SERMON V. UPON COMPASSION.

ROM. xii. 15.

_Rejoice with them that do rejoice_, _and weep with them that weep_.

Every man is to be considered in two capacities, the private and public;

as designed to pursue his own interest, and likewise to contribute to the

good of others. Whoever will consider may see that, in general, there is

no contrariety between these; but that from the original constitution of

man, and the circumstances he is placed in, they perfectly coincide, and

mutually carry on each other. But, among the great variety of affections

or principles of actions in our nature, some in their primary intention

and design seem to belong to the single or private, others to the public

or social capacity. The affections required in the text are of the

latter sort. When we rejoice in the prosperity of others, and

compassionate their distresses, we as it were substitute them for

ourselves, their interest for our own; and have the same kind of pleasure

in their prosperity, and sorrow in their distress, as we have from

reflection upon our own. Now there is nothing strange or unaccountable

in our being thus carried out, and affected towards the interests of

others. For, if there be any appetite, or any inward principle besides

self-love; why may there not be an affection to the good of our fellow-

creatures, and delight from that affection's being gratified, and

uneasiness from things going contrary to it? {13}

Of these two, delight in the prosperity of others, and compassion for

their distresses, the last is felt much more generally than the former.

Though men do not universally rejoice with all whom they see rejoice,

yet, accidental obstacles removed, they naturally compassionate all, in

some degree, whom they see in distress; so far as they have any real

perception or sense of that distress: insomuch that words expressing this

latter, pity, compassion, frequently occur: whereas we have scarce any

single one by which the former is distinctly expressed. Congratulation

indeed answers condolence: but both these words are intended to signify

certain forms of civility rather than any inward sensation or feeling.

This difference or inequality is so remarkable that we plainly consider

compassion as itself an original, distinct, particular affection in human

nature; whereas to rejoice in the good of others is only a consequence of

the general affection of love and good-will to them. The reason and

account of which matter is this: when a man has obtained any particular

advantage or felicity, his end is gained; and he does not in that

particular want the assistance of another: there was therefore no need of

a distinct affection towards that felicity of another already obtained;

neither would such affection directly carry him on to do good to that

person: whereas men in distress want assistance; and compassion leads us

directly to assist them. The object of the former is the present

felicity of another; the object of the latter is the present misery of

another. It is easy to see that the latter wants a particular affection

for its relief, and that the former does not want one because it does not

want assistance. And upon supposition of a distinct affection in both

cases, the one must rest in the exercise of itself, having nothing

further to gain; the other does not rest in itself, but carries us on to

assist the distressed.

But, supposing these affections natural to the mind, particularly the

last; "Has not each man troubles enough of his own? must he indulge an

affection which appropriates to himself those of others? which leads him

to contract the least desirable of all friendships, friendships with the

unfortunate? Must we invert the known rule of prudence, and choose to

associate ourselves with the distressed? or, allowing that we ought, so

far as it is in our power to relieve them, yet is it not better to do

this from reason and duty? Does not passion and affection of every kind

perpetually mislead us? Nay, is not passion and affection itself a

weakness, and what a perfect being must be entirely free from?" Perhaps

so, but it is mankind I am speaking of; imperfect creatures, and who

naturally and, from the condition we are placed in, necessarily depend

upon each other. With respect to such creatures, it would be found of as

bad consequence to eradicate all natural affections as to be entirely

governed by them. This would almost sink us to the condition of brutes;

and that would leave us without a sufficient principle of action. Reason

alone, whatever any one may wish, is not in reality a sufficient motive

of virtue in such a creature as man; but this reason joined with those

affections which God has impressed upon his heart, and when these are

allowed scope to exercise themselves, but under strict government and

direction of reason, then it is we act suitably to our nature, and to the

circumstances God has placed us in. Neither is affection itself at all a

weakness; nor does it argue defect, any otherwise than as our senses and

appetites do; they belong to our condition of nature, and are what we

cannot be without. God Almighty is, to be sure, unmoved by passion or

appetite, unchanged by affection; but then it is to be added that He

neither sees nor hears nor perceives things by any senses like ours; but

in a manner infinitely more perfect. Now, as it is an absurdity almost

too gross to be mentioned, for a man to endeavour to get rid of his

senses, because the Supreme Being discerns things more perfectly without

them; it is as real, though not so obvious an absurdity, to endeavour to

eradicate the passions He has given us, because He is without them. For,

since our passions are as really a part of our constitution as our

senses; since the former as really belong to our condition of nature as

the latter; to get rid of either is equally a violation of and breaking

in upon that nature and constitution He has given us. Both our senses

and our passions are a supply to the imperfection of our nature; thus

they show that we are such sort of creatures as to stand in need of those

helps which higher orders of creatures do not. But it is not the supply,

but the deficiency; as it is not a remedy, but a disease, which is the

imperfection. However, our appetites, passions, senses, no way imply

disease: nor indeed do they imply deficiency or imperfection of any sort;

but only this, that the constitution of nature, according to which God

has made us, is such as to require them. And it is so far from being

true, that a wise man must entirely suppress compassion, and all fellow-

feeling for others, as a weakness; and trust to reason alone to teach and

enforce upon him the practice of the several charities we owe to our

kind; that, on the contrary, even the bare exercise of such affections

would itself be for the good and happiness of the world; and the

imperfection of the higher principles of reason and religion in man, the

little influence they have upon our practice, and the strength and

prevalency of contrary ones, plainly require these affections to be a

restraint upon these latter, and a supply to the deficiencies of the

former.

First, The very exercise itself of these affections in a just and

reasonable manner and degree would upon the whole increase the

satisfactions and lessen the miseries of life.

It is the tendency and business of virtue and religion to procure, as

much as may be, universal good-will, trust, and friendship amongst

mankind. If this could be brought to obtain; and each man enjoyed the

happiness of others, as every one does that of a friend; and looked upon

the success and prosperity of his neighbour as every one does upon that

of his children and family; it is too manifest to be insisted upon how

much the enjoyments of life would be increased. There would be so much

happiness introduced into the world, without any deduction or

inconvenience from it, in proportion as the precept of _rejoicing with

those who rejoice_ was universally obeyed. Our Saviour has owned this

good affection as belonging to our nature in the parable of the _lost

sheep_, and does not think it to the disadvantage of a perfect state to

represent its happiness as capable of increase from reflection upon that

of others.

But since in such a creature as man, compassion or sorrow for the

distress of others seems so far necessarily connected with joy in their

prosperity, as that whoever rejoices in one must unavoidably

compassionate the other; there cannot be that delight or satisfaction,

which appears to be so considerable, without the inconveniences, whatever

they are, of compassion.

However, without considering this connection, there is no doubt but that

more good than evil, more delight than sorrow, arises from compassion

itself; there being so many things which balance the sorrow of it. There

is first the relief which the distressed feel from this affection in

others towards them. There is likewise the additional misery which they

would feel from the reflection that no one commiserated their case. It

is indeed true that any disposition, prevailing beyond a certain degree,

becomes somewhat wrong; and we have ways of speaking, which, though they

do not directly express that excess, yet always lead our thoughts to it,

and give us the notion of it. Thus, when mention is made of delight in

being pitied, this always conveys to our mind the notion of somewhat

which is really a weakness. The manner of speaking, I say, implies a

certain weakness and feebleness of mind, which is and ought to be

disapproved. But men of the greatest fortitude would in distress feel

uneasiness from knowing that no person in the world had any sort of

compassion or real concern for them; and in some cases, especially when

the temper is enfeebled by sickness, or any long and great distress,

doubtless, would feel a kind of relief even from the helpless goodwill

and ineffectual assistances of those about them. Over against the sorrow

of compassion is likewise to be set a peculiar calm kind of satisfaction,

which accompanies it, unless in cases where the distress of another is by

some means so brought home to ourselves as to become in a manner our own;

or when from weakness of mind the affection rises too high, which ought

to be corrected. This tranquillity, or calm satisfaction, proceeds

partly from consciousness of a right affection and temper of mind, and

partly from a sense of our own freedom from the misery we compassionate.

This last may possibly appear to some at first sight faulty; but it

really is not so. It is the same with that positive enjoyment, which

sudden ease from pain for the present affords, arising from a real sense

of misery, joined with a sense of our freedom from it; which in all cases

must afford some degree of satisfaction.

To these things must be added the observation which respects both the

affections we are considering; that they who have got over all fellow-

feeling for others have withal contracted a certain callousness of heart,

which renders them insensible to most other satisfactions but those of

the grossest kind.

Secondly, Without the exercise of these affections men would certainly be

much more wanting in the offices of charity they owe to cache other, and

likewise more cruel and injurious than they are at present.

