Sermons, Sermon 17
The XVII. Serm.
2 Pet. III. 3.
Scoffers walking after their own luſts.
IT is an excellent obſervation of Ariſtotles, that rich men are naturally moſt contumelious, moſt given to abuſe and deride others,C. 15. which he expreſſes thus, in the ſeventh of his Pol. foreign. The contentment which they enjoy in the continuance of their worldly happineſs, the perpetual reſt, and quiet, and tranquility, which their plenty beſtows on them, makes them contemn and deſpiſe the eſtate of any other man in the world. Upon this conceit ſaith the ſame Ariſtotle, (foreign,) that their happineſs is elevated infinitely above the ordinary pitch; that whatever contentments any other ſort of people can glory or delight in, is but ſome imaginary, ſlight, poor happineſs that men are fain to ſolace themſelves withal, to keep them from melancholy, all far enough below the ſize of their felicity, which all agreeable circumſtances have conſpired to make exactly complete. Hence it is that you ſhall ordinarily obſerve the rich man, in this confidence of his opinion, that no man is happy but himſelf, either contemn or pity the poverty, and improvidence, and perhaps the ſottiſhneſs of ſuch ſpirits, that can rejoyce or boaſt in the poſſeſſion of wiſdom, knowledge, nay even of Gods graces; no object is more ridiculous in his eye, then either a Scholar or a Chriſtian, that knows not the value of riches: for ſaith Ariſtotle, 2 Rhet. c. 16.foreign. Money is reckoned the price of all things elſe, that which can eaſily purchaſe whatever elſe we can ſtand in need of; and therefore the rich man if he could think Learning and Religion worth any thing, having his money by him (which is in effect every thing) thinks he can call for them when he pleaſes. In the mean, he hath more wit then to forſake his pleaſures, and go to ſchool to the Stoick, to diveſt himſelf of his robes, and put on the ſowerneſs, the rigid, ſad behaviour which the profeſſion of Wiſdom or Chriſtianity requires. He is better pleaſed in his preſent pomp, then to go and woo that miſery and ruggedneſs, which the ſeverity of diſcipline looks for. Let ſilly beggars boaſt of the contents of Wiſdom or hopes of Heaven, at mihi plaudo domi, his coffers at home are better companions then all the melancholy of books, or ſullen ſolaces of the ſpirit. He hath learnt by experience, that he ought to pity and contemn theſe fictions of delight which the Poets fetch from the fortunate iſlands to delude, and cozen, and comfort beggars: his glory, and pride, and riches, are happineſs indeed, and whatever elſe the poverty of the world can boaſt of, are objects not of his envy but his ſcorn.
What we have hitherto noted to you concerning the rich man is applyable on the ſame grounds to any fort of people which have fixt upon any worldly content, and reſolved upon ſome one object, beſide which they will never value or prize any thing. Thus the Epicure or voluptuous man, who hath ſet up his Idol luſt, to whom he owes all his ſacrifice, and from whom he expects all his good fortune, that hath fixt his Pillars, and caſt his Anchor, and is peremptorily conſtant in his courſe, that he is reſolved for ever to walk in. This man I ſay, being poſſeſt with an opinion of the happineſs which he is placed in, like the Sun in his pride, rejoyces to run his courſe, and ſcorns any contrary motion that he meets or hears of, and only obſerves the wayes of vertue, and religion, to hate and laugh at them: and the farther he walks, the deeper he is engaged in this humor of ſelf-content, and contempt of others, of ſecurity, and ſcoffing. For this is the force and implicite argument, covertly contained in the cloſe of theſe words, There ſhall come in the laſt dayes, ſcoffers, &c. i. e. this reſolution to walk on in their own luſts, hath brought them to this pitch of Atheiſm, to ſcoff and deride both God and Goodneſs. There ſhall, &c.
We have heretofore divided theſe words, and in them obſerved and handled already the ſin of Atheiſm, together with the ſubjects in which it works, Chriſtians of the laſt times, noted from this prophetick ſpeech, There ſhall come in the laſt dayes ſcoffers. We now come to the ſecond particular, the motive, or impellent to this ſin, a liberty which men give themſelves, and a content which they take to walk after their own luſts.
