Chapter VIII: The Subject of Self-denial farther continued.

The Subject of Self-denial farther continued.

THERE are no truths of Christianity more plainly delivered in the Scriptures, or more universally acknowledged by all Christians than these two, viz. the general corruption of human nature, and the absolute necessity of divine grace. Now these two doctrines make the reason and necessity of a continual self-denial plain and obvious to the meanest capacity, and extend it to all those things or enjoyments, which either strengthen the corruption of our nature, or grieve the Holy Spirit of God, and cause him to leave us.

Let any one but reflect upon the nature of these two fundamental truths, and he will find himself soon convinced, that all those enjoyments are to be abstained from, which either support our natural blindness and corruption, or resist and abate the inspirations of the Holy Spirit.

He will find also, that this self-denial must extend itself to every day of our lives, unless he can find a day when he is free from weakness, or out of the way of all temptations; a day which offers nothing suitable to the corruption of his nature, or nothing contrary to the good motions and directions of the Holy Ghost. Most people acknowledge this in general, they think it right to avoid things which strengthen our corruption, and grieve the Spirit of God; but then not conceiving this with any sufficient exactness, they think that an abstinence from gross sins is a sufficient security.

But let such people consider, that the corruption of our nature is like any other bodily illness, that never keeps at one stand, but is either increasing or abating by every thing that we do.

A dropsy or a gangrien is not only increased by drunkenness, or disorderly indulgences, but receives constant strength by all little indulgences that suit with it.

Now the corruption of our nature is an inbred distemper, that possesses us in the manner of a dropsy or gangreen; if we give it to notorious sins, we become slaves to this corruption, and are strait-way dead in sin.

But though we keep clear of such great offences, yet if we indulge or allow ourselves in such practices as suit with the corruption of our nature, we as certainly nourish a slow death, and destroy ourselves by degrees, as a man in a dropsy, who abstains from drunkenness, yet allows himself in such ways as will not suffer his distemper to abate.

Now as little allowances that continually increase a distemper, will as certainly in time make it mortal, as if it had been urged on by violent methods, so little indulgences, which increase the corruption of our nature, as certainly tend to a spiritual death, as other more irregular methods.

It is therefore absolutely certain, that our self-denial is to be universal, as the means of our corruption, that it is to last as long as our disorder; and is to extend itself to every thing and every way of life that naturally increases it; and this, for as necessary a reason, as a man in a dropsy is not only to abstain from drunkenness, but from every indulgence that increases his distemper.

A state of regimen, therefore, that is, a state of holy discipline, is as necessary to alter the disorder of our nature, as it is necessary to remove any distempered habit of body.

Let it be considered, that the corruption of our nature is but very weakly represented by comparing it to these distempers, that they rather express the manner of its cure, and the necessity of labouring after it, than set forth the degree of the disorder.

For a man in these distempers may have only some part affected with them, but the corruption of our natures is as extensive as our natures: it is the corruption of every faculty and every power; it is blindness in our understandings; it is vanity in our wills; intemperance in our appetites; it is self-love, anger, lust, pride, and revenge, in our passions; it is falseness, hypocrisy, hatred, and malice in our hearts. Now all this, and more than this, makes the miserable corruption of human nature.

So that it is necessary that our lives be a state of regimen, that we live by such rules as are contrary to this variety of disorders, as it is necessary for a man under a complication of habitual distempers to enter into a course of regularity.

I suppose it will be readily granted, that all tempers are increased by indulgence, and that the more we yield to any disposition, the stronger it grows; it is therefore certain, that self-denial is our only cure, and that we must practise as many sorts of self-denial, as we have ill tempers to contend with.

Pride, hypocrisy, vanity, hatred, and detraction, are all disorderly indulgences, and have their only cure in self-denial, as certainly as drunkenness and sensuality.

To deny one's self all indulgences of pride and vanity, all instances of falseness and hypocrisy, of envy and spight, requires greater care and watchfulness, and a more continual self-denial, than to avoid the motives to intemperance.

And he that thinks to render himself humble any other way, than by denying himself all instances of pride, is as absurd as he who intends to be sober, without abstaining from all degrees of intemperance. For humility as truly consists in the practice of things that are humble, as justice consists in the doing things that are just.

Every virtue is but a mere name, and empty sound, till it shows itself by an abstinence from all indulgences of the contrary vices, till it is founded in this self-denial.

