of them; not inferior even to you, either in natural or acquired endowments. I ask then, would any of these motives suffice to induce you to burn at a stake? I beseech you, lay your hand on your heart, and answer between God and your own soul, what motive could incite you to walk into a fire, but a hope full of immortality? When you mention this motive, you speak to the point. And yet even with regard to this, both you and I should find, did it come to a trial, that the hope of a fool, or the hope of a hypocrite, would stand us in no stead. We should find nothing else would sustain us in that hour, but a well-grounded confidence of a better resurrection; nothing less than the steadfastly looking up to heaven, and beholding the glory which shall be revealed.' 8. "But Heretics," you say, "have been martyrs." I will answer more particularly, when you specify who? and when? It may suffice to say now, whosoever he be, that rather than he will offend God, calmly and deliberately chooses to suffer death, I cannot lightly speak evil of him. But Cyprian says, 'Some who had suffered tortures for Christ, yet afterwards fell into gross, open sin.' It may be so: but it is nothing to the question. It does not prove in the least, what you brought it to prove, namely, "That bad men have endured martyrdom." Do not evade, Sir, and say, "Yes, torments are a kind of martyrdom." True; but not the martyrdom of which we speak. 9. You salve all at last, by declaring gravely, "It is not my design to detract in any manner from the just praise of those primitive martyrs, who sustained the cause of Christ at the expense of their lives." (p. 112.) No. Who could ever suppose it was? Who could imagine it was your design to detract from the just praise of Justin, Irenæus, or Cyprian? You only desired to show, what their just praise was, namely, the praise of pick-pockets, of common cheats and impostors. We understand your meaning, therefore, when you add, "It is reasonable to believe, that they were the best sort of Christians, and the chief ornaments of the church in their several ages." p. 113. 10. You conclude, "My view is to show, that their martyrdom does not add any weight to their testimony." Whether it does or not, "It gives the strongest proof," (as you yourself affirm,) " of the sincerity of their faith:" and consequently proves, "that no suspicion of fraud can reasonably be entertained against them." (ibid.) But this (which you seem to have quite forgot) was the whole of the objection: and, consequently, this, as well as both the former objections, remain in their full force. 11. It has been objected, fourthly, you say, That you "destroy the faith and credit of all history." (p. 114.) But this objection, you affirm, "when seriously considered, will appear to have no sense at all in it." p. 115. That we will try. And one passage, home to the point, is as good as a thousand. Now, Sir, be pleased to look back. In your preface, (p. 9,) I read these words: "The credibility of facts lies open to the trial of our reason and senses. But the credibility of witnesses depends on a variety of principles wholly concealed from us. And though, in many cases, it may reasonably be presumed, yet in none can it certainly be known." If this be as you assert, (I repeat it again) then farewell the credit of all history: Sir, this is not "the cant of zealots :" you must not escape so it is plain, sober reason. If the credibility of witnesses" (of all witnesses; for you make no distinction) depends, as you peremptorily affirm, on a variety of principles "wholly concealed from us," and consequently, though it may be presumed in many cases, yet can be certainly known in none: then it is plain, all history, sacred or profane, is utterly precarious and uncertain. Then I may indeed presume, but I cannot certainly know, that Julius Cæsar was killed in the senate-house; then I cannot certainly know, that there was an emperor in Germany, called Charles the fifth; that Leo the tenth ever sat in the see of Rome, or Lewis the fourteenth on the throne of France. Now let any man of common understanding judge, whether this objection has any sense in it, or not. 12. Under this same head, you fall again upon the case of witchcraft, and say, "There is not in all history, any one miraculous fact, so authentically attested as the existence of witches. All Christian" (yea and all Heathen) "nations whatsoever, have consented in the belief of them. Now to deny the reality of facts so solemnly attested and so universally believed, seems to give the lie to the sense and experience of all Christendom; to the wisest and best of every nation, and to public monuments subsisting to our own times." p. 221. What obliges you then to deny it? You answer, "the incredibility of the thing." O Sir, never strain at the incredibility of this, after you have swallowed-a hundred people talking without tongues. 