Chapter XXV: A Christian is sober, charitable and just, upon the same (3)

XXI. It is our communication, our _ordinary temper_ and _common life_, that affects other people, that either hardens them in sin, or awakens them to a sense of piety. Let therefore all _clergymen_, and _masters_ and _mistresses_ of families look carefully to themselves; let them consider, that if their _ordinary life_, their communication be _vain, impertinent_, and _unedifying_, they are not only in a corrupt state of heart, but are guilty of corrupting and perverting the hearts of those that belong to them. Let them not think that they have sufficiently discharged their duty, by seeing that those who relate to them, have their proper instructions; for it is next to impossible for such instructions to have their proper effect against the example of those we converse with. If a _clergyman plays_, and _drinks_, and _sports_ with his flock in the week days: let him not wonder if he preaches them asleep on _Sundays_. If a _father_ is _intemperate_; if he _swears_, and converses _foolishly_ with his friends; let him not wonder that his children cannot be made virtuous. It is therefore the necessary duty of all Christians, in all states of life, to look carefully to their _ordinary behaviour_, that it be not the means of poisoning and corrupting the hearts of those they converse with. They must consider, that all the follies and impertinences of their ordinary life and conversation have the guilt of destroying souls; and that the blood of those whom their follies have destroyed, will be required at their hands.

XXII. A mistress whose conversation is a daily proof to her _maids_, that she is governed by a spirit of piety in all she says and does: whose life is a continual visible labour to _work out her salvation with fear and trembling_, is a blessing to all that stand about her. She communicates happiness even to those who are born of her servants; they will be educated in piety, because their parents learnt what piety was in waiting on such a _mistress_.

XXIII. A good-natured, _drinking, sleeping, playing, swearing master_, is a curse to those who tend upon him; they are led into all irregularities, by following his steps, and are sent into the world hardened in follies, and insensible of religion, by having lived with such a _master_. This ought carefully to be considered by all Christians, as a mighty encouragement to strictness of behaviour; that as a _holy_ conversation intitles us to a reward for other peoples virtues; so an _evil communication_ makes us liable to a punishment for other mens sins. For we can neither live well nor ill to ourselves alone; but must of necessity do either good or harm to others by our manner of conversation. This is one great reason why a vain corrupt communication does so _grieve_ the Holy Spirit; because it is so infecting an evil, and does so corrupt the manners of those we converse with.

CHAP. V.

_THE necessity of divine grace, obligeth all Christians to a constant purity and holiness of conversation; wherein is shewn the great danger and impiety of reading vain and impertinent books._

I. I have shewn that the _necessity of divine grace_ is a mighty argument for an universal exactness of life and conversation. I come now to speak farther to that 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 of_ God; it follows that we are to deny ourselves the entertainment of _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 come into our hearts.

II. If we would know what books are to be avoided as corrupt and grieving 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 _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_ 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 this.

III. There is a proper time for every thing that is lawful to be done: now, can you tell when it is proper for a Christian to meditate upon these books?

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 thro’ the neglect of duty, remorse of mind, worldly vexations, bodily tempers, or the absence of God’s Spirit, 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 more proper than another to think upon God, ’tis when we are _in heaviness_.

When we are _sick_ it is time to fly to the _physician_; when we are _weary_, it is a proper time to _rest_: now there is the same 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 sole 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; but as a strict command that leaves no choice of doing any thing in the stead of it.

It is as absolute a command as if he had 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.

IV. You seem to make times of dulness the occasion of reading those books, by saying that you only read them to _divert_ your spirits. But 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 as far from religion as those who worship _idols_; nay, 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 _prophane_ rant: he destroys the purity of his mind much more effectually, than the other destroys the health of his body.

Do you think that in _great distresses_, it is proper to seek comfort in God; but that in _little troubles_, any thing that can divert is as well? Nay, surely if God is our sufficient comfort in great distresses, he must 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 martyrdom with content, but not great enough to make us easy in _little_ trials.

V. Besides, to seek for relief in foolish books, 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 destroy its power over us. For it can no otherwise be the ordinary care of our lives, than by being our ordinary happiness and consolation in all the changes 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 more sensible of its true comforts.

VI. On the contrary, 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 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 of no value must in the same degree be liable to be displeased at them. And as this is the true state of childhood: so whosoever is in this state, whatever his _age_ may be, his _office_, or 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 all be _alive_; they must _cry_, and _run_, and follow a _hare_; and this will make the father as easy as the picture did the child.

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.

VII. I might easily multiply instances of this kind; but these are sufficient to shew 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 direct 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: 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 those occasions, than other people: they don’t so much as intend to keep themselves _easy, thankful_ and _chearful_, 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.

VIII. 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 a man places it only in _public worship_, he attends public worship; it operates so far. 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 only to his _eyes_?

IX. *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 griefs, 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 he would have cured; it is no more to be expected that it should make them religious in common life, than that an _oil_ applied to our _eyes_ should cure our _feet_.

It is 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 no effect because it is used only as a _formal thing_ that has its 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 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 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 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 in praise and thanksgiving, 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 absurd, than for a Christian ever to act 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.