The private interest of the individual would not be sufficiently provided

for by reasonable and cool self-love alone; therefore the appetites and

passions are placed within as a guard and further security, without which

it would not be taken due care of. It is manifest our life would be

neglected were it not for the calls of hunger and thirst and weariness;

notwithstanding that without them reason would assure us that the

recruits of food and sleep are the necessary means of our preservation.

It is therefore absurd to imagine that, without affections, the same

reason alone would be more effectual to engage us to perform the duties

we owe to our fellow-creatures. One of this make would be as defective,

as much wanting, considered with respect to society, as one of the former

make would be defective, or wanting, considered as an individual, or in

his private capacity. Is it possible any can in earnest think that a

public spirit, _i.e._, a settled reasonable principle of benevolence to

mankind, is so prevalent and strong in the species as that we may venture

to throw off the under affections, which are its assistants, carry it

forward and mark out particular courses for it; family, friends,

neighbourhood, the distressed, our country? The common joys and the

common sorrows, which belong to these relations and circumstances, are as

plainly useful to society as the pain and pleasure belonging to hunger,

thirst, and weariness are of service to the individual. In defect of

that higher principle of reason, compassion is often the only way by

which the indigent can have access to us: and therefore, to eradicate

this, though it is not indeed formally to deny them that assistance which

is their due; yet it is to cut them off from that which is too frequently

their only way of obtaining it. And as for those who have shut up this

door against the complaints of the miserable, and conquered this

affection in themselves; even these persons will be under great

restraints from the same affection in others. Thus a man who has himself

no sense of injustice, cruelty, oppression, will be kept from running the

utmost lengths of wickedness by fear of that detestation, and even

resentment of inhumanity, in many particular instances of it, which

compassion for the object towards whom such inhumanity is exercised,

excites in the bulk of mankind. And this is frequently the chief danger

and the chief restraint which tyrants and the great oppressors of the

world feel.

In general, experience will show that, as want of natural appetite to

food supposes and proceeds from some bodily disease; so the apathy the

Stoics talk of as much supposes, or is accompanied with, somewhat amiss

in the moral character, in that which is the health of the mind. Those

who formerly aimed at this upon the foot of philosophy appear to have had

better success in eradicating the affections of tenderness and compassion

than they had with the passions of envy, pride, and resentment: these

latter, at best, were but concealed, and that imperfectly too. How far

this observation may be extended to such as endeavour to suppress the

natural impulses of their affections, in order to form themselves for

business and the world, I shall not determine. But there does not appear

any capacity or relation to be named, in which men ought to be entirely

deaf to the calls of affection, unless the judicial one is to be

excepted.

And as to those who are commonly called the men of pleasure, it is

manifest that the reason they set up for hardness of heart is to avoid

being interrupted in their course by the ruin and misery they are the

authors of; neither are persons of this character always the most free

from the impotencies of envy and resentment. What may men at last bring

themselves to, by suppressing their passions and affections of one kind,

and leaving those of the other in their full strength? But surely it

might be expected that persons who make pleasure their study and their

business, if they understood what they profess, would reflect, how many

of the entertainments of life, how many of those kind of amusements which

seem peculiarly to belong to men of leisure and education they became

insensible to by this acquired hardness of heart.

I shall close these reflections with barely mentioning the behaviour of

that divine Person, who was the example of all perfection in human

nature, as represented in the Gospels mourning, and even, in a literal

sense, weeping over the distresses of His creatures.

The observation already made, that, of the two affections mentioned in

the text, the latter exerts itself much more than the former; that, from

the original constitution of human nature, we much more generally and

sensibly compassionate the distressed than rejoice within the prosperous,

requires to be particularly considered. This observation, therefore,

with the reflections which arise out of it, and which it leads our

thoughts to, shall be the subject of another discourse.

For the conclusion of this, let me just take notice of the danger of over-

great refinements; of going beside or beyond the plain, obvious, first

appearances of things, upon the subject of morals and religion. The

least observation will show how little the generality of men are capable

of speculations. Therefore morality and religion must be somewhat plan

and easy to be understood: it must appeal to what we call plain common

sense, as distinguished from superior capacity and improvement; because

it appeals to mankind. Persons of superior capacity and improvement have

often fallen into errors which no one of mere common understanding could.

Is it possible that one of this latter character could even of himself

have thought that there was absolutely no such thing in mankind as

affection to the good of others? suppose of parents to their children; or

that what he felt upon seeing a friend in distress was only fear for

himself; or, upon supposition of the affections of kindness and

compassion, that it was the business of wisdom and virtue to set him

about extirpating them as fast as he could? And yet each of these

manifest contradictions to nature has been laid down by men of

speculation as a discovery in moral philosophy; which they, it seems,

have found out through all the specious appearances to the contrary. This

reflection may be extended further. The extravagances of enthusiasm and

superstition do not at all lie in the road of common sense; and

therefore, so far as they are _original mistakes_, must be owing to going

beside or beyond it. Now, since inquiry and examination can relate only

to things so obscure and uncertain as to stand in need of it, and to

persons who are capable of it; the proper advice to be given to plain

honest men, to secure them from the extremes both of superstition and

irreligion, is that of the Son of Sirach: _In every good work trust thy

own soul_; _for this is the keeping of the commandment_. {14}

SERMON VI. UPON COMPASSION.

PREACHED THE FIRST SUNDAY IN LENT.

Rom. xii. 15.

_Rejoice with then that do rejoice_, _and weep with them that weep_.

There is a much more exact correspondence between the natural and moral

world than we are apt to take notice of. The inward frame of man does in

a peculiar manner answer to the external condition and circumstances of

life in which he is placed. This is a particular instance of that

general observation of the Son of Sirach: _All things are double one

against another_, _and God hath made nothing imperfect_. {15} The

several passions and affections in the heart of man, compared with the

circumstances of life in which he is placed, afford, to such as will

attend to them, as certain instances of final causes, as any whatever,

which are more commonly alleged for such: since those affections lead him

to a certain determinate course of action suitable to those

circumstances; as (for instance) compassion to relieve the distressed.

And as all observations of final causes, drawn from the principles of

action in the heart of man, compared with the condition he is placed in,

serve all the good uses which instances of final causes in the material

world about us do; and both these are equally proofs of wisdom and design

in the Author of nature: so the former serve to further good purposes;

they show us what course of life we are made for, what is our duty, and

in a peculiar manner enforce upon us the practice of it.

Suppose we are capable of happiness and of misery in degrees equally

intense and extreme, yet, we are capable of the latter for a much longer

time, beyond all comparison. We see men in the tortures of pain for

hours, days, and, excepting the short suspensions of sleep, for months

together, without intermission, to which no enjoyments of life do, in

degree and continuance, bear any sort of proportion. And such is our

make and that of the world about us that any thing may become the

instrument of pain and sorrow to us. Thus almost any one man is capable

of doing mischief to any other, though he may not be capable of doing him

good; and if he be capable of doing him some good, he is capable of doing

him more evil. And it is, in numberless cases, much more in our power to

lessen the miseries of others than to promote their positive happiness,

any otherwise than as the former often includes the latter; ease from

misery occasioning for some time the greatest positive enjoyment. This

constitution of nature, namely, that it is so munch more in our power to

occasion and likewise to lessen misery than to promote positive

happiness, plainly required a particular affection to hinder us from

abusing, and to incline us to make a right use of the former powers,

_i.e._, the powers both to occasion and to lessen misery; over and above

what was necessary to induce us to make a right use of the latter power,

that of promoting positive happiness. The power we have over the misery

of our fellow-creatures, to occasion or lessen it, being a more important

trust than the power we have of promoting their positive happiness; the

former requires and has a further, an additional, security and guard

against its being violated, beyond and over and above what the latter

has. The social nature of man, and general goodwill to his species,

equally prevent him from doing evil, incline him to relieve the

distressed, and to promote the positive happiness of his

fellow-creatures; but compassion only restrains from the first, and

carries him to the second; it hath nothing to do with the third.

The final causes, then, of compassion are to prevent and to relieve

misery.

As to the former: this affection may plainly be a restraint upon

resentment, envy, unreasonable self-love; that is, upon all the

principles from which men do evil to one another. Let us instance only

in resentment. It seldom happens, in regulated societies, that men have

an enemy so entirely in their power as to be able to satiate their

resentment with safety. But if we were to put this case, it is plainly

supposable that a person might bring his enemy into such a condition, as

from being the object of anger and rage, to become an object of

compassion, even to himself, though the most malicious man in the world;

and in this case compassion would stop him, if he could stop with safety,

from pursuing his revenge any further. But since nature has placed

within us more powerful restraints to prevent mischief, and since the

final cause of compassion is much more to relieve misery, let us go on to

the consideration of it in this view.

