Chapter X: The Necessity of divine Grace obligeth all Christians to a constant

The Necessity of divine Grace obligeth all Christians to a constant purity and holiness of Conversation; wherein is shown the great Danger, and great Impiety of reading vain and impertinent Books.

I have shown in the foregoing chapter, that the necessity of divine grace is a mighty argument for an universal care and exactness of life and con versation. I come now to speak to one remarkable branch of it:

Let no corrupt communication proceed out of your mouth, but that which is good to the use of edifying, that it may minister grace to the hearers; and grieve not the Holy Spirit of God, whereby ye are sealed to the day of redemption.

Now if we are to let no corrupt communication proceed out of our mouth, that we may not grieve the Holy Spirit, and separate him from us; then it follows that we are also to deny ourselves the entertainment of all corrupt, impertinent, and unedifying books. For if vain and idle words are not to proceed out of our mouths, we must be under the same necessity of not letting them enter into our hearts.

If we would know what books are to be avoided, as corrupt and grievous to the Holy Spirit, we must look back to the rule of our communication; for as that communication is there said to be corrupt, that does not edify and minister grace to the hearers, so must we look upon all those books as corrupt, which do not improve and confirm our hearts in virtue, or, in the apostle's words, such as do not edify and minister grace to the readers. Now this book-entertainment is as certainly forbidden by the apostle, as cheating is forbidden by the eighth commandment; for if I am not to say foolish and impertinent things myself, because such a communication grieves and removes the Holy Spirit of God; I am as certainly forbid the reading the corrupt and impertinent sayings of other people. The books which mostly corrupt our hearts, and fill us with a spirit of folly, are such as almost all the world allow themselves to read; I mean books of wit and humour, romances, plays, and other productions of the poets. Thus a grave orthodox old gentleman, if he hears that his niece is very good, and delights in reading, will fill her closet with volumes of plays, and poems on several occasions, on purpose to encourage her to spend her time well, There is not, perhaps, a more surprising infatuation in the conduct of Christians, than with regard to these books.

A father would be very much troubled to see his daughter, in conversation, pleased with the lewd remarks of a rake; he would be afraid that she had lost the virtue of her mind, if she could relish such a turn of conversation: yet this same father shall help his daughter to a volume of occasional poems for her closet entertainment, full of such gross immodesties, as hardly any rake would venture to express in any conversation. It is, perhaps, a collection of the poet's finest, strongest, and most finished thoughts in lewdness and immodesty. Every wantonness of imagination, every transport of passion, every extravagance of thought, which ever seized him in his life, is there preserved for the meditation of the Christian reader; as if profaneness, blasphemy, the grossest descriptions of lust, and the wildest sallies of impure passions, were made good and useful for a Christian, by being put into rhyme and measure. And what shows this infatuation in yet higher degree is this, that it is still a prevailing opinion in the world, that the reading virtuous books is a great means of improving in virtue; whereas one would suppose, that the books I have mentioned could only be allowed upon a belief, that there was neither good nor harm to be got by reading.

But however let us remember, that though the way of the world, which is thus inconsistent, may allow this polite kind of entertainment; yet this is no rule or security for our conduct, since we are no more to make the spirit of the world our guide, than we are to make the riches of the world our happiness. The doctrines of the Scriptures are the only rule by which we are now to live, and the rule by which we shall hereafter be judged. Now if we will allow ourselves in the reading, pro- false, impure, and impertinent books, which have every thing in them that can pervert our understandings, and corrupt our hearts; though the Scripture forbids all unedifying discourse, as a thing that grieves the Holy Spirit; it must be said, that we act as contrary to Scripture as if we indulged and pleased ourselves in malice and revenge.

You read a play; I tell you that you read ribaldry and profaneness; that you fill your mind with extravagant thoughts, lewd intrigues, vain fictions, wanton ideas, and impure descriptions. If you ask me where is the sin of this, you may as well ask me where is the sin of swearing and lying: for it is a sin, not only against this, or that particular text, but it is a sin against the whole nature and spirit of our religion; it is a contradiction to all holiness, and to all the methods of arriving at it. For if evil unedifying communication be forbidden in Scripture, and for this reason, because it grieves the Spirit of God; then the entertainment of such books is certainly forbidden. For certainly the wild rant, the profane speeches, filthy jests, and impure passions, which there abound, are an evil communication in the highest degree, and must, therefore, highly grieve and separate the Holy Spirit from us. Can therefore any practice be forbid upon a more dreadful penalty than this? For without the Spirit of God, we are but figures of Christians, and must die in our sins.

