prevent the vessel from being broken-broken for ever? The reader may easily make the application. Even heathen moralists, by their fabulous account of the companions of Ulysses turned into swine, upon drinking once of Circe's enchanted cup, teach us that one fall into sensuality turns a man into a brute, just as one slip into unchastity or dishonesty changes a modest woman into a strumpet, or an honest man into a thief. Again: Ought not reason to have as absolute a command over appetite as a skilful rider has over a well-broken horse? But suppose we saw all horsemen universally mastered, one time or other, by their beasts; and forced, though but for a few minutes, to receive the bit, and go or stop at the pleasure of the wanton brutes: should we not wonder, and justly infer, that man had lost the kind of superiority which he still maintains over domestic animals? And what then, but the commonness of the case, can prevent our being shocked, when we see rational creatures overcome and led captive by carnal appetites? Is not this the wanton, rebellious beast mounting upon his vanquished, dastardly rider? We may then conclude that the universal rebellion of our lower faculties against our superior powers, and the triumphs of sense over reason, demonstrate that human nature has suffered as fatal a revolution as these kingdoms did when a degraded king was seen bleeding on the scaffold, and a base usurper lording it in the seat of majesty. FIFTEENTH ARGUMENT. Happy would it be for us if our fall manifested itself only by some transient advantages of sense over reason. But, alas! the experience of the best demonstrates the truth of Isaiah's words: "The whole head is sick." To say nothing of the gross stupidity, and unconquerable ignorance, that keep the generality of mankind just above the level of brutes, how strong, how clear is the UNDERSTANDING of men of sense in worldly affairs! How weak, how dark in spiritual things! How few idiots are there but can distinguish between the shadow and the substance, the cup and the liquor, the dress and the person! But how many learned men, to this day, see no difference between water baptism and spiritual rege. neration, between the means of grace and grace itself, between "the form" and "the power of godliness!" At our devotions is not our mind generally like the roving butterfly: and at our favourite diversions and lucrative business, like the fastening leech? Can it not fix itself on any thing sooner than on "the one thing needful;" and find out any way before that of peace and salvation? What can be more extravagant than our IMAGINATION? How often have we caught this wild power forming and pursuing phantoms, building and pulling down castles in the air! How frequently hath it raised us into proud conceits, and then sunk us into gloomy apprehensions! And where is the man that it never led into such mental scenes of vanity and lewdness, as would have made him the object of universal contempt, if the veil of a grave and modest countenance had not happily con cealed him from public notice? And has our MEMORY escaped unimpaired by the fall? Alas! let us only consider how easily we forget the favours of our Creator, and recol lect the injuries of our fellow creatures; how little we retain of a good book or pious discourse, and how much of a play or frivolous conversation; and how exactly we remember an invitation to a party of pleasure, while the loudest calls to turn to God and prepare for death are no sooner heard than forgotten. Let us, I say, consider these things, and we shall be forced to confess, that this useful power loses like a sieve the living water of truth, drinks in like a sponge the muddy streams of vanity, and is never so retentive as when it is excited by revenge, or some other detestable temper. "A wretch that is condemned to die to-morrow cannot forget it," says Baxter; "yet poor sinners, who are uncertain to live an hour, and certain speedily to see the majesty of the Lord, to their inconceivable joy or terror, can forget these things, for which they have their memory; and which, one would think, should drown the matters of this world, as the report of a cannon does a whisper, or as the sun obscures the poorest glow worm. O wonderful stupidity of an unregenerate soul! O astonishing distraction of the ungodly! That ever men can forget eternal joy, eternal wo, the eternal God, and the place of their unchangeable abode ; when they stand even at the door, and there is but the thin veil of flesh between them and that amazing sight, that eternal gulf, into which thousands are daily plunging!" Nor does our REASON* make us amends for the defects of our other faculties. Its beams, it is true, wonderfully guide some persons through the circle of sciences, and the mazes of commercial or political affairs. But when it should lead us in search of "the truth which is after godliness," unless it is assisted from above, how are its faint rays obstructed by the gross medium of flesh and blood, broken by that of passion, and sometimes lost in that of prejudice! Wise sons of reason, learned philosophers, your two hundred and eighty-eight opinions concerning the chief good, are a multiplied proof of my sad assertion: all miss the mark. Not one of them makes the supreme felicity to consist in the knowledge and enjoyment of God, the amiable and adorable Parent of all good. True reason, alas! is as rare as true piety. The poor thing which, in spiritual matters, the world calls reason, is only the ape of that noble faculty. How partial, how unreasonable is this false pretender! If it does not altogether overlook the