It carried this impression with it both to the Gentile and Jewish
Christians. It did so to the Gentiles, whose superstitious reverence
for their idol-temples is well known: and though many an abominable
rite was done in them, yet the nature of the Deity, occupying this
temple, which was the Holy Ghost, put an infinite difference between
him and their impure deities, the impurest of which had engrossed the
Corinthian worship. So that this contrast of the object could not but
raise their ideas, and impress the reverence, which the Apostle would
excite in them for such a temple, with full effect on their minds[175].
And then to Jews, the allusion must be singularly striking: for their
supreme pride and boast was, the temple at Jerusalem, _the tabernacle
of the most high, dwelling between the cherubims, and the place of the
habitation of God’s glory_[176].
To both Jew and Gentile, the notion of a temple implied these two
things, 1. That the divinity was in a more especial manner present in
it: and, 2. That it was a place peculiarly set apart for his service.
Whence the effect of this representation would be, That the body,
having the Holy Spirit lodged within it, was to be kept pure and clean
for this cælestial inhabitant: and, as being dedicated to his own use,
it was not to be prophaned by any indecencies, much less by a gross
sin, which is, emphatically, _a sin against the body_, and by heathens
themselves accounted a _pollution_[177] of it.
Further; the Apostle does not leave the Corinthians to collect all this
from the image presented to them, but asserts it expressly; _What! know
ye not, that your body is the temple of the Holy Ghost_, WHICH IS IN
YOU: Implying, that what they would naturally infer from their idea of
a temple, was true, in fact, _that the Holy Ghost was in them_; that
his actual occupancy and possession of their bodies appropriated the
use of them to himself, and excluded all sordid practices in them, as
prophane and SACRILEGIOUS. Nay, he further adds; AND WHICH [Holy Ghost]
YE HAVE OF GOD: ye have received this adorable spirit, _which is in
you_, from God himself; and so are obliged to entertain this heavenly
guest with all sanctity and reverence; not only for his own sake, and
for the honour he does you in dwelling in you, but for his sake who
sent him, and from whose hands ye have received him.
This first argument, then, against the sin of uncleanness, divested of
its figure, stands thus. In consequence of your Christian profession,
ye must acknowledge, that the Holy Spirit is given to inform and
consecrate your mortal bodies; that he is actually _within_ you; and
that he dwells and operates there, by the gracious appointment and
commission of God. Ye are therefore to consider your body as the place
of his more especial habitation; and as such, are bound to preserve it
in such purity, as the nature of so sacred a presence demands.
This is the clear, obvious, and conclusive argument; liable to no
objection, or even cavil, from a professor of Christianity. The figure
of a temple is only employed to raise our apprehensions, and to convey
the conclusion with more force and energy to our minds. But now,
II. The Apostle proceeds to another and distinct consideration, and
shews that the Holy Ghost is not only the actual _occupier and
possessor_ of the body of Christians, whom the Almighty had, as it
were, forced upon them, and by his sovereign authority enjoined them to
receive, but that he was the true and rightful PROPRIETOR of it. YE ARE
NOT YOUR OWN, continues the Apostle; not merely, as “God hath, by his
spirit, taken possession of you, and sealed you up, as his own proper
goods[178];” but as he hath redeemed and purchased you, as he hath done
that, by which the _property_ ye might before seem to have in your
bodies, is actually made over and consigned to him. FOR YE ARE BOUGHT
WITH A PRICE.
The expression is, again, figurative; and refers to the notions and
usages that obtained among the heathens, the Greeks especially, in
regard to _personal slavery_. As passionate admirers, as they were,
of liberty, every government, even the most republican, abounded in
slaves; every family had its share of them. The purchase of them, as
of brute beasts, was a considerable part of their traffick. Men and
women were bought and sold publicly in their markets: the wealth of
states and of individuals, in great measure, consisted in them. Thus
was human nature degraded by the Heathen, and I wish it might be said,
by heathens only. But my present concern is with them. It is too sad
a truth that human creatures sold themselves, or were sold by their
masters, to be employed in the basest services, even those of luxury
and of lust. This infamous practice was common through all Greece, but
was more especially a chief branch of the Corinthian commerce. Their
city was the head-quarters of prostitution, and the great market for
the supply of it.