The ſecond chapter of the Wiſdom of Solomon, is an excellent deſcription of the Atheiſt: and though it be of Apocryphal authority, yet 'tis of moſt divine Canonical truth. I could find in my heart, nay, I can ſcarce hold from reading, and paraphraſing the whole chapter to you: 'tis ſo ſolid, ſo ſtrong, ſo perfect a diſcourſe upon this theme, it contains ſo many ſtrains of Atheiſtical reaſon, in oppoſition to godlineſs, and the root, and growth, and maturity of this tree of knowledge, and death, that the clear underſtanding of that one place might ſuffice without any enlargement of proofs or expreſſions. But for brevity ſake, and on promiſe that you will at your leiſure ſurvey it, I will omit to inſiſt on it: only in the end of the 21. verſe, after all the expreſſions of their Atheiſtical counſels, you have the reaſon, or motive, or firſt worker of all, For their own wickedneſs hath blinded them: their ſtupid perſeverance in thoſe dark wayes, in that black Tophet on earth, habituate cuſtom of ſinning, had ſo thickned their ſight, had drawn ſuch a film over their eyes, that in the judgment of divine affairs, they were ſtark blind: they could ſee nothing in all the myſtery of godlineſs which was worth embracing: and therefore had no employment, but to walk on after their own luſts, and to ſcoff at thoſe that were ſo fooliſhly friendly to them, as to call them out of their way: they were well enough acquainted with their own paths, they could walk them blindfold, and therefore had more wit then forſake the road for a nearer by-way. The iſſue of all is this, that a voluptuous courſe of life is a great promoter and advancer of Atheiſm: there had never been ſo many ſcoffers in the Chriſtian world, had there not been alſo thoſe that were reſolute to walk after their own luſts.
In the firſt verſe of the Pſalms, there be ſteps, and rounds, and gradations of a ſinner ſpecified, 1. Walking in the counſel of the ungodly, 2. Standing in the way of ſinners, 3. Sitting in the ſeat of the ſcorner. The two firſt being degrees in his motion, ſeveral ſtages of his journey to this foreign, or top pitch of ſinning in the laſt. Walking in the counſel of the ungodly is the firſt entrance to his courſe: and he that hath ſuch a riſe as this, hath a great advantage of all other ſinners; he will perform his race with ſpeed, and come ſuddenly to his goal. This deliberate walking in the wayes, and with the companions and contrivers of ungodlineſs, this partaking and proſecuting of the counſels, the enjoying this familiarity with ſin, proves a ſtrong engagement to continue and perſevere, and delight in its acquaintance. Yet becauſe walking is a laborious motion, and will tire the ſinner in time, he is fain to betake himſelf to an eaſier poſture, and that is ſtanding in the way of ſinners, continuing in a ſtill, ſober, quiet, ſtupid tranqillity of ſinning, ſtanding like a Mercury's poſt in the midſt of a rode, never removed or ſtirred an inch, though never ſo juſtled by the paſſengers. Let all the contrary vertues never ſo thwart and croſs him, he hath fixed his ſtation, and neither force, nor allurements ſhall make him move. Yet becauſe ſtanding alſo is a painful poſture, with which the valianteſt legs will at laſt be nummed, if not tyred, he hath in the laſt place his chair of eaſe and ſtate, and here he ſets up his reſt, here he ſins with as much Majeſty as delight. 1. In cathedrâ, as a feat of greatneſs, lording it, and ſinning imperiouſly, commanding every ſpectator to follow his example of ſcoffing at God and goodneſs. 2. In cathedrâ, as a ſeat of authority, ſinning doctorally, and magiſterially, by his practiſe defining the lawfulneſs of theſe ſcoffs, even ſetting up a ſchool of Atheiſm. And 3. in cathedrâ, as a ſeat of reſt, and eaſe, and pleaſure, which he is reſolved never to riſe out of, which he hath repoſed himſelf in, that he may laugh at eaſe, and without any pains or trouble, or charges blaſpheme God for ever. And for the moſt part indeed he proves as bad as his reſolution, having once given himſelf this licence of laughing at and deriding Religion, he ſeldom ever recovers himſelf to a ſober countenance, like men whoſe cuſtom of ſcoffing hath made wry-mouthed, he lives and continues, and for the moſt part dyes ſcoffing. He comes as it were laughing into hell, and ſeldom forſakes this habit of prophaneneſs, till horror hath put ſmiling out of date. There is not a ſin in the world that ſits cloſer to him which hath once entertained it, and he that is once a merry Atheiſt, ſeldom, if ever proves a ſad ſober Chriſtian. He is ſeated in his chair of ſcorning, and contemns the mercy of that ſpirit that ſhould take him out of it. Thus you ſee, that walking in the ſteps, and ſtanding in the way, i. e. following the commands of their