make up in the next; and to that purpose we put on a resolution of
amendment, which we take to be as firm as a house built upon a rock; so
that let the floods arise, and the winds blow, and the streams beat
vehemently upon it, nothing shall shake it into ruin or disorder. We
doubt not, upon the strength of this resolve, to stand fast and unmoved
amid the storm of a temptation; and do firmly believe, at the time we
make it, that nothing in the world will ever be able to make us commit
those sins over again, which we have so firmly resolved against.
Thus many a time have we come to the Sacrament of the Lord's Supper,
with a full purpose of amendment, and with as full a persuasion of
putting that same purpose into practice; and yet have we not all as
often broke that good purpose, and falsified that same persuasion, by
starting aside, like a broken bow, into those very sins, which we then
so solemnly and so confidently declared against?
Whereas had but any other person entered with us into a vow so solemn,
that he had taken the Holy Sacrament upon it, I believe had he but once
deceived us by breaking in upon the vow, we should hardly ever after be
prevailed upon to trust that man again, though we still continue to
trust our own fears, against reason and against experience.
This indeed is a dangerous deceit enough, and will of course betray all
those well-meaning persons into sin and folly, who are apt to take
religion for a much easier thing than it is. But this is not the only
mistake we are apt to run into; we do not only think sometimes that we
can do more than we can do, but sometimes that we are incapable of doing
less; an error of another kind indeed, but not less dangerous, arising
from a diffidence and false humility. For how much a wicked man can do
in the business of religion, if he would but do his best, is very often
more than he can tell.
Thus nothing is more common than to see a wicked man running headlong
into sin and folly, against his reason, against his religion, and
against his God. Tell him, that what he is going to do will be an
infinite disparagement to his understanding, which, at another time, he
sets no small value upon; tell him that it will blacken his reputation,
which he had rather die for than lose; tell him that the pleasure of sin
is short and transient, and leaves a vexatious kind of sting behind it,
which will very hardly be drawn forth; tell him that this is one of
those things for which God will most surely bring him to judgment, which
he pretends to believe with a full assurance and persuasion: And yet for
all this, he shuts his eyes against all conviction, and rusheth into the
sin like a horse into battle; as if he had nothing left to do, but, like
a silly child to wink hard, and to think to escape a certain and
infinite mischief, only by endeavouring not to see it.
And now to shew that the heart has given in a false report of the
temptation, we may learn from this, that the same weak man would resist
and master the same powerful temptation, upon considerations of
infinitely less value than those which religion offers, nay such vile
considerations, that the grace of God cannot without blasphemy be
supposed to add any manner of force and efficacy to them. Thus for
instance, it would be a hard matter to dress up a sin in such soft and
tempting circumstances, that a truly covetous man would not resist for a
considerable sum of money; when neither the hopes of heaven nor the
fears of hell could make an impression upon him before. But can anything
be a surer indication of the deceitfulness of the heart, than thus to
shew more courage, resolution, and activity, in an ill cause, than it
does in a good one? And to exert itself to better purpose, when it is to
serve its own pride, or lust, or revenge, or any other passion, than
when it is to serve God upon motives of the Gospel, and upon all the
arguments that have ever been made use of to bring men over to religion
and a good life? And thus having shewn that man is wonderfully apt to
deceive and impose upon himself, in passing through the several stages
of that great duty, repentance, I proceed now, in the
_Second place_: To inquire into the grounds and reasons of this
ignorance, _and to shew whence it comes to pass that man, the only
creature in the world that can reflect and look into himself, should
know so little of what passes within him, and be so very much
unacquainted even with the standing dispositions and complexion of his
own heart_. The prime reason of it is, because we so very seldom
converse with ourselves, and take so little notice of what passes within
us: For a man can no more know his own heart than he can know his own
face, any other way than by reflection: He may as well tell over every
feature of the smaller portions of his face without the help of a
looking-glass, as he can tell all the inward bents and tendencies of his
soul, those standing features and lineaments of the inward man, and know
all the various changes that this is liable to from custom, from
passion, and from opinion, without a very frequent use of looking within
himself.
