HUMAN NATUREANDOTHER SERMONS

BYJOSEPH BUTLERBISHOP OF DURHAM. 

CASSELL & COMPANY, LIMITED:_LONDON_, _PARIS_, _NEW YORK & MELBOURNE_. 1887

INTRODUCTION. 

Joseph Butler was born in 1692, youngest of eight children of alinendraper at Wantage, in Berkshire. His father was a Presbyterian, andafter education at the Wantage Free Grammar School Joseph Butler was sentto be educated for the Presbyterian ministry in a training academy atGloucester, which was afterwards removed to Tewkesbury. There he had afriend and comrade, Secker, who afterwards became Archbishop ofCanterbury. Butler and Secker inquired actively, and there wasforeshadowing of his future in the fact that in 1713, at the age oftwenty-one, Butler was engaged in anonymous discussion with Samuel Clarkeupon his book on the _a priori_ demonstration of the Divine Existence andAttributes. 

When the time drew near for call to the ministry, Butler, like his friendSecker, had reasoned himself into accordance with the teaching of theChurch of England. Butler's father did not oppose his strong desire toenter the Church, and he was entered in 1714 at Oriel College, Oxford. Atcollege a strong friendship was established between Butler and a fellow-student, Edward Talbot, whose father was a Bishop, formerly of Oxford andSalisbury, then of Durham. Through Talbot's influence Butler obtained in1718 the office of Preacher in the Rolls Chapel, which he held for thenext eight years. In 1722 Talbot died, and on his death-bed urged hisfather on behalf of his friend Butler. The Bishop accordingly presentedJoseph Butler to the living of Houghton-le-Spring. But it was found thatcosts of dilapidations were beyond his means at Houghton, and Butler hada dangerous regard for building works. He was preferred two yearsafterwards to the living of Stanhope, which then became vacant, and whichyielded a substantial income. Butler sought nothing for himself, hissimplicity of character, real worth, and rare intellectual power, securedhim friends, and the love of two of them--Talbot first, and afterwardsSecker, who made his own way in the Church, and became strong enough toput his friend as well as himself in the way of worldly advancement, secured for Butler all the patronage he had, until the Queen also becamehis active friend. 

Joseph Butler was seven years at Stanhope, quietly devoted to his parishduties, preaching, studying, and writing his "Analogy of Religion, Natural and Revealed, to the Constitution and Course of Nature. " In1727, while still at Stanhope, he was appointed to a stall in DurhamCathedral. Secker, having become chaplain to the Queen, encouraged herin admiration of Butler's sermons. He told her that the author was notdead, but buried, and secured her active interest in his behalf. FromTalbot, who had become Lord Chancellor, Secker had no difficulty inobtaining for Butler a chaplaincy which exempted him from the necessityof residence at Stanhope. Butler, in accepting it, stipulated forpermission to live and work in his parish for six months in every year. Next he was made chaplain to the King, and Rector of St. James's, uponwhich he gave up Stanhope. In 1736 Queen Caroline appointed him herClerk of the Closet, an office which gave Butler the duty of attendanceupon her for two hours every evening. In that year he published his"Analogy, " of which the purpose was to meet, on its own ground, thescepticism of his day. The Queen died in 1737, and, in accordance withthe strong desire expressed in her last days, in 1738 Butler was made aBishop. But his Bishopric was Bristol, worth only 300 or 400 pounds ayear. The King added the Deanery of St. Paul's, when that became vacantin 1740, and in 1750, towards the close of his life, Joseph Butler wastranslated to the Bishopric of Durham. He died in 1752. 

No man could be less self-seeking. He owed his rise in the Church whollyto the intellectual power and substantial worth of character thatinspired strong friendship. Seeing how little he sought worldlyadvancement for himself, while others were pressing and scrambling, Butler's friends used their opportunities of winning for him theadvancement he deserved. He was happiest in doing his work, of which achief part was in his study, where he employed his philosophic mind instrengthening the foundations of religious faith. Faith in God wasattacked by men who claimed especially to be philosophers, and they werebest met by the man who had, beyond all other divines of his day--somemight not be afraid to add, of any day--the philosophic mind. 

H. M. 

SERMON I. UPON HUMAN NATURE. 

 ROMANS xii. 4, 5. 

 _For as we have many members in one body_, _and all members have not the same office_: _so we_, _being many_, _are one body in Christ_, _and every one members one of another_. 

The Epistles in the New Testament have all of them a particular referenceto the condition and usages of the Christian world at the time they werewritten. Therefore as they cannot be thoroughly understood unless thatcondition and those usages are known and attended to, so, further, thoughthey be known, yet if they be discontinued or changed, exhortations, precepts, and illustrations of things, which refer to such circumstancesnow ceased or altered, cannot at this time be urged in that manner andwith that force which they were to the primitive Christians. Thus thetext now before us, in its first intent and design, relates to the decentmanagement of those extraordinary gifts which were then in the Church, {1} but which are now totally ceased. And even as to the allusion that"we are one body in Christ, " though what the apostle here intends isequally true of Christians in all circumstances, and the consideration ofit is plainly still an additional motive, over and above moralconsiderations, to the discharge of the several duties and offices of aChristian, yet it is manifest this allusion must have appeared with muchgreater force to those who, by the many difficulties they went throughfor the sake of their religion, were led to keep always in view therelation they stood in to their Saviour, who had undergone the same: tothose, who, from the idolatries of all around them, and theirill-treatment, were taught to consider themselves as not of the world inwhich they lived, but as a distinct society of themselves; with laws andends, and principles of life and action, quite contrary to those whichthe world professed themselves at that time influenced by. Hence therelation of a Christian was by them considered as nearer than that ofaffinity and blood; and they almost literally esteemed themselves asmembers one of another. 

It cannot, indeed, possibly be denied, that our being God's creatures, and virtue being the natural law we are born under, and the wholeconstitution of man being plainly adapted to it, are prior obligations topiety and virtue than the consideration that God sent his Son into theworld to save it, and the motives which arise from the peculiar relationof Christians as members one of another under Christ our head. However, though all this be allowed, as it expressly is by the inspired writers, yet it is manifest that Christians at the time of the Revelation, andimmediately after, could not but insist mostly upon considerations ofthis latter kind. 

These observations show the original particular reference to the text, and the peculiar force with which the thing intended by the allusion init must have been felt by the primitive Christian world. They likewiseafford a reason for treating it at this time in a more general way. 

The relation which the several parts or members of the natural body haveto each other and to the whole body is here compared to the relationwhich each particular person in society has to other particular personsand to the whole society; and the latter is intended to be illustrated bythe former. And if there be a likeness between these two relations, theconsequence is obvious: that the latter shows us we were intended to dogood to others, as the former shows us that the several members of thenatural body were intended to be instruments of good to each other and tothe whole body. But as there is scarce any ground for a comparisonbetween society and the mere material body, this without the mind being adead unactive thing, much less can the comparison be carried to anylength. And since the apostle speaks of the several members as havingdistinct offices, which implies the mind, it cannot be thought anallowable liberty, instead of the _body_ and _its members_, to substitutethe _whole nature_ of _man_, and _all the variety of internal principleswhich belong to it_. And then the comparison will be between the natureof man as respecting self, and tending to private good, his ownpreservation and happiness; and the nature of man as having respect tosociety, and tending to promote public good, the happiness of thatsociety. These ends do indeed perfectly coincide; and to aim at publicand private good are so far from being inconsistent that they mutuallypromote each other: yet in the following discourse they must beconsidered as entirely distinct; otherwise the nature of man as tendingto one, or as tending to the other, cannot be compared. There can nocomparison be made, without considering the things compared as distinctand different. 

From this review and comparison of the nature of man as respecting selfand as respecting society, it will plainly appear that _there are as realand the same kind of indications in human nature_, _that we were made forsociety and to do good to our fellow-creatures_, _as that we wereintended to take care of our own life and health and private good_: _andthat the same objections lie against one of these assertions as againstthe other_. For, First, there is a natural principle of _benevolence_ {2} in man, which isin some degree to _society_ what _self-love_ is to the _individual_. Andif there be in mankind any disposition to friendship; if there be anysuch thing as compassion--for compassion is momentary love--if there beany such thing as the paternal or filial affections; if there be anyaffection in human nature, the object and end of which is the good ofanother, this is itself benevolence, or the love of another. Be it everso short, be it in ever so low a degree, or ever so unhappily confined, it proves the assertion, and points out what we were designed for, asreally as though it were in a higher degree and more extensive. I must, however, remind you that though benevolence and self-love are different, though the former tends most directly to public good, and the latter toprivate, yet they are so perfectly coincident that the greatestsatisfactions to ourselves depend upon our having benevolence in a duedegree; and that self-love is one chief security of our right behaviourtowards society. It may be added that their mutual coinciding, so thatwe can scarce promote one without the other, is equally a proof that wewere made for both. 

Secondly, this will further appear, from observing that the _severalpassions_ and _affections_, which are distinct {3} both from benevolenceand self-love, do in general contribute and lead us to _public good_ asreally as to _private_. It might be thought too minute and particular, and would carry us too great a length, to distinguish between and comparetogether the several passions or appetites distinct from benevolence, whose primary use and intention is the security and good of society, andthe passions distinct from self-love, whose primary intention and designis the security and good of the individual. {4} It is enough to thepresent argument that desire of esteem from others, contempt and esteemof them, love of society as distinct from affection to the good of it, indignation against successful vice--that these are public affections orpassions, have an immediate respect to others, naturally lead us toregulate our behaviour in such a manner as will be of service to ourfellow-creatures. If any or all of these may be considered likewise asprivate affections, as tending to private good, this does not hinder themfrom being public affections too, or destroy the good influence of themupon society, and their tendency to public good. It may be added that aspersons without any conviction from reason of the desirableness of lifewould yet of course preserve it merely from the appetite of hunger, so, by acting merely from regard (suppose) to reputation, without anyconsideration of the good of others, men often contribute to public good. In both these instances they are plainly instruments in the hands ofanother, in the hands of Providence, to carry on ends--the preservationof the individual and good of society--which they themselves have not intheir view or intention. The sum is, men have various appetites, passions, and particular affections, quite distinct both from self-loveand from benevolence: all of these have a tendency to promote both publicand private good, and may be considered as respecting others andourselves equally and in common; but some of them seem most immediatelyto respect others, or tend to public good; others of them mostimmediately to respect self, or tend to private good: as the former arenot benevolence, so the latter are not self-love: neither sort areinstances of our love either to ourselves or others, but only instancesof our Maker's care and love both of the individual and the species, andproofs that He intended we should be instruments of good to each other, as well as that we should be so to ourselves. 

Thirdly, there is a principle of reflection in men, by which theydistinguish between, approve and disapprove their own actions. We areplainly constituted such sort of creatures as to reflect upon our ownnature. The mind can take a view of what passes within itself, itspropensions, aversions, passions, affections as respecting such objects, and in such degrees; and of the several actions consequent thereupon. Inthis survey it approves of one, disapproves of another, and towards athird is affected in neither of these ways, but is quite indifferent. This principle in man, by which he approves or disapproves his heart, temper, and actions, is conscience; for this is the strict sense of theword, though sometimes it is used so as to take in more. And that thisfaculty tends to restrain men from doing mischief to each other, andleads them to do good, is too manifest to need being insisted upon. Thusa parent has the affection of love to his children: this leads him totake care of, to educate, to make due provision for them--the naturalaffection leads to this: but the reflection that it is his properbusiness, what belongs to him, that it is right and commendable so todo--this, added to the affection, becomes a much more settled principle, and carries him on through more labour and difficulties for the sake ofhis children than he would undergo from that affection alone, if hethought it, and the cause of action it led to, either indifferent orcriminal. This indeed is impossible, to do that which is good and not toapprove of it; for which reason they are frequently not considered asdistinct, though they really are: for men often approve of the action ofothers which they will not imitate, and likewise do that which theyapprove not. It cannot possibly be denied that there is this principleof reflection or conscience in human nature. Suppose a man to relieve aninnocent person in great distress; suppose the same man afterwards, inthe fury of anger, to do the greatest mischief to a person who had givenno just cause of offence. To aggravate the injury, add the circumstancesof former friendship and obligation from the injured person; let the manwho is supposed to have done these two different actions coolly reflectupon them afterwards, without regard to their consequences to himself: toassert that any common man would be affected in the same way towardsthese different actions, that he would make no distinction between them, but approve or disapprove them equally, is too glaring a falsity to needbeing confuted. There is therefore this principle of reflection orconscience in mankind. It is needless to compare the respect it has toprivate good with the respect it has to public; since it plainly tends asmuch to the latter as to the former, and is commonly thought to tendchiefly to the latter. This faculty is now mentioned merely as anotherpart in the inward frame of man, pointing out to us in some degree whatwe are intended for, and as what will naturally and of course have someinfluence. The particular place assigned to it by nature, what authorityit has, and how great influence it ought to have, shall be hereafterconsidered. 

From this comparison of benevolence and self-love, of our public andprivate affections, of the courses of life they lead to, and of theprinciple of reflection or conscience as respecting each of them, it isas manifest that _we were made for society_, _and to promote thehappiness of it_, _as that we were intended to take care of our own lifeand health and private good_. 

And from this whole review must be given a different draught of humannature from what we are often presented with. Mankind are by nature soclosely united, there is such a correspondence between the inwardsensations of one man and those of another, that disgrace is as muchavoided as bodily pain, and to be the object of esteem and love as muchdesired as any external goods; and in many particular cases persons arecarried on to do good to others, as the end their affection tends to andrests in; and manifest that they find real satisfaction and enjoyment inthis course of behaviour. There is such a natural principle ofattraction in man towards man that having trod the same tract of land, having breathed in the same climate, barely having been born in the sameartificial district or division, becomes the occasion of contractingacquaintances and familiarities many years after; for anything may servethe purpose. Thus relations merely nominal are sought and invented, notby governors, but by the lowest of the people, which are found sufficientto hold mankind together in little fraternities and copartnerships: weakties indeed, and what may afford fund enough for ridicule, if they areabsurdly considered as the real principles of that union: but they are intruth merely the occasions, as anything may be of anything, upon whichour nature carries us on according to its own previous bent and bias;which occasions therefore would be nothing at all were there not thisprior disposition and bias of nature. Men are so much one body that in apeculiar manner they feel for each other shame, sudden danger, resentment, honour, prosperity, distress; one or another, or all ofthese, from the social nature in general, from benevolence, upon theoccasion of natural relation, acquaintance, protection, dependence; eachof these being distinct cements of society. And therefore to have norestraint from, no regard to, others in our behaviour, is the speculativeabsurdity of considering ourselves as single and independent, as havingnothing in our nature which has respect to our fellow-creatures, reducedto action and practice. And this is the same absurdity as to suppose ahand, or any part, to have no natural respect to any other, or to thewhole body. 

But, allowing all this, it may be asked, "Has not man dispositions andprinciples within which lead him to do evil to others, as well as to dogood? Whence come the many miseries else which men are the authors andinstruments of to each other?" These questions, so far as they relate tothe foregoing discourse, may be answered by asking, Has not man alsodispositions and principles within which lead him to do evil to himself, as well as good? Whence come the many miseries else--sickness, pain, anddeath--which men are instruments and authors of to themselves?

It may be thought more easy to answer one of these questions than theother, but the answer to both is really the same: that mankind haveungoverned passions which they will gratify at any rate, as well to theinjury of others as in contradiction to known private interest: but thatas there is no such thing as self-hatred, so neither is there any suchthing as ill-will in one man towards another, emulation and resentmentbeing away; whereas there is plainly benevolence or good-will: there isno such thing as love of injustice, oppression, treachery, ingratitude, but only eager desires after such and such external goods; which, according to a very ancient observation, the most abandoned would chooseto obtain by innocent means, if they were as easy and as effectual totheir end: that even emulation and resentment, by any one who willconsider what these passions really are in nature, {5} will be foundnothing to the purpose of this objection; and that the principles andpassions in the mind of man, which are distinct both from self-love andbenevolence, primarily and most directly lead to right behaviour withregard to others as well as himself, and only secondarily andaccidentally to what is evil. Thus, though men, to avoid the shame ofone villainy, are sometimes guilty of a greater, yet it is easy to seethat the original tendency of shame is to prevent the doing of shamefulactions; and its leading men to conceal such actions when done is only inconsequence of their being done; _i. E. _, of the passion's not havinganswered its first end. 

If it be said that there are persons in the world who are in greatmeasure without the natural affections towards their fellow-creatures, there are likewise instances of persons without the common naturalaffections to themselves. But the nature of man is not to be judged ofby either of these, but by what appears in the common world, in the bulkof mankind. 

I am afraid it would be thought very strange, if to confirm the truth ofthis account of human nature, and make out the justness of the foregoingcomparison, it should be added that from what appears, men in fact asmuch and as often contradict that _part_ of their nature which respects_self_, and which leads them to their _own private_ good and happiness, as they contradict that _part_ of it which respects _society_, and tendsto _public_ good: that there are as few persons who attain the greatestsatisfaction and enjoyment which they might attain in the present world, as who do the greatest good to others which they might do; nay, thatthere are as few who can be said really and in earnest to aim at one asat the other. Take a survey of mankind: the world in general, the goodand bad, almost without exception, equally are agreed that were religionout of the case, the happiness of the present life would consist in amanner wholly in riches, honours, sensual gratifications; insomuch thatone scarce hears a reflection made upon prudence, life, conduct, but uponthis supposition. Yet, on the contrary, that persons in the greatestaffluence of fortune are no happier than such as have only a competency;that the cares and disappointments of ambition for the most part farexceed the satisfactions of it; as also the miserable intervals ofintemperance and excess, and the many untimely deaths occasioned by adissolute course of life: these things are all seen, acknowledged, byevery one acknowledged; but are thought no objections against, thoughthey expressly contradict, this universal principle--that the happinessof the present life consists in one or other of them. Whence is all thisabsurdity and contradiction? Is not the middle way obvious? Cananything be more manifest than that the happiness of life consists inthese possessed and enjoyed only to a certain degree; that to pursue thembeyond this degree is always attended with more inconvenience thanadvantage to a man's self, and often with extreme misery and unhappiness?Whence, then, I say, is all this absurdity and contradiction? Is itreally the result of consideration in mankind, how they may become mosteasy to themselves, most free from care, and enjoy the chief happinessattainable in this world? Or is it not manifestly owing either to this, that they have not cool and reasonable concern enough for themselves toconsider wherein their chief happiness in the present life consists; orelse, if they do consider it, that they will not act conformably to whatis the result of that consideration--_i. E. _, reasonable concern forthemselves, or cool self-love, is prevailed over by passions andappetite? So that from what appears there is no ground to assert thatthose principles in the nature of man, which most directly lead topromote the good of our fellow-creatures, are more generally or in agreater degree violated than those which most directly lead us to promoteour own private good and happiness. 

The sum of the whole is plainly this: The nature of man considered in hissingle capacity, and with respect only to the present world, is adaptedand leads him to attain the greatest happiness he can for himself in thepresent world. The nature of man considered in his public or socialcapacity leads him to right behaviour in society, to that course of lifewhich we call virtue. Men follow or obey their nature in both thesecapacities and respects to a certain degree, but not entirely: theiractions do not come up to the whole of what their nature leads them to ineither of these capacities or respects: and they often violate theirnature in both; _i. E. _, as they neglect the duties they owe to theirfellow-creatures, to which their nature leads them, and are injurious, towhich their nature is abhorrent, so there is a manifest negligence in menof their real happiness or interest in the present world, when thatinterest is inconsistent with a present gratification; for the sake ofwhich they negligently, nay, even knowingly, are the authors andinstruments of their own misery and ruin. Thus they are as often unjustto themselves as to others, and for the most part are equally so to bothby the same actions. 

SERMON II. , III. UPON HUMAN NATURE. 

 ROMANS ii. 14. 

 _For when the Gentiles_, _which have not the law_, _do by nature the things contained in the law_, _these_, _having not the law_, _are a law unto themselves_. 

As speculative truth admits of different kinds of proof, so likewisemoral obligations may be shown by different methods. If the real natureof any creature leads him and is adapted to such and such purposes only, or more than to any other, this is a reason to believe the Author of thatnature intended it for those purposes. Thus there is no doubt the eyewas intended for us to see with. And the more complex any constitutionis, and the greater variety of parts there are which thus tend to someone end, the stronger is the proof that such end was designed. However, when the inward frame of man is considered as any guide in morals, theutmost caution must be used that none make peculiarities in their owntemper, or anything which is the effect of particular customs, thoughobservable in several, the standard of what is common to the species; andabove all, that the highest principle be not forgot or excluded, that towhich belongs the adjustment and correction of all other inward movementsand affections; which principle will of course have some influence, butwhich being in nature supreme, as shall now be shown, ought to presideover and govern all the rest. The difficulty of rightly observing thetwo former cautions; the appearance there is of some small diversityamongst mankind with respect to this faculty, with respect to theirnatural sense of moral good and evil; and the attention necessary tosurvey with any exactness what passes within, have occasioned that it isnot so much agreed what is the standard of the internal nature of man asof his external form. Neither is this last exactly settled. Yet weunderstand one another when we speak of the shape of a human body: solikewise we do when we speak of the heart and inward principles, how farsoever the standard is from being exact or precisely fixed. There istherefore ground for an attempt of showing men to themselves, of showingthem what course of life and behaviour their real nature points out andwould lead them to. Now obligations of virtue shown, and motives to thepractice of it enforced, from a review of the nature of man, are to beconsidered as an appeal to each particular person's heart and naturalconscience: as the external senses are appealed to for the proof ofthings cognisable by them. Since, then, our inward feelings, and theperceptions we receive from our external senses, are equally real, toargue from the former to life and conduct is as little liable toexception as to argue from the latter to absolute speculative truth. Aman can as little doubt whether his eyes were given him to see with as hecan doubt of the truth of the science of _optics_, deduced from ocularexperiments. And allowing the inward feeling, shame, a man can as littledoubt whether it was given him to prevent his doing shameful actions ashe can doubt whether his eyes were given him to guide his steps. And asto these inward feelings themselves, that they are real, that man has inhis nature passions and affections, can no more be questioned than thathe has external senses. Neither can the former be wholly mistaken, though to a certain degree liable to greater mistakes than the latter. 

There can be no doubt but that several propensions or instincts, severalprinciples in the heart of man, carry him to society, and to contributeto the happiness of it, in a sense and a manner in which no inwardprinciple leads him to evil. These principles, propensions, or instinctswhich lead him to do good are approved of by a certain faculty within, quite distinct from these propensions themselves. All this hath beenfully made out in the foregoing discourse. 

But it may be said, "What is all this, though true, to the purpose ofvirtue and religion? these require, not only that we do good to otherswhen we are led this way, by benevolence or reflection happening to bestronger than other principles, passions, or appetites, but likewise thatthe _whole_ character be formed upon thought and reflection; that _every_action be directed by some determinate rule, some other rule than thestrength and prevalency of any principle or passion. What sign is therein our nature (for the inquiry is only about what is to be collected fromthence) that this was intended by its Author? Or how does so various andfickle a temper as that of man appear adapted thereto? It may indeed beabsurd and unnatural for men to act without any reflection; nay, withoutregard to that particular kind of reflection which you call conscience, because this does belong to our nature. For as there never was a man butwho approved one place, prospect, building, before another, so it doesnot appear that there ever was a man who would not have approved anaction of humanity rather than of cruelty; interest and passion beingquite out of the case. But interest and passion do come in, and areoften too strong for and prevail over reflection and conscience. Now asbrutes have various instincts, by which they are carried on to the endthe Author of their nature intended them for, is not man in the samecondition--with this difference only, that to his instincts (_i. E. _, appetites and passion) is added the principle of reflection orconscience? And as brutes act agreeably to their nature, in followingthat principle or particular instinct which for the present is strongestin them, does not man likewise act agreeably to his nature, or obey thelaw of his creation, by following that principle, be it passion orconscience, which for the present happens to be strongest in him? Thusdifferent men are by their particular nature hurried on to pursue honouror riches or pleasure; there are also persons whose temper leads them inan uncommon degree to kindness, compassion, doing good to their fellow-creatures, as there are others who are given to suspend their judgment, to weigh and consider things, and to act upon thought and reflection. Letevery one, then, quietly follow his nature, as passion, reflection, appetite, the several parts of it, happen to be strongest; but let notthe man of virtue take upon him to blame the ambitious, the covetous, thedissolute, since these equally with him obey and follow their nature. Thus, as in some cases we follow our nature in doing the works _containedin the law_, so in other cases we follow nature in doing contrary. "

Now all this licentious talk entirely goes upon a supposition that menfollow their nature in the same sense, in violating the known rules ofjustice and honesty for the sake of a present gratification, as they doin following those rules when they have no temptation to the contrary. And if this were true, that could not be so which St. Paul asserts, thatmen are _by nature a law to themselves_. If by following nature weremeant only acting as we please, it would indeed be ridiculous to speak ofnature as any guide in morals; nay, the very mention of deviating fromnature would be absurd; and the mention of following it, when spoken byway of distinction, would absolutely have no meaning. For did ever anyone act otherwise than as he pleased? And yet the ancients speak ofdeviating from nature as vice, and of following nature so much as adistinction, that according to them the perfection of virtue consiststherein. So that language itself should teach people another sense tothe words _following nature_ than barely acting as we please. Let it, however, be observed that though the words _human nature_ are to beexplained, yet the real question of this discourse is not concerning themeaning of words, any other than as the explanation of them may beneedful to make out and explain the assertion, that _every man isnaturally a law to himself_, that _every one may find within himself therule of right_, _and obligations to follow it_. This St. Paul affirms inthe words of the text, and this the foregoing objection really denies byseeming to allow it. And the objection will be fully answered, and thetext before us explained, by observing that _nature_ is considered indifferent views, and the word used in different senses; and by showing inwhat view it is considered, and in what sense the word is used, whenintended to express and signify that which is the guide of life, that bywhich men are a law to themselves. I say, the explanation of the termwill be sufficient, because from thence it will appear that in somesenses of the word _nature_ cannot be, but that in another sense itmanifestly is, a law to us. 