awful realities of the Invisible, which is too frequently the case, how busy is it to reason away faith, and raise objections against the most evident truth,‡ even that which I now con By reason, I mean that power by which we pass judgment upon, and draw inferences from, what the understanding has simply apprehended. Our earth's the Bedlam of the universe, YOUNG. ↑ A late publication in vindication of Pelagianism appears to me no small instance of this. The Rev. author takes his estimate of human nature, not from universal experience, but his indulged imagination; not from St. Paul, the chief of the apostles, but from Dr. Taylor, "to whom he acknowledges his obligations for several of the best passages in his sermon." Passing over the exposition of his text, where he boldly supposes that our Lord meant, by the drawings of God, the natural powers of man; which is as reasonable as to suppose that when he tend for! and when right reason has been worsted by sense, how ready is the impostor to plead against the faculty which it personates! How skilful in cloaking bad habits under the genteel name of "human foibles!" And how ingenious in defending the most irrational and dangerous methods of losing time, as "innocent sports and harmless diversions!" These observations, which must appear self evident to all who know the world or themselves, incontestably prove the degeneracy of all our rational powers, and consequently the universality of our natural corruption. SIXTEENTH ARGUMENT. When "the whole head is sick," is not "the whole heart faint?" Can our will, conscience, and affections, run parallel to the line of duty, when our understanding, imagination, memory, and reason, are so much warped from original rectitude? Impossible! Experience, thou best of judges, I appeal to thee. Erect thy fair tribunal in the reader's breast, and bear an honest testimony to the truth of the following assertions:Our WILL, in general, is full of obstinacy. We must have our own said, "Without me you can do nothing," he meant that me should signify our. selves-passing this over, I shall just point out his capital mistake. He tells us that "all our faculties and powers are good and beautiful in their order," (that they were so before the fall is fully granted,) "and tend naturally to the happi. ness both of the individual and the system;" and he adds, that "how weak soever and imperfect our intellectual faculties may be, yet to speak reproachfully of them in general is a species of blasphemy against our Creator." If to expose the present weakness of our rational faculties, and show how greatly they are dis ordered and impaired by the fall, is what this divine calls "speaking reproachfully of them," have not the best men been found guilty of this pretended blasphemy? How far the apostles and reformers carried it may be seen in the first part of this treatise. How he can clear himself of it, as a subscriber to the 9th, 10th, and 35th articles of our Church, I cannot see and by what means he will justify his conduct to the world, in receiving hundreds a year to maintain the doctrine of the Church of England, while he publicly expresses it a species of blasphemy, is still a greater mystery. Far from seeing that all the faculties and powers, by which this is done, are good and beautiful, I cannot help thinking some of them are materially defective; and though such a conduct may very much tend to the emolument of the individual, it has little tendency to the happiness of the system. For my part, were I to commence advocate for the uprightness of human nature, I would save appearances, lest Dr. Taylor himself should say, Non defensoribus istis, fc. But, dropping this point, I appeal to common sense, who is most guilty of blasphemy against our Creator; he who says God made man both holy and happy, affirming that the present weakness of our rational powers is entirely owing to the original apostasy of mankind; or he who intimates that the gra. cious Author of our being formed our intellectual faculties weak and imperfect as they now are? If it is not the latter, my understanding is strangely defective.In vain does this learned divine tell us, that "the candle of the Lord, which was lighted up in man at first, when the inspiration of the Almighty gave him understanding, was not extinguished by the original apostasy, but has kept burning ever since," and "that the Divine flame has catched from father to son, and has been propagated quite down to the present generation:" if it is reasonable to charge with a species of blasphemy those who reverence their Creator too much, to father our present state of imperfection upon him, I must confess my reason fails: I have outlived the Divine flame for one, or it never catched from my father to me. A fear lest some well-meaning person should mistake the taper of Pela. gius, or the lamp of Dr. Taylor, for the candle of the Lord," and follow it in the destructive paths of error, extorts this note from my pen. See the objections that follow the twenty-second argument. way, right or wrong. It is pregnant with inconstancy. We are pas sionately fond of a thing one day, and are tired of it the next. We form good resolutions in the morning, and break them before night. It is impotent. When we see what is right, instead of doing it with all our might, we frequently remain as inactive as if we were bound by invisible chains; and we wonder by what charm the wheels of duty thus stop against our apparent inclinations, till we discover that the spring of our will is broken, or naturally works the wrong way. Yes, it is not only unable to follow the good that