Nineteenth Argument.
If these observations are founded upon matter of fact, as daily experience demonstrates, I appeal to common sense, and ask, Can the natural man, with all his fondness, be said to have a true love even for his nearest relatives? And is not the regard that he manifests for their bodies more like the common instinct by which doves cleave to their mates, and swallows provide for their young, than like the generous affection which a rational creature ought to bear to immortal SPIRITS, awfully hovering in a state of probation, which is just going to turn for hell or heaven! NINETEENTH ARGUMENT.
Nor is it surprising that the unrenewed man should be devoid of all true love for his nearest relations; for he is so completely fallen that he bears no true love even for himself. Let us overlook those who cut their throats; shoot, drown, or hang themselves. Let us take no notice of those who sacrifice a year’s health for a night’s revel; who inflame their blood into fevers, or derive putrefaction in their bones, for the momentary gratification of a shameful appetite; and are so hot in the pursuit of a base pleasure, that they leap after it even into the jaws of an untimely grave. Let us, I say, pass by those innumerable, unhappy victims of intemperance and debauchery, who squander their money upon panders and harlots, and have as little regard for their health as for their fortune and reputation; and let us consider the case of those good-natured, decent persons, who profess to have a real value for both.
Upon the principle laid down in the last argument, may I not ask, What love have these for their immortal part, their true self? What do they do for their souls? Or rather, what do they not leave undone? And who can show less concern for their greatest interest than they?
Alas! in spiritual matters the wisest of them seem on a level with the most foolish. They anxiously secure their title to a few possessions in this transitory world, out of which the stream of time carries them with unabated impetuosity; while they remain stupidly thoughtless of their portion in the unchangeable world into which they are just going to launch;f34 they take particular notice of every trivial incident in life, every idle report raised in their neighbourhood, and supinely overlook the great realities of death and judgment, hell and heaven.
You see them perpetually contriving how to preserve, indulge, and adorn their dying bodies; and daily neglecting the safety, welfare, and ornament of their immortal souls. So great is their folly that earthly toys make them slight heavenly thrones! So wilful their self deception that a point of timef35 hides from them a boundless eternity! So perverted is their moral taste, that they nauseate the word of truth, the precious food of souls, and greedily run upon the tempter’s hook, if it is but made of solid gold; or gilt over with the specious appearance of honour, or only baited with the prospect of a favourite diversion. And while, by uneasy, fretful tempers, they too often impair their bodily health; by exorbitant affections and pungent cares they frequently break their hearts, or pierce themselves through with many sorrows.
Does such a conduct deserve the name of a well-ordered self love, or preposterous self hatred? O man, sinful man, how totally art thou depraved, if thou art not only thy own most dangerous enemy, but often thy most cruel tormentor!
TWENTIETH ARGUMENT.
This depravity is productive of the most detestable brood. When it has suppressed the love of God, perverted the love of our neighbour, and vitiated self love, it soon gives birth to a variety of execrable tempers, and dire affections, which should have no place but in the breasts of fiends, no outbreaking but in the chambers of hell.
