throne of God, and of the infirmity incident to frail man, I am willing
to suppose (as it is our common interest to do) that _repentance_, at
all times, and how oft soever renewed, is a ground, on which he may
reasonably build fair hopes and chearful expectations. To repent, is
always the best thing we can do: It is always a conduct right in itself;
and, as such, is intitled, we will say, on the principles of natural
religion, to the divine acceptance.
But what does that ACCEPTANCE import? _The reward of eternal life? A
remission of all punishment? or, only an abatement of it?_ Here, again,
fresh difficulties start up, and come to be considered,
II. Under the second general head of this discourse; in which it was
proposed to inquire, _What that favour is, which, when we have done
our best to recommend ourselves to God, we have reason to expect at his
hands?_
1. If presumptuous man could learn to estimate himself at his true worth,
he might perhaps see reason to conclude, that his highest moral merit
can pretend to no more, than to some _abatement_ of present or future
punishment.
Let him calculate how oft, how knowingly, how willfully he hath offended;
and, on the other hand, when he did his duty, how coldly, how remissly,
how reluctantly he did it: with what a gust of passion he disobeyed; and
with what indifference he repented: with how full a consent of his mind,
with what deliberation, and against what conviction, he sinned; and then,
again, with what hesitation, by what degrees, in what circumstances, and
upon what motives, he recovered himself from any bad habit: In a word,
how full and complete and contagious his vices have been; and how faint
and partial and ineffective, his best virtues: Let him, I say, calculate
all this, and then tell us where is the stock of merit, on the balance
of the account, that should encourage him to do more than hope that some
part of the punishment, he hath justly incurred, may by a merciful judge
be struck off, in consideration of his virtues? If such a man recovered
his health, when he left his intemperance; or his credit in the world,
when he shook hands with his injustice; or, if his penitence could avail
so far as to shorten the term, or qualify the rigour, of his sufferings
in some other state of being, would he not have reason to think he had
all the recompense he deserved? Could most men, at least, on a strict
scrutiny of their hearts and lives, carry their pretensions higher? But,
2. But let us be indulgent to human virtue, and suppose it pure and
active enough to work out all the guilt, which vice had contracted, could
it do more than cancel the punishment due to vice, and should we be
authorized to expect more than a _full remission_ of it? Suppose, that
after a long life, checquered with good and bad actions, but in such
sort as that the good equalled the bad, and perfectly atoned for them
(and which of us will say, that this is not a favourable supposition?);
suppose, I say, that after such a life, as this, the whole man were
suffered to fall into a state of insensibility, that all his powers and
faculties were suspended, or the man himself utterly extinguished, could
we complain of this allotment, or could reason pretend that it was not
according to the rules of strict justice?
3. Still I agree to make a further concession to the pride of Virtue. Let
the moral qualities of some men be so excellent, and the tenour of their
lives so pure, as to entitle them to a _positive reward_ from the great
searcher of hearts and inspector of human actions: would not the daily
blessings of this life be a suitable recompense for such desert; would
not health, and prosperity, and reputation, and peace of mind, be an
adequate return for their best services? Or, if all this did not satisfy
their claims, could they require more than such a portion of happiness in
a future state, as should correspond to their merits, and make them full
amends for all the sacrifices they here made to Conscience and to Virtue?
And might not a small degree of such happiness, and for a short term, be
an equivalent for such sacrifices? Could they dream of living _for ever_,
and of living _happily_ for ever in heaven; and call such a reward, as
this, a debt, a claim of right, which could not justly be withheld from
them? Could any man in his senses pretend, even to himself, that a Virtue
of sixty or seventy years, though ever so perfect, ever so constant,
deserved immortal life in bliss and glory? Incredible: impossible: the
merit and the recompense are too widely disjoined, the disproportion
between them is too vast, to give the least colour of reason to such
expectations. A Saint, or a Martyr, has no claim of right to so immense a
reward, so transcendant a felicity.
