THOUGHTS ON RELIGION,

AND

OTHER SUBJECTS.

BY MONSIEUR PASCAL.

            Had that incomparable Person, Monsieur PASCAL, been a little more indulgent to himself; the world might probably have enjoyed him much longer: whereas, through too great an application to his studies in his youth, he contracted that ill habit of body, which, after a tedious sickness, carried him off in the fortieth year of his age. And the whole history we have of his life, till that time, is but one continued account of the behavior of a noble soul strug­gling under innumerable pains and distempers.---Spectator,

            MONSIEUR PASCAL was born in the year 1623, and died in 1662. Having taken an early leave of the Mathematics, of Natural Philosophy, and of other human studies, he began, about the thirtieth year of his age, to apply himself to things of a more serious and more elevated nature, and to turn his whole thoughts, so far as his health would permit, on the Scriptures, the Fathers, and Discourses of Practical Christianity.

But though his excellency in these latter studies, no less than in the former, has been already testified by such works as are accomplished in their kind, yet we may affirm, that if it had pleased GOD to have granted him a longer space for the carrying on of his general design, on the Truth of Religion, in which he had resolved to employ the residue of his life, this performance would have been far superior to any that we have received from him; because his views, in this respect, infinitely exceeded those which he had attained of all things beside.

            I believe this is no more than any one will admit, upon the sight of these few Papers, with all their imperfec­tions; especially when he shall be acquainted with the methods by which the Author prosecuted his undertaking.

            M. PASCAL had laid the scheme of this work many years before his death; and yet we ought not to wonder that he began so late to commit any part of it to writing; for he had always accustomed himself to think very maturely of things, and to arrange them in his mind, before he suffered them to venture farther; carefully weighing which ought to be placed first, and which last, and what order of the whole might seem most con­ducible to the desired effect. And then being master of an excellent, or, as we may truly say, a prodigious memory, so as to have often declared that he never forgot any thing which he had once imprinted in it, he was under no apprehension of letting those thoughts, which he had at any time formed, afterwards escape him; so that it was usual with him to tarry very long before he set them down on paper, either for want of leisure, or because the state of his health could not support a more laborious application.

This was the reason, that, at his death, we lost the greatest part of what he had conceived in pursuance of his design. For there was scarcely any thing left in writing, either as to the principal arguments which he proposed to insist on, or as to the grounds and foun­dations of the whole work, or as to the method, which could not but be very considerable. All these were so habitually fixed in his mind, that having neglected to write them, while, perhaps, he was able, he at length found himself incapable of going through the task, when he would gladly have entered upon it.

            Yet there once happened an occasion, ten or twelve years since, which obliged him, not indeed to write, but to deliver himself in conversation, on this subject; which he did in the presence, and at the request, of many great persons. To this company he opened in few words the plan of his whole undertaking; he represented the subject-matter; he gave an abstract of the principles; and pointed out the intended order of things. And these gentlemen, who are indisputably qualified to be judges, aver, that they never heard any thing which discovered more beauty or more strength. They declare themselvesto have been charmed with the discourse, and say, that the idea which they were able to form of the main design, from a narrative of two or three hours, delivered thus of hand, gave them the pleasure of considering with themselves what the work might one day prove, if fully executed, and carried to its last perfection, by an Author who had used himself to be so indefatigably laborious in all his compositions; who was scarcely ever satisfied with his first thoughts, how happy soever they might seem to others; and who had been known, on many occasions, to new-model, not less than eight or ten times, such pieces, as any person but himself must have pronounced admirable after a single trial.

            He began the design with giving the Picture of a Man, under which he omitted nothing that might distinguish or illustrate him, either without or within, even as to the most secret motions of his heart. In the next place, he supposed a person, who had lived hitherto utterly indif­ferent with regard to all things, and to himself especially, to come and view himself in this Picture, and by it to examine what he is. The person cannot but be surprized to discover here an infinite variety of things, which never yet entered into his thought; nor can he without astonish­ment and admiration reflect on what he now learns and feels of his dignity and his baseness, of his advantages and his infirmities, of the small glimmering of light which remains within him, and of the miserable darkness with which he is, almost on all sides, encompassed; in a word, of all the prodigious contrarieties which appear in his nature. After this it is impossible that he should continue his indifference, if he have but the least spark of reason; and how insensible soever he has hitherto been, he must now of necessity desire to be informed whence he derives his original, and what fate abides him hereafter.

            Having brought his Man to this disposition, of seeking to be instructed in so important a doubt, he sends him first to the Philosophers;; and having rehearsed to him the sum of what their greatest Professors have delivered on the subject of human nature, he makes him discover so many failures and weaknesses, so many falsities and contradictions, in all that they advance, as to judge very easily that these are not the men who must give him satisfaction.

            At the next remove, he leads him the whole circuit of all nations and all ages, so as to give him a view of the almost endless variety of Religions in the world; but at the same time lets him understand, by the strongest proofs, that all these Religions are so full of vanity and folly, of error and extravagance, as to afford nothing in which his mind can acquiesce.

            At length he bids him fix his eye on the people of the Jews, where the circumstances, with which he is pre­sented, are so extraordinary as to engage his whole atten­tion. Having let him into all that was singular in this nation, he stops him to take particular notice of one Book, which contains the sum of their Religion, their History, and their Law. Upon the first opening of this Book, he is informed, that the world is the work of Gov, and that it was the same God who created man in his own image, and endowed him with all advantages of mind and body, suitable to so high an estate. This truth, though it does not at present convince him, yet fails not to please him; his bare reason being sufficient to dis­cover a greater probability in supposing GOD to be the author of the world, and of mankind, than in any of those accounts which men have framed by their own fond invention. The only thing which gives him any doubt is, that he observes man, according to the Picture he so lately viewed, to be very far from possessing all those, advantages, which must have attended him, when he came out of the hand of his Maker. But he soon gets over this difficulty; because upon looking a little farther into the same Book, he discovers, that after man had been thus created by God in a state of innocence and perfection, his very first act was to rebel against his Creator.

            M. PASCAL proceeds to inform his Novice, that this crime having been, in all its circumstances, the greatest that could be committed, received its punishment, not only in the first man, whom, from his state of excellency and happiness, it plunged, at one stroke, into misery and weakness; but likewise in all his descendants, to whom he communicated his corruption, and will continue to communicate it through all ages.

            And now obliging him to peruse several other parts of the Book, he makes him observe, that there is scarcely any thing recorded of man, but what bears a regard to this his condition of infirmity and disorder;—that it is often said, that all flesh have corrupted themselves;—and that men are described as abandoning themselves to their senses, and as having from their very birth an inclination to evil. He farther lets him see, that this primitive de­fection is the source, not only of all those incomprehen­sible contrarieties in human nature, but likewise of numerous other effects in the things without us, of which he could never before trace the cause. In short, he exhibits to him such a portrait of Man, in the whole series of this Book, as, by answering to the Piece which he first beheld, cannot but satisfy him of its true and just resemblance.

            Having thus brought him acquainted with his real con­dition, full of misery, he assures him, that by following the same Book, he will be led to comfort and deliverance. He points out to him the several passages, where it is affirmed, that the remedy of all our evils is in the hand of Gov; that to his assistance we ought to have recourse, for obtaining the strength we want; that he will be pre­vailed upon by our entreaty; and has already sent us a SAVIOR, to satisfy for our offences, to repair our breaches, and to heal our infirmities.

            After many other peculiar remarks on this Book, he engages him to consider, that it is the only Book in the world which has spoken worthily of the Supreme Being, or inspired a just idea of Religion. In order to this, having made him conceive some of the most sensible characters of a true Religion, he compares them with those which are here delivered; teaching him to reflect, with more especial attention, that this Religion placeth the perfection of divine worship in the Love of Gov;—a character altogether singular, and such as distinguisheth it visibly from all others, which are convicted of notorious falsehood by their want of this essential mark.

Thus far he leads the Man, whom by these insensible means he proposeth to make his Convert, without offer­ing any arguments to demonstrate those truths which he has taught him to discover. But then, he has prepared him to receive them with delight, so soon as they shall be demonstrated to his understanding; and even to wish, that they may at length appear to be solid and well-grounded; because he finds that they supply so many assistances towards the clearing up of his doubts, and the ensuring of his repose. This, indeed, is the very de-sire which every rational man ought to entertain, upon the view of the several particulars which M. PASCAL has thus represented; and it was but just for him to think, that any person under such a disposition would yield a ready assent to the proofs he should afterwards allege, in confirmation of those important truths which he had before mentioned.

            To speak a word or two concerning these proofs:--After he had observed in general, that the points, which he now asserted, were all contained in a written volume, the authority of which every man of sound judgment must own to be unquestionable, he insisted chiefly on the Writings of Moses, where the said points are in a particular manner revealed: and he made it apparent, that it was alike impossible, either for Moses to have penned a whole series of falsities, or for the Jewish nation to have suffered the cheat, if he had been in­clined to act it.

            He argued farther from the Miracles recorded in this Book; which as they are the highest evidence, if true, so he demonstrated, that they could not possibly be false, not only from the authority of these writings in which they are attested, but likewise from all the particulars which accompany them.

