sun's influence, and thereby becomes a grateful food to
man. Also what an evident mark of design i* the stone
protecting the kernel ! The intervention of the stone
prevents the second use from interfering with the first."
of the increase. The result is, that out of th
many thousand different plants which cover the
earth, not a single species, perhaps, has been lost
since the creation.
When nature has perfected her seeds, her next
care is to disperse them. The seed cannot an-
swer its purpose, whilst it remains confined in tho
capsule. After 1 the seeds therefore are ripened,
the pcricarpium opens to let them out ; and the
opening is not like an accidental bursting, but, for
the most part, is according to a certain rule in
each plant. What I have always thought very
extraordinary; nuts and shells, which we can
hardly crack with our teeth, divide and make way
for the little tender sprout which proceeds from
the kernel. Handling the nut, I could hardly
conceive how the plantule was ever to get out of
it. There are cases, it is said, in which the seed-
vessel by an elastic jerk, at the moment of its ex-
E)losion, casts the seeds to a distance. We all
lowever know, that many seeds (those of most
composite flowers, as of the thistle, dandelion, &c.)
are endowed with what are not improperly called
wings ; that is, downy appendages, by which they
are enabled to float in the air, and are carried often-
times by the wind to great distances from the
plant which produces them. It is the swelling
also of this downy tuft within the seed-vessel, that
seems to overcome the resistance of its coats, and
to open a passage for the seed to escape.
But the constitution of seeds is still more admi-
rable than either their preservation or their disper-
sion. In the body of the seed of every species of
plant, or nearly of every one, provision is made for
delicate and brittle beyond any other substance.
It cannot be touched without being broken. Yet
in beans, peas, grass-seeds, grain, fruits, it is so
fenced on all sides, so shut up and protected, that,
whilst the seed itself is rudely handled, tossed into
sacks, shovelled into heaps, the sacred particle,
the miniature plant , remains unhurt. It is wonder-
ful also, how long many kinds of seeds, by the help
of their integuments, and perhaps of their oils,
stand out against decay. A grain of mustard-seed
has been known to lie in the earth for a hundred
years ; and, as soon as it. had acquired a favoura-
ble situation, to shoot as vigorously as if just ga-
thered from the plant. Then, as to the second
point, the temporary support of the future plant,
the matter stands thus. In grain, and pulse, and
kernels, and pippins, the germ composes a very
small part of the seed. The rest consists of a nu-
tritious substance, from which the sprout draws
its aliment for some considerable time after it is
put forth ; viz. until the fibres, shot out from the
other end of the seed, are able to imbibe juices
from the earth, in a sufficient quantity for its de-
mand. It is owing to this constitution, that we
see seeds sprout, and the sprouts make a consider-
able progress, without any earth at all. It is an
economy also, in which we remark a close analo-
gy l>etween the seeds of plants, and the eggs of
animals. The same point is provided for, in the
same manner in both. In the egg, the residence
of the living principle, the cicatrix forms a very
minute part of the contents. The white and the
white only is expended in the formation of the
chicken. The yolk, very little altered or diminish-
ed, is wrapped up in the abdomen of the young
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
453
bird, when it quits the shell ; and serves for its
nourishment, till it have learnt to pick its own
food. This perfectly resembles the first nutrition
of a plant. In the plant, as well as in the animal,
the structure has every character of contrivance
belonging to it : in both it breaks the transition
from prepared to unprepared aliment; in both, it
is prospective and compensatory. In animals
which suck, this intermediate nourishment is sup-
plied by a different source.
In all subjects, the most common observations
are the best, when it is their truth and strength
which have made them common. There are, of
this sort, two concerning plants, which it falls
within our plan to notice. The first relates to,
what has already been touched upon, their germi-
nation. When a grain of corn is cast into the
ground, this is the change which takes place.
From one end of the grain issues a green sprout;
from the other a number of white fibrous threads.
How can this be explained? Why not sprouts
from both ends 1 why not fibrous threads from
both ends 7 To what is the difference to be refer-
red, but to design ; to the different uses which the
parts are thcreai'ter to serve ; uses which discover
themselves in the sequel of the process 1 The
sprout, or plumule, struggles into the air; and be-
comes the plant, of which, from the first, it con-
tained the rudiments: the fibres shoot into the
earth ; and, thereby, loth fix the plant to the
ground, and collect nourishment from the soil for
its support. Now, what is not a little remarkable,
the parts issuing from the seed take their respect-
ive directions, into whatever position the seed
itself happens to Ite cast. If the seed be thrown
into the wrongest possible position ; that is, if the
ends point in the ground, the reverse of what they
ought to do, every thing, nevertheless, goes on
right. The sprout, after being pushed down a
little way, makes a bend, and turns upwards; the
fibres, on the contrary, after shooting at first up-
wards, turn down. Of this extraordinary vegeta-
ble fact, an account has lately been attempted to
be given. " The plumule (it is said) is stimulated
by the air into action, and elongates itself when
it is thus most excited ; the radicle is stimulated
by moisture, and elongates itself when it is thus
most excited. Whence one of these grows up-
ward in quest of its adapted object, and the other
downward."* Were this account better verified
by experiment than it is, it only shifts the con-
trivance. It does not disprove the contrivance ;
it only removes it a little farther back. Who, to
use our author's own language, " adapted the ob-
jects 7" Who gave such a quality to these connate
parts, as to be susceptible of different " stimula-
tion ;" as to be " excited" each only by its own ele-
ment, and precisely by that which the success of
the vegetation requires 1 I say, " which the suc-
cess of the vegetation requires ;" for the toil of the
husbandman would have been in vain; his labo-
rious and expensive preparation of the ground in
vain ; if the event must, after all, depend upon the
position in which the scattered seed was sown.
Not one seed out of a hundred would fall in a
right direction.
Our second observation is upon a general pro-
perty of climbing plants, which is strictly me-
chanical. In these plants, from each knot or
joint, or, as botanists call it, axilla, of the plant,
Darwin's Pbytologia, p. 144.
issue, close to each other, two shoots : one bearing
the flower and fruit ; the other, drawn out into a
wire, a long, tapering, spiral tendril, that twists
itself round any thing which lies within its reach.
Considering, that in this class two purposes are to
be provided for, (and together,) fructification and
support, the fruitage of the plant, and the susten-
tation of the stalk, what means could be used more
effectual, or, as I have said, more mechanical, than
what the structure presents to our eyes 1 Why,
or how, without a view to this double purpose, do
two shoots, of such different and appropriate
forms, spring from the same joint, from contigu-
ous points of the same stalk ? It never happens
thus in robust plants, or in trees. " We see not
(says Ray) so much as one tree, or shrub, or herb,
that hath a firm and strong stem, and that is able
to mount up and stand alone without assistance,
furnished with these tendrils." Make only so
simple a comparison as that between a pea and a
tu-an. Why does the pea put forth tendrils, the
bean not ; but because the stalk of the pea cannot
support itself, the stalk of the bean can 1 We
may add, also, as a circumstance not to be over-
looked, that in the pea tribe, these clasps do not
make their appearance till they are wanted ; till
the plant has grown to a height to stand in need
of support.
This word " support" suggests to us a reflection
upon a property of grasses, of corn, and canes.
The hollow stems of these classes of plants are
set, at certain intervals, with joints. These joints
are not found in the trunks of trees, or in the
solid stalks of plants. There may lie other uses
of these joints ; but the fact is, and it appears to
be, at least, one purpose designed by them, that
they corroborate the stem ; which, by its length
and hollowness, would otherwise be too liable to
break or bend.
Grasses are Nature's care. With these she
clothes the earth ; with these she sustains its in-
habitants. Cattle feed upon their leaves ; birds
upon their smaller seeds ; men upon the larger :
for, few readers need be told that the plants, which
produce our bread-corn, belong to this class. In
those tribes, which are more generally considered
as grasses, their extraordinary means and powers
of preservation and increase, their hardiness, their
almost unconquerable disposition to spread, their
faculties of reviviscence, coincide with the inten-
tion of nature concerning them. They thrive
under a treatment by which other plants are de-
stroyed. The more their leaves are consumed,
the more their roots increase. The more they are
trampled upon, the thicker they grow. Many of
the seemingly dry and dead leaves of grasses re-
vive, and renew their verdure in the spring. In
lofty mountains, where the summer heats are not
sufficient to ripen the seeds, grasses abound, which
are viviparous, and consequently able to propagate
themselves without seed. It is an observation,
likewise, which has often been made, that herbi-
vorous animals attach themselves to the leaves of
grasses; and, if at liberty in their pastures to
range and choose, leave untouched the straws
which support the flowers.*
The GENERAL properties of vegetable nature, or
properties common to large portions of that king-
dom, are almost all which the compass of our ar-
gument allows to bring forward. It is impossible
Withering, Bot. Arr. vol. i p. 28. ed. 2d.
454
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
to follow plants into their several species. We
may be allowed, however, to single out three or
four of these species as worthy of a particular no-
tice, either by some singular mechanism, or by
some peculiar provision, or by both.
1. In Dr. Darwin's Botanic Garden (1. 395,
note,) is the following account of the vallisneria,
as it has been observed in the river Rhone.
" They have roots at the bottom of the Rhone.
The flowers of the female plant float on the sur-
face of the water, and are furnished with an elas-
tic, spiral stalk, which extends or contracts as the
water rises or falls ; this rise or fall, from the tor-
rents which flow into the river, often amounting
to many feet in a few hours. The flowers of the
male plant are produced under water; and, as
soon as the fecundating farina is mature, they se-
parate themselves from the plant ; rise to the sur-
face ; and are wafted by the air, or borne by the
currents, to the female flowers." Our attention
in this narrative will be directed to two particu-
lars: first, to the mechanism, the "elastic, spiral
stalk," which lengthens or contracts itself accord-
ing as the water rises or falls; secondly, to the
provision which is made for bringing the male
flower, which is produced under water, to the fe-
male flower which floats upon the surface.
II. My second example I take from Wither-
ing's Arrangement, vol. ii. p. 209. ed. 3. " The
cuscuta europcea is a parasitical plant. The seed
opens, and puts forth a little spiral body, which
does NOT seek the earth, to take root ; but climbs
in a spiral direction, from right to left, up other
plants, from which, by means of vessels, it draws
its nourishment." The " little spiral body " pro-
ceeding from the seed, is to be compared with the
fibres which seeds send out in ordinary cases :
and the comparison ought to regard both the form
of the threads and the direction. They are
straight; this is spiral. They shoot downwards ;
this points upwards. In the rule, and in the ex-
ception, we equally perceive design.
III. A better known parasitical plant is the ever-
green shrub, called the mistletoe. What we have
to remark in it, is a singular instance of compen-
sation. No art hath yet made these plants take
root in the earth. Here therefore might seem to be
a mortal defect in their constitution. Let us ex-
amine how this defect is made up to them. The
seeds are endued with an adhesive quality, so
tenacious, that if they be rubbed upon the smooth
bark of almost any tree, they will stick to it. And
then what follows 1 Roots, springing from these
seeds, insinuate their fibres into the woody sub-
stance of the tree ; and the event is, that a mis-
tletoe plant is produced next winter.* Of no other
plant do the roots refuse to shoot in the ground ;
of no other plant do the seeds possess this adhe-
sive, generative quality, when applied to the bark
of trees.
IV. Another instance of the compensatory sys-
tem is in the autumnal crocus, or meadow saffron
(colchicum autumnale.) I have pitied this poor
plant a thousand times. Its blossom rises out of
the ground in the most forlorn condition possi-
ble ; without a sheath, a fence, a calyx, or even
a leaf to protect it : and that, not in the spring,
not to be visited by summer suns, but under all
the disadvantages of the declining year. When
we come, however, to look more closely into the
* Withering, Bot. Arr. vol. i. p. 203. ed. 2d.
structure of this plant, we find that instead of its
being neglected, Nature has gone out of her course
to provide for its security, and to make up to it for
all its defects. The seed-vessel, which in other
plants is situated within the cup of the flower, or
just beneath it, in this plant lies buried ten or
twelve inches under ground within the bulbous
root. The tube of the flower, which is seldom
more than a few tenths of an inch long, in this
plant extends down to the root. The stiles in all
cases reach the seed-vessel ; but it is in this, by an
elongation unknown to any other plant. All these
contribute to one end. " As this plant blossoms
late in the year, and probably, would not have
time to ripen its seeds before the access of winter,
which would destroy them ; Providence has con-
trived its structure such, that this important office
may be performed at a depth in the earth out of
reach of the usual effects of frost." * That is to
say, in the autumn nothing is done above ground
but the business of impregnation ; which is an af-
fair between the anthers and stigmata, and is pro-
bably soon over. The maturation of the impreg-
nated seed, which in other plants proceeds within
a capsule, exposed together with the rest of the
flower to the open air, is here carried on, and dur-
ing the whole winter, within the heart, as we may
say, of the earth, that is, " out of the reach of the
usual effects of frost." But then a new difficulty
presents itself: seeds, though perfected, are known
not to vegetate at this depth in the earth. Our
seeds, therefore, though so safely lodged, would,
after all, be lost to the purpose for which all seeds
are intended. Lest this should be the case, "a
second admirable provision is made to raise them
above the surface when they are perfected, and to
sow them at a proper distance ; viz. the germ
grows up in the spring, upon a fruit stalk, ac-
companied with leaves. The seeds now, in com-
mon with those of other plants, have the benefit
of the summer, and are sown upon the surface.
The order of vegetation externally is this : The
plant produces its flowers in September ; its leaves
and fruits in the spring following.
V. I give the account of the dioncca muscipula,
an extraordinary American plant, as some late
authors have related it : but whether we be yet
enough acquainted with the plant, to bring every
part of this account to the test of repeated and
familiar observation, I am unable to say. " Its
leaves are jointed and furnished with two rows of
strong prickles; their surfaces covered with a
number of minute glands, which secrete a sweet
liquor that allures the approach of flies. When
these parts are touched by the legs of flies, the
two lobes of the leaf instantly spring up, the rows
of prickles lock themselves fast together, and
squeeze the unwary animal to death." t Here,
under a new model, we recognise the ancient plan
of nature, viz. the relation of parts and provisions
io one another, to a common office, and to the
utility of the organized body to which they belong.
The attracting syrup, the rows of strong prickles,
their position so as to interlock the joints of the
leaves ; and, what is more than the rest, that sin-
gular irritability of their surfaces, by which they
close at a touch ; all bear a contributory part in
producing an effect, connected either with the
lefence or with the nutrition of the plant.
* Withering, ubi supra, p. 360.
t Sraellie's Phil, of Nat. Hist. vol. i. p. 5.
NATURAL THEOLOGY,
455
CHAPTER XXI.
The Elements.
WHEN we come to the elements, we take leave
of our mechanics ; because we come to those
things, of the organization of which, if they be
organized, we are confessedly ignorant. This ig-
norance is implied by their name. To say the
truth, our investigations are stopped long before
we arrive at this point. But then it is for our
comfort to find, that a knowledge of the constitu-
tion of the elements is not necessary for us. For
instance, as Addison has well observed, " we know
water sufficiently, when we know how to boil,
how to freeze, how to evaporate, how to make it
fresh, how to make it run or spout out, in what
quantity and direction we please, without know-
ing what water is." The observation of this ex-
cellent writer has more propriety in it now, than it
had at the time it was made : for the constitution,
and the constituent parts, of water, appear in
some measure to have U-en latelv discovered ; yet
it does not, I think, appear, that we can make any
better or greater use of water since the discovery,
than we did before it.
"We can never think of the elements, without
reflecting upon the number of distinct uses which
are consolidated in the same substance. The air
supplies the lungs, supports [ire, conveys sound,
reflects light, dill'uses smells, gives r.iin, waits ships,
bears up birds. 'E* uJxro,- T* VXVTX: water, be-
sides maintaining its own inhabitants, is the uni-
versal nourisher of plants, and through them of
terrestrial animals ; is the basis of their juices and
fluids; dilutes their food : quenches their thirst,
floats their burdens. 7-Y/r warms, dissolves, en-
lightens ; is the great promoter of vegetation and
life, if not necessary to the sup|>ort of l>oth.
We might enlarge, to almost any length we
pleased, upon each of these uses; but it apjH-ars
to me almost sufficient to state them. The few-
remarks which I judge it necessary to add, arc as
follow :
I. Am is essentially different from earth.
There appears to be no necessity for an atmos-
phere's investing our globe ; yet it does invest it :
and we see how many, how various, and how im-
portant, are the purposes which it answers to
every order of animated, not to say of organ i/.-d
beings, which are placed upon the terrestrial sur-
face. I think that every one of these uses will be
understood upon the first mention of them, except
it be that of reflecting light, which may be ex-
plained thus : If I had the power of seeing only
by means of rays coming directly from the sun,
whenever I turned my back upon the luminary, I
should find myself in darkness. If I had the
power of seeing by reflected light, yet by means
only of light reflected from solid masses, these
masses would shine indeed, and glisten, but it
would be in the. dark. The hemisphere, the sky,
the world, could only be illuminated, as it is illu-
minated, by the light of the sun being from all
sides, and in every direction, reflected to the eye,
by particles, as numerous, as thickly scattered,
and as widely diffused, as are those of the air.
Another general quality of the atmosphere is
the power of evaporating fluids. The adjust-
ment of this quality to our use is seen in its action
upon the sea. In the sea, water and salt are
mixed together most intimately: yet the atmos-
phere raises the water and leaves the Kilt. Pure
and fresh as drops of rain descend, they are col-
lected from brine. If evaporation be solution
(which seems to be probable,) then the air dis-
solves the water, and not the salt. Upon what-
ever it be founded, the distinction is critical; so
much so, that when we attempt to imitate the
process by art, we must regulate our distillation
with great care and nicety, or, together with the
water, we get the bitterness, or at least, the distaste-
Fulness, of the marine substance: and after all it
is owing to this original elective power in the air,
that we can effect the separation which we wish,
by any art or means whatever.
By evaporation, water is carried up into the
air; by the converse of evaporation, it falls down
upon the earth. And how does it fall 1 Not by
the clouds being all at once reconverted into
water, and descending like a sheet; not in rushing
down in columns from a spout ; but in moderate
drops, as from a colander. Our watering-pots are
made to imitate showers of rain. Yet, a priori, I
should have thought either of the two former
methods more likely to have taken place than the
last.
By respiration, flame, putrefaction, air is render-
ed unfit for the support of animal life. By the
constant operation of these corrupting principles,
the whole atmosphere, if there were no restoring
causes, would come at length to be deprived of its
necessary degree of purity. Some of these causes
seem to have Ix-en discovered; and their efficacy
iscertained by experiment. And so far as the
discovery has proceeded, it opens to us a l>eautiful
and a wonderful economy. Vegetation proves to
he one of them. A sprig of mint, corked up with
a small portion of foul air, placed in the light,
renders it again capable of supporting life or flame.
Here, therefore, is a constant circulation of bene-
fits maintained between the two great provinces
of organized nature. The plant purifies, what
the animal has poisoned; in return, the contami-
nated air is more than ordinarily nutritious to the
plant. Agitation with water turns out to be
another of these restoratives. The foulest air,
shaken in a bottle with water for a sufficient
length of time, recovers a great degree of its purity.
Here then again, allowing for the scale upon
which nature works, we see the salutary effects of
storms and tempests. The yesty waves, which
confound the heaven and the sea, are doing the
very thing which was done in the bottle. No-
thing can be of greater importance to the living
creation, than the salubrity of their atmosphere.
It ought to reconcile us therefore to these agita-
tions of the elements, of which we sometimes
deplore the consequences, to know that they tend,
powerfully to restore to the air that purity, which
so many causes are constantly impairing.
II. In water, what ought not a little to be ad-
mired, are those negative qualities which consti-
tute its purity. Had it been vinous, or oleaginous,
or acid ; had the sea been filled, or the rivers
flowed, with wine or milk; fish, constituted as
they are, must have died ; plants, constituted as
they are, would have withered ; the lives of animals
which feed upon plants, must have perished. Its
very insipidity, which is one of those negative qua-
lities, renders it the best of all menstrua. Having
no taste of its own, it becomes the sincere vehicle
of every other. Had there been a taste in water,
be it what it might, it would have infected every
456
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
thing we ate or drank, with an importunate repe-
tition of the same flavour.
Another thing in this element, not less to be
admired, is the constant round which it travels;
and by which, without suffering either adultera-
tion or waste, it is continually offering itself to the
wants of the habitable globe. From the sea are
exhaled those vapours which form the clouds:
these clouds descend in showers, which, pene-
trating into the crevices of the hills, supply
springs : which springs flow in little streams into
the valleys ; and there uniting, become rivers ;
which rivers, in return, feed the ocean. So there j
is an incessant circulation of the same fluid ; and i
not one drop, probably, more or less now than j
there was at the creation. A particle of water
takes its departure from the surface of the sea, in
order to fulfil certain important offices to the earth ;
and, having executed the service which was as-
signed to it, returns to the bosom which it left.
Some have thought, that we have too much
water upon the globe, the sea occupying above
three quarters of its whole surface. But the
expanse of ocean, immense as it is, may be no
more than sufficient to fertilize the earth. Or,
independently of this reason, I know not why the
sea may not have as good a right to its place as the
land. It may proportionably support as many in-
habitants ; minister to as large an aggregate of en-
joyment. The land only affords a habitable sur-
face ; the sea is habitable to a great depth.
III. Of fire, we have said that it dissolves. The
only idea probably which this term raised in the
reader's mind, was that of fire melting metals,
resins, and some other substances, fluxing ores,
running glass, and assisting us in many of our
operations, chymical or culinary. Now these
are only uses of an occasional kind, and give
us a very imperfect notion of what fire does for us.
The grand importance of this dissolving power,
the great office indeed of fire in the economy of
nature, is keeping things in a state of solution,
that is to say, in a state of fluidity. Were it not
for the presence of heat, or of a certain degree of it,
all fluids would be frozen. The ocean itself
would be a quarry of ice ; universal nature stiff
and dead.
We see, therefore, that the elements bear not
only a strict relation to the constitution of orga-
nized bodies, but a relation to each other. Water
could not perform its office to the earth without
air ; nor exist, as water, without fire.
IV. Of light (whether we regard it as of the
same substance with fire, or as a different sub-
stance,") it is altogether superfluous to expatiate
upon the use. No man disputes it. The observa-
tions, therefore, which I shall offer, respect that
little which we seem to know of its constitution.
Light travels from the sun at the rate of twelve
millions of miles in a minute. Urged by such a
velocity, with what force must its particles drive
against (I will not say the eye, the tenderest of
animal substances, but) every substance-, animate
or inanimate, which stands in its way ! It might
seem to be a force sufficient to shatter to atoms
the hardest bodies.
How then is this effect, the consequence of such
prodigious velocity, guarded against 1 By a pro-
portionable minuteness of the particles of which
light is composed. It is impossible for the human
rrund to imagine to itself any thing so small as a par-
ticle of light. But this extreme exility, though dif-
ficult to conceive, it is easy to prove. A drop of
tallow, expended in the wick of a farthing candle,
shall send forth rays sufficient to fill a hemisphere
of a mile diameter; and to fill it so full of these
rays, that an aperture not larger than the pupil of
an eye, wherever it be placed within the hemi-
sphere, shall be sure to receive some of them.
What floods of light arc continually poured from
the sun, we cannot estimate ; but the immensity
of the sphere which is filled with particles even if
it reached no farther than the orbit of the earth,
we can in some sort compute : and we have reason
to believe, that, throughout this whole region, the
particles of light lie, m latitude at least, near to
one another. The spissitude of the sun's rays at
the earth is such, that the number which falls
upon a burning-glass of an inch diameter, is suf-
ficient, when concentrated, to set wood on fire.
The tenuity and the velocity of particles of
light, as ascertained by separate observations, may
be said to be proportioned to each other; both
surpassing our utmost stretch of comprehension ;
but proportioned. And it is this proportion alone
which converts a tremendous element into a wel-
come visitor.
It has been observed to me by a learned friend,
as having often struck his mind, that if light had
been made by a common artist, it would have been
of one uniform colour ; whereas, by its present
composition, we have that variety of colours,
which is of such infinite use to us for the distin-
guishing of objects ; which adds so much to the
beauty of the earth, and augments the stock of
our innocent pleasures.
With which may be joined another reflection,
viz. that, considering light as compounded of
rays of seven different colours, (of which there
can be no doubt, because it can be resolved into
these rays by simply passing it through a prism,)
the constituent parts must be well mixed and
blended together, to produce a fluid so clear and
colourless, as a beam of light is, when received
from the sun.
CHAPTER XXII.
Astronomy.*
MY opinion of Astronomy has always been,
that it is not the best medium through which to
prove the agency of an intelligent Creator ; but
that, this being proved, it shows, beyond all other
sciences, the magnificence of his operations. The
mind which is once convinced, it raises to sub-
limer views of the Deity than any other subject
affords; but it is not so well adapted, as some
other subjects are, to the purpose of argument.
AVe are destitute of the means of examining the
constitution of the heavenly bodies. The very
simplicity of their appearance is against them.
We see nothing, but bright points, luminous cir-
cles, or the phases of spheres reflecting the li^ht
which falls upon them. Now we deduce design
from relation, aptitude, and correspondence of
parts. Some degree, therefore, of complexity is
* For the articles in this chapter marked with an as-
terisk, 1 am indebted to some obliging communications
received (through the hands of tin; Lord Bishop of El
phin) from the Rev J. Brinkley, M. A. Andrew's Pro-
fessor of Astronomy in the University of Dublin.
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
457
necessary to render a subject fit for this species of
argument. But the heavenly bodies do not, ex-
cept perhaps in the instance of Saturn's ring, pre-
sent themselves to our observation as compound-
ed of parts at all. This, which may be a perfection
in them, is a disadvantage to us, as inquirers after
their nature. They do not come within our me-
chanics.
And what we say of their forms, is true of their
motions. Their motions are carried on without
any sensible intermediate apparatus ; whereby we
are cut off from one principal groun/l o r argument-
ation, analogy. We have nothing %v ! i ;; vith to
compare them; no invention, no oiscovery, no
operation or resource of art, which, in this respect,
resembles them. Even those things which are
made to imitate and represent them, such as or-
reries, planetaria, celestial globes. &c. bear no
affinity to them, in the cause and principle bv
which their motions are actuated. I can assign
for this difference a reason of utility, viz. a reason
why, though the action of terrestrial bodies upon
each other be, in almost all cases, through the in-
tervention of solid or fluid substances, yet central
attraction does not operate in this manner. It was
necessary that the intervals between the planetary
orbs should be devoid of any inert matter either
fluid or solid, because such an intervening sub-
stance would, by its resistance, destroy those very-
motions, which attraction is employed to preserve.
This may be a final cause of the difference; but
still the difference destroys the analogy.
Our ignorance, moreover, of the sensitive na-
tures by which other planets are inhabited, neces-
sarily keeps from us the knowledge of numberless
utilities, relations, and subserviencies, which we
perceive upon our own globe.
After all; the real subject of admiration is, that
we understand so much of astronomy as we do.
That an animal confined to the surface of one of
the planets; bearing a less proportion to it than
the smallest microscopic insect does to the plant
it lives upon; that this little, busy, inquisitive
creature, by the use of senses which were ;:i\en
to it for its domestic necessities, and by means of
the assistance of those senses which it has had the
art to procure, should have been enabled to ob-
serve the whole system of worlds to which its own
belongs; the changes of place of the immense
globes which compose it; and with such aceuracv.
as to mark out beforehand the situation in the
heavens in which they will be found at any future
point of time; and that these bodies, after sailing
through regions of void and trackless space, should
arrive at the place where they were expected, not
within a minute, but within a few seconds of a
minute, of the time prefixed and predicted : all
this is wonderful, whether we refer our admiration
to the constancy of the heavenly motions them-
selves, or to the perspicacity and precision with
which they have been noticed by mankind. Nor
is this the whole, nor indeed the chief part, of
what astronomy teaches. By bringing reason to
bear upon observation, (the acutest reasoning
upon the exactest observation,) the astronomer
has been able, out of the " mystic, dance. "and the
confusion (for such it is) under which the motions
of the heavenly bodies present themselves to the
eye of a mere gazer upon the skies, to elicit their
order and their real paths.
Our knowledge, therefore, of astronomy is ad-
mirable, though imperfect : and, amidst the con-
3 M
fessed desiderata and desideranda, which impede
our investigation of the wisdom of the Deity in
these the grandest of his works, there are to be
found, in the phenomena, ascertained circum-
stances and laws, sufficient to indicate an intel-
lectual agency in three of its principal operations,
viz. in choosing, in determining, in regulating ;
in choosing, out of a boundless variety of suppo-
sitions which were equally possible, that which is
beneficial; in determining, what, left to itself,
had a thousand chances against conveniency, for
one in its favour; in regulating' subjects, as to
quantity and degree, which, by their nature, were
unlimited with respect to either. It will be our
!ui>i:!ess to offer, under each of these heads, a few
instances, such as best admit of a popular expli-
cation.
I. Amongst proofs of choice, one is, fixing the
source of light and heat, in the centre of the sys-
tem. The sun is ignited and luminous; the
planets, which move round him, cold and dark.
There seems to be no antecedent necessity for this
order. The sun might have been an opaque mass ;
some one, or two, or more, or any, or all, the pla-
nets, globes of fire. There is nothing in the na-
ture of the heavenly bodies, which requires that
those which are stationary should be on fire, that
those which move should be cold: for, in fact,
comets are bodies on fire, or at least capable of the
most intense heat, yet revolve round a centre :
nor does this order obtain between the primary
phnets and their secondaries, which are all opaque.
When we consider, therefore, that the sun is one ;
that the planets going round it are, at least, seven ;
that it is indifferent to their nature, which are lu-
minous and which are opaque ; and also, in what
order, with res}>ect to each other, these two kinds
of bodies are disposed ; we may judge of the im-
probability of the present arrangement taking
place by chance.
If, by way of accounting for the state in which
we find the solar system, it be alleged, (and this
is one amongst the guesses of those who reject an
intelligent Creator,) that the planets themselves
are only cooled or cooling masses, and were once,
like the sun, many thousand times hotter than
red-hot iron ; then it follows, that the sun also
himself must be in his progress towards growing
cold ; which puts an end to the possibility of his
having existed, as he is, from eternity. This con-
sequence arises out of the hypothesis with still
more certainty, if we make a part of it, what the
philosophers who maintain it have usually taught,
that the planets were originally masses of matter,
struck off in a state of fusion, from the body of
the sun by the percussion of a comet, or by a
shock from some other cause, with which we are
not acquainted: for, if these masses, partaking of
the nature and substance of the sun's body, have
in process of time lost their heat, that body itself,
in time likewise, no matter in how much longer
time, must lose its heat also, and therefore be in-
capable of an eternal duration in the state in
which we see it, either for the time to come, or the
time past.
The preference of the present to any other mode
of distributing luminous and opaque bodies, I take
;o be evident. It requires more astronomy than 1
am able to lay before the reader, to show, in its
particulars, what would be the effect to the sys-
em, of a dark body at the centre, and of one of
the planets being luminous : but I think it mani-
39
458
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
fest, without either plates or calculation, first, that
supposing the necessary proportion of magnitude
between the central and the revolving bodies to be
preserved, the ignited planet would not be suffi-
cient to illuminate and warm the rest of the sys
tern ; secondly, that its light and heat would be
imparted to the other planets much more irregu-
larly than light and heat are now received from
the sun.
(*) II. Another thing, in which a choice ap-
pears to be exercised, and in which, amongst the
possibilities out of which the choice was to be
made, the number of those which were wrong
bore an infinite proportion to the number of those
which were right, is in what geometricians call
the axis of rotation. This matter I will endea-
vour to explain. The earth, it is well known, is
not an exact globe, but an oblate spheroid, some-
thing like an orange. Now the axes of rotation,
or the diameters upon which such a body may be
made to turn round, are as many as can be drawn
through its centre to opposite points upon its
whole surface : but of these axes none are perma-
nent, except either its shortest diameter, i. e/that
which passes through the heart of the orange from
the place where the stalk is inserted into it, and
which is but one ; or its longest diameters, at
right angles with the former, which must all ter-
minate in the single circumference which goes
round the thickest part of the orange. The short-
est diameter is that upon which in fact the earth
turns, and it is, as the reader sees, what it ought
to be, a permanent axis ; whereas, had blind
chance, had a casual impulse, had a stroke or push
at random, set the earth a-spinning, the odds were
infinite, but that they had sent it round upon a
wrong axis. And what would have been the
consequence 1 The difference between a perma-
nent axis and another axis is this : When a sphe-
roid in a state of rotatory motion gets upon a per-
manent axis, it keeps there; it remains steady
and faithful to its position ; its poles preserve their
direction with respect to the plane and to the cen-
tre of its orbit: but, whilst it turns upon an axis
which is not permanent (and the number of those
we have seen infinitely exceeds the number of the
other,) it is always liable to shift and vacillate
from one axis to another, with a corresponding
change in the inclination of its poles. Therefore,
if a planet once set off revolving upon any other
than its shortest, or one of its longest axes, the
poles on its surface would keep perpetually chang-
ing, and it never would attain a permanent axis
of rotation. The effect of this unfixedness and
instability would be, that the equatorial parts of
the earth might become the polar, or the polar the
equatorial ; to the utter destruction of plants and
animals, which are not capable of interchanging
their situations, but are respectively adapted to
their own. As to ourselves, instead of rejoicing
in our temperate zone, and annually preparing for
the moderate vicissitude, or rather the agreeable suc-
cession of seasons, which we experience and ex-
pect, we might come to be locked up in the ice
and darkness of the arctic circle, with bodies nei-
ther inured to its rigours, nor provided with shel-
ter or defence against them. Nor would it be
much better, if the trepidation of our pole, taking
an opposite course, should place us under the
heats of a vertical sun. But if it would fare so
ill with the human inhabitant, who can live under
greater varieties of latitude than any other animal ;
still more noxious would this translation of climate
have proved to life in the rest of the creation ;
and, most perhaps of all, in plants. The habita-
ble earth, and its beautiful variety, might have
been destroyed, by a simple mischance in the axis
of rotation.
(*) III. All this, however, proceeds upon a sup-
position of the earth having bwn formed at first
an oblate spheroid. There is another supposition;
and perhaps our limited information will not ena-
ble us to decide between them. The second sup-
position is, that the earth, being a mixed mass
somewhat fluid, took, as it might do, its present
form, by the joint action of the mutual gravitation
of its parts and its rotatory motion. This, as we
have said, is a point in the history of the earth,
which our observations are not sufficient to deter-
mine. For a very small depth below the surface,
(but extremely small, less, perhaps, than an eight-
thousandth part, compared with the depth of the
centre,) we find vestiges of ancient fluidity. But
this fluidity must have gone down many hundred
times farther than we can penetrate, to enable the
earth to take its present oblate form : and whether
any traces of this kind exist to that depth, we are
ignorant. Calculations were made a few years
ago, of the mean density of the earth, by compar-
ing the force of its attraction with the force of at-
traction of a rock of granite, the bulk of which
could be ascertained : and the upshot of the cal-
culation was, that the earth upon an average,
through its whole sphere, has twice the density
of granite, or about five times that of water.
Therefore it cannot be a hollow shell, as some
have formerly supposed; nor can its internal
parts be occupied by central fire, or by water.
The solid parts must greatly exceed the fluid
parts ; and the probability is, that it is a solid mass
throughout, composed of substances more ponder-
ous the deeper we go. Nevertheless, we may con-
ceive the present face of the earth tp have origi-
nated from the revolution of a sphere, covered by
a surface of a compound mixture ; the fluid and
solid parts separating, as the surface becomes
quiescent. Here then comes in the moderating
hand of the Creator. If the water had exceeded its
present proportion, even but by a trifling quantity
compared with the whole globe, all the land would
have been covered: had there been much less
than there is, there would not have been enough
to fertilize the continent. Had the exsiccation
been progressive, such as we may suppose to have
been produced by an evaporating heat, how came
it to stop at the point at which we see it 1 Why
did it not stop sooner 1 why at all 1 The mandate
of the Deity will account for this ; nothing else
will.
IV. OF CENTRIPETAL FORCES. By virtue of
the simplest law that can be imagined, viz. that a
body continues in the state in which it is, whe-
ther of motion or rest ; and, if in motion, goes on
in the line in which it was proceeding, and with
the same velocity, unless there be some cause for
change : by virtue, I say, of this law, it comes to
pass, (what may appear to be a strange conse-
quence,) that cases arise, in which attraction, in-
cessantly drawing a body towards a centre, never
brings, nor ever will bring, the body to that centre,
but keep it in eternal circulation round it. If it
were possible to fire off a cannon-ball with a velo-
city of five miles in a second, and the resistance
of the air could be taken away, the cannon-ball
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
459
would for ever wheel round the earth, instead of
falling down upon it. This is the principle which
sustains the heavenly motions. The Deity, hav-
ing appointed this law to matter, (than which, as
we have said before, no law could be more simple,)
has turned it to a wonderful account in construct-
ing planetary systems.
The actuating cause in these systems, is an at-
traction which varies reciprocally as the square
of the distance ; that is, at double the distance,
has a quarter of the force; at half the distance,
four times the strength ; and so on. Now, con-
cerning this law of variation, we have three things
to observe: First; that attraction, for any thing
we know about it, was just as capable of one law
of variation, as of another : Secondly ; that, out
of an infinite number of possible laws, those which
were admissible for the purpose of supporting the
heavenly motions, lay within certain narrow li-
mits: Thirdly; that of the admissible laws, or
those which come within the limits prescribed, the
law that actually prevails is the most beneficial.
So far as those propositions can be made out, we
may be said, I think, to prove choice and regula-
tion: choice, out of boundless variety; and regu-
lation, of that which, by its own nature, was, in
respect of the property regulated, indillerent and
indefinite.
I. First then, attraction, for any thing we know
about it, was originally indifferent to all laws of
variation depending upon change of distance, i.e.
just as susceptible of one law as of another. It
might have been the same at all distances; it
misfit have increased as the distance increased :
or it might have diminished with the increase of
the distance, yet in ten thousand diHen-nt propor-
tions from the present ; it might have followed no
stated law at all. If attraction be what Cotes,
with many other Newtonians, thought it to be,
a primordial property of matter, not dependent
upon, or traceable to, any other material cause;
then, by the very nature and definition of a pri-
mordial property, it stood indifferent to all laws.
If it be the agency of something immaterial ; then
also, for any thing we know of it, it was indiffer-
ent to all laws. If the revolution of bodies round
a centre depend upon vortices, neither are these
limited to one law more than another.
There is, I know, an account given of attrac-
tion, which should seem, in its very cause, to as-
sign to it the law which we find it to observe ;
and which, therefore, makes that law, a law, not
of choice, but of necessity : and it is the account,
which ascribes attraction to an emanation from
the attracting body. It is probable, that the in-
fluence of such an emanation will lie proportioned
to the spissitude of the rays of which it is com-
posed; which spissitude, supposing the rays to
issue in right lines on all sides from a point, will
be reciprocally as the square of the distance. The
mathematics of this solution we do not call in
question: the question with us is, whether there
be any sufficient reason for believing that attrac-
tion is produced by an emanation. For my part,
I am totally at a loss to comprehend how particles
streaming from a centre should draw a body to-
wards it. The impulse, if impulse it be, is all the
other way. Nor shall we find less difficulty in
conceiving a conflux of particles, incessantly
flowing to a centre, and carrying down all bodies
along with it, that centre also itself being in a
state of rapid motion through absolute space j for,
by what source is the stream fed, or what becomes
of the accumulation 1 Add to which, that it seetua
to imply a contrariety of properties, to suppose an
ethereal fluid to act, but not to resist ; powerful
enough to carry down bodies with great force to-
wards a centre, yet, inconsistently with the nature
of inert matter, powerless and perfectly yielding
with respect to the motions which result from the
projectile impulse. By calculations drawn from
ancient notices of eclipses of the moon, we can
prove that, if such a fluid exist at all, its resistance
has had no sensible effect upon the moon's motion
for two thousand five hundred years. The truth
is, that, except this one circumstance of the varia-
tion of the attracting force at different distances
agreeing with the variation of the spissitude, there
is no reason whatever to support the hypothesis
of an emanation ; and, as it seems to me, almost
insuperable reasons against it.
(*) II. Our second proposition is, that, whilst
the possible laws of variation were infinite, the
admissible laws, or the laws compatible with the
preservation of the system, lie within narrow
limits. If the attracting force had varied according
to any direct law of the distance, let it have been
what it would, great destruction and confusion
would have taken place. The direct simple pro-
portion of the distance would, it is true, have pro-
duced an ellipse : but the perturbing forces would
have acted with so much advantage, as to be con-
tinually changing the dimensions of the ellipse, in
a manner inconsistent with our terrestrial creation.
I'ur instance; if the planet Saturn, so large and
so remote, had attracted the Earth, both in pro-
portion to the quantity of matter contained in it,
which it does ; and also in any proportion to its
distance, i. e. if it had pulled the harder for being
the farther off (instead of the reverse of it,) it
would have dragged out of its course the globe
which we inhabit, and have perplexed its motions,
to a degree incompatible with our security, our
enjoyments, and probably our existence. Of the
inverse laws, if the centripetal force had changed
as the cube of the distance, or in any higher pro-
portion, that is, (for I speak to the unlearned J if,
at double the distance, the attractive force had
been diminished to an eighth part, or to less than
that, the consequence would have been, that the
planets, if they once began to approach the sun,
would have fallen into his body ; if they once,
though by ever so little, increased their distance
from the centre, would for ever have receded from
it. The laws therefore of attraction, by which a
system of revolving bodies could be upholden in
their motions, lie within narrow limits, compared
with the possible laws. I much underrate the re-
striction, when I say that, in a scale of a mile,
they are confined to an inch. All direct ratios of
the distance are excluded, on account of danger
from perturbing forces : all reciprocal ratios, except
what lie beneath the cube of the distance, by the
demonstrable consequence, that every the least
change of distance would, under the operation of
such laws, have lieen fatal to the repose and order
of the system. We do not know, that is, we sel-
dom reflect, how interested we are in this matter.
Small irregularities may be endured ; but, changes
within these limits being allowed for, the perma-
nency of our ellipse is a question of life and death
to our whole sensitive world.
(*) III. That the subsisting law of attraction
falls within the limits which utility requires, when
460
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
these limits bear so small a proportion to the range
of possibilities upon which chance might equally
have cast it, is not, with any appearance of rea-
son, to be accounted for by any other cause than a
regulation proceeding from a designing mind.
But our next proposition curries the matter some-
what farther. We say, in the third place, that,
out of the different laws which lie within the
limits of admissible laws, the best is made choice
of; that there are advantages in this particular
law which cannot be demonstrated to belong to
any other law ; and, concerning some of which, it
can be demonstrated that, they do not belong to
any other.
(*) 1. Whilst this law prevails between each
particle of matter, the united attraction of a sphere,
composed of that matter, observes the same law.
This property of the law is necessary, to render
it applicable to a system composed of spheres, but
it is a property which belongs to no other law of
attraction that is admissible. The law of varia-
tion of the united attraction is in no other case the
same as the law of attraction of each particle, one
case excepted, and that is of the attraction varying
directly as the distance ; the inconveniency of
which law, in other respects, we have already no-
ticed.
We may follow this regulation somewhat far-
ther, and still more strikingly perceive that it pro-
ceeded from a designing mind. A 'law both ad-
missible and convenient was requisite. In what
way is the law of the attracting globes obtained 1
Astronomical observations and terrestrial experi-
ments show that the attraction of the globes of the
system is made up of the attraction of their parts ;
the attraction of each globe being compounded of
the attractions of its parts. Now the admissible
and convenient law which exists, could not be ob-
tained in a system of bodies gravitating by the
united gravitation of their parts, unless each par-
ticle of matter were attracted by a force varying
by one particular law, viz. varying inversely as
the square of the distance : for, if the action of the
particles be according to any other law whatever,
the admissible and convenient law, which is
adopted, could not be obtained. Here then are
clearly shown regulation and design. A law
both admissible and convenient was to be obtained :
the mode chosen for obtaining that law was by
making each particle of matter act. After this
choice was made, then farther attention was to
be given to each particle of matter, and one, and
one only, particular law of action to be assigned to
it. No other law would have answered the pur-
pose intended.
(*) 2. All systems must be liable to perturba-
tions. And, therefore, to guard against these per-
turbations, or rather to guard against their running
to destructive lengths, is perhaps the strongest
evidence of care and foresight that can be given.
Now, we are able to demonstrate of our law of
attraction, what can be demonstrated of no other,
and what qualifies the dangers which arise from
cross but unavoidable influences ; that the, action
of the parts of our system upon one another will
not cause permanently increasing irregularities,
but merely periodical or vibratory ones ; that is,
they will come to a limit, and then go back again.
This we can demonstrate only of a system, in
which the following properties concur, viz. that
the force shall be inversely as the square of the
distance j the masses of the revolving bodies small,
compared with that of the body at the centre ; the
orbits not much inclined to one another; and
their eccentricity little. In such a system, the
irnind points are secure. The mean distances and
periodic times, upon which depend our tempera-
ture, and the regularity of our year, are constant.
The eccentricities, it is true, will still vary ; but so
slowly, and to so small an extent, as to produce no
inconveniency from fluctuation of temperature and
season. The same as to the obliquity of the
planes of the orbits. For instance, the inclination
of the ecliptic to the equator will never change
above two degrees (out of ninety.) and that will
require many thousand years in performing.
It has been rightly also remarked, that, if the
great planets, Jupiter and Saturn, hud moved in
lower spheres, their influences would have had
much more effect as to disturbing the planetary
motions, than they now have. While they re-
volve at so great distances from the rest, they act
almost equally on the sun and on the inferior
planets ; which has nearly the same consequences
as not acting at all upon either.
' If it be said that the planets might have been
sent round the sun in exact circles, in which case,
no change of distance from the centre taking
place, the law of variation of the attracting power
would have never come in question, one law
would have served as well as another ; an answer
to the scheme may be drawn from the considera-
tion of these same perturbing forces. The system
retaining in other respects its present constitution,
though the planets had been at first sent round
in exact circular orbits, they could not have kept
them; and if the law of attraction had not been
what it is, or, at least, if the prevailing law had
transgressed the limits above assigned, every eva-
gation would have been fatal : the planet once
drawn, as drawn it necessarily must have been,
out of its course, would have wandered in endless
error.
(*) V. What we have seen in the law of the
centripetal force, viz. a choice guided by views of
utility, and a choice of one law out of thousands
which might equally have taken place, we sec no
less in the figures of the planetary orbits. It was
not enough to fix the law of the centripetal force,
though by the wisest choice; for, even under that
law, it was still competent to the planets to have
noved in paths possessing so great a degree of
eccentricity, as, in the course of every revolution,
to be brought very near to the sun, and carried
away to immense distances from him. The
comets actually move in orbits of this sort : and,
iiad the planets done so, instead of going round
n orbits nearly circular, the change from one ex-
tremity of temperature to another must, in ours at
east, have destroyed every animal and plant upon
ts surface. Now, the distance from the centre
at which a planet sets off, and the absolute force
of attraction at that distance, being fixed, the
figure of its orbit, its being a circle, or nearer to,
r farther off from a circle, viz. a rounder or a
inger oval, depends upon two things, the velocity
with, and the direction in which, the planet is
projected. And these, in order to produce a right
esult, must be both brought within certain narrow
imits. One, and only one, velocity, united with
one, and only one, direction, will produce a per-
fect circle. And the velocity must be near to
this velocity, and the direction also near to this
direction, to produce orbits, such as the planetary
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
461
orbits are, nearly circular ; that is, ellipses with
small eccentricities. The velocity and the direc-
tion must both, be right. If the velocity be wrong.
no direction will cure the error; if the direction
be in any considerable degree oblique, no velocity
will produce the orbit required. Take for exam-
ple the attraction of gravity at the surface of the
earth. The force of that attraction being what
it is, out of all the degrees of velocity, swift and
slow, with which a ball might be shot off', none
would answer the purpose of which we are speak-
ing, but what was nearly that of five miles in a
second. If it were less than that, the body would
not get round at all, but would come to the ground ;
if it were in any considerable degree more than
that, the body would take one of those eccentric
courses, these long ellipses, of which we have
noticed the inconveniency. If the velocity reached
the rate of seven miles in a second, or went be-
yond that, the ball would fly off from the earth,
and never be heard of more. In like manner with
respect to the direction ; out of the innumerable
angles in which the ball might be sent off (I mean
angles formed with a line drawn to the centre,)
none would serve but what was nearly a right
one: out of the various directions in which 1 1 it-
cannon might be pointed, upwards and down-
wards, everyone would fail, but what was exactly
or nearly horizontal. The same thing holds true
of the pfanets : of our own amongst the rest. We
are entitled therefore to ask, and to urge the ques-
tion, Why did the projectile velocity and projec-
tile direction of the earth happen to be nearly
those which would retain it in a circular form I
Why not one of the infinite numl>er of velocities,
one of the infinite number of directions, which
would have made it approach much nearer to, or
recede much farther from, the sun 7
The planets going round, all in the same direc-
tion, and all nearly in the same plane, a Horded to
Buffon a ground for asserting that they had all
been shivered from the sun by the same stroke of
a comet, and by that stroke projected into their
present orbits. Now, beside that this is to attri-
bute to chance the fortunate concurrence of vela-
city and direction which we have been here
noticing, the hypothesis, as I apprehend, is incon-
sistent with the physical laws by which the
heavenly motions are governed. If the planets
were struck off from the surface of the sun, they
would return to the surface of the sun again.
Nor will this difficulty be got rid of, by supposing
that the same violent blow which shattered the
sun's surface, and separated large fragments from
it, pushed the sun himself oat of his place ; for,
the consequence of this would be, that the sun
and system of shattered fragments would have a
progressive motion, which, indeed, may possibly
be the case with our system ; but then each frag-
ment would, in every revolution, return to the
surface of the sun again. The hypothesis is
also contradicted, by the vast difference which sub-
sists between the diameters of the planetary
orbits. The distance of Saturn from the sun (to
say nothing of the Georgium Sidus) is nearly
nve-and-twenty times that of Mercury ; a dispa-
rity, which it seems impossible to reconcile with
Buffon's scheme. Bodies starting from the same
place, with whatever difference of direction or
velocity they set off, could not have been found at
these different distances from the centre, still
retaining their nearly circular orbits. They must
have been carried to their proper distances, before
they were projected.*
To conclude : in astronomy, the great thing is
to raise the imagination to the subject, and that
oftentimes in opposition to the impression made
upon the senses. An illusion, for example, must
be gotten over, arising from the distance at which
we view the heavenly bodies, viz. the apparent
slowness of their motions. The moon shall take
some hours in getting half a yard from a star
which it touched. A motion so deli berate, we may
think easily guided. But what is the fact 1 The
moon, in fact, is, all this while, driving through
the heavens, at the rate of considerably more than
two thousand miles in an hour; which is more
than double of that with which a ball is shot off
from the mouth of a cannon. Yet is this prodi-
gious rapidity as much under government, as if
the planet proceeded ever so slowly, or were con-
ducted in its course inch by inch. It is also diffi-
cult to bring the imagination to conceive (what
yet. to judge tolerably of the matter, it is neces-
sary to conceive) how loose, if we may so express
it. the heavenly bodies are. Enormous globes,
held by nothing, confined by nothing, are turned
into free and boundless space, each to seek its
course by the virtue of an invisible principle ;
but a principle, one. common, and the same in
all ; and ascertainable. To preserve such bodies
from being lost, from running together in heaps,
from hindering and distracting one another's mo-
tions in a degree inconsistent with any continu-
ing order; h. e. to cause them to form planetary
systems, systems that, when formed, can be up-
held, and most especially, systems accommodated
to the organized and sensitive natures which the
planets sustain, as we know to be the case, where
alone we can know what the case is, upon our
earth: all this requires an intelligent interposi-
tion, because it can be demonstrated concerning
it, that it requires an adjustment of force, dis-
tance, direction, and velocity, out of the reach of
chance to have produced; an adjustment, in its
view to utility, similar to that which we see in
ten thousand subjects of nature which are nearer
to us, but in power, and in the extent of space
through which that power is exerted, stupendous.
But many of the heavenly bodies, as the sun
and fixed stars, are stationary. Their rest must
be the effect of an absence or of an equilibrium
of attractions. It proves also that a projectile
impulse was originally given to some of the
heavenly bodies, and not to others. But farther;
if attraction act at all distances, there can only
be one quiescent centre of gravity in the universe :
and all bodies whatever must be approaching this
centre, or revolving round it. According to the
* If we suppose the matter of the system to be accu-
mulated in the centre by its gravity, no mechanical
principles, with the assistance of this power of gravity,
could separate the vast mass into such parts as the sun
and planets; and, after carrying them to their different
distances, project them in their several directions', pre-
serving still the quality of action, and reaction, or the
state of the centre of gravity of the system. Such an
exquisite structure of things could only arise from the
contrivance and powerful influences of an intelligent,
free, arid most potent agent. The same powers, there-
fore, which, at present, govern the material universe,
and conduct its various motions, art' very different from
those which were necessary to have produced it from
nothing, or to have disposed it in the admirable form
in which ft now proceeds." Maclaurin's Account of
Newton's Pliilos. p. 407. ed. 3.
39*
463
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
first of these suppositions, if the duration of the
world had been long enough to allow of it, all its
parts, all the great bodies of which it is composed,
must have been gathered together in a heap round
this point. No changes nowever which have
been observed, afford us the smallest reason for
believing, that either the one supposition or the
other is true ; and then it will follow, that attrac-
tion itself is controlled or suspended by a superior
agent ; that there is a power above the highest of
the powers of material nature ; a will which re-
strains and circumscribes the operations of the
most extensive.*
CHAPTER XXIII.
- Of the Personality of the Deity.
CONTRIVANCE, if established, appears to me
to prove every thing which we wish to prove.
Amongst other things, it proves the personality of
the Deity, as distinguished from what is sometimes
called nature, sometimes called a principle : which
terms, in the mouths of those who use them philoso-
phically, seem to be intended , to admit and to ex press
an efficacy, but to exclude and to deny a personal
agent. Now that which can contrive, which can
design, must be a person. These capacities con-
stitute personality, for they imply consciousness
and thought. They require that which can per-
ceive an end or purpose ; as well as the power of
providing means, and of directing them to their end.t
They require a centre in which perceptions unite,
and from which volitions flow; which is mind.
The acts of a mind prove the existence of a mind ;
and in whatever a mind resides, is a person. The
seat of intellect is a person. We have no autho-
rity to limit the properties of mind to any corpo-
real form, or to any particular circumscription of
space. These properties subsist, in created na-
ture, under a great variety of sensible forms.
Also every animated being has its sensorium ;
that is, a certain portion of space, within which
perception and volition are exerted. This sphere
may be enlarged to an indefinite extent; may
comprehend the universe ; and, being so imagined,
may serve to furnish us with as good a notion, as
we are capable of forming, of the immensity of
the Divine Nature, i. e. of a Being, infinite, as
well in essence as in power^ yet nevertheless a
person.
"No man hath seen God at any time." And
this, I believe, makes the great difficulty. Now
it is a difficulty which chiefly arises from our not
duly estimating the state of our faculties. The
* It must here however be stated, that many astrono-
mers deny that any of the heavenly bodies are absolute-
ly stationary. Some of the brightest of the fixed stars
have certainly small motions ; and of the rest the dis-
tance is too great, and the intervals of our observation
too short, to enable us to pronounce with certainty that
they may not have the same. The motions in the fixed
stars which have been observed, are considered either
as proper to each of them, or as compounded of the mo-
tion of our system, and of motions proper to each star.
By a comparison of these motions, a motion in our
system is supposed to be discovered. By continuing
this analogy to other, and to all systems, it is possible
to suppose that attraction is unlimited, and that the
whole material universe is revolving round some fixed
point within its containing sphere of space.
t Priestley's Letters to a Philosophical Unbeliever,
p. 153. ed. 2.
Deity, it is true, is the object of none of our
senses : but reflect what limited capacities animal
senses are. Many animals seem to have but one
sense, or perhaps two at the most; touch and
taste. Ought such an animal to conclude against
the existence of odours, sounds, and colours'? To
another species is given the sense of smelling.
This is an advance in the knowledge of the pow-
ers and properties of nature : but, if this favoured
animal should infer from its superiority over the
class last described, that it perceived every thing
which was perceptible in nature, it is known to us,
though perhaps not suspected by the animal itself,
that it proceeded upon a false and presumptuous
estimate of its faculties. To another is added the
sense of hearing ; which lets in a class of sensa-
tions entirely unconceived by the animal before
spoken of; not only distinct, but remote from any
which it had ever experienced, and greatly supe-
rior to them. Yet this last animal has no more
ground for believing, that its senses comprehend all
things, and all properties of things which exist, than
might have been claimed by the tribes of animals be-
neath it ; for we know, that it is still possible to pos-
sess another sense, that of sight, which shall disclose
to the percipient a new world. This fifth sense
makes the animal what the human animal is ; but
to infer, that possibility stops here ; that either this
fifth sense is the last sense, or that the five com-
prehend all existence ; is just as unwarrantable a
conclusion, as that which might have been made
by any of the different species which possessed
fewer, or even by that, if such there be, which
possessed only one. The conclusion of the one-
sense animal, and the conclusion of the five-sense
animal, stand upon the same authority. There
may be more and other senses than those which
we have. There may be senses suited to the per-
ception of the powers, properties, and substance,
of spirits. These may belong to higher orders of
rational agents ; for there is not the smallest rea-
son for supposing that we are the highest, or that
the scale of creation stops with us.
The great energies of nature are known to us
only by their effects. The substances which pro-
duce them, are as much concealed from our sense
as the divine essence itself. Gravitation, though
constantly present, though constantly exerting its
influence, though every where around us, near us,
and within us ; though diffused throughout all
space, and penetrating the texture of all bodies
with which we are acquainted, depends, if upon
a fluid, upon a fluid which, though both powerful
and universal in its operation, is no object of sense
to us ; if upon any other kind of substance or ac-
tion, upon a substance and action, from which we
receive no distinguishable impressions. Is it then
to be wondered at, that it should, in some mea-
sure, be the same with the Divine nature!
Of this however we are certain, that whatever
the Deity be, neither the universe, nor any part of
it which we see, can be He. The universe itself
is merely a collective name : its parts are all which
are real ; or which are things. Now inert mat-
ter is out of the question : and organized sub-
stances include marks of contrivance. But what-
ever includes marks of contrivance, whatever, in
its constitution, testifies design, necessarily carries
us to something beyond itself, to some other being,
to a designer prior to, and out of, itself. No arn-
mai for instance, can have contrived its own limbs
and senses j can have been the author to itself of
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
463
the design with which they were constructed.
That supposition involves all the absurdity of self-
creation, i. e. of acting without existing. Nothing
can be God, which is ordered by a wisdom and a
will, which itself is void of; which is indebted for
any of its properties to contrivance ab extra. The
not having that in his nature which requires the
exertion of another prior being (which property
is sometimes called self-sufficiency, and sometimes
self-comprehension,) appertains to the Deity, as
his essential distinction, and removes his nature
from that of all things which we see. Which
consideration contains the answer to a question
that has sometimes been asked, namely, Why,
since something or other must have existed from
eternity, may not the present universe be that
something'? The contrivance perceived in it,
proves that to be imjwssible. Nothing contrived,
can, in a strict and proper sense, be eternal, foras-
much as the contriver must have existed before
the contrivance.
Wherever we see marks of contrivance, we are
led for its cause to an intelligent author. And
this transition of the understanding is founded
upon uniform experience. We see intelligence
constantly contriving ; that is, we see intelligence
constantly producing effects, marked and distin-
guished by certain properties; not certain parti-
cular properties, but by a kind and class of pro-
perties, such as relation to an end, relation of parts
to one another, and to a common purpose. We
see, wherever we are witnesses to the actual form-
ation of things, nothing except intelligence pro-
ducing effects so marked and distinguisned. Fur-
nished with this ex|MTienee, we view the produc-
tions of nature. We observe them also marked
and distinguished in the same manner. We \\ ish
to account for their origin. Our experience sug-
gests a cause perfectly adequate to this account.
No experience, no single instance or example,
can be offered in favour of any other. In this
cause therefore we ought to rest ; in this cause the
common sense of mankind has, in fact, rested.
because it agrees with that, which, in all cases, is
the foundation of knowledge, the undeviating
course of their experience. The reasoning is the
same as that, by which we conclude any ancient
appearances to have been the effects of volcanoes
or inundations ; namely, because they resemble
the effects which fire and water produce before our
eyes; and because we have never known these ef-
fects to result from any other operation. And this
resemblance may subsist in so many circum-
stances, as not to leave us under the smallest doubt
in forming our opinion. Men are not deceived by
this reasoning: for whenever it happens, as it some-
times does happen, that the truth comes to be known
by direct information, it turns out to be what was
expected. In like manner, and upon the same foun-
dation, (which in truth is that of experience.) we
conclude that the works of nature proceed from
intelligence and design ; because in the properties
of relation to a purpose, subserviency to a use,
they resemble what intelligence and design are
constantly producing, and what nothing except
intelligence and design ever produce at all. Of
every argument, which would raise a question as
to the safety of this reasoning, it maybe observed,
that if such argument be listened to, it leads to
the inference, not only that the present order of
nature is insufficient to prove the existence of an
intelligent Creator 3 but that no imaginable order
would be sufficient to prove it; that no contri-
vance, were it ever so mechanical, ever so precise,
ever so clear, ever so perfectly like those which we
ourselves employ, would support this conclusion.
A doctrine, to which, I conceive, no sound mind
can assent.
The force however of the reasoning is some-
times sunk by our taking up with mere names.
We have already noticed,* and we must here
notice again, the misapplication of the term " law,"
and the mistake concerning the idea which that
term expresses in physics, whenever such idea is
made to take the place of power, and still more of
an intelligent power, and, as such, to be assigned
for the cause of any thing, or of any property of
any thing, that exists. This is what we are se-
cretly apt to do, when we speak of organized
bodies (plants for instance, or animals,) owing
their production, their form, their growth, their
qualities, their beauty, their use, to any law or
laws of nature ; and when we are contented to sit
down with that answer to our marries concerning
them. I say once more, that it is a perversion of
language to assign any law, as the efficient opera-
tive cause of any thing. A law presupposes an
agent, for it is only the mode according to which
an agent proceeds; it implies a power, for it is the
order according to which that power acts. With-
out this agent, without this power, which are
both distinct from itself, the " law" does nothing;
is nothing.
What nas been said concerning "law," holds
true of mechanism. Mechanism is not itself
power. Mechanism, without power, can do no-
thing. Let a watch be contrived and constructed
ever so ingeniously ; be its parts ever so many,
ever so complicated, ever so finely wrought or ar-
tificially put together, it cannot go without a
weight or spring, i. e. without a force independent
of, and ulterior to, its mechanism. The spring
acting at the centre, will produce different motions
and different results, according to the variety of
the intermediate mechanism. One and the self-
same spring, acting in one and the same manner,
viz. by simply expanding itself, may be the cause
of a hundred different and all useful movements,
if a hundred different and well-devised sets of
wheels be placed between it and the final effect ;
e. g. may point out the hour of the day, the day
of the month, the age of the moon, the position of
the planets, the cycle of the years, and many
other serviceable notices; and these movements
may fulfil their purposes with more or less per-
fection, according as the mechanism is better or
worse contrived, or better or worse executed, or
in a better or worse state of repair : but in all
cases, it is necessary that the spring act at the
centre. The course of our reasoning upon such a
subject would be this : By inspecting the watch,
even when standing still, we get a proof of con-
trivance, and of a contriving mind, having been
employed about it. In the form and obvious rela-
tion of its parts, we see enough to convince us of
this. If we pull the works in pieces, for the
purpose of a closer examination, we are still more
fully convinced. But, when we see the watch
going, we see proof of another point, viz. that
there is a power somewhere, and somehow or
other, applied to it ; a power in action ; that
there is more in the subject than the mere wheels
* Ch. I. sect. vii.
464
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
of the machine ; that there is a secret spring, or
a gravitating plummet; in a word, that there is
force, and energy, as well as mechanism.
So then, the watch in motion establishes to the
observer two conclusions: One; that thought,
contrivance, and design have been employed in
the forming, proportioning, and arranging" of its
parts; and that whoever or wherever he be, or
were, such a contriver there is, or was: The
other ; that force or power, distinct from mecha-
nism, is, at this present time, acting upon it. If I
saw a handrnill even at rest, I should see contri-
vance : but if I saw it grinding, I should be as-
sured that a hand was at the windlass, though in
another room. It is the same in nature. In the
works of nature we trace mechanism ; and this
alone proves contrivance : but living, active, mov-
ing, productive nature, proves also the exertion of
a power at the centre ; for; wherever the power
resides may be denominated the centre.
The intervention and disposition of what are
called " second causes" fall under the same observ-
ation. This disposition is or is not mechanism,
according as we can or cannot trace it by our
senses and means of examination. That is all the
difference there is ; and it is a difference which
respects our faculties, not the things themselves.
Now where the order of second causes is mecha-
nical, what is here said of mechanism strictly ap-
plies to it. But it would be always mechanism
(natural chymistry, for instance, would be mecha-
nism,) if our senses were acute enough to descry
it. Neither mechanism, therefore, in the works
of nature, nor the intervention of what are called
second causes, (for I think that they are the same
thing,) excuses the necessity of an agent distinct
from both.
If, in tracing these causes, it be said, that we
find certain general properties of matter which
have nothing in them that bespeaks intelligence,
I answer, that, still, the managing of these pro-
perties, the pointing and directing them to the uses
which we see made of them, demands intelligence
in the highest degree. For example : suppose
animal secretions to be elective attractions, and
that such and such attractions universally belong
to such and such substances ; in all which there is
intellect concerned ; still the choice and colloca-
tion of these substances, the fixing upon right sub-
stances, and disposing them in right places, must
be an act of intelligence. What mischief would
follow, were there a single transposition of the
secretory organs ; a single mistake in arranging
theglands which compose them !
There may be many second causes, and many
courses of second causes, one behind another,
between what we observe of nature, and the Deity :
but there must be intelligence somewhere ; there
must be more in nature than what we see ; and,
amongst the things unseen, there must be an in-
telligent, designing author. The philosopher be-
holds with astonishment the production of things
around him. Unconscious particles of matter
take their stations, and severally range themselves
in an order, so as to become collectively plants or
animals, i. e. organized bodies, with parts bearing
strict and evident relation to one another, and to
the utility of the whole : and it should seem that
these particles could not move in any other way
than as they do ; for they testify not the smallest
sign of choice, or liberty, or discretion. There
may be particular intelligent beings, guiding these
motions in each case : or they may be the result
of trains of mechanical dispositions, fixed befort'-
hand by an intelligent appointment, and kept in
action by a power at the centre. But, in either
rase, there must be intelligence.
1'he minds of most men are fond of what they
call a principle, and of the appearance of simpli-
city, in accounting for phenomena. Yet this
principle, this simplicity, resides merely in the
name; which name, after all, comprises, perhaps,
under it a diversified, multifarious, or progressive
operation, distinguishable into parts. The power
in organized bodies, of producing bodies like them-
selves, is one of these principles. Give a philoso-
pher this, and he can get on. But he does not
reflect, what this mode of production, this princi-
ple (if such he choose to call it) requires ; how
much it presupposes; what an apparatus of in-
struments, some of which are strictly mechanical,
is necessary to its success ; what a train it includes
of operations and changes, one succeeding another,
one related to another, one ministering to another ;
all advancing, by intermediate, and, frequently,
by sensible steps to their ultimate result ! Yet,
because the whole of this complicated action is
wrapped-up in a single term, generation, we are
to set it down as an elementary principle ; and to
suppose, that when we have resolved the things
which we see in this principle, we have sufficient-
ly accounted for their origin, without the neces-
sity of a designing, -intelligent Creator. The
truth is, generation is not a principle but a. process.
We might as well call the casting of metals a prin-
ciple ; we might, so far as appears to me, as well
call spinning and weaving principles : and, then,
referring the texture of cloths, the fabric of mus-
lins and calicoes, the patterns of diapers and
damasks, to these, as principles, pretend to dis-
pense with intention, thought, and contrivance,
on the part of the artist ; or to dispense, indeed,
with the necessity of any artist at all, either in the
manufacturing of the article, or in the fabrication
of the machinery by which the manufacture was
carried on.
And, after all, how, or in what sense, is it true,
that animals produce their like? A butterfly,
with a proboscis instead of a mouth, with four
wings and six legs, produces a hairy caterpillar,
with jaws and teeth, and fourteen feet. A frog
produces a tadpole. A black beetle, with gauze
wings, and a crusty covering, produces a white,
smooth, soft worm ; an ephemeron fly, a cod-bait
maggot. These, by a progress through different
stages of life, and action, and enjoyment, (and, in
each state, provided with implements and organs
appropriated to the temporary nature which they
bear,) arrive at last at the form and fashion of the
parent animal. But all this is process, not prin-
ciple ; and proves, moreover, that the property of
animated bodies, of producing their like, belongs
to them not as a primordial property, not by any
blind necessity in the nature of things, but as the
effect of economy, wisdom, and design ; because
the property itself assumes diversities, and submits
to deviations dictated by intelligible utilities, and
serving distinct purposes of animal happiness.
The opinion, which would consider "genera-
tion" as a principle in nature; and which would
assign this principle as the cause, or endeavour to
satisfy our minds with such a cause, of the exist-
ence of organized bodies; is confuted, in my judg-
ment, not only by every mark of contrivance dis-
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
465
covcvable in those bodies, for which it gives us no
contriver, offers no account whatever ; but also by
the farther consideration, that things generated,
possess a clear relation to things not generated.
If it were merely one part of a generated body
bearing a relation to another part of the same
body ; as the mouth of an animal to the throat, the
throat to the stomach, the stomach to the intes-
tines, those to the recruiting of the blood, and, by
means of the blood, to the nourishment of the
whole frame: or if it were only one generated
body bearing a relation to another generated body ;
as the sexes of the same species to each other,
animals of prey to their prey, herbivorous and
granivorous animals to the plants or seeds upon
which they feed ; it might be contended, that the
whole of this correspondency was attributable to
generation, the common origin from which these
substances proceeded. But what shall we say to
agreements which exist between things generated
and things not generated? Can it' be doubted,
was it ever doubted, but that the lungs of animals
bear a relation to the air, us a permanently elastic
fluid ? They act in it and by it; they cannot act
without it. Now, if generation produced tin- ani-
mal, it did not produce the air : yet their properties
correspond. The eye is made for light, and light
for the eye. The eye would be of no use without
light, and light perhaps of little without e\
one is produced by generation, the other not. 'Tin-
car "depends upon undulation.-^ of air. 1 I ere ,uv
two sets of motions: first, of the pulse.-, id' the air;
secondly, of the drum. I tones, and nerves of lin-
ear; sets of mot ions bearing .in e\ident reference
to each other: yet the one, and the apparatus tur
the one, produced by the intervention of genera-
tion ; the other altogether independent of it.
If it be said, that the air, the light, the elements,
the world itself, is generated; I answer, that I
do not. comprehend the proposition. If the term
mean any thing similar to what it means when
applied to plants or animals, the proposition is
certainly without proof; and, I think, draws as
near to absurdity, as any proposition can do, which
does not include a contradiction in its terms. I
am at a loss to conceive, how the formation of the
world ean be compared to the generation of an
animal. If the term generation si unify something
quite different from what it signifies on ordinary
occasions, it may, by the same latitude, signify
any thing. In which case, a word or phrase
taken from the language of Otaheite, would con-
vey as much theory concerning the origin of the
universe, as it does to talk of its being generated.
We know a cause (intelligence) adequate to
the appearances which we wish to account for :
we have this cause continually producing similar
appearances : yet, rejecting this cause, the suffi-
ciency of which we know, and the action of which
is constantly before our eyes, we are invited to re-
sort to suppositions destitute of a single fact for
their support, and confirmed by no analogy with
which we are acquainted. Were it necessary to
inquire into the motives of men's opinions, I mean
their motives separate from their arguments ; I
should almost suspect, thatjrbecruse the proof of a
Deity drawn from the constitution of nature is not
only popular but vulgar, (which may arise from
the cogency of the proof, and be indeed its highest
recommendation,) and because it is a species al-
most of puerility to take up with it; for these
reasons, minds, which are habitually in search of
invention and originality, feel a resistless inclina-
tion to strike off into other solutions and other
expositions. The truth is, that many minds are
not so indisposed to any thing which can be offer-
ed to them, as they are to the flatness of being
content with common reasons: and, what is most
to be lamented, minds conscious of superiority,
are the most liable to this repugnancy.
The " suppositions" here alluded to, all agree
in one character : they all endeavour to dispense
with the necessity in nature, of a particular, per-
sonal intelligence ; that is to say, with the exer-
tion of an intending, contriving mind, in the
structure and formation of the organized constitu-
tions which the world contains. They would re-
solve all productions into unconscious energies, of
a like kind, in that respect, with attraction, mag-
netism, electricity, &c. ; without any thing farther.
In this, the old system of atheism and the new
agree. And I much doubt, whether the new
schemes have advanced any thing upon the old,
or done more than changed the terms of the no-
menclature. For instance, I could never see the
difference between the antiquated system of atoms,
and Button's organic molecules. This philoso-
plu-r, hnving made a planet by knocking off from
the sun a piece of melted iilass, in consequence of
the stroke of a comet; and having set it in motion,
by the same stroke, l>oth round its own axis and
the sun; finds his next difficulty to he, how to
bring plants and animals upon it. In order to
^..|\e this difficulty, ue are to suppose the uni-
:. |.|rni>hr.l \\ith particles, endowed with
lite, but without organization or senses of their
own; and endowed also with a tendency to mar-
shal themselves into organized forms. The con-
course of these particles, by virtue of this tendency,
but without intelligence, will, or direction, (for I
do not find that any of these qualities are ascribed
to them,) has produced the living forms which we
now s
Very few of the conjectures which philosophers
hazard upon these subjects, have more of preten-
sion in them, than the challenging you to show
the. direct impossibility of the hypothesis. In the
present example, there seemed to be a positive
objection to the whole scheme upon the very face
of it ; which was that, if the case were as here re-
presented, new combinations ought to be perpetu-
ally taking place ; new plants and animals, or
or^mized bodies which were neither, ought 4o be
starting up before our eyes every day. For this,
however, our philosopher has an answer. Whilst
so many forms of plants and animals are already
in existence, and, consequently, so many " inter-
nal moulds," as he calls them, are prepared and
at hand, the organic particles run into these
moulds, and are employed in supplying an acces-
sion of substance to them, as well for their growth
as for their propagation. By which means,
things keep their ancient course. But, says the
same philosopher, should any general loss or de-
struction of the present constitution of organized
bodies take place, the particles, for want of
"moulds" into which they might enter, would run
into different combinations, and replenish the
waste with new species of organized substances.
Is iliere any history to countenance this notion?
Ts it known, that any destruction has been so re-
paired ! any desert thus re -peopled 7
So far as I remember, the only natural appear-
ance mentioned by our author, by way of fuct
466
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
whereon to build his hypothesis, is the formation
of icorms in the intestines of animals, which is
here ascribed to the coalition of superabundant
organic particles, floating about in the first pa
sages ; and which have combined themselves into
these simple animal forms, for want of internal
moulds, or of vacancies in those moulds, into
which they might be received. The thing referred
to, is rather a species of facts, than a single fact ;
as some other cases may, with equal reason, be
included under it. But to make it a fact at all,
or, in any sort, applicable to the question, we must
begin with asserting an equivocal generation, con-
trary to analogy, and without necessity : contrary
to an analogy, which accompanies us to the very
limits of our knowledge or inquiries; for wherever,
either m plants or animals, we are able to examine
the subject, we find procreation from a parent
form: without necessity; for I apprehend that it
is seldom difficult to suggest methods, by which
the eggs, or spawn, or yet invisible rudiments of
these vermin, may have obtained a passage into
the cavities in which they are found.* Add to
this, that their constancy to their species, which,
I believe, is as regular in these as in the other
vermes, decides the question against our philoso-
pher, if, in truth, any question remained upon the
subject.
Lastly: These wonder-working instruments,
these " internal moulds," what are they after all 1
what, when examined, but a name without sig-
nification ; unintelligible, if not self-contradictory ;
at the best, differing in nothing from the "essen-
tial forms" of the Greek philosophy 1 One short
sentence of Buffon's work exhibits his scheme as
follows: "When this nutritious and prolific
matter, which is diffused throughout all nature,
passes through the internal mould of an animal
or vegetable, and finds a proper matrix, or recep-
tacle, it gives rise to an animal or vegetable of the
same species." Does any reader annex a mean-
ing to the expression " internal mould," in this
senten e "? Ought it then to be said, that, though
we hc.ve little notion of an internal mould, we
have not much-more of a designing mind'? The
very contrary ol this assertion is the truth. When
:ik of an artificer or an architect, we talk
of what is comprehensible to our understanding,
and fami'iar to our experience. We use no other
terms than what refer us for their meaning to
our consciousness and observation ; what express
the constant objects of both: whereas names like
that we have mentioned, refer us to nothing ;
excite no idea ; convey a sound to the ear, but J
think do no more.
Another system which has lately been brought
forward, and with much ingenuity, is that of ap-
petencies. The principle, and the short account
of the theory, is this. Pieces of soft, ductile matter,
being endued with propensities or appetencies for
particular actions, would, by continual endeavours,
carried on through a long series of generations,
work themselves gradually into suitable forms;
and, at length, acquire, though perhaps by ob-
scure fnd almost imperceptible improvements, an
orrr?nization fitted to the action which their res-
pective propensities led them to exert. A piece
* I trust I may be excused, for not citing, as another
fact which is to confirm the hypothesis, agrave assertion
of this writer, that the branches of trees upon which
the stag feeds, break out again in his horns. Such facts
merit no discussion.
of animated matter, for example, that was endued
with a propensity iojly, though ever so shapeless,
though no other We will suppose than a round
ball to begin with, would, in a course of ages, if
not in a million of years, perhaps in a hundred
millions of years (for our theorists, having eternity
to dispose of, are never sparing in time,^ acquire
wings. The same tendency to locomotion in an
aquatic animal, or rather in an animated lump
which might happen to be surrounded by water,
would end in the production of fins : in a living
substance, confined, to the solid earth, would put
out legs and feet ; or, if it took a different turn,
would break the body into ringlets, and conclude
by crawling upon the ground.
Although I have introduced the mention of this
theory into this place, I am unwilling to give to
it the name of an atheistic scheme, for two reasons ;
first, because, so far as I am able to understand it,
the original propensities and the numberless va-
rieties of them (so different, in this respect, from
the laws of mechanical nature, which are few and
simple,) are, in the plan itself, attributed to the
ordination and appointment of an intelligent and
designing Creator: secondly, because, likewise,
that large postulatum, which is all along assumed
and presupposed, the faculty in living bodies of
producing other bodies organized like themselves,
seems to be referred to the same cause ; at least is
not attempted to be accounted for by any other.
In one important respect, however, the theory
before us coincides with atheistic systems, viz. in
that, in the formation of plants and animals, in
the structure and use of their parts, it does away
final causes. Instead of the parts of a plant or
animal, or the particular structure of the parts,
(laving been intended for the action or the use to
which we see them applied; according to this
theory, they have themselves grown out of that
action, sprung from that use. The theory there-
fore dispenses with that which we insist upon,
the necessity, in each particular case, of an intel-
igent, designing mind, for the contriving and de-
;ermining of the forms which organized bodies
rear. Give our philosopher these appetencies;
give him a portion of living irritable matter (a
nerve, or the clipping of a nerve,) to work upon ;
give also to his incipient or progressive forms, the
rower, in every stage of their alteration, of propa-
gating their like ; and, if he is to be believed, he
could replenish the world with all the vegetable
and animal productions which we at present see
nit.
The scheme under consideratior is open to the
same objection with other COP ; .ares of a similar
tendency, viz. a total dedx-t of evidence. No
changes, like those which the theory requires,
lave ever been observed. All the changes in
Ovid's Metamorphoses might have been elected
by these appetencies, if the theory were true : yet
not an example, nor the pretence of an example,
s offered of a single change l>eing known to have
taken place. Nor is the order of generation olxj-
lient to the principle upon which this theory is
built. The mammae* of the male have not vanished
* I confess myself totally at a loss to guess at the
eason, either final or efficient, for this part of the ani-
mal frame; unless there be some foundation for an
opinion, of which I draw the hint from a paper of Mr.
Everard Home, (Phil. Transact. 1799, p. 2.) viz. that the
mamma? of the foetus may be formed, before th.e sex is
determined.
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
467
by inusitation ; nee curtorum, per multa scecula,
Judaorum propagini deest preeputium. It is
easy to say, and it has been said, that the altera-
tive process is too slow to be perceived : that it
has been carried on through tracts of immeasura-
ble time ; and that the present order of things is
the result of a gradation, of which no human
records can trace the steps. It is easy to say this ;
and yet it is still true, that the hypothesis remains
destitute of evidence.
The analogies which have been alleged, are
of the following kind : The bunch of a- camel, is
said to be no other than the cfiect of carrying
burdens ; a service in which the species has been
employed from the most ancient times of the world.
The first race, by the daily loading of the bark.
would probably find a small grumous tumour to be
formed in the flesh of that part. The next progeny
would bring this tumour into the world with them.
The life to which they were destined, would in-
crease it. The cause which first generated the tu-
bercle being continued, it wouldgo on, through
every succession, to augment its size, till it attained
the form and the bulk under which it now appears.
This may serve for one instance: another, and
that also of the passive, sort, is taken from certain
species of birdo. Birds of the crane kind, as the
crane itself, the heron, bittern, stork, have, in
general, their thighs bare of feathers. This priva-
tion is accounted for from the habit of wading in
water, and from the effect of that element to
check the growth of feathers upon these parts ; in
consequence of which, the health and vegetation
of the feathers declined through each generation
of the animal ; the tender down, exposed to cold
and wetness, became weak, and thin, and rare, till
the deterioration ended in the result which we
see, of absolute nakedness. I will mention a
third instance, because it is drawn from an active
habit, as the two last were from passive habits ;
and that is the pouch of the pelican. The de-
scription which naturalists give of this organ, is
as follows : " From the lower edges of the under
chap, hangs a bag, reaching from the whole length
of the bill to the neck, which is said to be capable
of containing fifteen quarts of water. This bag,
the bird has a power of wrinkling up into the
hollow of the under chap. When the bag is
empty, it is not seen ; but when the bird has fish-
ed with success, it is incredible to what an extent
it is often dilated. The first thing the pelican
does in fishing, is to fill the bag ; and then it re-
turns to digest its burden at leisure. The bird
preys upon the large fishes, and hides them by
dozens in its pouch. When the bill is opened to its
widest extent, a person may run his head into the
bird's mouth ; and conceal it in this monstrous
pouch, thus adapted for very singular purposes."*
Now this extraordinary conformation is nothing
more, say our philosophers, than the result of
habit ; not of the habit or effort of a single pelican,
or of a single race of pelicans, but of a habit
perpetuated through a long series of generations.
The pelican soon found the conveniency of reserv-
ing in its mouth, when its appetite was glutted,
the remainder of its prey, which is fish. The ful-
ness produced by this attempt, of course stretched
the skin which lies between the under chaps, as
being the most yielding part of the mouth. Every
distension increased the cavity. The original
* Goldsmith, vol. vi. p. 52.
bird, and many generations which, succeeded him,
might find difficulty enough in making the pouch
answer this purpose : but future pelicans, entering
upon life with a pouch derived from their progeni-
tors, of considerable capacity, would more readily
accelerate its advance to perfection, by frequently
pressing down the sac with the weight of fish
which it might now be made to contain.
These, or of this kind, are the analogies relied
upon. Now, in the first place, the instances them-
selves are unauthenticated by testimony ; and, in
theory, to say the least of them, open to great ob-
jections. Who ever read of camels without
bunches, or with bunches less than those with
which they are at present usually formed? A
bunch, not unlike the camel's, is" found between
the shoulders of the buffalo ; of the origin of which
it is imj>ossil)le to give the account here given. In
the second example ; Why should the application
of water, which appears to promote and thick-
en the growth of feathers upon the bodies and
breasts of geese, and swans, and other water-fowls,
have divested of this covering the thighs of cranes 1
The third instance, which appears to me as plau-
sible as any that can be produced, has this against
it, that it is a singularity restricted to the specie* ;
whereas, if it hacFits commencement in the cause
and manner which have been assigned, the like
conformation might be expected to take place in
other birds, which feed apon fish. How comes it
to pass, that the pelican alone was the inventress,
and her descendants the only inheritors, of this
curious resource?
But it is the less necessary to controvert the in-
stances themselves, as"U is a straining of analogy
beyond all limits of reason and credibility, to as-
sert that birds, and beasts, and fish, with all their
variety and complexity of organization, have been
brought into their forms, and distinguished into
their several kinds arid natures, by the same pro-
cess (even if that process could be demonstrated,
or had it ever been actually noticed) as might
seem to serve for the gradual generation of a ca-
mel's bunch, or a pelican's pouch.
The solution, when applied to the works of na-
ture generally, is contradicted by many of the
phenomena, and totally inadequate to others.
The ligaments of strictures, by which the ten-
dons are tied down at the angles of the joints,
could, by no possibility, be formed by the motion
or exercise of the tendons themselves ; by any ap-
petency exciting these part into action ; or by any
tendency arising thereform. The tendency is au
the other way ; the conatus in constant opposition
to them. Length of time does not help the case
at all, but the reverse. The voltes also in the
blood-vessels, could never be formed in the man-
ner which our theorist proposes. The blood, in
its right and natural course, has no tendency to
form them. When obstructed or refluent, it has
the contrary. These parts could not grow out of
their use, though they had eternity to grow in.
The senses of animals appear to me altogether
incapable of receiving the explanation of their ori-
gin which this .theory affords. Including under
the word " sense" the organ and the perception,
we have no account of either. How will our phi-
losopher get at vision, or make an eye 1 How
should the blind animal affect sight, of which
blind animals, we know, have neither conception
nor desire 1 Affecting it, by what operation of its
will, by what endeavour to see, could it so deter-
468
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
mine the fluids of its body, as to inchoate the for-
mation of an eye 1 or, suppose the eye formed,
would the perception follow 1 The same of the
other senses. And this objection holds its force,
ascribe what you will to the hand of time, to the
power of habit, to changes too slow to be observed
by man, or brought within any comparison which
he is able to make of past things with the present :
concede what you please to these arbitrary and
unattested suppositions, how will they help you, 7 ?
Here is no inception. No laws, no course, no
powers of nature which prevail at present, nor
any analogous to these, would give commence-
ment to a new sense. And it is in vain to inquire,
how that might proceed, which could never begin.
I think the senses to be the most inconsistent
with the hypothesis before us, of any part of the
animal frame. But other parts are sufficiently so.
The solution does not apply to the parts of ani-
mals, which have little in them of motion. If we
could suppose joints and muscles to be gradually
formed by action and exercise, what action or ex-
ercise could form a skull, and fill it with brains'?
No effort of the animal could determine the cloth-
ing of its skin. What ccnatus could give prickles
to the porcupine or hedgehog, pr to the sheep its
fleeced
In the last place : What dp these appetencies
mean when applied to plants 1 I am hot able to
give a signification to the term, which ca[n be
transferred from animals to planes ; or which is
common to both. Yet a 110 less successful organi-
zation is found in plants, than what obtains in
animals. A solution is wanted for one, as well as
the other.
Upon the whole; after all the schemes and
struggles of a reluctant philosophy, the necessary
resort is to a Deity. The marks of design are
too strong to be gotten over. Design must have
had a designer. That designer must have been a
person. That person is GOD.
CHAPTER XXIV.
Of the Natural Attributes of the Deity.
IT is an immense conclusion, that there is a
GOD ; a perceiving, intelligent, designing Being-;
at the head of creation, and from whose will it
proceeded. The attributes of such a Being, sup-
pose his reality to be proved, must be adequate to
the magnitude, extent, and multiplicity of his ope-
rations : which are not only vast beyond compa-
rison with those performed by any other power ;
but, so far as respects our conceptions of them,
infinite, becaus>3 they are unlimited on all sides.
- Yet 'tl>e contemplation of a nature so exalted,
however surely we arrive at the proof of its exist-
ence, overwhelms our faculties. The mind feels
its powers sink under the subject. One conse-
quence of which is. that from painful abstraction
the thoughts seek relief in sensible images.
Whence may be deduced the ancient, and almost
universal propensity to idolatrous substitutions.
They are the resources of a labouring imagina-
tion. False religions usually fall in with the na-
tural propensity ; true religions, or such as have
derived themselves from the true, resist it.
It is one of the advantages of the revelations
which we acknowledge, that, whilst they reject
idolatry with its many pernicious accompani-
ments, they introduce the Deity to human ap-
pivhonsion7 under an idea more personal, more
determinate, more within its compass, than the
theology of nature can do. And this they do by
representing him exclusively under the relation
in which he stands to ourselves ; and, for the most
part, under some precise character, resulting from
that relation, or from the history of his provi-
dences : which method suits the span of our in-
tellects much better than the universality which
enters into the idea of God, as deduced from the
views of nature. When, therefore, these repre-
sentations are well founded in point of authority,
(for all depends upon that,) they afford a conde-
scension to the state of our faculties, of which,
they who have most reflected on the subject, will
be the first to acknowledge the want and the value.
Nevertheless, if we be careful to imitate the do-
cuments of our religion, by confining our explana-
tions to what concerns ourselves, and do not af feet
more precision in our ideas than the subject al-
lows of, the several terms which are employed to
denote the attributes of the Deity, may be made,
even in natural religion, to bear a sense consistent
with truth and reason, and not surpassing our
comprehension.
These terms are; Omnipotence, omniscience,
omnipresence, eternity, sell-existence, necessary
existence, spirituality.
"Omnipotence," "omniscience," "infinite"
power, "infinite" knowledge, are superlatives,
expressing our conception of these attributes in
the strongest and most elevated terms which lan-
guage supplies. We ascribe power to the Deity
under the name of "omnipotence," the strict and
correct conclusion being, that a power which could
create such a world as this is, must be beyond all
comparison, greater than any which we experience
in ourselves, than any which we observe in other
visible agents ; greater also than any which we
can want, for our individual protection and pre-
servation, in the Being upon whom we depend.
It is a power, likewise, to which we are not au-
thorized, by pur observation or knowledge, to as-
sign any limits of space or duration.
Very much of the same sort of remark is
applicable to the term "omniscience," infinite
knowledge, or infinite wisdom. In strictness of
language, there is a difference between knowledge
and wisdom; wisdom always supposing action,
and action directed by it. With respect to the
first, viz. knowledge, the Creator must know,
"ntimately, the constitution and properties of the
things which he created; which seems also to
imply a foreknowledge of their action upon one
another, and of their changes ; at least, so far as
the same result from trains of physical and neces-
sary causes. His omniscience also, as far as
respects things present, is deducible from his
nature, as an intelligent being, joined with the
extent or rather the universality, of his operations.
Where he acts, he is ; and where he is, he per-
ceives. The wisdom of the Deity, as testified in
the works of creation, surpasses all idea we have
of wisdom, drawn from the highest intellectual
operations of the highest class of intelligent beings
with whom we are acquainted ; and, which is of
the chief importance to us, whatever be its com-
pass or extent, which it is evidently impossible
that we should be able to determine, it must be
adequate to the conduct of that order of things
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
under which we live. And this is enough. It
is of very inferior consequence, by what terms we
express our notion, or rather our admiration, of
this attribute. The terms, which the piety and
the usage of language have rendered habitual to
us, may be as proper as any other. We can
trace this attribute much beyond what is neces-
sary for any conclusion to which we have occasion
to apply it. The degree of knowledge and power
requisite for the formation ol'created nature, cannot,
with respect to us, be distinguished from infinite.
The Divine " omnipresence" stands, in natural
theology, upon this foundation : In every part
and place of the universe with which we are ac-
quainted, we ]>ercvive the exertion of a power,
which we believe, mediately or immediately to
proceed from the, Deity. For instance ; in what
part or point of space, that has ever been ex-
plored, do we not discover attraction 1 In what
regions do we not find light. In what accessible
portion of our globe, do we not meet with gravi-
ty, magnetism, electricity; together with the pro-
perties also and powers of organized substances,
of vegetable or of animated nature 1 Nay, farther,
we may ask, What kingdom is there of nature,
what corner of space, in which there in any thing
that can be examined by us, where we do not fall
upon contrivance and design 1 The only retlec-
tion perhaps which arises in our minds from this
view of the world around us is, that the laws of
nature everywhere prevail ; that they are uniform
and universal. But what do we mean by the
laws of nature, or by any law? Effects are pro-
duced by power, not by laws. A law cannot exe-
cute itself. A law refers us to an agent. Now
an agency so general, as that we cannot discover
its absence, or assign the place in which some
effect of its continued energy is not found, mav,
in popular language at least, and, perhaps, with-
out much deviation from philosophical strictness,
be called universal : and, with not quite the same,
but with no inconsiderable propriety, the person
or Being, in whom that power resides, or from
whom it is derived, may be taken to be omnipre-
sent. He who upholds all things by his power,
may be said to be every where present.
This is called a virtual presence. There is
also what metaphysicians denominate an essen-
tial ubiquity ; and which idea the language of
Scripture seems to favour : but the former, 1 think,
goes as far as natural theology carries us.
" Eternity" is a negative idea, clothed with a
positive name. It supposes, in that to which it is
applied, a present existence ; and is the negation
of a beginning or an end of that existence. As
applied to the Deity, it has not been contro-
verted by those who acknowledge a Deity at
all. Most assuredly, there never was a time in
which nothing existed, because that condition must
have continued. The universal blank must have
remained ; nothing could rise up out of it ; nothing
could ever have existed since ; nothing could
exist now. In strictness, however, we have no
concern with duration prior to that of the visible
world. Upon this article therefore of theology,
it is sufficient to know, that the contriver neces-
sarily existed before the contrivance.
" Self-existence" is another negative idea, viz.
the negation of a preceding cause, as of a pro-
genitor, a maker, an author, a creator.
" Necessary existence" means demonstrable
existence.
" Spirituality" expresses an idea, made up of a
negative part, and of a positive part. The nega-
tive part consists in the exclusion of some of the
known properties of matter, especially of solidity,
of the tits inertice, and of gravitation. The posi-
tive part comprises perception, thought, will,
power, action ; by which last term is meant, the
origination of motion; the quality, perhaps, in
which resides the essential superiority of spirit
over matter, " which cannot move, unless it be
moved; and cannot but move, when impelled
by another."* I apprehend that there can be no
difficulty in applying to the Deity both parts of
this idea.
CHAPTER XXV.
The Unity of the Deity.
OP the " Unity of the Deity," the proof is, the
uniformity of plan observable in the universe.
The universe itself is a system ; each part either
depending upon other parts, or being connected
with other parts by some common law of motion,
or by the presence of some common substance,.
One principle of gravitation causes a stone to drop
towards the earth, and the moon to wheel round
it. One law of attraction carries all the different
planets about the sun. This philosophers de-
monstrate. There are also other points of agree-
ment amongst them, which may be considered as
marks of the identity of their origin, and of their
intelligent Author. In all are found the con-
veniency and stability derived from gravitation.
They all experience vicissitudes of days and
nights, and changes of season. They all, at
least Jupiter, Mars, and Venus, have the same
advantages from their atmosphe're as we have.
In all the planets, the axes of rotation are perma-
nent. Nothing is more probable than that the
same attracting influence, acting according to the
same rule, reaches to the fixed stare : but, if this
be only probable, another thing is certain, viz.
that the same element of light does. The light
from a fixed star affects our eyes in the same
manner, is refracted and reflected according to
the same laws, as the light of a candle. The
velocity of the light of the fixed stars is also the
same as the velocity of the light of the sun,
reflected from the satellites of Jupiter. The heat
of the sun, in kind, differs nothing from the heat
of a coal fire.
In our own globe, the case is clearer. New
countries are continually discovered, but the old
laws of nature are always found in them : new
plants perhaps, or animals, but always in com-
pany with plants and animals which we already
know ; and always possessing many of the same
general properties. We never get amongst such
original, or totally different, modes of existence,
as to indicate, that we are come into the province
of a different Creator, or under the direction of a
different will. In truth, the same order of things
attends us, wherever we go. The elements act
upon one another, electricity operates, the tides
rise and fall, the magnetic needle elects its posi-
tion, in one region of the earth and sea, as well
* Bishop Wilkin's Principles of Natural Religion,
p. 106.
40
470
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
as in another. One atmosphere invests all part
of the globe, and connects all ; one sun i II u mi
nates, one moon exerts its specific attraction upon
all parts. If there be a variety in natural effects
as, e. g. in the tides of different seas, that very
variety is the result of the same cause, acting
under different circumstances. In many cases
this is proved ; in all, is probable.
The inspection and comparison of living forms
add to this argument examples without number,
Of all large terrestrial animals, the structure is
very much alike ; their senses nearly the same ;
their natural functions and passions nearly the
same ; their viscera nearly the same, both in sub-
stance, shape, and office : digestion, nutrition,
circulation, secretion, go on, in a similar manner,
in all : the great circulating fluid is the same ;
for, I think no difference has been discovered in
the properties of blood, from whatever animal it
be drawn. The experiment of transfusion proves
that the blood of one animal will serve for another.
The skeletons also of the larger terrestrial ani-
mals, show particular varieties, but still under a
great general affinity. The resemblance is some-
what less, yet sufficiently evident between qua-
drupeds and birds. They are all alike in five
respects, for one in which they differ.
In fish, which belong to another department, as
it were, of nature, the points of comparison be-
come fewer. But we never lose sight of our ana-
logy, e. g. we slill meet with a stomach, a liver, a
spine ; with bile and blood ; with teeth ; with eyes,
(which eyes are only slightly varied from our own,
and which variation in truth demonstrates not
an interruption, but a continuance of the same ex-
quisite plan ; for it is the adaptation of the organ
to the element, viz. to the different refraction of
light passing into the eye out of a denser me-
dium.) The provinces, also, themselves of water
and earth, are connected by the species of animals
which inhabit both ; and also by a large tribe of
aquatic animals which closely resemble the terres-
trial in their internal structure ; I mean the ceta-
ceous tribe, which have hot blood, respiring lungs,
bowels, and other essential parts, like those of land
animals. This similitude, surely, bespeaks the
same creation and the same Creator.
Insects and shell-fish appear to me to differ from
other classes of animals the most widely of any.
Yet even here, beside many points of particular
resemblance, there exists a general relation of a
peculiar kind. It is the relation of inversion ; the
law of contrariety : namely, that, whereas, in
other animals, the bones, to which the muscles are
attached, lie within the body ; in insects and shell-
fish, they lie on the outside of it. The shell of
a lobster performs to the animal the office of a
bone, by furnishing to the tendons that fixed basis
or immoveable fulcrum, without which, mechani-
cally, they could not act. The crust of an insect
is its shell, and answers the like purpose. The
shell also of an oyster stands in the place of a bone ;
the bases of the muscles being fixed to it, in the
same manner as, in other animals, they are fixed
to the bones. All which (under wonderful varie-
ties, indeed, and adaptations of form,^) confesses an
imitation, a remembrance, a carrying on of the
same plan.
The observations here made, are equally appli-
cable to plants ; but, I think, unnecessary to be
pursued. It is a very striking circumstance, and
alone sufficient to prove all which we contend for.
that, in this part likewise of organized nature, we
perceive a continuation of the sexual system.
Certain however it is, that the whole argument
for the divine unity, goes no farther than to a unity
of counsel.
It may likewise be acknowledged, that no argu-
ments which we are in possession of, exclude the
ministry of subordinate agents. If such there be,
they act under a presiding, a controlling will ; be-
cause they act according to certain general restric-
tions, by certain common rules, and, as it should
seem, upon a general plan : but still such agents,
and different ranks, and classes, and degrees of
them, may be employed.
CHAPTER XXVI.
The Goodness of the Deity.
THE proof of the divine goodness rests upon
;wo propositions : each, as we contend, capable of
jeing made out by observations drawn from the
appearances of nature.
The first is, " that, in a vast plurality of in-
stances in which contrivance is perceived, the de-
sign of the contrivance is beneficial."
The second, "that the Deity has superadded
pleasure to animal sensations, beyond what was
necessary for any other purpose, or when the pur-
pose, so far as it was necessary, might have been
effected by the operation of pain."
First, " In a vast plurality of instances in which
xmtrivance is perceived, the design of the contri-
vance is beneficial."