If, therefore, we can prove it to be a small matter to grieve the Spirit of God, then we may allow that it is but a small offence to please ourselves in reading those corrupt books. Our blessed Saviour saith, out of the heart proceed evil thoughts, and that these are the things that defile a man; must it not, therefore, be a great defilement to take evil thoughts into our hearts? Need we any other motive than this, to watch and guard the purity of our minds? He that, notwithstanding this doctrine of our Saviour's, dares to set apart times for reading the evil and impure thoughts that are in these books, does as plainly despise the doctrine of Christ as he that murders, despises the doctrine of the sixth commandment.

You will say, perhaps, that you only read these books now and then for amusement, and only to divert your spirits; and that most of the time which you devote to reading, is spent in reading books that may improve your piety. If this be your case, you can say that for yourself which very few can; for the generality of readers make other books their chief and most constant entertainment. But to speak now to your excuse: you only read such books now and then for your amusement, and to divert your spirits; that is, you entertain your mind with evil thoughts, you read, relish, and digest the lewdness, profaneness, and impurity of these books, not with a serious design of making yourself lewd, profane, and impure, but only as it were in jest, and to have a little pleasure from them. Now this is the plain meaning of this excuse, which is as absurd as any thing can well be supposed. It is as if a man, who allows himself now and then to get drunk, and swear, and rant, should say in his excuse, that he is, for the most part, very sober; and that, when he takes these liberties, it is not through any desire or liking of the sin of drunkenness, but only as it were in jest, and through the mere gaiety of his spirits. You will ask, perhaps, if the sin of reading plays be like the sin of drunkenness? I answer, very like it, and perhaps equally grievous to the Spirit of God. For are not evil thoughts, vanity of mind, and impurity of heart, the most dreadful state that we can be in? Can you, therefore, imagine, that the feeding and entertaining your mind with evil thoughts, and impure discourses, is a less sin than drinking too much? What rule of reason or scripture have you to go by in such a judgment? You may fancy that there is something much more gross and shameful in drunkenness than in this practice; but if you would judge, not by fancy, but by the light of religion, you would find that it is a drunkenness and intemperance of the mind, as gross and shameful, as abominable in the sight of God, and as contrary to piety, as that stupid intemperance which consists in drinking too much.

One great shame of drunkenness is this: that it fits us for ribaldry, and all the folly of discourse; that it makes us say silly things ourselves, and be pleased with the most foolish rant, and extravagant nonsense of other people. Are not you, therefore, doing that which is most shameful in drunkenness? And is it not a sign of greater impurity, and greater want of piety, for you coolly and soberly to seek and relish such rant and folly of discourse, such profane jests and wantonness of wit, as men are most pleased with, when drink has made them half mad? Now the liking of such discourse as this makes up great part of the guilt of drunkenness; must it not, therefore, imply a greater guilt in you, who like such foolish discourse when you are sober? Drunken men like ill discourse, because reason and religion have then no power over them; if, therefore, you have as false a judgment, and relish a discourse that is equally foolish and mad, must it not be owing to the same thing, because reason and religion have then no power over you? Drunken men like any sort of madness; they are not nice in their taste; if a discourse be but wild or lewd, they delight in it; but you like only a madness that is put into verse; you only delight in the impure descriptions and ravings of lust, when they are adorned with beautiful expressions, and made musical to the ear. So that the difference betwixt you and a drunken man does not consist in this, that you have a more religious taste, or purity of mind than he; but in this, that he likes all sorts of rant and wan [possibly: fondness] of discourse; but you do not like it, unless it be in rhyme, and divided into acts and scenes. He likes a song because it is a song; but you do not like it, unless its impurity and profaneness be made more charming by soft and dying sounds. If, therefore, a young lady will go to bed with her play, she must not reckon herself better employed than her brother, who is, at the same time, half mad over his bottle. For it is impossible to show, that the entertaining ourselves with such evil thoughts and filthy communications is a less sin, than to be ranting over a bottle. He that can do this may also prove, that it is a less sin to tell a lie when you are sober than when you are drunk.

Again; You say in your excuse, that you only read these books now and then, to divert your spirits, and that you mostly read good books. Now this excuse carries its own conviction; for it acknowledges all that is necessary to condemn it: for it owns that these books are vain and corrupting, that they are of a contrary nature to good books, and naturally produce contrary effects: and you reckon yourself only secure from being hurt by them, for this reason, because your mind is so well seasoned and strengthened by the use of good books. But pray consider the absurdity of all this: for this is saying, I venture into temptations; not because I cannot avoid them, or am ignorant that they are temptations, but because I know myself to be strong. I read impure imaginations, filthy jests, and profane harangues; not because they are an harmless, innocent diversion; but because the purity and piety of my mind is too great to receive the least injury from them.

Now nothing can be conceived more absurd and irreligious than such an excuse as this. Yet what Christian that reads plays can possibly make a better? For to say that our plays are not full of profane rant, filthy jests, and gross descriptions of impurity, is the same thing as to say, that we have no plays in English.