He proceeded to evince, that the whole ritual Law was purely figurative; that all the dispensations and promises to the Jewish state were but the shadows of good things, which received their accomplishment from the appearance of the MESSIAS; and that after the veil was once taken away, they visibly conspired, and were consummated, in the behalf of those who believed in The next reason offered by M. PASCAL, for the Credi­bility of Religion, was taken from the Prophecies. As he had been very laborious in this enquiry, and had very particular views of the respective predictions, so he opened them after the most intelligible manner, explain­ing their design, and their event, with a wonderful facility.

            At length having run through the Books of the Old Testament, and intermixed upon occasion, many con­vincing remarks, he entered on the consideration of the New Testament, in order to complete the argument by the truth of the Gospel.  He began with our LORD, whose character and com­mission, though invincibly attested by the Prophecies, and by all the Figures of the Law, which had their per­fect consummation in him alone, he yet farther illustrated by evidences drawn from his Person, his Miracles, his Doctrine, and the circumstances of his Life.

            Hence he descended to the Character of the Apostles; and that he might establish the certainty of that faith which they preached, having laid it down for a principle, that they cannot be accused of falsehood, but upon one of these two suppositions, either that they were themselves deceived, or that they were engaged in a design of de­ceiving others,—he made it evident, that both these sup-positions were absurd and impossible. And though, in a single discourse, he wanted time for the full improvement of so vast a subject, yet he offered enough to evince that all this could not be the contrivance and achievement of men; and that it was GOD alone who was able thus to guide the issue of so many different occurrences, as to make them all conspire in giving an irresistible testimony to that Religion which he himself came to settle amongst men.

            This was the substance of M. PASCAL'S conversation, which he proposed only as a sketch of his undertaking: and it was by the favor of one of the Gentlemen there present, that we have obtained these short memorials of it.  In the fragments here published we see something of the vast design conceived by our Author; yet we see but little; and even this little comes to us in so imperfect a manner, that it can afford us but a very obscure idea of the perfection which he would have given to it, in his finished performance.

            The Reader will not think it strange, if in these few relics, the disposition of the subject is not made according to the primitive method. For there being so little found which had any dependence or connection, the Publishers thought it utterly useless to be confined to this intended series, and therefore were satisfied with keeping as near as they could to such an order as seemed most convenient in respect of the Fragments themselves.

            For M. PASCAL fell, soon after this conversation, into a languishing distemper, which held him during the four last years of his life; and which, though it did not oblige him to be a prisoner in his bed, yet very much incom­moded him, and, in a manner, rendered him incapable of applying himself to business of any kind; insomuch that the chief care of those about him was to hinder him from writing, and even from speaking, of any thing which required intensity and force of spirit, and to entertain him only with indifferent things, and such as could in no way disorder or fatigue him.

            Yet it was in these four years of weakness that he framed and penned all that he left behind on this subject. For though he waited till his health should be re-estab­lished, to commit exactly to writing what he had digested and disposed in his mind; yet when there occurred to him any thought, any view, any idea, or even any turn of expression, which he saw might one day prove ser­viceable to his design, the condition he was now under not suffering him to attend to them so closely as before his illness, nor to fix them with so much strength and steadfastness in his memory, he chose to preserve them by the help of some short notes. In order to this, he took the first remnant of paper that came to hand, and entered what he was then meditating, in a very few words; for he wrote purely for his own use, and there-fore was content to perform it very slightly, and so as not to discompose his temper; barely setting down those hints which were necessary for recalling to his mind the ideas which he had once conceived.

            This was the way in which M. PASCAL penned his THOUGHTS. And I believe there is no man, who, from these slight beginnings, these feeble essays of a sick person,—who wrote only for himself, and wrote those things only which he was afraid might otherwise be lost, and which he never afterwards touched or revised,—will not make some guess what the entire work must have been, had the Author perfectly recovered:—an Author, who had the art of placing things in so goodly an order, and in so fair a light; who gave so particular, so noble, and so elevated a turn to all that he said; who designed that this performance should be more labored than all his former pieces; and who had resolved to employ in it his whole strength of genius, and all the talents which GOD had given him.

            It being well known that M. PASCAL had thus engaged himself in the cause of Religion, great care was used at his death to collect all his writings on this subject. They were found all together, tied up in several bundles, but without order or connection; because, as we before ob­served, these were but the rude expressions of his thoughts, which he set down in broken papers as they occasionally offered. And then, the whole was so imperfect, and so very ill written, that it seemed no ordinary labor barely to decypher it.

            The first thing that was done, was. to get the papers copied. But when this was performed, and the Frag­ments perused, they appeared at first view so indigested, so little pursued, and, for the most part, so obscure, that it was very long before the parties concerned were brought to entertain any design of printing them.

            At length they found themselves obliged to give way to the desire which almost all the world seemed daily to express. And they were the rather prevailed upon to give their consent, because they hoped the Reader would distinguish between a finished performance, and the first lines of a piece, and would guess at the beauty of the work, by the rudest and most imperfect draught.

            The Publishers have selected, from the whole number of scattered THOUGHTS, such as they judged to be the most finished, and the most intelligible; and these they have presented to the world without addition or alteration; excepting that whereas they lay before confusedly dis­persed, they are now put into some kind of method, and reduced under common heads, agreeably to their respec­tive subjects. As for all those which were too imperfect or obscure, it was determined entirely to suppress them.

            Some may be surprised to find in this collection so great a diversity of Thoughts; many of which seem very re-mote from the subject that M. PASCAL undertook to illus­trate. But it ought to be considered, that his design was really of a larger extent than we may imagine, and not levelled barely against atheistical persons, nor against those who deny some fundamental article of faith. The great love and singular veneration which he had for Reli­gion made him impatient, not only when he saw it directly struck at, but when it was in the least degree corrupted or impaired; insomuch that he opposed himself to all those who attacked it, either in its Truth, or in its Holiness; that is, not only to Atheists, Infidels, and Heretics, who refuse to submit to the evidence of faith, but even to such Christians, as though they continue within the pale of the Church, yet do not conform their lives to the purity of the gospel-maxims.

            This was his design; and this was great and ample enough to take in the main of what is here collected. Yet the Reader will meet with some Observations which have no dependence on it, and which, indeed, were never conceived under such a relation; as for instance, the greatest part of those in the Chapter of Miscellaneous Thoughts, which were likewise found amongst the Papers of M. PASCAL, and which were therefore permitted to accompany the rest., because the book is not now given to the world barely as a Refutation of Atheism, or a Discourse upon Religion, but as a Collection of M. PASCAL'S Thoughts on Religion, and other Subjects.

            I think there is nothing behind in this Preface, but to say somewhat of the Author. A brief relation has been already. given of the manner in which he passed his child-hood; of the vast progress made by him, with the greatest celerity, in all the parts of human and profane knowledge, especially in the Mathematics; of the sur­prising method by which he was taught this last science at the age of eleven or twelve; of the little works which he then composed, and which always appeared far above the strength and capacity of those years; of the prodi­gious and astonishing force of his genius, discovered in his Arithmetical Instrument, which he invented between nineteen and twenty; and, in fine, of his curious experi­ments performed at Roanne, in the presence of the most considerable persons of that city, where he resided for some time, while his Father was employed there in the King's service, as Intendant of Justice. I shall not re-peat what was then said; but only represent, in a few words, by what means he was at length induced to despise all these things, and with what kind of spirit he passed his concluding years; by which he no less evidenced the greatness and solidity of his piety, than he had before demonstrated the force, the extent, and the admirable penetration of his judgment.

He had, by the particular Providence of Gov, been preserved from those vices into which young gentlemen are so often betrayed; and, what seemed very extraordi­nary in so inquisitive a genius, he was never disposed to scepticism in religious matters. He has often said, that he owed this obligation, amongst many others, to his excellent Father, who, having himself the most profound veneration for Religion, took care to instill the same into him from his infancy.

            These instructions, frequently repeated to him by a father, for whom he had the highest respect, and in whom he observed a general knowledge, joined with a strong and piercing judgment, made so deep an impression on his spirit, that he was never inclined to the least doubt by the discourses which he heard from libertines; whom he looked upon as men guided by this false principle, that human Reason is above all things, and as those who were utter strangers to the nature of Faith.

            But having passed his youthful days in such employ­ments as appear very innocent to the eyes of the world, it pleased God so to touch his heart, as to let him per­fectly understand, that the Christian Religion obliges us to live for God only, and to propose no other object or aim. And this truth appeared to him so evident, so use­ful, and so necessary, that it made him enter on a reso­lutipn of retiring and disengaging himself, by degrees, from all his worldly dependences, to attend wholly on this one design.

            He had, indeed, taken up such a desire of privacy, andof devoting himself to a more holy life, while very young; and this had before moved him entirely to abandon all profane studies, in order to the giving himself to those only which might be serviceable to his own salvation, and to that of others. But the continual illness, into which he fell, diverted him for many years from his purpose, and retarded the full execution of it till he arrived at the age of thirty.

It was then that he began to labor in it with all his force; and that he might the more easily obtain his wish, and cut off all his engagements at one stroke, he changed his lodgings, and soon after removed into the country; whence returning after some time, he so well testified his resolution of forsaking the world, that the world forsook him. The conduct of his privacy he established on these two principal maxims,—to renounce all pleasure, and all superfluity; on these he ever fixed his eye, studying to make nearer advances towards them, and to attain every day new degrees of perfection.