As this world was not intended to be a state of any great satisfaction or

high enjoyment, so neither was it intended to be a mere scene of

unhappiness and sorrow. Mitigations and reliefs are provided by the

merciful Author of nature for most of the afflictions in human life.

There is kind provision made even against our frailties: as we are so

constituted that time abundantly abates our sorrows, and begets in us

that resignment of temper, which ought to have been produced by a better

cause; a due sense of the authority of God, and our state of dependence.

This holds in respect too far the greatest part of the evils of life; I

suppose, in some degree, as to pain and sickness. Now this part of the

constitution or make of man, considered as some relief to misery, and not

as provision for positive happiness, is, if I may so speak, an instance

of nature's compassion for us; and every natural remedy or relief to

misery may be considered in the same view.

But since in many cases it is very much in our power to alleviate the

miseries of each other; and benevolence, though natural in man to man,

yet is in a very low degree kept down by interest and competitions; and

men, for the most part, are so engaged in the business and pleasures of

the world, as to overlook and turn away from objects of misery; which are

plainly considered as interruptions to them in their way, as intruders

upon their business, their gaiety, and mirth: compassion is an advocate

within us in their behalf, to gain the unhappy admittance and access, to

make their case attended to. If it sometimes serves a contrary purpose,

and makes men industriously turn away from the miserable, these are only

instances of abuse and perversion: for the end, for which the affection

was given us, most certainly is not to make us avoid, but to make us

attend to, the objects of it. And if men would only resolve to allow

thus much to it: let it bring before their view, the view of their mind,

the miseries of their fellow-creatures; let it gain for them that their

case be considered; I am persuaded it would not fail of gaining more, and

that very few real objects of charity would pass unrelieved. Pain and

sorrow and misery have a right to our assistance: compassion puts us in

mind of the debt, and that we owe it to ourselves as well as to the

distressed. For, to endeavour to get rid of the sorrow of compassion by

turning from the wretched, when yet it is in our power to relieve them,

is as unnatural as to endeavour to get rid of the pain of hunger by

keeping from the sight of food. That we can do one with greater success

than we can the other is no proof that one is less a violation of nature

than the other. Compassion is a call, a demand of nature, to relieve the

unhappy as hunger is a natural call for food. This affection plainly

gives the objects of it an additional claim to relief and mercy, over and

above what our fellow-creatures in common have to our goodwill.

Liberality and bounty are exceedingly commendable; and a particular

distinction in such a world as this, where men set themselves to contract

their heart, and close it to all interests but their own. It is by no

means to be opposed to mercy, but always accompanies it: the distinction

between them is only that the former leads our thoughts to a more

promiscuous and undistinguished distribution of favours; to those who are

not, as well as those who are, necessitous; whereas the object of

compassion is misery. But in the comparison, and where there is not a

possibility of both, mercy is to have the preference: the affection of

compassion manifestly leads us to this preference. Thus, to relieve the

indigent and distressed, to single out the unhappy, from whom can be

expected no returns either of present entertainment or future service,

for the objects of our favours; to esteem a man's being friendless as a

recommendation; dejection, and incapacity of struggling through the

world, as a motive for assisting him; in a word, to consider these

circumstances of disadvantage, which are usually thought a sufficient

reason for neglect and overlooking a person, as a motive for helping him

forward: this is the course of benevolence which compassion marks out and

directs us to: this is that humanity which is so peculiarly becoming our

nature and circumstances in this world.

To these considerations, drawn from the nature of man, must be added the

reason of the thing itself we are recommending, which accords to and

shows the same. For since it is so much more in our power to lessen the

misery of our fellow-creatures than to promote their positive happiness;

in cases where there is an inconsistency, we shall be likely to do much

more good by setting ourselves to mitigate the former than by

endeavouring to promote the latter. Let the competition be between the

poor and the rich. It is easy, you will say, to see which will have the

preference. True; but the question is, which ought to have the

preference? What proportion is there between the happiness produced by

doing a favour to the indigent, and that produced by doing the same

favour to one in easy circumstances? It is manifest that the addition of

a very large estate to one who before had an affluence, will in many

instances yield him less new enjoyment or satisfaction than an ordinary

charity would yield to a necessitous person. So that it is not only true

that our nature, _i.e._, the voice of God within us, carries us to the

exercise of charity and benevolence in the way of compassion or mercy,

preferably to any other way; but we also manifestly discern much more

good done by the former; or, if you will allow me the expressions, more

misery annihilated and happiness created. If charity and benevolence,

and endeavouring to do good to our fellow-creatures, be anything, this

observation deserves to be most seriously considered by all who have to

bestow. And it holds with great exactness, when applied to the several

degrees of greater and less indigency throughout the various ranks in

human life: the happiness or good produced not being in proportion to

what is bestowed, but in proportion to this joined with the need there

was of it.

It may perhaps be expected that upon this subject notice should be taken

of occasions, circumstances, and characters which seem at once to call

forth affections of different sorts. Thus vice may be thought the object

both of pity and indignation: folly, of pity and of laughter. How far

this is strictly true, I shall not inquire; but only observe upon the

appearance, how much more humane it is to yield and give scope to

affections, which are most directly in favour of, and friendly towards,

our fellow-creatures; and that there is plainly much less danger of being

led wrong by these than by the other.

But, notwithstanding all that has been said in recommendation of

compassion, that it is most amiable, most becoming human nature, and most

useful to the world; yet it must be owned that every affection, as

distinct from a principle of reason, may rise too high, and be beyond its

just proportion. And by means of this one carried too far, a man

throughout his life is subject to much more uneasiness than belongs to

his share; and in particular instances, it may be in such a degree as to

incapacitate him from assisting the very person who is the object of it.

But as there are some who upon principle set up for suppressing this

affection itself as weakness, there is also I know not what of fashion on

this side; and, by some means or other, the whole world almost is run

into the extremes of insensibility towards the distresses of their fellow-

creatures: so that general rules and exhortations must always be on the

other side.

And now to go on to the uses we should make of the foregoing reflections,

the further ones they lead to, and the general temper they have a

tendency to beget in us. There being that distinct affection implanted

in the nature of man, tending to lessen the miseries of life, that

particular provision made for abating its sorrows, more than for

increasing its positive happiness, as before explained; this may suggest

to us what should be our general aim respecting ourselves, in our passage

through this world: namely, to endeavour chiefly to escape misery, keep

free from uneasiness, pain, and sorrow, or to get relief and mitigation

of them; to propose to ourselves peace and tranquillity of mind, rather

than pursue after high enjoyments. This is what the constitution of

nature before explained marks out as the course we should follow, and the

end we should aim at. To make pleasure and mirth and jollity our

business, and be constantly hurrying about after some gay amusement, some

new gratification of sense or appetite, to those who will consider the

nature of man and our condition in this world, will appear the most

romantic scheme of life that ever entered into thought. And yet how many

are there who go on in this course, without learning better from the

daily, the hourly disappointments, listlessness, and satiety which

accompany this fashionable method of wasting away their days!

The subject we have been insisting upon would lead us into the same kind

of reflections by a different connection. The miseries of life brought

home to ourselves by compassion, viewed through this affection considered

as the sense by which they are perceived, would beget in us that

moderation, humility, and soberness of mind which has been now

recommended; and which peculiarly belongs to a season of recollection,

the only purpose of which is to bring us to a just sense of things, to

recover us out of that forgetfulness of ourselves, and our true state,

which it is manifest far the greatest part of men pass their whole life

in. Upon this account Solomon says that _it is better to go to the house

of mourning than to go to the house of feasting_; _i.e._, it is more to a

man's advantage to turn his eyes towards objects of distress, to recall

sometimes to his remembrance the occasions of sorrow, than to pass all

his days in thoughtless mirth and gaiety. And he represents the wise as

choosing to frequent the former of these places; to be sure not for his

own sake, but because _by the sadness of the countenance_, _the heart is

made better_. Every one observes how temperate and reasonable men are

when humbled and brought low by afflictions in comparison of what they

are in high prosperity. By this voluntary resort to the house of

mourning, which is here recommended, we might learn all those useful

instructions which calamities teach without undergoing them ourselves;

and grow wiser and better at a more easy rate than men commonly do. The

objects themselves, which in that place of sorrow lie before our view,

naturally give us a seriousness and attention, check that wantonness

which is the growth of prosperity and ease, and head us to reflect upon

the deficiencies of human life itself; that _every man at his best estate

is altogether vanity_. This would correct the florid and gaudy prospects

and expectations which we are too apt to indulge, teach us to lower our

notions of happiness and enjoyment, bring them down to the reality of

things, to what is attainable, to what the frailty of our condition will

admit of, which, for any continuance, is only tranquillity, ease, and

moderate satisfactions. Thus we might at once become proof against the

temptations with which the whole world almost is carried away; since it

is plain that not only what is called a life of pleasure, but also

vicious pursuits in general, aim at somewhat besides and beyond these

moderate satisfactions.