Farther; there is a proper time for every thing that is lawful to be done: now can you tell me when it is proper for a Christian to meditate upon these books? Is it to be left to your temper to entertain yourself as it suits with you, or can your reason point out the convenient seasons for it? If you are blindly to follow your temper; then you are in no better state than other people, who are blindly following other tempers. If your reason can appoint any time for such entertainment, it must be because there is some time that is proper for it. Now the different times or states of our mind may perhaps be all comprehended under some one of these.

There is a time when our hearts are more than ordinarily raised towards God; when we feel the joys and comforts of religion, and enjoy a peace that passes all understanding. Now I suppose reason will not allot this time for the diversion of such books.

There is a time, when either through the neglect of duty, remorse of mind, worldly vexations, bodily tempers, or the absence of God's Spirit, that we sink into dejection and dulness, grow burthensome to ourselves, and can hardly think of any thing with satisfaction. Now if reason is to judge, this is of all times the most improper for such entertainment. For if there is any time that is more proper than another to think upon God, it is when we are in heaviness.

When we are sick, it is time to apply to the physician; when we are weary, it is a proper time to rest; now there is the same natural fitness in having recourse to God and religion, when we are under any dejection of mind. For it is not more the sole property of light to dispel darkness, than it is the property of religion to relieve all uneasiness. Is any one afflicted, says the apostle, let him pray. Now this we are to look upon, not only as a wise advice of something that is very good to be done in affliction; but as a strict command, that leaves us no choice of doing any thing in the stead of it.

It is as absolute a command, as if he said, Hath any one sinned let him repent. For an application to God, is as much the one thing to be done in the hour of trouble, as repentance is the one thing to be done in time of sin. Our blessed Saviour saith, be of good comfort I have overcome the world. He therefore, that in the want of comfort seeks for it in any thing else, but in the redemption of Christ, in his conquest over the world, is no more a true Christian, than he that does not believe in Christ.

You seem to make times of dulness the occasion of your reading those books, by saying that you only read them to divert your spirits; so that, that which you take to be a reason for reading them, is a strong objection against it. For it is never so improper to read those books, as when you want to have your spirits raised, or your mind made easy to itself. For it is the highest abuse you can put upon yourself to look for ease and quiet in any thing, but in right apprehensions of God's providence. And it is a sin against the whole nature of religion, not to make it the whole measure and reason of all your peace, and enjoyment in every occurrence of life.

If you must amuse yourself with a volume of plays, because you are laid up with a broken leg, or have lost a friend, you are as far from wisdom, as a child that is to be made quiet with a rattle, and not much more religious than those who worship idols; for to seek to such things for relief and refreshment, is like applying to the devil in distress. A man that drinks drams every time he is dull or uneasy, is a wise, prudent, and sober man, if compared to the Christian that in seasons of dejection has recourse to wanton wit, and profane rant, to divert his spirits:

he destroys the religion and purity of his mind much more effectually, than the other destroys the constitution and health of his body.

Some people think, that in great distresses it is proper to seek comfort in God and religious reflexions; but that in the little troubles and vexations of life, any thing that can divert the mind from them, is as well. But this is very absurd; for surely if God is our proper and sufficient comfort in great distresses, he must also be our best relief in those that are smaller. Unless it can be said, that the truths of religion are able to make us bear persecution and martyrdom with content, but not great enough to make us easy in little trials.

Secondly, To seek for relief in foolish diversions, is not only applying to a false remedy, but is also destroying the chief power of religion. For as religion has no power over us, but as it is our happiness; so far as we neglect, or refuse to make use of its comforts, so far we lessen and destroy its power over us. For it can no otherwise be the ordinary daily care of our lives, than by being our ordinary happiness and consolation in all the changes and chances of life. A Christian therefore is to make his Christianity his comfort, not only in times of great trial and sufferings, but in all the lesser vexations of life, that by this means every little occasion of grief or disquiet, may be an occasion of his being more affected with religion, and made more sensible of its true comforts.

Thirdly, Those who are for driving away the ordinary cares, and little vexations of human life by diversions, do not enough consider the nature of human life. For the little ordinary troubles of life, make up the whole trouble of life; and the reason why so many people are full of trouble and uneasiness, is because they are unable to bear them, because they do not use the proper means. For since every disquiet is at something or other that concerns our state and condition, there is no way of relieving us from this disquiet, but by getting right notions of our condition. If children were capable of knowing themselves, or could be taught the nature of things, we should not use such methods of pleasing them as we do; but as they cannot think and reflect, we never endeavour to reason them into content; but if they have lost one plaything, we only promise them another. The application is here very easy: for if men will make themselves happy, as children are made happy, not by considering the nature of things, but by a change of amusements, they must also expect to have the vexations and torments of children, and be, like them, laughing and crying at they know not what, all the days of their life. For children are only easily vexed, because they are easily pleased, and it is certain that they who can be pleased with things, without knowing their worth and value, must in the same degree be liable to be displeased at things, without knowing their weight and importance. And as this is the true state of childhood; so whoever is in this state, whatever his age may be, his office, his dignity in life, is yet as truly in the state and folly of childhood, as he that is but four years old: take an instance or two.