No productions of nature display contrivance so
nanifestly as the parts of animals ; and the parts
)f animals have all of them, I believe, a real, and,
ith very few exceptions, all of them a known and
utelligible, subserviency to the use of the animal.
N T ow, when the multitude of animals is consider-
ed, the number of parts in each, their figure and
fitness, the faculties depending upon them, the
r ariety of species, the complexity of structure, the
uccess, in so many cases, and felicity of the re-
ult, we can never reflect, without the profoundest
deration, upon the character of that Being from
vhom all these things have proceeded : we can-
lot help acknowledging, what an exertion of be-
levolence creation was ; of a benevolence how
minute in its care, how vast in its comprehen-
sion !
When we appeal to the parts and faculties of
nimals, and to the limbs and senses of animals in
mrticular, we state, I conceive, the proper medium
f proof for the conclusion which we wish to es-
ablish. I will not say, that the insensible parts
f nature are made solely for the sensitive parts :
ut this I say, that, when we consider the benevo-
jnce of the Deity, we can only consider it in re-
ation to sensitive being. Without this reference,
r referred to any thing else, the attribute has no
ftject : the term has no meaning. Dead matter
s nothing The parts, therefore, especially the
mbs arid senses, of animals, although they con-
;itute, in mass and quantity, a small portion of
le material creation, yet, since they alone are in-
truments of perception, they compose what may
e called the whole of visible nature, estimated
with a view to the disposition of its Author.
Consequently, it is in these that we are to seek his
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
471
character. It is by these that we are to prove,
that the world was made with a benevolent design.
Nor is the design abortive. It is a happy world
after all. The air, the earth, the water, tee"m with
delighted existence. In a spring noon, or a sum-
mer evening, on whichever side I turn my eyes,
myriads of nappy beings crowd upon my view.
" The insect youth are on the wing." Swarms
of new-born Jiies are trying their pinions in the
air. Their sportive motions, their wanton mazes,
their gratuitous activity, their continual change of
place without use or purpose, testify their joy, and
the exultation which they feel in their lately dis-
covered faculties. A bee amongst the flowers in
spring, is one of the most cheerful objects that can
be looked upon. Its life appears to be all enjoy-
ment ; so busy, and so pleased ; yet it is only a
specimen of insect life, with which, by reason of
the animal being half domesticated, we happen to
be better acquainted than we are with that of
others. The whole winged insect tribe, it is pro-
bable, are equally intent upon their proper em-
ployments, and, under every variety of constitu-
tion, gratified, and perhaps equally gratified, by
the offices which the Author of their nature has
assigned to them. But the atmosphere is not the
only scene of enjoyment for the insect race.
Plants are covered with aphides, greedily sucking
their juices, and constantly, as it should serin, in
the act of sucking. It cannot be doubted but that
this is a state of gratification. What else should
fix them so close to the operation, and so long 1
Other species arc running about; with an ala-
crity in their motions, which carries with it e\vry
mark of pleasure. Large' patches of ground are
sometimes half covered with these brisk and
sprightly natures. If we look to what the wa-
ters produce, shoals of the fry of fish frequent the
margins of rivers, of lakes, and of the sea itself.
Thesje are so happy, that they know not what to
do with themselves. Their attitudes, their viva-
city, their leaps, out of the water, their frolics in
it, (which I have noticed a thousand times with
equal attention and amusement,) all conduce to
show their excess of spirits, and are simply the
effects of that excess. Walking by the sea-side,
in a calm evening, upon a sandy shore, and with
an ebbing tide, | have frequently remarked the
appearance of a dark cloud, or rather, very thick
mist hanging over the edge of the water, to the
height, perhaps, of half a yard, and of the breadth
of two or three yards, stretching along the coast
as far as the eye could reach, and always retiring
with the water. When this cloud came to be ex-
amined, it proved to be nothing else than so much
spare, filled with young shrimps, in the act of
bounding into the air from the shallow margin of
the water, or from the wet sand. If any motion
of a mute animal could express delight, it was
this : if they had meant to make signs of their
happiness, they could not have done it more in-
telligibly. Suppose then, what I have no doubt
of, each individual of this number to be in a state
of positive enjoyment ; what a sum, collectively,
of gratification and pleasure have we here before
our view !
The young of all animals appear to me to re-
ceive pleasure simply from the exercise of their
limbs and bodily faculties,, without reference to
any end to be attained, or any use to be answered
by the exertion. A child, without knowing any
thing of the use of language, is in a high degree
delighted with being able to speak. Its incessant
repetition of a few articulate sounds, or, perhaps,
of the single word which it has learnt to pro-
nounce, proves this point clearly. Nor is it less
pleased with its first successful endeavours to
walk, or rather to run, (which precedes walking,)
although entirely ignorant of the importance of
the attainment to its future life, and even without
-applying it to any present purpose. A child is
delig'hted with speaking, without having any thing
to say; and with walking, without knowing
where to go. And prior to both these, I am dis-
posed to believe, that the waking hours of infancy
are agreeably taken up with the exercise of vision,
or perhaps, more properly speaking, with learning
to see.
But it is not for youth alone that the great Pa-
rent of creation hath provided. Happiness is
found with the purring cat, no less than with the
playful kitten; in the arm-chair of dozing age, as
well as in either the sprightliness of the dance or
the animation of the chase. To novelty, to acute-
ness of -sensation, to hope, to ardour of pursuit,
succeeds, what is, in no inconsiderable degree, an
equivalent for them all, " perception of ease."
Herein is the exact difference between the young
arid the old. The young are not happy but when
enjoying pleasure; trie old are happy when free
from pain. And this constitution suits with the
degrees of animal power which they respectively
possess. The vigour of youth was to be stimu-
lated to action by impatience of rest; whilst to the
imbecility of nge, quietness and repose become
positive gratifications. In one important respect
the advantage is with the old. A state of ease is,
generally speaking, more attainable than a state
of pleasure. A constitution, therefore, which can
enjoy ease, is preferable to that which can taste
only pleasure. This same perception of ease
oftentimes renders old age a condition of great
comfort; especially when riding at its anchor after
a busy or tempestuous life. It is \ve\\- described
by Rousseau, to be the interval of repose nnd en-
joyment, between the hurry and the end of life.
How far the same cause extends to other animal
natures, cannot be judged of with certainty. The
appearance of satisfaction, with which most ani-
mals, as their activity suk/ides, seek and enjoy
rest, affords reason tc- believe, that this source of
gratification is appointed to advance lite, under all,
or most of its various forms. In the species with
which we are best acquainted, namely our own, I
am far, even as an observer of human life, from
thinking that youth is its happiest season, much
less the only happy one: as a Christian, I am
willing to believe that there is a great deal of truth
in the following representation given by a very
pious writer, as well as excellent man :* " To the
intelligent and virtuous, old age presents a scene
of tranquil enjoyments, of obedient appetite, of
well-regufatedaffections, of maturity in knowledge,
and of calm preparation for immortality. In this
serene and dignified state, placed as it were on the
confines of two worlds, the mind of a good man
reviews what is past with a complacency of an
approving conscience ; and looks forward with
humble confidence in the mercy of God, and with
devout aspirations towards his eternal and ever-
increasing favour."
* Father's Instructions ; by Dr. Percival of Manches-
ter, p. 317.
47-2
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
What is seen in different stages of the same
lite, is still more exemplified in the lives of differ-
ent animals. Animal enjoyments are infinitely
diversified. The modes of life, to which the or-
ganization of different animals respectively deter-
mines them, are not only of various but of oppo-
site kinds. Yet each is happy in its own. For
instance : animals of prey live much alone ; ani-
mals of a milder constitution, in society. Yet the
herring, which lives in shoals, and the sheep,
which lives in flocks, are not more happy in a
crowd, or more contented amongst their compa-
nions, than is the pike, or the lion, with the deep
solitudes of the pool, or the forest.
But it will be said, that the instances which
we have here brought forward, whether of viva-
city or repose, or of apparent enjoyment derived
from either, are picked and favourable instances.
We answer, first, that they are instances, never-
theless, which comprise large provinces of sensi-
tive existence ; that every case which we have de-
scribed, is the case of millions. At this moment,
in every given moment of time, how many myri-
ads of animals are eating their food, gratifying
their appetites, ruminating in. their holes, ac-
complishing their wishes, pursuing their pleasures,
taking their pastimes 1 In each individual, how
many things must go right for it to be at ease ;
yet how large a proportion out of every species is so
in every assignable instant ! Secondly, we con-
tend in the terms of our original proposition, that
throughout the whole of life, as it is diffused in
nature, and as far as we are acquainted with it,
looking to the average of sensations, the plurality
and the preponderancy is in favour of happiness
by a vast excess. In our own species, in which
perhaps the assertion may be more questionable
than in any other, the prepollency of good over evil,
of health, for example, and ease, over pain and
distress, is evinced by the very notice which cala-
mities excite. What inquiries does the sickness
of our friends produce ! what conversation their
misfortunes ! This shows that the common course
of things is in favour of happiness ; that happiness
is the rule, misery the exception. Were the order
reversed; our attention would be called to exam-
ples of health and competency, instead of disease
and want.
One great cause of our insensibility to the good-
ness of the Creator, is the very extensiveness of
his bounty. We prize but- little what we share
only in common with the rest, or with the gene-
rality of our species. When we hear of blessings,
we think forthwith of successes, of prosperous for-
tunes, of honours, riches, preferments, i. e. of those
advantages and superiorities over others, which
we happen either to possess, or to be in pursuit of,
or to covet. The common benefits of our nature
entirely escape us. Yet these are the great things.
These constitute what most properly ought to T)e
accounted blessings of Providence ; what alone, if
we might so speak, are worthy of its care. Night-
ly rest and daily bread, the ordinary use of our
limbs, and senses, and understandings, are gifts
which admit of no comparison with any other.
Yet, because almost every man we meet with pos-
sesses these, we leave them out of our enumera-
tion. They raise no sentiment; they move no
gratitude. Now, herein is our judgment pervert-
ed by our selfishness. A blessing ought in truth
to be the more satisfactory, the bounty at least of
the donor ia rendered more conspicuous, by its
very diffusion, its commonness, its cheapness ; by
its falling to the lot, ;m<l forming the happiness,
of the great bulk and body of our species, as well
as 01 ourselves. Nay, even when we do not pos-
sess it, it ought to be matter of thankfulness that
others do. But we have a different way of think-
ing. We court distinction. That is not the
worst ; we see nothing but what has distinction to
recommend it. This necessarily contracts our
views of the Creator's beneficence within a nar-
row compass j and most unjustly. It is in those
things which are so common as to he no distinc-
tion, that the amplitude of the divine benignity is
perceived.
But pain, no doubt, and privations exist,-in nu-
merous instances, and to a degree, which, collect-
ively, would be very great, if they were compared
with any other thing than with the mass of ani-
mal fruition. For the application, therefore, of
our proposition to that mixed state of things which
these exceptions induce, two rules are necessary,
and both, I think, just and fair rules. One is,
that we regard those effects alone which are ac-
companied with proofs of intention : the other, that
when we cannot resolve all appearances into bene-
volence of design, we make the few give place to
the many ; the little to the great; that we take our
judgment from a large and decided preponderancy,
if there be one.
I crave leave to transcribe into this place, what
I have said upon this subject in my Moral Philo-
sophy :
" When God created the human specie;, cither
he wished their happiness, or he wished their
misery, or he was indifferent and unconcerned
about either.
" If he had wished our misery, he might have
made sure of his purpose, by forming our senses
to be so many sores and pains to us, as they are
now instruments of gratification and enjoyment :
or by placing us amidst objects, so ill suited to our
perceptions as to have continually offended us,
instead of ministering to our refreshment and de-
light. He might have made, for example, every
thing we tasted, bitter ; every thing we saw, loath-
some; every thing we touched, a sting; every
smell, a stench ; and every sound, a discord.
" If he had been indifferent about our happi-
ness or misery, we must impute to our good for-
tune (as all design by this supposition is excluded)
both the capacity of our senses to receive pleasure,
and the supply of external objects fitted to pro-
duce it.
' But either of these, and still more both of
them, being too much to be attributed to accident,
nothing remains but the first supposition, that
God, when he created the human species, wished
their happiness ; and made for them the provision
which he has made, with that view and for that
purpose.
" The same argument may be proposed in dif-
ferent terras^ thus: Contrivance proves design:
and the predominant tendency of the contrivance
indicates the disposition of the designer. The
world abounds with contrivances: and all the
contrivances which we are acquainted with, are
directed to beneficial purposes. Evil, no doubt,
exists; but is never, that we can perceive, the ob-
ject of contrivance. Teeth are contrived to eat.
not to ache; their aching now and then is inci-
dental to the contrivance, perhaps inseparable
from it: or even, if you will, let it be called a dc-
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
473
feet in the contrivance : but it is not the object of
it. This is a distinction which well deserves to
be attended to. In describing implements of hus-
bandry, you would hardly say of the sickle, that
it is made to cut the reaper's hand ; thouf h from
the construction of the instrument and the man-
ner of using it, this mischief often follows. But
if you had occasion to describe instruments of tor-
ture, or execution : this engine, you would say, is
to extend the sinews ; this to dislocate the joints ;
this to break the bones ; this to scorch the soles
of the feet. Here, pain and misery are the very
objects of the contrivance. Now, nothing of this
sort is to be found in the works of nature. We
never discover a train of contrivance to bring
about an evil purpose. No anatomist ever disco-
vered a system of organization calculated to pro-
duce pain and disease ; or, in explaining the parts
of the human body, ever said, this is to irritate;
this to inflame; this duct is to convey the gravel
to the kidneys ; this gland to secrete the humour
which forms the gout : if by chance he come at a
part of which he knows not the use, the most he
can say is, that it is useless ; no one ever suspects
that it is put there to incommode, to annoy, or to
torment."
The TWO CASES which appear to me to have
the most of difficulty in them, as forming the
most of the appearance of exception to the repre-
sentation here given, are those of venomous ani-
mals, and of animals preying upon one another.
These properties of animals, wherever they are
found, must, I think, l>e referred to design'; he-
cause there is in all cases of the first, and in most
cases of the second, an express and distinct or-
ganization provided for the producing of them.
Under the lirst head, the fangs of viprrs. Hu-
stings of wasps and scorpions, are as clearly in-
tended for their purpose, as any animal structure
is for any purpose the most incontestably benefi-
cial. And the same thing must, under the second
head, be acknowledged of the talons and beaks of
birds, of the tusks, teeth, and claws, of beasts of
prey ; of the shark s mouth, of the spider's web,
and of numberless weapons of offence belonging
to different tribes of voracious insects. We can-
not, therefore, avoid the difficulty by saying, that
the effect was not intended. The only question
open to us is, whether it be ultimately evil. From
the confessed and felt imperfection of our know-
ledge, we ought to presume that there may be
consequences of this economy which are hidden
from us ; from the benevolence which pervades the
general designs of nature, we ought also to pre-
sume, that these consequences, if they could enter
into our calculation, would turn the balance on
the favourable side. Both these I contend to be
reasonable presumptions. Not reasonable pre-
sumptions, if these two cases were the only cases
which nature presented to our observation ; but
reasonable presumptions under the reflection, that
the cases in question are combined with a multi-
tude of intentions, all proceeding from the same
author, and all, except these, directed to ends of
undisputed utility. Of the vindications, however,
of this economy, which we are able to assign,
such as most extenuate the difficulty are the fol-
lowing.
With respect to venomous bites and stings, it
may be observed,
1. That, the animal itself being regarded, the
faculty complained of is good ; being conducive,
3 O
in all cases, to the defence of the animal ; in some
cases, to the subduing of its prey ; and in some,
probably, to the killing of it, when caught, by a
mortal wound, inflicted in the passage to the sto-
mach, which may be no less merciful to the vic-
tim, than salutary to the devourer. In the viper,
for instance, the poisonous fang may do that
which, in other animals of prey, is done by the
crush of the teeth. Frogs and mice might be
swallowed alive without it.
2. But it will be said, that this provision, when
it comes to the case of bites, deadly even to hu-
man bodies and to those of large quadrupeds, is
greatly overdone ; that it might have fulfilled its
use, and yet have been much less deleterious than
it is. Now I believe the case of bites, which pro-
duce death in large animals, (of stings I think
there are none,) to be very few. The experiments
of the Abbe Fontana, which were numerous, go
strongly to the proof of this. point. He found that
it required the action of five exasperated vij>ers to
kill a dog of a moderate size : but that, to the kill-
ing of a mouse or a frog, a single bite was suffi-
cient ; which agrees with the use we assign to the
faculty. The Abbe seemed to be of opinion, that
the bite even of the rattle-snake would not usual-
ly be mortal ; allowing, however, that in certain
particularly unfortunate cases, as when the punc-
ture had touched some very tender part, pricked a
l>rinri|>;il nerve Cor instance, or, as it is said, some
more considerable lymphatic vessel, death might
speedily ensue.
3. It has been, I think, very justly remarked,
concerning serpents, that, whilst only a few spe-
cies possess the venomous property, that property
guards the whole tribe. The most innocuous
snake is avoided with as much care as a viper.
Now the terror with which large animals regard
this class of reptiles, is its protection; and this
terror is founded on the formidable revenge, which
a few of the number, compared with the whole,
are capable of taking. The species of serpents, de-
scribed by Linnaeus, amount to two hundred and
eighteen, of which thirty-two only are poisonous.
4. It seems to me, that animal constitutions are
provided, not only for. each element, but for each
state of the elements, i. e. for every climate, and
for every temperature ; and that part of the mis-
chief complained of, arises from animals (the hu-
man animal most especially) occupying situations
upon the earth, which do not belong to them, nor
were ever intended for their habitation. The fol-
ly and wickedness of mankind, and necessities
proceeding from these causes, have driven multi-
tudes of the species to seek a refuge amongst
burning sands, whilst countries, blessed with hos-
pitable skies, and with the most fertile soils, re-
main almost without a human tenant. We in-
vade the territories of wild beasts and venomous
reptiles, and then complain that we are infested
by their bites and stings. Some accounts of
Africa place this observation in a strong point
of view. " The deserts," says Adanson, " are en-
tirely barren, except where they are found to pro-
duce serpents : and in such quantities, that some
extensive plains are almost entirely covered with
them." These are the natures appropriated to
the situation. Let them enjoy their existence;
let them have their country. Surface enough
will be left to man, though his numbers were in-
creased a hundred-fold, and left to him, where he
might live, exempt from these annoyances.
40*
474
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
The SECOND CASE, viz. that of animals devour-
ing one another, furnishes a consideration of
much larger extent. To judge whether, as a ge-
neral provision, this can In- waned an evil, even
so far as we understand its consequences, which,
probahly, is a partial understanding, the following
reflections are tit to be attended to.
1. Immortality upon this earth is out of the
question. Without death there could be no gene-
ration, no sexes, no parental relation, i. c. as things
are constituted, no animal happiness. The parti-
cular duration of life, assigned to different animals,
can form no part of the objection ; because, what-
ever that duration be, whilst i^,,remains finite and
limited, it may always be asked, why it is no
longer. The natural age of different animals va-
ries, from a single day to a century of years. No
account can be given of this ; nor could any be
given, whatever other proportion of life had ob-
tained amongst them.
The term then of life in different animals being
the same as it is, the question is, what mode of
taking it away is the best even for the animal it-
self.
Now, according to the established order of na-
ture, (which we must suppose to 'prevail, or we
cannot reason at all upon the subject,) the three
methods by which life is usually put an end to,
are acute diseases, decay, and violence. The sim-
ple and natural life of brutes, is not often visited
by acute distempers ; nor could it be deemed an
improvement of their lot, if they were. Let it be
considered, therefore, in what a condition of suf-
fering and misery a brute animal is placed, which
is left to perish by decay. In human sickness or
infirmity, there is the assistance of man's rational
fellow-creatures, if not to alleviate his pains, at
least to minister to his necessities, and to supply
the place of his own activity. A brute, in his
wild and natural state^ does every thing for him-
self. When his strength, therefore, or his speed,
or his limbs, or his senses, fail him, he is deliver-
ed over Cither to absolute famine, or to the pro-
tracted wretchedness of a life slowly wasted by
the scarcity of food. Is it then to see the world
filled with drooping, superannuated, half-starved,
helpless, and unhelj>ed, animals, that you would
alter the present system of pursuit and prey 1
2. Which system is also to them the spring of
motion and activity on both sides. The pursuit
of its prey forms the employment, and appears to
constitute the pleasure, of a considerable part of
the animal creation. The using of the means of
defence, or flight, or precaution, forms also the
business of another part. And even of this latter
tribe, we have no reason to suppose, that their
happiness is much molested by their fears. Their
danger exists continually ; and in some cases
they seem to be so far sensible of it as to provide,
in the best manner they can, against it ; but it is
only when the attack is actually made upon them,
that they appear to suffer from it. To contem-
plate the insecurity of their condition with anxiety
and dread, requires a degree of reflection, which j
(happily for themselves) they do not possess. A
hare, notwithstanding the number of its dangers
and its enemies, is as playful an animal as any
other.
3. But, to do justice to the question, the system
of animal destruction ought always to be consi-
dered in strict connexion with another property
of animal nature, viz. supcrfccundity. They are
countervailing qualities. One subsists by the
correction of the other. In treating, therefore, of
the subject under this view (which is, I believe,
the true one,) our business will be, first, to point
out the advantages which are gained by the
powers in nature of a superabundant multiplica-
tion; and, then, to show, that these advantages
are so many reasons for appointing that system of
national hostilities, -which we are endeavouring to
account for.
In almost all cases, nature produces her sup-
plies with profusion. A single cod-fish spawns,
in one season, a greater number of eggs, than all
the inhabitants of England amount to. A thou-
sand other instances of prolific generation might
be stated, which, though not equal to this, would
carry on the increase of the species with a rapidity
which outruns calculation, and to an immeasura-
ble extent. The advantages of such a constitu-
tion are two : first, that it tends to keep the world
always full ; whilst, secondly, it allows the pro-
portion between the several species of animals to
be differently modified, as different purposes re-
quire, or as different situations may afford for
them room and food. Where this vast fecundity
meets with a vacancy fitted to receive the species,
there it operates with its whole effect ; there it
pours in its numbers, and replenishes the waste.
We complain of what we call the exorbitant
multiplication of some troublesome insects; not
reflecting, that large portions of nature might be
left void without it. If the accounts of travellers
may be depended upon, immense tracts of forest in
North America would be nearly lost to sensitive
existence, if it were not for gnats. " In the thinly
inhabited regions of America, in which the waters
stagnate and the climate is warm, the whole air is
filled with crowds of these insects." Thus it is,
that where we looked for solitude and death- like
silence, we meet with animation, activity, enjoy-
ment ; with a busy, a happy, and a peopled world.
Again ; hosts of mice are reckoned amongst the
plagues of the north-east part of Europe ; whereas
vast plains in Sil>eria, as we learn from good au-
thority, would be lifeless without them. The
Caspian deserts are converted to their presence
into crowded warrens. Between the Volga and
the Yaik, and in the country of Hyrcama, the
ground, says Pallas, is in many places covered
with little hills, raised by the earth cast out in
forming the burrows. Do we so envy these
blissful abodes, as to pronounce the fecundity by
which they are supplied with inhabitants, to be an
evil : a subject of complaint, and not of praise 1
Farther, by virtue of this same superfecundity,
what we term destruction, becomes, almost in-
stantly, the parent of life. What we call blights,
are, oftentimes, legions of animated beings, claim-
ing their portion in the bounty of nature. What
corrupts the produce of the earth to us,,propares
it for them. And it is by means of their rapid
multiplication, that they take possession of their
pasture ; a slow propagation would not meet the
opportunity.
But in conjunction with the occasional use of
this fruitfuln'ess, we observe, also, that it allows
the proportion between the several species of
animals to be differently modified, as different
purposes of utility may require. When the
forests of America come to be cleared, and the
swamps drained, our gnats will give place to
other inhabitants. If the population of Europe
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
475
should spread to the north and the east, the mice
will retire before the husbandman and the shep-
herd, and yield their station to herds and flocks.
In what concerns the human species, it may be a
part of the jscheme of Providence, that the earth
should l>e inhabited by a shifting, or perhaps a
circulating population. In this economy, it is
possible that there may be the following advan-
tages : when old countries are become exceeding-
ly corrupt, simpler modes of life, purer morals,
and better institutions, may rise up in new ones,
whilst fresh soils reward the cultivator with more
plentiful returns. Thus the dillerent portions of
globe come into use in succession at the residence
of man ; and, in his absence, entertain other guests.
which, by their sudden multiplication, nil the
chasm. In domesticated animals, we lind the ef-
fect of their fecundity to be, that we can always
command nu inters; we can always have as many
of any particular species as we please, or as we
can support. Nor do we complain of its excess;
it being much more easy to regulate abundance,
than to supply scarcity.
But then this supcrfccundity, though of great
occasional use and iuijwrtance, exceeds the ordi-
nary capacity of nature to receive or support its
progeny. All superabundance supers destruc-
tion, or must destroy itself. 1'erhaps then 1 is no
species of terrestrial animals whatever, which
would not overrun the earth, if it were permitted
to multiply in perfect safety : or of fish, which
would not fill tlie ocean : at least, if any single
species were left to their natural increase without
disturbance or restraint, the food of other species
would lx- exhausted by their maintenance. It is
necessary, therefore, that the cflects of such pro-
lific faculties be curtailed. In conjunction with
other checks and limits, all subservient to the
same purpose, are the thinnings which take place
among animals, by their action upon one another.
In some instances we ourselves experience, very
directly, the use of these hostilities. One species
of insects rids us of another species; or reduces
their ranks. A third sjxjcies, jn-rhaps, keeps the
second within bounds ; and birds or lizards are a
fence against the inordinate increase by which
even these last might infest us. In other, more
numerous, and iH>ssib]y more important, instances,
this disposition of things, although less necessary
or useful to us, and of course less observed by us,
may be necessary and useful to certain other spe-
cies: or even for the preventing of the loss of
certain species from the ^universe : a misfortune
which seems to be studiously guarded against.
Though there may be the appearance of failure in
some of the details of Nature s works, in her great
purposes there never are. Her species never fail.
and the duck tribe, frequently sit upon a dozen.
In the rivers, we meet with a thousand minnows
for one pike ; in the sea, a million of herrings for
a single shark. Compensation obtains through-
out. Defencclessness and devastation are repair-
ed by fecundity.
We have dwelt the longer on these considera-
tions, because the subject to which th^y apply,
namely, that of animals devouring one another,
forms the chief, if not the only instance, in the
works of the Deity, of an> economy, stamijcd by
marks of design, in which the-character of utility
can be called in question. The case of venomous
animals is of much inferior consequence to the
case of prey, and, in some degree, is also included
under it. To both cases it is probable that many
more reasons belong, than those of which we are
in possession.
Our FIRST PROPOSITION, and that which we
have hitherto Iven defending, was, "that, in a
vast plurality, of instances, in which contrivance
is perceived, the design of the contrivance is be-
neficial."
Our SECOND PROPOSITION is, "that the Deity
has added pleasure to animal sensations, beyond
what was necessary for any other purpose, or
when the purpose, so far as it was necessary,
might have been ellected by the operation of pain.
This projx)sition may be thus explained : The
capacities, which, according to the established
course of nature, are necessary to the support or
presi nation of an animal, however manifestly
they may be the result of an organi/ation con-
trived for the purpose, can only be deemed an act
or a part of the same will, as that which decreed
the existence of the animal itself; because, whe-
ther the creation proceeded from a benevolent or a
malevolent U-ing. these capacities must have been
given, if the animal existed at all. Animal pro-
perties, therefore, which fall under this description,
do not strictly prove the goodness of God : they
may prove the existence of the Deity ; they may
prove a high degree of power and intelligence:
but they do not prove his goodness ; forasmuch as
they must have been found in any creation which
was capable of continuance, although it is possible
to suppose, that such a creation might have been
produced by a being whose views rested upon
misery.
But there is a class of properties, which may be
said to be superadded from an intention expressly
directed to happiness ; an intention to give a hap-
py existence distinct from the general intention of
providing the means of existence ; and that is, of
capacities for pleasure, in cases wherein, so far as
the conversation of the individual or of the species
is concerned, they were not wanted, or wherein
The provision which was originally made for j the purpose might have been secured by the ope-
' I, has j ration of pain. The provision which is made of a
continuing the replenishment of the world,
proved itself to be effectual through a long suc-
cession of ages.
What farther shows
that the system of de-
struction amongst animals holds an express rela-
tion to the system of fecundity ; that they are parts
indeed of one compensatory scheme; is, that, in
each species, the fecundity bears a proportion to
the smallness of the animal, to the weakness, to
the shortness, of its natural term of life, and to
the dangers and enemies by which it is surround-
ed. An elephant produces but one calf; a butter-
fly lays six hundred eggs. Birds of prey seldom
produce more than two eggs : the sparrow tribe,
variety of objects, not necessary to life, and minis-
tering only to our pleasures ; and the properties
given to the necessaries of life themselves, by
which they contribute to pleasure as well as pre-
servation; show a farther design, than that of
giving existence.*
A single instance will make all this clear. As-
suming the necessity of food for the support of
* See this topic considered in Dr. Balguy'a Treatise
upon the Divine llenevolence. This excellent author
rii^t, I think, proposed it ; and nearly in the terms in
which it is here stated. Some other observations also
under this head are taken from that treatise.
476
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
animal life ; it is requisite, that the animal be pro-
vided with organs, fitted for the procuring, re-
ceiving, and digesting, of its food. It may also be
necessary, that the animal be impelled by its sen-
sations to exert its organs. But the pain of hun-
ger would do all this. Why add pleasure to the
act of eating ; sweetness and relish to food 7 why a
new and appropriate sense for the perception of the
pleasure! Why should the juice of a peach, ap-
plied to the palate, affect the part so differently
from what it does when rubbed upon the palm of
the hand 1 This is a constitution which, so far as
appears to me, can be resolved into nothing but
the pure benevolence of the Creator. Eating is
necessary; but the pleasure attending it is not
necessary : and that this pleasure depends, not
only upon our being in possession of the sense of
taste, which is different from every other, but upon
a particular state of the organ in which it resides,
a felicitous adaptation of the organ to the object,
will be confessed by any one, who may happen to
have experienced that vitiation of taste which fre-
quently occurs in fevers, when every taste is irre-
gular, and every one bad.
In mentioning the gratifications of the palate, it
may be said that we have made choice of a trifling
example. I am not of that opinion. They afford
a share of enjoyment to man ; but to brutes I be-
lieve that they are of very great importance. A
horse at liberty passes a great part of his waking
hours in eating. To the ox, the sheep, the deer,
and other ruminating animals, the pleasure is
doubled. Their whole time almost is divided be-
tween browsing upon their pasture and chewing
their cud. Whatever the pleasure be, it is spread
over a large portion of their existence. If there be
animals, such as the lupous fish, which swallow
their prey whole, and at once, without any time,
as it should seem, for either drawing out, or re-
lishing, the taste in the mouth, is it an improba-
ble conjecture, that the seat of taste with them is
in the stomach ; or, at least, that a sense of plea-
sure, whether it be taste or not, accompanies the
dissolution of the food in that receptacle, which
dissolution in general is carried on very slowly 1
If this opinion be right, they are more than repaid
for the defect of palate. The feast lasts as long
as the digestion.
In seeking for argument, we need not stay to
insist upon the comparative importance of our ex-
ample ; for the observation holds equally of all, or
of three at least of the other senses. The neces-
sary" purpose of hearing might have been answered
without harmony ; of smell, without fragrance ; of
vision, without beauty. Now, "if the Deity had
been indifferent about our happiness or misery,
we must impute to our good fortune, (as all de-
sign by this supposition is excluded,) both .the ca-
pacity of our senses to receive pleasure, and the
supply of external objects fitted to excite it." I
allege these as two felicities, for they are different
things, yet both necessary : the sense being formed,
the pbjects, which were applied to it, might not
have suited it; the objects being fixed, the sense
might not have agreed with them. A coincidence
is here required, which no accident can account
for. There are three possible suppositions upon
the subject, and no more. The first; that the
sense, by its original constitution, was made to
suit the object: the second ; that the object, by its
original constitution, was made to suit the sense :
the third; that the sense is so constituted, as to be
able, either universally, or within certain limits,
by habit and familiarity, to render every object
pleasant. Whichever of these suppositions we
adopt, the effect evinces, on the part of the Au-
thor of nature, a studious benevolence. If th<<
pleasures which we derive from any of our senses,
depend upon an original congruity between the
sense and the properties perceived by it, we know
by experience, that the adjustment demanded,
with respect to the qualities which were conferred
upon the objects that surround us, not only choice
and selection, out of a boundless variety of possi-
ble qualities with which these objects might have
been endued, but a proportioning' also of degree,
because an excess or defect of intensity spoils the
perception, as much almost as an error in the kind
and nature of the quality. Likewise the degree
of dulness or acuteness in the sense itself, is no
arbitrary thing, but, in order to preserve the con-
gruity here spoken of, requires to be in an exact or
near correspondency with the strength of the im-
pression. The dulness of the senses forms the
complaint of old age. Persons in fevers, and, I
believe, in most maniacal cases, experience great
torment from their preternatural acuteness. An
increased, no less than an impaired sensibility, in-
duces a state of disease and suffering.
The doctrine of a specific congruity between
animal senses and their objects, is strongly fa-
voured by what is observed of insects in the elec-
tion of their food. Some of these will feed upon
one kind of plant or animal, and upon no other :
some caterpillars upon the cabbage alone ; some
upon the black currant alone. The species of cater-
pillar which eats the vine, will starve upon the
elder ; nor will that which we find upon fennel,
touch the rose-bush. Some insects confine them-
selves to two or three kinds of plants or animals.
Some again show so strong a preference, as to af-
ford reason to believe, that, though they may be
driven by hunger to others, they are led by the
pleasure of taste to a few particular plants alone :
ind all this, as it should seem, independently of
habit or imitation.
But should we accept the third hypothesis, and
even carry it so far, as to ascribe every thing
which concerns the question to habit (as in certain
species, the human species most particularly, there
reason to attribute something,) we have then
?efore us an animal capacity, not less perhaps to
be admired than the native congruities which the
other scheme adopts. It cannot be shown to re-
sult from any fixed necessity in nature, that what
s frequently applied to the senses should of course
become agreeable to them. It is, so far as it sub-
sists, a power of accommodation provided in these
;nses by the Author of their structure, and forms
part of their perfection.
In whichever way we regard the senses, they
appear to be specific gifts, ministering, not only to
^reservation, but to pleasure. But what we
isually call the senses, are probably themselves
%r from being the only vehicles of enjoyment, or
;he whole of our constitution which is calculated
or the same purpose. We have many internal
sensations of the most agreeable kind, hardly re-
ferable to any of the five senses. Some physiolo-
gists have holden, that all secretion is pleasurable ;
and that the complacency which in health, with-
ut any external assignable object to excite it, we
derive from life itself, is the effect of our secretions
going on well within us. All this may be true :
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
477
bnt if true, what reason can be assigned for it,
except the will of the Creator 7 It may reasona-
bly he asked, Why is any thing a pleasure 1 and
I know no answer which can he returned to the
question, but that which reiers it to appointment.
We can give no account whatever of our plea-
sures in the simple and original perception ; and,
even when physical sensations are assumed, we
can seldom account for them in the secondary
and complicated shapes, in which they take the
name of diversions. I never yet met with a
sportsman, who could tell me in what the sport
consisted ; who could resolve it into its principle.
and state that principle. I have been a great fol-
lower of fishing myself, and in its cheerful soli-
tude have passed some of the happiest hours of a
sufficiently happy life ; but, to this moment, I
could never trice out the source of the pleasure
which it afforded me.
The "quantum in rebus inane!" whether ap-
plied to our amusements or to our graver pursuits
(to which, in truth, it sometimes equally belongs,)
is always an unjust complaint. If tritles engage,
and if trifles make us happy, the true reflection
suggested by the experiment, is upon the tendency
of nature to gratification and enjoyment, which
is, in other words, the goodness of its Author
towards his sensitive creation.
Rational natures also, as such, exhibit qualities
which help to confirm the truth of our position.
The degree of understanding found in mankind,
is usually much greater than what is necessary
for mere preservation. The pleasure of choosing
for themselves, and of prosecuting the object of
their choice, should seem to be an original source
of enjoyment. The pleasures received from things,
great, beautiful, or new, from imitation, or from
the liberal arts, are, in some measure, not only
superadded, but unmixed, gratifications, having
no pains to balance them.*
I do not know whether our attachment to pro-
perty be not something more than the mere dic-
tate of reason, or even than the mere effect of
association. Property communicates a charm to
whatever is the object of it. It is the first of our
abstract ideas: it cleaves to us the closest and
the longest. It endears to the child its plaything,
to the peasant his cottage, to the landholder his
estate. It supplies the place of prospect and
scenery. Instead of coveting the beauty of dis-
tant situations, it teaches every man to find it in
his own. It gives boldness and grandeur to
plains and fens, tinge and colouring to clays and
fallows.
All these considerations come in aid of our
second proposition. The reader will now bear in
mind what our two propositions were. They
were, firstly, that in a vast plurality of instances,
in which contrivance is perceived, the design of
the contrivance is beneficial: secondly, that the
Deity has added pleasure to animal sensations
beyond what was necessary for any other pur-
pose ; or when the purpose, so far as it was ne-
cessary, might have been effected by the operation
of pain.
Whilst these propositions can be maintained,
we are authorized to ascrite to the Deity the
character of benevolence : and what is benevo-
lence at all, must in him be infinite benevolence,
by reason of the infinite, that is to say, the incal-
* Balguy on the Divine Benevolence.
it, number of objects, upon which it is
OF the ORIGIN OP EVIL, no universal solution
has been discovered ; I mean, no solution which
reaches to all cases of complaint. The most com-
prehensive is that which arises from the consi-
deration of general rules. We may, I think,
without much difficulty, be brought to admit the
four following points : first, that important advan-
tages may accrue to the universe from the order
of nature proceeding according to general laws :
secondly, that general laws, however well set and
constituted, often thwart and cross one another :
thirdly, that from these thwartings and crossings,
frequent particular inconveniences will arise : and
fourthly, that it agrees with our observation to
suppose, that some degree of these inconveniences
takes place in the works of nature. These
points may be allowed ; and it may also be assert-
ed, that the general laws with which we are
acquainted, are directed to beneficial ends. On
the other hand, with many of these laws we are
not acquainted at all, or we are totally unable to
trace them in their branches, and in their opera-
tion ; the effect of which ignorance is, that they
cannot be of importance to us as measures by
which to regulate our conduct. The conservation
of them may be of importance in other respects,
or to other beings, but we are uninformed of their
value or use ; uninformed, consequently, when,
and how far, they may or may not be suspended,
or their effects turned aside, by a presiding and
benevolent will, without incurring greater evils
than those which would be avoided. The consi-
deration, therefore, of general laws, although it
may concern the question of the origin of evil
very nearly (which I think it does,) rests in views
disproportionate to our faculties, and in a know-
ledge which we do not possess. It serves rather
to account for the obscurity of the subject,
than to supply us with distinct answers to our
difficulties. However, whilst we assent to the
above-stated propositions as principles, whatever
uncertainty we may find in the application, we
lay a ground for believing, that cases of apparent
evil, for which tee can suggest no particular rea-
son, are governed by reasons, which are more
general, which lie deeper in the order of second
causes, and which on that account are removed to
a greater distance from us.
The doctrine of imperfections, or, as it is called,
of evils of imperfection, furnishes an account,
founded, like the former, in views of- universal
nature. The doctrine is briefly this : It is pro-
bable, that creation may be better replenished by
sensitive beings of different sorts, than by sensi-
tive beings all of one sort. It is likewise proba-
ble, that it may be better replenished by different
orders of beings rising one above another in gra-
dation, than by beings possessed of equal degrees
of perfection. Now, a gradation of suclj beings
implies a gradation of imperfections. No class
can justly complain of the imperfections which
belong to its place in the scale, unless it were
allowable for it to complain, that a scale of being
was appointed in nature ; for which appointment
there appear to be reasons of wisdom and good-
ness.
In like manner, Jlniteness, or what is resolva-
ble into finiteness, in inanimate subjects, can
478
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
never be a just subject of complaint ; because if
it were ever so, it would be always so : we mean,
that we can never reasonably demand that things
should be larger or more, when the same demand
might be made, whatever the quantity or number
was.
And to me, it seems, that the sense of mankind
has so far acquiesced in these reasons, as that we
seldom complain of evils of this class, when we
clearly perceive them to be such. What I have
to add, therefore, is, that we ought not to com-
plain of some other evils, which stand upon the
same foot of vindication as evils of confessed im-
perfection. We never complain, that the globe
of our earth is too small : nor should we complain,
if it were even much smaller. But where is the
difference to us, between a less globe, and part of
the present being uninhabitable 7 The inhabit-
ants of an island may be apt enough to murmur
at the sterility of some parts of it, against its
rocks, or sands, or swamps ; but no one thinks
himself authorized to murmur, simply because the
island is not larger than it is. Yet these are the
same griefs.
The above are the two metaphysical answers
which have been given to this great ques-
tion. They are not the worse for being metaphy-
sical, provided they be founded (which I think
they are) in right reasoning : but they are of a
nature too wide to be brought under our survey,
and it is often difficult to apply them in the detail.
Our speculations, therefore, are perhaps better
employed when they confine themselves within a
narrower circle.
The observations which follow, are of this more
limited, but more determinate, kind.
Of bodily pain, the principal observation, no
doubt, is that which we have already made, and
already dwelt upon, viz. " that it is seldom the
object of contrivance ; that when it is so, the con-
trivance rests ultimately in good."
To which, however, may be added, that the an-
nexing of pain to the means of destruction, is a
salutary provision; inasmuch as it teaches vigi-
lance and caution ; both gives notice of danger,
and excites those endeavours which may be neces-
sary to preservation. T he evil consequence, which
sometimes arises from the want of that timely in-
timation of danger which pain gives, is known to
the inhabitants of cold countries by the example
of frost-bitten limbs. I have conversed with pa-
tients who had lost toes and fingers by this cause.
They have in general told me, that they were to-
tally unconscious of any local uneasiness at the
time. Some I have heard declare, that, whilst
they were about their employment, neither their
situation, nor the state of the air was unpleasant.
They felt no pain; they suspected no mischief;
till, by the application of warmth, they discovered,
too late, the fatal injury which some of their ex-
tremities had suffered. I say that this shows the
use of pain, and that we stand in need of such a
monitor. I believe also that the use extends farther
than we suppose, or can now trace ; that to disa-
greeable sensations we, and all animals, owe, or
nave owed, many habits of action which are salu-
tary, but which are become so familiar, as not
easily to be referred to their origin.
PAIN also itself is not without its alleviations.
It may be violent and frequent ; but it is seldom
both violent and long-continued : and its pauses
and intermissions become positive pleasures. It
has the power of shedding a satisfaction over in-
tervals of ease, which, I believe, few enjoyments
exceed. A man resting from a fit of the stone or
gout, is, for the time, in possession of feelings
which undisturbed health cannot impart. They
may be dearly bought, but still they are to be set
against the price. And, indeed, it depends upon
the duration and urgency of the pain, whether
they be dearly bought or not. I am far from be-
ing sure, that a man is not a gainer by suffering a
moderate interruption of bodily ease for a couple
of hours out of the. four-and-twenty. Two very
common observations favour this opinion : one is,
that remissions of pain call forth, from those who
experience them, stronger expressions of satisfac-
tion and of gratitude towards both the author and
the instruments of their relief, than are excited by
advantages of any other kind : the second is, that
the spirits of sick men do not sink in proportion
to the acuteness of their sufferings; but rather
appear to be roused arid supported, not by pain,
but by the high degree of comfort which they de-
rive from its cessation, or even its subsidency,
whenever that occurs ; and which they taste with
a relish, that diffuses some portion of mental com-
placency over the whole of that mixed state of
sensations in which disease has placed them.
In connexion with bodily pain may be consider-
ed bodily disease, whether painful or not. Few
diseases are fatal. I have before me the account
of a dispensary in the neighbourhood, which states
six years' experience as follows:
Admitted - - - - 6420
Cured 547G
Dead 234
And this 1 suppose nearly to agree with what
other similar institutions exhibit. Now, in all
these cases, some disorder must have been felt, or
the patients would not have applied for a remedy ;
yet we see how large a proportion of the maladies
which were brought forward, have either yielded
to proper treatment, or, what is more probable,
ceased of their own accord. We owe these fre-
quent recoveries, and, where recovery does not
take place, this patience of the human constitution
under many of the distempers by which it is vi-
sited, to two benefactions of our nature. One is,
that she works within certain limits ; allows of a
certain latitude within which health may be pre-
served, and within the confines of which it only
suffers a graduated diminution. Different quan-
tities of food, different degrees of exercise, differ-
ent portions of sleep, different states of the atmos-
phere, are compatible with the possession of health.
So likewise it is with the secretions and excre-
tions, with many internal functions of the body,
and with the state, probably, of most of its in-
ternal organs. They may vary considerably, not
only without destroying life, but without occasion-
ing any high degree of inconveniency. The
other property of our nature to which we arc still
more beholden, is its constant endeavour to restore
itself, when disordered, to its regular course. The
fluids of the body appear to possess a power of
separating and expelling any noxious substance
which may have mixed itself with them. This
they do, in eruptive fevers, by a kind of despurna-
tion, as Sydenham calls it, analogous in some
measure to the intestine action by which ferment-
ing liquors work the vest to the surface. The so-
lids, on their part, when their action is obstructed,
not only resume their action, as soon as the ob-
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
479
Btruction is removed, but they struggle with the
impediment. They take an action as near to the
true one, as the difficulty and the disorganization,
with which they have to contend, will allow of.
Of mortal diseases, the great use is to reconcile
Us to death. The horror of death proves the va-
lue of life. But it is in the power of disease to
abate, or even extinguish, this horror: which it
does in a wonderful manner, and, oftentimes, by a
mild imperceptible gradation. Every man who
has been placed in a situation to observe it, is sur-
prised with the change which has been wrought
in himself, when he compares the view which he
entertains of death upon a sick-bed, with the
heart-sinking dismay with which he should some
time ago have met it" in health. There is no simi-
litude between the sensations of a man led to ex-
ecution, and the calm expiring of a patient at the
close of his disease. Death to him is only the last
of a long train of changes; in his progress through
which, it is possible that he may experience no
shocks or sudden transitions.
Death itself, as a mode of removal and of suc-
cession, is so connected with the whole order of
our animal world, that almost every thing in that
world must be changed, to be able to do without
it. It may seem likewise impossible to separate
the fear of death from the enjoyment of lite, or
the perception of that fear from rational natures.
Brutes are in a great measure delivered from all
anxiety on this account by the inferiority of their
faculties; or rather they seem to i*> armed with
the apprehension of death just sufficiently to put
them upon the means of preservation, and no
farther. But would a human being wish to pur-
chase this immunity at the e\|>ense of those men
tal powers which enable him to look forward to
the future 1
Death implies separation : and the loss of those
whom we love, must necessarily, so far as we can
conceive, be accompanied with pain. To the
brute creation, nature seems to have etep[>ed in
with some secret provision for their relief, under
the rupture of their attachments. In their in-
stincts towards their ollspring, and of their olF-
pring, to them. I have often been surprised to ob-
serve how ardently they love, and how soon they
forget. The pertinacity of human sorrow, (upon
which, time also, at length, lays its softening hand,)
is probably, then-tore, in some manner connected
with the qualities of our rational or moral nature.
One thing however is clear, riz. that it is better
that we should possess allivtions, the sources of
so many virtues, and so many joys, although they
be exposed to the incidents of life, as well as the
interruptions of mortality, than, by the want of
them, be reduced to a state of selfishness, apathy,
and quietism.
Of other external evils, (still confining ourselves
to what are called physical or natural evils, ^con-
siderable part come within the scope of the follow-
ing observation : The great principle of human
satisfaction is engagement. It is a most just dis-
tinction, which the late Mr. Tucker has dwelt
upon so largely in his works, between pleasures
in which we are passive, and pleasures in which
we are active. And, I believe, every attentive
observer of human life will assent to his posi-
tion, that, however grateful the sensations may
occasionally be in which we are passive it is not
these, but the latter class of our pleasures, which
constitute satisfaction ; which supply that regular
stream of moderate and miscellaneous enjoyments,
in which happiness, as distinguished from volup-
tuousness, consists. Now for rational occupation,
which is, in other words, for the very material of
contented existence, there would be no place left,
if either the things with which we had to do were
absolutely impracticable to our endeavours, or if
they were too obedient to our uses. A world fur-
nished with advantages on one side, and beset with
difficulties, wants, and inconveniences, on the
other, is the proper abode of free, rational, and ac-
tive natures, being the fittest to stimulate and ex-
ercise their faculties. The very refractoriness of
the objects they have to deal with contributes to
this purpose. A world in which nothing depended
upon ourselves, however it might have suited an
imaginary race of beings, would not have suited
mankind. Their skill, prudence, industry ; their
various arts, and their best attainments, from the
application of which they draw, if not their high-
est, their most permanent gratifications, would be
insignificant, if things could be either moulded by
our volitions, or, of their own accord, conformed
themselves to our views and wishes. Now it is in
this refractoriness that we discern the seed and
principle of physical evil, as far as it arises from
that which is external to us.
Civil evilg, or the evils of civil life, are much
more easily disposed of, than physical evils; be-
cause they are, in truth, of much less magnitude,
and also because they result, by a kind ot neces-
sity, not only from the constitution of our nature,
but from a part of that constitution which no
one would wish to see altered. The case is this :
Mankind will in every country breed up to a cer-
tain point of distress. That point may be diffor-
ent in different countries or ages, according to the
established usages of life in each. It will also
shift upon the scale, so as to admit of a greater or
leics number of inhabitants, according as the quan-
tity of provision, which is either produced in the
country, or supplied to it from other countries,
may happen to vary. But there must always be
such a point, and the species will always breed up
to it. The order of generation proceeds by some-
thing like a geometrical progression. The in-
crease of provision, under circumstances even the
most advantageous, can only assume the form of
an arithmetic series. Whence it follows, that the
Imputation will always overtake the provision,
will pass beyond the line of plenty, and will con-
tinue to increase, till checked by the difficulty of
procuring subsistence.* S uch difficulty thereifore,
along with its attendant circumstances, must be
found in every old country: and these circum-
stances constitute what we call poverty, which,
necessarily, imposes labour, servitude, restraint.
It seems impossible to people a country with in-
habitants who shall be all easy in circumstances.
For suppose the thing to be done, there would be
such marrying and giving in marriage amongst
them, as would in a few years change the face of
affairs entirely, i. e. as would increase the con-
sumption of those articles, which supplied the
natural or habitual wants of the country, to such
a degree of scarcity, as must leave the greatest
part of the inhabitants unable to procure them
without toilsome endeavours, or, out of the differ-
ent kinds of these articles, to procure any kind
* See a statement of this subject, in a late treatise
upon population.
480
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
except that which was most easily produced. Ant
this, in fact, describes the condition of the mass of
the community in all countries ; a condition una-
voidably, as it should seem, resulting from the pro-
vision which is made in the human, in commdn
with all animal constitutions, for the perpetuity
and multiplication of the species.
It need not however dishearten any endeavours
for the public service, to know that population
naturally treads upon the heels of improvement.
If the condition of a people be meliorated, the con-
sequence will be either that the mean happiness
will be increased, or a greater number partake of
it: or, which is most likely to happen, that both
effects will take place together. There may be
limits fixed by nature to both, but they are limits
not yet attained, nor even approached, in any
country of the world.
And when we speak of limits at all, we have
respect only to provisions for animal wants.
There are sources, and means, and auxiliaries,
and augmentations, of human happiness, commu-
nicable without restriction of numbers ; as capable
of being possessed by a thousand persons as by
one. Such are those, which flow from a mild,
contrasted with a tyrannic government, whether
civil or domestic ; those which spring from reli-
gion; those which grow out of a sense of security;
those which dependupon habits of virtue, sobriety,
moderation, order ; those, lastly, which are found
in the possession of well-directed tastes and de-
sires, compared with the dominion of tormenting,
pernicious, contradictory, unsatisfied, and unsatis-
fiable passions.
The distinctions of civil life are apt enough to
be regarded as evils, by those who sit under them ;
but, in my opinion, with very little reason.
In the first place, the advantages which the
higher conditions of life are supposed to confer,
bear no proportion in value to the advantages
which are bestowed by nature. The gifts of na-
ture always surpass the gifts of fortune. How
much, for example, is activity better than attend-
ance ; beauty than dress : appetite, digestion, and
tranquil bowels, than all the studies of cookery,
or than the most costly compilation of forced or
far-fetched dainties !
Nature has a strong tendency to equalization.
Habit, the instrument of nature, is a great level-
ler ; the familiarity which it induces, taking ofF
the edge both of our pleasures and our sufferings.
Indulgences which are habitual, keep us in ease,
and cannot be carried much farther. So that,
with respect to the gratifications of which the
senses are capable, the difference is by no means
proportionable to the apparatus. Nay, so far as
superfluity generates fastidiousness, the difference
is on the wrong side.
It is not necessary to contend, that the advan-
tages derived from wealth are none, (under due
regulations they are certainly considerable,) but
that they are not greater than they ought to be.
Money is the sweetener of human toil ; the substi-
tute for coercion ; the reconciler of labour with
liberty. It is, moreover, the stimulant of enter-
prize in all projects and undertakings, as well as
of diligence in the most beneficial arts and employ-
ments. Now did affluence, when possessed, con-
tribute nothing to the happiness, or nothing be-
yond the mere supply of necessaries ; and the
secret should come to be discovered ; we might be
in danger of losing great part of the uses, which
are, at present, derived to us through th import-
ant medium. Not only would the tranquillity of
social life be put in peril by the want of a motive
to attach men to their private concerns : but the
satisfaction which all men receive from success in
their respective occupations, which collectively
constitutes the great mass of human comfort,
would be done away in its very principle.
With respect to station, as it is distinguished
from riches, whether it confer authority over
others, or be invested with honours which apply
solely to sentiment and imagination, the truth is,
that what is gained by rising through the ranks of
life, is not more than sufficient to draw forth the
exertions of those who are engaged in the pursuits
which lead to advancement, and which, in gene-
ral, are such as ought to be encouraged. Distinc-
tions of this sort are subjects much more of com-
petition than of enjoyment : and in that competition
their use consists. It is not, as hath been rightly
observed, by what the lord mayor fools in his
coach, but by what the apprentice feels who gazes
at him, that the public is served.
As we approach the summits of human great-
ness, the comparison of good and evil, with re-
spect to personal comfort, becomes still more pro-
blematical ; even allowing to ambition all its
pleasures. The poet asks, " What is grandeur,
what is power :" The philosopher answers, " Con-
straint and plague : et in maxima qudque for tu-
na minimum licere." One very common error
misleads the opinion of mankind on this head, viz.
that, universally, authority is pleasant, submission
Dainful. In the general course of human affairs,
he very reverse of this is nearer to the truth.
Command is anxiety, obedience ease.
Artificial distinctions sometimes promote real
equality. Whether they be hereditary, or be the
lomage paid to office, or the respect attached by
public opinion to particular professions, they serve
o confront that grand unavoidable distinction
which arises from property, and which is most
overbearing where there is no. other. It is of the
nature of property, not only to be irregularly dis-
ributed, but to run into large masses. Public
aws should be so constructed as to favour its dif-
"usion as much as they can. But all that can be
his tendency. There must always therefore be
Jie difference between rich and poor: and this
difference will be the more grinding, when nopre-
ension is allowed to be set up against it.
So that the evils, if evils they must be called,
which spring either from the necessary subordina-
ions of civil life, or from the distinctions which
lave, naturally, though not necessarily, grown up
n most societies, so long as they are unaccompa-
nied by privilogos injurious or oppressive to the
est of the community, are such, as may, even by
he most depressed ranks, be endured with very
ittle prejudice to their comfort.
The mischiefs of which mankind are the occa-
ion to one another, by their private wickedness
and cruelties, by tyrannical exercises of power; by
ebellions against just authority ; by wars; by na-
ional jealousies and competitions operating to the
destruction of third countries ; or by other instances
of misconduct either in individuals or societies, are
all to be resolved into the character of man as a
free agent. Free agency in its very essence cou-
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
481
tains liability to abuse. Yet, if you deprive man
of his free agency, you subvert his nature. You
may have order from him and regularity, as you
may from the tides or the trade-winds, but you
put an end to his moral character, to virtue, to
merit, to accountablendss, to the use indeed of rea-
son. To which must be added the observation,
that even the bad qualities of mankind have an
origin in their good ones. The case is this : Hu-
man passions are either necessary to human wel-
fare, or capable of being made, and, in a great
majority of instances, in fact made, conducive to
its happiness. These passions are strong and
general; and, perhaps, would not answer their
purpose unless they were so. But strength and
generality, when it is expedient that particular
circumstances should be respected, become, if left
to themselves, excess and misdirection. From
which excess and misdirection, the vices of man-
kind (the causes, no doubt, of much misery)
appear to spring. This account, whilst it shows
us the principle of vice, shows us, at the same
time, the province of reason and of self-government :
the want also of every support which can be pro-
cured to either from the aids of religion ; and it
shows this, without having recourse to any native,
gratuitous malignity, in the human constitution.
Mr. Hume, in his posthumous dialo
indeed, of idleness, or aversion to labour, (which
he states to lie at the root of a considerable part
of the evils which mankind suffer,) that it
ply and merely bad. But how does he distinguish
idleness from the love of ease ? or is he sure, that
the love of ease in individuals is not the chief
foundation of social tranquillity 1 It will be found,
I believe, to be true, that in every community
there is a large class of its members, whose idle-
ness is the best quality about them, being the
corrective of other bad ones. If it were pos-
every instance, to give a right determination to in-
dustry, we could never have too much of it. But
this is not possible, if men are to be free. And
without this, nothing would be so dangerous, as
an incessant, universal, indefatigable activity. In
the civil world, as well as in the material, it" is the
vis inert ice which keeps things in their places.
NATURAL THEOLOGY has ever been pressed
with this question : Why, under the regency of
the supreme and benevolent Will, should there
be in the world, so much, as there is, of the ap-
pearance of chance?
The question in its whole compass lies beyond
our reach : but there are not wanting, as iii the
origin of evil, answers which seem to have con-
siderable weight in particular cases, and also to
embrace a considerable number of cases.
I. There must be chance in the midst of design :
by which we mean, that events which are not de-
signed, necessarily arise from the pursuit of events
which are designed. One man travelling to York,
meets another man travelling to London. Their
meeting is by chance, is accidental, and so would
be called and reckoned, though the journeys
which produced the meeting were, both of them,
undertaken with design and from deliberation.
The meeting, though accidental, was nevertheless
hypothetically necessary (which is the only sort of
necessity that is intelligible :) for if the two jour-
neys were commenced at the time, pursued in the
direction, and with the speed, in which and with
which, they were in fact begun and performed,
the meeting could not be avoided. There was
not, therefore, the less necessity in it for its being
by chancef Again, the rencounter might be
most unfortunate, though the errands, upon which
each party set out upon his journey, were the
most innocent or the most laudable. The bye
effect may 1x5 unfavourable, without impeachment
of the proper purpose, for the sake of which the
train, from the operation of which these conse-
quences ensued, was put in motion. Although
no cause act without a good purpose ; accidental
consequences, like these, may be either good or
bad.
II. The appearance of chance will always bear
a proportion to the ignorance of the observer.
The cast of a die as regularly follows the laws of
motion, as the going of a watch ; yet, because we
can trace the operation of those laws through the
works and movements of the watch, and cannot
trace them in the shaking and throwing of the
die (though the laws be the same, and prevail
equally in both cases,) we call the turning up of
the number of the die chance, the pointing of the
index of the watch, machinery, order, or by some
name which excludes chance. It is the same in
those events which depend upon the will of a free
and rational agent. The verdict of a jury, the sen-
tence of a judge, the resolution of an assembly,
the issue of a contested election, will have more
or less of the appearance of chance, might be more
or less the subject of a wager, according as we
were less or more acquainted with the reasons
which influenced the deliberation. The differ-
ence resides in the information of the observer,
and not in the thing itself; which, in all the cases
proposed, proceeds from intelligence, from mind,
from counsel, from design.
Now when this one cause of the appearance of
chance, ri:. the ignorance of the observer, comes
to be applied to the operations of the Deity, it is
easy to foresee how fruilful H must prove of dif-
ficulties and of seeming confusion. It is only to
think of the Deity, to perceive what variety of
objects, what distance of time, what extent of
space and action, his counsels may, or rather
must, comprehend. Can it be wondered at, that,
of the purposes which dwell in such a mind as
this, so small a part should be known to us 7 It
is only necessary, therefore, to bear in our thought,
that in proportion to the inadequateness of our in-
formation, will be the quantity, in the world, of
apparent chance.
III. In a great variety of cases, and of cases
comprehending numerous subdivisions, it appears,
for many reasons, to be better that events rise up
by chance, or more properly speaking with the
appearance of chance, than according to any ob-
servable rule whatever. This is riot seldom the
case even in human arrangements. Each person's
place and precedency, in a public meeting, may be
determined by lot. Work and labour may be al-
lotted. Tasks and burdens may be allotted.
Operumque laborem
Partibus aequabat justis. aut sorte trahebat.
Military service and station may be allotted. The
distribution of provision, may be made by lot, as it
is in a sailor's mess ; in some cases also, the dis-
tribution of favours may be made by lot. In all
these cases, it seems to be acknowledged, that there
482
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
are advantages in permitting events to chance,
superior to those, which would or could arise
from regulation. In all these cases also, though
events rise up in the way of chance, it is by ap-
pointment that they do so.
In other events, and such as are independent of
human will, the reasons for this preference of un-
certainty to rule, appear to be still stronger. For
example : it seems to be expedient that the period
of human life should be uncertain. Did mortality
follow any fixed rule, it would produce a security
in those that were at a distance from it, which
would lead to the greatest disorders ; and a horror
in those who approached it, similar to that which
a condemned prisoner feels on the night before his
execution. But, that death be uncertain, the
young must sometimes die as well as the old. Also
were deaths never sudden, they who are in health
would be too confident of life. The strong and
the active, who want most to be warned and
checked, would live without apprehension or re-
straint. On the other hand, were sudden deaths
very frequent, the sense of constant jeopardy
would interfere too much with the degree of ease
and enjoyment intended for us ; and human life
be too precarious for the business and interests
which belong to it. There coufd not be depend-
ance either upon our own lives, or the lives of
those with whom we were connected, sufficient
to carry on the regular offices of human society.
The manner, therefore, in which death is made
to occur, conduces to the purposes of admonition,
without overthrowing the necessary stability of
human affairs.
Disease being the forerunner of death, there is
the same reason for its attacks coming upon us
under the appearance of chance, as there is for
uncertainty m the time of death itself.
The seasons are a mixture of regularity and
chance. They are regular enough to authorize
expectation, whilst their being, in a considerable
degree, irregular, induces, on the part of the cul-
tivators of the soil, a necessity for personal attend-
ance, for activity, vigilance, precaution. It is
this necessity which creates farmers ; which
divides the profit of the soil between the owner
and the occupier ; which by requiring expedients,
by increasing employment, and by rewarding ex-
penditure, promotes agricultural arts, and agricul-
tural life, of all modes of life, the best, being the
most conducive to health, to virtue, to enjoyment.
I believe it to be found in fact, that where the soil
is the most fruitful, and the seasons the most con-
stant, there the condition of the cultivators of the
earth is most depressed. Uncertainty, therefore,
has its use even to those who sometimes complain
of it the most. Seasons of scarcity themselves are
not without their advantages. They call forth
new exertions; they set contrivance and ingenui-
ty at work ; they give birth to improvements in
agriculture and economy; they promote the in-
vestigation and management of public resources.
Again; there are strong intelligible reasons,
why there should exist in human society great
disparity of wealth and station ; not only as these
things are acquired in different degrees, but at the
first setting out of life. In order, for instance, to
answer the various demands of civil life, there
ought to be amongst th members of every civil
society a diversity of education, which can only
belong to an original diversity of circumstances.
As this aort of disparity, which ought to take
place from the beginning of life, must, ex hypo-
thesi, be previous to the merit or demerit of the
persons upon whom it falls, can it l>e better dis-
posed, of than by chance'? Parentage is that sort
of chance : yet it is the commanding circumstance
which in general fixes each man's place in civil
life, along with e.very thing which appertains to
its distinctions. It may be the result of a l>onefi-
cial rule, that the fortunes or honours of the father
devolve upon the son ; and, as it should seem, of a
still more necessary rule, that the low or laborious
condition of the parent be communicated to his
family; but with respect to the successor himself,
it is the drawing of a ticket in a lottery. Inequali-
ties, therefore, of fortune, at least the greatest part
of them, viz. those which attend us from our birth,
and depend -upon our birth, may be left, as they
are left, to chance, without any just cause for
questioning the regency of a supreme Disposer of
events.
But not only the donation, when by the neces-
sity of the case they must be gifts, but even the
acquirability of civil advantages, ought, perhaps,
in a considerable degree, to he at the mercy of
chance. Some would have all the virtuous rich,
or, at least, removed from the evils of poverty,
without perceiving, I suppose, the consequence,
that all the poor must be- wicked. And how such
a society could be kept in subjection to govern-
ment has not been shown : for the poor, that is,
they who seek their subsistence by constant ma-
nual labour, must still form the mass of the com-
munity ; otherwise the necessary labour of life
could not be carried on ; the work would not be
done, which the wants of mankind in a state of
civilization, and still more in a state of refinement,
require to be done.
It appears to be also true, that the exigencies of
social life call not only for an original diversity of
external circumstances, but for a mixture of dif-
ferent faculties, tastes, and tempers. Activity and
contemplation, restlessness and quiet, courage and
timidity, ambition and contentedness, not to say
eyen indolence and dulness, are wanted in the
world, all conduce to the well going on of human
affairs, just as the rudder, the sails, and the bal-
last, of a ship, all perform their part in the navi-
gation. Now, since these characters require for
their foundation different original talents, different
dispositions, perhaps also different bodily consti-
tutions; and since, likewise, it is apparently ex-
pedient, that they be promiscuously scattered
amongst the different classes of society : can the
distribution of talents, dispositions, and the con-
stitutions upon which they depend, be better made
than by chance ?
The opposites of apparent chance, are con-
stancy and sensible interposition ; every degree of
secret direction being consistent with it. Now, of
constancy, or of fixed and known rules, we have
seen in some cases the inapplicability: andincon-
veniencies which we do not see, might attend their
application in other cases.
Of sensible interposition, we may be permitted
to remark, that a Providence, always and cert '
emitted \
certain- V*'
nor less V-*
iion. It I
u *u:~ '
ly distinguishable, would be neither more
than miracles rendered frequent and common
is difficult to judge of the state into which this
would throw us. It is enough to say, that it would
cast us upon a quite different dispensation from
that under which we live. It would be a total
and radical change, And the change would deeply
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
affect, or perhaps subvert, the whole conduct of
human aflairs. I can readily believe, that, other
circumstances being adapted to 'it, such a state
might be better than our present state. It may
be the state of other beings ; it may be ours here-
after. But the question with which we are now
concerned is, how far it would be consistent with
our condition, supposing it in other respects to re-
main as it is? And in this question there seem to
be reasons of great moment on the negative side.
For instance : so long as bodily labour continues,
on so many accounts, to be necessary for the bulk
of mankind, any dependency upon supernatural
aid, by unfixing those motives which promote ex-
ertion, or by relaxing those habits which engen-
der patient industry, might introduce negligence,
inactivity, and disorder, mto the most useful occu-
pations of human life ; and thereby deteriorate the
condition of human life itself.
As moral agents, we should experience a still
greater alteration ; of which more will be said un-
der the next article.
Although therefore the Deity, who possesses
the power of winding and turning, as he pleases.
the course of causes which issue from himself, do
in fact interpose to alter or intercept ellects, which
without such interposition would have taken place ;
yet it is by no means incredible, that his provi-
dence, which always rests upon final good, may
have made a reserve with respect to the manifest-
ation of his interference, a part of the very plan
which he has ap[xrinted for our terrestrial exist-
ence, and a part conformable with, or, in some
sort, required by, other parts of the same plan. It
is at any rate evident, that a large and ample pro-
vince remains for the exercise of Providence,
without its being naturally perceptible by us ; be-
cause obscurity, when applied to the interruption
of laws, bears a necessary proportion to the imper-
fection of our knowledge when applied to the laws
themselves, or rather to tlu> effects which these
laws, under their various and incalculable combi-
nations, would of their own accord produce. And
if it be said, that the doctrine of Divine Provi-
dence, by reason of the ambiguity under which its
exertions present themselves, can be attended
with no practical influence upon our conduct ;
that, although we believe ever so firmly that there
is a Providence, we must prepare, and provide,
and act, as if there were none: I answer, that this
is admitted ; and that we farther allege, that so to
prepare, and so to provide, is consistent with the
most perfect assurance of the reality of a Provi-
dence : and not only so, but that it is probably, one
advantage of the present state of our information,
that our provisions and preparations are not dis-
turbed by it. Or if it be still asked, of what use
at all then is the doctrine, if it neither alter our
measures nor regulate our conduct? I answer
again, that it is of the greatest use, but that it is a
doctrine of sentiment and piety, not (immediately
at least) of action or conduct; that it applies to
the consolation of men's minds, to their devotions,
to the excitement of gratitude, the support of pa-
tience, the keepmg alive and the strengthening
of every motive for endeavouring to please our
Maker; and that these are great uses.
OP ALL, VIEWS under which human life has
ever been considered, the most reasonable in my
judgment is that, which regards it as a state of
probation. If the course of the world was sepa-
rated from the contrivances of nature, I do not
know that it would be necessary to look for any
other account of it, than what, if it may be called
an account, is contained in the answer, that events
rise up by chance. But since the contrivances of
nature decidedly evince intention ; and since the
course of the world and the contrivances of nature
have the same author; we are, by the force of this
connexion, led to believe, that the appearance, un-
der which events take place, is reconcilable with
the supposition of design on the part of the Deity.
It is enough that they be reconcilable with this
supposition ; and it is undoubtedly true, that they
may be reconcilable, though we cannot reconcile
them. The mind, however, which contemplates
the works of nature, and, in those works, sees so
much of means directed to ends, of beneficial ef-
fects brought about by wise expedients, of con-
certed trains of causes terminating in the happiest
results ; so much, in a word, of counsel, intention,
and benevolence ; a mind, I say, drawn into the
habit of thought which these observations excite,
can hardly turn its view to the condition of our
own species, without endeavouring to suggest to
itself some purpose, some design, for which the
state in which we are placed is fitted, and which
it is made to serve. Now we assert the most pro-
bable supposition to be, that it is a state of moral
probation ; and that many things in it suit with
this hypothesis, which suit no other. It is not a
state of unmixed happiness, or of happiness sim-
ply : it is not a state of designed misery, or of
misery simply : it is not a state of retribution : it
is not a state of punishment. It suits with none
of these suppositions. It accords much better with
the idea of its being a condition calculated for the
production, exercise, and improvement of moral
qualities, with a view to a future state, in which
these qualities, after being so produced, exercised,
and improved, may, by a new and more favouring
constitution of things, receive their reward, or
become their own. If it be said, that this is to
enter upon a religious rather than a philosophical
consideration ; I answer, that the name of Reli-
gion ought to form no objection, if it shall turn
out to be the case, that the more religious our
views are, the more probability they contain. The
degree of beneficence, of benevolent intention, and
of power, exercised in the construction of sensitive
beings, goes strongly in favour, not only of a cre-
ative, but of a continuing care, that is, of a ruling
Providence. The degree of chance which appears
to prevail in the world, requires to be reconciled
with this hypothesis. Now it is one thing to
maintain the doctrine of Providence along with
that of a future state, and another thing without
it. In my opinion the two doctrines must stand
or fall together. For although more of this ap-
parent chance may perhaps, upon other principles,
be accounted for, than is generally supposed, y.et
a future state alone rectifies all disorders : and if it
can be shown, that the appearance of disorder is
consistent with the uses of life as a preparatory
state, or that in some respects it promotes these
uses, then, so far as this hypothesis may be ac-
cepted, the ground of the difficulty is done away.
In the wide scale of human condition there is
not perhaps one of its manifold diversities, which
does not bear upon the design here suggested.
Virtue is infinitely various. There is no situa-
tion in which a rational being is placed, from
that of the best instructed Christian, down to the
condition of the rudest barbarian, which aifords
484
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
not room for moral agency; for the acquisition,
exercise, and display of voluntary qualities, good
and bad. Health and sickness, enjoyment and
suffering, riches and poverty, knowledge and
ignorance, power and subjection, liberty and
bondage, civilization and barbarity, have all their
offices and duties, all serve for the formation of
character ; for when we speak of a state of trial,
it must be remembered, that characters are not
only tried, or proved, or detected, but that they
are generated also, and formed, by circumstances.
The best dispositions may subsist under the most
depressed, the most afflicted fortunes. A West-
Indian slave, who, amidst his wrongs, retains his
benevolence, I, for my part, look upon as amongst
the foremost of human candidates for the rewards
of virtue. The kind master of such a slave, that
is, he who, in the exercise of an inordinate autho-
rity, postpones, in any degree, his own interest to
his slave's comfort, is likewise a meritorious cha-
racter ; but still he is inferior to his slave. All
however which I contend for, is, that these desti-
nies, opposite as they may be in every other view,
are both trials ; and equally such. The observa-
tion may be applied to every other condition ; to
the whole range of the scale, not excepting even
its lowest extremity. Savages appear to us all
alike ; but it is owing to the distance at which
we view savage life that we perceive in it no
discrimination of character. I make no doubt,
but that moral qualities, both good and bad, are
called into action as much, and that they subsist
in as great variety, in these inartificial societies,
as they are, or do, in polished life. Certain at
least it is, that the good and ill treatment which
each individual meets with, depends more upon
the choice and voluntary conduct of those about
him, than it does or ought to do, under regular
civil institutions, and the coercion of public laws.
Go again, to turn our eyes to the other end of the
scale ; namely, that part of it which is occupied by
mankind enjoying the benefits of learning, to-
gether with the lights of revelation ; there also,
the advantage is all along probationary. Chris-
tianity itself I mean the revelation of Christianity,
is not only a blessing, but a trial. It is one of the
diversified means by which the character is exer-
cised : and they who require of Christianity,
that the revelation of it should be universal, may
possibly be found to require, that one species of
probation should be adopted, if not to the exclu-
sion of others, at least to the narrowing of that
variety which the wisdom of the Deity hath ap-
pointed to this part of his moral economy.*
Now if this supposition be well founded ; that
is, if it be true, that our ultimate, or our most per-
manent happiness, will .depend, not upon the
temporary condition into which we are cast, but
upon our behaviour in it; then is it a much more
lit subject of chance than we usually allow or
apprehend it to be, in what manner the variety of
external circumstances, which subsist in the hu-
* The reader will observe, that I speak of the revela-
tion of Christianity as distinct from Christianity itself.
The dispensation may already be universal. That part
of mankind which never heard of Christ's name, may
nevertheless be redeemed, that is, be placed in a better
condition, with respect to their future state, by his in-
tervention ; may be the objects of his benignity and
intercession, as well as of the propitiatory virtue of his
passion. But this is not " natural theology ;" therefore
I will not dwell longer upon it.
man world, is distributed amongst the individuals
of the species. " This life being a state of pro-
bation, it is immaterial," says Rousseau, " what
kind of trials we experience in it, provided they
produce their effects." Of two agents who stand
indifferent to the moral Governor of the universe,
one may be exercised by riches, the other by
poverty. The treatment of these two shall ap-
pear to be very opposite, whilst in truth it is the
same : for though, in many respects, there be
great disparity between the conditions assigned,
in one main article there may be none, viz. in
that they are alike trials; have both their duties
and temptations, not less arduous or less danger-
ous in one case than the other; so that if the final
award follow the character, the original distribu-
tion of the circumstances under which that cha-
racter is formed, may be defended upon principles
not only of justice but of equality. What hin-
ders, therefore, but that mankind may draw lots
for their condition 1 They take their portion of
faculties and opportunities, as any unknown
cause, or concourse of causes, or as causes acting
for other purposes, may happen to sot them out ;
but the event is governed by that which depends
upon themselves, the application of what they
have received. In dividing the talents, no rule
was observed ; none was necessary : in rewarding
the use of them, that of the most correct justice.
The chief difference at last appears to be that
the right use of more talents, i. e. of a greater trust,
will be more highly rewarded, than the right use
of fewer talents, i. e. of a less trust. And since,
for other purposes, it is expedient that there be
an inequality of concredited talents here, as well,
probably, as an inequality of conditions hereafter,
though all remuneratory ; can any rule, adapted
to that inequality, be more agreeable, even to our
apprehensions of distributive justice, than this is 1
We have said, that the appearance of casualty,
which attends the occurrences and events of life,
not only does not interfere with its uses, as a
state of probation, but that it promotes these uses.
Passive virtues, of all others the severest and
the most sublime ; of all others, perhaps, the most
acceptable to the Deity; would, it is evident, be
excluded from a constitution, in which happiness
and misery regularly followed virtue and \ice.
Patience and composure under distress, affliction,
and pain ; a steadfast keeping up of our confi-
dence in God, and" of our reliance upon his final
goodness, at the time when every thing present is
adverse and discouraging ; and (what is no less
difficult to retain) a cordial desire for the happi-
ness of others, even when we are deprived of our
own : these dispositions, which constitute, per-
haps, the perfection _of our moral nature, would
not have found their proper office and object in a
state of avowed retribution ; and in which, conse-
quently, endurance of evil would be only submis-
sion to punishment.
Again: one man's sufferings may be an
man's trial. The family of a sick parent is a
school of filial piety. The charities of domestic
life, dnd not only these, but all the social virtues,
are called out by distress. But then, misery, to
be the proper object of mitigation, or of tlui't be-
nevolence which endeavours to relieve, must be
really or apparently casual. It is upon such suf-
ferings alone that benevolence can operate. For
were there no evils in the world but what were
punishments, properly and intelligibly such, be-
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
nevolence would only stand in the way of justice.
Such evils, consistently with the administration
of moral government, could not be prevented or
alleviated: that is to say, could not be remitted in
whole or in part, except by the authority which
inflicted them, or by anappellate or superior autho-
rity. This consideration, which is founded in our
most acknowledged apprehensions of the nature
of penal justice, may possess its weight in the
divine counsels. Virtue perhaps is the greatest
of all ends. In human beings, relative virtues
form a large part of the whole. Now relative
virtue presupposes, not only the existence of evil,
without which it could have no object, no material,
to work upon, but that evils be, apparently at
least, misfortunes ; that is, the effects of apparent
chance. It may be in pursuance, therefore, and
in furtherance of the same scheme of probation,
that the evils of life are made so to present them-
selves.
I have already observed, that when we let in re-
ligious considerations, we often let in light upon
the difficulties of nature. So in the fact now to
be accounted for, the degree of happiness, which
we usually enjoy in this life, may be better suited
to a state of trial and probation, than a greater de-
gree would be. The truth is, we are rather too
much delighted with the world, than too little.
Imperfect, broken, and precarious, as our plea-
sures are, they are more than sufficient to attach
us to the eager pursuit of them. A regard to a
future state can hardly keep its place as it is. If
we were designed, therefore, to be influenced by
that regard, might not a more indulgent system,
a higher, or more uninterrupted state of gratifica-
tion, have interfered with the design ! At least it
seems expedient, that mankind should be suscepti-
ble of this influence, when presented to them :
that the condition of the world should not be such
as to exclude its operation, or even to weaken it
more than it does. In a religious view, (however
we may complain of them in every other,) priva-
tion, disappointment, and satiety, are not without
the most salutary tendencies.
CHAPTER XXVII.
Conclusion.
IN all cases, wherein the mind feels itself in
danger of being confounded by variety, it is sure
to rest upon a tew strong points, or perhaps upon
a single instance. Amongst a multitude of proofs
it is one that does the business. If we observe in
any argument, that hardly two minds fix upon
the same instance, the diversity of choice shows
the strength of the argument, because it shows
the number and competition of the examples.
There is no subject in which the tendency to
dwell upon select or single topics is so usual, be-
cause there is no subject, of which, in its full ex-
tent, the latitude is so great, as that of natural
history applied to the proof of an intelligent Cre-
ator. For my part, I take my stand in human
anatomy; and the examples of mechanism I
should be apt to draw out from the copious cata-
logue which it supplies, are the pivot upon which
the head turns, the ligament within the socket of
the hip-joint, the puliy or trochlear muscles of the
eye, the epiglottis, the bandages which tie down
the tendons of the wrist and instep, the slit or per-
forated muscles at the hands and feet, the knitting
of the intestines to the mesentery, the course ot
the chyle into the blood, and the constitution of
the sexes as extended throughout the whole of
the animal creation. To these instances, the
reader's memory will go back, as they are several-
ly set forth in their places ; there is not one of the
number which I do not think decisive ; not one
which is not. strictly mechanical : nor have I read
or heard of any solution of these appearances,
which, in the smallest degree, shakes the conclu-
sion that we build upon them.
But, of the greatest part of those, who, either
in this book or any other, read arguments to prove
the existence of a God, it will be said, that they
leave oil' only where they began; that they were
never ignorant of this great truth, never doubted
of it ; that it does not therefore appear, what is
gained by researches from which no new opinion
is learnt, and upon the subject of which no proofs
were wanted. Now I answer that, by investiga-
tion, the following points are always gained, in
favour of doctrines even the most generally ac-
knowledged, (supposing them to be true,) viz.
stability and impression. Occasions will arise to
try the firmness of our most habitual opinions.
And upon these occasions, it is a matter of incal-
culable use to feel our foundation ; to find a support
in argument for what we had taken up upon au-
thority. In the present case, the arguments upon
which the conclusion rests, are exactly such, as a
truth of universal concern ought to rest upon.
" They are sufficiently open to the views, and ca-
pacities of the unlearned, at the same time that
they acquire new strength and lustre from the
discoveries of the learned." If they had been alto-
gether abstruse and recondite, they would not
have found their way to the understandings of
the mass of mankind ; if they had been merely
popular, they might have wanted solidity.
But, secondly, what is gained by research in
the stability of our conclusion, is also gained from
it in impression. Physicians tell us, that there is
a great deal of difference between taking a medi-
cine, and the medicine getting into the constitu-
tion. A difference not unlike which, obtains with
respect to those great moral propositions, which
ought to form the directing principles of human
conduct. It is one thing to assent to a proposition,
of this sort ; another, and a very different thing,
to have properly imbibed its influence. I take the
case to be this : perhaps almost every man living
has a particular train of thought, into which his
mind glides and falls, when at leisure from the
impressions and ideas that occasionally excite it;
perhaps, also, the train of thought here spoken of,
more than any other thing, .determines the cha-
racter. It is of the utmost consequence, therefore,
that this property of our constitution be well regu-
lated. Now it is by frequent or continued medi-
tation upon a subject, by placing a subject in dif-
ferent points of view, by induction of particulars,
by variety of examples, by applying principles to
the solution of phenomena, by dwelling upon
proofs and consequences, that mental exercise is
drawn into any particular channel. It is by these
means, at least, that we have any power over it.
The train of spontaneous thought, and the choice
of that train, may be directed to different ends,
and may appear to be more or less judiciously fix-
ed, according to the purpose, in respect of which
41*
486
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
we consider it : but in a moral view, I shall not, ]
believe, be contradicted when I say that if one
train of thinking be more desirable than another
it is that which regards the phenomena of nature
with a constant reference to a supreme intelligen
Author. To have made this the ruling, the ha
bitual sentiment of our minds, is to have laid the
foundation of every thing which is religious. The
world thenceforth becomes a temple, and life it-
self one continued act of adoration. The change
is no less than this : that, whereas formerly God
was seldom in our thoughts, we can now scarcely
look upon any thing without perceiving its rela-
tion to him. Every organized natural body, in the
provisions which it contains for its sustentation
and propagation, testifies a care, on the part of
the Creator, expressly directed to these purposes
We are on all sides surrounded by such bodies
examined in,, their parts, wonderfully curious ;
compared with one another, no less wonderfully
diversified. So that, the mind, as well as the eye,
may either expatiate in variety and multitude, or
fix itself dowrt to the" investigation of particular
divisions of the science. And in either case it
will rise up from its occupation, possessed by the
subject in a very different manner, and with a
very .different degree of influence, from what a
mere assent to any verbal proposition which can
be formed concerning the existence of the Deity,
at least that merely complying assent with which
those about us are satisfied, and with which we
are too apt to satisfy ourselves, will or can produce
upon the thoughts. More especially may this dif-
ference be perceived, in the degree of admiration
and of awe, with which the Divinity is regarded,
when represented to tne understanding by its
own remarks, its own reflections, and its own
reasonings, compared with what is excited by any
language that can be used by others. The works
of nature want only to be contemplated. When
contemplated, they have every thing in them
which can astonish by their greatness ; for of the
vast scale of operation through which our disco-
veries carry us, at one end we see an intelligent
Power arranging planetary systems, fixing, for
instance, the trajectory of Saturn, or constructing
a ring of two hundred thousand miles diameter, to
surround his body, and be suspended like a mag-
nificent arch over the heads of his inhabitants ;
and, at the other, bending a hooked tooth, con-
certing and providing an appropriate mechanism,
for the clasping and reclasping of the filaments of
the feather of the humming-bird. We have proof,
not only of both these works proceeding from an
intelligent agent, but of their proceeding from the
same agent : for, in the first place, we can trace
an identity of plan, a connexion of system, from
Saturn to our own globe : and when arrived upon
our globe, we can, in the second place, pursue the
connexion through all the organised, especially
the animated, bodies which it supports. We can
observe marks of a common relation, as well to
one another, as to the elements of which their ha-
bitation is composed. Therefore one mind hath
planned, or at least hath prescribed, a general plan
fbr all these productions. One Being hath been
concerned in all.
Under this stupendous Being we live. Our
happiness, our existence, is in his hands. All we
expect must come from him. Nor ought we to
feel our situation insecure. In every nature, and
in every portion of nature, which we can descry,
we find attention bestowed upon even the mi-
nutest parts. The hinges in the wings of an
earwig, and the joints of its antennae, areas high-
ly wrought, as if the Creator had nothing else to
finish. yVe see no signs of diminution of care by
multiplicity of objects, or of distraction of thought
by variety. We have no reason to fear, therefore,
our being forgotten, or overlooked, or neglected.
The existence and character of the Deity, is in
every view, the most interesting of all human
speculations. Jn none, however, is it more so,
than as it facilitates the belief of the fundamental
articles of Revelation. It is a step to have it
proved, that there must be something in the world
more than what we see. It is a farther step to
know, that, amongst the invisible things of nature,
there must be an intelligent mind, concerned in
its production, order, and support. These points
being assured to us by Natural Theology, we
may well leave to Revelation the disclosure of
many particulars, which our researches cannot
reach, respecting either the nature of this Being,
as the original cause of all things, or his character
and designs as a moral governor : and not only so,
but the more full confirmation of other particulars,
of which, though they do not lie altogether beyond
our reasonings and our probabilities, the certainty
is by no means equal to the importance. The
true theist will be the first to listen to any credi-
ble communication of Divine knowledge. No-
thing which he has learnt from Natural Theology,
will diminish his desire of farther instruction, or
his disposition to receive it with humility and
thankfulness. He wishes for light : he rejoices hi
light. His inward veneration of this great Being
will incline him to attend with the utmost serious-
ness, not. only to all that can be discovered con-
cerning him by researches into nature, but to all
that is taught by a revelation, which gives reason-
able proof of having proceeded from him.
But, above every other article of revealed reli-
gion, does the anterior belief of a Deity bear with
the strongest force upon that grand point, which
gives indeed interest and importance to all the rest
the resurrection of the human dead. The
thing might appear hopeless, did we not see a
power at work, adequate to the effect, a power
under the guidance of an intelligent will, and a
power penetrating the inmost recesses of all sub-
stance. I am far from justifying the opinion of
those, who " thought it a thing incredible, that
God should raise the dead : " but I admit, that it
is first necessary to be persuaded that there is a
God, to do so. This being thoroughly settled in
our minds, there seems to be nothing in this pro-
cess (concealed as we confess it to be) which
need to shock our belief. They who have taken
up the opinion, that the acts of the human mind
depend upon organization, that the mind itself
indeed consists in organization, are supposed to
find a greater difficulty than others do, in admit-
ting a transition by de'ath to a new state of sen-
tient existence, because the old organization is ap-
Darently dissolved. But I do not see that any im-
practicability need be apprehended even by these ;
>r that the change, even upon their hypothesis,
s far removed from the analogy of some other
operations, whichwe know with certainty that the
Deity is carrying on. In the ordinary derivation
of plants and'animals, from one another, a particle,
n many cases, minuter than ah* assignable, all
conceivable dimension ; an aura, an effluvium, an
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
487
infinitesimal; determines the organization of a
future body : does no less than fix, whether that
which is about to be produced, shall be a vegeta-
ble, a merely sentient, or a rational being ; an oak,
a frog, or a philospher ; makes all these differences ;
gives to the future body its qualities, and nature
and species. And this particle, from which springs,
and by which is determined, a whole future na-
ture, itself proceeds from, and owes its constitu-
tion to, a prior body : nevertheless, which is seen
in plants most decisively, the incepted organiza-
tion, though formed within, and through, and by,
a preceding organization, is not corrupted by its
corruption, or destroyed by its dissolution : but on
the contrary, is sometimes extricated and developed
by those very causes ; survives and comes into ac-
tion, when the purpose, for which it was prepared,
requires its use. Now an economy which nature
has adopted, when the purpose was to transfer an
organization from one individual to another, may
have something analogous to it, when the purpose
is to transmit an organization from one state of
being to another state: and they who found
thought in organization, may see something in this
analogy applicable to their difficulties ; for what-
ever can transmit a similarity of organization will
answer their purpose, because, according even to
their own theory, it may be the vehicle of conscious-
ness ; and because consciousness carries identity
and individuality along with it through all changes
of form or of visible qualities. I n t he most general
case, that, as we have said, of the derivation of
plants and animals from one another, the latent
organization is either itself similar to the old or-
ganization, or has the power of communicating to
new matter the old organic form. But it is not
restricted to this rule. There are other cases, es-
pecially in the progress of insect life, in which the
dormant organization does not much resemble that
which encloses it, and still less suits with the situ-
ation in which the enclosing body is placed, but
suits with a different situation to which it is des-
tined. In the larva of the libellula, which lives
constantly, and has still long to live under water,
are descried the wings of a fly which two years
afterward is to mount into the air. Is there no-
thing in this analogy 1 It serves at least to show
that even in the observable course of nature, or-
ganizations are formed one beneath another ; and,
amongst a thousand other instances, it shows
completely, that the Deity can mould and fa-
shion the parts of material nature, so as to fulfil
any purpose whatever which he is pleased to
appoint.
They who refer the operations of mind to a sub-
stance totally and essentially different from mat-
ter, (as most certainly these operations, though ef-
fected by material causes, hold very little affinity
to any properties of matter with which we are ac-
quainted,) adopt perhaps a juster reasoning and a
better philosophy : and by these the considerations
above suggested are not wanted, at least in the
same degree. But to such as find, which some
persons do find, an insuperable difficulty in shak-
ing off an adherence to those analogies, which the
corporeal world is continually suggesting to their
thoughts ; to such, I say, every consideration will
be a relief, which manifests the extent of that intel-
ligent power which is acting in nature, the fruit-
fulness of its resources, the variety, and aptness,
and success of its means ; most especially every
consideration, which tends to .show that, in the
translation of a conscious existence, there is not,
even in their own way of regarding it, any thing
greatly beyond, or totally unlike, what takes place
in such parts (probably small parts) of the order
of nature, as are accessible to our observation.
Again ; if there be those who think, that the
contractedness and debility of the human faculties
in our present state, seem ill to accord with the
high destinies which the expectations of religion
point out to us ; I would only ask them, whether
any one, who saw a child two hours after its birth,
could suppose that it would ever come to under-
stand fluxions ;* or who then shall say, what far-
ther amplification of intellectual powers, what ac-
cession of knowledge, what advance and improve-
ment, the rational faculty, be its constitution what
it will, may not admit of, when placed amidst new
objects, and endowed with a sensorium adapted,
as it undoubtedly will be, and as our present senses
are, to the perception of those substances, and of
those properties of things, with which our concern
may lie. ,
Upon the whole ; in every thing which respects
this awful, but, as we trust, glorious change, we
have a wise and powerful Being (the author, in
nature, of infinitely various expedients for infinitely
various ends,) upon whom to rely for the choice
and appointment of means adequate to the exe-
cution of any plan which his goodness or his jus-
tice may have formed for the moral and accounta-
ble part of his terrestrial creation. That great
office rests with him ; be it ours to hope and to
prepare, under a firm and settled persuasion, that,
living and dying, we are his : that liie is passed in
his constant presence, that death resigns us to his
merciful disposal.
1 See Search's Light of Nature, passim.
A DEFENCE
OP THE
CONSIDERATIONS ON THE PROPRIETY OF REQUIRING A SUBSCRIPTION TO
ARTICLES OF FAITH,
IN REPLY TO A LATE ANSWER FROM THE CLARENDON PRESS.
THE fair way of conducting a dispute, is to ex-
hibit one by one the arguments of your opponent,
and with each argument the precise and specific
answer you are able to give it. If this method be
not so common, nor found so convenient, as might
be expected, the reason is, because it suits not
always with the designs of a writer, which are no
more perhaps than to make a book ; to confound
some arguments, and to keep others out of sight ;
to leave what is called an impression upon the
reader, without any care to inform him of the
proofs or principles by which his opinion should
be governed. With such views it may be consis-
tent to despatch objections, by observing of some
"that they are old," and therefore, like certain
drugs, have lost, we may suppose, their strength;
of others, that " they have long since received an
answer ;" which implies, to be sure, a confutation :
to attack straggling remarks, and decline the main
reasoning, as " mere declamation ;" to pass by one
passage because it is " long winded," another be-
cause the answerer " has neither leisure nor incli-
nation to enter into the discussion of it ;" to pro-
duce extracts and quotations, which, taken alone,
imperfectly, if at all, express their author's mean-
ing ; to" dismiss a stubborn difficulty with a "refer-
ence," which ten to one the reader never looks at ;
and, lastly, in order to give the whole a certain
fashionable air of candour and moderation, to
make a concession* or two which nobody thanks
him for, or yield up a few points which it is no
longer any credit to maintain. ,
How far the writer with whom we have to do
is concerned in this description, his readers will
judge : he shall receive, however, from us, that
justice which he has not shown the author of the
"Considerations," to have his arguments fully
and distinctly stated and examined.
After complaining, as is usual on these occa-
sions, of disappointment and dissatisfaction ; the
answerer sets out with an argument which com-
prises, we are told, in a " narrow compass," the
whole merits of the question betwixt us; and
which is neither more nor less than this, that " it
* Such as, that " if people keep their opinions to them-
selves, no man will hurt them," and the like. Answer,
p. 45.
is necessary that those who are to be ordained
teachers in the church should be sound in the faith,
and consequently that they should give to those
who ordain them some proof and assurance that
they are so, and that the method of this proof
should be settled by public authority." Now the
perfection of this sort of reason ing is, that it comes
as well from the mouth of the pope's professor of
divinity in the university of Bologna, as from the
Clarendon press. A church has only, with our
author, to call her creed the "faithful word," and
it follows from Scripture that " we must hold it
fast." Her dissatisfied sons, let her only denomi-
nate as he does,* " vain talkers and deceivers,"
and St. I^aul himself commands us to " stop their
mouths." Every one that questions or opposes
her decisions she pronounces, with him, a heretic,
and " a man that is a heretic, after the first and
second admonition, reject." In like manner, call-
ing her tenets " sound doctrine," or taking it for
granted that they are so, (which the conclave at
Rome can do as well as the convocation at London,)
and " soundness in the faith being a necessary
qualification in a Christian teacher," there is no
avoiding the conclusion, that every " Christian
teacher" (in, and out of the church too, if you can,
catch him, " soundness in the faith" being alike
" necessary" in all) must have these tenets strap-
ped about his neck by oaths and subscriptions.
An argument which thus fights in any cause, or on
either side, deserves no quarter. I have said, that
this reasoning, and these applications of Scripture,
are equally competent to the defenders of popery
they are more so. The popes, when they as-
sumed the power of the apostles, laid claim also to
their infallibility ; and in this they were consistent.
Protestant churches renounce with all their might
this infallibility, whilst they apply to themselves
every expression that describes it, and will not
part with a jot of the authority which is built upon
it. But to return to the terms of the argument.
"Is it necessary that a Christian teacher should
be sound in the faith V
1. Not in nine instances out of ten to which the
test is now extended. Nor,
* Page 18.
488
OF SUBSCRIPTION TO ARTICLES OF FAITH.
2. If it were, is this the way to make him so;
there being as little probability that the determi-
nations of a set of men whose good fortune had
fiat had been cast upon
hem, by setting forth some
ublicConstitutions or < 'on -
essions, as a declaration of
ple,ot her protestant church-
es, thought fit to draw up
Confessions of faith. And
this they did partly to ac-
advanced them to/ high stations in the church
heir faith and worship.
quit themselves of the scan-
should be right, as the conclusions of private in-
And to make such declaia-
ion still more authentic.
dal of abetting wild and se-
ditious enthusiasts, and de-
quirers. Nor,
3. Were they actually right, is it possible to
hey likewise enjra'.'ed them-
selves in a mutual bond of
claring what were their real
doctrines ; partly" (observe
conceive how they can, upon this author's princi-
ples, produce the effect contended for, since '"we
set them not up as a rule of faith;"* since "they
on fortuity to all these Con-
titutions." Cuiiside.ra-
ions, page 6.
how tenderly this is iutro -
duced) " to prevent such en-
thusiasts on the one hand,
and popish emissaries on
do not decide matters for us, nor bind them upon
the other, from intruding
us;" since "they tie no man up from altering his
.themselves into the minis-
opinion," are " no ways inconsistent wkh the
>.',,T^f nf i^.;roto inrlrrmfnt " am in a wnnl nf no
try. Answer, pages 6, 7.
rl" r\f ft ^nctrvm f\f mmv*
, ,
more authority than an old sermon ; nor, conse-
quently, much more effectual, either for the pro-
ducing or securing of "soundness in the faith."
The answerer, not trusting altogether to the
strength of his " argument," endeavours next to
avail himself of a " concession" which he has
gained, he imagines, from his adversary, and
which he is pleased to look upon "as in a manner
giving up the main point." Our business, there-
fore, will be to show what this concession, as he
calls it, amounts to, and wherein it differs from
tin- ''main point," the requisition of subscription
to established formularies. It is objected to the
Articles of the Church of England, that they are
at variance with the actual opinions both of the
governors and members of that church; so much
so, that the men who most faithfully and expli-
citly maintain these articles, net persecuted for
their singularity, excluded from orders, driven
from universities, and are compelled to preach the
established religion in fields and conventicles.
Now this objection, which must cleave t
fixed formulary, might, we conceive, be removed
if a test was substituted, supposing any test to be
insisted upon, which could adapt itself to the
opinions, and keep pace with the improvement.--
of each succeeding age. This, in some measure
would be the case, if the governors of the church
for the time being, were authorized to receivt
from candidates for orders declarations of their re-
ligious principles in their own words, and allowed
aftheir discretion, to admit them into the minis-
try. Bishops l>eing taken out of the lump of the
community will generally be of the same lea\en
and partake both of the opinions and nioderatioi
of the times they live in. This is the most that
can be made of the concession ; and how this gives
up the " main point," or indeed any thing, it is
not easy to discover.
The next paragraph of the Answer attacks th
account which the Considerations have criven ot
the " rise" and " progress" of the custom in ques
tion; "the reverse of which," the answerer tells
us, " is the truth," and by way of proof gives hi
own account of the matter, which, so far fron
being the " reverse," is in effect, or very nearly, th
same.
The reader shall see the two accounts side bj
side, and is desired to judge whether the autho
of the Considerations, so far from being confute(
in this point, is even contradicted.
" The protestants, aware
how greatly they wen- mi--
represented and abused, be-
gan to think it necessary to
repel the various calumnies
" As some who set up for
reformers had broached ma-
ny erroneous and pestilent
doctrines ; the Lutherans,
first, and, after their exam-
* Pages 11.13.19.29.