own luſts, they are ſoon arrived to the pitch of Atheiſts, to the chair of ſcorners, and then there is but little preferment more that they are capable of, unleſs they will ſtrive with Lucifer for preeminence in hell, or elſe challenge Rabſhakeh to rail, or Julian to blaſpheme. But this is the higheſt degree of ſcoffers, and I hope the devil hath but few ſuch valiant, bold, forward Champions in the world, ſince Julian or Lucian's time. And therefore I hope I have prickt no mans conſcience here, whilſt I have ſpoke of them: but I have formerly proved, that there be ſome lower, tamer, ſecret degrees of Atheiſm, which every man may chance to ſpy in ſome angle or corner of his ſoul, ſome implicite artificial wayes of ſcoffing, or abaſing God, which moſt of us are guilty of: and 'twill be worthy our pains to ſhew how theſe ſeeds are warmed, and cheriſhed, and animated by a licentious life.foreign Hippocrates obſerves of the Scythians that they do not ſwathe themſelves, nor bind in their loins with any kind of girdle, but go with their bodies very looſe, that they may ride the eaſier, which is the only exerciſe they uſe: and from hence, ſaith he, they grow ſo corpulent and fleſhy, ſo bread and bulky, that they are both ugly and unweildy, an eye-ſore to others, and cumberſome to themſelves: thoſe acceſſions which in other people extend themſelves proportionably in length, and breadth, in height as well as bulk, in them grow all into thickneſs: ſo that you ſhall ſee a Pygme in ſtature, as big as a Gyant in the girt. Thus is it with thoſe whoſe affections are not ruled, and reſtrained in order, and within limits, are not ſwathed and kept in, have not ſome ſet terms of temperance, and other vertues, beyond which they ſuffer not themſelves to fly out. If I ſay, theſe affections within us be by the owners left ungirt to their own freedom, they will never grow upward toward Heaven: they will ſtill be dwarfiſh, of ſmall growth in Religion: but yet like thoſe Scythians, they will run into a ſtrange bulk and corpulence, into ſome unweildy miſhapen forms of Atheiſin, or the like. Certainly they will grow into a greater breadth then the reaſonable ſoul will be able to manage: unleſs the ſpirit vouchſafe to come down and contract, and call it into bounds, it will encreaſe beyond all proportion, beyond all acknowledgment of God or Religion. We are uſed to ſay in nature, that all moiſt things are apt to be conteined in other terms, but hardly in their own: the water is eaſily cooped up in a glaſs or bucket, where there are bounderies to keep it in, but being let looſe on a table or a floor, it flyes about and never ſtayes again till it meet with ſome Ocean, or hollow place which may incloſe, and beſtow the conſiſtency on it which it has not of it ſelf. Thus may you ſee a river whilſt it is kept within the channel, go on in its ſtream and courſe very ſoberly and orderly, but when it hath over-ſwelled the banks which before kept it in, then doth it run about the paſtures, ſcorns to be kept within any compaſs. Thus is it with the ſoul of man, if it be ordered within terms and bounds, if it have a ſtrict hand held over it, if it be curb'd and brought to its poſtures, if it have reaſon and grace, and a careful tutor to order it, you ſhall find it as tame a creature as you need deal with: it will never ſtraggle or ſtray beyond the confines which the ſpirit hath ſet it; the reaſon is, becauſe though it be in it ſelf fluid, and moiſt, and ready to run about like water, yet Deus firmavit Aquas, God hath made a firmament betwixt the waters,Gen. l. 7. as he did, Gen. i. 7. i. e. he hath eſtabliſht it, and given it a conſiſtency, that it ſhould not flow or pour it ſelf out beyond its place. But if this ſoul of man be left to its own nature, to its own fluid, wild, incontinent condition, it preſently runs out into an Ocean, never ſtayes, or conſiders, or conſults, but ruſhes head-long into all inordinacy, having neither the reins of reaſon nor God to keep it in, it never thinks of either of them, and unleſs by chance or by Gods mercy it fall into their hands, 'tis likely to run riot for ever. Being once let looſe it ranges, as if there were neither power on earth to quell, nor in Heaven to puniſh it. Thus do you ſee how fluid, how inconſtant the ſoul is of its own accord, how prone it is, how naturally inclined to run over like a ſtream over the banks, and if it be not ſwathed, and kept in, if it be left to the licentious condition of it ſelf, how ready is it to contemn both Reaſon and God, and run head-long into Atheiſm. Nay we need not ſpeak ſo mercifully of it, this very licentiouſneſs is the actual renouncing of Religion, this very walking after their own luſts, is not only a motive to this ſin of ſcoffing, but the very ſin it ſelf.