’Tis true, Christianity gives us these hopes, which Reason forwardly
assumes, and makes her own; forgetting at the same time, or unthankfully
slighting, the only grounds on which they are founded. For, though
eternal life be promised to favoured man in the Gospel, it is there
promised to him, not as a debt, but as a free gift; and that, not in
consideration of his good works, but of his faith in Jesus.
See then, to what the hopes of nature, the conclusions of reason and
philosophy, amount, on this interesting subject. We are in the hands of
an all-wise and all-righteous God, and are undone without his favour. Yet
how that favour is to be obtained, we know not; or, if we do know, we
are unable of ourselves to obtain it in the degree, we wish, and to the
ends, for which we aspire to it. Our best speculations on the _means_ of
propitiating Heaven, are mixed with uncertainty; and our best _hopes_
dashed with mistrust and suspicion. For what man is so righteous as to
have perfect confidence in his good works; or, so sanguine, as to think
heaven the due reward of them? And yet will any thing, short of this,
content our impatient desires? Should our virtues merit no more than some
abatement of future misery, so justly due to our innumerable ill deserts,
how sad a prospect have we before us? or, if they do but free us from
punishment, what man is so abject as not to shudder at the thought of
extinction or insensibility? or, lastly, if they supply some faint hope
of future reward, what generous man but wishes more to himself, than a
slight, a precarious, and short-lived happiness; beyond which, as we have
seen, he has no right to extend his expectations?
If the Gentiles, who had only the light of Nature to conduct them, had no
way to get quit of these doubts and fears, their condition was certainly
unhappy, but would bespeak the mercy of God: their disadvantages and
distresses would be allowed for, and considered by him. But for those,
who have now the light of Heaven shining about them, and yet chuse to
walk in the dim, disastrous twilight of their own reason, what must be
their folly, as well as misery? I say, their _misery_. For this last
is no secret to observing men, notwithstanding the airs of gaiety and
satisfaction, they sometimes assume; and indeed deserves the tenderest
pity, though their perverse _folly_ be apt to excite a different passion.
But to conclude: It is enough to have shewn, in justification of the
sacred text, that they who _walk in the light of their own fire, and
in the sparks which they have kindled_, have this recompense of their
choice, allotted to them by the hand of God, and the nature of things,
_That they_ do and must _lie down in sorrow_.
To you, who have determined more wisely to govern yourselves by faith,
and not by Reason only; who rejoice to walk in the clear sunshine of
the blessed Gospel, and not in the malignant light of philosophical
speculation, To you, I say, the reward of your better conduct, is,
that ye know how to recommend yourselves to the favour of God; and ye
know what to expect from that favour: Ye understand that, by FAITH AND
REPENTANCE, ye have peace of mind in this transitory life, and assured
hopes of immortal unspeakable felicity, reserved for you in the heavens.
SERMON XXXV.
PREACHED NOVEMBER 15, 1767.
2 COR. iv. 3.
_If our Gospel be hid, it is hid to them that are lost._
The text implies, that the evidence, with which Christianity is attended,
may fail of convincing the minds of some men. And indeed from the time
that _the Sun of righteousness_ rose upon the earth, there have always
been those, who could not, or would not, be enlightened by Him.
Now it might be a question, whether this effect were owing to the nature
of the evidence itself, or to some obscurity in the manner of proposing
it. This, I say, might have been a question, even among Christians
themselves, if the Apostle had not determined it to our hands. He who was
fully instructed in the truths of the Gospel, knew the evidence, with
which they were accompanied, was enlightened by the same spirit that had
inspired them, and had great experience in the different tempers and
capacities of men, roundly asserts that Infidelity has no countenance,
either from within or without, neither from the sort or degree of
evidence, by which the Christian Revelation is supported, nor from any
mysterious conveyance of it; but that, universally, the fault lies in
those, who do not receive it. _If the Gospel be hid, it is hid to them
that are lost_: to those, who would not be convinced by any evidence
whatsoever.
What the evidences of Christianity, in fact, are, and how abundantly
sufficient for the conviction of all reasonable men, I shall not now
enquire. The subject is fitter for a volume, than a discourse in this
place. Let it be supposed, on St. Paul’s authority, that those evidences
are sufficient; still ye may be curious to know, and it may tend to the
establishment of your faith to understand, how it has come to pass, that
so much light could be resisted.