3d
onscquence than it is to a ^question concerning
he "propriety" of it, can any one doubt, who
credits even the answerer's own account, but that
he motive assigned in the considerations, both
did exist, and was the principal motive 1 There
s one account, indeed, of the "origin" of this cus-
tom, which, were it true, wotdd direc.tly concern
the question. " This practice," our author tells
us in another part of his Answer,* " is said to be
derived from the apostles themselves." I care
not what "is said.'* It is impossible that the
practice complained of, the imposition of articles
of faith by fl fallible" men, could originate, from
the " apostles, "'who, under the direction- by which
they acted were infallible."! .
But this practice, from whatever "root of bitter-
ness" it sprung, has been one of the chief causes,
rt, of the divisions and distresses which
we read of in ecclesiastical history. The matter
of fact our author docs not, because he cannot,
deny. He rather chooses to insinuate that " such
divisions and disturbances were not owing to the
governors qf the church, but to the perverse dis-
nutings of heretics and schismatics. He must
Know that there is oppression as well as resistance,
provocation as well as resentment, abu.se of power
as well as opposition to it : and it is too much to
take for granted, without one syllable of proof,
that those in possession . of powe* have been
always in the right, and those who withstood
them in the wrong. , " Divisions" and " disturb-
ances" have in fact, and in all ages, arisen on this
account, and it is a poor shift to say, because it
may always be said, that such only are charge-
able with- these mischiefs as refused to submit
* Page 19.
t How a creed is to be made, as Hie Considerations
recommend, in which all parties shall agree, our author
cannot understand. I will tell him how : by adhering
to Scripture terms : and this will suit the best idea of a
Creed a summary or compendium of a larger volume,)
and the only fair purpose of one, instruction.
, It fa observed in the Considerations, that the multi-
plicity of the propositions contained in the thirtv-nine
Articles is alone sufficient to show the impossibility of
that consent which the Church imposes and requires.
Now, what would any man guess is the answer to this?
Why, "that there are no less than three propositions in
the very first veo?e of St. John's Gospel." Had there
been " three thousand" it would have been nothing to
the purpose : where propositions are received upon the
authority of the proposer, it matters not how many of
them there are; the doubt is not increased with the
number; the same reason which establishes one esta-
blishes all Hut isthitUheran- with a system of proposi-
tions which derives no evidence from the proposer?
which must each stand upon its own separate and in-
trinsic proof? We thought it necessary to oppose note
to note in the place in which we found it; though
neither here nor in the Answer is it much connected
with the text.
490
OF SUBSCRIPTION TO ARTICLES OF FAITH.
to whatever their superiors thought proper to
impose.*
Nor is it much better when he tells us, "that
these subtleties of metaphysical del'iite, which we
complain of in our Articles, were introduced l>y
the several heretics of those times ;" especial ly as
it is evident that whoever first introduced, it is the
governors of the 'church who still conthiue them.
But our author cannot conceive what alKthis,
as relating to " creeds!- only and "'confessions," to
the "terms of communion" rather than of admis-'
sion into the ministry, is to the purpose. Will he
then give up '* creeds'" and " confessions V or will
his church thank him for it if he^ does 1 a v church
which, by transfusing the substance of _ her Arti-
cles into the form of her public worship, has hi
effect made the "terms of communion" and of ad-
mission into the ministry the game. " This ques-
tion, like every other, however - naked you may
strip it by abstraction, must always be Considered
with a refejence to the practice you wish to
reform.
The author of the Considerations contends
very properly, that it is one of the first duties a
Christian owes to his Master,' " t6 keep his mind
open and unbiassed" in religious inquiries. Can
a man be said to do this, who must bring hiiriself
to assent to opinions proposed by another 7 who
enters into a profession where both his subsistence
and success depend upon his continuance- hut
particular persuasion 1 In answer to this w<e are
informed, that these Artiqles areno"ruleoffaijh;"
(what ! not to those who subscribe them 1}. that
" the church deprives no man df his right of private
judgment;"(she cannot she hangs, however, a
dead weight upon it;) that it is a "very unfair
state of the case, to call subscription a declaration
of our full and final persuasion in matters of faith ;"
though if it be not a " full" persuasion, what is it 1
arid ten to one it will be " final," when such con-
sequences attend a change. That "no man is
hereby tied up from impartially examining the
word of God," i. c. with the " impartiality" of a
man who must "eat" or "" starve" according as
the examination turns out ; ' an " impartiality" so
suspected, that a court of justice would not receive
his evidence under half of the same influence:
"nor from altering his opinion if he finds reason
so to do, which few, I conceive, will " find," when
the alteration must cost them so dear/ If one
could give credit to our author in what he says here;
and in some other passages of his Answer, one
would suppose that, in his judgment at least, sub-
scription restrained no man from adopting what
opinion he pleased, provided " he does not think
himself bound openly to maintain it :" that ^ men'
may retain their -preferments, if they will but keep
their opinions to themselves." [f this be what the
church of England means, let her say sa This"
is indeed what our author admits here, and yet,
from the outcry he has afterwards raised against
* The following sentiment of our author is too cu-
rious to be omitted : "Pospibly'too he (the author of the
Considerations) may think that insurrections and re-
bellions in the slate are not owing to the unrulinoss nf
factious subjects, but to kines and rulers ; but most rea-
sonable men, I believe, will think otherwise." A com-
mon reader may think this observation of ilic answerer
a little beside the question. But the answerer may say,
with Cicero and Dr. King, " Suscepto negotio majus
mini quiddam proposui, in quo meam in Rempublicam
voluntatem populus perspiceri posset." Motto to Dr.
K.'s Oration in 1749.
all who continue in the chtfrch whilst they dissent
from her Articles, one would not suppose tin-re
was a pardon left for those, who "keep even to
themselves an opinion" inconsistent with anyone
proposition 'they have suoscrihed. The fact is,
the gentieuian has either shitted his opinion in the
courfee of writing the Answer, or had put down
these assertions, not expecting that he should have
occasion afterwards to-contradict them.
" It seemed -to add strength to this objection, that
the judg'ment of most thinking men being in a
progressive state, their opinions ^of course must
many of them change ; the evil aTnd iniquity of
which the answerer sets forth with great plea-
santry, but has fbrgot-at the same time to give us
any remedy for the misfortune, except the old
woman's receipt, to leave off thinking for fear of
thinking wrong.
' But our church "preaches," it seems, " no
other Gospel than that which she received." nor
propounds any other Articles for Gospel/' nor
" fixes any standards or criteriohs .of faith, sepa-
rate from this Gospel : and so she herself fully de-
clares;"and we are to take her " word" for it, when
the very complaint is, that she has never "acted" up
to this declaration, but in direct contradiction to it.
When she puts forth a system of propositions
conceived in a new dialect, and in unscriptural
terms ; when she ascribes to these the same evi-
dence and certainty as to. Scripture itself, Or de-
crees and acts as if they were equally evident and
certain; she incurs, we apprehend, the charge
which these expressions imply. She claims indeed
"authority in controversies of faith," but "only
so far," says her apologist, as " to judge for herself
what should be her own terms of communion,
and what qualifications, she shall require in her
own ministers;" All which, in plainer English,
comes to this; that two or three men, betwixt
two and three centuries ago, fixed a multitHde of
obscure and dubious propositions, which many
millions after must bring themselves to believe,
before they be permitted to share in the provision
which the state has made (and to which all of
every sect contribute) for regular opportunities of
.public worship, and the giving and receiving of
public instruction. And this our author calls the
magistrate's "judging for himself,"* and exercis-
ing the " same right as all other persons have to
judge for themselves." For the reasonal .leness of
iVhowever, he has nothing to offer, but that it " is
no more than what other churches, popish" too, to
strengthen the argument, "-as well as protestant,"
have done before. He might have added, seeing
"custom" is to. determine the matter, that it had
been " customary" too from early ages for ( 'hris-
tians to anathematize and burn each other for
difference of opinion in some points of faith, and
for difference ,of practice in some points of cere-
mony.
We now accompany the learned answerer to
what he is pleased to call the " main question/'
and which- he is so much " pulzlcd to keep in
sight." The argument! in favour of subscription
and the arbitrary exclusion ofmen from the church
or ministry, drawn from the nature of a society
* Page 26.
t What would any man in his wits think of this ar-
gument, if upon the strength of it they were to make
law, that none but red-iiaired people should be admitted
into orders, or even into churches.
OF SUBSCRIPTION TO ARTICLES OF FAITH.
491
and the rights incidental to society, our author
resigns to its fate, and to the answer which has
been given it in the Considerations. He contends
only, that the conduct of the apostles in admitting
the eunuch and the centurion upon a general pro-
fession of their faith in Christ, "has nothing to
do with the case of subscription," as they were
admitted, not into the ministry, but only the com-
munion of the church. Now. 10 the iirst. place,
suppose the runuch or centurion had taken upon
them, as probably they did, to teach Christianity,
would they have been inhibited by the apostles as
not having uiven sufficient " proof or ass.urance of
their soundness in tho faith T And if not. what be-
comes of the necessity of such assurances from a
Christian teacher V In the second place, suppose
you consider the church as one society, and its
teachers as another, is it probable that those who
were so tender in keeping any one out. of the lirst,
Would have thought the argument we were en-
counterini:. of anything else, a pretence .for' a
right of arbitrary exclusion from the, latter 1 Tho
f Corn* 'ius. says our author, is "extraordi-
nary; while St. Pe-ter was preach inn to him, the
Holy Cihost fell ujxm all them which heard the
word." And is nut this author ashamed to own,
that any are excluded from the communion, or
even ministry of the church, who would have
liron entitled" by their faith "to the gifts of the
Holy Uho,str
The answerer in the next paragraph acknow-
that to admit converts into the church
upon this one article of faith, that Jesus is tin-
J\lessi:;h, was indeed the practice of the apostles;*
but then he tells us, what must sound a little odd
to a Christian ear, and comes the more a\.
ly from this author, whom, if \<>u turn
pa '.re, you nil! find ipMin^ the'" pracli.-e of the
apostles'' with a vengeance: he tells us.
"that no argument can be drawn from the prac-
tice of the apostles. "1 Now, with regard to the
I: practice of the a|>ost]cs," and the application of
it to ourselves, the case seems to IK- this (the very
reverse, observe, of our author's rule.) that we
are always bound not "to <jo hevond" the pre-
cedent., though, for want of the same authority,
we may not always "advance up to it." It surely
nt lea-t becomes us to be cautious of ' proceed-
ing," where they, in the plenitude of their com-
mission, thought proj>er "to stop."
It is alleged in the Considerations, that annex-
ing emoluments to the profession of particular
opinions, is a strong and danuerous inducement
to prevarication ; and the danger is the greater,
as prevarication in one instance has a tendency
to relax the most sacred obligations, and make
way for perfidy in every other. But " this," it
seems, " has nothing to do with tire question."*
* Although the question, whether to hclievr, thai
Joans is tin' Messiah, he not tho only neressan article of
faith, is a question in which we have no concern ; onr
author, with the best iiirlinatimi in the world, not he-
ing ahli' to fix such an opinion upon IIP : yet I cannot,
help observing, tlmt h<- has put two of the' od.irst con-
RtniQtions ihpon the term.-; of the prop<i>iti..i,s that over
entered into tin- fancy of man tocoiifj'ive. One is, which
yon may he sure lie intends for his adversaries, " tlhlt
it is -necessary to IHii'vo. .fesns to he H true prophet, yet
not necessary to believe une dortrine tliat he has laugh f."
fhe orticr, which he means for himseliVis, that. " hv the
Messiah we are to understand the only Ivgottrn Son of
God, anointed, and sent hy the Pat ln-r' to make propitia-
tion for the sins of the whole woild."
t Page 1G. J Pages 19, 20. Page 10.
Why, it-is the very; question, Whether the ma-
gistrate ought to confine the provision he makes
for religion to those who assent, or declare their
assent, to a particular system of controverted
divinity: and this is one direct objection against
it. But "must the magistrate then," exclaim^
our alarmed adversary, ''establish no tithes, no
rich benefices, no dignities, or bishoprics T' As
many as lie pleases, only let him not convert them
into snares and traps by idle and unnecessary
conditions._ " But must he -admit all persons
indiscriminately to these advantages T' The au-
thor of. the Considerations has told him, that lie
may require conformity to "the Ikurgy, rites, and
ollices he shall prescribe ; he may trust his offi-
:!i a discretion a to the religious princi-
ples of candidates for orders, similar to what they
now exercise with regard to their qualifications;
he may censure extravagant preaching when it
' ; apiH'ars^ precautions surely sufficient either to
keep the " wildest sectaries" out of the church, or
prevent 'their- doing any mischief if they gt in.
The' ex-elusion 'of papists is a separate considera-
tion. The laws againsj. popery, as far as they
are justifiable, proceed upon principles with which,
the author of the Considerations has nothing to
<lo. Where, from the . particular -circumstances
of a country, attachments and dispositions hostile
and dangerous to the state, are accidentally or
otherwise connected with certain opinions in reli-
gion, it may be necessary to lay encumbrance*
and n-straints upon the profession or propagation
of such opinions. Where a great part of any
sect or religious order of men are enemies to the
constitution, and you have fco way of distinguish-
ing thus, who are not so, it is right perhaps to
fence the whole order out of your civil and reli-
gious establishment : it is the right at least of
self-defence, and of extreme necessity. -But even
this is not on account of the religious opinions
themselves, but as'they are probable marks, and
the only marks you have, of designs and princi-
ples which it is necessary to disarm. I would
. however, that in proportion as this con-
nexion between the civil and religious principles
of the papists is dissolved, in thc_amo proportion
ought the *!;:te to mitigate the hardships and
iic restraints to wlu'ch they arc made sub-
ject.
If we complain of severities, of pains and pe-
nalties, the answerer cannot discover r 'whom or
what we mean :" and lest his reader should, by a
ligure extremely well known in the craft of con-
troversy, he proposes a-string of questions in the
person, of his adversary, to which he gives his
own peremptory and definitive NO.* We will
take a method, not altogether so compendious,
but, we trust, somewhat more satisfactory. We
-will repeat the same questions, and let thc'i'hurch,
and stateanswer for themselves. First, then.
"Does our church or our government inflict
any corporal punishment, or levy any fines or
[>enalties on those who will not comply with the
terms of her communion T " Be it enacted, that
all and every person of persons that shall neglect
or re'fuse to receive the sacrament -of the Lord's
Supper according to the usage of the Church of
England, and yet, after such neglect or refusal,
shall execute any office or of fices, civil or military,
after the times "be expired wherein he or they
Page 21.
492
OF SUBSCRIPTION TO ARTICLES OP FAITH.
ought to have taken the same, shall, upon con
viction thereof, bosides the loss of the office, for-
feit the sum -of five hundred pounds :"* Stat. 25
Car. II. c. 2. Now, although starving be ho
"corporal punishment," nor 'the loss of all a man
has, a " line," or " penalty," yet depriving men
of the common benefits of society, and rights even
of lay subjects, because "they will not comply
with the terms of Church com m union, 'I is a "se-
verity" that might have deserved from our author
some other apology besides the mere suppression
of the fact.
2. " Doth it deny them the right or privilege
of worshipping God in their own way V " Who-
ever shall take upon him to preach -or teach in
any meeting, assembly, or conventicle, and shall
thereof be convicted, shall- forfeit for the first
offence twenty pounds, and for every other offence
forty pounds :" Stat. 22-Car. II. c. 1." No per-
son shall presume to consecrate or administer the
sacrament of the Lord's Supper before he be
ordained priest, after the manner of the church
of England, on pain of forfeiting one hundred
pounds for every such offence :" Stat. 13 & 14
Car. II. c. 4. These laws are in Jull force
against all who do not subscribe to the 39 Arti-
cles of the Church of England, except the 34th;
35th, and 36th, and part of the 20th 'Article.
3. " Are men denied the liberty of free debate ?"
" If any person, having been educated in, or at
any time, having made profession of, the Chris r
tian faith within the realin, shall by writing,
printing, teaching, or advised speaking^ deny
any one of the persons of the Holy Trinity to be
God he shall for the first offence be disabled to
hold any office or employment, or any profit ap-
pertaining thereto; for the second offence shall
be disabled to prosecute-any action or information
in any court of law or equity, or to be guardian of
any child, or executor ) or administrator of any
person, or capable of any legacy or deed of gift,
or to bear any office for ever within this realm,
and shall also suffer imprisonment for the space
of three years from the time of such conviction."
Stat. 9 & 10 Will. III. c. 32.
It has been tht>ught to detract considerably from
the pretended use of these subscriptions, that they
excluded none but the conscientious ; a species of
men more wanted, we conceive, than formidable
to any religious establishment. This objection
applies equally, says our answerer,t to the " oaths
of allegiance and supremacy;" and. so 'far as it
does apply, it ought to be attended to ;, and the
truth is, these oaths might in many instances be
spared without either danger or detriment to the
community. There is, however, an essential
difference between the two 'cases : a seruple con-
cerning the oath 'of allegiance implies principles
which may excite to acts of hostility against the
state : a scruple about the truth of the articles im-
plies no such thing.t
Our author, good man. " is well persuaded,
that the generality of the clergy, when- they offer
* This and the Corporation Act, an otherwise excel-
lent person calls the laws winch secure both our civil
and religious liberties. Blackstoue'a Comm. vol. iv.
p. 432.
t Page 22. ,
J The answerer might have found a parallel below
in some other oaths, which he does not care to speak of,
viz. the case of college statutes, page 34 of the Consi-
derations.
themselves for ordination, consider seriously what
office they take upon them, and firmly believe
what they subscribe to." I am persuaded much
otherwise. But as this is a " fact," the reader, it'
he he wise, will neither take the answerer's word
for it nor mine ; but form his own judgment from
his own observation. Bishop Burnet complained
abpve 60 years ago, that " the greater part/ even,
then, " subscribed the Articles without ever exa-
mining them,* and others did it because they must
do it. Is it probable, that in point either of
seriousness or orthodoxy, the clergy are much
mended since 1
The pleas offered in support of this practice of
subscription come next to be considered. " One"
of these is drawn from the sacred writings being-
capable of such a variety of senses, that men of
widely different persuasions shelter themselves
under the same forms of expression." Our au-
thor, after quarrelling with this representation of
the plea, gives his readers in its stead, a long quo-
tation from the archdeacon of Oxford's charge.*
What he is to gain by the change, or the quota-
tion, I cannot perceive, as the same first query
still recurs, " Is it true, that the Scriptures are in
reality so differently interpreted in points of real
consequence V In answer to which, the arch-
deacon of Oxford, we are told, " has shown that
points of real consequence are differently inter-
preted," and " the plainest texts explained away,"
and has "instanced in the first chapter of St.
John's Gospel." The plea, we conceive, is not
much indebted to the archdeacon of Oxford.
But be these Scriptures interpreted as they will,
ach man has still a right to interpret them for
himself. The Church of Rome, who always
pushed her conclusions with a courage and con-
sistency unknown to the timid patrons of pro-
testant imposition, saw, immediately, that as the
laity had no right to interpret the Scriptures, they
could have no occasion to read them, and there-
fore very properly locked them up from the in-
trusion of popular curiosity. Our author cites
the above-mentioned query from the Considera-
tions as the first query, which would lead his
reader to expect a second. The reader, however,
may seek that second for himself, the answerer is
not obliged to produce it it stands thus : Sup-
pose the Scriptures thus variously interpreted,
does subscription mend the matter 1 The reader
too is left to find an answer for himself. ,
The next, the strongest, the only tolerable plea
r subscription, is, "that all sorts of pestilent
heresies might be taught from the pulpit, if no
such restraint as this was laid upon the preacher."*
How far it is probable that this would be the con-
sequence of removing the subscription, and by
what other means it might be guarded against,
las been hinted already, and will again be con-
sidered in another place. We will here only take
notice 'of one particular expedient suggested in
the Considerations, and which has often indeed
elsewhere been proposed, jiamely. " that the
hurch, instead of requiring* subscription tx?fore-
land, to the present, or to any other Articles of
'kith, might censure her clergy afterwards, if they
pposed or vilified them in their preaching.'
* Burnet's History of his Own Times. Conclusion.
t See this whole Charge answered in the London
Chronicle by Priscilla. The Lord hath sold Sisera iuto
he hand of a woman !
I Page 26.
OF SUBSCRIPTION TO ARTICLES OF FAITH.
The advantage of which scheme above the pre-
sent is manifest, if it was only for this reason, that
you distress and corrupt thousands now, for one
that you would ever have occasion to punish.
Our author, nevertheless, " is humbly of opinion,
that it is much better to take proper precautions
beforehand ;" he must, with all his " humility,"
know that when it has been proposed to take pro-
per precautions of the press, by subjecting authors
to an imprimatur before publication, instead of
punishment after it ; the proposal has been re-
sented, as an open attack upon the rights and
interests of mankind. The common sense and
spirit of the nation could see and feel this distinc-
tion and the importance of it, in the case of pub-
lishers ; and why preachers should be left in a
worse situation, it is not very easy to say.
The example of the Arminian confession is,
upon this occasion, recommended by the author
of the Considerations; a confession which was
compiled for the edification and instruction of the
members of that church, without peremptorily in-
sisting upon any one's assent to it. But it is the
misfortune of the Arminian to be no national
church the misfortune, alas ! of Christianity her-
self in her purest period; when she was under
the government of the apostles ; without^ alliance
with the states of this world ; when she composed,
nevertheless, a church as real, we conceive, and
as respectable, as any national church that has ex-
isted since.
Our author, who can much sooner make a dis-
tinction than see one, does not comprehend, it
seems, any difference between confessions of faith
and preaching, as to the use of unscriptural terms.
Did a preacher, when he had finished his sermon,
call upon his congregation to subscribe their names
and assent to it, or never to come more within the
doors of his church ; there would, indeed, be some
sort of resemblance betwixt the two cases i but as.
the hearers are at liberty to believe preachers or
no, as they see, or he produces, reasons for what
he says ; there can be no harm, and there is a ma-
nifest utility, in trusting him with the hberty of
explaining his own meaning in his own terms.
We now come, and with the tenderest regret,
to the case of those who continue in the church
without being able to reconcile to their belief every
proposition imposed upon them by subscription ;
over whose distress our author is pleased to in-
dulge a wanton and ungenerous triumph. They
had presumed, it seems, that it was .some apology
for then- conduct, that they sincerely laboured to
render to religion their best services, and thought
their present stations the fairest opportunities of
performing it. This may not, perhaps, amount
to a complete vindication; it certainly does not
fully satisfy even their own scruples : else where
would be the cause of complaint] What need of
relief, or what reason for their petitions "? It might
have been enough, however, to have exempted
them from being absurdly and indecently compared
with faithless hypocrites, with Papists and Jesuits,
who, for other purposes, and with even opposite
designs, are supposed to creep into the church
through the same door. For the fullest and fairest
representation of their case, I refer our author to
the excellent Hoadly ; or, as Hoadly possibly may
be no book in our author s library, will it provoke
his "raillery" to ask, what he thinks might be the
consequence, if all were at once to withdraw
themselves from the church who were dissatisfied
with her doctrines? Might not the church lose,
what she can ill spare, the service' of many able
and industrious ministers'? Would those she re-
tained? be such as acquiesced in her decisions from
inquiry and conviction f Would not many, or
most of them, be those who keep out of the way
of religious scruples by lives of secularity and vo-
luptuousness ? by mixing with the crowd in the
most eager of their pursuits after pleasure or ad-
vantage ? One word with the answerer before
we part upon this head. Whence all this great
inquisitiveness, this solicitude to be acquainted
with the person, the opinions, and associates of
his adversary 1 Whence that impertinent wish
that he had been " more explicit in particular with
regard to the doctrine of the Trinity 1" Is it out
of a pious desire to fasten some heresy, or the im-
putation of it, upon him! Is he "called out of the
rlouds" to be committed to the flames 1 *
The 40th page of the Answer introduces a pa-
ragraph of considerable length, the sum, however,
and substance of which is this that if subscrip-
tion to articles of faith were removed, confusion
would ensue ; the people would be distracted with/
the disputes of their teachers, and the pulpits filled
with controversy arid contradiction. Upon this
" fact" we join issue, and the more readily as this
is a sort of reasoning we all understand. The
extent of the legislator's right may be an abstruse
inquiry; but wnether a law does more good or
harm, is a plain question which every man can
ask. Now, that distressing many of the clergy,
and corrupting others ; that keeping out of churches
good Christians and faithful citizens ; that making
I'urtirs in the state, by giving occasion to sects and
separations in religion; that these are inconve-
niences, no man in his senses will deny. The
question therefore is, what advantage do you find
in the opposite scale to balance these inconve-
niences 7 The simple advantage pretended is, that
jfou hereby prevent " wrangling" and contention
in the pulpit. Now, in the first place, I observe,
that allowing this evil to be as grievous and as
certain as you please, the most that can be neces-
sary for the prevention of it is, to enjoin your
preachers as .to such points, silence and neutrality.
In the next place, I am convinced, that the dan-
ger is greatly magnified. We hear little of these
points at present in our churches and public
teaching, and it is not probable that leaving them
at large would elevate them into more importance,
or make it more worth men's while to ^.arrel
about them. They would sleep in the same grave
with many other questions, of equal importance
with themselves, or sink back into their proper
place, into topics of speculation, or matters of de-
bate from the press. None but men of some re-
flection would be forward to engage in such sub-
jects, and the least reflection would teach a man
* We were unwilling to decline the defence of the per-
sons here described, though the expression m the Con-
siderations which brought on the attack, manifestly
related to a different subject. The author of the Con-
siderations speaks of " being bound" to "keep up" these
forms until relieved by proper authority ; of " ministe-
rially" complying with what we are notable to remove;
alluding, no doubt, to the case of Church governors,
who are the instruments of imposing a subscription
which they may disapprove. But the answerer, taking
it for granted, that " ministerially complying" meant
the compliance of ministers, i. e. of clergymen officiating
in their functions, has, by a quibble, or a blunder,
transferred the passage to a sense for which it was not
intended.
42
494
OF SUBSCRIPTION TO ARTICLES OF FAITH.
that preaching is not the proper vehicle of contro-
versy. Even at present, says, our author, " we
speak and write what we please with impunity."
And where is the mischief"? or what worse could
ensue if subscription were removed 1 Nor can I
discover any thing in the disposition of the peti-
tioning clergy that need alarm our apprehensions.
If they are impatient under the yoke, it is not
from a desire to hold forth their opinions to their
congregations, but that they may be at liberty to
entertain themselves, without offence to their con-
sciences, or ruin to their fortunes.
Our author has added, by way of make-weight
to his argument, "that many 'common Chris-
tians," he believes, " woul 1 be greatly scandalized
if you take away their creeds and catechisms, and
strike out of the liturgy such things as they have
always esteemed essential."* Whatever reason
there may be for this belief at present, there cer-
tainly was much greater at the Reformation, as
the Popish ritual, Which was then " taken away,"
had a fascination and antiquity which ours cannot
pretend to. Many were probably " scandalized''
nt parting with their beads and their mass-books,
that lived afterwards to thank tho?e who taught
them better things. Reflection, we hope, in some,
and time, we are sure, in all, will reconcile men
to alterations established in reason. If there be
any danger, it is, from some of the dejgy, who,
with the answerer, would rather suffer the "vine-
yard" to be overgrown with " weeds," than "stir
the ground," or, what is worse, call these weeds
" the fairest flowers in the garden." Such might
be ready enough to raise a^ue and cry against all
innovators in religion, as " overturners of churches"
and spoilers of temples.
But the cause which -of all others stood most in
the way of the late petitions for relief, was an ap-
prehension that religious institutions cannot be
disturbed without awakening animosities and dis-
sensions in the state, of which no man knows the
consequence. Touch but religion, we are told,
and it bursts forth into a flame. Civil distractions
may be composed by fortitude and perseverance ;
but neither reason nor authority can controul,
there is neither charm nor drug which will assuage,
the passions of mankind when called forth in the
cause and to the battles of religion. -We were
concerned to hear this language .from some who,
in other instances, have manifested a constancy
and .resolution which no confusion nor ill as-
pecWW public affairs, could intimidate. After
all, is there any real foundation for these ter-
rors 1 Is not this whole' danger, like, the lum of
the slothful, the creature of our fears, and tire
excuse of indolence 1 Was it proposed to make
articles instead of removing them, there would
be room for the objeetion. But it is obvious
that subscription ' to the 39 Articles might be
altered or withdrawn upon general principles of
justice and'expediency, witheut reviving one reli-
gious controversy, or calling into dispute a single
proposition they contain. Who should excite dis-
turbances 1 Those who are relieved will not ; and, |
unless subscription were like a tax, which, being
taken from one must be laid with additional weight
upon another, is it probable that any will com-
plain that they are oppressed, because their
brethren are relieved 1 or that those who are so
"strong in .the faith" will refuse to " bear with the
infirmities of the weak '/" The few who upon
principles of this sort opposed the application of
the Dissenters, were repulsed from parliament
with disdain, even by those who were no friends
to the application itself.
The question concerning the object of worship
is attended, I confess, with difficulty ; it seems al-
most directly to divide the worshippers. But let
the Church pare down her excrescences tilj she
comes to this question ; let her discharge from her
liturgy controversies unconnected with devotion;
let her. try what may be done for all sides, by wor-
shipping God in that generality* of expression in
which he himself has left some points ; let her dis-
miss many of her Articles, and convert those which
she retains into terms of peace; let her recall the
terrors she suspended over freedom of inquiry ; let
the toleration she aljows to dissenters be made
" absolute ;" let her invite men to search the Scrip-
tures ; let her governors encourage the studious
and learned of all persuasions: Let her do this
and she will be secure of the thanks of her own
clergy, and what is more, of their .sincerity. A
greater consent may grow out of inquiry than
many" at present are aware of; and the few, who,
after all shall think it necessary to recede from our
communion, will acknowledge the necessity to be
inevitable ; will respect the equity and moderation
of 'the- established church, and live in peace with
all its members. -
I know not whether I ought to mention, amo'ng
so many more serious wasons, that even the go-
vernors df the church themselves would find their
ease and account ia.consenting to an alteration.
For besides, the difficulty of defending those de-
cayed fortifications, and the indecency of desert-
ing them, they either are or will soon find them-
selves in the situation of a master of a family,
whose servants know more, of his secrets than it
is proper for them to know, and whose whispers
and whose threats must be bought off at an ex-
pense which will drain the " apostolic chamber"
dry-
Having thus examined in their order, and, as
far as I understood them, the several answerst
* Pages 41, 42
* If a Christian can think it an intolerable thin? to
Worship one God throush one mediator Jesus Christ, in
company with any such as differ from him in their no-
tions about, the metaphysical nature of Christ, or of the
HoFy Ghost,.or the like; I am sorry for it. 1 remember
the like objection made at the beginning of the Refor-
mation L'y the Lutherans atrninst the lawfulness of
communicating with Zuinglius and his followers, be-
cause they had not the, same notion with Ihetn of the
elements in the sacrament. And there was the same
objection once against holding communion with any
such as had not the same notions with themselves about,
the secret decrees of God relating to the predestination
and reprobation of particular persons. But whatever
those men may please themselves \\ith thinking who
are sure they are arrived at the perfect knowledge of
the most abstruse points, this they may be certain of,
that in the present slate of the church, even supposing
only such as are accounted orthodox to l>e joined toge ;
ther in one visible Communion, they communicate to-
gether with a very m-eat variety and confusion of no-
tions, either comprehending not h ing plain and distinct,
or differing from one another as truly and as essentially
as others differ from them all ; nay, with more certain
difference with relation to the object of worship than
if all prayers were directed (as bishop Hull says, almost
all were in the first a^es to God or the Father, through
the Son. Jloadly's Answer to Dr. Hare's Sermon.
t In his last note our author breaks forth into " asto-
nishment" and indignation, at the "folly, injustice,
OF SUBSCRIPTION TO ARTICLES OF FAITH.
495
given by our author to the objections against the
present mode of subscription, 'it now remains, by
way of summing up the evidence, to bring^" for-
ward " certain other arguments contained in the
Considerations, to which no answer has been at-
tempted. It is contended, then,
I. That stating any doctrine in a confession of
faith with a greater degree of " precision " than
the Scriptures have done, is in effect to say,
that the Scriptures have not stated it '-with
" precision" enough ; in other words, that the
Scriptures are not sufficient. " Mere declama-
tion."
II. That this experiment of leaving men at liber-
ty, and points of doctrine at large, has been at-
tended with the improvements of religious
knowledge, where and whenever it has been
tried. And to this cause, so far as we can see,
is owing the advantage which protcstant coun-
tries in this respect possess above their popish
neightxnirs. No answer.
III. That keeping people out of churches who
mi^ht be admitted consistently with every end of
public worship, and excluding men from com-
munion who desire to embrace it upon the terms
that God prescribes, iseeitainly not encouraging,
and indecency" of comparing our church to tli
in our Saviour's time, and even to tin- " tower of IJahel ;"
mistaking the chuirli. in this last comparison, (or our
of her monuments ! which imlivtl. with must people of
liis complexion, Mauds fortlv sain'- linn:: erected to
prevent our dis|xT>ion from that L'land centre ofcatlio-
lie dominion, or, in the words of a late celehrated < as-
tle-builder, " to keep us together.'' If there In- any "in-
decency" in such a comparison, it imist he HiarL'ealile
on those who lead us to it. hv making use ( ,f i
terms with the original architects, and to which the
author of the Considerations evidently alludes. This
dotachwl note is concluded with as detached, and no
less curious, an observation, which the writer thinks
may hi! a " siillinent answer" to the whole, na ly,
that the author of the Considerations ' lias wrought iio
miracles for the conviction of the answerer and \n< as-
sociates." For what purpose this ohsM \ation can !>>
' sufficient," it is not easy to "ness, except it he deMiMi-
ed to insinuate, what may jH-rhaps really be th
that no less than a miracle will serve to cast out that
kind of spirit which has taken so full possession of
them, or ever firing them to a sound uiiiul, and a sin-
<x>re love of truth.
but rather causing men to forsake, the assem-
bling of themselves together. No answer.
IV. That men are deterred from searching the
Scriptures by the fear of finding there more or
less than they look for; that is, something in-
consistent with what they have already given
their assent to, and must at their peril abide by.
No answer.
V. That it is not giving truth a fair chance, to
decide points, at one certain time, and by one
set of men, which had much better be left to
the successive inquiries pf different ages and
different persons. No answer.
VI. That it tends to multiply infidels amongst
us, by exhibiting Christianity under a form and
in a system which many are disgusted with,
- who yet will not be at the pains to inquire after
any other. No answer.
" At the conclusion of His pamphlet, our author
is pleased to, acknowledge, what few, I find, care
any longer to deny, " that there are some things
in 'our Articles and Liturgy which he should be
glad to see amended, many which he should be
willing to give up to the scruples of others," but
that the heat and violence with which redress IKIS-
been pursued, preclude aH hope pf accommodation
and tranquillity that " we had better wait, there-
fore, for more peaceable times, and be contented
with our present constitution as it re,' T until a fairer
prospect shall appear of changing it for the better.
After returning thanks, in the name of the
u fraternity,'" to him and to all who touch the bur-
den of subscription with but one of their fingers,
I would wish to leave with them this observation,
That as, the man who attacks a flourishing es-
tablishment writes with a halter round his neck,
few ever will be found to attempt alterations but
men of more spirit than prudence, of more sin-
cerity than caution, of warm, eager, and impetu-
ous tempers; that, consequently, if we are to
wait lor improvement till the nml, the calm, the
1 part of mjinkind l>cgm it, till church go-
vernors solicit, or ministers'of state propose it I
will venturejo pronounce, that (without His in-
terposition with whom nothing is impossible) we
may remain as we are till the " renovation of all
things."
REASONS FOR CONTENTMENT,
ADDRESSED TO THE
LABOURING PART OF THE BRITISH COMMUNITY.
HUMAN life has been said to resemble the situa-
tion of spectators in a theatre, where, whilst each
person is engaged by the scene which passes be-
fore him, no one thinks about the place in which
he is seated. It is only when the business is in-
terrupted, or when the spectator's attention to it
grows idle and remiss, that he begins to consider
at all, who is before him or who is behind him,
whether others are better accommodated than
himself, or whether many be not much worse. It
is thus with the various ranks and stations of so-
ciety. So long as a man is intent upon the du-
ties and concerns of his own condition, he never
thinks of comparing it with any other ; he is
never troubled with reflections upon thexlifferent
classes and orders of mankind, the advantages and
disadvantages of each, the necessity or non-ne-
cessity of civil distinctions, much less does he feel
within himself a disposition to covet or envy any
of them. He is too much taken up with the oc-
cupations of his calling, its pursuits, cares, and
business, to bestotv unprofitable meditations upon
the circumstances in which he sees others placed.
And by this means a man of a sound and active
mind has, in his very constitution, a remedy against
the disturbance of envy and discontent. These
passions gain no admittance into his breast, be-
cause there is no leisure there or vacancy for the
trains of thought which generate"them. He en-
joys, therefore, ease in this respect, and ease result-
ing from the best cause, the power of keeping his
imagination at home ; of confining it to what be-
longs to himself, instead of sending it forth to
wander amongst speculations which nave neither
limits nor use, amidst views of unattainable gran-
deur, fancied happiness, of extolled, because un-
experienced, privileges and delights.
The wisest advice that can be given is, never to
allow our attention to dwell upon comparisons be-
tween our own condition and that of others,
but to keep it fixed upon the duties and con-
cerns of the condition itself. But since every
man has not this power; since the minds of
some men will be busy in contemplating the
advantages which they see others possess } and
since persons in laborious stations of life are wont
to view the higher ranks of society, with senti-
ments which not only tend to make themselves
unhappy, but which are very different from the
truth ; it may be an useful office to point out to
them some of those considerations which, if they
will turn their thoughts to the subject, they should
endeavour to take fairly into the account.
And, first ; we are most of us apt to murmur,
when we see exorbitant fortunes placed in the
hands of single persons ; larger, we are sure, than
they can want, or, as we think, than they can use.
This is so common a reflection, that I will not say
it is not natural. But whenever the complaint
comes into our minds, we ought to recollect, that
the thing happens in consequence of those very
rules and laws which secure to ourselves pur pro-
perty, be it ever so small. The laws which acci-
dentally cast enormous estates into one great
man's possession, are, after all, the self-same laws
which protect and guard the poor man. Fixed
rules of property are established for one as well
an another, without knowing, before-hand, whom
they may effect. If these rules sometimes throw
an excessive or disproportionate share to one man's
lot, who can help it 1 It is much better that it
should be so, than that the rules .themselves should
be broken up ; and you can only have one side of
the alternative or the other. To abolish riches,
would not be to abolish poverty ; but, on the con-
trary, to leave it without protection or resource.
It is not for the poor man to repine at the effects
of laws and rules, by which he himself is bene-
fited every hour of his existence ; which secures
to him his earnings, his habitation, his bread, his
life ; without which he, no more than the rich man,
could either eat his meal in quietness, or go to bed
in safety. Of the two, it is rather more the con-
cern of the poor to stand up for the laws, than of
the rich ; for it is the law which defends the weak
against the strong, the humble against the power-
ful, the little against the great; and weak and
strong, humble and powerful, little and great, there
would be, even were there no laws whatever. Be-
side, what, -after all, is the mischief 1 The owner
of a great estate does not eat or drink more than
the owner of a small one. His fields do not pro-
duce worse crops, nor does the produce maintain
fewer mouths. If estates were more equally di-
vided, would greater numbers be fed, or clothed, or
employed 1 Either, therefore, large fortunes are
not a public evil, or, if they be in any degree an
evil, it is to be borne with, for the sake of those
fixed and general rules concerning property, in
the preservation and steadiness of which all are
interested.
Fortunes, however, of any kind, from the na-
ture of the thing, can only fall to the lot of a few.
I say, " from the nature of the thing." The very
utmost that can be done by laws and government,
is to enable every man, who hath health, to pro-
cure a healthy subsistence for himself and a family.
Where this is the case, things are at their perfeo
REASONS FOR CONTENTMENT.
497
tion. They have reached their limit. Were the
princes and nobility, the legislators and counsellors
of the land, all of them the best and wisest men
that ever lived, their united virtue and wisdom
could do no more than this. They, if any such
there be, who would teach you to expect more
give you no instance where more has ever been
attained.
But Providence, which foresaw, which appoint-
ed, indeed, the necessity to which human affairs
are subjected, (and against which it were impious
to complain,) hath contrived, that, whilst fortunes
are only for a few, the rest of mankind may be
happy without them. And this leads me to con-
sider the comparative advantages and comforts
which belong to the condition of those who sub-
sist, as the great mass of every people do and must
subsist, by personal labour, and the solid reason?,
they have for contentment in their stations. 1 do
not now use the terms poor and rich : because that
man is to be accounted poor, of whatever rank he
be, and suffers the pains of poverty, whose ex-
penses exceed his resources ; arid no man is, pro-
perlv speaking, poor but he. But I, at present,
consider the advantages of those laborious condi-
tions of life which compose the great portion of
every human community.
And, first; it is an inestimable blessing of such
situations, that they supply a constant train of
employment both to body and mind. A husband-
man, or a manufacturer, or a tradesman, never goes
to bed at night without having his business to rise
up to in the morning. He would understand tin-
value of this advantage, did he know that the
want of it composes one of the greatest plagues of
the human soul; a plague by which the rich, es-
pecially those who inherit riches, are exceedingly
oppressed. Indeed it is to got rid of it, that is" to
pay, it is to have something to do, that they are
driven upon those strange and unaccountable ways
of passing their time, in which we sometimes see
them, to our surprise, engaged. A poor man's
condition supplies him with that which no man
can do without, and with which a rich man, with
all his opportunities, and all his contrivance, can
hardly supply himself; regular engagement, busi-
ness to IOOK forward to, something t6 be done for
every day, some employment prepared for every
morning. A few of better judgment can seek out
for themselves constant and useful occupation.
There is not one of you takes the pains in his
calling, which some of the most independent men
in the nation have taken, and are taking, to pro-
mote what they deem to be a point of great con-
cern to the interests of humanity, by which neither
they nor theirs can ever gain a shilling, and in
which should they succeed, those who are to be
benefited by their service, will neither know nor
thank them for it. I only mention this to show,
in conjunction with what has been observed above,
that, of those who are at liberty to act as they
please, the wise prove, and the foolish confess, by
their conduct, that a life of employment is the
only life worth leading ; and that the chief differ-
ence between their manner of passing their time
and yours, is, that they can choose the objects of
their activity, which you cannot. This privilege
may be an advantage to some, but for nine out of
ten it is fortunate that occupation is provided to
their hands, that they have it not to seek, that it is
imposed upon them by their necessities and occa-
sions j for the consequence of liberty in this re-
3R
spect would be, that, lost in the perplexity of
choosing, they would sink into irrecoverable indo-
lence, inaction, and unconcern ; into that vacancy
and tiresomeness of time and thought which are
inseparable from such a situation. A man's
thoughts must he going. Whilst he is awake,
the working of his mind is as constant as the beat-
ing of his pulse. He can no more stop the one
than the other. Hence if our thoughts have no-
thing to act upon, they act upon ourselves. They
acquire a corrosive quality. They become in the
last degree irksome and tormenting. Wherefore
that sort of equitable engagement, which takes up
the thoughts sufficiently, yet so as to leave them
capable of turning to any thing more important,
as occasions offer or require, is a most invaluable
blessing. And if the industrious be not sensible
of the blessing, it is for no other reason than be-
cause they have never experienced, or rather suf-
fered the want of it.
Again; some of the necessities which poverty
(if the condition of the labouring part of mankind
must be so called) imposes, are not hardships but
pleasures. Frugality itself is a pleasure. It is
an exercise of attention and contrivance, which,
whenever it is successful, produces satisfaction.
The very care and forecast that are necessary to
keep expenses and earnings upon a level, form,
when not embarrassed by too great difficulties, an
agreeable engagement of the thoughts. This is
lost amidst abundance. There is no pleasure in,
taking out of a large unmeasured fund. They
who do that, and only that, are the mere convey-
ers of money from one hand to another.
A yet more serious advantage which persons in
inferior stations possess, is the ease with which
they provide for their children. AH the provision
whicn a poor man's child requires, is contained in
two words, " industry and innocence." With
these qualities, though without a shilling to set
him forwards, he goes into the world prepared to
become an useful, virtuous, and happy man. Nor
will he fail to meet with a maintenance adequate
to the habits with which he has been brought up,
and to the expectations which he has formed ; a
degree of success sufficient for a person of any
condition whatever. These qualities of industry
and innocence, which, I repeat again, are all that
are absolutely necessary, every parent can give to
his children without expense, because he can
give them by his own authority and example;
and they are to be communicated, I believe, and
preserved, in no other way. I call this a serious
advantage of humble stations ; because in what we
reckon superior ranks of life, there is a real diffi-
culty in placing children in situations which may
in any degree support them in the class and in
:he habits in which they have been brought up by
their parents : from which great and oftentimes
distressing perplexity the poor are free. With
lealth of body, innocence of mind, and habits of
industry, a poor man's child has nothing to be
afraid of, nor his father or mother any thing to be
afraid of for him.
The labour of the world is carried on by servict?
hat is, by one man working under another man's
lirection. I take it for granted that this is the
>est way of conducting business, because all na-
tions and ages have adopted it. Consequently
service is the relation which, of all others, affects
the greatest numbers of individuals, and in the
most sensible manner. In whatever country.
42*
498
REASONS FOR CONTENTMENT.
therefore, this relation is well and equitably regu-
lated, in that country the poor will be happy.
Now how is the matter managed with us 1 Ex-
cept apprenticeships, the necessity of which every
one, at least every father and mother, will ac-
knowledge, as the best, if not the only practicable,
way of gaining instruction and skill, and which
have their foundation in nature, because they
have their foundation in the natural ignorance
and imbecility of youth ; except these, service in
England, is, as it ought to be, voluntary and by
contract ; a fair exchange of work for wages ; an
equal bargain, in which each party has his rights
and his redress ; wherein every servant chooses
his master. Can this be mended'? I will add,
that a continuance of this connexion is frequently
the foundation of so much mutual kindness and
attachment, that very few friendships are more
cordial, or more sincere ; that, it leaves oftentimes
nothing in servitude except the name ; nor any
distinction but what one party is as much pleased
with, and sometimes also as proud of, as the other.
What then (for this is the fair way of calculat-
ing) is there in higher stations to place against
these advantages 1 What does the poor man see
in the life or condition of the rich, that should
render him dissatisfied with his own 1
Was there as much in sensual pleasures, I
mean in the luxuries of eating and drinking, and
other gratifications of that sort, as some men's
imaginations would represent them to be, but
which no man's experience finds in them, I con-
tend, that even in these respects, the advantage is
on the side of the poor The rich, who addict
themselves to indulgence, lose their relish. Their
desires are dead. Their sensibilities are worrr
and tired. Hence they lead a languid satiated
existence. Hardly any thing can amuse, or rouse,
or gratify them. Whereas the poor man, if some-
thing extraordinary fall in his way, comes to the
repast with appetite ; is pleased and refreshed ;
derives from his usual course of moderation and
temperance a quickness of perception and delight
which the unrestrained voluptuary knows nothing
of. Habits of all kinds are much the same.
Whatever is habitual, becomes smooth and indif-
ferent, and nothing more. The luxurious receive
no greater pleasures from their dainties, than the
peasant does from his homely fare. But here is
the difference : The peasant whenever he goes
abroad, finds a feast, whereas the epicure must be
sumptuously entertained to escape disgust. They
who spend every day in diversions, and they who
go every day about their usual business, pass their
time much alike. Attending to -what they are
about, wanting nothing, regretting nothing, they
are both, whilst engaged, in a state of ease; but
then, whatever suspends the pursuits of the man
of diversion, distresses him, whereas to the la-
bourer, or the man of business, every pause is a
recreation. And this is a vast advantage which they
possess who are trained and inured to a life of oc-
cupation, above the man who sets up for a life of
pleasure. Variety is soon exhausted. Novelty
itself is no longer new. Amusements are become
too familar to delight, and he is in a situation in
which he can never change but for the worse.
Another article which the poor are apt to envy
in the rich, is their ease. Now here they mistake
the matter totally. They call inaction ease,
whereas nothing is farther from it. Rest is ease.
That is true ; but no man can rest who has not
worked. Rest is the cessation of labour. It can-
not therefore be enjoyed, or even tasted, except by
those who have known fatigue. The rich see,
and not without envy, the refreshment and plea-
sure which rest affords to the poor, and choose to
wonder that they cannot find the same enjoyment
in being free from the necessity of working at all.
They do not observe that this enjoyment must be
purchased by previous labour, and that he who
will not pay the price cannot have the gratifica-
tion. Being without work is one thing ; reposing
from work is another. The one is as tiresome and
insipid as the other is sweet and soothing. The
one, in general, is the fate of the rich man, the
other is the fortune of the poor. I have heard it
said, that if the face of happiness can any where
be seen, it is in the summer evening of a country-
village ; where, after the labours of the day, each
man at his door, with his children, amongst his
neighbours, feels his frame and his heart at rest,
every thing about him pleased and pleasing, and
a delight and complacency in his sensations Car
beyond what either luxury or diversion can afford.
The rich want this; and they want what they
must never have.
As to some other things which the poor are dis-
posed to envy in the condition of the rich, such as
their state, their appearance, the grandeur of their
houses, dress, equipage, and attendance, they only
envy the rich these things because they d"o not
know the rich. They have not opportunities of
observing with what neglect and insensibility the
rich possess and regard these things themselves.
If they could see the great man in his retirement,
and in his actual manner of life, they would find
b,im, if pleased at all, taking pleasure in some of
those simple enjoyments which they can command
as well as he. They would find him amongst
his children, in his husbandry, in his garden, pur-
suing some rural diversion, or occupied with some
trifling exercise, which are all gratifications, ns
much within the power and reach of the poor
man as of the rich; or rather more so.
To learn the art of contentment, is only to
learn what happiness actually consists in. Sen-
sual pleasures add little to its substance. Ease,
if by that be meant exemption from labour, con-
tributes nothing. One, however, constant spring
of satisfaction, and almost infallible support of
cheerfulness and spirits, is the exercise of domes-
tic affections ; the presence of objects of tenderness
and endearment in our families, our kindred, our
friends. Now, have the poor any thing to com-
plain of here 1 Are they not surrounded by their
relatives as generally as others! The poor man
has his wife and children about him: and what
ha"s the rich morel He has the same enjoyment
of their society, the same solicitude for their wel-
fare, the same pleasure in their good qualities,
improvement, and success : their connexion with
him, is as strict and intimate, their attachment as
strong, their gratitude as warm. I have no pro-
pensity to envy any one, least of all the rich and
great ;" but if 1 were disposed to this weakness, the
subject of my envy would be, a healthy young
man, in full possession of his strength and facul-
ties, going forth in a morning to work for his wife
and children, or bringing them home his wages at
night.
But was difference of rank or fortune of more
importance to personal happiness than it is, it
would be ill purchased by any sudden or violent
REASONS FOR CONTENTMENT.
499
change of condition. An alteration of circum-
stances, which breaks up a man's habits of life,
deprives him of his occupation, removes him from
his acquaintance, may be called an elevation of
fortune, but hardly ever brings with it an addition
of enjoyment. They to whom accidents of this
sort have happened, never found them to answer
their expectations. After the first hurry of the
change is over, they are surprised to feel in them-
selves listlessness and dejection, a consciousness
of solitude, vacancy, and restraint, in the place of
cheerfulness, liberty, and ease. They try to
make up for what they have lost, sometimes by a
beastly sottishness, sometimes by a foolish dissipa-
tion, sometimes by a stupid sloth; all which rllir.ts
are only so many confessions, that changes of this
sort were not made for man. If any public dis-
turbance should produce, not an equality (for that
is not the proper name to give it,) but a jumble of
ranks and professions amongst us, it is not only
evident what the rich would lose, but there is also
this further misfortune, that what the rich lost the
poor would not gain. I (God knows) could not
get my livelihood by labour, nor would the labourer
find any solace or enjoyment in my studies. If we
were to exchange conditions to-morrow, all the
effect would be, that we both should be more
miserable, and the work of both be worse done.
Without debating, therefore, what might bo very
difficult to decide, which of our two conditions
was better to begin with, one point is certain, that
it is best for each to remain in his own. The
change, and the only change, to be desired, is that
gradual and progressive improvement of our cir-
cumstances which is the natural fruit of successful
industry ; when each year is something better than
the last; when we are enabled to add to our little
household one article after another of new comfort
or conveniency, as our profits increase, oj our
burden becomes less ; and, what is best of all, when
we can afford, as our strength declines, to relax
our labours, or divide our cares. This may be
looked forward to, and is practicable, by great
numbers in a state of public order and quiet ; it is
absolutely impossible in any other.
If, in comparing the different conditions of so-
cial life, we bring religion into the account, the
argument is still easier. Religion smooths all in-
equalities, because it unfolds a prospect which
makes all earthly distinctions nothing. And I do
allow that there are many cases of sickness, af-
fliction, and distress, which Christianity alone can
comfort. But in estimating the mere diversities
of station and civil condition, I have not thought
it necessary to introduce religion into the inquiry
at all : because I contend, that the man who mur-
murs and repines, when he has nothing to murmur
and repine about, but the mere want of independ-
ent projHTty, is not only irreligious, -but unreason-
able, in his complaint; and that he would find,
did he know the truth, and-consider his case fairly,
that a life of labour, such, I mean, as is led by the
labouring part of mankind in this country, has
advantages in it which compensate all its incon-
veniences. When compared with the life of the
rich, it is better in these important respects: It
supplies employment, it promotes activity. It
keeps the body in better health, the mind more
, and, of course, more quiet. It is more
sensible of ease, more susceptible of pleasure. It
is attended with greater alacrity of spirits, a more
constant cheerfulness and serenity of temper. It
affords easier and more certain methods of send-
ing children into the world in situations suited to
their habits and expectations. It is free from many
heavy anxieties which rich men feel ; it is fraught
with many sources of delight which they want.
If to these reasons for contentment, the reflect-
ing husbandman or artificer adds another very
material one, that changes of condition, which are
attended with a breaking up and sacrifice of our
ancient course and habit of living, never can be
productive of happiness, he will perceive, I trust,
that to covet the stations or fortunes of the rich,
or so, however, to covet them, as to wish to seize
them by force, or through the medium of public
uproar and confusion, is not only wickedness, but
folly, as mistaken in the end as in the means, that
it is not only to vent ure out to sea in a storm, but to
venture for nothing.
SERMONS ON PUBLIC OCCASIONS.
SERMON I.
CAUTION RECOMMENDED IN THE USE AND APPLICATION OF SCRIPTURE
LANGUAGE:
A SERMON, PREACHED, JULY 17, 1777, IN TIKE CATHEDRAL CHURCH OF CARLISLE, AT THE VISITATION
OP THE RIGHT REVEREND LORD BISHOP OF CARLISLE,
fe
To the Right Reverend Edmund, Lord Bishop of Carlisle, this discourse is inscribed, with sen.
timents of great respect and gratitude, by his Lordship's most dutiful, and most obliged servant
and chaplain, W. PALEY.
Even as our beloved brother Paul also, according to the wisdom given unto him, hath written unto
you ; as also in all his epistles y speaking in them of these things ; in which are some things hard
to be understood, which they that are unlearned and unstable wrest, as they do also the other
Scriptures, unto their own destruction. 2 Peter iii. 15, 16.
IT must not be dissembled that there are many
real difficulties in the Christian Scriptures ; whilst,
at the same time, more, I believe, and greater,
may justly be imputed to certain maxims of inter-
pretation, which have obtained authority without
reason, and are received without inquiry. One of
these, as I apprehend, is the expecting to find, in the
present circumstances of Christianity, a meaning
for, or something answering to, every appellation
and expression which occurs in Scripture ; or, in
other words, the applying to the personal condition
of Christians at this day, those titles, phrases, pro-
positions, and arguments, which belong solely to
the situation of Christianity at its first institution.
I am aware of an objection which weighs much
with many serious tempers, namely, that to sup-
pose any part of Scripture to be inapplicable to us,
is to suppose a part of Scripture to be useless ;
\yhich seems to detract from the perfection we
attribute to these oracles of our salvation. To
this I can only answer, that it would have been
one of the strangest things in the world, if the
writings of the New Testament had not, like all
other books, been composed for the apprehension,
and cbnsequently adapted to the circumstances, of
the persons they were addressed to ; and that it
would have been equally strange, if the great,
and in many respects, the inevitable alterations,
which have taken place in those circumstances,
did not vary the application of Scripture lan-
guage.
I design, in the following discourse, to pro-
pose some examples of this variation, from which
you will judge, as I proceed, of the truth and im-
portance of our general observation.
First ; At the time the Scriptures were writ-
ten, none were baptized but converts, and none
500
were converted but from conviction ; and convic-
tion produced, lor the most part, a corresponding
reformation of life and manners. Hence baptise
was only another name for conversion, and con-
version was supposed to be sincere : in this sense
was our Saviour's promise, " he that believeth, and
is baptized, shall be saved ;"* and in the same his
command to St. Paul, "arise, and be baptized,
and wash away thy sins :"t this was that baptism,
" for the remission of sins," to which St. Peter in-
vited the Jews upon the day of Pentecost ;t that
"washing of regeneration," by which, as St. Paul
writes to Titus, "he saved us." Now, when
we come to speak of the baptism which obtains
in most Christian churches at present, where no
conversion is supposed, or possible, it is manifest,
that, if these expressions be applied at all, they
must be applied with extreme qualification and re-
serve.
Secondly ; The community of Christians were
at first a handful of men, connected amongst
themselves by the strictest union, and divided
from the rest of the world by a real difference of
principle and persuasion, and, what was more ob-
servable, by many outward peculiarities of worship
and behaviour. This society, considered collect-
ively, and as a body, were set apart from the rest
of mankind for a more gracious dispensation, as
well as actually distinguished by a superior purity
of life and conversation. In this view, and in op-
position to the unbelieving world, they were de-
nominated in Scripture by titles of great seeming
dignity and import; they were "elect," "called, '
" saints ;"ll they were "in Christ ;"1T they were
* Mark xvi. 16.
t Acts ii. 38.
II Rora.viii. 33;i.6,7.
t Acts xxii. 16.
Titus iii. 5.
IT Rom. viii. 1.
SERMONS ON PUBLIC OCCASIONS.
501
11 a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, a holy
nation, a peculiar people."* That is, these terms
were employed to distinguish the professors of
Christianity from the rest of mankind, in the
same manner as the names of Greek and Barba
rian, Jew and Gentile, distinguished the people
of Greece and Israel from nther nations. The
application of such phrases to the whole body of
Christians is become now obscure ; partly because
it is not easy to conceive of Christians as a body a
all, by reason of the extent of their name ant
numbers, and the little visible union that subsist
among them ; and partly, because the heathen
world, with whom they were compared, and t
which comparison these phrases relate, is now
ceased, or is removed from our observation. Sup-
posing, then-fore, these expressions to have a
perpetual meaning, and, either forgetting the
original use of them, or finding that, at this time
in a great measure exhausted and insignificant
we resort to a sense mill an application of them,
easier, it may be, to our comprehension, but ex-
tremely foreign from the design of their authors
namely, to distinguish indhiduals amongst us
the professors of Christianity, from .one another:
sigreeably to which idea, the most flattering of
these names, the " elect," "called," " saints," have
by bold a,nd unlearned men, been appropriated to
themselves and their own party with a presump-
tion and conceit injurious to the reputation of our
religion amongst "them that are without," and
extremely disgusting to the sober part of its pro-
fessors; whereas, that such titles were intended
in a sense common to all Christian converts, is
well argued from many places in which they oc-
cur, in which places you may plainly substitute the
terms convert , or converted, for the strongest of
these phrases, without any alteration of the au-
thor's meaning, e. g. " dare any of you go to law
before the unjust and not before the 'sain/* ?"t
l ' Is any man called being circumcised, let him
not become uncircumcised :''$ " The church that
Ls at Babylon elected together with you, saluteth
you:" "Salute Andronicus and Junia, who
were in Christ before me."ll
Thirdly; In opposition to the Jews, who were
so much offended by the preaching of the Gospel
to the Gentiles, St. Paul maintains, with great in-
dustry, that it was God Almighty's intention
from the first, to substitute, at a lit season, into
the place of the rejected Israelites, a society of
men taken indifferently out of all nations under
heaven, and admitted to be the people of God upon
easier and more comprehensive terms. This is
expressed in the Epistle to the Ephesians, as fol-
lows : " Having made known unto us the mys-
tery of his will, according to his good pleasure
which he hath purposed in himself; that, in the
dispensation of the fulness of times, he might
gather together in one all things in Christ."1T
This scheme of collecting such a society was
what God foreknew before the foundation of the
world ; was what he did predestinate ; was the
eternal purpose which he purposed in Christ Je-
PUS ; and, by consequence, this society, in their
collective capacity, were the objects of this fore-
knowledge, predestination, and purpose ; that is
in the language of the apostles, they were they
1 t '"- t 9 - * 1 Cor ' vi " L , n Cor. vii. 18.
1 Pet. v. 13. | Rom. xvi. 7.
IT Eph. i. 9, 10; also see Eph. iii. 5, 6.
" whom he did foreknow," they " whom he did
predestinate ;"* they were " chosen in Christ
before the foundation of the world ;"t they were
elect according to the foreknowledge of God the
Father."* This doctrine has nothing in it
harsh or obscure. But what have we made of it 1
The rejection of the Jews, and the adopting
another community into their place, composed,
whilst it was carrying on, an object of great mag-
nitude in the attention of the inspired writers who
understood and observed it. This event, which
engaged so much the thoughts of the apostle, is
now only read of, and hardly that the reality
and the importance of it are little known or at-
tended to. Losing sight, therefore, of the proper
occasion of these expressions, yet willing, alter
our fashion, to adapt them to ourselves, and find-
ing nothing else in our circumstances that suited
with them, we have learnt at length to apply
them to the final destiny of individuals at the day
of judgment; and upon this foundation, has been
erected a doctrine which lays the axe at once to
the root of all religion, that of an absolute appoint-
ment to salvation or perdition independent of our-
selves or any thing we can do; and what is ex-
traordinary, those, very arguments and expres-
sions (Rom. chap, ix, x, xi.) which the apostle
employed to vindicate the impartial mercies of God,
against the narrow and excluding claims of
Jewish prejudice, have been interpreted to esta-
blish a dispensation the most arbitrary and partial
that could be devised.
Fourthly ; The conversion of a grown person
from Heathenism to Christianity, which is the
case of conversion commonly Intended in the Epis-
tles, was a change of which we have now no just
conception : it was a new name, a new language,
a new society ; a new faith, a new hope ; a new
object of worship, a new rule of life : a history
was disclosed full of discovery and surprise; a
prospect of futurity was unfolded, beyond imagi-
nation awful and august; the same description
applies in a great part, though not entirely, to the
conversion df a Jew. This, accompanied as it
was with the pardon df every former sin, (Romans
iii. 25,) was such an era in a man's life, so remark-
able a period in his recollection, such a revolution
of every thing that was most important to him, as
might well admit of those strong figures and sig-
nificant allusions by which it is described in Scrip-
ture : it was a u regeneration" or a new birm;
it was to be " born again of God, and of the Spi-
rit ;"ll it was to be " dead to sin," and " alive from
;he dead ;' : 1T it was to be buried with Christ in
Baptism, and raised together with him ;"** it was
' a new creature,"tt and a new creation ;"tt it was
a translation from the condition of " slaves to that
of sons;" from "strangers and foreigners, to be
ellow-citizens with the saints, and of the house-
hold of God."llll It is manifest that no change
equal or similar to the conversion of a Heathen
can be experienced by us, or by any one educated
n a Christian country and to whom the facts,
>recepts, and hopes ot Christianity, have been
*rom his infancy familiar: yet we will retain the
same language; and what has been the conse-
quence 1 One sort of men, observing nothing in
* Rom. viii. 29. f Eph. i. 4. t 1 Pet. i. 2.
Tit. iii. 5. g John i. 13 ; iii. 5. IT Rom. vi. 2. 13.
** Col. ii. 12. ft 2 Cor. v. 17. J{ Eph. iv. 24.
Gal. iv.7.
502
SERMONS ON PUBLIC OCCASIONS.
the lives of Christians corresponding to the mag-
nificence, if I may so say, of these expressions,
have been tempted to conclude, that the expres-
sions themselves had no foundation in truth and
nature, or in any thing but the enthusiasm of
their authors. Others again, understand these
phrases to signify nothing more, than that gra-
dual amendment of life and conversation, which
reason and religion sometimes produce in particu-
lar Christians : of which interpretation it is truly
said, that it degrades too much the proper force
of language, to apply expressions of such energy
and import to an event so ordinary in its own na-
ture, and which is common to Christianity with
every other moral institution. Lastly ; a third
sort, in order to satisfy these expressions to their
full extent, have imagined to themselves certain
perceptible impulses of the Holy Ghost, by which,
in an instant, and in a manner, no "doubt, suffi-
ciently extraordinary, they are " regenerate and
born of the Spirit ;" they become " new crea-
tures:" they are made the "sons of God," who
were before the "children of wrath;" they are
"freed from sin," and "from death;" they are
chosen, that is, and sealed, without a possibility
of fall, unto final salvation. Whilst the patrons
of a more sober exposition have been often chal-
lenged, and sometimes confounded, with the ques-
tion^ If such expressions of Scripture do not mean
this, what do they mean 1 To which we answer,
Nothing : nothing, that is, to us ; nothing to be
found, or sought for, in the present circumstances
of Christianity.
More examples might be produced, in which
the unwary use of Scripture language has been
the occasion of difficulties and mistakes but I
forbear the present are sufficient to show, that
it behoves every one who undertakes to explain
the Scriptures, before he determine to whom or
what an expression is now-a-days to be applied,
to consider diligently whether it admit of any
such application at all ; or whether it is not rather
to be restrained to the precise circumstances and
occasion for which it was originally composed.
I make no apology for addressing this subject
to this audience ; because whatever relates to the
interpretation of Scripture, relates, as I conceive,
to us ; for if, by any light we may cast upon these
ancient books, we can enable and invite the peo-
ple to read the Bible for themselves, we discharge,
in my judgment, the first duty of our function;
ever bearing in mind, that we are the ministers
not of our own fame or fancies, but of the sincere
Gospel of Jesus Christ.
SERMON II.
ADVICE, ADDRESSED TO THE YOUNG CLERGY OF THE DIOCESE OF CARLISLE,
IN A SERMON, PREACHED AT A GENERAL ORDINATION, HOLDEN AT ROSE CASTLE,
ON SUNDAY, JULY 29, 1781.
AD VER TISEMENT.
It is recommended to those who are preparing for holy orders, -within the diocese of Carlisle > to
read Collier's Sacred Interpreter, and the Four Gospels with Clark' s
datcsfur Priest's orders, carefully to peruse Taylor's Paraphrase
Let no man despise thy youth. 1 Tim. iv.
THE author of this Epistle, with many better
qualities, possessed in a great decree what we at
this day call a knowledge of the world. He
knew, that although age and homnfrs, authority
of station and splendour of appearance, usually
command the veneration of mankind, unless
counteracted by some degrading vice, or egregious
impropriety of behaviour ; yet, that where these
advantages are wanting, where no distinction can
lie claimed from rank, importance from power, or
dignity from years; in such circumstances, and
under the inevitable depression of narrow fortunes,
to procure and preserve respect requires both care
and merit. The ajmstle also knew, and in the
text taught his Moved convert, that to obtain the
respect of those amongst whom he exercised his
ministry, was an object deserving the ambition of
a Christian teacher, not indeed for his own sake,
but for theirs, there Mng little reason to hope that
any would profit by liis instruction who despised
his person.
If St. Paul thought an admonition of this sort
worthy of a place in his Epistle to Timothy, it
cannot surely be deemed either beside or beneath
the solemnity of this occasion, to deliver a few
practicable rules of life and behaviour, which may
recommend you to the esteem of the people, to
whose service and salvation you are now about to
dedicate your lives and labours.
In the first place, the stations which you are
likely, for some time at least, to occupy in the
church, although not capable of all the means of
rendering service and challenging respect, which
fall within the power of your superiors, are free
from many prejudices that attend upon higher
preferments. Interfering interests and disputed
rights ; or, where there is no place for dispute, the
very claim and reception of legal dues, so long as
what is received by the minister is taken from the
parishioner, form oftentimes an almost insuper-
able obstruction to the best endeavours that can
be used to conciliate the good- will of a neighbour-
hood. These difficulties perplex not you. In
whatever contest with his parishioners the prin-
ciiml may !*' engaged, the curate has neither dis-
pute nor demand to stand between him and the
affections of his congregation.
Another and a still more favourable circum-
stance in your situation is this ; being upon a level
with the greatest part of your parishioners, you
gain an access to their conversation and confi-
dence, which is rarely granted to the superior
clergy, without extraordinary address and the
most insinuating advances on their parts. And
this is a valuable privilege : for it enables you to
inform yourselves of the moral and religious state
of your flocks, of their wants and weaknesses,
their habits and opinions, of the vices which pre-
vail, and the principles from which they proceed ;
in a word, it enables you to study the distemper
before you apply the remedy ; and not only so,
but to apply the remedy in the most commodious
form, and with the best effect ; by private persua-
sion and reproof, by gentle and unsuspected con-
veyances in the intimacy of friendship and oppor-
tunities of conversation. To this must be added
the many occasions, which the living in habits of
society with your parishioners affords you of re-
conciling dissensions, healing animosities, admi-
nistering advice to the young and inexperienced,
and consolation to age and misery. 1 put you in
mind of this advantage, because the right use of
it constitutes one of the most respectable employ-
ments not only of our order, but of human na-
ture ; and leaves you, believe me, little to envy in
the condition of your superiors, or to regret in
your own. It is true, that this description sup-
poses you to reside so constantly, and to continue
so long in the same parish, as to have formed
some acquaintance with the persons and charac-
ters of your parishioners ; and what scheme of
doing good in your profession, or even of doing
your duty, does not suppose this 1
But whilst I recommend a just concern for our
503
501
SERMONS ON PUBLIC OCCASIONS.
reputation, and a proper desire of public esteem
I would by no means Hatter that passion for praise
and popularity, which seizes oftentimes the mind
of young clergymen, especially when their firs
appearance in their profession has been receivec
with more than common approbation. Unfortu
nate success ! if it incite them to seek fame by af
fectation and hypocrisy, or lead* as vanity some-
times does, to enthusiasm and extravagance. This
is not the taste or character I am holding out to
your imitation. The popular preacher courts
fame for its own sake, or for what he can make
of it; the sincerely pious minister of Christ mo-
destly invites esteem, only or principally, that if
may lend efficacy to his instruction, and weighi
to his reproofs ; the one seeks to be known anc
proclaimed abroad, the other is content with the
silent respect of his neighbourhood, sensible thai
that is the theatre upon which alone his gooc
name can assist him in the discharge of his duty.
It may be necessary likewise to caution you
against some awkward endeavours to lift them-
selves into importance, which young clergymen
not unfrequently fall upon ; such as a conceited
way of speaking, new airs and gestures, affected
manners, a mimicry of the fashions, language,
and diversions, or even of the follies and vices, of
higher life ; a hunting after the acquaintance of
the great, a cold and distant behaviour towards
their former equals, and a contemptuous neglect
of their society. Nothing was ever gained by
these arts, if they, deserve the name of arts, but
derision and dislike. Possitfly they may not of-
fend against any rule of moral probity ; but if
they disgust those with whom you are to live, and
upon whom the good you do must be done, they
defeat not only their own end, but, in a great
measure, the very design and use of your vocation.
Having premised these few observations, I pro-
ceed to describe the qualities which principally
conduce to the end we. have at present in view,
the possession of a fair and respected character.
And the first virtue (for so I will call it) which
appears to me of importance for this purpose, is
frugality. If there be a situation in the'world
in which profusion is without excuse, it is in that
of a young clergyman who has little beside his
profession to depend upon for his support. It is
folly it is ruin. Folly, for whether it aim at
luxury or show, it must fall miserably short of its
design. In these competitions we are outdone by
every rival. The provision which clergymen
meet with upon their entrance into the church, is
adequate, in most cases, to the wants and decen-
cies of their situation, but to nothing more. To
pretend to more, is to set up our poverty, not only
as the subject of constant observation, but as a
laughing-stock to every observer. Profusion is
ruin; for it ends, and soon too, in debt, in injus-
tice, and insolvency. You well know how mean-
ly, in the country more especially, every man is
thought of who cannot pay his credit; in what
terms he is spoken of in what light he is viewed
what a deduction this is from his good qualities
what an aggravation of his bad ones what in-
sults he is exposed to from his creditors, what
contempt from all. Nor is this judgment far
amiss. Let him not speak of honesty, who is
daily practising deceit ; for every man who is not
paid is deceived. Let him not talk of liberality,
who puts it out of his power to perform one act
of it. Let him not boast of spirit, of honour, of ,
independence, who frars the face of his creditors,
and who meets a creditor iu every street. There
is no meanness in frugality: the meanness is in
those shifts and expedients, to which extrava-
gance is sure to bring men. Profusion is a very
equivocal proof of generosity. The proper dis-
tinction is not between him who spends and him
who saves ; for they may be equally seliish ; but
between him who spends upon himself, and him
who spends upon others. When I extol frugality,
it is not to praise that minute parsimony which
serves for little but to vex ourselves and tease
those about us, but to persuade you to economy
upon apian, and that plan deliberately adjusted
to -your circumstances and expectations. Set out
with it, and it is easy ; to retrieve, out of a small
income, is only not impossible. Frugality in this
sense, we preach not only as an article of pru-
dence, but as a lesson of virtue. Of this frugality
it has been truly said, that it is the parent of li-
berty, of independence, of generosity.
A second essential part of a clergyman's cha-
racter, is sobriety. In the scale of human vices
there may be some more criminal than drunken-
ness, but none so humiliating. A clergyman
cannot, without infinite confusion, produce him-
self in the pulpit before those who have been
witnesses to his intemperance. The folly and
extravagance, the rage and ribaldry, the boasts
and quarrels, the idiotism and brutality of that
condition, will rise up in their imaginations in
full colours. To discourse of temperance, to
touch in the remotest degree upon the subject, is
but to revive his own shame. For you will soon
have occasion to observe, that those who are the
slowest in taking any part of a sermon to them-
selves, are surprisingly acute in applying it to the
preacher.
Another vice, which there is the same, together
with many additional, reasons for guarding you
against, is dissoluteness. In my judgment, the
crying sin and calamity of this country at present,
s licentiousness in the intercourse of the sexes.
It is a vice which hardly admits of argument or
dissuasion. It can only be encountered by the
censures of the good, and the discouragement it
receives from the most respected orders of the
community. What then shall we say, when
hey who ought to cure the malady, propagate the
contagion 7 Upon this subject bear away one
bservation, that when you suffer yourselves to be
engaged in any unchaste connexion, you not only
x>rrupt an individual by your solicitations, but
debauch a whole neighbourhood by the profligacy
)f your example.
The habit I will next recommend as the foun-
lation of almost all other good ones, is retirement.
Were I required to comprise my advice to young
lergymcn in one sentence, it should be in thi
jearn to live alone. Half of your faults origina
>om the want of this faculty. It is irnpatie
f solitude which carries you continually fi
our parishes, your home, and your duty; makes
ou foremost in every party of pleasure and place
f diversion ; dissipates your thoughts, distracts
our studies, leads you into expense, keeps you
n distress, puts you out of humour with your
rofession, causes you to place yourselves at the
lead of some low company, or to fasten your-
i'lves as despicable retainers to the houses and
ociety of the rich. Whatever may be the case
ith those, whose fortunes and opportunities can
SERMONS ON PUBLIC OCCASIONS.
505
command a constant succession of company ; in
situations like ours to be able to pass our time
with satisfaction alone, and at home, is not only
a preservative of character, but the very secret of
happiness. Do what we will, we must be much
and often by ourselves ; if this be irksome, the
main portions of life will be unhappy. Besides
which, we are not the less qualified for society,
because we are able to live without it. Our com-
pany will be the more welcome for being never
obtruded. It is with this, as with many plea-
sures: he meets with it the oftenest, and enjoys
it the best, who can most easily dispense witli the
want of it.
But what, you say, shall I do alone! reading
is my proper occupation and my pleasure, but
books are out of my reach, and beyond my pur-
chase. They who make this complaint are such
as seek nothing from books but amusement, and
find amusement from none but works of narrative
or imagination. This taste, I allow, cannot be
supplied by any moderate expense or ordinary
opportunities : but apply yourselves to study ;
take in hand any branch of useful science, espe-
cially of tnose parts of it which are subsidiary to
the knowledge of religion, and a few books will
suffice ; for instance, a commentary upon the
New Testament, read so as to be remembered.
will employ a great deal of leisure verv profita-
bly. There is likewise another resource which
you have forgot, I mean the composition of ser-
mons. I am far from refusing you the benefit
of other men's labours; I only require that
they be called in not to flatter laziness, but to
assist industry. You find yourself unable to
furnish a sermon every week ; try to compose
one every month : depend upon it you will con-
sult your own satisfaction, as well as the edifica-
tion of your hearers ; and that however interior
your compositions may be to those of others in
some respects, they will be better delivered, and
better received ; they will compensate for many
defects by a closer application to the ways and
manners, the actual thoughts, reasoning, and
language, the errors, doubts, prejudices, and
vices, the habits, characters, and propensities of
your congregation, than can lie expected from
borrowed discourses at any rate, you are passing
your time virtuously and honourably.
With retirement, I connect reserve; by which
I mean, in the first place, some decree of delicacy
in the choice of your company, and of refinement
in your pleasures. Above all things, keep out of
public-houses you have no business there your
being seen to go in and out of them is disgraceful
your presence in these places entitles every
man who meets you there, to affront you by coarse
jests, by indecent or opprobrious topics of con-
versation neither be seen at drunken feasts,
boisterous sports, late hours, or barbarous diver-
sionslet your amusements, like every thing
about you, be still and quiet and unoffending.
Carry the same reserve into your correspondence
with your superiors Pursue preferment, if any
prospects of it present themselves, not onlv by
honourable means, but with moderate anxiety.
It is not essential to happiness, perhaps not very
conducive were it of greater importance than it
is, no more successful rule could be given you,
than to do your duty quietly and contentedly,
and to let things take their course. You may
have been brought up with different notions, but
3 S
be assured, that for once that preferment is for-
feited by modesty, it is ten times lost by intrusion
and importunity. Every one sympathises with
neglected merit, but who shall lament over re-
pulsed impudence 1
The last expedient I shall mention, and, in
conjunction with the others, a very efficacious
one towards engaging respect, is seriousness in
your deportment, especially in discharging the
offices of your profession. Salvation is so awful
a concern, that no human being, one would think,
could be pleased with seeing it, or any thing be-
longing to it, treated with levity. For a moment,
in a certain state of the spirits, men may divert
thciiist Ives. or affect to be diverted, by sporting
with their most sacred interests; but no one in
his heart derides religion long What are, we
any of us 1 religion soon will be out .only care
and friend. Seriousness, therefore, in a clergy-
man, is agreeable, not only to the serious, but
to men of all tempers and descriptions. And
seriousness is enough; a prepossessing appear-
ance, a melodious voice, a graceful delivery, are
indeed enviable accomplishments; but much, we
apprehend, may be done without them. The
great point is, to be thought in earnest. Seem
not then to IH> brought to any part of your duty
by constraint, to perform it with reluctance, to go
through it in haste, or to quit it with symptoms
of delight. In reading the services of the church,
provided you manifest a conscientiousness of the
meaning and importance of what you are about,
and betray no contempt of your duty, or of your
congregation, your manner cannot l>c too plain
and simple. Your common method of speaking,
if it be not too low, or too rapid, do not alter, or
only so much as to be heard distinctly. I men-
tion this, because your elocution is more apt to
offend by straining and stiffness, than on the side
of ease and familiarity. The same plainness and
simplicity which I recommend in the delivery,
prefer also in the style and composition of your
sermons. Ornaments, or even accuracy of lan-
guage, cost the writer much trouble, and produce
small advantage to the hearer. Let the character
of your sermons be truth and information, and a
decent part i'-ultirity. Propose one point in one
discourse, and stick to it; a hearer never carries
away more than-onc impression disdain not the
old fashion of dividing your sermons into heads-f-
in .the hands of a master this may be dispensed
with ; in yours, a sermon which rejects these
helps to perspicuity, will turn out a bewildered
rhapsody, without aim or effect, order or conclu-
sion. In a word, strive to make your discourses
useful, and they who profit by your preaching,
will soon learn, and long continue, to be pleased
with it.
I have now finished the enumeration of those
qualities which are required in the clerical cha-
racter, and which, wherever they meet, make
even youth venerable, and poverty respected;
which will secure esteem under every disadvan-
tage of fortune, person, and situation, ami not-
withstanding great defects of abilities and attain-
ments. But 1 must not stop here; a good name,
fragrant and precious as it is, is by us only valued
in subserviency to our duty, in subordination to
a higher reward. If we are more tender of our
reputation, if we are more studious of esteem than
others, it is from a persuasion, that by first ob-
taining the respect of our congregation, and next
43
506
SERMONS ON PUBLIC OCCASIONS.
by availing ourselves of that respect, to promote
amongst them peace and virtue, useful knowledge
and benevolent dispositions, we are purchasing to
ourselves a reversion and inheritance valuable
above all price, important beyond every other in-
terest or success.
Go, then, into the vineyard of the Gospel, and
may the grace of God go with you ! The religion
you preach is true. Dispense its ordinances with
seriousness, its doctrines with sincerity urge its
precepts, display its hopes, produce its terrors
" be sober, be vigilant" " have a good report"
confirm the faith of others, testify and adorn
your own, by the virtues of your life and the sancti-
ty of your reputation be peaceable, be courteous ;
condescending to men of the lowest condition
" apt to teach, willing to communicate ;" so far as
the immutable laws of truth and probity will per-
mit, " be every thing unto all men, that yc may
gain some."
The world will requite you with its esteem.
The awakened sinner, the enlightened saint, the
young whom you have trained to virtue, the old
whom you have visited with the consolations of
Christianity, shall pursue you with prevailing
blessings and effectual prayers. You will close
your lives and ministry with consciences void of
offence, and full of hope. To present at the last
day even one recovered soul, reflect how grateful
an offering it will be to Him, whose commission
was to save a world infinitely, no doubt, but still
only in degree, does out office differ from his
himself the first-born ; it was the business of his
life, the merit of 'his death, the counsel of his
Father's love, the exercise and consummation
of his own, " to bring many brethren unto glory,"
SERMON III.
A DISTINCTION OF ORDERS IN THE CHURCH DEFENDED
UPON PRINCIPLES OF PUBLIC UTILITY,
IN A SERMON, PREACHED IN THE CASTLE-CHAPEL, DUBLIN, AT THE CONSECRATION OF JOHN LAW, D. D.
LORD BISHOP OP CLONFERT AND KILMACDUAGH, SEPTEMBER 21, 1782.
And he gave some, apostles ; and some, prophets ; and some, evangelists ; and some, pastors and
teachers ; for the perfecting of the saints, for the work of the ministry, for the edifying of the
body of Christ Ephesians iv. 11, 12.
IN our reasoning and discourses upon the rules
and nature of the Christian dispensation, there is
no distinction which ought to be preserved with
greater care, than that which exists between the
institution, as it addresses the conscience and re-
gulates the duty of particular Christians, and as
it regards the discipline and government of the
Christian church. It was our Saviour's design,
and the first object of his ministry, to afford to a
lost and ignorant world, such discoveries of their
Creator's will, of their own interest, and future
destination ; such assured principles of faith, and
rules of practice; such new motives, terms, and
means of obedience ; as might enable all, and en-
gage many, to enter upon a course of life, which,
by rendering the person who pursued it acceptable
to God, would conduct him to happiness, in ano-
ther stage of liis existence.
It was a second intention of the Founder of
Christianity, but subservient to the former, to asso-
ciate those who consented to take upon them the
profession of his faith and service, into a separate
community, for the purpose of united worship and
mutual edification, for the better transmission and
manifestation of the faith that was delivered to
them, but principally to promote the exercise of
that fraternal disposition which their new relation
to each other, which the visible participation of
the same name and hope and calling, was calcu-
lated to excite.
From a view of these distinct parts of the evan-
gelic dispensation, we are led to place a real differ-
ence between the religion of particular Christians,
and the polity of Christ's church. The one is
personal and individual acknowledges no subjec-
tion to human authority is transacted in the
heart is an account between God and our own
consciences alone : the other, appertaining to so-
ciety, (like every thing which relates to the joint
interest and requires the co-operation of many
persons,) is visible and external prescribes rules
of common order, for the observation of which,
we are responsible not only to God, but to the so-
ciety of which we are members, or, what is the
same thing, to those with whom the public autho-
rity of the society is deposited.
But the difference which I am principally con-
cerned to establish consists in this, that whilst the
precepts of Christian morality and the fundamen-
tal articles of the faith, are for the most part, pre-
cise and absolute, are of perpetual, universal, and
unalterable obligation ; the laws which respect the
discipline, instruction, and government of the
community, are delivered in terms so general and
indefinite as to admit of an application adapted to
the mutable condition and varying exigencies of
the Christian chu:ch. " As my father hath sent
me, so send I you." " Let every thing be done
drmitly and in order." " Lay hands suddenly on
no man." " Let him that ruleth do it with dili-
gence." " The things which thou hast heard of
me, the same commit thou to faithful men, who
shall be able to teach others also." "For this
cause left I thee, tljat thou shouldest set in order
the things that are wanting, and ordain elders in
every city."
These are all general directions, supposing, in-
deed, the existence of a regular ministry in the
church, but describing no specific order of pre-
eminence or distribution of office and authority.
If any other instances can be adduced more cir-
cumstantial than these, they will be found, like the
appointment of the seven deacons, the collections
for the saints, the laying by in store upon the first
day of the week, to be rules of the society, rather
than laws of the religion recommendations and
expedients fitted to the - state of the several
churches by those who then administered the
affairs of them, rather than precepts delivered with
a solemn design of fixing a constitution for suc-
ceeding ages. The just ends of religious as of
civil union are eternally the same ; but the means
by which these ends may be best promoted and
secured, will vary with the vicissitudes of time
and occasion, will differ according to the local cir-
cumstances, the peculiar situation, the improve-
ment, character, or even the prejudices and pas-
sions, of the several communities upon whose con-
duct and edification they are intended to operate.
The apostolic directions which are preserved in
the writings of the New Testament, seem to ex-
clude no ecclesiastical constitution which the ex-
perience and more instructed judgment of future
ages might find it expedient to adopt. And this
508
SERMONS ON PUBLIC OCCASIONS.
reserve, if we may so call it, in the legislature of
the Christian church, was wisely suited to its pri-
mitive condition, compared with its expected pro-
gress and extent. The circumstances of Chris-
tianity in the early period of its propagation were
IK ccssurily very unjike those which would take
place when it became the established religion of
great nations. The rudiments, indeed, of the fu*
ture plant, were involved within the grain of mus-
tard-seed, but still a different treatment was re-
quired for its sustentation when the birds of the
air lodged amongst its branches. A small select
society under the guidance of inspired teachers,
without temporal rights and without property,
founded in the midst of enemies, and living in
subjection to unbelieving rulers, divided from the
rest of the world by many, singularities of conduct
and persuasion, and adverse to the idolatry which
public authority every where supported, differed
so much from the Christian church after Chris-
tianity prevailed as the religion of the state;
when its economy became gradually interwoven
with the civil government of the country ; when,
the purity and propagation of its faith were left to
the ordinary expedients of human instruction and
an authentic Scripture ; when persecution and in-
digence were to be succeeded by legal security and
public provision clandestine and precarious op-
portunities of hearing the word and communica-
ting in the rites of Christianity, by stationary pas-
tors and appropriated seasons, as well as, places,
of religious worship and resort : I say, the situa-
tion of the Christian community was so -different
in the infant and adult state of Christianity, that
the highest inconvenience would have followed
from establishing a precise constitution which was
to be obligatory upon both : the same disposition
of affairs which was most commodious and con-
ducive to edification in the one, becoming probably
impracticable under the circumstances, or alto-
gether inadequate to the wants of the other.
What farther recommends the forbearance ob-
servable in this part of the Christian institution,
is the consideration, that as Christianity solicited
admission into every country in the world, it cau-
tiously refrained from interfering with the muni-
cipal regulations or civil condition of any. Negli-
gent 01 every view, but what related to the deli-
verance of mankind from spiritual perdition, the
Saviour of the world advanced no pretensions
which, by disturbing the arrangements of human
polity, might present an obstacle to the reception
of his faith. We may ascribe it to this design,
that he left the laws of his church so open and in-
determinate, that whilst the ends of religious com-
munion were sufficiently declared, the form of the
society mi^ht be assimilated to the civil constitu-
tion of each country, to which it should always
communicate strength and support in return for
the protection it received. If there be any truth in
these observations, they lead to this temperate and
charitable conclusion, " that Christianity may be
professed under any form of church government."
But though all things are lawful, all things are
not expedient. If we concede to other churches
the Christian legality of their constitution, so long
as Christian worship and instruction are compe-
tently provided for, we may be allowed to maintain
the advantage of our own, upon principles which
all parties acknowledge considerations of public
utility. We may be allowed to contend, that
whilst we imitate, so far as a great disparity of
circumstances permits, the example, and what we
apprehend to be the order, of the apostolic age,
our church and ministry are inferior to none in
the groat object of their institution, their suitable-
ness to promote and uphold the profession, know-
ledge, and influence, oi pure Christianity. The
separation of a particular order of men for the
work of the ministry the reserving to these ex-
clusively, the conduct of public worship and the
preaching of the word the distribution of tho
country into districts, and the assigning of each
district to the care and charge of its proper pastor
lastly, the appointment to the clergy of a main-
tenance independent of the caprice of their congre-
gation, are measures of ecclesiastical policy which
have been adopted by every national establishment
of Christianity in the world. Concerning these
have been adopted by every national establishment
the world. Concerning t
points there exists no controversy. The chief ar-
ticle of regulation upon which the judgment of
some protestant churches dissents from ours is, that
whilst they have established a perfect parity among
their clergy, we prefer a distinction of orders in
the church, not only as recommended by the usage
of the purest times, but as better calculated to
promote, what.all churches must desire, the credit
and efficacy of the sacerdotal office.
The force and truth of this last consideration I
will endeavour to evince.
First, the body of the clergy, in common with
every regular society, must necessarily contain
some internal provision for the government and
correction of its members. Where a distinction
of orders is not acknowledged, this government
can only be administered by synods and assem-
blies, because the supposition of equality forbids
the delegation of authority to single persons.
Now, although it may be requisite to consult and
collect the opinions of -a community, in the mo-
mentous deliberations which ought to precede the
establishment of those public laws by wlu'ch it is
to be bound ; yet in every society the execution
of these laws, the current and ordinary affairs of
its government, are better managed by fewer
hands. To commit personal questions to public
debate, to refer every case and character which
requires animadversion, to the suffrages and exa-
mination of a numerous assembly, what is it, but
to feed and perpetuate contention, to supply mate-
rials for endless altercation, and opportunities for
the indulgence of concealed enmity and private
prejudices'? The complaint of ages testifies,
with how much inflammation, and how little
equity, ecclesiastical conventions have conducted
their proceedings ; how apt intrigue has ever been
to pervert inquiry, and clamour to confound dis-
cussion. Whatever may be the other benefits of
equality, peace is best secured by subordination.
And if this be a consideration of moment in every
society, it is of peculiar importance to the clergy.
Preachers of peace, ministers of charity and of
reconciliation to the world, that constitution sure-
ly ill befits their office and character which has a
tendency to engage them in contests and disputes
with one another.
Secondly, the appointment of various orders in
the church, may be considered as the stationing
of ministers of religion in the various ranks of
civil life. The distinctions of the clergy ought,
in some measure, to correspond with the distinc-
tions of lay-society, in order to supply each class
of the people with a clergy of their own level
and description, with whom they may live and
SERMONS ON PUBLIC OCCASIONS.
509
associate upon terms of equality. This reason is
not imaginary nor insignificant. The usefulness
of a virtuous and well-informed clergy consists
neither wholly nor principally in their public
preaching, or the stated functions of their order.
It is from the example and in the society of such
persons, that the requisites which prepare the
mind for the reception of virtue and knowledge,
a taste for serious reflection and discourse, habits
of thought and reasoning, a veneration for the
laws and awful truths of Christianity, a disposi-
tion to inquire, and a solicitude to learn, are best
gained : at least, the decency of deportment, the
sobriety of manners and conversation, the learn-
ing, the gravity, which usually accompany the
clerical character, insensibly diffuse their influ-
ence over every company into which they are
admitted. Is it of no importance to provide friends
and companions of this character for the superior
as well as for the middle orders of the commu-
nity 1 Is it flattery to say, that the manners and
society of higher lite would suffer some deprava-
tion, from the loss of so many men of liberal
habits and education, as at present, by occupying
elevated stations in the church, are entitled to be
received into its number 1 This intercourse
would cease, if the clergy were reduced to a level
with one another, and, of consequence, with the
inferior part of the community. These distinc-
tions, whilst tlr.>y prevail, must be complied with.
How much soever the moralist may despise, or
the divine overlook, the discriminations of rank,
which the rules or prejudices of modern life have
introduced into society ; when we have the world
to instruct and to deal with, we must take and
treat it as it is, not as the wishes or the specula-
tions of philosophy would represent it to our
view. When we describe the public as peculiarly
interested in every thing which affects, though but
remotely, the character of the great and powerful,
it is not that the soul of the rich man is more pre-
cious than the salvation of the poor, but because
his virtues and his vices have a more considerable
and extensive effect.
Thirdly, they who behold the privileges and
emoluments of the superior clergy with the most
unfriendly inclination, profess nevertheless to
wish, that the order itself should he respected ;
but how is this respect to be procured 'I It is
equally impossible, to invest every clergyman
with the decorations of affluence and rank, and to
maintain the credit and reputation of an order
which is altogether destitute of these distinctions.
Individuals, by the singularity of their virtue or
their talents, may surmount all disadvantages ;
but the order will be contemned. At present,
every member of our ecclesiastical establishment
communicates in the dignity which is conferred
upon a few every clergyman shares in the re-
spect which is paid to his-superiors the ministry
is honoured in the persons of prelates. Nor is
this economy peculiar to our order. The profes-
sions of arms and of the law derive their lustre
and esteem, not merely from their utility (which
is a reason only to the' few,) but from the exalted
place in the scale of civil life, which hath been
wisely assigned to those who fill stations of power
and eminence in these great departments. And
if this disposition of honours be approved in other
kinds of public employment, why should not the
credit and liberality of ours be upheld by the same
expedient 1
Fourthly, rich and splendid situations in the
church have been justly regarded as prizes held
out to invite persons of good hopes and ingenuous
attainments to enter into its service. The value
of the prospect may be the same, but the allure-
ment is much greater, where opulent shares are
reserved to reward the success of a few, than
where, by a more equat partition of the fund, all
indeed arc competently provided for, but no one
can raise even his hopes beyond a penurious me-
diocrity of subsistence and situation. It is cer-
tainly of consequence that young men of promising
abilities be encouraged to engage in the ministry
of the church ; otherwise, our profession will be
composed of the refuse of every other. None
will be found content to stake the fortune of their
lives in this calling, but they whom slow parts,
personal defects, or a depressed condition ofbirth
and education, preclude from advancement in any
other. The vocation in time comes to be thought
mean and uncreditable study languishes sacred
erudition declines not only the order is disgraced,
but religion itself disparaged in such hands. Some
of the most judicious and moderate of the presby-
terian clergy have been known to lament this
defect in their constitution. They see and de-
plore the backwardness in youth of active and
well cultivated faculties, to enter into the church,
and their frequent resolutions to quit it. Again,
if a gradation of orders be necessary to invite can-
didates into the profession, it is still more so to
excite diligence and emulation, to promote an
attention to character and public opinion when
they are in it ; especially to guard against that
sloth and negligence, into which men are apt to
fall, who are arrived too soon at the limits of their
expectations. We will not say, that the race is
always to the swift, or the prize to the deserving ;
hut we. have never known that age of the church
in which the advantage was not on the side of
learning and decency.
These reasons appear to me to be well founded,
and they have this in their favour, that they do not
suppose too much ; they suppose not any impracti-
cable precision in the reward of merit, or any
greater degree of disinterestedness, circumspection,
and propriety in the bestowing of ecclesiastical
preferment, than what actually takes place. They
are, however, much strengthened, and our eccle-
siastical constitution defended with yet greater
success, when men of. conspicuous and acknow-
ledged merit are called to its superior stations :
" wTien it goeth well with the righteous, the city
rejoiceth." When pious labours and exemplary
virtue, when distinguished learning, or eminent
utilit)', when long or arduous services are repaid
with affluence and dignity, when a life of severe
and well-directed application to the studies of re-
ligion, when wasted spirits and declining health,
are suffered to repose in honourable leisure, the
good and wise applaud a constitution which has
provided such things for such men.
Finally, let us reflect that these, after all, are
but secondary objects. Christ came not to found
an empire upon earth, or to invest his church with
temporal immunities. He came " to seek and to
save that which was lost ;" to purify to himself
from amidst the pollutions of a corrupt world, " a
peculiar people, zealous of good works." As far
as our establishment conduces ta forward and
facilitate these ends, so far we are sure it falls hi
with his design, and is sanctified by his authority.
510
SERMONS ON PUBLIC OCCASIONS.
And whilst they who are intrusted with its go-
vernment employ their cares, and the influence
of their stations, in judicious and unremitting
endeavours to enlarge the dominion of virtue and
of Christianity over the hearts and affections of
mankind, whilst " by pureness, by knowledge,"
by the aids of learning, by the piety of their
example, they labour to inform the consciences
and improve the morals of the people committed
to their charge, they secure to themselves, and to
the church in which they preside, peace and per-
manency, reverence and support what is infi-
nitely more, they " save their own souk;" they
prepare for the approach of that tremendous day,
when Jesus Christ shall return again to the world
and to his church, at once the gracious rewarder
of the toils, and patience, and fidelity of his ser-
vants, and the strict avenger of abused power and
neglected duty.
SERMON IV.
THE USE AND PROPRIETY OF LOCAL AND OCCASIONAL PREACHING :
A CHARGE,
DELIVERED TO THE CLERGY OF THE DIOCESE OF CARLISLE, IN THE YEAR 1790.
REVEREND BRETHREN, The late Archbishop
Seeker, whose memory is entitled to public respect,
as on many accounts, so especially for the judg-
ment with which he described, and the affecting
seriousness with which he recommended the du-
ties of his profession, in one of his charges to the
clergy of his diocese,* exhorts them "to make
their sermons local." I have always considered
this advice as founded in a knowledge of human
life, but as requiring, in its application, a more
than ordinary exercise of Christian prudence.
Whilst I repeat therefore the rule itself, with
great veneration for the authority by which it was
delivered, I think it no unfit employment of the
present opportunity, to enlarge so far upon its
use and meaning, as to point out some of the in-
stances in which it may oe adopted, with the pro-
bability of making salutary impressions upon the
minds of our hearers.
But, before I proceed, I would warn you, and
that with all the solemnity that can belong to any
admonition of mine, against rendering your dis-
courses, so local, as to DC pointed ana levelled at
particular persons in your congregation. This
species of address may produce in the party for
whom it is intended, confusion perhaps and shame,
but not with their proper fruits of penitence and
humility. Instead of which, these sensations will
be accompanied with bitter resentment against the
preacher, and a kind of obstinate and determined
opposition to his reproof. He will impute your
omciousness to personal enmity, to party spirit, to
the pleasure of triumphing over an adversary
without interruption or reply, to insult assuming
the form of advice, or to any motive rather than a
conscientious solicitude for the amendment and
salvation of your flock. And as the person him-
self seldom profits by admonitions conveyed in this
way, so are they equally useless, or perhaps nox-
ious, to the rest of the assembly ; for the moment
the congregation discover to whom the chastise-
ment is directed, from that moment they cease to
apply any part of it to themselves. They are not
edified, they are not affected ; on the contrary, they
are diverted, by descriptions of which they seethe
design, and by invectives of which they think they
comprehend the aim. Some who would feel
strongly the impropriety of gross and evident per-
sonalities, may yet hope to hit their mark by covert
* Archbishop of Canterbury's Third Charge to his
Clergy.-Abp. Seeker's Works, vol. iv.
and oblique allusions. Now of .this scheme, even
when conducted with the greatest skill, it may be
observed, that the allusions must either be perceived,
or not. If they be not perceived, they fail of the
effect intended by them ; if they be, they are open
to the objections which lie against more explicit
and undissembled attacks. Whenever we are
conscious, in the composition of pur discourses, of
a view to particular characters in our congrega-
tion or pariah, we ought to take for granted that
our view will be understood. Those applications
therefore, which, if they were direct, would pro-
duce more bad emotions than good ones, it is bet-
ter to discard entirely from our sermons ; that is to
say, it is better to lay aside the design altogether,
than to attempt to disguise it by a management
which is generally detected, and which, if not seen
through, defeats its purpose by its obscurity. The
crimes then of individuals let us reserve for oppor-
tunities of private and seasonable expostulation.