A falſe Conception in the womb is only a rude, confuſed, ugly Chaos, a meer lump of fleſh, of no kind of figure or reſemblance, gives only diſappointment, danger, and torment to the Mother. 'Tis the ſoul at its entrance which defines, and trims, and poliſhes into a body, that gives it eyes, and ears, and legs, and hands, which before it had not diſtinctly and ſeverally, but only rudely altogether with that maſs or lump. Thus is it with the Man, till Religion hath entred into him as a ſoul to inform, and faſhion him, as long as he lives thus at large, having no terms, or bounds, or limits to his actions, having no form, or figure, or certain motion defined him, he is a Mola, a meer lump of man, an arrant Atheiſt: you cannot diſcern any features or lineaments of a Chriſtian in him; he hath neither eyes to ſee, nor ears to hear, nor hands to practiſe any duty that belongs to his peace. Only 'tis Religion muſt take him up, muſt ſmooth and dreſs him over, and according to its Etymon, muſt religare, ſwathe and bind up this looſe piece of fleſh, muſt animate and inform him, muſt reduce him to ſome ſet form of Chriſtianity, or elſe he is likely after a long and fruitleſs travel to appear a deformed monſtrous Atheiſt. But not to deal any longer upon Simile's, leſt we ſeem to confound and perplex a truth by explaining it, I told you the licentious voluptuous life was it ſelf perfect Heatheniſm. For can you imagine a man to be any but a Gentile, who hath abandoned all love, all awe, all fear, all care of God (any one of which would much contract and draw him into compaſs) who hath utterly put off every garb of a Chriſtian, who hath enjoy'd the reins ſo long, that now he is not ſenſible, or at leaſt contemns the curb or ſnaff…le if he be but check't with it, gets it in his teeth and runs away with it more fiercely. The Heathen are noted not ſo much that they worſhipt no God at all, but that they worſhipped ſo many, and none of them the true. Every great friend they had, every delight and pleaſure, every thing that was worth praying for, ſtraight proved their God, and had its ſpecial Temple erected for its Worſhip. So that do but imagine one of them every day worſhipping every God whom he acknowledged, in its ſeveral Oratory, ſpending his whole life, and that too little too, in running from one Temple to another, and you have deſcribed our licentious man poſting on perpetually to his ſenſual devotions, worſhipping, adoring, and ſacrificing every minute of his life, to ſome Idol-vanity, and beſtowing as much pains and charges in his prophane heatheniſh pleaſures, as ever the Gentiles did on their falſe gods, or the moſt ſupererogating Papiſt on their true.