I. By nature is often meant no more than some principle in man, withoutregard either to the kind or degree of it. Thus the passion of anger, and the affection of parents to their children, would be called equally_natural_. And as the same person hath often contrary principles, whichat the same time draw contrary ways, he may by the same action bothfollow and contradict his nature in this sense of the word; he may followone passion and contradict another. 

II. _Nature_ is frequently spoken of as consisting in those passionswhich are strongest, and most influence the actions; which being viciousones, mankind is in this sense naturally vicious, or vicious by nature. Thus St. Paul says of the Gentiles, _who were dead in trespasses andsins_, _and walked according to the spirit of disobedience_, _that theywere by nature the children of wrath_. {6} They could be no otherwise_children of wrath_ by nature than they were vicious by nature. 

Here, then, are two different senses of the word _nature_, in neither ofwhich men can at all be said to be a law to themselves. They arementioned only to be excluded, to prevent their being confounded, as thelatter is in the objection, with another sense of it, which is now to beinquired after and explained. 

III. The apostle asserts that the Gentiles _do by NATURE the thingscontained in the law_. Nature is indeed here put by way of distinctionfrom revelation, but yet it is not a mere negative. He intends toexpress more than that by which they _did not_, that by which they _did_, the works of the law; namely, by _nature_. It is plain the meaning ofthe word is not the same in this passage as in the former, where it isspoken of as evil; for in this latter it is spoken of as good--as that bywhich they acted, or might have acted, virtuously. What that is in manby which he is _naturally a law to himself_ is explained in the followingwords: _Which show the work of the law written in their hearts_, _theirconsciences also bearing witness_, _and their thoughts the meanwhileaccusing or else excusing one another_. If there be a distinction to bemade between the _works written in their hearts_, and the _witness ofconscience_, by the former must be meant the natural disposition tokindness and compassion to do what is of good report, to which thisapostle often refers: that part of the nature of man, treated of in theforegoing discourse, which with very little reflection and of courseleads him to society, and by means of which he naturally acts a just andgood part in it, unless other passions or interest lead him astray. Yetsince other passions, and regards to private interest, which lead us(though indirectly, yet they lead us) astray, are themselves in a degreeequally natural, and often most prevalent, and since we have no method ofseeing the particular degrees in which one or the other is placed in usby nature, it is plain the former, considered merely as natural, good andright as they are, can no more be a law to us than the latter. But thereis a superior principle of reflection or conscience in every man, whichdistinguishes between the internal principles of his heart, as well ashis external actions; which passes judgement upon himself and them, pronounces determinately some actions to be in themselves just, right, good, others to be in themselves evil, wrong, unjust: which, withoutbeing consulted, without being advised with, magisterially exerts itself, and approves or condemns him the doer of them accordingly: and which, ifnot forcibly stopped, naturally and always of course goes on toanticipate a higher and more effectual sentence, which shall hereaftersecond and affirm its own. But this part of the office of conscience isbeyond my present design explicitly to consider. It is by this faculty, natural to man, that he is a moral agent, that he is a law to himself, but this faculty, I say, not to be considered merely as a principle inhis heart, which is to have some influence as well as others, butconsidered as a faculty in kind and in nature supreme over all others, and which bears its own authority of being so. 

This _prerogative_, this _natural supremacy_, of the faculty whichsurveys, approves, or disapproves the several affections of our mind andactions of our lives, being that by which men _are a law to themselves_, their conformity or disobedience to which law of our nature renders theiractions, in the highest and most proper sense, natural or unnatural, itis fit it be further explained to you; and I hope it will be so, if youwill attend to the following reflections. 

Man may act according to that principle or inclination which for thepresent happens to be strongest, and yet act in a way disproportionateto, and violate his real proper nature. Suppose a brute creature by anybait to be allured into a snare, by which he is destroyed. He plainlyfollowed the bent of his nature, leading him to gratify his appetite:there is an entire correspondence between his whole nature and such anaction: such action therefore is natural. But suppose a man, foreseeingthe same danger of certain ruin, should rush into it for the sake of apresent gratification; he in this instance would follow his strongestdesire, as did the brute creature; but there would be as manifest adisproportion between the nature of a man and such an action as betweenthe meanest work of art and the skill of the greatest master in that art;which disproportion arises, not from considering the action singly in_itself_, or in its _consequences_, but from _comparison_ of it with thenature of the agent. And since such an action is utterlydisproportionate to the nature of man, it is in the strictest and mostproper sense unnatural; this word expressing that disproportion. Therefore, instead of the words _disproportionate to his nature_, theword _unnatural_ may now be put; this being more familiar to us: but letit be observed that it stands for the same thing precisely. 

Now what is it which renders such a rash action unnatural? Is it that hewent against the principle of reasonable and cool self-love, considered_merely_ as a part of his nature? No; for if he had acted the contraryway, he would equally have gone against a principle, or part of hisnature--namely, passion or appetite. But to deny a present appetite, from foresight that the gratification of it would end in immediate ruinor extreme misery, is by no means an unnatural action: whereas tocontradict or go against cool self-love for the sake of suchgratification is so in the instance before us. Such an action then beingunnatural, and its being so not arising from a man's going against aprinciple or desire barely, nor in going against that principle or desirewhich happens for the present to be strongest, it necessarily followsthat there must be some other difference or distinction to be madebetween these two principles, passion and cool self-love, than what Ihave yet taken notice of. And this difference, not being a difference instrength or degree, I call a difference in _nature_ and in _kind_. Andsince, in the instance still before us, if passion prevails over self-love the consequent action is unnatural, but if self-love prevails overpassion the action is natural, it is manifest that self-love is in humannature a superior principle to passion. This may be contradicted withoutviolating that nature; but the former cannot. So that, if we will actconformably to the economy of man's nature, reasonable self-love mustgovern. Thus, without particular consideration of conscience, we mayhave a clear conception of the _superior nature_ of one inward principleto another, and see that there really is this natural superiority, quitedistinct from degrees of strength and prevalency. 

Let us now take a view of the nature of man, as consisting partly ofvarious appetites, passions, affections, and partly of the principle ofreflection or conscience, leaving quite out all consideration of thedifferent degrees of strength in which either of them prevails, and itwill further appear that there is this natural superiority of one inwardprinciple to another, and that it is even part of the idea of reflectionor conscience. 

Passion or appetite implies a direct simple tendency towards such andsuch objects, without distinction of the means by which they are to beobtained. Consequently it will often happen there will be a desire ofparticular objects, in cases where they cannot be obtained withoutmanifest injury to others. Reflection or conscience comes in, needdisapproves the pursuit of them in these circumstances; but the desireremains. Which is to be obeyed, appetite or reflection? Cannot thisquestion be answered, from the economy and constitution of human naturemerely, without saying which is strongest? Or need this at all come intoconsideration? Would not the question be _intelligibly_ and fullyanswered by saying that the principle of reflection or conscience beingcompared with the various appetites, passions, and affections in men, theformer is manifestly superior and chief, without regard to strength? Andhow often soever the latter happens to prevail, it is mere _usurpation_:the former remains in nature and in kind its superior; and every instanceof such prevalence of the latter is an instance of breaking in upon andviolation of the constitution of man. 

All this is no more than the distinction, which everybody is acquaintedwith, between _mere power_ and _authority_: only instead of beingintended to express the difference between what is possible and what islawful in civil government, here it has been shown applicable to theseveral principles in the mind of man. Thus that principle by which wesurvey, and either approve or disapprove our own heart, temper, andactions, is not only to be considered as what is in its turn to have someinfluence--which may be said of every passion, of the lowestappetites--but likewise as being superior, as from its very naturemanifestly claiming superiority over all others, insomuch that you cannotform a notion of this faculty, conscience, without taking in judgment, direction, superintendency. This is a constituent part of the idea--thatis, of the faculty itself; and to preside and govern, from the veryeconomy and constitution of man, belongs to it. Had it strength, as ithad right; had it power, as it had manifest authority, it wouldabsolutely govern the world. 

This gives us a further view of the nature of man; shows us what courseof life we were made for: not only that our real nature leads us to beinfluenced in some degree by reflection and conscience, but likewise inwhat degree we are to be influenced by it, if we will fall in with, andact agreeably to, the constitution of our nature: that this faculty wasplaced within to be our proper governor, to direct and regulate all underprinciples, passions, and motives of action. This is its right andoffice: thus sacred is its authority. And how often soever men violateand rebelliously refuse to submit to it, for supposed interest which theycannot otherwise obtain, or for the sake of passion which they cannototherwise gratify--this makes no alteration as to the _natural right_ and_office_ of conscience. 

Let us now turn this whole matter another way, and suppose there was nosuch thing at all as this natural supremacy of conscience--that there wasno distinction to be made between one inward principle and another, butonly that of strength--and see what would be the consequence. 

Consider, then, what is the latitude and compass of the actions of manwith regard to himself, his fellow-creatures, and the Supreme Being? Whatare their bounds, besides that of our natural power? With respect to thetwo first, they are plainly no other than these: no man seeks misery, assuch, for himself; and no one unprovoked does mischief to another for itsown sake. For in every degree within these bounds, mankind knowingly, from passion or wantonness, bring ruin and misery upon themselves andothers. And impiety and profaneness--I mean what every one would call sowho believes the being of God--have absolutely no bounds at all. Menblaspheme the Author of nature, formally and in words renounce theirallegiance to their Creator. Put an instance, then, with respect to anyone of these three. Though we should suppose profane swearing, and ingeneral that kind of impiety now mentioned, to mean nothing, yet itimplies wanton disregard and irreverence towards an infinite Being ourCreator; and is this as suitable to the nature of man as reverence anddutiful submission of heart towards that Almighty Being? Or suppose aman guilty of parricide, with all the circumstances of cruelty which suchan action can admit of. This action is done in consequence of itsprinciple being for the present strongest; and if there be no differencebetween inward principles, but only that of strength, the strength beinggiven you have the whole nature of the man given, so far as it relates tothis matter. The action plainly corresponds to the principle, theprinciple being in that degree of strength it was: it thereforecorresponds to the whole nature of the man. Upon comparing the actionand the whole nature, there arises no disproportion, there appears nounsuitableness, between them. Thus the _murder of a father_ and the_nature of man_ correspond to each other, as the same nature and an actof filial duty. If there be no difference between inward principles, butonly that of strength, we can make no distinction between these twoactions, considered as the actions of such a creature; but in our coolesthours must approve or disapprove them equally: than which nothing can bereduced to a greater absurdity. 

SERMON III. 

The natural supremacy of reflection or conscience being thus established, we may from it form a distinct notion of what is meant by _human nature_when virtue is said to consist in following it, and vice in deviatingfrom it. 

As the idea of a civil constitution implies in it united strength, various subordinations under one direction--that of the supremeauthority--the different strength of each particular member of thesociety not coming into the idea--whereas, if you leave out thesubordination, the union, and the one direction, you destroy and loseit--so reason, several appetites, passions, and affections, prevailing indifferent degrees of strength, is not _that_ idea or notion of _humannature_; but _that nature_ consists in these several principlesconsidered as having a natural respect to each other, in the severalpassions being naturally subordinate to the one superior principle ofreflection or conscience. Every bias, instinct, propension within, is anatural part of our nature, but not the whole: add to these the superiorfaculty whose office it is to adjust, manage, and preside over them, andtake in this its natural superiority, and you complete the idea of humannature. And as in civil government the constitution is broken in uponand violated by power and strength prevailing over authority; so theconstitution of man is broken in upon and violated by the lower facultiesor principles within prevailing over that which is in its nature supremeover them all. Thus, when it is said by ancient writers that torturesand death are not so contrary to human nature as injustice, by this, tobe sure, is not meant that the aversion to the former in mankind is lessstrong and prevalent than their aversion to the latter, but that theformer is only contrary to our nature considered in a partial view, andwhich takes in only the lowest part of it, that which we have in commonwith the brutes; whereas the latter is contrary to our nature, consideredin a higher sense, as a system and constitution contrary to the wholeeconomy of man. {7}

And from all these things put together, nothing can be more evident thanthat, exclusive of revelation, man cannot be considered as a creatureleft by his Maker to act at random, and live at large up to the extent ofhis natural power, as passion, humour, wilfulness, happen to carry him, which is the condition brute creatures are in; but that _from his make_, _constitution_, _or nature_, _he is in the strictest and most propersense a law to himself_. He hath the rule of right within: what iswanting is only that he honestly attend to it. 

The inquiries which have been made by men of leisure after some generalrule, the conformity to or disagreement from which should denominate ouractions good or evil, are in many respects of great service. Yet let anyplain, honest man, before he engages in any course of action, askhimself, Is this I am going about right, or is it wrong? Is it good, oris it evil? I do not in the least doubt but that this question would beanswered agreeably to truth and virtue, by almost any fair man in almostany circumstance. Neither do there appear any cases which look likeexceptions to this, but those of superstition, and of partiality toourselves. Superstition may perhaps be somewhat of an exception; butpartiality to ourselves is not, this being itself dishonesty. For a manto judge that to be the equitable, the moderate, the right part for himto act, which he would see to be hard, unjust, oppressive in another, this is plain vice, and can proceed only from great unfairness of mind. 

But allowing that mankind hath the rule of right within himself, yet itmay be asked, "What obligations are we under to attend to and follow it?"I answer: It has been proved that man by his nature is a law to himself, without the particular distinct consideration of the positive sanctionsof that law: the rewards and punishments which we feel, and those whichfrom the light of reason we have ground to believe, are annexed to it. The question, then, carries its own answer along within it. Yourobligation to obey this law is its being the law of your nature. Thatyour conscience approves of and attests to such a course of action isitself alone an obligation. Conscience does not only offer itself toshow us the way we should walk in, but it likewise carries its ownauthority with it, that it is our natural guide; the guide assigned us bythe Author of our nature: it therefore belongs to our condition of being;it is our duty to walk in that path, and follow this guide, withoutlooking about to see whether we may not possibly forsake them withimpunity. 

However, let us hear what is to be said against obeying this law of ournature. And the sum is no more than this: "Why should we be concernedabout anything out of and beyond ourselves? If we do find withinourselves regards to others, and restraints of we know not how manydifferent kinds, yet these being embarrassments, and hindering us fromgoing the nearest way to our own good, why should we not endeavour tosuppress and get over them?"

Thus people go on with words, which when applied to human nature, and thecondition in which it is placed in this world, have really no meaning. For does not all this kind of talk go upon supposition, that ourhappiness in this world consists in somewhat quite distinct from regardto others, and that it is the privilege of vice to be without restraintor confinement? Whereas, on the contrary, the enjoyments--in a mannerall the common enjoyments of life, even the pleasures of vice--dependupon these regards of one kind or another to our fellow-creatures. Throwoff all regards to others, and we should be quite indifferent to infamyand to honour; there could be no such thing at all as ambition; andscarce any such thing as covetousness; for we should likewise be equallyindifferent to the disgrace of poverty, the several neglects and kinds ofcontempt which accompany this state, and to the reputation of riches, theregard and respect they usually procure. Neither is restraint by anymeans peculiar to one course of life; but our very nature, exclusive ofconscience and our condition, lays us under an absolute necessity of it. We cannot gain any end whatever without being confined to the propermeans, which is often the most painful and uneasy confinement. And innumberless instances a present appetite cannot be gratified without suchapparent and immediate ruin and misery that the most dissolute man in theworld chooses to forego the pleasure rather than endure the pain. 

Is the meaning, then, to indulge those regards to our fellow-creatures, and submit to those restraints which upon the whole are attended withmore satisfaction than uneasiness, and get over only those which bringmore uneasiness and inconvenience than satisfaction? "Doubtless this wasour meaning. " You have changed sides then. Keep to this; be consistentwith yourselves, and you and the men of virtue are _in general_ perfectlyagreed. But let us take care and avoid mistakes. Let it not be takenfor granted that the temper of envy, rage, resentment, yields greaterdelight than meekness, forgiveness, compassion, and good-will; especiallywhen it is acknowledged that rage, envy, resentment, are in themselvesmere misery; and that satisfaction arising from the indulgence of them islittle more than relief from that misery; whereas the temper ofcompassion and benevolence is itself delightful; and the indulgence ofit, by doing good, affords new positive delight and enjoyment. Let itnot be taken for granted that the satisfaction arising from thereputation of riches and power, however obtained, and from the respectpaid to them, is greater than the satisfaction arising from thereputation of justice, honesty, charity, and the esteem which isuniversally acknowledged to be their due. And if it be doubtful which ofthese satisfactions is the greatest, as there are persons who thinkneither of them very considerable, yet there can be no doubt concerningambition and covetousness, virtue and a good mind, considered inthemselves, and as leading to different courses of life; there can, Isay, be no doubt, which temper and which course is attended with mostpeace and tranquillity of mind, which with most perplexity, vexation, andinconvenience. And both the virtues and vices which have been nowmentioned, do in a manner equally imply in them regards of one kind oranother to our fellow-creatures. And with respect to restraint andconfinement, whoever will consider the restraints from fear and shame, the dissimulation, mean arts of concealment, servile compliances, one orother of which belong to almost every course of vice, will soon beconvinced that the man of virtue is by no means upon a disadvantage inthis respect. How many instances are there in which men feel and own andcry aloud under the chains of vice with which they are enthralled, andwhich yet they will not shake off! How many instances, in which personsmanifestly go through more pains and self-denial to gratify a viciouspassion, than would have been necessary to the conquest of it! To thisis to be added, that when virtue is become habitual, when the temper ofit is acquired, what was before confinement ceases to be so by becomingchoice and delight. Whatever restraint and guard upon ourselves may beneedful to unlearn any unnatural distortion or odd gesture, yet in allpropriety of speech, natural behaviour must be the most easy andunrestrained. It is manifest that, in the common course of life, thereis seldom any inconsistency between our duty and what is _called_interest: it is much seldomer that there is an inconsistency between dutyand what is really our present interest; meaning by interest, happinessand satisfaction. Self-love, then, though confined to the interest ofthe present world, does in general perfectly coincide with virtue, andleads us to one and the same course of life. But, whatever exceptionsthere are to this, which are much fewer than they are commonly thought, all shall be set right at the final distribution of things. It is amanifest absurdity to suppose evil prevailing finally over good, underthe conduct and administration of a perfect mined. 

The whole argument, which I have been now insisting upon, may be thussummed up, and given you in one view. The nature of man is adapted tosome course of action or other. Upon comparing some actions with thisnature, they appear suitable and correspondent to it: from comparison ofother actions with the same nature, there arises to our view someunsuitableness or disproportion. The correspondence of actions to thenature of the agent renders them natural; their disproportion to it, unnatural. That an action is correspondent to the nature of the agentdoes not arise from its being agreeable to the principle which happens tobe the strongest: for it may be so and yet be quite disproportionate tothe nature of the agent. The correspondence therefore, or disproportion, arises from somewhat else. This can be nothing but a difference innature and kind, altogether distinct from strength, between the inwardprinciples. Some then are in nature and kind superior to others. Andthe correspondence arises from the action being conformable to the higherprinciple; and the unsuitableness from its being contrary to it. Reasonable self-love and conscience are the chief or superior principlesin the nature of man; because an action may be suitable to this nature, though all other principles be violated, but becomes unsuitable if eitherof those are. Conscience and self-love, if we understand our truehappiness, always lead us the same way. Duty and interest are perfectlycoincident; for the most part in this world, but entirely and in everyinstance if we take in the future and the whole; this being implied inthe notion of a good and perfect administration of things. Thus they whohave been so wise in their generation as to regard only their ownsupposed interest, at the expense and to the injury of others, shall atlast find, that he who has given up all the advantages of the presentworld, rather than violate his conscience and the relations of life, hasinfinitely better provided for himself, and secured his owns interest andhappiness. 

SERMON IV. UPON THE GOVERNMENT OF THE TONGUE. 

 JAMES i. 26. 

 _If any man among you seem to be religious_, _and bridleth not his tongue_, _but deceiveth his own heart_, _this man's religion is vain_. 

The translation of this text would be more determinate by being moreliteral, thus: _If any man among you seemeth to be religious_, _notbridling his tongue_, _but deceiving his own heart_, _this man's religionis vain_. This determines that the words, _but deceiveth his own heart_, are not put in opposition to _seemeth to be religious_, but to _bridlethnot his tongue_. The certain determinate meaning of the text then being, that he who seemeth to be religious, and bridleth not his tongue, but inthat particular deceiveth his own heart, this man's religion is vain, wemay observe somewhat very forcible and expressive in these words of St. James. As if the apostle had said, No man surely can make any pretencesto religion, who does not at least believe that he bridleth his tongue:if he puts on any appearance or face of religion, and yet does not governhis tongue, he must surely deceive himself in that particular, and thinkhe does; and whoever is so unhappy as to deceive himself in this, toimagine he keeps that unruly faculty in due subjection when indeed hedoes not, whatever the other part of his life be, his religion is vain;the government of the tongue being a most material restraint which virtuelays us under: without it no man can be truly religious. 

In treating upon this subject, I will consider, First, what is the general vice or fault here referred to; or whatdisposition in men is supposed in moral reflections and preceptsconcerning _bridling the tongue_. 

Secondly, when it may be said of any one, that he has a due governmentover himself in this respect. 

I. Now, the fault referred to, and the disposition supposed, in preceptsand reflections concerning the government of the tongue, is notevil-speaking from malice, nor lying or bearing false witness fromindirect selfish designs. The disposition to these, and the actual vicesthemselves, all come under other subjects. The tongue may be employedabout, and made to serve all the purposes of vice, in tempting anddeceiving, in perjury and injustice. But the thing here supposed andreferred to, is talkativeness: a disposition to be talking, abstractedfrom the consideration of what is to be said; with very little or noregard to, or thought of doing, either good or harm. And let not anyimagine this to be a slight matter, and that it deserves not to have sogreat weight laid upon it, till he has considered what evil is implied init, and the bad effects which follow from it. It is perhaps true, thatthey who are addicted to this folly would choose to confine themselves totrifles and indifferent subjects, and so intend only to be guilty ofbeing impertinent: but as they cannot go on for ever talking of nothing, as common matters will not afford a sufficient fund for perpetualcontinued discourse, where subjects of this kind are exhausted they willgo on to defamation, scandal, divulging of secrets, their own secrets aswell as those of others--anything rather than be silent. They areplainly hurried on in the heat of their talk to say quite differentthings from what they first intended, and which they afterwards wishunsaid: or improper things, which they had no other end in saying, butonly to afford employment to their tongue. And if these people expect tobe heard and regarded--for there are some content merely withtalking--they will invent to engage your attention: and, when they haveheard the least imperfect hint of an affair, they will out of their ownhead add the circumstances of time and place and other matters to makeout their story and give the appearance of probability to it: not thatthey have any concern about being believed, otherwise than as a means ofbeing heard. The thing is, to engage your attention; to take you upwholly for the present time: what reflections will be made afterwards, isin truth the least of their thoughts. And further, when persons whoindulge themselves in these liberties of the tongue are in any degreeoffended with another--as little disgusts and misunderstandings willbe--they allow themselves to defame and revile such a one without anymoderation or bounds; though the offence is so very slight, that theythemselves would not do, nor perhaps wish him, an injury in any otherway. And in this case the scandal and revilings are chiefly owing totalkativeness, and not bridling their tongue, and so come under ourpresent subject. The least occasion in the world will make the humourbreak out in this particular way or in another. It as like a torrent, which must and will flow; but the least thing imaginable will first ofall give it either this or another direction, turn it into this or thatchannel: or like a fire--the nature of which, when in a heap ofcombustible matter, is to spread and lay waste all around; but any one ofa thousand little accidents will occasion it to break out first either inthis or another particular part. 