13. What you aim at in this, also, is plain, as well as in your account of the Abbe de Paris: the point of your argument is, "If you cannot believe these, then you ought not to believe the Bible: The incredibility of the things related ought to over-rule all testimony whatsover." Your argument, at length, would run thus: "If things be incredible in themselves, then this incredibility ought to over-rule all testimony concerning them. But the gospel-miracles are incredible in themselves." Sir, that proposition I deny. You have not proved it yet. You have only now and then, as it were by the by, made an attempt to prove it. And till this is done, you have done nothing, with all the pother that you have made. 14. You reserve the home stroke for the last. "There is hardly a miracle said to be wrought in the primitive times, but what is said to be performed in our days. But all these modern pretensions, we ascribe to their true cause, the craft of a few, playing upon the credulity of the many, for private interest. When, therefore, we read of the same things done by the ancients, and for the same ends, of acquiring wealth, credit, or power: how can we possibly hesitate to impute them to the same cause of fraud and imposture ?" p. 230. The reason of our hesitation is this. They did not answer the same ends. The modern clergy of Rome do acquire credit and wealth by their pretended miracles. But the ancient clergy acquired nothing by their miracles, but to be afflicted, destitute, tormented. The one gain all things thereby; the others lost all things. And this, we think, makes some difference. Even unto this present hour,' says one of them, (writing to those who could easily confute him, if he spoke not the truth) we both hunger and thirst, and are naked, and are buffeted, and have no certain dwelling place.-Being reviled, we bless; being persecuted, we suffer it; being defamed, we entreat. We are become as the filth of the world, as the offscouring of all things unto this day.' 1 Cor. iv. 11-13.-Now, Sir, whatever be thought of the others, we apprehend such elergy as these, labouring thus, unto the death, for such credit and wealth, are not chargeable with fraud and imposture. VI. I have now finished what I had to say with regard to your book. Yet, I think, humanity requires me to add a few words concerning some points frequently touched upon therein, which perhaps you do not so clearly understand. We have been long disputing about Christians, about Christianity, and the evidence whereby it is supported. But what do these terms mean? Who is a Christian indeed? What is real, genuine Christianity? And what is the surest and most accessible evidence (if I may so speak) whereby I may know, that it is of God? May the God of the Christians enable me to speak on these heads, in a manner suitable to the importance of them! Sect. I. 1. I would consider, first, Who is a Christian indeed? What does that terin properly imply? It has been so long abused, I fear, not only to mean nothing at all, but, what was far worse than nothing, to be a cloak for the vilest hypocrisy, for the grossest abominations and immoralities of every kind, that it is high time to rescue it out of the hands of wretches that are a reproach to human nature: to show determinately, what manner of man he is, to whom this name of right belongs. 2. A Christian cannot think of the Author of his Being, without abasing himself before him: without a deep sense of the distance between a worm of earth, and him that sitteth on the circle of the heavens. In his presence he sinks into the dust, knowing himself to be less than nothing in his eye and being conscious, in a manner words cannot express, of his own littleness, ignorance, foolishness. So that he can only cry out, from the fulness of his heart, O God! What is man! What am I' 3. He has a continual sense of his dependence on the Parent of Good, for his Being, and all the blessings that attend it. To him he refers every natural, and every moral endowment: with all that is commonly ascribed either to fortune, or to the wisdom, courage, or merit of the possessor. And hence he acquiesces in whatsoever appears to be his will, not only with patience, but with thankfulness. He willingly resigns all he is, all he has, to his wise and gracious disposal. The ruling temper of his heart, is the most absolute submission, and the tenderest gratitude to his Sovereign Benefactor. And this grateful love creates filial fear: an awful reverence towards him, and an earnest care not to give place to any disposition, not to admit an action, word, or thought, which might in any degree displease that indulgent Power to whom he owes his life, breath, and all things. 4. And as he has the strongest affection for the Fountain of all Good, so he has the firmest confidence in him: a confidence which neither pleasure nor pain, neither life nor death can shake. But yet this, far from creating sloth or indolence, pushes him on to the most vigorous industry. It causes him to put forth all his strength, in obeying him in whom he confides. So that he is never faint in his mind, never weary of doing whatever he believes to be his will. And as he knows, the most acceptable worship of God, is to imitate him he worships, so he is continually labouring to transcribe into himself all his imitable perfections: in particular, his justice, mercy, and truth, so eminently displayed in all his creatures. 