Now this is readily granted to be true in all sensual vices, that they are only to be cured by a perpetual self-denial.

But the practice of the same self-denial is as absolutely required, to destroy every ill temper of the mind, as any sort of sensuality.

Self-love, pride, vanity, revenge, hypocrisy, and...malice, are acknowledged to be very gross sins, and indeed they are of the very nature of the devil, and as certainly destroy the soul, as murder and adultery.

But the misfortune is, that we govern ourselves in these tempers, not by what is sinful according to the principles of religion, but by what is odious in the eyes of the world. We do not labour to avoid the sin, but are content to avoid what is scandalous in it.

Thus for instance, people would not be thought proud; but then they are afraid of no degrees of it, but such as the world condemns: they do not form their lives by the Scripture-rules of humility, but only endeavour to be decent and fashionable in their pride.

Others would be very sorry to be remarked for an envious and malicious spirit, who, at the same time, make the faults of their acquaintance the pleasure of their lives, and turn all their conversation into evil-speaking and detraction.

Now all this proceeds from hence, that they govern themselves by the spirit of the world: the world allows of evil-speaking and detraction, and therefore they practise it openly, though it is as contrary to religion as murder and injustice.

And thus it will be with all these wicked tempers, till we practise an universal self-denial, and labour after a religious perfection in all our ways of life.

We are certainly under habits of pride, till we are governed by humility; and we are not governed by humility, till we deny ourselves, and are afraid of every appearance of pride, till we are willing to comply with every thing and every state, that may preserve and secure our humility.

No man is governed by a religious justice, till he is exact in all degrees of it; till he denies himself all approaches towards injustice; till he fears and...abhors every appearance of fraud and crafty management. Now it is this temper and state of mind, that is the measure of every virtue.

A common liar may hate some sort of lies; an unjust man may avoid some sort of injustice; so a proud person may dislike some instances of pride; but then he has no more title to humility, than an unjust man has a title to integrity, because there are some sorts of injustice that he avoids.

So that it is not any single acts, or any particular restraints; but it is an uniform state and temper of the mind, that stands constantly disposed to every degree of humility, and averse from every degree of pride, that is to denominate a person to be truly humble.

To measure any virtuous temper by any other standard than this, is not to measure ourselves by religion. How can any one be said to be religiously chaste, unless he abhors and avoids all instances of lewdness and impurity? How could he be said to be sincerely pious, unless he was fearful of every occasion of sin?

Must it not therefore be the same in humility and every other virtue? Can any one be reckoned truly humble, till he denies himself all instances of pride?

Self-denial therefore is so universally necessary, that it is the foundation of every virtue: humility and charity requiring more self-contradiction and self-denial, than the strictest temperance.

From these observations we may be able to pass a true judgment upon ourselves as to our state of virtue. If we are denying ourselves, we are so far labouring after virtue: but if self-love, if idleness and indulgence, be the state of our lives, we may be sure that we are as distant from true religion, as the sot is distant from strict temperance.

A life of idleness, indulgence, and self-love, is an entire resignation of ourselves to every vice, excep such as cannot be committed without trouble; and we may assure ourselves, that if we are in this state, we are not only strangers to virtue, but ready for every sin that suits with ease and softness.

Persons of this turn of mind, lose the very form of piety, and find it too great a contradiction to their idleness to comply with the very outward appearance of religion. They would be oftener at church, but it may be their seat is crowded, and they can sit with more ease by their fire-side at home. They would be more exact in kneeling when they are there, if they had always the same ease in kneeling.

I mention these particulars, as only small instances of that general deadness and indisposition towards all parts of religion, which this spirit of idleness and indulgence creates. For it affects people in the same manner as to every other part of their duty, and makes them incapable of attending to it. For a person, that is too idle and self-indulgent to undergo the constant trouble of public worship, must be at a great distance from those virtues, which are to be acquired by care and watchfulness, which are to crucify us to the world, and make us alive unto God.

Ambition and worldly cares distract the mind, and fill it with false concerns; but even these tempers are in a nearer state to religion, and less indispose the soul to it, than idleness and indulgence. For ambition and worldly cares, though they employ the mind wrong, yet as they employ it, they preserve some degree of activity in it, which by some means or other may happen to take a right turn; but idleness and indulgence is the death and burial of the soul.