The subject then before us, though it does run up into, and can scarce betreated as entirely distinct from all others, yet it needs not be so muchmixed or blended with them as it often is. Every faculty and power maybe used as the instrument of premeditated vice and wickedness, merely asthe most proper and effectual means of executing such designs. But if aman, from deep malice and desire of revenge, should meditate a falsehoodwith a settled design to ruin his neighbour's reputation, and should withgreat coolness and deliberation spread it, nobody would choose to say ofsuch a one that he had no government of his tongue. A man may use thefaculty of speech as an instrument of false witness, who yet has soentire a command over that faculty as never to speak but from forethoughtand cool design. Here the crime is injustice and perjury, and, strictlyspeaking, no more belongs to the present subject than perjury andinjustice in any other way. But there is such a thing as a dispositionto be talking for its own sake; from which persons often say anything, good or bad, of others, merely as a subject of discourse, according tothe particular temper they themselves happen to be in, and to pass awaythe present time. There is likewise to be observed in persons such astrong and eager desire of engaging attention to what they say, that theywill speak good or evil, truth or otherwise, merely as one or the otherseems to be most hearkened to: and this though it is sometimes joined, isnot the same with the desire of being thought important and men ofconsequence. There is in some such a disposition to be talking, that anoffence of the slightest kind, and such as would not raise any otherresentment, yet raises, if I may so speak, the resentment of thetongue--puts it into a flame, into the most ungovernable motions. Thisoutrage, when the person it respects is present, we distinguish in thelower rank of people by a peculiar term: and let it be observed, thatthough the decencies of behaviour are a little kept, the same outrage andvirulence, indulged when he is absent, is an offence of the same kind. But, not to distinguish any further in this manner, men race into faultsand follies which cannot so properly be referred to any one general headas this--that they have not a due government over their tongue. 

And this unrestrained volubility and wantonness of speech is the occasionof numberless evils and vexations in life. It begets resentment in himwho is the subject of it, sows the seed of strife and dissension amongstothers, and inflames little disgusts and offences which if let alonewould wear away of themselves: it is often of as bad effect upon the goodname of others, as deep envy or malice: and to say the least of it inthis respect, it destroys and perverts a certain equity of the utmostimportance to society to be observed--namely, that praise and dispraise, a good or bad character, should always be bestowed according to desert. The tongue used in such a licentious manner is like a sword in the handof a madman; it is employed at random, it can scarce possibly do anygood, and for the most part does a world of mischief; and implies notonly great folly and a trifling spirit, but great viciousness of mind, great indifference to truth and falsity, and to the reputation, welfare, and good of others. So much reason is there for what St. James says ofthe tongue, _It is a fire_, _a world of iniquity_, _it defileth the wholebody_, _setteth on fire the course of nature_, _and is itself set on fireof hell_. {8} This is the faculty or disposition which we are requiredto keep a guard upon: these are the vices and follies it runs into whennot kept under due restraint. 

II. Wherein the due government of the tongue consists, or when it may besaid of any one in a moral and religious sense that he _bridleth histongue_, I come now to consider. 

The due and proper use of any natural faculty or power is to be judged ofby the end and design for which it was given us. The chief purpose forwhich the faculty of speech was given to man is plainly that we mightcommunicate our thoughts to each other, in order to carry on the affairsof the world; for business, and for our improvement in knowledge andlearning. But the good Author of our nature designed us not onlynecessaries, but likewise enjoyment and satisfaction, in that being Hehath graciously given, and in that condition of life He hath placed usin. There are secondary uses of our faculties: they administer todelight, as well as to necessity; and as they are equally-adapted toboth, there is no doubt but He intended them for our gratification aswell as for the support and continuance of our being. The secondary useof speech is to please and be entertaining to each other in conversation. This is in every respect allowable and right; it unites men closer inalliances and friendships; gives us a fellow-feeling of the prosperityand unhappiness of each other; and is in several respects servicable tovirtue, and to promote good behaviour in the world. And provided therebe not too much time spent in it, if it were considered only in the wayof gratification and delight, men must have strange notion of God and ofreligion to think that He can be offended with it, or that it is any wayinconsistent with the strictest virtue. But the truth is, such sort ofconversation, though it has no particular good tendency, yet it has ageneral good one; it is social and friendly, and tends to promotehumanity, good-nature, and civility. 

As the end and use, so likewise the abuse of speech, relates to the oneor other of these: either to business or to conversation. As to theformer: deceit in the management of business and affairs does notproperly belong to the subject now before us: though one may just mentionthat multitude, that heedless number of words with which business isperplexed, where a much fewer would, as it should seem, better serve thepurpose; but this must be left to those who understand the matter. Thegovernment of the tongue, considered as a subject of itself, relateschiefly to conversation; to that kind of discourse which usually fills upthe time spent in friendly meetings and visits of civility. And thedanger is, lest persons entertain themselves and others at the expense oftheir wisdom and their virtue, and to the injury or offence of theirneighbour. If they will observe and keep clear of these, they may be asfree and easy and unreserved as they can desire. 

The cautions to be given for avoiding these dangers, and to renderconversation innocent and agreeable, fall under the followingparticulars: silence; talking of indifferent things; and, which makes uptoo great a part of conversation, giving of characters, speaking well orevil of others. 

The Wise Man observes that "there is a time to speak, and a time to keepsilence. " One meets with people in the world who seem never to have madethe last of these observations. And yet these great talkers do not atall speak from their having anything to say, as every sentence shows, butonly from their inclination to be talking. Their conversation is merelyan exercise of the tongue: no other human faculty has any share in it. Itis strange these persons can help reflecting, that unless they have intruth a superior capacity, and are in an extraordinary manner furnishedfor conversation if they are entertaining, it is at their own expense. Isit possible that it should never come into people's thoughts to suspectwhether or no it be to their advantage to show so very much ofthemselves? "O that you would altogether hold your peace, and it shouldbe your wisdom. " {9} Remember likewise there are persons who love fewerwords, an inoffensive sort of people, and who deserve some regard, thoughof too still and composed tempers for you. Of this number was the Son ofSirach: for he plainly speaks from experience when he says, "As hills ofsand are to the steps of the aged, so is one of many words to a quietman. " But one would think it should be obvious to every one, that whenthey are in company with their superiors of any kind--in years, knowledge, and experience--when proper and useful subjects are discoursedof, which they cannot bear a part in, that these are times for silence, when they should learn to hear, and be attentive, at least in their turn. It is indeed a very unhappy way these people are in; they in a manner cutthemselves out from all advantage of conversation, except that of beingentertained with their own talk: their business in coming into companynot being at all to be informed, to hear, to learn, but to displaythemselves, or rather to exert their faculty, and talk without any designat all. And if we consider conversation as an entertainment, as somewhatto unbend the mind, as a diversion from the cares, the business, and thesorrows of life, it is of the very nature of it that the discourse bemutual. This, I say, is implied in the very notion of what wedistinguish by conversation, or being in company. Attention to thecontinued discourse of one alone grows more painful, often, than thecares and business we come to be diverted from. He, therefore, whoimposes this upon us is guilty of a double offence--arbitrarily enjoiningsilence upon all the rest, and likewise obliging them to this painfulattention. 

I am sensible these things are apt to be passed over, as too little tocome into a serious discourse; but in reality men are obliged, even inpoint of morality and virtue, to observe all the decencies of behaviour. The greatest evils in life have had their rise from somewhat which wasthought of too little importance to be attended to. And as to the matterwe are now upon, it is absolutely necessary to be considered. For ifpeople will not maintain a due government over themselves, in regardingproper times and seasons for silence, but _will_ be talking, theycertainly, whether they design it or not at first, will go on to scandaland evil-speaking, and divulging secrets. 

If it were needful to say anything further to persuade men to learn thislesson of silence, one might put them in mind how insignificant theyrender themselves by this excessive talkativeness: insomuch that, if theydo chance to say anything which deserves to be attended to and regarded, it is lost in the variety and abundance which they utter of another sort. 

The occasions of silence then are obvious, and one would think should beeasily distinguished by everybody: namely, when a man has nothing to say;or nothing but what is better unsaid: better, either in regard to theparticular persons he is present with; or from its being an interruptionto conversation itself; or to conversation of a more agreeable kind; orbetter, lastly, with regard to himself. I will end this particular withtwo reflections of the Wise Man; one of which, in the strongest manner, exposes the ridiculous part of this licentiousness of the tongue; and theother, the great danger and viciousness of it. _When he that is a foolwalketh by the way side_, _his wisdom faileth him_, _and he saith toevery one that he is a fool_. {10} The other is, _In the multitude ofwords there wanteth not sin_. {11}

As to the government of the tongue in respect to talking upon indifferentsubjects: after what has been said concerning the due government of it inrespect to the occasions and times for silence, there is little morenecessary than only to caution men to be fully satisfied that thesubjects are indeed of an indifferent nature; and not to spend too muchtime in conversation of this kind. But persons must be sure to take heedthat the subject of their discourse be at least of an indifferent nature:that it be no way offensive to virtue, religion, or good manners: that itbe not of a licentious, dissolute sort, this leaving always illimpressions upon the mind; that it be no way injurious or vexatious toothers; and that too much time be not spent this way, to the neglect ofthose duties and offices of life which belong to their station andcondition in the world. However, though there is not any necessity thatmen should aim at being important and weighty in every sentence theyspeak: yet since useful subjects, at least of some kinds, are asentertaining as others, a wise man, even when he desires to unbend hismind from business, would choose that the conversation might turn uponsomewhat instructive. 

The last thing is, the government of the tongue as relating to discourseof the affairs of others, and giving of characters. These are in amanner the same; and one can scarce call it an indifferent subject, because discourse upon it almost perpetually runs into somewhat criminal. 

And, first of all, it were very much to be wished that this did not takeup so great a part of conversation; because it is indeed a subject of adangerous nature. Let any one consider the various interests, competitions, and little misunderstandings which arise amongst men; andhe will soon see that he is not unprejudiced and impartial; that he isnot, as I may speak, neutral enough to trust himself with talking of thecharacter and concerns of his neighbour, in a free, careless, andunreserved manner. There is perpetually, and often it is not attendedto, a rivalship amongst people of one kind or another in respect to wit, beauty, learning, fortune, and that one thing will insensibly influencethem to speak to the disadvantage of others, even where there is noformed malice or ill-design. Since therefore it is so hard to enter intothis subject without offending, the first thing to be observed is thatpeople should learn to decline it; to get over that strong inclinationmost have to be talking of the concerns and behaviour of their neighbour. 

But since it is impossible that this subject should be wholly excludedconversation; and since it is necessary that the characters of men shouldbe known: the next thing is that it is a matter of importance what issaid; and, therefore, that we should be religiously scrupulous and exactto say nothing, either good or bad, but what is true. I put it thus, because it is in reality of as great importance to the good of society, that the characters of bad men should be known, as that the characters ofgood men should. People who are given to scandal and detraction mayindeed make an ill-use of this observation; but truths, which are ofservice towards regulating our conduct, are not to be disowned, or evenconcealed, because a bad use may be made of them. This however would beeffectually prevented if these two things were attended to. First, That, though it is equally of bad consequence to society that men should haveeither good or ill characters which they do not deserve; yet, when yousay somewhat good of a man which he does not deserve, there is no wrongdone him in particular; whereas, when you say evil of a man which he doesnot deserve, here is a direct formal injury, a real piece of injusticedone him. This therefore makes a wide difference; and gives us, in pointof virtue, much greater latitude in speaking well than ill of others. Secondly, A good man is friendly to his fellow-creatures, and a lover ofmankind; and so will, upon every occasion, and often without any, say allthe good he can of everybody; but, so far as he is a good man, will neverbe disposed to speak evil of any, unless there be some other reason forit, besides, barely that it is true. If he be charged with having givenan ill character, he will scarce think it a sufficient justification ofhimself to say it was a true one, unless he can also give some furtheraccount how he came to do so: a just indignation against particularinstances of villainy, where they are great and scandalous; or to preventan innocent man from being deceived and betrayed, when he has great trustand confidence in one who does not deserve it. Justice must be done toevery part of a subject when we are considering it. If there be a man, who bears a fair character in the world, whom yet we know to be withoutfaith or honesty, to be really an ill man; it must be allowed in generalthat we shall do a piece of service to society by letting such a one'strue character be known. This is no more than what we have an instanceof in our Saviour himself; {12} though He was mild and gentle beyondexample. However, no words can express too strongly the caution whichshould be used in such a case as this. 

Upon the whole matter: If people would observe the obvious occasions ofsilence, if they would subdue the inclination to tale-bearing, and thateager desire to engage attention, which is an original disease in someminds, they would be in little danger of offending with their tongue; andwould, in a moral and religious sense, have due government over it. 

I will conclude with some precepts and reflections of the Son of Sirachupon this subject. _Be swift to hear_; _and_, _if thou hastunderstanding_, _answer thy neighbour_; _if not_, _lay thy hand upon thymouth_. _Honour and shame is in talk_. _A man of an ill tongue isdangerous in his city_, _and he that is rash in his talk shall be hated_. _A wise man wilt hold his tongue till he see opportunity_; _but a babblerand a fool will regard no time_. _He that useth many words shall beabhorred_; _and he that taketh to himself authority therein shall behated_. _A backbiting tongue hath disquieted many_; _strong cities hathit pulled down_, _and overthrown the houses of great men_. _The tongueof a man is his fall_; _but if thou love to hear_, _thou shall receiveunderstanding_. 

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 thegood of others. Whoever will consider may see that, in general, there isno contrariety between these; but that from the original constitution ofman, and the circumstances he is placed in, they perfectly coincide, andmutually carry on each other. But, among the great variety of affectionsor principles of actions in our nature, some in their primary intentionand design seem to belong to the single or private, others to the publicor social capacity. The affections required in the text are of thelatter sort. When we rejoice in the prosperity of others, andcompassionate their distresses, we as it were substitute them forourselves, their interest for our own; and have the same kind of pleasurein their prosperity, and sorrow in their distress, as we have fromreflection upon our own. Now there is nothing strange or unaccountablein our being thus carried out, and affected towards the interests ofothers. For, if there be any appetite, or any inward principle besidesself-love; why may there not be an affection to the good of our fellow-creatures, and delight from that affection's being gratified, anduneasiness from things going contrary to it? {13}

Of these two, delight in the prosperity of others, and compassion fortheir 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, insome degree, whom they see in distress; so far as they have any realperception or sense of that distress: insomuch that words expressing thislatter, pity, compassion, frequently occur: whereas we have scarce anysingle one by which the former is distinctly expressed. Congratulationindeed answers condolence: but both these words are intended to signifycertain forms of civility rather than any inward sensation or feeling. This difference or inequality is so remarkable that we plainly considercompassion as itself an original, distinct, particular affection in humannature; whereas to rejoice in the good of others is only a consequence ofthe general affection of love and good-will to them. The reason andaccount of which matter is this: when a man has obtained any particularadvantage or felicity, his end is gained; and he does not in thatparticular want the assistance of another: there was therefore no need ofa distinct affection towards that felicity of another already obtained;neither would such affection directly carry him on to do good to thatperson: whereas men in distress want assistance; and compassion leads usdirectly to assist them. The object of the former is the presentfelicity of another; the object of the latter is the present misery ofanother. It is easy to see that the latter wants a particular affectionfor its relief, and that the former does not want one because it does notwant assistance. And upon supposition of a distinct affection in bothcases, the one must rest in the exercise of itself, having nothingfurther to gain; the other does not rest in itself, but carries us on toassist the distressed. 

But, supposing these affections natural to the mind, particularly thelast; "Has not each man troubles enough of his own? must he indulge anaffection which appropriates to himself those of others? which leads himto contract the least desirable of all friendships, friendships with theunfortunate? Must we invert the known rule of prudence, and choose toassociate ourselves with the distressed? or, allowing that we ought, sofar as it is in our power to relieve them, yet is it not better to dothis from reason and duty? Does not passion and affection of every kindperpetually mislead us? Nay, is not passion and affection itself aweakness, and what a perfect being must be entirely free from?" Perhapsso, but it is mankind I am speaking of; imperfect creatures, and whonaturally and, from the condition we are placed in, necessarily dependupon each other. With respect to such creatures, it would be found of asbad consequence to eradicate all natural affections as to be entirelygoverned by them. This would almost sink us to the condition of brutes;and that would leave us without a sufficient principle of action. Reasonalone, whatever any one may wish, is not in reality a sufficient motiveof virtue in such a creature as man; but this reason joined with thoseaffections which God has impressed upon his heart, and when these areallowed scope to exercise themselves, but under strict government anddirection of reason, then it is we act suitably to our nature, and to thecircumstances God has placed us in. Neither is affection itself at all aweakness; nor does it argue defect, any otherwise than as our senses andappetites do; they belong to our condition of nature, and are what wecannot be without. God Almighty is, to be sure, unmoved by passion orappetite, unchanged by affection; but then it is to be added that Heneither sees nor hears nor perceives things by any senses like ours; butin a manner infinitely more perfect. Now, as it is an absurdity almosttoo gross to be mentioned, for a man to endeavour to get rid of hissenses, because the Supreme Being discerns things more perfectly withoutthem; it is as real, though not so obvious an absurdity, to endeavour toeradicate the passions He has given us, because He is without them. For, since our passions are as really a part of our constitution as oursenses; since the former as really belong to our condition of nature asthe latter; to get rid of either is equally a violation of and breakingin upon that nature and constitution He has given us. Both our sensesand our passions are a supply to the imperfection of our nature; thusthey show that we are such sort of creatures as to stand in need of thosehelps 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 theimperfection. However, our appetites, passions, senses, no way implydisease: nor indeed do they imply deficiency or imperfection of any sort;but only this, that the constitution of nature, according to which Godhas made us, is such as to require them. And it is so far from beingtrue, that a wise man must entirely suppress compassion, and all fellow-feeling for others, as a weakness; and trust to reason alone to teach andenforce upon him the practice of the several charities we owe to ourkind; that, on the contrary, even the bare exercise of such affectionswould itself be for the good and happiness of the world; and theimperfection of the higher principles of reason and religion in man, thelittle influence they have upon our practice, and the strength andprevalency of contrary ones, plainly require these affections to be arestraint upon these latter, and a supply to the deficiencies of theformer. 

First, The very exercise itself of these affections in a just andreasonable manner and degree would upon the whole increase thesatisfactions and lessen the miseries of life. 

It is the tendency and business of virtue and religion to procure, asmuch as may be, universal good-will, trust, and friendship amongstmankind. If this could be brought to obtain; and each man enjoyed thehappiness of others, as every one does that of a friend; and looked uponthe success and prosperity of his neighbour as every one does upon thatof his children and family; it is too manifest to be insisted upon howmuch the enjoyments of life would be increased. There would be so muchhappiness introduced into the world, without any deduction orinconvenience from it, in proportion as the precept of _rejoicing withthose who rejoice_ was universally obeyed. Our Saviour has owned thisgood affection as belonging to our nature in the parable of the _lostsheep_, and does not think it to the disadvantage of a perfect state torepresent its happiness as capable of increase from reflection upon thatof others. 

But since in such a creature as man, compassion or sorrow for thedistress of others seems so far necessarily connected with joy in theirprosperity, as that whoever rejoices in one must unavoidablycompassionate the other; there cannot be that delight or satisfaction, which appears to be so considerable, without the inconveniences, whateverthey are, of compassion. 

However, without considering this connection, there is no doubt but thatmore good than evil, more delight than sorrow, arises from compassionitself; there being so many things which balance the sorrow of it. Thereis first the relief which the distressed feel from this affection inothers towards them. There is likewise the additional misery which theywould feel from the reflection that no one commiserated their case. Itis indeed true that any disposition, prevailing beyond a certain degree, becomes somewhat wrong; and we have ways of speaking, which, though theydo 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 inbeing pitied, this always conveys to our mind the notion of somewhatwhich is really a weakness. The manner of speaking, I say, implies acertain weakness and feebleness of mind, which is and ought to bedisapproved. But men of the greatest fortitude would in distress feeluneasiness from knowing that no person in the world had any sort ofcompassion or real concern for them; and in some cases, especially whenthe temper is enfeebled by sickness, or any long and great distress, doubtless, would feel a kind of relief even from the helpless goodwilland ineffectual assistances of those about them. Over against the sorrowof compassion is likewise to be set a peculiar calm kind of satisfaction, which accompanies it, unless in cases where the distress of another is bysome 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 oughtto be corrected. This tranquillity, or calm satisfaction, proceedspartly from consciousness of a right affection and temper of mind, andpartly from a sense of our own freedom from the misery we compassionate. This last may possibly appear to some at first sight faulty; but itreally is not so. It is the same with that positive enjoyment, whichsudden ease from pain for the present affords, arising from a real senseof misery, joined with a sense of our freedom from it; which in all casesmust afford some degree of satisfaction. 

To these things must be added the observation which respects both theaffections 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 ofthe grossest kind. 

Secondly, Without the exercise of these affections men would certainly bemuch more wanting in the offices of charity they owe to cache other, andlikewise more cruel and injurious than they are at present. 

The private interest of the individual would not be sufficiently providedfor by reasonable and cool self-love alone; therefore the appetites andpassions are placed within as a guard and further security, without whichit would not be taken due care of. It is manifest our life would beneglected were it not for the calls of hunger and thirst and weariness;notwithstanding that without them reason would assure us that therecruits of food and sleep are the necessary means of our preservation. It is therefore absurd to imagine that, without affections, the samereason alone would be more effectual to engage us to perform the dutieswe 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 formermake would be defective, or wanting, considered as an individual, or inhis private capacity. Is it possible any can in earnest think that apublic spirit, _i. E. _, a settled reasonable principle of benevolence tomankind, is so prevalent and strong in the species as that we may ventureto throw off the under affections, which are its assistants, carry itforward and mark out particular courses for it; family, friends, neighbourhood, the distressed, our country? The common joys and thecommon sorrows, which belong to these relations and circumstances, are asplainly useful to society as the pain and pleasure belonging to hunger, thirst, and weariness are of service to the individual. In defect ofthat higher principle of reason, compassion is often the only way bywhich the indigent can have access to us: and therefore, to eradicatethis, though it is not indeed formally to deny them that assistance whichis their due; yet it is to cut them off from that which is too frequentlytheir only way of obtaining it. And as for those who have shut up thisdoor against the complaints of the miserable, and conquered thisaffection in themselves; even these persons will be under greatrestraints from the same affection in others. Thus a man who has himselfno sense of injustice, cruelty, oppression, will be kept from running theutmost lengths of wickedness by fear of that detestation, and evenresentment of inhumanity, in many particular instances of it, whichcompassion for the object towards whom such inhumanity is exercised, excites in the bulk of mankind. And this is frequently the chief dangerand the chief restraint which tyrants and the great oppressors of theworld feel. 

In general, experience will show that, as want of natural appetite tofood supposes and proceeds from some bodily disease; so the apathy theStoics talk of as much supposes, or is accompanied with, somewhat amissin the moral character, in that which is the health of the mind. Thosewho formerly aimed at this upon the foot of philosophy appear to have hadbetter success in eradicating the affections of tenderness and compassionthan they had with the passions of envy, pride, and resentment: theselatter, at best, were but concealed, and that imperfectly too. How farthis observation may be extended to such as endeavour to suppress thenatural impulses of their affections, in order to form themselves forbusiness and the world, I shall not determine. But there does not appearany capacity or relation to be named, in which men ought to be entirelydeaf to the calls of affection, unless the judicial one is to beexcepted. 

And as to those who are commonly called the men of pleasure, it ismanifest that the reason they set up for hardness of heart is to avoidbeing interrupted in their course by the ruin and misery they are theauthors of; neither are persons of this character always the most freefrom the impotencies of envy and resentment. What may men at last bringthemselves to, by suppressing their passions and affections of one kind, and leaving those of the other in their full strength? But surely itmight be expected that persons who make pleasure their study and theirbusiness, if they understood what they profess, would reflect, how manyof the entertainments of life, how many of those kind of amusements whichseem peculiarly to belong to men of leisure and education they becameinsensible to by this acquired hardness of heart. 

I shall close these reflections with barely mentioning the behaviour ofthat divine Person, who was the example of all perfection in humannature, as represented in the Gospels mourning, and even, in a literalsense, weeping over the distresses of His creatures. 