A child, whose heart is half broken at some misfortune, may perhaps be made easy with a picture of a huntsman and a pack of hounds; but if you would comfort the father that grieves for his eldest son, the hounds must be all alive, they must cry and run, and follow a hare; and this will make the father as easy as the picture made the child; such happiness will make him bear the loss of his son.

A mother comforts her little girl with a pack of cards that are finely painted: by-and-by she wants to be comforted herself; some great calamity has happened to her. Now you must not think to comfort her with painted cards, or building houses with them; her grief is too great, and she has been too long a mother, to be pleased with such things; it is only serious ombre that can dry her eyes, and remove sorrow from her heart.

I might easily multiply instances of this kind; but these are sufficient to show us, that persons of age and authority often differ only from children, as one child may differ from another. This is the true reason why human life is so full of complaint, why it is such a mixture of ridiculous pleasures, and vain disquiets; namely, because we live in an entire ignorance of the nature of things, never considering why we are pleased with this, or displeased with that, nor any more appeal to religion to correct our judgments, than children appeal to reason to form their tempers. For if we will only play, or lull ourselves into repose, as children are rocked to sleep, it is not to be wondered at, if like them, we cry as soon as we are awake: for every false relief that is not founded in reason, is only adding to the weakness and disorder of our nature, and making us more liable to farther vexations. For it is absolutely certain, that a person, who is made easy by vain and false satisfactions, is in the same degree capable of being made uneasy by vain and ridiculous vexations. They, therefore, who do not think it necessary to apply to religion in all the common and ordinary disquiets of life, mistake the nature of human life, not considering that it is our applying false relief to these, that is the occasion of all our troubles, and that we are weak and impatient, fretful and dissatisfied, for no other reason, but because we never made use of the right remedy against the ordinary accidents of life; for had we but learnt to bear little troubles and disappointments upon right reasons, because we are Christians, and Children of God, we should find but few troubles that would have any great trial in them. And the reason why people seemingly religious, are subject to the same dulness and peevishness, to the same vexations and variety of griefs that other people are, is this, because they make no more use of their religion on these occasions, than other people: they do not so much as intend to keep themselves easy, thankful, and cheerful, by making religion the measure and standard of all their thoughts and judgments, in all the common chances of life, any more than those do, who have no thoughts about religion. And this is the reason why you see them as ridiculous in common life, as vainly pleased, and as foolishly vexed as other people.

For religion makes no farther difference betwixt people, than so far as it is applied. If one man is constant at church, and another is mostly absent, the difference betwixt them may yet be only the difference of frequenting and not frequenting the service of the church. For a religion only, carried thus far, makes no farther difference betwixt people. You must not therefore expect that they must be different persons in the ordinary behaviour of their common life; for they may, notwithstanding this difference, be equally vain and unreasonable in their ways, and equally slaves to the folly and humour of their particular temper. And all this for this plain reason, because religion, like any thing else, can have no effect but where it is applied.

Suppose a person had lame feet, and bad eyes, and that he had an oil that was an infallible cure for them both, when applied to both; if you saw him only using it for his eyes, you would not wonder that it had not cured his feet; you would know that his anointing his eyes could only cure his eyes; and that there was no ground to expect that his feet should be any better, till he anointed his feet.

And all this for this plain reason, because things, however good in themselves, can have no farther effect than as they are applied. Now it is just thus in religion. If it consists only in devotions and public worship, it has made this alteration in a man that it has taught him to attend to devotion and public worship; it has operated so far as he has applied it. But why must you wonder, that he is not of a wise, virtuous, and religious temper, in all the actions of his ordinary life? Is not this wondering why the oil has not cured a man's feet, when he has never applied it to them, but has only anointed his eyes?