I have been more particular upon this temper, because it is so common, and even acknowledged without shame. People, who would not be thought reprobates, are yet not afraid to let you know that they hardly do any thing but eat, and drink, and sleep, and take such diversions as suit with their ease; whereas if such a state of life be examined by the rules of reason and religion, it will appear as dangerous and frightful, as any other reprobate state of sin. For it is a state that nourishes all the corruptions of our nature; that exposes us all to the vanity of the world; that resigns us up to all the power of the devil.

Did we design to set ourselves in the fairest posture for the devil to hit us, we ought to choose that of idleness and indulgence.

Watch and pray, saith our Saviour, that ye fall not into temptation. The devil's advice is, be idle and indulge, and then ye will yield to every temptation. For if watching and prayer have any tendency to prevent our falling into temptation, it is certain that idleness and indulgence must, in an equal degree, make us incapable of resisting them.

To return: as certain therefore as our nature is in a state of corruption, as certain as this corruption consists in ill tempers and inclinations; so certain is it, that if we would not die in our sins, we must enter upon such a course of life as is a state of denial, not only to this or that, but to all those corrupt tempers and inclinations.

For since man is only a compound of corrupt and disorderly tempers, it is as necessary to deny himself, as to resist evil; and he is indeed only so far virtuous, as he has put off himself, and is guided and governed by another spirit.

When we speak of self-denial, we are apt to confine it to eating and drinking; but we ought to consider, that though a strict temperance be necessary in these things, yet these are the easiest and smallest instances of self-denial; pride, vanity, self-love, covetousness, envy, and other inclinations of the like nature, call for a more constant and watchful self-denial, than the appetites of hunger and thirst Till therefore we make our self-denial as universal as our corruption; till we deny ourselves all degrees of vanity and folly, as earnestly as we deny ourselves all degrees of drunkenness; till we reject all sorts of pride and envy, as we abhor all kinds of gluttony; till we are exact in all degrees of humility, as we are exact in all rules of temperance; till we watch and deny all irregular tempers, as we avoid all sorts of sensuality, we can no more be said to practise self-denial, than he can be said to be just, who only denies himself the liberty of stealing.

And till we do enter into this course of universal self-denial, we shall make no progress in true piety, but our lives will be a ridiculous mixture of I know not what: sober and covetous, proud and devout, temperate and vain, regular in our forms of devotion, and irregular in all our passions, circumspect in little modes of behaviour, and careless and negligent of tempers, the most essential to piety.

And thus it will necessarily be with us, till we lay the axe to the root of the tree; till we deny and renounce the whole corruption of our nature, and resign ourselves up entirely to the Spirit of God, to think, and speak, and act, by the wisdom and purity of religion.

Let it be supposed, that religion required us to forget a language that we loved and had been bred in, and constantly to speak in a language that was new and difficult.

Could we possibly forget our former language that we loved, and was natural to us, any other way than by denying ourselves the liberty of ever speaking it?

Could we forget it by only forbearing to use it on some particular occasions? Would it not be as necessary to abstain from thinking, reading, and writing in it, as to abstain from using it in conversation? Could we render our new language any other way...habitual or natural to us, than by making it the language of all seasons.

Now this may teach us the absolute necessity of an universal self-denial, for though religion does not command us to part with an old language that we love, yet it commands us to part with an old nature, and to live and act by a new heart and a new spirit.

Now can we think to part with an old nature, by fewer rules of abstinence, than are necessary to get rid of an old language? Must we not deny ourselves the liberty of ever acting according to it? Can we get rid of it, by only denying it in particular instances? Must it not be as necessary to abstain from all its ways of thinking and wishing, liking and disliking, as to practise any abstinence at all? For if the whole is to be changed, if a new heart is to be obtained, we are doing nothing, whilst we only renounce it in part, and can no more be said to live by a new heart, than they can be said to speak only a new language, whose general conversation is in their old natural tongue.

Indeed, a little attention to the nature of man, and the nature of Christianity, will soon convince us that self-denial is the very substance, the beginning and ending of all our virtues. For,

First, Christianity is the cure of the corruption of our natural state. Now what is the corruption of our natural state? Why it consists chiefly in tempers and passions, and inclinations that fix us to bodily and earthly enjoyments, as to our proper good.