For our passions and inclinations are not always upon the wing, and
always moving toward their respective objects, but retire now and then
into the more dark and hidden recesses of the heart, where they lie
concealed for a while, until a fresh occasion calls them forth again: So
that not every transient, oblique glance upon the mind can bring a man
into a thorough knowledge of all its strength and weaknesses; for a man
may sometimes turn the eye of the mind inward upon itself, as he may
behold his natural face in a glass, and go away, "and straight forget
what manner of man he was." But a man must rather sit down and unravel
every action of the past day into all its circumstances and
particularities, and observe how every little thing moved and affected
him, and what manner of impression it made upon his heart; this done
with that frequency and carefulness which the importance of the duty
does require, would in a short time bring him into a nearer and more
intimate acquaintance with himself.
But when men instead of this do pass away months and years in a perfect
slumber of the mind, without once awaking it, it is no wonder they
should be so very ignorant of themselves, and know very little more of
what passes within them than the very beasts which perish. But here it
may not be amiss to inquire into the reasons why most men have so little
conversation with themselves.
And, _first:_ Because this reflection is a work and labour of the mind,
and cannot be performed without some pain and difficulty: For, before a
man can reflect upon himself, and look into his heart with a steady eye,
he must contract his sight, and collect all his scattering and roving
thoughts into some order and compass, that he may be able to take a
clear and distinct view of them; he must retire from the world for a
while, and be unattentive to all impressions of sense; and how hard and
painful a thing must it needs be to a man of passion and infirmity, amid
such a crowd of objects that are continually striking upon the sense,
and soliciting the affections, not to be moved and interrupted by one or
other of them. But,
_Secondly:_ Another reason why we so seldom converse with ourselves, is,
because the business of the world takes up all our time, and leaveth us
no portion of it to spend upon this great work and labour of the mind.
Thus twelve or fourteen years pass away before we can well discern good
from evil; and of the rest so much goes away in sleep, so much in the
proper business of our calling, that we have none to lay out upon the
more serious and religious employments. Every man's life is an imperfect
sort of a circle, which he repeats and runs over every day; he has a set
of thoughts, desires, and inclinations, which return upon him in their
proper time and order, and will very hardly be laid aside, to make room
for anything new and uncommon: So that call upon him when you please, to
set about the study of his own heart, and you are sure to find him
pre-engaged; either he has some business to do, or some diversion to
take, some acquaintance that he must visit, or some company that he must
entertain, or some cross accident has put him out of humour, and
unfitted him for such a grave employment. And thus it cometh to pass
that a man can never find leisure to look into himself, because he does
not set apart some portion of the day for that very purpose, but
foolishly defers it from one day to another, till his glass is almost
run out, and he is called to give a miserable account of himself in the
other world. But,
_Thirdly_, Another reason why a man does not more frequently converse
with himself, is, because such conversation with his own heart may
discover some vice or some infirmity lurking within him, which he is
very unwilling to believe himself guilty of. For can there be a more
ungrateful thing to a man, than to find that upon a nearer view he is
not that person he took himself to be? That he had neither the courage,
nor the honesty, nor the piety, nor the humility that he dreamed he had?
That a very little pain, for instance, putteth him out of patience, and
as little pleasure softens and disarms him into ease and wantonness?
That he has been at more pains, and labour, and cost, to be revenged of
an enemy, than to oblige the best friend he has in the world? That he
cannot bring himself to say his prayers, without a great deal of
reluctancy; and when he does say them, the spirit and fervour of
devotion evaporate in a very short time, and he can scarcely hold out a
prayer of ten lines, without a number of idle and impertinent, if not
vain and wicked thoughts coming into his head? These are very unwelcome
discoveries that a man may make of himself; so that 'tis no wonder that
every one who is already flushed with a good opinion of himself, should
rather study how to run away from it, than how to converse with his own
heart.
