_Shewing how great devotion fills our lives with the greatest
peace and happiness that can be enjoyed in this world._
1. SOME people will perhaps object, that this living unto God in all
that we do, is too great a _restraint_ upon human life; and that, by
depriving ourselves of so many innocent pleasures, we shall render our
lives, _dull_, _uneasy_, and _melancholy_.
*It will produce just the contrary effect. Instead of making our
lives dull and melancholy, it will render them full of content and
strong satisfactions; as by these rules we only change the childish
satisfactions of our _vain_ and _sickly_ passions, for the solid
enjoyments, and real happiness of a _sound mind_.
For as there is no true foundation for comfort in life, but in the
assurance that a wise and good God governeth the world: so the more we
find out God in every thing, the more we apply to him in every place,
the more we look up to him in all our actions, the more we conform
to his will, the more we act according to his wisdom, and imitate his
goodness, by so much the more do we enjoy God, and increase all that
is _happy_ and _comfortable_ in human life.
And it is plain, he that is endeavouring to subdue all those passions
of _pride_, _envy_, and _ambition_, which religion opposes, is
doing more to make himself happy, even in this life, than he that
is contriving means to indulge them.
*For these passions are the causes of all the disquiets of human life:
they are the _dropsies_ and _fevers_ of our minds, vexing them with
false appetites, and restless cravings after such things as we do not
want, and spoiling our taste for those things which are our proper
good.
2. *Do but imagine that you some where or other saw a man, that
proposed _reason_ as the rule of all his actions; that had no desires
but after such things as _nature_ wants, and _religion_ approves;
that was as pure from all the motions of _pride_, _envy_, and
_covetousness_, as from thoughts of _murder_; that in this freedom
from worldly passions, he had a soul full of divine love, wishing and
praying that all men may have what they want of worldly things, and be
partakers of eternal glory.
Do but fancy a man living in this manner, and your own conscience will
immediately tell you, that he is the happiest man in the world, and
that it is not in the power of the richest fancy to invent any higher
happiness in the present life.
And, on the other hand, if you suppose him to be in any degree _less
perfect_; if you suppose him but subject to one foolish fondness,
or vain passion, your own conscience will tell you, that he so far
lessens his own happiness, and robs himself of the true enjoyment of
his other virtues. So true is it, that the _more_ we live by the rules
of religion, the more peaceful and happy we are.
3. Again, as it thus appears that real happiness is only to be had
from religion; so the same truth will appear from a consideration of
_human misery_. If we look into the world, and view the troubles of
human life, we shall find that they are all owing to our irreligious
passions.
Now all trouble and uneasiness is founded in the _want_ of something
or other; would we therefore know the true cause of our troubles and
disquiets, we must find out the cause of our wants; because that which
creates and increases our wants, does in the same degree create and
increase our troubles and disquiets.
God Almighty has sent us into the world with very few wants: _meat_,
and _drink_, and _cloathing_, are the only things necessary in life;
and as these are only our present needs, so the present world is well
furnished to supply these needs.
If a man had half the world in his power, he can make no more of it
than this; as he wants it only to support an _animal_ life, so is
it unable to do any thing else for him, or to afford him any other
happiness.
4. This is the state of man, born with few wants, and into a large
world, very capable of supplying them. So that one would reasonably
suppose, men should pass their lives in content and thankfulness to
God; at least, that they should be free from violent disquiets and
vexations, as being placed in a world that has more than enough to
relieve all their wants.
But if to all this we add, that this short life, thus furnished with
all that we want in it, is only a short passage to eternal glory,
where we shall be cloathed with the brightness of _angels_, and enter
into the joys of God, we might still more reasonably expect, that
human life should be a state of peace, and joy, and delight in God.
Thus it would certainly be, if reason had its full power over us.
*But alas, though God, and nature, and reason, make human life thus
free from wants; yet our passions, in rebellion against God, against
_nature_ and _reason_, create a new world of evils, and fill human
life with imaginary wants, and vain disquiets.