Happy is the clergyman who has the faculty of
communicating advice and remonstrance with
persuasion and effect, and the virtue to seize and
improve every proper occasion of doing it ; but in
the pulpit, let private characters be no otherwise
adverted to, than as they fall in with the delinea-
tions of sins and duties which our discourses must
necessarily contain, and which, whilst they avoid
personalities, can never be too close or circumstan-
tial. For the same reason that 1 think personal
allusions reprehensible, I should condemn any,
even the remotest, reference to- party or political
transactions and disputes. These are at all times
unfit subjects not only of discussion in the pulpit,
but of hints and surmises. The Christian preacher
has no other province than that of religion and
morality. He is seldom led out of his way by
honourable motives, and, I think, never with a
beneficial effect.
Having premised this necessary caution, 1
return to the rule itself. By " local" sermons I
would understand^ what the reverend prelate who
used the expression seems principally to have
meant by it, sermons adapted to the particular state
of thought and opinion which we perceive to pre-
vail in our congregation. A careful attention to
this circumstance is of the utmost importance, be-
cause, as it varies, the same sermon may do a
great deal of good, none at all, or much harm. So
that it is not the truth of what we are about to
offer which alone we ought to consider, but whe-
ther the argument itself be likely to correct or to
512
SERMONS ON PUBLIC OCCASIONS.
promote the turn anil bias of opinion to which w<
already perceive too strong a tendency and incli
nation. Without this circumspection, we may be
found to have imitated the folly of the .architect
who placed his buttress on the wrong side. The
more the column pressed, the more firm was its
construction ; and the deeper its foundation, the
more certainly it hastened the ruin of the fabric
I do not mean that we should, upon any emer-
gency, advance what is -not true ; but that, out of
many truths, we should select those, the consider-
ation of which seems best suited to rectify the dis-
positions of thought, that were previously declin-
ing into error or extravagancy. For this model
of preaching we may allege the highest of ali
possible authorities, the example of pur blessed
laaviour himself. He always had in view the pos-
ture of mind of the persons whom he addressed.
He did not entertain the Pharisees with invectives
against the open impiety of their Sadducean rivals ;
nor, on the other hand, did he sooth the Saddu-
cee's ear with descriptions of Pharisaical pomp
and folly. In the presence of the Pharisee he
preached against hypocrisy: to the Sadducecs he
proved the resurrection of the dead. In like man-
ner, of that known enmity which subsisted be-
tween the Jews and Samaritans, this faithful
Teacher took no undue advantage, to make friends
or proselytes of either. Upon the Jews he incul-
cated a more comprehensive benevolence: with
the Samaritan he defended the orthodoxy of the
Jewish creed.
But I apprehend that I shall render my advice
more intelligible, by exemplifying it in two or
three instances, drawn from what appears to be
the predominant disposition and religious charac-
ter of this country, and of the present times.
In many former ages of religion, the strong
propensity of men's minds was to overvalue posi-
tive duties; which temper, when carried to excess,
not only multiplied unauthorized rites and observ-
ances, not only laid an unwarrantable stress upon
those which were prescribed ; but, what was worst
of all, led men to expect, that, by a punctual at-
tention to the ordinances of religion, they could
compound for a relaxation of its weighty and dif-
ficult duties of personal purity and relative justice.
This was the depraved state of religion amongst
the Jews when our Saviour appeared; and it was
the degeneracy, against which some of the most
forcible of his admonitions, and the severest of his
reproofs, were directed. Yet, notwithstanding
that Christ's own preaching, as well as the plan
and spirit of his religion, were as adverse as pos-
sible to the exalting or overvaluing of positive, in-
stitutions, the error which had corrupted the old
dispensation, revived under the new ; and revived
with double force, insomuch as to transform Chris-
tianity into a service more prolix and burdensome
than the Jewish, and to ascribe an efficacy to cer-
tain religious performances, which, in a great
measure, superseded the obligations of substantial
virtue. That age, however, with us, is long since
past. I fear there is room to apprehend that we
are falling into mistakes of a contrary kind. Sad-
ducees are more common amongst us than Phari-
sees. We seem disposed, not only to cast off the
decent offices, which the temperate piety of our
church hath enjoined, as aids of devotion, culls to
repentance, or instruments of improvement, but
to contemn and neglect, under the name of forms
and ceremonies, even those rites, which, forasmuch
as they were ordained by the divine Founder of
our religion, or by his inspired messengers, and
ordained with a view of their continuing in force
through future generations, are entitled to be ac-
counted parts of Christianity itself. In this situa-
tion of religion, and of men's thoughts with re-
spect of it, he makes a bad choice of his subject,
who discourses upon the futility of rites and ordi-
nances, upon their insignificancy when taken by
themselves, or even who insists too frequently,
and in terms too strong, upon their inferiority to
moral precepts. We are rather called upon to
sustain the authority of those institutions which
proceed from Christ or his apostles, and the rea-
sonableness and credit of those which claim no
higher original than public* appointment. We
are called upon to contend with respect to the
first, that they cannot be omitted with safety any
more than other duties ; that the will of God once
ascertained, is the immediate foundation of every
duty; that, when this will is known, it makes
little difference to us what is the subject of it,
still less by what denomination the precept is call-
ed, under what class or division the duty is ar-
ranged. If it be commanded, aud we have suf-
ficient reason to believe that it is so, it matters
nothing whether the obligation be moral or natu-
ral, or positive or instituted. He who places before
him the will of God as the rule of his life, will not
refine, or even dwell much, upon these distinc-
tions. The ordinances of Christianity, it is true,
are all of them significant. Their meaning and
even their use, is not obscure. But were it
otherwise ; was the design of any positive institu-
tion inexplicable ; did it appear to have been pro-
posed only as an exercise of obedience ; it was not
for us to hesitate in our compliance. Even to in-
quire, with too much curiosity and impatience,
into the cause and reason of a religious command,
is no evidence of an humble and submissive dispo-
sition ; of a disposition, I mean, humble under
the Deity's government of his creation, and sub-
missive to his will however signified.
It may be seasonable also to maintain, what
I am convinced is true, that the principle of
general utility, which upholds moral obligation
itself, may, in various instances, be applied to'
evince the duty of attending upon positive institu-
tions ; in other words, that the difference between
natural and positive duties is often more in the
name than in the thing. The precepts of natural
ustice are therefore only binding upon the con-
science, because the observation of them is neces-
sary or conducive to the prosperity and happiness
of social life. If there be, as there certainly are,
religious institutions which contribute greatly to
"orm and support impressions upon the mind, that
render men better members of civilized communi-
y ; if these institutions can only be preserved in
heir reputation and influence by the general rcs-
>ect which is paid to them; there is the same
eason to each of us for bearino; pur part in those
>bscrvances, that there is for discharging the most
acknowledged duties of natural religion. When
say, " the reason is the same," I mean that it is
he same in kind. The degree of strength and
Agency which this reason possesses in any par-
ieular case, must always depend upon the value
ind importance of the particular duty ; which ad-
nits of great variety. But moral and positive
[ilties do not in this respect differ more than
moral duties difler from one another. So that
SERMONS ON PUBLIC OCCASIONS.
513
Tvheh men accustom themselves to look upon posi-
tive duties as universally and necessarily inferior
to moral ones, as of a subordinate species,
placed upon a different foundation, or deducet
from a different original ; and consequently to re
gard them as unworthy of being made a part of
their plan of life, or of entering into their sense of
obligation, they appear to be egregiously misled
by names. It is our business, not to aid, but to
correct, the deception. Still nevertheless, is it as
true as ever it was, that "except we exceed the
righteousness of the Scribes and Pharisees, we
cannot enter into the kingdom of heaven ;" that
"the sabbath was made for man, and not man
for the sabbath;" that " the weightier matters of
the law are faith, justice, and mercy;" but to in-
sist strenuously and, as some do, almost ex-
clusively, upon these points at present, tends to
diminish trie respect for religious ordinances,
which is already too little ; and whHst it guards
against dangers that have ceased to exist, aug-
ments those which are really formidable.
Again : Upon the first reformation from Pope-
ry, a method very much prevailed in the seceding
churches, of resolving the whole of religion into
faith; good works, as they were called, or the
practice of virtue, holding not only a secondary
but even distant place in value and esteem, beincr
represented, indeed, as possessing no share or ef-
ficacy in the attainment of human salvation. This
doctrine we have seen revived in our own times,
and carried to still greater lengths. And it is a
theory, or rather perhaps a language, which re-
quired, whilst it lasted, very serious animadver-
sion ; not only because it disposed men to rest in
an unproductive faith, without endeavours to
render themselves useful by exertion and activity;
not only because it was naturally capable of being
converted to the encouragement of licentiousness;
but because it misrepresented Christianity as
a moral institution, by making it place little stress
upon the distinction of virtue and vice, and by
making it require the practice of external duties,
if it require them at all, only as casual, neglected,
and almost unthought of consequences, of that
faith which it extolled, instead of directing men's
attention to them, as to those things which alono
compose an unquestionable a nd effective obedience
to the divine will. So long as this turn of mind
prevailed, we could not be too industrious in
bringing together and exhibiting to our hearers
those many and positive declarations of Scripture,
which enforce, and insist upon, practical religion ;
which divide mankind into those who do good,
and those who do evil ; which hold out to the one,
favour and happiness, to the other, repulse and
condemnation. The danger, however, from this
quarter, is nearly overpast. We are, on the con-
trary, setting up a kind of philosophical morality,
detached from religion, and independent of its in-
fluence, which may be cultivated, it is said, as
well without Christianity as with it ; and which,
if cultivated, renders religion and religious institu-
tions superfluous. A mode of thought so contrary
to truth, and so derogatory from the value of reve-
lation, cannot escape the vigilance of a Christian
ministry. We are entitled to ask upon what
foundation this morality rests. If it refer to the
divine will, (and, without that, where will it find
its sanctions, or how support its authority ?) there
cannot be a conduct of the understanding more
irrational, than to appeal to those intimations of
3 'ii
the Deity's character which the light and order of
nature afford, as to the rule and measure of our
duty, yet to disregard, and affect to overlook, the
declarations of his pleasure which Christianity
communicates. It is imjwssible to distinguish be-
tween the authority of natural and revealed reli-
gion. We are bound to receive the precepts of
revelation for the same reason that we comply
with the dictates of nature. He who despises a
command which proceeds from his Maker, no
matter by what means, or through what medium,
instead of advancing, as he pretends to do, the do-
minion of reason, and the authority of natural re-
ligion, disobeys the first injunction of both. Al-
tliough it be true what the apostle affirms that,
"when the Gentiles, which have not the law, do
by nature the things contained in the law, they
are a law unto themselves;" that is, they will bo
accepted together with those who are instructed
in the law and obey it : yet is this truth not appli-
cable to such, as, having a law, contemn it, and,
with the means of access to the word of God,
keep themselves at a voluntary distance from it.
This temper, whilst it continues, makes it neces-
sary for us to assert the superiority of a religious
principle above every other by which human con-
duct can be regulated : more especially above that
fashionable system, which recommends virtue only
as a true and refined policy, which policy in effect
is, and in the end commonly proves itself to be,
nothing else than a more exquisite cunning, which
by a specious behaviour in the easy and visible
concerns of life, collects a fund of reputation, in
order either to cherish more securely concealed
vices, or to reserve itself for some great stroke of
selfishness, perfidy, and desertion, in a pressing
conjuncture of fortunes. Nor less justly may we
superinduce the guidance of Christianity to the
direction of sentiment ; which depends so much
upon constitution, upon early impressions, upon
habit and imitation, that unless it be compared
with, and adjusted by, some safer rule, it can in
no wise be trusted. Least of all ought we to
yield the authority of religion to the law of honour,
a law (if it deserve that name,) which, beside its
continual mutability, is at best but a system of
manners suited to the intercourse and accommo-
dation of higher life; and which consequently
neglects every duty, and permits every vice, that
has no relation to these purposes. Amongst the
rules which contend with religion for the govern-
ment of life, the law of the land also has not a few,
who think it very sufficient to act up to its direc-
tion, and to keep within the limits which it pre-
scribes : and this sort of character is common in
our congregations. We are not to omit, therefore,
to apprise those who make the statutes of the
realm the standard of their duty, that they pro-
pose to themselves a measure of conduct totally
inadequate to the purpose. The boundaries which
nature has assigned to human authority and con-
trol, the partial ends to which every legislator is
obliged to confine his views, prevent human laws,
even were they, what they never are, as perfect
as they might be made, from becoming compe-
:ent rules of life to any one who advances his
lopes to the attainment of God Almighty's favour.
In contradistinction, then, to these several sys-
tems which divide a great portion of mankind
amongst them, we preach "faith which worketh
love," that principle of action and restraint
hich is found in a Christian alone. It possesses
514
SERMONS ON PUBLiC OCCASIONS.
qualities to xvhich none of them can make preten-
sions. It operates where they fail; is present
upon all occasions, firm upon the greatest; pure
as under the inspection of a vigilant omniscience ;
innocent where guilt could not be discovered;
just, exact, and upright, without a witness to
its proceedings; uniform amidst the caprices of
fashion, unchanged by the vicissitudes of popular
opinion; often applauded, not seldom misunder-
stood, it holds on its straight arid equal course,
through " good report and evil report," through
encouragement and neglect, approbation and dis-
grace. If the philosopher or the politician can
point out to us any influence but that of Christi-
anity which has these properties, I had almost
said which does not want them all, we will
listen with reverence to his instruction. But un-
trl this be done, we may be permitted to resist
every plan which would place virtue upon any
other foundation, or seek final happiness through
any other medium, than faith in Jesus Christ.
At least whilst an inclination to these rival sys-
tems remains, no good end, I am apt to think, is
attained by decrying faith under any form, by
stating the competition between faith and good
works, or by pointing out, with too much anxiety,
even the abuses and extravagances into which the
doctrine of salvation by faith alone has sometimes
been carried. The truth is, that, in the two sub-
jects which I have considered, we are in such
haste to fly from enthusiasm and superstition, that
we are approaching towards an insensibility to all
religious influence. I certainly do not mean to
advjse you to endeavour to bring men back to en-
thusiasm and superstition, but to retard, if you
can, their progress towards an opposite and a
worse extreme ; and both in these, and in all other
instances, to regulate the choice of your subjects,
by the particular bias and tendency of opinion
which yoil perceive already to prevail amongst
your hearers, and by a consideration, not of the
truth only of what you deliver, which, however,
must always be an indispensable condition, but of
its effects, and those not the effects which it would
produce upon sound, enlightened, and impartial
judgments, but what are likely to take place in
the weak and pre-occupied understandings with
which we have to do.
1 Having thus considered the rule as it applies to
the argument of our discourses, in which its prin-
cipal importance consists, I proceed to illustrate
its use as it relates to another 'object the means
of exciting attention. The transition from local
to occasional sermons is so easy, and the reason
for both is so much the same, that what I have
further to add will include the one as well as the
other. And though nothing more be proposed in
the few directions which I am about to offer, than
to move and awaken the attention of our audience,
yet is this a purpose of no inconsiderable magni-
tude. We have great reason to complain of Tist-
lessness in our congregations. Whether this be
their fault or ours, the fault of neither or of both,
it is much to be desired that it could by any means
be removed. Our sermons are in general more
informing, as well as more correct and chastised
both in matter and composition, than those of any
denomination of dissenting teachers. I .wish it
were in our power to render them as impressive
as some of theirs seem to be. Now I think we
may observe that we are heard with somewhat
more than ordinary advertency, whenever our dis-
course are recommended by any occasional pro-
priety. The more, therefore, of these proprieties
we contrive to weave into our preaching, the bet-
ter. One which is very obvious, and winch should
never be neglected, is that of making our sermon*
as suitable as we can to the service of the day.
On the principal fasts and festivals of the church,
the subjects which they sire designed to commemo-
rate, ought invariably to be made the subjects of
our discourses. Indeed, the best sermon, if it do
not treat of the argument which the congregation
come prepared to hear, is received with coldness,
and with a sense of disappointment. This respect
to the order of public worship almost every one
pays. But the adaptation, I apprehend, may he
carried much farther. Whenever any thing like
a unity of subject is pursued throughout the col-
lect, the epistle, and gospel of the dav, that subject
is with great advantage revived in the pulpit. It
is perhaps to be wished that this unity had been
more consulted in the compilation of this part of
the liturgy than it has been. When from the
want of it a subject is not distinctly presented to
us; there may, however, be some portion of the
service more striking than the rest, some instruct-
ive parable, some interesting narration, some con-
cise but forcible precept, some pregnant sentence,
which may be recalled to the hearer's attention
with peculiar effect. I think it no contemptible
advantage if we even draw our text from the epis-
tle or gospel, or the psalms or lessons. Our con-
gregation will be more likely to retain what they
hear from us, when it, in any manner, falls in with
what they have been reading in their prayer-
books, or when they are afterwards reminded of it
by reading the psalms and lessons at home. But
there is another species of accommodation of more
importance, and that is the choice of such disqui-
sitions, as may either meet the difficulties or assist
the reflections, which are suggested by the por-
tions of Scripture that are delivered from the read-
ing-desk. Thus, whilst thfe wars of Joshua and
the Judges are related in the course of the lessons
which occupy some of the first Sundays alter
Trinity, it will be very seasonable to explain the
reasons upon which that, dispensation was founded,
the moral and beneficial purposes which are de-
clared to have been designed, and which were
probably accomplished, by its execution; because
such an explanation will obviate the doubts con-
cerning either the divine goodness or the credibi-
lity of the narrative which may arise in the mind
of a hearer, who is not instructed to regard the
transaction as a method of inflicting an exemplary,
just, and necessary punishment. In like manner,
'whilst the history of the delivery of the law from
mount Sinai, or rather the recapitulation of that
history by Moses, in the book of Deuteronomy, is
carried on in the Sunday lessons which are read
between Easter and Whitsunday, we shall bo
well engaged in discourses upon the com
ments which stand at the head of that institution,
hi showing from the history their high original
and authority, and in explaining their reasonable-
ness, application, and extent. Whilst the history
of Joseph is successively presented to the congre-
gation during the Sundays in Lent, we shall be
very negligent of the opportunity, if we do not
take occasion to point out to our hearers, those
observations upon the benevolent but secret direc-
tion, the wise though circuitous measures, of Pro-
vidence, of which this beautiful passage of Scrip-
SERMONS ON PUBLIC OCCASIONS:
515
ture supplies a train of apposite examples. There
are, I doubt not, other series of subjects dictated
by the service as edifying as these ; but these I
propose as illustrations of tho rule.
Next to the service of the church, the season
of the year may bo made, to suggest useful and
appropriate topics of meditation. The beginning
of a new year has belonging to it a train of very
solemn reflections. In the devotional pieces of the
late Dr. Johnson, this occasion was never passed
by. We may learn from these writings the pro-
per use to he made of it; and by the example of
that excellent person, how much a pious mind is
wont to be affected by this memorial of the lapse
of life. There are also certain proprieties which
correspond with the different parts of the yenr.
For example, the wisdom of God in the work of
the creation is a theme which ought to be n
for the return of the spring, when nature renews,
as it were, her activity; when every animal is
cheerful and busy, and seems to feel the influence
of its Maker's kindness ; when our senses and
spirits, the objects and enjoyments that surround
us, accord and harmonize with those sentiments
of delight and gratitude, which this subject, above
all others, is calculated to inspire. There is no
devotion so genuine as that which flows from
these meditations, because it is unforced and self-
excited. There is no frame of mind more desira-
ble, and, consequently, no preaching more useful,
than that which leads the thought to this exercise.
It is laying a foundation for Christianity itself.
If it be not to sow the seed, it is at least to pre-
pare the soil. The evidence of revelation arrives
with much greater ease at an understanding,which
is already possessed by the persuasion, that an
unseen intelligence framed and conducts the uni-
verse ; and which is accustomed to refer the order
and operations of nature to the agency of a su-
preme will. The influence also of religion is al-
most always in proportion to the degree and
strength of this conviction. It is, moreover, a
species of instruction of which our hearers are
more capable than we may at first sight suppose.
It is not necessary to be a philosopher, or to be
skilled in the names and distinctions of natural
history, in order to perceive marks of 'contrivance
and design in the creation. It is only to turn our
observation to them. Now, beside that this re-
quires neither more ability nor leisure than every
man can command, there are many things in the
life of a country parishioner which will dispose
his thoughts to the employment. In his fields,
amidst his flocks, in the progress of vegetation,
the structure, faculties, and manners, of domestic
animals, he nas constant occasion to remark proofs
of intention and of consummate wisdom. The
minister of a country parish is never, therefore,
better engaged, than when he is assisting this turn
of contemplation. Nor will he ever do it with so
much effect, as when the appearance and face of ex-
ternal nature conspire with the sentiments which
he wishes to excite.
Again : if we would enlarge upon the various
bounty of Providence, in furnishing a regular sup-
ply for animal, and especially for human subsist-
ence, not by one, but by numerous and diversified
species of food and clothing, we shall be best heard
in the time and amidst the occupations of harvest,
when our hearers are reaping the effects of those
contrivances for their support, and of that care for
their preservation, which their Father which is in
heaven hath exercised For them. If the year ha*
been favourable, we rejoice with them in the plen-
ty which lills their granaries, covers their tables,
and feeds their families. If otherwise, or less so,
we have still to remark, how through all the hus-
bandman's disappointments, through the dangers
and inclemencies of precarious seasons, a compe-
tent proportion of the fruits of the earth is con-
ducted to its destined purpose. We may observe
also to the repining farmer, that the value, if not
the. existence, of his own occupation, depends
upon the very uncertainty of which he complains.
It is found to be almost universally true, that the
partition of the profits between the owner and the
occupier of the soil, is in favour of the latter, hi
pro[)ortion to the risk which he incur* by the dis-
advantage of the climate. This is a very just re-
flection, and particularly intelligible to a rural
audience. We may add, when the occasion re-
quires it, that scarcity itself hath its use. By act-,
ing as a stimulus to new exertions and to farther
improvements, it often produces, through a tem-
porary distress, a permanent benefit.
Lastly ; sudden, violent, or untimely deaths, or
death accompanied by any circumstances of sur-
prise or singularity, usually leave an impression
upon a whole neighbourhood. A Christian teach-
er is wanting in attention to opportunities who
does not avail himself of this impression. The
uncertainty of life requires no proof. But the
power and influence which this consideration shall
obtain over the decisions of the mind, will depend
greatly upon the circumstances under which it is
presented to the imagination. Discourses upon
the subject come with tenfold force, when they
are directed to a heart already touched by some
near, recent, and affecting example of human mor-
tality. 1 do not kment that funeral sermons are
discontinued amongst us. They generally con-
tained so much of unseasonable and oftentimes
undeserved panegyric, that the hearers came away
from them, rather with remarks in their mouths
upon what was said of the deceased, than with
any internal reflections upon the solemnity which
they had left, or how nearly it related to their own
condition. But by decent allusions in the stated
course of our preaching to events of this sort, or
by, what is better, such a well-timed choice of our
subject, as may lead our audience to make the al-
lusion for themselves, it is possible, I think, to re-
tain much of the good effect of funeral discourses,
without their adulation, and without exciting vain
curiosity.
If other occurrences have arisen within our
neighbourhood, which serve to exemplify the pro-
gress and fate of vice, the solid advantages and
ultimate success of virtue, the providential disco-
very of guilt or protection of innocence, the folly
of avarice, the disappointments of ambition, the
vanity of worldly schemes, the fallaciousness of
human foresight; in a word, which may remind
us, " what shadows we are, and what shadows we
pursue," and thereby induce us to collect our
views and endeavours to one point, the attainment
of final salvation ; such occurrences may be made
to introduce topics of serious and useful medita-
tion. 1 have heard popular preachers amongst the
methodists avail themselves of these occasions
with very powerful effect. It must be acknow-
ledged that they frequently transgress the limits
of decorum and propriety, and that these trans-
gressions wound the modesty of a cultivated ear.
516
SERMONS ON PUBLIC OCCASIONS.
But the method itself is not to be blamed. Under
the correction of a sounder judgment it might be
rendered very beneficial. Perhaps, as hath been
already intimated, the safest way is, not to refer
to these incidents by any direct allusion, but mere-
ly to discourse at the time upon subjects which
are allied to, and connected with them.
The sum of what I have been recommending
amounts to this : that we consider diligently the
probable effects of our discourses, upon the parti-
cular characters and dispositions of those who are
to hear them ; but that we apply this considera-
tion solely to the choice of truths, by no means to
the admission of falsehood or insincerity:* Se-
condly, that we endeavour to profit by circum-
stances, that is, to assist, not the reasoning, but
* This distinction fixes the limits of exoteric doctrine,
as far as any thing called by that name is allowable to
a Christian teacher.
the efficacy of our discourses, by an opportune and
skilful use of the service of the church, the season
of the year, and of all such occurrences and situa-
tions as are capable of receiving a religious turn,
and such as, being yet recent in the memory of
our hearers, may dispose their minds for the ad-
mission and influence of salutary reflections.
My Reverend Brethren, I am sensible that the
discourse with which I have now detained you, is
not of that kind which is usually delivered at a
Chancellor's visitation. But since (by the favour
of that excellent prelate, who by me must long be
remembered with gratitude and affection) I hold
another public station in the diocese, I embrace
the only opportunity afforded me of submitting to
you that species of counsel and exhortation, which,
with more propriety perhaps, you would have re-
ceived from me in the character of your archdea-
con, if the functions of that office had remained
entire.
SERMON V.
DANGERS INCIDENTAL TO THE CLERICAL CHARACTER, STATED,
IN A SERMON PREACHED BEFORE THE UNIVERSITY OF CAMBRIDGE, AT GREAT ST. MARY'S CHURCH, ON
SUNDAY, JULY 5, BEING COMMENCEMENT SUNDAY.
To Loicther Yates, D. D. Vice Chancellor, and the Heads of Colleges in the University of
Cambridge, as a testimony to many of them, of the affection with which the Author retains his
academical friendships; and to all, of the respect with which he regards their stations; the
following discourse is inscribed by their faithful servant, W. PALEY.
Lest that, by any means, when I hate preached to others, I myself should be a cast-away.
1 Corinthians ix. Part of the 27th verse.
THESE words discover the anxiety, not to say
the fears, of the writer, concerning the event of
his personal salvation; and, when interpreted by
the words which precede them, strictly connect
that event with the purity of his personal character.
It is extremely material to remember who it was
that felt this deep solicitude for the fate of his
spiritual interests, and the persuasion that his
acceptance (in so far as it is procured by human
endeavours) would depend upon the care and
exactness with which he regulated his own pas-
sions, and his own conduct ; because, if a man
ever existed, who, in the zeal and labour with
which he served the cause of religion, in the ar-
dour or the efficacy of his preaching, in his suf-
ferings, or his success, might hope for some excuse
to indulgence, some licence for gratifications which
were forbidden to others, it was the author of the
text which has been now read to you. Yet the
apostle appears to have known, and by his know-
ledge teaches us, that no exertion of industry, no
display of talents, no public merit, however great,
or however good and sacred be the cause in which
it is acquired, will compensate for the neglect of
personal self-government.
This, in my opinion, is an important lesson to
all : to none, certainly, can it be more applicable,
than it is in every age to the teachers of religion ;
for a little observation of the world must have
informed us, that the human mind is prone, almost
beyond resistance, to sink the weakness or the
irregularities of private character in the view of
public services ; that this propensity is the strongest
in a man's own case ; that it prevails more power-
fully in religion than in other subjects, inasmuch
as the teachers of religion consider themselves
([and rightly do so) as ministering to the higher
interests of human existence.
Still farther, if there be causes, as I believe
there are, whirli ntisr extraordinary difficulties in
the way of those who are engaged in the offices
of religion ; circumstances even of disadvantage in
the profession and character, as far as relates to
the conservation of their own virtue ; it behoves
them to adopt the apostle's caution with more than
common care, because it is only to prepare them-
selves for dangers to which they are more than
commonly exposed.
Nor is there good reason for concealing, either
from ourselves or others, any unfavourable dispo-
sitions which the nature of our employment or
situation may tend to generate : for. be they what
they will, they only prove, that it happens to us
according to the condition of human life, with
many benefits to receive some inconveniences;
with many helps to experience some trials : that,
with many peculiar motives to virtue, and means
of improvement in it, some obstacles are pre-
sented to our progress, which it may require a
distinct and positive effort of the mind to sur-
mount.
I apprehend that I am stating a cause of no
inconsiderable importance, when amongst these
impediments I mention, in the first place, the
insensibility to religious impression, which a con-
stant conversation with religious subjects, and,
still more, a constant intermixture with religious
offices, is wont to induce. Such is the frame of
the human constitution, (and calculated also for
the wisest purposes,) that whilst all active habits
are facilitated and strengthened by repetition,
impressions under which we are passive, are
weakened and diminished. Upon the first of
these properties depends, in a great measure, the
exercise of the arts of life : upon the second, the
capacity which the mind possesses of adapting
518
SERMONS ON PUBLIC OCCASIONS.
itself to almost every situation. This quality is
perceived in numerous, and for the most part
beneficial examples. Scenes of terror, spectacles
of pain, objects of loathing and disgust; W> far lose
their effect, with their novelty, as to permit pro-
fessions to be carried on, and, conditions of life to
be endured, which otherwise, although necessary,
would be insupportable. It is a quality, however,
which acts, as other parts of our frame do, by an
operation which is general ; hence it acts also in
instances in which its influence is to be corrected ;
and, amongst these, in religion. Every attentive
Christian will have observed how much more
powerfully he is affected by any form of worship,
which is uncommon, than with the familiar re-
turns of his own religious offices. He will be
sensible of the difference when he approaches, a
few times in the year, *.he sacrament of the Lord's
Supper ; if he shou'J b~ present at ihr viskatior*
of the sick; or even, if that were unusual to him,
at the sight of a family assembled in prayer. He
will perceive it also upon entering the doors of a
dissenting congregation; a circumstance which
has misled many, by causing them to ascribe to
some advantage in the conduct of public worship,
what, in truth, is only the effect of new impres-
sions. Now, by how much a lay frequenter of
religious worship finds himself less warmed and
stimulated by ordinary, than by extraordinary
acts of devotion, by so much, it may be expected,
that a clergyman, habitually conversant with the
offices of religion, will be less moved and stimu-
lated than he is. What then is to be done 7 It
is by an effort of reflection ; by a positive exertion
of the mind ; by knowing this tendency, and by
setting ourselves expressly to resist it; that we
are to repair the decays of spontaneous piety.
We are no more to surrender ourselves to the
mechanism of our frame, than to the impulse of
our passions. We are to assist our sensitive by
our rational nature. We are to supply this infir-
mity (for so it may be called, although, like many
other properties which bear the name of vices in
our constitution, it be, in truth, a beneficial prin-
ciple acting according to a general law) we are
to supply it by a deeper sense of the obligations
under which we lie ; by a more frequent and a
more distinct recollection of the reasons upon
which that obligation is founded. We are not to
wonder at the pains which this may cost us ; still
less are we to imitate the despondency of some
serious Christians, who, in the impaired sensibi-
lity that habit hath induced, bewail the coldness
of a deserted soul.
. Hitherto our observation will not be questioned ;
but I think that this principle goes farther than
is generaUy known or acknowledged. I think
that it extends to the influence which argument
itself possesses upon our understanding; or, at
least, to the influence which it possesses in deter-
mining our will. I will not say, that, in a subject
strictly intellectual,^ and in science properly so
called, a demonstration is the less convincing for
being old : but I am not sure that this is not, in
some measure, true of moral evidence and proba-
ble proofs. In practical subjects, however, where
two things are to be done, the understanding to
be convinced, and the will to be persuaded, I be-
lieve that the force of every argument is diminished
by triteness and familiarity. The intrinsic value
of the argument must be the same ; the impres-
sion may be very different.
But tre have a disadvantage to contend with
additional to this. The consequence of repetition
will be felt more sensibly by us, who are in the
habit of directing our arguments to others : for it
always requires a second, a separate, and an
unusual effort of the mind, to bring back the con-
clusion upon ourselves. In constructing, in ex-
pressing, in delivering our arguments ; in all the
thoughts and study which we employ upon them ;
what we are apt to hold continually in our view,
is the effect which they may produce upon those
who- hear or read them. The further and best use
of our meditations, their influence upon our own
hearts and consciences, is lost in the presence of
the other. In philosophy itself, it is not always
the same thing, to study a subject, in order to
understand, and in order only to teach it. In
morals and religion, the powers of persuasion
are cultivated by those whose employment is pub-
lic instruction ; but their wishes are fulfilled, and
their care exhausted, in promoting the success of
their endeavours upon others. The secret duty
of turning truly and in earnest their attention
upon themselves, is suspended, not to say forgot-
ten, amidst the labours, the engagements, the
popularity, of their public ministry ; and in the
best disposed minds, is interrupted, by the anxiety,
or even by the satisfaction, with which their pub-
lic services are performed.
These are dangers adhering to the very nature
of our profession ; but the evil is often also aug-
mented by our imprudence. In our wishes to
convince, we are extremely apt to overstate our
arguments. ' We think no confidence with which
we speak of them can be too great, when our
intention is to urge them upon our hearers. This
zeal, not seldom, I believe, defeats its own purpose,
even with those whom we address ; but it always
destroys the efficacy of the argument upon our-
selves. We are conscious of the exaggeration,
whether our hearers perceive it or not ; and this
consciousness corrupts to us the whole influence
of the conclusion ; robs it even of its just value.
Demonstration admits of no degrees : but real life
knows nothing of demonstration. It converses
only with moral evidence and moral reasoning.
In these the scale of probability is extensive ; and
every argument hath its place in it. It may not
be quite the same thing to overstate a true reason,
and to advance a false one : but since two ques-
tions present themselves to the judgment, usually
joined together by their nature and importance,
viz. on which side probability lies, and how much
it preponderates ; to transgress the rules of fair
reasoning in either question, in eitjier to go be-
yond our own perception of the subject, is a simi-
lar, if not an equal fault. In both cases it is a
want of candour, which approaches to a want of
veracity. But that in which its worst effect is
seen ; that, at least, which it belongs to this dis-
course to notice; is in its so undermining the
solidity of out proofs, that our own understand-
ings refuse to rest upon them ; in vitiating the
integrity of our own judgments; in rendering
our minds as well incapable of estimating the pro-
per strength of moral and religious arguments, as
unreasonably suspicious of their truth, and dull
and insensible to their impression.
If dangers to our character accompany the ex-
ercise of our public ministry, they no less attend
upon the nature of our professional studies. It
has been said, that literary trifling upon the Scrip-
SERMONS ON PUBLIC OCCASIONS.
519
lures has a tendency, above all other employments,
to harden the heart. If by this maxim it be de-
signed to reprove the exercise, to check the free-
dom, or to question the utility, of critical re-
searches, when employed upon the sacred volume,
it is not by me to be defended. If it mean simply
to guard against an existing danger, to state a
usual and natural consequence, the maxim wants
neither truth nor use. It is founded in this obser-
vation: when any one, by (he pommand- of learn-
ing and talents, has been fortunatenough to clear
up an obscurity, or to settle a doubt, in the inter-
pretation of Scripture ; pleased (and justly pleased)
with the result of his endeavours, his thoughts arc
wont to indulge this complacency, and there to
stdp ; or when another, by a patient application
of inferior faculties, lias made, as he thinks, some
progress in theological studies ; or even has with
much attention engaged in them ; he is apt to rest
and stay in what he deems a reliui.ms and merito-
rious service. The critic and the commentate do
not always proceed with the reflection, that if
these things be true, if this book do indeed con-
vey to us the will of God, then is it no longer to
be studied and criticised alone, but, what is a very
different work, to be obeyed, and to be acted upon.
At least, this ulterior operation of the mind, en-
feebled perhaps by former exertions of quite ano-
ther nature, does not always return sullicient force
and vigour to bend the obstinacy of the will. To
describe the evil is to jxrint out the remrdy:
which must consist in holding steadfastly within
our \icw this momentous consideration, that, how-
ever lal>oriously, or however sinv^f'.illy, we may
have cultivated religious studies ; how'much so-
ever we may ha\e added to our learning or our
fame, we have hitherto done little for our salvation ;
that a more arduous, to us perhaps a new, and, it
may be,a painful work, which the public eye sees
not, which no public favour will reward, yet re-
mains to be attempted; that of instituting an exa-
mination of our hearts and of our conduct, of alter-
ing the secret course of our behaviour, of reducing,
with whatever violence to our habits^ loss of our
pleasures, or interruption of our pursuits, its de-
viations to a conformity with those rules of life
which are delivered in "the volume that \\<
before us; and which, if it be of importance
enough to deserve our study, ought, for reasons
infinitely superior, to command our olxulienre.
Another disadvantage incidental to the charac-
ter of which we are now exposing the dangers, is
the moral debility that arises from the want of be-
ing trained in the virtues of active life. This
complaint l>elongs not to the clergy as such, be-
cause their pastoral office affords as many calls,
and as many opportunities, for beneficent exer-
tions, as are usually found in private stations;
but it belongs to that secluded, contemplative life,
which men of learning often make choice of, or
into which they are thrown by the accident of
their fortunes. A great part of mankind owe
their principles to their practice ; that is, to that
wonderful accession of strength and energy which
good dispositions receive from good actions. It is
difficult to sustain virtue by meditation alone ; but
let our conclusions only have influence enough
once to determine us upon a course of virtue, and
that influence will acquire such augmentation of
force from every instance of virtuous endeavour,
as, ere long, to produce iii us constancy and resolu-
tion, a formed and a fixed character. Of this great
and progressive assistance to their principles, men
who are withdrawn from the business and the in-
tercourse of civil life find themselves in some mea-
sure deprived. Virtue in them is left, more than
in others, to the dictates of reason; to a sense of
duty less aided by the power of habit. I will not
deny that this difference renders their virtue more
pure, more actual, and nearer to its principle; but
it renders it less easy to be attained or preserved.
Having proj>psed these circumstances, as diffi-
culties of which I think it useful that our order
should be apprised; and as growing out of the
functions of the profession, its studies, or the situa-
tions in which it places us ; I proceed, with the
same view, to notice a turn and habit of thinking,
which is, of late, become very general amongst the
hinder classes of the community, amongst all who
occupy stations <>f authority, and in common with
these two descriptions of men, amongst the clergy.
That which I am about to animadvert upon, is,
in its place, and to a certain degree, undoubtedly
a fair and right consideration; but, in the extent
to which it prevails, has a tendency to discharge
from the hearts of mankind all religious principle
whatever. What I mean, is the performing of
our religious offices for the sake of setting an ex-
ample to others ; and the alloyving of this motive
so to take possession of the mind, as to substitute
itself into the place of the proper ground and rea-
son of the duty. I must be permitted to contend,
that, whenever this is the case, it becomes not only
a cold and extraneous, but a false and unreasona-
ble, principle of action. A conduct propagated
through the different ranks of society merely by
this motive, is a chain without a support, a fabric
without a foundation. The parts, indeed, depend
upon one another, but there is nothing to bear up
the whole. There must l>e some reason for every
duty beside example, or there can be no sufficient
reason for it at all. It is a perversion, therefore,
of the regular order of our ideas, to suffer a con-
sideration, which, whatever be its importance, is
only secondary and consequential to another, to
shut out that other from the thoughts. The ef-
fect of this in the offices of religion, is utterly to
destroy their religious quality ; to rob them of that
which gives to them their life, their spirituality,
their nature. They who would set an example to
others of acts of worship and devotion, in truth
perform none themselves. Idle or proud specta-
tors of the scene, they vouchsafe their presence in
our assemblies, for the edification, it seems, and
benefit of others, but as if they had no sins of
their own to deplore, no mercies to acknowledge,
no pardon to entreat.
Shall the consideration, then, of example be
prohibited and discarded from the thoughts] By
no means : but- let it attend upon, not supersede,
the proper motive of the action. Let us learn to
know and feel the reason, the value, and the obli-
gation of the duty, as it concerns' ourselves ; and,
in proportion as we are affected by the force of
these considerations, we shall desire, and desiring
endeavour, ta extend their influence to others.
This wish, flowing from an original sense of each
duty, preserves to the duty its proper principle.
" Let your light so shine before men, that they
may see your good works, and glorify your Father
which is in Heaven." The glory of your hea-
rcnhj Father is still, you observe, the termination
of the precept. The love of God ; that zeal for his
honour and service, which love, which gratitude,
520
SERMONS ON PUBLIC OCCASIONS.
which piety inspires, is still to be the operating
motive of your conduct. Because we find it con-
venient to ourselves, that those about us should be
religious ; or because it is useful to the state, that
religion should be upheld in the country: to join,
from these motives, in the public ordinances of the
church, for the sake of maintaining their credit
by our presence and example, however advisable
it may be as a branch of secular prudence, is not
either to fulfil our Lord's precept, or to perform
any religious service. Religion can spring only
from its own principle. Believing our salvation
to be involved in the faithful discharge of our reli-
gious as well as moral duties, or rather that they
are the same ; experiencing the warmth, the con-
solation, the virtuous energy, which every act of
true devotion communicates to the heart, and how
much these effects are heightened by consent and
sympathy ; with the benevolence with which we
love our neighbour, loving also and seeking his im-
mortal welfare ; when, prompted by these senti-
ments, we unite with him in acts of social homage
to our Maker, then hath every principle its weight ;
then, at length, is our worship what it ought to be ;
exemplary, yet our own ; not the less personal for
being public. We bring our hearts to the service,
and not a constrained attendance upon the place,
with oftentimes an ill concealed indifference to
what is there passing.
If what we have stated concerning example be
true ; if the consideration of it be liable to be over-
stretched or misapplied ; no persons can be more
in danger of falling into the mistake than they
who are taught Jo regard themselves as placed in
their stations for the purpose of becoming the ex-
amples as well as instructors of their flocks. It is
necessary that they should be admonished to re-
vert continually to the fundamental cause of all
obligation and of all duty ; particularly to remem-
ber, that, in their religious offices, they have not
only to pronounce, to excite, to conduct the devo-
tion of their congregations, but to pay to God the
adoration which themselves owe to him : in a
word, amidst their care of others, to save their own
souls by their own religion.
These, I think, are some of the causes, which,
in the conduct of their lives, call for a peculiar at-
tention from the clergy, and from men of learn-
ing ; and which render the apostle's example, and
the lesson, which it teaches, peculiarly applicable
to their circumstances. It remains only to remind
them of a consideration which ought to coun-
teract these disadvantages, by producing a care
and solicitude, sufficient to meet every danger,
and every difficulty; to remind them, I say, for
they cannot need to be informed, of our Lord's
solemn declaration, that contumacious knowledge,
and neglected talents, knowledge which doth not
lead to obedience, and talents which rest in useless
speculations, will be found, in the day of final ac-
count, amongst the objects of his severest dis-
pleasure. Would to God, that men of learning
always understood how deeply they are concerned
in this warning ! It is impossible to add another rea-
son which can be equal or second to our Lord's ad-
monition : but we may suggest a motive of very
distant indeed, but of no mean importance, and to
which they certainly will not refuse its due regard,
the honour and estimation of learning itself. Ir-
regular morals in men of distinguished attain-
ments, render them, not despised, (for talents and
learning never can be despicable,) but subjects of
malicious remark, perhaps of affected pity, to the
enemies of intellectual liberty, of science and lite-
rature ; and, at the same time, of sincere though
silent regret to those who are desirous of support-
ing the esteem which ought to await the success-
ful pursuit of ingenuous studies. We entreat such
men to reflect, that their conduct will be made the
reply of idleness to industry, the revenge of dul-
ness and ignorance upon parts and learning ; to
consider, how many will seek, and think they find,
in their example, an apology for sloth, and for in-
difference to all liberal improvement; what a
theme, lastly, they supply to those, who, to the
discouragement of every mental exertion, preach
up the vanity of human knowledge, and the dan-
ger or the mischief of superior attainments.
But if the reputation of learning be concerned
in the conduct of those who devote themselves to
its pursuit, the sacred interests of morality arc not
less so. It is for us to take care that we justify
not the boasts, or the sneers, of infidelity ; that
we do not authorise the worst of all scepticism,
that which would subvert the distinctions of moral
geod and evil, by insinuating concerning them,
that their only support is prejudice, their only ori-
gin in the artifice of the wise, and the credulity of
the multitude ; and that these things are but too
clearly confessed by the lives of men of learning
and inquiry. This calumny let us contradict;
let us refute. Let us show, that virtue and Chris-
tianity cast their deepest foundations in know-
ledge ; that, however they may ask the aid of prin-
ciples which, in a great degree, govern human life,
(and which must necessarily, therefore, be either
powerful allies, or irresistible adversaries, of edu-
cation, of habit, of example, of public authority,
of public institutions,) they rest, nevertheless, upon
the firm basis of rational argument. Let us testify
to the world our sense of this irreut truth, by the
only evidence which the world will believe, tho>
influence of our conclusions upon our own con-
duct.
SERMON VI
ON OUR DUTY TO GOD AND MAN.
A SERMON, PREACHED AT THE ASSIZES, AT DURHAM, JULY 29, 1795; AND PUBLISHED AT THE
REUUEST OF THE LORD BISHOP, THE HONOURABLE THJB JUDdES OF ASSIZE,
AND THE GRAND JURY.
To the Honourable and Right Reverend Shute, by Divine Providence, Lord Bishop of Durham,
the following Discourse, as a small but sincere expression of gratitude, for a great, unsolicited, and
unexpected facour, is inscribed, by his faithful and most obliged servant, W. PALEY.
For none of us liteth to himself Rom. xiv. 7.
THE use of many of the precepts anil maxims
of Scripture, is not so much to^rescribe actions,
as to generate some certain turn and habit of
thinking: and they are then only applied as tin-N-
ought to be, when they furnish us with a vit-w of.
and such a way of considering, the subject to
which they relate, an may rectify and meliorate
our dispositions ; for from disj>ositions, so rectified
and meliorated, particular good actions, and parti-
cular good rules of acting, flow of their own ac-
cord. This is true of the great Christian maxims,
of loving our neighbours as ourselves ; of doing to
others as we would that others should do to us ;
and (as will appear, I hope, in the sequel of this
discourse) of that of the text. These maxims be-
ing well impressed, the detail of conduct may be
left to itself. The subtleties of casuistry, 1 had
almost said the science, may be spared. By pre-
senting to the mind one fixed consideration, such
a temper is at length formed within us, that our
first impressions and first impulses are sure almost
of being on the side of virtue ; and that we feel
likewise an almost irresistible inclination to be go-
verned by them. When this disposition is per-
fected, the influence of religion, as a moral insti-
tution, is sufficiently established.
It is not in this way, but in another, that human
laws, especially the laws of free countries, proceed
to attain their objects. Forasmuch as their ulti-
mate sanctions are to be dispensed by fallible men,
instead of an unerring and omniscient Judge, the
safety, as well as the liberty, of the subject, re-
quires, that discretion should be bound down by
precise rules both of acting, and of judging of ac-
tions. Hence lawgivers have been obliged to
multiply directions and prohibitions without num-
ber : and this necessity, for such 1 acknowledge it
to be, hath drawn them into a prolixity, which
encumbers the law as a science to those who stu-
dy or administer it ; and sometimes perplexes it,
as a rule of conduct, to those who have nothing
to do with it. but to obey it. Yet still they find ,
3U
themselves unable to make laws as fast as occa-
sions demand them: they find themselves perpe-
tually called upon to pursue, by fresh paths, the
inventive versatility of human fraud, or to provide
for new and unforeseen varieties of situation.
Now should religion, which professes to guide
the whole train and range of a man's conduct, in-
terior as well as external, domestic as well as civil ;
and which, consequently, extends the operations
of Jts rules to many things which the laws leave
indifferent and uncontrolled ; should religion, I
say, once set about to imitate the precision of hu-
man laws, the volume of its precepts would soon
be rendered useless by its bulk, and unintelligible
by its intricacy. The religion of Mahomet, as
might be expected from the religion of a military
prophet, constituted itself into the law of the
states into which it was received. Assuming the
functions of legislators and magistrates, in con-
junction with the character of interpreters of the
Koran, and depositaries of the supplemental laws
of the religion, the successors of the Arabian
have, under the name of traditionary rules, com-
piled a code for the direction of their followers in
almost every part of their conduct. The sercniy-
five thousand precepts of that code* serve only to
show the futility of the attempt ; to prove by ex-
periment that religion can only act upon human
life by general precepts, addressed and applied to
the disposition ; that there is no ground for the
objection that has sometimes been made to Chris-
tianity, that it is defective, as a moral institution,
for the want of more explicit, more circumstantial,
and more accurate directions ; and that when we
place by the side of each other human and divine
laws, without understanding the distinction in
the two methods by which they seek to attain
their, purpose, and the reason of that distinction,
we form a comparison between them, which is
likely to be injurious to both. We may find fault
* See Hamilton's translation of tne Hedaya or Guide.
44* 521
522
SERMONS ON PUBLIC OCCASIONS.
with the Scriptures, for not giving us the preci-
sion of civil laws ; and we may blame the laws,
for not being content with the conciseness and
simplicity of Scripture ; and our censure in both
cases be unfounded and undeserved.
'The observation of the text is exactly of the
nature I have been alluding to. It supplies a prin-
ciple. It furnishes, us with a view of our duty,
and of -the relations in which we are placed,
which, if attended to, (and no instruction can be
of use without that,) will produce in our minds
just determinations, and, what are of more value,
because more wanted, efficacious motives.
" None of us liveth to himself." We ought to
regard our lives^ (including under that name our
faculties, our opportunities, our advantages of
every kind,) not as mere instruments of personal
gratification, but as due to the service of God ;
and as given us to be employed in promoting the
purpose of his will in the happiness of our fellow-
creatures. I am not able to imagine a turn of
thought which is better than this. It encounters
the antagonist, the check, the destroyer of all vir-
tue, selfishness. It is intelligible to all ; to all dif-
ferent degrees applicable. It incessantly prompts
to exertion, to activity, to beneficence.
In order to recommend it, and in order to ren-
der it as useful as it is capable of being made, it
may be proper to point out, how the force and
truth of the apostle's assertion bears upon the dif-
ferent classes of civil society. And in this view,
the description of men which first, undoubtedly,
offers itself to our notice, is that of men of public
characters; who possess offices of importance,
power, influence, and authority. If the rule and
principle which I am exhibiting to your observa-
tion, can be said to be made for one class of man-
kind more than another, it is for them. Ylify,
certainly, " live not to themselves." The design,
the tenure, the condition of their offices ; the pub-
lic expectation, the public claim; consign their
lives and labours, their cares, and thoughts, and
talents, to the public happiness, whereinsoever it
is connected with the duties of their stations, or
can be advanced by the fidelity of their services.
There may be occasions and emergencies when
men are called upon to take part m the public
service, out of the line- of their professions, or the
wdinary limits of their vocation. Rut these emer-
gencies occur, I,think> seldom. The necessity
should be manifest, before we yield to it. A too
great readiness to start out of our separate pre-
cincts of duty, in order to rush into provinces
which belong to others, is a dangerous excess of
zeal. In general the public interest is best upheld,
the public quiet always, best preserved, by each
one attending closely to the proper and distinct
duties of his station. In seasons of peril or con :
sternation, this attention ought to be doubled.
Dangers are not best opposed by tumultuous or
disorderly exertions; but by a sedate, firm, and
calm resistance, especially by that regular and si-
lent strength, which is the collected result of each
man's vigilance and industry in his separate sta-
tion. For public men, therefore, to be actiTe in
the stations assigned to them, is demanded by
their country in the hour of her fear or danger.
If ever there was a time, when they that rule
" should rule with diligence ;" when supineness,
negligence, and remissness in office, when a ti-
midity or love of ease, which might hi other cir-
cumstances be tolerated, ought to be proscribed
and excluded, it is the present. If ever there was
a time to make the public feel the benefit of pub-
lic institutions, it is this.
But I shall add nothing more concerning the
obligation which the text, and the lesson it con-
veys, imppses upon public men, because I think
that the principle is too apt to be considered as
appertaining to them alone. It will therefore be
more useful to show, }iow what are called private
stations are affected by the same principle. I say,
what are called private stations ; for such they
are, only as contradistinguished from public trusts
publicly and formally confided. In themselves,
and accurately estimated, there are few such ; I
mean, that there are few so destined to the private
emolument of the possessor, as that they are in-
nocently occupied by him, when they are occu-
pied with no other attention but to his own enjoy-
ment. Civil government is constituted for the
happiness of the governed, and not for the gratifi-
cation of those who administer it. Not pnly so,
but 'the gradations of rank in society are support-
ed, riot for the advantage or pleasure of those who
possess the highest places in it, but for the com-
mon good ; for the security, the > repose, the pro-
tection, the" encouragement, of alh They may be
very satisfactorily defended upon this principle;
but then this principle casts upon them duties.
In particular, it teaches every man who possesses
a fortune, to regard himself as in some measure
occupying a public station ; as obliged to make it
a channel of beneficence, an instrument of good
to others, and not merely a supply to himself of
the materials of luxury, ostentation, or avarice.
There is a share of power and influence necessa-
rily attendant upon property; upon the right or
the wrong use of which, the exertion or the neg-
ect, depends no little part of the virtue or vice,
;he happiness or misery, of the community. It is
"n the choice of every man of rank and property
:o become the benefactor or the scourge, the guar-
dian or the tyrant, the example or the corrupter,
of the virtue of his servants, his tenants, his neigh-
jourhood ; to be the author to them of peace or
contention, of sobriety or dissoluteness, of comfort
or distress. This power, whencesoever it pro-
ceeds, whether expressly conferred or silently ac-
quired, (for I see no difference in the two cases,)
arings along with it obligation and responsibility.
[t is to be lamented when this consideration is
not known, or not attended to. Two causes ap-
pear to me to obstruct, to men of this description,
he view of their moral situation. One is, that
:hey do not perceive any call upon them at all ;
the other, that, if there be one, they do not see to.
what they are called. To the first point I would
answer in -the words of .an excellent moralist,*
The delivery of the talent is the call ;" k is the
call of Providence, the call of" Heaven. The sup-
ply of the means is the requisition of the duty.
When we-find ourselves in possession of facilities
and opportunities, whether arising from the en-
dowments and qualities of our minds,, or from the
advantages of fortune and station, we need ask
for no further evidence of the intention of the do-
nor: we 1 ought to see in that intention a demand
upon us for the use and application of what has
jeen given. This is a principle of natural us
* The late Abraham Tucker, E.q. author of The Light
of Nature, and of The Light of Nature and Revelation
pursaed, by Edward Search, Esq.
SERMONS ON PUBLIC OCCASIONS.
523
Well as revealed religion: and it is universal.
Then as to the second inquiry, the species of be-
nevolence, the kind of duty to which we are
bound, it is pointed out to us by the same indica-
tion. To whatever office of benevolence our fa-
culties are best fitted, our talents turned ; what-
ever our opportunities, our occasions, our. fortune,
our profession, our rank or station, or whatever
our local circumstances, which are capable of no
enumeration, put in ou> power to perform with
the most advantage and effect, that i the office
for us; that it is, which, upon our principle, we
are designed, and, being designed, are obliged to
discharge. I think that the judgment of man-
kind does not often fail them in the choice of the
objects or species of their benevolence : but what
fails them is the stnse of the obligation, the con-
sciousness of the connexion between duty and
power, and springing from this conscious
disposition to seek opportunities, or to embrace
those that occur, of rendering themselves useful
to their generation.
Another cause> which keeps out of the sight of
those who are concerned in them, the duties that
belong to superior stations, is a language from
their infancy familiar to them, namely, that they
are placed above work. 1 have always considered
this as a most unfortunate phraseolo'gy. And, as
habitual modes of speech have no small effect upon
public sentiment, it has a direct tendency- to make
one portion of mankind envious, and the other
idle. The truth is, every man has his work. The
kind of work varies, and that is all the difference
there is. A great deal of latxuir exists besfde'that
of the hands ; many species of industry beside bo-
dily operation, equally necessary, requiring equal
assiduity, more attention, more anxiety. It is not
true, therefore, that men of elevated stations are
exempted from work ; it is only true, that there is
assigned to them work of a different kind : whe-
ther more easy, or more pleasant, may be ques-
tioned; but certainly not less wanted, not less
essential to the common good. Were this maxim
once properly received as a principle of conduct, it
would put men of fortune and rank upon in-
quiring, what were the opportunities of doing
good, (for some, they may depend upon it, there
are,) which in a more especial manner belonged
to their situation or condition; and were this
principle carried into any thing like its full effect,
or even were this way of thinking sufficiently in-
culcated, it would completely remove the invidi-
ousness of elevated stations. Mankind would see
in them this alternative : If such men discharged
the duties which were attached to the advantages
they enjoyed, they deserved these advantages : if
they did not, they were, morally speaking, in the
situation of a poor man who neglected his business
and his calling ; and in no better. And the pro-
per reflection in both cases is the same: the indi-
vidual is in a high degree culpable, yet the busi-
ness and the calling beneficial and expedient.
The habit and the disposition which we wish
to recommend, namely, that of casting about for
opportunities of doing good, readily seizing those
which accidentally present themselves, and faith-
fully using those which naturally and regularly
belong to our situations, appear to be sometimes
checked by a notion, very natural to active spirits,
and to flattered talents. They will not be content
to do little things. They wiH either attempt
mighty matters, or do nothing. The small effect
which the private endeavours of an individual can
produce upon the mass of social good, is so lost,
and so unperceived, in the comparison, that it
neither deserves, they think, nor rewards, the at-
tention which it requires. The answer is, that
the comparison, which thus discourages them,
ought never to be made. The good which their
efforts can produce, may be too minute to bear
any sensible proportion to the sum of public hap-
piness, yet may be their share, may be enough for
them. The proper question is not, Whether the
good we aim at be great or little ; still less, whe-
ther it be great or little in comparison with the
whole ; but whether it be the most which it is in
our power to perform. ., A single action may be,
as it were, nothing to the aggregate of moral good ;
so also may be the agent. It may still, therefore,
l)e the proportion which is required of him. In
all things nature works by numbers. Her greatest
eili-cts are achieved by the joint .operation of mul-
titudes of (separately considered) insignificant in-
dividuals. It is enough for each that it executes
its office. It is not its concern, because it does
not depend upon its, will, what place that office
holds in, or what proportion it bears to, the gene-
ral result. Let our onlv" comparison, therefore be,
between our opportunities and the use which we
make of them. When we would extend our
views, or stretch "out^ our hand, to distant and
general good, we are commonly lost and sunk in
the magnitude of the subject. Particular good,
and the particular good which lies within, our
reach, is all we are concerned to attempt, or to in-
quire about. Not the smallest effort will be for-
gotten ; not a particle of our virtue will fall to the
ground. Whether successful or not, our endea-
vours will le recorded ; will be estimated, not ac-
cording to the proportion which they bear to the
universal interest, but according to the relation
which they hold to our means and opportunities ;
according "to the disinterestedness, the sincerity,
with which we undertook, the pains and perseve-
rance with which we carried them on. It may be
true, and I think it is the doctrine of Scripture,
that the right use of great faculties or great oppor-
tunities wUl be more highly rewarded, than the
right use of inferior faculties and less opportuni-
ties. He that with ten talents had made ten ta-
lents more, was placed over ten cities. The neg-
lected talent was also given to him. He who
with five talents had made five more, though pro-
nounced to be a good and faithful servant, was
placed only over five cities.* This distinction
might, without any great harshness to our moral
feelings, be resolved into the will of the Supreme
Benefactor : but we can see, perhaps, enough of
the subject to perceive that it was just. The merit
may reasonably be supposed to have been more in
one case than the other. The danger, the activity,
the care, the solicitude, were greater. Still both
received rewards, abundant beyond measure when
compared with the services, equitable and propor-
tioned when compared with one another.
That our obligation is commensurate with our
opportunity, and that thie possession of the oppor-
tunity is sufficient, without any further or more
formal command, to create the obligation, is a
principle of morality and of Scripture ; and is alike
true in all countries. But that power and property
so far go together, as to constitute private fortunes
* Matt. xxv. 20, et seq.
524
SERMONS ON PUBLIC OCCASIONS.
into public stations, as to cast upon large portions
of the community occasions which render the pre-
ceding principles more constantly applicable, is
the elFect of civil institutions, and is found in no
country more than in ours ; if in any so much.
With us a great part of the public business of the
country is transacted by the country itself: and
upon the prudent and faithful management of it,
depends, in a very considerable degree, the inte-
rior prosperity of the nation, and the satisfaction
of great bodies of the people. Not only offices of
magistracy, which affect and pervade every dis-
trict, are delegated to the principal inhabitants of
the neighbourhood, but <nere is erected in every
county a high and Venerable tribunal, to which
owners of permanent property, down almost to
their lowest classes, are indiscriminately called ;
and called to take part, not in the forms and cere-
monies of the meeting, but in the most efficient
and important of its functions. The wisdom of
man hath not devised a happier institution than
that of juries, or one founded in a juster know-
ledge of human life, or of the human capacity, lii
jurisprudence, as in every science, the points ulti-
mately rest upon common sense. But ta reduce
a question to these points, and to propose them
accurately, requires not only an understanding
superior to that which is necessary to decide upon
them when proposed, but oftentimes also a tech-
nical and peculiar erudition. Agreeably to this
distinction, which runs perhaps through all sci-
ences, what is preliminary and preparatory is left
to the legal profession; jvhat is final, to the plain
understanding of plain men. But since it is ne-
cessary that the judgment of such men should be
informed ; and since it is of the utmost importance
that advice which falls with so much weight,
should be drawn from the purest sources; judges
are sent down to us, who have spent their lives in
the study and administration of the laws of their
country, and who come amongst us, strangers to
our contentions, if we have any, our parties, and
our prejudices; strangers to every thing except
the evidence which they hear. The eilect cor-
responds with the wisdom of the design. Juries
may err, and frequently do so ; -but there is no
system of error incorporated with their constitu-
tion. Corruption, terror, influence are excluded by
it ; and prejudice, in a great degree, though not
entirely. This danger, which consists injuries
viewing one class of men, or one class of rights,
in a more or less favourable light than another, is
the only one to be feared, and to be guarded
against. It is a disposition, which, whenever it
rises up in the minds of jurors, ought to be re-
pressed by their probity, their consciences, the
sense of their duty, the remembrance of their
oaths.
And this institution is not more salutary, than
it is grateful and honourable to those popular feel-
ings of which all good governments are tender.
Hear the language of the law. In the most mo-
mentous interests, in the last peril indeed of hu-
n life, the accused appeals to God and his
country, " which country you are." What pomp
of titles, what display of honours, can equal the
real dignity which these few words confer upon
those to whom they are addressed 1 They show,
by terms the most solemn and significant, how
highly the law deems of the functions and character
of a jury; they show also, with what care of the
safety of the subject it is, that the same law has
provided for every one a recourse to the fair and
indifferent arbitration of his neighbours. This is
substantial equality; real freedom: equality of
protection; freedom from injustice. May it ne-
ver be invaded, never abused ! May it be per-
petual ! And it will be so, if the affection of the
country continue to be preserved to it, by the in-
tegrity of those who are charged with its office.
SER31ONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
AD VER TISEMENT.
The Author of these Sermons, by a codicil to his will, declares as follows : " If my life had been
continued, it was my intention to have printed at Sunder land a Volume of Sermons about 500
copies; to be distributed gratis in the parish} and J had proceeded so far in the design as to have
transcribed several Sermons for -that purpose, which are in a parcel by themselves. "There is also a
parcel from which I intended to make other transcripts ; but the. business is in an imperfect un-
finished state; the arrangement is nut settled further than that I thought the Sermon on Serious-
ness in Religion should come first, arid then the doctrinal Sermons : tjtere are also many repetitions
in them, and some that might be omitted or consolidated with others." The codicil then goes on to
direct, that, after such disposition should have, been made respecting the Manuscryts as might be
deemed necessary, they sltould be printed by the Rev. J/r. Steohenson, at the expense of the testa-
tor's executors, and^Hstributcd in the neighbourhood, first to those who frequented church, then to
farmers' families in the country, then to such as had a person in the family who could read, end
were likely to read them: and, finally, it is added, " I would not have the said Sermons published
for sale."
In compliance with this direction, the following Sermons were selected, printed, and distributed
by the Rev. Mr. Slephen.^nn, in and about (he parish of Bishop Wearmouth, in the year 1806.
These Discourses were not originally composed for publication, but were written for, and, as ap-
pears by the Manuscripts, had most of them been preached at the parish Churches of which, in dif-
ferent parts of tfic Author'* life, he had the care. It was undoubtedly the Author's intention that
they should not be published, but the circulation of such a number as he had directed by his will to
be distributed, rendered it impossible to adhere to that intention ; and it was found necessary to
publish them, as the only means of preventing a surreptitious sale.
SERMON I.
SERIOUSNESS IN RELIGION INDISPENSABLE ABOVE ALL OTHER DISPOSTHONa
Be ye therefore sober, and watch unto prayer. 1 Pet. iv. 7
first requisite in religion is seriousness.
No impression can be made without it. An or-
derly life, so far as others are able to observe us.
is now and then produced by prudential motives,
or by dint of habit; but without seriousness,
there can be no religious principle at the bottom,
no course of conduct flowing from religious
motives: in a word, there can be no religion. This
cannot exist without seriousness upon the sub-
ject. Perhaps a teacher of religion has more dif-
ficulty in producing seriousness amongst his hear-
ers, than in any other part of his office. Until
he succeed in this, he loses his labour : and when
once, from any cause whatever, a spirit of levity
has taken hold of a mind, it is next to impossible
to plant serious considerations in that mind. It
b seldom to be done, except by some great shock
or alarm, sufficient to make a radical change in
the disposition : and which 'is God's own way of
bringing about the business.
One might have expected that events so awful
and tremendous, as death and judgment ; that a
question so. deeply interesting, as whether we
shall go to heaven or to hell, could in no possible
case, and in no constitution of mind whatever,
fail of exciting the most serious apprehension and
concern. But this is not so. In a thoughtless, a
careless, a sensual world, many are always found
whd can resist, and who do resist, the force and
importance of all these reflections, that is to say,
they suffer nothing of the kind to enter into their
thoughts. There are grown men and women,
nay, even middle "aged persons, who have not
thought seriously about religion an hour, nor a
quarter of an hour, in the whole course of their
lives. This great object of human solicitude af-
fects not them in any manner whatever.
It cannot be without its use to inquire into
the causes of a levity of temper, which so effec-
tually obstructs the admission of every religious
525
596
SERMONS ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS.
influence, and which I should almost call unna-
tural.
Now there is a numerous class of mankind 1 ,
who- are wrought upon by nothing but what ap-
plies immediately to their senses ; by what they
see, or by what they feel- ; by pleasures or pains,
or by the near prospect of 'pleasures and pains
which they actually experience or actually observe.
But it is the characteristic of religion toehold out
to oUr consideration consequences which we do
not perceive at the time. That is its very office
and province. . Therefore if men will Restrict and
confine all their regards and ^all their cares to
things which they perceive wTth their outward
senses ; if they will yield up their understandings
to their senses, both in what these senses are-fit-
ted to apprehend, and in what they are not fitted
to apprehend, it is utterly impossible for religion
to settle in their hearts, or for them to entertain
any serious concern about tiie matter. But surely
this conduct is completely irrational, and can lead
to nothing but ruin. It proceeds upon the suppo-
sition, that there is nothing above us, about us, or
future, by which we can be affected, but-the things
which we see with our eyes or feel by our touch.
All which is untrue. "The invisible things of
God from the creation -Of the world are clearly
seen, being understood by the things that are seen ;
even his eternal Power and Godhead ;" which
means, that the order, contrivance, and design, dis-
played in the creation, prove with certainty, that
there is more in nature than what we really see ;
and that amongst the invisible things of the
universe, there is a Being, the author and original
of all this contrivance and design, and, by conse-
quence, a being of stupendous power, and of wis-
dom and knowledge incomparably exalted above
any wisdom or knowledge which we see in man ;
and that he stands in the same relation to us as
the maker does to the thing made. The things
which are seen are not made of the things which
do appear. This is plain : and this argument "is
independent of Scripture and Revelation. What
further moral or religious consequences properly
follow from it, is another question ; but the propo-
sition itself shows, that they who cannot, and
they who will not, raise their minds above the
mere information of their senses, ire in a state
of gross error as to the real truth of things, and
are also in a state to which the faculties of man
ought not to be degraded. A person of this sort
may, with respect to religion, remain a child all
his life. A child naturally has no concern but
about the things which directly meet its senses ;
and the person we describeis in the same condition.
Again: there is a race of giddy thoughtless
men and women, of young men and young women
more especially, who look no further than the
next day, the next week, the next month ; seldom
or ever so far as the next year. Present pleasure
is every thing with them. The sports of the day,
the amusements of the evening, entertainments
and diversions, occupy all their concern ; and so
long as these can be supplied in succession, so
long as they can go from one diversion to another,
their minds remain in a state of perfect indiffer-
ence to every thing except their pleasures. Now
what chance has religion with such dispositions as
these 1 Yet these dispositions, begun in early life,
and favoured by circumstances, that is, by afflu-
ence and health, cleave to a man's character much
beyond the period of life in which they might
seem to be. excusable. Excusable did I say ? I
ought rather to have said that they are contrary
to reason and duty, in every condition and at
every period of life. Even in youth they are built
upon falsehood and folly. Young persons as well
as old, find that things do actually come to pass.
Evils and mischiefs, Which they regarded as dis-
tant, as out of their view, as beyond the line and
reach of their preparations or their concern, come,
they find, to be actually felt. They find that no-
thing is done by slighting them beforehand ; for,
however neglected or despised, perhaps ridiculed
and derided, they come not only to be things pre-
sent, but the very things, and the only tilings,
about which their anxiety is employed; become
serious things indeed, as being the things which
now make them wretched and miserable. There-
fore a man must Jearn to be affected by events
which appear to lie at some distance, before he
will be seriously affected by religion.
Again : the general course of education is much
against religious seriousness, even without those
who conduct education foreseeing or intending
any such effect. Many of us are brought up
with this world set before us, and nothing else.
Whatever promotes this world's prosperity is
praised ; whatever hurts and obstructs and preju-
dices this world's prosperity is blamed : and there
all praise and censure end. We see mankind
about us in motion and action, but all these mo-
tions and actions directed to worldly objects. We
hear their conversation, but it is all the same way.
And this is what we see and hear from the first.
The views which are continually placed before
our eyes, regard this life alone and its interests.
Cap it then be wondered at that an early worldly-
mindcdness is bred in our hearts, so strong as
to shut out heavenly-mindedness entirely? In
the contest which is always carrying on between
this world and the next, it is no difficult thing to
see what advantage this world has. One of the
greatest of these advantages is, that it pre-occupies
the mind : it gets the first hold and the first pos-
session. Childhood and youth, left to themselves,
are necessarily guided by sense ; and sense is all
on the side of this world. Meditation brings us
to look towards a future life; but then medita-
tion comes afterwards : it only comes when the
mind is already filled and engaged and occupied,
nay, often crowded and surcharged with worldly
ideas. It is not only, therefore, fair and right,
but it is absolutely necessary, to give to religion
aH the advantage we can give it by dint of educa-
tion ; for all that, can be done is too little to set re-
ligion upon an equality with its rival; which rival
is the worfd. A creature 'which is to pass a small
portion of its existence in one state, and that state
to be preparatory to another, ought, no doubt, to
have its attention constantly fixed upon its ulteri-
or and permanent destination. And this would
be so, if the question between them came fairly
before the mind. We should listen to the Scrip-
tures, we should embrace religion, we should
enter into every thing which had relation to the
subject, with a' concern and impressiort, even far
more than the pursuits of this world, eager and
ardent as they are, excite. But the question be-
tween religion and the world does not come fairly
before us. What surrounds us is this world;
what addresses our senses andour passions is this
world ; what is at hand, what is in contact with us,
what acts upon us, what we act upon, is this world.
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
527
Reason, faith, and hope, are the only principles
to which religion applies, or possibly cari"apply :
and it is reason, faith, and hope, striving with
sense, striving with temptation, striving for things
absent against things which are present. That
religion, therefore, may not be quite excluded and
overborne, may not quite sink under these power-
ful causes, every support ought to be given to
it, which can be given by education, by instruc-
tion, and, alwve all, by the example of those, to
whom young persons look up, acting with a view
to a future life themselves.
Again : it is the nature of worldly business of
all kinds, especially of much hurry or over-em-
ployment, or over-anxiety in business, to shut out
and keep out religion from the mind. The ques-
tion is, whether the state of mind which this cause
produces, ought to be called a want of seriousness
in religion. It becomes coldness and indiffer-
ence towards religion ; but js it properly a want
of seriousness upon the subject ? 1 think it is;
and in this way. We are never serious upon any
matter which we regard as trilling. This is im-
jwssible. And we are led to regard a thing as
trilling, which engages no portion of our habitual
thoughts, in comparison with what other things
do.
But further: the world, even in its innocent
pursuits and pleasures, has a tendency unfavour-
able to the religious sentiment. But were these
all it had to contend with, the strong application
which religion makes to the thoughts whenever
we think of it at all, the strong interest which it
presents to us, might enable it to overcome and
prevail in the contest. But there is another ad-
versary to oppose, much more formidable; and
that is sensuality; an addiction to sensual plea-
sures. It is the flesh which lusteth against the
Spirit ; that is the war which is waged within us.
So it is, no matter what may be the cause, that
sensual indulgences, over and above their proper
criminality, as sins, as offences against God's
commands, have a specific effect upon the lie.irt
of man in destroying the religious principle with-
in him; or still more surely in preventing the
formation of that principle. It either induces an
open profaneness of conversation and behaviour,
which scorns and contemns religion ; a kind of
profligacy, which rejects and sets at nought the
whole thing ; or it brings upon the - heart an
averseness to the subject, a fixed dislike and re-
luctance to enter upon its concerns in anyway
whatever. That a resolved sinner should set
himself against a religion which tolerates no sin,
is not to be wondered at. He is against religion,
because religion is against the course of life upon
which he has entered, and which he does not feel
himself willing to give up. But this is not the
"whole, nor is it the bottom of the matter. The
effect we allude to is not so reasoning or argu-
mentative as this. It is a specific effect upon the
mind. The heart is rendered unsusceptible of re-,
ligious impressions, incapable of a serious regard
to religion. And this effect belongs to sins of
sensuality more than to other sins. It is a conse-
quence which almost universally follows from
them.
We measure the importance of things, not by
what, or according to what they are in truth, but
by and according to the space and room which
they occupy in our minds. Now our business,
our trade, our schemes, our pursuits, our gains,
our losses, our fortunes, possessing so much of
our minds, whether we regard the hours we ex-
pend in meditating'upon them, or the earnestness
with which we think about them; and religion
possessing so little share of our thought either in
time or earnestness ; the consequence is, that
worjdly interest comes to be the serious thing with
us. religion comparatively the trifle. Men of bu-
siness are naturally serious ; but all their serious-
ness is absorbed by their business. In religion
they are no more' serious than the most giddy
characters are ; than those characters are, which
betray levity in all things.
Again: the. want of due seriousness in religion
is almost sure to be the consequence of the ab-:
sence or disuse of religious ordinances and exer-
cises. I use two terms; absence and disuse.
Some have never attended upon any religious or-
dinance, or practised any religious exercises, since
the'time they were born ; some very few times in
their lives. With these- it is the absence of reli-
gious ordinances and exercises. There are others,
(and many we fear of this description,) who
whilst under the guidance of their parents, have
frequented religious ordinances, and been, trained
up to religious exercises, but who, when they
came into more public life, and to be their own
masters, and to mix in the pleasures of the
world, or engage themselves in its business and
pursuits, have forsaken these duties in whole or
in a great degree. With these it is the disuse of
religious ordinances and exercises. But I must
also explain wfyat I mean by religious ordinances
and exercises; By religious ordinances, I mean
the being instructed in our catechism in our
youth ; attending upon- public worship at church ;
the keeping holy the Lord's day regularly and
most particularly, together with a few other days
in the year, by which some very principal events
and passages of the Christian history are comm&-
morated ; and, at its proper season, the more so-
lemn office of receiving the Lord's Supper. These
are so many rites and ordinances of Christianity;
concerning all which it may be said, that with the
greatest part of mankind, especially of that class
of mankind which must, or does, give much of its
time and care to worldly concerns, they are little
less than absolutely necessary ; if we judge it to
be necessary td maintain and uphold any senti-
ment, any impression, any seriousness about reli-
gion in the mind at all. They are necessary to
preserve in the thoughts a place for the subject^
they are necessary that the train of our thoughts
may not even be closed up against it. -Were all
days of the week alike, and employed alike ; was
there no difference or distinction between Sunday
and work-day; was there not a- church in the na-
tion : were we never, from one year's end to ano-
ther, called together to participate in public wor-
ship ; were there no set forms of public worship :
no particular persons appointed to minister and
officiate, indeed no assemblies for public worship
at all ; no joint prayers ; no preaching ; "still reli-
gion, in itself, in its reality and importance, in its-
end and event, would be the same thing as what
it is: we should still have to account for our con-
duct; there would still be heaven and hell; salva-
tion and perdition; there would still be the laws
of God, both natural and revealed ; all the obliga-
tion which the authority of a Creator can impose
upon a. creature; all the gratitude which is due
from a rational being to the Author and Giver of
SERMONS' ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
every blessing which he enjoys; lastly, there
would still be the redemption of the world by Je
sus Christ. AH these things would, with or with
out religious ordinances, be equally real, and exist
ing, and valid : but men would not think equally
about them. Many would entirely and totally
neglect them. Some there would always be of a
more devout, or serious,. or contemplative" disposi-
tion, who would retain a lively sense of these
things under all circumstances and all disadvan;-
tages, who would never lose their veneration for
them, never forget them. But from others, fron
the careless, the busy, the followers of pleasure
the pursuers of wealth or advancement, these
things would slip away from the thoughts entirely.
Together with religious ordinances we men-
tioned religious exercises. By the term religious
exercises, I in .particular mean private prayer-;
whether it be at set times, as in the morning and
evening of each day ; or whether it be called forth
by occasions, as when we are to form some mo-
mentous decision, or enter upon some great under-
taking; or when we are under some pressing
difficulty or deep distress, some excruciating bo-
dily pain or heavy affliction; or, on the other
hand, and no less properly, when we have lately
been receiving some signal benefit, experiencing
some signal mercy ; such as preservation from
danger, relief from difficulty or distress, abatement
of pain, recovery from sickness : for by prayer,
let it be observed, we mean devotion in general ;
and thanksgiving is devotion as much as prayer
itself. I mean private prayer, as here described ;
and I also mean, what is perhaps the most natu-
ral form of private prayer, short ejaculatory ex-
temporaneous addresses to God, as often as either
the reflections which rise up in our minds, let
them come from what quarter they may, or the
objects and incidents which seize our attention,
prompt us to utter them ; which in a religiously
disposed mind, will be the case, I may say, every
hour, and which ejaculation may be offered up to
God in any posture, in any place, or in any situa-
tion. Amongst religious exercises, I also reckon
family prayer, which unites many of the uses
both of public worship and private prayer. The
reading of religious books is likewise to be ac-
counted a religious exercise. Religious medita-
tion still more stj; and more so for this reason,
that it implies and includes that most important
duty, self-examination ; for I hold it to be next to
impossible for a man to meditate upon religion,
without meditating at the same time upon his
own present condition with respect to the tremen-
dous alternative which is to take place upo him
after liis death.
These are what we understand by religious ex-
ercises; and they are all so far of the same nature
with religious ordinances, that they are aids and
helps of religion itself; and I think that religious
seriousness cannot be maintained in the soul
without them.
But again : a cause which has a strong tenden-
cy to destroy religious seriousness, and which al-
most infallibly prevents its formation and growth
in young minds, is levity in conversation upon re-
ligious subjects, or upon subjects connected with
religion. Whether we regard the practice with
respect to those who use it, or to those who hear
it, it is highly to be blamed, and is productive of
great mischief. In those who use it, it amounts
almost to a proof that they are destitute of reli-
gious, seriousness. The principle itself is destroy-
ed in them, or was never formed in them. Upon
those who hear, its effect is this: If they have
concern about religion, and the disposition towards
religion which they ought to have, and which we.
signify by this word Seriousness^ they will be in-
wardly shocked and offended by the levity with
which they hear it treated. They will, as it were,
resent such treatment of a subject, which by them
has always been thought upon with awe, and
dread, and veneration. But the pain with which
they were at first affected, goes off by hearing fre-
quently the same sort of language; and then they
will be almost sure, if they examine the state of
their minds as to religion, to feel a change, in
themselves for the worse. This is the dangler to
which those .are exposed, who had before imbibed
serious impressions. Those who had not, will bo
prevented, by such sort of conversation, from ever
imbibing them at all ; so that its influence is in all
cases pernicious.
, The turn which this levity usually takes, is in,
jests and raillery upon the opinions, or the pecu-
liarities, or the persons of men of particular sects,
or who bear particular names ; especially if they
happen to be more serious than ourselves. And
of late this loose, and I can hardly help calling it
profane humour, has been directed chiefly against
the followers of methodism. But against whom-
soever it .happens to be pointed, it has all the bad
effects both upon the speaker and the hearer which
we have noticed : and as in other instances, so in
this, give me leave to say that it is very nmqh
misplaced. In the first place, were the doctrines
and sentjmentsx>f those who bear this name e\er
so foolish and extravagant, (I do not say that they
are either,) this proposition I shall always main-
tain to be true, viz. that the wildest opinion that
ever was entertained in matters of religion, is more
rational thaa unconcern about these matters.
Upon this subject nothing is so absurd as indiffer-
ence ; no folly so contemptible as thoughtlessness
and levity. In the next place, do mcthodists deserve
this treatment 1 Be their particular doctrines what
they may, the professors of these doctrines appear
to be in earnest about them ; and a man who is in
earnest in religion cannot lie a bad man, still less
a fit subject for derision. I am no methodist my-
self. I li their leading doctrines I differ from them.
But I contend that sincere men are not, for these,
or indeed, any, doctrines, to be made, laughing
stocks to others. 1 do not bring in the case of
methodists in this part of my discourse, for the
purpose of vindicating their tenets, but for the
Durpose of observing (and I wish that the obser-
vation may weigh with all my readers) that the
custom of treating their characters and persons,
their preaching or their preachers, their meetings
or .worship, with' scorn, has the pernicious conse-
quence of destroying our own seriousness, togc-
her with the seriousness of those who heuror join
n such sort of conversation ; especially if they be
young persons: and I am persuaded that much
mischief is actually done in this very way.
A phrase much used upon these occasions, and
frequent in the mouth of those who speak of such
as in religious matters are more serious than them-
selves, is, -"that they are righteous over-much."
These, it is true, are scripture- words ; and it is that
circumstance which has given currency to the ex-
pression-: but in the way and sense in which they
are used, I am convinced that they are exceedingly
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
529
misapplied. The text occurs once in the Bible
and only once. It is in the book of Ecclesiasles.
7th chap, and 16th verse. It is not very easy to
determine what is meant by it in the place in
which it is found. It is a very obscure passage. Il
seems to me most probable, that it relates to ar
external affectation of righteousness, not prompt
ed by internal principle : or rather to the assuming
the character of righteousness, merely to vaunt or
show our superiority over others ; to conceitedness
in religion: in like manner as the caution delivered
in the same verse, " be not *>ver-wise," respects the
ostentation of wisdom, and not the attainment it-
self. So long as we mean by righteousness, u sin-
cere and anxious desire to seek out the will .
and to perform it, it is impossible to be righteous
over-much. There is no such thing in nature:
nor was it, nor could it be, the intention of anv
passage in the Bible, to say that there is, or to
authorise us in casting over- righteousness as a
reproach or a censure upon any one.
In like manner it has l>ecn objected, that so
much regard, or, as the objectors would call it,
over-regard for religion, is inconsistent with the
interest and welfare of our iamilies, and with suc-
cess and prosperity in our worldly affairs. 1 be-
lieve that there is very little ground for this objec-
tion in fact, and even as the world goes ; in reason
and principle there is none. A good Christian
divides his time between the duties of religion,
the calls of business, and those quiet relaxations
which may be innocently allowed to his circum-
stances and condition, and which will be chielly
in his family or amongst a few friends. In this
plan of life there is no confusion or interference
of its parts ; and unless a man be given to sloth
and laziness, which are what religion condemns,
he will find time enough for them all. This calm
system may not be sullicient for that unceasing
eagerness, hurry, and anxiety aUmt worldly af-
fairs, in which some men pass their lives ; but it
is sufficient for every thing which reasonable' pru-
dence requires ; and it is perfectly consistent with
usefulness in our stations, which is a main point.
Indeed, compare the hours which serious persons
spend in religious exercises and meditations, with
the hours which the thoughtless and irreligious
spend in idleness and vice and expensive diver-
sions, and you will perceive on which side of the
comparison the advantage lies, even in this view
of the subject.
Nor is there any thing in the nature of religion
to support the objection. In a certain sense it is
true, what has been sometimes said, that religion
ought to be the rule of life, not the business ; by
which is meant, that the subject matter even of
religious duties lies in the common affairs and
transactions of the world. Diligence in our call-
ing is an example of this ; which, however, keeps
both a man's head and hands at work upon busi-
ness merely temporal ; yet religion may be govern-
ing him here meanwhile. God may be feared in
the busiest scenes.
In addition to tho above, there exists another
prejudice against religious seriousness, arising
from a notion very commonly entertained, riz. that
religion leads to gloom and melancholy. This no-
tion, I am convinced, is a mistake. Some persons
are constitutionally subject to melancholy, which
is as much a disease in them, as the ague is a dis-
>en that such men's melan-
choly shall fall upon religious ideas, as it may
upon any other subject which seizes their distem-
pered imagination. But this is not religion lead-
ing to melancholy. Or it sometimes is the case
that men are brought to a sense of religion by
calamity and affliction, which produce, at the same
time, depression of spirits. But neither here is
religion the cause of this distress or dejection, or
to be blamed for it. These cases being excepted,
the very reverse of what is alleged against religion
is the truth. No man's spirits were ever hurt by
doing his duty. On the contrary, one good action,
one temptation resisted and overcome, one sacri-
fice of desire or interest purely for conscience 1
sake, will prove a cordial for weak and low spirits
beydnd what either indulgence or diversion or
company can do lor them. And a succession and
course of such actions and self-denials, springing
from a religious principle and manfully main-
tained, is the best possible course that can be fol-
lowed as a remedy for sinkings and oppressions of
this kind. Can-it then be true, that religion leads
to melancholy ] Occasions arise to every man
living; to many very, severe, as well as repeated
occasions, in which the hopes of religion are the
only stay that is left him. Godly men have that
within them which cheers and cpmforts them in
t heir saddest hours : ungodly men have that which
strikes their heart, like a dagger, in its gayest mo-
ments. Godly men discover, what is very true,
but what, by most men, is found out too late,
namely, that a good conscience, and the hope of
our Creator's final favour and acceptance, are the
only solid happiness to be attained in this world.
Experience corresponds with the reason of the
thing. I take upon me to say, that religious men
are generally cheerful. If this be not observed,
as might be expected, supposing it to be true, it is
because the cheerfulness which religion inspires
does not show itself in noise or in fits and starts
of merriment, but is calm and constant. Of this
the only true and valuable kind of cheerfulness,
for all other kinds are hollow and unsatisfying,
religious men possess not less but a greater share
than others.
Another destroyer of religious seriousness, and
which is the last 1 shall mention, is a certain fatal
turn which some minds take, namely, that when
they find difficulties in or concerning religion, or
any of the tenets of religion, they forthwith plunge
nto irreligion ; and make these difficulties, or any
legree of uncertainty which seems to their appre-
icnsion to hang over the subject, a ground and
occasion forgiving full liberty to their inclinations,
and for casting off the restraints of religion en-
irely. This is the case with men, who, at the
best, perhaps, were only balancing between the
sanctions of religion and the love of pleasure or
of unjust gain, but especially the former. In this
precarious state, any objection, or appearance of
objection, which diminishes the force of the reli-
gious impression, determines the balance against
he side of virtue, and gives up the doubter to
sensuality, to the world, and to the flesh. Now,
>f all Ways which a man can take, this is the
urest way to destruction; and it is completely
rrational. I say it is completely irrational; for
vhen we meditate upon the tremendous conse-
quences which form the subject of religion, we
cannot avoid this reflection, that any degree of
probability whatever, I had almost said any degree
45
530
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
of possibility whatever, of religion being true,
ought to determine a rational creature so to act as
to secure himself from punishment in a future
state, and the loss of that happiness which may be
attained. Therefore he has no pretence for al-
leging uncertainty as an excuse for his conduct,
because he does not act in conformity with that in
which there is no uncertainty at all. In the next
place, it is giving to apparent difficulties more
weight than they are entitled to. I only request
any man to Consider, first, the necessary allow-
ances to be made for the short-sightedness and
the weakness of the human understanding; se-
condly, the nature of those subjects concerning
winch religion treats, so remote from our senses,
so different from our experience, so above and be-
yond the ordinary train and course of our ideas ;
and then say, whether difficulties, and great diffi-
culties also, were not to be expected ; nay further,
whether they be hot in some measure subservient
to the very purpose of religion. The reward of
everlasting life, and the punishment or miseryof
which we know no end, if they were present and
immediate, could^not be withstood, and would not
leave any roomlfor liberty or choice. But this
sort of force upon the will is not what God de-
signed ; nor is suitable indeed to the nature of
free, moral, and accountable agents. The truth
is, and it was most likely beforehand that it would
be so, that amidst some points which are dark,
some which are dubious, there are many which
are clear and certain. Now, I apprehend, that, if
we act faithfully up to those points concerning
which there is no question, most especially if we
determine upon and choose our rule and course of
life according to those principles of choice which
all men whatever allow to be wise and safe prin-
ciples, and the only principles which are so;, and
conduct ourselves steadfastly according to the rule
thus chosen, the difficulties which remain in religion
will not move or disturb us mutch ; and will, as we
proceed, become gradually less and fewer. Where-
as, if we begin with objections ; if-all we consider
about religion be its difficulties ; but, most espe-
cially, if we permit the suggestion of difficulties
to drive us into a practical rejection of religion itself,
and to afford us, which is what we wanted, an ex-
cuse to ourselves for casting off its restraints ;
then the event will be, that its difficulties will mul-
tiply upon us; its Iigh$ grow more and more dim,
and we shall settle in the worst and most hopeless
of all conditions; the last condition, I will ven-
ture to say, in which any man living would wish
his son, or any one whom he loved, and for whose
happiness he was anxious, to be placed ; a life of
confirmed vice and dissoluteness; founded in a
formal renunciation of religion.
He that has to preach Christianity to persons
in this state, has to preach to stones. He must
not expect to be heard, either with complacency
or seriousness, or patience, or even to escape con-
tempt and derision. Habits of thinking are fixed
by habits of acting ; and both too solidly fixed to
be moved by human persuasion. God in his
mercy, and by his providences, as well as by his
Spirit, can touch and soften the heart of stone.
Airu it is seldom perhaps, that, without some
strong, and, it may be, sudden impressions of this
kind, and from this source, senous sentiments
ever penetrate dispositions hardened in the man-
ner which we have here described.
SERMON II.
T,ASTE FOR DEVOTION.
But the hour cometh and now ts, when the true
worshippers shall worship the Father in spirit
and in truth : for the Father sceketh such to
worship him. God is a Spirit ; and they that
worship him, must worship him in spirit and
in truth. John. iv. 23, 24. *
A TASTE and relish for religious exercise, or
the want of it, is one of the marks and tokens by
which we may judge whether our heart be right
towards God or not. God is unquestionably an
object of devotion to every creature which he has
made capable of devotion ; consequently, our
minds can never be right towards him, unless
they be in a devotional frame. It cannot be dis-
puted, but that the Author-and Giver of all things,
upon whose will and whose mercy we depend for
every thing we have, and for every thing we look
for, ought to live in the thoughts and affections of
his 'rational creatures. ," 1'hrough thee have I
been holden up ever since I was born : thou art
he that took me from my mother's womb : my
praise shall be always of thee." If there be such
thipgs as first sentiments towards God, these
words of the Psalmist express them. That devo-
tion to God is a duty, stands upon the same proof
us that God exists. But devotion is an act of the
mind strictly. In a Certain sense, duty to a fel-
low-creature may be discharged if the outward
act be performed, because the benefit to him de-
pends upon the act. Not so with devotion. It
is altogether the operation of the mind. God is a
Spirit, and must be worshipped in spirit, that is,
in mind and thought. The devotion of the mind
may be, will be, ought to be, testified and accom-
panied by outward performances and expressions:
but, without the mind going along with it, no
form, no solemnity can avail, as a service to God.
It is not so much a question under what mode
men worship their Maker ; but this is the ques-
tion, whether their mind, and thoughts, and affec-
tions, accompany the mode which they adopt or
not. I do not say, that modes of worship are in-
different things ; for certainly one mode may be
more rational, more edifying, more pure than ano-
ther ; but they are indifferent, in comparison with
the question, whether the heart attend the worship,
or be estranged from it.
These two points, then, being true ; first, that
devotion is a duty ; secondly, that the heart must
participate to make any thing we do devotion ; it
follows that the heart cannot be right toward God,
unless it be possessed with a taste and relish for his
service, and for what relates to it.
Men may, and many undoubtedly do, attend
upon acts of religious worship, and even from
religious motives, yet, at the same time, without
this taste and relish of which we are speaking.
Religion has no savour for them. I do not allude
to the case of those who attend upon the public
worship of the church, or of their communion,
from compliance with custom, out of regard to
station, for example's sake merely, from habit
merely ; still less to the case of those who have
particular worldly views in so doing. I lay the
case of such persons,' for the present, out of the
question ; and I consider only the case of those,
who knowing and believing the worship of God
SERMONS ON .SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
531
to be a duty, and that the wilful neglect of this, [ aged persons, who passed the greatest part of
as of other duties, must look forward to future their time in acts of devotion, and passed it with
punishment, do join in worship from a principle enjoyment. " Anna, the prophetess, was of great
of obedience, from a consideration of those conse- i age, which departed not from the temple, but
quences which will follow disobedience ; from the served God with fastings and prayers, night and
fear indeed of God, and the dread of his judg- day." The first Christians, so far as can be
ments (and so far from motives of religion,) yet gathered from their history in the Acts of the
without any taste or relish for religious exercise i Apostles, and the Epistles, as well as from the
itself. That is the case I am considering. It is subsequent account leil of them, took great de-
not for us to presume to speak harshly of any light in exercises of devotion. These seemed to
conduct, which proceeds, in any manner, from a | form, indeed, the principal satisfaction of their
regard to God, and the expectation of a future lives in this world. "Continuing daily, with one
judgment. God, in his Scriptures, holds out to 1 accord, in the temple, and breaking bread," that
man terrors, as well as promises; punishment | is, celebrating the holy comniunion, "from house
after death, as well as reward. Undoubtedly he i to "house, they eat their meat with gladness and
intended those motives which he himself proposes, | singleness of heart, praising God." in this spirit
to operate and have their influence. Wherever Christians set out, finding the greates
they operate, good ensues ; very great and import-
ant good, compared with the cases in which they
do not operate ; yet not all the good we would
desire, not all which is attainable, not all which
we ought to aim at, in our Christian course. The
fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge :
but calling it theiegianing, implies that we ought
to proceed further ; namely, from his fear to his
love.
To apply this distinction to the subject before
us: the man who serves God from a dread of his
displeasure, and therefore in a certain sense by
constraint, is, beyond all comparison, in a better
situation as touching his salvation, than he who
defies this dread a ml breaks through this constraint.
He, in a word, who oheys, from whatever motive
his obedience springs, provided it !* a religious
motive, is of a character, as well as in a condition,
infinitely preferable to the character and condition
of the man whom no motives whatever can induce
to perform his duty. Still it is true, that if he
feels not within himself a taste ami relish for the
service which he performs, (to say nothing of the
consideration how much less acceptable his ser-
vices may be,) and for devotion itself, he wants
one satisfactory evidence of his heart being right
towards God. A further progress in religion
will give him this evidence, but it is not yet
attained : as yet, therefore, there is a great defi-
ciency.
The taste and relish for devotion, of which we
are speaking, is what good men in all ages have
felt strongly. It appears in their history : it
appears in their writings. The book of Psalms,
in particular, was, great part of it, composed
under the impression of this principle. Many of
the Psalms are written in the truest spirit of de-
votion ; and it is one test of the religious frame of
our own minds, to observe whether we have a
relish for these compositions ; whether our hearts
are stirred as we read them ; whether we perceive
in them words alone, a mere letter, or so many
grateful, gratifying sentiments towards God in
unison with what we ourselves feel, or have be-
fore felt. And what we are saying of the book
of Psalms, is true of many religious books that are
put into our hands, especially l>ooks of devotional
religion ; which, though they be human composi-
tions, and nothing more, are of a similar cast with
the devotional writings of Scripture, and excel-
lently calculated for their purpose.* We read of
* Amongst these I particularly recommend the pray-
ers and devotions annexed to the new Whole Duty of
greatest gratifica-
tion they were capable ot, in acts and exercises
of devotion. A great deal of what is said in the
New Testament, by St. Paul in particular, about
" rejoicing in the Lord, rejoicing in the Holy
Ghost, rejoicing in hope, rejoicing in consolation,
rejoicing in themselves, as sorrowful, yet always
rejoicing," refer to the pleasure, and the high and
spiritual comfort which, they found in religious
exercises. Much, I fear, of this spirit is fled.
There is a coldness in our devotions, which
argues a decay of religion amongst us. Is it true
that men, in these days, perform religious exer-
cises as frequently as they ought, or as those did
who have gone before us in the Christian course 7
that is one question to be asked : but there is also
another question of still greater importance, viz.
do they find in these pertorraances that gratifica-
tion which the first and best disciples of the reli-
gion actually found? which they ought to find;
and which they would find, did they possess the
taste and relish concerning which we are dis-
coursing, and which if they do not possess, they
want one gre^t proof of their heart being right
If the spirit of prayer, as it is sometimes colled,
if the taste and relish for devotion, if a devotional
frame of mind be within us, it will show itself in
the turn and cast of our meditations, in the
warmth, and earnestness, and frequency of our
secret applications to God in prayer ; in the deep,
unfeigned, heart-piercing, heart-sinking sorrow
of our confessions and our penitence ; in the sin-
cerity of our gratitude and of our praise ; in our
admiration of the divine bounty to nis creatures ;
in our sense of particular mercies to ourselves.
We shall pray much in secret. We shall address
ourselves to God of our own accord, in our walks,
our closet, our bed. Form, in these addresses,
will be nothing. Every thing will come from the
heart. We shall feed the flame of devotion by
continually returning to the subject. No man,
who is endued with the taste and relish we speak
of, will have God long out of his mind. Under
one view or other, God cannot l>e long out of a
devout mind. "Neither was God in all his
Man. Bishop Burnet, in speaking of such kind of
books, very truly says, "By the frequent reading of
these books, by the relish that one has in them, by the
delight they give, and the effects they produce, a man
will plainly perceive whether his soul is made for
divine matters, or not; what suitableness there is be-
tween him and them, and whether he ia yet touched
with such a sense of religion, as to be capable of dedi-
cating himself to it."
532
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
with
mere
from
with
thoughts," is a true description of a complete
dereliction of religious principle ; but it can, by
no possibility, be the case with a man, who has
the spirit of devotion, or any portion of that spirit,
within him.
But it is not in our private religion alono, .that
the effect and benefit of this principle is perceived.
The true taste and relish we so much 'dwell upon,
will bring a man to the public worship of God ; arid,
what is more, will bring* him in such a frame of
mind as to enable him to join in it with elKvt. ;
with effect as to his own soul ; with effect as to
every object, both public and private, intended by
public worship. Wanderings and forgetfulness,
remissions and intermissions of attention, there
will be ; but these will lie fewer and shorter, in
proportion as more of this spirit is prevalent
within us ; and some sincere, some hearty, some
deep, some true, and, as we trust, acceptable ser-
vice will be performed, before we leave the place ;
Sbme pouring forth of the soul unto God in prayer
and in thanksgiving ; in prayer, excited by wants
and weaknesses ; I fear also, by sins and neglects
without number ; and in thanksgivings, such as
rcies, the most undeserved, ought to call forth
m a heart, filled, as the heart of man should be,
with a thorough consciousness of dependency and
obligation.