The observation already made, that, of the two affections mentioned inthe text, the latter exerts itself much more than the former; that, fromthe original constitution of human nature, we much more generally andsensibly 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 ourthoughts 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, firstappearances of things, upon the subject of morals and religion. Theleast observation will show how little the generality of men are capableof speculations. Therefore morality and religion must be somewhat planand easy to be understood: it must appeal to what we call plain commonsense, as distinguished from superior capacity and improvement; becauseit appeals to mankind. Persons of superior capacity and improvement haveoften fallen into errors which no one of mere common understanding could. Is it possible that one of this latter character could even of himselfhave thought that there was absolutely no such thing in mankind asaffection to the good of others? suppose of parents to their children; orthat what he felt upon seeing a friend in distress was only fear forhimself; or, upon supposition of the affections of kindness andcompassion, that it was the business of wisdom and virtue to set himabout extirpating them as fast as he could? And yet each of thesemanifest contradictions to nature has been laid down by men ofspeculation as a discovery in moral philosophy; which they, it seems, have found out through all the specious appearances to the contrary. Thisreflection may be extended further. The extravagances of enthusiasm andsuperstition do not at all lie in the road of common sense; andtherefore, so far as they are _original mistakes_, must be owing to goingbeside or beyond it. Now, since inquiry and examination can relate onlyto things so obscure and uncertain as to stand in need of it, and topersons who are capable of it; the proper advice to be given to plainhonest men, to secure them from the extremes both of superstition andirreligion, is that of the Son of Sirach: _In every good work trust thyown 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 moralworld than we are apt to take notice of. The inward frame of man does ina peculiar manner answer to the external condition and circumstances oflife in which he is placed. This is a particular instance of thatgeneral observation of the Son of Sirach: _All things are double oneagainst another_, _and God hath made nothing imperfect_. {15} Theseveral passions and affections in the heart of man, compared with thecircumstances of life in which he is placed, afford, to such as willattend to them, as certain instances of final causes, as any whatever, which are more commonly alleged for such: since those affections lead himto a certain determinate course of action suitable to thosecircumstances; as (for instance) compassion to relieve the distressed. And as all observations of final causes, drawn from the principles ofaction 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 materialworld about us do; and both these are equally proofs of wisdom and designin 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, andin a peculiar manner enforce upon us the practice of it. 

Suppose we are capable of happiness and of misery in degrees equallyintense and extreme, yet, we are capable of the latter for a much longertime, beyond all comparison. We see men in the tortures of pain forhours, days, and, excepting the short suspensions of sleep, for monthstogether, without intermission, to which no enjoyments of life do, indegree and continuance, bear any sort of proportion. And such is ourmake and that of the world about us that any thing may become theinstrument of pain and sorrow to us. Thus almost any one man is capableof doing mischief to any other, though he may not be capable of doing himgood; and if he be capable of doing him some good, he is capable of doinghim more evil. And it is, in numberless cases, much more in our power tolessen the miseries of others than to promote their positive happiness, any otherwise than as the former often includes the latter; ease frommisery occasioning for some time the greatest positive enjoyment. Thisconstitution of nature, namely, that it is so munch more in our power tooccasion and likewise to lessen misery than to promote positivehappiness, plainly required a particular affection to hinder us fromabusing, 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 abovewhat 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 miseryof our fellow-creatures, to occasion or lessen it, being a more importanttrust than the power we have of promoting their positive happiness; theformer requires and has a further, an additional, security and guardagainst its being violated, beyond and over and above what the latterhas. The social nature of man, and general goodwill to his species, equally prevent him from doing evil, incline him to relieve thedistressed, and to promote the positive happiness of hisfellow-creatures; but compassion only restrains from the first, andcarries him to the second; it hath nothing to do with the third. 

The final causes, then, of compassion are to prevent and to relievemisery. 

As to the former: this affection may plainly be a restraint uponresentment, envy, unreasonable self-love; that is, upon all theprinciples from which men do evil to one another. Let us instance onlyin resentment. It seldom happens, in regulated societies, that men havean enemy so entirely in their power as to be able to satiate theirresentment with safety. But if we were to put this case, it is plainlysupposable that a person might bring his enemy into such a condition, asfrom being the object of anger and rage, to become an object ofcompassion, 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 placedwithin us more powerful restraints to prevent mischief, and since thefinal cause of compassion is much more to relieve misery, let us go on tothe consideration of it in this view. 

As this world was not intended to be a state of any great satisfaction orhigh enjoyment, so neither was it intended to be a mere scene ofunhappiness and sorrow. Mitigations and reliefs are provided by themerciful Author of nature for most of the afflictions in human life. There is kind provision made even against our frailties: as we are soconstituted that time abundantly abates our sorrows, and begets in usthat resignment of temper, which ought to have been produced by a bettercause; 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; Isuppose, in some degree, as to pain and sickness. Now this part of theconstitution or make of man, considered as some relief to misery, and notas provision for positive happiness, is, if I may so speak, an instanceof nature's compassion for us; and every natural remedy or relief tomisery may be considered in the same view. 

But since in many cases it is very much in our power to alleviate themiseries of each other; and benevolence, though natural in man to man, yet is in a very low degree kept down by interest and competitions; andmen, for the most part, are so engaged in the business and pleasures ofthe world, as to overlook and turn away from objects of misery; which areplainly considered as interruptions to them in their way, as intrudersupon their business, their gaiety, and mirth: compassion is an advocatewithin us in their behalf, to gain the unhappy admittance and access, tomake their case attended to. If it sometimes serves a contrary purpose, and makes men industriously turn away from the miserable, these are onlyinstances of abuse and perversion: for the end, for which the affectionwas given us, most certainly is not to make us avoid, but to make usattend to, the objects of it. And if men would only resolve to allowthus 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 theircase be considered; I am persuaded it would not fail of gaining more, andthat very few real objects of charity would pass unrelieved. Pain andsorrow and misery have a right to our assistance: compassion puts us inmind of the debt, and that we owe it to ourselves as well as to thedistressed. For, to endeavour to get rid of the sorrow of compassion byturning 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 bykeeping from the sight of food. That we can do one with greater successthan we can the other is no proof that one is less a violation of naturethan the other. Compassion is a call, a demand of nature, to relieve theunhappy as hunger is a natural call for food. This affection plainlygives the objects of it an additional claim to relief and mercy, over andabove what our fellow-creatures in common have to our goodwill. Liberality and bounty are exceedingly commendable; and a particulardistinction in such a world as this, where men set themselves to contracttheir heart, and close it to all interests but their own. It is by nomeans to be opposed to mercy, but always accompanies it: the distinctionbetween them is only that the former leads our thoughts to a morepromiscuous and undistinguished distribution of favours; to those who arenot, as well as those who are, necessitous; whereas the object ofcompassion is misery. But in the comparison, and where there is not apossibility of both, mercy is to have the preference: the affection ofcompassion manifestly leads us to this preference. Thus, to relieve theindigent and distressed, to single out the unhappy, from whom can beexpected no returns either of present entertainment or future service, for the objects of our favours; to esteem a man's being friendless as arecommendation; dejection, and incapacity of struggling through theworld, as a motive for assisting him; in a word, to consider thesecircumstances of disadvantage, which are usually thought a sufficientreason for neglect and overlooking a person, as a motive for helping himforward: this is the course of benevolence which compassion marks out anddirects us to: this is that humanity which is so peculiarly becoming ournature and circumstances in this world. 

To these considerations, drawn from the nature of man, must be added thereason of the thing itself we are recommending, which accords to andshows the same. For since it is so much more in our power to lessen themisery of our fellow-creatures than to promote their positive happiness;in cases where there is an inconsistency, we shall be likely to do muchmore good by setting ourselves to mitigate the former than byendeavouring to promote the latter. Let the competition be between thepoor and the rich. It is easy, you will say, to see which will have thepreference. True; but the question is, which ought to have thepreference? What proportion is there between the happiness produced bydoing a favour to the indigent, and that produced by doing the samefavour to one in easy circumstances? It is manifest that the addition ofa very large estate to one who before had an affluence, will in manyinstances yield him less new enjoyment or satisfaction than an ordinarycharity would yield to a necessitous person. So that it is not only truethat our nature, _i. E. _, the voice of God within us, carries us to theexercise of charity and benevolence in the way of compassion or mercy, preferably to any other way; but we also manifestly discern much moregood done by the former; or, if you will allow me the expressions, moremisery annihilated and happiness created. If charity and benevolence, and endeavouring to do good to our fellow-creatures, be anything, thisobservation deserves to be most seriously considered by all who have tobestow. And it holds with great exactness, when applied to the severaldegrees of greater and less indigency throughout the various ranks inhuman life: the happiness or good produced not being in proportion towhat is bestowed, but in proportion to this joined with the need therewas of it. 

It may perhaps be expected that upon this subject notice should be takenof occasions, circumstances, and characters which seem at once to callforth affections of different sorts. Thus vice may be thought the objectboth of pity and indignation: folly, of pity and of laughter. How farthis is strictly true, I shall not inquire; but only observe upon theappearance, how much more humane it is to yield and give scope toaffections, which are most directly in favour of, and friendly towards, our fellow-creatures; and that there is plainly much less danger of beingled wrong by these than by the other. 

But, notwithstanding all that has been said in recommendation ofcompassion, that it is most amiable, most becoming human nature, and mostuseful to the world; yet it must be owned that every affection, asdistinct from a principle of reason, may rise too high, and be beyond itsjust proportion. And by means of this one carried too far, a manthroughout his life is subject to much more uneasiness than belongs tohis share; and in particular instances, it may be in such a degree as toincapacitate him from assisting the very person who is the object of it. But as there are some who upon principle set up for suppressing thisaffection itself as weakness, there is also I know not what of fashion onthis side; and, by some means or other, the whole world almost is runinto the extremes of insensibility towards the distresses of their fellow-creatures: so that general rules and exhortations must always be on theother 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 atendency to beget in us. There being that distinct affection implantedin the nature of man, tending to lessen the miseries of life, thatparticular provision made for abating its sorrows, more than forincreasing its positive happiness, as before explained; this may suggestto us what should be our general aim respecting ourselves, in our passagethrough this world: namely, to endeavour chiefly to escape misery, keepfree from uneasiness, pain, and sorrow, or to get relief and mitigationof them; to propose to ourselves peace and tranquillity of mind, ratherthan pursue after high enjoyments. This is what the constitution ofnature before explained marks out as the course we should follow, and theend we should aim at. To make pleasure and mirth and jollity ourbusiness, and be constantly hurrying about after some gay amusement, somenew gratification of sense or appetite, to those who will consider thenature of man and our condition in this world, will appear the mostromantic scheme of life that ever entered into thought. And yet how manyare there who go on in this course, without learning better from thedaily, the hourly disappointments, listlessness, and satiety whichaccompany this fashionable method of wasting away their days!

The subject we have been insisting upon would lead us into the same kindof reflections by a different connection. The miseries of life broughthome to ourselves by compassion, viewed through this affection consideredas the sense by which they are perceived, would beget in us thatmoderation, humility, and soberness of mind which has been nowrecommended; and which peculiarly belongs to a season of recollection, the only purpose of which is to bring us to a just sense of things, torecover us out of that forgetfulness of ourselves, and our true state, which it is manifest far the greatest part of men pass their whole lifein. Upon this account Solomon says that _it is better to go to the houseof mourning than to go to the house of feasting_; _i. E. _, it is more to aman's advantage to turn his eyes towards objects of distress, to recallsometimes to his remembrance the occasions of sorrow, than to pass allhis days in thoughtless mirth and gaiety. And he represents the wise aschoosing to frequent the former of these places; to be sure not for hisown sake, but because _by the sadness of the countenance_, _the heart ismade better_. Every one observes how temperate and reasonable men arewhen humbled and brought low by afflictions in comparison of what theyare in high prosperity. By this voluntary resort to the house ofmourning, which is here recommended, we might learn all those usefulinstructions which calamities teach without undergoing them ourselves;and grow wiser and better at a more easy rate than men commonly do. Theobjects themselves, which in that place of sorrow lie before our view, naturally give us a seriousness and attention, check that wantonnesswhich is the growth of prosperity and ease, and head us to reflect uponthe deficiencies of human life itself; that _every man at his best estateis altogether vanity_. This would correct the florid and gaudy prospectsand expectations which we are too apt to indulge, teach us to lower ournotions of happiness and enjoyment, bring them down to the reality ofthings, to what is attainable, to what the frailty of our condition willadmit of, which, for any continuance, is only tranquillity, ease, andmoderate satisfactions. Thus we might at once become proof against thetemptations with which the whole world almost is carried away; since itis plain that not only what is called a life of pleasure, but alsovicious pursuits in general, aim at somewhat besides and beyond thesemoderate satisfactions. 

And as to that obstinacy and wilfulness, which renders men so insensibleto the motives of religion; this right sense of ourselves and of theworld about us would bend the stubborn mind, soften the heart, and makeit more apt to receive impression; and this is the proper temper in whichto call our ways to remembrance, to review and set home upon ourselvesthe miscarriages of our past life. In such a compliant state of mind, reason and conscience will have a fair hearing; which is the preparationfor, or rather the beginning of, that repentance, the outward show ofwhich we all put on at this season. 

Lastly, The various miseries of life which lie before us wherever we turnour eyes, the frailty of this mortal state we are passing through, mayput us in mind that the present world is not our home; that we are merelystrangers and travellers in it, as all our fathers were. It is thereforeto be considered as a foreign country; in which our poverty and wants, and the insufficient supplies of them, were designed to turn our views tothat higher and better state we are heirs to: a state where will be nofollies to be overlooked, no miseries to be pitied, no wants to berelieved; where the affection we have been now treating of will happilybe lost, as there will be no objects to exercise it upon: for _God shallwipe 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, leadour thoughts immediately to the different ends of good and bad men. Forthough the comparison is not expressed, yet it is manifestly implied; asis also the preference of one of these characters to the other in thatlast circumstance, death. And, since dying the death of the righteous orof the wicked necessarily implies men's being righteous or wicked;_i. E. _, having lived righteously or wickedly; a comparison of them intheir lives also might come into consideration, from such a single viewof the words themselves. But my present design is to consider them witha 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 toyour consideration at this time be thought a discourse upon the wholehistory of this man, rather than upon the particular words I have read, this is of no consequence: it is sufficient if it afford reflection ofuse and service to ourselves. 

But, in order to avoid cavils respecting this remarkable relation inScripture, either that part of it which you have heard in the firstlesson for the day, or any other; let me just observe that as this is nota place for answering them, so they no way affect the followingdiscourse; 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 ofMoab, where he pronounced this solemn prayer or wish, he himself relatesin 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 ofdevoting enemies to destruction before the entrance upon a war with them. This custom appears to have prevailed over a great part of the world; forwe find it amongst the most distant nations. The Romans had publicofficers, to whom it belonged as a stated part of their office. Butthere was somewhat more particular in the case now before us: Balaambeing looked upon as an extraordinary person, whose blessing or curse wasthought to be always effectual. 

In order to engage the reader's attention to this passage, the sacredhistorian has enumerated the preparatory circumstances, which are these. Balaam requires the king of Moab to build him seven altars, and toprepare him the same number of oxen and of rams. The sacrifice beingover, he retires alone to a solitude sacred to these occasions, there towait the Divine inspiration or answer, for which the foregoing rites werethe preparation. _And God met Balaam_, _and put a word in his mouth_;{16} upon receiving which, he returns back to the altars, where was theking, who had all this while attended the sacrifice, as appointed; he andall the princes of Moab standing, big with expectation of the Prophet'sreply. _And he took up his parable_, _and said_, _Balak the king of Moabhath brought me from Aram_, _out of the mountains of the east_, _saying_, _Come_, _curse me Jacob_, _and come_, _defy Israel_. _How shall Icurse_, _whom God hath not cursed_? _Or how shall I defy_, _whom theLord hath not defied_? _For from the top of the rocks I see him_, _andfrom the hills I behold him_: _lo_, _the people shall dwell alone_, _andshall not be reckoned among the nations_. _Who can count the dust ofJacob_, _and the number of the fourth part of Israel_? _Let me die thedeath 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 hehimself 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 theson of Beor answered him from Shittim unto Gilgal_. From the mention ofShittim it is manifest that it is this very story which is here referredto, though another part of it, the account of which is not now extant; asthere are many quotations in Scripture out of books which are not comedown to us. _Remember what Balaam answered_, _that ye may know therighteousness of the Lord_; _i. E. _, the righteousness which God willaccept. Balak demands, _Wherewith shall I come before the Lord_, _andbow myself before the high God_? _Shall I come before him with burnt-offerings_, _with calves of a year old_? _Will the Lord be pleased withthousands of rams_, _or with ten thousands of rivers of oil_? _Shall Igive my first-born for my transgression_, _the fruit of my body for thesin 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 dojustly_, _and to love mercy_, _and to walk humbly with thy God_? Here isa good man expressly characterised, as distinct from a dishonest and asuperstitious man. No words can more strongly exclude dishonesty andfalseness of heart than _doing justice and loving mercy_; and both these, as well as _walking humbly with God_, are put in opposition to thoseceremonial methods of recommendation, which Balak hoped might have servedthe 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 todetermine it, we must take a view of his whole behaviour upon thisoccasion. When the elders of Noah came to him, though he appears to havebeen much allured with the rewards offered, yet he had such regard to theauthority of God as to keep the messengers in suspense until he hadconsulted His will. _And God said to him_, _Thou shalt not go withthem_; _thou shalt not curse the people_, _for they are blessed_. {19}Upon this he dismisses the ambassadors, with an absolute refusal ofaccompanying them back to their king. Thus far his regards to his dutyprevailed, neither does there anything appear as yet amiss in hisconduct. His answer being reported to the king of Moab, a morehonourable embassy is immediately despatched, and greater rewardsproposed. Then the iniquity of his heart began to disclose itself. Athorough honest man would without hesitation have repeated his formeranswer, that he could not be guilty of so infamous a prostitution of thesacred character with which he was invested, as in the name of a prophetto curse those whom he knew to be blessed. But instead of this, whichwas the only honest part in these circumstances that lay before him, hedesires the princes of Moab to tarry that night with him also; and forthe sake of the reward deliberates, whether by some means or other hemight not be able to obtain leave to curse Israel; to do that, which hadbeen before revealed to him to be contrary to the will of God, which yethe resolves not to do without that permission. Upon which, as when thisnation afterwards rejected God from reigning over them, He gave them aking in His anger; in the same way, as appears from other parts of thenarration, He gives Balaam the permission he desired: for this is themost natural sense of the words. Arriving in the territories of Moab, and being received with particular distinction by the king, and herepeating in person the promise of the rewards he had before made to himby his ambassadors, he seeks, the text says, by _sacrifices_ and_enchantments_ (what these were is not to our purpose), to obtain leaveof God to curse the people; keeping still his resolution, not to do itwithout that permission: which not being able to obtain, he had suchregard to the command of God as to keep this resolution to the last. Thesupposition of his being under a supernatural restraint is a mere fictionof Philo: he is plainly represented to be under no other force orrestraint than the fear of God. However, he goes on persevering in thatendeavour, after he had declared that _God had not beheld iniquity inJacob_, _neither had he seen perverseness in Israel_; {20} _i. E. _, theywere a people of virtue and piety, so far as not to have drawn down bytheir iniquity that curse which he was soliciting leave to pronounce uponthem. So that the state of Balaam's mind was this: he wanted to do whathe knew to be very wicked, and contrary to the express command of God; hehad inward checks and restraints which he could not entirely get over; hetherefore casts about for ways to reconcile this wickedness with hisduty. How great a paradox soever this may appear, as it is indeed acontradiction in terms, it is the very account which the Scripture givesus of him. 

But there is a more surprising piece of iniquity yet behind. Not daringin his religious character, as a prophet, to assist the king of Moab, heconsiders whether there might not be found some other means of assistinghim against that very people, whom he himself by the fear of God wasrestrained from cursing in words. One would not think it possible thatthe weakness, even of religious self-deceit in its utmost excess, couldhave so poor a distinction, so fond an evasion, to serve itself of. Butso it was; and he could think of no other method than to betray thechildren of Israel to provoke His wrath, who was their only strength anddefence. The temptation which he pitched upon was that concerning whichSolomon 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 sadexample, when _his wives turned away his heart after other gods_. Thissucceeded: the people sin against God; and thus the Prophet's counselbrought on that destruction which he could by no means be prevailed uponto assist with the religious ceremony of execration, which the king ofMoab thought would itself have affected it. Their crime and punishmentare related in Deuteronomy {21} and Numbers. {22} And from the relationrepeated in Numbers, {23} it appears, that Balaam was the contriver ofthe 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 beforethe children of Israel_. 

This was the man, this Balaam, I say, was the man, who desired to _diethe 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 theworld: a very wicked man, under a deep sense of God and religion, persisting still in his wickedness, and preferring the wages ofunrighteousness, even when he had before him a lively view of death, andthat approaching period of his days, which should deprive him of allthose advantages for which he was prostituting himself; and likewise aprospect, whether certain or uncertain, of a future state of retribution;all this joined with an explicit ardent wish that, when he was to leavethis world, he might be in the condition of a righteous man. Good God!what inconsistency, what perplexity is here! With what different viewsof things, with what contradictory principles of action, must such a mindbe torn and distracted! It was not unthinking carelessness, by which heran on headlong in vice and folly, without ever making a stand to askhimself what he was doing: no; he acted upon the cool motives of interestand advantage. Neither was he totally hard and callous to impressions ofreligion, what we call abandoned; for he absolutely denied to curseIsrael. When reason assumes her place, when convinced of his duty, whenhe owns and feels, and is actually under the influence of the divineauthority; whilst he is carrying on his views to the grave, the end ofall temporal greatness; under this sense of things, with the bettercharacter and more desirable state present--full before him--in histhoughts, in his wishes, voluntarily to choose the worse--what fatalityis 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, withsome small alterations, and put a little lower, it is applicable to avery considerable part of the world. For if the reasonable choice beseen and acknowledged, and yet men make the unreasonable one, is not thisthe same contradiction; that very inconsistency, which appeared sounaccountable?

To give some little opening to such characters and behaviour, it is to beobserved in general that there is no account to be given in the way ofreason, of men's so strong attachments to the present world: our hopesand fears and pursuits are in degrees beyond all proportion to the knownvalue of the things they respect. This may be said without taking intoconsideration religion and a future state; and when these are considered, the disproportion is infinitely heightened. Now when men go againsttheir reason, and contradict a more important interest at a distance, forone nearer, though of less consideration; if this be the whole of thecase, all that can be said is, that strong passions, some kind of bruteforce within, prevails over the principle of rationality. However, ifthis 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 mostpalpable contradiction to their very nature. But if there be any suchthing in mankind as putting half-deceits upon themselves; which thereplainly is, either by avoiding reflection, or (if they do reflect) byreligious equivocation, subterfuges, and palliating matters tothemselves; by these means conscience may be laid asleep, and they may goon in a course of wickedness with less disturbance. All the variousturns, doubles, and intricacies in a dishonest heart cannot be unfoldedor laid open; but that there is somewhat of that kind is manifest, be itto be called self-deceit, or by any other name. Balaam had before hiseyes the authority of God, absolutely forbidding him what he, for thesake of a reward, had the strongest inclination to: he was likewise in astate of mind sober enough to consider death and his last end: by theseconsiderations 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 rewardsof unrighteousness: he therefore first seeks for indulgences, and whenthese could not be obtained, he sins against the whole meaning, end, anddesign of the prohibition, which no consideration in the world couldprevail with him to go against the letter of. And surely that impiouscounsel he gave to Balak against the children of Israel was, consideredin itself, a greater piece of wickedness than if he had cursed them inwords. 

If it be inquired what his situation, his hopes, and fears were, inrespect to this his wish; the answer must be, that consciousness of thewickedness of his heart must necessarily have destroyed all settled hopesof dying the death of the righteous: he could have no calm satisfactionin this view of his last end: yet, on the other hand, it is possible thatthose partial regards to his duty, now mentioned, might keep him fromperfect despair. 

Upon the whole it is manifest that Balaam had the most just and truenotions of God and religion; as appears, partly from the original storyitself, and more plainly from the passage in Micah; where he explainsreligion to consist in real virtue and real piety, expresslydistinguished from superstition, and in terms which most strongly excludedishonesty and falseness of heart. Yet you see his behaviour: he seeksindulgences for plain wickedness, which not being able to obtain heglosses over that same wickedness, dresses it up in a new form, in orderto make it pass off more easily with himself. That is, he deliberatelycontrives to deceive and impose upon himself in a matter which he knew tobe of the utmost importance. 