Now to this practice the Apostle alludes, but in such a manner as
implies the severest reproof of it. His remonstrance is to this
effect. “Ye Corinthians, in your former pagan state, made no scruple
to consider your slaves as your own absolute property. Your pretence
was, that _ye had bought them with a price_; that is, with a piece of
money, which could be no equivalent for the natural inestimable liberty
and dignity of a fellow-creature; yet ye claimed to yourselves their
entire, unreserved service; and often condemned them to the vilest and
most ignominious.
“To turn now, says the Apostle, from these horrors to a fairer scene;
for I take advantage only of your ideas in this matter, to lead you
to just notions of your present Christian condition. God, the sole
rightful proprietor of the persons of men, left you in the state of
nature, to the enjoyment of your own liberty, with no other restraint
upon it than what was necessary to preserve so great a blessing, the
restraint of reason. Now, indeed, but still for your own infinite
benefit, he claims a stricter property in you, and demands your more
peculiar service. He first made you men, but now Christians. Still he
condescends to proceed with you in your own way, and according to your
own ideas of right and justice. _He has bought you with a price_: but,
merciful heaven, with _what_ price? With that, which exceeds all value
and estimation, with the BLOOD of his only begotten Son; the least drop
of which is of more virtue than all your hecatombs, and more precious
than the treasures of the East. And for what was this price paid? Not
to enslave, much less to insult and corrupt you (as ye wickedly served
one another), but to _redeem you into the glorious liberty of the sons
of God_: It was, to restore you from death to life, from servitude to
freedom, from corruption to holiness, _to make to himself a peculiar
people, zealous of good works_. Say, then, Is this ransom an equivalent
for the purchase of you? And is the end for which ye are purchased,
such as ye dare complain of, or have reason to refuse? Henceforth,
then, _ye are not your own_: the property of your souls and bodies is
freely, justly, equitably, with immense benefit to yourselves, and
unspeakable mercy on the part of the purchaser, transferred to God.
Your whole and best service is due to him, of strict right: what he
demands of you is to serve him in all virtue and godliness of living,
and particularly to respect and reverence yourselves; in a word, not to
pollute yourselves with forbidden lusts. In this way ye are required
to serve your new lord and master, who has the goodness to regard such
service, as an honour and glory to himself. _Therefore_, do your part
inviolably and conscientiously, _Glorify God in your body, and in your
spirit, which are God’s_.”
This is the the Apostle’s idea, when drawn out and explained at large.
The reasoning is decisive, as in the former case: and the expression
admirably adapted to the circumstances of the persons addressed. In
plain words, the argument is this. God has provided, by the sacrifice
of the death of Christ, for your redemption from all iniquity, both
the service, and the wages of it. By your profession of Christianity,
and free acceptance of this inestimable benefit, freely offered to
you, ye are become in a more especial manner, his servants: ye are
bound, therefore, by every motive of duty and self-interest to preserve
yourselves in all that purity of mind and body, which his laws require
of you; and for the sake of which ye were taken into this nearer
relation to himself. The figure of being _bought with a price_, was
at once the most natural cover of this reasoning, as addressed to the
Corinthian Christians; and the most poignant reproof of their country’s
inhuman practice of trafficking in the bodies and souls of men.
The force both of the _figure_ and the _reasoning_ is apparently much
weakened by this minute comment upon the Apostle’s words, which yet
seemed necessary to make them understood.
To draw to a point, then, the substance of what has been said, and to
conclude.
The vice which the Apostle had been arguing against, is condemned
by natural reason. But Christians are bound by additional and
peculiar considerations to abstain from it. YE, says the Apostle, ARE
THE TEMPLES OF THE HOLY GHOST. To defile yourselves with the sins
of uncleanness is, then, to desecrate those bodies which the Holy
Ghost sanctifies by his presence. It is, in the emphatic language
of scripture, _to grieve the holy Spirit_, and _to do despite to
the spirit of grace_. It is like, nay it is infinitely worse, than
polluting the sanctuary: an abomination, which nature itself teaches
all men to avoid and execrate. It is, in the highest sense of the
words, PROPHANENESS, IMPIETY, SACRILEGE.