5. Above all, remembering that God is Love, he is conformed to the same likeness. He is full of love to his neighbour, of universal love: not confined to one sect of party: not restrained to those who agree with him in opinions; in outward modes of worship; or to those who are allied to him by blood, or recommended by nearness of place. Neither does he love those only that love him, or are endeared to him by intimacy of acquaintance. But his love resembles that of him, whose mercy is over all his works it soars above all these scanty bounds, embracing neighbours and strangers, friends and enemies: yea, not only the good and gentle, but also the froward; the evil and unthankful. For he loves every soul that God has made; every child of man, of whatever place or nation. And yet this universal benevolence does in nowise interfere with a peculiar regard for his relations, friends, and benefactors; a fervent love for his country; and the most endeared affection to all men of integrity, of clear and generous virtue. 6. His love to these, so to all mankind, is in itself generous and disinterested; springing from no view of advantage to himself, from no regard to profit or praise: no, nor even the pleasure of loving. This is the daughter, not the parent of his affection. By experience he knows, that social love, (if it mean the love of our neighbour,) is absolutely different from self-love, even of the most allowable kind. Just as different as the objects at which they point. And yet it is sure, that, if they are under due regulations, each will give additional force to the other, till they mix together never to be divided. 7. And this universal, disinterested love, is productive of all right affections. It is fruitful of gentleness, tenderness, sweetness; of humanity, courtesy, and affability. It makes a Christian rejoice in the virtues of all, and bear a part in their happiness; at the same time that he sympathizes with their pains, and compassionates their infirmities. It creates modesty, condescension, prudence, together with calmness and evenness of temper. It is the parent of generosity, openness, and frankness, void of jealousy and suspicion. It begets candour, and willingness to believe and hope whatever is kind and friendly of every man; and invincible patience, never overcome of evil, but overcoming evil with good. 8. The same love constrains him to converse, not only with a strict regard to truth, but with artless sincerity and genuine simplicity, as one in whom there is no guile. And not content with abstaining from all such expressions as are contrary to justice or truth, he endeavours to refrain from every unloving word either to a present or of an absent person: in all his conversation aiming at this, either to improve himself in knowledge or virtue, or to make those with whom he converses some way wiser, or better, or happier than they were before. 9. The same love is productive of all right actions. It leads him into an earnest and steady discharge of all social offices, of whatever is due to relations of every kind; to his friends, to his country, and to any particular community whereof he is a member. It prevents his willingly hurting or grieving any man. It guides him into a uniform practice of justice and mercy, equally extensive with the principle whence it flows. It constrains him to do all possible good, of every possible kind, to all men: and makes him invariably resolved, in every circumstance of life, to do that and that only, to others, which, supposing he were himself in the same situation, he would desire they should do to him. He is 10. And as he is easy to others, so he is easy to himself. free from the painful swellings of pride, from the flames of anger, from the impetuous gusts of irregular self-will. He is no longer tortured with envy or malice, or with unreasonable and hurtful desire. He is no more enslaved to the pleasures of sense, but has the full power both over his mind and body, in a continued cheerful course of sobriety, of temperance, and chastity. He knows how to use all things in their place, and yet is superior to them all. He stands above those low pleasures of imagination, which captivate vulgar minds, whether arising from what mortals term greatness, or novelty, or beauty. All these too he can taste, and still look upward; still aspire to nobler enjoyments. Neither is he a slave to fame: popular breath affects not him: he stands steady and collected in himself. 11. And he who seeks no praise, cannot fear dispraise. Censure gives him no uneasiness; being conscious to himself, that he would not willingly offend, and that he has the approbation of the Lord of all. He cannot fear. want, knowing in whose hand is the earth and the fulness thereof, and that it is impossible for him to withhold from one that fears him any manner of thing that is good. He cannot fear pain, knowing it will never be sent, unless it be for his real advantage; and that then his strength will be proportioned to it, as it has always been in times past. He cannot fear death; being able to trust him he loves with his soul as well as his body; yea, glad to leave the corruptible body in the dust, till it is raised in |