            It was his continual application to these two noble maxims that enabled him to sustain, with so exemplary a patience, all his sickness and sufferings, which scarcely left him free from pain during his life. It was this that enjoined him to practice so rigorous a mortification towards himself, not only denying his senses whatever was agreeable to them, but taking without uneasiness, and even with joy and satisfaction, any thing that might seem distasteful, when it was proper either as nourish­ment or as physic. It was this that engaged him to re-trench, every day, what he judged not absolutely necessary, either in clothes, food, or furniture, or in any other ac­commodation. It was this that inspired him with so great and ardent a love for poverty, as to make it the ruling thought of his mind, so that he never undertook any thing till he had first asked himself, whether poverty was consistent with such a proposal; and on all occasions he expressed so much tenderness towards the poor, as never to refuse an alms, and many times to bestow very largely, though out of his own necessary subsistence. It was from this, that he could not bear any nicety in providing things for his convenience or use; and that he so much blamed the humor of searching after curiosities, and the desire of excelling in all things, as of employing the very best artists, and of having every thing made in the newest fashion. To conclude, it was this that prompted him to perform a great number of most remarkable and most Christian actions, which I forbear here to relate, that I may not seem tedious, and because I attempt not to compose a Life, but only to convey some idea of the piety of M. PASCAL to those who had not the happiness of his acquaintance. For, as for those who knew him, and who were admitted to his company during his latter years, as I do not take upon me to inform them by what I write, so I doubt not but they will testify in my behalf, that I might still have enlarged on many particulars, which I have now chosen to pass over in silence.

ADVERTISEMENT.

            THOUGH, from the bare reading of any paragraph, it might with ease be determined, whether it be a continua­tion of that which preceded, or whether it belong to a new design; yet, for the greater convenience, it was judged proper to make use of some particular mark of distinction. Those paragraphs, therefore, which have an asterisk ( ) prefixed to them, will be known to be such as are entirely separate from the foregoing. And those which want this mark will as easily be known to make but one and the same discourse, and to have been found in t/d very order and method amongst the Author's original Papers.

MONSIEUR PASCAL'S
THOUGHTS.

I. Against an Atheistical Indifference.

            IT were to be wished, that the enemies of Religion would at least bring themselves to apprehend its nature, before they opposed its authority. Did Religion make its boast of beholding GOD with a clear and perfect view, and of possessing him without covering or veil, the argument would bear some colour, when men should allege, that none of the things about them do indeed afford this pretended evidence. But since Religion, on the contrary, represents men as in a state of darkness and of estrangement from GOD; since it affirms him to have withdrawn himself from their discovery, and to have chosen, in his word, the very style and appellation of an hidden GOD; lastly, since it employs itself alike in establishing these two maxims,—that GOD has left in his Church certain characters of himself, by which they who sincerely seek him shall not fail of a sensible conviction, and yet that he has, at the same time, so far shaded and obscured these characters, as to render them impercep­tible to those who do not seek him with their whole heart,—what advantage is it to men who are negligent in the search of truth, to complain so frequently that nothing reveals and displays it to them? For this very obscurity under which they labor, and which they make an exception against the Church, does itself evince one of the two grand points which the Church maintains, (without affecting the other,) and is so far from over-throwing its doctrines, as to lend them a manifest con­firmation and support.

            If they would give their objections any strength, they ought to urge, that they have applied their utmost endeavor, and have used all means of information, without satisfaction. Did they express themselves thus, they would indeed attack Religion in one of its chief preten­sions. But I hope to show, in the following Papers, that no rational person can speak after this manner; and 1 dare assert, that none ever did. We know very well, how men, under this indifferency of spirit, behave them-selves in the case. They suppose themselves to have made the mightiest effort, when they have spent some hours in reading the Scriptures, and have asked some questions of a Clergyman concerning the articles of faith. When this is done, they declare to all the world, that they have consulted books and men without any success. I shall be excused, if I refrain not from telling such men, that this neglect of theirs is insupportable. It is not a foreign or a petty interest, which is here in debate: we are ourselves the parties, and all our hopes and fortunes are the depending stake.

            The Immortality of the Soul is a thing which so deeply concerns, so infinitely imports us, that we must have utterly lost our feeling, to be altogether cold and remiss in our inquiries about it. And all our actions or designs ought to bend so very different a way, according as we are either encouraged or forbidden to embrace the hope of eternal rewards, that it is impossible for us to proceed with discretion, otherwise than as we keep this point always in view, which ought to be our ruling object and final aim.

            Thus is it our highest interest, no less than our principal duty, to get light into a subjection which our whole conduct depends. And therefore, in the number of wavering, unsatisfied men, I make the greatest difference imaginable between those who labor with all their force to obtain instruction, and those who live without giving themselves any trouble, or so much as any thought, in this affair.

            I cannot but be touched with a hearty compassion for those who sincerely groan under this dissatisfaction; who look upon it as the greatest of misfortunes; and who spare no pains to deliver themselves from it, by making these researches their chief employment and most serious study. But as for those, who pass their life without re­flecting on its issue, and who, for this reason alone, because they find not in themselves a convincing testi­mony, refuse to seek it elsewhere, and to examine to the bottom whether the opinion proposed be such as we are wont to entertain by popular credulity, or, though obscure in itself, yet is built on solid and immoveable foundations, —I consider them after quite another manner. The care­lessness which they betray in an affair, where their person, their interest, their whole eternity is embarked, strikes me with amazement and astonishment. I speak not this as transported with the pious zeal of a spiritual and rap­turous devotion. On the contrary, I affirm, that the love of ourselves, the interest of mankind, and the most simple and artless reason, do naturally inspire us with these sentiments; and that to see thus far, is not to ex­ceed the sphere of unrefined, uneducated men.

            It requires no great elevation of soul to observe, that nothing in this world is productive of true contentment; that our pleasures are vain and fugitive,—our troubles innumerable and perpetual; and that, after all, death, which threatens us every moment, must, in the compass of a few years, (perhaps of a few days,) put us into the eternal condition of Happiness, or Misery, or Nothing. Between us and these three great states no harrier is interposed; but life, the most brittle thing in all nature; and the happiness of heaven being certainly not designed for those who doubt whether they have an immortal part to enjoy it, such persons have nothing left, but the miserable chance of Annihilation, or of Hell.

            There is not any reflection which can have more reality than this, as there is none which has greater terror. Let us set the bravest face on our condition, and play the hero as artfully as we can, yet see here the issue which attends the godliest life upon earth.  It is in vain for men to turn aside their thoughts from this eternity which awaits them, as if they were able to destroy it by denying it a place in their imagination. It subsists in spite of them; it advanceth unobserved; and death, which is to draw the curtain from it, will in a short time infallibly reduce them to the dreadful necessity of being for ever nothing, or for ever miserable.

            We have here a doubt of the most affrighting conse­quence, and to entertain which, therefore, may be well esteemed the most grievous of misfortunes: but, at the same time, it is our indispensable duty not to he under it, without struggling for deliverance.

            He then who doubts, and yet seeks not to be resolved, is equally unhappy and unjust. But if, withal, he appears easy and composed, if he freely declares his indifference, nay, if he takes a vanity in professing it, and seems to make this most deplorable condition the subject of his pleasure and joy, I have not words to fix a name on so extravagant a creature. Where is the very possibility of entering into these thoughts and resolutions? What de-light is there in expecting misery without end? What vanity in finding one's self encompassed with impenetrable darkness? Or what consolation in despairing for ever of a comforter?

To sit down with some sort of acquiescence under so fatal an ignorance, is a thing unaccountable beyond all expression; and they who live with such a disposition ought to be made sensible of its absurdity and stupidity, by having their inward reflections laid open to them, that they may grow wise by the prospect of their own folly. For behold how men are. wont to reason, while they obstinately remain thus ignorant of what they are, and refuse all methods of instruction.

            " Who has sent me into the world I know not; what the world is I know not, nor what I am myself. I am under an astonishing ignorance of all things. I know not what my body is, what my senses, or my soul. This very part of me which thinks what I speak, which reflects upon every thing else, and even upon itself, is yet as mere a stranger to its own nature, as the dullest thing I carry about me. I behold these frightful spaces of the universe with which I am encompassed, and I find myself chained to one little corner of the vast extent, without understanding why I am placed in this seat, rather than in any other; or why this moment of time, given me to live, was assigned rather at such a point, than at any other of the whole eternity which was before me, or of all that which is to come after me. I see nothing but infinities on all sides, which devour and swallow me up like an atom, or like a shadow, which endures, but a single instant, and is never to return. The sum of my knowledge is, that I must shortly die; but that which I am most ignorant of is this very death, which I feel my-self unable to decline.