*The man of _pride_ has a thousand wants, which only his own pride
has _created_; and these render him as full of trouble, as if God had
created him with a _thousand appetites_, without creating any thing
that was proper to satisfy them. _Envy_ and _ambition_ have also
their endless wants, which disquiet the souls of men, and by their
contradictory motions render them as foolishly miserable as those that
want to _fly_ and _creep_ at the same time.
Let but any complaining, disquieted man, tell you the ground of his
uneasiness, and you will plainly see that he is the author of his own
torment; that he is vexing himself at some imaginary evil, which will
cease to torment him as soon as he is content to be that which God,
and nature, and reason, require him to be.
5. *If you should see a man passing his days in disquiet, because he
could not _walk_ upon the _water_, or _catch birds_ as they fly by
him, you would readily confess that such an one might thank himself
for such uneasiness. But now, if you look into the most tormenting
disquiets of life, you will find them all thus absurd. People are only
tormented by their own folly, and vexing themselves at such things
as no more concern them, nor are any more their proper good, than
_walking_ upon the _water_, or _catching birds_.
*What can you conceive more silly and extravagant, than a man racking
his brains, and studying night and day how to fly? Wandering from his
own house and home, wearying himself with _climbing_ upon every ascent,
_cringing_ and _courting_ every body he meets, to lift him up from the
ground, bruising himself with continual falls, and at last breaking
his neck? And all this, from an imagination that it would be glorious
to have the eyes of people gazing up at him, and mighty happy to
_eat_, and _drink_, and _sleep_, at the top of the highest trees
in the kingdom. Would you not readily own that such a one was only
disquieted at his _own folly_?
If you ask, what it signifies to suppose such silly creatures as are
no where to be found in human life?
It may be answered, that wherever you see an _ambitious_ man, there
you see this _vain and senseless flyer_.
6. *Again, if you should see a man that had a large _pond_ of _water_,
yet living in _continual thirst_, not suffering himself to drink _half
a draught_, for fear of lessening his pond; if you should see him
wasting his time and strength, in _fetching more_ water to his pond,
always _thirsty_, yet always carrying a _bucket_ of water in his hand,
watching early and late to catch the _drops_ of rain, gaping after
every cloud, and running greedily into every _mire_ and mud, in hopes
of water, and always studying how to make every _ditch_ empty itself
into his _pond_. If you should see him grow _grey_ and _old_ in these
anxious labours, and at last end a _careful_, _thirsty_ life, by
falling into his own _pond_: would you not say, that such a one was
not only the author of his own disquiets, but was foolish enough to be
reckoned amongst _ideots_ and _madmen_? But yet foolish and absurd as
this character is, it does not represent half the follies and absurd
disquiets of the _covetous man_.
I could now easily proceed to shew the same effects of all our other
passions, and make it plainly appear, that all our miseries, vexations,
and complaints, are entirely of our own making, and that in the same
absurd manner, as in these instances of the _covetous_ and _ambitious_
man. *Look where you will, you will see all _worldly vexations_, but
like the vexation of him that was always in _mire_ and _mud_ in search
of water to drink, when he had more at home than was sufficient for an
_hundred horses_.
7. *_Cælia_ is always telling you how _provoked_ she is, what
_intolerable shocking_ things happen to her, what _monstrous_ usage
she suffers, and what _vexations_ she meets with every where. She
tells you that her patience is quite worn out, and there is no bearing
the behaviour of people. Every _assembly_ that she is at, sends her
home provoked; something or other has been said or done, that no
reasonable, well bred person ought to bear. _Poor people_ that want
her charity, are sent away with hasty answers; not because she has not
a heart to part with any money, but because she is _too full_ of some
trouble of her own, to attend to the complaints of others. _Cælia_ has
no business upon her hands, but to receive the income of a plentiful
fortune: but yet by the doleful turn of her mind, you would be apt to
think that she had neither _food_ nor _lodging_. If you see her look
more pale than ordinary, if her lips tremble when she speaks to you,
it is because she is just come from a _visit_, where _Lupus_ took no
notice at all of her, but talked all the time to _Lucinda_, who has
not half her fortune. When cross accidents have so disordered her
spirits, that she is forced to send for the _doctor_ to make her able
to eat; she tells him, in great anger at providence, that she never
was well since she was born, and that she envies every beggar that she
sees in health.
