CHAPTER IV.

HUMAN DEPRAVITY.

WHO is there almost that does not wish God was less pure in his nature, less strict in his commands, less exact in his justice, less terrible in his vengeance, than he is? And is not this wishing that he were what he is not, and disliking what he is? And what is this, if the soul dare speak out the horrid truth, but even hating God?

Nothing in nature is more unknown to man than himself.

There are few men on earth so despised, disregarded, and forgotten, as God is by the generality of men.

"The peace of God passeth all understanding;" and yet when a few simple souls stand out, declaring boldly that they have it, but cannot explain it, all the rest of the world cries out on them for fools and enthusiasts.

It is the common opinion with regard to natural evil, that it is sufficiently accounted for, if happiness prevails on the whole; that this mixed state of things is unavoidable, and therefore no impeachment of the goodness of God; and that no man or number of men, however miserable, have any right to complain, if happiness is the result of the general system. I do not understand this: it seems to me little less than blasphemy. How is it possible for so much as one

conscious being to be miserable, but by its own fault?

If a man is a sinner, why does he not believe it? And if he is not, why does he confess it? What a strange jumble of blindness and hypocrisy! We confess what we do not really believe, and yet really are what we confess.

We aggravate the faults of others, to have a pretence for hating or despising them, and for the pleasure of self-comparison.

Striving against nature is like holding a weathercock with one's hand: as soon as the force is taken off, it veers again with the wind.

Whoever thinks he can acquit himself to God, has wrong notions of God, of himself, of duty, of sin. Either he considers God only under the single idea of mercy, or he knows nothing of his own great corruption, or contracts duty into a narrow compass, or fixes the guilt of sin at a low rate.

The happiest and most envied life, taken from childhood to old age, will not bear a review. There is not a year, perhaps not a month, perhaps not an hour of it, which a wise man would choose to live over again.

All our happiness as mere men, consists in forgetting ourselves. If we think, we are miserable.

A conscious, reflecting being, eagerly coveting happiness, and seeking it every where but in God, is the monster of the universe. God could no more make such a creature than he can unmake himself.

We are as vain as if we were in full possession of our original perfection; and our being vain is a certain proof that we are not.

An impatient desire to know and have more than is proper for us in our present state, often hinders us from using what we have, and knowing what we might; and is to many a source of great delusion.

The heart of man pants everlastingly after distinction; and our pride only changes its appearance.

Mine, I find, is grown to a goodly size, under the show of humility.

God may say to every self-righteous man, as he did in the case of Sodom, "Show me ten; yea, one perfect good action, and, for the sake of it I will not destroy." The sour fruit that Adam ate, will be ever and anon rising in our stomachs, even in our best estate.

So long as we think we are what we are not, and have what we have not, we can receive nothing at the hands of God, and reformation is impossible.

We can no more bear to be told of our faults by God than man; and if we durst think it, are in reality as much disgusted at the one as the other.

What is the reason of the frequent uneasiness betwixt man and wife, and of their sometimes giving full scope to their passions on very trifling occasions; even amongst persons who behave with decency, calmness, and general good temper to all others? It is because they think their reputation safe in each other's hands, and therefore are not afraid to discover their natural sourness and malignity. This shows that neither love of rectitude, nor the fear of God, is at the bottom of that poor thing we call virtue, since we exert it least where it is most due, and where it would be most serviceable to ourselves, only because we think we can do so without disgrace.

The boasted demonstration of a future state of rewards and punishments, from the unequal distribution of things in this life, is annihilated on the Christian scheme, which supposes all to be sinners, and, as such, liable to condemnation; and, therefore, whatever good we receive from God, in any period of our existence, is grace, and not retribution.

Charity does not oblige us to think any man good, because Christ says, "there is none good."

Observe man's depravity in his punishment. In our present condition we can relish earthly things only, and they all conspire to disappoint our expec

tations. There must therefore of necessity be a change both in the faculty and the object, if ever we are happy and our business here, is not to accumulate riches, or fly from the sight of ourselves to amusements, but to acquire a true taste for things that are excellent.

Words cannot express the tormenting consciousness of a soul separated from the gracious influxes of God, and abandoned for ever to its own poverty and impotence.

If we sought after truth out of pure love to it, and for the pleasure of it, as is pretended, we should not fear the great teacher, Death, as we do.

Nothing shows the vanity of wealth, grandeur, and pleasure, in so strong a light as the restless, ambitious spirit of princes. What do they want? and what would they have? Alas! the soul, conscious to itself of much higher pretensions, is not to be quieted with any thing these can give it.

It is the devil's master-piece to make us think well of ourselves.

Alas! who is humble? We disclaim perfection, and run down the preachers of it, from a general confused consciousness of our unworthiness, but cannot bear to be told of a trifling error in conduct. What management, gentle insinuation, and nice art of address, are necessary to prevent resentment in such cases, even from a friend!

We are sinners by the corruption of the heart; and it is a fatal mistake to suppose that we are so only by the commission of sin. Our guilt does not then begin to exist, when it is brought into action, but to appear; and what was always manifest to God, is now become so to ourselves and others.

We cannot go to the bottom of sin, without the convincing searching Spirit of God. If the work is to be our own, we shall deal so very tenderly with ourselves, that nothing can ever come of it.

It is said that riches, power, and distinction, are

apt to corrupt the heart. The truth is, they find it corrupt, and all they do is to set men at liberty to act according to their nature, and thus add to the strength of it. But are not many persons humble, orderly, and well disposed in a low estate, who become insolent and insufferable in prosperity? They might be hypocrites in a low estate, and conceal their passions and tempers for various causes, but they never were humble or well-disposed.

It would be a sad thing to think that we shall never be better than what we are, or can make. ourselves.

All men are naturally in a state of hostility with some, and ready on occasion to be so with any, wife or child not excepted.

The passions do not always torment us; we could not bear it; but then the malignity of them is rooted in the constitution, though it does not always appear; as persons subject to fits have the cause lurking within, though they have them not every day.

When we open ourselves to others, it is partially and hypocritically, with prevarication, and great tenderness to ourselves, and with design to be admired and flattered by them rather than counselled and convinced. Alas! we do so to God more than we are aware of.

Man is ever at odds with God about the condition of his acceptance. He fancies he has some resources in himself, some worthiness of his own, that with a few grains of allowance, will bear him out; and he rejects the aids of the gospel. But the scripture is peremptory; he has none. "Without me ye can do nothing."

After the commission of sin, or any eruption of our inbred malignity, we quickly heal ourselves again and reinstate ourselves in our own good opinion. How much better would it be to let our nature appear in its frightful nakedness, and to consider that the cursed root of all still remains, and that, if not here destroyed,