When the regular churchman as plainly makes religion the measure of his ordinary life, as he makes it the rule of his going to church: when he as directly uses it to this purpose, as a man anoints his eyes, who would be cured by anointing them: then you will see him as different in his ordinary life from other people, as different in his pleasures and grief, in his cares and concerns, as he is different from them in forms and regularity of worship. But till men do this; till they apply the principles of religion to all the actions of ordinary life; till they make it the measure of all their daily tempers, their joys and fears; till they think there is as much piety in being wise, and holy in their common tempers, as in being devout at church; as much sin in being vainly pleased and foolishly vexed, as in neglecting the divine service; till they thus directly apply religion to common life, as a man applies a remedy to the part that he would have cured; it is no more to be expected, that a religion of forms of worship and devotion should make a man religious in the common judgments and actions of his ordinary life, than it is to be expected that an oil, which is only applied to our eyes, should cure our feet. So that it is the manner of our ordinary life, which carries on a course of fears and cares, pleasures and amusements, loves and hatreds, suitable to our temper and condition of life; it is this manner of our ordinary life, which we think is thus left to ourselves that makes religion so insignificant in the world; it lies by, like a remedy that is unapplied; it has n...effect, because it is used only as a formal thing, that has its devotions and duties at set times and occasions; whereas it should be used and considered as the rule and reason of all our judgments and actions; as the measure of all our cares and pleasures; as the life of our life, the spirit of our spirit, and the very form and essence of all our tempers. It is to be in us, like a new reason and judgment of our minds; that is, to reason and judge of every thing that we do, and to preside over, and govern all the motions of our hearts. Is any one merry, saith the apostle, let him sing psalms; is any one afflicted let him pray. This is religion in the apostle's account; it is not only an attendance at the public worship, but it is the ruling habit of our minds, something that constantly devotes us wholly to God, that allows of no mirth in our common life, but a mirth proper for the brethren of Christ, a mirth that can express itself by a rejoicing in God; that allows of no other cure for grief or vexation, than what is to be had from recourse to God. And, indeed, what can be more senseless and absurd, than to see a Christian ever acting in any other consideration than as a Christian? He is senseless to a degree of madness; when he indulges a thought, or a motion of his heart, when he either takes a pleasure, or relieves a grief, where he cannot say, I do this as a Christian, as suitable to that state in which Christianity has placed me.

We reckon a man sufficiently mad that fancies himself a king, and governing his subjects, at the same time that he is tied to a bed of straw: so that madness consists in mistaking our condition, in having a set of thoughts not suitable to it. Now a Christian repeats every day, I believe in the forgiveness of sin, the resurrection of the body, and the life everlasting; he thanks God for the redemption of Jesus Christ, for the means of grace, and for the hope of glory. Yet, at the same time, in this state of great ness; he fancies himself in a thousand wants and miseries: He cries and labours, and toils for a happiness, that has no existence but in his own imagination; he fancies himself a being, that is to be made happy with sauces and ragouts, with painted clothes, and shining diamonds; he seeks the pleasures of rakes and libertines, is grieved and fretted like a child at the loss of a feather; and must be diverted, as they are, with shows and plays, and imaginary scenes of rant and nonsense.

Now is not such a one mad? Does he not know as little of his state, as the man in straw that fancies himself a king? But for a Christian in times of dulness or vexation, to seek relief in foolish amusements, in the loose, wild discourses of plays, when he should acquaint himself with God, and be at peace, is a degree of madness that exceeds all others; it is acting as contrary to the nature of things, as if a man that had lost the use of his limbs, should choose to comfort his lameness with painted shoes, when he might have the use of his feet restored. For the consolations of religion relieve uneasiness and trouble, as a lame man is relieved when his limbs are restored; they conquer grief, not by cheating and deluding the weakness of our minds, but as the resurrection conquers death, by restoring us to a new and glorious life. If you need any farther conviction, that times of grief and uneasiness are highly improper for these diversions; let me desire you to suppose that you knew a Christian, who in his last hours, sent for buffoons and jugglers to divert his mind from the apprehensions of death. I dare say you have religious arguments enough, to prove such a practice to be stupid and profane in the highest degree. But perhaps you are not aware, that every argument against such a practice as this, concludes as strongly against the same practice at any other time of our life. Try therefore with yourself, if every good argument against such folly when we are dying, will not be the same argument against the same folly in any other part of our life. For every argument that shows the impiety and folly of applying to foolish diversions when we are under the troubles of death, will show the same impiety and folly of applying to such relief in any troubles of life. For to imagine that we may be ridiculous and vain, and foolish in the troubles of life; but serious, holy, and religious in the troubles of death, is the same folly and absurdity, as to suppose, that we must be devout and penitent on our death-beds, but need not be devout and penitent in the other parts of our life. For as there is no religion or repentance on our death-bed, but what ought to be the religion of our lives; so is there no wisdom or seriousness, or application to God in the sorrows of death, but what is equally necessary and proper in all the sorrows of life. For we are obliged to live unto God in the same manner that we are to die unto God. For why must I think rightly of death? Why must I then apply to God? Why must I reason and judge rightly at that time? Why may I not then divert my mind with loose and impertinent entertainments? Now give but the true reason of this, and you will give the reason why I am always to live in the same manner. For as the reasons of wisdom and holiness are not founded in death, so do they receive no alteration by the approach of death; there is no wisdom and holiness but what is equally necessary, whether I am twenty years or twenty days from death. Death may bring me into a greater fear of folly, but it does not bring me into a greater necessity of avoiding it than I was in before; because all the reasons of piety, wisdom, and devotion to God, have been equally reasons all my life; for the holiness and wisdom of persons in health, is as necessary, and as much the terms of acceptance with God, as the holiness and wisdom of dying persons. And he that dares to be foolish and vain, and seeks impertinent entertainments, because he is strong and in health, is governed by the same spirit, and sins against the same reasons of piety, as he that dares to be vain, foolish, and impertinent at the approach of death. When therefore you think fit to amuse yourself with foolish diversions, and drive away what you may call dull hours, with the impertinent and wild imaginations of plays, amp;c. you must remember, that you are under the same condemnation as they are, who apply to the same relief to ease them of the thoughts of death. For as we always stand in the same relation to God, as he is as much the true happiness of living, as of dying men; so wisdom and holiness, and right dispositions of our minds, are always duties of the same necessity.