This is the unquiet life of _Cælia_, who has nothing to torment her
but her own _spirit_.
If you could inspire her with _Christian humility_, you need do no
more to make her happy. This virtue would make her thankful to God for
half so much health as she has had, and help her to enjoy more for the
time to come. This would keep off _tremblings_ and _loss_ of appetite,
and her blood would need nothing else to sweeten it.
8. I have just touched upon these absurd characters, to convince you
in the plainest manner, that religion is so far from rendering a life
_dull_, _anxious_, and _uncomfortable_, that on the contrary, all
the miseries, vexations, and complaints that are in the world, are
owing to the want of religion; being directly caused by those absurd
passions, which religion teaches us to deny.
9. Most people indeed confess, that religion preserves us from
many evils, and helps us in many respects to a more happy enjoyment
of ourselves; but then, they imagine, this is only true of such a
_moderate share_ of religion, as restrains us from the excesses of
our passions. They suppose that the _strict rules_ of piety must make
our lives _dull_ and _uncomfortable_.
This objection supposes, that religion, _moderately_ practised, adds
to our happiness; but that heights of religion have a contrary effect.
*It supposes therefore, that it is happy to be kept from the
_excesses_ of envy, but unhappy to be kept from _other_ degrees of
_envy_; that it is happy to be delivered from a _boundless_ ambition,
but unhappy to be without a _moderate_ ambition. It supposes also,
that the happiness of life consists in a _mixture_ of virtue and vice,
of ambition and humility, charity and envy, heavenly affection and
covetousness. All which is as absurd, as to suppose that it is happy
to be free from excessive pains, but unhappy to be without moderate
pains; or that the happiness of _health_ consisted in being partly
sick, and partly well.
But if humility be the peace and rest of the soul, then no one has
so much happiness from humility, as he that is the most humble.
If excessive envy is a torment of the soul, he is most happy who
extinguishes every spark of envy.
Thus it is in every virtue: the more you act up to every degree of it,
the more happiness you have from it. And so of every vice: if you only
abate its excesses, you do but little for yourself; but if you reject
it in all degrees, then you feel the true ease of a _reformed_ mind.
10. And, as to those enjoyments which piety requireth us to deny
ourselves, this deprives us of no real comfort.
For, 1_st_, Piety requires us to renounce no ways of life, where we
can act _reasonably_, and offer what we do to God. All ways of life,
all enjoyments that are within these bounds, are no way denied us by
the strictest rules of piety. Whatever you can do, or enjoy, as in the
presence of God, as his servant, as his rational creature; all that
you can perform conformably to a rational nature, is allowed by the
laws of piety. And will you think that your life will be uncomfortable,
unless you may displease God, and act contrary to that reason and
wisdom which he has implanted in you?
As for those satisfactions, which we dare not offer to a holy God,
which are only invented by the folly and corruption of the world,
which inflame our passions, and sink our souls into grossness and
sensuality, and render us incapable of the divine favour either here
or hereafter, surely it can be no uncomfortable thing to be rescued by
religion from such self-murder, and to be rendered capable of eternal
happiness.
11. *Let us suppose a _person_ placed somewhere alone, in the midst of
a variety of things which he did not know how to use; that he has by
him _bread_, _wine_, _water_, _golden dust_, _iron chains_, _gravel_,
_garments_, _fire_. Let it be supposed, that he has no knowledge,
nor any directions from his _senses_, how to quench his _thirst_, or
satisfy his _hunger_, or make _any use_ of the things about him. Let
it be supposed, that in his drought he puts _golden dust_ into his
eyes; when his _eyes_ smart, he puts _wine_ into his _ears_: that
in his hunger, he puts _gravel_ in his mouth; that in pain, he loads
himself with _iron chains_; that feeling cold, he puts his feet in
the water; that being frighted at the fire, he runs away from it; that
being weary, he makes a _seat_ of his _bread_. Let it be supposed,
that thro’ his ignorance of the right use of the things that are
about him, he will vainly torment himself whilst he lives; and at last
die, _blinded_ with _dust_, _choaked_ with _gravel_, and loaded with
_irons_. Let it be supposed, that some good being came to him, and
shewed him the nature and use of all the things that were about him,
and gave him such _strict rules_ of using them, as would certainly,
if observed, make him the happier for all that he had, and deliver him
from the pains of hunger, and thirst, and cold.