And as to that obstinacy and wilfulness, which renders men so insensible

to the motives of religion; this right sense of ourselves and of the

world about us would bend the stubborn mind, soften the heart, and make

it more apt to receive impression; and this is the proper temper in which

to call our ways to remembrance, to review and set home upon ourselves

the miscarriages of our past life. In such a compliant state of mind,

reason and conscience will have a fair hearing; which is the preparation

for, or rather the beginning of, that repentance, the outward show of

which we all put on at this season.

Lastly, The various miseries of life which lie before us wherever we turn

our eyes, the frailty of this mortal state we are passing through, may

put us in mind that the present world is not our home; that we are merely

strangers and travellers in it, as all our fathers were. It is therefore

to be considered as a foreign country; in which our poverty and wants,

and the insufficient supplies of them, were designed to turn our views to

that higher and better state we are heirs to: a state where will be no

follies to be overlooked, no miseries to be pitied, no wants to be

relieved; where the affection we have been now treating of will happily

be lost, as there will be no objects to exercise it upon: for _God shall

wipe away all tears from their eyes_, _and there shall be no more death_,

_neither sorrow_, _nor crying_; _neither shall there be any more pain_;

_for the former things are passed away_.

SERMON VII. UPON THE CHARACTER OF BALAAM.

PREACHED THE SECOND SUNDAY AFTER EASTER.

NUMBERS xxiii. 10.

_Let me die the death of the righteous_, _and let my last end be like

his_.

These words, taken alone, and without respect to him who spoke them, lead

our thoughts immediately to the different ends of good and bad men. For

though the comparison is not expressed, yet it is manifestly implied; as

is also the preference of one of these characters to the other in that

last circumstance, death. And, since dying the death of the righteous or

of the wicked necessarily implies men's being righteous or wicked;

_i.e._, having lived righteously or wickedly; a comparison of them in

their lives also might come into consideration, from such a single view

of the words themselves. But my present design is to consider them with

a particular reference or respect to him who spoke them; which reference,

if you please to attend, you will see. And if what shall be offered to

your consideration at this time be thought a discourse upon the whole

history of this man, rather than upon the particular words I have read,

this is of no consequence: it is sufficient if it afford reflection of

use and service to ourselves.

But, in order to avoid cavils respecting this remarkable relation in

Scripture, either that part of it which you have heard in the first

lesson for the day, or any other; let me just observe that as this is not

a place for answering them, so they no way affect the following

discourse; since the character there given is plainly a real one in life,

and such as there are parallels to.

The occasion of Balaam's coming out of his own country into the land of

Moab, where he pronounced this solemn prayer or wish, he himself relates

in the first parable or prophetic speech, of which it is the conclusion.

In which is a custom referred to, proper to be taken notice of: that of

devoting enemies to destruction before the entrance upon a war with them.

This custom appears to have prevailed over a great part of the world; for

we find it amongst the most distant nations. The Romans had public

officers, to whom it belonged as a stated part of their office. But

there was somewhat more particular in the case now before us: Balaam

being looked upon as an extraordinary person, whose blessing or curse was

thought to be always effectual.

In order to engage the reader's attention to this passage, the sacred

historian has enumerated the preparatory circumstances, which are these.

Balaam requires the king of Moab to build him seven altars, and to

prepare him the same number of oxen and of rams. The sacrifice being

over, he retires alone to a solitude sacred to these occasions, there to

wait the Divine inspiration or answer, for which the foregoing rites were

the preparation. _And God met Balaam_, _and put a word in his mouth_;

{16} upon receiving which, he returns back to the altars, where was the

king, who had all this while attended the sacrifice, as appointed; he and

all the princes of Moab standing, big with expectation of the Prophet's

reply. _And he took up his parable_, _and said_, _Balak the king of Moab

hath brought me from Aram_, _out of the mountains of the east_, _saying_,

_Come_, _curse me Jacob_, _and come_, _defy Israel_. _How shall I

curse_, _whom God hath not cursed_? _Or how shall I defy_, _whom the

Lord hath not defied_? _For from the top of the rocks I see him_, _and

from the hills I behold him_: _lo_, _the people shall dwell alone_, _and

shall not be reckoned among the nations_. _Who can count the dust of

Jacob_, _and the number of the fourth part of Israel_? _Let me die the

death of the righteous_, _and let my last end be like his_. {17}

It is necessary, as you will see in the progress of this discourse,

particularly to observe what he understood by _righteous_. And he

himself is introduced in the book of Micah {18} explaining it; if by

_righteous_ is meant _good_, as to be sure it is. _O my people_,

_remember now what Balak king of Moab consulted_, _and what Balaam the

son of Beor answered him from Shittim unto Gilgal_. From the mention of

Shittim it is manifest that it is this very story which is here referred

to, though another part of it, the account of which is not now extant; as

there are many quotations in Scripture out of books which are not come

down to us. _Remember what Balaam answered_, _that ye may know the

righteousness of the Lord_; _i.e._, the righteousness which God will

accept. Balak demands, _Wherewith shall I come before the Lord_, _and

bow myself before the high God_? _Shall I come before him with burnt-

offerings_, _with calves of a year old_? _Will the Lord be pleased with

thousands of rams_, _or with ten thousands of rivers of oil_? _Shall I

give my first-born for my transgression_, _the fruit of my body for the

sin of my soul_? Balaam answers him, _he hath showed thee_, _O man_,

_what is good_: _and what doth the Lord require of thee_, _but to do

justly_, _and to love mercy_, _and to walk humbly with thy God_? Here is

a good man expressly characterised, as distinct from a dishonest and a

superstitious man. No words can more strongly exclude dishonesty and

falseness of heart than _doing justice and loving mercy_; and both these,

as well as _walking humbly with God_, are put in opposition to those

ceremonial methods of recommendation, which Balak hoped might have served

the turn. From hence appears what he meant by the _righteous_, whose

_death_ he desires to die.

Whether it was his own character shall now be inquired; and in order to

determine it, we must take a view of his whole behaviour upon this

occasion. When the elders of Noah came to him, though he appears to have

been much allured with the rewards offered, yet he had such regard to the

authority of God as to keep the messengers in suspense until he had

consulted His will. _And God said to him_, _Thou shalt not go with

them_; _thou shalt not curse the people_, _for they are blessed_. {19}

Upon this he dismisses the ambassadors, with an absolute refusal of

accompanying them back to their king. Thus far his regards to his duty

prevailed, neither does there anything appear as yet amiss in his

conduct. His answer being reported to the king of Moab, a more

honourable embassy is immediately despatched, and greater rewards

proposed. Then the iniquity of his heart began to disclose itself. A

thorough honest man would without hesitation have repeated his former

answer, that he could not be guilty of so infamous a prostitution of the

sacred character with which he was invested, as in the name of a prophet

to curse those whom he knew to be blessed. But instead of this, which

was the only honest part in these circumstances that lay before him, he

desires the princes of Moab to tarry that night with him also; and for

the sake of the reward deliberates, whether by some means or other he

might not be able to obtain leave to curse Israel; to do that, which had

been before revealed to him to be contrary to the will of God, which yet

he resolves not to do without that permission. Upon which, as when this

nation afterwards rejected God from reigning over them, He gave them a

king in His anger; in the same way, as appears from other parts of the

narration, He gives Balaam the permission he desired: for this is the

most natural sense of the words. Arriving in the territories of Moab,

and being received with particular distinction by the king, and he

repeating in person the promise of the rewards he had before made to him

by his ambassadors, he seeks, the text says, by _sacrifices_ and

_enchantments_ (what these were is not to our purpose), to obtain leave

of God to curse the people; keeping still his resolution, not to do it

without that permission: which not being able to obtain, he had such

regard to the command of God as to keep this resolution to the last. The

supposition of his being under a supernatural restraint is a mere fiction

of Philo: he is plainly represented to be under no other force or

restraint than the fear of God. However, he goes on persevering in that

endeavour, after he had declared that _God had not beheld iniquity in

Jacob_, _neither had he seen perverseness in Israel_; {20} _i.e._, they

were a people of virtue and piety, so far as not to have drawn down by

their iniquity that curse which he was soliciting leave to pronounce upon

them. So that the state of Balaam's mind was this: he wanted to do what

he knew to be very wicked, and contrary to the express command of God; he

had inward checks and restraints which he could not entirely get over; he

therefore casts about for ways to reconcile this wickedness with his

duty. How great a paradox soever this may appear, as it is indeed a

contradiction in terms, it is the very account which the Scripture gives

us of him.