Again; YE ARE BOUGHT WITH A PRICE: ye are not your own, but God’s;
having been ransomed by him, your souls and bodies, when both were
lost, through the death of his Son: a price, of so immense, so
inestimable a value, that worlds are not equal to it. To dispose of
yourselves, then, in a way which he forbids and abhors: to corrupt
by your impurities that which belongs to God, which is his right and
property; to serve your lusts, when ye are redeemed at such a price to
serve God only, through Jesus Christ; is an outrage which we poorly
express, when language affords no other names for it, than those of
INGRATITUDE, INFIDELITY, INJUSTICE.
Whatever excuses a poor heathen might alledge to palliate this sin, we
Christians have none to offer. He, _who knew not God_, might be led
by his pride, by his passions, and even by his religion, to conclude
(as the idolatrous Corinthians seem to have done) that _his own body
was for fornication_; or, at most, that he was only accountable to
_his own soul_ (if his philosophy would give him leave to think he had
one) for the misuse of it. But this language is now out of date. The
souls and bodies of us Christians are not ours, but the _Lord’s_: they
are _occupied_ by his spirit, and _appropriated_ to his service. The
conclusion follows, and cannot be inforced in stronger terms than those
of the text: THEREFORE GLORIFY GOD IN YOUR BODY, AND IN YOUR SPIRIT,
WHICH ARE GOD’S.
SERMON XXVII.
PREACHED MARCH 13, 1774.
JOB xxiii. 26.
_Thou writest bitter things against me, and makest me to possess
the iniquities of my youth._
This is one of the complaints which Job makes in his expostulations
with the Almighty. He thought it hard measure that he should suffer,
now in his riper years, for the iniquities of his youth. He could
charge himself with no other; and therefore he hoped that these had
been forgotten.
Job is all along represented as an eminently virtuous person; so
that the iniquities of his youth might not have been numerous or
considerable: otherwise, he would not have thought it strange, that he
was _made to possess_ his sins, long after they had been committed. Our
experience is, in this respect, so constant and uniform, that there
is no room for surprize or expostulation. All those who have passed
their youth in sin and folly, may with reason express a very strong
resentment against themselves; but have no ground of complaint against
God, when they cry out, in the anguish of their souls: _Thou writest
bitter things against me, and makest me to possess the iniquities of my
youth_.
The words are peculiarly strong and energetic; and may be considered
distinctly from the case of Job, as expressing this general
proposition; “That, in the order of things, an ill-spent youth derives
many lasting evils on the subsequent periods of life.” An alarming
truth! which cannot be too much considered, and should especially be
set before the young and unexperienced, in the strongest light.
The sins of _youth_, as distinguished from those of riper years, are
chiefly such as are occasioned by an immoderate, or an irregular
pursuit of pleasure; into which we are too easily carried in that
careless part of life; and the ill effects of which are rarely
apprehended by us, till they are severely felt.
Now, it may be said of us, that we are made to POSSESS these sins,
“When _we continue under the constant sense and unrepented guilt of
them_:” “When _we labour under tyrannous habits, which they have
produced_:” And, “when _we groan under afflictions of various kinds,
which they have entailed upon us_.”
In these three respects, I mean to shew how _bitter those things are,
which God writeth_, that is, decreeth in his justice, _against the
iniquities of our youth_.
I. The _first_, and bitterest effect of this indulgence in vicious
pleasure, is the guilt and consequent remorse of conscience, we derive
from it.
When the young mind has been tinctured in any degree with the
principles of modesty and virtue, it is with reluctance and much
apprehension, that it first ventures on the transgression of known
duty. But the vivacity and thoughtless gaiety of that early season,
encouraged by the hopes of new pleasure, and sollicited, as it
commonly happens, by ill examples, is at length tempted to make the
fatal experiment; by which guilt is contracted, and the sting of guilt
first known. The ingenuous mind reflects with shame and compunction
on this miscarriage but the passion revives; the temptation returns,
and prevails a second time, and a third; still with growing guilt,
but unhappily with something less horror; yet enough to admonish the
offender of his fault, and to embitter his enjoyments.