Now how is it that Christianity cureth this corruption of our nature? Why it cureth this corruption of our nature, by teaching us to live and act by principles of reason and religion.

What are these principles of reason and religion?
They are such as these:

First, That God is our only good; that we cannot possibly be happy, but in such enjoyment of him as he is pleased to communicate to us.

Secondly, that our souls are immortal spirits, that are here only in a state of trial and probation.

Thirdly, that we must all appear before the judgment-seat of God, to receive the sentence of eternal life, or eternal death.

These are the chief principles of reason and religion, by which every Christian is to live; judging and thinking, choosing and avoiding, hoping and fearing, loving and hating, according to these principles, as becomes a creature, that is sent hither to prepare himself to live with God in everlasting happiness.

Now who does not see, that this resolves all our religion into a state of self-denial, or contradiction to our natural state?

For first, what can be a greater self-denial, or more contradictory to all our habitual notions and natural sentiments, than to live and govern ourselves by a happiness that is to be had in God alone? A happiness, which our senses, our old guides, neither see, nor feel, nor taste, nor perceive? A happiness, which gives us neither figure nor dignity, nor equipage, nor power, nor glory amongst one another?

Look at man in his natural state, acting by the judgment of his senses, following the motions of his nature, and you will see him acting as if the world was full of infinite sorts of happiness.

He has not only a thousand imaginary pleasures, but has found out as many vexations, all which show that he thinks happiness is every-where to be found; for no one is vexed at any thing, but where he thinks he is disappointed of some possible happiness.

The happiness, therefore, of religion, which is a happiness in God alone, is a great contradiction to all our natural and habitual tempers and opinions, not only as it proposes a good, which our senses cannot relish, but as it leads us from all those imaginary enjoyments, upon which our senses have fixed our hearts.

To think of religion in any other sense, than as a state of self-denial, is knowing nothing at all of it; for its whole nature is to direct us by a light, and knowledge, and wisdom, from God, which is all contrary to the darkness, ignorance, and folly of our natures.

It is therefore altogether impossible for any man to enter into the spirit of religion but by denying himself, by renouncing all his natural tempers and judgments, which have been formed by the blind motions of flesh and blood, and strengthened by the example and authority of the world. He cannot walk in the light of God, but by rejecting the dreams of his senses, the visions of his own thoughts, and the darkness of worldly wisdom.

We may let our senses tell us, what we are to eat and drink, or when we are to sleep; we may let them teach us how near we may draw to a fire, how great a burden we may carry, or into how deep a water we may go: in these things they are our proper guides.

But if we appeal to them to know the true good of man, or the proper happiness of our rational nature; if we ask them what guilt there is in sin, or what excellence there is in piety; if we consult them as our guides and instructors in these matters, we act as absurdly as if we were to try to hear with our eyes, or see with our ears.

For our senses are no more fitted to tell us our true good, as we are Christians and rational creatures, than our eyes are fitted to instruct us in sounds, or our ears in sights.

Religion therefore has just so much power over us, as it has power over our natural tempers, and the judgment of our senses; so far as it has made us deny ourselves, and reject the opinions and judgments of flesh and blood, so far has it settled its power within us.

Hence appears the absolute necessity of our Saviour's proposal to mankind, If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and follow me.

For it plainly appears from the nature of the thing, that no man can follow Christ or walk in the light that he walked in, but by denying himself, and walking contrary to the darkness and errors of his own heart and mind.

All our ways of thinking and judging of the nature and value of things, are corrupted with the grossness and errors of our senses.

We judge of every thing in the same manner that the child judges of his playthings; that is, it is by our senses alone that we pass the judgment, though we act with the reason of men.

The world is made up of fine sights, equipage, sports, show and pageantry, which please and captivate the minds of men, because men have yet the minds of children, and are just the same slaves to their senses that children are.

As children and men see the same colours in things, so children and men feel the same sensible pleasures, and are affected with external objects in the same manner.

But the misfortune is, that we laugh at the little pleasures, poor designs, and trifling satisfactions of children, whilst at the same time, the wisdom, the ambition, and greatness of men, are visibly taken up with the same trifles.

A coach-and-six, and an embroidered suit, shall make a great statesman as happy as ever a go-cart and feather made a child.

When a man thinks how happy he shall be with a great estate, he has all the same thoughts come into his head that a child has, when he thinks what he would do with a great sum of money; he would...buy twenty little horses, he would have twenty fine coats, and see all fine sights, and the like.