But there is a more surprising piece of iniquity yet behind. Not daring

in his religious character, as a prophet, to assist the king of Moab, he

considers whether there might not be found some other means of assisting

him against that very people, whom he himself by the fear of God was

restrained from cursing in words. One would not think it possible that

the weakness, even of religious self-deceit in its utmost excess, could

have so poor a distinction, so fond an evasion, to serve itself of. But

so it was; and he could think of no other method than to betray the

children of Israel to provoke His wrath, who was their only strength and

defence. The temptation which he pitched upon was that concerning which

Solomon afterwards observed, that it had _cast down many wounded_; _yea_,

_many strong men had been slain by it_: and of which he himself was a sad

example, when _his wives turned away his heart after other gods_. This

succeeded: the people sin against God; and thus the Prophet's counsel

brought on that destruction which he could by no means be prevailed upon

to assist with the religious ceremony of execration, which the king of

Moab thought would itself have affected it. Their crime and punishment

are related in Deuteronomy {21} and Numbers. {22} And from the relation

repeated in Numbers, {23} it appears, that Balaam was the contriver of

the whole matter. It is also ascribed to him in the Revelation, {24}

where he is said to have _taught Balak to cast a stumbling-block before

the children of Israel_.

This was the man, this Balaam, I say, was the man, who desired to _die

the death of the righteous_, and that his _last end might be like his_;

and this was the state of his mind when he pronounced these words.

So that the object we have now before us is the most astonishing in the

world: a very wicked man, under a deep sense of God and religion,

persisting still in his wickedness, and preferring the wages of

unrighteousness, even when he had before him a lively view of death, and

that approaching period of his days, which should deprive him of all

those advantages for which he was prostituting himself; and likewise a

prospect, whether certain or uncertain, of a future state of retribution;

all this joined with an explicit ardent wish that, when he was to leave

this world, he might be in the condition of a righteous man. Good God!

what inconsistency, what perplexity is here! With what different views

of things, with what contradictory principles of action, must such a mind

be torn and distracted! It was not unthinking carelessness, by which he

ran on headlong in vice and folly, without ever making a stand to ask

himself what he was doing: no; he acted upon the cool motives of interest

and advantage. Neither was he totally hard and callous to impressions of

religion, what we call abandoned; for he absolutely denied to curse

Israel. When reason assumes her place, when convinced of his duty, when

he owns and feels, and is actually under the influence of the divine

authority; whilst he is carrying on his views to the grave, the end of

all temporal greatness; under this sense of things, with the better

character and more desirable state present--full before him--in his

thoughts, in his wishes, voluntarily to choose the worse--what fatality

is here! Or how otherwise can such a character be explained? And yet,

strange as it may appear, it is not altogether an uncommon one: nay, with

some small alterations, and put a little lower, it is applicable to a

very considerable part of the world. For if the reasonable choice be

seen and acknowledged, and yet men make the unreasonable one, is not this

the same contradiction; that very inconsistency, which appeared so

unaccountable?

To give some little opening to such characters and behaviour, it is to be

observed in general that there is no account to be given in the way of

reason, of men's so strong attachments to the present world: our hopes

and fears and pursuits are in degrees beyond all proportion to the known

value of the things they respect. This may be said without taking into

consideration religion and a future state; and when these are considered,

the disproportion is infinitely heightened. Now when men go against

their reason, and contradict a more important interest at a distance, for

one nearer, though of less consideration; if this be the whole of the

case, all that can be said is, that strong passions, some kind of brute

force within, prevails over the principle of rationality. However, if

this be with a clear, full, and distinct view of the truth of things,

then it is doing the utmost violence to themselves, acting in the most

palpable contradiction to their very nature. But if there be any such

thing in mankind as putting half-deceits upon themselves; which there

plainly is, either by avoiding reflection, or (if they do reflect) by

religious equivocation, subterfuges, and palliating matters to

themselves; by these means conscience may be laid asleep, and they may go

on in a course of wickedness with less disturbance. All the various

turns, doubles, and intricacies in a dishonest heart cannot be unfolded

or laid open; but that there is somewhat of that kind is manifest, be it

to be called self-deceit, or by any other name. Balaam had before his

eyes the authority of God, absolutely forbidding him what he, for the

sake of a reward, had the strongest inclination to: he was likewise in a

state of mind sober enough to consider death and his last end: by these

considerations he was restrained, first from going to the king of Moab,

and after he did go, from cursing Israel. But notwithstanding this,

there was great wickedness in his heart. He could not forego the rewards

of unrighteousness: he therefore first seeks for indulgences, and when

these could not be obtained, he sins against the whole meaning, end, and

design of the prohibition, which no consideration in the world could

prevail with him to go against the letter of. And surely that impious

counsel he gave to Balak against the children of Israel was, considered

in itself, a greater piece of wickedness than if he had cursed them in

words.

If it be inquired what his situation, his hopes, and fears were, in

respect to this his wish; the answer must be, that consciousness of the

wickedness of his heart must necessarily have destroyed all settled hopes

of dying the death of the righteous: he could have no calm satisfaction

in this view of his last end: yet, on the other hand, it is possible that

those partial regards to his duty, now mentioned, might keep him from

perfect despair.

Upon the whole it is manifest that Balaam had the most just and true

notions of God and religion; as appears, partly from the original story

itself, and more plainly from the passage in Micah; where he explains

religion to consist in real virtue and real piety, expressly

distinguished from superstition, and in terms which most strongly exclude

dishonesty and falseness of heart. Yet you see his behaviour: he seeks

indulgences for plain wickedness, which not being able to obtain he

glosses over that same wickedness, dresses it up in a new form, in order

to make it pass off more easily with himself. That is, he deliberately

contrives to deceive and impose upon himself in a matter which he knew to

be of the utmost importance.

To bring these observations home to ourselves: it is too evident that

many persons allow themselves in very unjustifiable courses who yet make

great pretences to religion; not to deceive the world, none can be so

weak as to think this will pass in our age; but from principles, hopes,

and fears, respecting God and a future state; and go on thus with a sort

of tranquillity and quiet of mind. This cannot be upon a thorough

consideration, and full resolution, that the pleasures and advantages

they propose are to be pursued at all hazards, against reason, against

the law of God, and though everlasting destruction is to be the

consequence. This would be doing too great violence upon themselves. No,

they are for making a composition with the Almighty. These of His

commands they will obey; but as to others--why, they will make all the

atonements in their power; the ambitious, the covetous, the dissolute

man, each in a way which shall not contradict his respective pursuit.

Indulgences before, which was Balaam's first attempt, though he was not

so successful in it as to deceive himself, or atonements afterwards, are

all the same. And here, perhaps, come in faint hopes that they may, and

half-resolves that they will, one time or other, make a change.

Besides these there are also persons, who, from a more just way of

considering things, see the infinite absurdity of this, of substituting

sacrifice instead of obedience; there are persons far enough from

superstition, and not without some real sense of God and religion upon

their minds; who yet are guilty of most unjustifiable practices, and go

on with great coolness and command over themselves. The same dishonesty

and unsoundness of heart discovers itself in these another way. In all

common ordinary cases we see intuitively at first view what is our duty,

what is the honest part. This is the ground of the observation, that the

first thought is often the best. In these cases doubt and deliberation

is itself dishonesty, as it was in Balaam upon the second message. That

which is called considering what is our duty in a particular case is very

often nothing but endeavouring to explain it away. Thus those courses,

which, if men would fairly attend to the dictates of their own

consciences, they would see to be corruption, excess, oppression,

uncharitableness; these are refined upon--things were so and so

circumstantiated--great difficulties are raised about fixing bounds and

degrees, and thus every moral obligation whatever may be evaded. Here is

scope, I say, for an unfair mind to explain away every moral obligation

to itself. Whether men reflect again upon this internal management and

artifice, and how explicit they are with themselves, is another question.

There are many operations of the mind, many things pass within, which we

never reflect upon again; which a bystander, from having frequent

opportunities of observing us and our conduct, may make shrewd guesses

at.

That great numbers are in this way of deceiving themselves is certain.

There is scarce a man in the world, who has entirely got over all

regards, hopes, and fears, concerning God and a future state; and these

apprehensions in the generality, bad as we are, prevail in considerable

degrees: yet men will and can be wicked, with calmness and thought; we

see they are. There must therefore be some method of making it sit a

little easy upon their minds; which, in the superstitious, is those

indulgences and atonements before mentioned, and this self-deceit of

another kind in persons of another character. And both these proceed

from a certain unfairness of mind, a peculiar inward dishonesty; the

direct contrary to that simplicity which our Saviour recommends, under

the notion of _becoming little children_, as a necessary qualification

for our entering into the kingdom of heaven.