the understanding approves, but full of perverseness to pursue the evil that reason disapproves. We are prone to do, contrary to our design, those things which breed remorse and wound conscience; and, sooner or later, we may all say, with the heathen princess, who was going to murder her child,— Nor is CONSCIENCE itself untainted. Alas! how slow is it to reprove in some cases! In others, how apt not to do it at all! In one person it is easy under mountains of guilt; and in another it is unreasonably scrupulous about mere trifles: it either "strains at a gnat," or "swallows a camel." When it is alarmed, in some it shows itself ready to be made easy by every wrong method; in others, it obstinately refuses to be pacified by the right. To-day you may with propriety compare it to a dumb dog, that does not bark at a thief; and to-morrow to a snarling cur, that flies indifferently at a friend, a foe, or a shadow; and then madly turns upon himself, and tears his own flesh. If conscience, the best power of the unconverted man, is so corrupt, good God! what are his AFFECTIONS? Almost perpetually deficient in some, and excessive in others, when do they attain to, or stop at, the line of moderation? Who can tell how oft he has been the sport of their irregularity and violence? One hour we are hurried into rashness by their impetuosity; the next, we are bound in sloth by their inactivity. Sometimes every blast of foolish hope, or ill-grounded fear; every gale of base desire, or unreasonable aversion; every wave of idolatrous love, or sinful hatred; every surge of misplaced admiration, or groundless horror; every billow of noisy joy, or undue sorrow, tosses, raises, or sinks our soul, as a ship in a storm, which has neither rudder nor ballast. At other times we are totally becalmed; all our sails are furled; not one breath of devout or human affection stirs in our stoical, frozen breast; and we remain stupidly insensible, till the spark of temptation, dropping upon the combustible matter in our hearts, blows up again into loud passion; and then, how dreadful and ridiculous together is the new explosion! If experience pronounces that these reflections are just, the point is gained. Our "whole heart is faint," through the unaccountable disorders of our will, the lethargy or boisterous fits of our conscience, and the swooning or high fever of our affections; and we may, without hypocrisy, join in our daily confession, and say, "There is no health in us." If the reader wants to know the English of these words, he may find it, Rom. vii, 15. SEVENTEENTH ARGUMENT. The danger of these complicated maladies of our souls evidences itself by the most fatal of all symptoms, our manifest alienation from God. Yes, shocking as the confession is, we must make it, if truth has any dominion in our breast:-Unrenewed man loves not his God. That eternal Beauty, for whose contemplation, that supreme Good, for whose enjoyment he was created, is generally forgotten, despised, or hated. If the thought of his holy Majesty presents itself, he looks upon it as an intruder. It lays him under as disagreeable a restraint as that which the presence of a grave, pious master, puts upon a wanton, idle servant. Nor can he quietly pursue his sinful courses till he has driven away the troublesome idea; or imagined, with the epicure, a careless God, who wants resolution to call him to an account, and justice to punish him for his iniquity. Does any one offer an indignity to his favourite friend, or only speak contemptibly of the object of his esteem, he feels as if he was the person insulted, and, reddening with indignation, directly espouses his cause. But every body, the meanest of his attendants not excepted, may with impunity insult the King of kings in his presence, and take the most profane liberties with his name and word, his laws and ministers; he hears the wild blasphemy, and regards it not; he sees the horrid outrage, and resents it not; and yet, with amazing infatuation, he pretends to love God! If he goes to the play, he can fix his roving eyes and wandering mind three hours together upon the same trifling objects, not only without weariness, but with uncommon delight. If he has an appointment with a person whom he adores as a deity, his spirits are elevated, expectation and joy flutter in his dilated breast; he sweetly anticipates the pleasing interview, or impatiently chides the slowly flowing minutes: his feelings are inexpressible. But if he attends the great congregation, which he too often omits upon the most frivolous pretences, it is rather out of form and decency, than out of devotion and love; rather with indifference or reluctance, than with delight and transport. And when he is present there, how absent are his thoughts! How wandering his eyes! How trifling, supine, irrelevant his whole behaviour! He would be ashamed to speak to the meanest of his servants with as little attention as he sometimes prays to the Majesty of heaven.* Were he to stare about when he gives them orders, as he does when he presents his supplications to the Lord of lords, he would be afraid that they would think he was half drunk, or had a touch of lunacy. Suppose he still retains a sense of outward decency, while the Church goes through her solemn offices; yet how heavy are his spirits! how heartless his confessions! how cold his prayers! The blessing at last, and he is blessed indeed, not with "the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the fellowship of the Holy Ghost," for that he gladly leaves * Men homage pay to men, Thoughtless beneath whose dreadful eye they bow! YOUNG. comes |