If it were ever lawful to forget our happiness in God, and seek for a ridiculous happiness in vain and extravagant diversions; if it were ever proper to live in this temper, it would be equally proper to die in the same temper. For we are not upon any new terms with God at our death, nor under any other obligations, but such as are equally necessary to make us live in his favour.

We often wonder at the worldly-mindedness, the hardness, impenitence, and insensibility of dying men. But we should do well to remember, that worldly-mindedness, folly, impenitence, vanity, and insensibility, are as much to be wondered at in living, healthful men; and that they are the same odious sins, and as contrary to all sense and reason, and make us as unlike to God at one time as at another.

Either therefore you must say, that plays and such like books are proper meditations for dying men; that they keep up a right turn of mind, and do not render the soul unacceptable to God; or else you must own, that they are also improper at all other times. For any thing that indulges a state of mind that is not according to the wisdom and holiness of religion, is equally unlawful at all times. Again; do but consider your own notions that you have of plays, and you will find, that if you was consistent with yourself, you would never read them. Not only you, but the generality of readers, would think it very improper, and contrary to piety, to read plays on the Sunday. Now I would have you ask yourself, why it would be so irreligious to read these books on the Sunday? Is it because there is such a contrariety betwixt the subjects of such books, and the design of the Sunday? Is it because they are contrary to such meditations as we should make on that day? Is it because they are vain, and loose and profane, full of impure thoughts and wanton descriptions? There can be no possible reason given, why we may not read these books on the Sunday, but because they are thus contrary to piety. Need a Christian therefore have any other argument to persuade him to refrain from these books? Is it not a sufficient proof that they are never to be read, because they are not to be read [possibly: on the Sunday], because his mind ought to have a religious turn? Can these books be more thoroughly condemned, than by being thought too bad to be opened on the Sunday? Or need we only stay till Monday, to be vain and foolish; to put on a new temper, and take delight in such thoughts and reflexions, as we durst not touch the day before? If therefore we would be consistent with ourselves, we must either prove, that plays, and such like books, are proper meditations for pious Christians, fit for the piety and devotion of the Sunday; or else acknowledge, that they are equally unfit for their entertainment at any other time: for it is manifestly certain, that we are to indulge no temper of mind on any day, that we may not improve and delight in on the Sunday.

For to suppose that we are to have a new heart and mind on the Sunday, different from that taste and temper which we may indulge all the week, is the same folly as to suppose that we need only be Christians on the Sunday; The difference betwixt Sundays and other days, does not consist in any difference in the inward state of our minds, but in the outward circumstances of the day; as a general rest from our lawful callings, and a public celebration of divine worship. This is the particular holiness of the Sunday, which requires a particular rest from labour, and attendance at divine worship; but requires no particular inward holiness of the mind, but such as is the necessary holiness of every day. So that whatever is contrary to that holiness, purity, and wisdom of mind, which is to be our temper on the Sunday, is as much to be abhorred and avoided all the week as on the Sunday; because though Sunday differs from other days in outward marks of holiness, yet Christians are to be every day alike as to the inward state and temper of their minds.

Therefore, though the labours of our ordinary employment and other actions are to be forborne on the Sunday, and yet are very lawful on other days; yet the case is very different as to these books; they are unfit to be read at any time, for the same reason that they are not fit to be read on Sundays.

And the reason is this, because though we may do things on the week-days, that we ought not to do on the Sunday, yet we must indulge no temper; nor support any turn of mind, that is contrary to that purity of heart and mind which we are to aspire after on the Sunday. We may labour on the week days, because labour is an external action, that is not contrary to any purity or holiness of mind; but we must no more be covetous on the week days than on Sundays, because covetousness is a temper of the mind, a wrong disposition of the heart, that is equally contrary to religion on all days.

Now reading is not the labour of our hands, or our feet; but is the entertainment and exercise of the heart and mind; a delight in either good or bad books, is as truly a temper, and disposition of the heart, as covetousness and pride is a disposition of the heart. For the same reason, therefore, that pride and covetousness are constantly to be avoided on every day of our lives, because they are wrong tempers of the mind, and contrary to essential holiness; for the same reason is the pleasure of reading ill and corrupt books, always to be avoided at all times, because it is a temper and disposition of our hearts that is contrary to that state of holiness which is essential to Christianity.