But to conclude: How much soever men differ in the course of life they

prefer, and in their ways of palliating and excusing their vices to

themselves; yet all agree in one thing, desiring to _die the death of the

righteous_. This is surely remarkable. The observation may be extended

further, and put thus: even without determining what that is which we

call guilt or innocence, there is no man but would choose, after having

had the pleasure or advantage of a vicious action, to be free of the

guilt of it, to be in the state of an innocent man. This shows at least

the disturbance and implicit dissatisfaction in vice. If we inquire into

the grounds of it, we shall find it proceeds partly from an immediate

sense of having done evil, and partly from an apprehension that this

inward sense shall one time or another be seconded by a higher judgment,

upon which our whole being depends. Now to suspend and drown this sense,

and these apprehensions, be it by the hurry of business or of pleasure,

or by superstition, or moral equivocations, this is in a manner one and

the same, and makes no alteration at all in the nature of our case.

Things and actions are what they are, and the consequences of them will

be what they will be: why, then, should we desire to be deceived? As we

are reasonable creatures, and have any regard to ourselves, we ought to

lay these things plainly and honestly before our mind, and upon this, act

as you please, as you think most fit: make that choice, and prefer that

course of life, which you can justify to yourselves, and which sits most

easy upon your own mind. It will immediately appear that vice cannot be

the happiness, but must upon the whole be the misery, of such a creature

as man; a moral, an accountable agent. Superstitious observances, self-

deceit though of a more refined sort, will not in reality at all mend

matters with us. And the result of the whole can be nothing else, but

that with simplicity and fairness we _keep innocency_, _and take heed

unto the thing that is right_; _for this alone shall bring a man peace at

the last_.

SERMON XI. {24a} UPON THE LOVE OF OUR NEIGHBOUR.

PREACHED ON ADVENT SUNDAY.

ROMANS xiii. 9.

_And if there be any other commandment_, _it is briefly comprehended

in this saying_, _namely_, _Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself_.

It is commonly observed that there is a disposition in men to complain of

the viciousness and corruption of the age in which they live as greater

than that of former ones; which is usually followed with this further

observation, that mankind has been in that respect much the same in all

times. Now, not to determine whether this last be not contradicted by

the accounts of history; thus much can scarce be doubted, that vice and

folly takes different turns, and some particular kinds of it are more

open and avowed in some ages than in others; and, I suppose, it may be

spoken of as very much the distinction of the present to profess a

contracted spirit, and greater regards to self-interest, than appears to

have been done formerly. Upon this account it seems worth while to

inquire whether private interest is likely to be promoted in proportion

to the degree in which self-love engrosses us, and prevails over all

other principles; _or whether the contracted affection may not possibly

be so prevalent as to disappoint itself_, _and even contradict its own

and private good_.

And since, further, there is generally thought to be some peculiar kind

of contrariety between self-love and the love of our neighbour, between

the pursuit of public and of private good; insomuch that when you are

recommending one of these, you are supposed to be speaking against the

other; and from hence arises a secret prejudice against, and frequently

open scorn of, all talk of public spirit and real good-will to our fellow-

creatures; it will be necessary to _inquire what respect benevolence hath

to self-love_, _and the pursuit of private interest to the pursuit of

public_: or whether there be anything of that peculiar inconsistence and

contrariety between them over and above what there is between self-love

and other passions and particular affections, and their respective

pursuits.

These inquiries, it is hoped, may be favourably attended to; for there

shall be all possible concessions made to the favourite passion, which

hath so much allowed to it, and whose cause is so universally pleaded: it

shall be treated with the utmost tenderness and concern for its

interests.

In order to do this, as well as to determine the forementioned questions,

it will be necessary to _consider the nature_, _the object_, _and end of

that self-love_, _as distinguished from other principles or affections in

the mind_, _and their respective objects_.

Every man hath a general desire of his own happiness; and likewise a

variety of particular affections, passions, and appetites to particular

external objects. The former proceeds from, or is, self-love; and seems

inseparable from all sensible creatures, who can reflect upon themselves

and their own interest or happiness so as to have that interest an object

to their minds; what is to be said of the latter is, that they proceed

from or together make up that particular nature, according to which man

is made. The object the former pursues is somewhat internal--our own

happiness, enjoyment, satisfaction; whether we have, or have not, a

distinct particular perception what it is, or wherein it consists: the

objects of the latter are this or that particular external thing, which

the affections tend towards, and of which it hath always a particular

idea or perception. The principle we call self-love never seeks anything

external for the sake of the thing, but only as a means of happiness or

good: particular affections rest in the external things themselves. One

belongs to man as a reasonable creature reflecting upon his own interest

or happiness. The other, though quite distinct from reason, are as much

a part of human nature.

That all particular appetites and passions are towards _external things

themselves_, distinct from the _pleasure arising from them_, is

manifested from hence; that there could not be this pleasure, were it not

for that prior suitableness between the object and the passion: there

could be no enjoyment or delight from one thing more than another, from

eating food more than from swallowing a stone, if there were not an

affection or appetite to one thing more than another.

Every particular affection, even the love of our neighbour, is as really

our own affection as self-love; and the pleasure arising from its

gratification is as much my own pleasure as the pleasure self-love would

have from knowing I myself should be happy some time hence would be my

own pleasure. And if, because every particular affection is a man's own,

and the pleasure arising from its gratification his own pleasure, or

pleasure to himself, such particular affection must be called self-love;

according to this way of speaking, no creature whatever can possibly act

but merely from self-love; and every action and every affection whatever

is to be resolved up into this one principle. But then this is not the

language of mankind; or if it were, we should want words to express the

difference between the principle of an action, proceeding from cool

consideration that it will be to my own advantage; and an action, suppose

of revenge or of friendship, by which a man runs upon certain ruin, to do

evil or good to another. It is manifest the principles of these actions

are totally different, and so want different words to be distinguished

by; all that they agree in is that they both proceed from, and are done

to gratify, an inclination in a man's self. But the principle or

inclination in one case is self-love; in the other, hatred or love of

another. There is then a distinction between the cool principle of self-

love, or general desire of our own happiness, as one part of our nature,

and one principle of action; and the particular affections towards

particular external objects, as another part of our nature, and another

principle of action. How much soever therefore is to be allowed to self-

love, yet it cannot be allowed to be the whole of our inward

constitution; because, you see, there are other parts or principles which

come into it.

Further, private happiness or good is all which self-love can make us

desire, or be concerned about: in having this consists its gratification:

it is an affection to ourselves; a regard to our own interest, happiness,

and private good: and in the proportion a man hath this, he is

interested, or a lover of himself. Let this be kept in mind; because

there is commonly, as I shall presently have occasion to observe, another

sense put upon these words. On the other hand, particular affections

tend towards particular external things: these are their objects: having

these is their end: in this consists their gratification: no matter

whether it be, or be not, upon the whole, our interest or happiness. An

action done from the former of these principles is called an interested

action. An action proceeding from any of the latter has its denomination

of passionate, ambitious, friendly, revengeful, or any other, from the

particular appetite or affection from which it proceeds. Thus self-love

as one part of human nature, and the several particular principles as the

other part, are, themselves, their objects and ends, stated and shown.

From hence it will be easy to see how far, and in what ways, each of

these can contribute and be subservient to the private good of the

individual. Happiness does not consist in self-love. The desire of

happiness is no more the thing itself than the desire of riches is the

possession or enjoyment of them. People might love themselves with the

most entire and unbounded affection, and yet be extremely miserable.

Neither can self-love any way help them out, but by setting them on work

to get rid of the causes of their misery, to gain or make use of those

objects which are by nature adapted to afford satisfaction. Happiness or

satisfaction consists only in the enjoyment of those objects which are by

nature suited to our several particular appetites, passions, and

affections. So that if self-love wholly engrosses us, and leaves no room

for any other principle, there can be absolutely no such thing at all as

happiness or enjoyment of any kind whatever; since happiness consists in

the gratification of particular passions, which supposes the having of

them. Self-love then does not constitute _this_ or _that_ to be our

interest or good; but, our interest or good being constituted by nature

and supposed, self-love only puts us upon obtaining and securing it.