To this question a pertinent answer has been given from the prejudices
and passions, from the vices and corruptions of unbelievers; it being no
new thing that men should _love darkness rather than light_, when _their
deeds are_, and when they have resolved with themselves they shall be,
_evil_[101]. _For_, as our Lord himself argues in this case, _Every one
that doth evil, hateth the light, lest his deeds should be reproved:
But he that doth the Truth, cometh to the light, that his deeds may be
manifested, that they are wrought in God_[102].
But then it has been replied, that, though Vice may be many times the
ground of infidelity, and the condemnation of such men be just, yet
that some, too, have disbelieved from no such motives; that the Gospel
has been rejected by persons, who appear to have been men of large and
liberal minds, as free, as others, from all perverse prejudices, and
as little subject to gross vice or passion: Nay, that, in the class of
unbelievers, there have been those who have distinguished themselves
as much by the purity of their lives, as the brightness of their
understandings.
All this may be true; and yet our Saviour affirms, _that he, who
believeth not, is condemned already_[103]; and St. Paul in the text, to
the same purpose, _that if the Gospel be hid, it is hid to them that
are lost_. There must needs, then, be some latent cause of this strange
fact; some secret depravity lurking in the mind of those, who disbelieve
the Gospel, thought appearances be thus fair and flattering. And, though
Christian Charity be not forward _to think evil_ of his neighbour, yet
in this case we have reason to suspect it: and what we suspect, we may
perhaps find, in a VICE so secret and insinuating, that it creeps upon
men unawares; so congenial, as it were, to our depraved nature, that
hardly any man can be sure of his being wholly free from it; and so
ingenious in disguising itself, as to pass upon others, nay upon the man
possessed by it, for one of his best qualities.
By these characters, ye will easily see I speak of self-love, or rather
the vicious exertion of it in what we call, PRIDE: A vice, which may as
fatally obstruct our pursuit of Truth, as any the most vulgar immorality;
and the rather, because it is not easily suspected or acknowledged by us.
This vice then it may be, that _hides the Gospel from those_ better sort
of men, _to whom it is hid_. They had need examine themselves well, for
it assumes, as I said, the most imposing forms. Who would look for it,
in the cultivation of the mind, and the love of Virtue? Yet in either of
these, it may lie concealed: and an inquirer into the truth of the most
rational, and the purest of all religions, may be prejudiced against it
by a double Pride, by the PRIDE OF REASON, and the PRIDE OF VIRTUE.
I. FIRST, _Infidelity may proceed from the Pride of Reason_.
When it pleased God to bestow the faculty of Reason on his creature, Man,
he intended that this substitute of himself should be the guide of life,
and the handmaid of Religion. And that it might serve to these purposes,
it was made sagacious enough, if honestly exerted, to lead him to some
competent knowledge of his Maker, and of his moral duty, and to judge
of the pretensions of any further light from Heaven, which might be
graciously vouchsafed to him.
Man, proud of this free Gift, was in haste to make trial of its strength;
and finding it could do something, too easily concluded it could do every
thing. Yet its weakness soon appeared; first, in man’s transgression,
and consequent forfeiture of another free Gift, that of immortality; and
next, in the portentous errors he fell into, both in respect of virtue
and religion. For God, who had graciously intended for him, in due time,
another and safer guide, to prepare him for the reception of it, and to
convince him, in the mean time, how much it was wanted, had suffered him
to abuse this, to the worst purposes, of immorality, and idolatry: by
both which the earth was generally overspread for many ages, and even in
the most enlightened times, notwithstanding his Reason might, and should
have taught him better.
But God’s wisdom and goodness foresaw this abuse, and provided, from
the first, for the correction of it. He had signified his purpose from
the moment of man’s transgression, and afterwards by a gradual opening
of his scheme, in many successive revelations; all terminating in that
universal redemption of mankind by the sacrifice, and through the Gospel,
of his Son. This last and greatest instance of the divine love for man,
it might be expected, after so much experience of his own debility and
folly, he would gladly and thankfully receive; and, that he might be
qualified to discern the hand of God from the practices of fallible
and designing men, was one main end, as I said, which God designed in
lighting up the lamp of Reason in him.