            "As I know not whence I came, so I know not whither I go; only, this I know,—that at my departure out of the world, I must either fall for ever into nothing, or into the hands of an incensed GOD,—without being capable of deciding which of these two conditions shall eternally be my portion. Such is my state, full of weakness, obscurity, and wretchedness. And from all this I conclude, that I ought to pass all the days of my life, without considering what is hereafter to befall me; and that I have nothing to do, but to follow my inclinations without reflection or disquiet, in doing all that, which, if what men say of a miserable eternity prove true, will infallibly plunge me into it. It is possible I might find some light to clear up my doubts; but I shall not take a minute's pains, nor stir one foot, in the search of it. On the contrary, I am resolved to treat those with scorn who labor in this inquiry; and so to run, without fear or foresight, upon the trial of the grand event; permitting myself to be led softly on to death, utterly uncertain as to the eternal issue of my future condition."

            In earnest, it is a glory to Religion to have so unreason-able men for its professed enemies; and their opposition is of so little danger, that it serves to illustrate the prin­cipal truths which our Religion teaches. For the main scope of Christian Faith is to establish these two principles, the Corruption of Nature, and the Redemption by JESUS CHRIST. And these opposers, if they are of no use toward demonstrating the Truth of the Redemption, by the sanctity of their lives, yet are at least admirably use­ful in showing the Corruption of Nature, by so unnatural sentiments.

            Nothing is so important to any man as his own estate and condition; nothing so great, so amazing, as eternity. If, therefore, we find persons indifferent to the loss of their being, and to the danger of endless misery, it is impossible that this temper should be natural. They are quite other men in all other regards; they fear the smallest inconveniences; they see them as they approach, and feel them if they arrive; and he who passes days and nights in chagrin and despair for:the loss of an employ­ment, or for some imaginary blemish in his honor, is the very same mortal who knows that he must lose all by death, and yet remains without disquiet, resentment, or emotion. This wonderful insensibility, with respect to things of the most fatal consequence, in a heart so nicely sensible of the meanest trifles, is an astonishing prodigy, an unintelligible enchantment, a supernatural blindness and infatuation.

            A man in a close dungeon, who knows not whether sentence of death has passed upon him, and who is allowed but one hour's space to inform himself concerning it,—that one hour being sufficient, in case it have passed, to obtain its reversal,—would act contrary to nature and sense, should he make use of this hour, not to procure information, but to pursue his vanity or sport. And yet such is the condition of the persons whom we are now describing; only with this difference, that the evils with which they are every moment threatened infinitely surpass the bare loss of life, and that transient punishment which the prisoner is supposed to apprehend: yet they run thoughtlessly upon the precipice, having only cast a veil over their eyes, to hinder them from discerning it; and divert themselves with the officiousness of such as chari­tably warn them of their danger.

            Thus not only the zeal of those who heartily seek GOD demonstrates the truth of religion, but likewise the blind­ness of those who utterly forbear to seek him, and who pass their days under so horrible a neglect. There must needs be a strange turn and revolution in human nature, before men can submit to such a condition, much more before they can applaud and value themselves upon it. For supposing them to have obtained an absolute cer­tainty, that there was no fear after death, but of falling into nothing, ought not this to be the subject rather of despair than of jollity? And is it not therefore the highest pitch of senseless extravagance, while we want this certainty, to glory in our doubt and distrust?

            And yet, after all, it is too visible, that man has so far declined from his original nature, and as it were de-parted from himself, as to nourish in his heart a secret seed-plot of joy, springing up from these libertine reflec­tions. This brutal ease, or indolence, between the fear of hell and of annihilation, carries somewhat so tempting in it, that not only those who have the misfortune to be sceptically inclined, but even those who cannot unsettle their judgment, esteem it reputable to take up a counter­feit diffidence. For we may observe the largest part of the herd to be of this kind, false pretenders to infidelity, and mere hypocrites in atheism. There are persons whom we have heard declare, that the genteel way of the world consists in thus acting the bravo. This is that which they term " throwing off the yoke," and which the greater number of them profess, not so much out of opi­nion, as out of gallantry and complaisance.

            Yet, if they have the least reserve of common sense, it will not be difficult to make them apprehend, how mise­rably they abuse themselves by laying so false a foundation of applause and esteem. For this is not the way to raise a character, even with worldly men, who, as they are able to pass a shrewd judgment on things, so they may easily discern, that the only method of succeeding in our tem­poral affairs is to prove ourselves honest, faithful, prudent, and capable of advancing the interest of our friends; because men naturally love nothing but that which in some way contributes to their use and benefit. But now what benefit can we in any way derive from hearing a man confess that he has eased himself of the burden of Religion; that he believes in no GOD, as the witness and inspector of his conduct; that he considers himself as absolute master of what he does, and accountable for it only to his own mind? Will he fancy that we shall be hence induced to repose a greater confidence in him here-after, or to depend on his comfort, his advice, or assist­ance, in the necessities of life? Can he imagine us to take any great delight when he tells us, that he doubts whether our eery soul be any thing more than a little wind and smoke?—nay, when he tells it us with an air of assurance, and a voice that, testifies the contentment of his heart? Is this a thing to be spoken of with pleasantry? Or ought it not rather to be lamented with the deepest sadness, as the most melancholy reflection that can strike our thoughts?

            If they would compose themselves to serious considera­tion, they must perceive the method in which they are engaged to be so very ill chosen, so repugnant to gentility, and so remote even from that good air and grace which they pursue, that, on the contrary, nothing can more effectually expose them to the contempt and aversion of mankind, or mark them out for persons defective in parts and judgment. And, indeed, should we demand from them an account of their sentiments, and of the reasons which they have for entertaining this suspicion in religious matters, what they offered would appear so miserably weak and trifling, as rather to confirm us in our belief. This is no more than what one of their own fraternity told them, with great smartness, on such an occasion; " If you continue" (says he) " to dispute at this rate, you will infallibly make me a Christian." And the gentle-man was in the right: for who would not tremble to find himself embarked in the same cause with so despicable companions?

            And thus it is evident, that they who wear no more than the outward mask of these principles, are the most unhappy counterfeits in the world; inasmuch as they are obliged to put a continual force on their genius, only that they may render themselves the most impertinent of all men living.  If they are sincerely troubled at their want of light, let them not dissemble the disease. Such a confession could not be reputed shameful; for there is no shame, but in being shameless. Nothing betrays so much weakness of soul, as not to apprehend the misery of man, while living " without Go]) in the world." Nothing is a surer token of extreme baseness of spirit, than not to hope for the reality of eternal promises. No man is so stigmatized a coward, as he that acts the bravo against heaven. Let them therefore leave these impieties to those who are born with so unhappy a judgment, as to be capable of enter­taining them in earnest. If they cannot be Christian Men, let them, however, be Men of Honor: and let them, in conclusion, acknowledge, that there are but two sorts of persons, who deserve to be styled reasonable, either those who serve God with all their heart, because they know him; or those who seek him with all their heart, because as yet they know him not.

            If then there are persons who sincerely inquire after GOD, and who, being truly sensible of their misery, affectionately desire to be rescued from it; it is to these alone that we can in justice afford our service, for their direction in finding out that light of which they feel the want.  But as for those who live without either knowing Gov, or endeavoring to know him, they look on themselves as so little deserving of their own care, that they cannot but be unworthy of the care of others: and it requires all the charity of the Religion they despise, not to despise them to such a degree, as even to abandon them to their own folly. But since the same Religion obliges us to consider them, while they remain in this life, as still capable of GOD’s enlightening grace, and to acknowledge it possible, that, in the course of a few days, they may be replenished with a fuller measure of faith than we now enjoy, and we ourselves, on the other side, fall into the depths of their present blindness and misery;. we ought to do for them, what we desire should be done to us in their case,—to entreat them, that they would take pity on themselves, and would, at least, advance a step or two forward, if perchance they may come into the light. For this end it is wished, that they would employ, in the perusal of this piece, some few of those hours which they spend so un­profitably in other pursuits. It is possible they may gain somewhat by the reading; at least, they cannot be great losers: but if any shall apply themselves to it with sin­cerity, and with an unfeigned desire of knowing the truth, I despair not of their satisfaction, or of their being con­vinced by so many proofs of our divine Religion.

II. Marks of the True Religion.

            The true Religion ought chiefly to distinguish itself by obliging men to the Love of Goo. This is what natural Justice requires, and yet what no Institution besides the Christian has ever commanded.  It ought likewise to have some apprehension of the innate concupiscence of man, and of his utter insufficiency for the attainment of virtue by his own strength, and some skill in applying the proper remedies to this defect, of which prayer is the principal. Our Religion has performed all this, and none besides has ever begged of God the power of loving and of obeying him.

            To make out the truth and certainty of a Religion, it is necessary that it should have obtained the knowledge of human nature. For our true nature and true happiness, true virtue and true religion, are things, the knowledge of which is reciprocal and inseparable. It should also be able to discern the greatness and the meanness of human condition, together with the cause and reason of both. What Religion, the Christian only excepted, could ever pretend to be thus knowing?

            Other Religions, as those of the heathens, are more popular, as consisting only in external appearance; but then they are unqualified for moving the judicious. Should any Religion reside altogether in the inward spirit, it might be fitter to work on parts and genius, but could hold no influence over the gross of mankind. Christianity alone is proportioned to all capacities, being duly composed and tempered of the internal and external way. It raises the most ignorant to inward and spiritual acts, and, at the same time, abases the most intelligent, by pressing outward performances, and is never com­plete but when it joins one of these effects to the other: for there is the like necessity that the people should un­derstand the spirit, which is veiled under the letter, and that the learned should submit their spirit to the letter, in complying with exterior practices.