Therefore, if it be possible that self-love may prevail and exert itself

in a degree or manner which is not subservient to this end; then it will

not follow that our interest will be promoted in proportion to the degree

in which that principle engrosses us, and prevails over others. Nay,

further, the private and contracted affection, when it is not subservient

to this end, private good may, for anything that appears, have a direct

contrary tendency and effect. And if we will consider the matter, we

shall see that it often really has. _Disengagement_ is absolutely

necessary to enjoyment; and a person may have so steady and fixed an eye

upon his own interest, whatever he places it in, as may hinder him from

_attending_ to many gratifications within his reach, which others have

their minds _free_ and _open_ to. Over-fondness for a child is not

generally thought to be for its advantage; and, if there be any guess to

be made from appearances, surely that character we call selfish is not

the most promising for happiness. Such a temper may plainly be, and

exert itself in a degree and manner which may give unnecessary and

useless solicitude and anxiety, in a degree and manner which may prevent

obtaining the means and materials of enjoyment, as well as the making use

of them. Immoderate self-love does very ill consult its own interest:

and, how much soever a paradox it may appear, it is certainly true that

even from self-love we should endeavour to get over all inordinate regard

to and consideration of ourselves. Every one of our passions and

affections hath its natural stint and bound, which may easily be

exceeded; whereas our enjoyments can possibly be but in a determinate

measure and degree. Therefore such excess of the affection, since it

cannot procure any enjoyment, must in all cases be useless; but is

generally attended with inconveniences, and often is downright pain and

misery. This holds as much with regard to self-love as to all other

affections. The natural degree of it, so far as it sets us on work to

gain and make use of the materials of satisfaction, may be to our real

advantage; but beyond or besides this, it is in several respects an

inconvenience and disadvantage. Thus it appears that private interest is

so far from being likely to be promoted in proportion to the degree in

which self-love engrosses us, and prevails over all other principles,

that _the contracted affection may be so prevalent as to disappoint

itself_, _and even contradict its own and private good_.

"But who, except the most sordidly covetous, ever thought there was any

rivalship between the love of greatness, honour, power, or between

sensual appetites and self-love? No, there is a perfect harmony between

them. It is by means of these particular appetites and affections that

self-love is gratified in enjoyment, happiness, and satisfaction. The

competition and rivalship is between self-love and the love of our

neighbour: that affection which leads us out of ourselves, makes us

regardless of our own interest, and substitute that of another in its

stead." Whether, then, there be any peculiar competition and contrariety

in this case shall now be considered.

Self-love and interestedness was stated to consist in or be an affection

to ourselves, a regard to our own private good: it is therefore distinct

from benevolence, which is an affection to the good of our

fellow-creatures. But that benevolence is distinct from, that is, not

the same thing with self-love, is no reason for its being looked upon

with any peculiar suspicion; because every principle whatever, by means

of which self-love is gratified, is distinct from it; and all things

which are distinct from each other are equally so. A man has an

affection or aversion to another: that one of these tends to, and is

gratified by, doing good, that the other tends to, and is gratified by,

doing harm, does not in the least alter the respect which either one or

the other of these inward feelings has to self-love. We use the word

_property_ so as to exclude any other persons having an interest in that

of which we say a particular man has the property. And we often use the

word _selfish_ so as to exclude in the same manner all regards to the

good of others. But the cases are not parallel: for though that

exclusion is really part of the idea of property; yet such positive

exclusion, or bringing this peculiar disregard to the good of others into

the idea of self-love, is in reality adding to the idea, or changing it

from what it was before stated to consist in, namely, in an affection to

ourselves. {25} This being the whole idea of self-love, it can no

otherwise exclude good-will or love of others, than merely by not

including it, no otherwise, than it excludes love of arts or reputation,

or of anything else. Neither on the other hand does benevolence, any

more than love of arts or of reputation exclude self-love. Love of our

neighbour, then, has just the same respect to, is no more distant from,

self-love, than hatred of our neighbour, or than love or hatred of

anything else. Thus the principles, from which men rush upon certain

ruin for the destruction of an enemy, and for the preservation of a

friend, have the same respect to the private affection, and are equally

interested, or equally disinterested; and it is of no avail whether they

are said to be one or the other. Therefore to those who are shocked to

hear virtue spoken of as disinterested, it may be allowed that it is

indeed absurd to speak thus of it; unless hatred, several particular

instances of vice, and all the common affections and aversions in

mankind, are acknowledged to be disinterested too. Is there any less

inconsistence between the love of inanimate things, or of creatures

merely sensitive, and self-love, than between self-love and the love of

our neighbour? Is desire of and delight in the happiness of another any

more a diminution of self-love than desire of and delight in the esteem

of another? They are both equally desire of and delight in somewhat

external to ourselves; either both or neither are so. The object of self-

love is expressed in the term self; and every appetite of sense, and

every particular affection of the heart, are equally interested or

disinterested, because the objects of them all are equally self or

somewhat else. Whatever ridicule therefore the mention of a

disinterested principle or action may be supposed to lie open to, must,

upon the matter being thus stated, relate to ambition, and every appetite

and particular affection as much as to benevolence. And indeed all the

ridicule, and all the grave perplexity, of which this subject hath had

its full share, is merely from words. The most intelligible way of

speaking of it seems to be this: that self-love and the actions done in

consequence of it (for these will presently appear to be the same as to

this question) are interested; that particular affections towards

external objects, and the actions done in consequence of those affections

are not so. But every one is at liberty to use words as he pleases. All

that is here insisted upon is that ambition, revenge, benevolence, all

particular passions whatever, and the actions they produce, are equally

interested or disinterested.

Thus it appears that there is no peculiar contrariety between self-love

and benevolence; no greater competition between these than between any

other particular affections and self-love. This relates to the

affections themselves. Let us now see whether there be any peculiar

contrariety between the respective courses of life which these affections

lead to; whether there be any greater competition between the pursuit of

private and of public good, than between any other particular pursuits

and that of private good.

There seems no other reason to suspect that there is any such peculiar

contrariety, but only that the course of action which benevolence leads

to has a more direct tendency to promote the good of others, than that

course of action which love of reputation suppose, or any other

particular affection leads to. But that any affection tends to the

happiness of another does not hinder its tending to one's own happiness

too. That others enjoy the benefit of the air and the light of the sun

does not hinder but that these are as much one's own private advantage

now as they would be if we had the property of them exclusive of all

others. So a pursuit which tends to promote the good of another, yet may

have as great tendency to promote private interest, as a pursuit which

does not tend to the good of another at all, or which is mischievous to

him. All particular affections whatever, resentment, benevolence, love

of arts, equally lead to a course of action for their own gratification;

_i.e._, the gratification of ourselves; and the gratification of each

gives delight: so far, then, it is manifest they have all the same

respect to private interest. Now take into consideration, further,

concerning these three pursuits, that the end of the first is the harm,

of the second, the good of another, of the last, somewhat indifferent;

and is there any necessity that these additional considerations should

alter the respect, which we before saw these three pursuits had to

private interest, or render any one of them less conducive to it, than

any other? Thus one man's affection is to honour as his end; in order to

obtain which he thinks no pains too great. Suppose another, with such a

singularity of mind, as to have the same affection to public good as his

end, which he endeavours with the same labour to obtain. In case of

success, surely the man of benevolence hath as great enjoyment as the man

of ambition; they both equally having the end their affections, in the

same degree, tended to; but in case of disappointment, the benevolent man

has clearly the advantage; since endeavouring to do good, considered as a

virtuous pursuit, is gratified by its own consciousness, _i.e._, is in a

degree its own reward.

And as to these two, or benevolence and any other particular passions

whatever, considered in a further view, as forming a general temper,

which more or less disposes us for enjoyment of all the common blessings

of life, distinct from their own gratification, is benevolence less the

temper of tranquillity and freedom than ambition or covetousness? Does

the benevolent man appear less easy with himself from his love to his

neighbour? Does he less relish his being? Is there any peculiar gloom

seated on his face? Is his mind less open to entertainment, to any

particular gratification? Nothing is more manifest than that being in

good humour, which is benevolence whilst it lasts, is itself the temper

of satisfaction and enjoyment.

Suppose then, a man sitting down to consider how he might become most

easy to himself, and attain the greatest pleasure he could, all that

which is his real natural happiness. This can only consist in the

enjoyment of those objects which are by nature adapted to our several

faculties. These particular enjoyments make up the sum total of our

happiness, and they are supposed to arise from riches, honours, and the

gratification of sensual appetites. Be it so; yet none profess

themselves so completely happy in these enjoyments, but that there is

room left in the mind for others, if they were presented to them: nay,

these, as much as they engage us, are not thought so high, but that human

nature is capable even of greater. Now there have been persons in all

ages who have professed that they found satisfaction in the exercise of

charity, in the love of their neighbour, in endeavouring to promote the

happiness of all they had to do with, and in the pursuit of what is just

and right and good as the general bent of their mind and end of their

life; and that doing an action of baseness or cruelty would be as great

violence to _their_ self, as much breaking in upon their nature, as any

external force. Persons of this character would add, if they might be

heard, that they consider themselves as acting in the view of an Infinite

Being, who is in a much higher sense the object of reverence and of love,

than all the world besides; and therefore they could have no more

enjoyment from a wicked action done under His eye than the persons to

whom they are making their apology could if all mankind were the

spectators of it; and that the satisfaction of approving themselves to

his unerring judgment, to whom they thus refer all their actions, is a

more continued settled satisfaction than any this world can afford; as

also that they have, no less than others, a mind free and open to all the

common innocent gratifications of it, such as they are. And if we go no

further, does there appear any absurdity in this? Will any one take upon

him to say that a man cannot find his account in this general course of

life as much as in the most unbounded ambition, and the excesses of

pleasure? Or that such a person has not consulted so well for himself,

for the satisfaction and peace of his own mind, as the ambitious or

dissolute man? And though the consideration that God himself will in the

end justify their taste, and support their cause, is not formally to be

insisted upon here, yet thus much comes in, that all enjoyments whatever

are much more clear and unmixed from the assurance that they will end

well. Is it certain, then, that there is nothing in these pretensions to

happiness? especially when there are not wanting persons who have

supported themselves with satisfactions of this kind in sickness,

poverty, disgrace, and in the very pangs of death; whereas it is manifest

all other enjoyments fail in these circumstances. This surely looks

suspicions of having somewhat in it. Self-love, methinks, should be

alarmed. May she not possibly pass over greater pleasures than those she

is so wholly taken up with?