Forms of public worship must, by their very
nature, be in a great degree general ; that is, must
be calculated for the average condition of human
and of Christian life ; but it is one property of the
devotional spirit, which we speak of, to give a
particularity to our worship, though it be carried
on in a congregation of fellow Christians, and ex-
pressed in terms which were framed and conceiv-
ed for the use of all. And it does this by calling
up recollections which will apply most closely,
and bring home most nearly to ourselves, those
terms and those expressions. For instance, in
public worship, we thank God in general terms,
that is, we join with the congregation in a general
thanksgiving ; but a devout man brings to church
the recollection of special and particular mercies,
particular bounties, particular providences, par-
ticular deliverances, particular relief recently ex-
perienced, specially and critically granted in the
moment of want or danger, or eminently and
supereminently vouchsafed to us individually.
These he bears in his thoughts ; he applies as he
proceeds; that which was general, he makes close
and circumstantial ; his heart rises towards God,
by a sense of mercies vouchsafed to himself. He
does not, however, confine, himself to those fa-
vours of Providence, which he enjoys above many
others, or more than most others ; he does not
dwell upon distinctions alone ; he sees God in all
his goodness, in all his bounty. Bodily ease, for
instance, is not less valuable, not less a mercy,
because others are at ease, as well as himself.
The same of his health, the use of his limbs, the
faculties of his understanding. But what I mean
is, that, in his mind, he brings to church mercies,
in which he is interested, and that the most gene-
ral expressions of thankfulness attach with him
upon particular recollections of goodness, particu-
lar subjects of gratitude ; so that the holy fervour
of his devotion is supported ; never wants, nor can
Want, materials to act upon. It is the office,
therefore, of an internal spirit of devotion to make
worship personal. We have seen that it will be
so with thanksgiving. It will be the same like-
wise with every other part of divine worship. 'I' he
confession of sins in our liturgy, and perhaps in all
liturgies, is general ; but our sins, alas ! are parti-
cular : our conscience not only acknowledges a de-
plorable weakness and imperfection in the dis-
charge of our duty, but is stun also with remem-
brances and compunctions, excited by particular
ullhires. When we come, therelbiv, to' confess our
sins, let memory do its ollice faithfully. Let
these sins rise up before our eyes. All language
is imperfect. Forms, intended for general use,
must consist of general terms, and are so far in-
adequate. They may be rehearsed by the lips
with very little of application to our own case.
But this will never be so, if the spirit of devotion
be within us. A devout mind is exceedingly stir-
red, when it has sins to confess. None but a
hardened sinner can even think of his sins with-
out pain. But when he is to lay them, with sup-
plications for pardon, before his Maker ; when he
is to expose his heart to God ; it will always be
with powerful inward feelings of guilt and cala-
mity. It hath been well said of prayer, that prayer
will either make a man leave off sinning, or sin
will make him leave off prayer. And the same is
true of confession. If confession be sincere, if it
be such as a right capacity for devotion will make
it to be, it will call up our proper and particular
sins so distinctly to our view, their guilt, their
danger, their end ; whither they are carrying us ;
in what they will conclude ; that, if we can return
to them again without molestation from our con-
science, then religion is not within us. If we
have approached God in his worship so ineffectu-
ally as to ourselves, it is because we have not wor-
shipped him in spirit; we may say of all we have
done, " we drew near him with our lips, but our
hearts were far from him."
What we have said concerning thanksgiving
and confession, is likewise true of prayer univer-
sally. The spirit of devotion will apply our prayers
to our wants. In forms of worship," be they ever
so well composed, it is impossible to exhibit human
wants, otherwise than in general expressions.
But devotion will apply them. It will teach every
man, in the first place, to know how indigent,
how poor a creature without a continued exercise
of mercy and supply of bounty from God, he would
be; because, when he^ begins to enumerate his
wants, he will be astonished at their multitude.
What are we, any of us, but a complication of
wants, which we have not in ourselves the power
of supplying 1 But, beside those numerous wants,
and that common helplessness, in which we all
partake, every man has his own sore, his own
grief, his own difficulties ; every man has some
distress, which he is suffering, or fearing. Nay,
were worldly wishes satisfied, was worldly pros-
perity complete, he has always what is of more
consequence than worldly prosj>ertty to pray
for; he has always his sins to pray against.
Where temporal wants are few, spiritual Wants
are often the most and the greatest. The <rr.u-n
of God is always wanted. His governimr. his
preventing, his inspiring, his insisting grace is
always wanted. Here, therefore, is a subject for
prayer, were there no other; a subject personally
and individually interesting in the highest degree ;
a subject above all others, upon which the spirit
of devotion will be sure to fix.
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
533
I assign, therefore, as the first effect of a right
spirit of devotion, that it gives particularity to
all our worship. It applies, and it appropriates.
Forms of worship may be general, but a spirit
of devotion brings them home and close to each
and every one.
One happy consequence of which is, that it
prevents the tcdiousness of worship. Things
which interest us, are not tedious. If we find wor-
ship tedious, it is I>ecause it does not interest us as
it ought to do. We must allow (experience com-
pels us to allow) for wanderings and inattentions,
as amongst the infirmities of our infirm nature.
But, as I have already said, even these will be
fewer and shorter, in proportion as we are pos-
sessed of the spirit of devotion. Weariness will
not be perceived, by reason of that succession of
devout feelings and consciousnesses which the se-
veral offices of worship are calculated to excite.
If our heart be in the business, it will not be tedi-
ous. If, in thanksgiving, it be lifted up by a sense
of mercies, and a knowledge from whom they pro-
ceed, thanksgiving will be a grateful exercise, and
not a tedious form. What relates to our sins and
wants, though not of the same gratifying nature,
though accompanied with deep, nay, with afflict-
ing cause of humiliation and fear, must, neverthe-
less, be equally interesting, or more so, because it
is of equal concernment to. us, or of greater. In
neither case, therefore, if our duty be performed
as it ought to be, will tediousness be perceived.
I say, that the spirit of devotion removes from
the worship of God the perception of tediousness,
and with that also every disposition to censure or
cavil at particular phrases, or expressions used in
public worship. All such faults, oven if they Ix-
real, and such observations upon them, are ab-
sorbed by the immense importance of the business
in which we are engaged. Gluickness in disco-
vering blemishes of this sort is not the gift of a
pious mind ; still less either levity or acrimony in
speaking of them.
Moreover, the spirit of devotion reconciles us to
repetitions. In other subjects, repetition soon be-
comes tiresome and offensive. In devotion it is
different. Deep, earnest, heartfelt devotion, na-
turally vents itself in repetition. Observe a per-
son racked by excruciating bodily pain ; or a per-
son suddenly struck with the news of some dread-
ful calamity ; or a person labouring under some
cutting anguish of soul ; and you will always find
him breaking out into ejaculations, imploring from
God support, mercy, and relief, over and over again,
uttering the same prayer in the same words. No-
thing, he finds, suits so well the extremity of his
sufferings, the urgency of his wants, as a con-
tinual recurrence to the same cries, and the same
call for divine aid. Our Lord himself, in his last
agony, affords a high example of what we are
saying : thrice he besought his heavenly Father ;
and thrice he used the same words. Repetition,
therefore, is not only tolerable in devotion, but it
is natural : it is even dictated by a sense of suffer-
ing, and an acuteness of feeling. It is coldness of
affection, which requires to be enticed and grati-
fied by continual novelty of idea, or expression, or
action. The repetitions and prolixity of phari-
saical prayers, which our Lord censures, are to be
understood of those prayers which run out into
mere formality and into great length ; no senti-
ment or affection of the heart accompanying them ;
but uttered as a task, from an opinion (of which
our Lord justly notices the absurdity,) that they
should really be heard for their much speaking.
Actuated by the spirit of devotion, we can never
offend injhis way, we can never be the object of
this censure.
Lastly, and what has already been intimated,
the spirit of devotion will cause our prayers to
have an effect upon our practice. For* example ;
if we-repeated the confession in our liturgy with a
true penitential sense of guilt upon our souls, we
should not, day after day, be acknowledging to
God our transgressions and neglects, and yet go
on exactly in the same manner without endea-
vouring to make them less and fewer. We should
plainly perceive that this was doing nothing to-
wards salvation ; and that, iit this rate, we may
he sinning and confessing all our lives. Whereas,
was the right spirit of confessional piety, viz.
thoughtfulness of soul, within us at the time, this
would be the certain benefit, especially in the case
of an often-repeated sin, that the mind "would be-
come more and more concerned, more and more
filled with compunction and remorse, so as to be
forced into amendment. Even the most heart-felt
confession might not immediately do for us all
that we could wish: yit by perseverance in the
same, it would certainly, in a short time, produce
its desired effect. For the same reason, we should
not, time after time, pray that we might thence-
forward, riz. after each time of so praying, lead
godly, righteous, and sober lives, yet persist, jest
as usual, in ungodliness, unrighteousness, and in-
teini>eranre. The tliin<r would be impossible, if
we prayed as we ought. So likewise, if real thank-
fulness of heart accompanied our thanksgivings,
we should not pray in vain, that we might show
forth the praises of God, not only with our lips
but in our lives. As it is, thousands repeat these
words without doing a single deed for the sake of
[.leasing God, exclusive of other motives, or re-
fraining from a single thing they like to do out of
the fear of displeasing him. So again, every time
we hear the third service at church, we pray that
God would incline our hearts to keep nis com-
mandments ; yet immediately, perhaps, after-
wards, allow our hearts and inclinations to wan-
der, without controul, to whatever sinful tempta-
tion entices them. This, I say, all proceeds
from the want of earnestness in our devotions.
Strong devotion is an antidote against sin.
To conclude ; a spirit of devotion is one of the
greatest blessings ; and, by consequence, the want
of it one of the greatest misfortunes, which a
Christian can experience. When it is present, it
gives life to every act of worship which we per-
form; it makes every such act interesting and
comfortable to ourselves. It is felt in our most
retired moments, in our beds, our closets, our rides,
our walks. It is stirred within us, when we are
assembled with our children and servants in fa-
mily prayer. It leads us to church, to the congre-
gation of our fellow Christians there collected ; it
accompanies us in our joint offices of religion in
an especial manner; and it returns us to our
homes holier, and happier, and better; and lastly,
what greatly enhances its value to every anxious
Christian, it affords to himself a proof that his
heart is right towards God : when it is followed
up by a good life, by abstinence from sin, and en-
deavours after virtue, by avoiding evil and doing
good, the proof and the satisfaction to be drawn
from it are complete.
45*
534
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
SERMON III.
THE LOVE OF GOD.
We love him, because he first loved us.
1 John iv. 19.
RELIGION may, and it can hardly, I think, be
questioned but that it sometimes does, spring from
terror, from grief, from pain, from punishment,
from the approach of death ; and provided it be
sincere, that is, such as either actually produces,
or as would produce a change of life, it is genuine
religion, notwithstanding the bitterness, the vio-
lence, or, if it must be so called, the baseness and
unworthiness, of the motive from which it pro-
ceeds. We are not to narrow the promises of
God; and -acceptance is promised to sincere peni-
tence, without specifying the cause from which it
originates, or confining it to one origin more than
another. There are, however, higher, and wor-
thier, and better motives, from which religion may
begin in the heart ; and on this account especially
are they to be deemed better motives, that the re-
ligion which issues from them has a greater pro-
bability of being sincere. I repeat again, that sin-
cere religion, from any motive, will be effectual ;
but there is a great deal of difference in the pro-
bability of its being sincere, according to the dif-
ferent cause in the mind from which it sets out.
The purest motive of human action is the love
of God. There may be motives stronger and
more general, but none so pure. The religion,
the virtue, which owes its birth in the soul to this
motive, is always genuine religion, always true
virtue. Indeed, speaking of religion, I should call
the love of God not so much the ground-work of
religion, as religion itself. So far as religion is
disposition, it is religion itself. But though of re-
ligion it be more than the ground- work, yet, being
a disposition of mind, like other dispositions, it is
the ground- work of action. Well might our blessed
Saviour preach up, as he did, the love of God. It
is the source of every thing which is good in man.
I do not mean that it is the only source, or that
goodness can proceed from no other, but that of all
principles of conduct it is the safest, the best, the
truest, the highest. Perhaps it is peculiar to the
Jewish and Christian dispensations (and, if it be,
it is a peculiar excellency in them) to have for-
mally and solemnly laid down this principle, as a
ground of human action. 1 shall not deny, that
elevated notions were entertained of the Deity by
some wise and excellent heathens ; but even these
did not, that I can find, so inculcate the love of
that Deity, or so propose and state it to their fol-
lowers, as to make it a governing, actuating prin-
ciple of life amongst them. This did Moses, or
rather God by the mouth of Moses, expressly,
formally, solemnly. This did Christ, adopting,
repeating, ratifying, what the law had already de-
clared ; and not only ratifying, but singling it out
from the body of precepts which composed the old
institution, and giving it a pre-eminence to every
other.
Now this love, so important to our religious
character, and, by its effect upon that, to our sal-
vation, which is the end of religion ; this love, I
say, is to be engendered in the soul, not so much
by hearing the words of others, or by instruction
from others, as by a secret and habitual contem-
plation of God Almighty's bounty, and by a con-
stant referring of our enjoyments and our hopes to
his goodness. This is m a great degree a matter
of habit; and, like all good habits, particularly
mental habits, is what every person must form in
himself and for himself by endeavour and perse-
verance. In this great article, as well as in others
which are less, every man must be the author to
himself of his train of thinking, be it good or bad.
I shall only observe, that when this habit, or, as
some would call it, this turn and course of thought,
is once happily generated, occasions will continu-
ally arise to minister toils exercise and augmenta-
tion. A night's rest, or a comfortable meal, will
immediately direct our gratitude to God. The use
of our limbs, the possession of our senses ; every
degree of ^health, every hour of ease, every sort
of satisfaction, which we enjoy, will carry our
thoughts to the same object. But if our enjoy-
ments raise our affections, still more will our hopes
do the same; and, most of all beyond comparison,
those hopes which religion inspires. Think of
man, and think of heaven ; think what he is, and
what it is in his power hereafter to become.
Think of this again and again : and it is impossi-
ble, but that the prospect of being so rewarded for
our poor labours, so resting from our past troubles,
so forgiven for our repented sins, must fill our
hearts with the deepest thankfulness ; and thank-
fulness is love. Towards the author of an obliga-
tion which is infinite, thankfulness is the only
species of love that can exist.
But, moreover, the love of God is specifically re-
presented in Scripture as one of the gifts of the
Holy Ghost. The love of God shed abroad in
the heart is described as one of the works of the
Spirit upon the souls of Christians. Now what-
ever is represented in Scripture to be the gift of
the Spirit, is to be sought for by earnest and pe-
culiar prayer. That is the practical use to be
made of, and the practical consequence to be drawn
from, such representations ; the very purpose pro-
bably for which they were delivered: the mere
point of doctrine being seldom that in which
Scripture declarations rest. Let us not fail there-
fore; let us not cease to entreat the Father of
mercies, that the love of him may be shed abroad
in our hearts continually. It is one of the things
in which we are sure that our prayers arc right in
their object ; in which also we may humbly nope,
that, unless obstructed by ourselves, they will no{
be in vain.
Nor let it be said that this aid is superfluous,
forasmuch as nature herself had provided suffi-
cient means for exciting this sentiment. This is
true with respect to those who are in the full, or
in any thing near the full, enjoyment of the gifts
of nature. With them 1 do allow that nothing
but a criminal stupefaction can hinder the love of
God from being felt. But this is not the case with
all ; nor with any at all times. Afflictions, sick-
ness, poverty, the maladies and misfortunes of life,
will interrupt and damp this sensation, so far as
it depends upon our actual experience of God's
bounty. I do not say that the evils of life or.iiht
to have this effect: taken in connexion with a fu-
ture state, they certainly oujrht not ; because, when
viewed in that relation, afflictions and calamities
become trials, warnings, chastisements ; and when
sanctified by their fruits, when made the means
of weaning us from the world, bringing us nearer
to God, and of purging away that dross and defile-
ment which our souls nave contracted, are in truth
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
535
amongst the first of favours and of blessings: ne-
vertheless, as an apostle himself confesses, they
are for a season grievous; they are disheartening;
and they are too apt to produce an unfavourable
effect upon our gratitude. Wherefore it is upon
these occasions most especially, that the aid of
God's Spirit may be required to maintain in our
souls the love of God.
Let those, therefore, who are conscious to them-
selves that they have not the love of God within
them as they ought to have it, endeavour to ac-
quire and to increase this holy principle by seri-
ousness of mind, by habitual meditation, by de-
vout reading, devout conversation, devout society.
These are all aids and helps towards inducing
upon the mind this most desirable, nay, rather let
me call it, this blessed frame and temper, and of
fixing us in it: and forasmuch as it is declared in
Scripture to be shed abroad in the heart by the
Spirit of God, let us labour in our prayers for this
best ir'lft.
The next consideration upon the subject is the
fruit and ellect of this disposition upon our lives.
If it be asked how does the love of God operate
in the production of virtuous conduct, I shall an-
swer, that it operates exactly in the same manner
as affection towards a parent or gratitude towards
a human benefactor operates, by stirring up a
strong rebuke in the mind upon the thought of
offending him. This lays a constant check upon
our conduct. And this sensation is the nece>< irv
accompaniment of love; it cannot, I think, he se-
parated from it. But it is not the whole of its in-
fluence. Love and gratitude towards a hem tin-tor
not only fill us with remorse and with internal
shame, whenever, by our wilful misbehaviour, we
have Driven cause to that benefactor to be displeased
with us; but also prompts us with a desire upon
all occasions of doing what we believe he wills to
be done, which, with respect to ( ;,! is in other
words a desire to serve him. Now this is not only
a restraint from vi-e, but an incitement to action.
Instructed, as in Christian countries mankind
generally are, in the main articles of human duty,
this motive will seldom mislead them.
In one imj>ortant respect the love of God excels
all moral principles whatever ; and that is, in its
comprehensiveness. It reaches every - action ; it
includes every duty. You cannot mention an-
other moral principle which has this projxjrty in
the same perfection. For instance, I can hardly
name a better moral principle than humanity. It
is a principle which every one commends, and
justly: yet in this very article of comprehensive-
ness it is deficient, when compared with the love
of God. It will prompt us undoubtedly to do kind,
and generous, and compassionate things towards
our friends, our acquaintance, our neighbours, and
towards the poor. In our relation to, and in our
intercourse with, mankind, especially towards
those who are dependent upon us, or over whom
we have power, it will keep us from hardness,
and rigour, and cruelty. In all this it is excellent.
But it will not regulate us, as we require to be re-
gulated, in another great branch of Christian duty,
self-government and self-restraint. We may be
exceedingly immoral and licentious in sinful in-
dulgences, without violating our principle of huma-
nity ; at least, without specifically violating it, and
without being sensible of violating it. And this
is by no means an uncommon case or character,
namely, humanity of temper subsisting along with
the most criminal licentiousness, and under a total
want of personal self-government. The reason is,
that the principle of conduct, though excellent as
far as it goes, fails in comprehensiveness. Not so
with the love of God. He, who is influenced by
that, feels its influence in all parts of duty, upon
every occasion of action, throughout tke whole
course of conduct. ^
The thing with most of us to be examined into
and ascertained is, whether it indeed guide us at
all ; whether it he within us an efficient motive. I
am far from taking upon me to say that it is essen-
tial to this principle to exclude ajl other principles
of conduct especially the dread of God's wrath and
of its tremendous consequences: or that a person,
who is deterred from evil actions by the dread of
God's wrath, is obliged to conclude, that because
he so much dreads God, he cannot love him. I
will not venture to say any such thing. The
Scripture, it is true, speaking of the love of God,
hath said, that " perfect love casteth out fear ;" but
it hath not said that in the soul of man this love is
ever perfect: what the Scripture hath thus de-
clared of perfect love is no more than, what is just.
The love of God, were it perfect, that is to say,
were it such as his nature v his relation, his bounty
to us deserves ; were it adequate either to its object
or to our obligation, were it carried up as high as
in a perfectly rational and virtuous soul it might
be carried, would, I believe, absorb every other
motive and every other principle of action what-
e\vr. even the fear of God amongst the rest. This
principle, by its nature, might gain a complete
possession of the heart and will, so that a person
actini: under its influence would take nothing else
into the account, would reflect upon no other con-
sequence or consideration whatever. Possibly,
nay probably, this is the condition of some higher
orders of spirits, and may become ours by future
improvement, and in a more exalted state of exist-
ence ; but it cannot, I am afraid, be said to be our
condition now. The love of God subsists in the
heart of good men as a powerful principle of ac-
tion : but it subsists there in conjunction with other
principles, especially with the fear of him. AH
goodness is in a certain degree comparative ; and
I think, that he may be called a good man in
whom this principle dwells and operates at all.
Wherefore to obtain ; when obtained, to cultivate,
to cherish, to strengthen, to improve it, ought to
form the most anxious concern of our spiritual
life. He that loveth God keepeth his command-
ments ; but still the love of God is something more
than keeping the commandments. For which
reason we must acquire, what many, it is to be
feared, have even yet to begin, a habit of contem-
plating God in the bounties and blessings of his
creation. I think that religion can hardly subsist
in the soul without this habit in some degree. But
the greater part of us, such is the natural dulness
of our souls, require something more exciting and
stimulating than the sensations which large and
general views of nature or of providence produce;
something more particular to ourselves, and which
more nearly touches our separate happiness. Now
of examples of this kind, namely, of direct and
special mercies towards himself, no one, who calls
to mind the passages and providences of his life,
can be destitute. There is one topic of gratitude
falling under this head, which almost every man,
536
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
who is tolerably faithful and exact in his self-recok
lections, will find in events upon which he has to
look back ; and it is this : How often have we
been spared, when we might have been overtaken
and cut off in the midst of sin ! Of all the attri-
butes of God, forbearance, perhaps, is that which
we have most to acknowledge. We cannot want
occasions to bring the remembrance of it to our
thoughts. Have there not been occasions, in
which, ensnared in vice, we might have been de-
tected and exposed ; have been crushed by punish-
ment or shame, have been irrecoverably ruined 1
occasions in which we might have beeji suddenly
stricken with death, in a state of soul the most
unfit lor it that was possible! That we were
none of these, that we have been preserved from
these dangers, that our sin was not our destruc-
tion, that instant judgment did not overtake us, is
to be attributed to the long-suffering of God. Sup-
posing, what is undoubtedly true, that the secrets
of our conduct were known to him at the time, it
can be attributed to no other cause. Now this is
a topic which can never fail to supply subjects of
thankfulness, and of a species of thankfulness,
which must bear with direct force upon the regu-
lation of our conduct. We were not destroyed
when we might have been destroyed, and when
we merited destruction^ We have been preserved
for further trial. This is. or ought to be a touch-
ing reflection. How deeply, therefore, does it be-
hove us not to trifle with the patience of God, not
to abuse this enlarged space, this respited, pro-
tracted season of repentance, by plunging afresh
into the same crimes, or other, or greater crimes 7
It shows that we are not to be wrought upon by
mercy : that our gratitude is not moved ; that
things are wrong within us ; that there is a de-
plorable void and chasm in our religious prin-
ciples, the love of God not being^ present in our
hearts.
But to return to that with which we set out : reli-
gion may spring from various principles, begin in
various motives. It is not for us to narrow the pro-
mises of God which belong to sincere religion,
from whatever cause it originates. But of these
principles, the purest, the surest, is the love of
God, forasmuch as the religion which proceeds
from it is sincere, constant, and universal. It will
not, like fits of terror and alarm (which yet we do
not despise) produce a temporary religion. The
love of God is an abiding principle. It will not,
like some other, (and these also good and laudable
principles of action, as far as they go,) produce a
partial religion. It is co-extensive with all our
obligations. Practical Christianity may be com-
prised in three words-; devotion, self-government,
and benevolence. The love of God in the heart
is a fountain, from which these three streams of
virtue will not fail to issue. The love of God
also is a guard against error in conduct, because
it is a guard against those evil influences which
mislead the understanding in moral questions. In
some measure, it supplies the place of every rule.
He who has it truly within him, has little to learn.
Look steadfastly to the will of God. which he who
loves God necessarily does, practise what you be-
lieve to be well pleasing to him, leave off what you
believe to be displeasing to him : cherish, confirm,
strengthen the principle itself which sustains this
course of external conduct, and you will not want
many lessons, you need not listen to any other
monitor.
SERMON IV-
'
MEDITATING UPON RELIGION.
Hate I not remembered thec in my bed: and
thought upon thee when I was -waking ?
Psalm Ixiii. 7,
THE life of God in the soul of man, as it is
sometimes emphatically called, the Christian life,
that is, or the progress of Christianity in the heart
of any particular person, is marked, amongst other
things, by religion gradually gaining possession of
the thoughts. It has been said, that, if we thought
about religion as it deserved, we should never
think about any thing else ; nor with strictness,
perhaps, can we deny the truth of this proposition.
Religious concerns do so surpass and outweigh in
value and importance all concerns beside, that did
they occupy a place in our minds proportioned to
that importance, they would, in truth, exclude
every other but themselves. I am not, therefore,
one of those who wonder when I see a man en-
grossed with religion: the wonder with me is,
that men care and think so little concerning it.
With all the allowances which must be made for
our employments, our activities, our anxieties,
about the interests and occurrences of the present
life, it is still true, that our forgetfulness, and neg-
ligence, and indifference about religion are much
greater than can be excused, or can easily be ac-
counted for by these causes. Few men are so
busy but that they contrive to find time for any
gratification their heart is set upon, and thought
for any subject in which they are interested : they
want not leisure for these, though they want lei-
sure for religion. Notwithstanding, therefore, sin-
gular cases, if indeed there be any cases of )>eing
over-religious, over-intent upon spiritual affairs,
the real and true complaint is all on the other side,
that men think not about them enough, as they
ought, as is reasonable, as it is their duty to do.
That is the malady and the mischief. The cast
and turn of our infirm and fleshly nature lean all
on that side. For, first, this nature is aileeted
chiefly by what we see. Though the things
which concern us most deeply be not seen; for
this very reason, that they are not seen, they do
not affect us as they ought. Though these things
ought to be meditated upon, and must be acted
upon, one way or other, long before we come ac-
tually to experience them, yet in fact we do not
meditate upon them, we do not act with a view to
them, till something gives us alarm; gives reason
to believe that they are approaching fast upon us,
that they are a} hand, or shortly will be, that we
shall indeed experience what they are.
The world of spirits, the world for which we
are destined, is invisible to us. Hear St. Paul's
account of this matter: "We look not at the
things which are seen, but at the things which
are not seen ; for the things which are seen are
temporal, but the things which are not seen are
eternal." " We walk by faith, not by sight; faith
is the evidence of things not seen." Some great
invisible agent there must be in the universe;
(i the things which are seen were not made of
things which do appear." Now if the great Au-
thor of all things be himself invisible to our senses,
and if our relation to him must necessarily form
the greatest interest and concern of our existence,
then it follows, that our greatest interest and con-
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
537
cern arc with those things which are now invisi-
ble. " We are saved by hope, but hope that is
seen is not hope: for what a man seeth, whyxloth
he yet hope for 1 but if we hope for that we see
not, then do we with patience wait for it." The
first infirmity, therefore, which religion has to
conquer within us, is that which binds down our
attention to the things which we see. The natu
ral man is immersed in sense: nothing takes hold
of his mint! but what applies immediately to his
sense; but this disposition will not do for religion :
the religious character is founded in hope, as con-
tradistinguished from experience, in perceiving by
the mind what is not perceived by the eye : unless
a man can do this, he cannot be religious ; and
with many it is a great difficulty. This power of
hope, which, as St. Paul observes of it, is that
which places the invisible world before our view,
is s[>ecilicallv descril>ed in Scripture, as amongst
the gifts of the Spirit, the natural man standing
indeed much in need of it, being altogether of an
opposite tendency. Hear St. Paul's prayer for
his Roman converts; " The God of hope tilLyou
with all joy and peace in believing, that you may
abound m hope through the power of the Holy
Ghost." Again to the Galatians, how does he
describe the state of mind of a Christian 1 " we
through the Spirit wait for the hope of righteous-
ness by faith.
Again; another impediment to the thought of
religion is the faculty and the habit we have ac-
quired of regarding its concerns as at a distance.
A child is affected by nothing but what is present,
and many thousands in this respect continue
children a'll their lives. In a degree this weakn ss
cleaves to us all; produces upon us the same effect
under a different form; namely, in this way,
when we find ourselves necessarily disturbed by
near or approaching evil, we have the means of
forgetting the nearness or the approach of that,
which must bring with it the greatest evil or the
greatest good we are capable of, our change at
death. Though we cannot exactly offer any ar-
guments to show that it is either certainly or pro-
bably at a distance, yet we have the means of re-
garding it in our minds as though it were at a
distance ; and this even in cases in which it can-
not possibly be so. Do we prepare for it 1 no:
why 1 because we regard it in our imaginations
as at a distance : we cannot prove that it is at a
distance ; nay, the contrary may be proved against
us : but still we regard it so in our imaginations,
and regard it so practically ; for imagination is
with most men the practical principle. But, how-
ever strong and general this delusion be, has it
any foundation in reason'? Can that be thought
at a distance which may come to-morrow, which
must come in a few years 1 In a very few years
to most of us, in a few years to all, it will be fixed
and decided, whether we are to be in heaven or
hell ; yet we go on without thinking of it, with-
out preparing for it : and it is exceedingly observa-
ble, that it is only in religion we thus put away
the thought from us. In the settlement of our
worldly affairs after our deaths, which exactly de-
pend on the same event, commence at the same
time, are equally distant, if either were distant,
equally liable to uncertainty as to when the dispo-
sition will take place ; in these, I say, men are not
usually negligent, or think that by reason of its
distance it can be neglected, or by reason of the
uncertainty when it may happen, left unprovided
3 Y
I for. This is a flagrant inconsistency, and proves
decisively that religion possesses a small portion
of our concern, in proportion with what it ought
to do. For instead of giving to it that superiority
which is due to immortal concerns, above those
which are transitory, perishable, and perishing, it
is not even put upon an equality with them ; nor
with those which, in respect Jo time, and the un-
certainty of time, are under the same circum-
stances with itself.
Thirdly ; the spiritual character of religion is
another great impediment to its entering our
thoughts. Ati religion, which is effectual, is, and
must be, spiritual. Offices and ordinances are
the handmaids and instruments of the spiritual
religion, calculated to generate, to promote, to
maintain, to uphold it in the heart, >>ut the thing
itself is purely spiritual. Now the flesh weighetn
down the spirit, as with a load and burden. It is
difficult to rouse the human constitution to a sense
and perception of what is purely spiritual. They
who are addicted, not only to vice, but to gratifi-
cations ami pleasures; they who know no other
rule than to go with the crowd in their career of
dissipation and amusement; they whose atten-
tions are all fixed and engrossed by business,
whose minds from morning to night are counting
and computing ; the weak, and foolish, and stu-
pid : lastly, which comprehends a class of nan-
kind deplorably numerous, the indolent and sloth-
ful; none of these can bring themselves to medi-
tate upon religion. The last class slumber over
its interests and concerns; perhaps they cannot
be said to forget it absolutely, but they slumber
over the subject, in which state nothing as to
their salvation gets done, no decision, no practice.
There are, therefore, we see, various obstacles
and infirmities in our constitutions, which obstruct
the reception of religious ideas in our mind, still
nore such a voluntary entertainment of them as
nay bring forth fruit. It ought, therefore, to be
our constant prayer to God, that he will open our
hearts to the influence of his word, by which is
meant that he will so quicken and actuate the
sensibility and vigour of our minds, as to enable
us to attend to the things which really and truly
Delong to our peace.
So soon as religion gains that hold and that
x>ssession of the heart, which it must do to be-
come the means of our salvation, things change
within us, as in many oth,er respects, so espccial-
y in this. We think a great deal more frequent-
y about it, we think of it for a longer continu-
ance, and our thoughts of it have much more of
vivacity and iropressiveness. First, we begin to
hink of religion more frequently than we did.
Eleretqfore we never thought of it at all, except
when some melancholy incident had sunk our
spirits, or had terrified our apprehensions ; it was
either from lowness or from fright that we thought
of religion at all. Whilst tilings went smoothly,
and prosperously, and gaily with us, whilst all
was well and sate in our health and circumstances,
elision was the last thing we wished to turn our
ninds to: we did not want to have our pleasure
listurlk-d by it. But it is not so with us now:
here is a change in our minds in this respect. It
enters our thoughts very often, both by day and
>y night,. " Have I not remembered thee in my
>ed, and thought upon thee when I was waking 7"
This change Ts one of the prognostications of the
eligious principle forming within us. Secondly,
538
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
these thoughts settle themselves upon our minds.
They were formerly fleeting and transitory, as
the cloud which passes along the sky ; and they
were so for two reasons; first, they found no con-
genial temper and disposition to rest Upon, no se-
riousness, no posture of mind proper for their re-
ception ; and, secondly, because we of our own
accord, by a positive exertion and endeavour of
our will, put them a\vay from us, we -disliked
their presence, we rejected and cast them out.
But it is not so now ; we entertain and retain re-
ligious meditations, as beincr jji fact, those which
concern us most deeply. I do hot speak of the
solid comfort which is to be found in them, be-
cause that belongs to a more advanced state of
Christian Hfe than I am now considering : that
will come afterwards ; and, when it does come,
will form the support, and consolation, and happi-
ness of our lives. . But whilst the religious princi-
ple is forming, at least during the first steps of
that formation, we are induced to think about reli-
gion chiefly from a sense of its vast consequences :
and this reason is enough to make wise men
think about it both long and closely. Lastly, our
religious thoughts come to have a vivacity and
impressiveness in them which they had not hither-
to: that is to say, they interest us much more
than they did. There is a wonderful difference
in the light in which we see the same thing, in
the force and strength with which it rises Up be-
fore our view, in the degree with which we are
affected by it. This difference is experienced in
no one thing more than in religion, not only be-
tween different persons, but by the same person
at different times, the same person in different
stages of the Christian progress, the same person
under different measures of divine grace.
Finally, would we know whether we have
made, or are making, any advances in Chris-
tianity or nof? These are the marks which will
tell us. Do we think more frequently about reli-
gion than we used to do 1 Do we cherish and enter-
tain these thoughts for a longer continuance than
we did 1 Do they interest us mote than former-
ly 1 Do they impress us more, do they strike us
more forcibly, do they sink deeper? If we per-
ceive this, then we perceive a change, upon which
we may ground good hopes and expectations ; if
We perceive it not, we have cause for very afflict-
ing apprehensions, that the power of religion hath
not yet visited us ; cause for deep and earnest in-
tercession with God for the' much wanted succour
of his Holy Spirit.
SERMON V.
v OP THE STATE AFTER DEATH.
Beloved, now are we the sons of God; and it
doth not yet appear what we shall be : but we
know that, when he shall appear, we shall be
like him ; for we shall see him as he -is.
1 John iii. 8,
ONE of the most natural solicitudes of the hu-
man mind, is to know what will become of us af-
ter death, what is already become, of those friends
who are gone. I do not so much mean the great
question, whether we and they shall be happy or
miserable, as I mean the question, what is the na-
ture and condition of that state which we are so
soon to try. This solicitude, which is both natu-
ral and strong, is sometimes, however, carried too
far : and this is the case, when it renders us un-
easy, or dissatisfied, or impatient under the ob-
scurity in which the subject is placed : and placed,
not only in regard to us, or in regard to common
men, but in regard e\vn to the apostles them-
selves of our Lord, who were taught from his
mouth, as well as immediately instructed by his
Spirit. Saint John, the author of the text which
I have read to you, was one of these ; not only an
apostle, but of all the apostles, perhaps, the mest
closely connected with his Master, and admitted
to the most intimate familiarity with him. What
it was allowed, therefore, for man to know, Saint
John knew. Yet this very Saint John acknow-
ledges " that it doth not yet appear what we shall
be ; ' the exact nature, and condition, and circum-
stances of our future state are yet hidden from us.
I think it credible that this may , in a very great de-
gree, arise from the nature of the human under-
stand ing itself. Our Saviour said to Nicodemus, " If
I have told you earthly things, and ye believe not,
how shall ye believe, if I tell you of heavenly things'?"
It is evident from the strain of this extraordinary
conversation, that the disbelief on the part of Nico-
demus, to which our Saviour refers, was that
which arose from the difficulty of comprehending
the subject. Therefore our Saviour's words to
him may be const rued -thus: If what I have just
now said concerning the new birth, concerning
being born again, concerning being born of the
Spirit, concerning the agency of the Spirit, which
are all "earthly things," that is, are all things that
pass in the hearts of Christians in this their pre-
sent life, and upon this earth ; if this information
prove so difficult, that you cannot bring yourself
to believe it, by reason of the difficulty of appre-
hending it ; " how shall ye believe "?" how would
ye be able to conquer the much greater difficulties
which would attend my discourse, " if 1 told you
heavenly things'?" that is to say, if I speak to you
of those things which are passing, or which will
pass, in heaven, in a totally different state and
stage of existence,' amongst natures and beings
unlike yours? The truth -seems to be, that the
human understanding, constituted as it is, though
fitted for the purposes - for which we want it, that
is, though capable of receiving the instruction and
knowledge, Which are necessary for our conduct
and the discharge of our duty, has a native origi-
nal incapacity for the reception of any distinct
knowledge of our future condition. The reason
is, that all our conceptions and ideas are drawn
from experience, (not, perhaps, all immediately
from experience, but experience lies at the bottom
of them all,) and no language, no information, no
instruction, can do more for us, than teach us tho
relation of the ideas which we have. Therefore,
so far as we can judge, no words whatever that
could have been used, no account or description
that could have been written down, would have
been able to convey to us a conception of our fu-
ture state, constituted as our understandings now
are. I am far from saying, that it was not in the
power of God, by immediate -inspiration, to have
struck light and ideas into our minds, of which na-
turally we have ho conception. I a in far from say-
ing, tliat he could not, by an act of his power, have
assumed a human being, or the soul of a human be-
ing into heaven ; and have shown to him or it, the
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
539
nature and the glories of that kingdom : but it is
evident, that, unless the whole order of our present
world be changed, such revelations as these must
be rare ; must be limited to very extraordinary
persons, and very extraordinary occasions. And
even then, with 'respect to others, it is to be ob-
served, that the ordinary modes of communication
by speech or writing are inadequate to the trans-
mitting of any knowledge or information of this
sort: and from a cause, which has already been
noticed, namely, that language deals only with the
ideas which we have ; that these ideas are all found-
ed in experience ; that probably, most probably
indeed, the things of the next world are very re-
mote from any experience which we h;ivo in this;
the consequence of which is. that, though the in-
spired person might himself possess tins superna-
tural knowledge, he could not impart it to any
other person not in like manner inspired. When,
therefore, the nature and constitution of the hu-
man understanding is con sick- red, it can excite no
surprise, it ought to excite no complaint, it is no
fair objection to Christianity, "that it doth not yet
appear what we shall be." 1 do not say that the
imperfection of our understanding forbids it,- (for.
in strictness of speech, that is not imperfect which
answers the purpf ;>v it.) but the pre-
sent constitution of our understanding forbids it.
"It doth not yet ap[>ear,'* saith the apfslle.
(t what we shall be. but this we know, that, when
he shall appe:,r. we shall be like him." As if
he had said, Though we be far from understand-
ing the subject either accurately or clearly, or from
having conceptions and notions adequate to the
truth and realitv of the case, vet we know some-
thing: this, for instance, we know, that, "when
he shall appear, we shall !x> like him." The best
commentary upon this last sentence of Saint John's
text may be drawn from the words of Saint Paul.
His words state the same proposition more fully
when he tells US (Phil. iii. 21) "that < Mm
change our vile body, that it may be like his glo-
rious body." From the two passages together, we
may lay down the following points. First, that
we shall have Inxlies. One apostle informs us,
that we shall be like him ; the other, that our vile
body shall be like his glorious body: therefore \\e
shall have bodies. Secondly, that these bodias
shall be greatly changed from what they are at
present. If we had had nothing but Saint John's
text to have gone upon, this would have been im-
plied. " When he shall appear, we sjitill be like
him." We are not like him now, we shall be like
him ; we shall hereafter be like him, namely, when
he shall appear. Saint John's words plainly re-
gard this similitude as a future thing, as what we
shall acquire, as belonging to what we shall be-
come, in contradistinction to what we are. There-
fore they imply a change which must take place
in our bodily constitution. Bfat what Saint John's
words imply, Saint Paul's declare. " He shall
change our vile bodies." That point, therefore,
may be considered as placed out of question.
That such a change is necessary, that such a
change is to be expected, is agreeable even to the
established order of nature. Throughout the uni-
verse this rule holds, viz. that the body of every
animal is suited to its state. Nay, more ; when an
animal changes its state, it changes its body.
When animals which lived under water, after-
wards live in air, their bodies are changed almost
entirely, so as hardly to be known by any one
mark of resemblance to their former figure ; as, for
example, from worms and caterpillars to flies and
moths. These are common transformations : and
the like happens, when an animal changes its ele-
ment from the water to the earth, or an insect from
living under ground to flying abroad in the air.
And these changes take place in consequence of
that unalterable rule, that the body befitted to the
state ; which rule obtains throughout every region
of nature with which we are acquainted. Now
our present bodies are by no means fitted for hea-
ven. So saith Saint Paul expressly, " Flesh and
blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God ; cor-
ruption doth not inherit incorruption." Between
our bodies as they are now constituted, and the
state into which we shall come then, there is a
;. and invincible incongruity.
Therefore they must undergo a change, and that
change will, first, be universal, at least as to those
who shall l>e saved; secondly, it will be sudden ;
thirdly, it will be very great. First, it will be uni-
versal. Saint Paul's words in the .fifteenth chap-
ter of his first epistle to the Corinthians are, " We
shall all be changed." I do, however, admit, that
this whole chapter of Saint Paul's relates only
to those who shall be saved ; of no others did he
intend to sjx>ak. This, 1 think, has been satis-
factorily made out ; but the argument is too long
to enter upon at present. If so, the expression
of the apostle, " We shall all be changed, proves
only that we who ur;> saved, who are admissible
into his kingdom, shall l>e changed. Secondly,
the change will be instantaneous. So Saint Paul
describes it; "In a moment, in the twinkling of
an eye, the dead shall l>c raised incorruptible,
and therefore their nature must have undergone
the change. Thirdly, it will be very great. No
. which we experience or see, can bear any
assignable proportion to it in degree or importance.
It is this corruptible putting on incorruption ; it is
Jthis mortal putting on immortality. Now it has
often been made a question, whether, after so great
a change, the bodies, with which we shall be
clothed, are to be deemed new bodies, or the same
bodies under a rrcw form. This is a question
which has often been agitated, but the truth is, it
is of no moment or imjwrtance. We continue
the same to all intents and purposes, so long as we
are sensible and conscious that we are so. In this
life our bodies are continually changing. Much,
no doubt, and greatly is the body of every human
being changed from his birth to his maturity : yet,
because we are nevertheless sensible of what we
are, sensible to ourselves that we are the same, we
are in reality the same. Alterations, in the size
or form of our visible persons, make no change in
that respect. Nor would they, if they were much
greater, as in some animals they are ; or even if
they were total. Vast, therefore, as that change
must be, or rather, as the difference must be be-
trween our present and our future bodies, as to their
substance, their nature, or their form, it will not
hinder us from remaining the same, any more than
the alterations which our bodies undergo in this
life, hinder us from remaining the same. We
know within ourselves that we are the same ; and
that is sufficient : and this knowledge or con-
sciousness we shall rise with from the grave, what-
ever be the bodies with which we be clothed.
The two apostles go one step further when they
tell us, that we shall be like Christ himself; and
that this likeness will consist in a resemblance to
540
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
his glorified body. Now of the glorified body of
Christ all that we know is this. At the transfi-
guration upon the mount, the three apostles saw
the person of our Lord in a very different state
from its ordinary state. " He was transfigurec
before them, and his face did shine as the sun,
and his raiment was white as the light." Sainl
Luke describes it thus: "The fashion of his
countenance was altered, and his raiment was
white and glistening : and behold there talked with
him two men who appeared in glory." Then he
adds, "that the apostles, when they awaked, saw
his glory." Now I consider this transaction as a
specimen of the change of which a glorified body
is susceptible. Saint Stephen, at his martyrdom,
saw the glory of God, and Jesus standing at the
right hand of God. Saint Paul, at his conversion,
saw a light from heaven, above the brightness of
the sun, shining round about him ; and in this light
Christ then was. These instances, like the for-
mer, only show the changes and the appearances
of which a glorified body is susceptible, not the
form or condition in which it must necessarily be
found, or must always continue. You .will ob-
serve, that it was necessary that the body of our
Lord at his transfiguration, at his appearance after
his resurrection, at his ascension into heaven, at
his appearance to Stephen, should preserve a re-
semblance to his human person upon earth, be-
cause it was by that resemblance alone he could
be known to his disciples, at least by any means
of knowledge naturally belonging to them in that
human state. But this was not always necessary,
nor continues to be necessary. Nor is there any
sufficient reason to suppose, that this resemblance
to our present bodies will be retained in our fu-
ture bodies, or be at all wanted. Upon the whole,
the conclusions, which we seem authorised to
draw from these intimations of Scripture, are,
First, that we shall have bodies.
Secondly, that they will be so far different from
our present bodies, as to be suited, by that diffe-
rence, to the state and life into which they are
to enter, agreeably to that rule which prevails
throughout universal nature ; that the body of
every oeing is suited to its state, .and that, when
it changes its state, it changes its body.
Thirdly, that it is a question by which we need
not at all be disturbed, whether the bodies with
which we shall arise be new bodies, or the same
bodies under a new form ; for,
Fourthly, no alteration will hinder us from
remaining the same, provided we are sensible and
conscious that we are so; any rnore than the
changes which our visible person undergoes even
in this life, and which from infancy to manhood
are undoubtedly very great, hinder us from being
the same, to ourselves and in ourselves, and to all j
intents and purposes whatsoever.
Lastly, that though, from the imperfection of
our faculties, we neither are, nor, without a con-
stant miracle upon our minds, could be made able
to conceive or comprehend the nature of our
future bodies ; yet we are assured that the change
will be infinitely beneficial ; that our new bodies
will be infinitely superior to those which we carry
about with us in our present state ; in a word,
that whereas our bodies are now comparatively
vile, (and are so denominated,) they will so far
rise in glory, as to be made like unto his glorious
body ; that whereas, through our pilgrimage here,
we have borne, that which we inherited, the
image of the earthy, of our parent, the first Adam,
created for a life upon this earth ; we shall, in our
future state, bear another image, a new resem-
blance, that of the heavenly inhabitant, the se-
cond man, the second nature, even that of the
Lord from heaven.
SERMON VI.
ON PURITY OP THE HEART AND AFFECTIONS.
Beloved, now are we the sons of God: and it
doth not yet appear what we shall be ; but we
know that, when he shall appear, we shall be
like him ; for we shall see him as he is. And
every man that hath this hope in him purificth
himself, even as he is pure. 1 John iii. 2, 3.
WHEN the text tells us, "that every man that
hath this hope in him purifieth himself," it must
be understood as intending to describe the natu-
ral, proper, and genuine effects of this hope,
rather, perhaps, than the actual effects, or at least
as effects, which, in point of experience, uni-^x'
versally follow from it. As hath already befn"
observed, the whole text relates to sincere Chris-
ians, and to these alone ; the word we, in the
preceding part of it, comprises sincere Christians,
and no others. Therefore the word every man,
must be limited to the same sort of men, of whom
be was speaking before. It is not probable, that
in the same sentence he would change the persons
and characters concerning whom he discoursed.
So that if it had been objected to Saint John, that,
n point of fact, every man did not purify himself
who had this hope in him, he would have replied,
[ believe, that these were not the kind of persons
le had in his view; that throughout the whole
of the text, he had in contemplation the religious
condition and character of sincere Christians,
and no other. When in the former part of the
;ext, he talked of we being the sons of God, of we
>eing like Christ, he undoubtedly meant sincere
hristians alone ; and it would be strange if he
meant any. other in this latter part of the text,
hich is in fact a continuation of the same dis-
course, of the same subject, nay, a portion of the
same sentence.
I have said thus much in order to obviate the con-
rariety which there seems to be between Saint
Term's assertion and experience. Experience, I
icknowledge, proves the inefficacy, in numerous
ases, of religious hope and religious motives :
md it must be so; for if religious motives ope-
ated certainly and necessarily, if they produced
their effect by an infallible power over the mind,
we should only be machines necessarily actuated ;
and that certainly is not the thing which a moral
agent, a religious agent, was intended to be. It
was intended that we should have the power of
doing right, and, consequently, of doing wrong ;
for he who cannot do wrong, cannot do right by
choice ; he is a mere tool and instrument, or ra-
ther a machine, whichever he does. Therefore all
moral motives, and all religious motives, unless
they went to deprive man of his liberty entirely,
which they most certainly were not meant to do,
must depend for their influence and success upon
the man himself.
This success, therefore, is various ; but when
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
541
it fails, it is owing to some vice and corruption in
the mind itself. Some men are very little affected
by religious exhortation of any kind, either by
hearing or reading. That is a viee and corrup-
tion in the mind itself Some men, though
affected, are not affected sufficiently to influence
their lives. That is a vice and corruption in the
mind, or rather in the heart ; and so it will always
be found. But 1 do not so much wonder at per-
sons being unaffected by what others tell them,
be those others who they may, preachers, or
teachers, or friends, or" parents, as I wonder at
seeing men not affected by their own thoughts,
their own meditations ; yet it is so; and when it
is so, it argues a deep corruption of mind indeed.
We can think u[>on the most serious, the most
solemn subjects, without any sort of consequence
upon our lives. Shall we call this scared insensi-
bility 1 shall we call it a fatal inefficiency of the
rational principle within us 1 shall we confess,
that the mind has lost its government over the man 1
These are observations upon the state of morals
and religion, as we see them in the world : but
whatever these observations be, it is still true, and
HiflT^s Saint John's assertion, that the proper,
natural, and genuine effect of religious hope is to
cause us to strive " to purify ourselves, even as he
is pure." Saint John strongly fixes our attention,
J mean, as he means, such of us as are sincere
Christians, upon what we are to 1x3 hereafter.
This, as to particulars, is veiled from us, as we
have observed, by our present nature, but as to
generals, as to what is of real importance and
concern for us to know (I do not mean hut that
it might be highly gratifying and satisfactory to
know more, but as to what is of the first import-
ance and concern for us to know,) we have a
glorious assurance, we have an assurance that we
shall undergo a change in our nature infinitely
for the better ; that when he shall appear glorified
as he is, we shall be like him. Then the point
is, what we are to do, how we are to act, under
this expectation, having this hope, with this pros-
pect placed before our eyes. Saint John tells us,
" we are to purify ourselves, even as he is pure."
Now what is the Scriptural meaning of puri-
fying ourselves can be made out thus. The con-
trary of purity is defilement, that is evident : but
our Saviour himself hath told us what the things
which defile a man are ; and this is the enume-
ration ; evil thoughts, adulteries, fornications,
murders, thefts, covetousness, wickedness; deceit,
lasciviousness, an evil eye, blasphemy, pride, fool-
ishness ; and the reason given why these are the
real proper defilements of our nature is, that they
proceed from within, out of the heart : these evil
things come from within, and defile the man.
The seat, therefore, of moral defilement, according
to our Saviour, is the heart ; by which we know,
that he always meant the affections and the dis-
position. The seat, therefore, of moral purity
must necessarily be the same ; for purity is the
reverse of defilement : consequently, to purify
ourselves, is to cleanse our hearts from the pre-
sence and pollution of sin ; of those sins particu-
larly, which reside in, and continue in the heart.
This is the purgation intended in our text. This
is the task of purgation enjoined upon us.
It is to be noticed, that it goes bevond the mere
control of our actions. It adds a further duty, the
purifying of our thoughts and affections. Nothing
can be more certain, than that it was the design
of our Saviour, in the passage here referred to, to
direct the attention of his disciples to the heart, to
that which is within a man, in contradistinction
to that which is external. Now he who only
strives t control his outward actions, but lets his
thoughts and passions indulge themselves without
check or restraint, does not attend to that which
is within him, in -contradistinction to that which
is external. Secondly, the instances which our
Saviour has given, though, like all instances in
Scripture, and to say the truth, in all ancient
writings, they be specimens and illustrations of
his meaning, as to the kind and nature of the
duties or the vices which he had in view, rather
than complete catalogues, including all such
duties or vices byname, so that no other but what
are thus named and specified were intended:
though this qualified way of understanding the
enumerations be right, yet even this enumeration
itself shows, that our Saviour's lesson went beyond
the mere external action. Not only are adulte-
ries and fornications mentioned, but evil thoughts
and Idsciviousness ; not only murders, but an evil
eye; not only thefts, but covetousness or covetings.
Thus by laying the axe to the root; not by lop-
ping off the branches, but by laying the axe to
the root, our Saviour fixed the only rule which
can ever produce good morals.
Merely controlling the actions, without go-
verning Mie thoughts and affections, will not do.
In point of fact it is never successful. It is cer-
tainly not a compliance with our Saviour's com-
mand, nor is it what St. John meant in the text
by purifying ourselves.
" Every man that hath this hope in him puri-
fieth himself, even as he," namely, Christ himself,
" is pure." It is a doctrine and lesson of the New
Testament, not once, but repeatedly, inculcated,
that if we hope to resemble Christ in his glorified
state, we must resemble him in his human state.
And it is a part, and a most significant part, of
this doctrine, that the resemblance must consist in
purity from sin, especially from those sins which
cleave and attach to the heart. It is by Saint
Paul usually put thus : " If we be dead with
Christ, we believe that we shall also live with
him." " Dead with Christ ;" what can that
mean 7 for the apostle speaks to those who had
not yet undergone natural death. He explains :
"Reckon yourselves to be dead unto sin; that,
you hear, is the death he means. "He that is
dead, is freed from sin ;" that is Saint Paul's own
exposition of his own words; and then, keep-
ing the sense of the words in his thoughts, he
adds ; " if we be dead with Christ, we believe
that we shall also live with him." Again, still
keeping the same sense in view, and no other
sense: "If we have been planted together in the
likeness of his death, we shall be also in the like-
ness of his resurrection." Once more, but still
observe in the same sense, " We are buried with
him by baptism unto death ; our old man is cruci-
fied with him." The burden of the whole passage
is, that if we hope to resemble what Christ is in hea-
ven, we must resemble what he was upon earth ;
and that this resemblance must consist specifically
in the radical casting off of our sins. The ex-
pressions of the apostle are very strong ; " that the
body of sin may be destroyed. Let not sin reign
in your mortal body ; obey it not in the lusts there-
of;" not only in its practices, but in its desires.
"Sin shall not have dominion over you."
46
542
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
In another epistle, that to the Colossians, Saint
Paul speaks of an emancipation from sin, as a vir-
tual rising from the dead, like as Christ rose from
the dead. " If ye then be risen with Christ, seek
those things that are above, where Christ sitteth
at the right hand of God: set your affections on
things above, not on things of the earth; for ye
are dead, and your life is hid with Christ in God.
When Christ, who is our life shall appear, then
shall ye also appear with him in glory. 1 ' In this
way is the comparison carried on. And what
is the practical exhortation which it suggests?
" Mortify, therefore, your members which are
upon the earth, fornication, uncleanness, evil con-
cupiscence, and covetousness :" which is an equi-
valent exhortation, and drawn from the same pre-
mises, as that of the text ; " Purify yourselves,
even as he is pure."
The Scriptures then teach, that we are to make
ourselves like Christ upon earth, that we may be-
come like him in heaven, and this likeness is to
consist in purity.
Now there are a class of Christians, and I am
ready to allow, real Christians, to whom this ad-
monition of the text is peculiarly necessary.
They are not those who set aside religion ; they
are not those who disregard the will of their Ma-
ker, but they are those who endeavour to obey him
partially, and in this way: finding it an easier
thing to do good than to expel their sins, espe-
cially those which cleave to their hearts, their af-
fections, or their imaginations, they set their en-
deavours more towards beneficence than purity.
You say we ought not to speak disparagingly of
doing good: by no means; but we affirm, that it
is not the whole of our duty, nor the most difficult
part of it ; in particular, it is not. that part of it
which is insisted upon in the text, and in those
other Scriptures that have been mentioned. The
text, enjoining the imitation of Christ upon earth,
in order that we may become like him in heaven,
does not say, do good even as he went about tloing
good, but it says ; " purify yourselves even as he
is pure : " so saith Samt John. " Mortify the deeds
of the body, let not sin neign in you ; die with
Christ unto sin ; be baptized unto Jesus Christ,
that is, unto his death ; be buried with him by
baptism unto death ; be planted together in the
likeness of his death ; crucify the old man, and
destroy the body of sin ; as death hath no more
dominion over him, so let sin no more reign in
your mortal bodies:" so Saint Paul. All these
strong and significant metaphors are for the pur-
pose of impressing more forcibly upon us this
great lesson ^ that to participate with Christ in his
glory, we must participate with him in his humi-
liation ; and that this participation consists in di-
vesting ourselves of those sins, of the heart espe-
cially, and affections, whether they break out into
action or not, which are inconsistent with that
purity, of which he left us an example ; and to
the attainment and preservation of which purity,
we are most solemnly enjoined to direct our first,
strongest, and our most sincere endeavours.
SERMON VII.
OP THE DOCTRINE OP CONVERSION.
lam not come to call the righteous, but sinners,
to repentance. Matthew ix. 13.
IT appears from these words, that our Saviour
in his preaching held in view the character and
spiritual situation of the persons whom he ad-
dressed ; and the differences which existed amongst
men in these respects : and that he had a regard
to these considerations, more especially in the
preaching of repentance and conversion. ]Now I
think, that these considerations have been too
much omitted by preachers of the Gospel since,
particularly in this very article; and that the doc-
trine itself has suffered by such omission.
It has been usual to divide all mankind into two
classes, the converted and the unconverted ; and,
by so dividing them, to infer the necessity of con-
version to every person whatever. In proposing
the subject under this form, we state the distinc-
tion, in my opinion, too absolutely, and draw from
it a conclusion too universal : because there is a
class and description of Christians, who, having
been piously educated, and having persevered in
those pious courses into which they were first
brought, are not conscious to themselves of ever
having been without the influence of religion, of
ever having lost sight of its sanctions, of ever hav-
ing renounced them; of ever, in the general
course of their conduct, having gone against them.
These cannot properly be reckoned either con-
verted or unconverted. They are not converted,
for they are not sensible of any such religious al-
teration having taken place with them, at any par-
ticular time, as can properly be called a conver-
sion., They are not unconverted, because that
implies a state of reprobation, and because, if we
call upon them to be converted, (which if they be
unconverted we ought to do,) they will net well
understand what it is we mean them to do ; and,
instead of being edified, they may be both much
and unnecessarily disturbed, by being so called
upon.
There is, in the nature of things, a great variety
of religious condition. It arises from hence, that
exhortations, and calls, and admonitions, which
are of great use and importance in themselves,
and very necessary to be insisted upon, are, ne-
vertheless, not wanted by all, arc not equally ap-
plicable to all, and to some are altogether inap-
plicable. This holds true of most of the topics of
persuasion or warning, which a Christian teacher
:an adopt. When we preach against presump-
tion, for instance, it is not because we suppose that
all are presumptuous - T or that it is necessary for
all, or every one, to become more humble, or diffi-
dent, or apprehensive than he now is : on the con-
trary, there may, amongst our hearers, be low, and
timorous, and dejected spirits, who, if they take
to themselves what we say, may increase a dispo-
sition which is already too much; or bent a loss to
know what it is herein that he would enjoin upon
them. Yet the discourse and the doctrine may,
nevertheless, be very good ; ami for a great portion
of our congregation, very necessary. The like. 1
;hink, is the case with the doctrine of conversion.
If we were to omit the doctrine of conversion, we .
should omit a doctrine, which, to many, must be
he salvation of their souls. To them, all calls
without this call, all preaching without this doc-
trine, would be in vain ; and it may be true, that
a great part of our hearers are of this description.
On the other hand, if we press and insist upon
conversion, as indispensable to all for the purpose
f being saved, we should mislead some, who
irould not apprehend how they could be required
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
543
to turn, or be converted to religion, who were ne-
ver, that they knew, either indifferent to it, or
alienated from it.
In opposition, however, to what is here said,
there are who contend, that it is necessary for
every man living to be converted before he can be
saved. This opinion undoubtedly deserves serious
consideration, because it timnd.s itself upon Scrip-
ture, whether rightly or erroneously interpreted is
the question. The portion of Scripture upon
which they who maintain the opinion chiefly rely,
is oiir Saviour's conversation with Nicodemus,
recorded in the third chapter of St. John's Gospel.
Our Saviour is there stated to have said to Nicode-
mus, " Except ;i man !>< born a<jain, he cannot see
the kingdom of God ; and afterwards, as a continua-
tion, and, in some sort, an exposition, of his as-
sertion, to have added, " Kxcept a man be k>rn of
water and of the Spirit, he cannot enter into the
kingdom of God." It is inferred from this passage,
that all persons whatever must undergo a conver-
sion, Ix'ibre they l>e capable of salvation: and it
cannot be said that this is a forced or strained in-
ference: but the question before us at present is,
is it a necessary inference ? I am not unwilling
to admit, that this short, but very remarkable con-
versation, is fairly interpreted of the gift of the
Spirit, and that when this Spirit is given, there is
a new birth, a regeneration; but I say, that it is
no where determined at what time of life, or un-
der what circumstances, this trift is imparted : nay,
the contrary is intimated by comparing it to the
blowing of the wind, which, in its mode of action,
is out of the reach of our rules and calculation:
" the wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou hear-
est the sound thereof, but canst not tell whence
it cometh, and whither it goeth; so is every one
that is born of the Spirit." The effect of this un-
certainty is, that we are left at liberty to pray for
spiritual assistance; and we do pray for it, in all
stages, and under all circumstances of our exist-
ence. We pray for it in baptism, for those who
are baptized ; we teach those who are catechised,
to pray for it in their catechism: parents pray for
its aid and elli-acy to give effect to their parental
instructions, to preserve the objects of their love
and care from sin and wickedness, and from e\erv
spiritual enemy : we pray for it, particularly in the
olli'-e of confirmation, for young persons just en-
tering into the temptations' of life. Therefore spi-
ritual assistance may be imparted at any time,
from the earliest to the latest period of our exist-
ence; and whenever it is imparted, there, is that
being born of the Spirit to which our Saviour's
words refer. And considering the subject as a
matter of experience, if we cannot ordinarily dis-
tinguish the operations of the Spirit from those- of
our own minds, it seems to follow, that neither can
we distinguish when they commence ; so that spi-
ritual assistance may be imparted, and the thing
designated by our Lord's discourse satisfied, with'
out such a sensible conversion, that a person can
fix his memory upon some great and general
change wrought in him at an assignable time.
The consciousness of a great and general
change may be the fact with many. It may be
essentially necessary to many. I only allWe,
that it is not so to all, so that every person, wlio
is not conscious of such a change, must set him-
self down as devoted to perdition.
This, I repeat, is all I contend for; for I by no
means intend to say that any one is without sin,
and in that sense not to stand in need of conver-
sion ; still less, that any sin is to be allowed, and
not, on the contrary, strenuously and sincerely re-
sisted and forsaken. I only maintain, that there
may be Christians who are, and have been, in
such a religious state, that no such thorough and
radical change as is usually meant bj conversion,
is or was necessary for them ; and that they need
not be made miserable by the want of conscious-
ness of such a change.
I do not. in the smallest degree, mean to under-
value, or speak lightly of such changes, whenever
ox in whomsoever they take place : nor to deny
that they may be sudden, yet lasting, (nay, I am
rather inclined to think that it is in this manner
that they frequently do take place ;) nor to dispute
what is upon good testimony alleged concerning
conversion brought about by affecting incidents ot
life ; by striking passages of Scripture ; by impres-
sive discourses from the pulpit; by what we meet
with in books ; or even by single touching sen-
tences or expressions in such discourses or oooks.
1 am not disposed to question these relations un-
necessarily, but rather to bless God for such in-
stances, when I hear of them, and to regard them
as merciful ordinations t>f his providence.
But it will be said, that conversion implies a
revolution of opinion. Admitting this to be so,
such a change or revolution cannot be necessary
to all, because there is no system of religious
t -pi iii. ins. in which some have not been brought
up from the beginning. To change from error
to truth in any great and important article of re-
ligious belief, deserves, I allow, the name of con-
version ; but all cannot be educated in error, on
whatever side truth be supposed to lie.
To me, then, it appears, that although it can-
not be stated with safety, or without leading to
consequences which may confound and alarm
many good men, that conversion is necessary to
all, and under all circumstances ; yet I think, that
there are twp topics of exhortation, which together
comprise 'the whole Christian life, and one or
other of which belongs to every man living, and
these two topics are conversion and improvement ;
when conversion is not wanted, improvement is.
'Now this respective preaching of conversion or
improvement, according to the respective spiritual
condition of those who hear us, or read what we
write, is authorised by the example of Scripture
preaching, as set forth in the New Testament.
It is remarkable, that, in the four Gospels and the
Acts of the Aposties, we read incessantly of the
preaching of repentance, which I admit to mean
conversion. Saint John the Baptist's preaching
set out with it: our Lord's own preaching set out
with it. It was the subject which he charged
upon his twelve apostles to preach. It was the
subject which he sent forth his seventy disciples
to preach. It was the subject which the first
missionaries of Christianity pronounced and
preached in every place which they came to, in the
course of their progress through different coun-
tries. Whereas, in the epistles written by the
same persons, we hear proportionably much less
of repentance, and much more of advance, profi-
ciency, progress, and improvement in holiness of
life : and of rules and maxims for the leading of a
holy and godly life. These exhortations to con-
tinual improvement, to sincere, strenuous, and
continual endeavours after improvement, are de-
livered under a variety of expressions, but with a
544
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
strength and earnestness, sufficient to show what
the apostles thought of the importance of what
they were teaching.
Now the reason of the difference is, that the
preaching of Christ and his apostles, as recorded
in the Gospels, and in the Acts of the Apostles,
was addressed to Jews and Gentiles, whom they
called upon to become disciples of the new religion.
This call evidently implied repentance and con-
version. But the epistles, which the apostles,
and some of which the same apostles, wrote after-
wards, were addressed to persons already become
Christians; and to some who, like Timothy, had
been such from their earliest youth. Speaking
to these, you find, they dwell upon improvement,
proficiency, continued endeavours after higher
and greater degrees of holiness and purity, in-
stead of saying so much about repentance and
conversion. This conduct was highly rational,
and was an adaptation of their instruction to the
circumstances of the persons whom they addressed,
and may be an example to us. in modelling our
exhortations to the different spiritual conditions
of our hearers.
Seeing, then, that the two great topics of our
preaching must always be conversion and improve-
ment ; it remains to be considered, who they are
to whom we must preach conversion, and who they
are to whom we must preach improvement.
First ; Now of the persons in our congregations,
to whom we not only may, but must, preach the
doctrine of conversion plainly and directly, are
those who, with the name indeed of Christians.
have hitherto passed their lives without any in-
ternal religion whatever ; who have not at all
thought upon the subject ; who, a few easy and
customary forms excepted, (and which with them
are mere forms,) cannot truly say of themselves,
that they have done one action which they would
not have done equally, if there had been no such
thing as a God in the world ; or that they have
ever sacrificed any passion, any present enjoy-
ment, or even any inclination of their minds, to
the restraints and prohibitions of religion; with
whom indeed religious motives have not weighed
a feather in the scale against interest or pleasure.
To these it is utterly necessary that we preach
conversion. At this day we have not Jews^and
Gentiles to preach to ; but these persons are really
in as unconverted a state as any Jew or Gentile
could be in our Saviour's time. They are no
more Christians, as to any actual benefit of Chris-
tianity to their souls, than the most hardened Jew,
or the most profligate Gentile was in the age of
the Gospel. As to any difference in the two
cases, the difference is all against them. These
must be converted, before they can be saved.
The course of their thoughts must be changed,
the verv principles upon which they act must be
changed. Considerations, which never, or which
hardly ever entered into their minds, must deeply
and perpetually engage them. Views and mo-
tives, which did not influence them at all, either as
checks from doing evil, or as inducements to do
good, must become the views and motives which
they regularly consult, and by which they are
guided : that is to say, there must be a revolution
of principle : the visible conduct will follow the
change; but there must be a revolution within.
A change so entire, so deep, so important as this,
I do allow to be a conversion ; and no one who is
in the situation above described, can be saved
without undergoing it ; and he must necessarily
both be sensible of it at the time, and remember
it all his life afterwards. It is too momentous an
event ever to be forgot. A man might as easily
forget his escape from a shipwreck. Whether it
was sudden, or whether it was gradual, if it was
effected, (and the fruits will prove that,) it was a
true conversion : and every such person may
justly both believe and say of himself, that he
was converted at a particular assignable time. It
may not be necessary to speak of his conversion,
but he will always think of it with unbounded
thankfulness to the Giver of all grace, the Author
of all mercies, spiritual as well as temporal.
Secondly : The next description of persons, to
whom we must preach conversion, properly so
called, are those who allow themselres in the
course and habit of some particular sin. With
more or less regularity in other articles of behavi-
our, there is some particular sin, which they prac-
tise constantly and habitually, and allow them-
selves in that practice. Other sins they strive
against ; but in this they allow themselves. Now
no man can go on in this course, consistently
with the hope of salvation. Therefore it must be
broken off. The essential and precise difference
between a child of God and another is, not so
much in the number of sins into which he may
fall (though that undoubtedly be a great difference,
yet it is not a precise difference ; that is to say, a
difference, in which an exact line of separation
can be drawn,) but the precise dillerence is, that
the true child of God allows himself in no sin
whatever. Cost what it may, he contends against,
he combats, all sin ; which he certainly cannot be
said to do, who is still in the course and habit of
some particular sin ; for as to that sin, he reserves
it, he compromises it. Against other sins, and
other sorts of sin, he may strive ; in this he allows
himself. If the child of God sin, he does not al-
low himself in the sin; on the contrary, he grieves,
he repents, he rises again ; which is a different
thing from proceeding in a settled self-allowed
course of sinning. Sins which are compatible
with sincerity, are much more likely to be objects
of God's forgiveness, than sins that are not so;
which is the case with allowed sins. Are there
then some sins, in which we live continually'?
some duties, which we continually neglect 1 we
are not children of God; we are not sincere dis-
ciples of Christ. The allowed prevalence of any
one known sin, is sufficient to exclude us from
the character of God's children. And we must
be converted from that sin, in order to become
such. Here then we must preach conversion.
The habitual drunkard, the habitual fornicator,
the habitual cheat must be converted. Now such
a change of principle, of opinion, and of sentiment,
as no longer to allow ourselves in that which we
lid allow ourselves, and the actual sacrifice of a
habit, the breaking off of a course of sinful indul-
gence, or of unfair gain, in pursuance of the new
and serious views which we have formed of these
subjects, is a conversion. The breaking off of a
habit, especially when we Tiad placed much of our
gratification in it, is alone so great a tiling, and
such a step in our Christian life, as to merit the
name of conversion. Then as to the time of our
conversion, there can be little question about that.
The drunkard was converted, when he left oft'
drinking; the fornicator, when he gave up Ids
criminal indulgences, haunts; and connexions; th
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
545
cheat, when he quitted his dishonest practices,
however gainful and successful : provided, in those
several cases, that religious views and motives in-
fluenced the determination, and a religious cha-
racter accompanied and followed these sacrifices.
In these two cases, therefore, men must be con-
verted, and live; or remain unconverted, and die
And the time of conversion can be ascertained.
There must that pass within them, at some par-
ticular assignable time, which is properly a con-
version ; and will, all their lives, be remembered
as such. This description, without all doubt,
comprehends great numbers ; and it is each per-
son's business to settle with himself, whether he
be not of the number; if he be, he sees what is to
be done.
But I am willing to believe, that there are very
many Christians, who neither have in any part of
their lives been without influencing principles,
nor have at any time been involved in the habit
and course of a particular known sin, or have al-
lowed themselves in such course and practice.
Sins, without doubt, they have committed, more
than sufficient to humble them to the dust; but
they have not, to repeat the same words again,
lived in a course of any particular known sin,
whether of commission or neglect; and by deli-
beration, and of aforethought, allowed themaelvefl
in such course. The conversion, therefore, above
described, cannot apply to, or be required o such
Christians. To these we must preach, not con-
version, but improvement. Improvement, conti-
nual improvement, must be our text, and our to-
pic ; improvement in grace, in piety, in disposition;
in virtue. Now, I put the doctrine of improve-
ment, not merely upon the consideration, which
yet is founded upon express Scripture authority,
that, whatever improvement we make in ourselves,
we are thereby sure to meliorate our future condi-
tion, receiving at the hand of God a proportion-
able reward for our efforts, our sacrifices, our per-
severance, so that our labour is never lost, Is never,
as Saint Paul expressly assures us, in vain in the
Lord; though this, I say, be a firm and establish-
ed ground to go upon, yet it is not the ground
upon which I, at present, place the necessity of a
constant progressive improvement in virtue, I
rather wish to lay down upon the subject this
proposition ; namely, that continual improvement
is essential in the Christian character, as an evi-
dence of its sincerity; that, if what we have hi-
therto done in religion has been done from truly
religious motives, we shall necessarily go on;
that, if our religion be real, it cannot stop. There
is no standing still : it is not compatible with the
nature of the subject : if the principles which ac-
tuated us, be principles of godliness, they must
continue to actuate us ; and, under this continued
stimulus and influence, we must necessarily grow
better and better. If this effect do not take place,
the conclusion is, that our principles are weak, or
hollow, or unsound. Unless we find ourselves
grow better, we are not right. For example, if
our transgressions do not become fewer and fewer,
it is to be feared, that we have left off striving
against sin, and then we are not sincere.
I apprehend, moreover, that with no man living
can there be a ground for stopping, as though
there was nothing more left for him to be done.
If any man had this reason for stoppincr, it was
the apostle Paul. Yet did he stop 7 or did he so
judge] Hear his own account; " This I do, for-
3 Z
getting those things that are behind, (those things
\\hereunto I have already attained,) and looking
forward to those things that are before, (to stifl
further improvement,) I press towards the mark
for the prize of the high calling of God in Chrjst
Jesus." This was not stopping ; it was pressing
on. The truth is, in the way of Christian improve-
ment, there is business for the best; there is
enough to be done for all.
First : In this stage of the Christian life it is fit
to suppose, that there are no enormous crimes,
such as mankind universally condemn and cry
out against, at present committed by us ; yet less
faults, still clearly faults,, are not unfrequent with
us. are too easily excused, too soon repeated.
This must be altered.
Secondly : We may not avowedly be engaged
in any course or habit of known sin, being at the
time conscious of such sin ; but we may continue
in some practices which our consciences cannot,
and. would not, upon examination, approve, and
in which we have allowed the wrongness 'of the
practice to be screened frotrt our sight by general
u^iiff, ur by the example of persons of whom we
think well. This is not a course to be proceeded
in longer. Conscience, our own conscience, is to
be our guide in all things.
Thirdly : We may not absolutely omit any
duty to our families, our station, our neighbour-
hood, or the public, with which we are acquaint-
ed ; but might not these duties be more effectively
performed, if they were gone about with more di-
ligence than we have hitherto used 1 and might
not further means and opportunities of doing good
be found out, if we took sufficient pains to inquire
and to consider 1
Fourthly, again: Even where less is to be
blamed in our lives, much may remain to be set
right in our hearts, our tempers, and dispositions.
Let our affections grow more and more pure and
holy, our hearts more and more lifted up to God,
and loosened from this present world ; not from
its duties, but from its passions, its temptations,
its over anxieties, and great selfishness; our souls
rleansed from the dross and corruption which
tney have contracted in their passage through it.
Fifthly: It is no slight work to bring our tem-
pers to what they should be ; gentle, patient, pla-
cable, Compassionate ; slow to be offended, soon
to be appeased ; free from envy, which, though a
necessary, is a difficult, attainment ; free from
bursts of anger ; from aversions to particular^per-
sons, which is hatred ; able heartily to rejoice
with them that do rejoice ; and, from true tender-
ness of mind, weeping, even when we can do no
more, with them that weep; in a word, to put on
charity with all those qualities with which Saint
Paul hath clothed it, 1 Cor. xiii. which read for
this purpose.
Sixthly: Whilst any good can be done by us,
we shall not fail to do it; but even whert our
powers of active usefulness fail, which not seldom
happens, there still remains that lasf, that highest,
that most difficult, and, perhaps, most acceptable,
duty, to our Creator, resignation to his blessed
will in the privations, and pains, and afflictions,
with which we are visited ; thankfulness to him
for all that is spared to us. amidst much that is
gone; for any mitigation of our sufferings, any
degree of ease, and comfort, and support, and as-
sistance, which we experience. Every advanced
life, every life of sickness or misfortune, affords
46*
516
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
materials for virtuous feelings. In a word, I am
persuaded, that there is no state whatever of
Christian trial, varied and various as it is, in
which there will not be found both matter and
room for improvement ; in which a true Christian
will not be incessantly striving, month by month,
and year by year, to grow sensibly better and bet-
ter; and in which his endeavours, if sincere, juul
assisted, as, if sincere, they may hope to be assist-
ed, by God's grace, will not be rewarded with
success.
SERMON VIII.
PRAYER IN IMITATION OP CHRIST.
And he withdrew himself info the wilderness,
and prayed. Luke v. 16.
THE imitation of our Saviour is justly held out
to us as a rule of 'life ; but then there are many
things in which we cannot imitate him. . What
depends upon his miraculous character must ne-
cessarily surpass our endeavours, and be placed
out of the reach of our imitatfon. This reason
makes those particulars, in which we are able
to follow his example, of great importance to be
observed by us ; because it is to these that our
hopes of taking him for our pattern, of treading
in his footsteps, are necessarily confined.
Now, our Lord's piety is one of these particu-
lars. We ran, if we be so minded, pray to God,
as he did. We can aim at the spirit, and warmth,
and earnestness, of his devotions ; we can use, at
least, those occasions, and that mode of devotion,
which his example points out to us.
It is to be remarked, that a fulness of mental
devotion was the spring and source of our Lord's
visible piety. And this state of mind we must
acquire. It consists in this ; in a habit of turning
our thoughts towards God, whenever they are not
taken up with some particular engagement.
Every man has some subject or other, to which
his thoughts turn, when they are not particularly
occupied. In a good Christian this subject is God,
or what appertains to him. A good -Christian,
walking in nis fields, sitting in his chamber, lying
upon his bed, is thinking of God. His meditations
draw, of their own accord, to that object, and then
his thoughts kindle up his devotions ; and devo-
tion never burns so bright, or so warm, as when
it is lighted up from within. The immensity, the
stupendous nature of the adorable Being who
made, and who supports, every thing about us,
his grace, his love, his condescension towards his
reasonable and moral creatures, that is, towards
men ; the good things which he has placed within
our reach, the heavenly happiness which he has
put it in our power to obtain ; the infinite mo-
ment of our acting well and right, so as not to
miss of the great reward, and not only to miss of
our reward, but to sink into perdition ; such re-
flections will not fail of generating devotion, of
moving within us either prayer, or thanksgiving,
or both. This is mental devotion. Perhaps the
difference between a religious and an irreligious
character, depends more upon this mental devo-
tion, than upon any other thing. The difference
will show itself in men's lives and conversation,
in their dealings with mankind, and in the various
duties and offices of their station ; but it originates
and proceeds from a difference in their internal
habits of mind, with respect to God ; in the ha-
bit of thinking of him in private, and of what re-
lates to him ; in cultivating these thoughts, or
neglecting them ; inviting them, or driving them
from us ; in forming, or in having formed a habit
and custom, as to this point, unobserved and un-
observable by others, (because it passes in the
mind, which no one can see ;) but of the most de-
cisive consequence to our spiritual character and
immortal interests. This mind was in Christ : a
deep, fixed/and constant piety. The expressions
of it we have seen in all the forms, which could
bespeak earnestness and sincerity ; but the prin-
ciple itself lay deep in his divine soul ; the ex-
pressions likewise were occasional, more or fewer,
as occasions called, or opportunities offered ; but
the principle fixed and constant, uninterrupted,
unfemitted.
But again : Our Lord, whose mental piety was
so unquestionable, so ardent, and so unceasing,
did not, nevertheless, conte'nt himself with that.
He thought fit, we find, at sundry times, and I
doubt not, also, very frequently, to draw it forth
in actual prayer, to clothe it with words, to betake
himself to visible devotion, to retire to a mountain
for this express purpose, to withdraw himself a
short distance from his companions, to kneel
down, to pass the whole night in prayer, or in a
place devoted to prayer. Let all, who feel their
hearts impregnated with religious fervour, remem-
ber this example ; remember that this disposition
of the heart ought to vent itself in actual prayer :
let them not either be afraid nor ashamed, nor
suffer any person, nor any thing, to keep them
from this holy exercise. They will find the de-
vout dispositions of their souls strengthened, gra-
tified, confirmed. This exhortation may not be
necessary to the generality of pious tempers; they
will naturally follow their propensity, and it will
naturally carry them to prayer. But some, even
good men, are too abstracted in their way of
thinking upon this subject ; they think, that since
God seeth and regardeth the heart, if their devo-
tion be there, if it be within, all outward signs
and expressions of it are superfluous. It is enough
to answer, that our blessed Lord did not so think.
He had all the fulness of devotion in his soul ;
nevertheless, he thought it not superfluous to utter
and pronounce audible prayer to God ; and not
only so, but to retire and withdraw himself from
other engagements ; nay, even from his most inti-
mate and favoured companions, expressly for this
purpose.
Again : Our Lord's retirement to prayer appears
commonly to have followed some Signal act and
display of his divine powers. He did every thing
;o the glory of God : he referred his divine powers
o his Father's gift ; he made them the subject of
lis thankfulness, inasmuch as they advanced his
reat work. He followed them by his devotions.
N"ow every good gift cometh down from the Fa- ..
her of light. Whether they be natural, or whe- '.
her they be supernatural, the faculties which we
possess are by God's donation; wherefore, any
successful exercise of these faculties, any instance
in 'Which we have been capable of doing something
good, properly and truly so, either for the commu-
nity^which is best of all, for our neighbourhood,
for our families, nay even for ourselves, ought to
Btir and awaken our gratitude to God, and to call
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
547
forth that gratitude into actual devotion ; at least,
this is to imitate our blessed Lord, so far as we can
imitate him at all : it is adopting into our lives,
the principle which regulated his.
Again: It appears, on one occasion at least,
that our Lord's retirement to prayer was prepara-
tory to an important work, which he was about
to execute. The manner in which Saint Luke
states this instance is thus : " And it came to
pass in those days that he went out into a moun-
tain to pray, and continued all night in prayer to
God ; and when it was day, he called unto him
his disciples, and of them he chose twelve, whom
also he named apostles." From this statement 1
infer, that the night, passed by our Lord in prayer,
was preparatory to the office which he was about
to execute: and surely an important office it was;
important to him, important to his religion ; im-
portant to the whole world. Nor let it be said,
that our Lord, after all, in one instance at least,
was unfortunate in his choice ; of the twelve one
was a traitor. That choice was not an error ; a
remarkable prophecy was to be fulfilled, and other
purposes were to be answered, of which we cannot
now speak particularly. " I know," says our Lord,
"whom 1 have chosen/' But let us confine our-
selves to our observation. It was a momentous
choice: it was a decision of great consequence;
and it was accordingly, on our Lord's part, pre-
ceded by prayer; not only so, but by a night s]>.-ut
in prayer. " He continued all night in prayer to
God ;" or, if you would rather so render it, in a
house, set apart for prayer to God. "Here, there-
fore, we have an example given us, which we
both can imitate, and ought to imitate. Nothing
of singular importance ; nothing of extraordinary
moment, either to ourselves or others, onuht to In-
resolved upon, or undertaken, without prayer to
God, without previous devotion. It is a natural
operation of piety to carry the mind to God, when-
ever any tiling presses and weighs upon it : they,
who feel not this tendency, have reason to accuse
and suspect themselves of want of piety. More-
over, we have for it the direct example of our
Lord himself: I believe also, I may add, that we
nave the example and practice of good men, in all
ages of the world.
Again : We find our Lord resorting to prayer
in his last extremity ; and with an earnestness, I
had almost said, a vehemence of devotion, propor-
tioned to the occasion. The terms in which the
evangelists describe our Lord's devotion in the
garden of Gethsemane, the evening preceding his
death, are the strongest terms that could be used.
As soon as he came to the place, he bid his disci-
ples pray. When he was at the place, he said
unto them, " Pray that ye enter not into tempta-
tion." This did not content him : this was not
enough for the state and sufferings of his mind.
He parted even from them. He withdrew about
a stone's-cast, and kneeled down. Hear how his
struggle in prayer is described. Three times he
came to his disciples, and returned again to prayer;
thrice he kneeled down, at a distance from them,
repeating the same words. Being in an agony,
he prayed more earnestly: drops of sweat fellfrom
his body, as if it had been great drops of blood ;
yet in all this, throughout the whole scene, the
constant conclusion of his prayer was, " Not my
will, but thine be done." It was the greatest oc-
casion that ever was : and the earnestness of our
Lord's prayer, the devotion of his soul, corres-
ponded with it. Scenes of deep distress await us
all. It is in vain to expect to pass through the
world without falling into them. We have in our
Lord's example, a model for pur behaviour, in the
most severe and most trying of these occasions :
afflicted, yet resigned; grieved and wounded, yet
submissive ; not insensible of our sufferings, but
increasing the ardour-and fervency of our prayer in
proportion to the pain and acuteness of our feel-
ings.
But; whatever may be the fortune of our lives,
one great extremity, at least, the hour of approach-
ing death, is certainly to be passed through.
What ought then to occupy usl what can then
support us 1 Prayer. Prayer, with our blessed
Lord himself, was a refuge from the storm ; almost
every word he uttered, during that tremendous
scene, was prayer : prayer the most earnest, the
most urgent ; repealed, continued, proceeding from
the recesses of his soul; private, solitary; prayer
for deliverance: prayer for strength ; above every
thing, prayer for resignation.
SERMON IX.
ON FILIAL PlfiTY.
And Joseph nourished his father, and his bre-
thren, and all his father's household, with
bread, according to their families-. Genesis
xlvii. 12.
WHOEVER reads the Bible at all, has read the
history of Joseph. It .has universally attracted at-
tention : and, without doubt, there is not one, but
many points in it, which deserve te be noticed. It
is a strong and plain example of the circuitous
providence of God : that is to say, of his bringing
about the ends and purposes of his providence, by
ser-nuM'jlv casual and unsuspected means. That
is a high doctrine, both of natural and revealed
religion ; and is clearly exemplified in this history.
It is an useful example, at the same time, of the
protection and final reward of virtue, though for
a season oppressed and calumniated, or carried
through a long series of distresses and misfortunes.
I say it is an useful example, if duly understood,
and not urged too far. It shows the protection
of providence to be urith virtue under all its diffi-
culties : and this being llieved upon good grounds,
it is enough ; for the virtuous man will be assured
that this protection will keep with him in and
through all stages of his existence living and
dyincr he is in its hands and for the same reason
that it accompanies him, like an invisible guardian,
through his trials, it will finally recompence him.
This is the true application of that doctrine of a
directing providence, which is illustrated by the
history of Joseph, as it relates to ourselves I mean
as it relates to those who are looking forward to a
future state. If we draw from it an opinion, or an
expectation, that, because Joseph was at length
rewarded with riches and honours; therefore we
shall be the same, we carry the example farther
than it will bear. It proves that virtue is under
the protection of God, and will ultimately be taken
care of and rewarded : but in what manner, and
in what stage of our existence, whether in the
present or the future, or in both, is left open by
the example: and both may, and must depend,
518
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
upon reasons, in a great measure, unknown to
and incalculable by us.
A<xuin: The~ history of Joseph is a domestic
example. It is an example of the ruinous conse-
quences of partiality in a parent, and of the quar-
rels and contentions in a family, which naturally
spring from such partiality.
Again : It is a lesson to all schemers and con-
federates in guilt, to teach them this truth, that,
when their scheme does not succeed, they are
sure to quarrel amongst themselves, and to go into
the utmost ^bitterness of mutual accusation and re-
proach ; as the brethren of Joseph you find did.
Again : It is a natural example of the effect of
adversity, in bringing men to themselves, to re-
flections upon their own conduct, to a sense and
perception of many things which had gone on, and
might have gone on, unthought of and unper-
ceived, if it had not been for some stroke of mis-
fortune, which roused their attention. It was af-
ter the brethren of Joseph had been shut up by
him in prison, and were alarmed, as they well
might be, for their lives, that their consciences so
far as appears, for the first time smote them : " We
are verily guilty concerning our brother, in 'that
we saw the anguish of his soul, when he besought
us and we would not hear." This is the natural
and true effect of judgments in this world, to bring
us to a knowledge of ourselves ; that is to say, of
those bad things in our lives which have deserved
the calamities we are made to suffer.
These are all points in the history: but there is
another point in Joseph's character, which I make
choice of as the subject of my present discourse ;
and that is his dutifulness and affection to his fa-
ther. Never was this virtue more strongly dis-
played. It runs like a thread through the whole
narrative ; and whether we regard it as a quality
to be admired, or, which would be a great deal
better, as a quality to be imitated by us, so far, as
a great disparity "of circumstances will allow of
imitation, (which in principle it always will do,)
it deserves to be considered with a separate and
distinct attention.
When a surprising course of events had given
to Joseph, after a long series of years, a most un-
expected opportunity of seeing his brethren in
Egypt, the first question which he asked them
was, " Is your father yet alive 1" This appears
from the account, which Reuben gave to Jacob^
of the conference which they had held with the
great man of the country, whilst neither of them,
as yet,, suspected who he was. Joseph, you re-
member, had concealed himself during their first
journey, from the knowledge of his brethren; and
it was not consistent with his disguise, to be more
full and particular, than he was, in his inquiries.
On account of the continuance of the famine in
the land, it became necessary for the brethren of
Joseph to go a second time into Egypt to seek
corn, and a isecond time to produce themselves l>e-
fore the lord of the .country. What had been Jo-
seph's first question on the former visit, was his
first question in this, " Is your father well, the
old man of whom ye spake 7 is he yet alive 1 And
they answered, Thy servant our father is in good
health, he is yet alive: and they bowed down
their heads, and made obeisance."
Hitherto, you observe, all had passed in disguise.
The brethren of Joseph knew nothing who they
were speaking to; and Joseph was careful to pre-
serve the secret. You will now take notice, how
this affected disguise was broken, and how Joseph
found himself forced, as it were, from the resolu-
tion he had taken, of keeping his brethren in ig-
norance of his person. He had proposed, you
rcad, x to detain Benjamin ; the rest, being perplex-
ed beyond measure, and distressed by this propo-
sal, Judah, approaching Joseph, presents a most
earnest supplication ior the deliverance of the
child : offers himself to remain Joseph's prisoner
or slave, in his brother's place, and, in the conclu-
sion, touches, unknowingly, upon a string, which
vibrates with all the affections of the person whom
he was addressing. " How shall I go up to my
father, and the lad be not with me 1 lest perad ven-
ture I see the evil that shall come on my father."
The mention of this circumstance, and this per-
son, subdued immediately the heart of Joseph,
and produced a sudden, and, as it should seem, an
undesigned, and premature discovery of himself,
to his astonished family. Then, that is, upon this
circumstance being mentioned, Joseph could not
refrain himself; and after a little preparation, Jo-
seph said unto his brethren, " I am Joseph."
The great secret being now disclosed, what was
the conversation which immediately followed 7
The next word from Joseph's rnouth was, " Doth
my father yet live?' and his brethren could not
answer him; surprise had overcome their faculty
of utterance. After comforting, however, and en-
couraging his brethren, who seemed to sink under
the intelligence, Joseph proceeds, " Haste ye, and
go up to my father, and say unto him, Thus saith
thy son Joseph, God hath made me lord of all
Egypt : come down unto me, tarry not : and thou
shalt dwell in the land of Goshen, and thou shall
be near unto me, and there will I nourish thee,
(for yet there are five years of famine,) lest thou,
and thy household, and all that thou hast, come
to poverty. , And ye shall tell my father of all my
glory in Egypt, and of all that ye have seen : and
ye shall haste and bring down my father hither."
It is well known that Jacob yielded to this in-
vitation, and passed over with his family into
next thing to be attended to, is the recep-
tion which he there met with from his recovered
son. " And Joseph made ready his chariot, and
went up to meet Israel his father, to Goshen ; and
presented himself unto him, and he fell on his
neck, and wept on his neck a good while. And
Israel said unto Joseph, Now let me die, since I
have seen thy face ; because thou art yet alive."
Not content with these strong expressions of per-
sonal duty and respect, Joseph now availed him-
self of his power and station to fix his father's fa-
mily in the enjoyment of those comforts and ad-
vantages, which the land of Egypt afforded in the
universal dearth which then oppressed that region
of the world. For this purpose, as wel! as to give
another public token to his family, and to the
country, of the deep reverence with which he re-
garded his parent, he introduced the aged Patri-
arch to Pharaoh himself. " And Joseph brought
in Jacob his father, and sef, him before Pharaoh :
and Jacob blessed Pharaoh." The sovereign of
Egypt received a benediction from this venerable
stranger. "And Joseph (the account proceeds)
nourished his father, and his brethren, and all his
father's household, with bread according to their
families."
It remains to be seen how Joseph conducted
himself towards his father, on the two occasions,
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
549
in which alone it was left for him to discharge the
office, and testify the affection of a son ; in his
sickness, and upon his death. " And it came to
pass," we read, "after these things, one told Jo-
seph!, behold, thy father is sick : and he took with
him his two sons, Manasseh and Ephraim." Jo-
seph delayed not, you find, to leave the court of
Pharaoh, the cares and greatness of his station in
it, in order to pay the last visit to his dying parent :
and to place before him the hopes of his house
and family, in the persons of his twasons. " And
Israel beheld Joseph's sons, and said, Who are
these? And Joseph said unto his father, They
are my sons, whom God hath given me in this
place. And he said, Bring them, I prav thee,
unto me, and I will bless them. (Now the eyes
of Israel were dim, so that he could not see.) And
he brought them near unto him; and he kissed
them, and embraced them : and Israel said unto
Josej>h, 1 had not thought to see thy face ; and, lo !
(rod hath showi-d me also thy seed. And Joseph
brought them out from between his knees, and ne
bowed himself with his face to the earth." Nothing
can well be more solemn or interesting than this
interview; more honourable or consoling to old
age ; or more expressive of the dignified piety of
the best of sons, and the greatest of men.
We now approach the last scene of this event-
ful history, and the U'st testimony, which it was
possible for Joseph to give, of the love and rever-
ence with which he had never ceased to treat his
father, and that was upon the occasion of his
death, and the honours which he paid to his me-
mory ; honours, vain, no doubt, to the dead, but,
so far as they are significations of gratitude or af-
fection, justly deserving of commendation and es-
teem. "And when Jacob had made an end of
commanding his sons, he gathered up his feet into
the bed, and yielded up the ghost, and was gather-
ed unto his people. And Joseph fell upon his fa-
ther's face, and wept upon him, and kissed him.
And Joseph commanded his servants, the physi-
cians, to embalm his father ; and the physicians
embalmed Israel. And the Egyptians mourned
for him threescore and ten days. And Joseph
went up to bury his father ; and with him went
up all the servants of Pharaoh, the elders of his
house, and all the elders of the land of Egypt.
And all the house of Joseph, and his brethren,
and his father's house : and there went up with
him both chariots and horsemen ; and it was a
very great company. And they came to the thresh-
ing floor of Atad, which is beyond Jordan ; and
there they mourned with a great and a very sore
lamentation : and he made a mourning for his fa-
ther seven days."
Thus died, and thus was honoured in his death,
the founder of the Jewish nation, who, amidst
many mercies, and many visitations, sudden and
surprising vicissitudes of afflictions and joy, found
it the greatest blessing of his varied and eventful
life, that he had been the father of a dutiful and
affectionate son.
It has been said, and, as I believe, truly, that
there is no virtuous quality belonging to the hu-
man character, of which there is not some distinct
and eminent example to be found in the Bible; no
relation in which we can be placed, no duty which
we have to discharge, but that we may observe a
pattern for it in the sacred history. Of the duty
of children to parents, of a son to his father, main-
tained under great singularities and variations of
fortune, undiminished, nay, rather increased, by
absence, by distance, by unexampled success, by
remote and foreign connexions, you have seen, in
this most ancient of all histories, as conspicuous,
and as amiable an instance.as can be met with in
the records of the world, in the purest, best ages
of its existence.
SERMON X.
(PART I.)
TO THINK LESS OF OUR VIRTUES, AND MORE OP
OUR SINS.
My sin is ever before me. Psalm li. 3.
THERE is a propensity in the human mind, very
general and very natural, yet at the same time,
unfavourable in a high degree to the Christian
character ; which is, that, when we look back upon
our li\es, our recollection dwells too much upon
our virtues ; our sins are not, as they ought to be,
In'fore us ; we think too much of our good quali-
ties, or good actions, too little of our crimes, our
corruptions, our fallings off" and declension from
God's laws, our defects and weaknesses. These
we sink and overlook, in meditating upon our good
properties. This, I allow is natural : because, un-
doubtedly, it is more agreeable to have our minds
occupied with the cheering retrospect of virtuous
deeds, than with the bitter humiliating remem-
brance of sins and follies. But, because it is na-
tural, it does not follow that it is good. It may be
the bias and inclination of our minds ; and yet
neither right nor safe. When I say that it is
wrong, I mean, that it is not the true Christian dis-
position : and when I say that it is dangerous, I
nave a view to its effects upon our salvation.
I say, that it is not the true Christian disposi-
tion ; for, first, how does it accord with what we
read in the Christian Scriptures, whether we con-
sider the precepts, which are found there, applica-
ble to the subject, or the conduct and example of
Christian characters'?
Now, one precept, and that of Christ himself,
you find to be this: "Ye, when ye shall have
done all those things, which are commanded you,
say, We are unprofitable servants ; we have done
that which was our duty to do." Luke xvii. 10.
It is evident, that this strong admonition was in-
tended, by our Saviour, to check in his disciples
an over-weening opinion of their own merit. It
is a very remarkable passage. I think none
throughout the New Testament more so. And
the intention, with which the words were spoken,
was evidently to check and repel that opinion of
merit, which is sure to arise from the habit of fix-
ing our contemplation so much upon our good
qualities, and so little upon our bad ones. Yet
this habit is natural, and was never prohibited by
any teacher, except by our Saviour. With him it
was a great fault, by reason of its inconsistency
with the favourite principle of his religion, hu-
mility. I call humility not only a duty, but a
principle. Humble -mindedness is a Christian
principle, if there be one ; above all, humble-mind-
edness towards God. The servants, to whom our
Lord's expression refers, were to be humble-mind-
ed, we may presume, towards one another; but
550
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
towards their Lord, the only answer, the only
thought, the only sentiment, was to be, " We are
Unprofitable servants." And who were they, thai
were instructed by our Lord to bear constantly
this reflection about with them 1 Were they sin
ners, distinctively so called 1 Were they grievous,
or notorious sinners 1 Nay, the very contrary ; they
were persons, "who had done all those things
that were commanded them!" This is precisely
the description which our Lord gives us of the
persons to whom his lesson was directed. There-
fore you see, that an opinion of merit is discou-
raged, even in those who had the best pretensions
to entertain it ; if any pretensions were good. But
an opinion of merit, an over-weening opinion of
merit, is sure to grow up in the heart, whenever
we accustom ourselves to think much of our vir-
tues, and little of our vices. It is generated, fos-
tered, and cherished, by this train of meditation
\re have been describing. It cannot be otherwise.
And if we would repress it; if we would correct
ourselves in this respect ; if we would bring our-
selves into a capacity of complying with our Sa-
viour's rule, we must alter our turn of thinking ;
we must reflect more upon our sins, and less upon
our virtues. Depend upon it, that we shall view
our characters ! more truly, we shall view them
much more safely, when we view them in their
defects, and faults, and infirmities, than when we
view them only, or principally, on the side of their
good qualities ; even when these good qualities
are real. I suppose, and I have all along sup-
posed, that the good parts of our characters, which,
as I contend, too much attract our attention, are,
nevertheless, real; and I suppose this, because
our Saviour's parable supposes the same.