But now this boasted Guide, though found to be poor and weak, grew proud
and presumptuous. It would not only judge of the credentials of divine
Revelation (which was its proper office, and without which faculty
of judging there could be no security from the endless impostures of
fanaticism and superstition, but not content with this power) it would
decide peremptorily on the nature and fitness of the Revelation itself;
and would either admit none, or such only, as it should perfectly
comprehend.
Here, then, Reason forgot its own use, and power: its use, which was to
bring him to the acknowledgement of a divine Religion; and its power,
which did not enable him to judge of the infinite counsels of God, but to
try whether any such were revealed to him. In a word, he forgot that his
utmost capacity extended no farther than just to see whether the proposed
Revelation were such as might come from God, as contradicting no clear
and certain principles of reason, and whether the evidences were such as
proved that it did so. If it contained nothing repugnant to right Reason,
that is, to a prior light derived from the same source of Truth, it might
come from Heaven; if the attestations of it were clear and convincing,
it must proceed from that quarter. To try its credibility and authority,
was then within the province of Reason: to determine of its absolute
necessity and fitness, and to explore the depth and height of those
counsels, on which it is framed, was above its reach and comprehension.
Yet Reason assumed to herself, too generally, this latter office;
and this I call, the PRIDE of Reason. Hence all its wanderings and
miscarriages; from this perverse application of its powers arose all the
heresies that have distracted the Christian Church, and all the infidel
systems that have been invented to overthrow it. In both cases, men would
be wise _above_, or _against, what was written_.
Of the Heresies, I have nothing to say at this time. They appear at large
in the ecclesiastical historian. Of the dreams of infidelity, as arising
from the fumes of pride, so much is to be said, as my present subject
requires of me, but this in as few words as possible.
_The pride of Reason_ has then pronounced (as it operated at different
times, and on different tempers), that Revelation is unnecessary,
because Reason could see and discover by its own light all that was
needful to our direction and happiness—that, if it were wanted by us,
it was impossible to be given consistently with the laws of nature and
experience—that as to that pretended scheme of Revelation, called the
Gospel, its morality indeed was pure enough, but that it carried no other
internal marks of its divinity: that its doctrines were such as Reason
would not expect, and in many cases could not understand: that it talked
of divine things in a manner that was strange and extraordinary; of a
purpose to redeem mankind which, if it were needful at all, might have
been effected by more rational and less operose methods; and to save and
sanctify them by such means as seemed fanciful and delusive: that the
divine nature was spoken of in high mysterious terms, which puzzle and
confound our Metaphysics; and that the offices, in which the Godhead
was employed, are either degrading, or such as imply an immoderate and
inconceivable condescension.
And what then, say others, is the basis on which this incredible
Revelation rests? Why on _Miracles_, which we cannot admit, as being
violations or suspensions of those laws, by which we know the Supreme
Being governs the world; and on _Prophecies_, which may have been
feigned, as many have been, or which imply such a prescience in the
Deity of free contingent events, as is perhaps impossible. If the Gospel
then is to be admitted as a truly divine Revelation, convince us, that
its external proofs are above all doubt and suspicion; and that all its
internal characters are such as lie open to the perfect scrutiny, and
entire investigation of our faculties.
Thus does the Pride of Reason vaunt itself, against Reason. For, if to
any or all of these objections (on which so many infidel systems hang) we
should only say, _that they are nothing to the purpose_, what could the
objectors reply to us? If pressed closely, they could only take refuge
in this principle, _that no Religion can be divine, all the reasons of
which are not fully known to us_; a principle, for which they have surely
no warrant from right Reason. How do they know what is necessary, or fit,
or right, with regard to the divine dispensations, I mean (which is the
case here) when they only silence, not contradict our Reason? Every thing
may be fit and right, and might appear to be so, if the whole scheme of
Providence were fully unveiled to us. It must be fit and right, whether
we see it or no, if the Religion in question be credibly attested: And
the credibility will depend not on our fancies or expectations of I know
not what irresistible evidence (which it might be best and wisest not to
give) but on the real moment of the arguments, on which it is established.