X. *We reckon a man sufficiently _mad_ that fancies himself a _king_, and governing his subjects, at the same time that he is tied on a bed of _straw_: now a _Christian_ repeats every day, _I believe 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 _greatness_, 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 ragous, with _painted cloaths_ and _shining diamonds_, he 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 who 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 chuse 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.

XI. From these reflections I hope it sufficiently appears, that the reading vain and impertinent books is no matter of indifferency; 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.

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 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. Reading and meditation is that to our souls, which food and nourishment is to our bodies; so that we cannot do ourselves either a _little_ good, or _little_ harm, by the books that we read.

XII. But perhaps you think it is a _dull task_ to read only religious and moral books: but when God is your happiness; when you are not afraid of the joys of eternity, you will think it a dull task to read any other books. Don’t fancy therefore that your heart is right, tho’ 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 only books that treat 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.

XIII. You perhaps will say that you have so much spare time for reading, that you think you need not employ it at all in reading good books. It may be so; you may have also more time than you need devote to offices of _charity_; but will you thence conclude, that you may then do things _contrary_ to charity, and indulge yourself in _spight_ and _mischief_?

*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 in _picking straws_, is better lost than in such exercises of the mind. Consider farther, that _idle_ and _spare time_ calls for the greatest care and watchfulness; so that 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 are 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. That very season which you take to be an excuse for such _reading_, is the strongest 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.

XIV. Consider again to what a miserable 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 Lord say, _Woe 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; 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 folly and impertinence. Fancy that you saw a _patient Christian_, old, broken and crooked, with carrying burthens all his life; fancy that you saw another Christian lolling in _state_ and _softness_, and making every day a day of _vanity_ and _foolish reading_; which of them do you think is most likely to die in the hands of good _angels_, and be carried into _Abraham_’s bosom?

XV. *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 shew this than you can shew, 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 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 _spare time_ to refresh yourself: but this is to be governed by the same wisdom, as the time that is spent in cares and labours. For your recreations and pleasures are only lawful as far as they are directed by the same wisdom with your cares and labours. If therefore the providence of God has placed you above the necessity of labouring for your livelihood, you must not think that you have so much _spare time_ to spend, as you please, but that you are certainly called to some _other labour_. Great part of the world is doomed to toil and slavery; they have it not in their power to chuse any other way of life, and their labour is therefore an acceptable service to God, because it is such as their state requires. Happy are you therefore, if you knew your happiness, who have it in your power to be always doing the _best things_; who, free from labour and hardships, are at liberty to chuse the _best ways_ of life, to study all the arts of _self-improvement_, to practise all the ways of doing good, and to spend your time in all the noblest instances of piety, humility, charity and devotion! Bless God then, not because you have _spare time_, for that you have none, but that you have time to employ in the best ways that you can find; that whilst others are oppressed with burdens, and worn out with slavery, you have time to think upon the greatest and best of things; to enlighten your mind, to correct the disorder of your heart, to study the laws of God, to contemplate the wonders of his providence, to convince yourself of the vanity of the world, and to delight your soul with the great and glorious things which God has prepared for those that love him. This is the happiness of being free from labour and want, not to have _spare time_ to squander away in _vanity_ and _impertinence_, but to have _spare time_ to spend in the study of wisdom, in the exercise of devotion, in the practice of piety, in all the ways and means of doing good and exalting our souls to a state of _Christian perfection_.

XVI. *It is a doctrine of scripture, and highly agreeable to reason, _That unto whomsoever much is given, of him shall much be required_. Consider therefore that a life of leisure and freedom from want and hardships is as much as can well be given you in this world, as it is giving you an opportunity of living wholly to God, and making all the parts of your life useful to the best purposes. As sure therefore as it is a state, that has so many advantages that furnishes you with so many means of being eminent in piety, so sure it is, that it is a state from which God expects fruits that are worthy of it. Had it been your lot to labour in a _mine_, or serve under some cruel master, you must have served as unto God; and in so doing you had finished the work which God had given you. But as you are free from all this, you must look upon yourself as God’s _servant_, as called to chuse that way of labouring and spending your time, which may most promote that which God desires to be promoted. God has given you liberty to chuse, but it is only that you may have the blessedness of chusing the _best ways_ of spending your time. Though therefore you are at liberty from servile and mean labour, yet you are under a necessity of labouring in all good works, and making all your time, and fortune, and abilities serviceable to the best ends of life. You have no more time that is your own, than he has that is to live by constant labour; the only difference betwixt you and him is this, that he is to be diligent in a poor, slavish labour, that oppresses the body, and dejects the mind; but you in a _service that is perfect freedom_, that renders your body a _fit temple_ for the Holy Ghost, and fills your soul with such light, and peace, and joy, as is not to be found in any other way of life.

XVII. 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 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 do you think you are not obliged to make a proper improvement of your condition, and turn all your _rest_, and _ease_, and _freedom_ from labour, into 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 saying, that because God has given you _spare time_ from servile labour, time for all the instances of a holy and heavenly life; therefore you presume to throw it away in idleness and impertinence.

♦ ‘It is’ replaced with ‘Is it’

The End of the Fourth VOLUME.