To bring these observations home to ourselves: it is too evident thatmany persons allow themselves in very unjustifiable courses who yet makegreat pretences to religion; not to deceive the world, none can be soweak 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 sortof tranquillity and quiet of mind. This cannot be upon a thoroughconsideration, and full resolution, that the pleasures and advantagesthey propose are to be pursued at all hazards, against reason, againstthe law of God, and though everlasting destruction is to be theconsequence. This would be doing too great violence upon themselves. No, they are for making a composition with the Almighty. These of Hiscommands they will obey; but as to others--why, they will make all theatonements in their power; the ambitious, the covetous, the dissoluteman, each in a way which shall not contradict his respective pursuit. Indulgences before, which was Balaam's first attempt, though he was notso successful in it as to deceive himself, or atonements afterwards, areall the same. And here, perhaps, come in faint hopes that they may, andhalf-resolves that they will, one time or other, make a change. 

Besides these there are also persons, who, from a more just way ofconsidering things, see the infinite absurdity of this, of substitutingsacrifice instead of obedience; there are persons far enough fromsuperstition, and not without some real sense of God and religion upontheir minds; who yet are guilty of most unjustifiable practices, and goon with great coolness and command over themselves. The same dishonestyand unsoundness of heart discovers itself in these another way. In allcommon 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 thefirst thought is often the best. In these cases doubt and deliberationis itself dishonesty, as it was in Balaam upon the second message. Thatwhich is called considering what is our duty in a particular case is veryoften nothing but endeavouring to explain it away. Thus those courses, which, if men would fairly attend to the dictates of their ownconsciences, they would see to be corruption, excess, oppression, uncharitableness; these are refined upon--things were so and socircumstantiated--great difficulties are raised about fixing bounds anddegrees, and thus every moral obligation whatever may be evaded. Here isscope, I say, for an unfair mind to explain away every moral obligationto itself. Whether men reflect again upon this internal management andartifice, and how explicit they are with themselves, is another question. There are many operations of the mind, many things pass within, which wenever reflect upon again; which a bystander, from having frequentopportunities of observing us and our conduct, may make shrewd guessesat. 

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 allregards, hopes, and fears, concerning God and a future state; and theseapprehensions in the generality, bad as we are, prevail in considerabledegrees: yet men will and can be wicked, with calmness and thought; wesee they are. There must therefore be some method of making it sit alittle easy upon their minds; which, in the superstitious, is thoseindulgences and atonements before mentioned, and this self-deceit ofanother kind in persons of another character. And both these proceedfrom a certain unfairness of mind, a peculiar inward dishonesty; thedirect contrary to that simplicity which our Saviour recommends, underthe notion of _becoming little children_, as a necessary qualificationfor our entering into the kingdom of heaven. 

But to conclude: How much soever men differ in the course of life theyprefer, and in their ways of palliating and excusing their vices tothemselves; yet all agree in one thing, desiring to _die the death of therighteous_. This is surely remarkable. The observation may be extendedfurther, and put thus: even without determining what that is which wecall guilt or innocence, there is no man but would choose, after havinghad the pleasure or advantage of a vicious action, to be free of theguilt of it, to be in the state of an innocent man. This shows at leastthe disturbance and implicit dissatisfaction in vice. If we inquire intothe grounds of it, we shall find it proceeds partly from an immediatesense of having done evil, and partly from an apprehension that thisinward 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 andthe 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 willbe what they will be: why, then, should we desire to be deceived? As weare reasonable creatures, and have any regard to ourselves, we ought tolay these things plainly and honestly before our mind, and upon this, actas you please, as you think most fit: make that choice, and prefer thatcourse of life, which you can justify to yourselves, and which sits mosteasy upon your own mind. It will immediately appear that vice cannot bethe happiness, but must upon the whole be the misery, of such a creatureas man; a moral, an accountable agent. Superstitious observances, self-deceit though of a more refined sort, will not in reality at all mendmatters with us. And the result of the whole can be nothing else, butthat with simplicity and fairness we _keep innocency_, _and take heedunto the thing that is right_; _for this alone shall bring a man peace atthe 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 ofthe viciousness and corruption of the age in which they live as greaterthan that of former ones; which is usually followed with this furtherobservation, that mankind has been in that respect much the same in alltimes. Now, not to determine whether this last be not contradicted bythe accounts of history; thus much can scarce be doubted, that vice andfolly takes different turns, and some particular kinds of it are moreopen and avowed in some ages than in others; and, I suppose, it may bespoken of as very much the distinction of the present to profess acontracted spirit, and greater regards to self-interest, than appears tohave been done formerly. Upon this account it seems worth while toinquire whether private interest is likely to be promoted in proportionto the degree in which self-love engrosses us, and prevails over allother principles; _or whether the contracted affection may not possiblybe so prevalent as to disappoint itself_, _and even contradict its ownand private good_. 

And since, further, there is generally thought to be some peculiar kindof contrariety between self-love and the love of our neighbour, betweenthe pursuit of public and of private good; insomuch that when you arerecommending one of these, you are supposed to be speaking against theother; and from hence arises a secret prejudice against, and frequentlyopen scorn of, all talk of public spirit and real good-will to our fellow-creatures; it will be necessary to _inquire what respect benevolence hathto self-love_, _and the pursuit of private interest to the pursuit ofpublic_: or whether there be anything of that peculiar inconsistence andcontrariety between them over and above what there is between self-loveand other passions and particular affections, and their respectivepursuits. 

These inquiries, it is hoped, may be favourably attended to; for thereshall be all possible concessions made to the favourite passion, whichhath so much allowed to it, and whose cause is so universally pleaded: itshall be treated with the utmost tenderness and concern for itsinterests. 

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 ofthat self-love_, _as distinguished from other principles or affections inthe mind_, _and their respective objects_. 

Every man hath a general desire of his own happiness; and likewise avariety of particular affections, passions, and appetites to particularexternal objects. The former proceeds from, or is, self-love; and seemsinseparable from all sensible creatures, who can reflect upon themselvesand their own interest or happiness so as to have that interest an objectto their minds; what is to be said of the latter is, that they proceedfrom or together make up that particular nature, according to which manis made. The object the former pursues is somewhat internal--our ownhappiness, enjoyment, satisfaction; whether we have, or have not, adistinct particular perception what it is, or wherein it consists: theobjects of the latter are this or that particular external thing, whichthe affections tend towards, and of which it hath always a particularidea or perception. The principle we call self-love never seeks anythingexternal for the sake of the thing, but only as a means of happiness orgood: particular affections rest in the external things themselves. Onebelongs to man as a reasonable creature reflecting upon his own interestor happiness. The other, though quite distinct from reason, are as mucha part of human nature. 

That all particular appetites and passions are towards _external thingsthemselves_, distinct from the _pleasure arising from them_, ismanifested from hence; that there could not be this pleasure, were it notfor that prior suitableness between the object and the passion: therecould be no enjoyment or delight from one thing more than another, fromeating food more than from swallowing a stone, if there were not anaffection or appetite to one thing more than another. 

Every particular affection, even the love of our neighbour, is as reallyour own affection as self-love; and the pleasure arising from itsgratification is as much my own pleasure as the pleasure self-love wouldhave from knowing I myself should be happy some time hence would be myown pleasure. And if, because every particular affection is a man's own, and the pleasure arising from its gratification his own pleasure, orpleasure to himself, such particular affection must be called self-love;according to this way of speaking, no creature whatever can possibly actbut merely from self-love; and every action and every affection whateveris to be resolved up into this one principle. But then this is not thelanguage of mankind; or if it were, we should want words to express thedifference between the principle of an action, proceeding from coolconsideration that it will be to my own advantage; and an action, supposeof revenge or of friendship, by which a man runs upon certain ruin, to doevil or good to another. It is manifest the principles of these actionsare totally different, and so want different words to be distinguishedby; all that they agree in is that they both proceed from, and are doneto gratify, an inclination in a man's self. But the principle orinclination in one case is self-love; in the other, hatred or love ofanother. 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 towardsparticular external objects, as another part of our nature, and anotherprinciple of action. How much soever therefore is to be allowed to self-love, yet it cannot be allowed to be the whole of our inwardconstitution; because, you see, there are other parts or principles whichcome into it. 

Further, private happiness or good is all which self-love can make usdesire, 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 isinterested, or a lover of himself. Let this be kept in mind; becausethere is commonly, as I shall presently have occasion to observe, anothersense put upon these words. On the other hand, particular affectionstend towards particular external things: these are their objects: havingthese is their end: in this consists their gratification: no matterwhether it be, or be not, upon the whole, our interest or happiness. Anaction done from the former of these principles is called an interestedaction. An action proceeding from any of the latter has its denominationof passionate, ambitious, friendly, revengeful, or any other, from theparticular appetite or affection from which it proceeds. Thus self-loveas one part of human nature, and the several particular principles as theother 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 ofthese can contribute and be subservient to the private good of theindividual. Happiness does not consist in self-love. The desire ofhappiness is no more the thing itself than the desire of riches is thepossession or enjoyment of them. People might love themselves with themost entire and unbounded affection, and yet be extremely miserable. Neither can self-love any way help them out, but by setting them on workto get rid of the causes of their misery, to gain or make use of thoseobjects which are by nature adapted to afford satisfaction. Happiness orsatisfaction consists only in the enjoyment of those objects which are bynature suited to our several particular appetites, passions, andaffections. So that if self-love wholly engrosses us, and leaves no roomfor any other principle, there can be absolutely no such thing at all ashappiness or enjoyment of any kind whatever; since happiness consists inthe gratification of particular passions, which supposes the having ofthem. Self-love then does not constitute _this_ or _that_ to be ourinterest or good; but, our interest or good being constituted by natureand supposed, self-love only puts us upon obtaining and securing it. Therefore, if it be possible that self-love may prevail and exert itselfin a degree or manner which is not subservient to this end; then it willnot follow that our interest will be promoted in proportion to the degreein which that principle engrosses us, and prevails over others. Nay, further, the private and contracted affection, when it is not subservientto this end, private good may, for anything that appears, have a directcontrary tendency and effect. And if we will consider the matter, weshall see that it often really has. _Disengagement_ is absolutelynecessary to enjoyment; and a person may have so steady and fixed an eyeupon his own interest, whatever he places it in, as may hinder him from_attending_ to many gratifications within his reach, which others havetheir minds _free_ and _open_ to. Over-fondness for a child is notgenerally thought to be for its advantage; and, if there be any guess tobe made from appearances, surely that character we call selfish is notthe most promising for happiness. Such a temper may plainly be, andexert itself in a degree and manner which may give unnecessary anduseless solicitude and anxiety, in a degree and manner which may preventobtaining the means and materials of enjoyment, as well as the making useof them. Immoderate self-love does very ill consult its own interest:and, how much soever a paradox it may appear, it is certainly true thateven from self-love we should endeavour to get over all inordinate regardto and consideration of ourselves. Every one of our passions andaffections hath its natural stint and bound, which may easily beexceeded; whereas our enjoyments can possibly be but in a determinatemeasure and degree. Therefore such excess of the affection, since itcannot procure any enjoyment, must in all cases be useless; but isgenerally attended with inconveniences, and often is downright pain andmisery. This holds as much with regard to self-love as to all otheraffections. The natural degree of it, so far as it sets us on work togain and make use of the materials of satisfaction, may be to our realadvantage; but beyond or besides this, it is in several respects aninconvenience and disadvantage. Thus it appears that private interest isso far from being likely to be promoted in proportion to the degree inwhich self-love engrosses us, and prevails over all other principles, that _the contracted affection may be so prevalent as to disappointitself_, _and even contradict its own and private good_. 

"But who, except the most sordidly covetous, ever thought there was anyrivalship between the love of greatness, honour, power, or betweensensual appetites and self-love? No, there is a perfect harmony betweenthem. It is by means of these particular appetites and affections thatself-love is gratified in enjoyment, happiness, and satisfaction. Thecompetition and rivalship is between self-love and the love of ourneighbour: that affection which leads us out of ourselves, makes usregardless of our own interest, and substitute that of another in itsstead. " Whether, then, there be any peculiar competition and contrarietyin this case shall now be considered. 

Self-love and interestedness was stated to consist in or be an affectionto ourselves, a regard to our own private good: it is therefore distinctfrom benevolence, which is an affection to the good of ourfellow-creatures. But that benevolence is distinct from, that is, notthe same thing with self-love, is no reason for its being looked uponwith any peculiar suspicion; because every principle whatever, by meansof which self-love is gratified, is distinct from it; and all thingswhich are distinct from each other are equally so. A man has anaffection or aversion to another: that one of these tends to, and isgratified 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 orthe 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 thatof which we say a particular man has the property. And we often use theword _selfish_ so as to exclude in the same manner all regards to thegood of others. But the cases are not parallel: for though thatexclusion is really part of the idea of property; yet such positiveexclusion, or bringing this peculiar disregard to the good of others intothe idea of self-love, is in reality adding to the idea, or changing itfrom what it was before stated to consist in, namely, in an affection toourselves. {25} This being the whole idea of self-love, it can nootherwise exclude good-will or love of others, than merely by notincluding it, no otherwise, than it excludes love of arts or reputation, or of anything else. Neither on the other hand does benevolence, anymore than love of arts or of reputation exclude self-love. Love of ourneighbour, then, has just the same respect to, is no more distant from, self-love, than hatred of our neighbour, or than love or hatred ofanything else. Thus the principles, from which men rush upon certainruin for the destruction of an enemy, and for the preservation of afriend, have the same respect to the private affection, and are equallyinterested, or equally disinterested; and it is of no avail whether theyare said to be one or the other. Therefore to those who are shocked tohear virtue spoken of as disinterested, it may be allowed that it isindeed absurd to speak thus of it; unless hatred, several particularinstances of vice, and all the common affections and aversions inmankind, are acknowledged to be disinterested too. Is there any lessinconsistence between the love of inanimate things, or of creaturesmerely sensitive, and self-love, than between self-love and the love ofour neighbour? Is desire of and delight in the happiness of another anymore a diminution of self-love than desire of and delight in the esteemof another? They are both equally desire of and delight in somewhatexternal to ourselves; either both or neither are so. The object of self-love is expressed in the term self; and every appetite of sense, andevery particular affection of the heart, are equally interested ordisinterested, because the objects of them all are equally self orsomewhat else. Whatever ridicule therefore the mention of adisinterested principle or action may be supposed to lie open to, must, upon the matter being thus stated, relate to ambition, and every appetiteand particular affection as much as to benevolence. And indeed all theridicule, and all the grave perplexity, of which this subject hath hadits full share, is merely from words. The most intelligible way ofspeaking of it seems to be this: that self-love and the actions done inconsequence of it (for these will presently appear to be the same as tothis question) are interested; that particular affections towardsexternal objects, and the actions done in consequence of those affectionsare not so. But every one is at liberty to use words as he pleases. Allthat is here insisted upon is that ambition, revenge, benevolence, allparticular passions whatever, and the actions they produce, are equallyinterested or disinterested. 

Thus it appears that there is no peculiar contrariety between self-loveand benevolence; no greater competition between these than between anyother particular affections and self-love. This relates to theaffections themselves. Let us now see whether there be any peculiarcontrariety between the respective courses of life which these affectionslead to; whether there be any greater competition between the pursuit ofprivate and of public good, than between any other particular pursuitsand that of private good. 

There seems no other reason to suspect that there is any such peculiarcontrariety, but only that the course of action which benevolence leadsto has a more direct tendency to promote the good of others, than thatcourse of action which love of reputation suppose, or any otherparticular affection leads to. But that any affection tends to thehappiness of another does not hinder its tending to one's own happinesstoo. That others enjoy the benefit of the air and the light of the sundoes not hinder but that these are as much one's own private advantagenow as they would be if we had the property of them exclusive of allothers. So a pursuit which tends to promote the good of another, yet mayhave as great tendency to promote private interest, as a pursuit whichdoes not tend to the good of another at all, or which is mischievous tohim. All particular affections whatever, resentment, benevolence, loveof arts, equally lead to a course of action for their own gratification;_i. E. _, the gratification of ourselves; and the gratification of eachgives delight: so far, then, it is manifest they have all the samerespect 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 shouldalter the respect, which we before saw these three pursuits had toprivate interest, or render any one of them less conducive to it, thanany other? Thus one man's affection is to honour as his end; in order toobtain which he thinks no pains too great. Suppose another, with such asingularity of mind, as to have the same affection to public good as hisend, which he endeavours with the same labour to obtain. In case ofsuccess, surely the man of benevolence hath as great enjoyment as the manof ambition; they both equally having the end their affections, in thesame degree, tended to; but in case of disappointment, the benevolent manhas clearly the advantage; since endeavouring to do good, considered as avirtuous pursuit, is gratified by its own consciousness, _i. E. _, is in adegree its own reward. 

And as to these two, or benevolence and any other particular passionswhatever, considered in a further view, as forming a general temper, which more or less disposes us for enjoyment of all the common blessingsof life, distinct from their own gratification, is benevolence less thetemper of tranquillity and freedom than ambition or covetousness? Doesthe benevolent man appear less easy with himself from his love to hisneighbour? Does he less relish his being? Is there any peculiar gloomseated on his face? Is his mind less open to entertainment, to anyparticular gratification? Nothing is more manifest than that being ingood humour, which is benevolence whilst it lasts, is itself the temperof satisfaction and enjoyment. 

Suppose then, a man sitting down to consider how he might become mosteasy to himself, and attain the greatest pleasure he could, all thatwhich is his real natural happiness. This can only consist in theenjoyment of those objects which are by nature adapted to our severalfaculties. These particular enjoyments make up the sum total of ourhappiness, and they are supposed to arise from riches, honours, and thegratification of sensual appetites. Be it so; yet none professthemselves so completely happy in these enjoyments, but that there isroom 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 humannature is capable even of greater. Now there have been persons in allages who have professed that they found satisfaction in the exercise ofcharity, in the love of their neighbour, in endeavouring to promote thehappiness of all they had to do with, and in the pursuit of what is justand right and good as the general bent of their mind and end of theirlife; and that doing an action of baseness or cruelty would be as greatviolence to _their_ self, as much breaking in upon their nature, as anyexternal force. Persons of this character would add, if they might beheard, that they consider themselves as acting in the view of an InfiniteBeing, 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 moreenjoyment from a wicked action done under His eye than the persons towhom they are making their apology could if all mankind were thespectators of it; and that the satisfaction of approving themselves tohis unerring judgment, to whom they thus refer all their actions, is amore continued settled satisfaction than any this world can afford; asalso that they have, no less than others, a mind free and open to all thecommon innocent gratifications of it, such as they are. And if we go nofurther, does there appear any absurdity in this? Will any one take uponhim to say that a man cannot find his account in this general course oflife as much as in the most unbounded ambition, and the excesses ofpleasure? Or that such a person has not consulted so well for himself, for the satisfaction and peace of his own mind, as the ambitious ordissolute man? And though the consideration that God himself will in theend justify their taste, and support their cause, is not formally to beinsisted upon here, yet thus much comes in, that all enjoyments whateverare much more clear and unmixed from the assurance that they will endwell. Is it certain, then, that there is nothing in these pretensions tohappiness? especially when there are not wanting persons who havesupported themselves with satisfactions of this kind in sickness, poverty, disgrace, and in the very pangs of death; whereas it is manifestall other enjoyments fail in these circumstances. This surely lookssuspicions of having somewhat in it. Self-love, methinks, should bealarmed. May she not possibly pass over greater pleasures than those sheis so wholly taken up with?

The short of the matter is no more than this. Happiness consists in thegratification of certain affections, appetites, passions, with objectswhich are by nature adapted to them. Self-love may indeed set us on workto gratify these, but happiness or enjoyment has no immediate connectionwith self-love, but arises from such gratification alone. Love of ourneighbour is one of those affections. This, considered as a _virtuousprinciple_, is gratified by a consciousness of _endeavouring_ to promotethe good of others, but considered as a natural affection, itsgratification consists in the actual accomplishment of this endeavour. Now indulgence or gratification of this affection, whether in thatconsciousness or this accomplishment, has the same respect to interest asindulgence of any other affection; they equally proceed from or do notproceed from self-love, they equally include or equally exclude thisprinciple. Thus it appears, that _benevolence and the pursuit of publicgood hath at least as great respect to self-love and the pursuit ofprivate good as any other particular passions_, _and their respectivepursuits_. 

Neither is covetousness, whether as a temper or pursuit, any exception tothis. For if by covetousness is meant the desire and pursuit of richesfor their own sake, without any regard to, or consideration of, the usesof 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 distractionof mind, but immoderate affection to and pursuit of riches as possessionsin order to some further end, namely, satisfaction, interest, or good. This, therefore, is not a particular affection or particular pursuit, butit is the general principle of self-love, and the general pursuit of ourown interest, for which reason the word _selfish_ is by every oneappropriated to this temper and pursuit. Now as it is ridiculous toassert that self-love and the love of our neighbour are the same, soneither is it asserted that following these different affections hath thesame tendency and respect to our own interest. The comparison is notbetween self-love and the love of our neighbour, between pursuit of ourown interest and the interest of others, but between the severalparticular affections in human nature towards external objects, as onepart of the comparison, and the one particular affection to the good ofour neighbour as the other part of it: and it has been shown that allthese 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 orinterfering is merely accidental, and happens much oftener between pride, revenge, sensual gratifications, and private interest, than betweenprivate interest and benevolence. For nothing is more common than to seemen give themselves up to a passion or an affection to their knownprejudice and ruin, and in direct contradiction to manifest and realinterest, and the loudest calls of self-love: whereas the seemingcompetitions and interfering, between benevolence and private interest, relate much more to the materials or means of enjoyment than to enjoymentitself. There is often an interfering in the former when there is nonein the latter. Thus as to riches: so much money as a man gives away, somuch less will remain in his possession. Here is a real interfering. Butthough a man cannot possibly give without lessening his fortune, yetthere are multitudes might give without lessening their own enjoyment, because they may have more than they can turn to any real use oradvantage to themselves. Thus the more thought and time any one employsabout the interests and good of others, he must necessarily have less toattend his own: but he may have so ready and large a supply of his ownwants, that such thought might be really useless to himself, though ofgreat service and assistance to others. 

The general mistake, that there is some greater inconsistence betweenendeavouring to promote the good of another and self-interest, thanbetween self-interest and pursuing anything else, seems, as hath alreadybeen hinted, to arise from our notions of property, and to be carried onby 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 seemfrom it to have formed a general way of thinking, which they apply toother things that they have nothing to do with. Hence in a confused andslight way it might well be taken for granted that another's having nointerest 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; andthat if another had an interest in it this would render his less, oroccasion that such affection could not be so friendly to self-love, orconducive to private good, as an affection or pursuit which has not aregard to the good of another. This, I say, might be taken for granted, whilst it was not attended to, that the object of every particularaffection is equally somewhat external to ourselves, and whether it bethe 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 thegratification of it one's own private enjoyment. And so far as it istaken for granted that barely having the means and materials of enjoymentis what constitutes interest and happiness; that our interest or goodconsists in possessions themselves, in having the property of riches, houses, lands, gardens, not in the enjoyment of them; so far it will evenmore strongly be taken for granted, in the way already explained, that anaffection's conducing to the good of another must even necessarilyoccasion it to conduce less to private good, if not to be positivelydetrimental to it. For, if property and happiness are one and the samething, as by increasing the property of another you lessen your ownproperty, so by promoting the happiness of another you must lessen yourown happiness. But whatever occasioned the mistake, I hope it has beenfully proved to be one, as it has been proved, that there is no peculiarrivalship or competition between self-love and benevolence: that as theremay be a competition between these two, so there many also between anyparticular affection whatever and self-love; that every particularaffection, benevolence among the rest, is subservient to self-love bybeing the instrument of private enjoyment; and that in one respectbenevolence contributes more to private interest, _i. E. _, enjoyment orsatisfaction, than any other of the particular common affections, as itis in a degree its own gratification. 

And to all these things may be added that religion, from whence arisesour strongest obligation to benevolence, is so far from disowning theprinciple of self-love, that it often addresses itself to that veryprinciple, and always to the mind in that state when reason presides, andthere can no access be had to the understanding, but by convincing menthat the course of life we would persuade them to is not contrary totheir interest. It may be allowed, without any prejudice to the cause ofvirtue and religion, that our ideas of happiness and misery are of allour ideas the nearest and most important to us; that they will, nay, ifyou please, that they ought to prevail over those of order, and beauty, and harmony, and proportion, if there should ever be, as it is impossiblethere ever should be, any inconsistence between them, though these last, too, as expressing the fitness of actions, are real as truth itself. Letit be allowed, though virtue or moral rectitude does indeed consist inaffection to and pursuit of what is right and good, as such, yet, thatwhen we sit down in a cool hour, we can neither justify to ourselves thisor any other pursuit, till we are convinced that it will be for ourhappiness, 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 virtuedepend upon the theory of it being secured from open scorn, so far itsvery being in the world depends upon its appearing to have no contrarietyto private interest and self-love. The foregoing observations, therefore, it is hoped, may have gained a little ground in favour of theprecept before us, the particular explanation of which shall be thesubject of the next discourse. 