Now, could you with any reason affirm, that those strict rules of
using those things that were about him, had rendered that poor man’s
life _dull_ and _uncomfortable_?
12. This is, in some measure, a representation of the _strict_ rules
of religion; they only relieve our ignorance, save us from tormenting
ourselves, and teach us to use _every thing_ about us to our advantage.
Man is placed in a world full of variety of things; his ignorance
makes him use many of them as absurdly, as the man that put _dust_ in
his _eyes_ to relieve his _thirst_, or put on chains to remove pain.
Religion therefore here comes in to his relief, and gives him _strict
rules_ of using every thing that is about him; that by so using them
suitably to his own nature and the nature of the things, he may have
always the pleasure of receiving benefit from them. It shews him
what is strictly right in meat, and drink, and cloaths; and that
he has nothing else to expect from the things of this world, but to
satisfy such wants of his own; and then to extend his assistance to
all his brethren, that, as far as he is able, he may help all his
fellow-creatures to the same benefit from the world that he hath.
13. *It tells him, that this world is incapable of giving him any
other happiness; and that all endeavours to be happy in _heaps_ of
_money_, or _acres_ of _land_, in fine _cloaths_, rich _beds_, stately
_equipage_, and _shew_ and _splendour_, are only vain endeavours,
ignorant attempts after impossibilities; these things be no more able
to give the least degree of happiness, than _dust_ in the eyes can
cure thirst, or _gravel_ in the mouth satisfy hunger; but, like dust
and gravel misapplied, will only serve to render him more unhappy by
such an ignorant misuse of them.
It tells him, altho’ this world can do no more for him, than satisfy
these wants of the body; yet there is a much greater good prepared for
man, than eating, drinking, and dressing; that it is yet invisible to
his eyes, being too glorious for the apprehension of flesh and blood;
but reserved for him to enter upon, as soon as this short life is over;
where, in a new body, formed to an angelic likeness, he shall dwell in
the light and glory of God to all eternity.
*It tells him, that this state of glory will be given to all those
that make a _right use_ of the things of this present world; who do
not blind themselves with _golden dust_, or eat _gravel_, or groan
under loads of _iron_ of their own putting on; but use _bread_,
_water_, _wine_, and _garments_ for such ends as are according to
_nature_ and _reason_; and who with faith and thankfulness worship
the kind giver of all that they enjoy here, and hope for hereafter.
14. Now can any one say, that the strictest rules of such a religion
as this, debar us of any of the comforts of life? Might it not
as justly be said of those rules, that only ♦hindered a man from
_choaking_ himself with _gravel_? For the strictness of these rules
only consists in the exactness of their rectitude.
♦ ‘hindred’ replaced with ‘hindered’
*Who would complain of the severe strictness of a law, that without
any exception forbad the putting of dust into our eyes? Who could
think it too rigid, that there were no abatements? Now this is the
_strictness_ of religion; it requires nothing of us strictly, or
without abatements, but where every degree of the thing is wrong,
where every indulgence does us hurt.
*If religion forbids all instances of _revenge_ without exception,
’tis because all revenge is of the nature of _poison_; and though we
don’t take so much as to put an end to life, yet if we take any at all,
it corrupts the mass of blood, and makes it difficult to be restored
to our former health.
If religion commands an _universal charity_, to love our neighbour
as ourselves, to forgive and pray for all our enemies without any
_reserve_, ’tis because all degrees of love are degrees of happiness,
that strengthen and support the divine life of the soul, and are as
necessary to its health and happiness, as proper food is necessary to
the health and happiness of the body.