            No Religion, except the Christian, has known man to be the most excellent of visible creatures, and, at the same time, the most miserable. Some having appre­hended the reality of his excellence, have censured, as mean and ungrateful, the low opinion which men natu­rally entertain of their own condition. Others, well knowing the unhappy effects of his baseness and misery, have exposed, as ridiculously vain, those notions of gran­deur which are no less natural to men.

The Divine Nature being removed from human thoughts and discovery, every Religion which does not confess it to be so, is false; and every Religion which does not show the reason why it is so, must be barren and unedifying: our Religion has performed both parts.

            That Religion, which consists in believing the Fall of man from a state of glory, and communication with GOD, to a state of sorrow, humiliation, and estrangement from GOD, together with his Restoration by a MESSIAS, has always been in the world. All things are passed away, and this remains for which all things were: for GOD, in his wisdom, designing to form to himself a holy people, whom he should separate from all other nations, should deliver from their enemies, and should settle in a place of rest, was pleased expressly to promise, not only that he would accomplish this mercy, but that he would come himself into the world for its performance; foretelling, by his Prophets, the very time and manner of his coming. Yet, in the mean while, to confirm the hope of his elect through all ages, he continually afforded them the pledges of types and figures, and never left them without assur­ances, as well of his power as of his inclination to save them. For immediately after the first creation, ADAM was the witness and depository of the promise concerning a Savior, to be born of the seed of the woman; and though men, while they stood so near to their own ori­ginals, could not forget the gift of their being, the shame of their fall, or the divine promise of a Redeemer, yet since the world, in its very infancy, was over-run with all sorts of corruptions, GOD was pleased to raise up holy men, as ENOCH, LAMECH, and others, who, with a pecu­liar faith and patience, waited for the author of their deliverance. After this, when the wickedness of men was arrived at its pitch, we read of GOD’s sending NOAH on a special commission, and of his rescuing him from the common destruction; a miracle which testified at once the power of GOD to save the world, and his will to perform this, by raising up to the Woman the Seed which he had promised. This signal act of omnipotence was enough to strengthen the expectation of mankind; and the memory of it was still fresh, when GOD renewed his promises to ABRAHAM, (who dwelt in the midst of idol­aters,) and opened to him the mystery of the MESSIAS that was to come. In the days of ISAAC and JACOB, the abomination was spread over the whole earth; yet these holy Patriarchs lived in faith, and the latter of them, as he blessed his children before his approaching death, refrained not from crying out, with a pious transport which interrupted his discourse, "I will wait for thy salvation, O LORD."

            The Egyptians were besotted with idolatry and magic, nor did the People of GOD escape the infection of their example; yet MosEs, with other excellent persons, saw him whom they saw not, and adored him, and had respect unto the eternal recompence which he was pre-paring for them.

The Greeks and Romans introduced a new multitude of fictitious deities: the Poets advanced their repugnant systems of theology: the Philosophers broke out into a thousand different sects: Yet were there always in the little corner of Judea chosen men, who foretold the coming of the MESSIAS, unknown to all but themselves.

He came at length in the fullness of time; and ever since his appearance, notwithstanding the numerous births of schisms and heresies, the revolutions in government, and the utter change in all things, the same Church, whose glory it is to adore Him who has been ever adored, still subsists without interruption. And what must be owned to be incomparably excellent, wonderful, and altogether divine, this Religion, which has ever sub­sisted, has ever been opposed. A thousand times has it been on the very brink of universal ruin; and as often as it has been reduced to this estate, so often has it been relieved by some extraordinary interposal of almighty power. It is astonishing, that it should never want a miracle to deliver it in extremity; and that it should be able to maintain itself, without bending to the will of tyrants and oppressors.

            Civil States must infallibly perish, if they did not many times permit their laws to give way to necessity: but Religion has never suffered this violence, though it has never stooped to this compliance. Yet there must be such accommodations and submissions, or else there must be a miraculous support. It is no wonder, that Empires and Governments should procure their safety by thus bending and bowing; and it is indeed improper, in this case, to say that they maintain or uphold themselves. Yet we see that they, at length, find an utter dissolution; nor has any one amongst them been so long-lived as to reach the period of fifteen hundred years. But that Religion should have always kept its ground, by always continuing unalterable and inflexible,—this is truly great and providential.

            Thus has the belief in the MESSIAS been derived down by a constant series, and uninterrupted course. The tradition from ADAM was fresh and lively in NOAH, and even in MOSES. After these, the Prophets bore testi­mony to him; at the same time predicting other things, which, being from day to day fulfilled in the eyes of all the world, demonstrated the truth of their promises in this behalf. They unanimously declared, that the legal ordi­nances were but preparatory to the Messiah's Institution; that till such a time the former should subsist without intermission, but that the latter should endure for ever; and that by this means, either the Law of MOSES, or that of the MESSIAS, which it prefigured, should always con­tinue upon earth;—and, in fact, there has been such a continuance to our days. JESUS CHRIST came agreeably to all the circumstances of their predictions; he per-formed miracles in his own person, and by the hands of his Apostles, whom he appointed for the conversion of the Gentile World; and the prophecies being thus once accomplished, the MESSIAS is for ever demonstrated.

            That Religion, which alone is contrary to our nature in its present estate, which declares war against our plea­sures and inclinations, and which, upon a slight and transient view, seems repugnant even to common sense, is that alone which has subsisted from the beginning.

            It is necessary that the whole current of things should bear a regard to the establishment and the grandeur of Religion; that there should be implanted in men senti­ments agreeable to its precepts; and, in a word, that it should so visibly be the great object and centre towards which all things tend, that whosoever understands its principles may be thence enabled to give an account, as of human nature in particular, so, in general, of the whole state and order of the world.

It is upon this very foundation that profane men are wont to build their blasphemous calumnies against the Christian Religion, only because they misunderstand it. They imagine, that it consists purely in the adoration of the Divinity, considered as great, powerful, and eternal. This is properly Deism, and stands almost as far removed from Christianity as Atheism, which is directly opposite to it. Yet hence they would infer the falsehood of our Religion; because (say they) were it true, GOD would have mani­fested himself under its dispensation by so visible tokens, that it should have been impossible for any man not to know him.

            But let them conclude what they will against Deism, they will be able to draw no such conclusion to the pre­judice of Christianity; which acknowledges, that since the Fall, GOD does not manifest himself to us with all the evidence that is possible,—and which consists properly in the mystery of a Redeemer, who, by sustaining at once the divine and human natures, has recovered men out of the corruption of sin,, that he might reconcile them to God in his divine person.

            True Religion, therefore, instructs men in these two principles, that there is a GOD whom they are capable of knowing and enjoying; and that there are such corrup­tions in their nature, as render them unworthy of him. There is the same importance in apprehending the one and the other of these points; and it is alike dangerous for man to know GOD without the knowledge of his own misery, and to know his own misery without the know-ledge of a Redeemer, who may deliver him from it. To apprehend one without the other, begets either the pride of Philosophers, who knew GOD, but not their own misery; or the despair of Atheists, who know their own misery, but not the author of their deliverance.

            And as it is of equal necessity to man, that he should obtain the knowledge of both these principles, so is it equally agreeable to the mercy of GOD, that he should afford the means of such a knowledge. To perform this, is the office, and the very essence, of Christianity.  Upon this footing, let men examine the order and eco­nomy of the world, and let them see, whether all things do not conspire in establishing these two fundamentals of our Religion.

            If any one knows not himself to be full of pride and ambition, of concupiscence and injustice, of weakness and wretchedness, he is blind beyond dispute. And if any one, who knows himself to labor under these defects, at the same time desires not to be rescued from them, what can we say of a man who has thus abandoned his reason? What remains then, but that we preserve the highest veneration for a Religion, which so well understands the infirmities of mankind; and that we profess the heartiest wishes for the truth of a religion, which engageth to heal those infirmities by so happy, so desirable a relief?

III. The true Religion proved by the Contrarieties which are discoverable in Man,

and by the Doctrine of Original Sin.

            THE greatness and the misery of man, being alike con­spicuous, it is necessary that the true Religion should declare, that he contains in himself some noble principle of greatness, and, at the same time, some profound source of misery. For the true Religion cannot answer its cha­racter otherwise, than by searching our nature to the bottom, so as perfectly to understand all that is great and all that is miserable in it, together with the reason of the one and of the other. Religion is farther obliged to account for those astonishing Contrarieties which we find within us. If there be but one Principle, or efficient Cause, one Author of all things, and himself the End of all things, the true Religion must teach us to make him alone the object of our worship and our love. But since we find ourselves under an inability, as well of adoring him whom we know not, as of loving any thing but ourselves, the same Religion, which enjoins on us these duties, ought also to acquaint us with this inability, and to instruct us in its cure.