So that the last effort of Infidelity is only an appeal to the ignorance
of mankind; which proves nothing but the necessity of a long-forgotten
virtue, Modesty, in our researches into Religion.
We see then how the _Pride of Reason_ has betrayed presumptuous men into
a disbelief of Revelation, and how true it is that, _if the Gospel be
hid, it is hid to them that are lost_, as well by _this_ means, as by any
other.
II. But, secondly, there is A PRIDE OF VIRTUE, as well as of Reason: and
by this Pride, too, (such is the infirmity of our common nature) _the
Gospel may be hid from us_.
On whatever foundation a man chuses to build his moral system, he easily
convinces himself of the worth and excellence of moral action. The
reasonableness, the utility, and the beauty of Virtue are so conspicuous,
that even the vicious look up to her with respect, and the virtuous
easily grow enamoured of her. Thus it came to be among the extravagances
of the Stoics, its best friends in the pagan world, that virtue was not
only the perfection of man’s nature, but that it raised him in some
sense, above the Divine[104]. And to make their arrogant system all of a
piece, they further maintained that this super-celestial virtue, in which
they gloried, was their own proper acquisition; that they derived it
wholly from themselves, and that God did not, and could not give it[105].
This, you will say, was stoical pride; but it is, too commonly, also,
the pride of virtue, of whatever denomination. Penetrated with a lively
sense of its use and excellence, virtuous men, especially of a certain
temperament, take fire from their own heated ideas, and flame out into a
kind of moral fanaticism. They consider virtue, as the supreme and only
good, absolute in itself, and independant of any other. They exalt and
deify themselves in their own imaginations; and, though their language
may be more decent, the sense of their hearts is truly stoical.
See, now, whether virtue, under this intoxication, be in a condition to
benefit by the sober truths of the Gospel. It presents to us a frightful
picture of the moral world; much is said concerning the weakness
and inefficacy of moral virtue. This representation, of itself, is
disgusting. But one great design of the Gospel was to reform this state
of things: And thus far is well: But by what means would it reform it?
Why, among others, by Faith and Hope. Yet, in Faith, the proud moralist
sees no virtue, at all; and Hope, in his ideas, degrades and servilizes
his adored virtue. The Gospel proposes to save us by the sacrifice of
Christ: But He acknowledges no need of any sacrifice; relies, with
confidence, on his own merits; and disdains the notion of an intercessor.
He holds, that nothing more could be intended by a Revelation, if such
were given, than the promotion of our virtue; and that we want not its
aid, for that purpose: that we read our duty in the sense of our own
minds; which Reason enforces in as high terms, as the Gospel, in a more
engaging way, and on principles more sublime and generous.
Above all, the Gospel speaks much of the succours of Grace, as necessary
to infuse and to confirm our virtue; a language, which the _Pride_ of
virtue will not understand: And of a Heaven, and a Hell; by which if any
thing more be meant than the proper natural effects of virtue and vice
itself, the idea is rejected, as superfluous and even childish.
To such an extreme of folly, and even impiety, may the Pride of virtue
carry us; and so fatally may _the Gospel be hid from those_, whom this
last infirmity of human nature blinds by its specious illusions! And that
this is no ideal picture, but one taken from the life, will appear to
those who know any thing of human nature; and of the perverse prejudices,
by which some ingenious, and otherwise virtuous men, have suffered
themselves to be misled in their religious inquiries[106].
Enough has been said to shew the issue of intellectual and moral _Pride_:
And how it comes to pass that men _lose_ themselves, who reason, on
Religion, without modesty, or would be virtuous without Religion.
The application is short, but striking. It is, That men should examine
themselves well, before they presume to think slightly of the Gospel.
They may learn to suspect the power and influence of their grosser
passions, when they see that even these refined ones may corrupt their
judgement, and betray them into Infidelity.