*If religion has laws against _laying up treasures upon earth_, and
commands us to be content with food and raiment; ’tis because every
other use of the world is abusing it to our own vexation, and turning
its conveniences into snares and traps to destroy us. ’Tis because
this _plainness_ and _simplicity_ of life, secure us from the cares
and pains of restless pride and envy, and make it easier to keep that
strait road that will carry us to eternal life.
15. If religion requires us sometimes to _fast_ and _deny_ our natural
appetites, ’tis to lessen that struggle and war that is in our nature;
’tis to render our bodies fitter instruments of purity, and more
obedient to the good motions of divine grace; ’tis to dry up the
springs of our passions that war against the soul, to cool the flame
of our blood, and render the mind more capable of divine meditations.
So that altho’ these abstinences give some pain to the body, yet they
so lessen the power of bodily appetites and passions, and so increase
our taste of spiritual joys, that even these severities of religion,
when practised with discretion, add much to the comfort of our lives.
If religion calleth us to a life of watching and prayer, ’tis because
we live amongst a crowd of enemies, and are always in need of the
assistance of God. If we are to confess and bewail our sins, ’tis
because such confessions relieve the mind, and restore it to ease; as
_burdens_ and _weights_ taken off the shoulders, relieve the body, and
make it easier to itself. If we are to be frequent and fervent in holy
petitions, ’tis to keep us steady in the sight of our true good, and
that we may never want the happiness of a lively faith, a joyful hope,
and well-grounded trust in God. If we are to pray often, ’tis that
we may be often happy in such secret joys as only prayer can give;
in such communications of the divine presence, as will fill our minds
with all the happiness that beings not in heaven, are capable of.
If religion commands us to live _wholly_ unto God, and to _do all_
to his glory, ’tis because every other way is living _wholly_ against
ourselves, and will end in our shame and confusion of face.
16. *As every thing is _dark_, that God does not enlighten; as every
thing is _senseless_, that has not its share of knowledge from him;
as nothing _lives_ but by partaking of life from him; as nothing
_exists_, but because he commands it to be; so there is no _glory_
or _greatness_, but what is the glory or greatness of God.
We indeed may talk of _human glory_, as we may talk of _human life_ or
_human knowledge_; but as we are sure that human life implies nothing
of our _own_, but a dependent living in God, or enjoying so much life
in God; so human glory, whenever we find it, must be only so much
glory as we enjoy in the glory of God.
*This is the state of all creatures, whether men or angels; as
they make not themselves, so if they are great, they are only great
receivers of the gifts of God; their _power_ can only be so much of
the divine power acting in them; their _wisdom_ can be only so much of
the divine wisdom shining within them; and their _light_ and _glory_,
only so much of the life and glory of God shining upon them.
17. *As they are not _men_ or _angels_, because they had a mind to be
so, but because the will of God formed them to be what they are; so
they cannot enjoy this or that happiness of men or angels, because
they have a mind to it, but because it is the will of God, that such
things be the happiness of men, and such things the happiness of
angels. But now, if God be thus all in all; if his will is thus the
measure of all things and all natures; if nothing can be done, but by
his power; if nothing can be seen, but by a light from him; if we have
nothing to fear, but from his justice; if we have nothing to hope for,
but from his goodness; if this is the nature of man, thus helpless
in himself; if this is the state of all creatures, as well those in
_heaven_, as those on _earth_; if they are nothing, can do nothing,
can suffer no pain, nor feel any happiness, but so far, and in such
degrees, as the power of God does all this: if this be the state of
things, then how can we have the least glimpse of joy or comfort? How
can we have any peaceful enjoyment of ourselves, but by living wholly
unto God, using and doing every thing conformably to his will? A life
thus devoted unto God, looking wholly unto him in all our actions, and
doing all things suitable to his glory, is so far from being dull, and
uncomfortable, that it creates new comforts in every thing that we do.
18. On the contrary, would you see how _happy_ they are who live
according to their own wills, who cannot submit to the _dull_ and
_melancholy_ business of a life devoted to God? Look at the man in
the _parable_, to whom his Lord had given one talent.