The short of the matter is no more than this. Happiness consists in the

gratification of certain affections, appetites, passions, with objects

which are by nature adapted to them. Self-love may indeed set us on work

to gratify these, but happiness or enjoyment has no immediate connection

with self-love, but arises from such gratification alone. Love of our

neighbour is one of those affections. This, considered as a _virtuous

principle_, is gratified by a consciousness of _endeavouring_ to promote

the good of others, but considered as a natural affection, its

gratification consists in the actual accomplishment of this endeavour.

Now indulgence or gratification of this affection, whether in that

consciousness or this accomplishment, has the same respect to interest as

indulgence of any other affection; they equally proceed from or do not

proceed from self-love, they equally include or equally exclude this

principle. Thus it appears, that _benevolence and the pursuit of public

good hath at least as great respect to self-love and the pursuit of

private good as any other particular passions_, _and their respective

pursuits_.

Neither is covetousness, whether as a temper or pursuit, any exception to

this. For if by covetousness is meant the desire and pursuit of riches

for their own sake, without any regard to, or consideration of, the uses

of them, this hath as little to do with self-love as benevolence hath.

But by this word is usually meant, not such madness and total distraction

of mind, but immoderate affection to and pursuit of riches as possessions

in order to some further end, namely, satisfaction, interest, or good.

This, therefore, is not a particular affection or particular pursuit, but

it is the general principle of self-love, and the general pursuit of our

own interest, for which reason the word _selfish_ is by every one

appropriated to this temper and pursuit. Now as it is ridiculous to

assert that self-love and the love of our neighbour are the same, so

neither is it asserted that following these different affections hath the

same tendency and respect to our own interest. The comparison is not

between self-love and the love of our neighbour, between pursuit of our

own interest and the interest of others, but between the several

particular affections in human nature towards external objects, as one

part of the comparison, and the one particular affection to the good of

our neighbour as the other part of it: and it has been shown that all

these have the same respect to self-love and private interest.

There is indeed frequently an inconsistence or interfering between self-

love or private interest and the several particular appetites, passions,

affections, or the pursuits they lead to. But this competition or

interfering is merely accidental, and happens much oftener between pride,

revenge, sensual gratifications, and private interest, than between

private interest and benevolence. For nothing is more common than to see

men give themselves up to a passion or an affection to their known

prejudice and ruin, and in direct contradiction to manifest and real

interest, and the loudest calls of self-love: whereas the seeming

competitions and interfering, between benevolence and private interest,

relate much more to the materials or means of enjoyment than to enjoyment

itself. There is often an interfering in the former when there is none

in the latter. Thus as to riches: so much money as a man gives away, so

much less will remain in his possession. Here is a real interfering. But

though a man cannot possibly give without lessening his fortune, yet

there are multitudes might give without lessening their own enjoyment,

because they may have more than they can turn to any real use or

advantage to themselves. Thus the more thought and time any one employs

about the interests and good of others, he must necessarily have less to

attend his own: but he may have so ready and large a supply of his own

wants, that such thought might be really useless to himself, though of

great service and assistance to others.

The general mistake, that there is some greater inconsistence between

endeavouring to promote the good of another and self-interest, than

between self-interest and pursuing anything else, seems, as hath already

been hinted, to arise from our notions of property, and to be carried on

by this property's being supposed to be itself our happiness or good.

People are so very much taken up with this one subject, that they seem

from it to have formed a general way of thinking, which they apply to

other things that they have nothing to do with. Hence in a confused and

slight way it might well be taken for granted that another's having no

interest in an affection (_i.e._, his good not being the object of it)

renders, as one may speak, the proprietor's interest in it greater; and

that if another had an interest in it this would render his less, or

occasion that such affection could not be so friendly to self-love, or

conducive to private good, as an affection or pursuit which has not a

regard to the good of another. This, I say, might be taken for granted,

whilst it was not attended to, that the object of every particular

affection is equally somewhat external to ourselves, and whether it be

the good of another person, or whether it be any other external thing,

makes no alteration with regard to its being one's own affection, and the

gratification of it one's own private enjoyment. And so far as it is

taken for granted that barely having the means and materials of enjoyment

is what constitutes interest and happiness; that our interest or good

consists in possessions themselves, in having the property of riches,

houses, lands, gardens, not in the enjoyment of them; so far it will even

more strongly be taken for granted, in the way already explained, that an

affection's conducing to the good of another must even necessarily

occasion it to conduce less to private good, if not to be positively

detrimental to it. For, if property and happiness are one and the same

thing, as by increasing the property of another you lessen your own

property, so by promoting the happiness of another you must lessen your

own happiness. But whatever occasioned the mistake, I hope it has been

fully proved to be one, as it has been proved, that there is no peculiar

rivalship or competition between self-love and benevolence: that as there

may be a competition between these two, so there many also between any

particular affection whatever and self-love; that every particular

affection, benevolence among the rest, is subservient to self-love by

being the instrument of private enjoyment; and that in one respect

benevolence contributes more to private interest, _i.e._, enjoyment or

satisfaction, than any other of the particular common affections, as it

is in a degree its own gratification.

And to all these things may be added that religion, from whence arises

our strongest obligation to benevolence, is so far from disowning the

principle of self-love, that it often addresses itself to that very

principle, and always to the mind in that state when reason presides, and

there can no access be had to the understanding, but by convincing men

that the course of life we would persuade them to is not contrary to

their interest. It may be allowed, without any prejudice to the cause of

virtue and religion, that our ideas of happiness and misery are of all

our ideas the nearest and most important to us; that they will, nay, if

you please, that they ought to prevail over those of order, and beauty,

and harmony, and proportion, if there should ever be, as it is impossible

there ever should be, any inconsistence between them, though these last,

too, as expressing the fitness of actions, are real as truth itself. Let

it be allowed, though virtue or moral rectitude does indeed consist in

affection to and pursuit of what is right and good, as such, yet, that

when we sit down in a cool hour, we can neither justify to ourselves this

or any other pursuit, till we are convinced that it will be for our

happiness, or at least not contrary to it.

Common reason and humanity will have some influence upon mankind,

whatever becomes of speculations; but, so far as the interests of virtue

depend upon the theory of it being secured from open scorn, so far its

very being in the world depends upon its appearing to have no contrariety

to private interest and self-love. The foregoing observations,

therefore, it is hoped, may have gained a little ground in favour of the

precept before us, the particular explanation of which shall be the

subject of the next discourse.

I will conclude at present with observing the peculiar obligation which

we are under to virtue and religion, as enforced in the verses following

the text, in the epistle for the day, from our Saviour's coming into the

world. _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_,

&c. The meaning and force of which exhortation is, that Christianity

lays us under new obligations to a good life, as by it the will of God is

more clearly revealed, and as it affords additional motives to the

practice of it, over and above those which arise out of the nature of

virtue and vice, I might add, as our Saviour has set us a perfect example

of goodness in our own nature. Now love and charity is plainly the thing

in which He hath placed His religion; in which, therefore, as we have any

pretence to the name of Christians, we must place ours. He hath at once

enjoined it upon us by way of command with peculiar force, and by His

example, as having undertaken the work of our salvation out of pure love

and goodwill to mankind. The endeavour to set home this example upon our

minds is a very proper employment of this season, which is bringing on

the festival of His birth, which as it may teach us many excellent

lessons of humility, resignation, and obedience to the will of God, so

there is none it recommends with greater authority, force, and advantage

than this love and charity, since it was _for us men_, _and for our

salvation_, that _He came down from heaven_, _and was incarnate_, _and

was made man_, that He might teach us our duty, and more especially that

He might enforce the practice of it, reform mankind, and finally bring us

to that _eternal salvation_, of which _He is the Author to all those that

obey Him_.