As no instant mischief, perhaps, is felt from this indulgence, but
the pain of remorse, he, by degrees, imputes this effect to an
over-timorous apprehension, to his too delicate self-esteem, or to the
prejudice of education. He next confirms himself in these sentiments,
by observing the practice of the world, by listening to the libertine
talk of his companions, and by forming, perhaps, a sort of system to
himself, by which he pretends to vindicate his own conduct: till, at
length, his shame and his fears subside; he grows intrepid in vice, and
riots in all the intemperance to which youth invites, and high spirits
transport him.
In this delirious state he continues for some time. But presently the
scene changes. Although the habit continue, the enjoyment is not the
same: the keenness of appetite abates, and the cares of life succeed to
this run of pleasure.
But neither the cares nor the pleasures of life can now keep him from
reflexion. He cannot help giving way, at times, to a serious turn of
thought; and some unwelcome event or other will strike in to promote
it. Either the loss of a friend makes him grave; or a fit of illness
sinks his spirits; or it may be sufficient, that the companions of his
idle hours are withdrawn, and that he is left to himself in longer
intervals than he would chuse, of solitude and recollection.
By some or other of these means CONSCIENCE revives in him, and with a
quick resentment of the outrage she has suffered. Attempts to suppress
her indignant reproaches, are no longer effectual: she _will_ be
heared; and her voice carries terror and consternation with it.
“She upbraids him, first, with his loss of virtue, and of that which
died with it, her own favour and approbation. She then sets before him
the indignity of having renounced all self-command, and of having
served ingloriously under every idle, every sordid appetite. She next
rises in her remonstrance; represents to him the baseness of having
attempted unsuspecting innocence; the cruelty of having alarmed,
perhaps destroyed, the honour of deserving families; the fraud, the
perfidy, the perjury, he has possibly committed in carrying on his
iniquitous purposes. The mischiefs he has done to others are perhaps
not to be repaired; and his own personal crimes remain to be accounted
for; and, if at all, can only be expiated by the bitterest repentance.
And what then, concludes this severe monitor in the awful words of the
Apostle, _What fruit had ye then in those things whereof ye are now
ashamed? for the end of those things is death_[179].”
Suppose now this remonstrance to take effect, and that the sinner
is at length (for what I have here represented in few words, takes
much time in doing; but suppose, I say, that the sinner is at length)
wrought upon by this remonstrance to entertain some serious thoughts
of amendment, still the consciousness of his ill desert will attend
him through every stage of life, and corrupt the sincerity of all his
enjoyments; while he knows not what will be the issue of his crimes, or
whether, indeed, he shall ever be able truly and effectually to repent
of them. For we cannot get quit of our sins, the moment we resolve to
do so: But, as I proposed to shew,
II. _In the second place_, we are still made to possess the iniquities
of our youth, _while we labour under any remains of those tyrannous
habits, which they have produced in us_.
There is scarce an object of greater compassion, than the man who
is duly sensible of his past misconduct, earnestly repents of it,
and strives to reform it, but yet is continually drawn back into his
former miscarriages, by the very habit of having so frequently fallen
into them. Such a man’s life is a perpetual scene of contradiction;
a discordant mixture of good resolutions, and weak performances; of
virtuous purposes, and shameful relapses; in a word, of sin and sorrow.
And, were he only to consult his present ease, an uninterrupted course
of vice might almost seem preferable to this intermitting state of
virtue. But the misery of this condition comes from himself, and must
be endured, for the sake of avoiding, if it may be, one that is much
worse. In the mean time, he feels most sensibly what it is to _possess_
the iniquities of his youth. The temptation, perhaps, to persevere in
them, is not great; he condemns, and laments his own weakness. Still
the habit prevails, and his repentance, though constantly renewed, is
unable to disengage him from the power of it.
Thus he struggles with himself, perhaps for many years, perhaps for a
great part of his life; and in all that time is distracted by the very
inconsistency of his own conduct, and tortured by the bitterest pains
of compunction and self-abhorrence.