If you was to hear a Christian say, that on Sundays he abstained from evil speaking, and corrupt communication, but not on the week days, you would think him either very ignorant of the nature of religion, or very profane. Yet this is as wise and religious as to forbear reading ill books, and wanton poems, only on Sundays, and to take the liberty of reading them at other times. For that vanity of mind, that foolishness of heart, that depraved taste, which can relish the wild fictions, the lewd speeches, the profane language of mad heroes, disappointed lovers, raving in all the furious expressions of lust, and passion, and madness, is as corrupt a temper, as contrary to holiness, and as odious on its own account, as evil speaking and malice.

When therefore you see a person reading a play as soon as he comes from the Sunday's solemnity of public service, you abhor his profaneness; but pray be so just to yourself, so consistent with common sense, as to think every one liable to the same accusation that delights in the same book on any other time of the week; and that the difference of reading plays on week days, and not on Sundays, is only the difference of speaking evil on week days, and not on Sundays.

From these reflections, I hope, it sufficiently appears, that the reading vain and impertinent books is no matter of indifference; but that it is justly to be reckoned amongst our greatest corruptions; that it is as unlawful as malice and evil speaking, and is no more to be allowed in any part of our life than pride or covetousness.

Reading, when it is an exercise of the mind upon wise and pious subjects, is, next to prayer, the best improvement of our hearts; it enlightens our minds, collects our thoughts, calms and allays our passions, and begets in us wise and pious resolutions; it is a labour that has so many benefits, that does so much good to our minds, that it ought never to be employed amiss; it enters so far into our souls, that it cannot have a little effect upon us. We commonly say, that a man is known by his companions, but it is certain, that a man is much more known by the books that he converses with. These closet-companions, with whom we choose to be alone, and in private, are never-failing proofs of the state and disposition of our hearts.

When we are abroad, we must take such as the world gives us; we must be with such people, and hear such discourse, as the common state of our life exposes us to. This is what we must bear with, because not altogether to be avoided; and as it is not altogether matter of choice, so it is no proof of what temper we are of. But if we make our closet an entertainment of greater variety and impertinence than conversation we can meet with abroad; if rakish, libertine writers are welcome to us in secret; if histories of scandal and romantic intrigues are to be with us in our private retirements; this is a plain discovery of our inside, and is a manifest proof that we are as vain, and foolish, and vicious, as the authors that we choose to read. If a wanton poem pleases you, you may fairly reckon yourself in the same state and condition with him that made it. In like manner, if histories of nonsense and folly; if compositions of intrigue and scandal suit your temper, such books do as truly represent your nature as they represent the nature of their authors.

Julia has buried her husband, and married her daughters; since that she spends her time in reading. She is always reading foolish and unedifying books; she tells you every time she sees you, that she is almost at the end of the silliest book that ever she read in her life; that the best of it is, it is very long, and serves to dispose of a good deal of her time. She tells you, that all romances are sad stuff, yet is very impatient till she can get all that she can hear of. Histories of intrigue and scandal are the books that Julia thinks are always too short. If Julia was to drink drams in private, and had no enjoyment herself without them, she would not tell you this, because she knows it would be plainly telling you that she was a poor disordered sot. See here, therefore, the weakness of Julia; she would not be thought to be a reprobate; yet she lets you know, that she lives upon folly and scandal, and impertinence in her closet; that she cannot be in private without them; that they are the only support of her dull hours; and yet she does not perceive, that this is as plainly telling you, that she is in a miserable, disordered, reprobate state of mind.

To return: It is reckoned very dangerous not to guard our eyes; but it is much more dangerous not to guard our meditations; because whatever enters that way, enters deeper into our souls than any thing that only affects our sight. Reading and meditation is that to our souls, which food and nourishment is to our bodies, and becomes a part of us in the same manner; so that we cannot do ourselves either a little good, or little harm, by the books that we read.

You, perhaps, think, that it is a dull task to read only religious and moral books; but when you have the spirit of religion; when you can think of God as your only happiness; when you are not afraid of the joys of eternity; you will think it a dull task to read any other books. Do not fancy, therefore, that your heart is right, and that you are well enough affected with religion, though you had rather read books upon other subjects; for it is there that you are to charge your dullness; religion has no hold of you; the things of eternity are not the concerns of your mind; it is dull and tiresome to you to be wise and pious; and that makes it a dull task to read books that treat only upon such subjects. When it is the care of your soul to be humble, holy, pious, and heavenly-minded; when you know any thing of the guilt and misery of sin, or feel a real desire of salvation, you will find religious books to be the greatest feast and joy of your mind.