Another great Christian rule is, "Work out
your salvation with fear and trembling." (Philip.
li. 12.} These significant words " fear and trem-
bling, do not accord with the state of a mind
which is all contentment, satisfaction, and self-
complacency ; and which is brought into that state
by the habit of viewing and regarding those good
qualities, which a person believes to belong to
himself, or those good actions Which he remembers
to have performed. The precept much better ac-
cords with a mind anxious, fearful, and apprehen-
sive ; and made so by a sense of sin. But a sense
of sin exists not, as it ought to do, in that breast
which is in the habit of meditating chiefly upon
its virtues. I can very well believe, that two per-
sons of the same character in truth, may, never-
theless, view themselves in very different lights,
according as one is accustomed to look chiefly at
his good qualities, the other chiefly at his trans-
gressions and imperfections ; and I say, that this
latter is the disposition for working out salvation
agreeably to Saint Paul's rule and method ; that
is, " with fear and trembling :" the other is not.
But further: There is, upon this subject, a great
deal to be learnt from the examples which the
New Testament sets before us. Precepts are
short, necessarily must be so ; take up but little
room; and, for that reason, do not always strike
with the force, or leave the impression, which
they ought to do : but examples of character, when
the question is concerning character, and what is
the proper character, have more weight and body
in the consideration, and take up more room in
our minds than precepts. Now, from one end of
the New Testament to the other, you will find
the evangelical character to be contrition. You
hear little of virtue or righteousness ; but you hear
perpetually of the forgiveness of sins. With the
first Christian teachers, " repent, repent," was the
burden of their exhortations; the almost constant
sound of their voice. Does not this strain of preach-
ing show, that the preachers wished all who heard
them, to think much more of offences than of
merits 1 Nay, further, with respect to themselves,
whenever this contemplation of righteousness
came in their way, it came in their way only to
be renounced, as natural perhaps, and also grate-
ful, to human feelings, but as inconsistent and
irreconcilable with the Christian condition. It
might do for a heathen, but it was the reverse of
every thing that is Christian.
The turn of thpught which I am recommend-
ing, or rather, which I find it necessary to insist
upon, as an essential part ofthe Christian charac-
ter, is strongly seen in one particular passage of
Saint Paul's writings ; namely, in the third chap-
ter to the Philippians: "If any other man think-
eth that he hath whereof he might trust in the
flesh, I more ; circumcised the eighth day, of the
stock of Isjael, ofthe tribe of Benjamin, an He-
brew of the Hebrews ; as touching the law, a Pha-
risee ; concerning zeal, persecuting the church ;
touching the righteousness which is in the law,
blameless." These were points which at that
time of day, were thought to be grounds of confi-
dence and exultation. But this train of thought
no sooner rises in his mind, than the apostle checks
it, and turns from it to an anxious view of his own
deficiencies. "If by any means I might attain
unto the resurrection of the dead." These are
the words of an anxious man. " Not," then he
proceeds; " not as though I had already attained,
either were already perfect ; but I follow after, if
that I may apprehend that for which also I am
apprehended of Christ Jesus. Brethren, I count
not myself to have apprehended, but this one
thing I do; forgetting those things which are be-
hind, and reaching forth unto those things which
are before, I press towards the mark, for the prize
of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus." In
this passage, you see, that, withdrawing his mind
from all notions of perfection, attainment, accom-
plishment, security, ha fixes it upon his deficien-
cies. Then he tells you, that forgett ing, that is,
expressly putting out of his mind and his thought,
the progress and advance which he had already
made, he casts his eyes and attention upon those
qualities in which he was short and deficient, upon
what remained for him yet to do ; and this I take
to be the true Christian way of proceeding. " For-
get those things that are behind ;" put out of your
;houghts the attainments and progress you have
already made, in order to see fully your defects
and imperfections.
In another passage, found in a chapter with
which all are acquainted, the fifteenth of the First
Epistle to the Corinthians, our apostle, having
occasion to compare his situation with that of the
other apostles, is led to say: "I laboured more
ibundantly than they all." Saint Paul's labours
n the Gospel, labours which consumed his whole
ife, were surely what he might reflect upon with
complacency and satisfaction. If such reflections
were proper in any case, they were proper in his.
Yet observe how they are checked and qualified .
The moment he had said, " I laboured more abund-
antly than they all," he added, as it were, correcting
himself for the expression, " Yet not I, but the
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
551
grace of God, which was with me." He mag-
nifies not himself, but the grace of God which
was with him. In the next place, you will ob-
serve, that, though the consciousness of his labours,
painful, indefatigable labours, and meritorious la-
bours, if ever man's were so I say, that, though
the consciousness of these was present to his mind
at the time, yet it did not hinder him from feel-
ing, with the deej>est abasement and self-degrada-
tion, his former ollenccs against Christ, though
they were ollences which sprang from error. " I
am the least of the apostles, that am not meet to
be called an apostle, because I persecuted the
church of God ; but, by the grace of God, I am
what I am." The faults of his life were upper-
most in his mind. No mention, no recollection
of his services, even when he did happen to recol-
lect them, shut out even for a single moment, the
deep memory of his offences, or covered or con-
cealed it from his view.
In another place, the same apostle, looking
back upon the. history of his singular and eventful
life, exhibits himself to his converts, as how .' not
as bringing forward his merit, pleading his ser-
vices, or claiming his reward : but as nothing
other, nothing more, than a monument and exam-
ple of God Almighty's mercy. Sinners need not
des|>air of mercy, when so great a sinner as him-
self obtained it. Hear his own words : " For this
cause I obtained mercy, that in me first Jesus
Christ might show forth all long-suffering, for a
pattern to them which should hereafter U'lieve on
him to life everlasting;" 1 Timothy i. 16. What
could be more humble or self-depressing than this
acknowledgment ? yet this was Saint Paul's.
The eleventh chapter of the Second- Epistle to
the Corinthians, and also the twelfth, aught to be
read by you on tliis occasion. They are very re-
markable chapters, and very much <o our present
purpose. It had so happened, that some hostile.
:u; 1. as it should seem, some t'alse teachers, had
acquired a considerable influence and ascendancy
in the church which Saint Paul had planted. To
counteract which influence it became necessary
ior him to assert his character, to state his preten-
sions to credit and authority, amongst them at
least, and in comparison with those who were
leading them astray. He complies with the occa-
sion ; and he does, accordingly, set forth and enu-
merate his pretensions. But I entreat you to ob-
serve, with how many apologies, with what
reluctance, and under what strong protestations,
he does it; showing most manifestly, how con-
trary it was to his habit, his judgment, and to the
inclination of his mind to do so. His expressions
are such as these : " Would to God ye could bear
with me a little in my folly ; and, indeed, bear
with me." What was his folly 1 the recital he
was about to give of his services and pretensions.
Though compelled by the reason you have
heard, to give it, yet he calls it folly to do so. He
is interrupted as he proceeds by the same senti-
ment ; "-That which I speak, I speak it not after
the Lord, but, as it were, foolishly in this confi-
dence of boasting." And again, referring to the
necessity, which drew from him this sort of lan-
guage ; " I am become," says he, " a fool in glory-
ing; ye have compelled me."
But what forms, perhaps, the strongest part of
the example is, that the apostle considers this ten-
dency to boast and glory, though it was in his
gifts, rather than his services, as one of his dan-
gers, one ,of his temptations, one of the propensi-
ties which he had both to guard and struggle
against, and lastly, an inclination, for which ne
found an antidote and remedy in the dispensa-
tions of Providence towards him. Of his gilts, he
says, considering himself as nothing, as entirely
passive in the hands of God, "of such a one," of
a person to whom such gifts and revelations as
these have heen imparted, " I will glory; yet of
myself I will not glory, but in mine infirmities."
Then he goes on: "Lest I should be exalted
above measure through the abundance of the re-
velations, there was given to me a thorn in the
llesh, the messenger of Satan to bufjet me, lest I
should be exalted above measure."
After what you have heard, you will not won-
der, that this same Saint Paul should pronounce
himself to be " the chief of sinners. " Jesus
C hrist came into the worl.d to save sinners, of whom
I am the chief;" 1 Tim.'i. 15. His sins were up-
permost in his thoughts. Other thoughts occa-
sionally visited his mind : but the impression
which these had made, was constant, deep, fixed,
and indelible.
If, therefore, you would imitate Saint Paul in
his turn and train of religious thought; if you
would adopt his disposition, his frame, his habit
of mind, in this important exercise ; you must
meditate more upon your sins, and less upon your
virtues.
Again ; and which is another strong scriptural
reason for the ad\ice 1 am giving, the habit of
viewing and contemplating our own virtues has a
tendency in opposition to a fundamental duty of
our religion, the entertaining of a (lue and grate-
ful sense of the mercy of God in the redemption
of the world by Jesus Christ. The custom of
thought, which we dissuade, is sure to generate
in us-notions of merit ; and that, not only in com-
parison with other men, wliich is by no means
good, or likely to produce any good effect upon
our disposition, but also in relation to God him-
self; whereas the whole of that sentiment, wiiich
springs up in the mind, when we regard our cha-
racters in comparison with those of other men, if
tolerated at all, ought to sink into the lowest self-
abasement, when we advance our thoughts to God,
and the relation in which we stand to nim. Then
is all boasting, either in spirit or by words, to be
done away. The highest act of faith and obedi-
ence, recorded in Scripture, was Abraham's con-
sent to sacrifice his son, when he believed that
God required it. It was the severest trial that
human nature could be put upon ; and, therefore,
if any man, who ever lived, were authorized to
boast of his obedience, it was Abraham after this
experiment. Yet what says Saint Paul 1 "If
Abraham were justified by works, he hath where-
of to glory ; but not before God." No man's pre-
tensions to glory were greater, yet, before God,
they were nothing. " By grace ye are saved
through faith, and thatrTiot of yourselves, lest any
man should boast ;" Eph. ii. 8, 9. , Here you
perceive distinctly, that speaking of salvation, with
reference to its cause, it is by grace ; it is an act of
pure favour; it is not of yourselves ; it is the gift
of God ; it is not of works ; and that this repre-
sentation was given, lest any man should boast,
that is, expressly for the purpose of beating down
and humbling all sentiments of merit or desert in
what we do ; lest they induce us, as they will in-
duce us, to think less gratefully, or less piously,
552
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
of God's exceeding love and kindness towards us.
There is no proportion between even our best
services and that reward which God hath in re-
serve for them that love him. Why then are
such services to be so rewarded 1 It is the grace
of God ; it is the riches of his grace ; in other
words, his abounding kindness* and favour ; it is
his love j it is his mercy. In this manner the sub-
ject is constantly represented in Scripture ; and i
is an article of the Christian religion. And t<
possess our minds wit ha sense, an adequate sense
so far as it is possible to do so, of this truth, is i
duty of the religion. But to he ruminating anc
meditating upon our virtues, is not the way to ac
quire that sense. Such meditations breed opinions
of merit and desert ; of presumption, of pride, of
superciliousness, of self-complacency ; tempers ol
mind, in a word, not only incompatible with hu-
mility, but also incompatible with that sense of
divine love and mercy towards us, which lies a
the root of all true religion, is the source anc
fountain of all true piety.
You have probably heard of the term self-right
eousness : you find it much in the writings anc
discourses of a particular class of Christians, anc
always accompanied with strong and severe ex-
pressions of censure and reprobation. If the term
mean the habit of contemplating our virtues, and
not our vices ; or a strong leaning and inclination
thereto, I agree with those Christians in thinking,
that it is a disposition, a turn of mind to be strong-
ly resisted, and restrained, and repressed. If the
term mean any other way of viewing our own
character, so as to diminish or lower our sense of
God Almighty's goodness and mercy towards us,
in making us the tender of a heavenly reward,
then also I agree with them in condemning it,
both as erroneous in its principle, and highly dan-
gerous in its effects. If the term mean something
more than, or different from what is here stated,
and what has been enlarged upon in this dis-
course, then I profess myself not to understand its
meaning.
SERMON XI.
(PART II.)
TO THINK LESS OF OUR VIRTUES, AND MORE OF
OL-R SINS.
My sin is ever before me. Psalm li. 3.
To think well is the way to act rightly ; be-
cause thought is the source and spring of action.
When the course and habit of thinking is wrong,
the root is corrupt ; " and a corrupt tree bringeth
not forth good fruit :" Do what you will, if the
root be corrupt, the fruit will be, corrupt also. It
is not only true, that different actions will proceed
from different trains of thought ; but it is also
true, that the same actions, the same external con-
duct, may be very different in the sight of God,
according as it proceeds from a right, or a wrong,
a more or less proper principle and motive, a more
or less proper disposition. Such importance is at-
tached to the disposition ; of such great conse-
quence is it, that our disposition in religious mat-
ters be what it should be. By disposition is
meant, the bent or tendency of our inclinations ;
and by disposition is also meant, the train and ha-
bit of our thoughts, two things which are always
nearly connected. It is the latter sense, however,
in which I use the word ; and the particular les-
son which I am inculcating, for the conduct of
our thoughts, is to think more of our sins, and
less of our virtues. In a former discourse, I show-
ed, that there are strong and positive Scripture
precepts, a due regard to which accords witli the
state of mind of him who fixes his attention upon
his sins and defects, and by no means with his
state of mind, who hath fixed his attention chiefly
upon his virtues : Secondly, That Scripture ex-
amples, that of Saint Paul most particularly, teach
us to renounce the thoughts of our virtues, and to
entertain deeply and constantly the thoughts of
our sins : Thirdly, That the habit here reproved,
is inconsistent with a due sense of the love of God
in the redemption of the world. I am now to
offer such further reasons as appear to support
the rule I have laid down.
And, first, There is no occasion whatever to
meditate upon our virtues and good qualities.
We may leave them to themselves. We need
not fear that they will either be forgotten or un-
dervalued. " God is not unrighteous to forget
your works and labour of love :" Hebrews vi. 10.
He will remember them ; we need not. They are
set down in his book ; not a particle will be lost.
Blessed are they who have much there; but we
need not count them up in our recollection ; for,
whatever our virtues are or were, we cannot make
them better by thinking of them afterwards. We
may make them better in future by thinking of
their imperfections, and by endeavouring to en-
counter, to lessen, or remove those imperfections
hereafter ; but then this is to think, not upon our
virtues, but upon our imperfections. Thinking
upon our virtues, as such, has no tendency to
make them better, be they what they will. But
it is not the same with our sins. Thinking upon
these a/terwards may make a very great alteration
in them, because it may lead to an effectual re-
pentance. As to the act itself, what is past can-
not be recalled ; what is done cannot be undone :
the mischief may possibly be irrevocable and irre-
parable. But as to the sin, it is different. Deep,
;rue, sincere penitence may, through the mercies
of God in Christ Jesus, do away that. And such
penitence may be the fruit of meditation upon our
sins ; cannot possibly come without it. Nay, the
act itself may be altered. It is not always that an
njury is irreparable. Wrong indeed has been re-
ceived at our hands ; but restitution or compensa
ion may be in our power. When they are so,
hey are the surest proofs of penitence. No peni-
ence is sincere without them, if they be practica-
le. This benefit to those whom we have injured,
and an infinitely greater benefit to ourselves than
o them, may be the effect of seeing our sins in
heir true light, which that man never does, who
hinks only, or chiefly, or habitually, upon his
r irtues. Can a better reason be given for medi-
ating more upon our sins, and less upon our vir-
ues, than this ; that one train of thought may be
>rofitablc to salvation, the other is profitable for
nothing ?
It is an exceedingly good observation, that we
may safely leave our virtues and good qualities to
hernselves. And, besides the use we have made
f it in showing the superfluity, as well as the
anger of giving in to the contemplation of our
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
553
virtues, it is also a quieting and consoling re-
flection for a 'different, and, in some degree, an
opposite description of character, that is to say,
for tender and timorous consciences. Such are
sometimes troubled with doubts and scruples
about even their good actions. Virtue was too
easy for them, or too difficult ; too easy and plea-
sant to have any merit in it : or difficult by rea-
son of fleshy, selfish, or depraved propensities,
still existing unsubdued, still struggling in their
unregenerated hearts. These are natural, and, as
I have sometimes known them, very distressing
scruples. I think that observations might be of-
fered to remove the ground of them altogether:
but what I have at present to suggest is, that the
very act of reflection, which leads to them, is un-
necessary, provided you will proceed by our rule,
viz. to leave your virtues, such as they are, to
themselves; and to bend the whole force of your
thought towards your sins, towards the conquest
of these.
But it will be said, are we not to taste the com-
forts of religion 1 Are we not to be permitted, or
rather ought we not to be encouraged, to relish,
to indulge, to enjoy these comforts ? And can
this be done without meditating upon our good
actions.
I answer, that this can be done without medi-
tating upon our good actions. We need not seek
the comforts of religion in this way. Much we
need not seek them at all ; they will visit us of
their own accord, if we be serious and hearty in
our religion. A well-spent life will impart its sup-
port to the spirits, without any endeavour, on our
part, to call up our merits to our view, or even al-
lowing the idea of merit to take possession of our
minds. There will, in this respect, always be as
much difference as there ought to be, between the
righteous man and the sinner, (or, to speak more
properly, between sinners of different derives.;
without taking pains to draw forth in our recol-
lection instances of our virtue, or to institute a
comparison between ourselves and others, or cer-
tain others of our acquaintance. These are habits,
which I hold to be unchristian and wrong; and
that the true way of finding and feeling the con-
Bolations of religion, is by progressively conquer-
ing our sins. Think of these; contend with
these, and, if you contend with sincerity, and
with effect, which is the proof indeed of sincerity,
I will answer for the comforts of religion being
your portion. What is it that disturbs our reli-
gious tranquillity 1 What is it that embitters or
impairs our religious comfort, damps and checks
our religious hopes, hinders us from relishing
and entertaining these ideas, from turning to
them, as a supply of consolation under all circum-
stances 1 What is it but our sins 1 Depend upon
it, that it is sin, and nothing else, which spoils our
religious comfort. Cleanse your heart from sin,
and religion will enter in, with all her train of
hopes and consolations. For proof of this, we
may, as before, refer to the examples of Scripture
Christians. They rejoiced in the Lord continual-
ly. " The joy of faith," Phil. i. 25. " Joy in the
Holy Ghost," Rom. xiv. 17, was the word in
their mouths, the sentiment of their hearts. They
spake of their religion as of a strong consolation,
as of the " refuge to which they had lied, as of
the hope of which they had laid hold, of an an-
chor of the soul sure and steadfast:" Heb. vi. 18,
19. Their promise from the Lord Jesus Christ
4A
was, "Your heart shall rejoice, and your joy no
man taketh from you :" John xvi. 22. Was this
promise fulfilled to them 1 Read Acts xiii. 52 :
" They were filled with joy and the Holy Ghost."
" The kingdom of God," saith Saint Paul, " is
joy in the Holy Ghost:" Rom. xiv. 17. So that
St. Paul, you hear, takes his very description and
definition of Christianity from the joy which is
diffused over the heart; and St. Paul, I am very
confident, described nothing but what he felt.
Yet St. Paul did not meditate upon his virtues :
nay, expressly renounced that sort of meditation.
His meditations, on the contrary, were fixed upon
his own unworthiness, and upon the exceeding,
stupendous mercy of God towards him, through
lirist his Sa\iour. At least, we have his
own authority for saying, that, in his Christian
progress, he never looked back; he forgot that
which was behind, whatever it might be, which
he had already attained ; he refused to remember
it, he put it out of his thoughts. Yet, upon this
topic of religious joy, hear mm again : " We joy
in God through our Lord Jesus Christ :" Rom. v.
H ; and once more, " the fruit of the Spirit is
love, joy, peace:" Gal. v. 22. These last are
three memorable words, and they describe, not
the effects of ruminating upon a man's own vir-
tues, but the fruit of the Spirit.
But it is not in one apostle in whom we find
this temper of mind, it is in them all. Speaking
of the Lord Jesus Christ, St. Peter thus addresses
his converts: " Whom having not seen, ye love;
in whom, though now ye see him not, yet believ-
ing ye rejoice with joy unspeakable and full of
glory:" 1 Peter i. 8. This joy covered even
their persecutions and sufferings : " Wherein ye
greatly rejoice, though now, for a season if need
be, ye are in heaviness through manifold tempta-
tions," 1 Peter i. 6, meaning persecutions. Iji
like manner St. James saith, "Count it all joy
when ye fall into divers temptations, that is, perse-
cutions;" and why 1 "knowing this, that the try-
ing of your faith worketh patience :" James i. 2, 3.
Let no one, after these quotations, say, that it is
necessary to fix our attention upon the virtues of
our character in order to taste the comforts of re-
ligion. No persons enjoyed these comforts in so
great perfection as the Christians whom we read
of in Scripture, yet no persons thought so little
of their own virtues. What they continually
thought upon was the abounding love of Christ
towards them, " in that, whilst they were yet
sinners, he died for them," and the tender and ex-
ceeding mercies of God in the pardon of their sins,
through Christ. From this they drew their con-
solation ; but the ground and origin of this train
of thought was, not the contemplation of virtue,
but the conviction of sin.
But again : The custom of viewing our virtue,
has a strong tendency to fill us with fallacious
notions of our own state and condition. One
almost constant deception is this, viz. that in
whatever quality we have pretensions, or believe
that we have pretensions to excel, that quality we
place at the head of all other virtues. If we be
charitable, then " charity covereth a multitude of
sins." If we be strictly honest, then strict honesty
is no less than the bond which keeps society to-
gether ; and consequently, is that without which
other virtues would have no worth, or rather no
existence. If we be temperate and chaste, then
self-government being the hardest of all duties, ia
554
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
the surest test of obedience. Now every one of
these propositions is true ; but the misfortune is
that only one of them is thought of at the time
and that the one which favours our own particu
lar case and character. The comparison of dif-
ferent virtues, as to their price and value, may
give occasion to many nice questions ; and some
rules might be laid down upon the subject ; bu
I contend that the practice itself is useless, ant
not only useless but delusive. Let us leave, as ]
have already said, our virtues to themselves, not
engaging our minds in appreciating either their in-
trinsic or comparative value ; being assured that
they will be weighed in unerring scales. Our bu-
siness is with our sins.
Again : The habit of contemplating our spirit-
ual acquirements, our religious or moral excellen-
cies, has, very usually, and, I think, almost una-
voidably, an unfavourable effect upon our dispo-
sition towards other men. A man who is con-
tinually computing his riches, almost in spite of
himself, grows proud of his wealth. A man who
accustoms himself to read and inquire, and think
a great deal about his family, becomes vain of his
extraction : he can hardly help becoming so. A
man who has his titles sounding in his ears, or
his state much before his eyes, is lifted up by his
rank. These are effects which every one observes ;
and no inconsiderable degree of the same effect
springs from the habit of meditating upon our
virtues. Now humble-mindedness is a Christian
duty, if there be one. It is more than a duty ; it
is a principle. It is a principle of the religion ;
and its influence is exceedingly great, not only
upon our religious, but our social character. They
who are truly humble-minded, have no quarrels,
give no offence, contend with no one in wrath and
bitterness ; still more impossible is it for them to in-
sult any man under any circumstances. But the
way to be humble-minded is the way I am pointing
out, viz. to think less of our virtues, and more of our
sins. In reading the parable of the Pharisee and
the publican, if we could suppose them to be real
characters, I should say of them, that the one had
just come from ruminating upon his virtues, the
other from meditating upon his sins. Arid mark
the difference ; first, in their behaviour ; next, in
their acceptance with God. The pharisee all
loftiness, and contemptuousness, and recital, and
comparison, full of ideas of merit, views the poor
publican, although withdrawn to a distance from
him, with eyes of scorn. The publican, on the
contrary, enters not into competition with the
pharisee, or with any one. So far from looking
round, he durst not so much as lift up^ his eyes ;
but casts himself, hardly indeed presumes to cast
himself, not upon the j ustice, but wholly and
solely upon the mercies of his Maker: " God be
merciful to me a sinner." We know the judg-
ment which our Lord himself pronounced upon
the case : " I tell you, this man went down to his
house justified rather than the other:" Luke
xviii. 14. The more, therefore, we are like the
publican, and the less we are like the pharisee, the
more we come up to the genuine temper of
Christ's religion.
Think, then, less of your virtues ; more of your
sins. Do I hear any one answer, I have no sins
to think upon ; I have no crimes which lie upon
my conscience : I reply, that this may be true with
respect to some, nay, with respect to many per-
sons, according to the idea we commonly annex
to the words, sins and crimes ; meaning; thereby
acts of gross and external wickedness. But think
further ; enlarge your views. Is your obedience
-to the law of God what it ought to be, or what it
might be 1 The first commandment of that law
is, " Thou shall love the Lord thy God with all
thy heart, with all thy mind, and with all thy
strength." Is there, upon the subject of this com-
mandment, no matter for thought, no room for
amendment 1 The second commandment is,
" Thou shall love thy neighbour as thyself" Is
all with us as it should be here 1 Again, there
is a spirituality in the commands of Christ's reli-
gion, which will cause the man who obeys them
truly, not only to govern his actions, but his words :
not only his words, but his inclinations and his
dispositions, his internal habits, as well as his ex-
ternal life. "Ye have heard that it hath been
said of old time, Thou shall not commit adultery :
Bui I say unto you, He that looketh on a woman
lo lusl after her," lhal is, he who voluntarily in-
dulges and entertains in his mind an unlawful
desire, " hath committed adultery with her already
in his heart," is by the very entertainment of such
ideas, instead of striving honestly and resolutely to
banish them from his mind, or to take his mind
off from them, a sinner in Ihe sight of God.
Much the same kind of exposition belongs to
the other commandments ; not only is murder for-
bidden, but all unreasonable intemperate anger
and passion ; not only stealing, but all hard and
unfair conducl, either in transacling business wilh
those who are upon- a level with us, or, where it
is more to be feared, towards Ihose who are in our
power. And do not these points open to us a
field of inquiry, how far we are concerned in them'?
There may nol be what, slriclly speaking, can be
called an acl or deed, which is scandalously bad ;
fet Ihe current of our imaginations, the bent of
our tempers, the stream of our affections, may
all, or any of them, be wrong, and may be requir-
ng, even al the peril of our salvation, stronger
control, a better direction.
Again : There may not be any action which,
singly and separately taken, amounts to what
would be reckoned a crime: yet there may be
actions, which we give into, which even our own
consciences cannot approve ; and Ihese may bo so
requenl with us, as to form a parl of Ihe course
and fashion of our lives.
Again : II is possible, that some of the miscar-
riages in conduct, of which we have to accuse
jurselves, may be imputable to inadvertency or
surprise. But could these miscarriages happen
so often as they do, if we exercised that vigilance
n our Christian course, which not only forms a
>art of Ihe Chrislian character, bul is a sure effect
of a sincere faith in religion, and a corresponding
solicitude and concern about it 1 Lastly, uprofil-
ibleness itself is a sin. We need not do mischief
n order to commit sin ; uselessness, when we
might be useful, is enough to make us sinners be-
fore God. The fig-tree in the Gospel was cut
[own, not because it bore sour fruit, but because
t bore none. The parable of the lalents (Matt.
txv. 14.) is pointed expressly against the simple
neglect of faculties and opportunities of doing
good, as contradistinguished from the perpetra-
ion of positive crimes. Are not all these topics
it mailers of meditation, in the review of our lives 1
Jpon Ihe whole, when I hear a person say he
has no sins to think upon, I conclude that he
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
555
has not thought seriously concerning religion at
all.
Let our sins, then, be ever before us ; if not our
crimes, of which it is possible that, according to
the common acceptation of that word, we may not
have many to remember ; let our omissions, defi-
ciencies, failures, our irregularities of heart and af-
fection, our vices of temper and disposition, our
course and habit of giving into smaller ottences,
meaning, as I do mean, by offences, all those
things which our consciences cannot really ap-
prove ; our slips, and inadvertencies and surprises,
much too frequent for a man in earnest about sal-
vation : let these things occupy our attention ; let
this be the bent and direction of our thoughts : for
they are the thoughts which will bring us to God
evangelically; because they are the thoughts
which will not only increase our vigilance, but
which must inspire us with that humility as to
ourselves, with that deep, and abiding, and opera-
ting sense of God Almighty's love and kindness
and mercy towards us, in and through Jesus
Christ our Saviour, which it was one great aim
and end of the Gospel, and of those who preached
it, to inculcate upon all who came to take hold of
the ofler of grace.
SERMON XII.
SALVATION FOR PENITENT SINNERS.
\Vhercfore I say unto thee, Her sins, which are
many, are forgircn ; for she lored much.
Luke vii. 47.
IT has been thought an extravagant doctrine,
that the greatest sinners were sometimes nearer
to the kingdom of heaven than they whose ofiences
were less exorbitant, and less conspicuous: yet
I apprehend, the doctrine wants only to be ration-
ally explained, to show that it has both a great
deal of truth, and a great deal of use in it ; that it
may be an awakening religious proposition to
some, whilst it cannot, without being wilfully
misconstrued, delude or deceive any.
Of all conditions in the world, the most to be
despaired of, is the condition of those who are
altogether insensible and unconcerned about reli-
gion ; and yet they may be, in the mean time,
tolerably regular in their outward behaviour ;
there may be nothing in it to give great offence ;
their character may be fair ; they may pass with
the common stream, or they may even be well
spoken of; nevertheless, I say, that, whilst this
insensibility remains upon their minds, their con-
dition is more to be despaired of than that of any
other person. The religion of Christ does not in
any way apply to them : they do not belong to it ;
for are they to be saved by performing God's will ?
God is not in their thoughts ; his will is not before
their eyes. They may do good things, but it is
not from a principle of obedience to God that they
do them. There may be many crimes which they
are not guilty of; but it is not out of regard to the
will of God that they do not commit them. It
does not, therefore, appear, what just hopes they
can entertain of heaven, upon the score of an
obedience which they not only do not perform,
but do not attempt to perform. Then, secondly,
if they are to hope in Christ for a forgiveness of
their imperfections, for acceptance through him,
of broken and deficient services, the truth is, they
have recourse to no such hope ; besides, it is not
imperfection with which they are charged, but a
total absence of principle. A man who never
strives to obey, never indeed bears that thought
about him, must not talk of the imperfection of"
his obedience : neither the word, nor the idea,
pertains to him ; nor can he speak of broken and
deficient services, who in no true sense of the
term hath ever served God at all. I own, there-
fore, I do not perceive what rational hopes religion
can hold out to insensibility and unconcernedness ;
to those who nekher obey its rules, nor seek its
aid : neither follow after its rewards, nor sue, I
mean, in spirit and sincerity, sue, for its pardon.
But how, it will be asked, can a man be of regular
and reputable morals, with this religious insensibi-
lity : in other words, with the want of vital reli-
gion in his heart 1 I answer, that it can be. A
LTfiu T;I! regard to character, knowing that it is an
advantageous thing to |>ossess a good character;
or a regard generated by natural and early habit ;
a disposition to follow the usages of life, which are
practised around us, and which constitute decen-
cy; calm passions, easy circumstances, orderly
companions, may, in a multitude of instances,
keep men within rules and bounds, without the
operation of any religious principle whatever.
There is likewise another cause, which has a
tendency to shut out religion from the mind, and
yet hath at the same time a tendency to make
men orderly and decent in their conduct : and that
cause is business. A close attention to business
is very apt to exclude all other attentions ; espe-
cially those of a spiritual nature, which appear to
men of business shadowy and unsubstantial, and
to want that present reality and advantage which
they have been accustomed to look for and to find
in their temporal concerns; and yet it is un-
doubtedly true, that attention to business frequent-
ly and naturally produces regular manners. Here,
therefore, is a case, in which decency of behaviour
shall subsist along with religious insensibility, for-
asmuch as one cause produces both an intense
application to business.
Decency, order, regularity, industry, applica-
tion to our calling, are all good things ; but then
they are accompanied with this great danger, viz.
that they may subsist without any religious influ-
ence whatever ; and that, when they do so, their
tendency is to settle and confirm men in religious
insensibility. ~Fof finding things go on very
smoothly, finding themselves received and re-
spected without any religious principle, they are
kept asleep, as to their spiritual concerns, by the
very quietness and prosperity of things around
them. " There is a way that seemeth right unto
a man, but the end thereof are the ways of death."
It is possible to slumber in a fancied security, or
rather in an unconsciousness of danger, a blind-
ness to our true situation, a thoughtlessness or
stupefaction concerning it, even at the time when
we are in the utmost peril of salvation ; when we
are descending fast towards a state of perdition.
It is not the judgment of an erroneous conscience :
that is not the case I mean. It is rather a want
of conscience, or a conscience which is never
exerted ; in a word, it is an indifference and in-
sensibility concerning religion, even in the midst
of seeming and external decency of behaviour,
and soothed and lulled by this very circumstance.
555
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
Now it is not only within the compass of possibi-
lity, but it frequently, nay, I hope, it very fre-
quently comes to pass, that open, confessed,
acknowledged sins, sting the sinner's conscience :
that the upbraiding^ ot mankind, the cry, the cla-
mour, the indignation, which his wickedness has
excited, may atlength come home to his own sool ;
ry compel him to reflect, may bring him, though
force and violence, tq a sense of his guilt, and
acknowledge of his situation. Now 1 say, that
this sense of sin, by whatever cause it be produced,
is better than religious insensibility. The sinner's
penitence is more to be trusted to than the seem-
ingly righteous man's security. The one is
roused ; is roused from the deep forgetfulness of
religion in which he had hitherto lived. Good
fruit, even fruit unto life everlasting, may spring
from the motion which is stirred in his heart.
The other remains, as to religion, in a state of
torpor. The thing wanted, as the quickening
principle, as the seed and germ of religion in the
heart, is compunction, convincement of sin, of
danger, of the necessity of flying to the Redeemer
and to his religion in good earnest. " They were
pricked in their heartland said to Peter and to the
rest of the apostles, Men and brethren, what shall
we do ?' This was the state of mind of those
who first heard the Gospel : and this is the state
of mind still to be brought about before the Gos-
pel be heard with effect. And sin will sometimes
ao it, when outward righteousness will not; I
mean by outward righteousness, external decency
of manners, without any inward principle of reli-
gion whatever. The sinner may return and fly
to God, even because the world is against him.
The visibly righteous man is in friendship with
the world : and the " friendship of the world is
enmity with God," whensoever, as I have before
expressed it, it soothes and lulls men in religious
insensibility.
But how, it will be said, is this? Is it not to
encourage sin? Is it not to put the sinner in a
more hopeful condition than the righteous 1 Is it
not, in some measure, giving the greatest sinner
the greatest chance of being saved 1 This may
be objected ; and the objection brings me to sup-
port the assertion in the beginning of .my dis-
course, that the doctrine proposed cannot, without
being wilfully misconstrued, deceive, or delude
any. First, you ask, is not this to encourage sin 1
I answer, it is to encourage the sinner who
repents; and, if the sinner repent, why should he
not be encouraged 1 But some, -you say, will take
occasion, from this encouragement, to plunge into
sin. I answer, that then they wilfully misapply
it : for if they enter upon sin intending to repent
afterwards, I take upon me to tell them, that no
true repentance can come of such intention. The
very intention is a fraud : instead of being the
parent of true repentance, His itself to be repented
of bitterly. Whether such a man ever repent or
not is another question, but no sincere repentance
can issue or proceed from this intention. It must
come altogether from another quarter. It will
look back, when it does come, upon that, previous
intention with hatred and horror, as upon a plan,
and scheme, and design to impose upon and abuse
the mercy of God. The moment a plan is formed
of sinning with an intention afterwards to repent,
at that moment the whole doctrine of grace, of
repentance, and of course this part of it amongst
the rest, is wilfully misconstrued. The grace of
God 4s turned into lasciviousneas. At the time
this design is formed, the person forming it is in
the bond of iniquity, as St. Peter told Simon he
was; in a state of eminent perdition; and this
design will not help him out of it. We say that
repentance is sometimes more likely to be brought
about in a confessed, nay, notorious and convicted
sinner, than in a seemingly regular life : but it is
of true repentance that we speak, and no true
repentance can proceed from a previous intention
to repent, I mean an intention previous to the sin.
Therefore no advantage can be taken of this doc-
trine to the encouragement of sin, without wilfully
misconstruing it.
But then you say, we place the sinner in a
more hopefuj condition than the righteous. But
who, let us inquire, are the righteous we speak
of? Not they, who are endeavouring, however
imperfectly, to perform the will of God ; not
they, who are actuated by a principle of obe-
dience to him; but men who are orderly and
regular in their visible behaviour without an in-
ternal religion. To the eye of man they appear
righteous. But if they do good, it is not from the
love or fear of -God, or out of regard to religion
that they do it, but from other considerations. If
they abstain from sin, they abstain from it out of
different motives from what religion offers ; and
so long as they have the acquiescence and appro-
bation of the world, they are kept in a state of
sleep ; in a state, as to religion, of total negligence
and unconcern. Of these righteous men there
are many ; and, when we compare their condition
with that of the open sinner, it is to rouse them,
if possible, to a sense of religion. A wounded
conscience is better than a conscience which is
torpid. When conscience begins to do its office,
they will feel things changed within them mighti-
ly. It will no longer be their concern to keep fair
with the world, to preserve appearances, to main-
tain a character, to uphold decency, order, and
regularity in their behaviour ; but it will be their
concern to obey God, to think of him, to love him,
to fear him ; nay, to love him with all their heart,
with all their mind, with all their soul, with all
iheir strength ; that is, to direct their cares and
ndeavours to one single point, his will ; yet their
isible conduct may not be much altered; but
their internal motives and principle will be altered
altogether.
This alteration must take place in the heart,
even of the seemingly righteous. It may take
Mace also in the heart of the sinner ; and, we say,
'and this is, in truth, the whole which we say,)
;hat a conscience pricked by sin is sometimes,
nay oftentimes, more susceptible of the impres-
sions of religion, of true and deep impressions,
;han a mind which has been accustomed to look
only to the laws and customs of the world, tocon-
brm itself to those laws, and to find rest and satis-
"action in that peace, which not God, but the
world gives.
SERMON XIII.
SINS OP THE FATHERS UPON THE CHILDREN.
Thou shalt not bow down thyself to them, nor
serve them ; for I the Lord thy God am ajear
lous God, visiting the iniquity of the father
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
557
upon the children unto the third and fourth-
generation of them that hate me.-Exodus xx. 5.
THESE words form part of the second com-
mandment. It need not he denied, that there is
an apparent harshness in this declaration, with
which the minds even of good and pious men have
been sometimes sensibly affected. To visit the
sins of the fathers upon the children, even to the
third and fourth generation, is not, at first sight,
at least, so reconcileable to our apprehensions ef
justice and equity, as that we should expect to
find it in a solemn publication of the will of God.
I think, however, that a fair and candid inter-
pretation of the words before us will remove a great
deal of the difficulty, and of the objection which
lies against them. My exposition of the p :i-- !_"
is contained in these four articles: First, that
the denunciation and sentence telate to the sin of
idolatry in particular, if not to that alone. Se-
condly, That it relates to temporal, or, more pro-
perly speaking, to family prosperity and adversity.
Thirdly, That it relates to the Jewish economy,
in that" particular administration of a visible pro-
vidence, under which they lived. Fourthly, that
' at no rate does it affect, or was ever meant to af-
fect, the acceptance or salvation of individuals in a
future life.
First, I say, that the denunciation and sentence
relate to the sin of idolatry in particular, if not to
that alone. The prohibition of the commandment
is pointed against that particular offence, and no
other. The first and second commandment may
be considered as one, inasmuch as they relate to
one subject, or nearly so. For many ages, and
by many churches, tliey were put together, and
considered as one commandment. The subject to
which they both relate, is false worship, or the
worship of false gods. This is the single subject,
to which the prohibition of both commandments
relates; the single class of sins which is guarded
against. Although, therefore, the expression be,
"the sins of the fathers," without specifying in
that clause what sins, yet in fair construction, and
indeed in common construction, we may well sup-
pose it to be that kind and class of sins, for the
restraint of which the command was given, and
against which its force was directed. The pu-
nishment, threatened by any law, must naturally
be applied to the offence particularly forbidden by
that law, and not to offences in general.
One reason why you may not probably per-
ceive the full weight of what I am saying, is, that
we do not at this day understand, or think much
concerning the sin of idolatry, or the necessity, or
importance of God's delivering a specific, a solemn,
a terrifying sentence against it. The sin itself
hath in a manner ceased from among us: other
sins, God knows, have come in its place ; but this,
in a great measure, is withdrawn from our obser-
vation: whereas in the age of the world, and
among those people, when and to whom the ten
commandments were promulgated, false worship,
or the worship of false gods, was the sin, which
lay at the root and foundation of every other. The
worship of the one true God, in opposition to the
vain, and false, and wicked religions, which had
then obtained amongst mankind, was the grand
point to be inculcated. It was the contest then
carried on ; and the then world, as well as future
ages, were deeply interested in it. History testi-
fies, experience testifies, that there cannot be true
morality, or true virtue, where there is false reli-
gion, false worship, false gods ; for which reason
you find, that this great article (for such it then
was) was not only made the subject of a command,
but placed at the head of all the rest. Nay, more;
from the whole strain and tenor of the Old Tes-
tament, there is good reason to believe, that the
maintaining in the world the knowledge and wor-
ship of the one true God, holy, just, and good, in
contradiction to the idolatrous worship which pre-
vailed, was the great and principal scheme and
end of the Jewish polity and most singular con-
stitution. As the Jewish nation, therefore, was
to be the depository of, and the means of preserv-
ing in the world, the knowledge and worship of
the one true God, when it was lost and darkened
in other countries, it became of the last importance
to the execution of this purpose, that this nation
should be warned and deterred, by every moral
mentis, from sliding themselves into those prac-
tices, those errors, and that crime, against which
it was the very design of their institution that they
should strive and contend.
The form of expression used in the second com-
mandment, and in this very part of it, much fa-
vours the interpretation for which I argue, name-
ly, that the sentence or threatening was aimed
against the sin of idolatry alone. The words are,
"For I the Lord thy God am a jealous God, and
visit the sins of the fathers upon the children."
These two things, of being jealous, and of visiting
the sins of the fathers upon the children, are spo-
ken of God in conjunction ; and in such a manner,
as to show that they refer to one subject. Now
jealousy implies a rival. God's being jealous
means, that he would not allow any other god to
share with himself in the worship of his creatures :
that is what is imported in the word jealous ; and,
therefore, that is the subject to which the threat
of visiting the sins of the fathers upon the children
is applied. According to this interpretation, the fol-
lowing expressions of the commandment, " Them
that Rate me, and them that love me," signify
them that forsake and desert my worship and re-
ligion for the worship and religion of other gods,
and them who adhere firmly and faithfully to my
worship, in opposition to every other worship.
My second proposition is, that the threat re-
lates to temporal, or, more properly speaking, to
family prosperity and adversity. In the history
of the Jews, most particularly of their kings, of
whom, as was to be expected, we read and Know
the most, we meet with repeated instances of this
same threat being both pronounced and executed
against their family prosperity ; and for this very
same cause, their desertion of the true God, and
going over, after the example of the nations around
them to the worship of false gods. Amongst va-
rious other instances, one is very memorable and
very direct to our present argument ; and that is
the instance of Ahab, who of all the idolatrous
kings of Israel was the worst. The punishment
threatened and denounced against his crime was
this : " Behold I will bring evil upon thee, and
will take away thy posterity, and will make thine
house like the house of Jeroboam, the son of Ne-
bat, and like the house of Baasha, the son of Ahi-
jah, for the provocation wherewith thou hast pro-
voked me to anger and made Israel to sin." The
provocation, you will observe, was the introduc-
tion of false gods into his kingdom ; and the prophet
here not only threatens Ahab with the ruin and
558
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
destruction of his family, as the punishment of his
sin, but points out to him two instances of great
families having been destroyed for the very same
reason. You afterwards read the full accomplish-
ment of this sentence by the hand of Jehu. Now
I consider these instances as in fact the execution
of the second commandment, and as showing what
sense that commandment bore. But if it were so;
if the force of the threat was, that in the distribu-
tion and assignment of temporal prosperity and
adversity, upon a man's family and race, respect
would be had to his fidelity to God, or his rebel-
lion against him in this. article of false and idola-
trous worship ; then is the punishment, as to the
nature and justice of it, agreeably to what we see
in the constant and ordinary course of God's pro-
vidence. The wealth and grandeur of families
are commonly owing, not to the present genera-
tion, but to the industry, wisdom, or good con-
duct of a former ancestor. The poverty and de-
pression of a family are not imputable tothe present
representatives of the family, but to the fault, the
extravagance, or mismanagement, of those who
went before them; of which nevertheless they
feel the effects. All this we see every day ; and
we see it without surprise or complaint. What,
therefore, accords with the state of things under
the ordinary dispensations of Providence as to
temporal prosperity and adversity, was by a spe-
cial providence, and by a particular sentence, or-
dained to be the mode, and probably a most effica-
cious mode, of restraining and correcting an of-
fence, from which it was of the utmost importance
to deter the Jewish nation.
My third proposition is, that this commandment
related particularly to the Jewish economy. In
the 28th chapter of Deuteronomy, you find Moses,
with prodigious solemnity, pronouncing the bless-
ings and cursings which awaited the children of
Israel under the dispensation to which they were
called ; and you will observe, that these blessings
consisted altogether of worldly benefits, and these
curses of worldly punishments. Moses in effect
declared, that with respect to this peculiar people,
when they came into their own land, there should
be amongst them such a signal and extraordinary
and visible interposition of Providence, as to
shower down blessings, and happiness, and pros-
perity, upon those who adhered faithfully to the
God of their fathers, and to punish, with exem-
plary misfortunes, those who disobeyed and de-
serted him. Such, Moses told them, would be
the order of God's government over them. This
dispensation dealt in temporal rewards and pu-
nishments. And the second commandment, which
made the temporal prosperity and adversity of fa-
milies depend, in many instances, upon the reli-
gious behaviour of the ancestor of such families,
was a branch and consistent part of that dispen-
sation.
But, lastly and principally, my fourth proposi-
tion is, that at no rate does it affect, or was ever
meant to affect, the acceptance or salvation of in-
dividuals in a future life. My proof of this pro-
position 1 draw from the 18th chapter of Ezekiel.
It should seem from this chapter, that some of the
Jews, at that time, had put too large an interpre-
tation upon the second commandment ; for the
prophet puts this question into the mouth of his
countrymen ; he supposes them to be thus, as it
were, expostulating with God : " Ye say, Why 7
Doth not the son bear the iniquity of the father 1"
that is the question he makes them ask. Now
take notice of the answer ; the answer which the
prophet delivers in the name of God, is this :
" When the son hath done that which is lawful
and right, and hath kept all my statutes and hath
done them, he shall surely live. The soul that
sinneth, it shall die. The son shall not bear the
iniquity of the father; neither shall the father bear
the iniquity of the son : the righteousness of the
righteous shall be upon him, and the wickedness
01 the wicked shall be upon him:" ver. 19, 20.
In the preceding part of the chapter, the pro-
phet has dilated a good deal, and very expressly
indeed, upon the same subject ; all to confirm the
great truth which he lays down. "Behold all
souls are mine, as the soul of the father, so also
the soul of the son is mine ; the soul that sinneth
it shall die." Now apply this to the second com-
mandment : and the only way of reconciling them
together, is by supposing that the second com-
mandment related solely to temporal, or rather
family adversity and prosperity, and Ezekiel's
chapter to the rewards and punishments of a fu-
ture state. When to this is added what hath
been observed, that the threat in the second com-
mandment belongs to the crime forbidden in that
commandment, namely, the going over to false
gods, and deserting the one true God ; and that it
also formed a part or branch of the Mosaic sys-
tem which dealt throughout in temporal rewards
and punishments, at that time dispensed by a par-
ticular providence: when these considerations are
laid together, much of the difficulty, and much of
the objection, which our own minds may have
raised against this commandment, will, I hope, be
removed.
SERMON XIV.
HOW VIRTUE PRODUCES BELIEF, AND VICE
UNBELIEF.
If any man will do His will, he shall know of the
doctrine, whether it be of God. John vii. 17.
IT does not, I think, at first sight appear, why
our behaviour should influence our belief, or how
any particular course of action, good or bad, should
affect our assent to any particular propositions
which are offered to us : for truth or probability
can never depend upon our conduct ; the credibility
or incredibility of religion is the same, whether
we act well or ill, whether we obey its laws or
disobey them. Nor is it very manifest, how even
our perception of evidence or credibility should be
affected by our virtues or vices ; because conduct
is immediately voluntary, belief is not : one is an
act of the will, under the power of motives ; the
other is an act of the understanding, upon which
motives do not, primarily at least, operate, nor
ought to operate at all. Yet our Lord, in the text,
affirms this to be the case, namely, that our beha-
viour does influence our belief, and to have been
the case from the beginning, that is, even during
his own ministry upon earth. " If any man will
do His will, he shall know of the doctrine, whe-
ther it be of God." It becomes, therefore, a sub-
ject of serious and religious inquiry, how, why, and
to what extent, the declaration of the text may be
maintained.
-
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
559
Now the first and most striking observation is,
that it corresponds with experience. The fact, so
far as can be observed, is as the text represents it
to be. I speak of the general course of human
conduct, which is the thing to be considered.
Good men are generally believers ; bad men are
generally unbelievers. This is the general state
of the case, not without exceptions ; for, on the
one' hand, there may be men of regular external
morals, who are yet unbelievers, because though
immorality be one cause of unbelief, it is not the
only cause : and, on the other hand, there are un-
doubtedly many, who, although they believe and
tremble, yet go on in their sins, because their faith
doth not regulate their practice. But, having re-
spect to the ordinary course and state of human
conduct, what our Saviour hath declared is veri-
fied by experience. He that doeth the will of
God, cometh to believe that Jesus Christ is of
God, namely, a messenger from God. A process
some how or other takes place in the understand-
ing, which brings the mind of him who acts
rightly to this conclusion. A conviction is formed,
and every day made stronger and stronger. No
man ever comprehended the value of Christian
precepts, but by conducting his life according to
them. When, by so doing, he is brought to know
their excellency, their perfection, I had almost
said, their divinity, he is necessarily also brought
to think well of the religion itself. Hear St. Paul :
" The night is far spent : the day is at hand :
let us, therefore cast off the works of darkness,
and let us put on the armour of light ; let us walk-
honestly as in the day, not in rioting and drunk-
enness, not in chambering and wantonness, not
in strife and envying ; but put ye on the Lord Je-
sus Christ; and make not provision for the flesh
to fulfil the lusts thereof:" Rom. xiii. 11. It is
recorded of this text, that it was the means of the
conversion of a very eminent father of the church,
St. Austin ; for which reason I quote it, as an in-
stance to my present purpose, since I apprehend
it must have wrought with him in the manner
here represented. I have no doubt but that others
have been affected in like manner by this or other
particular portions of Scripture; and that still
greater numbers have been drawn to Christianity
by the general impression which our Lord's dis-
courses, and the speeches and letters of his apos-
tles, have left upon their minds. This is some-
times called the internal evidence of our religion ;
and it is very strong. But inasmuch as it is a
species of evidence which applies itself to the
knowledge, love, and practice of virtue, it will ope-
rate most powerfully where it finds these qualities,
or even these tendencies and dispositions subsist-
ing. If this be the effect of virtuous conduct, and,
in some proportion, the effect also of each scpa- !
rate act of virtue, the contrary effect must necessa- '
rily follow from a contrary course of behaviour, j
And perhaps it may assist us in unfolding the i
subject, to take up the inquiry in this order ; be-
cause if it can be shown why, and in what man-
ner, vice tends to obstruct, impair, and at length
destroy our faith, it will not be difficult to allow,
that virtue must facilitate, support, and confirm
it : that, at least it will deliver us, or keep us free,
from that weight of prejudice and resistance which
is produced in the mind by vice, and which acts
against the reception of religious truth.
Now the case appears to me to be no other than
this : A great many persons, before they proceed
upon an act of known transgression, do expressly
state to themselves the question, whether religion
be true or not ; and in order to get at the object
of their desire, (for the real matter to be determin-
ed is, whether they shall have their desire gratified
or not,) in order, I say, to get at the pleasure in
some cases, or in other cases, the point of interest,
upon which they have set their hearts, they choose
to decide, and they do in fact decide with them-
selves, that these things are not so certain, as to
be a reason for them to give up the pleasure which
lies before them, or the advantage which is now,
and which may never "be again in their power to
compass. This conclusion does actually take
place, and, at various times, must almost necessa-
rily take place, in the minds of men of bad morals.
And now remark the effect which it has upon
their thoughts afterwards. When they come at
another future time to reflect upon religion, they
reflect-upon it as upon what they had before ad-
judged to be unfounded, and too uncertain to be
acted upon, or to. be depended upon ; and reflec-
tions, accompanied with this adverse and unfa-
vourable impression, naturally lead to infidelity.
Herein, therefore, is seen the fallacious operation
of sin ; first, in the circumstances under which
men form their opinion and their conclusions con-
reniing religion ; and, secondly, in the effect,
which conclusions, which doubts so formed, have
upon their judgment afterwards. First, what is
the situation ot mind in which they decide con-
ivrning religion 7 ? and what can be expected from
such a situation .' Some magnified and alluring
pleasure has stirred their desires and passions. It
cannot be enjoyed without sin. Here is religion,
denouncing and forbidding it on one side : there is
opportunity drawing and pulling on the other.
With this drag and bias upon their thoughts, they
pronounce and decide concerning the most im-
portant of all subjects, and of all questions. If
they should determine for the truth and reality of
religion, they must sit down disappointed of a
irratiiication upon which they had set their hearts,
and of using an opportunity, which may never
come again. Nevertheless they must determine
one way or other. And this process,' viz. a simi-
lar deliberation and a similar conclusion, is re-
newed and repeated, as often as occasions of sin
offer. The effect, at length, is a settled persua-
sion against religion. For what is it, in persons
who proceed in this manner, which rests and
dwells upon their memories 1 What is it which
ives to their judgment its turn and bias 1 It is
tiese occasional decisions often repeated ; which
decisions have the same power and influence over
the man's after-opinion, as ifthey had been made
ever so impartially, or ever so correctly ; whereas,
in fact, they are made under circumstances which
exclude, almost the possibility of their being made
with fairness and with sufficient inquiry. Men
decide under the power and influence of sinful
temptation ; but, having decided, the decision is
afterwards remembered by them, and grows into
a settled and habitual opinion, as much as if they
had proceeded in it without any bias or prejudice
whatever.
The extent to which this cause acts, that is, the
numbers who are included in its influence, will
be further known by the following observation.
I have said, that sinners oftentimes expressly state
to themselves the question, whether religion be
true or not; and that they state to themselves this
560
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
question, at the time when they are about to enter
upon some act of sin which religion condemns
and I believe the case so to be. J believe thai
this statement is often expressly made, and in the
manner which I have represented. But there is
also a tacit rejection of religion, which has nearly
the same .effect. Whenever a man deliberately
ventures upon an action which he knows that re-
ligion prohibits, he tacitly rejects religion. There
may not pass in his thoughts every step which we
have described, nor may he come expressly to the
conclusion : but he acts upon the conclusion; he
practically adopts it. And the doing so will alien-
ate his mind from religion, as surely, almost, as if
he had formally argued himself into an opinion of
its untruth. The effect of sin is necessarily, and
highly, and in all cases, adverse to the production
and existence of religious faith. Real difficulties
are doubled and trebled, when they fall in with
vicious propensities ; imaginary difficulties are
readily started. Vice is wonderfully acute in dis-
covering reasons on its own side. This may be
said of all kinds of vice ; but, I think, it more par-
ticularly holds good of what are called licentious
vices, that is, of vices of debauchery ; for sins of
debauchery have a tendency, which other species
of sin have not so directly, to unsettle and weaken
the powers of the understanding, as well as, in a
greater degree, I think, than other vices, to render
the heart thoroughly corrupt. In a mind so wholly
depraved, the impression of any argument, relat-
ing to a moral or religious^ subject, is faint, and
slight, and transitory. To a vitiated palate no
meat has its right taste ; with a debauched mind,
no reasoning has its proper influence.
But, secondly: Have we not also from Scrip-
ture, reason to believe, that God's holy Spirit will
be assisting to those who earnestly pray for it, and
who sincerely prepare themselves for its recep-
tion ; and that it will be assisting to them in this
matter of faith in religion. The language of
Scripture is. that God gives his holy Spirit to
them that ask it ; and moreover, that to them who
use and improve it as they ought, it is given in
more and more abundance. " He that hath, to
him shall be given more. He that hath not, from
him shall be taken away even that which he
hath :" Mat. xiii. 12. He who is studious to im-
prove his measure of grace, shall find that mea-
sure Increased upon him. He who neglects or
stifles, neglects through irreligion, carelessness,
and heedlessness, buries in sensuality, or, stifles by
the opposition of sin, the portion of grace, and
assistance which is vouchsafed to him, he, the
Scripture says, will find that portion withdrawn
from him. Now, this being the general nature
and economy of God's assisting grace, there is no
reason why it should not extend to our faith, as
well as to our practice ; our perceiving the truth,
as well as our obeying the truth, may lie helped
and succoured by it. God's Spirit can have access
to our understandings, as well as our affections.
He can render the mind sensible to the impres-
sions of evidence, and the. power of truth. If
creatures, like us, might take upon themselves to
judge what is a proper object of divine help, it
should seem to be a serious, devout, humble, and
apprehensive mind, anxiously desiring to learn
and know the truth : and, in order to know it,
keeping the heart and understanding pure and
prepared for that purpose ; that is to say, carefully
abstaining from the indulgence of passions, and
from practices which harden and indispose the
mind against religion. I say, a mind so guarding
and qualifying itself, and imploring with devout
earnestness and solicitude, the aid of God's holy
Spirit in its meditations and inquiries, seems, so
far as we can presume to judge, as meet an object
of divine help and favour as any of which we can
form an idea; and it is not for us to narrow the
promises of God, concerning his assisting grace,
so as, without authority, to exclude such an ob-
ject from it.
From the doctrine which has been thus con-
cisely proposqd, various important rules and reflec-
tions arise.
First : Let not men, involved in sinful course?,
wonder at the difficulties which they meet with
in religibn. It is an effect of sin, which is almost
sure to follow. Sin never" fails, both to magnify
real difficulties, and to suggest imaginary ones.
It rests and dwells upon objections, because they
help the sinner, in some measure, to excuse his
conduct to himself. They cause him to come to
a conclusion, which permits the gratification of
his passions, or the compassing of his purpose.
Deep and various is the deceitfulness of sin, of
licentious sins most particularly ; for they cloud
the understanding ; they disqualify men for serious
meditation of any kind ; above all, for the medita-
tion of religion.
Secondly : Let them, who ask for more light,
first take care to act up to the light which they
have. Scripture and experience join their testi-
mony ~to this point, namely, that they, who faith-
fully practise what they do know, and live agree-
ably to the belief which they have, and to the just
and rational consequences of that belief, seldom
fail to proceed further, and to acquire more and
more confidence in the truth of religion ; whereas,
if they live in opposition to the degree of belief
which they have, be it what it may, even it will
[gradually grow weaker and weaker, and, at length,
die away in the soul.
Thirdly : Let them who are anxious to arrive
at just sentiments of religion, keep their minds in
a capable state ; that is, free from the bias of
"ormer doubts, conceived at a time when the
power and influence of sinful temptation was
apon them ; suggested, in fact, lest they should
5nd themselves obliged to give up some gratifica-
:ion upon which they had set their hearts ; and
which decisions, nevertheless, and doubts, have
.he same operation upon their judgments, as if
:hey had been the result of the most pure and im-
Dartial reasoning. It is not peculiar to religion ;
t is true of all subjects, that the mind is sure
almost to be misled, which lies under a load of
>rejudice contracted from circumstances, in which
~.t is next to impossible to weigh arguments justly,
)r to see clearly.
Fourthly: Let them, let all, especially those
who find themselves in a dissatisfied state of mind,
ly to prayer. Let them pray earnestly and in-
cessantly for God's assisting grace and influence;
assisting, if it be his good pleasure, as well our
minds and understandings in searching after truth,
as our hearts and affections in obeying it. I gay
igain, let us pray unceasingly for grace and help
rom the Spirit of God. When we pray for any
worldly object, we may pray mistakenly. We
nay be ignorant of our own good ; we may err
'gregiously concerning it. But when we pray for
piritual aid and grace, we are sure that we pray
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
5C1
for what we want; for what, if granted, will be
the greatest of all blessings. And we pray with
hope, because we have this gracious assurance
given us by the Lord himself of grace and mercy :
" If ye, being evil, know how to give good gifts
unto your children, how much more shall your
Heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to them
that ask him ]" ]Vlatt. vii. 11.
SERMON XV.
JOHN'S MESSAGE TO JESUS.
Now when John had heard in prison the works
of Christ, he sent two of his disciples, and said
unto him, Art thou he that should come, or do
we took fur another ? Matt. xi. 2, 3.
THESE words state a transaction, to say the
least of it, of a singular kind, and well entitled to
observation. Some time before our Lord's ap-
pearance, John the Baptist had produced hi;i;st If
to the country, as a messenger from God, and as
a public preacher. The principal thing which
he preached was, that a greater and m.>ro extra-
ordinary person than himself, that is to say, no
other than the long- foretold and long-ex pecfed
Messiah, was about shortly to appear in the world ;
that for the appearance of this person, which
would be the setting up of the kingdom of God
upon earth, all men were to prepare themselves
by repentance and reformation. Thus did John
preach, before it was known or declared, and be-
fore he (John himself) knew or declared Who this
extraordinary person was. It was, as it should
seem, upon our Lord's offering himself to John to
be baptized of him in Jordan, that John, for the
first time, knew and published him to be that per-
son. This testimony and record John afterwards
repeated concerning him in this manner, and it is re-
markable : " The next day John seeth Jesus coming
unto him, and saith, Behold the Lamb of God,
which taketh away the sin of the world. This is he
of whom I said, After me cometh a man, which is
preferred before me, for he was before me, and /
knew him not ; but that he should be made manifest
to Israel, therefore am I come baptizing with water.
And John bare record, saying, I saw the Spirit
descending from heaven like a dove, and it abode
upon him; and I knew him not; but he th;it sent
me to baptize with water, the same said unto me,
Upon whom thou shalt see the Spirit descending
and remaining on him, the same is he which bap-
tizeth with the Holy Ghost. And I saw, and
bare record, that this is theSon of God."
It came to pass, that soon after our Lord's
public appearance, John was cast into prison, and
there remained, till, by a barbarous order from
Herod, in wicked compliance with a wicked vow,
this good and courageous servant of God was lie-
headed. It does not seem quite certain, whether
he was not imprisoned twice. In prison, how-
ever, his disciples, as was natural, came to him,
and related to him the great things which Jesus
had lately been doing ; and it appears, from the
accounts of the different evangelists, and by laying
these accounts together in order of time, that
Jesus, a little before this, amongst other miracles,
had cured the centurion's servant without coming
near him, and had also raised the young man at
Nain to life, when they were carrying him out to
his funeral ; miracles, which, it may be -supposed,
were much noised abroad in the country. What
then did John the Baptist do, upon receiving this
intelligence 1 He sent to Jesus two of his disci-
ples, saying, " Art thou he that should come, or
look we for another T
It will appear odd that John should entertain
any doubt, or require any satisfaction about this
matter; he, who had himself publicly announced
Jesus to be the Messiah looked for, and that also
upon the most undeniable grounds, because he
saw the Spirit descending and remaining upon
him; the token which had been given him,
whereby this person was to be distinguished by
him.
This was- a difficulty which interpreters .of
Scripture, in very early times saw ; and the an-
swer which they gave to it I believe to be the
true one; namely, that John sent this message,
not from any doubt which he himself entertained
of the matter, but in order that the doubts which
his disciples had conceived about it, might receive
an answer and satisfaction at the fountain head ;
from Jesus himself, who was best able to give it.
You will, therefore, now observe what this an-
swer was, and how, and under what circumstances
it was given. If you turn to St. Luke's statement
of the transaction, chap. vii. verse 20th, you will
then- find it expressly asserted, what is only im-
plied and tacitly referred to by St. Matthew; (and
this is one instance, amongst many, of the advan-
tage of bringing the accounts of the different
evangelists together;) you will find, I say, that it
so happened, I ought to have said that it was so
ordered by Providence, that at the time, the pre-
cise hour, when these messengers from John ar-
rived, our Lord was in the very act of working
miracles. In that same hour, says Luke, he cured
many of infirmities and plagues, and of evil spirits,
and unto many that were blind he gave sight : so
that the messengers themselves were eye-witnesses
of his powers, and of his gifts, and of his mighty
works f and to this evidence he refers them ; and
a more decisive or dignified answer could not pos-
sibly have been given. He neither says he was,
nor he was not the person they inquired after, but
bids them take notice and telf John of what they
saw, and make their own conclusion from it.
" Go your way, and tell John what things ye have
seen and heard, how that the blind see, the
lame
walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the
dead are raised, to the poor the gospel is preached."
It does not, I think, appear, nor is it necessary to
suppose, that all these species of miracles were
performed then, or before their eyes. It is speci-
fically mentioned, that he then cured many of
plagues and infirmities, cast out evil spirits, and
restored sight to the blind : but it is not mentioned,
for instance, that he then raised the dead, though
that miracle be referred to in his answer. After
having wrought, whilst they were present, many
and various species of decisive miracles, he was
well entitled to demand their credit and assent to
others upon his own testimony and assertion.
Now from this answer of our Lord's, we are
entitled to infer, (and this I think is the useful in-
ference to be drawn from it,) that the faith which
he required, the assent which he demanded, was a
rational assent and faith founded upon proof and
evidence. His exhortation was, " believe me for
the very works' sake." He did not bid Philip,
5G2
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
upon that occasion, or the disciples of John upon
this, believe him, because he was the Son of God,
Because he came down from heaven, because he
was in the Father and the Father in him, because
he was with God and from God, l>ecause the
Father had given unto him the Spirit without
measure, because he was inspired in the fullest
and largest sense of the word ; for all these cha-
racters and pretensions, though the highest that
could belong to any being whatsoever, to a prophet,
or to more than a prophet, were nevertheless to be
ascertained by facts. When ascertained, they
were grounds of the most absolute confidence in
his word, of the most implicit and unlimited reli-
ance upon his authority ; but they were to be as-
certained by facts. To facts, therefore, our Lord
appeals ; to facts he refers them, and to the de-
monstration which they afforded of his power and
truth. For shutting their eyes against faith, or,
more properly speaking, for shutting their hearts
and understandings against the proof and conclu-
sion which facts afforded, he pronounces them lia-
ble to condemnation. They were to believe his
word, because of his works : that was exactly what
he required. " The works which the Father hath
given me to finish, 1 the same works that I do, bear
witness of me, that the Father hath sent me ; and
the Father himself who hath sent me beareth wit-
ness of me:" John v. 36. It is remarkable that
John the Baptist wrought no miracle ; therefore
the authority and confirming proof of his mission
rested very much upon the evidences which were
exhibited, not by himself, but by the person whose
appearance he professed to foretel. And undoubt-
edly the miracles of our Lord did, by a reflected
operation, establish the preaching of John. For
if a person in these days should appear, not work-
ing any miracle himself, but declaring that ano-
ther and greater person was soon to follow, and if
that other and greater person did accordingly soon
follow, and show forth mighty deeds, the authority
of the first person's mission would be ratified by
the second person's works. They who might
doubt, nay reasonably doubt, concerning the first
person's truth and pretensions before, would be
fully satisfied of them afterwards. And this was
exactly the turn which some rational and consi-
derate Jews gave to the matter ; " And many re-
sorted to him, and said, John did no miracle ; but
all things that John spake of this man were true."
The effect of this observation was, what it ought
to be, " many belieted on him there : " John x.
41,42. -
This distinction between our Lord and his fore-
runner, in one working miracles, and the other
not, furnishes an account for two things which we
meet with in the Gospels; one is, John's declaring
that when the, person of whom he spoke should
appear, his own ministry, which was then much
followed and attended, would sink in importance
and esteem. " He must increase, I must decrease
He that cometh after me is preferred before me
He that was with thee beyond Jordan, to whom
thou barest witness, behold, the same bapti/eth,
and all men come to him" The other is our Lord's
own reflection upon John's testimony in his fa-
vour, which was exactly agreeable to the truth
of the case. "Ye sent unto John, and he bare
witness unto the truth ; but I receive not testimo-
ny from man. He was a burning and a shining
light ; and ye were willing for a season to rejoice
in his light. But / have greater witness than that
of JoTm the works which the Father hath given
me to finish, the same works that / do, bear wit-
ness of me." As if he had said : " My own per-
formance of miracles is a higher and surer proof
of my mission, than any testimony which could
be given to me by another who did not perform
miracles, however great, or praiseworthy, or ex-
cellent his character and his preaching were in all
respects, or however much his followers confided
in him ; the one was the testimony of men, the
other of God." "I receive not testimony of
man ;" the proofs which I myself exhibit before
your eyes of divine power, supersede human tes-
timony.
Again : Our Lord put the truth of his preten-
sions, precisely and specifically upon the evidence
of his miracles: " If I do not the works of my Fa-
ther, believe me not : but if I do, though ye believe
me not, believe the works :" John x. 37. What
fairer appeal could be made ? Could more be done
to challenge inquiry, or place the question upon
the iight ground 1
Lastly : In the xvth chapter and 24th verse, our
Lord fixes the guilt of the unbelieving Jews upon
this article, that they rejected miraculous proof,
which ought to have convinced them ; and that if
they had not had such proof they might have been
excusable, or, comparatively speaking, they would
not have had sin. His words are very memora-
ble. " If I had not done among them the works
which none other man did, they had not had
sin."
It appears, therefore, that as well in the answer
to John's messengers, as in the other passages of
his history and discourses which resemble this, our
Lord acted a part the most foreign and distant
from the part of an impostor or enthusiast that
can possibly be conceived. Was it for an impos-
tor or enthusiast to refer messengers who came to
him, to miraculous works performed before their
eyes, to things done upon the spot : to the testi-
mony of their own senses. " Show John those
things which ye do see and hear." Would, could
any other than a prophet come from God do this 1
In like manner, was it for any other than a divine
messenger to bid his very disciples not believe in
him, if he did not these works ; N or to tell unbe-
lieversj that if he had not done among them works
which none Bother man did, their unbelief might
have been excusable'? In all this we discern
conviction and sincerity, fairness, truth, and evi-
dence.
SERMON XVI.
ON INSENSIBILITY TO OFFENCES.
Wlio can tell how oft he ojfendeth 1 O cleanse thou
me from my secret faults. Keep thy servant
also from presumptuous sins, lest they get the
dominion over me. Psalm xix. 12, 13.
THESE words express a rational and affecting
prayer, according to the sense which they carry
with them at first sight, and without entering into
any interpretation of them whatsoever. Who is
there that will not join heartily in this prayer 1
for who is there that has not occasion to pray
against his sins 1 We are laden with the weight
of our sins. "The remembrance of them is
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
563
grievous to us, the burden of them is intolerable."
But beyond this, these same words, when they
come to be fully understood, have a still stronger
meaning, and still more applicable to the state and
condition of our souls ; wlu'ch 1 will endeavour to
set before you.
You will observe the expression, "my secret
faults : O cleanse thou me from my secret faults."
Now the question is, to whom are these faults a se-
cret 1 to myself, or to others 1 whether the prayer
relates to faults which are concealed from mankind,
and are in that sense secret ; or to faults which are
concealed from the offender himself, and are there-
fore secret, in the most full and strict sense of which
the term is capable 1 Now, I say, that the context,
or whole passage taken together, obliges us to un-
derstand the word secret in this latter sense. For
observe two particulars. The first verse of the text
runs thus: " Who can tell how oft he offendetM
O cleanse thou me from my secret faults." Now,
to give a connexion to the two parts of this verse.
it is necessary to suppose, that one reason, for
which it was so difficult for any man to know how
oft he offended was, that many of his faults were
secret ; but in what way and to whom secret 1 to
himself undoubtedly : otherwise the secrecy could
have been no reason or cause of that difficulty.
The merely being concealed from others would be
nothing to the present purpose ; because the most
concealed sins, in that sense, are as well known
to the sinner himself, as those which are detected
or most open ; and therefore such concealment
would not account for the sinner's difficulty in un-
derstanding the state of his soul and of his con-
science. To me it appears very plain, that the
train of the Psalmist's thoughts went thus : He
is led to cast back his recollection upon the sins of
his life; he finds himself, as many of us must do, lost
ami bewildered in their number and frequency;
because, beside all other reasons of confusion, there
were many which were unnoticed, unreckoned,
and unobserved. Against this class of sins, which,
for this reason, he calls his secret faults, he raises
up his voice to God in prayer. This is evidently,
as I think, the train and connexion of thought ;
and this requires, that the secret faults here spoken
of be explained of such faults as were secret to
the person himself. It makes no connexion, it
carries with it no consistent meaning, to interpret
them of those faults which were concealed from
others. This is one argument for the exposition
contended for; another is the following. You
will observe in the text that two kinds of sins are
distinctly spoken of under the name of " secret
faults, and presumptuous sins." The words are,
" O cleanse thou me from my secret faults ; keep
thy servant also from presumptuous sins." Now,
it will not do to consider these secret faults as
merely concealed faults ; because they are not ne-
cessarily distinguished from, nor can 'be placed in
opposition to, presumptuous sins. The Psalmist
is here addressing God ; he is deeply affected with
the state of his soul, and with his sins, considered
in relation to God. Now, with respect to God,
there may be, and there often is, as much pre-
sumption, as much daring in committing a con-
cealed sin, as in committing a sin which is open
to the world. The circumstance of concealment,
or detection, makes no difference at all in this re-
spect ; and therefore they could not properly be
placed in different classes ; nor would it be natural
so to place them; but offences which escape the
sinner's own notice at the time, may certainly be
distinguished from those which are committed
with a high hand, with a full knowledge of the
guilt, and defiance of the consequences ; and that
is, as I believe, the distinction here intended : and
the one the Psalmist called his secret faults, the
other his presumptuous sins. Upon the whole,
therefore, I conclude, that the secret sins against
which the Psalmist prayed, were sins secret to
himself.
But here, therefore, comes the principal ques-
tion How there can be any sins of this sort 7
how that can be a sin, which is neither observed,
nor known to be so. by the person who commits
it 1 And then there comes also a second consi-
deration, which is; if there be such, what ought to
be done with respect to them 1 Now, as well
upon the authority of the text, as upon what is
the real case with human nature, when that case
is rightly Understood, I contend, first, that there
are many violations of God's laws, which the men
who are guilty of them, are not sensible of at the
time ; and yet, secondly, such, as that their want
of being seasible of them, does not excuse, or make
them cease to be sins. All this, in truth, is no
uther than the regular effect of sinful habits..
Such is the power of custom over our consciences,
that there is, perhaps, hardly any bad action
which a man is capable of committing, that he
may not commit so often ; as to become uncon-
scious of its guilt, as much as of the most indiffer-
ent thing which he does. If some very great and
atrocious crimes may be thought exceptions to
this observation, and that no habit or custom can
by any possibility reconcile them to the human
conscience ; it is only because they are such as
cannot, from their very nature, be repeated so of-
ten by the same person, as to become familiar and
habitual : if they could, the consequence would be
the same ; they would be no more thought of by
the sinner himself, than other habitual sins are.
But great outrageous crimes against life, for in-
stance, and property, and public safety, may !
hud out of the question, as not falling, I trust and
believe, within the case of any one who hears me ;
and as in no case whatever capable of being so
common, as to be fair experiments of the strength
of our observation. These are not what compose
our account with God. A man may be (as in-
deed most men are) quite free from the crimes of
murder, robbery, and the like, and yet be far
from the kingdom of God. I fear it may be said
of most of us, that the class of sins which com-
pose our account with God, are habitual sins;
habitual omissions, and habitual commissions.
Now it is true of both these, that we may have
continued in them so long, they may have become
so familiar to us by repetition, that we think no-
thing at all of them. We may neglect any duty,
till we forget that it is one ; we may neglect our
prayers ; we may neglect our devotion ; we may
neglect every duty towards God, till we become so
unaccustomed and unused to them, as to be in-
sensible that we are incurring any omission, or
contracting, from that omission, any guilt which
can hurt ; and yet we may be, in truth, all the
while "treasuring up wrath, against the day of
wrath." How many thousands, for instance, by
omitting to attend the sacrament, have come not
to know that it forms any part of Christian obli-
gation ; and long disuse and discontinuance would
have the same effect upon any other duty, how-
5G1
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
ever plain might be the proof of it, when the mat-
ter came to be considered.
It is not less so with sins of commission. . Se-
rious minds are shocked~with observing with
what complete unconcern and indifference many
forbidden things are practised. The persons who
are guilty of them, do not, by any mark or symp-
tom whatever, appear to feel the smallest rebuke
of conscience, or to have the least sense of either
guilt, or danger, or shame, in what they do; and
it not only appears to be so, but it is so. They
are, in fact, without" any notice, consciousness, or
compunction upon the subject. These sins,
therefore, if they be such, are secret sins to them.
But are they not therefore sins 1 That becomes
the next great question. We must allow, be-
cause fact proves it, that habit and custom can
destroy the sense and perception of sin. Does
the act then, in that person, cease to be any
longer a sin 7 This must be asserted by those
who argue, that nothing can be a sin, but what is
known and understood, and also felt and perceiv-
ed to be so by the sinner himself at the time ; and
who, consequently, deny that there are any se-
cret sins in our sense of that expression. Now
mark the consequences which would follow such
an opinion. It is then the timorous beginner in
wicked courses who alone is to be brought to ac-
count. Can such a doctrine be maintained'? Sin-
ners are called upon by preachers of the Gospel,
and over and over again called upon, to compare
themselves with themselves; themselves at one
time with themselves at another; their former
selves, when they first entered upon sinful allow-
ances, and their present selves, since they have
beerr confirmed in them. With what fear and
scruple, and reluctance, what sense and acknow-
ledgment of wrong, what apprehension of danger,
against what remonstrance of reason, and with
what opposition and violence to their religious
principle, they first gave way to temptation !
With what ease, if ease it may be called, at least
with what hardness and unconcern, they now
continue in practices which they once dreaded ! in
a word, what a change, as to the particular article
in question at least, has taken place in their moral
sentiments ! Yet, notwithstanding this change in
them, the reason, which made what they are doing
a sin, remains the- same that it was at first : at
first they saw great force and strength- in that
reason ; at present they see none ; but, in truth, it
is all the while the same. Unless, therefore, we
will choose to say, that a man has only to harden
himself in his sins, (which thing perseverance'
will always do for him,) and. that with the sense
he takes away the guilt of them, and that the
only sinner is the conscious, trembling, affrighten-
ed, reluctant sinner; that the confirmed sinner is
not a sinner at all ; unless we will advance this,
which affronts all principles of justice and sense,
we must confess, that secret sins are both passible
and frequent things : that with the habitual sinner,
and with every man, in so far as he is, and in
that article in which he is, an habitual sinner,
this is almost sure to be the case.
What then are the reflections suitable to such
a case-? First, to join most sincerely with the
Psalmist in his prayer to God, " O cleanse thou me
from my secret faults." Secondly, to see, in this
consideration, the exceedingly great danger of
evil habits of all kinds. It is a dreadful thing to
commit sins without knowing it, and yet to have
those sins to answer for. That is dreadful; and
yet it is no other than the just consequence and
efli-ct of sinful habits. They destroy in us the
perception of guilt: that experience proves.
They do not destroy the guilt itself: that no man
can argue, because it leads to injustice and ab-
surdity.
How well does the Scripture express the state
of an habitual sinner, when he calls him " dead
in trespasses and sins !" His conscience is dead :
that, which ought to be the living, actuating, go-
verning principle of the whole man, is dead within
him ; is extinguished by the power of sin reigning
in his heart. He is incapable of perceiving his
sins, whilst he commits them with greediness. It
is evident, that a vast alteration must take place
in such a man, before he be brought into the way
of salvation. It is a great change from innocence
to guilt, when a man falls from a life of virtue to
a life of sin. But the recovery from it is much
greater; because the very secrecy of our sins to
ourselves, the unconsciousness of them, which
practice and custom, and repetition and habit, have
produced in us, is an almost unsurmountable hin-
derance to an effectual reformation.
SERMON XVII.
SERIOUSNESS OF HEART AS TO RELIGION.
But that on the good ground are they, who in an
honest and good heart, having heard the word,
keep it, and bring forth fruit with patience.
Luke viii. 15.
IT may be true, that a right religious principle
produces corresponding external actions, and yet it
may not be true, that external actions are what
we should always, or entirely, or principally, look
to for the purpose of estimating our religious cha-
racter; or from whence alone we should draw our
assurance and evidence of being in the right
way-
External actions must depend upon ability, and
must wait for opportunity. From a change in
the heart, a visible outward change will ensue :
from an amendment of disposition, an amended
conduct will follow ; but it may neither be so soon
nor so evident, nor to such a degree, as we may
at first sight expect, inasmuch as it will be regu-
lated by occasions ^nd" by ability. I do not mean
to say, (for I do not believe it to be so,) that there
is any person so forlorn and destitute, as to have
no good in his power : expensive kindnesses may
not ; but there is much kindness which is not ex-
pensive: a kindness of temper; a readiness to
oblige; a willingness to assist; a constant inclina-
tion to promote the comfort and satisfaction of all
who are about us, of all with whom we have con-
cern or connexion, of all with whom we associate
or converse.
There is also a concern for the virtue of those
over whom, or with whom, we can have any sort
of influence, which is a natural concomitant of a
radical concern for virtue in ourselves.
But, above all, it is undoubtedly, in every per-
son's power, whether poor or rich, weak or strong,
ill or well endowed by nature or education, it is, I
say, in every person's power to avoid sin : i f he
can do little good, to take care that he do no ill.
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
565
Although, therefore, there be no person in the
world so circumstanced, but who both can and
will testify his inward principle by his outward
behaviour, in one shape or other ; yet on account
of the very great difference of those circum-
stances in which men are placed, and to which
their outward exertions are subjected, outward
behaviour is not always a just measure of inward
principle.
But there is a second case, and that but too
common, in which outward behaviour is no mea-
sure of religious principle at all ; and that is, when
it springs from other and different motives and
reason from those which religion presents. A
very bad man may be externally good : a man
completely irreligious at the heart may, for the
sake of character, for the advantage of having a
good character, for the sake of decency, for the
sake of being trusted and respected, and well spo-
ken of, from a love of praise and commendation,
from a view of carrying his schemes and designs
in the world, or of raising himself by strength of
character, or at least from a fear lest a tainted
character should be an obstacle to his advance-
ment from these and a thousand such sort of
considerations, whu-h might be reckoned up; and
with which, it is evident, that religion hath no
concern or connexion whatever, men may be both
active, and forward, and liberal, in doing good ;
and exceedingly cautious of giving offence by
doing evil ; and this may be either wholly, or in
part, the case with ourselves.
In judging, therefore, and examining ourselves,
with a view of knowing the real condition of our
souls, the real state and the truth of our spiritual
situation with respect to God, and in respect to
salvation, it is neither enough, nor is it safe, to
look only to our external conduct.
I do not speak in any manner of judging of
other men: if that were necessary at all, which,
with a view to religion, it never is, different rules
must be laid down for it. 1 now only speak of
that which is necessary, and most absolutely so,
in judging rightly of ourselves. To our hearts,
therefore, we must look for the marks and tokens
of salvation, for the evidence of being in the right
way. " That on the good ground are they, who
in an honest and good neart bring forth fruit with
patience."
One of these marks, and that no slight one, is
seriousness of the heart. I can have no hope at
all of a man who does not find himself serious in
religious matters, serious at the heart. If the judg-
ment of Almighty God at the last day ; if the dif-
ference between being saved and being lost ; being
accepted in the beloved, and being cast forth into
outer darkness; being bid by a tremendous word
either to enter into the joy of our Father, or to go
into the fire prepared for the devil and his angels,
for all who have served him and not God : if these
things do not make us serious, then it is most cer-
tain, either that we do not believe them, or that
we have not yet thought of them at all, or that
we have positively broken off thinking of them,
have turned away from the subject, have refused
to let it enter, have shut our minds against' it ; or,
lastly, that such a levity of mind is our character,
as nothing whatever can make any serious im-
pression upon. In any of these cases our condi-
tion is deplorable ; we cannot look for salvation
from Christ's religion under any of them. Do we
want seriousness concerning religion, because we
do not believe in it 1 we cannot expect salvation
from a religion which we reject. What the root
of unbelief in us may be, how far voluntary and
avoidable, how far involuntary and Ainavoidable,
God knows, and God only knows: and, therefore,
he will in his mercy treat us as he thinketh fit ;
but we have not the religion to rely upon, to
found our hopes upon ; we cannot, as I say again,
expect salvation from a religion which we reject.
If the second case be ours, namely, that we
have not yet thought of these things, and there-
fore it is, that we are not serious about them, it
is high time with every one, that he do think of
them. These great events are not at a distance
from us ; they approach to every one of us with
the end of our lives ; they are the same to all in-
tents and purposes, as if they took place at our
deaths. It is ordained for men once to die, and
after that, judgment. Wherefore it is folly in any
man or woman whatever, in any thing above a
child, to pay they have not thought of religion :
How know they that they will be permitted to
think of it at all 1 it is worse than folly, it is high
presumption. It is an answer one sometimes re-
ceives, but it is a foolish answer. Religion can do
no good till it sinks into the thoughts. Commune
with thyself and be still. Can any health, or
strength, or youth, any vivacity of ^spirits, any
crowd or hurry of business, much less any course
of pleasures, l>e an excuse for not thinking about
religion 1 Is it of importance only to the old and
infirm, and dying, to be saved 1 is it not of the
same importance to the young and strong 1 can
they be saved without religion ] or can religion
save them without thinking.about it 1
If, thirdly, such a levity of mind be our charac-
ter, as nothing can make an impression upon, this
levity must be cured before ever we can draw
near unto God. Surely human life wants not
materials and occasions for the remedying of this
great infirmity. Have we met with no troubles
to bring us to ourselves'? no disasters in our af-
fairs 1 no losses in our families 1 no strokes of
misfortune or affliction 1 no visitations in our
health 1 no warnings in our constitution! If
none of these things have befallen us, and it is
for that reason that we continue to want serious-
ness and solidity of character, then it shows how
necessary these things are for our real interest
and for our real happiness: we are examples how
little mankind can do without them, and that a
state of unclouded pleasure and prosperity is, of
all others, the most unfit for man. It generates
the precise evil we complain of, a giddiness and
levity of. temper upon which religion cannot act.
It indisposes a man for weighty and momentous
concerns of any kind; but it most fatally disquali-
fies him for the concerns of religion. That is its
worst consequence, though others may be bad. I
believe, therefore, first, that there is such a thing
as a levity of thought and character, upon whicn
religion has no effect. I believe, secondly, that
this is greatly cherished by health, and pleasures,
and prosperity, and gay society. I believe, third-
ly, that whenever this is the case, these things,
which are accounted such blessings, which men
covet and envy, are, in truth, deep and heavy ca-
lamities. For, lastly, I believe, that this levity
must be changed into seriousness, before the mind
infected with it can come unto God ; and most as-
suredly true it is, that we cannot come to happiness
in the next world, unless we come to God in this.
48
5C6
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
I repeat again, therefore, that we must look t
our hearts for our character : not simply or solel
to our actions, which may be and will be of
mixed nature, but to the internal state of our dis
position. That is the place in which rdigio
dwells : in that it consists. And I also re pea
that one of these internal marks of a right dispo
sition, of an honest and good heart, as relative t<
religion, is seriousness. There can be no true re
ligion without it. And further, a mark and tes
of a growing religion, is a growing seriousness
so that when, instead of seeing these things at ?
distance, we begin to look near upon them; when
from faint, they become distinct; when, instea<
of now and then' perceiving a slight sense of these
matters, a hasty passage of them, as it were
through the thoughts, they begin to rest and set
tie there: in a word, when we become seriout
about religion, then, and not till then, may we
hope that things are going on right within us
that the soil is prepared, the seed sown. Its fu
ture growth, and maturity, and fruit may not yel
be known, but the seed is sown in the heart : am:
in a serious heart it will not be sown in vain ; in
a heart not yet become serious, it may.
Religious seriousness is not churlishness, is not
severity, is not gloominess, is not melancholy : but
it is nevertheless a disposition of mind, and, like
every disposition, it will show itself one way or
other. It will, in the first place, neither invite,
nor entertain, nor encourage any thing which has
a tendency to turn religion into ridicule. It is not
in the nature.of things, that a serious mind should
find delight or amusement in so doing ; it is nol
in the nature of things, that it should not feel an
inward pain and reluctance whenever it is done
Therefore, if we are capable of being pleased with
hearing religion treated or talked of with levity
made, in any manner whatever, an object of sport
and jesting ; if we are capable of making it so our-
selves, or joining with others, as in a diversion, in
so doing ; nay, if we do not feel ourselves at the
heart grieved and offended, whenever it is our lot
to be present at such sort of conversation and dis-
course : then is the inference as to ourselves in-
fallible, that we are not yet serious in our religion ;
and then it will be for us to remember, that seri-
ousness is one of those marks by which we may
fairly judge of the state of our mind and disposi-
tion as to religion; and that the state of our mind
and disposition is the very thing to be consulted,
to be known, to be examined and searched into
for the purpose of ascertaining whether we are
in a right and safe way or not. Words and
actions are to be judged of with a reference to
the disposition which they indicate. There may
be language, there may be expressions, there
may be behaviour of no very great consequence
in itself, and considered in itself, but of very
groat consequence indeed, when considered as
indicating a disposition and state of mind. If it
show, with respect to religion, that to be want-
ing within, which ought to be there, namely,
a deep and fixed sense of our personal and in-
dividual concern in religion, of its importance
above all other important things ; then it shows,
that there is yet a deficiency in our hearts ;
which, without delay, must be supplied by closer
meditation upon the subject than we have hither-
to used ; and, above all, by earnest and unceasing
prayer for such a portion and measure of spiritual
influence shed upon our hearts, as may cure and
remedy that heedlessness and coldness, and dead-
ness, and unconcern, which are fatal, and under
which we have so much reason to know that we
as yet unhappily labour.
SERMON XVIII.
(PART I.)
THE EFFICACY OF THE DEATH OF CHRIST.
Now once in tlte end of the world hath he appear-
ed to put away sin by the sacrifice of himself.
Hebrews ix. 26.
THE salvation of mankind, and most particu-
larly in so far as the death and passion of our
Lord Jesus Christ are concerned in it, and where-
by he comes to be called our Saviour and our Re-
deemer, ever has been, and ever must be, a most
interesting subject to all serious minds.
Now there is one thing in which there is no di-
vision or difference of opinion at all ; which is,
that the death of Jesus Christ is spoken of in re-
ference to human salvation, in terms and in a
manner, in which the death of no person what-
ever is spoken of besides. Others have died mar-
tyrs as well as our Lord. Others have suffered
in a righteous cause, as well as he ; but that is
said of mm, and of his death and sufferings, which
is not said of any one else. An efficacy and a con-
cern are ascribed to them, in the business of human
salvation, which are not ascribed to any other.
What may be called the first Gospel declaration
upon this subject, is the exclamation of John the
Baptist, when he saw Jesus coming unto him:
" Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away
the s,in of the world." I think it plain, that when
John called our Lord the Lamb of God, he spoke
with a relation to his being sacrificed, and to the
effect of that sacrifice upon the pardon of human
sin ; and this, you will observe, was said of him
even before he entered upon his office. If any
doubt could be made of the meaning of the Bap-
tist's expression, it is settled by other places in
which the like allusion to a Lamb is adopted j
and where the allusion is specifically applied to
us death, considered as a sacrifice.
In the Acts of the Apostles, the following words
of Isaiah are, by Philip the evangelist, distinctly
applied to our Lord, and to our Lord's death.
' He was led as a sheep to the slaughter; and
ike a Iamb dumb before his shearers, so opened
le not his mouth ; in his humiliation his judgment
was taken away, and who shall declare his gene-
ation 1 for his life is taken from the earth ;"
herefore it was to his death, you see, that the
escription relates. Now, I say, that this is applied
o Christ most distinctly ; for the pious eunuch
who was reading the passage in his chariot, was
t a loss to know to whom it should be applied.
I pray thee," saith he to Philip, "of whom
peaketh the prophet this 1 of himself or of some
ther man?' And Philip, you read, taught him
fiat it was spoken of Christ. And I say, secondly,
tiat this particular part and expression of the pro-
hecy being applied to Christ's death, carries the
vhole prophecy to the same subject ; for it is un-
oubtedly one entire prophecy ; therefore the other
xpressions, which are still stronger, are applica-
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
567
ble as well as this. " He was wounded for our
transgressions ; he was bruised for our iniquities ;
the chastisement of our peace was upon him ; and
with his stripes we are healed ; the Lord hath laid
on him the iniquity of us all." There is a strong
and very apposite text of St. Peter's, in which the
application of the term " Lamb" to our Lord, and
the sense in which it is applied, can admit of no
question at all. It is in the 1st chapter of the .
first epistle, the 18th and 19th verses : " Foras-
much as ye know, that ye were not redeemed with
corruptibte things, but with the precious blood of
Christ, as of a lamb without blemish and without
spot." All the use I make of these passages is
to show, that the prophet Isaiah, six hundred
years before his birth ; St. John the Baptist, upon
the commencement of his ministry ; St. Peter, his
friend, companion, and apostle, after the transac-
tion was over, speak of Christ's death, under the
figure of a lamb lx>ing sacrificed ; that is, as having
the effect of a sacrifice, the effect in kind, though
infinitely higher in degree, upon the pardon of
sins, and the procurement of salvation ; and that
this is spoken of the death of no other person
whatever.
Other plain and distinct passages, declaring the
efficacy of Christ's death, are the following, He-
brews ix. -J(5 : " Now once in the end of the world
hath he appeared to put away sin by the sacrifice
of himself. Christ was once offered to bear the
sins of many, and unto them that look for him
shall he appear the second time without sin unto
salvation.'* And in the xth chapter, lt>th verse :
" This man, after he had offered one sacrifice for
sin, for ever sat down on the right hand of God,
for by one offering he hath perfected for ever them
that are sanctified." I observe again, that nothing
of this sort is said of the death of any other per-
son; no such efficacy is imputed to any other
martyrdom. So likewise in the following text.
from the Epistle to the Romans : " While we
were yet sinners, Christ died for us; much more
then being now justified by his blood we shall be
saved from wrath through him ; for if, when we
were enemies, we were reconciled to God by the
death of his Son, much more, being reconciled, we
shall be saved by his life." " Reconciled to God
by the death of his Son ;" therefore that death had
aii efficacy in our reconciliation ; but reconcilia-
tion is preparatory to salvation. The same tiling
is said by the same apostle in his Epistle to the
Colossians : " He has reconciled us to his Father
in his cross, and in the body of his flesh through
death/' What is said of reconciliation in these
texts, is said in other texts of sanctification, which
also is preparatory to salvation. Thus, Hebrews
x. 10: " We are sanctified :" how'? namely, " by
the offering of the body of Christ once for all ;" so
again in the same epistle, the blood of Jesus is call-
ed " the blood of the covenant by which we are
sanctified."
In these and many other passages, that lie
spread in different parts of the New Testament,
it appears to be asserted, that the death of Christ
had an efficacy in the procurement of human sal-
vation. Now these expressions mean something,
mean something substantial ; they are used con-
cerning no other person, nor the death of any
other person whatever. Therefore Christ's death
was something more than a confirmation of his
preaching ; something more than a pattern of a
holy and patient, and perhaps voluntary martyr-
dom ; something more than necessarily antecedent
to his resurrection, by which he gave a grand and
clear proof of human resurrection. Christ's death
was all these, but it was something more ; because
none of these ends, nor all of them, satisfy the
text you have heard ; come up to the assertions
and declarations which are delivered concerning it.
Now allowing the subject to stop here, allowing
that we know nothing, nor can know any. thing
concerning it but what is written, and that no-
thing more is written than that the death of Christ
had a real and essential effect upon human salva-
tion ; we have certainly before us a doctrine of a
very peculiar, perhaps I may say of a very unex-
pected kind, in some measure hidden in the coun-
cils of the divine nature, but still so far revealed to
us, as to excite two great religious sentiments, ad-
miration and gratitude.
That a person of a nature different from all
other men ; nay, superior, for so he is distinctly
described to be, to all created beings, whether men
or angels ; united with the Deity as no other per-
son is united; that such a person should come
down from heaven, and suffer upon earth the
pains of an excruciating death, and that these his
submissions and sufferings should avail and pro-
duce a great effect in the procurement of the fu-
ture salvation of mankind, cannot but excite won-
der. But it is by no means improbable on that
account; on the contrary, it might be reasonably
supposed beforehand, that if any thing was dis-
closed to us touching a future life, and touching
the (lis[*nsations of God to men, it would be
something of a nature to excite admiration. In
the world in which we live, we may be said to
have some knowledge of its laws, and constitution,
and nature : we have long experienced them ; as
also of the beings with whom we converse, or
amongst whom we are conversant, we may be
said to understand something, at least they are
familiar to us ; we are not surprised with appear-
ances which every day occur. But of the wo#ld
and the life to which we are destined, and of the
beings amongst whom we may be brought, the
ease is altogether different. Here is no experience
to explain things ; no use or familiarity to take
off surprise, to reconcile us to difficulties, to assist
our apprehension. In the new order of things,
according to the new laws of nature, every thing
will be suitable ; suitable to the beings who are to
occupy the future world ; but that suitableness
cannot, as it seems to me, be possibly j>erceived by
us, until we are acquainted with that order anil
with those beings. So that it arises, as it were,
from the necessity of things, that what is told us
by a divine messenger of neavenly affairs, of af-
fairs purely spiritual, that is, relating purely to
another world, must be so comprehended by us,
as to excite admiration.
But, secondly ; partially as we may, or perhaps
must, comprehend this subject, in common with
all subjects which relate strictly and solely to the
nature of our future life, we may comprehend it
quite sufficiently for one purjwse ; and that is gra-
titude. It was only for a moral purpose that the
thing was revealed at all ; and that purpose is a
sense of gratitude and obligation. This was the
use which the apostles of our Lord, who knew
the most, made of their knowledge. This was the
turn they gave to their meditations upon the sub-
ject ; the impression it left upon their hearts.
'That a great and happy Being should voluntarily
568
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS
enter the world in a mean and low condition, an(
humble himself to a death upon the cross, that is
to be executed as a malefactor, in order, by what-
ever means it was done, to promote the attain-
ment of salvation to mankind, and to each and
every one of themselves, was a theme they dwelt
upon with feelings of the warmest thankfulness ;
because they were feelings proportioned to the
magnitude of the benefit. Earthly benefits are
nothing compared with those which are heavenly.
That they felt from the bottom of their souls.
That, in my opinion, we do not feel as we ought.
But feeling this, they never cease to testify, to
acknowledge, to express the deepest obligation,
the most devout consciousness of that obligation
to their Lord and Master ; to him whom, for what
he had done and suffered, they regarded as the
finisher of their faith, and the author of their sal-
vation.
SERMON JUX.
(PART II.)
ALL STAND IN NEED OP A REDEEMER.
Now once in the end of the world hath he ap-
peared to put away sin by the sacrifice of him-
selfHebrews ix. 26.
IN a former discourse upon this text I have
shown, first, That the Scriptures expressly state
the death of Jesus Christ as having an efficacy in
the procurement of human salvation, which is not
attributed to the death or sufferings of any other
person, however patiently undergone, or unde-
servedly inflicted ; and farther, it appears that this
efficacy is quite consistent with our obligation to
obedience ; that good works still remain the con-
dition of salvation, though not the cause; the
cause being the mercy of Almighty God through
Jesus Christ. There is no man living, perhaps,
who has considered seriously the state of his soul,
to whom this is not a consoling doctrine, and a
grateful truth. But there are some situations of
mind which dispose us to feel the weight and im-
portance of this doctrine more than others. These
situations I will endeavour to describe; and, in
doing so, to point out how much more satisfactory
it is to have a Saviour and Redeemer, and the
mercies of our Creator excited towards us, and
communicated to us by and through that Saviour
and Redeemer, to confide in and rely upon, than
any grounds of merit in ourselves.