            Again, in order to the accomplishment of man's happi­ness, it ought to convince us that there is a Goo; that we are obliged to love him; that. our true felicity consists in our dependence on him, and our only evil in our separation from him. It ought to inform us, that we are full of gross darkness, which hinders us from knowing and loving him; and that our duty thus obliging us to love GOD, and our concupiscence turning our whole affec­tion upon ourselves, we are notoriously unjust. It ought to discover to us the cause of that enmity and opposition which sire bear to GOD, and to our own happiness. It ought to teach us the remedies of this infirmity, and the means of obtaining them. Let men compare all the Religions of the world in these respects, and let them observe whether any one, but the Christian, is able to afford them satisfaction.

            Shall it be the Religion of those Philosophers, who proposed no other good, but what they would have us find in our own persons? Is this the true and sovereign good? Or have these men discovered the remedy of our evils? Was it a proper method for the cure of man's presumption, thus to equal him with GOD? On the other hand, have those succeeded better in restraining our earthly desires, who would bring us down to the level of beasts, and present us with sensual gratifications for our real and universal happiness? "Lift up your eyes to Gov," said those of the former tribe; " behold him who has stamped you with his image, and has made you for his worship. You have not only a capacity of being like him, but Wisdom, if you follow its directions, will even render you his peers." While those of the latter herd cried, with no less earnestness, " Cast down your eyes to the ground, base worms as you are, and look on the beasts, your goodly partners and fellows." What then is to be the fate of man? Shall he be equal to GOD, or shall he not be superior to the beasts? How frightful, how shocking a distance this! What shall we be then? What Religion shall instruct us to correct at once our pride and our concupiscence? What Religion shall disclose to us our happiness and our duty, together with the infir­mities which stop us in so desired a course, the proper help of these infirmities, and the means of obtaining this help? Let us hear what answer we receive, upon the whole enquiry, from the Wisdom of GOD, speaking to us in the Christian Religion.

            " It is in vain, O men, that you seek from yourselves the remedy of your miseries. All your lights extend to no farther discovery than this, that you cannot, from your own stores, be supplied with happiness or truth. The Philosophers, who promised all things, could perform nothing in your behalf: they neither apprehended your true estate, nor your real good. What possibility was there of your receiving benefit from their prescriptions, who had not skill enough to understand your disease? Your chief infirmities are pride, which alienates you from GOD, and concupiscence, which fastens you down to earth; and their constant employment was to caress and entertain one or the other of these disorders. They who presented GOD to you, as the sole object of your contem­plation, did but gratify your pride, by vainly insinuating, that your nature was constituted under a parity with the Divine: and as for those who saw the extravagance of such pretensions, what did they but set you upon the other precipice, by tempting you to believe, that your nature was of a piece with that of the beasts; and by inclining you to place all your good in sensual delight, the portion of irrational creatures? These could never be the means of discovering to you the injustice of your proceedings. Do not therefore expect instruction or con­solation from men: it was I that first made you to be; and it is I alone who can teach you the knowledge of your being. You are not now in the estate under which you were formed by my hand: I created man holy, innocent, and perfect: I replenished him with light and understanding: I communicated to him my wonders and my glory: then it was that the eye of man beheld the majesty of GOD. He did not then labor under this darkness which blinds him, or under this mortality, and these miseries, which oppress him: but he was unable to sustain so great degree of splendor, without falling into presumption: he was disposed to make himself the centre of his own happiness, and altogether independent of the divine succors: and when he had withdrawn himself from my dominion, and affected an equality with me, by presuming to find all happiness in himself, I abandoned him to his own guidance; and causing a general revolt amongst the creatures that were his subjects, I made them his enemies. Man himself is now become like unto the beasts, and removed to such a distance from me, as scarcely to retain some scattered rays and confused notices of his Author; so far have all his discerning powers been either extinguished or disturbed. His senses being never the servants, and very often the masters, of his reason, have driven him on the pursuit of unwarrant­able pleasures. All the creatures, with which he is sur­rounded, either grieve and torment, or tempt and seduce him; thus ever maintaining a sovereignty over him, either as they subdue him by their strength, or as they melt him with their charms, which is the more imperious and more fatal tyranny."

            From the principles which I have here laid open to you, you may discern the spring of those wonderful Contrarieties, which, while they astonish all men, do no less distract and divide them.

            Observe again all the movements of greatness and glory, which the sense of so many miracles is not able to extinguish, and consider whether they can proceed from a less powerful cause than original nature.

            Know then, proud mortal, what a paradox you art to thyself. Let thy weak reason be humbled; let thy frail nature compose itself in silence: learn that man infinitely surpasses man; and let thy own history, to which you art thyself an utter stranger, be declared to thee by thy Maker and thy Lord.

            Had man never fallen into corruption, he would proceed in the enjoyment of truth and happiness with an assured delight; and had man never known any other than this corrupted state, he would, at present, retain no idea of truth and happiness. But so great is our misery, (greater than if we had never tasted any thing lofty or noble in our condition,) that we may preserve an idea of happiness while we are unable to pursue it; that we discern some faint image of truth, while we possess nothing but lies, being alike incapable of absolute ignorance and of accomplished knowledge. So manifest is it, that we once stood in a degree of perfection, from which we are now unhappily fallen.

            What then does this eagerness in coveting, and this impotence in acquiring, teach us?—What, but that man was originally possessed of a real bliss, of which nothing now remains but the footsteps and empty traces, which he vainly endeavors to replenish with all the abundance that surrounds him, seeking from absent enjoyments the relief which he finds not in such as are present, and which neither the present nor the absent can bestow on him; because this great gulf, this infinite vacuity, is only to be filled up by an object infinite and immoveable.

            It is most astonishing to reflect, that of all mysteries, that which seems to be farthest removed from our dis­covery and apprehension, I mean the transmission of Original Sin, should yet be so necessary a point of know-ledge, as that, without it, we must remain utter strangers to ourselves. For it is beyond doubt, that nothing ap­pears so shocking to our reason, as that the transgression of the first man should derive a guilt on those who, being so vastly distant from the fountain, seem incapable of sharing in the impure tincture. This transfusion is looked upon by us not only as impossible, but as unjust, could we suppose it to be possible. And yet without this in-comprehensible mystery, we are, ourselves, incompre­hensible to our own mind. The clue, which knits together our whole fortune and condition, takes its turns, and plies, in this amazing abyss; insomuch that man will appear no less inconceivable without this mystery, than this mystery appears inconceivable to man.

            Original Sin is a foolishness" to men. It is granted to be so: wherefore, Reason ought not to be accused as defective in this knowledge, because it pretends not to be such as Reason can ever fathom. But then this " fool­ishness" is wiser than all the wisdom of men: for without this how would it be possible to say what man is? His whole estate depends on this one imperceptible point.

            Yet how should he be made acquainted with this by his reason, when it is a thing above his reason, and when reason, instead of introducing him to it, carries him the farther from it, the more it is employed in the search?

            This double temper and disposition of man is so visible, that there have not been wanting those who imagined him to have two souls; one single subject ap­pearing to them incapable of so great and sudden variety, from an Immeasurable presumption to a dreadful abase­ment and abjectness of spirit.

Thus the several Contrarieties which, in appearance, should most alienate men from the knowledge of all Religion, are those very things which should, indeed, most effectually conduct them to the true.

            For my own part, I cannot but declare, that so soon as the Christian Religion discovers to me this one prin­ciple, that human nature is depraved and fallen from GOD, this clears up my sight, and enables me to distin­guish throughout the characters of so divine a mystery. For such is the whole frame and disposition of nature, as, in all things within and without us, to bespeak the loss of GOD's more immediate presence, and more favorable communications.

Without this divine information, what would be left for men to do, but either immediately to exalt themselves by the remaining sense of their former grandeur, or no less immoderately to abase themselves by reflecting on their present infirmity? For not being in a capacity of absolute truth, it is impossible they should arrive at per­fect virtue. Some looking on nature as indefectible, others as irrecoverable, they must of necessity fall either into vanity or idleness, the two great sources of all vice. For they could not but either abandon themselves through negligence, or cure their negligence by flattering their pride. If they knew the excellency of man, they would be ignorant of his corruption, so as easily to escape the danger of remissness and sloth; but, at the same time, would lose themselves in haughty conceit. Or, if they were sensible of the infirmity of nature, they would be strangers to its dignity, so as easily to refrain from being transported with presumption; but, at the same time, would plunge themselves into despair.

            Hence arose the various sects of the Stoics and Epicu­reans, of the Dogmatists and the Academics, &c. It is the Christian Religion alone, which has been able thoroughly to cure these opposite distempers; not so as to drive the one out by the other, according to the wisdom of the world, but so as to expel them both by the simplicity of the Gospel. For while it exalts the good and pious even to a participa­tion of the Divinity itself, it lets them understand, that, in this their sublime estate, they still retain the fountain of all corruption, which renders them subject to error and misery, to death and sin. And at the same time it assures the impious, that they are not yet incapable of sharing the grace and blessing of a Redeemer. Thus speaking, not without terror to those whom it justifies, nor without comfort to those whom it condemns, it so wisely tempers hope and fear, in regard to this double capacity of sin and of grace, which is common to all mankind, that it abaseth infinitely more than unassisted reason, yet without despair, and exalts infinitely more than natural pride, yet without puffing up;—hereby de­monstrating, that being alone exempt from error and vice, it can alone challenge the office of instructing and of reforming men.