Now do but promise a man a great estate, and you will raise all these same thoughts and designs in his mind.

Now whence can all this proceed, but from this, that men act with the same vanity of mind, are under the same poor guidance of their senses, are as ignorant of their true happiness, as great strangers to their own nature, and as far from a true sense of their relation to God as when they first set out in life.

And is not this a plain argument of the reasonableness and necessity of self-denial? For to indulge ourselves, and live according to our natural tempers and judgments, is to grow old in the follies of childhood. And to deny ourselves, is to save ourselves, as it is denying such tempers and judgments as are contrary to our eternal happiness.

To proceed: Let us take another view of the weakness and disorder of our nature, that we may still see a greater necessity of not walking according to it.

When we see people drunk, or in a violent passion, we readily own, that they are, so long as that continues, in a state of delusion, thinking, saying, and doing, irregular things by the mere force of their blood and spirits. In these states, we all see and acknowledge the power of our bodies over our reason, and never suppose a man capable of judging or acting wisely, so long as he is under the violence of passion, or heated with drink.

Now this is more or less the constant state of all mankind, who are, by bodily impressions, and the agitations of the blood and spirits, in the same kind of delusion, as men that are drunk, or in a passion, though not always in the same degree.

A man that is drunk has heated his blood to that degree, that it sends up spirits to the brain in too violent a motion, and in too great a quantity. This violent motion of the spirits raises so many ideas in the brain, and in so disorderly a manner, that the man is every minute different from himself, as fast as different, or new ideas, are raised in his head, by the impetuous course of the spirits. This is the disorder of a man that is drunk.

Now this is the state of all people, more or less, when they appear to one another as sober.

For first, drunkenness is a state of disorder and delusion, because our heads are then filled with a crowd of ideas, which we have little or no power over, and which, for that reason, distract our judgment.

Now this is, in a certain degree, the state of all men whilst they are in the body: the constitution of our bodies, and our commerce with the world, is constantly filling our heads with ideas and thoughts, that we have little or no power over, but intrude upon our minds, alter our opinions, and affect our judgments in the same manner as they disorder the minds of those that are drunk.

Let any one but try to meditate upon any of the most important doctrines of religion, and he will find the truth of this observation; he will find a thousand ideas crowd in upon him, in spite of all his care to avoid them, which will hinder his meditation, and prevent his seeing things in that light in which he would see them, if his mind was empty of other thoughts.

Now it is the same cause that hinders him from thinking so well as he would, that hinders the drunken man from thinking at all, that is, an involuntary succession of ideas.

So that every man, so long as he is in the body, is, in some degree, weak and disordered in his judgment, in the same manner, and for the same causes, as people that are drunk.

Secondly; Another circumstance of drunkenness, is this, that ideas and thoughts are raised in a disorderly manner, because the blood is too much heated.

Now this is another constant circumstance that attends men in every state of life.

For first, it is the same thing whether our spirits be heated with liquor, or any thing else; if they are heated, all the same effects are produced.

This is undeniably true, because we daily see that passion will heat and disorder people in the same manner as they who are inflamed with liquor.

Therefore our own thoughts and imaginations have the same effect upon our spirits as drink; so that it is the same thing whether a man be drunk with passion, or any other violent set of thoughts, or heated with liquor. There is the same weakness of mind, the same disordered imagination, and the same wrong apprehensions of the nature of things.

Now though all people are not at all times drunk with passion, or some violent imagination, yet they are always in a disorder of the same kind; they have something that affects and hurries their spirits, in the same manner that a man's spirits are affected in some violent passion.

And the reason is, because men are always in some passion or other, though not to that degree as to be visible, and give offence to other people.

We are always in a state either of self-love, vanity, pride, hatred, spight, envy, covetousness, or ambition; some one or other of these passions is, in some degree, affecting our spirits, in the same manner that any violent passion, or heat of liquor, affects our spirits, differing only in the degree.

A silent envy, a secret vanity, which nobody sees, raises thoughts in our heads, and disorders our judgments, in the same manner as more violent passions.