We are wont to ſay in Divinity,Wigg: in Jam. ſecundae queſt. 1. Art. 5. p. 27, 28. and that without an Hyperbole, that every commiſſion of ſin is a kind of Idolatry, an incurvation, and bending down of the ſoul to ſome creature, which ſhould alwayes be erect, looking up to Heaven, from whence it was infuſed, like water naturally inclined to climb and aſcend as high as the fountain, or head from whence it ſprang. And then certainly a licentious life is a perpetual Idolatry, a ſupineneſs, and proneneſs, and incurvation of the ſoul to ſomewhat that deſerves to be called an Idol, i. e. either in St. Pauls acceptation of it, nothing (an Idol is nothing, 2 Cor. VIII. 4.1 Cor. viii. 4.) or elſe in the moſt honourable ſignification, only an Image, or ſome rude likeneſs or repreſentation of God. We are the Image of God our ſelves, and whatſoever is below us, is but an imperfect draught of him, containing ſome lineaments, ſome confuſed reſemblances of his power which created them, have no being of their own, but only as ſhadows which the light doth caſt. And therefore every love, every bowe, every cringe which we make to any creature, is the wooing and worſhipping of an Image at beſt, in plain terms of an Idol, nothing. What degree then of Idolatry have they attained to, who every minute of their lives bow down and worſhip, make it their trade and calling for ever to be a ſolliciting ſome pleaſure or other? Some exquiſite piece of ſenſuality to bleſs and make them happy, which have no other ſhrines to ſet up, but only to their own luſt, to which they do ſo crouch, and creep, and crawl, that they are never able to ſtand up right again: like thoſe trees which the Papiſts talk of, which by bowing to our Ladies houſe, when in walks by the wood toward Loretto, have ever ſince ſtood ſtooping. Thus do you ſee how the latter part of my Text hath overtook the former: the walking after his own luſts, becomes a ſcoffer, the licentious man proceeded Atheiſt, and that with eaſe, his very voluptuous life is a kind of Atheiſm, and the reaſons of this are obvious, you need not ſeek or ſearch far for them.
For firſt, this walking in their own luſts, notes an habit gathered out of many acts: he hath walked there a long while, and therefore now hath the skill of it, walks on confidently, and careleſly without any rub or thought of ſtopping. And contrary to this the worſhip of God, of which Atheiſm is a privation, is an holy, religious habit of Piety and Obedience. Now we know two contrary habits cannot conſiſt or be together in the ſame ſubject. An habit and its oppoſite privation are incompetible, light, and darkneſs at the ſame time, though they may ſeem to meet ſometimes, as in twilight: but for two oppoſite poſitive habits, never any mans conceit was ſo bold or phantaſtical as to joyn them: you cannot imagine one, but you muſt remove the other. You may ſuppoſe a man diſtempered or weak, which is a privation of health, and yet ſuppoſe him pretty healthy, as long as his natural ſtrength is able to overcome it; but can you ſuppoſe a man in a violent feaver actually upon him, and yet ſtill imagine him in perfect health? Thus is it with a ſinner, who hath given himſelf over to the tyranny, and impotency of his luſts, he hath utterly put off all degrees, all ſparks of any habit of Religion, according to that of our Saviour, You cannot ſerve God and Mammon, where Mammon ſignifying in a vaſt extent the god of this World, imports all luſts, all earthly vanities, which any habituate ſinner deifies.
Secondly, Every habit notes a delight, an acquieſcence, and joy in enjoying of that which through many actions, perhaps ſome brunts and rubs he hath at laſt arrived to. Now this delight and contentation, that is may be compleat, is impatient of any other incumbrance, which at any time may come in to interrupt or diſorder it. If any thing ſo happen, 'tis never quiet, till it have removed it. The Scholar that hath all his life laboured, and at laſt attained to ſome habit of knowledge, and then reſolves to enjoy the happineſs and fruits of learning, in the quiet and reſt of a perpetual contemplation, is impatient if any piece of ignorance croſs or thwart him in his walk, he'l to his books again, and never reſt till he hath overcome and turned it out. Thus doth the ſenſual man being come to the foreign, and pitch, and enter'd into the Paradiſe of his worldly joys, if he do but meet with any jar, if he feel any pluck or twinge from his conſcience, any grudge or compunction of the ſpirit within him, any ſpark or heat, or warmth of religious fear in his breaſt, he'l never reſt till he hath abandored it, he is impatient of ſuch a qualm of godlineſs, he muſt needs put it over, he is ſick at heart till he hath diſgorged himſelf of this choler, and then returns ſecurely godleſs to his walk, having baniſhed God out of all his thoughts. Thus ſhall you ſee the Atheiſt on his humor, for want of ſome compunction at hone, grumble at every godly man or action which they ſaw in the ſtreet.Wiſd. II. 14. In the 2. of Wiſdom at the 14. He is grievous unto us to b…old, he was made to reprove our thoughts; and they do not return to their content, they are not pleaſed again till they have gotten him into their inquiſition, to examine him with deſpitefulneſs and torture, ver. 19. Thus do they abhor and ſtifle, and ſtrangle every godly action in others, or motion in themſelves, becauſe the holineſs of the one is an exprobration to their prophaneneſs, and the other was a pang of conſcience, made as it were on purpoſe by God to reprove their thoughts.