            The mystery of the Incarnation discovers to man the greatness of his danger, by the greatness of those methods which he stood in need of for his relief.

            No doctrine is so justly suited to the condition and to the temper of man, as this; which makes him ac­quainted with his double capacity of receiving and for­feiting grace, as a fence against the double danger to which he is always exposed, of despair and of pride.

            The Philosophers never furnished men with senti­ments agreeable to these two estates. They either inspired a principle of pure grandeur, which cannot be the true condition of men; or else of mere abjectness, which condition is as ill proportioned as the former. We ought to preserve a sense of humiliation; yet not as the character of our nature, but as the effect of our repent­ance; not such as should fix us in desperation, but such as should dispose and lead us on to greatness. Nor ought we to be less affected with the motions of gran­deur; yet of such as proceeds from grace, not from merit, and such as we arrive at by the discipline of humiliation.

            No man is so happy as the true Christian; none is so rational, so virtuous, so amiable. With how little vanity does such an one reflect on himself as united to God? With how little abjectness does he rank himself with the worms of the earth?

IV. It is by no means incredible, that GOD should unite
Himself to us.

            THAT which renders men so averse to believing them-selves capable of an union with Go"), is nothing else but the thought of their baseness and misery. Yet if this thought of theirs be sincere, let them pursue it as far as I have done, and let them confess our baseness to have only this effect, with respect to GOD, that it hinders us from discovering, by our own strength, whether his mercy cannot render us capable of an union with him. For I would gladly be informed, whence this creature, who acknowledgeth himself so weak and contemptible, should obtain a right of setting bounds to the divine mercy, and of measuring it by such a rule and standard as his own fancy suggests. Man knows so little of the divine essence, as to remain ignorant of what he is him-self; and yet, disturbed at this imperfect view of his own condition, he boldly pronounceth, that it is beyond the power of God to qualify him for so sublime a conjunc­tion. But I will ask him, whether God requires any thing else at his hands, but that he should know him and should love him; and, since he finds himself, in his own nature, capable of knowing and of loving, upon what ground he suspects that the Divine Nature cannot exhibit itself as the object of his knowledge and his love? For as he certainly knows, at least, that he is somewhat, so he no less certainly loves somewhat. If then he sees any thing under the present darkness of his understanding, and if amongst the things of this world he can find somewhat which may engage his affection, should God be pleased to impart to him some ray of his essence, why should he not be able to know and to love his divine Benefactor, according to the measure and proportion in which this honor was vouchsafed? There must there-fore, no doubt, be an intolerable presumption in these ways of reasoning, though veiled under an appearance of humility. For our humility can neither be rational nor sincere, unless it makes us confess that, not knowing of ourselves even what we ourselves are, we cannot other-wise be instructed in our own condition, than by the assistance and information of Heaven.

V. The Submission and Use of Reason.

            THE last process of Reason is to discover that there is an infinity of things which utterly surpass its force. And it must be very weak, if it arrive not at this discovery.  It is fit that we should know how to doubt where we ought, to rest assured where we ought, and to submit where we ought. He who fails in any one of these respects, is unacquainted with the power of Reason. Yet are there many who offend against these three rules; either by warranting every thing for demonstration, be-cause they are unskilled in the nature of demonstrative evidence; or by doubting of every thing, because they know not where they ought to submit; or by submitting to every thing, because they know not where to use their judgment.

            If we bring down all things to Reason, our Religion will have nothing in it mysterious or supernatural. If we stifle the principles of Reason, our Religion will be absurd and ridiculous.

            Reason, says ST. AUSTIN, would never be for sub­mitting, if it did not judge, that on some occasions sub-mission was its duty. It is but just, therefore, that it should recede, where it sees an obligation of receding, and that it should assert its privileges, where, upon good grounds, it supposeth itself not engaged to wave them.  Some men reproach us with a superstitious submission of our faculties. And we should be guilty of the charge, if we required men to submit in things which are not the proper matter of submission.

            Nothing is so agreeable to Reason, as the disclaiming of Reason in matters of pure Faith; and nothing is so repugnant to Reason, as the disuse of Reason in things that do not concern Faith: the extremes are equally dan­gerous, either wholly to exclude Reason, or to admit nothing but Reason.

            Faith says many things in which the Senses are silent, but nothing which the Senses deny. It is always above them, but never contrary to them.

VI. Faith without Reasoning.

            MIGHT we but see a Miracle, say some men, how gladly would we become Converts? They could not speak in this manner, did they understand what Conver­sion means. They imagine, that nothing else is requisite to this work, but the bare acknowledgment of GOD; and that his service consists only in paying to him certain verbal addresses, little different from those which the heathens used towards their idols. True Conversion is to abase, and, as it were, to annihilate ourselves, before this great and sovereign Being, whom we have so often provoked, and who every moment may, without the least injustice, destroy us. It is to acknowledge, that we can do nothing without his aid, and that we have merited nothing from him but his wrath. It is to know, that there is an invincible opposition between GOD and our-selves; and that without the benefit of a Mediator, there could be no transaction or intercourse between us.

            Never think it strange, that illiterate persons should believe without reasoning. GOD inspires them with the love of his justice, and with the contempt of themselves. It is he that inclines their hearts to believe. No man ever believes with a true and saving faith, unless GOD inclines his heart. Of this DAVID was sensible when he prayed, a Incline my heart, O LORD, to thy testimonies."

            That some men believe without having examined the proofs of Religion, is because they enjoy a temper and frame of mind altogether pious and holy; and because what they hear affirmed by our Religion is agreeable to such a temper.  They are sensible that one GOD is their maker. They are inclined to love nothing but him, and to hate nothing but themselves. They are sensible of their own weak­ness and impotence, that they are of themselves utterly incapable of coming to GOD, and that, unless he is pleased mercifully to come to them, it is impossible they should maintain any communication with him. And they hear our religion declaring, that GOD alone ought to he the object of our affection, and ourselves alone of our detestation; and that, whereas we are by nature corrupt, and under an incapacity of uniting ourselves to GOD, GOD has been pleased to become man, that he might unite himself to us. There needs no more to persuade men, than this disposition of heart, together with this appre­hension of their duty, and of their incapacity for its discharge.

            Those whom we see commencing real Christians, without the knowledge of Prophecies, or of the like evi­dences, do yet judge of their Religion no less than the masters of that knowledge. They judge of it by the heart, as others judge by the understanding. GOD in-clines their heart to faith, and his grace is the most effectual conviction.

            I confess, one of these Christians, who believes without the common methods of proof, is not qualified to con­vince an Infidel, who pretends to want nothing but proof. But those who are skilled in the evidences of religion can with ease demonstrate, that such a believer does truly receive his faith from the inspiration of Gov, though he is unable to prove even this of himself.

VII. That there is more advantage in believing, than in
disbelieving, the Doctrines of Christianity.

            UNITY joined to Infinity increases it not, any more than a Foot-measure added to an infinite Space. What is finite vanishes before that which is infinite, and be-comes pure nothing. Thus our understanding in respect of GOD's; thus human justice compared with the Divine.  Nay, the disproportion between Unity and Infinity, in general, is not so vast as that between man's righteous­ness and the righteousness of GOD.

We know that there is an infinite; but we are igno­rant of its nature. For instance; we know it to be false, that numbers are finite: there must, therefore, be an infinity in number. But what this is we know not. It can neither be equal or unequal, because unity added to it varies not its condition. Thus we may very well know that there is a GOD, without comprehending what God is; and you ought by no means to conclude against the existence of GOD from your imperfect conceptions of his essence.

            For your conviction, I shall not call in the testimony of Faith, which gives us so certain an assurance; nor even make use of the ordinary proofs, because these you are unwilling to receive. I shall argue with you upon your own terms; and I doubt not but, from the method in which you reason every day concerning things of the smallest importance, I can make it appear after what manner you ought to reason in the present case, and to which side you ought to incline in deciding this question, of the highest consequence, about the existence of GOD. You allege, then, that we are incapable of knowing whether GOD is. Yet this remains certain, that either God is, or is not; and that there can be no medium in the case. Which part then shall we choose? Reason, say you, is not a proper judge in this point. There is an infinite gulf, or chaos, fixed between us: we play, as it were, at cross and pile, for an uncertainty thus in-finitely distant. What will you wager? Reason can affirm neither the one nor the other event: Reason can deny neither the one nor the other.