If you ask their names, I answer, pride, that odious vice, which feeds on the praises it slily procures, lives by the applause it has meanly courted, and is equally stabbed by the reproof of a friend, and the sneer of a foe. The spirit of independence, which cannot bear control, is galled by the easiest yoke, gnaws the slender cords of just authority, as if they were the heavy chains of tyrannical power; nor ever ceases struggling till they break, and he can say, “Now I am my own master.” Ambition and vanity, which, like Proteus, take a thousand shapes, and wind a thousand ways, to climb up to the high seat of power, shine on the tottering stage of honour, wear the golden badge of fortune, glitter in the gaudy pomp of dress, and draw by distinguishing appearances the admiration of a gaping multitude. Sloth, which unnerves the soul, enfeebles the body, and makes the whole man deaf to the calls of duty, loath to set about his business, (even when want, fear, or shame drives him to it,) ready to postpone or omit it upon any pretence, and willing to give up even the interests of society, virtue, and religion, so he may saunter undisturbed, dose the time away in stupid inactivity, or enjoy himself in that dastardly indolence which passes in the world for quietness and good nature. Envy, that looks with an evil eye at the good things our competitors enjoy, takes a secret pleasure in their misfortunes, under various pretexts exposes their faults, slily tries to add to our reputation what it detracts from theirs, and stings our heart when they eclipse us by their greater success or superior excellences. Covetousness, which is always dissatisfied with its portion, watches it with tormenting fears, increases it by every sordid means, and, turning its own executioner justly pines for want over the treasure it madly saves for a prodigal heir. Impatience, which frets at every thing, finds fault with every person, and madly tears herself under the distressing sense of a present evil, or the anxious expectation of an absent good. Wrath, which distorts our faces, racks our breasts, alarms our households, threatens, curses, stamps, and storms even upon imaginary or trifling provocations. Jealousy, that, through a fatal skill in diabolical optics, sees contempt in all the words of a favourite friend, discovers infidelity in all his actions, lives upon the wicked suspicions it begets, and turns the sweets of the mildest passion into wormwood and gall. Idolatrous love, which preys upon the spirits, consumes the flesh, tears the throbbing heart, and when it is disappointed frequently forces its wretched slaves to lay violent hands upon themselves. Hatred of our fellow creatures, which keeps us void of tender benevolence, a chief ingredient in the bliss of angels; and fills us with some of the most unhappy sensations belonging to accursed spirits. Malice, which takes an unnatural, hellish pleasure in teasing beasts, and hurting men in their persons, properties, or reputation. And the offspring of malice, revenge, f36 who always thirsts after mischief or blood: and shares the only delight of devils, when he can repay a real or fancied injury seven-fold. Hypocrisy, who borrows the cloak of religion; bids her flexible muscles imitate vital piety; attends at the sacred altars to make a show of her fictitious devotion; there raises her affected zeal, in proportion to the number of the spectators; calls upon God to get the praise of man; and lifts up adulterous eyes and thievish hands to heaven, to procure herself the good things of earth. And hypocrisy’s sister, narrow-hearted bigotry, who pushes from her civility and good nature; stops he rears against argument and entreaties; calls huguenots, infidels, papists, or heretics, all who do not directly subscribe to her absurd or impious creeds; dogs them with a malignant eye; throws stones or dirt at them about an empty ceremony, or an indifferent opinion, And, at last, if she can, sets churches or kingdoms on fire, about a turban, a surplice, or a cowl, Perfidiousness, who puts on the looks of true benevolence, speaks the language of the warmest affection; with solemn protestations invites men to depend on her sincerity, while she lays a deep plot for their sudden destruction; and with repeated oaths beseeches Heaven to be witness of her artless innocence, while she moves the centre of hell to accomplish her dire designs. The fatal hour is come: her stratagem has succeeded; and she now kisses and betrays, drinks health and poisons; offers a friendly embrace, and gives a deadly stab. Despair, who scorns to be beholden to mercy, gives a lie to all the declarations issued from the throne of grace, obstinately turns his wild eyes from the great expiatory sacrifice; and at last, impatient to drink the cup of trembling, wildly looks for some weapon to destroy himself. Distraction, begotten by the shocking mixture of two or more of these infernal passions, raised to the highest degrees of extravagance: distraction, that wrings her hands, tears her dishevelled hair, fixes her ghastly eyes, turns her swimming brains, quenches the last spark of reason; and, like a fierce tiger, must at last be chained by the hand of caution, and confined with iron bars in her dreary dwelling.
And, to close the dismal train, self murder, who always points wretched mortals to ponds and rivers, or presents them with cords, razors, pistols, daggers, and poison, and perpetually urges them to the choice of one of them. “You are guilty, miserable creatures,” whispers he: “the sun of prosperity is for ever set: the deepest night of distress is come upon you: you are in a hell of wo: the hell prepared for Satan cannot be worse than that which you feel; but it may be more tolerable: take this, and boldly force your passage out of the cursed state in which you groan.” He persuades, and his desperate victims, tired of the company of their fellow mortals, fly for refuge to that of devils: they shut their eyes; and, horrible to say, but how much more horrible to do! deliberately venture from one hell into another to seek ease; or, to speak with more truth, leap with all the miseries of a known hell, into all the horrors of one which is unknown. And are your hearts, O ye sons of men, the favourite seats of this infernal crew? Then shame on the wretch that made the first panegyric on the dignity of human nature! He proved my point: he began in pride and ended in distraction.
Detestable as these vices and tempers are, where is the natural man that is always free from them? Where is even the child ten years old who never felt most of these vipers, upon some occasion or other, shooting their