I will conclude at present with observing the peculiar obligation whichwe are under to virtue and religion, as enforced in the verses followingthe text, in the epistle for the day, from our Saviour's coming into theworld. _The night is far spent_, _the day is at hand_; _let us thereforecast off the works of darkness_, _and let us put on the armour of light_, &c. The meaning and force of which exhortation is, that Christianitylays us under new obligations to a good life, as by it the will of God ismore clearly revealed, and as it affords additional motives to thepractice of it, over and above those which arise out of the nature ofvirtue and vice, I might add, as our Saviour has set us a perfect exampleof goodness in our own nature. Now love and charity is plainly the thingin which He hath placed His religion; in which, therefore, as we have anypretence to the name of Christians, we must place ours. He hath at onceenjoined it upon us by way of command with peculiar force, and by Hisexample, as having undertaken the work of our salvation out of pure loveand goodwill to mankind. The endeavour to set home this example upon ourminds is a very proper employment of this season, which is bringing onthe festival of His birth, which as it may teach us many excellentlessons of humility, resignation, and obedience to the will of God, sothere is none it recommends with greater authority, force, and advantagethan this love and charity, since it was _for us men_, _and for oursalvation_, that _He came down from heaven_, _and was incarnate_, _andwas made man_, that He might teach us our duty, and more especially thatHe might enforce the practice of it, reform mankind, and finally bring usto that _eternal salvation_, of which _He is the Author to all those thatobey Him_. 

SERMON XII. UPON THE LOVE OF OUR NEIGHBOUR. 

 ROM. Xiii. 9. 

 _And if there be any other commandment_, _it is briefly comprehended in this saying_, _namely_, _Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself_. 

Having already removed the prejudices against public spirit, or the loveof our neighbour, on the side of private interest and self-love, Iproceed to the particular explanation of the precept before us, byshowing, _Who is our neighbour_: _In what sense we are required to lovehim as ourselves_; _The influence such love would have upon our behaviourin life_; and lastly, _How this commandment comprehends in it allothers_. 

I. The objects and due extent of this affection will be understood byattending to the nature of it, and to the nature and circumstances ofmankind in this world. The love of our neighbour is the same withcharity, benevolence, or goodwill: it is an affection to the good andhappiness of our fellow-creatures. This implies in it a disposition toproduce happiness, and this is the simple notion of goodness, whichappears so amiable wherever we meet with it. From hence it is easy tosee that the perfection of goodness consists in love to the wholeuniverse. This is the perfection of Almighty God. 

But as man is so much limited in his capacity, as so small a part of theCreation comes under his notice and influence, and as we are not used toconsider things in so general a way, it is not to be thought of that theuniverse should be the object of benevolence to such creatures as we are. Thus in that precept of our Saviour, _Be ye perfect_, _even as yourFather_, _which is in heaven_, _is perfect_, {26} the perfection of thedivine goodness is proposed to our imitation as it is promiscuous, andextends to the evil as well as the good; not as it is absolutelyuniversal, imitation of it in this respect being plainly beyond us. Theobject is too vast. For this reason moral writers also have substituteda less general object for our benevolence, mankind. But this likewise isan object too general, and very much out of our view. Therefore personsmore practical have, instead of mankind, put our country, and made theprinciple of virtue, of human virtue, to consist in the entire uniformlove of our country: and this is what we call a public spirit, which inmen of public stations is the character of a patriot. But this isspeaking to the upper part of the world. Kingdoms and governments arelarge, and the sphere of action of far the greatest part of mankind ismuch narrower than the government they live under: or however, common mendo not consider their actions as affecting the whole community of whichthey are members. There plainly is wanting a less general and nearerobject of benevolence for the bulk of men than that of their country. Therefore the Scripture, not being a book of theory and speculation, buta plain rule of life for mankind, has with the utmost possible proprietyput the principle of virtue upon the love of our neighbour, which is thatpart of the universe, that part of mankind, that part of our country, which comes under our immediate notice, acquaintance, and influence, andwith which we have to do. 

This is plainly the true account or reason why our Saviour places theprinciple of virtue in the love of our _neighbour_, and the accountitself shows who are comprehended under that relation. 

II. Let us now consider in what sense we are commanded to love ourneighbour _as ourselves_. 

This precept, in its first delivery by our Saviour, is thusintroduced:--_Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thine heart_, _with all thy soul_, _and with all thy strength_; _and thy neighbour asthyself_. These very different manners of expression do not lead ourthoughts to the same measure or degree of love, common to both objects, but to one peculiar to each. Supposing, then, which is to be supposed, adistinct meaning and propriety in the words, _as thyself_; the precept weare considering will admit of any of these senses: that we bear the _samekind_ of affection to our neighbour as we do to ourselves, or, that thelove we bear to our neighbour should have _some certain proportion orother_ to self-love: or, lastly, that it should bear the particularproportion of _equality_, that _it be in the same degree_. 

First, The precept may be understood as requiring only that we have the_same kind_ of affection to our fellow-creatures as to ourselves; that, as every man has the principle of self-love, which disposes him to avoidmisery, and consult his own happiness, so we should cultivate theaffection of goodwill to our neighbour, and that it should influence usto have the same kind of regard to him. This at least must be commanded, and this will not only prevent our being injurious to him, but will alsoput us upon promoting his good. There are blessings in life, which weshare in common with others, peace, plenty, freedom, healthful seasons. But real benevolence to our fellow-creatures would give us the notion ofa common interest in a stricter sense, for in the degree we love another, his interest, his joys and sorrows, are our own. It is from self-lovethat we form the notion of private good, and consider it is our own: loveof our neighbour would teach us thus to appropriate to ourselves his goodand welfare; to consider ourselves as having a real share in hishappiness. Thus the principle of benevolence would be an advocate withinour own breasts, to take care of the interests of our fellow-creatures inall the interfering and competitions which cannot but be, from theimperfection of our nature, and the state we are in. It would likewise, in some measure, lessen that interfering, and hinder men from forming sostrong a notion of private good, exclusive of the good of others, as wecommonly do. Thus, as the private affection makes us in a peculiarmanner sensible of humanity, justice or injustice, when exercised towardsourselves, love of our neighbour would give us the same kind ofsensibility in his behalf. This would be the greatest security of ouruniform obedience to that most equitable rule. _Whatsoever ye would thatmen should do unto you_, _do ye even so unto them_. 

All this is indeed no more than that we should have a real love to ourneighbour; but then, which is to be observed, the words _as thyself_express this in the most distinct manner, and determine the precept torelate to the affection itself. The advantage which this principle ofbenevolence has over other remote considerations is, that it is itselfthe temper of virtue, and likewise that it is the chief, nay, the onlyeffectual security of our performing the several offices of kindness weowe to our fellow-creatures. When from distant considerations menresolve upon any thing to which they have no liking, or perhaps anaverseness, they are perpetually finding out evasions and excuses, whichneed never be wanting, if people look for them: and they equivocate withthemselves in the plainest cases in the world. This may be in respect tosingle determinate acts of virtue, but it comes in much more, where theobligation is to a general course of behaviour, and most of all, if it besuch as cannot be reduced to fixed determinate rules. This observationmay account for the diversity of the expression in that known passage ofthe prophet Micah, _to do justly_, _and to love mercy_. A man's heartmust be formed to humanity and benevolence, he must _love mercy_, otherwise he will not act mercifully in any settled course of behaviour. As consideration of the future sanctions of religion is our only securityof preserving in our duty, in cases of great temptation: so to get ourheart and temper formed to a love and liking of what is good isabsolutely necessary in order to our behaving rightly in the familiar anddaily intercourses amongst mankind. 

Secondly, The precept before us may be understood to require that we loveour neighbour in some certain _proportion_ or other, _according as_ welove ourselves. And indeed a man's character cannot be determined by thelove he bears to his neighbour, considered absolutely, but the proportionwhich this bears to self-love, whether it be attended to or not, is thechief thing which forms the character and influences the actions. For, as the form of the body is a composition of various parts, so likewiseour inward structure is not simple or uniform, but a composition ofvarious passions, appetites, affections, together with rationality, including in this last both the discernment of what is right, and adisposition to regulate ourselves by it. There is greater variety ofparts in what we call a character than there are features in a face, andthe morality of that is no more determined by one part than the beauty ordeformity of this is by one single feature: each is to be judged of byall the parts or features, not taken singly, but together. In the inwardframe the various passions, appetites, affections, stand in differentrespects to each other. The principles in our mind may be contradictory, or checks and allays only, or incentives and assistants to each other. And principles, which in their nature have no kind of contrariety oraffinity, may yet accidentally be each other's allays or incentives. 

From hence it comes to pass, that though we were able to look into theinward contexture of the heart, and see with the greatest exactness inwhat degree any one principle is in a particular man, we could not fromthence determine how far that principle would go towards forming thecharacter, or what influence it would have upon the actions, unless wecould likewise discern what other principles prevailed in him, and seethe proportion which that one bears to the others. Thus, though two menshould have the affection of compassion in the same degree exactly, yetone may have the principle of resentment or of ambition so strong in himas to prevail over that of compassion, and prevent its having anyinfluence upon his actions, so that he may deserve the character of ahard or cruel man, whereas the other having compassion in just the samedegree only, yet having resentment or ambition in a lower degree, hiscompassion may prevail over them, so as to influence his actions, and todenominate his temper compassionate. So that, how strange soever it mayappear to people who do not attend to the thing, yet it is quite manifestthat, when we say one man is more resenting or compassionate thananother, this does not necessarily imply that one has the principle ofresentment or of compassion stronger than the other. For if theproportion which resentment or compassion bears to other inwardprinciples is greater in one than in the other, this is itself sufficientto denominate one more resenting or compassionate than the other. 

Further, the whole system, as I may speak, of affections (includingrationality), which constitute the heart, as this word is used inScripture and on moral subjects, are each and all of them stronger insome than in others. Now the proportion which the two generalaffections, benevolence and self-love, bear to each other, according tothis interpretation of the text, demonstrates men's character as tovirtue. Suppose, then, one man to have the principle of benevolence in ahigher degree than another; it will not follow from hence that hisgeneral temper or character or actions will be more benevolent than theother's. For he may have self-love in such a degree as quite to prevailover benevolence, so that it may have no influence at all upon hisaction, whereas benevolence in the other person, though in a lowerdegree, may yet be the strongest principle in his heart, and strongenough to be the guide of his actions, so as to denominate him a good andvirtuous man. The case is here as in scales: it is not one weightconsidered in itself, which determines whether the scale shall ascend ordescend, but this depends upon the proportion which that one weight hathto the other. 

It being thus manifest that the influence which benevolence has upon ouractions, and how far it goes towards forming our character, is notdetermined by the degree itself of this principle in our mind, but by theproportion it has to self-love and other principles: a comparison alsobeing made in the text between self-love and the love of our neighbour;these joint considerations afforded sufficient occasion for treating hereof that proportion. It plainly is implied in the precept, though itshould be questioned, whether it be the exact meaning of the words, as_thyself_. 

Love of our neighbour, then, must bear some proportion to self-love, andvirtue, to be sure, consists in the due proportion. What this dueproportion is, whether as a principle in the mind, or as exerted inactions, can be judged of only from our nature and condition in thisworld. Of the degree in which affections and the principles of action, considered in themselves, prevail, we have no measure: let us, then, proceed to the course of behaviour, the actions they produce. 

Both our nature and condition require that each particular man shouldmake particular provision for himself: and the inquiry, what proportionbenevolence should have to self-love, when brought down to practice, willbe, what is a competent care and provision for ourselves? And howcertain soever it be that each man must determine this for himself, andhow ridiculous soever it would be for any to attempt to determine it foranother, yet it is to be observed that the proportion is real, and that acompetent provision has a bound, and that it cannot be all which we canpossibly get and keep within our grasp, without legal injustice. Mankindalmost universally bring in vanity, supplies for what is called a life ofpleasure, covetousness, or imaginary notions of superiority over others, to determine this question: but every one who desires to act a properpart in society would do well to consider how far any of them come in todetermine it, in the way of moral consideration. All that can be saidis, supposing what, as the world goes, is so much to be supposed that itis scarce to be mentioned, that persons do not neglect what they reallyowe to themselves; the more of their care and thought and of theirfortune they employ in doing good to their fellow-creatures the nearerthey come up to the law of perfection, _Thou shalt love thy neighbour asthyself_. 

Thirdly, if the words _as thyself_ were to be understood of an equalityof affection, it would not be attended with those consequences whichperhaps may be thought to follow from it. Suppose a person to have thesame settled regard to others as to himself; that in every deliberatescheme or pursuit he took their interest into the account in the samedegree as his own, so far as an equality of affection would produce this:yet he would, in fact, and ought to be, much more taken up and employedabout himself, and his own concerns, than about others, and theirinterests. For, besides the one common affection toward himself and hisneighbour he would have several other particular affections, passions, appetites, which he could not possibly feel in common both for himselfand others. Now these sensations themselves very much employ us, andhave perhaps as great influence as self-love. So far indeed asself-love, and cool reflection upon what is for our interest, would setus on work to gain a supply of our own several wants, so far the love ofour neighbour would make us do the same for him: but the degree in whichwe are put upon seeking and making use of the means of gratification, bythe feeling of those affections, appetites, and passions, mustnecessarily be peculiar to ourselves. 

That there are particular passions (suppose shame, resentment) which menseem to have, and feel in common, both for themselves and others, makesno alteration in respect to those passions and appetites which cannotpossibly be thus felt in common. From hence (and perhaps more things ofthe like kind might be mentioned) it follows, that though there were anequality of affection to both, yet regards to ourselves would be moreprevalent than attention to the concerns of others. 

And from moral considerations it ought to be so, supposing still theequality of affection commanded, because we are in a peculiar manner, asI may speak, intrusted with ourselves, and therefore care of our owninterests, as well as of our conduct, particularly belongs to us. 

To these things must be added, that moral obligations can extend nofurther than to natural possibilities. Now we have a perception of ourown interests, like consciousness of our own existence, which we alwayscarry about with us, and which, in its continuation, kind, and degree, seems impossible to be felt in respect to the interests of others. 

From all these things it fully appears that though we were to love ourneighbour in the same degree as we love ourselves, so far as this ispossible, yet the care of ourselves, of the individual, would not beneglected, the apprehended danger of which seems to be the only objectionagainst understanding the precept in this strict sense. 

III. The general temper of mind which the due love of our neighbourwould form us to, and the influence it would have upon our behaviour inlife, is now to be considered. 

The temper and behaviour of charity is explained at large in that knownpassage of St. Paul: {27} _Charity suffereth long_, _and is kind_;_charity envieth not_, _doth not behave itself unseemly_, _seeketh nother own_, _thinketh no evil_, _beareth all things_, _believeth allthings_, _hopeth all things_. As to the meaning of the expressions, _seeketh not her own_, _thinketh no evil_, _believeth all things_;however those expressions may be explained away, this meekness, and insome degree easiness of temper, readiness to forego our right for thesake of peace, as well as in the way of compassion, freedom frommistrust, and disposition to believe well of our neighbour, this generaltemper, I say, accompanies, and is plainly the effect of love andgoodwill. And, though such is the world in which we live, thatexperience and knowledge of it not only may, but must beget, in asgreater regard to ourselves, and doubtfulness of the characters ofothers, than is natural to mankind, yet these ought not to be carriedfurther than the nature and course of things make necessary. It is stilltrue, even in the present state of things, bad as it is, that a real goodman had rather be deceived than be suspicious; had rather forego hisknown right, than run the venture of doing even a hard thing. This isthe general temper of that charity, of which the apostle asserts, that ifhe had it not, giving his _body to be burned would avail him nothing_;and which he says _shall never fail_. 

The happy influence of this temper extends to every different relationand circumstance in human life. It plainly renders a man better, more tobe desired, as to all the respects and relations we can stand in to eachother. The benevolent man is disposed to make use of all externaladvantages in such a manner as shall contribute to the good of others, aswell as to his own satisfaction. His own satisfaction consists in this. He will be easy and kind to his dependents, compassionate to the poor anddistressed, friendly to all with whom he has to do. This includes thegood neighbour, parent, master, magistrate: and such a behaviour wouldplainly make dependence, inferiority, and even servitude easy. So that agood or charitable man of superior rank in wisdom, fortune, authority, isa common blessing to the place he lives in: happiness grows under hisinfluence. This good principle in inferiors would discover itself inpaying respect, gratitude, obedience, as due. It were therefore, methinks, one just way of trying one's own character to ask ourselves, amI in reality a better master or servant, a better friend, a betterneighbour, than such and such persons, whom, perhaps, I may think not todeserve the character of virtue and religion so much as myself?

And as to the spirit of party, which unhappily prevails amongst mankind, whatever are the distinctions which serve for a supply to it, some orother of which have obtained in all ages and countries, one who is thusfriendly to his kind will immediately make due allowances for it, as whatcannot but be amongst such creatures as men, in such a world as this. Andas wrath and fury and overbearing upon these occasions proceed, as I mayspeak, from men's feeling only on their own side, so a common feeling, for others as well as for ourselves, would render us sensible to thistruth, which it is strange can have so little influence, that weourselves differ from others, just as much as they do from us. I put thematter in this way, because it can scarce be expected that the generalityof men should see that those things which are made the occasions ofdissension and fomenting the party-spirit are really nothing at all: butit may be expected from all people, how much soever they are in earnestabout their respective peculiarities, that humanity and common goodwillto their fellow-creatures should moderate and restrain that wretchedspirit. 

This good temper of charity likewise would prevent strife and enmityarising from other occasions: it would prevent our giving just cause ofoffence, and our taking it without cause. And in cases of real injury, agood man will make all the allowances which are to be made, and, withoutany attempts of retaliation, he will only consult his own and other men'ssecurity for the future against injustice and wrong. 

IV. I proceed to consider, lastly, what is affirmed of the precept nowexplained, that it comprehends in it all others, _i. E. _, that to love ourneighbour as ourselves includes in it all virtues. 

Now the way in which every maxim of conduct, or general speculativeassertion, when it is to be explained at large should be treated, is, toshow what are the particular truths which were designed to becomprehended under such a general observation, how far it is strictlytrue, and then the limitations, restrictions, and exceptions, if there beexceptions, with which it is to be understood. But it is only the formerof these, namely, how far the assertion in the text holds, and the groundof the pre-eminence assigned to the precept of it, which in strictnesscomes into our present consideration. 

However, in almost everything that is said, there is somewhat to beunderstood beyond what is explicitly laid down, and which we of coursesupply, somewhat, I mean, which would not be commonly called arestriction or limitation. Thus, when benevolence is said to be the sumof virtue, it is not spoken of as a blind propension, but a principle inreasonable creatures, and so to be directed by their reason, for reasonand reflection comes into our notion of a moral agent. And that willlead us to consider distant consequences, as well as the immediatetendency of an action. It will teach us that the care of some persons, suppose children and families, is particularly committed to our charge byNature and Providence, as also that there are other circumstances, suppose friendship or former obligations, which require that we do goodto some, preferably to others. Reason, considered merely as subservientto benevolence, as assisting to produce the greatest good, will teach usto have particular regard to these relations and circumstances, becauseit is plainly for the good of the world that they should be regarded. Andas there are numberless cases in which, notwithstanding appearances, weare not competent judges, whether a particular action will upon the wholedo good or harm, reason in the same way will teach us to be cautious howwe act in these cases of uncertainty. It will suggest to ourconsideration which is the safer side; how liable we are to be led wrongby passion and private interest; and what regard is due to laws, and thejudgment of mankind. All these things must come into consideration, wereit only in order to determine which way of acting is likely to producethe greatest good. Thus, upon supposition that it were in the strictestsense true, without limitation, that benevolence includes in it allvirtues, yet reason must come in as its guide and director, in order toattain its own end, the end of benevolence, the greatest public good. Reason, then, being thus included, let us now consider the truth of theassertion itself. 

First, It is manifest that nothing can be of consequence to mankind orany creature but happiness. This, then, is all which any person can, instrictness of speaking, be said to have a right to. We can therefore_owe no man anything_, but only to farther and promote his happiness, according to our abilities. And therefore a disposition and endeavour todo good to all with whom we have to do, in the degree and manner whichthe different relations we stand in to them require, is a discharge ofall the obligations we are under to them. 

As human nature is not one simple uniform thing but a composition ofvarious parts, body, spirit, appetites, particular passions, andaffections, for each of which reasonable self-love would lead men to havedue regard, and make suitable provision, so society consists of variousparts to which we stand in different respects and relations, and justbenevolence would as surely lead us to have due regard to each of theseand behave as the respective relations require. Reasonable goodwill andright behaviour towards our fellow-creatures are in a manner the same, only that the former expresseth the principle as it is in the mind; thelatter, the principle as it were become external, _i. E. _, exerted inactions. 

And so far as temperance, sobriety, and moderation in sensual pleasures, and the contrary vices, have any respect to our fellow-creatures, anyinfluence upon their quiet, welfare, and happiness, as they always have areal, and often a near influence upon it, so far it is manifest thosevirtues may be produced by the love of our neighbour, and that thecontrary vices would be prevented by it. Indeed, if men's regard tothemselves will not restrain them from excess, it may be thought littleprobable that their love to others will be sufficient: but the reason is, that their love to others is not, any more than their regard tothemselves, just, and in its due degree. There are, however, manifestinstances of persons kept sober and temperate from regard to theiraffairs, and the welfare of those who depend upon them. And it isobvious to every one that habitual excess, a dissolute course of life, implies a general neglect of the duties we owe towards our friends, ourfamilies, and our country. 

From hence it is manifest that the common virtues and the common vices ofmankind may be traced up to benevolence, or the want of it. And thisentitles the precept, _Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself_, to thepre-eminence given to it, and is a justification of the apostle'sassertion, that all other commandments are comprehended in it, whatevercautions and restrictions {28} there are, which might require to beconsidered, if we were to state particularly and at length what is virtueand right behaviour in mankind. But, Secondly, It might be added, that in a higher and more general way ofconsideration, leaving out the particular nature of creatures, and theparticular circumstances in which they are placed, benevolence seems inthe strictest sense to include in it all that is good and worthy, allthat is good, which we have any distinct particular notion of. We haveno clear conception of any position moral attribute in the Supreme Being, but what may be resolved up into goodness. And, if we consider areasonable creature or moral agent, without regard to the particularrelations and circumstances in which he is placed, we cannot conceiveanything else to come in towards determining whether he is to be rankedin a higher or lower class of virtuous beings, but the higher or lowerdegree in which that principle, and what is manifestly connected with it, prevail in him. 

That which we more strictly call piety, or the love of God, and which isan essential part of a right temper, some may perhaps imagine no wayconnected with benevolence: yet surely they must be connected, if therebe indeed in being an object infinitely good. Human nature is soconstituted that every good affection implies the love of itself, _i. E. _, becomes the object of a new affection in the same person. Thus, to berighteous, implies in it the love of righteousness; to be benevolent, thelove of benevolence; to be good, the love of goodness; whether thisrighteousness, benevolence, or goodness be viewed as in our own mind oranother's, and the love of God as a being perfectly good is the love ofperfect goodness contemplated in a being or person. Thus morality andreligion, virtue and piety, will at last necessarily coincide, run upinto one and the same point, and _love_ will be in all senses _the end ofthe commandment_. 

* * * * *

_O Almighty God_, _inspire us with this divine principle_; _kill in usall the seeds of envy and ill-will_; _and help us_, _by cultivatingwithin ourselves the love of our neighbour_, _to improve in the love ofThee_. _Thou hast placed us in various kindreds_, _friendships_, _andrelations_, _as the school of discipline for our affections_: _help us_, _by the due exercise of them_, _to improve to perfection_; _till allpartial affection be lost in that entire universal one_, _and thou_, _OGod_, _shalt_ be all in all. 

SERMON XIII. , XIV. UPON THE LOVE OF GOD. 

 MATTHEW xxii. 37. 

 _Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart_, _and with all thy soul_, _and with all thy mind_. 