            Do not be forward then in accusing those of error who have chosen their side. For you confess yourself not to know whether they have, indeed, made an ill choice:—" No," you will say, " but I shall take the free­dom to censure them still, not for making this choice, but for making any: he that takes cross, and he that takes pile, are both in the wrong; the right had been not to wager at all."—Nay, but there is a necessity of wagering; the thing is placed beyond the indifference of your will; you are embarked in the cause; and by not laying that God is, you, in effect, lay that he is not. Which will you take? Let us balance the gain and the loss of sticking to the affirmative. If you gain, you gain all; if you lose, it is mere nothing that is lost. Be quick, therefore, and take this side without demur.—" Well; I confess, I ought to lay; but may not I lay too much?" Supposing the chance to be the same, you would not refuse to stake one life against two. And in case there were ten for you to win, you must be much more imprudent not to hazard one life against ten, at a game where the cast was even. But there is an infinite number of lives, infinitely happy, to be won, upon an equal throw; and the stake you venture is so petty a thing, and of so very short continuance, that it would be ridiculous for you to show your good husbandry on this occasion. For you say nothing, when you urge, that it is uncertain whether you win, and that it is certain you must venture; and that the infinite distance between the certainty of venturing, and the uncertainty of winning, makes the finite good, which you certainly expose, equal to the infinite, which you uncertainly pursue. This is all deception: every gamester stakes what is certain against what is uncertain; and yet his venturing a finite certainty for a finite uncertainty never disparages his reason. Again, it is false that there is an infinite distance between the certainty of what we venture, and the uncertainty of what we hope to win. Indeed, the certainty of winning, and the certainty of losing, are infinitely distant. But as for the uncertainty on the winning hand, it is such as fairly balanceth the certainty of what we venture, ac-cording to the usual proportion in games of chance. Suppose, therefore, there are as many chances on one side, as on the other, the game is even; and thus the certainty of our venture is but equal to the uncertainty of our prize: so far ought we to be from supposing an infinite distance between them. So that, upon the whole, if we stake a finite, when there is a plain equality as to winning or losing, and where that which may be won is infinite, the argument cannot but be of infinite force. We seem here to have a demonstration before us; and if men are not incapable of all truth, they cannot remain insensible of this.

            You say, "I own, and confess it; but still might there not be some means of seeing a little clearer into this matter?"—Yes, this is to be done by the help of Scrip­ture, and by the other infinite proofs of Religion.  " O," say you, " men who may entertain the hope of salvation are very happy in this respect; but is not the fear of hell a very unfortunate counterpoise?"

            Which, I beseech you, has most cause to be afraid of hell; one that is under ignorance, whether there be a hell or not, and under certain damnation if there be; or another who is certainly persuaded that there is a hell, but is encouraged to hope that he shall be delivered from having his part in it?

A man who is respited (suppose for eight clays) from the sentence of death, should he not be inclined to think that there is somewhat more in all this than a mere hit of chance, must have utterly abandoned his senses. But now were we not miserably enslaved by our passions, eight days and an hundred years would, upon this view, appear the same thing.

            What damage are you like to sustain by embracing the affirmative? Why, you are engaged, by this principle, to be faithful, honest, humble, grateful, beneficent, hearty, and sincere. It is true, you will not be in possession of base and infamous pleasures, of fading glory, of empty delight. But is not their room to be supplied by more desirable enjoyments? I tell you, you will be a gainer, even in this life; and every step you take in the way to which you are now directed, you will discover so much certainty of a future advantage, and so much emptiness in what you hazard, as at length to find, that you have trafficked for a sure and infinite reversion, and yet, in effect, have given nothing for the purchase.

            But, you say, you are so made as to be incapable of believing.—At least, then, endeavor to understand this your incapacity, and to find what it is that debars you of faith, when reason so manifestly invites you to it. Labor in your own conviction, not by increasing the proofs of a Deity, but by diminishing the power of your passions. You are willing to be brought to Faith, but you know not the way: you would be cured of your in-fidelity, and you desire to be informed of the proper remedies. Learn them from those who were once in your condition, but are at present clear from all scruple. They are acquainted with the path which you would gladly find: they have recovered from a disease which you wish to overcome. Observe the method with which they began their cure: imitate their external actions, if you are, as yet, unable to transcribe their inward dispo­sitions: banish those amusements which have hitherto entirely possessed you.

You say, " O! I should soon bid adieu to these plea­sures, were I once but master of Faith," And, I say, on the other hand, you would soon be master of faith, had you once bidden adieu to these pleasures. It is your part to begin: Were it in my power, I would oblige you with the gift of faith. This I am unable to do, and, censequently, to make out the truth of what you suppose: but you may easily abandon your pleasures, and, by con-sequence, evince the certainty of what I affirm.

VIII. The Portrait of a man who has wearied himself with searching after God by his bare Reason, and who begins to read the Scripture.

            WHEN I consider the blindness and misery of man, and those amazing contrarieties which discover themselves in his nature; when I observe the whole creation to be silent, and man to be without comfort, abandoned to himself, and, as it were, strayed into this corner of the universe,. neither apprehending by whose means he came hither, nor what is the end of his coming, nor what will befall him at his departure hence; I am struck with the same horror as a person who has been carried in his sleep into a desolate and frightful island, and who awakes without knowing where he is, or by what way he may get out and escape. And, upon this view, I am at a loss to conceive how so miserable an estate can produce any thing but despair. I behold other persons near me, of the same nature and constitution: I ask, if they are any better informed than myself; and they assure me they are not. Immediately after this, I take notice, that these unfortunate wanderers, having looked about them, and espied certain objects of pleasure, arc contented to seek no farther; but swallow the bait, embrace the charm, and fasten themselves down to the enjoyment.

            For my own part, I can obtain no satisfaction or repose in the society of persons like myself, laboring under the same weakness, and the same distress. I find they will be able to give me no assistance at my death: I shall be obliged to die alone; and, therefore, 1 ought to pro­ceed, in this respect, as if I lived alone. Now, in a condition of solitude, I would entertain no projects of building; I would perplex myself with none of the tumultuaiy affairs of this life; 1 would court the esteem of no person; but would devote myself, and my pains, to the discovery of truth.

            Hence reflecting how probable it seems that there may be something else besides that which now presents itself to my eye, I begin to examine, whether that supreme Being, who is talked of by all the world, has been pleased to leave any marks or footsteps of himself. I look round on all sides, and see nothing throughout but universal obscurity. Nature offers no consideration, but what is the subject of doubt and disquiet. Could I no where discern the least token of DIVINITY, I would resolve not to believe at all: could I in every thing trace the image of a Creator, I would rest myself upon a sure and settled belief. But while I see too much to deny, and too little to affirm the question with any certainty, my condition renders me an object of pity; and I have a thousand times wished, that if nature have indeed a Divine Author and Supporter, she would present us with the lively draught and uncontested characters of his being, but that if the marks which she bears about her are fallacious, she would entirely conceal him from our view; that she would either say all, or say nothing, so as to determine my judgment on either side. Whereas, under my present suspense, being ignorant as well of what I am, as of that which is expected from me, I remain an equal stranger to my condition and my duty. In the mean time, my heart is absolutely bent on the search of real and solid good, such as, when found, may complete my hopes, and regulate my conduct. I should think no price too dear for this acquisition.

            I observe a multitude of Religions in all countries and times. But they are such as neither please me with their morals, or move me with their proofs. Thus, I would, without distinction, at once reject the Religion of *, or of the Chinese, of ancient Egypt or Rome, upon this single reason, because neither of them being able to produce more signs of truth than another, neither of them affording any thing to incline and fix our thought, reason cannot show a greater propension to one mode than to any of the rest.

            But while I am making reflections on this strange and unaccountable variety of manners and of belief in dif­ferent countries and periods, I find in one little corner of the world a peculiar People, separated from all the nations under heaven, whose registers exceed, by many ages, the most ancient stories on record. I discover a great and numerous race, who worship one GOD, and are governed by a law which they affirm themselves to have received from his hand. The sum of what they maintain is this: that they are the only persons whom GOD has honored with the communication of his mysteries; that all other men, having corrupted themselves, and merited the divine displeasure, are abandoned to their own sense and imagination, whence arise the endless wanderings and continual alterations amongst them, whether in Re­ligion, or in Civil Discipline, while their nation alone has preserved an immoveable establishment;—but that GOD will not for ever leave the rest of the world under so miserable darkness; that a common Savior shall at length arrive; that the sole end of their polity is to pre­tignrc and proclaim his arrival; and that they were formed and constituted with express design to be the heralds of his great appearance, and to give warning to all nations, that they should unite in the blessed expectation of a Redeemer.

            My adventure amongst this people, as it gives me the greatest surprise, so it seems to me deserving of the highest regard and attention, on account of the many wonderful and singular curiosities discoverable in their frame.  They are a people composed entirely of Brethren: and whereas all others have been constituted by all assem­blage of almost infinite races and bloods, these, though so prodigiously fruitful, have descended all from the same man; whence' being as one flesh, and as members one of another, they form the most compacted strength of one undivided family. This is most peculiar and distin­guishing!

            They are the most ancient people that fall under our knowledge and discovery; a circumstance which, in my judgment, ought to procure for them a particular vene­ration, especially in regard to our present inquiry; because, if GOD has, at any time, vouchsafed to reveal himself to mankind, these are the persons from whose hands we are to receive the tradition.

            Nor are they only considerable in point of antiquity, but no less singular in their duration, from their original to this day. For while the several people of Greece, of Italy, of Sparta, of Athens, and of Rome, together with others which sprung up long after them, have been extinct for many ages, these have always subsisted; and, in spite of the various designs of many great and powerful princes, who have a thousand times attempted their de­struction, (as historians testify, and as it is natural to infer, from the ordinary changes and revolutions of things,) have maintained themselves during so vast a course of years, and stretching themselves from the earliest to the latest memory, have caused the annals of their own nation to be co-extended with the history of the world.

            The Law, by which this people is governed, appears, in all respects, to be the mo