Letter 202
having one rule, the word of God; one guide, even his Spirit, he goes on in child-like simplicity. Continually seeing Him that is invisible, he walks in open day. Looking unto Jesus, and deriving strength from him, he goes on in his steps, in the work of faith, the labor of love, the patience of hope, till he is called up to be ever with the Lord.
O that this were in all points your own character! Surely you desire it above all things. But how shall you attain? Difficulties and hindrances surround you on every side! Can you bear with my plainness? I believe you can. Therefore, I will speak without any reserve. I fear you have scarce one friend who has not more or less of the prudence which is not from above. And I doubt you have (in or near your own rank) hardly one example of true Christian prudence! Yet I am persuaded your own heart advises you right; or rather, God in your heart. O that you may hearken to his voice alone, and let all creatures keep silence before Him! Why should they encumber you with Saul’s armor? If you essay to go forth thus, it will be in vain. You have no need of this, neither of his sword or spear; for you trust in the Lord of hosts. O go forth in his strength! and with the stones of the brook you shall overthrow all your enemies. I am, dear Sir,
Your obedient servant for Christ’s sake.
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CCII. — To ——.
DEAR SIR, DUBLIN, April 18, 1760.
DISCE, docendus adhuc quae censet amiculus; 81 and take in good part my mentioning some particulars which have been long on my mind; and yet I knew not how to speak them. I was afraid it might look like taking too much upon me, or assuming some superiority over you. But love casts out, or at least overrules, that fear. So I will speak simply, and leave you to judge.
It seems to me, that, of all the persons I ever knew, save one, you are the hardest to be convinced. I have occasionally spoken to you on many heads; some of a speculative, others of a practical nature; but I do not know that you was ever convinced of one, whether of great importance or small. I believe you retained your own opinion in every one, and did not vary a hair’s breadth. I have likewise doubted whether you was not full as hard to be persuaded, as to be convinced; whether your will do not adhere to its first bias, right or wrong, as strongly as your understanding. I mean, with regard to any impression which another may make upon them. For perhaps you readily, too readily, change of your own mere motion; as I have frequently observed great fickleness and great stubbornness meet in the same mind. So that it is not easy to please you long; but exceeding easy to offend you. Does not this imply the thinking very highly of yourself? particularly of your own understanding? Does it not imply, what is always connected therewith, something of self-sufficiency? “You can stand alone; you care for no man; you need no help from man.” It was not so with my brother and me, when we were first employed in this great work. We were deeply conscious of our own insufficiency; and though, in one sense, we trusted in God alone, yet we sought his help from all his children, and were glad to be taught by any man. And this, although we were really alone in the work; for there were none that had gone before us therein; there were none then in England who had trod that path wherein God was leading us. Whereas you have the advantage which we had not; you tread in a beaten path; others have gone before you, and are going now in the same way, to the same point. Yet it seems you choose to stand alone; what was necessity with us, is choice with you; you like to be unconnected with any, thereby tacitly condemning all. But possibly you go farther yet: Do not you explicitly condemn all your fellow laborers, blaming one in one instance, one in another, so as to be thoroughly pleased with the conduct of none? Does not this argue a vehement proneness to condemn? a very high degree of censoriousness? Do you not censure even peritos in sud arte? 82 Permit me to relate a little circumstance to illustrate this: After we had been once singing a hymn at Everton, I was just going to say, “I wish Mr. Whitefield would not try to mend my brother’s hymns. He cannot do it. How vilely he has murdered that hymn; weakening the sense, as well as marring the poetry!” But how was I afterwards surprised to hear it was not Mr. Whitefield, but Mr. B! In very deed, it is not easy