Everybody knows, you therefore need only just be put in mind, that thereis such a thing as having so great horror of one extreme as to runinsensibly and of course into the contrary; and that a doctrine's havingbeen a shelter for enthusiasm, or made to serve the purposes ofsuperstition, is no proof of the falsity of it: truth or right beingsomewhat real in itself, and so not to be judged of by its liableness toabuse, or by its supposed distance from or nearness to error. It may besufficient to have mentioned this in general, without taking notice ofthe particular extravagances which have been vented under the pretence orendeavour of explaining the love of God; or how manifestly we are gotinto the contrary extreme, under the notion of a reasonable religion; sovery reasonable as to have nothing to do with the heart and affections, if these words signify anything but the faculty by which we discernspeculative truth. 

By the love of God I would understand all those regards, all thoseaffections of mind which are due immediately to Him from such a creatureas man, and which rest in Him as their end. As this does not includeservile fear, so neither will any other regards, how reasonable soever, which respect anything out of or besides the perfection of the Divinenature, come into consideration here. But all fear is not excluded, because His displeasure is itself the natural proper object of fear. Reverence, ambition of His love and approbation, delight in the hope orconsciousness of it, come likewise into this definition of the love ofGod, because He is the natural object of all those affections ormovements of mind as really as He is the object of the affection, whichis in the strictest sense called love; and all of them equally rest inHim as their end. And they may all be understood to be implied in thesewords of our Saviour, without putting any force upon them: for He isspeaking of the love of God and our neighbour as containing the whole ofpiety and virtue. 

It is plain that the nature of man is so constituted as to feel certainaffections upon the sight or contemplation of certain objects. Now thevery notion of affection implies resting in its object as an end. Andthe particular affection to good characters, reverence and moral love ofthem, is natural to all those who have any degree of real goodness inthemselves. This will be illustrated by the description of a perfectcharacter in a creature; and by considering the manner in which a goodman in his presence would be affected towards such a character. He wouldof course feel the affections of love, reverence, desire of hisapprobation, delight in the hope or consciousness of it. And surely allthis is applicable, and may be brought up to that Being, who isinfinitely more than an adequate object of all those affections; whom weare commanded to _love with all our heart_, _with all our soul_, _andwith all our mind_. And of these regards towards Almighty God some aremore particularly suitable to and becoming so imperfect a creature asman, in this mortal state we are passing through; and some of them, andperhaps other exercises of the mind, will be the employment and happinessof good men in a state of perfection. 

This is a general view of what the following discourse will contain. Andit is manifest the subject is a real one: there is nothing in itenthusiastical or unreasonable. And if it be indeed at all a subject, itis one of the utmost importance. 

As mankind have a faculty by which they discern speculative truth, so wehave various affections towards external objects. Understanding andtemper, reason and affection, are as distinct ideas as reason and hunger, and one would think could no more be confounded. It is by reason that weget the ideas of several objects of our affections; but in these casesreason and affection are no more the same than sight of a particularobject, and the pleasure or uneasiness consequent thereupon, are thesame. Now as reason tends to and rests in the discernment of truth, theobject of it, so the very nature of affection consists in tendingtowards, and resting in, its objects as an end. We do indeed often incommon language say that things are loved, desired, esteemed, not forthemselves, but for somewhat further, somewhat out of and beyond them;yet, in these cases, whoever will attend will see that these things arenot in reality the objects of the affections, _i. E. _ are not loved, desired, esteemed, but the somewhat further and beyond them. If we haveno affections which rest in what are called their objects, then what iscalled affection, love, desire, hope, in human nature, is only anuneasiness in being at rest; an unquiet disposition to action, progress, pursuit, without end or meaning. But if there be any such thing asdelight in the company of one person, rather than of another; whether inthe way of friendship, or mirth and entertainment, it is all one, if itbe without respect to fortune, honour, or increasing our stores ofknowledge, or anything beyond the present time; here is an instance of anaffection absolutely resting in its object as its end, and beinggratified in the same way as the appetite of hunger is satisfied withfood. Yet nothing is more common than to hear it asked, what advantage aman hath in such a course, suppose of study, particular friendships, orin any other; nothing, I say, is more common than to hear such a questionput in a way which supposes no gain, advantage, or interest, but as ameans to somewhat further: and if so, then there is no such thing at allas real interest, gain, or advantage. This is the same absurdity withrespect to life as an infinite series of effects without a cause is inspeculation. The gain, advantage, or interest consists in the delightitself, arising from such a faculty's having its object: neither is thereany such thing as happiness or enjoyment but what arises from hence. Thepleasures of hope and of reflection are not exceptions: the former beingonly this happiness anticipated; the latter the same happiness enjoyedover again after its time. And even the general expectation of futurehappiness can afford satisfaction only as it is a present object to theprinciple of self-love. 

It was doubtless intended that life should be very much a pursuit to thegross of mankind. But this is carried so much further than is reasonablethat what gives immediate satisfaction, _i. E. _ our present interest, isscarce considered as our interest at all. It is inventions which haveonly a remote tendency towards enjoyment, perhaps but a remote tendencytowards gaining the means only of enjoyment, which are chiefly spoken ofas useful to the world. And though this way of thinking were just withrespect to the imperfect state we are now in, where we know so little ofsatisfaction without satiety, yet it must be guarded against when we areconsidering the happiness of a state of perfection; which happiness beingenjoyment and not hope, must necessarily consist in this, that ouraffections have their objects, and rest in those objects as an end, _i. E. _ be satisfied with them. This will further appear in the sequel ofthis discourse. 

Of the several affections, or inward sensations, which particular objectsexcite in man, there are some, the having of which implies the love ofthem, when they are reflected upon. {29} This cannot be said of all ouraffections, principles, and motives of action. It were ridiculous toassert that a man upon reflection hath the same kind of approbation ofthe appetite of hunger or the passion of fear as he hath of goodwill tohis fellow-creatures. To be a just, a good, a righteous man, plainlycarries with it a peculiar affection to or love of justice, goodness, righteousness, when these principles are the objects of contemplation. 

Now if a man approves of, or hath an affection to, any principle in andfor itself, incidental things allowed for, it will be the same whether heviews it in his own mind or in another; in himself or in his neighbour. This is the account of our approbation of, or moral love and affection togood characters; which cannot but be in those who have any degrees ofreal goodness in themselves, and who discern and take notice of the sameprinciple in others. 

From observation of what passes within ourselves, our own actions, andthe behaviour of others, the mind may carry on its reflections as far asit pleases; much beyond what we experience in ourselves, or discern inour fellow creatures. It may go on and consider goodness as become auniform continued principle of action, as conducted by reason, andforming a temper and character absolutely good and perfect, which is in ahigher sense excellent, and proportionably the object of love andapprobation. 

Let us then suppose a creature perfect according to his creatednature--let his form be human, and his capacities no more than equal tothose of the chief of men--goodness shall be his proper character, withwisdom to direct it, and power within some certain determined sphere ofaction to exert it: but goodness must be the simple actuating principlewithin him; this being the moral quality which is amiable, or theimmediate object of love as distinct from other affections ofapprobation. Here then is a finite object for our mind to tend towards, to exercise itself upon: a creature, perfect according to his capacity, fixed, steady, equally unmoved by weak pity or more weak fury andresentment; forming the justest scheme of conduct; going on undisturbedin the execution of it, through the several methods of severity andreward, towards his end, namely, the general happiness of all with whomhe hath to do, as in itself right and valuable. This character, thoughuniform in itself, in its principle, yet exerting itself in differentways, or considered in different views, may by its appearing variety movedifferent affections. Thus, the severity of justice would not affect usin the same way as an act of mercy. The adventitious qualities of wisdomand power may be considered in themselves; and even the strength of mindwhich this immovable goodness supposes may likewise be viewed as anobject of contemplation distinct from the goodness itself. Superiorexcellence of any kind, as well as superior wisdom and power, is theobject of awe and reverence to all creatures, whatever their moralcharacter be; but so far as creatures of the lowest rank were good, sofar the view of this character, as simply good, must appear amiable tothem, be the object of, or beget love. Further suppose we were consciousthat this superior person so far approved of us that we had nothingservilely to fear from him; that he was really our friend, and kind andgood to us in particular, as he had occasionally intercourse with us: wemust be other creatures than we are, or we could not but feel the samekind of satisfaction and enjoyment (whatever would be the degree of it)from this higher acquaintance and friendship as we feel from common ones, the intercourse being real and the persons equally present in both cases. We should have a more ardent desire to be approved by his betterjudgment, and a satisfaction in that approbation of the same sort withwhat would be felt in respect to common persons, or be wrought in us bytheir presence. 

Let us now raise the character, and suppose this creature, for we arestill going on with the supposition of a creature, our proper guardianand governor; that we were in a progress of being towards somewhatfurther; and that his scheme of government was too vast for ourcapacities to comprehend: remembering still that he is perfectly good, and our friend as well as our governor. Wisdom, power, goodness, accidentally viewed anywhere, would inspire reverence, awe, love; and asthese affections would be raised in higher or lower degrees in proportionas we had occasionally more or less intercourse with the creature enduedwith those qualities, so this further consideration and knowledge that hewas our proper guardian and governor would much more bring these objectsand qualities home to ourselves; teach us they had a greater respect tous in particular, that we had a higher interest in that wisdom and powerand goodness. We should, with joy, gratitude, reverence, love, trust, and dependence, appropriate the character, as what we had a right in, andmake our boast in such our relation to it. And the conclusion of thewhole would be that we should refer ourselves implicitly to him, and castourselves entirely upon him. As the whole attention of life should be toobey his commands, so the highest enjoyment of it must arise from thecontemplation of this character, and our relation to it, from aconsciousness of his favour and approbation, and from the exercise ofthose affections towards him which could not but be raised from hispresence. A Being who hath these attributes, who stands in thisrelation, and is thus sensibly present to the mind, must necessarily bethe object of these affections: there is as real a correspondence betweenthem as between the lowest appetite of sense and its object. 

That this Being is not a creature, but the Almighty God; that He is ofinfinite power and wisdom and goodness, does not render Him less theobject of reverence and love than He would be if He had those attributesonly in a limited degree. The Being who made us, and upon whom weentirely depend, is the object of some regards. He hath given us certainaffections of mind, which correspond to wisdom, power, goodness, _i. E. _which are raised upon view of those qualities. If then He be reallywise, powerful, good, He is the natural object of those affections whichHe hath endued us with, and which correspond to those attributes. ThatHe is infinite in power, perfect in wisdom and goodness, makes noalteration, but only that He is the object of those affections raised tothe highest pitch. He is not, indeed, to be discerned by any of oursenses. _I go forward_, _but He is not there_; _and backward_, _but Icannot perceive Him_: _on the left hand where He doth work_, _but Icannot behold Him_: _He hideth Himself on the right hand_, _that I cannotsee Him_, _Oh that I knew where I might find Him_! _that I might comeeven to His seat_! {30} But is He then afar off? does He not fill heavenand earth with His presence? The presence of our fellow-creaturesaffects our senses, and our senses give us the knowledge of theirpresence; which hath different kinds of influence upon us--love, joy, sorrow, restraint, encouragement, reverence. However, this influence isnot immediately from our senses, but from that knowledge. Thus suppose aperson neither to see nor hear another, not to know by any of his senses, but yet certainly to know, that another was with him; this knowledgemight, and in many cases would, have one or more of the effects beforementioned. It is therefore not only reasonable, but also natural, to beaffected with a presence, though it be not the object of our senses;whether it be, or be not, is merely an accidental circumstance, whichneeds not come into consideration: it is the certainty that he is withus, and we with him, which hath the influence. We consider persons thenas present, not only when they are within reach of our senses, but alsowhen we are assured by any other means that they are within such anearness; nay, if they are not, we can recall them to our mind, and bemoved towards them as present; and must He, who is so much moreintimately with us, that _in Him we live and move and have our being_, bethought too distant to be the object of our affections? We own and feelthe force of amiable and worthy qualities in our fellow creatures; andcan we be insensible to the contemplation of perfect goodness? Do wereverence the shadows of greatness here below, are we solicitous abouthonour and esteem and the opinion of the world, and shall we not feel thesame with respect to Him whose are wisdom and power in the original, who_is the God of judgment by whom actions are weighed_? Thus love, reverence, desire of esteem, every faculty, every affection, tendstowards and is employed about its respective object in common cases: andmust the exercise of them be suspended with regard to Him alone who is anobject, an infinitely more than adequate object, to our most exaltedfaculties; Him, _of whom_, _and through whom_, _and to whom are allthings_?

As we cannot remove from this earth, or change our general business onit, so neither can we alter our real nature. Therefore no exercise ofthe mind can be recommended, but only the exercise of those faculties youare conscious of. Religion does not demand new affections, but onlyclaims the direction of those you already have, those affections youdaily feel; though unhappily confined to objects not altogetherunsuitable but altogether unequal to them. We only represent to you thehigher, the adequate objects of those very faculties and affections. Letthe man of ambition go on still to consider disgrace as the greatestevil, honour as his chief good. But disgrace in whose estimation? Honourin whose judgment? This is the only question. If shame, and delight inesteem, be spoken of as real, as any settled ground of pain or pleasure, both these must be in proportion to the supposed wisdom, and worth of himby whom we are contemned or esteemed. Must it then be thoughtenthusiastical to speak of a sensibility of this sort which shall haverespect to an unerring judgment, to infinite wisdom, when we are assuredthis unerring judgment, this infinite wisdom does observe upon ouractions?

It is the same with respect to the love of God in the strictest and mostconfined sense. We only offer and represent the highest object of anaffection supposed already in your mind. Some degree of goodness must bepreviously supposed; this always implies the love of itself, an affectionto goodness: the highest, the adequate object of this affection, isperfect goodness; which therefore we are to _love with all our heart_, _with all our soul_, _and with all our strength_. "Must we then, forgetting our own interest, as it were go out of ourselves, and love Godfor His own sake?" No more forget your own interest, no more go out ofyourselves, than when you prefer one place, one prospect, theconversation of one man to that of another. Does not every affectionnecessarily imply that the object of it be itself loved? If it be not itis not the object of the affection. You may, and ought if you can, butit is a great mistake to think you can love or fear or hate anything, from consideration that such love or fear or hatred may be a means ofobtaining good or avoiding evil. But the question whether we ought tolove God for His sake or for our own being a mere mistake in language, the real question which this is mistaken for will, I suppose, be answeredby observing that the goodness of God already exercised towards us, ourpresent dependence upon Him, and our expectation of future benefits, ought, and have a natural tendency, to beget in us the affection ofgratitude, and greater love towards Him, than the same goodness exercisedtowards others; were it only for this reason, that every affection ismoved in proportion to the sense we have of the object of it; and wecannot but have a more lively sense of goodness when exercised towardsourselves than when exercised towards others. I added expectation offuture benefits because the ground of that expectation is presentgoodness. 

Thus Almighty God is the natural object of the several affections, love, reverence, fear, desire of approbation. For though He is simply one, yetwe cannot but consider Him in partial and different views. He is inhimself one uniform Being, and for ever the same without _variableness orshadow of turning_; but His infinite greatness, His goodness, His wisdom, are different objects to our mind. To which is to be added, that fromthe changes in our own characters, together with His unchangeableness, wecannot but consider ourselves as more or less the objects of Hisapprobation, and really be so. For if He approves what is good, Hecannot, merely from the unchangeableness of His nature, approve what isevil. Hence must arise more various movements of mind, more differentkinds of affections. And this greater variety also is just andreasonable in such creatures as we are, though it respects a Being simplyone, good and perfect. As some of these actions are most particularlysuitable to so imperfect a creature as man in this mortal state we arepassing through, so there may be other exercises of mind, or some ofthese in higher degrees, our employment and happiness in a state ofperfection. 

SERMON XIV. 

Consider then our ignorance, the imperfection of our nature, our virtue, and our condition in this world, with respect to aim infinitely good andjust Being, our Creator and Governor, and you will see what religiousaffections of mind are most particularly suitable to this mortal state weare passing through. 

Though we are not affected with anything so strongly as what we discernwith our senses, and though our nature and condition require that we bemuch taken up about sensible things, yet our reason convinces us that Godis present with us, and we see and feel the effects of His goodness: Heis therefore the object of some regards. The imperfection of our virtue, joined with the consideration of His absolute rectitude or holiness, willscarce permit that perfection of love which entirely casts out all fear:yet goodness is the object of love to all creatures who have any degreeof it themselves; and consciousness of a real endeavour to approveourselves to Him, joined with the consideration of His goodness, as itquite excludes servile dread and horror, so it is plainly a reasonableground for hope of His favour. Neither fear nor hope nor love then areexcluded, and one or another of these will prevail, according to thedifferent views we have of God, and ought to prevail, according to thechanges we find in our own character. There is a temper of mind made upof, or which follows from all three, fear, hope, love--namely, resignation to the Divine will, which is the general temper belonging tothis state; which ought to be the habitual frame of our mind and heart, and to be exercised at proper seasons more distinctly, in acts ofdevotion. 

Resignation to the will of God is the whole of piety. It includes in itall that is good, and is a source of the most settled quiet and composureof mind. There is the general principle of submission in our nature. Manis not so constituted as to desire things, and be uneasy in the want ofthem, in proportion to their known value: many other considerations comein to determine the degrees of desire; particularly whether the advantagewe take a view of be within the sphere of our rank. Whoever feltuneasiness upon observing any of the advantages brute creatures have overus? And yet it is plain they have several. It is the same with respectto advantages belonging to creatures of a superior order. Thus, thoughwe see a thing to be highly valuable, yet that it does not belong to ourcondition of being is sufficient to suspend our desires after it, to makeus rest satisfied without such advantage. Now there is just the samereason for quiet resignation in the want of everything equallyunattainable and out of our reach in particular, though others of ourspecies be possessed of it. All this may be applied to the whole oflife; to positive inconveniences as well as wants, not indeed to thesensations of pain and sorrow, but to all the uneasinesses of reflection, murmuring, and discontent. Thus is human nature formed to compliance, yielding, submission of temper. We find the principles of it within us;and every one exercises it towards some objects or other, _i. E. _ feels itwith regard to some persons and some circumstances. Now this is anexcellent foundation of a reasonable and religious resignation. Natureteaches and inclines as to take up with our lot; the consideration thatthe course of things is unalterable hath a tendency to quiet the mindunder it, to beget a submission of temper to it. But when we can addthat this unalterable course is appointed and continued by infinitewisdom and goodness, how absolute should be our submission, how entireour trust and dependence!

This would reconcile us to our condition, prevent all the supernumerarytroubles arising from imagination, distant fears, impatience--alluneasiness, except that which necessarily arises from the calamitiesthemselves we may be under. How many of our cares should we by thismeans be disburdened of! Cares not properly our own, how apt soever theymay be to intrude upon us, and we to admit them; the anxieties ofexpectation, solicitude about success and disappointment, which in truthare none of our concern. How open to every gratification would that mindbe which was clear of these encumbrances!

Our resignation to the will of God may be said to be perfect when ourwill is lost and resolved up into His: when we rest in His will as ourend, as being itself most just and right and good. And where is theimpossibility of such an affection to what is just, and right, and good, such a loyalty of heart to the Governor of the universe as shall prevailover all sinister indirect desires of our own? Neither is this at bottomanything more than faith and honesty and fairness of mind--in a moreenlarged sense indeed than those words are commonly used. And as, incommon cases, fear and hope and other passions are raised in us by theirrespective objects, so this submission of heart and soul and mind, thisreligious resignation, would be as naturally produced by our having justconceptions of Almighty God, and a real sense of His presence with us. Inhow low a degree soever this temper usually prevails amongst men, yet itis a temper right in itself: it is what we owe to our Creator: it isparticularly suitable to our mortal condition, and what we shouldendeavour after for our own sakes in our passage through such a world asthis, where is nothing upon which we can rest or depend, nothing but whatwe are liable to be deceived and disappointed in. Thus we might_acquaint ourselves with God_, _and be at peace_. This is piety anreligion in the strictest sense, considered as a habit of mind: anhabitual sense of God's presence with us; being affected towards Him, aspresent, in the manner His superior nature requires from such a creatureas man: this is to _walk with God_. 

Little more need be said of devotion or religious worship than that it isthis temper exerted into act. The nature of it consists in the actualexercise of those affections towards God which are supposed habitual ingood men. He is always equally present with us: but we are so much takenup with sensible things that, _Lo_, _He goeth by us_, _and we see Himnot_: _He passeth on also_, _but we perceive Him not_. {31} Devotion isretirement from the world He has made to Him alone: it is to withdrawfrom the avocations of sense, to employ our attention wholly upon Him asupon an object actually present, to yield ourselves up to the influenceof the Divine presence, and to give full scope to the affections ofgratitude, love, reverence, trust, and dependence; of which infinitepower, wisdom, and goodness is the natural and only adequate object. Wemay apply to the whole of devotion those words of the Son of Sirach, _When you glorify the Lord_, _exalt Him as much as you can_; _for evenyet will He far exceed_: _and when you exalt Him_, _put forth all yourstrength_, _and be not weary_; _for you can never go far enough_. {32}Our most raised affections of every kind cannot but fall short and bedisproportionate when an infinite being is the object of them. This isthe highest exercise and employment of mind that a creature is capableof. As this divine service and worship is itself absolutely due to God, so also is it necessary in order to a further end, to keep alive upon ourminds a sense of His authority, a sense that in our ordinary behaviouramongst men we act under him as our Governor and Judge. 

Thus you see the temper of mind respecting God which is particularlysuitable to a state of imperfection, to creatures in a progress of beingtowards somewhat further. 

Suppose now this something further attained, that we were arrived at it, what a perception will it be to see and know and feel that our trust wasnot vain, our dependence not groundless? That the issue, event, andconsummation came out such as fully to justify and answer thatresignation? If the obscure view of the divine perfection which we havein this world ought in just consequence to beget an entire resignation, what will this resignation be exalted into when _we shall see face toface_, _and know as we are known_? If we cannot form any distinct notionof that perfection of the love of God which _casts out all fear_, of thatenjoyment of Him which will be the happiness of good men hereafter, theconsideration of our wants and capacities of happiness, and that He willbe adequate supply to them, must serve us instead of such distinctconception of the particular happiness itself. 

Let us then suppose a man entirely disengaged from business and pleasure, sitting down alone and at leisure, to reflect upon himself and his owncondition of being. He would immediately feel that he was by no meanscomplete of himself, but totally insufficient for his own happiness. Onemay venture to affirm that every man hath felt this, whether he hathagain reflected upon it or not. It is feeling this deficiency, that theyare unsatisfied with themselves, which makes men look out for assistancefrom abroad, and which has given rise to various kinds of amusements, altogether needless any otherwise than as they serve to fill up the blankspaces of time, and so hinder their feeling this deficiency, and beinguneasy with themselves. Now, if these external things we take up withwere really an adequate supply to this deficiency of human nature, if bytheir means our capacities and desires were all satisfied and filled up, then it might be truly said that we had found out the proper happiness ofman, and so might sit down satisfied, and be at rest in the enjoyment ofit. But if it appears that the amusements which men usually pass theirtime in are so far from coming up to or answering our notions and desiresof happiness or good that they are really no more than what they arecommonly called, somewhat to pass away the time, _i. E. _ somewhat whichserves to turn us aside from, and prevent our attending to, this ourinternal poverty and want; if they serve only, or chiefly, to suspendinstead of satisfying our conceptions and desires of happiness; if thewant remains, and we have found out little more than barely the means ofmaking it less sensible; then are we still to seek for somewhat to be anadequate supply to it. It is plain that there is a capacity in thenature of man which neither riches nor honours nor sensualgratifications, nor anything in this world, can perfectly fill up orsatisfy: there is a deeper and more essential want than any of thesethings can be the supply of. Yet surely there is a possibility ofsomewhat which may fill up all our capacities of happiness, somewhat inwhich our souls may find rest, somewhat which may be to us thatsatisfactory good we are inquiring after. But it cannot be anythingwhich is valuable only as it tends to some further end. Those thereforewho have got this world so much into their hearts as not to be able toconsider happiness as consisting in anything but property andpossessions--which are only valuable as the means to somewhat else--cannothave the least glimpse of the subject before us, which is the end, notthe means; the thing itself, not somewhat in order to it. But if you canlay aside that general, confused, undeterminate notion of happiness, asconsisting in such possessions, and fix in your thoughts that it reallycan consist in nothing but in a faculty's having its proper object, youwill clearly see that in the coolest way of consideration, without eitherthe heat of fanciful enthusiasm or the warmth of real devotion, nothingis more certain than that an infinite Being may Himself be, if Hepleases, the supply to all the capacities of our nature. All the commonenjoyments of life are from the faculties He hath endued us with and theobjects He hath made suitable to them. He may Himself be to usinfinitely more than all these; He may be to us all that we want. As ourunderstanding can contemplate itself, and our affections be exercisedupon themselves by reflection, so may each be employed in the same mannerupon any other mind; and since the Supreme Mind, the Author and Cause ofall things, is the highest possible object to Himself, He may be anadequate supply to all the faculties of our souls, a subject to ourunderstanding, and an object to our affections. 