But further, if a man were both able and willing to retire into his own
heart, and to set apart some portion of the day for that very purpose;
yet he is still disabled from passing a fair and impartial judgment upon
himself, by several difficulties, arising partly from prejudice and
prepossession, partly from the lower appetites and inclinations. And,
_First_: That the business of prepossession may lead and betray a man
into a false judgment of his own heart. For we may observe, that the
first opinion we take up of anything, or any person, does generally
stick close to us; the nature of the mind being such, that it cannot but
desire, and consequently endeavour to have some certain principles to go
upon, something fixed and unmoveable, whereon it may rest and support
itself. And hence it comes to pass, that some persons are with so much
difficulty brought to think well of a man they have once entertained an
ill opinion of: and perhaps that too for a very absurd and unwarrantable
reason. But how much more difficult then must it be for a man, who takes
up a fond opinion of his own heart long before he has either years or
sense enough to understand it, either to be persuaded out of it by
himself, whom he loveth so well, or by another, whose interest or
diversion it may be to make him ashamed of himself! Then,
_Secondly_: As to the difficulties arising from the inferior appetites
and inclinations, let any man look into his own heart, and observe in
how different a light, and under what different complexions, any two
sins of equal turpitude and malignity do appear to him, if he has but a
strong inclination to the one, and none at all to the other. That which
he has an inclination to, is always drest up in all the false beauty
that a fond and busy imagination can give it; the other appears naked
and deformed, and in all the true circumstances of folly and dishonour.
Thus stealing is a vice that few gentlemen are inclined to; and they
justly think it below the dignity of a man to stoop to so base and low a
sin; but no principle of honour, no workings of the mind and conscience,
not the still voice of mercy, not the dreadful call of judgment, nor any
considerations whatever, can put a stop to that violence and oppression,
that pride and ambition, that revelling and wantonness, which we every
day meet with in the world. Nay, it is easy to observe very different
thoughts in a man, of the sin that he is most fond of, according to, the
different ebbs and flows of his inclination to it For as soon as the
appetite is alarmed, and seizeth upon the heart, a little cloud
gathereth about the head, and spreads a kind of darkness over the face
of the soul, whereby 'tis hindered from taking a clear and distinct view
of things; but no sooner is the appetite tired and satiated, but the
same cloud passes away like a shadow, and a new light springing up in
the mind of a sudden, the man sees much more, both of the folly and of
the danger of the sin, than he did before.
And thus having done with the several reasons why man, the only creature
in the world that can reflect and look into himself, is so very ignorant
of what passes within him, and so much unacquainted with the standing
dispositions and complexions of his own heart: I proceed now, in the
_Third_ and _Last_ place, to lay down several advantages, that do _most
assuredly_ attend a due improvement in the knowledge of ourselves. And,
_First_: One great advantage is, that it tends very much to mortify and
humble a man into a modest and low opinion of himself. For let a man
take a nice and curious inspection into all the several regions of the
heart, and observe every thing irregular and amiss within him: for
instance, how narrow and short-sighted a thing is the understanding;
upon how little reason do we take up an opinion, and upon how much
less sometimes do we lay it down again, how weak and false ground do we
often walk upon with the biggest confidence and assurance, and how
tremulous and doubtful are we very often where no doubt is to be made.
Again; how wild and impertinent, how busy and incoherent a thing is the
imagination, even in the best and wisest men; insomuch that every man
may be said to be mad, but every man does not shew it. Then as to the
passions; how noisy, how turbulent, and how tumultuous are they, how
easy they are stirred and set a-going, how eager and hot in the pursuit,
and what strange disorder and confusion do they throw a man into; so
that he can neither think, nor speak, nor act as he should do, while he
is under the dominion of any one of them.