First, then, souls which are really labouring and
endeavouring after salvation, and with sincenty
such souls are every hour made sensible, deeply
sensible, of the deficiency and imperfection of
their endeavours. Had they no ground, therefore,
for hope, but merit, that is to say, could they look
for nothing more than what they should strictly
deserve, their prospect would be very uncomforta-
ble. I see not how they could look for hcaten at
all. They may form a conception of a virtue and
obedience which might seem to be entitled to a
high reward ; but when they come to review their
own performances, and to compare them with that
conception ; when they see how short they have
proved of what they ought to have been, and of
what they might have been, how weak and broken
were their best offices ; they will be the first to
coftfess, that it is infinitely for their comfort that
they have some other resource than their own
righteousness. One infallible effect of sincerity
in our endeavours is, to beget in us a knowledge
of our imperfections. The careless, the heedless,
the thoughtless, the nominal Christian, feels no
want of a Saviour, an intercessor, a mediator, be-
cause he feels not his own defects. Try in earnest
to perform the duties of religion, and you will scon
learn how incomplete your best performances are.
I can hardly mention a branch of our duty, which
is not liable to be both impure in the motive, and
imperfect in the execution ; or a branch of our
duty in which our endeavours can found their
hopes of acceptance upon any thing but extended
mercy, and the efficacy of those means and
causes which have procured it to be so extended.
In the first place, is not this the case with our
acts of piety and devotion 1 We may admit,
that pure and perfect piety has a natural title to
reward at the hand of God. But is ours ever
such 1 To be pure in its motive, it ought to pro-
ceed from a sense of God Almighty's goodness
towards us, and from no other source, or cause,
or motive whatsoever. Whereas even pious,
comparatively pious men, will acknowledge that
authority, custom, decency, imitation, have a
share in most of their religious exercises, and
that they cannot warrant any of their devotions
to be entirely independent of these causes. I
would not speak disparagingly of the considera-
tions here recited. They are oftentimes neces-
sary inducements, and they may be the means of
bringing us to better ; but still it is true, that devo-
tion is not pure in its origin, unless it flow from
a sense of God Almighty's goodness, unmixed
with any other reason. But if our worship of
od be defective in its principle, and often debased
by the mixture of impure motives, it is still more
deficient, when we come to regard it in its per-
ormances. Our devotions are broken and inter-
rupted, or they are cold and languid. Worldly
;houghts intrude themselves upon them. Our
worldly heart is tied down to the earth. Our
devotions are unworthy of God. We lift not up
our hearts unto him. Our treasure is upon earth,
and our hearts are with our treasure. That
leavenly-mindedness which ought to be insepara-
jle from religious exercises docs not accompany
ours ; at least not constantly. I speak not now
of the hypocrite in religion, of him who only
makes a show of it. His case comes not within
our present consideration. I speak of those who
are sincere men. These fcvl the imperfection of
heir services, and will acknowledge that I have
not stated it more strongly than what is true,
"mperfection cleaves to every part of it. Our
hankfulness is never what it ought to be, or any
hing like it ; and it is only when we have some
particular reason for being pleased that we are
hank ful at all. Formality is apt continually to
4cal upon us in our worship : more especially ia
>ur public worship ; and formality takes away
he immediate conscidusness of what we are
doing; which consciousness is the very life of
devotion ; all that we do without it being a dead
ceremony.
No man reviews his services towards God, his
religious services, but he perceives in them much
to be forgiven, much to be excused; great un-
worthiuess as respecting the object of all worship;
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
569
much deficiency and imperfection to In?
over, before our service can be deemed in its nature
an acceptable service. That such services, the re-
fore, should, in fact, be allowed and accepted^
and that to no less an end and purpose than the
attainment of heaven, is an act of abounding
grace and goodness in Him who accepts them ;
and we are taught in Scripture, that this so much
wanted grace and goodness abounds towards us
through Jesus Christ. ; and particularly through
his sufferings and his death.
But to pass from our acts of worship, which
form a particular part only of our duty to God
to pass from these to our general duty, what, let
us ask. is that duty 1 What is our duty towards
God? No other, our Saviour himself tells us,
than " to love him with all our heart, with all our
soul, with all our strength, mid with alt our mind :"
Luke x. *27. Are we conscious of such love to
stich a degree 1 If we are not, then, in a most
fundamental duty, we fail of being wha* we ought
to be. Here, then, as beforo, is a call for pardon-
ing mercy on the part of God ; which mercy is
extended to us by the intervention ef Jesus
Christ; at least so the Scriptures represent it.
In our duties towards one another, it may be
said, that our performances are more adequate to
our obligation, than in our duties to God ; that
the subjects of them lie more level with our capa-
city; and there may be truth in this observation.
But still I am afraid, that both in principle and
execution our performances are not only defective,
but defective in a degree which we are- not suffi-
ciently aware of. The rule laid down for us is
this, " to love our neighbour as ourselves." Which
rule, in fact, enjoins, that our benevolence be as
strong as our self-interest : that we be as anxious
to do good, as quick to discover, as eager to em-
brace every opportunity of doing it, and as active,
and resolute, and persevering in our endeavours
to do it, as we are anxious for ourselves, and
active in the pursuit of our own interest. Now
is this the case with us? Wherein it is not, we
fall below our rule. In the apostles of Jesus
Christ, to whom this rule was given from his own
mouth, you may read how it operated ; and their
example proves, what some deny, the possibility
of the thing ; namely, of benevolence being as
strong a motive as self-interest. They firmly be-
lieved, that to bring men to the knowledge of
Christ's religion was the greatest possible good
that could be done unto them ; was the highest
act of benevolence they could exercise. And,
accordingly, they set about this work, and carried
it on with as much energy, as much order, as
much perseverance, through as great toils and
labours, as many sufferings and difficulties, as
any person ever pursued a scheme for their own
interest, or for the making of a fortune. They
could not possibly have done more for their own
sakes than what they did for the sake of others.
They literally loved their neighbours as them-
selves. Some have followed their example in
this ; and some have, in zeal and energy, followed
their example in other methods of doing good.
For I do not mean to say, that the particular me-
thod of usefulness, which the office, of the apostles
cast upon them, is the only method, or that it is a
method even competent to many. Doing good,
without any selfish worldly motive for doing it. is
the grand thing : the mode must be regulated by
opportunity and occasion. To which may be
added, that in those whose power of doing good,
according to any mode, is small, the principle of
benevolence will at least restrain them from doing
harm. 1 1 the principle be subsisting in their hearts,
it will have tin's operation at least. I ask there-
fore again, as I asked before, are we as solicitous
to seize opportunities, to look out for and embrace
occasions of doing good, as we are certainly soli-
citous to lay hold of opportunities of making ad-
vantage to ourselves, and to embrace all occasions
of profit and self-interest? Nay, is benevolence
strong enough to hold our hand, when stretched
out for mischief? is it always sufficient to make
us consider what misery we are producing, whilst
we are. compassing a selfish end, or gratifying a
lawless passion of our own ? Do the two princi-
ples of benevolencfe and self-interest possess any
decree of parallelism and equality in our hearts,
and in our conduct ? If they do,~theh so far we
come up to our rule. Wherein they do not, as I
saiil before, We fall bejow it. -
\Vhcn not only the generality of mankind, but
even those who are endeavouring to do their duty,
apply the standard to themselves, th<'y are made
to learn the humiliating lesson of their o^n defi-
ciency. That such our deficiency should be
overlooked, so as not to become thp loss to us of
happiness after death ; that our poor, weak, hum-
ble endeavours to comply with our Saviour's rule
should be received and not rejected ; I say, if we
hope for this, we must hope for it, not on tho
ground of congruity or desert, which it will not
bear, but from the extreme benignity of a merciful
God. and the availing mediation of a Redeemer.
You will observe that I am still, and have been
all along, speaking of sincere men, of those who
are in earnest in their duty, and in religion; and
I say, upon the strength of what has been alleged,
that even these persons, when they read in Scrip-
ture of the riches of the goodness of God, of the-
powerful efficacy of the death of Christ, of his
mediation and continual intercession, know and
feel in their hearts that they stand in, need of
them all.
In that remaining- class of duties, which arc
called duties to ourselves, the observation we have
made upon the deficiency of our endeavours ap-
plies with equal or with greater force. More is
here wanted than the mere command of our ac-
tions. The heart itself is to be regulated; the
hardest thing hi this world to manage. The
affections and passions are to be kept in order;
constant evil propensities are to be constantly
opposed. I apprehend that every sincere man is
conscious how unable he is to fulfil this part of
his duty, even to his own satisfaction ; and if our
conscience accuse us, " God is greater than our
conscience, and knoweth all things." If we see
our sad failings, He must.
God forbid that any thing I say, either, upon
this or the other branches of our duty, should
damp our endeavours. Let them be a vigorous
and as steadfast as they can. They will be so if
we are sincere ; and without sincerity there is no
hope; none whatever. But there will always be
left enough, infinitely more than enough, to hum-
ble self-sufficiency.
Contemplate, then, what is placed before us
heaven. Understand what heaven is : a state
of happiness after death; exceeding what, with-
out experience, it is possible for us to conceive,
and unlimited in duration. This is a reward in-
48*
570
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
finitely beyond any thing we can pretend to, as
of right, as merited, as due. Some distinction
between us and others, between the comparative-
ly good and the bad, might be expected ; but on
thriM 1 grounds, not such a reward as this, even
were our services, I mean the services of sincere
men, perfect. But such services as ours, in truth,
urc. such services as, in fact, we perform, so poor,
BO deficient, so broken, so mixed with alloy, so
ini|)erlt ct both in principle and execution, what
h:i\e they to look for upon their own foundation 1
When, therefore, the Scriptures speak to us of a
redeemer, a mediator, an intercessor for us ; when
they display and magnify the exceeding great
mercies of God, as set forth in the salvation of
man, according to any mode whatever which he
might, be pleased to appoint, and therefore in that
mode which the Gospel holds forth ; they teach
us no other doctrine than that to which the actual
deficiencies of our duty and a just consciousness
and acknowledgment of these deficiencies, must
naturally carry our own minds. What we feel
in ourselves corresponds .with what we read in
Scripture.
SERMON XX.
THE EFFICACY OF THE DEATH OF CHRIST CON-
SISTENT WITH THE NECESSITY OF A GOOD
LIFE : THE ONE BEING THE OAESE, THE OTHER
THE CONDITION OF SALVATION.
What shall we saij> then? shall we continue' in
sm, that grace may abound ? God forbid.
Romans vi. 1.
THE same Scriptures which represent the death
of Christ as having that which belongs to the
death of no other person, namely, an efficacy in
procuring the salvation of man, are also constant
and uniform in representing the necessity of our
own endeavours, of our own good works for the
same purpose. They go further. They foresaw
that in stating, and still more when they, went
about to. extol and magnify the death of Christ, as
instrumental to salvation, they were laying a foun-
dation for the opinion, that men's own works,
their own virtue, their personal endeavours, were
superseded and dispensed with. In proportion as
the sacrifice of the death of Christ was effectual,
in the same proportion were these less necessary :
if the death of Christ was sufficient, if redemption
was complete, then were these not necessary at
all. They foresaw that some would draw this
consequence from their doctrine, and they provided
against it.
It is Observable, that the same consequence
might be deduced from the goodness of God in
any way of representing it: not only in the par-
ticular and peculiar way in which it is represent-
ed in the redemption of the world by Jesus Christ,
but in any other way. St. Paul, for one, was sen-
sible of this, and therefore, when he speaks of the
goodness of God, even in general terms, he takes
care to point out the only true turn which ought
to be given to it in our thoughts " Despisest thou
the riches of his goodness, and forbearance, and
long suffering; not knowing that the .goodness of
God leadeth thee to repentance T as if he had
said, With thee, I perceive, that the considera-
tion of the goodness of God, leads to the allowing
of thyself in sin : this is not to know what that
consideration ought in truth to lead to : it ought
to lead thee to repentance, and to no other conclu-
sion.
Again : When the apostle had been speaking
of the righteousness of God displayed by the wick-
edness of man; he was not unaware of the mis-
construction to which this representation was lia-
ble, and which it had, in fact, experienced : which
misconstruction he states thus," We lie slander-
ously reported, and some affirm, that we say, let
us do evil that good may come." This insinua-
tion, however, he regards as nothing less than an
unfair and wilful perversion of his words, and of
the words of other Ohristian teachers : therefore
he says concerning those who did thus pervert
them, "their condemnation is just:" they will be
justly condemned for thus abusing the doctrine
which we teach. , The passage, however, clearly
shows, that the application of their expressions to
the encouragement of licentiousness of life, was
an application contrary to their intention j and, in
fact, a perversion of their words.
In like manner in the same chapter, our apostle
had no sooner laid down the doctrine, that " a man
is justified by faith without the deeds of the law,"
than he checks himself, as it were, by subjoining
this proviso: "Do we then make void the law
through faith 1 God forbid : yea, we establish the
law." Whatever he meant by his assertion con-
cerning faith, he takes care to let them know he
did not mean thjs, " to make void the law," or to
dispense with obedience.
But the clearest text to our purpose is that, un-
doubtedly, which I have prefixed to this discourse.
Saint Paul, after expatiating largely upon the
" grace," that is, the favour, kindness, and mercy
of God, the extent, the greatness, the comprehen-
siveness of that mercy, as manifested in the Chris-
tian dispensation, puts this question to his reader
" What shall we say then 1 shall we continue
in sin, that grace may abound V which he an-
swers by a strong negative " God forbid." What
the apostle designed in this passage is sufficient-
ly evident. He knew in what manner some might
be apt to construe his expressions; and he an-
ticipates their mistake. He is beforehand with
them, by protesting against any such use being
made of his doctrine; which, yet he was aware,
might by possibility be made.
By way df showing scripturally the obligation
and the necessity of personal endeavours after
virtue, all the numerous texts which exhort to vir-
tue, and admonish us against vice, might be
quoted ; for they are all 'directly to the purpose :
that is we might quote every page of the New
Testament. " Not every one that saith unto me,
Lord, Lord, shall enter into the kingdom of hea-
ven ; but he that doeth the will of my Father which
is in heaven." " If ye know these things, happy
are ye if ye do them." In both these texts the
reward attends the doing : the promise is annexed
to works. Again: ""lo them, who by patient
continuance in well-doing seek for glory and im-
mortality, eternal life : but unto them that are con-
tentious, and obey not the truth, but obey unrighte-
ousness, tribulation, and anguish upon every soul
of man that doeth evil." Again : " Of the which,"
namely, certain enumerated vices, " I tell you be-
fore, as I have also told you in time past, that they
which do such things, shall not inherit the king-
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
571
dom of God." Those are a few amongst many
texts of the same effect, and tliey are such as can
never be got over. Stronger terms' cannot be de-
vised than what are here used. Were the pur-
pose, therefore, simply to prove from Scripture the
necessity of virtue, and the danger of vice, so far
as salvation is concerned, these texts an- decisive.
But when an answer is to be given to those, who
so interpret certain passages of the apostolic writ-
ings, especially the passages which speak of the
efficacy of the death of Christ, or draw such in-
ferences from these passages, as amount to a dis-
pensing with the obligations of virtue ; then the
best method of proving, that theirs cannot be a
right interpretation, nor theirs just inferences, is by
showing, which fortunately, "we are able to do,
that it is the very interpretation, and these the
very inferences, which the apostles were them-
selves aware of, which they provided against, and
which they protested against. The four texts,
quoted from the apostolic writings in t his discourse,
were quoted with this, view : and they may be con-
sidered, I think, as showing the minds of the
authors upon the point in question more determi-
nately than any general exhortation to good works,
or any general denunciation against sin could do.
I assume, therefore, as a proved point, that what-
ever was said by the apostles concerning the efl'i-
dacy of the death of Christ, was said by them un-
der an apprehension that they did not thereby in
any manner relax the motives, the obi i nation, or
the necessity of good works. But still" there is
another important question Ix'hind ; namely, whe-
ther, notwithstanding what the apostles have said,
or may have meant to say, there be not, in the nature
of things, an invincible inconsistency between the
etlieacy of the death of Christ, and the necessity
of a nood life ; whether those two propositions can,
in fair reasoning, stand together; or whether it
does not necessarily follow, that if the death of
Christ be efficacious, then good works are no
longer necessary, and, on the other hand, that if
good works be still necessary, then is the death
of Christ not efficacious.
Now, to irive an account of this question, and
of the difficulty which it seems to present, we
must bear in mind, that in the business of salva-
tion there are naturally and properly two things,
ri:. the cause and the condition; and that these
two things are different. We should see belter
the propriety of this distinction, if we would allow
ourselves to consider well ichat salvation is: what
the being saved means. It is nothing less than,
after this life is ended, being placed in a state of
happiness exceedingly great, both in degree and
duration ; a state, concerning which the following
things are said: "the sufferings of this present
world are not worthy to be compared with the
glory that shall be revealed." " God hath in store
for us such things as pass man's understanding."
So that, you see, it is not simply escaping punish-
ment, simply being excused or forgiven, simply
being compensated or repaid for the little good we
do, but it is infinitely more. Heaven is infinitely
greater than mere compensation, which natural re-
ligion itself might lead us to expect. What do
the Scriptures call it"? "Glory, honour, immor-
tality, eternal life." " To them that seek for glory
and honour and immortality, eternal life." Will
any one then contend, that salvation in this sense,
and to this extent ; that heaven, eternal life, glory,
honour, immortality j that a happiness such as
that there is no way of describing it, hut by say-
ing that it surpasses human comprehension, that
it casts the sufferings of this life at such a distance,
as not to bear any comparison with it: will any
one contend, that this is no more than what virtue
deserves, what, in its own proper nature, and by
its own merit, it is entitled to look forward to, and
to receive 1 The greatest virtue that man ever
attained has no such pretensions. The l>est good
action that man ever performed has no claim to
this extent, or any tiling like it. It is out of all
calculation, and comparison,.and proportion above,
and more than any human works can possibly de-
serve.
To what then are we to ascribe it, that endea-
vours after virtue should procure, and that they
will, in fact, procure, to those who sincerely exert
them, such immense blessings? Tb what, but to
the voluntary bounty of Almighty God, who, in
his inexpressible good pleasure, hath appointed it
so to be ! The benignity of God towards man
hath made him this inconceivably advantageous
offer. But a most kind offer may still be a condi-
tional offer. And this, though an infinitely gra-
cious and beneficial offer, is, still a conditional of-
fer, and the performance of the conditions is as
necessary as if it had been an offer of mere retri-
bution. The kindness, the, bounty, the genero-
sity of the offer, do not make it less necessary to
|x>rform the conditions, but more so. " A condi-
tional offer may be infinitely kind on the part of
the [>enefactor who makes it, may be infinitely be-
neficial to those to whom it is made. If it be from
a prince or governor, may be infinitely gracious
and merciful on his part ; and yet, being condi-
tional, the condition is as necessary, as if the of-
fer had been no more than that of scanty wages
by a hard taskmaster.
In considering this matter in general, the whole
of it appears to be very plain ; yet, when we ap-
ply the consideration to religion, there arc two mis-
takes into which we are very liable ^o fall. The
first is, that when we hear so much of the exceed-
ingly great kindness of the offer, we are apt to
inter, that the conditions upon which it was made,
will not be exacted. Does that at all follow?
Because the offer, even with these conditions, is
represented to be the fruit of love, and mercy, and
kindness, and is in truth so, and is most justly so
to be accounted, does it follow that the conditions*
of the offer are not necessary to be performed 1
This is one error into which we slide, against
which we ought to guard ourselves most diligent-
ly ; for it is not simply false in its principle, but
most pernicious in its applicatiori ; its applica-
tion always being to countenance us in some sin
which we will not relinquish. The second mis-
take is, that when We have performed the conditions,
or think that we have performed .the conditions,
or when we endeavour to perform the conditions,
upon which the reward is offered, we forthwith
attribute our obtaining the reward' to this our per-
formance or endeavour, and not to that which is
the beginning and foundation, and cause of the
whole, the true and proper cause, namely, the
kindness and bounty of the original offer. This
turn of thought likewise^ as well as the former, it
is necessary to warn you against. For it has
these consequences ; it damps our gratitude to God,
it takes off our attention from Him.
Some, who allow the necessity of good works to
salvation, are not willing that they should be called
572
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
conditions of salvation. But this, I think, is a dis-
tinction too refined t\>r common Christian appre
hcnsion. II' thoy In- necessary to salvation, thei
are conditions of salvation, so far as I oan see. I
IB a question, however, not now before us.
But to return to the immediate subject of oui
discourse. ( Hir observations have carried us thus
far; that in the business of human salvation then
.are two most momentous considerations, the
Cause and the conditions, and thiat these consider-
ations -are distinct. I now proceed to say, that
there is no inconsistency hetween the efficacy of
the death of Christ and the necessity of a holy
life, (hy which 1 mean sincere endeavours after
holiness;) hecause the first, the death of Christ
relates to the cause of salvation ; the second, name-
ly, good works, respects "the conditions of salva-
tion ;~and that the cause of salvation is one thing
the conditions another.
The cause of salvation is the free will, the free
gift, the-love and mercy of God. . That alone is
the source, and fountain, and cause of salvation ;
the origin from which it springs, from which all
our hopes of attaining td it are derived. This
cause is not in ourselves, nor in any thing we do,
or can do, -but in God, in his good will and plea-
sure. It is, as we have before shown, in the gra-
eiousness of the, original offer. Therefore, what-
ever shall have moved and excited, and conciliated
that good will and pleasure, so as to have procured
that offer to be made, or shall have formed any
part or portion of the motive from which it was
made, may most truly and properly be said to be
efficacious in human s.alvation.
This efficacy is in Scripture attributed ta the
death of Christ. It is attributed in a variety of
ways of expression, but this is the substance of
them all. He is " a sacrifice, an offering to God ;
a propitiation ; the precious sacrifice foreordained ;
the lamb slain from the foundation of the world ;
the lamb. which taketh away the sin of the world.
We are washed in his blood; we are justified by
his blood ; we are saved from wrath through him;
he hath once suffered for sins, the just for the un-
just, that he might bring us to God." All -these
terms, and many more that are used, assert in sub-
stanee the same thing, namely, the efficacy of the
death of Christ in the procuring of human salva-
tion. To give to these expressions their proper
moment and import, it is necessary to reflect, over
and over again, and by reflection tp impress our
minds with a just idea," what and how great a
thing salvation is; for it is by means of that idea
alone,, that we can ever come to be sensible, how
unspeakably important, how inestimable in value,
any efficacy which operates upon that event must
be to ue aft. The highest terms in which the
Scriptures speak of that efficacy are not too great :
cannot be too great ; because it respects an inter-
est and an event so vast, so momentous, as to make
all other interests, and all other events, in com-
parison contemptible.
The sum of our argument is briefly this. There
may appear, and to many there has appeared, to
be an inconsistency or incompatibility between the
efficacy of the death of Christ, and the. necessity
of sincere endeavours after obedience. When the
subject is properly examined, there turns out to
be no such incompatibility. The graciousness of
an offer does not diminish the necessity of the
condition. Suppose a prince to promise to one of
bis subjects, upon compliance with certain terms,
and the performance of certain duties, a reward,
in magnitude and value, out of all competition be-
\ornl the merit of the compliance, the desert of
the performance; to what shall such a subject
ascribe the happiness held out to him 3 He is an
ungrateful man, if he attribute it to any cause
whatever, but to the bounty and goodness of his
prince in making him the offer ; or if he suffer any
consideration, be it what it will, to interfere with,
or diminish his sense of that bounty and good-
ness. Still it is true, that lie will not obtain what
is offered, unless he comply with the terms. So
far his compliance is a condition of his happi-
ness. But the grand thing is the offer being
made at all. That is the ground and origin of
the whole. That is the cause ; and is ascribable
to favour, grace, and goodness, on the part of the
prince, and to nothing else. It would, therefore,
be the last degree of ingratitude in such a subject,
to forget his prince while he thought of himself;
to forget the cause, whilst he thought of the con-
dition ; to regard every thing promised as merited.
The generosity, the kindness, the voluntariness,
the bounty of the original offer, come by this
means-to be neglected in his mind entirely. 'This,
in my opinion, describes our situation with re-
spect to God. The love, goodness, and grace of
God, in making us a tender of salvation, and the
effects of the death of Christ, do not diminish the
necessity or the obligation of the condition of the
tender, which is sincere endeavours after holiness;
nor are in any wise inconsistent with such obliga-
tion.
SERMON XXL
PURE RELIGION.
Pure religian and undefiled before God and the
Father, is this. To visit thefatherless and wi-
dows in their affliction, and to keep himself
unspotted from the world. James i. 27.
NOTHING can be more useful than summary
views of our duty, if they be well drawn and
rightly understood. It is a great advantage to
have our business laid before us altogether; to
see at one comprehensive glance, as, it were, what
we are to do, and what we are not to do. It would
ie a great ease and satisfaction to both, if it were
possible for a master to give his servant directions
for his conduct in a single sentence, which he, the
servant, had only to apply and draw out into prac-
tice, as occasions offered themselves, in order to
discharge every thing which was required or ex-
pected from him. This, which is not practicable
"n civil life, is in a good degree so in a religious
ife; because a religious life proceeds more upon
principle, leaving the exercise and manifestation
of that principle more to the judgment of the in-
dividual, than it can be left where, from the na-
ure of the case, one man is to act precisely ac-
cording to another man's direction.
But then, as I have said, it is essentially neces-
sary that these summaries be well drawn up, and
rightly understood ; because if they profess to state
the whole of men's duties, yet, in fact, state them
martially and imperfectly, all who read them are
nisled, and dangerously misled. In religion, as
in other things, we are too apt of ourselves to
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
573
substitute a part for the whole. Substituting a
part for the whole is the grand tendency of nu
man corruption, in matters both of morality and
religion; which propensity therefore will be en
couraged, when that, which professes to.exhibi
the whole of religion, does not, in truth, exhibi
the whole. What is there omitted, we shall omit
glad of the occasion and excuse. What is no'
set down as our duty, we shall not think our-
selves obliged to perform, not caring to increase
the weight of our own burden. This is the case
whenever we use summaries of religion, which, in
truth, are imperfect or ill drawn. But there is
another case more common, and productive of the
same effect, and that is, when we misconstrue
these summary accounts of our duty; principally
when we conceive of them as intending to express
more than they were really intended to express.
For then it comes to pass, that although they be
right and perfect as to what they were intended
for, yet they are wrong and imperfect as to what
we construe and conceive them for. This obser-
vation is particularly applicable to the text. St.
Jatn'-s is hriv deacri&ng religion not in its prin-
ciple, but in its effect*: and these effects are truly
and justly and fullv displayed. They are by the
apostle made to consist of two lari:e' articles ; in
succouring the distress of others, and maintaining
our own innocency. And these two articles do
comprehend the whole of the effects of true reli-
gion, which were exactly what the apostle meant
to describe. Had St. James intended to have set
forth the motives and principles of religion as they
ought to subsist in the Tieart of a Christian, I
doubt not but he would have mentioned love to
God, and faith in Jesus Christ; for from these
must spring every thing good and acceptable in
our actions. In natural objects it is one thing to
describe the root of a plant, and another its fruits
and flowers; and if we think a writer is describ-
ing the roots and fibres, when, in truth, he is de-
scribing the fruit or flowers, we shall mistake his
. meaning, and our mistake must produce great
confusion. So in spiritual affairs, k is one thing
to set before us the principle of religion, and an-
other the effects of it. These are not to be con-
founded. And if we apply a description to one
which was intended for the other, we deal unfairly
by the writer of the description, and erroneously
by ourselves. Therefore, first, let no one suppose
the love of God, the thinking of him, the being
grateful to him, the fearing to disobey him, not to
be necessary parts of true religion, because they
are not mentioned in St. Jameses account of true
religion. The answer is, that these compose tin-
principles of true religion ; St. James's account re-
lates to the effects. In like manner concerning
faith in Jesus Christ. St. James has recorded his
opinion upon that subject. His doctrine is, that
the tree which bears no fruit cannot be sound at
:he root; that the faith which is unproductive is
not the right faith ; but then this is allowing (and
not denying,) that a right faith is the source and
spring of true virtue; and had our apostle been
asked to state the principle of religion, I am per-
suaded he would have referred us to a true faith.
But that was not the inquiry ; on the contrary,
having marked strongly the futility of faith, which
produced no good effects upon life and action, he
proceeds in the text to tell us what the effects are
which it ought to produce ; and these he disposes
into two comprehensive classes, (but still meaning
to describe the effects of religion, and not its root
or principle,) positive virtue and personal inno-
cence.
Now, I say, that for the purpose for which it
was intended, the account given by St. James is
full and complete. And it carries with it this pe-
culiar advantage, that it very specially guards
against an error, natural, I believe, and common
in all ages of the world ; which is, the making be-
neficence an apology for licentiousness ; the think-
ing that doing good occasionally may excuse us
from strictness in regulating our passions and de-
sires. The text expressly cuts up this excuse,
because it expressly asserts both things to be ne-
cessary to compose true religion. Where two
tiling are necessary, one cannot excuse the want
of the other. Now, what does the text tearh I
it teaches us what pure and undefiled religion is
in its effects and in its practice : and what is it 7
" to visit the fatherless and widows in their af-
fliction, and to keep himself unspotted from the
world." Not simply to visit the fatherless and
widows in their affliction ; that is not all ; that is
not sufficient ; but likewise " to keep himself un-
spotted from the world."
To visit the fatherless and widows in their af-
fliction, is describing a class or species, or kind of
virtue, by singling out one eminent example of it.
I consider the apostle as meaning to represent the
value, and to enforce the obligation of active cha-
rity, of positive beneficence, and that he has done
it by mentioning a particular instance. A stronger
or properer instance could not have been selected ;
but still it is to be regarded as an instance, not as
\i hnive of other and similar instances, but as a
specimen of these exertions. The case before us,
as an instance, is heightened by every rircum-
"t-ince which could give to it weight and priority.
The apostte exhibits the most forlorn and desti-
tute of the human species, suffering under the se-
verest of human losses ; helpless children deprived
of a parent, a wife bereaved of her husband, both
sunk in affliction, under the sharpest anguish of
:heir misfortunes. To visit, by which is meant
o console, to comfort, to_ succour, to relieve, to as-
sist such as these, is undoubtedly a high exercise
of religion and benevolence, and well selected;
nit still it is to be regarded as an example, and
he whole class of beneficent virtues as intended
:o be included. This is not only a just and fair,
)ut a necessary construction ; because, although
the exercise of beneficence be a duty upon every
rnan, yet the kind, the examples of it, must be
guided in a great degree by each man's faculties,
opportunities, and by the occasions which present
heraselves. If such an occasion, as that which
he text describes, presents itself, it cannot be
jverlooked without an abandonment of religion ;
>ut if other and different occasions of doing good
iresent themselves, they also, according to the
pirit of our apostle's declaration, must be attend-
ed to, or we are wanting in the fruit of the same
"aith.
The second principal expression of the text,
to keep himself unspotted from the world," sig-
ifies the being clean and clear from the licentious
practices to which the world is addicted. So that
' pure religion and undefiled before God and the
Bather," consists in two things ; beneficence and
urity ; doing good and keeping clear from sin.
^ot in one thing, but in two things ; not in one
without the other, but in both. And this, in my
574
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
opinion, is a great lesson and a most important
doctrine.
I shall not, at present, consider the case of those
who are anxious, and effectually so, to maintain
their j>er8onal innocency without endeavouring to
do good to others ; because I really believe it is
not a common case. I think that the religious
principle which is able to make men confine their
passions and desires within the Ixninds of virtue,
is, with very few exceptions, strong enough, at
the same time to prompt and put them upon ac-
tive exertions.
Therefore, I would rather apply myself to that
part of the case which is more common, active ex-
ertions of benevolence, accompanied with loose-
ness of private morals. It is a very common cha-
racter ; but, I say, in the first place, it is an incon-
sistent character; it is" doing and undoing; killing
and curing ; doing good by our charity, and mis-
chief by our licentiousness : voluntarily relieving
misery with one hand, and voluntarily producing
and spreading it with the other. No real advance
is made in human happiness by this contradiction ;
no real betterness or improvement promoted.
But then, may not the harm a man does by his
personal vices be much less than the good he does
by his active virtues 1 This is a point, in which
there is large room for delusion and mistake. Po-
sitive charity and acts of humanity are often of a
conspicuous nature, naturally and deservedly en-
gaging the praises of mankind, which are follow-
ed by our own. No one does, no one ought to
speak against them, or attempt to disparage them ;
but the effect of vice and licentiousness, not only
in their immediate consequences, but in their re-
mote and ultimate tendencies, which ought all to
be included in the account; the mischief which is
done by the example, as well as by the act, is
seldom honestly computed by the sinner himself.
But I do not dwell further upon this comparison,
because I insist, that no man has a right to make
it ; no man has a right, whilst he is doing occa-
sional good, and yet .indulging his vices and his
passions, to strike a balance, as it were, between
the good and the harm. This is not Christianity;
this is not pure and undefiled religion before God
and the Father, let the balance lie on which side
it will. For our text declares, (and our text de-
clares no more than what the Scriptures testify
from one end to the other,) that religion demands
both. It demands active virtue, and it demands
innocency of life. I mean it demands sincere and
vigorous endeavours in the pursuit of active vir-
tue, and endeavours equally sincere and firm in
the preservation of personal innocence. It makes
no calculation which is better ; but it requires both.
Shall it be extraordinary, that there should be
men forward in active charity and in positive bene-
ficence, who yet put little or no constraint upon
their personal vices 1 I have said that the charac-
ter is common, and I will tell you why it is com-
mon. The reason is, (and there is no other rea-
son,) that it is usually an easier thing to perform
acts of beneficence, even of expensive and trouble-
some beneficence, than it is to command and con-
trol our passions; to give up and discard our
vices ; to burst the bonds of the habits which en-
slave us. This is the very truth of the case ; so
that the matter comes precisely to this point.
Men of active benevolence, but of loose morals, are
men who are for performing the duties which are
easy to them, and omitting those which are hard.
They may place their own character to themselves
in what view they please ; but this is the truth of
the case, and let any one say, whether this be re-
ligion ; whether this be sufficient. The truly re-
ligious man, when he has once decided a thing to
be a duty, has no farther question to ask ; whe-
ther it be easy to be done, or whether it be hard
to be done, it is equally a duty. It then becomes
a question of fortitude, of resolution, of firmness,
of self-command, and self-government ; but not of
duty or obligation; these are already decided upon.
But least x)f all, (and this is the inference from
the text, which I wish most to press upon your
attention,) least of all does he conceive the hope
of reaching heaven by that sort of compromise,
which would make easy, nay perhaps pleasant
duties, an excuse for duties which are irksome
and severe. To recur, for the last time, to the in-
stance mentioned in our text, I can very well be-
lieve that a man of humane temper shall have
pleasure in visiting, when by visiting he can suc-
cour, the fatherless and the widow in their afflic-
tion : but if he believes St. James, he will find
that this must be joined to and accompanied with
another thing, which is neither easy nor pleasant,
nay, must almost always be effected with pain and
struggle, and mortification, and difficulty, the
" keeping himself unspotted from the world."
SERMON XXII.
THE AGENCY OF JESUS CHRIST SINCE HIS
ASCENSION.
Jesus Christ, the same yesterday, to-day, and for
ever. Hebrews xiii. 8.
THE assertion of the text might be supported
by the consideration, that the mission and preach-
ing of Christ have lost nothing of their truth and
importance by the lapse of ages which has taken
place since his appearance in the world. If they
seem of less magnitude, reality^and concern to us
at this present day, than they did to those who
lived in the days in which they were carried on ;
it is only in 1 the same manner as a mountain or a
tower appears to be less, when seen at a distance.
It is a delusion in both cases. In natural objects
we have commonly strength enough of judgment
to prevent our being imposed upon by these false
appearances ; and it is not so much a want or de-
fect of, as it is a neglecting to exert and use our
judgment, if we suffer ourselves to be deceived by
them in religion. Distance of space in one case,
and distance of time in the other, make no differ-
ence in the real nature of the object ; and it is
a great weakness to allow them to'make any dif-
ference in our estimate and apprehension. The
death of Jesus Christ is, in truth, as interesting
to us, as it was to those who stood by his cross ;
his resurrection from the grave is a pledge and as-
surance of our future resurrection, no less than it
was of theirs who conversed', who eat and drank
with him, after his return to life.
But there is another sense, in which it is still
more materially true that "Jesus Christ is the
same yesterday, to-day, and for ever." He is per-
sonally living, and acting in the same manner ;
has been so all along, and will be so to the end of
the world. He is the same in his person, in his
power, in his office.
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
575
First, I say, that he is the same individual per-
son, and is at this present time existing, living,
acting. He is gone up on high. The clouds, at
his ascension, received him out of human sight.
But whither did he go 1 to sit for ever at the right
hand of God. This is expressly declared concern-
ing him. It is also declared of him, that death
hath no more dominion over him, that he is no
more to return to corruption. So that, since his
ascension, he hath continued in heaven to live
and act. His human body, we are likewise given
to believe, was changed upon his ascension, that
is, was glorified, whereby it became fitted for
hea\cn, and fitted for immortality; no longer lia-
ble to decay or age, but thenceforward remaining
literally and strictly the same, yesterday, to-day,
and tor ever. This change in the human pi CWB
of Christ is in effect asserted, or rather is referred
to, as a thing already known, in that text of Saint
Paul's Epistle to the Philippians, wherein we are
assured, that hereafter Christ shall change our
vile body, that it may be like his glorious body.
Now, the natural body of Christ, before his resur-
rection at least, was like the natural body of other
men ; was not a glorious body. At this time,
therefore, when Saint Paul calls it his glorious
body, (for it was after his ascension that Saint
Paul wrote these words,)f it must have undergone
a great change. In this exalted and glorified state
our Lord was seen by Saint Stephen, in the mo-
ment of his martyrdom. Being full, you read, of
the Holy Ghost, Stephen looked up steadfastly
unto heaven, and saw the glory of God,* and Jesus
standing on the right hand of God. At that seem-
ingly dreadful moment, even when the martyr
was surrounded by a band of assassins, with
stones ready in their hands to stone him to death,
the spectacle, nevertheless, filled his soul with
rapture. He cried out in e>ta<y. " Behold 1 see
the heavens opened, and the Son of Man stand-
ing on the right hand of God." The same glori-
ous vision was vouchsafed to Saint Paul at his
conversion; and to Saint John, at the delivery of
the revelations. This change, of our Lord's body
was a change, we have reason to believe, of nature
and substance, so as to be thenceforward incapa-
ble of decay or dissolution. It might be suscepti-
ble of any external form, which the particular pur-
pose of his appearance should require. So -when
he appeared to Stephen and Paul, or to any of
his saints, it was necessary he should assume the
form which he had born in the flesh, that he
might be known to them. But it is not necessary
to suppose that he was confined to that form.
The contrary rather appears in the revelation of
Saint John, in which, after once showing himself
to the apostle, our Lord was afterwards represent-
ed to his eyes under different forms. All, how-
ever, that is of importance to us to know, all that
belongs to our present subject to observe, is, that
Christ's glorified person was incapable of dying
any more ; that it continues at this day ; that it
hath all along continued the same real, identical
being, as that which went up into heaven in the
sight of his apostles ; the same essential nature,
the same glorified substance, the same proper
person.
But, secondly, He is the same also in power.
* The " glory of God," in Scripture, when spoken of
as an object of vision, always, I think, means a lumi-
nous appearance, bright and refulgent, beyond the
splendour of any natural object whatever.
The Scripture doctrine concerning our Lord
seems to be this, that when his appointed com-
mission and his sufferings were closed upon earth,
he was advanced in heaven to a still higher state
than what he jiossessed before he came into the
world.* This point, as well as the glory of his
nature, both before and after his appearance in.
the flesh, is attested by Saint Paul, in the second
chapter of his Epistle to the Philippians. " Being
in tne form of God he thought it not robbery to be
equal with God." He did not affect to be equal
with God, or to appear with divine honours (for
such is the sense which the words in the original
will bear,) "but made himself of no reputation,
and took upon him the form of a servant, and was
made in the likeness of man, and became obedient
unto death, even the death of the cross. Where-
fore," t. e. for this his obedience even to the last
extremity, even unto death, "God also hath highly
exalted him;" or, as it is distinctly and perspicu-
ously expressed in the original, " God also hath
more highly exalted him, that is, to a higher
state than what he even before possessed ; inso-
much that he hath " given him a name which is
above every name : that at"-,or, more properly, in,
" the name of Jesus every knee should bow, of
things in heaven, and things in earth, and things
under the earth; and that every tongue should
confess that Jesus Christ is Lord', to the glory of
God the Father ;" exactly agreeable to what our
Lord himself declared to his disciples after his
re-urn etion, "All power is given unto me in
heaven and in earth:" Matt, xxviii. 18. You
will olwerve in this passage of Saint Paul, not
only the magnificent terms in which Christ's ex-
altation is described, rir. : ' that every knee should
thenceforward bow in his name, and that every
tongue should confess him to be the Lord;'' but
you will observe also, the comprehension anil ex-
tent of his dominion, "of thinn* in heaven^ of
things on earth, of things under the earth." And
that we are specifically comprised under this au-
thority and this aireney. either of the two follow-
ing texts may be brought as a sufficient proof:
" Where two or three are gathered together, there
am I in the midst of you;" Matt: x-viii. '20; which
words of our Lord imply a knowledge of, an ob-
servation of^ an attention to, and an interference
with, what passes amongst his disciples upon earth.
Or take his final words to his followers, as record-
ed by Saint Matthew : " Lo, I am with you al-
w;iys. to the end of the world," and they carry
the same implication. And, lastly, that, in the
most awful scene and event of our existence, the
day of judgment, we shall not only become the
objects, but the immediate objects of Christ's
power and agency, is set forth in two clear and
positive texts : " The hour is coming, and now is,
when the dead shall hear the voice of the Son of
God," John v. 25, not the voice of God, but the
voice of the Son of God. And then, pursuing the
description of what will afterwards take place, our
Lord adds, in the next verse but one, " that the
Father hath given him authority to execute judg-
ment also, because he is the Son of Man :" which
is in perfect conformity with what Saint Paul an-
nounced to the Athenians, as a great and new
doctrine, namely, "that God hath appointed a
day, in which he will judge the world in right-
eousness by that man whom he hath ordained,
* See Sherlock's Serm. on Phil. ii. 9.
576
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
whereof he hath given assurance unto all men, in
that he hath raised him from the dead."
Having shown that the power of Jesus Christ
is a subsisting power at this time, the next ques-
tion is, as to its duration. Now so far as it re-
spects mankind in this present world, we are as-
suretl that it shall continue until the end of the
world. The same texts which have been adduced
prove this point, as well as that for, nvhich they
were quoted; and they are confirmed by Saint
Paul's declaration, 1 Cor. xv.24, " Then cometh
the end, when he shall have . delivered up the
kingdom to God, even the Father:" therefore he
shall retain and exercise it until then. But far-
ther, this power is not only perpetual, but pro-
gressive ; advancing and proceeding by different
steps and degrees, until it shall become supreme
and complete, and shall prevail against every
enemy and every opposition. That our Lord's
dominion will not only remain unto the end of the
workl, but that its-effects in the world will be
greatly enlarged and increased, is signified very ex-
pressly in the second chapter of the Epistle to the
Hebrews. The apostle in this passage applies to
our Lord a quotation from the Psalms: " Thou
hast put all things in subjection under his feet ;"
and then draws from it a strict inference ; " for in
that he put all things in subjection under him, he
left nothing that he did not put under him." And
then he remarks, as a fact, " but now we see not
yet all things put under him." That complete
entire subjection, which is here promised, hath
not yet taken place. The promise must, there-
fore, refer to a still future order of things. This
doctrine of the progressive increase, and final com-
pleteness of our Lord's kingdom, is also virtually
laid down in the passage from the Corinthians
already cited : " He must reign till he hath put all
enemies under his feet." POT that this subjuga-
tion of his several enemies will be successive, one
after another, is strongly intimated by the expres-
sion, "the last enemy that shall be destroyed is
death."
Now, to apprehend the probability of these
things coming to pass, or rather to remove any
opinion of their improbability, we ought con-
stantly to bear in our mind this momentous truth,
that in the hands of the Deity time is nothing ;
that he has eternity to act in. The Christian
dispensation, nay, the world itself, may be in its
infancy. A more perfect display of the power of
Christ, and of his religion, may be in reserve ; and
the ages which it may endure, after the obstacles
and impediments to its reception are removed,
may be, beyond comparison, longer than those
which we have seen, in which it has been strug-
gling with great difficulties, most -especially with
ignorance and prejudice. We ought not to be
moved any more than the apostles were moved,
with the reflection which was cast upon their mis-
sion, that since the " fathers fell asleep, all things
continue as they were." We ought to return the
answer which one of them returned, that what
we call tardiness in the Deity^ is not so; that our
so thinking it arises from not allowing for the
different importance, nay, probably, for the differ-
ent apprehension of time, m the divine mind and
in ours ; that with him a thousand years are as
one day ; words which confound and astonish hu-
man understanding, yet strictly and metaphysi-
cally true.
Again : We should remember that the apostles,
the very persona who asserted that God -would
put ail things under him, themselves, as we have
seen, acknowledged that it was not yet done. In
the. mean time, from the whole of their declara-
tions and of this discussion, we collect, that Jesus
Christ ascended into the heavens, is, at this day,
a great efficient Being in the universe, invested
by his Father with a high authority, which he
exercises, and will continue to exercise until the
end of the world.
Thirdly, he is the same in his office. The
principal offices assigned by the Scriptures to our
Lord in his glorified state, that is, since his ascen-
sion into heaven, are those" of a mediator and in-
tercessor. Of the mediation of our Lord, the
Scripture speaks in this wise : " There is one
God, and one mediator between God and men,
the man Christ Jesus :" 1 Tim. ii. 5. It was
after our Lord's ascension that this was spoken
of him; and it is plain from the form and turn of
the expression, that his mediatorial character and
office was meant to be represented as a perpetual
character and office, because k is described in
conjunction with the existence of God and men,
so long as men exist ; 'Hhere is one mediator be-
tween God and men, the man Jesus Christ."
" Hitherto ye have asked nothing in my name :"
" At that day ye shall ask in my name :" John
xvi. 24, 26. These words form part of our Lord's
memorable conversation with his select disciples,
not many hours before his death ; and clearly in-
timate the mediatorial office which he was to dis-
charge after his ascension.
Concerning his intercession, not that which he
occasionally exercised upon earth, when he pray-
ed, as he did most fervently for his disciples, but
that which he now at this present time exercises,
we have the following text, explicit, satisfactory,
and full: "But this man, because he continueth
ever, hath an unchangeable priesthood:" by priest-
hood is here meant the office of praying for others.
Wherefore he is able to save them to the utter-
most that come unto God by him, seeing he ever
iveth to make intercession for us." No words
can more plainly declare than these words do,
the perpetuity of our Lord's agency ; that it did
not cease with his presence upon earth, but, con-
inues. " He continueth ever ; he ever liveth ; he
lath an unchangeable priesthood." Surely this
ustifies what our text saith of him ; that he is
' the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever ;" and
hat not in a figurative or metaphorical sense, but
iterally, effectually, and really. Moreover, in this
same passage, not only the constancy and perpe-
uity, but the power and efficacy of our Lord's in-
ercession are asserted : " He is able to save them
o the uttermostyjthat come unto God by him."
They must come unto God ; they must come by
rim ; and then he is able to save them completely.
These three heads of observation, namely, upon
lis person, his power, and his office, comprise the
relation in which our Lord Jesus Christ stands to
us, whilst we remain in this mortal life. There
s another consideration of great solemnity and
nterest, namely, the relation which we shall bear
o him in our future state. Now the economy
vhich appears to be destined for the human crea-
ion, I mean, for that part of it which shall be re-
ceived to future happiness, is, that they shall live
n -a state of local society with one another, and
under Jesus Christ as their head ; experiencing a
sensible connexion amongst themselves, as well as
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
577
the operation of his authority, as their Lord and
Governor. 1 think it likely that our Saviour had the
state of things in view, when, in his final discourse
with his apostles, he tells them: "I go to prepare
a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place
for you, I will come again and receive you unto
myself; that where I am, there ye may be also:"
John xiv. 2, 3. And again, in the same discourse,
and referring to the same economy, "Father,"
savs he, "1 will that they also, whom thou hast
given me, be with me where I am; that they may
behold my glory which thou hast given me :" for
that this was spoken, not merely of the twelve,
who were then sitting with Jesus, and to whom
his discourse was addressed, but of his disciples in
future ages of the world, is fairly collected from
his words, (John xvii. -20.) " Neither pray I tor
these alone, but for them also which shall believe
on me through thrir word." Since the prayer
here stated was part of the discourse, it is reason-
able to infer that the discourse, in its o!ject, ex-
tended as far as the prayer, which we have seen
to include believers, as well of succeeding ages as
of that then present.
Now concerning this future dispensation, sup-
posing it to consist, as here represented, of accepted
spirits, participating of happiness in a state of sen-
sible society with one another, and with Jesus
Christ himself at their head, one train of n
naturally arises; namely, lirst. that it is highly
probable there should 1/c many expressions of
Scripture which have relation to it ; secondly, that
such expressions must, by their nature, appear to
us, at present, under a considerable decree of ob-
scurity, which we may he apt to call a defect;
thirdly, that the credit due to such expressions
must depend upon their authority as portions of
the written word of God. and not upon the pro-
bability, much less upon the clearness of what
they contain; so that our comprehension of what
they mean must stop at very general notions; and
our belief in them rest in the deference to which
they are entitled, as Scripture declarations. Of
this kind are many, if not all, of those expressions
which speak so strongly of the value, and beneiit,
and etlk-aey of the death of Christ, of its sac.rili-
cial, expiatory, and atoning nature. We may be
assured, that these expressions mean something
real, refer to something real, though it be some-
thing which is to take place in that, future dispen-
sation of which we have been speaking. It is
reasonable to expect, that, when we come to ex-
perience what that state is, the same experience
will open to us the distinct propriety of these ex-
pressions, their truth, and the substantial truth
which they contain ; and likewise show us, that
however strong and exalted the terms are which
we Bee made use of, they arq,not stronger nor
higher than the subject called for. But for the
present we must be, what I own it is difficult to
be, content to take up with very general notions,
humbly hoping, that a disposition to receive anil
acquiesce in what appears to us to be revealed, be
it more or be it less, will be regarded as the duty
which belongs to our subsisting condition, and the
measure of information with which it is favoured :
and will stand in the place of what, from our deep
interest in the matter, we are sometimes tempted
to desire, but which, nevertheless, might be unlit
for us, a knowledge which not only was, but
which we perceived to be, fully adequate to the
subject.
4D
There is another class of expressions, which,
since they professedly refer to circumstances that
are to take place in this new stattj, and not before,
will, it is likely, be rendered quite intelligible by
our experience in that state ; but must necessarily
convey their imperfect information until the-.- he
so explained. Of this kind are many of the pas-
sages of Scripture which we have already noticed,
as referring to the changes which will be wrought
in our mortal nature ; and the agency of our Lord
Jesus Christ, and the intervention of his power in
producing those changes, and the nearer similitude
which our changed natures and the bodies with
which we shall then be clothed, will bear to his.
We read, " that he shall change our vile body,
that it may be like his glorious body." A mo-
mentous assurance, no doubt; yet, in its particu-
lar signilication, waiting to be cleared up by our
experience of the event. So likewise are some
other particular expressions relating to the same
event; such as being " unclothed ; clothed upon ;
the dead in Christ rising first; meeting the Lord
in the air ; they that are alive not preventing those
that are asleep," and the like. These are all most
interesting intimations, yet to a certain degree ob-
scure. They answer the purpose of ministering
to our hoj)es, and comfort, and admonition, which
they do without conveying any dear ideas; and
this, and not the satisfaction of our curiosity, may
be the gram! purpose for the sake of which intima-
tions ol these things were given at all. But then,
in so far as they describe a change in the order of
nature, of which change we are to be the objects,
it seems to follow, that we shall l>e furnished with
exjH-rience which will discover to us the full sense
of this language. The same remark may be re-
peated concerning the first and second death,
which are expressly spoken of in the Revelations,
and as I think alluded to and supposed in other
passages of Scripture in which tiiey are not
named.
The lesson, inculcated by the observation here
jMiinted out, is this, that, in the difficulties which
we meet with in interpreting Scripture, instead
of being too uneasy under them, by reason of the
obscurity of certain passages, or the degree of
darkness which hangs over certain subjects, we
ought first to take to ourselves this safe and con-
soling rule, namely, to makeup for the deficiency
of our knowledge by the sincerity of our practice ;
in other words, to act up to what we do know, or,
at least, earnestly strive so to do. So far as a man
holds fast to this rule, he has a strong ground of
comfort under every degree of ignorance, or even
of error. And it is a rule applicable to the rich
and to the poor, to the educated and to the unedu-
cated, to every state and station of life, and to all
the differences which arise from different oppor-
tunities of acquiring knowledge. Different obli-
gations may result from different means of obtain-
ing information ; but this rule comprises all dif-
ferences.
The next reflection is, that in meeting with
difficulties, nay, very great difficulties, we meet
with nothing strange, nothing but what in truth
might reasonably have been expected l>eforchand.
It was to be expected, that a revelation, which
was to have its completion in another state of ex-
istence, would contain many expressions which
referred to that state ; and which, on account of
such reference, would be made clear and perfectly
intelligible only to those who had experience of
49
578
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
that state, and to us after we had attained to that
experience ; whilst, however, in the mean time
they may convey to us enough of information, to
admonish us in our conduct, to support our hope
and to incite our endeavours. Therefore the
meeting with difficulties, owing to this cause,
ought not to surprise us, nor to trouble us ovei
much. Seriousness, nay, even anxiety, touching
every thing which concerns our salvation, no
thoughtful man can help; but it is possible we
may be distressed by doubts and difficulties more
than there is any occasion to be distressed.
Lastly, under all our perplexities, under all the
misgivings of mind, to which even good m6n
such is the infirmity of human nature) are sub-
ject, there is this important assurance to resort to,
that we have a protection over our heads, which
is constant and abiding; that God, blessed be his
name, is for evermore ; that Jesus Christ our Lord
is the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever ; that,
like as a traveller by land or sea, go where he will,
always sees, when he looks up, the same sun ; so
in our journey through a varied existence, whe-
ther it be in our present state, or in our next state,
or in the awful passage from one to the other ; in
the world in which we live, or in the country
which we seek ; in the hour of death, no less than
in the midst of health, we are in the same uphold-
ing hands, under the same sufficient and unfailing
support.
SERMON XXIII.
OP SPIRITUAL INFLUENCE IN GENERAL.
IN THREE PARTS. (P^RT I.)
Know ye not that ye are the temple of God, and
that the Spirit of God dwelleth in you?
1 Cor. iii. 16.
THERE are ways of considering the subject of
spiritual influence, as well as a want of consider-
ing it, which lay it open to difficulties and to
misconceptions. But if the being liable to misap-
prehension and to misrepresentation be thought
an objection to any doctrine, I know of no doc-
trine which is not liable to the same; nor any
which has not, in fact, been loaded at various times
with great mistakes.
One difficulty which has struck the minds of
some is, that the doctrine of an influencing Spirit,
and of the importance of this influence to human
salvation, is an arbitrary system ; making every
thing to depend, not upon ourselves, nor upon
to him seemeth good,) we must have the several
motives which presented themselves to the mind
of the donor before us. This, with respect to the
Divine Being, is impossible. Therefore we allow,
that, either in this, or any other matter, to canvass
the gilts of God is a presumption not lit to be in-
dulged. We are to receive our portion of them
with thankfulness. We are to be thankful, for
instance, for the share of health and strength
which is given us, without inquiring why others
are healthier and stronger than ourselves. This
is the right disposition of mind with respect to all
the benefactions of God Almighty towards us.
But unsearchable does not mean arbitrary.
Our necessary ignorance of the motives which
rest and 'dwell in the Divine mind in the bestow-
ing of his grace, is no proof that it is not bestowed
by the justest reason. And with regard to the
case at present before us, viz. the gifts and graces
of the Spirit, the charge against it, of its being an
arbitrary system, or, in other words, independent
of our own endeavours, is not founded in any doc-
trine or declaration of Scripture. It is not arbitrary
in its origin, in its degree, or in its final success.
First; It is not arbitrary in its origin ; for you
read that it is given to prayer. " If ye, being
evil, know how to give good gifts unto your chil-
dren, how much more shall your heavenly Father
give the Holy Spirit to them that ask it T But
whether we will ask it or not, depends upon our-
selves. It is proposed, you find, as a subject for
our prayers ; for prayer, not formal, cold, heart-
'ess, transitory, but prayer from the soul, prayer
earnest and persevering; for this last alone is
what the Scripture means by prayer. In this,
iherefore, it cannot be said to be arbitrary, or in-
dependent of our endeavours. On the contrary,
he Scripture exhorts us to a striving in prayer for
this best of all gifts.
But, it will be asked, is not the very first touch
of true religion upon the soul, sometimes at least,
tself the action of the Holy Spirit 1 this, there-
bre, must be prior to our praying for it. And so
t may be. and not yet be arbitrarily given. The
religious state of the human soul is exceedingly
various. Amongst others, there is a state in
which there may be good latent dispositions, suit-
able faculties for religion, yet no religion. In such
a state, the spark alone is wanting. To such a
state, the elementary principle of religion may be
communicated, though not prayed for. Nor can
his be said to be arbitrary. The Spirit of God
s given where it is wanted ; where, when given,
t would produce its effect; but that state of
eart and mind, upon which the effect was to be
produced, might still be the result of moral quali-
ication. improvement, and voluntary endeavour.
any exertion of our own, but upon the gift of the j It is not, I think, difficult to conceive such a case
Spirit. ! as this.
It is not for us, we allow, to canvass the gifts of j Nevertheless it may be more ordinarily true,
God ; because we do not, and it seems impossible j that- the gift of the Spirit is hoklen out to the
that we should, sufficiently understand the mo- | struggling, the endeavouring, the approaching
tive of the giver. In more ordinary cases, and in Christian. When the penitent prodigal was yet
a great way off", his father saw him. This para-
ble was delivered by our Lord expressly to typify
God's dealing with such sinners as are touched
with a sense of their condition. And this is one
circumstance in it to be particularly noticed. God
sees the returning mind ; sees every step and every
advance towards him, " though we be yet a great
way off;" yet at a great distancfe ; though much
remains to be done, and to be attained, and to be
cases more level to our comprehension, we seem
to acknowledge the difference, between a debt and
a gift. A debt is bound, as it were, by known
rules of justice : a gift depends upon the motive
of the giver, which often can be known only to
himself. To judge of the propriety either of
granting or withholding that to which there is no
claim (which is, in the strictest sense, a favour,
which, as such, rests with the donor to bestow as
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
579
accomplished. And what he sees, he helps. His
aid and influence are assisting to the willing
Christian, truly and sincerely willing, though ye
in a low and imperfect state of proficiency ; nay
though in the outset, as it were, of his religious
progress. " The Lord is nigh unto them that are
of a contrite heart ;" Psalm xxxiv. 18. But in
all this there is nothing arbitrary.
Nor, secondly, is the operation of the Spirit
arbitrary in its degree. It has a rule, and its
rule is this : " Whosoever hath, to him shall be
given, and he shall have more abundance ; and
whosoever hath not, from him shall be taken
away even that which he hath." Now, of this
rule, which is expressed under some, but under no
great difference of phrase, in all the first three
Gospels, I have first to observe, that though it
carry the apj>earance of harshness and injustice,
it is neither the one nor the other, but is correctly
and fundamentally just. The meaning is, that
whosoever uses, exercises, and improves the gifts
which he has received, shall continue to receive
still larger portions of these gifts ; nay, he who
has already received the largest portion, provided
lie adequately and proportionably uses his iritis.
shall also in future receive the largest portion.
More and more will be added to him that has- the
most ; whilst he who neglects the little which he
has, shall be deprived even of that. That this is
the sound exposition of these texts, is proved from
hence, that one of them is used as the application
of the parable of the talents, concerning the mean-
ing of which parable there can be no doubt at all ;
for there, he who had received, and, having re-
ceived, had duly improved ten talents, was placed
over ten cities; and of him the express!. m in
question is used, " whosoever hath, to him shall
be given, and he shall have more abundance."
On the contrary, he who had received one talent,
and had neglected what lie had received, had it
taken from him; and of him the other part of the
expression is used : " whosoever hath not, from
him shall lie token away even that which he hath.
But there is a point still remaining, riz. whether
this Scripture rule be applicable to spiritual gifts.
I answer that it is so applied, more especially to
spiritual knowledge, and the use which we make
thereof. " Take heed how ye hear; unto you
that hear shall more be given ; for he that hath to
him shall be given, and he that hath not, from
him shall be taken' even that which he hath."
So stands the passage in Mark ; and substantially
the same, that is, with a view to the same applica-
tion, the passage stands in Matthew and Luke.
I consider it, therefore, to be distinctly asserted,
that this is the rule with regard to spiritual
knowledge. And I think the analogy conclusive
with regard to other spiritual gifts. In all which
there is nothing arbitrary.
Nor, thirdly, is it arbitrary in its final success.
* Grieve not the Spirit of God." Therefore he
may be grieved. " And hath done despite unto
the Spirit of grace :" Heb. x. 29. Therefore he
may be despised. Both these are leading texts
upon the subject. And so is the following:
" Ami his grace, which was bestowed upon me,
was not in vain :" 1 Cor. xv. 10. Therefore it
might have been in vain. The influence, there-
fore, of the Spirit, may not prevail, even as the
admonitions of a friend, the warnings of a parent,
may not prevail, may not be successful, may not
be attended to; may be rejected, may be resisted,
may be despised, may be lost. So that both in
its gift, in its degree, operation, and progress, and,
above all, in its final effect, it is connected with
our own endeavours; it is not arbitrary. Through-
out the whole, it does not supersede, but co-ope-
rates with ourselves.
But another objection is advanced, and from an
opposite quarter. It is said, that if the influence
of the Spirit depend, after all, upon our endea-
vours, the doctrine is nugatory ; it comes to the
same thing, as if salvation was put upon ourselves
and our own endeavours alone, exclusive of every
further consideration, and without referring us to
any influence or assistance whatever. I answer,
that this is by no means true ; that it is not the
same thing either in reality, or in opinion, or in
the consequences of that opinion.
Assuredly it is not the same thing in reality. Is
it the same thing, whether we perform a work by
our own strength^ or by obtaining the assistance
and co-operation of another 1 Or does it make it
the same thing, that this assistance is to be ob-
tained by means which it is in our own choice to
use or not. Or because, when the assistance is ob-
tained, we may, or may not, avail ourselves of it ;
or because we may, by neglecting, lose it 7 After
all, they are two different things, performing a
work by ourselves, and performing it by means of
help.
Again; It is not the same thing in the opi-
nions, and sentiments, and dispositions, which
accompany it. A person who knows or believes
himself to be beholden to another for the progress
and success of an undertaking, though still carried
on by his own endeavours, acknowledges his
friend and his benefactor; feels his dependency
md his obligation; turns to him for help and aid
in his difficulties ; is humble under the want and
need-which he finds he has of assistance ; and,
above all things, is solicitous not to lose the benefit
of that assistance. This is a different turn of
mind, and a different way of thinking from his,
who is sensible of no such want, who relies en-
irely upon his own strength ; who, of course, can
hardly avoid being proud of his success, or feeling
the confidence, the presumption, the self-com-
mendation, and the pretensions, which, however
;hey might suit with a being who achieves his
work by his own powers, by no means, and in no
wise suit with a frail constitution, which must
ask and obtain the friendly aid and help of a kind
and gracious benefactor, Ixifore he can proceed in
the business set out for him, and which it is of
inspeakable consequence to him to execute some-
low or other.
It is thus in religion. A sense of spiritual
weakness and of spiritual wants, a belief that
divine aid and help are to be had, are principles
which carry the soul to God ; make us think of
lim, and think of him in earnest ; convert, in a
word, morality into religion ; bring us round to
loliness of life, by the road of piety and devotion j
ender us humble in ourselves and grateful towards
Grod. There are two dispositions which compose
he true Christian character ; humility as to our-
elves, affection and gratitude as to God ; and
>oth these are natural fruits and effects of the
>ersuasion we speak of. And what is of the most
mportance of all, this persuasion will be accom-
aanied with a corresponding fear, lest we should
neglect, and, by neglecting, lose this invaluable
assistance.
580
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
On the one hand, therefore, it is not true, that
the doctrine of an influencing Spirit is an arbi-
trary system, setting aside our own endeavours.
JNor, on tlir other hand, is it true, that the con-
necting it with our own endeavours, as obtained
through them, as assisting them, as co-operating
with them, renders the doctrine unimportant, or
all one as putting the whole upon our endeavours
without any such doctrine. If it be true, in fact,
that the feebleness of our nature requires the suc-
couring influence qf God's Spirit in carrying on
the grand business of salvation ; and in every
state and stage of its progress, in conversion, in
regeneration, in constancy, in perseverance, in
sanctification ; it is of the utmost importance that
this truth be declared, and understood, and con-
fessed, and felt ; because the perception and sin-
cere acknowledgment of it will be accompanied by
a train of sentiments, by a turn of thought, by a
degree and species of devotion, by humility, by
prayer, by piety, by a recourse to God in our
religious warfare, different from what will, or per-
haps can, be found in a mind unacquainted with
this doctrine ; or in a mind rejecting it. or in a
mind unconcerned about these tilings one way or
other.
SERMON XXIV.
ON THE INFLUENCE OF THE SPIRIT.
(PART II.)
Know ye not that ye are the temple of God, and
that the Spirit of God dwelleth in you ? 1 Cor.
iii. 16.
IT is undoubtedly a difficulty in the doctrine of
spiritual influence, that we do not so perceive the
action of the Spirit, as to distinguish it from the
suggestions of our own min'ds. Many good men
acknowledge, that they are not conscious of any
such immediate perceptions. They, who lay
claim to them, cannot advance, like the apostles,
such proofs of their claim as must necessarily satis-
fy others, or, perhaps, secure themselves from de-
lusion. And this is made a ground of objection
to the doctrine itself. Now, I think, the objec-
tion proceeds upon an erroneous principle, name-
ly, our expecting more than is promised. The
agency and influence of the Divine Spirit are
spoken of in Scripture, and are promised ; but it
is no where promised that its operations shall be
always sensible, viz. distinguishable at the time
from the impulses, dictates, and thoughts of our
own minds. I do not take upon me to say that
they are never so : I only say that it is not neces-
sary, in the nature of things, that they should be
so ; nor is it asserted in the Scripture that they are
so ; nor is it promised that they will be so.
The nature of the thing does not imply or re-
quire it : by which I mean, that, according to the
constitution of the human mind, as far as we are
acquainted with that constitution, a foreign influ-
ence or impulse may act upon it without being
distinguished in our perception from its natural
operations, that is, without being perceived at the
time. The case appears to me to be this : The
order in which ideas and motives rise up in our
minds is utterly unknown to us, consequently it
will be unknown when that order is disturbed, or
altered, or aileeted ; therefore it may be altered, it
may be alfccted, by the interposition of a foreign
influence, without that interposition being per-
ceived.
Again, and in like manner, not only the order
in which thoughts and motives rise up in our
minds is unknown to ourselves, but the causes
also are unknown, and are incalculable, upon
which the vividness of the ideas, the force and
strength, and impression of the motives which
enter into our minds, depend. Therefore that
vividness may be made more or less, that force
may be increased or diminished, and both by the
influence of a spiritual agent, without any distinct
sensation of such agency being felt at the time.
Was the case otherwise ; was the order, according
to which thoughts and motives rise up in our
minds fixed, and being fixed, known ; then I do
admit the order could not be altered or violated,
nor a foreign agent interfere to alter or violate it,
without our being immediately sensible &f what
was passing. As also, if the causes upon which
the power and strength of either good or bad mo-
tives depend were ascertained, then it would like-
wise be ascertained when this force was ever in-
creased or diminished by external influence and
operation ; then it might be true, that external
influence could not act upon us without being
perceived. But in the ignorance under which we
are concerning the thoughts and motives of our
minds, when left to themselves, we must, natu-
rally speaking, be, at the time, both ignorant and
insensible of the presence of an interfering power ;
one ignorance will correspond with the other;
whilst, nevertheless, the assistance and benefit de-
rived from that power, may, in reality, be exceed-
ingly great.
In this instance, philosophy, in my opinion,
comes in aid of religion. In the ordinary state of
the mind, both the presence and the power of the
motives which act upon it, proceed from causes
of which we know nothing. This philosophy
confesses, and indeed teaches. From whence it
follows, that when these causes are interrupted or
influenced, that interruption and that influence
will be equally unknown to us. Just reasoning
shows this proposition to be a consequence of tho
former. From whence it follows again, that im-
mediately and at the time perceiving the operation
of the Holy Spirit is not only not necessary to
the reality of these operations, but that it is not
consonant to the frame of the human mind that
it should be so. I repeat again, that we take not
upon us to assert that it is never so. Undoubtedly
God can, if he please, give that tact and quality to
his communications, that they shall be perceived
to be divine communications at the time. And
this probably was very frequently the case with
the prophets, with the apostles, and with inspired
men of old; But it is not the case naturally ; by
which I mean, that it is not the case according to
the constitution of the human soul. It does not
appear by experience to be the case usually.
What would be the effect of the influence of tlie
Divine Spirit being always or generally accom-
panied with a distinct notice, it is difficult even to
conjecture. One thing may be said of it, that it
would be putting us under a quite different dis-
pensation. It would be putting us under a mira-
culous dispensation; for the agency of the Spirit
in our souls distinctly perceived is, properly speak-
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
581
ing, a miracle. Now miracles are instruments in
the hand of God of signal and extraordinary ef-
fects, produced upon signal and extraordinary oc-
casions. Neither internally nor extern, illy do
they form the ordinary course of his proceeding
with his reasonable creatures.
And in this there is a close analogy with the
course of nature, as carried on under the divine
government. We have every reason which Scrip-
ture can give us, for l>elieving that God frequently
interposes to turn and guide the order of events in
the world, so as to make them execute his pur-
pose : yet we do not so perceive these interpositions,
as, either always or generally, to distinguish them
from the natural progress of things. His provi-
dence is real, but unseen. We distinguish not
between the acts of < Jod and the course of nature.
It is so with the Spirit. When, therefore, we
teach that good men may he led. or had mm con-
verted, by the Spirit of God, and yet they them-
sehes not distinguish his holy influence; we te.ieh
no more than is conformable, as, I think, has been
shown, to the frame of the human mind, or rather
to our degree of acquaintance with that frame;
and also analogous to the exercise of divine power
in other things ; and also necessary to be so ; un-
less it should have pleased God to put us under a
quite different di sensation, that is, under a dis-
pensation of constant miracles.
I do not apprehend that the doctrine of spiritual
influence carries the agency of the Deity much
farther than the doctrine of providence carries it;
or, however, than the doctrine of prayer carries it.
For all prayer supposes the Deity to be intimate
with our minds.
But if we do not know the influence of the Spi-
rit by a distinguishing perception at the time, by
what means do we know any thing of it at all 1 I
answer by its eff'ert*. and by those alone. AnJ
this I conceive to be that which our Saviour said
to Nicodemus. " The wind bloweth where it
listcth, and thou hearest the sound thereof, but
canst not tell whence it cometh and whither it
goeth; so is every one that is bom of (he Spirit:"
that is. thou perceivest an ellert, but the cause
which produces that cilect operates in its own way,
without thy knowing its rule' or manner of opera-
tion. With regard to the cause, " thou canst not
tell whence it cometh or whither it goeth." A
change or improvement in thy religious state is
necessary. The a-jency and help ot the Spirit in
working that change or promoting that improve-
ment, are likewise jiecessary.
" Except a man be born of the Spirit, he cannot
enter into the kingdom of God." But according
to what particular manner, or according to what
rule the Spirit acts, is as unknown to us as the
causes are which regulate the blowing of the wind,
the most incalculable and unknown thing in the
world. Its origin is unknown; its mode is un-
known ; but still it is known in its effects: and so
it is with the Spirit. If the change have taken
place ; if the improvement be produced and be
proceeding; if our religious affairs go on well,
then have^we ground for trust, that the enabling,
assisting Spirit of God is with us ; though we have
no other knowledge or perception of the matter
than what this affords.
Perhaps there is no subject whatever, in which
we ought to be so careful not to go before our
guide as in this of spiritual influence. We ought
neither to expect more than what is promised, nor
to take upon ourselves to determine what the
Scriptures have not determined. This safe rule
will produce both caution in judging of ourselves,
and moderation in judging, or rather a backward-
ness in taking upon us to judge of others. The
modes of operation of God's Spirit are probably
extremely various and numerous. This variety
is intimated by our Saviour's comparing It with
the blowing of the wind. We . have no right to
limit it to any particular mode, forasmuch as the
Scriptures have not limited it ; nor does observa-
tion enable us to do it with any degree of certainty.
The conversion of a sinner, for instance, may
be sudden ; nay, may be instantaneous, yet be
Iwth sincere and permanent. We have no au-
thority whatever to deny the possibility of this.
On the contrary, we ought to rejoice when we
observe in any one even the appearance of such a
change. And this change may not only by pos-
sibility be sudden, but sudden changes may be
more frequent than our observations would lead
US' to expect. For we can observe only effects,
and these must have time to show themselves in ;
while the change of heart may he already wrought.
It is a change of heart which is attributable to the
Spirit of God, and this may be sudden. The
fruits, the corres ponding eilects, internal reforma-
tion and external good actions, will follow in due
time. " I will take the stony heart out of their
.nd will give them an heart of flesh."
(K/.ek. xi. 19.) These words may, well describe
God's dealings with his moral creatures, and the
operations of his grace. Then follows a descrip-
tion of the eilects of these dealings, of these opera-
tions, of that grace, viz. that they may walk in
mv st atutes, andjteep my ordinances and do them;"
which represents a permanent habit and course
of life (a thing of continuance,) resulting from an
inward change, (which might be a thing produced
at once.)
In the mean time it may be true, that the more
ordinary course of God's grace is grad\<al and
successive; helping from time to time our endea-
vours, succouring our infirmities, strengthening
our resolutions; "making with the temptation a
way to escape ;" promoting our improvement, as-
sisting our progress ; warning, rebuking, encou-
raging, comforting, attending us, as it were,
through the diiferent stages of our laborious ad-
vance in the road of salvation.
And as the operations of the Spirit are indefi-
nite, so far as we know, in respect of time, so are
they likewise in respect of mode. They may act,
and observation affords reason to believe that they
do sometimes act, by adding force and efficacy to
instruction, advice, or admonition. A passage
of Scripture sometimes strikes the heart with
wonderful power ; adheres, as it were, and cleaves
to the memory, till it has wrought its work. An
impressive sermon is often known to sink very
deep. It is not, perhaps, too much to hope, that
the Spirit of God should accompany his ordi-
nances, provided a person bring to them serious-
ness, humility, and devotion. For example, the
devout receiving of the holy sacrament may draw
down upon us the gift and benefit of divine grace,
or increase our measure of it. This, as being the
most solemn act of our religion, and also an ap-
pointment of the religion itself, may be properly
placed first ; but every species of prayer, provided
it be earnest ; every act of worship, provided it be
sincere, may participate in the same effect ; may
49*
583
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
be to us the occasion, the time, and the instru
ment of this greatest of all gifts.
In all these instances, and in all indeed tha
relate to the operations of the Spirit, we are t
judge, if we will take upon us to judge at all
(which I do not see that we are obliged to do,
not only with great candour and moderation, bu
also with great reserve and caution ; and as t<
the modes of Divine grace, or of its proceedings in
the hearts of men, as of things undetermined in
Scripture, and undeterminable by us. In our own
case, which it is of infinitely more importance to
each of us to .manage rightly, than it is to judge
even truly of other men s, we are to use perse
veringly, every appointed, every reasonable, everj
probable, every virtuous endeavour to render our
selves objects of that merciful assistance, which
undoubtedly and confessedly we much want, am
which, in one way or other, God, we are assured
is willing to afford.
SERMON XXV.
ON THE INFLUENCE OP THE SPIRIT.
(PART III.)
Know ye not that ye are the temple of God; and
that the Spirit of God dwelletfi in you ?l Cor
iii. 16.
As all doctrine ought to end in practice, and all
sound instruction lead to right conduct, it comes,
in the Jast place, to be considered, what obligations
follow from the tenet of an assisting grace and
spiritual influence ; what is to be done on our part
in consequence of holding such a persuasion;
what is the behaviour corresponding and consist-
ent with such an opinion. For we must always
bear in mind, that the Grace and Spirit of God
jy our freedom of a
personal and moral liberty, than the advice, the
no more take away our freedom of action, our
admonitions, the suggestions, the reproofs, the
expostulations, the counsels of a friend or parent
would take them away. We may act either right
or wrong, notwithstanding these interferences. It
still depends upon ourselves which of the two we
will do. We are not machines under these im-
pressions ; nor are we under the impression of the
Holy Spirit* Therefore there is a class of duties
relating to this subject, as much as any other ;
and more, perhaps, than any other important.
And, first, I would apply myself to an objection,
which belongs to this, namely, the practical part
of the subject; which objection is, that the doc-
trine of spiritual influence, and the preaching of
this doctrine, causes men to attend chiefly to the
feelings within them, to place religion in feelings
and sensations, and to be content with such feel-
ings and sensations, without coming to active du-
ties and real usefulness : that it tends to produce
a contemplative religion, accompanied with a sort
of abstraction from the interests of this world, as
respecting either ourselves or others; a sort of
quietism and indifference which contributes no-
thing to the good of mankind, or to make a man
serviceable in his generation ; that men of this de-
scription sit brooding over What passes in their
hearts, without performing any good actions, or
well discharging their social or domestic obliga-
tions, or indeed guarding their outward conduct
with sufficient care.
Now, if there be any foundation in fact for this
charge, it arises from some persons holding this
doctrine defectively ; I mean from their not attend-
ing to one main point in the doctrine, which is,
that the promise is not to those who have the Spi-
rit, but to those who are led by the Spirit ; not to
those who are favoured with its suggestions, but
to those who give themselves up to follow, and do
actually follow these suggestions. Now, though a
person, by attending to his feelings and conscious-
nesses may persuade himself that he has the Spi-
rit of God ; yet if he stop and rest in these sensa-
tions without consequential practical exertions,
it can by no possibility be said of him, nor, one
would think, could he possibly bring himself to
believe, that he is led by the Spirit, that he follows
the Spirit ; for these terms necessarily imply
something done under that influence, necessarily
carry the thoughts to a course of conduct entered
into and pursued in obedience to, and by virtue of,
that influence. Whether the objection here no-
ticed has any foundation in the conduct of those
who hold the doctrine of which we treat, 1 am
uncertain ; accounts are different : but at any
rate the objection lies not against the doctrine,
but against a defective apprehension of it. For,
in confirmation of all which we have said, we may
produce the example of St. Paul. No one carried
the doctrine of spiritual influence higher than he
did, or spoke of it so much ; yet no character in
the world could be farther than his was from rest-
ing in feelings and sensations. On the contrary,
it was all activity and usefulness. His whole his-
tory confirms what he said of himself, that "in
labours," in positive exertions, both of mind and
body, he was " above measure." It will be said,
perhaps, that these exertions were in a particular
way, viz. in making converts to his opinions ; but
it was the way in which, as he believed, he was
promoting the interest of his fellow-creatures in
the greatest degree possible for him to promote it ;
and it was the way also which he believed to be
enjoined upon him by the express and particular
command of God. Had there been any other me-
thod, any other course and line of beneficent en-
deavours, in which he thought he could have been
more useful, and had the choice been left to him-
self, (which it was not,) the same principle, the
same eager desire of doing good, would have
manifested itself with equal vigour in that other
inc. His sentiments and precepts corresponded
with his example : " Do good unto all men, espe-
ially unto them that are of the household of
yhrist." Here doing is enjoined. Nothing Jess
,han doing can satisfy this precept. Feelings and
sensations will not, though of the best kind.
' Let him that stole, steal no more, but rather let
lim labour with his hands, that he may have to
give to him that needeth." This is carrying ac-
ive ', beneficence as far as it can go. Men are
,ommanded to relieve the necessities of their poor
)rethren out of the earnings of their manual la-
>our. nay, to labour for that very purpose ; and
heir doing so is stated as the best expiation for
ormer dishonesties, and the best proof how much
nd how truly they are changed from what they
were. " Let him that ruleth, do it with diligence."
This is a precept which cannot be complied with
vithout activity. These instructions could not
ome from a man who placed religion in feelings
nd sensations.
Having noticed this objection (for it well de-
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
served notice,) I proceed to state the particular
duties which relate to the doctrine of spiritual as-
sistance. And the first of these duties is to pray
for it. It is by prayer that it is to be sought ; by
prayer that it is to be obtained. This the Scrip-
tures expressly teach. " How much more will
your Heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to
them that ask him?" The foundation of prayer,
in all cases, is a sense of want. Na man prays
in earnest or to any purpose for what he does not
feel that he wants. Know then and feel the
weakness of your nature. Know the infinite im-
portance of holding on, nevertheless, in a course
of virtue. Know these two points thoroughly,
and you can stand in need of no additional mo-
tive (indeed none can be added,) to excite in you
strong unwearied supplications for Divine help;-
not a cold asking for it in any prescribed form of
prayer, but cryings and supplications for it, strong
and unwearied. The description in the Epistle
to the Hebrews, of our Lord's own devotion, may
serve to describe the devotion of a Christian, pray-
ing, as he ought, for the Spirit^ that is, praying
from a deep understanding of his own condition,
a conviction of his wants and necessities. " He
ottered up prayers and supplications with strong
orvin^ and tears unto him that wag able, to save
him from death ; and was heard in that he feared."
This is devotion in reality.
There are occasions also, which ought to call
forth these prayers with extraordinary and pecu-
liar force.
Is it superstition 1 is it not, on the contrary, a
mst and reasonable piety to implore of God the
guidance of his Holy Spirit, when we have any
thing of great importance to decide upon, or to
undertake ; especially any thing by which the hap-
piness of others, as well as our own, is likely to
be affected I
It would be difficult to enumerate the passages
and occasions of a man's life, in which he is par-
ticularly bound to apply to God for the aid and
direction of his Spirit. In general, in every turn,
as it may l)e called, of life ; whenever any tiling
critical, any thing momentous, any thing which
is to fix our situation and course of life ; most es-
pecially any thing which is likely to have an in-
fluence upon our moral conduct and disposition,
and thereby affect our condition, as candidates for
heaven, and as the religious servants of God, is to
be resolved upon ; there and then ought we to say
our prayers ; most ardently supplicating from our
Creator and Preserver the grace and guidance of
his Holy Spirit.
Is it not, again, a time for calling earnestly for
the Spirit of God, and for a greater measure of
that Spirit, if he be pleased to grant it to us, when
we are recovering from some sin into which we
have been betrayed 1 This case is always critical.
The question now is, whether we shall fall into a
settled course of sinning, or whether we shall be
restored to our former, and to better than our
former endeavours to maintain the line of duty.
That, under the sting and present alarm of our
conscience, we have formed resolutions of virtue
for the future is supposed ; but whether these reso-
lutions will stand, is the point now at issue. And
in this peril of our souls we cannot be too earnest
or importunate in our supplications for Divine suc-
cour. It can never come to our aid at a time
when we more want it. Our fall proves our
weakness. Our desire of recovery proves, that,
though fallen, we may not be lost. This is a
condition which flies to aid and- help, if aid and
help can be had ; and it is a condition to which the
promised support of the Spirit most peculiarly ap-
plies. On such an occasion, therefore, it will be
sought with struggles and strong contention of
mind, if we be serious in these matters. So
sought, it will be obtained.
Again : Is it not always a fit subject of prayer,
that the Holy Spirit would inform, animate, warm,
and support our deration ? St. Paul speaks of
the co-operation of the Spirit with us in this very
article. " Likewise the Spirit also helpeth our in-
firmities, for ice know not what we should pray
for as we ought ; but the Spirit maketh interces-
sion for us with groanings that cannot be uttered."
The specific help here described is to supply our
ignorance. But the words speak also generally
of helping our infirmities; meaning, as the pas-
sage leads L us to suppose, the infirmities which at-
tend our devotion. Now these infirmities are not
only ignorance, but coldness, wanderings, ab-
sence ; for all which a remedy is to be sought in
the aid and help of the Spirit .
Next in order of time, to praying for the Spirit
of God, but still superior to it in importance, is lis-
tening and yielding ourselves^to his suggestions.
This is the thing in. which we fail.
Now, it being confessed that we cannot ordina-
rily distinguish at the time the suggestions of the
Spirit from the operations of our minds, it may be
asked, how are we to listen to theml The answer
is, by attending universally to the admonitions
within us, Men do hot listen to their consciences.
It is through the whisperings of conscience that
the Spirit speaks. If men then are wilfully deaf
to their consciences, they cannot hear the Spirit.
If hearing, if being compelled to hear, the remon-
strances of conscience, they nevertheless decide,
and resolve, and determine to go against them;
then they grieve, then they defy, then they do de-
spite to the Spirit of God. In both cases, that is,
both of neglecting to consult, and of defying,
when they cannot help feeling the admonitions
which rise up within them, they have this judg-
ment hanging over their heads : "He that ham
not, from mm shall be taken even that which he
hath." He that misuses or abuses the portion
and measure of spiritual assistance which is af-
forded him, shall lose evert that.
The efficacy of the Spirit is to be judged of by
its fruits. Its immediate effects are upon the dis-
position. A visible outward conduct will ensue ;
but the true seat of grace and of spiritual energy
is in the heart and inward disposition. When-
ever, therefore, we find religious carelessness suc-
ce'eded within us by religious seriousness; con-
science, which was silent or unheard, now power-
fully speaking and obeyed; sensuality and selfish-
ness, the two grand enemies of salvation, the two
great powers of darkness which rule the natural
man when we find even these giving way to the
inward accusing voice of conscience; when we
find the thoughts of the mind drawing or drawn
more and more towards heavenly things ; the va-
lue and interest of these expectations plainer to
our view, a great deal more frequent than hereto-
fore in our meditations, and more fully discerned ;
the care and safety of our souls rising gradually
above concerns and anxieties* about worldly af-
fairs ; when we find the force of temptation and
of evil propensities not extinct, but retreating be-
591
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
fore a sense of duty; self-government maintain
ed; tin- interruptions of it immediately perceived
bitterly deplored, and soon recovered ; sin rejectee
and replied ; and this not so much with an in-
crease of confidence in our strength, as of reliance
ujxm the assisting grace- of God; when we find
ourselves touched With the love of our Maker,
taking satisfaction in his worship and service;
when we feel a growing -taste and relish for reli-
gious subjects and religious exercises ; above all,
when we begin to rejoice Jn 'the comfort of the
Holy Ghost ; in the prospect of reaching heaven ;
in the powerful aids and helps which are given us
in accomplishing this great end, and the strength,
and firmness, and resolution, which, so ,helped and
aided, we experience in our, progress : when we
feel these things, then may we; without either'en-
thusiasm or superstition, humbly believe that the
Spirit of God hath been at work within us. Ex-
ternal virtues) good actions will follow, as occa-
sions may draw them forth ; but it is within that
we must look for the change which the inspiration
of God's Spirit produces.
With respect to positive external good actions,
we have said that they must depend in some mea-
sure upon occasions, and abilities, and opportuni-
ties, and that they must wait for opportunities ;
but, observe, it is not so with the breaking off of
our sins, be they what they will. That work must
wait for nothing. Until that be effected", no change
is made." No man, going on in a known sin, has
any right to say, that the Spirit of God has done
its office within him. Either it has not been given
to him, or being given, it has been resisted, de-
spised, or, at least, neglected. Such a person has
either yet to obtain it by prayer, or, when obtain-
ed, to avail himself duly of its assistance. Let
him understand this to be his condition.
The next duty, or rather disposition, which
flows from. the doctrine of spiritual influence, is
humility. There never was^i truer saying than
that pride is the adversary of religion, lowliness
and humility the tempers for it. Now religious
humility consists in the habit of referring every
thing to God. From one end of the New Testa-
ment to the other, God is set forth and magnified
in his agency and his operations. In the greatest
of all businesses, the business of salvation, he is
operating, and we co-operating with him. " Work
out your own salvation with fear and trembling;"
and why? "for it is God that worketh in us to
will and to do, according to his good pleasure."
He is not superseding onr endeavours, (the very
contrary is implied by commanding us to exert
them,) but still nothing is done without him. If
we have moral strength, we are strong in the in-
ward might of the Holy Ghost: consequently all
boasting, all vanity, all self-sufficiency, all despis-
ing of others, on the score of moral and religious
inferiority, are excluded. Without the grace of
God, we might have been as the worst of them.
There is in the nature of things, one train of sen-
timent belongi ncr to him who has achieved a work
by his own might, and power, and pfowess ; and
another to him, who has been fain to beg for suc-
cour and assistance, and by that assistance alone
has been carried through difficulties which were
too great for his own strength and faculties. This
last is the true sentiment for us. It is not for a
man, whose life has been saved in a shipwreck by
the compassionate help of others ; it is not fora
man, so saved, to boast of his own alertness and
vigour;- though it be true, that unless he had ex-
erted what power and strength IN; was possessed
of, he would not have been saved at all.
Lastly : This doctrine shuts the door against a
most general, a most specious, and a most deceiv-
ing excuse for our sins ; which excuse is, that we
have striven against them, but are overpowered by
our evil nature, by that nature which the Scrip-,
tures themselves represent as evil ; in a word, that
we have done what we could. Now, until by
supplication and prayer we have called for the pro-
mised assistance of God's Spirit, and with an
earnestness, devotion, perseverance, and im[>ortu-
nity, proportioned to the magnitude of the con-
cern ; until we have rendered ourselves objects of
that influence, and yielded ourselves to it, it is not
true, " that we have done all that we ran." We
must not rely upon that excuse ; for it is not true
in fact. If, experiencing the depravity and imbe-
cility of our nature, we see in this corruption and
weakness an excuse for our sins, and taking up
with this excuse, we surrender ourselves to them;
if we give up, or relax in our opposition to them,
and struggles against them, at last consenting to
our sins, and falling down with the stream which
we have found so hard to resist ; if things take this
;urn with us, ihen are we in a state to be utterly,
finally, and fatally undone. We have it in our
power to shut our eyes against the danger ; we
naturally shall endeavour to make ourselves as
asy and contented in our situation as we can;
jut the truth, nevertheless, is, that we are hasten-
ng to certain perdition. If, on the contrary, per-
ceiving the feebleness of our nature, we be driven
Dy the perception, as St. Paul was .driven, to fly
for deliverance from our sins to the aid, and influ-
ence, and power of God's Spirit ; to seek for Di-
vine help and succour, as a sinking mariner calls
out for help and succour, not formally, we may be
sure, or coldly, but with cries, and tears, and sup-
plications, as for life itself; if we be prepared tc
:o-operate with this help, with the holy working
of God's grace within us ; then may we trust, both
that it will be given to us, (yet in such manner as
to God shall seem fit, and which cannot be limit-
ed by us,) and also that the portion of help which
is given, being duly used and improved, (not de-
spised, neglected, put away,) more and more will
je continually added for the ultimate accomplish-
ment of our great end and object, the deliverance
f our souls from the captivity, and thd conse-
quences of sin.
SERMON XXVI.
SIN ENCOUNTERED BY SPIRITUAL AID.
to THREE PARTS. (PART I.)
O, icretclied man that I am! who shall deliver
me from the body of this death ? Rom. vii. 21.
BEFORE we can explain what is the precise
subject of this heavy lamentation, and what the
precise meaning of the solemn question here ask-
ed, we must endeavour to understand what is in-
tended by the expression, "the body of this death,"
or, as some render it, " this body of death."
Now, let it be remembered, that death, in Saint
Paul's epistles, hardly ever signifies a natural
death, to which all men of all kinds are equally
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
subjected ; but. it means a spiritual death, or that
perdition and destruction to which sin brings men
in a future state. " The wages of sin is death ;"
not the death which we must all undergo in this
world, for that is the. fate of righteousness as well
as sin, but the state, whatever it be, to winch sin
and sinners will be consigned in the world to come.
Not many verses after our text, St. Paul says,
"carnal mindedness is death:" "to be carnally
minded is death;'' leads, that is, inevitably to that
future destruction which awaits the sinful indul-
gence of carnal propensities, and which destruc-
tion is, as it were, death to the soul. The book
of Revelation, alluding to this distinction, speaks
expressly of a second death, in terms very lit to
be called to mind in the consideration of our pre-
sent text. " I saw the dead, small and great,
stand before God ; and the books were opened ;
and another book was opened, which is the book
of life; and the dead were judged out of those
things which were written, according to their
works: and the sea gave up the dead which were
in it, and death and hell (which last word denotes
here simply the place of the dead, not the place
of punishment) delivered up the dead that were
in them; and they were judged every man accord-
ing to their works ; and death and hell were cast
into the lake of fire;" (that is, natural death, and
the receptacle of those who died, were thenceforth
superseded.) This is the second death. "And
whatsoever was not found written in the l>ook of
life, was cast into the lake of fire." This descrip-
tion, which is exceedingly awful, is given in the
last three verses of the -20th chapter. In reference
to the same event, this hook of Revelation had be-
fore t<>!d IK. viz. in the Od chapter and llth verse,
that he who overcometh shall not be hurt of the
second death; and in like manner in the above
quoted -JOth chapter, " Blessed and holy is he that
hath part in this resurrection: on such tip
death hath no power." Our Lord himself refers
to this death in those never to be forgotten words
which he uttered, " He that liveth. and helieveth
in me, shall not die eternally." Die he must, but
not eternally: die the first death, but not the se-
cond. It is undoubtedly, therefore, the second
death which Saint Paul meant by the word
death, when he wrote down the sentence "the
body of this death ;" and the second death is the
punishment, perdition, and destruction, which the
souls of sinners will suffer in a future state. It is
well worthy of observation, that this was indeed
the only death which those who wrote the New
Testament, and probably all sincere Christians of
that age, regarded as important, as the subject of
their awe, and dread, and solicitude. The first
death, the natural and universal disease of the
body, they looked to simply as a change ; a going
out of one room into another; a putting off one
kind of clothing, and putting on a different kind.
They esteemed it, compared with the other, of lit-
tle moment or account. In this respect, there is
a wide difference between the Scripture appre-
hension of the subject and ours. We think en-
tirely of the first death: they thought entirely of
the second. We speak and talk of the death
which we see : they spoke, and taught, and wrote,
of a death which is future to that. We look to the
first with terror : they to the second alone. The se-
cond alone they represent as formidable. Such is
the view which Christianity gives us of these things,
so different from what we naturally entertain.
You see then what death is in the Scripture
sense; in St. Paul's sense. " The body of this
death." The phrase and expression of the text
cannot, however, mean this death itself, because
he prays to be delivered from it ; whereas from
that death, or that perdition understood by it,
when it once overtakes the sinner, there is no de-
liverance that we know of. The " body," then,
"of this death," is not the death itself, but a state
leading to and ending in the second death ; namely,
in misery and punishment, instead of happiness
and rest, after our departure out of this world.
And this state it is, from which St. Paul, with
such vehemence and concern upon his spirit, seeks
to be delivered.
Having seen the signification of the principal
phrase employed in the text, the next, and the
most im[>ortant question is, to what condition of
the. soul, in its moral and religious concerns, the
apostle applies it. Now in the verses preceding
the text, indeed in the whole of this remarkable
chapter, St. Paul has been describing a state of
struirule and contention with sinful propensities;
which pro[ensities, in the present condition of
our nature, we all feel, and which are never
wholly abolished. But our apostle goes further :
he desrrites also that state of unsuccessful strug-
gle and unruccefful contention, by which many
so unhappily fall. His words are these : " That
which I do,t allow not: for what I would, that 1
do not ; but what I hate, that do I. For I know
that in me, that is, in my flesh, dwelleth no good
thing: for to will is present with me, but how to
perform that which is good I find not : for the good
that I would, I do not; but the evil which I would
not, that I do. I find a law, that, when I would
do good, evil is present with me. For I delight
in the law of God after the inward man. But I
see another law in my members warring against
the law of my mind, and bringing me into captivi-
ty to the law of sin which is in my members."
This account, though the style and manner of
expression in which it is delivered be very pecu-
liar, is, in its substance, no other than what ia
strictly applicable to the case of thousands. " The
good that I would, I do not ; the evil which I would
not, that I do." How many, who read this dis-
course, may say the same of themselves ! as also,
"what I would, that do I not; but what I hate,
that I do." This then is the case which St. Paul
had in view. It is a case, first, which supposes
an informed and enlightened conscience: " I de-
light in the law of Gocl.'' " I had not known sin
but by the law." " I consent unto the law that
it is good." These sentiments could only be ut-
tered by a man who was in a considerable degree
at least, acquainted with his duty, and who also
approved of the rule of duty which he found laid
down.
Secondly : The case before us also supposes an
inclination of mind and judgment to perform our
duty. " When I would do good, evil is present
with me : to will isr present with me, but how to
perform that which is good. I find not."
Thirdly: It supposes this inclination of mind
and judgment to be continually overpowered. " I
see anotber law in my members warring against
the law of my mind, and bringing me into captivi-
ty to the law of sin, which is in my members ;"
that is, the evil principle not only opposes the
judgment of the mind, and the conduct which
that judgment dictates, (which may be the case
586
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
with all,) but in the present case subdues and gets
the better of it : " Not only wars against the law
of my mind, but brings me into captivity."
Fourthly : The case supposes a sense and
thorough consciousness of all this : of the rule of
duty ; of the nature of sin ; of the struggle ; of the
defeat. It is a prisoner sensible of his chains. It
is a soul tied and bound by the fetters of its sins,
and knowing itself to be so. It is by no means
the case of the ignorant sinner ; it is not the case
of an erring mistaken conscience ; it is not the
case of a seared and hardened conscience. None
of these could make the reflection or the complaint
which is here described. " The commandment
which was ordained unto life, / found to be unto
death. I am carnal, sold under sin. In me
dwelleth no good thing. The law is holy ; and
the commandment holy, just, and good ; but sin,
that it might appear sin, (that it might be more
conspicuous, aggravated, and inexcusable,) works
death in me by that which is good." This lan-
guage by no means belongs to the stupified in-
sensible sinner.
Nor, fifthly, as it cannot belong to an original
insensibility of conscience, that is, an insensibility
of which the person himself does not remember
the beginning, so neither can it belong to the sin-
ner who has got over the rebukes, distrusts, and
uneasiness which sin once occasioned. True it
is, that this uneasiness may be got over almost
entirely ; so that whilst the danger remains the
same, whilst the final event will be the same,
whilst the coming destruction is not less sure or
dreadful, the uneasiness and the apprehension are
gone. This is a case too common, too deplorable,
too desperate ; but it is not the case of which we
are now treating, or of which St. Paul treated.
Here we are presented throughout with complaint
and uneasiness ; with a soul exceedingly dissatis-
fied, exceedingly indeed disquieted, and disturbed,
and alarmed, with the view of its condition.
Upon the whole, St. Paul's account is the ac-
count of a man in some sort struggling with his
vices ; at least deeply conscious of what they are,
whither they are leading him, where t^ey will
end ; acknowledging the law of God, not only in
words and speeches, but in his mind ; acknowledg-
ing its excellency, its authority ; wishing also,
and willing to act up to it, but, in fact, doing no
Buch thing; feeling in practice a lamentable ina-
bility of doing his duty, yet perceiving that it
must be done. All he has hitherto attained is a
state of successive resolutions and relapses. Much
is willed, nothing is effected. No furtherance, no
advance, no progress, is made in the way of sal-
vation. He feels indeed his double nature; but
he finds that the law in his members, the law of
the flesh, brings the whole man into captivity.
He may have some better strivings, but they are
unsuccessful. The result is, that he obeys the
law of sin.
This is the picture which our apostle contem-
plated, and he saw in it nothing but misery : " O
wretched man that I am !" Another might have
seen it in a more comfortable light. He might
have hoped that the will would be taken for the
deed; that since he felt in his mind a strong ap-
probation of the law of God ; nay, since he felt a
delight in contemplating it, and openly professed
to do so ; since he was neither ignorant of it, nor
forgetful of it, nor insensible of its obligation, nor
ever set himself to dispute its authority; nay,
since he had occasionally likewise endeavoured to
bring himself to an obedience to this law, however
unsuccessful his endeavours had been ; above all,
since he had sincerely deplored and bewailed his
fallings ofl" from it, he might hope, I say, that his
was a case for favourable acceptance.
St. Paul saw it not in this light. He saw in it
no ground of confidence or satisfaction. It was a
state, to which he gives no better name than " the
body of death." It was a state not in which he
hoped to be saved, but from which he sought to
be delivered. It was a state, in a word, of bitter-
ness and terror ; drawing from him expressions
of the deepest anguish and distress : ' : O, wretched
man that I am ! who shall deli ver me from the
body of this death]"
SERMON XXVII.