We may increase the vanity and envy, till it ends in distraction and madness, as it sometimes hap pens; but then we may be sure, that it disordered our understanding in the same manner and made us foolish and extravagant in some degree, long before it came to madness. Whilst, therefore, we are in the body, we are constantly in a state of disorder, like to those who are drunk, or in a violent passion; we have some passion or other, either of self-love, vanity, envy or the like, that affects our spirits, and disorders our judgment, in the same manner, though not in the same degree, as their spirits are affected who are in the heat of drink, or in some violent passion.

Thirdly, Another circumstance of drunkenness is this, that it forms us to a taste and temper peculiar to it, so as to leave a dulness and indisposition in the mind toward any thing else. A habitual drunkard has no pleasure like that confused hurry and heat of thoughts that arises from inflamed blood. The repeating of this pleasure so often has given him a turn of mind, that relishes nothing but what relates to intemperance.

Now this is the state of all people, in some respect or other; there is some way of life that has got hold of them, and given them a taste and relish for it, in the same manner that drinking has formed the drunkard to a peculiar liking of it. All people are not intemperate, but all are under habits of life that affect the mind in the same manner as intemperance.

Some people have indulged themselves so long in dressing, others in play, others in sports of the field, others only in little gossiping stories, that they are as much slaves to these ways of life, as the intemperate man is a slave to liquor.

Now we readily own, that a man who has enslaved himself to the pleasures of drinking and intemperance, has thereby rendered himself incapable of being a reasonable judge of other happiness and pleasure: but then we do not enough consider, that we are hurt in the same manner, by any other way of life that has taken hold of us, and given us a temper, and turn of mind, peculiar to it.

It is to as little purpose to talk of religion, or the happiness of piety, to a person that is fond of dress, or play, or sports, as to another that is intemperate: for the pleasures of these particular ways of life make him as deaf to all other proposals of happiness, and as incapable of judging of other happiness and pleasure, as he who is enslaved to intemperance.

A lady abominates a sot, as a creature that has only the shape of a man; but then she does not consider, that, drunken as he is, perhaps he can be more content with the want of liquor, than she can with the want of fine clothes: and if this be her case, she only differs from him as one intemperate man differs from another.

Thus it appears, that whether we consider the nature, circumstances, and effects of drunkenness, that all mankind are, more or less, in the same state of weakness and disorder.

I have dwelt the longer upon this comparison, because it seems so easily to explain the disorder of our nature. For as every one readily sees how the bodily disorders of drunkenness, and violent passion, blind and pervert our minds; so it seems an easy step from thence to imagine how the body, though in a cooler state, does yet disorder the mind in the same manner, though not in the same degrees. It is also easy to conceive, that if violent passion, or a heated imagination, confounds our judgments, and gives us wrong apprehensions of things, that therefore all passions, though more still and secret, must yet influence our minds, and make us weak and disordered in our judgments; in the same manner, though not in the same degree, as those are who are in a violent passion. So that the meanest capacity may, by this, apprehend, that so long as we are in the body, we are in a state of weakness and disorder that is full of such blindness and delusion, as attends a state of drunkenness and passion.

It is intended, by this account of human nature, to convince us of the absolute necessity of renouncing ourselves, of denying all our tempers and inclinations, and resigning ourselves wholly to the light and wisdom of God. For since, by our state of corruption and slavery to the body, we are always under the power of its blind motions; since all our inclinations and judgments are only the judgments of heated blood, drunken spirits, and disordered passions, we are under as absolute a necessity of denying all our natural tempers and judgments as of refraining from intemperance.

For must a man, that is in a fit of violent passion, silence that passion before he can judge of the ordinary things of life? Is it a state of such blindness as makes him blind in the plainest matters, and unable to judge rightly, even of things which he is acquainted with? And can we think, that our more still and secret passions of self-love, pride, vanity, envy, and the like, make us less blind as to the things of God, than a heated passion does as to the things of this world?

Will an inflamed passion disorder a man too much to judge of any thing, even in his own business? And will not a passion of less violence disorder a man's judgment in things of a spiritual nature, which he never was rightly acquainted with, which he never saw, or understood, in the manner that he ought, and which are all contrary to the impression of his senses?

Every one sees people in the world, whom he takes to be incapable of sober judgments, and wise reflections, for this reason; because he sees that they are full of themselves, blinded with prejudice, violent in their passions, wild and extravagant in their imaginations.

Now as often as we see these people, we should reflect that we see ourselves; for we as certainly see a true representation of ourselves, when we look at such people, as we see a true picture of our state, when we see a man in the sorrows and agonies of death.