Thus let every man look with a severe and impartial eye into all the
distinct regions of the heart, and no doubt, several deformities and
irregularities, that he never thought of, will open and disclose
themselves upon so near a view; and rather make the man ashamed of
himself, than proud.
_Secondly:_ A due improvement in the knowledge of ourselves does
certainly secure us from the sly and insinuating assaults of flattery.
There is not in the world a baser and more hateful thing than flattery;
it proceeds from so much falseness and insincerity in the man that gives
it, and often discovers so much weakness and folly in the man that takes
it, that it is hard to tell which of the two is most to be blamed. Every
man of common sense can demonstrate in speculation, and may be fully
convinced, that all the praises and commendations of the whole world can
add no more to the real and intrinsic value of a man, than they can add
to his stature. And yet, for all this, men of the best sense and piety,
when they come down to the practice, cannot forbear thinking much better
of themselves, when they have the good fortune to be spoken well of by
other persons.
But the meaning of this absurd proceeding seems to be no other than
this; there are few men that have so intimate an acquaintance with their
own heart, as to know their own real worth, and how to set a just rate
upon themselves, and therefore they do not know but that he who praises
them most, may be most in the right of it. For, no doubt, if a man were
ignorant of the true value of a thing he loved as well as himself, he
would measure the worth of it according to the esteem of him who bids
most for it, rather than of him that bids less.
Therefore, the most infallible way to disentangle a man from the snares
of flattery, is, to consult and study his own heart; for whoever does
that well, will hardly be so absurd, as to take another man's word,
before his own sense and experience.
_Thirdly:_ Another advantage from this kind of study, is this, that it
teaches a man how to behave himself patiently, when he has the ill
fortune to be censured and abused by other people. For a man who is
thoroughly acquainted with his own heart, does already know more evil of
himself, than anybody else can tell him; and when any one speaks ill of
him, he rather thanks God that he can say no worse. For could his enemy
but look into the dark and hidden recesses of the heart, he considers
what a number of impure thoughts he might there see brooding and
hovering, like a dark cloud, upon the face of the soul; that there he
might take a prospect of the fancy, and view it acting over the several
scenes of pride, of ambition, of envy, of lust, and revenge; that there
he might tell how often a vicious inclination has been restrained, for
no other reason but just to save the man's credit or interest in the
world; and how many unbecoming ingredients have entered into the
composition of his best actions. And now, what man in the whole world
would be able to bear so severe a test, to have every thought and inward
motion of the heart laid open and exposed to the views of his enemies?
But,
_Fourthly_, and _Lastly:_ Another advantage of this kind is, that it
makes men less severe upon other people's faults, and less busy and
industrious in spreading them. For a man, employed at home, inspecting
into his own failings, has not leisure to take notice of every little
spot and blemish that lies scattered upon others. Or if he cannot escape
the sight of them, he always passes the most easy and favourable
construction upon them. Thus, for instance; does the ill he knows of a
man proceed from an unhappy temper and constitution of body? He then
considers with himself, how hard a thing it is, not to be borne down
with the current of the blood and spirits, and accordingly lays some
part of the blame upon the weakness of human nature, for he has felt the
force and rapidity of it within his own breast; though perhaps, in
another instance, he remembers how it rages and swells by opposition;
and though it may be restrained, or diverted for a while, yet it can
hardly ever be totally subdued.
Or has the man sinned out of custom? He then, from his own experience,
traces a habit into the very first rise and imperfect beginnings of it;
and can tell by how slow and insensible advances it creeps upon the
heart; how it works itself by degrees into the very frame and texture of
it, and so passes into a second nature; and consequently he has a just
sense of the great difficulty for him to learn to do good, who has been
long accustomed to do evil.