But let it be supposed, that the grace of God at length prevails
over the tyranny of his inveterate habits; that his repentance is
efficacious, and his virtue established. Yet the memory of his former
weakness fills him with fears and apprehensions: he finds his mind
weakened, as well as polluted, by his past sins; he has to strive
against the returning influence of them; and thus, when penitence and
tears have washed away his guilt, he still thinks himself insecure, and
trembles at the possible danger of being involved again in it.
Add to all this, the compunction which such a man feels, when he is
obliged to discountenance in others, perhaps, by his station, to punish
those crimes in which he had so long and so freely indulged himself:
and how uneasy the very discharge of his duty is thus rendered to him.
To say all upon this head: his acquired habits, if not corrected in due
time, may push him into crimes the most atrocious and shocking; and,
if subdued at length, will agitate his mind with long dissatisfaction
and disquiet. Repentance, if it comes at all, will come late; and will
never reinstate him fully in the serenity and composure of his lost
innocence. But,
III. Lastly, when all this is done (and more to do is not in our power)
we may still possess the iniquities of our youth, in another sense,
I mean, _when we groan under the temporal afflictions of many kinds,
which they entail upon us_.
So close do these sad _possessions_ cleave to us, and so difficult it
is, contrary to what we observe of all other possessions, to divest
ourselves of them!
When PLEASURE first spreads its share for the young voluptuary, how
little did he suspect the malignity of its nature; and that under so
enchanting an appearance, it was preparing for him pains and diseases,
declining health, an early old-age, perhaps poverty, infamy, and
irreparable ruin? Yet some, or all of these calamities may oppress him,
when the pleasure is renounced, and the sin forsaken.
Youth and health are with difficulty made to comprehend how frail a
machine the human body is, and how easily impaired by excesses. But
effects will follow their causes; and intemperate pleasure is sure
to be succeeded by long pains, for which there is no prevention, and
for the most part, no remedy. Hence it is that life is shortened;
and, while it lasts, is full of languor, disease, and suffering. If
by living _fast_, as men call it, they only abridged the duration of
their pleasures, their folly might seem tolerable. But the case is
much worse: they treasure up to themselves actual sufferings, from
disorders which have no cure, as well as no name. And not unfrequently
it happens, according to the strong expression in the book of Job, that
_a man’s bones are full of the sin of his youth, till they lie down
with him in the grave_[180].
Or, if health continue, his _fortune_ suffers; it being an observation
as old as Solomon, and confirmed by constant experience ever since,
that _he who loveth pleasure, shall not be rich_[181]. His paternal
inheritance is perhaps wasted, or much reduced. And his careless youth
has lost the opportunity of those improvements which should enable
him to repair it. Or, if the abundant provision of wiser ancestors
secure him from this mischance; or, if he has had the discretion to
mix some industry and œconomy with his vices, still his good name
is blasted, and so tender a plant as this is not easily restored to
health and vigour. For it is a mistake to think that intemperance
leaves no lasting disgrace behind it. The contrary is seen every
day; and the crimes which we commit in the mad pursuit of pleasure,
bring a dishonour with them, which no age can wholly outlive, and no
virtue can repair[182]. It stuck close to Cæsar himself in his highest
fortune: All his laurels could neither hide his _baldness_ from the
observation of men, nor the infamy of that commerce by which it had
been occasioned[183].
All this, it may be thought, is very hard. But such is the fact, and
such the order of God’s providence. We have not the making of this
system: it is made to our hands by him who ordereth all things for the
best, how grievous soever his dispensations may sometimes appear to
us. Our duty, and our wisdom is to reflect what that system is, and to
conform ourselves to it.
If a young man, on his entrance into life, could be made duly sensible
of the dreadful evils, which, in the very constitution of things, flow
from vice, there is scarcely any temptation that could prevail over his
virtue. But his levity and inexperience expose him to these evils: he
thinks nothing of them till they arrive, and then there is no escape
from them.
To conclude: if any thing can rescue unwary youth out of the hands of
their own folly, it must be such a train of reflection as the text
offers to us. Let it sink deep into their minds, that there are indeed
_bitter things_ decreed against the iniquities of that early age; that
a thousand temporal evils spring from that source; that vicious habits
are in themselves vexatious and tormenting; and, that, uncorrected,
and unrepented of, they fill the mind with inutterable remorse and
horror.