Consider then: when we shall have put off this mortal body, when we shallbe divested of sensual appetites, and those possessions which are now themeans of gratification shall be of no avail, when this restless scene ofbusiness and vain pleasures, which now diverts us from ourselves, shallbe all over, we, our proper self, shall still remain: we shall stillcontinue the same creatures we are, with wants to be supplied andcapacities of happiness. We must have faculties of perception, thoughnot sensitive ones; and pleasure or uneasiness from our perceptions, asnow we have. 

There are certain ideas which we express by the words order, harmony, proportion, beauty, the furthest removed from anything sensual. Now whatis there in those intellectual images, forms, or ideas, which begets thatapprobation, love, delight, and even rapture, which is seen in somepersons' faces upon having those objects present to their minds?--"Mereenthusiasm!"--Be it what it will: there are objects, works of nature andof art, which all mankind have delight from quite distinct from theiraffording gratification to sensual appetites, and from quite another viewof them than as being for their interest and further advantage. Thefaculties from which we are capable of these pleasures, and the pleasuresthemselves, are as natural, and as much to be accounted for, as anysensual appetite whatever, and the pleasure from its gratification. Wordsto be sure are wanting upon this subject; to say that everything of graceand beauty throughout the whole of nature, everything excellent andamiable shared in differently lower degrees by the whole creation, meetin the Author and Cause of all things, this is an inadequate and perhapsimproper way of speaking of the Divine nature; but it is manifest thatabsolute rectitude, the perfection of being, must be in all senses, andin every respect, the highest object to the mind. 

In this world it is only the effects of wisdom and power and greatnesswhich we discern; it is not impossible that hereafter the qualitiesthemselves in the supreme Being may be the immediate object ofcontemplation. What amazing wonders are opened to view by lateimprovements! What an object is the universe to a creature, if there bea creature who can comprehend its system! But it must be an infinitelyhigher exercise of the understanding to view the scheme of it in thatmind which projected it before its foundations were laid. And surely wehave meaning to the words when we speak of going further, and viewing, not only this system in His mind, but the wisdom and intelligence itselffrom whence it proceeded. The same may be said of power. But sincewisdom and power are not God, He is a wise, a powerful Being; the divinenature may therefore be a further object to the understanding. It isnothing to observe that our senses give us but an imperfect knowledge ofthings: effects themselves, if we knew them thoroughly, would give us butimperfect notions of wisdom and power; much less of His being in whomthey reside. I am not speaking of any fanciful notion of seeing allthings in God, but only representing to you how much a higher object tothe understanding an infinite Being Himself is than the things which Hehas made; and this is no more than saying that the Creator is superior tothe works of His hands. 

This may be illustrated by a low example. Suppose a machine, the sightof which would raise, and discoveries in its contrivance gratify, ourcuriosity: the real delight in this case would arise from its being theeffect of skill and contrivance. This skill in the mind of the artificerwould be a higher object, if we had any senses or ways to discern it. For, observe, the contemplation of that principle, faculty, or powerwhich produced any effect must be a higher exercise of the understandingthan the contemplation of the effect itself. The cause must be a higherobject to the mind than the effect. 

But whoever considers distinctly what the delight of knowledge is willsee reason to be satisfied that it cannot be the chief good of man: allthis, as it is applicable, so it was mentioned with regard to theattribute of goodness. I say goodness. Our being and all our enjoymentsare the effects of it: just men bear its resemblance; but how little dowe know of the original, of what it is in itself? Recall what was beforeobserved concerning the affection to moral characters--which, in how lowa degree soever, yet is plainly natural to man, and the most excellentpart of his nature. Suppose this improved, as it may be improved, to anydegree whatever, in the _spirits of just men made perfect_; and thensuppose that they had a real view of that _righteousness which is aneverlasting righteousness_, of the conformity of the Divine will to _thelaw of truth_ in which the moral attributes of God consist, of thatgoodness in the sovereign Mind which gave birth to the universe. Add, what will be true of all good men hereafter, a consciousness of having aninterest in what they are contemplating--suppose them able to say, _ThisGod is our God for ever and ever_. Would they be any longer to seek forwhat was their chief happiness, their final good? Could the utmoststretch of their capacities look further? Would not infinite perfectgoodness be their very end, the last end and object of their affections, beyond which they could neither have nor desire, beyond which they couldnot form a wish or thought?

Consider wherein that presence of a friend consists which has often sostrong an effect as wholly to possess the mind, and entirely suspend allother affections and regards, and which itself affords the highestsatisfaction and enjoyment. He is within reach of the senses. Now asour capacities of perception improve we shall have, perhaps by somefaculty entirely new, a perception of God's presence with us in a nearerand stricter way, since it is certain He is more intimately present withus than anything else can be. Proof of the existence and presence of anybeing is quite different from the immediate perception, the consciousnessof it. What then will be the joy of heart which His presence and _thelight of His countenance_, who is the life of the universe, will inspiregood men with when they shall have a sensation that He is the sustainerof their being, that they exist in Him; when they shall feel Hisinfluence to cheer and enliven and support their frame, in a manner ofwhich we have now no conception? He will be in a literal sense _theirstrength and their portion for ever_. 

When we speak of things so much above our comprehension as the employmentand happiness of a future state, doubtless it behoves us to speak withall modesty and distrust of ourselves. But the Scripture represents thehappiness of that state under the notions of _seeing God_, _seeing Him asHe is_, _knowing as we are known_, _and seeing face to face_. Thesewords are not general or undetermined, but express a particulardeterminate happiness. And I will be bold to say that nothing canaccount for or come up to these expressions but only this, that GodHimself will be an object to our faculties, that He Himself will be ourhappiness as distinguished from the enjoyments of the present state, which seem to arise not immediately from Him but from the objects He hasadapted to give us delight. 

To conclude: Let us suppose a person tired with care and sorrow and therepetition of vain delights which fill up the round of life; sensiblethat everything here below in its best estate is altogether vanity. Suppose him to feel that deficiency of human nature before taken noticeof, and to be convinced that God alone was the adequate supply to it. What could be more applicable to a good man in this state of mind, orbetter express his present wants and distant hopes, his passage throughthis world as a progress towards a state of perfection, than thefollowing passages in the devotions of the royal prophet? They areplainly in a higher and more proper sense applicable to this than theycould be to anything else. _I have seen an end of all perfection_. _Whomhave I in heaven but Thee_? _And there is none upon earth that I desirein comparison of Thee_. _My flesh and may heart faileth_: _but God isthe strength of my heart and my portion for ever_. _Like as the hartdesireth the water-brooks_, _so longeth my soul after Thee_, _O God_. _Mysoul is athirst for God_, _yea_, _even for the living God_: _when shall Icome to appear before Him_? _How excellent is Thy loving-kindness_, _OGod_! _and the children of men shall put their trust under the shadow ofThy wings_. _They shall be satisfied with the plenteousness of Thyhouse_: _and Thou shalt give them drink of Thy pleasures_, _as out of theriver_. _For with Thee is the well of life_: _and in Thy light shall wesee light_. _Blessed is the man whom Thou choosest_, _and receivest untoThee_: _he shall dwell in Thy court_, _and shall be satisfied with thepleasures of Thy house_, _even of Thy holy temple_. _Blessed is thepeople_, _O Lord_, _that can rejoice in Thee_: _they shall walk in thelight of Thy countenance_. _Their delight shall be daily in Thy name_, _and in Thy righteousness shall they make their boast_. _For Thou artthe glory of their strength_: _and in Thy lovingkindness they shall beexalted_. _As for me_, _I will behold Thy presence in righteousness_:_and when I awake up after Thy likeness_, _I shall be satisfied with it_. _Thou shalt shew me the path of life_; _in Thy presence is the fulness ofjoy_, _and at Thy right hand there is pleasure for evermore_. 

Footnotes:

{1} 1 Cor. Xii

{2} Suppose a man of learning to be writing a grave book upon _humannature_, and to show in several parts of it that he had an insight intothe subject he was considering, amongst other things, the following onewould require to be accounted for--the appearance of benevolence or good-will in men towards each other in the instances of natural relation, andin others. {2a} Cautions of being deceived with outward show, he retireswithin himself to see exactly what that is in the mind of man from whencethis appearance proceeds; and, upon deep reflection, asserts theprinciple in the mind to be only the love of power, and delight in theexercise of it. Would not everybody think here was a mistake of one wordfor another--that the philosopher was contemplating and accounting forsome other _human actions_, some other behaviour of man to man? Andcould any one be thoroughly satisfied that what is commonly calledbenevolence or good-will was really the affection meant, but only bybeing made to understand that this learned person had a generalhypothesis, to which the appearance of good-will could no otherwise bereconciled? That what has this appearance is often nothing but ambition;that delight in superiority often (suppose always) mixes itself withbenevolence, only makes it more specious to call it ambition than hunger, of the two: but in reality that passion does no more account for thewhole appearances of good-will than this appetite does. Is there notoften the appearance of one man's wishing that good to another, which heknows himself unable to procure him; and rejoicing in it, though bestowedby a third person? And can love of power any way possibly come in toaccount for this desire or delight? Is there not often the appearance ofmen's distinguishing between two or more persons, preferring one beforeanother, to do good to, in cases where love of power cannot in the leastaccount for the distinction and preference? For this principle can nootherwise distinguish between objects than as it is a greater instanceand exertion of power to do good to one rather than to another. Again, suppose good-will in the mind of man to be nothing but delight in theexercise of power: men might indeed be restrained by distant andaccidental consideration; but these restraints being removed, they wouldhave a disposition to, and delight in, mischief as an exercise and proofof power: and this disposition and delight would arise from, or be thesame principle in the mind, as a disposition to and delight in charity. Thus cruelty, as distinct from envy and resentment, would be exactly thesame in the mind of man as good-will: that one tends to the happiness, the other to the misery, of our fellow-creatures, is, it seems, merely anaccidental circumstance, which the mind has not the least regard to. These are the absurdities which even men of capacity run into when theyhave occasion to belie their nature, and will perversely disclaim thatimage of God which was originally stamped upon it, the traces of which, however faint, are plainly discernible upon the mind of man. 

If any person can in earnest doubt whether there be such a thing as good-will in one man towards another (for the question is not concerningeither the degree or extensiveness of it, but concerning the affectionitself), let it be observed that _whether man be thus_, _or otherwiseconstituted_, _what is the inward frame in this particular_ is a merequestion of fact of natural history not provable immediately by reason. It is therefore to be judged of and determined in the same way otherfacts or matters of natural history are--by appealing to the externalsenses, or inward perceptions respectively, as the matter underconsideration is cognisable by one or the other: by arguing fromacknowledged facts and actions for a great number of actions in the samekind, in different circumstances, and respecting different objects, willprove to a certainty what principles they do not, and to the greatestprobability what principles they do, proceed from: and, lastly, by thetestimony of mankind. Now that there is some degree of benevolenceamongst men may be as strongly and plainly proved in all these ways, asit could possibly be proved, supposing there was this affection in ournature. And should any one think fit to assert that resentment in themind of man was absolutely nothing but reasonable concern for our ownsafety, the falsity of this, and what is the real nature of that passion, could be shown in no other ways than those in which it may be shown thatthere is such a thing in _some degree_ as real good-will in man towardsman. It is sufficient that the seeds of it be implanted in our nature byGod. There is, it is owned, much left for us to do upon our own heartand temper; to cultivate, to improve, to call it forth, to exercise it ina steady, uniform manner. This is our work: this is virtue and religion. 

{2a} Hobbes, "Of Human Nature, " c. Ix. 7. 

{3} Everybody makes a distinction between self-love and the severalparticular passions, appetites, and affections; and yet they are oftenconfounded again. That they are totally different, will be seen by anyone who will distinguish between the passions and appetites _themselves_, and _endeavouring_ after the means of their gratification. Consider theappetite of hunger, and the desire of esteem: these being the occasionboth of pleasure and pain, the coolest self-love, as well as theappetites and passions themselves, may put us upon making use of the_proper methods of obtaining_ that pleasure, and avoiding that pain; butthe _feelings_ themselves, the pain of hunger and shame, and the delightfrom esteem, are no more self-love than they are anything in the world. Though a man hated himself, he would as much feel the pain of hunger ashe would that of the gout; and it is plainly supposable there may becreatures with self-love in them to the highest degree, who may be quiteinsensible and indifferent (as men in some cases are) to the contempt andesteem of those upon whom their happiness does not in some furtherrespects depend. And as self-love and the several particular passionsand appetites are in themselves totally different, so that some actionsproceed from one and some from the other will be manifest to any who willobserve the two following very supposable cases. One man rushes uponcertain ruin for the gratification of a present desire: nobody will callthe principle of this action self-love. Suppose another man to gothrough some laborious work upon promise of a great reward, without anydistinct knowledge what the reward will be: this course of action cannotbe ascribed to any particular passion. The former of these actions isplainly to be imputed to some particular passion or affection; the latteras plainly to the general affection or principle of self-love. Thatthere are some particular pursuits or actions concerning which we cannotdetermine how far they are owing to one, and how far to the other, proceeds from this, that the two principles are frequently mixedtogether, and run up into each other. This distinction is furtherexplained in the Eleventh Sermon. 

{4} If any desire to see this distinction and comparison made in aparticular instance, the appetite and passion now mentioned may serve forone. Hunger is to be considered as a private appetite, because the endfor which it was given us is the preservation of the individual. Desireof esteem is a public passion; because the end for which it was given usis to regulate our behaviour towards society. The respect which this hasto private good is as remote as the respect that has to public good; andthe appetite is no more self-love than the passion is benevolence. Theobject and end of the former is merely food; the object and end of thelatter is merely esteem; but the latter can no more be gratified withoutcontributing to the good of society, than the former can be gratifiedwithout contributing to the preservation of the individual. 

{5} Emulation is merely the desire and hope of equality with orsuperiority over others with whom we compare ourselves. There does notappear to be any other _grief_ in the natural passion, but only _thatwant_ which is implied in desire. However, this may be so strong as tobe the occasion of great _grief_. To desire the attainment of thisequality or superiority by the _particular means_ of others being broughtdown to our own level, or below it, is, I think, the distinct notion ofenvy. From whence it is easy to see that the real end, which the naturalpassion emulation, and which the unlawful one envy aims at, is exactlythe same; namely, that equality or superiority: and consequently, that todo mischief is not the end of envy, but merely the means it makes use ofto attain its end. As to resentment, see the Eighth Sermon. 

{6} Ephes. Ii. 3. 

{7} Every man in his physical nature is one individual single agent. Hehas likewise properties and principles, each of which may be consideredseparately, and without regard to the respects which they have to eachother. Neither of these is the nature we are taking a view of. But itis the inward frame of man considered as a _system_ or _constitution_:whose several parts are united, not by a physical principle ofindividuation, but by the respects they have to each other; the chief ofwhich is the subjection which the appetites, passions, and particularaffections have to the one supreme principle of reflection or conscience. The system or constitution is formed by and consists in these respectsand this subjection. Thus the body is a _system_ or _constitution_: sois a tree: so is every machine. Consider all the several parts of a treewithout the natural reselects they have to each other, and you have notat all the idea of a tree; but add these respects, and this gives you theidea. This body may be impaired by sickness, a tree may decay, a machinebe out of order, and yet the system and constitution of them not totallydissolved. There is plainly somewhat which answers to all this in themoral constitution of man. Whoever will consider his own nature will seethat the several appetites, passions, and particular affections havedifferent respects amongst themselves. They are restraints upon, and arein a proportion to, each other. This proportion is just and perfect, when all those under principles are perfectly coincident with conscience, so far as their nature permits, and in all cases under its absolute andentire direction. The least excess or defect, the least alteration ofthe due proportions amongst themselves, or of their coincidence withconscience, though not proceeding into action, is some degree of disorderin the moral constitution. But perfection, though plainly intelligibleand unsupportable, was never attained by any man. If the higherprinciple of reflection maintains its place, and as much as it cancorrects that disorder, and hinders it from breaking out into action, this is all that can be expected in such a creature as man. And thoughthe appetites and passions have not their exact due proportion to eachother, though they often strive for mastery with judgment or reflection, yet, since the superiority of this principle to all others is the chiefrespect which forms the constitution, so far as this superiority ismaintained, the character, the man, is good, worthy, virtuous. 

{8} Chap. Iii. , ver. 6. 

{9} Job xiii. 5. 

{10} Eccles. X. 3. 

{11} Prov. X. 19. 

{12} Mark xii. 38, 40. 

{13} There being manifestly this appearance of men's substituting othersfor themselves, and being carried out and affected towards them astowards themselves; some persons, who have a system which excludes everyaffection of this sort, have taken a pleasant method to solve it; andtell you it is _not another_ you are at all concerned about, but your_self only_, when you feel the affection called compassion, _i. E. _ Hereis a plain matter of fact, which men cannot reconcile with the generalaccount they think fit to give of things: they therefore, instead of thatmanifest fact, substitute _another_, which is reconcilable to their ownscheme. For does not everybody by compassion mean an affection, theobject of which is another in distress? instead of this, but designing tohave it mistaken for this, they speak of an affection or passion, theobject of which is ourselves, or danger to ourselves. Hobbes defines_pity_, _imagination_, _or fiction of future calamity to ourselves_, _proceeding from the sense_ (he means sight or knowledge) _of anotherman's calamity_. Thus fear and compassion would be the same idea, and afearful and a compassionate man the same character, which every oneimmediately sees are totally different. Further, to those who give anyscope to their affections, there is no perception or inward feeling moreuniversal than this: that one who has been merciful and compassionatethroughout the course of his behaviour should himself be treated withkindness, if he happens to fall into circumstances of distress. Is fear, then, or cowardice, so great a recommendation to the favour of the bulkof mankind? Or is it not plain that mere fearlessness (and therefore notthe contrary) is one of the most popular qualifications? This shows thatmankind are not affected towards compassion as fear, but as somewhattotally different. 

Nothing would more expose such accounts as these of the affections whichare favourable and friendly to our fellow-creatures than to substitutethe definitions, which this author, and others who follow his steps, giveof such affections, instead of the words by which they are commonlyexpressed. Hobbes, after having laid down that pity or compassion isonly fear for ourselves, goes on to explain the reason why we pity ourfriends in distress more than others. Now substitute the word_definition_ instead of the word _pity_ in this place, and the inquirywill be, why we fear our friends, &c. , which words (since he really doesnot mean why we are afraid of them) make no question or sentence at all. So that common language, the words _to compassionate_, _to pity_, cannotbe accommodated to his account of compassion. The very joining of thewords to _pity our friends_ is a direct contradiction to his definitionof pity: because those words, so joined, necessarily express that ourfriends are the objects of the passion; whereas his definition of itasserts that ourselves (or danger to ourselves) are the only objects ofit. He might indeed have avoided this absurdity, by plainly saying whathe is going to account for; namely, why the sight of the innocent, or ofour friends in distress, raises greater fear for ourselves than the sightof other persons in distress. But had he put the thing thus plainly, thefact itself would have been doubted; that _the sight of our friends indistress raises in us greater fear for ourselves than the sight of othersin distress_. And in the next place it would immediately have occurredto every one that the fact now mentioned, which at least is doubtfulwhether, true or false, was not the same with this fact, which nobodyever doubted, that _the sight of our friends in distress raises in usgreater compassion than the sight of others in distress_: every one, Isay, would have seen that these are not the same, but _two different_inquiries; and, consequently, that fear and compassion are not the same. Suppose a person to be in real danger, and by some means or other to haveforgot it; any trifling accident, any sound might alarm him, recall thedanger to his remembrance, and renew his fear; but it is almost toogrossly ridiculous (though it is to show an absurdity) to speak of thatsound or accident as an object of compassion; and yet, according to Mr. Hobbes, our greatest friend in distress is no more to us, no more theobject of compassion, or of any affection in our heart: neither the onenor the other raises any emotion in one mind, but only the thoughts ofour liableness to calamity, and the fear of it; and both equally do this. It is fit such sort of accounts of human nature should be shown to bewhat they really are, because there is raised upon them a general scheme, which undermines the whole foundation of common justice and honesty. See_Hobbes of Human Nature_, c. 9. Section 10. 

There are often three distinct perceptions or inward feelings upon sightof persons in distress: real sorrow and concern for the misery of ourfellow-creatures; some degree of satisfaction from a consciousness of ourfreedom from that misery; and as the mind passes on from one thing toanother it is not unnatural from such an occasion to reflect upon our ownliableness to the same or other calamities. The two last frequentlyaccompany the first, but it is the first _only_ which is properlycompassion, of which the distressed are the objects, and which directlycarries us with calmness and thought to their assistance. Any one ofthese, from various and complicated reasons, may in particular casesprevail over the other two; and there are, I suppose, instances, wherethe bare _sight_ of distress, without our feeling any compassion for it, may be the occasion of either or both of the two latter perceptions. Onemight add that if there be really any such thing as the fiction orimagination of danger to ourselves from sight of the miseries of others, which Hobbes specks of, and which he has absurdly mistaken for the wholeof compassion; if there be anything of this sort common to mankind, distinct from the reflection of reason, it would be a most remarkableinstance of what was furthest from his thoughts--namely, of a mutualsympathy between each particular of the species, a fellow-feeling commonto mankind. It would not indeed be an example of our substituting othersfor ourselves, but it would be an example of user substituting ourselvesfor others. And as it would not be an instance of benevolence, soneither would it be any instance of self-love: for this phantom of dangerto ourselves, naturally rising to view upon sight of the distresses ofothers, would be no more an instance of love to ourselves than the painof hunger is. 

{14} Ecclus. Xxxii. 28. 

{15} Ecclus. Xlii. 24. 

{16} Ver. 4, 5. 

{17} Ver. 6. 

{18} Micah vi. 

{19} Chap. Xxii. 12. 

{20} Ver. 21. 

{21} Chap. Iv. 

{22} Chap. Xxv. 

{23} Chap. Xxxi. 

{24} Chap. Ii. 

{24a} In the Cassell edition the sermons jump from sermon VII to XI withno explanation as to where VIII, IX and X are. I've left the numberingas is in case there is a good reason for it. --DP. 

{25} P. 137. 

{26} Matt. V. 48. 

{27} 1 Cor. Xiii. 

{28} For instance as we are not competent judges, what is upon the wholefor the good of the world, there _may_ be other immediate ends appointedus to pursue, besides that one of doing good or producing happiness. Though the good of the Creation be the only end of the Author of it, yethe may have laid us under particular obligations, which we may discernand feel ourselves under, quite distinct from a perception, that theobservance or violation of them it for the happiness or misery of ourfellow-creatures. And this is in fart the ease, for there are certaindispositions of mind, and certain actions, which are in themselvesapproved or disapproved by mankind, abstracted from the consideration oftheir tendency to the happiness or misery of the world approved ordisapproved by reflection, by that principle within, whirls is the guileof life, the judge of right and wrong. Numberless instances of this kindmight be mentioned. There are pieces of treachery, which in themselvesappear base and detestable to every one. There are actions, whichperhaps can scarce have any other general name given them thanindecencies, which yet are odious and shocking to human nature. There issuch a thing as meanness, a little mind, which as it is quite distinctfrom incapacity, so it raises a dislike and disapprobation quitedifferent from that contempt, which men are too apt to have, of merefolly. On the other hand, what we call greatness of mind is the objectof another most of approbation, than superior understanding. Fidelity, honour, strict justice, are themselves approved in the highest degree, abstracted from the consideration of their tendency. Now, whether it bethought that each of these are connected with benevolence in our nature, amid so may he considered as the same thing with it, or whether some ofthem he thought an inferior kind of virtues and vices, somewhat likenatural beauties and deformities, or lastly, plain exceptions to thegeneral rule, thus such however is certain, that the things now instancedin, and numberless others, are approved or disapproved by mankind ingeneral, in quite another view than as conducive to the happiness ormisery of the world. 

{29} St. Austin observes, Amor ipse ordinate amandus est, quo beneamatur quod amandum sit, ut sit in nobis virtue qua vivitur bene, _i. E. __The affection which we rightly have for what is lovely must ordinatejustly_, _in due manner end proportion_, _become the object of a newaffection_, _or be itself beloved_, _in order to our being endued withthat virtue which is the principle of a good life_. Civ. Dei, 1. Xv. C. 22. 

{30} Job xxii. 

{31} Job ix. 2. 

{32} Eccius. Xliii. 50.