Thirdly, This walking in the Text, though it be with ſome motion, yet it is a ſlow one, a kind of walking in ones ſleep, or that of a melancholy man, that can walk till he be wet through, and not mark that it rained. I ſay, it notes here an heavy, drowſie, unactive habit expreſt by the Pſalmiſt by ſitting in a chair, as we ſhewed you: it notes a kind of churliſh reſoluteneſs, to walk on whatever come in his way; he is grown even a paſſive to his luſts, he doth not ſo much act as ſuffer them, he walks on ſnorting in his road, do what you can, you ſhall neither turn nor wake him. Now this ſlow, drowſie, unactive habit begets a kind of numbneſs in him, a ſluggiſh, ſullen ſtupidity over all his faculties, that even a ſpur or goad cannot rouze him; all the pores as it were and paſſages, and entries to the ſoul are ſo ſtopped, and bung'd up, all his affections are grown ſo groſs and brawny, ſo hardned and incraſſate, that no air or breath from Heaven can pierce it. He that tells him of Religion, or God, or Vertue, is as he that waketh one from a ſound ſleep: he that telleth ſuch a fool a tale of Wiſdom, ſpeaketh to one in a ſlumber, and when he hath told his tale, he will ſay, What is the matter? Ecclus. xxii. 8. Thus do you ſee, 1. The repugnance and inconſiſtence of a voluptuous life and Religion, 2. The delight, 3. The ſtupidity of this habit. Each of which have made a place for the Libertine, and ſet him in the chair of the ſcorner. And all this while me thinks I have but talkt to your ears: Now that your hearts and affections may partake of the ſound, that the ſofter waxy part of you, may receive ſome impreſſion from this diſcourſe, let us cloſe all with an Application.
And firſt from the guilt and dangerous condition of a licentious life, to labour by all means poſſible to keep out of it. He that is once engaged in it, goes on with a great deal of content, and in the midſt of his pleaſures on the one ſide, and carnal ſecurity on the other, his Underſtanding, and Will, and Senſes are lull'd into a lethargy, nay the very phancy in him is aſleep, which in other ſleeps is moſt active: he never imagines, never dreams of any fear, or danger, either God, or Devil. O what a lamentable woful eſtate is it to be thus ſick beyond a ſenſe of our diſeaſe, to be ſo near a ſpiritual death, and not ſo much as feel our weakneſs! Oh what an horrid thing it were to paſs away in ſuch a ſleep, and never obſerve our ſelves near death, till Satan hath arreſted beyond bail, to ſleep on and ſnort, as men without dread or danger, ill the torments of Hell ſhould awake us! You cannot imagine how eaſie a thing it is for an habituate ſinner to fall into the Devils pavs, before he thinks of it, as a melancholy man walking in the dark may be drowned in a pit, and no man hear him complain that he is faln.