You are not dying as this man is; you are not in his state of sickness and extremity; but still his state shows you your own true picture; it shows you, that your life is in the midst of death; that you have in you the seeds of sickness and mortality; that you are dying, though not in his degree; and that you are only at a little uncertain distance from those who are lying upon their last beds.

When therefore you see men living in the disorder of their passions, blinded with prejudices, swelling in pride, full of themselves, vain in their imaginations, and perverse in their tempers, you must believe that you see as true a representation of your own state, as if you saw a man in his last sickness.

You, it may be, are not in the extravagance of his disordered tempers, you are at some uncertain distance from his state; but if you fancy, that you are not corrupted with self-love, not weakened by prejudices, not blinded with pride, not vain in your imaginations, not ridiculous in your temper, because you are not in such disorders as you find some people, you think as absurdly as if you was to imagine yourself to be immortal, because you are not in that extremity of death in which you see some people.

And as the true way of knowing, and being rightly affected with the weakness and mortality of our state, is frequently to view the condition of dying men as pictures of ourselves; so the mos...likely means to affect us with a just sense of the corruption and disorder of our hearts, is to consider the frailties, corruptions, and disorders of other people, as certain representations of the frailty and corruption of our own state.

When, therefore, you see the violence of other men's passions, the irregularity of their tempers, the strength of their prejudices, the folly of their inclinations, and the vanity of their minds, remember that you see so many plain reasons for denying yourself, and resisting your own nature, which has in it the seeds of all those evil tempers which you see in the most irregular people.

From the foregoing reflections upon human nature, we may learn thus much, that abstinence, as to eating and drinking, is but a small part of Christian self-denial.

The corruption of our nature has its chief seat in the irregularity of our tempers, the violence of passions, the blindness of our judgments, and the vanity of our minds; it is as dangerous, therefore, to indulge these tempers as to live in gluttony and intemperance.

You think it shameful to be an epicure; you would not be suspected to be fond of liquor; you think these tempers would too much spoil all your pretences to religion: you are very right in your judgment; but then proceed a step farther, and think it as shameful to be fond of dress, or delighted with yourself, as to be fond of dainties: and that it is as great a sin to please any corrupt temper of your heart as to please your palate: remember, that blood, heated with passion, is like blood heated with liquor; and that the grossness of gluttony is no greater a contrariety to religion than the politeness of pride, and the vanity of our minds.

I have been the longer upon this subject, trying every way to represent the weakness and corruption of our nature; because so far as we rightly understand it, so far we see into the reasonableness and necessity of all religious duties. If we fancy ourselves to be wise and regular in our tempers and judgments, we can see no reason for denying ourselves; but if we find that our whole nature is in disorder, that our light is darkness, our wisdom foolishness, that our tempers and judgments are as gross and blind as our appetites, that our senses govern us as they govern children, that our ambition and greatness is taken up with gewgaws and trifles, that the state of our bodies is a state of error and delusion, like that of drunkenness and passion.

If we see ourselves in this true light, we shall see the whole true reason of Christian self-denial, of meekness, and poverty of spirit, of putting off our old man, of renouncing our whole selves, that we may see all things in God; of watching and prayer, and mortifying all our inclinations, that our hearts may be moved by a motion from God, and our wills and inclinations be directed by the light and wisdom of religion.

Religion has little or no hold of us, till we have these right apprehensions of ourselves; it may serve for a little decency of outward behaviour, but it is not the religion of our hearts, till we feel the weakness and disorder of our nature, and embrace piety and devotion, as the means of recovering us to a state of perfection and happiness in God.

A man that thinks himself in health cannot lament the sickness of his state.

If we are pleased with the pride and vanity of our minds, if we live in pleasure and self-satisfactions, we shall feel no meaning in our devotions, when we lament the misery and corruption of our nature. We may have times and places to mourn for sins; but we shall feel no more inward grief than hired mourners do at a funeral.

So that as the corruption of our nature is the foundation and reason of self-denial, so a right sense and feeling of that corruption is necessary to make us rightly affected with the offices and devotion of religion.

I shall now show, that the reasonableness and necessity of self-denial is also founded upon another fundamental doctrine of religion, namely, the necessity of divine grace, which I shall leave to be the subject of the following chapter. __________________________________________________________________