EVIL PROPENSITIES ENCOUNTERED BY THE AID OP
THE SPIRIT.
(PART II.)
O, wretched man that I am! who shall deliver
me from the body of this death? Rom. vii. 24,
HE who has not felt the weakness of his nature,
it is probable, has reflected little upon the subject
of religion. I should conjecture this to be the
~~se.
But then, when men do feel the weakness of
their nature, it is not always that this conscious-
ness carries them into a right course, but some-
times into a course the very contrary of what is
right. They may see in it, as hath been observed,
and many do see in it, nothing but an excuse and
apology for their sins. Since it is acknowledged
that we carry about with us a frail, not to call it
a depraved, corrupted nature, surely, they say, we
shall not be amenable to any severities or extremi-
ties of judgment for delinquencies to which such
a nature must ever be liable ; or, which is indeed
all the difference there is between one man and
another, for greater degrees or less, for more or
fewer of these delinquencies. The natural man
akes courage from this consideration. He finds
ease in it. It is an opiate to his fears. It lulls
him into a forgetfulness of danger, and of the
dreadful end, if the danger be real. Then the
practical consequence is, that he begins to relax
even of those endeavours to obey God which he
has hitherto exerted. Imperfect and inconstant
as these endeavours were at best, they become
gradually more languid and more unfrequent, and
more insincere than they were before : his sins
ncrease upon him in the same proportion : he
proceeds rapidly to the condition of a confirmed
sinner, either secret or open ; it makes no differ-
ence as to his salvation. And this descent into
ihe depths of moral vileness and depravity began,
in some measure, with perceiving and confessing
the weakness of his nature ; and giving to this
perception that most erroneous, that most fatal
turn, the regarding it as an excuse for every thing ;
and as dispensing even with the self-denials, and
with the exertions of self-government, which a
man had formerly thought it necessary to exercise,
and in some sort, thougn in no sufficient sort, had
exercised.
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
587
Now, I ask, was this St. PawZ's way of con-
sidering the subject 1 Was this the turn which
he gave to it 1 Altogether the contrary. It was
impossible for any Christian of any age, to be
more deeply impressed with a sense of the weak-
ness of human nature than he was ; or to express
it more strongly than he has done in the chapter
before us. But, observe ; feeling most sensibly,
and painting most forcibly, the sad condition of
his nature, he never alleges it as an excuse for
sin : he does not console himself with any such
excuse. He does not make it a reason for setting
himself at rest upon the subject. He finds no
relief to his fears in any such consideration. It is
not with him a ground for expecting salvation :
on the contrary, ne sees it to be a state not lead-
ing to salvation ; otherwise, why did he seek so
earnestly to be delivered from it f
And how to be delivered ? that becomes the
next question. In order to arrive at St. Paul's
meaning in this matter, we must attend with some
degree of care, not only to the text, but to the
words which follow it. The '24th verse contains
the question, " Who shall deliver me from the
body of this death 1" and then the 25th verse goes
on, " I thank God through Jesus Christ our Lord."
Now there is good reason to believe, that this
25th verse does not appear in our copies MS it
ought to be read. It is most probable that the
passage stood thus : the 24th verse asks, " Who
shall deliver me from the body of this death!"
Then the 25th verse answers, "The grace of
God, through Jesus Christ our Lord." Instead
of the words " I thank God," put the words " The
grace of God," and you will find the sense cleared
up by the change very much. I say, it is highly
probable that this change exhibits what St. Paul
really wrote. In English there is no resemblance
either in sound or writing between the two sen-
tences, " I thank God," and " The grace of God ; M
but in the language in which the epistle was writ-
ten there is a very great resemblance. And, as 1
have said, there is reason to believe that in the
transcribing one has been confounded with the
other. Perhaps the substantial meaning may be
the same whichever way you read the passage :
but what is implied only in one way, is clearly
expressed in the other way.
The question, then, which St. Paul so earnest-
ly and devoutly asks is, " Who shall deliver me
from this body of death V from the state of soul
which I feel, and which can only lead to final per-
dition'? And the answer to the question is, " The
grace of God, through Jesus Christ our Lord."
Can a more weighty question be asked 1 Can
an answer be given which better deserves to be
thoroughly considered 1
The question is, "Who shall deliver us V
The answer: " The grace of God, through Jesus
Christ our Lord." The " grace of God" means
the favour of God : at present, therefore, the an-
swer stands in general terms. We are only
informed, that we are rescued from this state of
moral difficulty, of deep religious distress, by the
favour of God, through Jesus Christ. It remains
to be gathered from what follows, in what parti-
cularly this grace or favour consists. St. Paul
having asked the question, and given the answer
in general terms, proceeds to enlarge upon the
answer in these words : " There is therefore
now no condemnation to them who are in Christ
Jesus, who walk not after the flesh but after the
Spirit." There is now no condemnation : but of
whom, and to whom, is this spoken 1 It is to
them who first are in Christ Jesus ; who, second-
ly, walk not after the flesh ; who, thirdly, walk
after the Spirit.
And whence arises this alteration and improve-
ment in our condition and our hopes ; this exemp-
tion, or rather deliverance, from the ordinary state
of man 1 St. Paul refers us to the cause. " The
law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus hath made
me free from the law of sin a.nd death." Which
words can hardly bear any other signification than,
this, viz. " That the aid and operation of God's
Spirit, given through Jesus Christ, hath subdued
the p_ower which sin had obtained, and once
exercised over me." With this interpretation
the whole sequel of St. Paul's reasoning agrees.
Every sentence almost that follows illustrates the
interpretation, and proves it to be the true one.
With what, but with the operation and the co-
operation of the Spirit of God, as of a real, effi-
cient, powerful, active Being, can such expressions
as the following In- nunli 1 to suit 1 ? " If so be that
the Spirit of God dwell in you." " If any man
have not the Spirit of Christ, he is none of his."
" If the Spirit of him that raised up Jesus from
the dead dwell in you." " By his Spirit that
dwelleth in you." " Ye have received the Spirit
of adoption/' " The Spirit itself beareth witness
with our spirit." All which expressions are found
in the eighth chapter, namely, the chapter follow-
ing the text, and all, indeed, within the compass
of a few verses. These passages either assert
or assume the fact, namely, the existence and
agency of such a Spirit; its agency, I mean, in
and upon the human soul. It is by the aid, there-
fore, of this Spirit, that the deliverance so earnestly
sought for is effected ; a deliverance represented
as absolutely necessary to be effected in some way
or other. And it is also represented as one of
the grand benefits of the Christian dispensation.
" What the law could not do in that it was weak
through the flesh, God sending his own Son in
the likeness of sinful flesh, and for sin, con-
demned sin in the flesh, that the righteousness of
the law might be fulfilled in us, who walk not
after the flesh, but after the Spirit." Which pas-
sage I expound thus : A mere law, that is, a rule
merely telling us what we ought to do, without
enabling us, or affording us any help or aid in
doing it, is not calculated for such a nature as
ours ; "it is weak through the flesh ;" it is inef-
fectual by reason of our natural infirmities. Then
what the law. or a mere rule of rectitude, (for
that is what any law, as such is,) could not
do, was done under the Christian dispensation ;
and how done 1 The righteousness of the law,
that is, the righteousness which the law dictated,
and which it aimed, as far as it could, to procure
and produce, is fulfilled in us, who walk not after
the flesh, but after the Spirit ; is actually produced
and procured in us, who live under the influence
and direction of the Holy Spirit. By this Holy
Spirit we have that assistance which the law
could not impart, and without which, as a mere
rule, though ever so good and right a rule, it was
weak and insufficient, forasmuch as it had not
force or strength sufficient to produce obedience
in those who acknowledged its authority.
To communicate this so much wanted assist-
ance, was one end and effect of Christ's coming.
So it is intimated by St. Paul, " What the law
588
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
could not do, in that it was weak through the
flesh, God did ; that is, God " sending his own
6on in the likeness of sinful flesh and for sin,"
namely, sending him by reason or on account of
sin, "condemned sin in the llesh ; !) vouchsafed, that
is, spiritual aid and ability, by which aid and
ability sin and the power of sin might be eflec-
tually opposed, encountered, and repelled.
SERMON XXVIII.
THE AID OF THE SPIRIT TO BE SOUGHT AND
PRESERVED BY PRAYER.
(PART III.)
O, wretched man that lam! who shall deliver me
from tlie body of this death ? Rom. vii. 24.
IF it be doctrinally true, that man in his ordi-
nary state, in that state at least in which great
numbers find themselves, is in a deplorable condi-
tion, a condition which ought to be a subject to
him of great and bitter lamentation, mz. that his
moral powers are ineffectual for his duty; able,
perhaps, on most occasions, to perceive and ap-
prove of the rule 'of right ; able, perhaps, to will
it ; able, perhaps, to set on foot unsuccessful, frus-
trated, and defeated endeavours after that will,
but by no means able to pursue or execute it :
if it be also true, that strength and assistance
may and can be communicated to this feeble na-
ture, and that it is by the action of the Holy
Spirit upon the soul, that it is so communicated ;
that with this aid and. assistance sin may be suc-
cessfully encountered, and such a course of duty
maintained as may render us accepted in Christ;
and further, that to impart the above described
assistance is one of the ends of Christ's coming,
and one of the operations of his love towards man-
kind : if, I say, these propositions be doctrinally
true, then follow from them these three practical
rules : first, That we are to pray sincerely, earn-
estly, and incessantly for this assistance ; secondly,
That by so doing we are to obtain it; thirdly,
That being obtained, we are to yield ourselves to
its agency, to be obedient to its dictates.
First: We are to pray sincerely, earnestly,
and incessantly, for this assistance. A funda-
mental, and, as it seems to me, an insurmounta-
ble text, upon this head, is our Saviour's declara-
tion, Luke xi. 13, " If ye, being evil, know how
to give good gifts unto your children, how much
more shall your heavenly Father give the Holy
Spirit to them that ask him T This declaration,
besides expressing (which was its primary object)
God's benignant, prompt, and merciful disposition
towards us ; which here, as in other places, our
Saviour compares with the disposition of a parent
towards his children ; beside this, the text un-
doubtedly assumes the fact of there being a Holy
Spirit, of its being the gift of Gbd, of its being
given to them that ask him ; that these things are
all realities; a real spiritual assistance, really
given, and given to prayer. But let it be well
observed, that whensoever the Scripture speaks
of prayer, whensoever it uses that term, or other
terms, equivalent to it, it means prayer, sincere
and earnest ; in the full and proper sense of these
words, prayer proceeding from the heart and soul.
It does not mean any particular form of words
whatever ; it does not mean any service of the
lips, any utterance or 'pronunciation of prayer,
merely as such, but supplication actually and
truly proceeding from the heart. Prayer may be
solemn without being sincere. Every decency.
every propriety, every visible mark and token of
prayer may be present, yet the heart not cngiigi-d.
This is the requisite which must make prayer
availing; this is the requisite indeed which must
make it that which the Scripture means whenever
it speaks of prayer. Every outward act of wor-
ship, without this participation- of the heart, fails,
not. because men do not pray sincerely, but be-
cause, hi Scripture sense, they do not pray at all.
If thess qualities of internal seriousness and im-
pression belong to prayer, whenever prayer is
mentioned in Scripture, they seem more peculiarly
essential in a case, and for a blessing, purely and
strictly spiritual. We must pray with the spirit,
at least when we pray for spiritual succour.
Furthermore ; there is good' authority in Scrip-
ture, which it would carry us too widely from our
subject to state at present, for persevering in
prayer, even when long unsuccessful. Persever-
ance in unsuccessful prayer is one of the doctrines
and of the lessons of the New Testament.
But again: We must pray for the Spirit ear-
nestly, I mean with.a degree of earnestness pro-
portioned to the magnitude of the request. The
earnestness with which we pray will always be in
proportion to our sense, knowledge, and conscious-
ness of the importance of the thing which we
ask. This consciousness is the source and prin-
ciple of earnestness in prayer ; and in this, I fear,
we are greatly deficient. We do not possess or
feel it in the manner in which we ought ; and we
are deficient upon the subject of spiritual assist-
ance most particularly. I fear that many under-
stand and reflect little upon the importance of
what they are about, upon the exceedingly great
consequence of what they are asking, when they
pray to God, as we do in our liturgy, " to cleanse
the thoughts of our hearts by the inspiration of
his Holy Spirit ;" " to make clean our hearts with-
in us ;" " not to take his Holy Spirit from us ;" " to
give us increase of grace ;" " to grant that his Holy
Spirit may in all things direct and rule our hearts."
These are momentous petitions, little as we
may perceive, or think, or account of them at the
time. It has been truly said, that we are hardly
ever certain of praying aright, except when \\ e
pray for the Spirit of God. When we pray for
temporal blessings, we do not know, though" God
does, whether we ask what is really for our good :
when we ask for the assistance and sanctitication
of God's Spirit in the work and warfare of religion,
We ask for that which by its very nature is good,
and which without our great fault, will be good
to us.
But, secondly; We must obtain it. God is
propitious. You hear that he has promised it to
prayer, to prayer really and truly such ; to prayer,
viz. issuing from the heart and soul ; for no other
is ever meant. We are suppliants to our Maker
for various and continual blessings ; for health, for
ease, it may be for prosperity and success. There
is, as hath already been observed, some degree of
uncertainty in all these cases, whether we ask
what is fit and proper to be granted, or even what
if granted, would do us good. There is this like-
wise farther to be observed, that they are what, if
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
589
uch be the pleasure of God, we can-do without.
But how incapable we are of doing without God's
Spirit, of proceeding in our spiritual course upon
our own strength and our own resources, of final-
ly accomplish ing the work of salvation \vithoutit,
the strong description which is given by St. Paul
may convince us, if our own exj>erience had not
convinced us before. Many of us, a large majori-
ty of us, either require, or have required, a great
change, a moral regeneration. This is to be ef-
fectuated by the aid of God's Spirit. Vitiated
hearts will not change themselves; not easily, not
frequently, not naturally, perhaps, not possibly.
Yet, " without holiness no man shall see God."
How then are the unholy to become holy 1 Holi-
ness is a thing of the heart and soul. It is not a
few forced, constrained actions, though good as
actions, which constitute holiness. It must reside
within us ; it is a (lisjH)sition of soul. To acquire,
therefore, that which is not yet acquired, to change
that which is not yet changed, to go to the root
of the malady, to cleanse and purify the inside of
the cup, the foulness of our mind, is a work of
the Spirit of God within us. Nay, more: many,
as the Scripture most significantly expr>
are dead in sins and trespasses ; not only commit-
ting sins and trespasses, but dead in them : that is,
as insensible of their condition under them, as a
dead man is insensible of his condition. Where
this is the case, the sinner must, in the first in-
stance, be roused and quickened to a sense of his
condition, of his danger, his fate ; in a word, he
must by some means or other be brought to feel a
strong compunction. This is also an office for
the Spirit of God. " You hath he quickened, who
were dead in trespasses and sins," Eph. ii. 1.
" Awake, thou that s lee pest, and arise from the
de-ul, and Christ shall give thee light," Kph. v. 1 I.
Whether, therefore, we be amongst the dead in
sin, or whether we be of the number of th<>
whom, according to St. Paul's description, to will
is present, but how to perform that which is good
they find not ; who, though they approve the law
of God, nay delight in it, after the inward man,
that is, in the answers of their conscience, are
nevertheless brought into captivity to the law of
sin which is in their members ; carnal, sold under
sin ; doing what they allow not, what they hate ;
doing not the good which they would, but the
evil which they would not ; whichever of these be
our wretched estate, for such the apostle pro-
nounces it to be, the grace and influence of God's
Spirit must be obtained in order to rescue and de-
liver us from it ; and the sense of this want and
of this necessity lies at the root of our devotions,
when directed to this object.
To those who are in a better state than what
has been here described, little need be said, be-
cause the very supposition of their being in a bet-
ter state includes that earnest and devout applica-
tion by prayer, for the continual aid, presence, and
indwelling of God's Holy Spirit, which we state
to be a duty of the Christian religion.
But, thirdly, The assistance of God's Spirit
being obtained, we are to yield ourselves to its di-
rection ; to consult, attend, and listen to its dictates,
suggested to us through the admonitions of our
conscience. The terms of Scripture represent the
Spirit of God as an assisting, not a forcing power ;
as not suspending our own powers, but enabling
them ; as imparting strength arid faculty for our
religious work, if we will use them ; but whether
we will use them or not, still depending upon our-
selves. Agreeably hereunto St. Paul, you have
heard, asserts, that there is no condemnation to
them who walk not after the flesh but after the
Spirit. The promise is not to them who have
the Spirit, but to them who walk after the Spirit.
To walk after the flesh, is to follow wherever the
impulses of sensuality and selfishness lead us ;
which is a voluntary act. To walk after the Spi-
rit, is steadily and resolutely to obey good motions
within us, whatever they cost us ; which also is a
voluntary act. All the language of this remark-
able chapter (Rom. vii.) proceeds in the same
strain ; namely, that after the Spirit of God is
given, it remains and rests with ourselves whether
we avail ourselves of it or not. " If ye through
the Spirit do mortify the deeds of the flesh, ye shall
live." It is through the Spirit that we are ena-
bled to mortify the deeds ol the flesh. But still,
whether we mortify them or not, is our at, be-
cause it is made a subject of precept and exhorta-
tion so to do. Health is God's gift, but what use
we will make of it is our choice. Bodily strength
is God's gift, but of what advantage it shall be to
us depends upon ourselves. Even so the higher
gift of the Spirit remains a gift, the value of which
will be exceedingly great, will be little, will be
none, will be even an increase of guilt and con-
demnation, according as it is applied and obeyed,
or neglected and withstood. The fourth chapter
of Ephesians, verse 30, is a warning voice upon
this subject : " Grieve not the Spirit of God ;"
therefore he may be grieved : being given, he may
be rejected ; rejected, he may be withdrawn.
St. Paul, Rom. viii., represents the gift and pos-
session of the Spirit in these words: " Ye are not
in the flesh, but in the Spirit, if so be that the
Spirit of God dwell in you:" and its efficacy,
where it is efficacious, in the following magnificent
terms: "If the Spirit of him that raised Christ
from the dead dwell in you, he that raised up
Christ from the dead shall also quicken your mor-
tal bodies, by his Spirit that dwelleth in you."
What, nevertheless, is the practical inference
therefrom stated in the very next words 1 " There-
fore, brethren, we are debtors not to the flesh, to
live after the flesh; for if ye live after the flesh, ye
shall die:" consequently it is still possible, and
plainly conceived, and supposed, and stated to be
so, even after this communication of the Spirit, to
live, notwithstanding, according to the flesh; and
still true, that, " if ye live after the flesh, ye shall
die." " We are debtors ;" our obligation, our duty
imposed upon us by this gift of the Spirit, is no
longer to live after the flesh ; but, on the contrary,
through the Spirit so given, to do that which,
without it, we could not have done, to " mortify
the deeds of the body." Thus following the sug-
gestions of the Spirit, ye shall live ; for " as many
as are led by the Spirit of God," as many as yield
themselves to its guidance and direction, " they
are the sons of God."
To conclude the subject : The difference be-
tween those who succeed, and those who fail in
their Christian course, between those who obtain,
and those who do not obtain salvation, is this:
They may both feel equally the weakness of their
nature, the existence and the power of evil pro-
pensities within them ; but the former, by praying
with their whole heart and soul, and that perse-
veringly, for spiritual assistance, obtain it; and,
by the aid so obtained, are enabled to withstand,
50
590
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
and do, in fact, withstand, their evil propensities;
the latter sink under them. I will not say that all
are comprised under this description : for neither
are all included in St. Paul's account of the matter,
from which our discourse set out ; but I think, that
it represents the general condition of Christians
as to their spiritual state, and that the greatest
part of those who read this discourse, will find,
that they belong to one side or other of the alter-
native here stated.
SERMON XXIX.
THE DESTRUCTION OP THE CANAANITES.
So Joshua smote all the country of the hills, and
of the south, and of the vale, and of the spring's,
and all their Icings: he left .none remaining,
but utterly destroyed all that breathed, as the
Lord God of Israel commanded. Joshua x. 40.
I HAVE known serious and well-disposed Chris-
tians much affected with the accounts which are
delivered in the Old Testament, of the Jewish
wars and -dealings with the inhabitants of Canaan.
From the Israelites' first setting foot in that coun-
try, to their complete establishment in it, which
takes up the whole book of Joshua and part of the
book of Judges, we read, it must be confessed, of
massacres and desolations unlike what are prac-
tised now-a-days between nations at war, of cities
and districts laid waste, of the inhabitants being
totally destroyed, and this, as it is alleged in the
history, by the authority and command of Al-
mighty God. Some have been induced to think
such accounts incredible, inasmuch as such con-
duct could never, they say, be authorised by the
good and merciful Governor of the universe.
I intend in the following discourse to consider
this matter so far as to show that these transac-
tions were calculated for a beneficial purpose, and
for the general advantage of mankind, and being
so calculated, were not inconsistent either with
the justice of God, or with the usual proceedings
of divine providence.
Now the first and chief thing to be observed is,
that the nations of Canaan were destroyed for
their wickedness. In proof of this point, I pro-
duce the 18th chapter of Leviticus, the 24th and
the following verses. Moses in this chapter,*after
laying down prohibitions against brutal and abo-
minable vices, proceeds in the 24th verse thus :
" Defile not yourselves in any of these things, for
in all these the nations are defiled which I cast
out before you, and the land is defiled ; therefore I
do visit the iniquity thereof upon it, and the land
itself vomiteth out her inhabitants. Ye shall
therefore keep my statutes and my judgments,
and shall not commit any of these abominations,
neither any of your own nation, nor any stranger
that sojourneth among you: for all these abomi-
nations have the men of the land done which were
before you, and the land is defiled ; that the land
vomit not you out also, when ye defile it, as it
vomited out the nations that were before you.
For whosoever shall commit any of these abomi-
nations, even the souls that commit them shall be
cut off from amongst their people. Therefore
shall ye keep my ordinances that ye commit not
any of these abominable customs which were com-
mitted before you ; and that you defik not yourselves
therein." Now the facts disclosed in this passage,
are, for our present purpose, extremely material
and extremely satisfactory. First, The passage
testifies the principal point, namely, that the Ca-
naanites were the wicked people we represent
them to be ; and that this point does not rest upon
supposition, but upon proof: in particular, the
following words contain an express assertion of
the guilt of that people. " In all these the nations
are defiled which I cast out before you ; for all
these abominations have the men of the land
done." Secondly, The form and turn of expres-
sion seems to show that these detestable practices
were general among them, and habitual : they are
said to be abominable customs which were com-
mitted. Now the word custom is not applicable
to a few single, or extraordinary instances, but to
usage and to national character ; which argues,
that not only the practice, but the sense and no-
tion of morality was corrupted among them, or
lost ; and it is observable, that these practices, so
far from being checked by their religion, formed a
part of it. They are described not only under
the name of abominations, but of abominations
which they have done unto their gods. What a
state of national morals must that have been !
Thirdly, The passage before us positively and di-
rectly asserts, that it was for these sins that the
nations of Canaan were destroyed. This, in my
judgment, is the important part of the inquiry.
And what do the words under consideration de-
clare 1 " In all these, namely, the odious and bru-
tal vices which had been spoken of, the nations
are defiled which I cast out before you ; and the
land is defiled : therefore I do visit the iniquity
thereof upon it." This is the reason and cause
of the calamities which 1 bring on it. The land
itself vomiteth out her inhabitants. The very
land is sick of its inhabitants ; of their odious and
brutal practices ; of their corruption and wicked-
ness. This, and no other, was the reason for de-
stroying them : this, and no other, is the reason
here alleged. It was not, as hath been imagined,
to make way for the Israelites ; nor was it simply
for their idolatry.
It appears to me extremely probable, that idola-
try in those times led, in all countries, to the vices
here described; and also that the detestation,
threats, and severities, expressed against idolatry
in the Old Testament, were not against idolatry
simply, or considered as an erroneous religion,
but against the abominable crimes which usually
accompanied it. I think it quite certain that the
case was so in the nations of Canaan. Fourthly,
It appears from the passage before us, and what
is surely of great consequence to the question, that
God's abhorrence and God's treatment of these
crimes were impartial, without distinction, and
without respect of nations or persons. The words
which point out the divine impartiality are those
in which Moses warns the Israelites against fall-
ing into any of the like wicked courses ; " that the
land," says he, "cast not you out also, when you
defile it, as it cast out the nations that were before
you ; for whoever shall commit any of these abo-
minations, even the souls that commit them, shall
be cut off from among their people." The Jews
are sometimes called the chosen and favoured peo-
ple of God ; and, in a certain sense, and for some
purposes they were so : yet is this very people,
both in this place, and in other places, over and
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
591
over again reminded, that if they followed the
same practices, they must expect the same fate ;
"Ye shall not walk in the way of the nations
which I cast out before you ; for they committed
all those things, and therefore I abhorred them :
as the nations which the Lord destroyed before
your face, so shall ye perish : because ye were not
obedient unto the voice of the Lord your God."
What farther proves not only the justice but
the clemency of God, his long-suffering, and that
it was the incorrigible wickedness of those nations,
which at last drew down upon them their destruc-
tion, is, that he suspended, as we may so say, the
stroke, till their wickedness was come to such a
pitch, that they were no longer to be endured.
In the 15th chapter of Genesis, God tells Abra-
ham, that his descendants of the fourth genera-
tion, should return into that country, and not be-
fore; " for the iniquity," suit 1 1 he, " of the Amorites
is not yet full." It should seem from hence, that
so long as their crimes were confined within any
bounds, they were permitted to remain in their
country. We conclude, therefore, and we are
well warranted in concluding, that the Canannites
were destroyed on account of their wickedness.
And that wickedness was perhaps aggravated bv
their having had among them Abraham, Isaac,
and Jacob examples of a purer religion and a
better conduct; still more by the judgments of
God so remarkably set before them in the history
of Abraham's family ; particularly by the destruc-
tion of Sodom and Gomorrah: At least these
things prove that they were not without warning,
and that God did not leave himself without wit-
ness among them.
Now, when God, for the wickedness of a peo-
ple, sends an earthquake, or a fire, or a plague
among them, there is no complaint of injustice,
especially when the calamity is known, or ex-
pressly declared beforehand, to be inflicted for the
wickedness of such people. It is rather regarded
as an act of exemplary penal justice, and, as such,
consistent with the character of the moral Gover-
nor of the universe. The objection, therefore, is
not to the Canaanitish nations being destroyed ;
(for when their national wickedness is considered,
and when that is expressly stated as the cause of
their destruction, the dispensation, however se-
vere, will not be questioned ;) but the objection is
solely to the manner of destroying them. I mean
there is nothing but the manner left to be objected
to: their wickedness accounts for the thing itself.
To which objection it may be replied, that if the
thing itself be iust, the manner is of little signifi-
cation ; of little signification even to the sufferers
themselves : For where is the great difference,
even to them, whether they were destroyed by an
earthquake, a pestilence, a famine, or by the hands
of an enemy 7 Where is the difference, even to
our imperfect apprehensions of divine justice, pro-
vided it be, and is known to be, for their wicked-
ness that they are destroyed 1 'But this destruc-
tion, you say, confounded the innocent with the
guilty. The sword of Joshua and of the Jews spared
neither women nor children. Is it not the same
with all other national visitations 1 Would not an
earthquake, or a fire, or a plague, or a famine
amongst them have done the same 1 Even in an
ordinary and natural death the same thing hap-
pens. God takes away the life he lends, without
regard, that we can perceive, to age, or sex, or
character. But, after all, promiscuous massacres,
the burning of cities, the laying waste of coun-
tries, are things dreadful to reflect upon. Who
doubts it 1 so are all the judgments of Almighty
God. The effect, in whatever way it shows it-
self, must necessarily be tremendous, when the
Lord, as the Psalmist expresses it, "moveth out
of his place to punish the wicked." But it ought
to satisfy us, at least this is the point upon which
we ought to rest and fix our attention that it was
for excessive, wilful, and forewarned wickedness,
that all this befel them, and that it is expressly so
declared in the history which recites it.
But further: If punishing them by the hands
of the Israelites, rather than by a pestilence, an
earthquake, a fire, or any such calamity, be still
an objection, we may perceive, I think, some rea-
sons for this method of punishment in preference
to any other whatever ; always, however, bearing
in our mind, that the question is not concerning
the justice of the punishment, but the mode of it.
It is well known that the people of those ages
were affected by no proof of the power of the
gods which they worshipped so deeply, as by
their giving them victory in war. It was by this
species- of evidence that the superiority of their
own gods above the gods of the nations which they^
conquered was in their opinion evinced. This
U-ing the actual persuasion which then prevailed
in the world, no matter whether well or ill founded,
how were the neighbouring nations, for whose ad-
monition this dreadful example was intended, how
were they to be convinced of the supreme power
of the God of Israel above the pretended gods of
other nations, and of the righteous character of
Jehovah, that is of his abhorrence of the vices
which prevailed in the land of Canaan 1 how, 1
say, were they to be convinced so well, or at all
indeed, as by enabling the Israelites, whose God
he was known and acknowledged to be, to conquer
under his banner, and drive out before them those
who resisted the execution of that commission
with which the Israelites declared themselves to
be invested the expulsion and extermination of
the Canaanitish nations! This convinced sur-
rounding countries, and all who were observers or
spectators of what passed ; first, That the God of
Israel was a real God; secondly, That the gods
which other nations worshipped were either no
gods, or had no power against the God of Israel ;
and, thirdly, That it was he, and he alone, who
possessed both the power and the will to punish,
to destroy, and to exterminate from before his
face, both nations and individuals who gave them-
selves up to the crimes and wickedness for which
the Canaanites were notorious. Nothing of this
sort would have appeared, or with the same evi-
dence however, from an earthquake, or a plague,
or any natural calamity. These might not have
been attributed to divine agency at all, or not to
the interposition of the God of Israel.
Another reason which made this destruction
both more necessary and more general than it
would have otherwise been, was the consideration,
that if any of the old inhabitants were left, they
would prove a snare to those who succeeded them
in the country ; would draw and seduce them by
degrees into the vices and corruptions which pre-
vailed amongst themselves. Vices of all kinds, but
vices most particularly of the licentious kind, are
astonishingly infectious. A little leaven leavcn-
eth the whole lump. A small number of persons
addicted to them, and allowed to practise them
592
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
with impunity or encouragement, will spread
them through the whole mass. This reason is
formally and expressly assigned, not simply for
the punishment, but for the extent to which it
\vas carried, namely, extermination. " Thou shall
utterly destroy them, that they teach you not to
do after all their abominations which they have
clone unto their gods."
To conclude : In reading the Old Testament
account of the Jewish wars and conquests in Ca-
naan, and the terrible destruction brought upon
the inhabitants thereof, we are constantly to bear
b our minds, that we are reading the execution
of a dreadful but just sentence pronounced by
God against the intolerable and incorrigible crimes
of these nations that they were intended to be
made an example to the whole world of God's
avenging wrath against sins of this magnitude
and this kind : sins which, if they had been suf-
fered to continue, might have polluted the whole
ancient world, and which could only be checked
by the signal and public overcrow of nations no-
toriously addicted to them, and so addicted as to
have incorporated them even into their religion
and their public institutions that the miseries in-
flicted upon the nations by the invasion of the
Jews were expressly declared to be inflicted on ac-
count of their abominable sins that God had
borne with them long that God did not proceed
to execute his judgments till their wickedness was
full that the Israelites were mere instruments in
the hands of a righteous Providence for the effec-
tuating the extermination of a people of whom it
was necessary to make a public example to the
rest of mankind : that this extermination, which
might have been accomplished by a pestilence, by
fire, by earthquakes, was appointed to be done by
the hands of the Israelites, as being the clearest
and most intelligible method of displaying the
power and righteousness of the God of Israel ; his
power over the pretended gods of other nations,
and his righteous hatred of the crimes into which
they were fallen.
This is the true statement of the case. It is no
forced or invented construction, but the idea of
the transaction set forth in Scripture ; and it is an
idea which, if retained in our thoughts, may fair-
ly, I think, reconcile us to every thing which we
read in the Old Testament concerning it.
SERMON XXX.
NEGLECT OF WARNINGS.
Oh that they were wise, that they understood
this, that they would consider their latter end !
Deut. xxxii. 29.
THERE is one great sin, which nevertheless
may not be amongst the number of those of which
we are sensible, and of which our consciences ac-
cuse us; and that sin is the neglect of warnings.
It is our duty to consider this life throughout as
a probationary state, nor do we ever think truly,
or act rightly, but so long as we have this consi-
deration fully before our eyes. Now one charac-
ter of a state, suited to qualify and prepare rational
and improveable creatures for a better state, con-
sists in the warnings which it is constantly giving
them | and the providence of God, by placing us
in such a state, becomes the author of these warn-
ings. It is his paternal care which admonishes
us by and through the events of life and death
that pass before us. Therefore it is a sin against
Providence to neglect them. It is hardiness and
determination in sin ; or it is blindness, which in
whole or in part is wilful ; or it is giddiness, and
levity, and contemptuousness in a subject which
admits not of these dispositions towards it without
great offence to God.
A serious man hardly ever passes a day, never
a week, without meeting with some warning to
his conscience; without something to call to his
mind his situation with respect to nis future life.
And these warnings, as perhaps was proper, come
the thicker upon us the farther we advance in
life. The dropping into the grave of our acquaint-
ance, and friends, and relations ; what can be bet-
ter calculated, riot to prove, (for we do not want
the point to be proveg,) but to possess our hearts
with a complete sense and perception of the ex-
treme, peril and hourly precariousness of our con-
dition 1 viz. to teach this momentous lesson, that
when we preach to you concerning heaven and
hell, we are not preaching concerning things at a
distance, things remote, things long before they
come to pass ; but concerning things near, soon
to be decided, in a very short time to be fixed one
way or other. This is a truth of which we are
warned by the course of mortality ; yet with this
truth confessed, with these warnings before us,
we venture upon sin. But it will be said, that the
events which ought to warn us are out of our
mind at the time. But this is not so. Were it
that these things came to pass in the wide world
only at large, it might be that we should seldom
hear of them or soon forget them. But the events
take place where we ourselves are ; within our
own doors ; in our own families ; amongst those
with whom we have the most constant corres-
pondence, the closest intimacy, the strictest con-
nexion. It is impossible to say that such events
can be out of our mind ; nor is it the fact. The
fact is, that knowing them, we act in defiance of
them : which is neglecting warnings in the worst
sense possible. It aggravates the daringness-, it
aggravates the desperateness of sin ; but it is so
nevertheless. Supposing these warnings to be
sent by Providence, or that we believe, and have
reason to believe, and ought to believe, that they
are so sent, then the aggravation is very great.
We have warnings of every kind. Even youth
itself is continually warned that there is no reli-
ance to be placed, either on strength, or constitu-
tion, or early age ; that if they count upon life as
a thing to be reckoned secure for a considerable
number of years, they calculate most falsely ; and
if they act upon this calculation, by allowing
themselves in the vices which are incidental to
their years, under a notion that it will be long be-
fore they shall have to answer for them, and be-
fore that time come they shall have abundant sea-
son for repenting and amending ; if they suffer
such arguments to enter into their minds, and act
upon them, then are they, guilty of neglecting God
in his warnings. They not only err in point of
just reasoning, but they neglect the warnings
which God has expressly set before them. Or if
they take upon themselves to consider religion as
a thini not made or calculated for them ; as much
too serious for their years ; as made and intended
for the old and the dying ; at least as what is un-
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
593
necessary la be entered upon at present ; as whu
may be postponed to a more suitable time of life
whenever they think thus, they think very pre-
sumptuously ; they are justly chargeable with neg-
lecting warnings. And what is the event 1 These
postponers never enter upon religion at all, in
earnest or effectually ; that is the end and event
of the matter. To account for this, shall we say
that they have so offended God by neglecting his
warnings, as to have forfeited his grace 7 Certain-
ly we may say, that this is not the method of ob-
taining his grace ; and that his grace is necessary
to our conversion. Neglecting warnings is not
the way to obtain God's grace ; and God's grace
is necessary to conversion. The young, 1 repeat
again, want not warnings. Is it new ? is it uu-
heard of? is it not, on the contrary, the intelli-
gence of every week, the experience of every
neighbourhood, that young men and young wo-
men are cut off"] Man is in every sense a flower
of the field. The flower is liable to be cut down
in its bloom and perfection as well as in its wither-
ing and its decays. So is man: and one probable
cause of this ordination of Providence is, that no
one of any age may be so confident of life as to
allow himselt to transgress God's laws ; that all
of every age may live in constant awe of their
Maker.
I do admit that warnings come the thicker upon
us ;is we grow old. We have more admonitions,
both in our remembrances and in our observations.
and of more kinds. A man who has passed a long
life, has to remember preservations from danger.
which ought to inspire him k)th with thankful-
ness and caution. Vet 1 fear we are very defi-
cient in both these qualities. We call our preser-
vations escapes, not preservations; and so we feel
no thankfulness for them ; nor do we turn them
into religious cautions. When God preserved us,
lie meant to warn us. When such in>tances.
therefore, have no effect upon our minds, we are
guilty before God of neglecting his warnings.
Most especially if we have occasion to add to all
other reasons for gratitude this momentous ques-
tion, What would have Income of us, what would
have been our condition, if we had perished in the
danger by which our lives were threatened ? The
parable of the fig-tree, (Luke xiii. ver. 6,) is a
most apt Scripture for persons under the circum-
stances we have described. When the Lord had
said, "cut it down ; why cumbereth it the ground V
he was entreated to try it one year longer ; and
then if it proved not fruitful to cut it down.
Christ himself there makes the application twice
over, (verses 3d and 5th,) " except ye repent, ye
shall all likewise perish." If the present, or if the
then state of our conscience and of our souls call
up this reflection, then are we very guilty indeed,
if such preservations leave no religious impression
upon us ; or if we suffer the temporary impression
to pass off without producing in us a change for
the better.
Infirmities, whether they be of health, or of age,
decay, and weakness, are warnings. And it has
been asked, with some degree of wonder, why
they make so little impression as they do 1 One
chief reason is this : they who have waited for
warnings of this kind before they would \>e con-
verted, have generally waited until they are be-
come hardened in sin. Their habits are fixed.
Their character has taken its shape and form.
Their disposition is thoroughly infected and iu-
4F
vested with sin. When it is come to this case, it
is difficult for any call to be heard, for any warn-
ing to operate. It is difficult, but with God all
things are possible. If there be the will and the
sincere endeavour to reform, the grace of God can
give the power. Although, therefore, they who
wait for the advances of age, the perception of
decay, the probable approach of death, before they
turn themselves seriously to religion, have waited
much too long, have neglected, and despised, and
defied many solemn warnings in the course of
their lives; have waited indeed till it be next to
impossible that they turn at all from their former
ways : yet this is not a reason why they should
continue in neglect of the warnings which now
press upon them, and which at length they begin
to perceive : hut just the contrary. The effort is
greater, but the necessity is greater : It is their
last hope, and their last trial. I put the case of a
man grown old in sin. If the warnings of old
age brincr him round to religion, happy is that man
in his old age above any thing he was in any other
part of his life. But if these warnings do not af-
fect him, there is nothing left in this world which
will. We are not to set limits to God's grace,
operating according to his good pleasure ; but we
say there is nothing in this world, there is nothing
in the course of nature and the order of human
affairs, which will affect him, if the feelings of
age do not. I put the case of a man grown old in
sin, and, though old, continuing the practice of sin :
that, it is said, in the full latitude of the expres-
sion, describes a worse case than is commonly met
with. Would to God the case was more rare than
it is ! But, allowing it to be unusual in the ut-
most extent of the terms, in a certain considera-
ble degree the description applies to many old per-
sons. Many feel in their hearts that the words
: grown old in sin," belong to them in some sense
which is very formidable. They feel some dross
and defilement to be yet purged away ; some deep
corruption to be yet eradicated; some virtue or
other to be yet even learnt, yet acquired, or yet,
however, to r>e brought nearer to what it ought to
he than it has hitherto been brought. Now if the
warnings of age taught us nothing else, they
might teach us this : that if these things are to be
done, they must be done soon ; they must be set
about forthwith, in good earnest, and with strong
resolution. The work is most momentous ; the
ime is short. The day is far spent: the evening
s come on : the night is at hand.
Lastly : I conceive that this discourse points out
the true and only way of making old age comfort-
able ; and that is, by making it the means of re-
igious improvement. . Let a man be beset by
;ver so many bodily complaints, lx>wed down by
;ver so many infirmities, if he find his soul grown
and growing better, his seriousness increased, his
ibedience more regular and more exact, his in-
ward principles and dispositions improved from
what they were formerly, and continuing to im-
prove ; that man hath a fountain of comfort and
onsolation springing up within him. Infirmities,
which have this effect, are infinitely tetter than
strength and health themselves; though these,
onsidered independently of their consequences,
>e justly esteemed the greatest of all blessings and
of all gifts. The old age of a virtuous man ad-
mits of a different and of a most consoling de-
scription.
It is this property of old age, namely, that its
50*
504
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
proper and most rational comfort consists in the
consciousness of spiritual amendment. A very
pious writer gives the following representation of
this stage of numan life, when employed and oc-
cupied as it ought to be, and when life has been
drawn to its close by a course of virtue and reli-
gion. " To the intelligent and virtuous," says our
author, "old age presents a scene of tranquil en-
joyment, of obedient appetites, of well regulated
affections, of maturity in knowledge, and of calm
preparation for immortality. In this serene and
dignified state, placed, as it were, on the confines
of two worlds, the mind of a good man reviews
what is passed with the complacency of an ap-
proving conscience, and looks forward with hum-
ble confidence in the mercy of God, and with de-
vout aspirations towards his eternal and ever in-
creasing favour."
SERMON XXXI.
THE TERRORS OF THE LORD.
What is a man profited, if he shall gain the
whole world, and lose his own soul ? or what
shall a man give in exchange for his soul ?
Matt. xvi. 26.
THESE words ask a question, the most home to
every man's concern of any that can possibly en-
ter into his thoughts. What our Saviour meant
to assert, though proposed to his hearers in the
form of a question (which indeed was only a
stronger and more affecting way of asserting it,)
is, that a man's soul, by which term is here meant
his state after death, is so infinitely more important
to him, so beyond and above any thing he can get,
or any thing he can lose, any thing he can enjoy,
or any thing he can suffer on this side the grave,
that nothing which the world offers can make up
for the loss of it, or be a compensation when that
is at stake. You say that this is very evident : I
reply, that evident as it is, it is not thought of, it
is not considered, it is not believed. The subject,
therefore, is very proper to be set forth in those
strong and plain terms which such a subject re-
quires, for the purpose of obtaining for it some de-
gree of that attention which each man's own deep
interest in the event demands of him to give it.
There are two momentous ideas, which are in-
cluded in the expression the loss of a man's
soul ; and these are, the positive pain and suffer-
ings which he will incur after his death, and the
happiness and reward which he will forfeit. Upon
both of these points we must go for information to
the Scriptures. No where else can we receive any.
Now as to the first point, which is, in other words,
the punishment of hell, I do admit that it is very
difficult to handle this dreadful subject properly ;
and one cause, amongst others, of the difficulty is,
that it is not for one poor sinnefto denounce such
appalling terrors, such tremendous consequences
against another. Damnation is a word, which lies
not in the mouth of man, who is a worm, towards
any of his fellow creatures whatsoever ; yet it is ab-
solutely necessary that the threatenings of Al-
mighty God be known and published. Therefore
we begin by observing, that the accounts which the
Scriptures contain of the punishment of hell, are
for the most part delivered in figurative or meta-
phorical terms ; that is to say, in terms which re-
present things of which we have no notion, by a
comparison with things of which we have a notion.
Therefore take notice what those figures and me-
taphors are. They are of the most dreadful kind
which words can express : and be they understood
how they may, ever so figuratively, it is plain that
they convey, and were intended to convey, ideas
of horrible torment. They are such as these :
" Being cast into hell, where the worm dieth not,
and where the fire is not quenched." It is " burn-
ing the chaff with unquenchable fire." It is " go-
ing into fire everlasting, which is prepared for the
devil and his angels." It is " being cast with all
his members into hell, where the worm dieth not,
and the fire is not quenched." These are heart-
appalling expressions: and were undoubtedly in-
tended by the person who used them, (who was
no other than our Lord Jesus Christ himself,) to
describe terrible endurings ; positive, actual pains,
of the most horrible kinds. I have said that the
punishment of hell is thus represented to us in
figurative speech. I now say, that from the nature
of things it could hardly have been represented
to us in any other. It is of the very nature of
pain, that it cannot be known without being felt.
It is impossible to give to any one an exact con-
ception of it, without his actually tasting it. Ex-
perience alone teaches its acuteness and intensity.
For which reason, when it was necessary that the
punishment of hell should be set forth in Scripture
for our warning, and set forth to terrify us from
our sins, it could only be done as it has been done,
by comparing it with sufferings of which we can
form a conception, and making use of terms drawn
from these sufferings. When words less figura-
tive, and more direct, but at the same time more
general, are adopted, they are not less strong,
otherwise than as they are more general. " In-
dignation and wrath, tribulation and anguish, upon
every soul of man that doeth evil." These are
St. Paul's words. It is a short sentence, but
enough to make the stoutest heart tremble; for
though it unfold no particulars, it clearly desig-
nates positive torment. The day of judgment it-
self, so far as it respects the wicked, is expressly
called " a day of wrath." The Lord Jesus, as to
them, shall be revealed in flaming fire. How ter-
rible a fate it must be to find ourselves at that day
the objects of God's wrath the objects upon whom
his threats and judgments against sin are now to
be executed, the revelation of his righteous judg-
ment and of his unerring truth to be displayed
may be conceived, in some sort, by considering
what stores of inexhaustible misery are always in
his power. With our present constitutions, if we
do but touch the smallest part of our bodies, if a
nerve in many places goes wrong, what torture
do we endure ! Let any man who has felt, or
rather, whilst he is feeling, the agony of some bo-
dily .torment, only reflect what a condition that
must be, which had to suffer this continually,
which night and day was to undergo the same,
without prospect of cessation or relief, and thus
to go on ; and then ask, for what he would know-
ingly bring himself into this situation ; what plea-
sure, what gain would be an inducement'? Let
him reflect also, how bitter, how grinding an ag-
gravation of his sufferings, as well as of his guilt,
it must be, that he has wilfully, and forewarned,
brought all this upon himself. May it not be ne-
cessary that God should manifest his truth by ex-
ecuting his threats 1 may it not be necessary that
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
595
he should at least testify his justice by placing a
wide difference between the good and the bad 7
between virtue, which he loves, and vice, which
he abhors 1 which difference must consist in the
the different state of happiness and of misery in
which the good and bad are finally placed. And
may we not be made deserved sacrifices to this dis-
pensation 1
Now if any one feel his heart struck with the
terrors of the Lord, with the consideration, of this
dreadful subject, and with the declarations of
Scripture relating thereto, which will all have
their accomplishment ; let him be entreated, let
him be admonished to hold tin- idea, tremendous.
as it is, fully in his view, till it has wrought its
effect, that is, till it has prevailed with him to part
with his sins ; and then we assure him, that to
alarm, fright, and horror, will succeed peace, and
hope, and comfort, and joy in the Holy Ghost.
There is another way of treating the matter, and
that is to shake off the idea if we can; to drown
it in intemperance ; to overpower it with worldly
business ; to fly from it in all directions, but mostly
in that which carries us to hurrying tumultuous di-
versions, to criminal indul^encies, or into gross
sensuality. Now of this course of proceeding it
is certain, that if it lay the mind in any <!
ease in this life, it is at the expanse of the inevita-
ble destruction of our souls in the next ; which is
enough to say against it ; but in truth it answers
even its present purpose verv imperfectly. It is a
way of getting rid of the matter, with which even
we ourselves are not satisfied. We are sensible
that it is a false, treacherous, hollow way of acting
towards our own souls. We have no trust in
what we are doing. It leaves no peace, no hope,
no comfort, no joy.
But to return to the direct subject of our dis-
course. The Scriptures uniformly represent the
wicked as not only suffering positive misery, but
also as having lost, bv their wickedness, the Inp-
piness of heaven, and as being sensible of their
loss. They are rej>eatedly described as cast out,
or as shut out, into outer darkness: whilst the
good are entering into the joy of their Lord. This
imports a knowledge of their own exclusion. In
the parable of the nch man and Lazarus, the rich
man being in torments, is made to see Lazarus at
rest. This teaches us, that the wicked will be so
far informed of the state of the good, as to per-
ceive and bewail, with unutterable anguish and
regret, their own sad fate in being refused and re-
jected, when, had they acted differently, they
would have been admitted to it. This is, strictly
speaking, losing a man's soul : it is losing that
happiness which his soul might have attained,
and for which it was made. And here comes the
bitter addition of their calamity, that, being lost,
it cannot be recovered. The heaven we hear of
in Scripture, and the hell we hear of in Scripture,
are a heaven and hell depending upon our be-
haviour in this life. So they are all along spoken
of. "Indignation, wrath, tribulation, and an-
guish, upon every soul of man that doeth evil:"
meaning evidently the evil done by him in this
life ; no other evil was in the apostle's thoughts.
Or again, more expressly, " we must all appear
before the judgment-seat of Christ, that every one
may receive the things done in the body, accord-
ing to that he hath done, whether it be good or
bad."-'-" The things done in the body," are the
things taken into the account.
Now, by the side of this immense consequence
of saving or of losing our immortal souls, place
any dif lerence that the things of this life can make
to us ; place riches and poverty, grandeur and hu-
mility, success or misfortune ; place, more especi-
ally, the difference between possessing and sacri-
ficing an unlawful gratification ; between compas-
sing and renouncing an unjust purpose ; making
or giving up an unfair gain ; in a word, between
the pleasures and temptations of vice, and tho
self-denials of virtue; and what do they amount
to"? The objects themselves are nothing when
put in competition with heaven and hell. Were
it true, which it is not, that real, solid, inward
happiness was proportioned either to outward cir-
cumstances, or the indulgencies of our appetites
and passions ; that the good things, as they are
called, and pleasures of life, were as satisfactory
to the possessor, as they are, for the most part, de-
ceitful and disappointing, still their duration is
nothing. The oldest men, when they cast back
their eyes on their past life, see it in a very nar-
row compass. It appears no more than a small
interval cut out of eternal duration, both before
and after it ; when compared with that duration
as nothing. But we must add to this two other
(|iiestions. Can life be counted upon to last to
what is called old age 1 No man, who observes
the de-iths that take place in his neighbourhood,
or amonirst his acquaintance, will so compute.
Or, secondly, do the pleasures of sin last as long
as our lives 1 We may answer, nerer ; with the
single dreadful exception of the sinner being cut
off in his prime. Whoever looks for permanent
happiness from the pleasures nfsin will find him-
self miserably mistaken. They are short, even
compared with our short lives; subject to casual-
ties and disasters without number; transitory, not
only as the tilings of this world are transitory, but
in a much greater degree. It will be said, how-
ever, that though this observation may be true of
the pleasures of sin, vet an advantage gained by
sin, that is, by unrighteous, unconscious means,
may nevertheless, remain an advantage as long as
we live. This may sometimes be the case; and
such advantage may be BO long enjoyed, if that
can be enjoyed which has a fearful expectation
and looking-for of judgment annexed to it. But
what is the term of that enjoyment compared with
the sequel 1 It is a moment, the twinkling of an
eye, compared with a day ; an hour compared with
a year ; a single day with a long life. It is less
than these ; for all these comparisons are short of
the truth. Well therefore doth our Saviour ask,
" What doth a man profit if he gain the whole
world and lose his own souH" That world,
when gained, he could not keep; nor, if he could,
would it make him happy.
But our Saviour delivered his powerful admo-
nition, not, so much for his disciples to reason upon,
as to carry into practice; that is, that his words
might strike info their souls upon these occasions
(which are but too many,) when the business, the
bustle, or the allurements of the world are in dan-
ger of shutting out futurity from their thoughts.
These are the times for calling to mind our Sa-
viour's question. Whenever, therefore, we are
driving on in the career of worldly prosperity;
meeting with success after success ; fortunate, rich,
and flourishing; when every thing appears to thrive
and smile around us; but conscience, in the mean-
time, little heeded and attended to; the justice, the
59G
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
integrity, the uprightness of our ways, and of our
dealings seldom weighed and scrutinized by us;
religion very much, or entirely, perhaps, out of
the question with us ; soothed and buoyed up with
that self-applause which success naturally begets ;
in this no very uncommon state of soul, it will
be well if we hear our Saviour's voice asking us,
what does all this prosperity signify 1 if it do not
lead to heaven, what is it worth? When the
scene is shifted, if nothing but death and darkness
remain behind; much more, if God Almighty be
all this while offended by our forgetfulness both
of his mercies and his laws, our neglect of his ser-
vice, our indevotion, our thoughtlessness, our diso-
bedience, our love of the world to the exclusion
of all consideration of Him ; if we be assured, and
if, in reality, it be the case, that his displeasure
shall infallibly overtake us at our death ; what in
truth, under all this appearance of advantage, are
we getting or gaining 1 The world may amuse
us with names and terms of felicitation, with their
praises or their envy, but wherein are we the bet-
ter in the amount and result of substantial happi-
ness 1 We have got our aim, and what is the
end of it 1 Death is preparing to level us with
the poorest of mankind; and after that, a fearful
looking-for and expectation of judgment ; no well
founded hopes of happiness bey ondthe grave ; and
we drawing sensibly nearer to that grave every
year. This is the sum of the account. Or, which
is another case no less apposite to our present ar-
gument, is it some sensual pleasure that tempts
us, some wicked enjoyment that has taken such
hold of our passions, that we are ready to rush
upon it whatever be the consequence 1 If we
gain our object ; if we possess our wishes, we are
happy : but what, if we lose our own souls 1 what,
if we find ourselves condemned men for hardily
venturing upon crimes, which will, and which we
were forewarned that they would, render, us the
objects of God's final indignation and displeasure ?
Will any gratifications which sin affords be a re-
compense or a consolation ? Are they so even
for the diseases, shame, and ruin, which they
often bring upon men in this world 1 Ask those
who are so ruined or so diseased. How much
less then for the gnawings of that worm which
dieth not ; the burnings of that fire which will not
be quenched'? In hopeless torment, will it as-
suage our sufferings, or mitigate the bitterness of
our self-accusation, to know that we have brought
ourselves into this state for some transient plea-
sure which is gone, lost and perished forever 1 Oh
that we had thought of these things before as we
think of them now ! that we had not been infidels
as touching our Lord's declaration ! that we had
believed in him ; and that believing that he had a
perfect knowledge of the future fate of mankind,
and of the truth of what he taught, we had listen-
ed in time to his admonition !
Universally the true occasion for remembering
and applying the passage of Scripture before us is,
when we are deliberating concerning the conduct
we are to pursue in the contests which arise be-
tween temptation and duty, between the flesh
and the world, or between both united and our
own souls. Be the temptation what it will, either
in kind or strength, this is the thought to be for
ever set against it. That if we give way, we give
way in exchange for our own souls ; that the per-
dition of the soul is set forth in Scripture in terms
most tremendous, but not more tremendous than
true ; that the sinner, the man involved in unre-
pented, unforsaken sins, can never know how
soon he may be reduced to this state.
SERMON XXXII.
PRESERVATION AND RECOVERY FROM SIN.
For the grace of God, that bringeth salvation,
hath appeared unto all men, teaching us, that
denying- ungodliness and worldly lusts, we
should live soberly, righteously, and godly in
this present world. Titus ii. 11, 12.
THERE are certain particular texts of Scripture
which are of inestimable use ; for that in a few,
short, clear words, they show us the sum of our
duty. Such texts ought to be deeply infixed and
imprinted upon our memories ; to be written, in-
deed, upon our hearts. The text which I have
read to you, is entitled to this distinction. No
single sentence that ever was written down for
the direction of mankind, comprises more import-
ant truth in less room. The text gives us a rule
of life and conduct; and tells us, that to lay down
for mankind this rule, and enforce it by the
promise of salvation, was a great object of the
Gospel being published in the world. The Gos-
pel might include other objects, and answer other
purposes ; but as far as related to the regulation of
life and conduct, this was its object and its pur-
pose. The rule, you hear, is, that, " denying un-
godliness and worldly lusts, we should live soberly,
righteously, and godly in this present world."
We must begin " by denying ungodliness and
worldly lusts:" which means, that we must resist
or break off all sins of licentiousness, debauchery,
and intemperance ; for these are what are specifi-
cally meant by worldly lusts. And these must l>e
denied; that 'is. they must either be withstood in
the first instance, or the evil courses into which
they have drawn us must be broken off.
When a rule of morals is plain and positive, it
is seldom that there is any advantage in enlarging
upon the rule itself. We only weaken it by di-
lating it. I shall employ, therefore, my present
discourse in offering such heads of advice as may
be likely, by God's blessing, to assist us in render-
ing obedience to the rule laid down for us ; an
obedience upon which salvation depends.
First, then, I observe concerning licentious
practices, that it is most practicable to be entirely
innocent ; that it is a more easy thing to withstand
them altogether, than it is to set bounds to their
indulgence. This is a point not sufficiently un-
derstood; though true, it is not believed. Men
know not what they are doing when they enter
upon vicious courses : what a struggle, what a
contest, what misery, what torment, they are pre-
paring for themselves. I trust that there is hardly
a man or woman living who enters into a course
of sin with the design of remaining in it to the end ;
who can brave the punishment of hell ; who in-
tends to die in that state of sure perdition, to which
a course of unrepented sin must bring him or her.
No ; that is not the plan even of the worst, much
less of the generality of mankind. Their plan is
to allow themselves to a certain length, and there
top ; for a certain time, and then reform ; in such
and such opportunties and temptations, but in no
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
597
more. Now, to such persons, and to such plans,
I say this, that it would not have cost them one
tenth of the mortification, pain, and self-denial, to
have kept themselves at a distance from sin, that
it must and will rost them to break it oft'; adding
the further consideration, that, so long as men
preserve their innocence, the consciousness of
doing what is right is both the strongest possible
support of their resolution, and the most constant
source of satisfaction to their thoughts; but that
when men once begin to give way to vicious in-
dulgences, another state ot things takes place in
their breasts. Disturbance at the heart, struggles
and defeats, resolutions and relapses, self-reproach
and self-condemnation, drive out all quietness mid
tranquillity >t 'conscience. Peace within is at an
end. All is unsettled. Did the young and un-
experienced know the truth of this matter; how
much easier it is to keep innocency than to return
to it; how great and terrible is the danger that they
do not return to it at all ; surely they would see,
arid see in a light strong enough to influence their
determination, that to adhere inviolably to the
rules of temjH-r;in->, soberness, and chastity, was
their safety, their wisdom, their happiness. How
many bitter thoughts does t he innocent man avoid ?
Serenity and cheerfulness are his portion. Hope
is continually pouring its balm into his soul. Hi.-;
heart is at rest, whilst others are goaded and tor-
tured by the stings of a wounded conscience, the
remonstrances and risings up of principles which
they cannot forget ; perpetually teased by return-
ing temptations, perpetually lamenting defeated
resolutions. " There is no peace unto the wicked,
saith my God." There is no comfort in such a
life as this, let a man's outward circumstances be
what they will. Genuine satisfaction of mind is
not attainable under the recurring consciousness
of being immersed in a course of sin, and the still
remaining prevalence of religious principles. Yet
either this must ln> the state of a sinner till he re-
cover again his virtuous courses, or it must be a
state infinitely worse: that is, it must be a state of
entire surrender of himself to a life of sin, which
will be followed by a death of despair ; by ruin
final and eternal ; by the wrath of God ; by the
pains of hell.
But, secondly, In what manner, and by what
methods are sins to be broken off"? for although
the maxim which we have delivered be perfectly
and certainly true, namely, that it is ease and hap-
piness to preserve innocence entirely, compared
with what it is to recover our innocence, or even
to set bounds to guilt, yet it is a truth which all
cannot receive. I do not mean that all will not
acknowledge it, for I believe that those will be
most ready to give their assent to it, who feel
themselves bound and entangled by the chain of
their sin. But it is not applicable to every man's
case; because many having already fallen into vi-
cious courses, have no longer to consider how
much better, how much happier it would have
been for them, to have adhered closely to the laws
of virtue and religion at first, but how to extricate
themselves from the bad condition in which they
are placed at present. Now to expect to break
oft' sin in any manner without pain and difficulty,
is a vain expectation. It is to expect a moral im-
possibility. Such expectations ought not to be held
out, because they are sure to deceive ; and because
they who act under such encouragement, finding
themselves deceived, will never persist in their en-
deavours to any purpose of actual reformation.
All mankind feel a reluctance to part with their
sins. It must be so. It arises from the very na-
ture of temptation, by which they are drawn into
sin. Feeling then this strong reluctance, it is
very natural for men to do what great numbers
do, namely, propose to themselves to part with
their sins by degrees; thinking that they can
more easily do it in this way than in any other.
It presents to their view a kind of compromise ; a
tem|H>rary hope of enjoying, for the present at
least, the criminal pleasures to which they have
addicted themselves, or the criminal advantages
they are making, together with the expectation of
a final reform. I believe, as I have already said,
that this is a course into which great numbers fall j
and therefore it becomes a question of very great
importance whether it be a safe and successful
course or not. What I am speaking of is the try-
ing to break off" our sins by degrees. Now, in the
first place, it is contrary to principle. A man is
supposed to feel the guilt and danger of the prac-
tices which he follows. He must be supposed to
perceive this, because he is supposed to resolve to
quit them. His resolution is founded upon, springs
from this perception. Wherefore, I say, that it is
in contradiction to principle, to allow ourselves
even once more in sin, after we have truly become
sensible of the guilt, the danger, and the conse-
quences of it. It is from that time known and
wilful sin. I own I do not see how the plan of
gradually diminishing a sinful habit can be con-
sistent with, or can proceed from sincere religious
principles ; for, as to what remains of the habit, it
implies an express allowance of ourselves in sin,
which is utterly inconsistent with sincerity. Who-
ever continues in the practice of any one known
sin, in defiance of God's commands, cannot, so
continuing, hope to find mercy : but with respect
to so much of the habit as is yet allowed by him
to remain, he is so continuing, and his continu-
ance is part of his plan. These attempts, there-
fore, at gradual reformation, do not proceed from
a true vital religious principle ; which principle,
succoured by God's grace, is the only thing that
can stand against sin, strengthened by habit. So
I should reason, upon the case, looking at it in its
own nature. The next question is, How is it in
fact 1 Is it in fact better, is it in experience more
successful, than from its nature we should expect
it to be 1 Now I am much afraid, that all the
proof which can be drawn either from observation
or consciousness is against it. Of other men we
must judge by observation ; of ourselves by con-
sciousness. What happens then to gradual re-
formation 1 Perpetual relapses, perpetually defeat-
ed and weakened resolutions. The principle of
resistance is weakened by every relapse. Did
the mortification of a defeat incite and quicken
men to stronger efforts, it would be well. But it
has a contrary effect ; it renders every succeeding
exertion more feeble. The checked indulgences,
which in the progress of our fancied amendment
we allow ourselves, are more than sufficient to
feed desire, to keep up the force and strength of
temptation ; nay, perhaps the temptation acquires
more force from the partial curb which we impose
upon it. Then, while the temptation remains
with unabated, or perhaps augmented strength,
our resolution is suffering continual relaxation;
598
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
our endeavours become unsatisfactory even to our-
selves. This miserable struggle cannot be main-
tained long. Although nothing but persevering
in it could save us, we do not persevere. Finding
not ease, but difficulty increased, and increasing
difficulty, men give up the cause; that is, they try
to settle themselves into some mode of thinking
which may quiet their consciences and their fears.
They fall back to their sins : and when they find
their consciences easier, they think their guiltless;
whereas it is only their conscience that is become
Spirit in the work and struggle through which
we hnve to go. And I take upon me to say, that
all experience is in favour of this plan, in prefer-
ence to that of a gradual reform ; in favour of it,
both with respect to practicability, and with re-
spect to ease and happiness. We do not pretend
but that a conflict with desire must be supported ;
that great resolution is necessary ; yet we teach
that the pain of the eflbrt is lessened by this
method, as far as it can be lessened at all. Passions
denied, firmly denied and resisted, and not kept
more insensible ; their reasoning more treacherous j up by occasional indulgences, lose their power of
and deceitful ! The danger is what it was, or j tormenting. Habits, absolutely and totally dis-
greater ; the guilt is so too. Would to God we i used, lose their hold. It is the nature of man.
could say, that gradual reforms were frequently They then leave us at liberty to seek and to find
successful; They are what men often attempt; happiness elsewhere, in better things; to enjoy
they are, alas ! what men usually fail in.
It is painful to seem to discourage endeavours
of any kind after amendment ; but it is necessary
to advertise men of their danger. If one method
of going about an important work be imposing in
expectation, and yet in truth likely to end in ruin ;
can any thing be more necessary than to set forth
this danger and this consequence plainly 1 This
is precisely the case with gradual reforms. They
do not very much alarm our passions : they soothe
our consciences. They do not alarm our passions,
because the absolute rupture is not to come yet.
We are not yet entirely and totally to bid adieu
to our pleasures and indulgences, never to enjoy
or return to them any more. We only have in
view to wean and withdraw ourselves from them
by degrees ; and this is not so harsh and formida-
ble a resolution as the other. Yet it soothes our
consciences. It presents the semblance and ap-
pearance of repenting and reforming. It confesses
our sense of sin and danger. It takes up the pur-
pose, it would fain encourage us with the hope,
of delivering ourselves from this condition. But
what is the result 7 Feeding in the mean time and
fomenting those passions which are to be con-
trolled and resisted ; adding, by every instance of
giving way to them, fresh force and strength to
habits which are to be broken off, our constancy
is subdued before our work is accomplished. We
continue yielding to the importunity of temptation.
We have gained nothing by our miserable endea-
vour, but the mortification of defeat. Our sins
are still repeated. The state of our salvation is
where it was. Oh ! it is a laborious, a difficult, a
painful work to shake off sin ; to change the
course of a sinful life; to quit gratifications to
which we have been accustomed, because we per-
ceive them to be unlawful gratifications ; and to
find satisfaction in others which are innocent
and virtuous. If in one thing more than another.
we stand in need of God's holy succour and
assistance, of the aid and influence of his blessed
Spirit upon our souls, it is in the work of reform-
ation. But can we reasonably expect it, whilst
we are not sincere ] And I say again, that the
plan of gradual reformation is in contradiction to
principle, and so far insincere. Is there not rea-
son to believe that this may in some measure
account for the failure of these resolutions 1
But it will be asked of us, what better plan
have we to offer 1 We answer, to break off our
sins at once. This is properly to deny ungod-
liness and worldly lusts. This is truly to do,
what, according to the apostle, the grace of God
teaches us to do. Acting thus, we may pray, we
may humbly hope lor the assistance of God's
as well as to practise virtue ; to draw comfort from
religion; to dwell upon its hopes; to pursue its
duties ; to acquire a love, a taste, and relish for
its exercises and meditations.
One very general cause of entanglement in
habits of sin is the connexion which they have
with our way of life, with our business, with the
objects that are continually thrown in our way,
with the practices and usages which prevail in the
company we keep. Every condition of Hie has
its particular temptation. And not only so, but
when we have fallen into evil habits, these habits
so mix themselves with our method of life, return,
so upon us at their usual times and places, and
occurrence of objects, that it becomes very difficult
to break the habit, without, a general change of
our whole system. Now I say, whenever this is
a man's case, that he cannot" shake off his sins
without giving up his way of life, he must give
up that also, let it cost what it will ; for it is in
truth no other sacrifice than what our Saviour
himself in the strongest terms enjoins, when he
bids his disciples to pluck out a right eye, or cut
off a right hand (that is, surrender whatever is
most dear or valuable to them.) that they be not
cast with all their members into hell fire. If a
trade or business cannot be followed without
giving into practices which conscience does not
approve, we must relinquish the trade or business
itself. If it cannot be followed without bringing
us into the way of temptation to intemperance,
more than we can withstand, or in fact do with-
stand, we must also relinquish it, and turn our-
selves to some safer course. If the company we
keep, the conversation we hear, the objects that
surround us, tend to draw us, and do in fact draw
us, into debauchery and licentiousness, we must
fly from the place, the company, and the objects,
no matter with what reluctance we do so, or what
loss and inconvenience we suffer by doing it.
This may appear to be a hard lesson : it is, never-
theless, what right reason dictates, and what, as
hath already been observed, our Saviour himself
enjoins, in terms made as strong and forcible as
he could make them.
Sometimes men are led by prudential motives,
or by motives of mere inclination, to change their
employment, their habitation, or their station of
life. These occasions afford excellent and invalua-
ble opportunities for correcting and breaking off
any
vicious habits which we mav have contracted.
It is when many associations, which give strength
to a sinful habit, are interrupted and dissolved by
the change which has taken place, that we can
best resolve to conquer the sin, and set out upon
a new course and a new life. The man who
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
590
docs; not take advantage of such opportunitie
when they arise, has not the salvation of his sou
at heart : nevertheless, they are not to be waitec
for.
But to those sudden changes which we recom
mend, will it be objected that they are seldom
lasting "? Is this the fact 1 Are they more liable
to fail, than attempts to change gradually 7
think not. And there is always this difference
between them. A sudden change is sincere a
the time ; a gradual change never is such trulj
and properly : and this is a momentous distinc
tion. In every view, and in every allowance, am
in every plea of human frailty, we must distin
guish between what is consistent with sincerity
and what is not. And in these two methods ol
setting about a reformation, by reason of their dif
ferent character in this respect, the first may
though with fear and humility, exj>ect the help ol
God's aiding Spirit, the other hardly can. For
whilst, not by surprise and unpremeditatedly, we
fall into casual sins, but whilst, by plan and upon
system, we allow ourselves in licenses, which
though not so many or so great as before, are
still, whenever they are indulged, so many known
sins; whilst, in a word, though we imagine our-
selves to be in a progress f aait'iiiliiu'nt, we ye
deliberately continue to sin, our endeavours are so
corrupted, I will not say by ini|>erfection, but by
insincerity, that we can hardly hope to call down
upon them the blessing of Almighty God.
Reformation is never impossible : nor, in a strii I
sense, can it be said to )>e doubtful. Nothing is
properly speaking, doubtful, which it is in a nianV
power to accomplish; nothing is doubtful to us t
but what is placed out of the reach of our will, or
dependi upon causes which we cannot influence;
and this is not the case with reformation from sin
On tlie other hand, if we look to experience, we
are OMBpaUad though with :ricf of heart, to con-
fess that the danger is very great of a man, who
is engaged in a course of sin, never reformiiii
from his sin at all. Oh ! let this danger be known
Let it stand, like a flaming sword, to turn us aside
from the road to vice. Let it oiler itself in its
full magnitude. Let it strike, as it ought, the
souls ol those who are upon the brink, perhaps.
of their whole future fate ; who are tempted ; and
who are deliberating about entering upon some
course of sin.
Let also the perception and convincement of
this danger sink deep into the hearts of all who
are in such a situation, as that they must either
reform or perish. They have it in their power,
and it must be now their only hope, by strong and
Jinn exertion, to make themselves an exception to
the general lot of habitual sinners. It must be an
exception. If they leave things to their course,
they will share the fate in which they see others,
involved in guilt like themselves, end their lives.
It is only by a most strenuous effort they can
rescue themselves from it. We apprise them,
that their best hope is in a sudden and complete
change, sincerely begun, faithfully persisted in ;
broken, it is possible, by human frailty, but never
changed into a different plan, never declining into
a compromised, partial, gradual reform; on the
contrary, resumed with the same sincerity as that
with which it set out, and with a force of resolu-
tion, and an earnestness of prayer, increased in
proportion to the clearer view they have acquired
of their danger and of their want.
SERMON XXXIII.
THIS LIFE A STATE OP PROBATION.
It is good for me that I have been afflicted, that
I might learn thy statutes. Psalm cxix. 71.
OF the various views under which human life
has been considered, no one seems so reasonable
as that which regards it as a state of probation ;
meaning, by a state of probation, a state calculated
for trying us, and calculated for improving us. A
state of complete enjoyment and happiness it cer-
tainly is not. The hopes, the spirits, and the
inexperience of young men and young women
are apt, and very willing, to see it in this light.
To them life is full of entertainment ; their relish
is high ; their expectations unbounded : for a very
few years it is possible, and I think barely possi-
ble, that they may go on without check or inter-
ruption ; but they will be cured of this delusion.
P.iin and sorrow, disease and infirmity, accident
and disappointment, losses and distress, will soon
meet them in their acquaintance, their families, or
their jH-rsons. The hard-hearted for their own,
the tender for others' wo, will always find and
feel enough at least to convince them, that this
world was not made for a scene of perpetual gayety
or uninterrupted enjoyment.
Still less can we believe that it was made for a
place of misery : so much otherwise, that misery
is in no instance the end or object of contrivance.
We are surrounded by contrivance and design.
A human body is a cluster of contrivances. So
is the body of every animal ; so is the structure of
every plant ; so is even the vilest weed that grows
upon the road-side. Contrivances, therefore,
infinite in number, infinite also in variety, are all
directed to beneficial purposes, and, in a vast plu-
rality of instances, execute their purpose. In our
own bodies only reflect how many thousand things
must go right for us to be an hour at ease. Yet
at all times multitudes are so; and are so Without
being sensible how great a thing it is. Too much
or too little of sensibility, or of action, in any one
D| the almost numberless organs, or of any part
of the numberless organs, by which life is sus-
tained, may be productive of extreme anguish or
>f lasting infirmity. A particle, smaller than an
atom in a sun-beam, may, in a wrong place, be
;he occasion of the loss of limbs, of senses, or of
ife. Yet under all this continual jeopardy, this
momentary liability to danger and disorder, we
are preserved. It is not possible, therefore, that
his state could be designed as a state of misery,
because the great tendency of the designs which
we see in the universe, is to counteract, to prevent,
o guard against it. We know enough of nature
o be assured, that misery, universal, irremediable,
nexhaustible misery, was in the Creator's power
f he had willed it. Forasmuch, therefore, as
he result is so much otherwise, we are certain
hat no such purpose dwelt in the divine mind.
But since, amidst much happiness, and amidst
ontrivances for happiness, so far as we can
udge, (and of many we can judge,) misery, and
ery considerable portions of it do exist, it becomes
natural inquiry, to what end this mixture of
ood and evil is properly adapted 1 And I think
he Scriptures place before us, not only the true,
for, if we believe the Scriptures, we must believe
t to be that,) but the most rational and satisfac-
600
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
tory answer which can be given to the inquiry;
namely, that it is intended for a state of trial and
probation. For it appears to me capable of proof,
both that no state but one, which contained in it
an admixture of good and evil, would be suited to
this purpose ; and also that our present state, as
well in its general plan as in its particular proper-
ties, serves this purpose with peculiar propriety.
A state, totally incapable of misery, could not
be a state of probation. It would not be a state in
which virtue or vice could even be exercised at all
I mean that large class of virtues and vices,
which we comprehend under the name of social
duties. The existence of these depends upon the
existence of misery as well as of happiness in the
world, and of different degrees of both ; because
their very nature and difference consists in pro-
moting or preventing, in augmenting or diminish-
ing, in causing, aggravating, or relieving the
wants, sufferings, and distresses of our fellow-
creatures. Compassion, charity, humanity, bene-
volence, and even justice, could have no place in
the world, if there were not human conditions to
excite them; objects and sufferings upon which
they might operate ; misery, as well as happiness,
which might be affected by them.
Nor would, in my opinion, the purposes of trial
be sufficiently provided for, by a state in which
happiness and misery regularly followed virtue
"and vice ; I mean, in which there was no happi-
ness, but what was merited by virtue ; no misery
but what was brought on by vice. Such a state
would be a state of retribution, not a state of pro-
bation. It may be our state hereafter ; it may be
a better state ; but it is not a state of probation, it
is not the state through which it is fitting we
should pass before we enter into the other ; for
when we speak of a state of probation, we speak
of a state in which the character may both be put
to the proof, and also its good qualities be confirm-
ed and strengthened, if not formed and produced,
by having occasions presented in which they may
be called forth and required. Now, beside that,
the social qualities which have been mentioned
would be very limited in their exercise, if there
was no evil in the world but what was plainly a
punishment, (for though we might pity, and even
that would be greatly checked, we could not ac-
tually succour or relieve, without disturbing the
execution, or arresting, as it were, the hand of
justice ;) beside this difficulty, there is another
tlass of most important duties which would be in
a great measure excluded. They are the severest,
the sublimest, perhaps the most meritorious, of
which we are capable ; I mean patience and com-
posure under distress, pain, and affliction ; a
steadfast keeping up of our confidence in God,
and our dependence upon his final goodness, even
at the time that every thing present is discourag-
ing and adverse ; and, what is no less difficult to
retain, a cordial desire for the happiness and com-
fort of others, even then, when we are deprived of
our own. I say, that the possession of this tem-
per is almost the perfection of our nature. But it
is then only possessed, when it is put to the trial :
tried at all, it could not have been in a life made
up only of pleasure and gratification. Few things
are easier than to perceive, to feel, to acknowledge,
to extol the goodness of God, the bounty of Pro-
vidence, the beauties of nature, when all things
go well ; when our health, our spirits, our circum-
stances, conspire to fill our hearts with gladness,
and our tongues with praise. This is easy; this
is delightful. None but they who are sunk in
sensuality, sottishness, arid stupefaction, or whose
understandings are dissipated by frivolous pur-
suits ; none but the most giddy and insensible can
be destitute of these sentiments. But this is not
the trial or the proof. It is in tho chambers of
sickness; under the stroke of affliction; amidst
the pinchings of want, the groans of pain, the
pressures of infirmity; in grief, in misfortune;
through gloom and horror that it will be seen
whether we hold fast our hope, our confidence,
our trust in God ; whether this hope and confi-
dence be able to produce in us resignation, ac-
quiescence, and submission. And as those dispo-
sitions, which perhaps form the comparative per-
fection of our moral nature, could not have been
exercised in a world of unmixed gratification, so
neither would they have found their proper office
or object in a state of strict and evident retribu-
tion; that is, in which we had no sufferings to
submit to, but what were evidently and manifest-
ly the punishment of our sins. A mere submis-
sion to punishment, evidently and plainly such,
would not have constituted, at least would very
imperfectly have constituted the disposition which
we speak of, the true resignation of a Christian.
It seems, therefore, to be argued, with very
great probability, from the general economy of
things around us, that our present state was
meant for a state of probation ; because positively
it contains that admixture of good and evil which
ought to be found in such a state to make it an-
swer its purpose the production, exercise, and
improvement of virtue ; and, because negatively,
it could not be intended either for a state of abso-
lute happiness, or a state of absolute misery, nei-
ther of which it is.
We may now also observe in what manner
many of the evils of life are adjusted to this parti-
cular end, and how also they are contrived to
soften and alleviate themselves and one another.
It will be enough at present, if I can point out
how far this is the case in the two instances, which,
of all others, the most nearly and seriously affect
us death and disease. The events of life and
death are so disposed, as to beget, in all reflecting
minds, a constant watchfulness. " What I say
unto you I say unto all, watch." Hold yourselves
in a constant state of preparation. " Be ready, for
you know not when your Lord cometh." Had
there been assigned to our lives a certain age or
period, to which all, or almost all, were sure of
arriving : in the younger part, that is to say, in
nine tenths of the whole of mankind, there would
have been such an absolute security as would
have produced, it is much to be feared, the utmost
neglect of duty, of religion, of God. of themselves;
whilst the remaining part would have been too
much overcome with the certainty of their fate,
would have too much resembled the condition of
those who have before their eyes a fixed and ap-
pointed day of execution. The same consequence
would have ensued if death had followed any
known rule whatever. It would have produced
security in one part of the species, and despair in
another. The first would have been in the high-
est degree dangerous to the character ; the second,
insupportable to the spirits. The same observa-
tion we are entitled to repeat concerning the two
cases of sudden death, and of death brought on
by long disease. If sudden deaths never occurred,
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
601
those who found themselves free from disease
would be in perfect safety; they would regard
themselves as out of the reach of danger. With
all apprehensions they would lose all seriousness
and all restraint : and those persons who the most
want to be checked and to be awakened to a sense
of the consequences of virtue and vice, the strong,
the healthy, and the active, would be without the
greatest of all checks, that which arises from the
constant liability of being called to judgment. If
there were no sudden deaths, the most awful
warning which mortals can receive would be lost :
That consideration which carries the mind the
most forcibly to religion, which convinces us that
it is indeed our proper concern, namely, the pre-
cariousness of our present condition, would be
done away. On the other hand, if sudden deaths
were too frequent, human life might become too
perilous : there would not be stability and depend-
ence either upon our own lives or the lives of
those with whom we were connected, sufficient
to carry on the regular offices of human society.
In this respect, therefore, we see much wisdom.
Supposing death to be appointed as the mode
(and some mode there must be) of passing from
one state of existence to another, the manner in
which it is made to happen, conduces to the pur-
poses of warning and admonition, without over-
throwing the conduct of human affairs.
Of sickness, the moral and religious use will be
acknowledged, and, in fact, is acknowledged, by
all who have experienced it ; and they who have
not experienced it, own it to be a fit state for the
meditations, the offices of religion. The fault, I
fear, is, that we refer ourselves too much to that
state. We think of these things too little in
health, because we shall necessarily have to think
of them when we come to die. This is a great
fault ; but then it confesses, what is undoubtedly
true, that the sick-bed and the death-bed shall in-
evitably force these reflections upon us. In that
it is right, though it be wrong in waiting till the
season of actual virtue and actual reformation be
past, and when, consequently, the sick-bed and
the death-bed can bring nothing but uncertainty,
horror, and despair. But my present subject leads
me to consider sickness, not so much as a prepa-
ration for death as the trial of our virtues; of vir-
tues the most severe, the most arduous, perhaps
the best pleasing to Almighty God ; namely, trust
and confidence in him under circumstances of dis-
couragement and perplexity. To lift up the fee-
ble hands and the languid eye ; to draw and turn
with holy hope to our Creator, when every com-
fort forsakes us, and every help fails; to feel and
find in him, in his mercies, his promises, in the
works of his providence, and still more in his word,
and in the revelation of his designs by Jesus
Christ, such rest and consolation to the soul as to
stifle our complaints and pacify our murmurs ; to
beget in our hearts tranquillity and confidence in
the place of terror and consternation, and this with
simplicity and sincerity, without having, or wish-
ing to have, one human witness to observe or know
it, is such a test and trial of faith and hope, of
patience and devotion, as cannot fail of being in
a very high degree well-pleasing to the Author of
our natures, the guardian, the inspector, and the
rewarder of our virtues. It is true in this instance,
as it is true in all, that whatever tries our virtue
strengthens and improves it. Virt ue comes out of
the fire purer and brighter than it went into it.
Many virtues are not only proved but produced
by trials : they have properly no existence with-
out tJbem. " We glory," saith St. Paul, " in tri-
bulation also, knowing that tribulation worketh
patience, and patience experience, and experience
hope."
But of sickness we may likewise remark, how
wonderfully it reconciles us to the thoughts, the
expectation, and the approach of death ; and how
this becomes, in the hand of Providence, an ex-
ample of one evil being made to correct another.
Without question, the difference is wide between
the sensations of a person who is condemned to
die by violence, and of one who is brought gradually
to his end by the progress of disease ; and this dif-
ference sickness produces. To the Christian
whose mind is not harrowed up by the memory of
unrepented guilt, the calm and gentle approach
of his dissolution has nothing in it terrible. In
that 'sacred custody in which they that sleep in
Christ will be preserved, he sees a rest from pain
and weariness, from trouble and distress : Gra-
dually withdrawn from the cares and interests of
the world ; more and more weaned from the plea-
sures of the body, and feeling the weight and pres-
sure of its infirmities, he may be brought almost
to desire with St. Paul to be no longer absent
from Christ ; knowing, as he did, and as he aa-
sures us, that " if our earthly house of this taber-
nacle were dissolved, we have a building of God,
a house not made with hands, eternal in the hea-
vens."
SERMON XXXIV.
THE KNOWLEDGE OP ONE ANOTHER IN A FUTURE
STATE.
Whom we preach, warning 1 every man, and
teaching 1 every man in all wisdom, that we
may present every man perfect in Christ Je-
sus. Col. i. 28.
THESE words have a primary and a secondary
use. In their first and most obvious view, they
express the extreme earnestness and anxiety with
which the apostle Paul sought the salvation of his
converts. To bring men to Jesus Christ, and,
when brought, to turn and save them from their
sins, and to keep them steadfast unto the end in
the faith and ol>edience to which they were called,
was the whole work of the great apostle's ministry,
the desire of his heart, and the labour of his life :
it was that in which he spent all his time and all
his thought; for the sake of which he travelled
from country to country, warning every man, as
he speaks in the text, and exhorting every man,
enduring every hardship and every injury, ready
at all times to sacrifice his life, and at last actually
sacrificing it, in order to accomplish the great pur-
pose of his mission, that he might at the last day
present his beloved converts perfect in Christ Je-
sus. This is the direct scope of the text. But it
is not for this that I have made choice of it. The
last clause of the verse contains within it, indirect-
ly and by implication, a doctrine certainly of great
personal importance, and, I trust, also of great
comfort to every man who hears me. The clause
is this, " That we may present every man perfect
in Christ Jesus :" by which I understand St. Paul
51
602
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
to express his hope and prayer, that at the general
judgment of the world, he might present to Christ
the fruits of his ministry, the converts whom he
had made to his faith and religion, and might pre-
sent them perfect in every good work. And if
this be rightly interpreted, then it affords a mani-
fest and necessary inference, that the saints in a
future life will meet and be known again to one
another ; for how, without knowing again his con-
verts in their new and glorified state, could St. Paul
desire or expect to present them at the last day 1
My brethren, this is a doctrine of real conse-
quence. That we shall come again to a new life ;
that we shall, by some method or other, be made
happy, or be made miserable, in that new state,
according to the deeds done in the body, according
as we have acted and governed ourselves in this
world, is a point affirmed absolutely and positive-
ly, in all shapes, and under every variety of ex-
pression, in almost every page of the New Testa-
ment. It is the grand point inculcated from the
beginning to the end of that book. But concern-
ing the particular nature of the change we are to
undergo, and in what is to consist the employ-
ment and happiness of those blessed spirits which
are received into heaven, our information, even
under the Gospel, is very limited. We own it is
so. Even St. Paul, who had extraordinary com-
munications, confessed, "that in these things we
see through a glass darkly." But at the same
time that we acknowledge that we know little, we
ought to remember, that without Christ we should
have known nothing. It might not be possible,
in our own present state, to convey to us, by words,
more clear or explicit conceptions of what will
hereafter become of us; if possible, it might not
be fitting. In that celebrated chapter, the 15th
of 1st Corinthians, St. Paul makes an inquisitive
person ask, " How are the dead raised, and with
what body do they come V From his answer to
this question we are able, I think, to collect thus
much clearly and certainly : that at the resurrec-'
tion we shall have bodies of some sort or other :
that they will be totally different from, and greatly
excelling, our present bodies, though possibly in
some manner or other proceeding from them, as a
plant from its seed : that as there exists in nature
a great variety of animal substances ; one flesh of
man, another of beasts, another of birds, another
of fishes ; as there exists also great differences in
the nature, dignity, and splendour of inanimate
substances, " one glory of the sun, another of the
moon, another of the stars ;" so there subsist, like-
wise, in the magazines of God Almighty's crea-
tion, two very distinct kinds of bodies, (still both
bodies,) a natural body and a spiritual body : that
the natural body is what human beings bear about
with them now; the spiritual body, far surpassing
the other, what the blessed will be clothed with
hereafter. " Flesh and blood," our apostle teaches,
" cannot inherit the kingdom of God ;" that is, is
by no means suited to that stale, is not capable of
it. Yet living men are flesh and blood ; the dead
in the graves are the remains of the same : where-
fore to make all who are Christ's capable of en-
tering into his eternal kingdom, and at all fitted
for it, a great change shall be suddenly wrought.
As well all the just who shall be alive at the
coming of Christ, (whenever that event lakes
place,) as those who shall be raised from the dead,
shall, in the twinkling of an eye, be changed.
Bodies they shall retain still, but so altered in form
and fashion, in nature and substance, that " this
corruptible shall put on incorruption ;" what is
now necessarily mortal and necessarily perishable,
shall acquire a fixed and permanent existence.
And this is agreeable to, or rather t lie same thing
as, what our apostle delivers in another epistle,
where he teaches us, that "Christ shall change
our vile body, that it may be like his glorious
body ;" a change so great, so stupendous, that he
justly styles it an act of omnipotence: "accord-
ing," says he, " to the mighty working, whereby
he is able to subdue all things to himself." Since,
then, a great alteration will take place in the frame
and constitution of the bodies with which we shall
be raised, from those which we carry with us to
the grave, it requires some authority or passage
of Scripture to prove, that after this change, and
in this new state, we shall be known again to one
another; that those who know each other on
earth, will know each other in heaven. I do al-
low, that the general strain of Scripture seems to
suppose it; that when St. Paul speaks "of the
spirits of just men made perfect," and of their
"coming to the general assembly of saints," it
seems to import that we should be known of
them, and of one another; that when Christ de-
clares, " that the secrets of the heart shall be dis-
closed," it imports, that they shall be disclosed to
those who were before the witnesses of our ac-
tions. I do also think that it is agreeable to the
dictates of reason itself to believe, that the samo
great God who brings men to life again, will
bring those together whom death has separated.
\Vhen his power is at work in this great dispen-
sation, it is very probable that this should be a part
of his gracious design. But for a specific text, I
know none which speaks the thing more posi-
tively than this which I have chosen. St. Paul,
you see, expected that he should know, and be
known to those his converts ; that their relation
should subsist and be retained between them ; and
with this hope he laboured and endeavoured, in-
stantly and incessantly, that he might be able at
last to present them, and to present them perfect
in Christ Jesus. Now what St. Paul appeared
to look for as to the general continuance, or rather
revival, of our knowledge of each other after
death, every man who strives, like St. Paul, to at-
tain to the resurrection of the dead, may expect,
as well as he.
Having discoursed thus far concerning the arti-
cle of the doctrine itself, I will now proceed to
enforce such practical reflections as result from it.
Now it is necessary for you to observe, that all
which is here produced from Scripture concerning
the resurrection of the dead, relates solely to the
resurrection of the just. It is of them only that
St. Paul speaks in the 15th chapter of 1st Co-
rinthians. It is of the body of him, who is accept-
ed in Christ, that the apostle declares, that it " is
sown in dishonour, but raised in glory : sown in
weakness, raised in power." Likewise, when he
speaks, in another place, of ' ' Christ's changing
our vile bodies that they may be like his glorious
body," it is of the body of Christ's saints alone,
of whom this is said. This point is, I think,
agreed upon amongst learned men, and is indeed
very plain. In like manner, in the passage of the
text, and, I think, it will be found true of every
other in which mankind knowing one another in
a future life is implied, the implication extends
only to those who are received amongst the
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
603
blessed. Whom was St. Paul to know? even
those whom he was to present perfect in Christ
Jesus. Concerning the reprobate and rejected,
whether they will not be banished from the pre-
sence of God, and from all their former relations ;
whether they will not be lost, as to all happiness
of their own, so to the knowledge of those who
knew them in this mortal state, we have, from
Scripture, no assurance or intimation whatever.
One thing seems to follow with probability from
the nature of the thing, namely, that if the wicked
be known to one another in a state of perdition,
their knowledge will only serve to aggravate their
misery.
What then is the inference from all this ? Do
we seek, do we covet earnestly to be restored to
the society of those who were once near and dear
to us, and who are gone before 1 It is only by
leading godly lives that we can hope to have this
wish accomplished. Should we prefer, to all de-
lights, to all pleasures in the world, the satisfac-
tion of meeting again in happiness and peace,
those whose presence, whilst they were among us,
made up the comfort and enjoyment of our lives'?
It must be, by giving up our sins, by parting
with our criminal delights and guilty pursuits,
that we can ever expect to attain this satisfaction.
Is there a great di Here nee between the thought of
losing those we love for ever ; of taking at their
deaths or our own an eternal farewell, never to
see them more and the reflection that we are
about to be separated, for a few years at the long-
est, to be united with them in a new and better
state of mutual existence 1 Is there, I say, a dif-
ference to the heart of man between these two
things 1 and does it not call upon us to strive with
redoubled endeavours, that the case truly may
turn out so 1 The more and more we reflect upon
the difference between the consequences of a lewd,
unthinking, careless, profane, dishonest life, and a
life of religion, sobriety, seriousness, good actions
and good principles, the more we shall see the
madness and stupidity of the one, and the true
solid wisdom of the other. This is one of the dis-
tinctions. If we go on in our sins, we are not to
expect to awaken to a joyful meeting with our
friends, and relatives, and dear connexions. If we
turn away from our sins, and take up religion in
earnest, we may. My brethren, religion disarms
even death. It disarms it of that which is its bit-
terness and its sting, the power of dividing, those
who are dear to one another. But this blessing,
like every blessing which it promises, is only to
the just and good, to the penitent and reformed,
to those who are touched at the heart with a sense
of its importance ; who know thoroughly and ex-
perimentally, who feel in their inward mind and
consciences, that religion is the only course that
can end well ; that can bring either them or theirs
to the presence of God, blessed for evermore ; that
can cause them, after the toils of life and struggles
of death are over, to meet again in a joyful deli-
verance from the grave; in a new and never
ceasing happiness, in the presence and society of
one another.
SERMON XXXV.
THE GENERAL RESURRECTION.
The hour is coming, in the which all that are in
the graves shall hear his voice, and shall come
forth ; they that hare done good, unto the re-
surrection of life ; and they that have done evil,
unto the resurrection of damnation. John v.
28,29.
THESE words are so important, that if Jesus
Christ had never delivered any other, if he had
come into the world and pronounced only this
simple declaration, and proved the truth and cer-
tainty of it by the miracles which he wrought, he
would have left enough to have guided his follow-
ers to everlasting happiness : he would have done
more towards making mankind virtuous and
happy, than all the teachers and all the wisdom,
that ever appeared upon earth, had done before
him. We should each and every one of us have
owed more to him for this simile piece of intelli-
gence, than we owe to our parents, our dearest
friend, or the best benefactor we have. This text
is the poor man's creed. It is his religion: it is
to be imprinted upon his memory, and upon his
heart : it is what the most simple can understand :
it is what, when understood and believed, excels
all the knowledge and learning in the universe :
it is what we are to carry about with us in our
thoughts ; daily remember and daily reflect upon ;
remember not only at church, not only in our de-
votions, or in our set meditations, but in our bu-
siness, our pleasures, in whatever we intend, plan,
or execute, whatever we think about, or whatever
we set about; remember, that "they that have
done good, shall come unto the resurrection of life ;
they mat have done evil, unto the resurrection of
damnation."
Reflect what great things this short sentence
contains. It teaches us, beyond contradiction,
that all does not end here : that our happiness or
misery is not over at our death ; that a new state
of things will begin with every one of us, and that
in a short time. This point, I say, our Saviour
proves beyond contradiction ; ancf how t )/ he
prove ill By healing the sick, by restoring 'sight
to the blind, by raising the dead, by various as-
tonishing and incontestible miracles ; and alwve
all, by coming himself to life again, after being
three days deau and buried, he proved that God
Almighty was with him ; that he came from God ;
that he knew what passed in the other world ;
that he had God's own authority to say and
promise this to mankind. Upon the faith and
trust of this promise, we know that we shall rise
again ; all are equally assured of it, from the
highest to the lowest. Wise and learned men
thought indeed the same thing before ; they con-
cluded it to be so from probable argument and
reasonings ; but this was not like having it, as we
have it, from God himself; or, what is just the
same thing, from the mouth of a person, to whom
God gave witness by signs and wonders, and
mighty deeds. They were far short of our cer-
tainty, who did study it the deepest. There
were but few who could study or comprehend it
at all. Blessed be God, we are all informed, we
are all, from the most learned to the most ignorant,
made sure and certain of it.
Having then this great doctrine secured, that
we shall all come again into a new world and a
new life, the next great point which every serious
mind will turn to, the second grand question
to be asked is, who are to be happy, and who will
be miserable in that other state 1 The text satis-
604
SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.
fies us completely upon this head. You ask, who
shall come to the resurrection of life 1 The text
replies, they that have done good. Observe well,
and never forget this answer. It is not the wise,
the learned, the great, the honoured, the professor
of this or that doctrine, the member of this church,
or the maintainer of that article of faith, but he
that doeth good ; he, of whatever quality or con-
dition, who strives honestly to make his life of
service to those about him ; to be useful in his
calling, and to his generation ; to his family, to his
neighbourhood, and, according to his ability, to
his country, and to mankind " he that doeth
cry, Lord, Lord ; be he ever so constant and de-
vout in his prayers, or talk ever so much, or so
well, or so earnestly for religion ; unless he do
good ; unless his actions, and dealings, and beha-
viour come up to his knowledge and his discourse,
correspond with his outward profession and belief,
it will avail him nothing ; ne is not the man
to whom Jesus Christ hath promised in the text,
that he shall come to the resurrection of life. The
issue of life and death is put upon our conduct
and behaviour ; that is, made the test we are to be
tried by.
Again : When we read in Scripture, when we
know from positive and undoubted authority, that
misery and destruction, ruin, torment, and dam-
nation, are reserved for some, it is surely the most
natural, the most interesting of all inquiries, to
know for whom. The text tells us, " for them
that have done evil.''
Here let the timorous conscience take courage.
It is not any man's errors, or ignorance; his want
of understanding, or education, or ability, that
will be laid to his charge at the day of judgment,
or that will bring him into danger of the damna-
tion which the Gospel threatens ; it is having
done evil ; having wilfully gone about to disobey
what he knew to be the will and command of his
Creator, by committing mischief, and doing wrong
and injury to his fellow-creatures.
Let the bold and presumptuous sinner hear this
text with fear and trembling. Let him who cares
not what misery he occasions, what evil and harm
he does, if he can but compass his purpose, carry
his own end, or serve his wicked lusts and plea-
sures ; let him, I say, be given to understand, what
he has to look for ; " he that doeth evil shall come
to the resurrection of damnation ;" this is absolute,
final, and peremptory ; here is no exception, no
excuse, no respect of person or condition.
They that have done good, shall come again
unto the resurrection of life. But, alas ! I hear
you say, What good can I do 7 my means and my
opportunities are too small and straitened to think
of doing good. You do not sufficiently reflect
what doii)<r good is. You are apt to confine the
notion of it to giving to others, and giving liberal-
ly. This, no doubt, is right and meritorious; but
it is certainly not in every man's power; compara-
tively speaking, it is indeed in the power of very
few. But doing good is of a much more general
nature ; and is in a greater or less degree practi-
cable by all ; for, whenever we make one human
creature happier or better than he would have
been without our help, then we do good; and,
when we do this from a proper motive, that is,
with a sense and a desire of pleasing God by doing
it, then we do good in the true sense of the text,
and of God's gracious promise. Now let every
one, in particular, reflect, whether, in this sense,
he has not some good in his power : some within
his own doors, to his family, his children, his
kindred ; by his labour, his authority, his example;
by bringing them up, and keeping them in the
way of passing their lives honestly, and quietly,
and usefully. What good more important, more
practicable than this is 1 Again, something may
be done beyond our own household : by acts of
tenderness and kindness, of help and compassion
to our neighbours. Not a particle of this will be
lost. It is all set down in the book of life ; and
happy are they who have much there. And again,
if any of us be really sorry that we have not so
much in our power as we would desire, let us
remember this short rule, that since we can do
little good, to take care that we do no harm. Let
us show our sincerity by our innocence ; that, at
least, is always in our power.
Finally, Let us reflect, that in the habitations
of life are many mansions ; rewards of various or-
ders and degrees, proportioned to our various de-
grees of virtue and exertion here. "He that
soweth plenteously, shall reap plenteously." We
can never do too much ; never be too earnest in
doing good ; because every good action here will,
we are certain, be an addition of happiness here-
after ; will advance us to a better condition in the
life to come, whatever be our lot or success in this.
God will not fail of his promise. He hath com-
missioned his beloved Son to tell us, that they
that have done good shall enter into the resurrec-
tion of life. Let us humbly and thankfully accept
his gracious offer. We have but one business in
this world. It is to strive to make us worthy of a
better. Whatever this trial may cost us, how
long, how earnestly, how patiently soever,
through whatever difficulties, by whatever toils
we endeavour to obey and please our Maker, we
are supported in them by this solid and never
Ceasing Consolation, " f kot mr lolvmr ia nr>f 'in
vain in the Lord."
our labour is not in
THE END.
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