Again, We are wont to ſay that cuſtom is another nature, and thoſe things which we have brought our ſelves up to, we can as ill put off, as our conſtitution, or diſpoſition. Now thoſe things which ſpring from the nature of any thing, are inſeparable from the ſubject; baniſh them as oft as you will, uſque recurrent, they will return again as to their home, they cannot ſubſiſt any where elſe, they dwell there. So wallowing in the mire being a condition natural to the Swine, can never be extorted from them: waſh them, rinſe them, purge them with Hyſſop, as ſoon as ever they meet with mire again, they will into it. Their ſwiniſh nature hath ſuch an influence on them, that all care or art cannot forbid, or hinder this effect of it. So that a cuſtomary ſinner, who hath as it were made luſt a part of his nature, hath incorporated prophaneneſs, and grafted it into his affections, can as hardly be rid of it, as a ſubject of his property; 'tis poſſible for fear, or want of opportunity ſometime to keep him in, and make him abſtain: the load-ſtone may lye quiet, whilſt no iron is within ken, or it may be held by force in its preſence; but give it materials and leave to work, and it draws incontinently. So for all his temporary forbearance, upon ſome either policy or neceſſity, the habituate ſinner hath not yet given over his habit. Leave him to himſelf, give him room and opportunity, and he will hold no longer. If he be once advanced to this pitch of ſin to be walking after his own luſts, he may poſſibly be driven back with a ſtorm, or thunder: but he will hardly give over his walk, he'l forward again as ſoon as ever the tempeſt is over. Nay farther, even when he wants objects and opportunities, he will yet ſhew his condition, he will betray the deſire and good affection he bears to his old luſts; his diſcourſe or faſhions argue him incontinently bent, even when he is at the ſtancheſt. As Ariſtotle obſerves of the fearful man, that even when no formidable object is near, he falls into many frights: ſo the voluptuous mans phancy is perpetually poſſeſt with the meditation of his own ways, when ſome diſeaſe or neceſſity will not let him walk. In brief, unleſs this ſecond nature be quite taken out of him, and another holy ſpiritual nature created in its room, unleſs a ſtronger come and bind this Devil and diſpoſſeſs him of it, he hath ſmall hopes of getting himſelf out of his dominion, and tyranny: there is a great deal more ſtir in the converting of one cuſtomary ſinner, then of a thouſand others, 'tis not to be accompliſhed without a kind of death, and reſurrection, without a new Creation of another nature. So that (if we ſhould judge of Gods actions by our own) the Spirit ſhould ſeem to be put to more pains and trouble with this one habituate, then in the ordinary buſineſs of converting many a tamer ſinner. This is enough by the deſperateneſs of the cure to move you to ſtudy ſome art, ſome phyſick of prevention, leſt when it is grown upon you, it be too late to enquire for remedies. How ſhould we dare to entertain and naturalize ſuch an evil ſpirit within us, which if ever he be raviſht out of us again, cannot without tearing, and torturing, and rending even our whole nature in pieces? If we muſt needs be ſinful, yet let us keep within a moderation, let us not ſo follow the Devils works, as to tranſubſtantiate our ſelves into his nature; let us not put off our manhood with our integrity, and though we cannot be Saints, let us keep our ſelves men? 'Tis a degree of innocence not to be extreamly wicked, and a piece of godlineſs not to be Atheiſts. Our luſt is an infinite thing, ſaid a Philoſopher,(foreign, Iambl.) and he that walks after it hath an endleſs journey: there is no hope that he that hath ſo far to go, will ever have leiſure to ſit ſtill. And therefore I ſay if we muſt needs ſin, yet let us not engage our ſelves to ſin for ever: if our being men lays a neceſſity of ſinning on us, let our care to ſtay whilſt it is poſſible for us, prove that we do not ſin like Devils, whoſe ſin is their glory, and their reſolution peremptory, never to give over ſinning; and ſo may ours ſeem, and in all likelihood prove to be, if we give our ſelves liberty to walk after our own luſts.