If you think it dull and tedious to be in wise, prudent, and sober company, it is because you are neither wise nor sober yourself; so if it is dull and tiresome to you, to be often upon subjects of piety and religion, it is as sure a proof that you are neither pious nor religious. If, therefore, you can suppose, that a wise and sober man may be most delighted with the noise and revelings of drunkenness; then you may suppose, that it is possible for you to be truly religious, and yet be most pleased with the folly and impertinence of corrupt and unedifying books. You, perhaps, will say, that you have so much spare time for reading, that you think you need not employ it all in reading good books. It may be so; you may have also more time than you need devote to acts and offices of charity; but will you thence conclude, that you may, at those times, do things contrary to charity, and indulge yourself in spite and malice.

If you have every day more time than you can employ in reading, meditation, and prayer, if this time hangs upon your hands, and cannot be turned to any advantage, let me desire you to go to sleep, or pick straws; for it is much better to do this than to have recourse to corrupt and impertinent books. Time lost in sleep, or picking straws, is better lost than in such exercises of the mind. Consider farther, that idle and spare time is a dangerous state, and calls for great care and watchfulness; to have recourse then to evil and impertinent books, is like inviting the devil because you are alone. If you could read ill books when you were in haste, or in a hurry of other matters, it would do you much less harm than to read them because your time hangs upon your hands. So that that season which you take to be an excuse for such reading, is a stronger argument against it; because evil thoughts and vain subjects have twice the effect, and make double impressions, when they are admitted at times of leisure and idleness. Consider again, to what a miserable unchristian state you are reduced, when you are forced to have recourse to foolish books to get rid of your time. Your fortune, perhaps, has removed you from the necessity of labouring for your bread; you have been politely educated in softness; you have no trade or employment to take up your time; and so are left to be devoured by corrupt passions and pleasures. Whilst poor people are at hard labour; whilst your servants are drudging in the meanest offices of life; you, oppressed with idleness and indulgence, are relieving yourself with foolish and impertinent books, feeding and delighting a disordered mind with romantic nonsense, and poetic follies. If this be the effect of riches and fortune, only to expose people to the power of disordered passions, and give them time to corrupt their hearts with madness and folly, well might our blessed Lord say, Wo unto you that are rich!

When you see a poor creature drudging in the meanest offices of life, and glad of the dirtiest work to get his bread, you are apt to look upon him as a miserable wretch; it raises a mixture of pity and contempt in you; and you hardly know whether you pity or disregard him most. But remember, that every time you see such a person, you see a more reasonable creature than yourself, and one that is much more nobly employed than you are. He is acting conformably to the state of human life, and bearing a hard part with patience; he is doing a work, which, mean as it is, will be looked upon as done unto the Lord; whilst you, idling in softness and pleasures, are unable to bear your time, unless it be stolen away from you by foolish, corrupt, and unedifying books.

Fancy that you saw a patient Christian, old, broken, and crooked, with carrying burdens all his life: fancy that you saw another Christian lolling in state and softness, and making every day a day of vanity and impertinence, of foolish readings, and vain imaginations; which of them do you think is most likely to die into the hands of good angels, and be carried into Abraham's bosom.

But after all, what a vain imagination is it to think that you have any such thing as spare time. Is there any time for which you are not accountable to God? Is there any time which God has so left to your own disposal, that you may sacrifice it to the indulgence of vain tempers, and the corruption of your heart? You can no more show this than you can show, that all your time is your own. To talk therefore of spare time, is to talk of something that never did, nor ever will, belong to any Christian. You may have a spare time from this or that labour or necessity; you may abate or change any particular exercise; you may leave off this or that way; you may take this or that refreshment; you have all these spare times from particular actions, but you have no spare time that releases you from the laws of Christianity, or that leaves you at liberty not to act by the principles of religion and piety.

You have a spare time to recreate and refresh yourself, but this time is to be governed by the same principles of religious wisdom, as the time Do you think that a poor slave would displease God by refusing to act in that painful drudgery that is fallen to his share? And do you think that God will not be more displeased with you, if you refuse to act your full part in the best of labours, or neglect that happy joyful business of doing good, which your state of life has called you to? Is it expected that poor people should make a right use of their condition, and turn all their labour into a service unto God? And can you think that you are not obliged to make the proper improvement of your condition, and turn all your rest, and ease, and freedom from labour, into a service unto God? Tell me, therefore, no more that you indulge yourself in idle amusements, in vain, corrupt, and unedifying books, because you have spare time; for it is absolutely false to say, that you have any such thing; it is also saying, that because God has given you spare time from servile labour, that you may choose the best ways of life, devote yourself to the most divine exercises, and become eminent and exemplary in all the instances of a holy and heavenly life; therefore you presume to throw it away in idleness and impertinence. __________________________________________________________________