He could not bear the thoughts of using his talent according to
the will of him from whom he had it, and therefore he chose to make
himself happier in another way of his own. _Lord_, says he, _I knew
thee, that thou art an hard man, reaping where thou hadst not sown,
and gathering where thou hadst not strawed. And I was afraid, and went
and hid thy talent in the earth. Lo there thou hast that is thine._
Matt. xxv. 24.
Here you see how happy this man made himself by not acting _wholly_
according to his Lord’s will. It was, according to his own account,
an happiness of _murmuring_ and _discontent_; _I knew thee_, says
he, _that thou wast an hard man_: it was an happiness of _fears_ and
_apprehensions_; _I was_, says he, _afraid_: it was an happiness of
_vain labours_ and _fruitless travels_: _I went_, says he, _and hid
thy talent_; and after having been awhile the sport of foolish passion,
tormenting fears, and fruitless labours, he is rewarded with darkness,
eternal weeping and gnashing of teeth.
19. Now this is the happiness of all those, who look upon _strict_
piety, that is, a right use of their talent, to be a dull and
melancholy thing.
They may live awhile free from the restraints and directions
of religion; but instead thereof, they must be under the absurd
government of their passions: they must, like the man in the _parable_,
live in _murmurings_ and _discontents_, in _fears_ and _apprehensions_.
They may avoid the labour of doing good, of spending their time
devoutly, of laying up treasures in heaven, of cloathing the naked, of
visiting the sick; but then they must, like this man, have _labours_
and _pains_ in vain, that tend to no use or advantage, that do no good
either to themselves, or others; they must _travel_, and _labour_, and
_work_, and _dig_, to hide their talent in the earth. They must, like
him, at their Lord’s coming, be convicted out of their own mouths,
be accused by their own hearts, and have every thing that they have
said and thought of religion, be made to shew the justice of their
condemnation to eternal darkness, weeping and gnashing of teeth.
This is the purchase that they make, who avoid the strictness of
religion, in order to live happily.
20. On the other hand, would you see a short description of the
happiness of a life rightly employed, wholly devoted to God, you must
look at the man in the _parable_, to whom his Lord had given five
talents. _Lord_, says he, _thou deliveredst unto five talents: behold,
I have gained besides them five talents more. His Lord said unto him,
well done thou good and faithful servant; thou hast been faithful over
a few things, I will make thee ruler over many things; enter thou into
the joy of thy Lord._
Here you see a life that is wholly intent upon the improvement of the
talents, that is devoted wholly unto God, is a state of happiness,
prosperous labours, and glorious success. Here are not, as in the
former case, any _uneasy passions_, _murmurings_, _vain fears_ and
_fruitless labours_. The man is not toiling, and digging in the
earth for no end or advantage; but his labours prosper in his hands,
his happiness increases upon him, the blessing of five becomes the
blessing of ten talents; and he is received with a _Well done good
and faithful servant, enter thou into the joy of thy Lord_.
21. Now, as the case of these men in the _parable_ left nothing else
to their choice, but either to be happy in using their gifts to the
_glory_ of their Lord, or miserable by using them according to their
_own humours_ and _fancies_; so the state of Christianity leaves us no
other choice.
*All that we have, all that we are, all that we enjoy, are only so
many talents from God: if we use them to the end of a pious and holy
life, our five talents will become ten, and our labours will carry us
into the joy of our Lord; but if we abuse them to the gratification
of our own passions, sacrificing the gifts of God to our own pride
and vanity, we shall live here in vain labours and foolish anxieties,
shunning religion as a melancholy thing, accusing our Lord as a hard
master, and then fall into everlasting misery.
We may for awhile amuse ourselves with _names_, and _sounds_, and
_shadows_ of happiness, we may talk of this or that greatness and
dignity; but if we desire real happiness, we have no other possible
way to it, but by improving our talents, by so holily and piously
using the _powers_ and _faculties_ of _men_ in this present state,
that we may be happy and glorious in the _powers_ and _faculties_ of
_angels_ in the world to come.
How ignorant therefore are they of the nature of religion, of the
nature of man, and the nature of God, who think a life of _strict
piety_ to be a _dull_ and _uncomfortable_ state, when it is so plain
and certain, that there is neither comfort nor joy to be found in any
thing else?