Secondly, If our luſts be ſuch dangerous paths to walk in, and this in that very reſpect as they are our own in oppoſition to Gods commands, if they are the ſtraight direct way to Atheiſm, nay Atheiſm it ſelf: then what care and circumſpection is required at every ſetting down of our feet, at every entrance on any action, leſt there be a Serpent in the way, ſome piece of prophaneneſs in every enterprize we enter on of our ſelves? How ought we to fear, to ſuſpect, and balk any way that is our own? For where it is Atheiſm to walk, there ſurely 'tis a ſin to tread: and where we have once ventured to tread, we ſhall be ſhrewdly tempted to walk; every ſtep we have ſafely taken being an encouragement to a ſecond. Verebar omnia opera mea, ſaith Job, I feared all my works: whatever action I could entitle my ſelf to, methought there was ſome danger in it, I was afraid it was not right as it ſhould be, I ſhould never be able to juſtifie it. This is an excellent trial of all our ſerious deliberate actions, to mark whether they are our own or no, whether we went about them on our own heads, without our warrant or directions from God: if we did, 'tis much to be doubted there is ſome poyſon, ſome guilt in them, ſomething that deſerves to be feared, and fled from. This very ſuſpecting of our own ways, will alien us from our own luſts, will bend us nearer to God, and never ſuffer us to dare to venture where he hath not ſecured us; will joyn us as it were in an engine to God himſelf, where the lower wheels never begin to move without the example and government of the higher. If you can but perſwade your ſelf to fear your own ways, 'twill be a good ſtop of your progreſs to Atheiſm. I am confident the Devil will never get you to walk in your own luſts.
Thirdly, If walking in our own luſts be direct Atheiſm, what ſhall we think of them who make it a piece of Religion, and holy policy to do ſo? Beloved, there be ſome learned Catechiſed Atheiſts, who upon confidence of an abſolute eternal predeſtination of every man in the world that ſhall ever poſſibly be ſaved, ſet up their reſt there, and expect what God will do with them. 'Tis to no purpoſe to hope God will alter the decree, they are reſolved to leave all to God, and if they periſh, they periſh. Mark with me, is not this a religious Atheiſm to attribute ſo much to God as to become careleſs of him, ſo to depend as never to think on him, and by granting his decree in our underſtanding, to deny his Godhead in our converſation? He that lives negligently on confidence that his care may be ſpared, that if there be any ſalvation for him, God will work it out without his fear or trembling: he that believes Gods election ſo abſolute, that himſelf hath nothing to do in the buſineſs, whilſt he expects mercy, makes himſelf uncapable of it, and though he acknowledge a reſurrection, lives as though he looked to be annihilated. Certainly he that expects God ſhould ſend him a fruitful harveſt, will himſelf manure the ground; he that hopes, will labour, according to that, 1 Joh. iii. 3. He that hath this hope in him purifies himſelf, &c. So that whoſoever relyes on God for ſalvation, and in the midſt of his hopes ſtands idle, and walks after his own luſts, by his very actions confutes his thoughts, and will not in a manner ſuffer God to have elected him, by going on in ſuch reprobate courſes.
Laſtly, If it be this confident walking after our own luſts, which is here the expreſſion of Atheiſm, then here's a comfort for ſome fearful ſinners, who finding themſelves not yet taken up quite from a licentious life, ſuſpect, and would be in danger to deſpair of themſelves as Atheiſts. 'Tis a bleſſed tenderneſs to feel every ſin in our ſelves at the greateſt advantage; to aggravate and repreſent it to our conſcience in the horridſt ſhape, but there is a care alſo to be had, that we give not our ſelves over as deſperate; Cain ly'd when he ſaid his ſin was greater then could be either born or forgiven. When the Phyſicians have given one over, foreign,Philop. 1. de an. nature hath its ſpring and plunge, and ſometimes quits and overcomes the diſeaſe. If thou art in this dangerous walk, and ſtriveſt and heaveſt, and canſt not get out of it, yet ſorrow not as one without hope: this very regret and reluctancy, this ſtriving and plunging is a good ſymptome. If thou wilt continue with a good courage, and ſet thy ſelf to it to the purpoſe, be confident thou ſhalt overcome the difficulty. If this ſin be a walking, then every ſtop is a ceſſation, every check a degree to integrity, every godly thought or deſire a pawn from God that he will give thee ſtrength to victory: and if thou do but nouriſh and cheriſh every ſuch reluctancy, every ſuch gracious motion in thy ſelf, thou maiſt with courage expect a gracious calm deliverance out of theſe ſtorms and tempeſts. And let us all labour, and endeavour, and pray that we may be looſed from theſe toyls and gins, and engagements of our own luſts, and being entred into a more religious ſevere Courſe here, then the Atheiſm of our ways would counſel us to, we may obtain the end, and reſt, and conſummation, and reward of our Courſe hereafter.
Now to him which hath elected us, &c.