Or, lastly, has a false opinion betrayed him into a sin? He then calls
to mind what wrong apprehensions he has made of some things himself; how
many opinions, that he once made no doubt of, he has, upon a stricter
examination found to be doubtful and uncertain; how many more to be
unreasonable and absurd. He knows further, that there are a great many
more opinions that he has never yet examined into at all, and which,
however, he still believes, for no other reason, but because he has
believed them so long already without a reason. Thus, upon every
occasion, a man intimately acquainted with himself, consults his own
heart, and makes every man's case to be his own, (and so puts the most
favourable interpretation upon it). Let every man therefore look into
his own heart, before he beginneth to abuse the reputation of another,
and then he will hardly be so absurd as to throw a dart that will so
certainly rebound and wound himself. And thus, through the whole course
of his conversation, let him keep an eye upon that one great
comprehensive rule of Christian duty, on which hangs, not only the law
and the prophets, but the very life and spirit of the Gospel too:
"Whatsoever ye would that men should do unto you, do ye even so unto
them." Which rule, that we may all duly observe, by throwing aside all
scandal and detraction, all spite and rancour, all rudeness and
contempt, all rage and violence, and whatever tends to make conversation
and commerce either uneasy, or troublesome, may the God of peace grant
for Jesus Christ his sake, &c.
Consider what has been said, &c.
ON FALSE WITNESS.
EXODUS, XX. 16.
"Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbour."
In those great changes that are made in a country by the prevailing of
one party over another, it is very convenient that the prince, and those
who are in authority under him, should use all just and proper methods
for preventing any mischief to the public from seditious men. And
governors do well, when they encourage any good subject to discover (as
his duty obligeth him) whatever plots or conspiracies may be anyway
dangerous to the state: Neither are they to be blamed, even when they
receive informations from bad men, in order to find out the truth, when
it concerns the public welfare. Every one indeed is naturally inclined
to have an ill opinion of an informer; although it is not impossible but
an honest man may be called by that name. For whoever knoweth anything,
the telling of which would prevent some great evil to his prince, his
country, or his neighbour, is bound in conscience to reveal it. But the
mischief is, that, when parties are violently enflamed, which seemeth
unfortunately to be our case at present, there is never wanting a set of
evil instruments, who, either out of mad zeal, private hatred, or filthy
lucre, are always ready to offer their service to the prevailing side,
and become accusers of their brethren, without any regard to truth or
charity. Holy David numbers this among the chief of his sufferings;
"False witnesses are risen up against me, and such as breathe out
cruelty."[1] Our Saviour and his apostles did likewise undergo the same
distress, as we read both in the Gospels and the Acts.
[Footnote 1: Psalm xxvii. 12.]
Now, because the sign of false witnessing is so horrible and dangerous
in itself, and so odious to God and man; and because the bitterness of
too many among us is risen to such a height, that it is not easy to know
where it will stop, or how far some weak and wicked minds may be carried
by a mistaken zeal, a malicious temper, or hope of reward, to break this
great commandment delivered in the text; therefore, in order to prevent
this evil, and the consequences of it, at least among you who are my
hearers, I shall,
I. _First_: Shew you several ways by which a man may be called a false
witness against his neighbour.
II. _Secondly_: I shall give you some rules for your conduct and
behaviour, in order to defend yourselves against the malice and cunning
of false accusers.
III. And _lastly_: I shall conclude with shewing you very briefly, how
far it is your duty, as good subjects and good neighbours, to bear
faithful witness, when you are lawfully called to it by those in
authority, or by the sincere advice of your own consciences,
I. As to the first, there are several ways by which a man may be justly
called a false witness against his neighbour.
_First_, According to the direct meaning of the word, when a man
accuseth his neighbour without the least ground of truth. So we read,
that Jezebel hired two sons of Belial to accuse Naboth for blaspheming
God and the King, for which, although he was entirely innocent, he was
stoned to death.[2] And in our age it is not easy, to tell how many men
have lost their lives, been ruined in their fortunes, and put to
ignominious punishment by the downright perjury of false witnesses! The
law itself in such cases being not able to protect the innocent. But
this is so horrible a crime, that it doth not need to be aggravated by
words.
[Footnote 2: i Kings, xxi. 8-13.]